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Season of Angels (9781101612170)

Page 12

by Kinkade, Thomas; Spencer, Katherine


  “How sad,” Tess said.

  “It is,” Jonathan agreed. “Her writing is amazingly stoic and even poetic. Wait, I have a quote from the entry here somewhere. Listen to this . . .” He found the note on his pad, eager to share it. “She wrote, ‘My dearest John breathed his last in his own bed, under our roof. He passed from my arms into the arms of the angels, the Lord bless and preserve his soul.’”

  When he glanced over at Tess, her wide blue eyes were a little glassy. “That’s beautiful,” she said.

  He had the urge to reach over and touch her hand. But the opportunity passed as Tess leaned back and said, “I’m glad you’re finding the journal useful. I hope she’s written more about the quarantine.”

  “Even if she didn’t write a lot about it, I’m getting a good sense of the psychological state of the community. People were very frightened. I think it’s fair to say they were panicked. They all knew that other colonies had been nearly wiped out by other epidemics, and everything they tried to cure the fever, or slow its spread, was failing.

  “You know, the more I think about it, the more I realize that terrible as it must have been to be sick and quarantined on that tiny island in the middle of winter, it must have been even more dreadful to be one of the people in Cape Light who sent their loved ones away. I mean, to say good-bye like that to a sick husband or wife or child or parent, knowing full well that there is no cure for the disease, and you will never see them alive again. And that at least in part you are sending them away to save your own life . . . Wouldn’t a situation like that, especially in that time, almost compel you to believe in God’s mercy? They must have prayed day and night for their loved ones. They must have called on God and His angels and any other divine help they could think of. And it’s really not a stretch from that point for them to believe that angels answered their prayers, because facing the reality of the situation without the belief in some kind of salvation was just too horrific.”

  Tess sipped her coffee. She seemed to be mulling over his words.

  Jonathan waited for her to say something. “Well, what do you think?” he asked finally.

  “You’re saying the people who stayed in Cape Light came up with the idea of angels rescuing their loved ones because they couldn’t face the truth of what they had done?”

  “I’m not sure,” he said carefully. “But I can’t help wondering if maybe the legend isn’t the sort of story that people tell themselves to make the unacceptable acceptable.”

  “I guess it’s possible,” Tess said at last. “But I don’t know what kind of evidence you can find to support that idea. Besides, isn’t it a little early to be drawing conclusions?” Her voice was calm and reasonable, not criticizing him. Just asking the question.

  “Maybe I am jumping ahead a little,” he agreed. “I need to finish going through the Ames journal and find more firsthand sources before I fix on any theories, no matter how tempting they sound.” He smiled at her. “It’s good to have someone around who won’t let me cut any corners—or get carried away, thinking I have some brilliant solution.”

  “Don’t worry. I’m sure you’ll come up with a few more brilliant theories before you’re done.”

  She could tell by his expression he thought she was being sarcastic.

  “I actually meant that,” she added. “I think you’re smart and full of good ideas and seem to have a genuine empathy for this era. I think you may figure out something about the legend that no one else has.”

  Her compliment made him feel as if he had just won the Pulitzer Prize for this paper, and he hoped he wasn’t grinning too widely. “Well . . . thanks. That’s nice of you to say. I appreciate that, honestly.”

  “No problem. It’s the least I can do . . . after blowing your first brilliant theory out of the water.” She grinned and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.

  He had to laugh. That was true, but he hardly minded anymore.

  “Listen,” she said, “I know these older people in town who might be able to help you, Digger Hegman and his daughter Grace. They had ancestors who were founders, and I know they have a few letters from the first years of the settlement. Digger keeps saying he’s going to bring them over to the historical society, but he never gets around to it. I could introduce you, if you want to see the letters and maybe interview them.”

  Jonathan stared at her. “That would be great, Tess. Thank you.”

  “I’ll call them and ask if we can go over. Can you give me your e-mail or something?”

  “Oh, right. Good idea . . . Here’s my e-mail address and my cell number. Just in case.”

  Tess wrote down her e-mail and cell number, too, on the back of a table check. He took the slip of paper and carefully tucked it in his pocket. “Thanks,” he said, glad to finally exchange e-mail addresses and phone numbers with her. Why had that taken so long? He suddenly imagined calling her while he was working at the inn, asking her opinion on some idea or sharing some special bit of information, like the note from Sophia Ames about her husband. Their connection added a whole new dimension to this work, he realized. A very unexpected but good dimension.

  “I’ll call the Hegmans later and let you know what they say,” Tess told him. “They live just down the street, above the Bramble antiques shop. Grace runs the shop and Digger helps. Well, he tries to. He’s getting pretty old and forgetful now. But he still tells some amazing stories about the old days in town when he was a boy. I’ve been thinking of doing a video interview with him and some other seniors in town, as an independent study project.”

  “That sounds interesting,” Jonathan said, impressed.

  “You’ll have an interesting field trip if they let us visit,” she promised. “It is good to get out and mingle with the natives.”

  “Yes, it is.” He smiled at her, thinking of one native in particular.

