Isle of Hope

by Julie Lessman

  “Uh-oh, now you’ve done it,” Lacey said with a nudge of her elbow into Nicki’s side. She scuttled over to where Spence knelt on the floral seat cushion and hugged him from behind, sidestepping Sherlock Holmes, who snored loudly beneath the rungs of Spence’s spindle-back chair. “Hey, buddy, I promise I’ll buy you ice cream the very next time we’re out, okay?”

  “I guess …” His little voice was so draggy, Lacey could have sworn she saw a scowl on the Power Ranger’s face who stood guard over his village.

  “Which, young lady,” Mamaw said while she scrubbed at the sink, her obsession with cleanliness second to none, “will be very shortly.” She glanced at the clock before she sent Lacey an impish smile, drying her hands with a perfectly bleached-white dishtowel. “I need you to deliver pies.”

  Nicki froze, her finger stuck in the pie like Little Jack Horner. “Wait—you’re not giving them all away, are you?”

  The alarm in Nicki’s tone echoed in Lacey’s mind as well. Panic ping-ponged in her chest as she gaped at her grandmother. “You did bake one for us, right?”

  Mamaw’s chuckle sounded devious, an ideal match for the bit of dickens that usually gleamed in her eyes. Her face scrunched in thought as she counted on her fingers. “Now let’s see … five pies. Two for my card club luncheon, two for shut-ins, and one to give away …”

  The girls’ groans rose in perfect sync, causing Mamaw to giggle all the more as she plopped a cooked chicken on her cutting board. “I suggest you girls start praying right now that Lulu got a babysitter for her hooligan grandsons or I’m thinking one pie for card club may not be enough ...”

  “Mamaw, you are nothing but a scamp,” Lacey said with a pinch of her waist, stealing a piece of chopped chicken in the process. “Now I know where Nicki gets it.”

  Nicki tossed a sugar crumb in the air and chomped it before following Lacey over to Mamaw’s cutting board for chicken larceny. “You betcha, and it happens to be one of my finest qualities, right, Mamaw?”

  “Mmm …” Mamaw absently patted Nicki’s arm while her focus remained on Lacey, obviously more intent on issuing errands than tease. “If you say so, dear,” she said in her distracted grandmother tone, eyes on Lacey like a mother eagle scoping its prey. “I’ll need you to deliver a pie to Mrs. Hedgewood right away, Lacey, because her favorite soaps start soon, and she won’t answer the door or the phone once they do.”

  Lacey froze, mid-chew. “No, Mamaw, please—not Mrs. Hedgehog! She chewed on me for over an hour the last time you sent me over there, dressing me down for leaving both you and Isle of Hope high and dry.” She cast a frantic look at Nicki. “Can’t Nick do it this time?”

  “Ohhhhh, no you don’t,” Nicki said with a nervous glance at the gleaming white clock on the wall. “Matt and I have appointments across town with the tuxedo place and the florist, remember? And I’m already late.” Snatching a final piece of cooked chicken, she bussed both Mamaw’s and Lacey’s cheek before hefting a large, flat box with two of the pies. “I’ll be happy to carry these two pies out to your car though, Lace,” she said with a wink, tossing a smirk over her shoulder. “But let me know how Mrs. H’s surgery went, okay? Oh, and be sure to have her show you her scar.” Nicki scrunched her nose at the door. “It’s epic.”

  A guttural groan grated from Lacey’s throat, her desire for tender pieces of chicken suddenly as flat as Mrs. Hedgehog’s incision. “You really know how to make somebody pay through the nose for peach pie, Mamaw, you know that?”

  “Oh, you have no idea, sweet girl,” her grandmother said with a sympathetic pat of her cheek, before quickly returning to her chicken with a few more whacks. After the final chop, she tossed it into a huge bowl along with her chopped celery and onion, then bustled to the sink. She proceeded to wash and sanitize her hands with a gargantuan bottle of Purell, a close second in size to her ceramic iced tea dispenser.

  Expelling a weary sigh, Lacey sagged onto the cream leather cushion of a white-limed wooden stool, elbow slanted to prop her chin in hand. “So who are the other pies for?” she said in a glum tone that failed miserably at a half-hearted attempt to be perky.

  “Well, Davey invited Spence for dinner tonight, and when Tess heard I had a luncheon tomorrow, she offered to keep Spence overnight as well. So, naturally I have to send one with Spence too.”

