by Karen Kelly
“That’s just one of the many questions I’ve been asking myself,” said Gwen. “I don’t know if Mother even knew. She just kept telling me to ‘marry well’ and ‘do unto others.’ Maybe Grandma kept the information from her too.”
“It seems to me that whoever left the things at Grey Gables didn’t want to permanently close the door to that heritage,” said Annie. “Since the door has been opened, Gwen, would you like to take your heirlooms home? The zippered tote I had kept them in is waterproofed so they should be safe from the rain.”
“I would appreciate seeing them again,” Gwen answered. “But would you mind keeping them here for a while? At least until things have calmed down some at home, and I’ve begun to figure out who I am.”
Annie stood. “I’d be happy to keep them for you. I’ll be right back.” She walked down the hall to the living room, where the zippered bag sat next to her crochet bag. Boots had reclaimed the couch now that the house was quiet again. Back in the kitchen Annie placed the bag on the empty chair on the other side of Gwen.
Gwen popped the last bite of scone into her mouth. “Annie, you must have used Betsy’s jelly recipe. Every bite reminds me of her.”
Annie smiled. “Yes, I did. Since this first batch appears to be a success, I’ll be making more. Now we just have to convince Alice to keep the scones coming.”
“I seem to remember the jelly being very tasty on toast too,” replied Alice, laughing. “But I don’t have any plans to stop baking any time soon.”
Gwen went to the sink to rinse the crumbs from her hands and thoroughly dry them. She unzipped the tote and took out the box. She held it in her hands for a moment. “So light,” she marveled, “yet it holds the voice of a family line I never knew existed.”
Annie remembered her emotions when she had thought the items might have had their origins in her own family and the sense of betrayal with which she had wrestled.
Gwen took off the lid and drew out the regalia collar, staring at it as though memorizing the exact position of each tiny bead. Just as Annie had done the day she had found it in the attic, she held it around her neck.
“It’s beautiful with your coloring,” Alice said.
“To think this touched my great-grandmothers neck, and maybe Grandmother’s too.” Gwen’s voice trailed off, and she sat silently looking at the only heirlooms she had of her family from Sipayik.
“Gwen, I have a printout of the Mitchell family line, Clara’s family,” said Annie. “It goes back to the American Revolution and indicates one of your family members was a captain. It might have fallen to the bottom of the tote.”
Gwen reached into the tote and pulled out the pages. Her eyes bright, she murmured, “Oh, Annie. This is overwhelming, but thank you!” She looked up to include Alice. “Thank you both for coming to find me on a night like tonight.”
“And don’t forget, we made you cocoa.” Alice smiled.
“What more can a woman ask of her friends?” said Gwen. She glanced at the clock on the stove. “I should be getting back to Wedgewood. I can’t imagine what John is thinking by now.”
Alice stood. “Your carriage awaits, m’lady.” She went to the mudroom to retrieve their coats. “They’re a little less soaking wet.”
Gwen went to Annie. Hugging her, she whispered. “You are a Holden, through and through. Don’t let anyone tell you that’s anything less than incredible.” She shrugged her coat over her shoulders and buttoned it high.
Annie escorted her two friends to the door and watched as they dashed to the Mustang. She whispered softly, “Lord, you knew what you were doing!”
20
Morning found the rain gone, a blanket of fog in its place. Annie stood at her bedroom window, peering out to determine its thickness. Boots was stretched out on the bed, as if still recuperating from the previous evening’s excitement.
“Definitely not the pea-soup variety of fog,” Annie informed the cat. “I can still see some of the roses a little down the hill. Todd would probably call it light fog.” She wanted to visit Cecil but decided to wait until afternoon, keeping an eye on the fog. There was more work to be done in the library and more crochet than she could shake a hook at. There was plenty to fill the morning. After spending so many hours in the car the day before, Annie looked forward to doing something more active, so when she had finished breakfast she headed for the library.
