by Day Leclaire
It amazed her how each slip of paper, each separate memory Maudie Hannigan had recorded and saved in her "memory drawer," connected her adopted great aunt's life with someone else's in Willow, like a huge patchwork quilt. Lives touching lives, touching lives.
How did you thank someone for a memory? She tucked a long strand of chestnut-brown hair behind her ear and considered. That had been her great aunt's first request when she realized her death was imminent. To use the notes she'd saved over the years to thank all the special people who'd been part and parcel of her life. And Callie would do it, too, one way or another. She selected a note at random, her lips curving in a bittersweet smile. At least, she'd do it if she could decipher Maudie's handwriting.
A shadow fell across the paper and Callie looked up, shading her eyes against the bright afternoon sunshine. It didn't surprise her to see her best friend, Valerie. Where others might hesitate to approach at such a time, the cheerful brunette didn't think twice about it. "Don't tell me," Callie guessed. "I'm late, right?"
"Just a little," Valerie agreed gently, bouncing her gurgling six-month-old son on her hip. "It's hardly worth mentioning, though." She smiled at the baby, running a loving hand over his coal-black hair. "Hardly worth mentioning at all, is it Danny?"
Well aware of her friend's talent for understatement, Callie couldn't prevent a wry note from entering her voice. "I'm almost afraid to ask, but how much is hardly worth mentioning? My watch broke months ago."
Valerie joined her on the blanket and released the squirming baby, who crawled over to Callie. "There's no rush. It's only twenty past three. People understand. And besides, everyone's enjoying the sunshine."
Callie glanced down at all the notes left to be sorted. Danny made a grab for the bright scraps and she caught his hand. "I'm already late, so a few more minutes won't make much difference, I guess. I should have organized this last night, but I ended up—"
"Helping poor Mrs. Banks with her sick husband instead of taking care of yourself. Yes, I know."
Callie sighed, wishing she didn't feel so helpless, a sensation both uncomfortable and uncommon.
Valerie touched her arm. "Are you all right?" she asked compassionately.
"Sure," Callie said, then shook her head. "No. I guess I'm not." Tears blurred her eyes, and the tightness in her throat made her words soft and husky. "I miss her, Valerie. I miss her so much."
"We all do, honey." Valerie gestured toward the huge crowd gathered in the field. "Every last one of them feels the same way. But they're here for you, as much as they are for Maudie."
Callie lowered her head, struggling to control her emotions. She knew Valerie was right. The people of Willow would give her all the support she needed. It was one of the things that made the town so special. It was something in which she'd taken amazed delight when, nine years ago, her mother, Helene, had married Maudie's nephew, Jonathan Lord.
At fifteen, Callie had been fascinated by all of it. The town of Willow. Maudie. Maudie's huge old house, Willow's End. She'd also been impressed to learn the house had been in the Hannigans' possession for generations. Maudie and Willow's End were the first stable, dependable things Callie had ever known in her life. For a while she'd thought she'd discovered heaven, reveling in both country living and the friendliness of the townspeople.
Unfortunately the marriage between Jonathan and Helene was doomed to failure. Unlike Callie, Helene hated the slower pace her life had taken and found the familiarity of the neighbors intrusive. Bored with both Willow and her most recent husband, Helene filed for divorce after nine short months, anxious to move on to a larger city and another husband.
When Helene told her daughter they were leaving, Callie, for the first time in sixteen years, balked at the idea of yet another move, particularly one which would take her away from Maudie and Willow's End. Thanks to Maudie's insistence and Helene's less than motherly attitude, Callie had remained behind, never once regretting her decision.
She looked around at those who'd come to mean so much to her. The warmth and generosity of spirit she'd found in Willow tied her irrevocably to this place, and if she were very lucky, she'd never, ever have to leave it. But to address so many people, to say a final goodbye to Maudie... How could she go through with it?