  Lacey sighed. “Naturally.”

  “Is it time, Mamaw?” Spence glanced up, owl eyes blinking wide as Minecraft village pieces dropped from his fingers, plunking onto the table. Apparently his village now ranked as a garbage dump of plastic compared to Davey’s house.

  Mamaw’s gaze darted to the clock. “Yes, dear, so go get—” Spence was halfway up the stairs before his grandmother could even finish her sentence. She chuckled and shook her head while brewing a K-cup. “The poor thing has hounded me no less than four times an hour since lunch about when he could leave,” she said, dousing the coffee with cream. She set it—in a to-go mug, no less—before Lacey with a smile. “This is the highlight of his week, you know—an overnight with Davey, complete with basketball and fishing with Jack and Matt.”

  “Jack and Matt?” Lacey’s mouth crooked while the smell of macadamia nut taunted her senses. Breathing in an appreciative sniff, she took a slow sip, savoring the nutty flavor of her favorite coffee. “Sure one pie is enough?”

  Chuckling, Mamaw joined her at the bar with her own cup, apparently settling in for a break. “No, but it’ll have to do because the last pie is for a lonely shut-in who lives on the way to Davey’s house, so it should be a slam dunk, as Spence likes to say.”

  “Anybody I know?” Lacey asked. She took another drink.

  “No, or not well, anyway.” Mamaw blew on her coffee, eyes somber despite the bare curve of a smile. “Just a widower who’s pretty much alone in the world.” She paused, eyes closed while translucent hands held the cup to her mouth. “The poor man is such a grouch, I understand the children in the neighborhood call him Dr. Doom, if you can imagine that.”

  Hot coffee pooled in Lacey’s mouth. She gulped it down, eyes burning more than the liquid scalding her tongue. Dr. Doom? There was only one man who fit that description as far as Lacey knew. Her cup sank along with her jaw as she shook her head in slow motion. “Oh, no, Mamaw … you wouldn’t.”

  “Wouldn’t what, dear?” Her grandmother asked with an innocent lift of brows, the tender look in her eyes confirmation that Mamaw would, indeed, do anything to nudge her grandchildren along the path she believed they should take.

  Lacey pushed the to-go cup away, her tongue suddenly parched. “I have no problem dropping Spence off or even checking out Mrs. Hedgehog’s scar—”

  “Hedgewood,” Mamaw corrected.

  “Hedgewood, Hedgehog, whatever, but you cannot expect me to deliver anything to my father.” She hopped off the stool and went to the sink to pour a glass of water, gulping half of it before she clunked the glass down with attitude. She turned, butting against the sink with a tight fold of her arms. “Sorry, Mamaw, but I’m just not ready.”

  Her grandmother tilted her head, gaze far more tender than the set of her jaw. “And when might that be, dear?” she said, the intensity in her eyes searing straight through to Lacey’s soul. “When your heart turns back to stone?”

  “No, of course not.” Lacey upended the water, hands shaking when she set the empty glass back down. “I’ll do it, Mamaw, I promise, but at the right time.” Hands clenched on the counter in desperation, Lacey appealed to her grandmother in terms of faith. “Honestly, Mamaw, you better than anyone should understand the importance of God’s timing, the need to follow His leading instead of our own.”

  Mamaw’s eyes softened. “Of course, darling girl,” she said quietly. Her tender smile was gilded with patience. “As long as it’s Him doing the leading … and not fear.”

  “Laaaaacey … I’m readdddy ...” Spence ran into the kitchen, skidding to a stop with cheeks flush and eyes bright. He reminded Lacey of a pack mule with a st
uffed gym bag in one hand and ball glove in the other while a Power Ranger backpack bulged on his back.

  Mamaw held out her arm. “Spence sweetheart, why don’t you wait for Lacey on the front swing for just a few moments, but first come here and give Mamaw a smooch.”

  Gym bag and glove clunking to the floor, Spence flew into Mamaw’s arms, eyes pinched closed as he squeezed with all his might. “I love you, Mamaw, thanks for letting me go.”

  “You’re welcome, darling boy, but make sure you mind your manners,” she said with a tap of his nose, “and don’t stay up all night, you hear?”

  “Yes, ma’am. See you outside, Lace.” And with that he streaked out of the kitchen and down the hall, the slam of the front door deafening against the silence of the kitchen.