  A bell above the diner door jingled and a family came in. They looked hungry and haggard. The two small children, a boy and a girl, hung on their mother’s coat as the father looked around for some help being seated.

  Tess took one last sip of her drink and quickly stood up. “Looks like my break is over. Time for the crayons and color-in place mats.”

  “I’d better go, too. I’ll call you later,” he promised, “to hear what the Hegmans say.” And just to hear your voice, he nearly added.

  She smiled quickly at him then walked toward the fidgeting family, grabbing a stack of menus on the way.

  Jonathan left a handful of bills on his check and a coffee mug on top of that. Once again, he had overtipped. She was going to think he was a millionaire in disguise or something. Which wasn’t that far from the truth, he reflected as he slipped on his jacket and grabbed his bag. If he had been willing to follow his father’s plan for his life—finish law school and join his dad’s firm—he would be enjoying a very affluent lifestyle by now. One he would never enjoy on an academic’s salary. But he was content with the choice he had made and the path he was following. These past few days, away from the campus and out on his own, immersed in this new research, he felt happier and more sure of that than ever.

  As he walked to his car, he wondered how much meeting Tess had to do with that. Probably more than he wanted to admit. He was glad he would see her again soon and talk to her even sooner than that.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Molly . . . are you all right?” Molly’s husband, Matt Harding, stared down at her, a mug of coffee in one hand and box of high-fiber cereal in the other. He put both on the table and took a chair, facing her.

  Molly shrugged. “I’m okay, just a little tired. Getting Betty on the bus was a day’s work. She couldn’t find her homework, didn’t like her lunch, and her ponytail was too tight.” Their youngest daughter, Betty, who was almost five now, was named for Molly’s partner, Betty Bowman, and like her namesake, was definitely her own
person. Molly only hoped that one day little Betty would acquire bigger Betty’s gifts of tact and diplomacy, neither of which ran in the Morgan clan.

  “She’s getting distracted by Christmas. She’s counting the days,” Matt said. “And you’re working too hard, as usual.” He frowned at her as he shook some cereal into his bowl.

  “It’s the holidays, honey. It always gets crazy this time of year. And having my right-hand woman out so much the last few weeks hasn’t helped.” Matt knew Molly meant Betty Bowman, who in addition to being Molly’s partner, was her best friend and mainstay.

  “I just worry about you. I don’t want you run-down and sick by the time the girls get home and we have our own Christmas. And your sister Laurie’s coming with her twins,” he reminded her.

  “I know, don’t worry. I’ll perk right up once the house fills up. I had an e-mail from Lauren this morning. She’s finishing up her classes this week. I can hardly wait to see them.”

  She and Matt had four children altogether, all girls: Lauren and Jill from her first marriage; Amanda from Matt’s first marriage; and Betty, whom they had brought into the world together.

  They had been married for over five years. Lauren and Amanda, best pals as well as stepsisters, were both in graduate school now. Lauren was at Columbia, studying art history, and Amanda was following her passion for music at Julliard. They shared an apartment in Brooklyn with two other students and traveled by subway in the city. Their lives were so very different from their quiet upbringing in Cape Light, but they loved their visits home and filled the house with energy and excitement.

  “Besides, Dr. Harding, you always say the same thing this time of year,” Molly pointed out. “And I can’t even remember the last time I came down with anything for Christmas . . . except when I was pregnant with Betty and kept running upstairs to puke my guts out. That doesn’t really count, does it?”

  “No, it doesn’t.” Matt gave her one of his looks then checked the newspaper headlines.

  He was trying not to smile but couldn’t help it. He always laughed at her jokes. Her sense of humor and blunt, uninhibited way of expressing herself—just the opposite of his style—had drawn them together and kept their relationship lively all these years.

  Her husband knew her very well and was an expert at reading her moods. Molly knew that she wasn’t just tired today. It was more than usual work pressures causing this blue mood and low energy.

  “There is something bothering me,” she confessed.

  “What is it? Can I help?” He put aside the newspaper and gave her his full attention.

  “I had a fight with Sam yesterday, at the shop. I was out seeing clients and he had cornered Dad there, to talk about this thing with Grandma and Uncle Kevin again.”

  “Your grandmother is still in town? You haven’t mentioned her. I thought she must have gone back to Vermont.”

  “She’s still around, up at the Inn at Angel Island. I just didn’t feel like I wanted to call her. I don’t know what she’s doing there, aside from hanging around, waiting for Sam to plead her case. From what I saw, it was more like my poor father was up on the witness stand, getting interrogated. Is that fair? He’s the one who was slighted in all this. I felt so bad for my dad. It was a complete ambush. By the time I came in, he looked like he was going to have a heart attack or something. I had to get him a chair.”

  “Sam ambushed and interrogated your father? That doesn’t sound like your brother at all,” Matt said.

  “I know, but that’s what happened. The minute I walked in I could see they had been arguing. Dad looked so upset. So I just blew up and started yelling at Sam and sort of . . . threw him out of the shop.”

  Matt sat back and blinked. “You threw Sam out of the shop? You love Sam. He’s your hero.”

