Follow the Stars Home

by Luanne Rice

  “Since we’re in tourist mode,” Dianne said, “and since our ferry doesn’t leave till nine tonight, let’s make a pit stop at L.L. Bean.”

  “What’s that?” Amy asked.

  “What’s that?” Dianne and Lucinda asked at once.

  “Amy, every New Englander worth her salt has to get at least two things from L.L. Bean,” Dianne said. “Mud boots and moose pajamas.”

  When they got to Freeport, they found special parking for oversized vehicles. Other motor homes filled the area, and they couldn’t help noticing that none was larger or more elegant than theirs. They sent a postcard to Gwen and everyone at the library, thanking them for making the trip possible. Dianne sent one to Alan that she didn’t show the others. Then they shopped.

  Entering L.L. Bean, Amy seemed confused by all the canoes, snowshoes, and skis. Lucinda explained how it used to be, a good old-fashioned outfitter that hit the big time. They found the pajamas with grinning moose imprinted all over heavy green flannel. Lucinda bought some for everyone, along with slipper-socks. Dianne treated everyone to long underwear for chilly Canadian nights, pocketknives, and packets of freeze-dried beef.

  “Survival gear is very important,” she said, “on a trip like ours.”

  “Did you bring the bird book?” Lucinda asked.

  “Forgot it,” Dianne said, and they let Amy choose a field guide to buy.

  “You guys think of everything,” Amy said, her eyes sparkling, pushing Julia through the store on their way to the checkout.

  By six-thirty they were in line to board the Scotia Prince. The ferry had limited high space, so they wanted to leave plenty of time. They had to present their tickets and proof of U.S. citizenship before boarding. Only Lucinda had a passport. Dianne, Julia, and Amy had their birth certificates, and as Dianne got the documents together to hand to the official, she felt a pang: so busy with Julia, she had never even traveled abroad. She had never bothered to get a passport. She had kept herself from so many things.

  “What’s wrong, honey?” Lucinda asked, noticing the stricken look in Dianne’s eyes.

  “Nothing, Mom,” Dianne said, taking her mother’s hand. “I was just thinking how wonderful this is. All of us taking this trip.”

  “I’m so grateful,” Lucinda said. “That you wanted to do it for me.”

  “I thought I did,” Dianne said, gazing at the sunset over Portland harbor, the brick waterfront rosy and warm. “I thought it was for you and Julia, and maybe Amy. But I’m realizing it’s for me. It’s your retirement, and I’ve wanted Julia to see a little of the world….”

  “But you’re seeing it too,” Lucinda said, speaking because she could see that Dianne was too moved. “You’re seeing the world right along with her.”

  Dianne nodded, smiling at her mother. The girls played in back, trying to get Orion to notice a poodle in the trailer beside them.

  “It’s one of the best parts about having a daughter,” Lucinda said, reaching for Dianne’s hand. “They take you places you never would have gone on your own.”

  “Thanks, Mom,” Dianne said, hugging Lucinda with all her might. She kept thinking of what Alan had said, that he would be there when she got back. For eleven years she had kept herself from loving any man, but as she traveled north, she felt that changing. Dianne’s heart was opening.

  They were taking a night voyage! It was mysterious and divine. Amy was actually on a ship, the Scotia Prince. It was a fifteen-hundred-passenger vessel, half ferry and half cruise ship. It had a casino and a floor show, movies and bingo. They had a private stateroom! The animals had their own kennel. If this wasn’t living, Amy didn’t know what was.

  “Is this like the Queen Elizabeth?” she asked Dianne.

  “Maybe a little smaller,” Dianne replied.

  They were standing at the rail, watching the town of Portland recede. The sea felt smooth, the air was cool. Amy waved at people standing on the dock. She wished she had a hanky, to make it look right. The only thing wrong was, her mother and Dr. McIntosh weren’t there.

  They had dinner in the restaurant, heard a lady sing songs from Broadway plays. Then it was time for bed. Down in the cabin, they had four bunks, two on top of the others. Dianne wanted to be down below with Julia, so Amy and Lucinda got the upper ones. They all wore their moose pajamas.

  “Good night,” they said to each other.

  “Sweet dreams.”

