Sarah's Legacy (13 page)

“Want a sandwich?” I asked him, hoping he'd stay a bit longer. He said that would be great, so I threw together some ham and cheese on sunflower flax bread, filled a couple of glasses with lemonade, and brought it all outside. We sat on the front step and ate.

“So, what's up with Stan?” David asked me as he drained the last of his lemonade. “I thought he was going out with your mom.”

“Not exactly,” I said slowly. “I think things were headed that way, but he hasn't been around for the last week.”

“Well, it's none of my business.” He shrugged, looking a bit embarrassed.

Then, unbelievably, I found myself telling him the whole story about the towel and pool and bathing cap and what I'd said. Even as I was talking, I knew it was a dumb thing to do. He'd
never
ask me out after hearing what I'd done, not even after I'd turned thirteen. The whole thing was weighing on me, though, and it was a relief to talk about it.

David didn't say anything for a minute after I'd finished, and I was kind of scared he might just get up and walk away in disgust. I knew that Stan was something
of a hero to him, so he must have thought I was the biggest jerk ever.

When he finally spoke, it wasn't at all what I'd expected.

“I think I can understand how you must have felt, you know, like everyone thought the wrong way about your mom and all.”

“I still messed up bad.”

“Yeah, you did. But my gram always says it's okay to make mistakes, so long as you try to make them right.”

I asked him how I was supposed to do that, but he said he couldn't help me there and I needed to figure that one out on my own.

It looked as though I was either going to have to admit the whole mess to Mom or learn to live with the guilt. Neither option appealed to me much.

When I went into the house after talking to David, I'd almost made my mind up to confess everything to Mom. I might have, too, except that when I got inside she was on the phone in the living room. As I got to the doorway, she beckoned me over with a big smile on her face.

“Someone would like to speak to you,” she said as she passed me the phone.

“Sarah? Is it really you, dear?” My grandmother's voice came through the line as soon as I'd said hello.

“Yes, it's me, Grammie.” I almost laughed at her question. Did she think Mom might have put some strange kid on the phone to trick her?

“Your mother tells me that you've made some friends at your new school,” Grammie said next.

“A few.”

“So, things are going all right there in your new home?”

“Mmm hmm. Pretty good.”

“Well, that's great, dear. But you know, your grandfather and I miss seeing you already.”

“I miss you too,” I said. A sudden lump came in my throat and I had to swallow hard.

“So, we were wondering…”

The big pause tipped me off that something good was coming. Grammie likes to tell things that way, with a dramatic pause and a big finish. I knew whatever she was going to say next would be a surprise for me.

“How would you like to spend the summer here, with us?”

“Wow! That would be awesome, Grammie,” I said, excited at the thought of seeing my grandparents and friends and just being back in Ontario.

“Well, your grandfather and I have talked it over and we've decided to fly you here for your summer vacation!”

“The whole thing?” Oddly, I suddenly didn't feel as happy at the thought as you might expect.

“Well, sure, if you want. Or as much of it as you'd like.”

“A month would be perfect,” I said after only a slight hesitation.

We agreed on that, then I talked to Grampie for a bit before saying goodbye.

“That was a surprise,” Mom said after I'd hung up.

“I
know
. And it will be my first time flying, too!”

“Well, that too, but I was surprised you didn't want to spend the whole summer there.”

It had shocked me a bit, too. Even though my first reaction was pure excitement, it had been chased almost immediately by other thoughts. Like, Jamie and Ashley and the way we'd become friends so easily and things that might be going on around here — stuff I didn't even know about yet but figured I'd want to. And, of course, there was Mom and her Hope Chest store, and all the animals, and the house, and even David.

I realized, with a bit of a start, that I was already starting to feel as though Miramichi was my home.

“I guess it's sinking in that this house is really ours and our lives are really going to be here,” I told Mom.

“And you don't mind as much as you thought you would?”

“I really don't mind at all.” Of course, it was easy to feel that way when so many of our circumstances had improved. But there was more to it than that, and it occurred to me that Aunt Sarah's diaries had given the place a special meaning to me.

We had a late dinner that night and talked for a long time about my upcoming visit with my grandparents.
After that, Mom got talking about the Hope Chest, and even though it was more exciting to her than it was to me it seemed to be cheering her up, so I was glad to hear all about her plans, even the boring ones like what colour the curtains would be.

She even brought up how handy it would be to have a car for some of the things she needed to arrange and buy and so on, but she kind of dropped that quick.

That gave me a twinge of guilt again, since Stan had told Mom he'd help her look for a car when she was ready to buy one. I wondered if she was thinking about that too, because she looked down for a few seconds when she mentioned it. Then she lifted her head right back up and smiled in the way you do when you're forcing yourself to look happy.

Even with those little reminders that Mom still felt bad, it was clear that she felt better than she had at first. Maybe Stan was just a passing fancy.

The more I thought about it, the more I convinced myself that it might be best just to let the whole thing go. What good would it do to tell Mom what I'd done? She'd just be mad at me, and it wouldn't change anything. He'd still be gone.

Anyway, how did I know that things would have gone anywhere with them? It wasn't like they were seeing each other for a long time — after all, they barely
knew each other. I persuaded myself that it was no big deal after all, that probably nothing would have come of it in any case.

By the time Plunk and Arthur the Fifth and I settled into bed for the night, I'd pretty much decided I wasn't going to think about it any more. I reached for Sarah's journal and was soon reading all about how often Mr. King came to call on her and how she was falling more and more in love with him. I'd read about a dozen entries when I came to one that pushed away my growing sleepiness.

