Sea Glass Summer (33 page)

‘Go ahead,' encouraged Evan, ‘it was the sort of conversation, with so much talk going back and forth, that some things are bound to get left out.'

‘That just how it was,' agreed Sarah.

‘This could make you think he wasn't real. Remember me telling you he said that bedroom used to be his? Well, if it seems more likely it was one of his brother's that
would
make it look like the whole thing was in my mind.'

‘Why do you think it may have been either of theirs?' Evan kept up his easy stride.

‘Because folded at the back of that copy of
Oliver Twist
were several sketches of ships – frigates, sloops and schooners, that sort of thing – or would they be called boats . . . I'm not really up on that sort of things. It's Brian who is. But it was the brothers, not Nat, who were the artists. They're the ones who did the scrimshaws that are in the historical museum. Brian and I saw them when we went to look for pictures of Nat. They were super great. I don't know how anyone could keep their hand that steady.'

‘He could have put the drawings in that book because he liked having them with him, because he was proud of their talents,' suggested Sarah.

Evan agreed.

‘That's what I thought at first. Until the morning after his second visit. The one when he told me he'd known I was going to meet you both and everything was going to work out. It was that same evening, you see. You'd given me those two business cards and I'd put them on top of the dresser before getting into bed. But when I got up the next day I put one in my shorts' pocket and remembered what you'd said about putting the other away for safe keeping. I decided to put it in the third drawer down as that was the only one that I could tuck the card under and be sure of not having to search around for it. But I couldn't get it open. It was stuck. As the top two were so stuffed with stuff something had to be wedged at the back. I got out the first and I'd been right. The problem was pairs of socks. I turned it over to shake everything onto the bed. And on the back of the drawer were more of those great drawings. It was the same with the next drawer – and all the way down.'

‘Evidence, inconclusive,' said Evan as they crossed into Wild Rose Way. ‘If two brothers were accomplished artists, why not the third? He became a doctor, not a whaler as they did. All we can tell from that is they were led, out of necessity or desire, to lives on the open seas, which enabled them to fulfil their outstanding gifts. If he was equally passionate about not boarding a vessel, he may have entered medicine because that's where his heart really was, or as a second choice. From your description of their father, I can't see him agreeing cheerfully to let any of his sons sit at home crayoning.'

‘Right!'

‘If,' Sarah was opening the front door, ‘he did have an artistic bent and kept it up as a hobby as an adult he might have left something signed around the place that could be compared by an expert, along with what you already have, with his brothers' works. But, as Miss Emily discarded photos because looking at them made her feel lonely, other mementoes may have gone the way of bonfire.'

That Oliver felt much better was obvious in his question upon their entering the foyer. ‘Did they have crayons in those days? I have the folded up drawings in my backpack. Want to look at them after lunch?'

‘Absolutely,' said Evan. ‘This minute, but better to wait so we've time to linger over them without interruption from pangs of hunger.'

‘I suppose,' she tilted her head to kiss him, ‘that's a hint I should get busy.'

‘I'm glad,' Oliver blew out a breath of relief, ‘that you've stopped thinking you have to wait for me to disappear to do that.'

‘Then just to make you happy.' Evan pulled her close for an encore.

‘Definite progress.' Oliver shifted breakfast dishes from the sink to the dishwasher. ‘It's more than fine with me if you lie on the sofa and lay your head on his lap this afternoon while we're finishing
Oliver Twist
.'

‘What a sport! No wonder we can't get enough of you.' Sarah un-entwined her hands from around Evan's neck and turned on the oven for the French fries and crab cakes. ‘Who wants to toss the salad?' She got out the French vinaigrette dressing she'd made up the previous evening. ‘And who wants to lay the table? There's lemonade and iced tea to drink. Or milk if you'd rather, Oliver. There's wine, Evan – red out and white in the refrigerator. If you'd like a glass I'll join you.' They agreed on the Chablis.

