Songs without Words (38 page)

“Well, her parents do have a college fund for her. It would come with her, I’m pretty sure.”

“No, that’s not what I meant. I meant it’s generous in terms of sharing your life.”

“I suppose,” Harper said. “What about you? How do you feel about it?”

“Uh, I don’t know,” Chelsea said. “If you want to do it, that’s great. I think it’s cool that you feel this strongly about her future. Unexpected, but cool.”

Harper didn’t ask again because she didn’t know how to say what she was really trying to ask. She was reminded that Chelsea had been anxious to see Sarah leave after only a month. She wanted to know if she and Chelsea could have a life together if they opened their home to a college student, this particular college student. To ask such a question, though, meant asking so many other questions by implication. She would have to talk about the future and she didn’t know how to do that. Sarah wouldn’t start college for another year. Perhaps Chelsea didn’t see this as her issue. Perhaps she didn’t see herself in Harper’s life a year from now.

“Love you,” Chelsea said as they prepared to hang up.

“Love you too,” Harper said, a wave of sadness washing over her. “Talk to you tomorrow.”

Chapter 32

JULY 30

After lunch, Neil and family piled into their car. Sarah stuck her head out the back window, saying her goodbyes. She had promised Harper to work hard on grades and extracurricular activities and to apply to Berkeley and a couple of state colleges and even Morrison, if her parents thought they could afford it. Neil and Kathy had been skeptical of the plan at first, but after they discussed it for a while and Harper had made certain concessions regarding rules, they had agreed that it might be the only way Sarah would ever get her degree. Sarah herself had gotten quite excited about the idea overnight. Harper had too, thinking about teaching Sarah how to play the piano and sharing her favorite books with her. Harper didn’t know if it would actually happen, but she hoped it would. The more she considered the plan, the more she wanted to be the one to guide Sarah through college. She had so much potential, but she was unfocused and needed nurturing. Harper thought she could do that, that Sarah would continue to listen to her and learn from her. After they were gone, the house became hushed, even more so than before Neil and Kathy’s arrival. Harper’s parents appeared to be worn out. Both of them lapsed into partial hibernation, her father reading a magazine, her mother watching television and hemming a skirt. Harper decided to make dinner and give her mother a break and was surprised that her mother so easily surrendered the task. “Thank you, dear,” she said without protest.

After dinner, Harper did the dishes, struggling with one stubborn pot that wouldn’t come clean. She searched the kitchen drawers and cupboards for a scouring pad but couldn’t find anything useful. Looking for her mother, she went to the family room where Danny lay on the sofa, dressed only in cutoff jeans, his eyes on the television.

“What are you watching?” Harper asked.

“Reruns of
Golden Girls
. They’re having a marathon. This is the one where the girls are mistaken for prostitutes and hauled off to jail. Hilarious.”

“Are you sure you’re not gay?”

“I was planning on it, but there’s only one allowed per family, and since you’re older, you’ve got dibs.” He grinned. “Wanna watch?”

“Maybe later. I’m not done in the kitchen.”

“Oh. I guess I should have offered to help you tonight, huh?”

“No, no, dear brother.” She patted his head. “Tomorrow is your turn, and I wouldn’t dream of interfering then.”

He frowned. “By the way, Sis, excellent meal. We don’t get California cuisine here often.”

“Yankee pot roast?” She slapped at him playfully.“That’s what Mom had thawed out. Tomorrow I’m going to the store. Mom and Dad should be eating more fish and green vegetables. I don’t know why they don’t have a vegetable garden here anymore. Where’s Mom anyway?”

“I think she’s in the rumpus room.” Danny launched himself to the arm of the couch, facing her. “If it’s my turn to cook tomorrow, we’re going to have an old-fashioned clambake on the beach. I’ll bring the guitar and you can serenade us.” “Peachy-keen, bro,” she said. “Let’s get up early and dig those clams. Man, I dig those clams, man.” Harper, dancing in place, took her brother’s hand as he pushed off the couch. He twirled her, both of them singing, “Man, I dig those clams, man, I dig those clams, man.”

“It’s been great having you here, sis,” he said, letting go of her hand. “Even when I can keep Mom and Dad awake past eight o’clock, they still aren’t very lively. Although they will consent to an occasional bout of Scrabble.”

Harper kissed Danny’s cheek. “I love you too, my beamish boy.”

She danced out of the room, singing, “Man, I dig those clams, man.”

Opening the door to the rumpus room, Harper saw her mother seated at a long table on the other side of the exercise bicycle. Alice looked up as Harper entered the room. She wore a pair of glasses with a magnifying lens attached to the left side. Her hair was held captive by four mismatched clips, keeping it securely out of her face. In her hand was a thin paintbrush. A porcelain thimble stood on a small platform connected to a movable metal arm. Alice removed her glasses and looked up inquiringly.

“Sorry to bother you, Mom,” Harper said, approaching. “I was looking for a scouring pad for one of the pots. Do we have any?”

“Yes. I think there are some in the right-hand drawer on the back porch. Check there, dear.”

“Thanks. Do you mind if I look at your collection?”

“No, of course not. Most of these are new. Next month we’ll be selling them at the bazaar.”

