True Blue (Hubbard's Point)

by Luanne Rice

  “Tad Franklin should come here,” Zeb said quietly, staring at the granite headstone. “We can introduce him to the spirit of Uncle Lote. Maybe he'd learn something about loving this part of the earth… not just owning it.”

  “I wish you could have talked him into selling.”

  “I tried, Rue,” Zeb said, holding her face between his hands.

  “He's too proud. He'll never be happy here, but he won't give us the satisfaction of selling it back.”

  “I tried and tried, told him I'd pay him twice what he paid. Anything. Even without the trees, I thought it would be worth it. If it made you happy…”

  “I know how to be happy,” she said.

  “How?”

  “Being with you…”

  “We'll have a house here,” Zeb said. “Maybe just outside the Point… what would you think if I built us a house by your office? There's so much land there. Walking around, trying to site the barn, I started thinking….”

  “It's not in the Point,” Rumer said.

  “No, but it's not very far away. We'd have our privacy—you know, your father's gonna watch my every move till I prove myself to him.”

  “Not to mention les Dames de la Roche.….”

  “Exactly, Larkin. See? This is going to work out perfectly. I give up my job at the lab, and I find work as a builder. The barn, our house… what do you think?”

  “I can't believe you want to give up your career,” Rumer said, holding his arms, looking into his eyes. “Why are you doing it?”

  “Because I want to be with you.”

  “But to throw away this amazing chance—are you sure?”

  Zeb pointed up at the sky. He slung his other arm around her shoulder, and she watched the way he squinted into the night, as if mapping out the routes he'd always dreamed of traveling, from one star to another.

  “They're not going anywhere,” he said. “The stars are up there to stay. There are ten satellite photo specialists all lined up to take my place in California. No problem filling my spot. What my bosses don't know is that I have even bigger plans for the East Coast.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “A nice new observatory somewhere between here and Providence, Rhode Island. You and I will have to scout the location. Mattie will have to be on call—because once I get the house finished, I'll be dragging you off on lots of day trips. I'm going to have a lab, and it's going to be within driving distance of here.”

  “Here… Hubbard's Point?”

  “Our place, Rumer. Wherever you are.”

  And then, holding her hands, Zeb knelt down on the ground, in the dirt by the Indian Grave. With the scent of the earth rising around them and all the stars blazing overhead, Zeb pulled her down.

  “I love you, Larkin,” he said as her knees sank into the damp earth.

  “Same here, Mayhew.”

  Rumer blinked, wondering why Zeb had chosen this place—with all the beautiful spots at Hubbard's Point—for them to come together. Twenty years ago, this was where they would have made love for the first time—why here? Why was it so important to them? Swatting the bugs away, she stared up at Uncle Lote's proud grave.

  It was right there, in front of her eyes, clear as the day. This man had loved the Point—the wildness, the location, the heritage—as much as Rumer, as much as Zeb. If the legend was true, he had served those whom he could have hated—for stealing this incredible, beautiful land. Zeb had said it himself: Uncle Lote had known about loving this place, not just owning it.

  “Thank you, Uncle Lote,” she said out loud, holding Zeb's hand as he pulled her up.

  “For what, Rumer?” he asked. “Why are you thanking him?”

  “Because he taught us all,” Rumer said. “All the Hubbard's Point kids who know about him…”

  “Taught us what?”

  “You know,” she said, kissing Zeb. “That we never really leave this place we love. No matter what happens, no matter where we go.”

  “Is that the part I missed twenty years ago?” Zeb asked.

  “Not at all,” she whispered. “You knew it then. And you're back, aren't you?”

  “And I watched you from up there, all this time…”

  The lighthouse beam slashed the sky, obliterating all stars. Rumer thought about her ancestor, the first Clarissa's mother, Elisabeth. She had missed that part too—sailing away with Captain Thorn. They had sunk, drowning within sight of the land that could have saved them.

  “The bulldozers come tomorrow,” Rumer said, choked up with the knowledge that the Franklins’ yard, the face of Hubbard's Point, would change forever, and there was nothing she and Zeb could do to save it.