  “Sleep well,” Lucinda said, reaching across the narrow space to touch Amy’s fingers. Down below, Dianne was singing a lullaby to Julia, and Julia was breathing as if she had never been so comfortable in her life. The ship felt like a big cradle, rocking them all to sleep as it took them to Canada.

  Amy felt so close to her father. She had never been at sea before, and she imagined that this was the life he had loved. The waves tapped the hull, ringing through the ship like church bells. She felt the boat rise and fall; it moved with her breath and every beat of her heart. Her father lived in the sea now, his bones and his boat, but his spirit lived forever in Amy herself.

  “’Night, Dad,” she whispered, holding herself tight.

  Driving off the ferry, they entered Canada. The sky in Yarmouth, Nova Scotia, was bright blue, filled with fair-weather clouds. The dock bustled, and the town was waking up. They had come through the Bay of Fundy, where the tide differential was the greatest in the world, but the most amazing thing was, they had seen a whale and several dolphins.

  “Did you see them?” Amy asked. “I mean, was that a dream come true, or what?”

  “Such graceful creatures,” Lucinda said.

  “Your first whale, Julia,” Dianne said, thrilled. Julia had actually turned her head when the whale surfaced, its glossy back appearing like a tabletop in the water, spraying like a fountain as it breathed and sounded.

  “Gleee,” Julia said.

  “And dolphins, Julia,” Amy said, hugging her with joy. “We’ll have to write to Dr. McIntosh right away. Or even call him!”

  “Alan would know what kind they were,” Lucinda said.

  “Which way to Prince Edward Island?” Dianne asked, coming to a fork in the road. A right turn would take her toward Lunenburg, where Alan’s friend Malachy kept his boat. The thought occurred to her that they could stop by, visit the old man. He could certainly tell them plenty about marine mammals. On the other hand, her night with Alan felt pure and precious. Getting away from Hawthorne was good for many reasons, and she didn’t want to make a connection, way up here, that would take her back to bad McIntosh territory and remind her of Tim.

  “That way, darling,” Lucinda said, pointing as she read the road map. “Go left.”

  “It is so beautiful here!” Amy cried. “We’re in a foreign land.”

  “Left?” Dianne asked with a glance at the road for Lunenburg.

  “Leftward ho,” Lucinda said.

  “Okay, then,” Dianne said. And she swung the bulky vehicle onto Route One, the Evangeline Trail, which would lead them north toward the ferry from Pictou to Prince Edward Island, leaving Lunenburg and the McIntosh boys’ mentor far behind.

  Tim McIntosh didn’t have a license to lobster in Canada, and he didn’t care. He needed to hang up his work gloves for a while. Steaming east with the tide, he had pulled into Lunenburg nearly a week earlier. Malachy’s tugboat was nowhere to be seen.

  “I thought he lived here,” Tim had said to an old man hanging around the dock.

  “That’s the thing about living aboard a boat, young fella,” the old fisherman said. “Wherever your vessel is, that’s where you live. And Malachy’s vessel ain’t here.”

  “Got it,” Tim said.

  On the morning of the seventh day, when Tim had planned to head back to Maine, he woke up to find Malachy’s tugboat berthed across the harbor in its usual place.

  “Tim, boy!” Malachy said, slapping him on the back as Tim climbed aboard.

  “Where the hell have you been?” Tim asked.

  “Gulf of St. Lawren
ce,” Malachy said. “Wanted to see if the dolphins up there sing prettier’n they do down here.”

  “Christ, Malachy,” Tim said. “They don’t sing. They jabber. They get caught in tuna nets and make the tree huggers crazy. Everyone thinks dolphins are so goddamned romantic, and what they are is a big nuisance. Every fisherman with a rifle knows exactly where to aim….”

  “They do, as a matter of fact,” Malachy said, lighting his pipe.

  “They do what?”

  “They do sing prettier up north than they do here.”

  “They must be doing something interesting,” Tim grinned, “to keep you gone for so long. I was just fixing to pull out.”

  “Well, I’m glad that didn’t happen.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Your brother would’ve been mighty aggrieved,” Malachy said. “He’s been tryin’ to get word to you.”

  “Alan?” Tim asked, his heart thudding. “Alan’s looking for me?”