On a shelf near the window were scattered a dozen thimbles. Harper approached the shelf with curiosity. She had seen these before or their predecessors anyway. “Keep working,” she instructed her mother. “I’ll leave you alone in just a minute.”

Alice put her glasses back on while Harper examined the tiny paintings. She saw that many of them contained elaborate scenes. Some were Biblical, some scenes from nature, some floral patterns. One was an intricate seascape, so carefully detailed that Harper recognized a sea star and conch in the sand of the beach.

Harper held a thimble with an intricate design of several shades of green on white. After peering at the design for a moment, she determined that it was an ivy vine, originating from one side at the base and branching out over the top and all sides of the thimble. On the side where the branches were small and thickest, a pair of brown eyes peered from behind them, perfect brown eyes with flecks of gold, partially hidden by branches.
How intriguing,
Harper thought.

These little bits of paint and glass were magnificent, she decided. She turned, filled with enthusiasm, to tell her mother. Alice sat concentrating on the fine touches of the paintbrush, her movements so slow and so minute that she seemed almost motionless. Her mouth was shut tightly, her left hand pressed against the table to moor her body against the destructive twitch.

Harper watched with wonder. Not until the brush lifted from the thimble to be daubed onto the palette did she dare to speak.

“Mother,” she said, breathless, “these are so beautiful. It must be very difficult.”

Alice put down her brush and removed her glasses. “It is. It takes a long time to do one. If I was younger, it would be easier. I can’t see as well as I used to, and my hand isn’t as steady as it should be. I move very slowly.”

“They’re masterpieces. Each one is a masterpiece.”

“Oh, Harper, for heaven’s sake, don’t be so melodramatic.”

“But it’s true. Oh, Mom, can I please have one?”

“Well, sure. Take whichever one you want.”

“Could you pick one out for me? It would be more special that way.” “I suppose so.” Alice got up and approached the shelf. After a moment of scrutiny, she picked up a thimble and handed it over. “How about this one?”

Harper examined it. There was a girl dressed in blue, standing in air, playing a lyre of gold with silver strings. The music emanating from it took the form of an undulating river of silver and gold that circled the thimble several times. At the end of the river, on the top of the thimble, was a perfect blue sphere outlined in the gold and silver of the river. “I call this one Harmony,” Alice explained. “Do you like it?”

Harper threw her arms around her mother and said, “I love it.”

Alice returned to her chair and resumed her work. Harper peered at her thimble, absorbing its details. This was not a simple hobby, she thought. Her mother was an artist after all! How could she have dismissed her mother’s art? Sitting with her brush in hand, these glorious scenes in her head, she let the life force that was in her come out in a tiny stream of paint on porcelain. The creative spark burned within her and flourished.

Harper, struck with an idea, ran from the room. Danny still lounged on the sofa, now eating little cheese-flavored fish.

“Danny,” she said, startling him. One of the fish fell on the floor. “Where’s your video camera?”

“In my room,” he answered, tossing a fish into the air and catching it in his mouth. “On the dresser. Why?”

“Can I borrow it?”

“I guess so.”

She found the camera and returned to the rumpus room where her mother greeted her with slight irritation.

“Mom,” she explained, “I want to shoot you working. And then I’d like to interview you about your art. It’s a thing I do. Biographical videos of women artists.”

“I’m not somebody like that, Harper. Nobody’s heard of me. They’re just thimbles.”

“Please, Mom, I really want to do this.”

After a few minutes of arguing, Harper prevailed. She filmed her mother busy at her work, filmed her selfconscious discussion about how she got interested in thimble painting, how many she had done, what happened to them, where the ideas came from and, once Alice got involved in the interview and relaxed, a couple of anecdotes about particular thimbles. Harper managed to keep her talking for a good half hour, which wasn’t easy because it was obvious that Alice hadn’t ever discussed this with anyone before and didn’t have much insight into the why or the how of her art. She was accustomed to just saying “Thank you so much” when someone praised an individual thimble and that was it.

The next day, after digging clams, Harper went into town and coaxed Father Thomas and two church women into being interviewed, videotaping their praises of Alice’s thimble art.

“Alice’s thimbles are legendary around here,” Father Thomas said. “And we always sell out.”

All three of the interviewees had purchased one of the thimbles themselves, which they displayed for the camera, each one an incredibly vibrant testimonial to the creative force. Harper burned all of these interviews onto a CD to take home with her. Already she was hearing music in her head that would accompany the footage.

This wouldn’t be for her documentary series, obviously. It was for herself. She had discovered something new about her mother. This discovery made her think that she might not know her mother as well as she had thought. The fact that Alice Caitlin Harper Sheridan didn’t talk much about her dreams and flights of fancy didn’t mean that she didn’t have any. For some reason, she had always accepted her mother at face value only. She did that a lot, she realized. She had always had a problem seeing below the surface of people and situations or, rather, imagining below the surface. She didn’t much question things, just accepted them. This characteristic had led her down many interesting paths, some productive, some not. Perhaps it was time, she thought, to push herself past this limitation, to cultivate a more critical approach to life.

Chapter 33

AUGUST 6

“Harper!” cried Peggy over the phone. “Is it really you? Your mother told me you would be coming to visit this summer.”