  “I know.”

  “You tried so hard to keep them away….”

  “But it wasn't enough,” Zeb said, holding her tighter. “Come on,” he said, tugging her hand.

  “Back home?” she asked.

  “To the green house,” he said. “My house… one last time.”

  They ran, flying through the woods as if Uncle Lote himself were carrying them along. Sliding down the path, Zeb blocked her from falling. Across the hard silver sands of the main beach, their feet pounded steadily. Holding hands, they raced over the footbridge and up the narrow stairs that led to the right-of-way through Zeb's old yard.

  The green house stood there, naked on the hill. Where once it had nestled in pine and oak trees, now it stood bare, under the starry sky. Rumer's heart lurched once again—it probably would every time she saw the trees gone, for a long, long time.

  Zeb walked over to the flat rock before remembering that the ancient brass key was gone—the locks changed. Glancing down at the road, he and Rumer made sure none of the Franklins’ cars was parked there. The house was dark, with no lights burning inside.

  Standing beside the north side, Zeb grabbed hold of the chimney. It was crooked, with small steps—formed as the bricks cut in from a wide base to a straight, narrow column. Pulling himself up the first five feet to the lowest foothold, he glanced over his shoulder.

  “Can you make it?” he called to Rumer.

  “I'm an old hand at this, Mayhew,” she called back. “Do you have any idea at all how many mornings I used to climb up here to knock on your window when you overslept for our paper route?”

  “I know, Larkin,” he said. But even so, he held his hand back and let her grab on so he could pull her up.

  One brick at a time, they climbed the chimney. When they reached the roof's lowest level, Zeb stood aside to let Rumer go first. She scuttled along like a crab just below the dormer windows, keeping her footing as she scrambled up to the second tier. Grasping the top of the dormer, she swung herself onto the very peak.

  Zeb was right behind her. Sitting side by side, they caught their breath. A steady breeze was blowing off the water, keeping all mosquitoes away, down on the ground, over by the marsh and the Indian Grave. Rumer held Zeb's hand, thinking of all the promises they had kept tonight.

  She gazed through the open space where trees had been, staring with love at every single rock and boulder in the yard. The smell of freshly cut lumber was still strong. Pinesap scented the air, as sweet as honeysuckle nectar. We belong here, she thought. I'm the ground, he's the sky. I pull him to earth, and he flies me to the moon. No matter where we go, this is where we began.

  “This is my home,” Zeb called up to the stars.

  They twinkled overhead—white fire in the velvet black. Rumer recognized Orion, Ursa Major, Arcturus, and the Pleiades. The stars had cradled Zeb all these years, then sent him back to her. She sent them silent prayers of thanks, and then turned her attention back to the ground.

  “Your home,” Rumer said.

  “This house, this rooftop,” Zeb said, staring down at the yellow bulldozer, the crane with its wrecking ball, standing in the street below, “will be gone tomorrow.”

  “I can't believe it,” Rumer said. All the love she felt for Hubbard's Point came welling up, and it poured out of her as
Zeb took her in his arms. The chimney guarded one end of the roof, the unicorn weathervane the other. Tears sprang into her eyes as she thought about what they had and what they were about to lose.

  “It's give-and-take, Rue,” he whispered. “That's the truth of life…”

  “Why is it too much to ask to be able to keep the things that should last forever?” she asked. “Trees, rocks… this old, old house…”

  “We'll be together,” he said. “And we'll never forget. Let it all in, Larkin: Feel it now, so we never have to forget.”

  “Never forget,” Rumer said. Wiping her eyes on Zeb's sleeve, she glanced through the window next door and caught sight of her father asleep in his chair. His feet were up, a book balanced on his lap.

  She thought of Sixtus Larkin's teachers’ manual, and the words rang in her mind: Recognize that every child needs a sanctuary.

  This was Rumer's sanctuary Hubbard's Point, and these overgrown old yards. She had learned who she was here—a woman who loved animals enough to become a veterinarian. The Point had been her classroom, and these yards, as Mrs. Mayhew had said, her sanctuary.