June 16

I have never been angrier in my life! Father has forbidden me to see Mr. King again. Horrid rumours have sprung up regarding a business difficulty in Mr. King's past and as one might expect there are those who are ready to judge without first obtaining a reliable account of the matter. Sadly, father is such a one.

I can only be thankful that Mr. King, on hearing that this talk had arisen, called on me earlier this very day to set my mind at rest.

How my heart went out to him as he laid before me, in anguished detail, a full admission of his past folly. Indeed, his countenance was so distressed when he told me of the treachery
he had faced, causing near ruin to himself and others, that I scarce could keep from weeping over his misfortune.

“Sarah, my dearest,” he said, “a former partner betrayed both our friendship and the company we shared. While the financial losses were staggering, hardest of all to bear was the knowledge that an upright man had fallen so low. There were those who blamed me as much as him, though I myself had suffered losses greater than any other.”

Knowing that fallacious details of this matter have reached father and that he has chosen to believe the worst of my beloved Mr. King is more than I can stand. I tried to explain it all to Father but he would not listen to the truth
—
that Mr. King's only crime was in trusting a scoundrel.

I long to go to Mr. King, to speak full assurances of my trust and faith. I cannot bear to have him think that I too have come to believe the worst of him and yet I fear it is the only conclusion he can draw when he finds himself unwelcome at our door.

I shall not sleep tonight, so heavy is my heart.

I sat straight up in bed, feeling all the anger and indignation Sarah herself must have felt so many years ago. As questions ran through my mind, my eyes were drawn back to the journal.

June 18

These past two days have been torture but at last I was able to find a way to get a message to my Mr. King.

Burgess Fennel reluctantly agreed to arrange delivery of a letter I'd written and sealed. It was only by taking her into my confidence that I was able to persuade her when she and Eliza were here for afternoon tea.

I must hope earnestly that Burgess will honour her promise to me to keep the matter from Eliza. I fear Eliza would, at the very least, prevent the delivery, or, at worst, bring the matter to my father's attention. It is not that Eliza is a mean person, and I know she would not do it out of spite, but she may from a selfrighteous sense of duty.

I fear that I crossed the boundary of ladylike behaviour in my missive to Mr. King. And yet, how could I not? Surely he ought to know what is in my heart.

I blush now to think of my words to him, words declaring my allegiance to him as one would hardly dare speak to a fiancé. Of course, he has made no promise to me of his intentions, but I am nonetheless quite confident that his love for me is as strong and sure as is mine for him.

I felt I had no choice but to express myself frankly and this I did. I told him of the rumours that brought about his banishment from this home and of Father's willingness to believe the worst. Yet, I assured him in every possible way that my own faith
and trust in his integrity is unshaken. I told him that there is no man who is more worthy of these sentiments. And (I blush to confess) I told him my affection for him has not and could not be swayed by libellous gossip.

As I watched the Fennel carriage carry off the twins, together with my letter, I had a momentary pang of uncertainty. Perhaps Mr. King will find my words too forward, too presumptuous on our short acquaintance. And yet, how can I doubt his affection for me? His words have been only tender, his every action gentlemanlike and solicitous.

No, I am sure he means to make me his wife, and it is only proper that I declare myself to him in his time of adversity.

I closed the diary and held it against my heart, unable to stop the trembling it had caused inside me. Poor, poor Sarah! How could her father have stood in the way of her happiness? His own daughter!

And what had happened with her and Mr. King? Obviously they were in love — and it sure sounded like she was willing to marry him. How was it that she had ended up alone in another province?

Book two surely held the answers to those questions, but it would have to wait for another day. I couldn't focus to read any further that night no matter how much I wanted to know what happened next.

My last thought falling asleep that night was: poor Sarah! How horrible it must all have been for her.

By the time another week had gone by I was getting used to the routine of doing my share to take care of the animals and help out around the house but there were still a few jobs I didn't like. Cleaning the litter boxes was one and walking those four silly dogs was another.

Don't get me wrong, I've gotten to the point that I like the pets we inherited okay. It's just that when you're taking the dogs for a walk, half the time they all want to go in different directions and the other half they nearly drag you along the road like you're some kind of limp puppet.

Last week Mom had come up with the idea that if we brushed the cats and dogs every day, they wouldn't shed all over the house so much. It was a real challenge to keep up with the hair, I must admit. We swept the hardwood
floors and vacuumed all the carpeting every day, but even so, we just couldn't stay ahead of the problem. Well, brushing didn't make any difference either! It just added one more thing to our growing list of things to do.

Mom doesn't give up easily and she had another idea early this week. She decided we should restrict the cats and dogs to a couple of rooms downstairs.

“Then,” she said, all optimistic sounding, “there won't be any hair in the rest of the house and we'll just have to do those two rooms every day.”

It was an idea that sounded great and should have worked out perfectly except for the fact that it didn't work at all. We spent five exhausting days leading, prodding, or carrying our furry collection — the cats into the parlour and the dogs into the den. We nearly wore our voices out telling them to “Stay!” or firmly saying “No!” when they started to wander away. Of course, we put up every possible kind of barrier to keep them in, especially at first. Nothing worked. They clawed through cardboard, jumped over and around the different pieces of furniture we tried, and generally seemed to look on overcoming every obstacle as some kind of game. A game that
they
won.

After a few days of that Mom said maybe the right approach wasn't to
trap
them but to
train
them. Hah!

I don't know how Mom coped during the daytime when I was in school. I found it hard enough to keep
up with them from around four o'clock when I got home until bedtime, and that was when there were two of us keeping after them.