Far Harbor (8 page)

Savannah parked the car, then waited on the sidewalk while John took out the small box of hand gardening tools he’d placed on the back floor. They were walking side by side toward the bungalow when the front door opened and a man in a wheelchair pushed himself over the threshold.

His age appeared to make him one of Henry Hyatt’s contemporaries, but where Henry was thin and wiry, this man possessed a thick chest, huge upper arms that reminded her of tree trunks, and a lined face weathered by years spent outdoors. He was wearing a black-and-red flannel shirt and denim overalls cut above his ankles. Since loggers tended to keep their pants short to prevent them from getting caught in undergrowth and chain saw blades, Savannah guessed that he’d once earned his living felling the huge trees that grew in the peninsula’s forests.

“Hello, Mr. Hawthorne,” John called out. “I’ve come to fix your wife’s garden.”

“You’re a good boy, John Martin.” A vestige of Maine reverberated in the man’s voice. “The wife was fretting about that just this morning. It was all I could do to keep her from coming outside.”

“Well, you don’t have to worry.” John held up a green-handled trowel. “I’ll have things back the way they belong real quick.” He knelt on the ground and began digging holes in the dark earth still damp from last night’s rain. “This is Savannah Townsend. Savannah, this is Mr. Hawthorne.”

Savannah nodded. “I’m pleased to meet you, Mr. Hawthorne.” The name rang a bell, but she couldn’t place him.

“Same here.”

“Savannah bought the Far Harbor lighthouse,” John revealed as he began gathering up the scattered blooms.

“Seems I recollect hearin’ something about that.” The elderly man took a pouch of tobacco from his shirt pocket and began filling a pipe that nearly disappeared in his huge hands. When he pulled an old fashioned strike-any-where kitchen match from the same pocket and lit it with his thumbnail, Savannah noticed that his index finger ended at the second knuckle.

“Heard you’re turnin’ the place into some sort of fancy hotel.”

“I’m planning a bed-and-breakfast. But it isn’t going to be all that fancy.” She braced herself for a response she’d heard from local old-timers: that the Far Harbor lighthouse was a dump and she’d bitten off more than any sensible person could chew.

“It’s about time somebody did something useful with that place,” he surprised her by saying. He lit the pipe and began puffing away, the smoke rising to circle his head in white, cherry-scented rings. “It went to seed when the Coast Guard pulled out. Turned into a real eyesore in the town.”

Savannah thought that an ironic comment coming from a man who’d turned his front lawn into a better-living-through-plastics display.

“I’m hoping to bring it back to its former glory.”

“Good for you.” He puffed some more. “You’d be Ida’s youngest granddaughter.”

“Yes.”

“Good woman, Ida. Hardworking, salt of the earth, and a dandy doctor to boot.” He held up the hand that wasn’t holding the pipe. “Did a real good job sewing my finger back on when I whacked it off clearing slash over by Forks.” More puffs rose from the briar pipe like smoke signals. “’Course, her meatloaf leaves a bit to be desired, but nobody’s perfect.”

Savannah smiled. Ida Lindstrom’s meatloaf was infamous in Coldwater Cove, but as far as Savannah knew, no one had ever had the heart to tell her that her customary contribution to potluck suppers was as hard as a brick and as dry as sawdust.

“You not plannin’ to serve that meatloaf at your hotel, are you?” he asked.

“No, sir, I’m not.”

“Then you’ll probably do well enough.” That settled, he turned his attention to John. “It’s startin’ to look real good again.”

“That’s the great advantage of plastic flowers,” John said cheerfully.

Knowing how much pride he took in his work, Savannah couldn’t quite believe she’d heard John correctly. He tapped some dirt around an orange rose with chartreuse leaves, then rocked back and observed his handiwork as the screen door opened.

“Just in time,” Mr. Hawthorne said with a huge huff of obvious relief as an elderly woman came out on the porch. She was wearing a cotton housedress emblazoned with scarlet poppies, a misbuttoned purple cardigan with frayed sleeves, a yellow straw gardening hat adorned with huge pink fabric peonies, and a pair of high green Wellingtons that made her legs look like two pale sticks.