  “Up there,” Zeb said, pointing overhead, “is the new constellation I was telling you about. I wish I could give it to you, Rumer.”

  “The girl on the winged horse,” she said, and as she stared up, she could see the horse galloping through the sky, the girl's arms around his neck, crouched low, just flying over the rocks, bushes, and rabbits. “Are they just beginning their night's adventure? Or ending it?”

  “Beginning it,” Zeb said, kissing her head.

  “What's it called?” Rumer asked. “The new constellation?”

  “Well, there's only one possible name. Since it's you and Blue flying home to me,” Zeb said, “I think it has to be True Blue. My true-blue friend, Rumer.”

  “You're mine, Zeb,” she said, flinging her arm around his neck. “No matter what happens,” she said. “Let's always love this place.”

  “That goes without saying.”

  “And each other.”

  “Forever, Rumer,” he said, pulling her close and kissing her hard. “Like always.”

  When they moved apart, they heard voices. Keeping still so they wouldn't be seen, they saw a cluster of people gathering down in the road. Voices murmured, and then there came the sound of matches being struck, lighters clicking into flame. One white candle was lit, then another and another.

  “What is it?” Zeb whispered.

  Rumer, in awe, couldn't speak.

  They watched Michael, holding a burning candle, run up the hill to Rumer's house. He ran in without knocking, and they watched him shake his grandfather awake. Rousing himself, Sixtus shook the sleep from his eyes and let Michael pull him out of his chair.

  “Where's Aunt Rumer?” they heard Michael ask as he led his grandfather down the hill.

  “Off somewhere with your father,” Sixtus said.

  More candles had been lit, and in their orange-gold flames, Rumer could see the faces of all les Dames de la Roche and their husbands, sons, and boyfriends: Annabelle, Marnie, Charlotte, Dana, Allie, Sam, Quinn, Michael, Sixtus, Hecate, and even reclusive old Mrs. Lightfoot. Someone must have called Mattie, because her old Volvo rattled down the road and she climbed out to join the gathering. Every candle burned brightly as they spread along Cresthill Road in a silent, mournful, yet somehow joyous ceremony.

  “What's going on?” Zeb whispered.

  “I think it's a candlelight vigil,” Rumer said. “For your house.”

  They had no candles, matches, or lighters, but in sorrow and celebration they joined hands and raised their arms toward the stars. When Winnie strode out in a pure white caftan—as bright and white as her upswept hair—and began to sing, everyone listened in silence.

  “What a summer to come back home,” Zeb said.

  “What a summer to welcome you back,” Rumer said.

  “Tomorrow this house will be gone forever,” he said, clasping her hand a little harder, “but you and I and Michael and Blue—”

  “Will still be here,” Rumer said.

  They kissed, bracing themselves so they wouldn't tumble off Zeb's steep roof. The women and men of the Point sang below, and Rumer knew they would stand there all night, till their candles burned out, till the wrecking ball began to swing.

  “I'm home,” Zeb bellowed out, his voice carrying across the sky, down to the people standing in the street that they loved so well.

  “Who's up there?” Annabelle called.

  “You know exactly who's up there,” Winnie scolded. “It's Rumer and Zeb. Who else could it be?”

  “That you two?” Sixtus called, his face glowing in the light of his candle.

  “It's us,” Rumer said, her voice carrying on the sea breeze.

  Quinn and Michael hooted once, and then Quinn let out what could only be called a ninja howl. Once the echoes finished reverberating against the granite ledges, the others’ singing resumed. Rumer Larkin, who still ruled the earth, and Zebulon Mayhew, who still owned the sky, joined in. Although they had no candles to hold, they reached their arms up until they could each grab hold of a star. And the starlight shone down, making the rocks and roof and even the terrible yellow bulldozer look beautiful, as if lit from heaven.