Eyeballing Grandpa’s journals, she estimated she would need to buy six more storage boxes from Malone’s. A thick book stuck out at an awkward angle from the shelf above the journals. Annie reached out to realign it. Another cookbook. The title on the spine read Bountiful Harvest Cookbook. “Hey, this might have the perfect recipes for Thanksgiving,” Annie murmured. She pulled the book from the shelf to move it to the baker’s rack in the kitchen where the other cookbooks were stored. Flipping through the book, she checked out some of the recipes. The book flopped open at one point, where a small envelope was wedged between two pages. Thinking it was another fan letter for Gram, Annie withdrew the note from the envelope and read:
December 10, 1941
Dear Betsy,
Please keep these safe. Wedding soon and Grandfather kicked out of House.
E.S.
“E.S.!” Annie gasped. “Could it be?” She put the book on the baker’s rack shelf with the other cookbooks and read the short note again.
“1941. That’s before Gram had even met Grandpa. Gram was only … nineteen.” She remembered Alice calling Gram “a safe place.” Evidently, she had been one from her youth. Annie put the note in a pocket of her jeans and hoped she could find a way to get it to Gwen without John knowing. He needed some time to decompress after his visit.
Annie made herself return to the library. What she really wanted to do was to take every book from every shelf, shake them, and read every single thing that fluttered to the floor.
“Stay focused!” she chided herself. “You’re supposed to be preparing for LeeAnn’s visit, not investigating.” At the end of two hours Annie looked at the results of her efforts, pleased. She hardly recognized the room compared to the state it had been in when she had first returned to Stony Point. The wood floor was lovely, now that she could see more of it.
After all the bending and reaching, Annie was ready to sit for a while. Retreating to the living room, Annie picked up the crochet she had dropped the night before when John had banged on the door. She worked to the sound of moisture dripping from the porch rails, a gentler sound than the night’s torrents. When she finished the second piece of the pillow, she carried both rounds to the kitchen to soak them in cool water. After shaping them, Annie left the pieces to dry on the counter.
On her way out of the kitchen, Annie took a jar of jelly from the shelf for Cecil. Over the course of the morning, the fog had lightened a little, and Annie was comfortable driving in it for the short ride down Grand Avenue. After she entered Ocean View Assisted Living through the main entrance, she hung her coat by the entry and headed first for the large common room. If Cecil couldn’t be out near the water, she thought he might be in the room with the giant window overlooking it. Annie paused at the edge of the room to scan the area for her friend.
Make it two friends. A grin broke out on her face as she heard Gwen’s voice call out, “Annie! Over here!” Cecil and Gwen sat together in one of the conversation nooks in front of the window. She hurried over, dropping into the cozy chair next to Cecil. Annie was happy to see that the hurt and confusion had left Gwen’s eyes.
“Have I missed all the fun?” she asked.
Cecil looked tired to her, but he smiled and said, “There’s plenty of time for more.”
“Cecil has been telling me some of the history of the Passamaquoddy people,” said Gwen. “He was just going to tell me some of the creation stories and Glooskap when I saw you.”
“Oh, good. I got here at the right time, then.” Annie leaned forward, propping her chin in her hand. “Which one first?”
“I
n honor of the birch-bark box that we now know belongs to Gwen, I thought I’d start with Glooskap and the Birch Tree.” Cecil looked at the two women who nodded their heads like children being asked if they’d like some ice cream.
“When Glooskap was naming the birch tree, it is said that he asked it to take care of our people. But one time he found a straight birch tree and wanted to make it into a canoe. When Glooskap cut the tree down, it almost killed him. The narrow escape angered him. He also had a very difficult time freeing himself from its branches, angering him even more. Enraged, Glooskap grabbed a stick and beat the birch as hard as he could from the tip to the roots. He ordered the gashes he had made to stay forever as eyes so that never again would anyone be killed—or almost killed by—a birch.”
“They do look like slitty eyes!” Annie laughed.
“Would that the eyes on my birch-bark box could tell me everything they have seen,” said Gwen. “I still know nothing about how it ended up at Grey Gables.”