  Mamaw turned back to the sink to face Lacey, sympathy warming her eyes as she patted the stool beside her. “Come sit, Alycia Anne, just for a moment, sweetheart.”

  Feeling way younger than her twenty-six years, Lacey huffed out a noisy sigh and plodded over to sit on the stool next to Mamaw, shoulders in a slump. “I need more time, Mamaw,” she whispered, “I just know it.”

  Without a word, Mamaw slid the to-go cup toward her before skimming Lacey’s hair over her shoulder, gnarled fingers lingering to gently massage. “That may be, darling, but it’s been this old woman’s experience that when God changes our heart of stone to a heart of flesh, it’s a wee bit like laying a new foundation.” Issuing a delicate sigh, her grandmother shifted to face her on the stool. “Remember when your grandpa laid that foundation for my gardening shed at the side of the house? The one you and Nicki embedded your handprints in and hearts with the initials of the boys you liked? And on the entrance ramp, no less, for all the world to see?”

  Lacey nodded, a sliver of a smile forming at the memory of the summer Nicki came to stay with Mamaw when they were thirteen. Lacey had been so starry-eyed over Jack even then, when she was nothing more than his little sisters’ best friend. “J.O. loves L.C. forever,” she’d written, and oh! How Grandpa had chewed them both out for ruining his perfect concrete.

  Mamaw’s soft chuckle broke Lacey’s reverie. “I thought Grandpa was going to skin you two alive, he was so upset, bemoaning the fact that the concrete had set by the time he’d seen it.” She absently tipped her cup to her lips and for several moments, her gaze wandered faraway while melancholy stole over her features.

  Sensing her grandmother’s malaise, Lacey gently massaged her arm. “He refused to give us jawbreakers the rest of the summer, as I recall, and I don’t think he ever did forgive us.”

  “Oh, he forgave you all right,” she said quietly, the memory tugging a sad smile to her lips. “He told me later, when you girls weren’t around so much anymore, just how he cherished those finger scribblings—lasting reminders of two little girls we both loved so much.”

  Expelling a gentle sigh, she placed her cup back on the table and angled to regard Lacey with the same doting look she’d reserved for every skinned knee and heartbreak in their past. Then as now, the love in her eyes was better than any balm she’d always applied. “You know, darling, in the beginning of our faith, our hearts are a wee bit like that fresh concrete that you and Nicki so enjoyed. A clean slate that’s soft and pliable, ready for God to impress His will and His ways. His Word speaks of a covenant He’s made with us—‘I will put my laws in their hearts and write them on their minds’ so that they may ‘walk in My statutes and observe My ordinances.’” A fragile sigh drifted from Mamaw’s lips as she absently caressed the hand Lacey had laid on her arm. “Unfortunately, the longer we wait to heed His call, darling, the more we run the risk of our new heart calcifying just like that concrete. Seasoned yes, but with our will instead of His.” With a final pat of Lacey’s arm, she returned to her coffee, palming the cup with both hands as she took a sip. “And you can’t risk that, Lacey, because if we want the blessings of God in our lives, we have to make sure we have a clean heart.”

  Who may stand in His holy place? The one who has clean hands and a pure heart.

  Lacey’s eyelids shuttered closed with a silent groan, Mamaw’s words piercing her with the painful truth. And if there was anybody who knew about clean, it was Mamaw. In fact, Lacey was pretty sure she was a distant relative of Mr. Clean, neatly pinpointing the growing grime in Lacey’s attitude.

  When she’d first arrived in Isle of Hope, she’d been committed to making amends with her father, almost eager to get on with what she’d felt certain God had called her to do. But every day since, the initial excitement to do the right thing had somehow faded, especially after his cold reception at the hospital when Davey was hurt. With each passing day, she found herself a little further away from being ready to face a man who not only scared her half to death, but one who had made her feel worthless and rejected. Truth be told, she wanted nothing to do with Ben Carmichael, but that was no longer an option.

  If anyone turns a deaf ear to My instruction, even their prayers are detestable.

  A ragged sigh left her lips as she put a hand to her eyes. “All right, Mamaw, we’ll do this your way,” she whispered.

  “No, darling girl, not my way—His—the only way you will ever truly be happy.”

  Lacey nodded and slowly rose, reaching for her coffee before facing the door.

  Mamaw’s frail hand lighted on her arm, her tone gentle. “Now remember, darling—‘the Lord will take your hand and help you—Isaiah 41:13.”

