For My Daughters

by Barbara Delinsky

  “When did he tell you the truth?” Leah asked. She could see the pain in his eyes, a child’s pain in grown-up eyes and all the more raw for it.

  “When those tickets arrived. We argued. It was one of the few times he ever raised his voice to me. He told me to go. I said I wouldn’t. He said he couldn’t be a father because he was only a shell of a man. I said he wasn’t, but he insisted. Then he told me about your mother.”

  “Were you angry?”

  “I was sad. It was a sad story. He had loved her with all his heart. He still did then, fourteen years after she had left.”

  “Were you angry at my mother?”

  Jesse gave a tiny shake of his head. “As my father told the story, she hadn’t had much of a choice. She was a decent, upstanding lady. He didn’t blame her for leaving, any more than he blamed himself for not running after her. In later years I was angry at her for coming along in the first place, but by then he was with her again.”

  Leah gasped.

  “In his imagination,” Jesse assured her with a sad smile, “that was all. They never met again, never communicated in any way. During the last years of his life he used to pretend she was there. Some people talk to themselves; he talked to Virginia. He always called her Virginia. Never Ginny. It was a beautiful, regal name, he said, and he was perfectly lucid about it.”

  “So sad,” Leah breathed.

  “He was a romantic. He said that he’d been destined to love Virginia and lose her, and that even though they wouldn’t see each other again, a part of him would always be hers. That was the part he couldn’t give to anyone else. It was gone. He didn’t have it anymore.”

  Annette had said nearly identical words. Leah shivered. How could she doubt Jesse’s story, when it fit Ginny’s so well? “Were there no other women?”

  “None.”

  “Not even a meaningless fling?”

  “He couldn’t do it, Leah. He couldn’t get it up.”

  “He did it with your mother.”

  “Obviously. That was when he was still trying to believe he could live normally without Virginia. After my mother left, he gave up the pretense.”

  “Why did she leave? What were their differences?”

  “Commitment. Dedication. Love. He liked her. He respected her. But he couldn’t love her.”

  “Many marriages survive without that.” Lord knew her parents’ marriage had.

  But there was more to Jesse’s story. “My mother wasn’t from Downlee. She was up for the summer, like yours had been, and good-looking man that my father was, he caught her eye. They were married for a year or so when I came along, and by the time another two or three had passed, she’d had a glimpse of the future. It wasn’t what she wanted.”

  “Is she still alive?”

  “Yes. I see her once a year. Not here. She won’t ever come here. She didn’t love the place like your mother did. She didn’t love my father like your mother did.”

  Leah was feeling numb. “It’s such a new side of Ginny. So hard to accept.”

  Jesse rolled to his feet and brought her up beside him. “Come. I’ll show you pictures.”

  She wasn’t sure she wanted to see them. One part of her had seen enough for one day. The other part was starved for anything and everything that had to do with this warm, feeling, loving person her mother had been with Will Cray.

  Besides, Leah needed to be with Jesse.

  So she held his hand as they went back along the path. When they emerged from the woods, they bypassed the heathers and the beach roses, and cut down across the front drive to his cottage. There, after displacing a handful of magazines, a large candle, and a piece of driftwood, he opened a trunk and removed a large manila envelope. It was old and worn. Its metal catch had long since broken off.

  There were nearly a dozen pictures, taken on different days, in different settings. Leah recognized the picture that had been reprinted in the newspaper. Aside from that one, the only other one with any kind of physical connection between the two was in a shot of them shoulder to shoulder, leaning on a wood rail at the town dock. Not that a physical connection was necessary. The photos were as powerful without.

  But the pictures weren’t alone in the large manila envelope. There was a wreath of dried beach roses, pressed between sheets of wax paper, and two leather rings, one small, one large.

  “Wedding bands,” Jesse said. “They used to pretend.”

  Leah was heartsick. Cradling the rings in her palm, she started to cry. He put an arm around her shoulder. “They should have stayed together,” she said brokenly.