“Oh!” Annie clapped a hand over her jeans pocket. “I found something in my library that might help shed a little more light—and probably spark more questions too, I’m afraid.” She pulled out the note and handed it to Gwen.
Gwen’s eyes widened as she read the short note. “Didn’t Charley and Betsy buy Grey Gables after they married? It didn’t belong to either of their families, right? This seems to indicate Grandmother left the box with her in 1941!”
“No, Grey Gables wasn’t in the family. Grandpa was originally from Connecticut. Gram’s family lived right in town. I think that’s where your grandmother must have originally taken the box. Do you have any idea what it means about her grandfather being kicked out of the house? And was the wedding hers or someone else’s? The Tribe registry said Evelyn was born in 1906, so she would have been 35.”
Gwen thought for a moment. “Grandmother married a second time after her first husband was killed while working at a lime quarry. Campbell was her second husband’s name. Grandpop Campbell wasn’t officially my grandfather, but he was the only one I knew. Mother’s father was Joseph Hobbs. Why would her grandfather be kicked out of the house?”
“The note is dated 1941? May I see it?” asked Cecil. Gwen handed him the note. Cecil nodded when he reached the last part of the sentence. “As I suspected. Did you notice how Evelyn capitalized the word ‘house’? I believe she was not referring to a family home but Maine’s House of Representatives. Tension had been building for years, arguments over the role and rights of the Passamaquoddy and Penobscot representatives. General anti-Indian feelings continued to grow until 1941 when the tribal representatives were kicked out of their seats.”
“How horrible,” said Gwen. “I remember Grandmother being very concerned with what people thought about her and the family.” A faint ironic smile came to her lips. “Occasionally she would chide me if she didn’t think I was dressed appropriately, which usually meant I had forgotten my gloves. If her grandfather had been kicked out of a government seat, it surely made the newspapers.” Gwen sighed. “Yes, I guess I can see how she might have thought she was making things easier for her children by hiding part of her heritage.”
“I’m grieved that she thought she needed to,” said Annie somberly. “From the research I did after I first found the box, I think many people of American Indian ancestry ended up doing the same thing because of economic or safety concerns.”
“It was difficult to be a Passamaquoddy in the 1940s,” said Cecil. “Even though many served in the American Armed Forces during both World Wars, there was much distrust. The living conditions were unhealthy and didn’t improve significantly until after 1980, and not without much struggle and sacrifice. As much as I loved my people at Sipayik, living there was very hard. Your grandmother had before her two painful paths from which to choose.”
“Yes, she did.” Gwen reached over and placed a hand over Cecil’s, which rested near his knee. “Thank you, Cecil. You’ve been so helpful.”
“Come whenever you want to learn more,” said Cecil. “You can’t be Passamaquoddy and only know one Glooskap story.”
Gwen laughed. “I will visit again after my next volunteer shift. Right now I need to go get dinner started. John has calmed down since last night, but I’m sure he would appreciate a return to home-cooked dinners, especially ones that aren’t burnt.”
“I’ll walk you to the door,” said Annie. “I brought something for Cecil, and I left it in my coat pocket.” The two women walked toward the entrance.
“Annie, I meant what I said about John. He’s doing much better, since I’m beginning to process everything. Just knowing my maternal ancestry includes another Revolutionary War veteran, in its own way, was helpful for us both. I’m thankful that you drove all the way to Sipayik to bring the information back on what turned out to be my family line. I’m also glad that you cleaned in your library this morning and found the letter. Between you and Cecil, I’m starting to understand why my grandmother would do what she did. Peace is returning—and it’s a deeper peace.”
“I think Harvest on the Harbor this year is going to be quite a celebration,” said Annie. “I can’t wait to see your knitting.” They reached the coat racks, and Annie pulled the jelly jar from the pocket of her coat.
“I was struggling with what to design, but I’m finding inspiration from Grandmother’s regalia collar. And that’s all I’m going to say.”
“It will be gorgeous. Expert handwork runs in your family.” Annie smiled.
“As it does in yours.” Gwen smiled back. “Bye, Annie.”