  “Well, as ‘lookin’ for′ you as he can do from all the way down in those Hawthorne tropics. He called here.” Puffing on his pipe, Malachy gazed out across the glassy harbor. The day was going to be a beauty. The sun had just risen over the land across the water, spreading clear, golden light over everything. “Good to be home, it is. Come down below, and let me fix you a cup of tea.”

  “Jesus Christ,” Tim said gruffly. “I’m American. I like black coffee.”

  “Black coffee then, son,” Malachy said, smiling around his pipe stem. “Whatever you want. You know all you got to do is ask.”

  “What’s he want?” Tim asked.

  “You know I don’t butt in,” Malachy said sternly. “If you want to know, you’re going to have to ask him yourself.”

  Tim nodded at the old Irishman, respectful and apologetic. Hearing about Alan’s call had put him in a belligerent state of mind. Here he was, a thousand miles away, in another country, and it all came back: his family, his past, his guilt. Days like this were bad. By nighttime Tim would be looking for trouble. Maybe a woman, maybe a fight, maybe both. Malachy stared at him with affectionate silence as if he could read his mind, as if he knew he had all day to talk him out of it.

  Prince Edward Island was everything Lucinda had dreamed it would be. A land of meadows and rivers, swept by the wind and coddled by the sea. There were beaches everywhere, some with red sand, others with sand so white and fine it looked like powdered pearls. It was like stepping into the pages of her favorite book, where nearly every scene had brought tears to her eyes.

  Dianne drove the motor home slowly, so Lucinda could savor every inch of the island. There was the Acadian parish of Tignish; the capital city of Charlottetown and the Gothic spires of St. Dunstan’s Basilica; the lazy land of Summerside, where they saw a pair of silver foxes; and finally, Blue Heron Drive, which took them along the red sandstone coastline into Anne of Green Gables territory.

  “‘Blue heron,’” Amy read from the bird book. “‘A large water bird that migrates to the maritime provinces every spring to nest in the shallow bays and marshes.’ Will we see any on this trip?”

  “We see them in the marsh at home,” Dianne said. “All the time. You know that big bird that stands in the shadows….”

  “With the knobby knees,” Amy said.

  “He’s a great gray heron,” Lucinda corrected her daughter.

  “Same thing,” Dianne said, steering up a long and scenic hill.

  “Is it the same thing, Amy?” Lucinda asked. “Is the blue heron the same thing as the gray heron?”

  “They’re different!” Amy said, waving the field guide. “The same species, but different birds!”

  “My mistake,” Dianne laughed, thrilled by the way Amy was starting to love learning. She and her mother exchanged a small smile. Julia dozed in her seat, her knees tucked into her belly.

  They visited Cavendish. Here Lucinda’s enthusiasm waned slightly. Anne of Green Gables seemed to have become a local industry. There were water slides and go-carts, an amusement park and a national park. Lucinda couldn’t wait to move on, make a connection with the young orphan Anne, who had brought her so much comfort in her youth, but Orion needed a walk.

  While Lucinda and the puppy went for a stroll, Dianne and the girls wandered toward the rides. They wore shorts and sleeveless shirts, and the summer sun felt just as warm as it did in Hawthorne. There was a merry-go-round and Ferris wheel, bumper cars and a flume.

  “Gleee,” Julia said, tilting her head back to look up.

  “What do you see?” Amy asked, crouching by her side.

  “Maybe a blue heron,” Dianne teased. “In flight.”

  “No,” Amy said, following the line of Julia’s sight. As Dianne tilted her head up to look, she saw the Ferris wheel. It rose high over the amusement park, shiny silver and colored metal gleaming in the sun. Moving slowly around, it looked like a giant pin-wheel, the kind Dianne had held up for Julia, to let the wind blow around and around, when she was very young.

  “She wants to go on it,” Amy said.

  “She can’t,” Dianne said.

  “Why?” Amy asked, her eyes glistening as she grabbed Dianne’s hand. “Let me take her.”

  “No,” Dianne said, feeling panic.

  “Kids love rides,” Amy said. “We do. You’ve brought her all this way, on her trip of a lifetime…. Can’t she go on the Ferris wheel?”