  “Times were different. She was rich and married. He was a penniless laborer.”

  “But they paid an awful price.” She wiped her eyes. “They were emotionally maimed.”

  “That’s one way to look at it. There’s another.”

  Ah, yes. Far better to have loved and lost, than never to have loved at all. Which raised the issue of what Leah was going to do about Jesse.

  She started crying again.

  This time Jesse brought her around and held her properly, which made her cry more deeply. She couldn’t begin to sort out the parallels between their parents’ affair and their own, only knew that they existed and were terrifying.

  He held her until her tears slowed, then left her to get tissues from the bathroom. She had them pressed to her eyes when she said, “You told me he died of a broken heart. Do you really believe it?”

  “Totally.”

  “Was he waiting for her to come back?”

  “No. He knew she wouldn’t. He just got tired of living without her.” When Leah made a mournful sound, Jesse added, “I don’t blame her for his death, or any of what came before. He might have gone after her, too. But there were all those other problems, and then, he loved Star’s End. He’s buried here. Want to see where?”

  Leah dried her eyes. Yes, she wanted to see where. When a knot remained in her throat, she told him so with a nod.

  Taking her hand, he walked her along the bluff, away from the house, farther than she had ever gone. Feeling trepidation, as though Will Cray’s gravestone would be the final proof of an all too personal legend, she held Jesse’s hand tighter, then even tighter when he led her over an outcropping of ledge. They moved inland a bit when they came to a grassy decline, half-walked, half-ran down it, then climbed the other side and mounted the rocks again.

  That was when Leah saw it, not twenty feet ahead. The setting was breathtaking, another grassy patch bordered by rock, with a view of the open sea and the sound of gulls and the waves. Will Cray’s grave wasn’t the only one there. Leah saw a number of other markers, all of similarly weathered granite, but there was no mistaking Will’s. It was the only one with a petite, white-haired figure kneeling before it.

  eighteen

  WILL LOVED THIS SPOT. HE TOLD ME SO ON the single occasion when he brought me here. It was during the last week of my stay, when we knew that parting was imminent. He had wanted me to see the place where he hoped to be buried.

  It hadn’t changed over the years. The rocks were the same, the wind-whipped grass, the gulls, the snare-drum roll of the waves, the drone of the fog horn at Houkabee. I remembered thinking, that long-ago day, that death couldn’t possibly be an ending if one were buried here. The sky was too large, the horizon too wide. They spoke of new worlds to explore in other lives.

  Ahhhh, what a Will-like thought that was. And I did think that way when I was with him—not after I left, though it came back to me now. I suspected it had as much to do with the aura of Star’s End as with Will.

  I touched his name, each carved letter, and enjoyed the intimacy of it. I enjoyed, too, the serenity of this spot, and the relief of finally being here. So often I had dreamed of my return, particularly in recent years. At times I feared I wouldn’t make it. I feared that the anguish of other goodbyes would hold me back, or that I would die too soon.

  But the other goodbyes were over and done, and I was alive. I had come back
to Will, at last.

  Hearing a sound, a small cry that was different from the gulls that soared overhead, I turned. A man and a woman had found me out. They were at the top of the rise. The incline of their bodies spoke of familiarity. Without a doubt they were good friends—and, in that, new to me. I struggled to my feet.

  This was the first of my three moments of truth, after years and years, and countless imaginings. I had envisioned harsh words and accusations. I had imagined disapproval and scorn. I had dreaded rejection.

  She offered none of those, still my heart ricocheted against too-fragile ribs. Be strong, heart, just a little longer, I prayed, and started forward. She met me halfway. I could see she had been crying.

  I touched her cheek and smiled, because she was very beautiful. “Leah. You look like a different person.” I touched her hair. “And to think we used to hide this away. It’s lovely. You look wonderful.”

  When her eyes filled, I took her in my arms. It had been years since I had held her. Ours wasn’t a physical relationship. None of my relationships were, after Will, and there was an awkwardness in it now. Still, I held her. Slowly, the awkwardness began to fade.