“We’ve got company, Vada,” Mr. Hawthorne said gently. “It’s John Martin, come to work in your garden. And Savannah Townsend. You remember, she’s Ida’s daughter’s youngest girl.”

He could have been speaking to one of the stone ducks. Vada Hawthorne didn’t reveal a single sign that she’d heard him. Seeming in a world of her own making, she made her way down the front steps. Then, muttering beneath her breath, began walking through the rows of replanted flowers.

“Vada’s got the Alzheimer’s,” Mr. Hawthorne explained. “She started getting confused and lost in her mind about five years ago. At first we thought it was just old age, but then things went downhill. It was our son, Jeremy, an ER doc over to Port Angeles, who finally made us realize what was wrong with his mom.

“Even going to the library doesn’t seem to spark any memories these days.”

It was his mention of the library that made Savannah recognize the name. She remembered, with vivid clarity, that long-ago day she’d walked out of the big brick building with a brand-new library card and a book entitled
Tasty Treats for Young Cooks
. She’d tried out the s’mores that first night.

Over the years Mrs. Hawthorne, who’d been Olympic County librarian for as long as anyone could remember, had continued to supply Savannah with recipes, even using the interlibrary lending program to get more complex cookbooks from Seattle and Tacoma.

Besides feeding a young girl’s culinary desires, Vada Hawthorne had taken generations of children on magic-carpet rides to wondrous worlds outside of Coldwater Cove. The librarian’s love of books had inspired so many. It wasn’t fair that she, of all people, should end her life in such a mental vacuum.

“I’m so sorry.”

“Oh, it’s not as bad as it was back when she first realized what was happening to her and was scared all the time. This spring she managed to get herself down to Harbor Street and told Daniel O’Halloran that she wanted to divorce me.”

“Oh, I’m sure she didn’t mean that,” Savannah said quickly.

“She sure did mean it,” he countered. “Woman got in her mind that if I was shed of her I’d be free to marry again.” His voice thickened. He cleared his throat, pulled out a blue-and-white cloth handkerchief and blew his nose with a mighty honk. “We’ll be married fifty-five years come Christmas, and there’s never been a single day in all those years that I didn’t thank the good Lord for giving me my Vada.”

“That’s so sweet.” Savannah had no experience with such long-term commitment; even Ida had left her gambler husband in the fifth year of their marriage after he’d come home from a three-day losing streak and made the mistake of striking his wife. Claiming that if someone hits you, it’s a pretty good clue that they don’t like you that much—let alone love you—she’d packed her bags and moved from Portland to Coldwater Cove that same day.

“I don’t know about sweet.” He shrugged his shoulders and appeared self-conscious. “It’s just the way things are. These days, about the only thing left from the past that Vada still connects with is her flowers. Course, she can’t take care of them anymore, and now that I’m in this contraption, I can’t get around the way I used to back when I was younger.

“But then Daniel got the idea for this garden. John planted it and changes it with the seasons, so Vada can believe she’s still got plants blooming year-round.”

Vada Hawthorne was still talking away at the rainbow plastic flowers when Savannah and John left the house. Savannah no longer found the garden tacky, but as she drove the few blocks to the Sweet Delights ice cream shop, she couldn’t decide if the former librarian’s garden was the loveliest or saddest thing she’d ever seen.

A
mental image of Vada Hawthorne stayed with Savannah during her stolen time off with John at the ice cream parlor, as she drove him back to the lighthouse, so he could pick up his bike, then on the long drive to the Christmas tree farm Raine had moved to after marrying Jack. When Savannah had called the law offices earlier, she’d been told Raine was taking a home day.

Her sister answered the door wearing a gray Sheriff’s Department T-shirt, jeans, and bare feet.

“You have no idea how good it is to see you,” Raine said as she stepped aside and let Savannah into the farmhouse. “I’ve spent all morning sewing and was about ready to tear my hair out.”