  The lighthouse continued to shine, guiding mariners home from the sea. It illuminated the sky, the sea, the marsh, the Indian Grave, and Foley's store. It passed over the osprey in his nest, the Clarissa at her dock, the Larkins’ old yard, and Blue's new pasture. Its transit illuminated the yards, throwing magical threads of gold over every tree. The light's beam shone upon the May-hews’ old green house, high on the hill, on its last night on this earth, and it shone across the expanse of the roof, upon two best friends in love.

  THE LETTER ARRIVED just past dawn the next day, delivered by messenger. Written on cream vellum stationery, it came with a sheaf of documents sealed and notarized. Although the messenger went first to the Larkins’ kitchen door, he found Rumer standing by the oak tree at the edge of Zeb's old yard.

  “What is this?” she asked.

  “Just sign for it,” the messenger had said. “The sender wants confirmation of receipt by seven A.M., and it's almost that now.”

  Rumer felt tired and frayed.

  The vigil had been long.

  Some neighbors had lasted the night, others had drifted home, falling into an uneasy sleep. Candles burned down or blew out. Michael and Quinn huddled together by the stone angel, wrapped in a blanket against the damp sea air. Rumer and Zeb came down from the roof at dawn, relinquishing the green house to its terrible fate.

  Signing the register, Rumer accepted the envelope.

  As she held it in her hand, feeling its weight, she noticed the workmen arriving next door. At seven o'clock, the precise moment that the wrecking ball was scheduled to start swinging, the crew started up their heavy machinery. Rumer smelled the exhaust and prepared to hear that first sickening smash.

  “What is that?” Zeb asked, looking at the envelope.

  “I don't know,” Rumer said, her attention on the green house. She hardly cared, but she knew she had to open it. Slitting the flap, she pulled out a single sheet of thick paper embossed with her sister's monogram.

  “It's from Elizabeth,” she said.

  “Read it out loud if you want,” Zeb said, putting his arm around her for support.

  “Darlings,” Rumer read.

  By now you will be exhausted and limp, after your sleepless night. Yes, I know you: You will have stayed awake till sunup, worrying about the little green house. I'm so sorry I couldn't have spared you that, but the wheels of real-estate transaction grind so slowly, even when it is I turning them.

  Yes, it is true: I have purchased the house. The green house and, I might add, the treeless property upon which it sits. Although the trees you climbed are gone forever, new ones can now be planted. And the rocks you love so dearly will never be blasted.

  Tad Franklin, althoug
h quite as loathsome as advertised, was really rather reasonable. Of course, he wants us to believe that money is no object, but, in fact, it is. Money is always an object to people determined to make you believe it isn't. So I offered him plenty of it, along with a promise to appear in one—one single— Tad's Bedding commercial.

  It was the ‘single’ that convinced him. Had I gone overboard, offering to do a whole series of them, he might have sensed my duplicity and balked. However, I used restraint—I'm not a Shakespearean actor for nothing, darlings—and thus prevailed.

  Sadly, for Franklin, my agent will soon be informing him that TV spots really are not my bailiwick, that I can't be permitted to follow through on my impetuous and genuine—if ill-advised—promise.

  Never mind. All will be well. Everyone is now happy. I offered Franklin the graceful way out of what would obviously be a hellish existence at Hubbard's Point. I offer the green house a chance to stand. I offer the bedrock a chance to remain, and I offer you—my dears, Rumer and Zeb—the dream you've always deserved.

  These legal-looking documents are just that.

  I've quit-claimed the house and property to the two of you. Consider it my early—or belated, depending on how you view it—wedding gift to you. Bedrock is bedrock.

  What can I say?

  With love always,

  Elizabeth

  Rumer squeezed her eyes tight. Then, as she opened them again, lifting her gaze from the paper to Zeb's face, as he looked back in disbelief, the bulldozer next door kicked into gear.

  Rumer nearly shouted—what if they hadn't gotten the word and destroyed the old house that Elizabeth had just saved? The charges might already be set, the dynamite ready to go off. But before she could say a word, the workmen put away their tools and began to walk down from the hill to the road.

  One by one, the trucks began to turn around.

  And finally, the big yellow bulldozer began to rumble down Cresthill Road. Holding the letter in her hand, Rumer threw her arms around Zeb's neck.