  Lacey’s lip quirked. “Sure, easy for Isaiah to say—he doesn’t have to face both my father and Mrs. Hedgehog,” she muttered, bussing her grandmother’s cheek with a hasty kiss. “I hope you have a piece of pie cut and ready to go when I get home, Mamaw, because I’m going to need a little pampering after Daddy chews me up and spits me out.” She retrieved the final pie from the counter before plodding to the door with a limp wave, not even bothering to turn around. “Or maybe I’ll luck out and he won’t want the pie, then I can polish it off by myself at Wormsloe.”

  Mamaw’s chuckle followed her down the hall. “Oh, he’ll want it all right—the man’s addicted to my peach pie. How do you think I’d get him to open the door when I used to visit?”

  “I don’t know, a bullhorn and a stick of dynamite?” Lacey mumbled to herself, thinking she’d never met a more stubborn man than her father.

  She was grateful Spence chattered all the way to Davey’s—a completely rare occurrence, which only underscored just how excited the little guy was. He ended up being a godsend at Mrs. Hedgewood’s, saving Lacey a trip inside for a peek at her scar when he hung out the passenger window of her car, begging her to hurry. She’d no more pulled into Davey’s driveway before Spence was flying across the lawn to their front porch as quickly as he could with enough baggage for a month rather than just a day. “Bye, Lacey,” he shouted without so much as a glance back.

  Lacey sighed. “Okay, God, it’s You, me and the peach pie, I guess.” Easing her car out of the driveway, she pulled into her father’s drive, heart slowing along with the car as she put it into “Park.” She sat there and stared, stomach churning more than the deer weather vane spinning atop the three-dormer roof, a birthday gift from Mom since Daddy liked to hunt. Lacey’s mouth took a twist. Certainly appropriate since he’d look like a deer in headlights when he saw her on his stoop. Not unlike his daughter. Heaving a weighty sigh, Lacey got out of the car with a pie in hand, wishing Daddy would stay true to form and not even answer. Maybe he’s not home …

  With a slam of the car door, she turned toward the house and stopped, scanning her childhood home from the new serpentine rock walkway, up two stories to a brand new and very expensive gray slate roof. Other than the basic bones of the house, she almost didn’t recognize it anymore, its presence that of a stranger.

  Like the man who occupied it.

  Every single one of her mom’s flower berms in the yard had been replaced with lush grass except in front of the spindled wraparound porch, which was now flanked by me
ticulously manicured boxwoods instead of her mother’s beloved roses. The delicate pink dogwood that Daddy had given Mom for Mother’s Day was gone, replaced by a sturdy trimmed oak to offer a clean, shaded view of the house. Even the color of the siding was different—stark white instead of the pastel blue Mom had loved, black shutters instead of white, as if Daddy had hoped to erase any semblance of Mom’s feminine touch. Her eyes flicked to the far corner of the porch, now bereft of the offensive hammock that had ignited her father’s temper when he’d found Jack and her kissing in it the night before he left for seminary. The memory now tainted her tongue just like it had tainted her life back then. Nausea rolled in her stomach. The hammock had obviously been kicked to the curb, no doubt, along with the trash.

  Just like his daughter.

  She paused on the first step of the porch, eyelids shuttering closed when her conscience pricked, reminding her once again that it had been her decision to turn her father away after her mother’s funeral, not his. Fortifying with a massive draw of air, she slowly mounted the stairs to the porch, hands damp beneath the pie, which had long since cooled from the oven. Finger quivering, she pressed the doorbell like it was a detonator switch, back-stepping several feet when she heard the familiar bong-bong-bong of the doorbell, a sinister sound that had always reminded her of a horror movie. Seconds ticked by like eons, a surreal passage of time where her mind and body moved in slow motion. Only her sweat glands seemed to be working overtime, glazing her with a trickle of moisture between her breasts. She tried the doorbell again, but its ghostly sound was met only by silence, making the pounding of her pulse in her ears all the more deafening.

  “He’s not home, sweetheart,” a voice called from the street.

  Lacey spun around, almost dropping the pie. Her heart took off in a sprint as she blinked at Jack’s mother, who peeked around the hedge. “Oh, Mrs. O’Bryen, hello! My grandmother asked me to drop a pie off for my father, but I have one for you, too, that I planned to deliver next, when I came to say hello.”