“I didn’t realize you even knew how to sew.”

“I don’t, or, more precisely, I didn’t. I’m starting to get the hang of it, though it’s a lot more dangerous than I would have guessed.” She held out her left hand, revealing a Band-aid. “I’ve run over my finger three times in the past two hours.”

The kitchen looked as if a hurricane had blown through it. Or it had, perhaps, been sacked by a horde of vandals. The table had disappeared beneath pieces of brown, black, and gray fabric. Tissue paper Savannah recognized as pattern pieces were all over the floor. A top-of-the-line sewing machine sat atop the table in the midst of all the chaos; the box on the floor nearby gave proof that it was brand-new.

“May I ask why you’re putting yourself through all this?”

“Amy won the part of lead scary tree in her summer day camp’s production of
The Wizard of Oz
. I’ve been sewing damn fabric bark onto a leotard all morning. Thank God it’s supposed to be a bare tree. If I had to face leaves, I’d have no choice but to throw myself into the sound.”

Despite the concern that had brought her here, Savannah laughed. “Do you have any idea how fortunate you are?”

Raine’s scowl instantly turned to a slow, satisfied grin. “Absolutely. Would you like some coffee? It’ll just take me a minute to brew it.”

“No, thanks. I already inhaled about a pot while I was steaming wallpaper while waiting for the curtain delivery.”

“In that outfit?”

Savannah glanced down at her khaki shorts and black, tan, and white striped bateau-neck knit shirt. “What’s wrong with it?”

“It’s clean. Neat.” Raine skimmed a fingernail down the crease of the shorts. “Starched.” She shook her head. “You look as if you just walked off the summer fashion issue of
Vogue
. What the hell do you do, spray yourself with Teflon each morning before you leave the house?”

“I wear an apron.”

“An apron,” Raine repeated, looking skeptical.

“It’s actually more of a smock. To keep the paint and dust off.”

“Honey, in order to look half as good as you do right now, the rest of us would have to wear a hazardous waste team incubation suit.”

She shook her head in amused disbelief again. “Of course I’m happy to see you, but what’s so important that it brought you out to the boonies this afternoon?”

On the long drive to the farm, Savannah had tried to tell herself that she was overreacting. The problem was, she hadn’t quite been able to make herself believe that.

“Where’s Amy?” She belatedly realized that she hadn’t been hit with a ball of blond energy the moment she walked in the front door—which just proved how distracted she was. Normally, she loved any opportunity to see her new niece.

“In Seattle with Lilith. They’re having a girls’ day on the town. They’re shopping at Nordstrom’s, having lunch at Pike Place Market, then capping the day off with a trip to the Aquarium.”

“Sounds like Mom’s really getting into being a grandmother.”

“She adores it.” Raine took a longer, more probing look at Savannah. “Whatever’s bothering you can’t be all that bad.”

Savannah sat down on one of the kitchen chairs. “John and I took off early today and went out for ice cream and stopped by Vada Hawthorne’s house on the way. You remember her, she was town librarian.”

“Of course I remember Mrs. Hawthorne.” Raine sat across the fabric-strewn table. “She always used to save the new Nancy Drew books for me.”

“She introduced me to the
Little House
books. And
Little Women
.” After reading that novel, Savannah had decided that the solidarity she and Raine shared was just like the March sisters’. Needless to say, she’d viewed Raine as the always adventurous Jo, herself as the more settled, domestic Meg. “Did you know she’s got Alzheimer’s?”

“I heard something about that. How’s she doing?”

“Not well.” Savannah told Raine about the elderly woman asking Dan for the divorce, then described the garden.

“That was a lovely idea of Dan’s.”

“John told me later that he’d thought of it after they’d gone to the cemetery to put flowers on Karyn and her husband’s grave and they saw all the plastic flowers other people had left on family gravesites.