  Julia gazed up. Her eyes were full of joy and light. Carnival music jangled, and Dianne’s throat ached the way it did whenever she had a glimpse of Julia as a normal girl. What would be the harm? Children younger than Julia had ridden….

  “Okay,” Dianne said. “She can go.”

  “Yay!” Amy said, jumping up and down, pointing at the sky. “That’ll be us, Julia. Way up there!”

  Dianne paid for two tickets. Afraid the man would say something, look at Julia strangely, prevent her from going on the ride, she tensed up. But he just took her money, waved them away from the window, moved the line along. Dianne insisted on strapping the girls in herself. The attendant seemed not to mind.

  “These seats are safe?” Dianne asked, her heart pounding.

  “Yep,” he said.

  “Has there ever been a problem?”

  “Never lost a kid yet,” he joked.

  “Dianne …” Amy said, embarrassed.

  “Maaaa,” Julia said, touching Dianne’s nose, her hair.

  “Okay, next!” the attendant called as the Ferris wheel turned slowly, sweeping Amy and Julia out of her reach so the couple standing behind them in line could climb on. With every turn, Julia was inching away from her. Dianne stood on the ground, her head thrown back, wanting to get her baby back.

  “Honey, where are the girls?” Lucinda asked, coming over.

  “I’m crazy, Mom,” Dianne said. “I let them on the Ferris wheel.”

  Now Lucinda tilted her head back, shielding her eyes against the sun as she searched them out. Waving madly, she grinned. Julia and Amy were all the way at the top. They stayed there for a long while, as the last passengers were loaded on, and then the ride began to move.

  “Look at them,” Lucinda said, still waving.

  “I can’t,” Dianne said.

  “Wheeee!” Amy’s voice screamed above the music, above other people’s laughter. “We’re flying!”

  “Oh, Mom,” Dianne said. Panic closed in, and she felt it clutching at her chest. She had sent her baby, her little helpless Julia, into oblivion. Dianne had left her with babysitters, left her overnight at the hospital, but she had never felt so out of control before. What if Julia got scared? What if she slid under the bar and fell out?

  “Wheee!” Amy yelled again.

  “Whee! Whee!”

  “Oh, my God,” Lucinda said, holding Dianne’s free hand. “Do you hear that?”

  “Yes,” Dianne said, covering her face. “Amy’s excited.”

  “It’s Julia, honey,” Lucinda said. “That’s your daughter.”

  Dianne uncove
red her face. The Ferris wheel turned merrily, music tinkling through the summer air. The carriages were full, twirling around the spokes of the great wheel. Dianne located her daughter, fixed her in her gaze, saw her mouth wide open, grinning, calling out in sheer, joyful abandon.

  “Wheeeee!” Julia called. “Wheee!”

  Dianne held her mother’s hand, watching her little girl have fun in the sky. When the ride stopped and Dianne rushed over, she heard Amy: “Wow. Oh, my God. Can we do it again?”

  “Maybe later,” Lucinda said, helping her off.

  Dianne half expected to find Julia in tears. Ready to wrap Julia in an embrace, she held herself back. Her daughter was smiling, head swaying from side to side in pure bliss.

  “Wheee,” Julia whispered, gazing into her mother’s eyes. Dianne found herself wishing Alan were there to see and hear her.

  Alan returned to his office from the hospital. One of his patients had been brought in with a cut head suffered at Jetty Beach, and the ER had called Alan. Chris Wright, a seven-year-old with two older sisters, had banged his head, playing with a boogie board. His sister Abigail had been in charge, as their parents were out sailing on their boat, and she had asked the ER to call Dr. McIntosh. He rushed right over.

  Now, back at work, he stared at the message on his desk, at first unable to make sense of the words: “Your brother Tim called.” It was followed by a wrong number.

  Alan buzzed Martha. She was on hold on another line, waiting to speak with Chris’s neurologist, but she answered right away.

  “Yes, Dr. McIntosh?” she asked.

  “This phone message from my brother,” he said.

  “Oh, yes. He called while you were at the hospital. He—”

  “You made a mistake with the number,” Alan said, interrupting her.

  “No, I didn’t,” she said.

  Martha was a great nurse, but secretarial skills were not her forte. He kept planning to hire a receptionist to take the burden off her. In the meantime, backed up with patients in his waiting room, he snapped at her.