"Don't fuss over some fancy eulogy," Valerie urged, as if sensing Callie's inner conflict. "It'll only make things that much more difficult." She plucked Danny off the perch he'd found on Callie's leg. "And you know full well no one's going to mind if you don't have your speech all polished and perfected."
That won a grin from Callie. "I'm relieved to hear it, because I don't have a speech at all." She indicated the pile in her lap. "Just Maudie's notes."
Valerie chuckled. "That's even better. You can read us Maudie's words of wisdom and we'll have a laugh together. She'd have wanted that." She tilted her head to one side, sympathy reflected in her dark, vibrant eyes. "All right?"
Callie nodded. "Yes, I think so."
She scooped up the notes and stood, shaking out the red skirt of her sundress. Looking around at the waiting crowd, she walked to the small podium set in the middle of the field, fighting back the emotions threatening to choke off her words before they were even spoken.
She piled the papers into a heap on the lectern and gazed out at Maudie's friends and neighbors, all of whom had come to pay their final respects to one of Willow's most beloved citizens. They sat on blankets and lawn chairs, or lay sprawled in the long cool grass. Cheerful beach umbrellas were scattered across the meadow like so many giant jewel-toned butterflies, shading people from the hot June sunshine. And every last person had abided by Maudie's request and wore bright colored clothing.
Callie cleared her throat, forcing herself to ignore both her nervousness and her sorrow. She couldn't indulge in such feelings right now, not when Maudie needed her.
"Thank you all for coming," she began in a clear, even voice. "I know Maudie would have been honored by such a tremendous turnout. Celebrating her life here in one of her favorite spots..." She gestured to indicate the surrounding park. "Well, it seems only fitting. It also gives me the opportunity to reminisce about the special times many of you shared with her."
A faint murmur of voices drifted across her, and like the comfort of a loving parent, a benevolent warmth reached out to encompass Callie. She shut her eyes for a moment, welcoming the serenity settling over her. Valerie was right. These people were here to support her while honoring Maudie. Perhaps fulfilling the first request wouldn't be so difficult, after all. If only the other two proved equally simple.
Callie shuffled the notes together and extracted one at random. She read Maudie's comment and almost laughed aloud. "Jesse Jacobs." She scanned the crowd, spotting the tanned farmer's bright silver hair. "Seems we have you to thank for increasing our household by one member. And our most infamous member at that."
Jesse shook his head in mock dismay. "I gave Maudie that pup to thank her for nursing my wife through pneumonia four winters ago."
"Thanks or punishment?" a voice called out.
Callie laughed along with the others. "Good question, Nelson. And I might believe you meant it if you hadn't stitched Brutus up after his run-in with our sliding door."
"Obviously done before our fine vet got to know what kind of dog Maudie had been given," Mayor Fishbecker pronounced from his seat in front of the podium.
"If Brutus heard you call him a dog," Nelson retorted, "it would take more than a few stitches to save your hide."
"Which makes me eternally grateful he's not here. Had to lock him up, did you, Callie?" The mayor's question elicited knowing chuckles.
She nodded, unable to hide her amusement, though it warred with her feelings of guilt at excluding Brutus from such an important occasion. But, again, she'd been following Maudie's instructions. Which meant Brutus stayed incarcerated in the house.
"At least we have a place to call home," Callie stated, pulling another note from the pile. "If you had
n't delayed the foreclosure, Mayor, Willow's End would have been auctioned off to developers."
The heavyset mayor mopped his brow, his face ruddy from a combination of sun and embarrassment. "It was those darned property taxes Maudie kept forgetting to pay. Besides, what else could I do? She made the best danged fudge in the county."
Callie nodded, her voice wobbling ever so slightly. "She did, didn't she?" From the instantaneous response around her, it seemed every person there had sampled—and delighted in—Maudie's fudge.
It gave Callie an incredible sense of community spirit, realizing how well these people knew and loved Maudie Hannigan. Callie caught her lip between her teeth. Despite everyone's support, the hurt remained. Each piece of paper she read drove the pain a bit deeper. If only her mother had come. Or Julian.