Twenty minutes later they were back around the table, each in his or her established seat. Sarah remembered with a wave of unhappiness that's how it had always been with her family. Her parents, along with Kristen and Tim, would be surprised by her upcoming news. Maybe a little concerned by the suddenness of it all; she'd only mentioned Evan in passing – as with Oliver, no point leaving them thinking she was jumping blindly into whirlpools. But, once she explained, they'd be happy about Evan and supportive of their relationship with Oliver. There would never be an issue of either of them picking at meals she produced. Evan might be thin, but apparently not from starving himself half to death. After the last of the crab cakes and a second helping of French fries had disappeared from his plate, he gave a smile that made her dream of further expanding her cooking repertoire – which had been extremely limited since her arrival in Maine.

‘That was delicious, but I don't think Oliver and I will leave you to slog it alone in the kitchen. We'll take our turns. He's likely to be of the most help at first; I've already gleaned he's a wizard at peeling potatoes and no mean hand at making tuna salad. But I have learned how to put a simple, tasty meal on the table – courtesy of
The I Hate to Cook Book
by Peg Bracken, given to me by Aunt Alice. It's her long-time mainstay, published back in the sixties, and – as she kindly informed me – idiot proof. My favorite of the recipes is Jetty Spaghetti. Time for Oliver to fetch down those drawings?'

‘Absolutely.'

They listened to the fleet scamper up the stairs.

‘You were the art major, Sarah. Your opinion will be the one that counts.'

‘All we can judge them on is the belief they were drawn by Nat, at around eleven years old – or younger. If they show talent that would indicate he shared at least to some degree his brothers' gifts, but we can't make that assumption. What would tend in his favor is if they really aren't all that good.'

Evan had just cleared the table when Oliver came through the doorway and laid the thin sheaf of paper into the middle of it. ‘Did you hear anything of what Sarah was just saying?'

‘No, my mind was full of what you'd both think of these.'

While Evan briefly filled him in, Sarah shifted the yellowing sheets toward her. There were three. The voices of the other two faded out. As Oliver had said, the subject was sailing vessels, of which she knew nowhere near enough to even guess at the pen and ink accuracy. But she did know enough about art to be impressed by the skill of the dexterous delicacy of the artist's hand. Amazing, given their miniature size, that they all possessed that sense of movement – the heave to the wind and the roil of the few threads of sea in the first two, and the serene glide in the halcyon calm of the third.

‘Incredible.' She finger-tipped them back to the center. ‘If done by the boy you saw on the window seat in your bedroom, Oliver, he was one talented kid.' Before the conversation could progress, her cell phone rang.

‘You go answer it,' said Evan, ‘I'll stay here and look these over with Oliver; I know enough about the key details to make a stab at their accuracy.'

‘Shouldn't be long.'

On hearing Harris's voice in her ear she was doubly certain of that. He didn't ask if this was a bad time, just continued on as if he'd been speaking to her three minutes ago, rather than a number of months. But when she heard why he hadn't gotten back to her after saying he need to talk to her again soon about what he'd curtailed from asking, she understood completely why doing so had faded fast into the background. The day after he'd rung her, his daughter had fallen off a swing at his in-law's home and fractured her skull. Naturally, he and Lisa had been panic-stricken until convinced she was going to fully recover. ‘It left us shaken up for weeks,' he finished.

‘Oh, Harris, what a dreadful scare for all three of you. How's she coming along?'

‘Fine, thank you. But it was all way too much for Lisa to have to go through. She'd just found out she was pregnant again. What more needs to be said?'

‘On my part, congratulations. And I mean that wholeheartedly.'

‘I can hear it in your voice.' A pause. ‘I get the feeling things must be going well with you.'

‘It was the right decision to move here.'

‘Good. The thought of you pining on bothered me.'

‘That's kind, but you shouldn't have. I think we both know we stuck it out too long.' She was eager to get back to the kitchen to hear what Evan had to say about the accuracy of the renditions.

‘We had our good times.'

‘And I'm grateful for those, but tell me what it is you've been wanting to ask me.'

‘Here goes! And don't go losing your cool. It's about that antique diamond and garnet ring my mother gave you. I'm sure she said she wanted you to keep it after the divorce, but Lisa and I wonder if, now the waters have calmed, you'd be willing to let us have it.'