  Molly winced. It was true . . . most of the time. Sam was her big brother and had always been there for her. Especially when her first marriage broke up and her ex-husband, Phil, disappeared and the girls were so young and totally dependent on her. Sam had always been there to fill in the gaps and was only a call away, twenty-four/seven. On nights when the girls were young and difficult, and the heat in their drafty little apartment was barely working, and Molly thought she had reached the end of her patience and strength, Sam would show up with a pizza and a movie, and suddenly everything was warm and cozy and fine again. She didn’t know how many times she had given thanks that she had lucked into Sam for a brother.

  “I know . . . I know . . . That’s why I feel so bad. But why does he have to be such a turncoat? I feel bad for my father, too, and I can’t hurt his feelings even more by siding with Grandma Addie. And I don’t see how Sam can do it, either.”

  Matt reached across the table and covered her hands with his. His simple touch was a comfort, a balm to her troubled heart. Her husband had large, strong hands, but they were gentle, too. The perfect touch for a doctor, she always thought.

  “I knew something was bothering you and it wasn’t just being overworked.”

  “Well, I guess this mess is just the icing on the petit fours now.”

  “I hate to see you torn in two like this, honey. But I don’t see how fighting with Sam is going to solve anything. It’s only going to make things worse.”

  She sighed. “Duh . . . Yeah, I know that now. I just wish Grandma had never come down here and stirred all this up. It was like poking a stick in a hornets’ nest. How is this ever going to get solved? Dad is just . . . Well, he doesn’t want to see Uncle Kevin. He doesn’t even want to talk to him on the phone. Sam did speak to Uncle Kevin. He told Dad that, too.”

  “That’s a big step. So far there were only Cape Light hornets buzzing around. Does your Uncle Kevin want to make amends?”

  Molly shrugged. “I don’t know.” She withdrew her hands from his. This wasn’t why she had confided in him. She didn’t want to talk about Uncle Kevin and what he wanted. She just wanted some sympathy, not the possibility of solutions. “I’m not sure it matters what Uncle Kevin wants. Or even Grandma. It’s really up to my father. It’s what he wants that counts, don’t you think?”

  Her husband looked stung by her sharp tone, and Molly felt instantly sorry. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to sound like that. It’s just that this whole subject makes me crazy.”

  “I can see that,” Matt said quietly. “But that isn’t helping any, either.”

  Good grief, now she was about to start arguing with Matt. Molly took a few deep breaths. She thought she had gotten a lot better at controlling her emotions, but this situation had pushed her backward, almost to square one.

  “Are you really sure your father doesn’t want to settle things?” he asked her.

  “I’m positive. You should have heard him after Sam left.”

  “Well, the talk with Sam must have been difficult and your father was probably just venting. But maybe now he’s had time to think about it more, and maybe his feelings are changing. He should have time to think on his own, without any pressure, Molly,” Matt concluded in a firm tone.

  Pressure from her, he meant. Pressure to dig in his heels, the way she always did. She did take after her father that way.

  “I’m not pressuring him, honestly.” She looked down at her coffee and thought about it. Was she? Just by being so stalwart and in his corner? “I’m . . . supporting him,” she concluded.

  Matt gave her a thoughtful look. “I understand. But try to just let him make up his own mind now. You and Sam need to stay out of it. And what are you doing fighting with your brother? You’re just repeating the same problem between Joe and Kevin. Is this some strange virus spreading through the family?” Matt smiled weakly at his own slim joke. “It seems ironic to me. Do you really want to do that?”

  “No, I don’t,” Molly said quickly. “I totally disagree with Sam on this, but I don’t want to stop talking to him over
it. That would be really stupid.”

  “Yes, it would be,” Matt agreed. “Somebody is going to have to take the first step and make up. I mean, between you and Sam. We’ll just have to see how it goes with Joe and Uncle Kevin.”

  Molly sighed. “Good advice,” she said, though she wasn’t sure at all if she could follow it. Every time she thought about this situation, she felt her emotions get out of control all over again.

  Matt rose and touched her shoulder. “Feel any better now?”

  “A little. Thanks for talking to me about it.”

  “Anytime, honey. I know it’s hard but let’s not let this spoil our Christmas, okay?”

  Molly understood what he was saying. With the two older girls grown and out of the house, they were able to bring their whole family together so rarely now. The holidays were a precious time for them.

  “I understand. Don’t worry, Matt. It won’t come to that.”

  Though deep in her heart Molly wondered if she could keep that promise . . . and was it even hers to give?

  After Matt left for his office, Molly set to work cleaning up the kitchen and doing some laundry. The large, newly built home had seemed the perfect size for a growing family when they moved in. Coming out of some hard times, she had thought the house a dream come true, with its huge, gracious rooms, gleaming hardwood floors, a super-deluxe kitchen, three full baths, and every possible extra. But now that the older girls were gone and Jillian was about to leave the nest next September, it was starting to feel like the house was way too big and empty. It was a lot to take care of day to day, along with running her business. But once the girls came home and her sister Laurie arrived with her twins, all the rooms and then some would be filled.

  They were going to decorate this weekend and set up the tree with just the lights. Amanda and Lauren insisted that they couldn’t miss out on the family tradition of hanging the rest of the trimmings.

 

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