  After a bit, I eased her back. I brushed the tears from one cheek while she did the other. She blushed and smiled. It struck me that I must be new to her, too.

  “Will you introduce me to your friend?” I asked softly, though, of course, I knew who he was. There was no mistaking the wonderful brown eyes, the rough-hewn face, the one-hipped stance. He looked shaken. Clearly he knew who I was, too. I had wondered about that all these years, wondered what Will had told him. I deserved anger from him, too, but it seemed I’d been spared that, for now.

  I extended my left hand as Leah and I approached. My right arm stayed around her waist. I found that I needed her support. I was feeling shaky.

  “You look very much like your father,” I said, admiring his rugged good looks as Will might have done, had he been there. I felt pride on Will’s behalf. “And you’re quite skilled. I saw the gardens. They are marvelous.”

  He nodded, but it was a distracted nod. He wasn’t looking for compliments. He wasn’t thinking about the gardens. His gaze was as penetrating as his father’s could be. “I feel I know you. You look very much the same.”

  “Now that is a kind thing to say,” I said with a short laugh, not that I believed it for a minute. My hair was white, my skin less firm, my body matronly even in spite of its slimness. Gravity spared no one, despite our attempts to fight it. Much as I prided myself on my posture, I was shorter than I had been forty-three years before.

  “It’s true,” he insisted, staring intently. “The eyes are the same, and the smile.”

  “It’s your Star’s End smile,” Leah remarked softly. “I saw it for the first time a few minutes ago, when Jesse showed me his father’s pictures.”

  My heart skittered around inside me again. I willed it to steady. “Will kept them?” I asked.

  “Yes. And the rose wreath, and the leather rings.”

  “Oh my,” I breathed, fighting the odd prickle of tears. I hadn’t cried in years and years. I had assumed that my tear ducts had atrophied. This odd prickle was heady. “Perhaps later you’ll show me?”

  He nodded and looked at Leah to see how she was. I caught the way she returned his glance, and, in a flash that brought a budding warmth to my heart, realized why she wasn’t angered by my secret. She was in love herself. She understood.

  My daughter and Will’s son—it was a lovely thought.

  Leah was made for Star’s End. The riot of hair, the relaxed features, the touch of color on her bare skin, the rapport with Jesse—I had never seen her like this. Even the crying. She was free with her emotions here—just as I was. She was finally herself.

  I had prayed for this. Leah needed a home. God was good.

  “Have you been to the house?” she asked.

  It was a minute before my thoughts returned to earth. “No. I had to visit with Will first.” I looked back at his gravestone, and felt a tight tug at my heart. “Such a beautiful setting. I’m glad you buried him here, Jesse.”

  “Star’s End was his home from the time he was seventeen,” Jesse said. “He wouldn’t have been buried anywhere else.”

  “Have you lived here all this time, too?”

  “Except for when I went to college.”

  I tried to imagine what life with Will had been like. I feared Jesse had suffered, as my children had, and felt more than partly to blame. “I’m sorry about your mother. It must have been difficult for her, living in a shadow. It’s been hard on my family, too. I’m sorry about that.” This I said to Leah, because the message was for her, and when I smiled this time, it was in pure relief. I coupled it with a pleased sigh. “All the times I wanted to say that and couldn’t, yet it comes easily now. It’s what I most wanted when I bought Star’s End.”

  She nodded, tearing up again.

  “Come,” I suggested, eager to act while I was feeling brave, “let’s tell the others I’m here.”

  I’ll be back, sweet, I promised Will, then let Leah and Jesse help me over the grassy ups and downs and the ragged ledge to the more level bluff that led to the house. I knew they were wondering how I had made it out alone. Poor dears. They were still new to the power that came from wanting something more than life itself.

  But I was still human, which meant that my bravery waned the farther we went from Will’s grave. I was frightened of seeing Caroline and Annette.

  But this was my mission. I had been waiting a long time to complete it. Even in spite of that fear, there was the relief of approaching the end of the journey, the relief of being here at last.