‘That wasn't a gift from your mother.' Her ear was cued to Evan and Oliver's laughter. Something had amused them. Possibly Dusk landing in one of their laps. She had a habit of that and had just wandered into the kitchen. ‘It was my great-grandmother's.'

‘That can't be true. Lisa says it was obviously valuable, and we know your family members were never loaded. Get over the spite, Sarah. For us it's the sentimental value. We want it to give to Adele when she's older. The baby on the way is a boy.'

‘Lovely. But I'm busy, Harris. Check with your mother about the ring, and when you do please give her my love, I was always very fond of her. On second thought, I'll write to her myself.'

‘Oh, there's no need for that!' Sarah couldn't remember hearing Harris splutter before.

‘Isn't there? This seems to me to be the perfect time.' She hung up the phone. Threading its way throughout the phone call had been the thought that she would go to Portland and show the drawings to her friend, the one whose wedding had been the source of Sarah's coming to Maine. Anne taught high school art and should, therefore, have a pretty good idea of what a boy of, say, eleven, could produce.

Gwen stopped at the top of the stairs with Jumbo at her side at four thirty on that Saturday afternoon to listen to the joy of fragments of Bach, Mendelssohn and Liszt mingled into each other drifting up from the piano. Sonny could no longer play cohesively; but that he was continuing to play at all, after having stopped until the evening that Sarah had come into their lives, was cause for celebration. And Oliver's lessons with Gwen had been further encouragement. Sonny was increasingly at his most peaceful when that dear boy was with them, a happy reminder no doubt of the many young students he had taught over the years and cared for deeply regardless of their musical promise. But also because there was something so incredibly heartwarming about Oliver's blend of innocence and the maturity that enabled him to empathize beyond his years. Best of all, perhaps, was that he had a rollicking sense of humor that brought laugher back to a house that had lacked it for much too long. He was showing definite ability at the piano, coupled with enthusiasm. Good in itself as well as having the bonus of his being able to tell his aunt and uncle he needed, and wanted, to practice often. Legitimate. But it also provided frequent opportunity for his spending time with beloved Twyla.

What interested Gwen was that the Cullys had been prepared from the start to allow him to spend plenty of time with Sarah, either on her own or with Evan. Elizabeth had phoned to say that she and her husband had appreciated the garden club's generous offer of volunteering to landscape the grounds of the Cully Mansion, but weren't prepared for the upheaval this summer. What upheaval? The members wouldn't be digging and planting in the living room. The only indoor intrusion would be the occasional request to use the bathroom or a pitcher refilled with iced water. She'd gleaned from Oliver that the only people, other than Robin Polly, who'd gained more than one-time admittance inside the Cully Mansion were those two boys with the weird names whom he disliked so much. And that had sprung from their mother's convenient offer to drive Oliver in to school and back.

To Oliver's relief that relationship had dwindled away, suggesting that the Cullys had never been sociable, which somehow Gwen didn't believe. Or did they have some other reasons for being bound and determined to keep as many people as possible from getting an inside look at their lives? Twyla being foremost in mind, and now perhaps Sarah, whose invitations to accompany Oliver on some of his visits had not only been refused with one excuse or another, but unreciprocated. Ah, but it seemed they had just been outmaneuvered by Evan, on the basis of the location of the potluck being changed that morning to Bramble Cottage. Poor Sid Jennson had been up most of the night in the throes of one of those wretched stomach bugs. Libby hadn't thought it right to go ahead with hosting when she might also be coming down with it, so she'd called Sarah at eight to ask if she mind pitching in. The other members of the group had either already taken their turn or were on the calendar to do so. The potluck started at six, but Gwen had dressed early and had asked to come ahead of the others for a chat.

Such a shame for the Jennsons. Anyone who had suffered one of those hideous bouts knew how they make you pray for instant death. And they were one of the nicest couples; Sid had continued to be incredibly kind to Sonny, taking him out for drives and sometimes lunch. But there is that cliché of an ill wind. Evan had seized the straw along with the day and phoned the Cullys to issue an invitation now the switch had been made. They must have found it impossible on the spur of the moment to reasonably refuse. So right for Sarah! As she was for him! It had been clear from the first time of seeing them together that they were made for each other and that they had both fallen hard for Oliver.