The Island of Heavenly Daze (24 page)

Half an hour later, she was no closer to forgiving herself. Sitting on a secluded bench on Ogunquit's Marginal Way, she watched the surf pound the row of jagged cliffs. Late morning joggers ran past on their daily trek. Various sounds drifted out to her from the houses lining the bluff: sounds of children and husbands and wives. Families.

Annie lifted her chin and refused to submit to self-pity. She had always been able to sort through her problems and put them in proper perspective. She had lost tomato plants, not the cure for cancer. Her disappointment was great, but she could start over.

She still had seedlings in Portland, and if she looked hard enough she could find suitable conditions for her experimental hybrid elsewhere—maybe even in Ogunquit. Heavenly Daze wasn't the only place where tender young things found it hard to grow . . .

Forgive and let go, Annie, or the resentment will eat you
alive.

Burying her face in her hands, she ignored both the pounding in her right temple and the inner voice that spoke to her heart. She wanted to let go, to rid herself of the pain she'd carried for more than twenty years.

But she didn't know how.

Stuffing her hands in her pockets, she walked slowly back to the ferry. Familiar sights at Perkins Cove stirred twinges of nostalgia. The whale-watching boats were still there, as was Barnacle Billy's—the place where Tommy Fredricks had to borrow five dollars in order to pay for the meal on their first date. The Crab Shack still had the letter
C
missing from the weather-beaten sign hanging over the front door.

Frenchman's Fairest was silent when she let herself in through the front foyer. Climbing the stairs, her nagging conscience reminded her that she shouldn't leave without paying one final visit to Uncle Edmund and apologizing to Olympia. After the funeral, there might be no second chance to make amends.

As she reached the top of the stairs, she paused in front of her aunt's doorway, her hand lightly resting on the knob.

Don't do it, Annie. You'll only ignite another shouting
match.

Do it, Annie.

“How do I forgive, God?” Annie softly cried out. “I don't have your mercy and love. I am only human, and a damaged one at that.”

She knocked softly, then eased the door open. Olympia lay curled on her bed, her petite frame covered by a light throw, her eyes closed. Once again, Annie realized that her aunt was growing old. Sixty-five wasn't ancient, but her time was quickly passing. If God granted her long life, she might enjoy a few more years on earth, but undoubtedly the greater part of her lifetime lay behind her.

Emotion closed Annie's throat as she whispered, “Good-bye, Aunt Olympia.”

I'm sorry I couldn't be what you wanted.

Stepping inside Edmund's bedroom, she gently touched her uncle's sleeping forehead.

Though she still had an hour before the ferry, there was at least one thing she didn't want to postpone.
Goodbye,
Uncle Edmund. See you on the other side.

Rolling to her side on the bed, Annie stared at the clock. Twelve forty-five. She'd missed the noon ferry and the next one didn't run until two. Should she ask Caleb to take her to the dock now?

The question faded in importance when her stomach growled. Hungry, she crept downstairs and made a cheese sandwich, groaning when she discovered that the only loaf of bread was in the freezer. She detested cold bread.

Slapping a piece of cheese on a lettuce leaf, she added a spoonful of mayonnaise, and then poured herself a glass of milk. She banged the knife into the sink, then jumped at the noise. The house seemed quieter than death, almost as if the ceiling and walls were amplifying sound.

She carried the meal upstairs and ate it while flipping through the copy of
Home and Garden
she'd brought from the office at school. This issue had an article on genetically altered plants she had meant to read for weeks.

“Well,” she said aloud, eager to break the silence. “No better time than the present.”

Tallulah nosed her way into the room, apparently looking for a word of forgiveness. Moseying to the bed, she reared up on the spread, cocking her head to give Annie a pathetic stare.

“I'm still mad at you.”

The dog's mouth fell open and she panted, her tail hesitantly wagging.

Annie tried to ignore her, but Tallulah wasn't easy to ignore. The precocious pup tried a couple of ice-breaking rollovers, peering over her shoulder at the completion of each trick.

“Oh, all right. You're forgiven. But next time, go dig in someone else's garden. Please?” Annie broke off a piece of cheese and tossed it to her.

Tallulah tried to scale the bed, but her short legs wouldn't cooperate. Giving her a helping hoist, Annie lay back on the pillow and scanned the article. Science was moving ahead at a breathtaking pace. If she didn't want to lose her grant, she would have to keep up.

Crawling on her belly, Tallulah edged within licking distance of Annie's face. She absently fed the panting dog another bite of cheese. “You really are rotten, you know that?”

Resting her head on the pillow, Tallulah whimpered in agreement, her eyes fixed adoringly on Annie.

Chapter Sixteen

A
nnie glanced up when a knock sounded at the bedroom door. Tossing Tallulah the last of the cheese, she rolled to her feet. “Coming.”

She opened the door and found Caleb trying to balance a cardboard box on his forearm. Her jaw dropped when she recognized her experimental tomato plants— well, at least a dozen of them, lined up in four uneven rows. One or two drooped to the right, but the seedlings still showed signs of life.

“They're a little worse for wear,” Caleb apologized, “but with a little TLC I think they'll make it.”