Annie walked back to the common room. Cecil’s eyes were closed, and he was breathing deeply. Not wanting to disturb him, Annie left the jelly with the resident concierge attendant to be delivered to Cecil when he awoke.
As Annie drove past the harbor she realized the fog was gone.
21
The next month whirled along for the residents of Stony Point in a flurry of activities. Fishermen brought the ocean’s bounty for cauldron-size pots of chowder. The ladies held a chowder cook-off to decide whose recipe would be used on the big day. Todd Butler and his crew strung the lobster shacks with orange and white lights. Fathers worked alongside their teenagers, demonstrating how to build sturdy booths. Doc Witham and Chessey Cushman sharpened their knives to expertly carve pumpkins. Gardeners nurtured pots of flowers until they exploded with autumn colors. The members of the Hook and Needle Club cross-stitched, knitted, quilted, and crocheted until their fingers were numb.
The day of Harvest on the Harbor arrived. Mary Beth had instructed the club members to bring their handcrafts an hour and a half before the festival’s opening to the booth manned by A Stitch In Time. She, of course, had come even earlier and had unpacked a variety of fabric remnants, boxes, and table stands for displaying every piece to catch the shopper’s eye and wallet. Peggy was the first to drop off her quilt before hurrying to help set up and serve at The Cup & Saucer booth.
“Gotta hurry, Mary Beth,” she said, thrusting a large bag into Mary Beth’s hands. Her fingernails were painted dark green with bright orange pumpkins in the middle of each nail. “I hope you can get a decent amount for it.”
Mary Beth drew the red and yellow quilt from the bag. “Peggy! Are you kidding me? I wish you’d had time to make five more. We could have sold all of them easily.”
“You’re a love, Mary Beth.” Relief rang in every syllable. “Take a break sometime and come by our booth, OK?”
Mary Beth leaned over the table and hollered after Peggy as she hurried to help her boss. “I am not a love, either! I’m a good businesswoman!” Then, she shook her head with a smile and got back to work, draping the quilt with that secret technique she had until the cattails on the quilt looked like they were gently swaying in a breeze.
Alice and Annie walked together to the harbor, Alice sipping the coffee Annie had brought to her door in a travel mug. “The coffee is so good, I can almost forgive you for calling me at such a disgusting hour
,” said Alice, stifling a yawn.
“Hey, Mary Beth set the time for us to bring our projects, and the committee set the start time for Harvest on the Harbor,” Annie reminded her. “I’m just an innocent bystander.”
“Hmph! Need to have a discussion with the mayor about this.”
“You can give it a try,” Annie said as they approached the docks. “But remember, Ian still keeps military hours. I’m not sure he’ll understand your pain.” She lifted the big bag she was carrying that bulged with pillows. “Personally, I’m glad we had to come early before the crowds. I’d be knocking people into the water with this.”
“Easy for you to say, Little Miss Sunrise.” Alice tilted her head back to retrieve the last precious drops of her coffee.
Annie nudged her friend’s arm. “There’s Mary Beth. Look at Peggy’s quilt! That’s not going to last long.”
Mary Beth saw them coming. “Ah! More merchandise. Let me see what you’ve got.”
“A pillow fight’s worth of pillows, that’s what I’ve got,” Annie said, laughing.
“Well, hand ’em over so I can get them arranged. The opening will be here before we know it.” Mary Beth walked around the booth to take the bulky bag from Annie. “Thank you both for volunteering to help today. I think it’s going to be our busiest year yet, and Kate will only be here part of the time. Vanessa’s volleyball team is sponsoring a booth, and all the parents have to take a time slot.” Mary Beth pulled out a pillow and then another, holding them out to get a good look. “Annie, these are wonderful. The colors are neutral enough to fit almost every decor and the sea-urchin shape and the stripes give it both a whimsical and sophisticated feel. That’s not easy to do, you know.”
“The hardest part was getting them stuffed and sewn together right!” Annie laughed. “But I really enjoyed using the Tunisian technique again.”