She surveyed the crowd for the third time that afternoon, searching for his distinctive height and features. For nine whole months he'd been her stepbrother. Then their relationship had been torn apart by their parents' divorce. Eventually, they'd built a new relationship, a friendship, even if it had become strained by events over the past year.
Bewilderment mingled with apprehension when she failed to spot him. He must have received her text—now that she'd sent it to the right number. He wouldn't stay away because of past disagreements. Would he?
He'll come, she tried to reassure herself. You know he'll come—if only because of Maudie.
"Hey, Callie," six-year-old Simon piped up. "Am I in there?"
In response, she made a production of checking through her notes. "You sure are. Something about a trout caught with a rope, a safety pin, and a cricket?"
Simon grinned proudly. "My very first fish and your aunt Maudie cooked it up for our lunch."
"I remember," Callie said. "She claimed it was the finest trout she'd ever tasted." She pulled out another slip of paper, not giving herself time to think or dwell on her loss.
"Speaking of trout, it seems we have the Burns brothers, as well as Simon, to thank for keeping our fish population under control. Some of Maudie's fondest memories were of sneaking out to join your midnight fishing parties." She looked at the three lanky redheads in question. Catching sight of their identical expressions of horror, she clapped a hand to her mouth. "Oops. Let me guess. It was supposed to be a secret."
"You got that right," the oldest one muttered. "Sure isn't one no more. Not with Pop standing right here."
"And now that he knows your little secret, consider yourself grounded, my boy," their father said.
Callie snatched up another piece of paper. "Josiah Hankum," she read hastily. Her brows drew together in confusion. "I don't quite understand what she's written here. Perhaps it was before I came to Willow. She says, 'Thanks for the apples.'"
The roar of laughter became deafening. Everyone turned to look at the elderly man, who drew himself up, glaring from beneath thick white brows.
"I'm sorry. I must have made a mistake," Callie said, attempting to remedy the situation. But it only made matters worse. If anything, the laughter grew louder.
Once it faded enough for him to speak, Josiah informed her with dignity, "No mistake, my dear." A humorous gleam lit his eyes. "I'm glad to hear she liked my apples. That rapscallion, Julian, took enough of them home."
"Julian?" Callie couldn't conceal her interest.
"That young scamp was the only person to ever best me at my own game. Which is saying something. He was quite a planner, even then. But if Maudie didn't see fit to tell you about it, then it's a story you'll have to get from Julian himself." With that, Josiah sat again, his back as straight as an oak tree.
This story she'd have to hear, assuming she could get it out of Julian. Assuming Julian ever decided to show up. Where was he?
Here.
The word echoed so clearly in her mind, he might have spoken it aloud. She caught a sudden movement out of the corner of her eye, and then she saw him. Somehow she knew he'd been standing beneath the huge gnarled crabapple tree all along, motionless, his black suit blending in with the scabby dark wood of the trunk. Just as she knew his eyes, behind the dark sunglasses, were focused on her.
Julian was here.
Callie couldn't help herself. She grinned. The despair gripping her since Maudie's death slipped away. It didn't matter how she and Julian last parted. It didn't matter he'd probably never forgiven her for the part she'd played in ruining his engagement to Gail. It didn't even matter that he'd worn black. He'd come.
The next hour slid by while Callie wended her way through the pile of Maudie's notes. Some brought shrieks of laughter, others moments of thoughtful silence, and still others brought tears. Through it all, no one stirred. They all stayed to the very end, and when she'd read the last bit of paper, they sat motionless for a long moment. Then, one by one, picnic baskets popped open and conversation started again, gaining in volume until the atmosphere became cheerful, just as Maudie had requested.
It took a while for Callie to get through the crowd of people who wanted to speak to her, to share stories or special memories of Maudie. Patiently she dealt with them all, until the last person drifted away and she could approach Julian.