Taking the box out of his hand, Annie drank in the sight of her precious plants. A few hours ago she had thought they were all dead; now, though they were certainly pathetic looking, she had the oddest feeling they might make it.

“Caleb, how—” She paused, biting back tears. This wonderful man had worked a miracle. “I don't know what to say.” She glanced up, affection softening her tone. “Thank you. How did you do this?”

Color tinged the old servant's humble features. Lowering his eyes, he grinned. “Only God can work miracles. I merely took a close look at the plants and discovered that a few could be salvaged. I think they are sturdier than they look.”

“But Tallulah uprooted them. They looked beyond hope.”

Whining, Tallulah sheepishly burrowed beneath the pillows.

“No one is beyond hope, Annie.”

Annie looked up, suddenly overcome by the feeling that Caleb wasn't talking about plants at all. Setting the box on the bed, she stood and hugged him. “Thank you,” she whispered, overcome with gratitude. Somehow he always managed to come to her rescue when she needed him most.

He awkwardly patted her back. “You have just enough time to replant before you leave. If you can wait until my cake comes out of the oven, I'll help.”

Annie remembered the last time he'd tried to help— she couldn't risk losing even one plant to a misstep. “That's all right,” she said quickly. “I can do it.”

“I'll build a fence around the plants,” he promised. “Tallulah will have to find a new place to bury her treasures.” He eyed the pooch. “Isn't that right, ol' girl? Annie's tomato patch is off limits.”

Cocking her head, Tallulah wagged her tail.

Annie shoved her hands in her jeans pockets and grinned. “Thanks. Have I told you how much I appreciate you?”

“You don't have to tell me,” he said, “because I already know.”

Scooping up the box of plants, Annie tripped lightly down the stairway, thrilled that the experiment was once again on track.

How Caleb managed to save a dozen plants, Annie couldn't imagine. When she'd viewed the destruction earlier, it had looked to her like every plant was demolished.

She was getting tools from the shed when she glanced up to see the butler silhouetted in the doorway. Startled, she dropped a rake, the handle barely missing the servant. “Caleb! I didn't hear you come in.”

“I'm sorry; I didn't mean to startle you.”

Retrieving the rake, Annie hung it on its hook. “Gotta get those babies back in the ground.”

Caleb smiled. “Then your experiment is back on track. Praise God.”

Annie stored the trowel in a wooden crate Olympia kept beneath the workbench. “You're sincere when you say that, aren't you? It's not just a turn of phrase.”

He lifted a brow curiously. “What do you mean?”

“You believe that we have an all-knowing, loving Father who cares for us even if we don't acknowledge him. You honestly believe that.”

“I know it,” he replied softly. “Don't you?”

Annie shook her head. “I attended church while I lived here; Aunt Olympia and Uncle Edmund saw to that. And I believe in God and Jesus . . . but we're sorta not speaking to each other.” She hesitated. “At least, we weren't until I came here. In the last couple of hours I've initiated peace talks.”

A secretive smile softened the servant's face. “It's good that you're praying. Keep on asking, and you will be given what you ask for. Keep on looking, and you will find. Keep on knocking, and the door will be opened. That's the Lord's promise.”

She reached for her garden gloves. “You know, I was sitting on Marginal Way a little bit ago, and I just couldn't get over what you told me—about Aunt Olympia sleeping with Rocky Bear.”

“It was true.”

“I believe you.” She shook her head. “And you know, as hard as it is for me to believe, I suppose Aunt Olympia does love me . . . in her own way.”

The butler's face creased in a wry smile. “Olympia does everything in her own way. Folks who love her understand that.”

“Then maybe I haven't loved her like I ought to.”

“Maybe.”

She picked up a rake and leaned against it. “Then again, she's an awful hard woman to live with. And though I want to forgive her, I keep remembering things she's done in my past—''

“I noticed you and Tallulah were getting along a few minutes ago.”

She made a face. “Sure, why not?”

“Just wondered if you two had made up.”

She snorted. “Can't stay mad at that little mutt.”

“You've forgiven her.”

“She was only doing what dogs do.”

His mouth opened in mock surprise. “Well, fancy that. Forgiving comes easy when you want to do it, right?”

She frowned. “What's your point?”

“You can forgive Olympia, too. You can forgive the whole world, Annie . . . if you want to.” His eyes softened. “You see, sweetie, like your tomato plants, you can survive and maybe even grow in a controlled environment like Portland. But the true test comes when you're planted in the world, where the wind blows and the storms come. Whether you like it or not, Heavenly Daze is your world. These are the people who knew you as you grew up. You can't replace that. These are the people who love you.”

“These people don't know the real me.”

“Sure they do. Birdie and Bea and Vernie and Cleta were here when you first stepped off that ferry with Olympia. They were praying for you back then . . . and they're praying for you now.”

Annie propped her foot on the bench. “You make them sound like a bunch of saints, and I know better.”

Caleb chuckled. “No, they're not saints. Everyone has problems, honey. Everybody's broken.”

Everybody's broken. Annie recalled the Gina Rowland movie where that phrase originated. “The way I see it,” Rowland's character had said, “the less broken take care of the broken.”

She had broken parts of her life, but she had strengths, too. And if Olympia's strengths could match up to her weaknesses, they just might have a chance.