  And the excitement.

  And the awe. I had wondered, all those years, how I would find the place, whether the breathtaking beauty I remembered would have faded, or perhaps have proven a figment of my imagination—but not at all. It was real. Indeed, it surpassed memory.

  I couldn’t keep my eyes on one place for long. They were enchanted by the lushness of the woods and the vivid color of the gardens, and then there was the house, which wore its new coat of paint well, and that was even before I looked at the pool and the porch, and the glassed-in family room that hadn’t been there at all, so many years before.

  I was startled when Jesse said, “I’ll leave you now.”

  I started to protest. I wanted him with us. He was part of Will. His presence was reassuring.

  But he added, “They don’t know,” and I realized that he was talking about his relationship with Leah. I also realized that this was a time for my daughters and me. Perhaps Jesse knew that, too.

  He set off toward the cottage that stood where Will’s shed had once been. It looked to be a fine cottage, with its bump of a greenhouse on the side, but it wasn’t the shed of my memories, which was probably just as well. Seeing the shed might have been one heart-tug too many.

  Leah and I continued on toward the house. She held my arm the way younger women did older ones, with a hand lightly through the crook of my elbow. A cynic might have said she was restraining me, keeping me from running off. I believed she was simply offering support. And taking it, as well. This was an emotional time for her.

  “How was your flight?” she asked.

  “Very smooth.”

  “Are you tired?”

  “Not at all. I always had more energy here.” And my heart was beating soundly. “You do like it here, don’t you, Leah?”

  “I love it here.”

  I felt a moment’s triumph, but it faded when Caroline stepped out on the deck. She was staring our way. Annette quickly joined her.

  I waved. Neither of them waved back.

  I sighed and for a minute, feeling old and tired, wanted nothing more than to lie down, close my eyes, and shut out the world for a bit. Then I inhaled, and the air brimmed so with scents I had dreamed about long and hard, that I was revived. Will was with me. I could feel his silent strength.

  “It
’s interesting,” I remarked to my daughters when we came within earshot, “that summer so long ago, when I was grappling with my decision, I imagined having to tell my parents about Will. It struck me as being the hardest thing in the world, but I was wrong. This is.”

  “What about Daddy?” Annette cried. “I’d think the hardest thing would have been telling him. He was your husband.”

  I was set back by the force of her accusation, but only for a minute. Indeed, I hadn’t been expecting a tea party. “Yes, he was. But my feelings for him were different from my feelings for my parents or my children.”

  “I’d have thought they would have been stronger,” she argued, sounding confused. “He was the father of your children.”

  “Not back then,” I reminded her gently. She was, of course, thinking of Jean-Paul, whom she adored. In eighteen years of marriage, she had never once, I wagered, entertained a single unfaithful thought. She was wondering how I could have been so weak and unprincipled and unloving as to have not only entertained the thought, but acted on it. “Back then we were two people who married for reasons that had nothing to do with love or romance. We were struggling with our marriage. That was what brought us here in the first place.”

  Their faces registered surprise. Clearly, their sources hadn’t known of the struggle. No one had, except Nick and me. And, of course, Will.

  “What was wrong with your marriage?” Annette asked.

  “It was weak.”

  “Didn’t you love Daddy?”

  I hesitated, but only for a minute. This was a time for truth, perhaps the last such one I would have. Without pride, I said, “No, I didn’t love him when I married him. That wasn’t a prerequisite in my day.”

  “What was?” Leah asked. She had separated herself a bit from me.

  “Name. Social standing. Money.”

  “That’s incredibly cold,” Caroline judged.

  “Yes,” I countered. “So were marriages that were arranged at birth, and mail-order marriages, and marriages of convenience, but those marriages weren’t always bad. Many of them worked quite well. Not everyone married for love. Sometimes love came after the fact.” Helpless to resist, I found myself looking around at the house, the deck, and the bordering flower beds. “This is delightful.” I side-stepped the girls, approached the French doors, and peered inside, then opened the screen, and entered.