How should she greet him? What should she say, especially considering they hadn't spoken in a year? Not that their lack of communication could be laid at Julian's door. He must have found it a wee bit difficult communicating with someone who disappeared every time he came for a visit. She'd felt so guilty for causing his breakup with Gail, she'd found avoidance a convenient solution.
The initial joy she'd experienced faded, replaced by an odd vulnerability. She searched his face, seeking a clue to his inner thoughts, wondering whether he still blamed her for that final incident with his fiancée. But if he retained any of his former anger, he gave no sign.
His features had grown sharper this past year, stronger. The twin lines slicing from his high chiseled cheekbones to his squared chin cut more deeply into his face. The smiling mouth she'd once thought so attractive now possessed a cool firmness.
Even the slight arch of the slashing brows above his dark glasses hinted at a man in control. From the precision of his haircut to the perfection of his somber suit, he appeared aloof and contained. Yet beneath the surface, Callie knew, lay a wealth of barely leashed power.
Callie struggled to hide her apprehension, wanting to draw comfort from his strength, the way she had for so many years. This man was no stranger. He was her once-upon-a-time brother. Her friend. He'd always been there when she needed him. She only had to approach him and things would be the way they'd always been. But she hesitated to do so.
Apparently Julian felt no such hesitation. Without a word he swept her into his arms, holding her tight against his broad chest, his hand cradling her head to his shoulder. For long moments she clung to him, relieved beyond measure to have a member of her family to turn to, someone who understood and shared her grief.
"Hello, green eyes." He pulled away to study her upturned face. "Are you all right?"
"Yes. Yes, I'm fine. Thanks." She forced herself to hold back the threatening tears, knowing if she broke down now, she'd never stop crying.
"Are you sure?" At her nod, he demanded, "Then explain to me what's going on around here. What is all this?"
She blinked in bewilderment and stepped free of his embrace. "Didn't you receive my text? It should have explained everything. It's a celebration for Maudie." She offered a tentative smile. "I'm so relieved you got here in time."
"I wouldn't have, if you hadn't started twenty-four minutes late. I went to the church. It was empty. In fact, the entire town is deserted."
Her smile came more naturally this time. "Well, of course it is, Julian. Everyone's here."
"So what are they doing here?" He pulled off his sunglasses and the full power of his dark brown eyes swept over her. "Why are you holding the funeral in the park and not at Maudie's church?"
"Because Maudie wanted it here. She wanted a celebration, not a funeral,"
Callie explained.
"A cele—" He broke off and took a deep breath, shaking his head. "Only you and Maudie could dream up having a..."
"Celebration," Callie supplied meekly. She'd been uncertain how Julian would react to Maudie's request. He didn't seem particularly angry. Though to be honest, he didn't seem pleased, either. Perhaps she should try to pacify him just in case. "Julian," she said, "this is what Maudie wanted. She left very specific instructions."
He raised a skeptical eyebrow. "In her will?"
Callie shook her head. "No. At least, I don't think it's in there. Although it's possible she added it without my—" At Julian's impatient movement, she hastened to give a more precise answer. "I don't know whether or not it's in the will. Maudie made the request after her heart attack, before... Before..." She lowered her head, her voice dropping to a whisper. "Before she died."
Julian took a deep, sharp breath and turned to gaze out across the park. Glancing up at him, Callie saw a series of emotions flicker across his face. She recognized pain and grief... And perhaps regret? So many times during her teen years she'd turned to this man for solace. Now, when he needed comfort, she had no idea how to give it to him.
"Julian?"
He ran a hand through his hair, shoving back the wind-ruffled strands. "I'm sorry, Callie. I didn't mean to bark at you. I found out about Maudie just this morning when I received your text. It drove me crazy, not knowing what happened and not being able to reach you. I called your cell but you didn't answer."
"Oh, dear," Callie murmured in distress. "I turned it off earlier today so I could get ready for the celebration. I tried calling after Maudie's heart attack, honestly I did. But you'd changed your number. It took me forever to track you down and let you know about Maudie."
"Forgot my company name again, didn't you, sweetheart?" he teased gently.