“I hate thinking of Gram ending up like Mrs. Hawthorne.” Savannah took a deep breath. She decided that she’d stalled long enough. “Do you think Gram’s got Alzheimer’s?”

Instead of immediately denying the suggestion, or laughing it off, Raine folded her hands atop the brown cloth. “I don’t know. The thought’s occurred to me since I’ve been back. But I’ve always managed to convince myself that I’m imagining things—making mush out of a molehill, as our grandmother would say.” Raine’s attempt at a smile fell flat. “I told you about her outburst in court.”

“During Gwen’s custody hearing?” Savannah nodded. “Yes. But not the details.”

“It wasn’t pretty. She ended up telling the entire court the story of how she’d once prescribed birth-control pills for the presiding judge, back when the judge was a college student. At the time I was so busy trying to keep us both from getting tossed into Jack’s jail for contempt of court, I put it down to her strong feelings for Gwen and her eccentric personality.”

“How do you feel about it now?” Savannah felt a distant pain and realized that she was digging her fingernails into her palms.

“I think she should get a complete physical, but she insists that there’s nothing wrong with her.”

“You’ve discussed this with Gram? Without first talking with me?”

“You’ve been a little distracted,” Raine reminded her. “What with your divorce, and trying to restore the lighthouse and beginning a new business. Besides,” her tone turned a bit defensive, “I mentioned it to Mother back when you were depressed. We decided that the last thing you needed was one more problem to worry about.”

The conversation must have taken place while she’d been hiding beneath her covers. “How nice of you both to decide what’s good for me.”

“We were only trying to protect you.”

“I know.” It was consummate Raine, watching out for her little sister. Savannah decided that nothing would be gained by sharing her thoughts that such protection had resulted in her taking too long to acquire a sense of independence. “I also appreciate your concern. But I’m an adult, Raine. From now on, I don’t want to be left out of the loop.”

There was an awkward moment as the sisters looked at each other. Then, instead of arguing, or behaving as if her feelings were hurt, Raine gave her a slow smile.

“Good for you,” she said, her words unknowingly echoing that of Mr. Hawthorne.

“We need a plan,” Savannah said.

“A battle plan,” Raine agreed. She reached into a cookie jar shaped like Winnie-the-Pooh’s honey pot, took out a handful of Oreos, and put them on a plate. “Do you want to confront her directly?”

“We’ll undoubtedly have to, eventually.” Feeling six years old again, Savannah separated the chocolate halves and scraped the white filling off with her teeth. “But perhaps we should observe her more closely, first, to gather evidence.”

“In a controlled setting.” Raine took a carton of milk from the refrigerator and poured them both a tall glass.

“Like a scientific experiment,” Savannah said.

“Exactly.” Raine crunched a cookie and appeared thoughtful. “You know, we still haven’t had a proper celebration for you having bought the lighthouse.”

“I thought we’d agreed that we’d wait for the party until all the restoration was done.”

“That’s your party,” Raine reminded her. “There’s no reason why I can’t throw an earlier one.” She nodded again, seeming pleased with this idea. She polished off her milk in long swallows, then took a pen and magnetic pad from the refrigerator door. “We’ll invite the entire family, of course. That way we can all watch for signs.”

“Do you think that’s wise? Gram might notice something’s up if everyone’s in on it.”

“The reason we’re doing this is because she isn’t all that lucid these days,” Raine reminded her. “We’ll swear everyone to secrecy and be extra careful not to be too obvious. Besides,” she pointed out with the unfailing logic Savannah had always admired, “this way, if one of us slips up, the others can provide backup distraction.”

She sounded so confident, Savannah believed her. “What about the menu? I can fix something—”

“You will not. From what Lilith tells me, you’re working nearly around the clock now. We’ll order out from Oley’s,” Raine said decisively. “Everyone likes barbecue. And so you won’t have to lower yourself to eat red meat, I’ll even split the order between ribs and chicken.”

That settled, they picked a time two evenings away. While Raine began calling the other family members to inform them of the dinner, Savannah ate her way through the honey pot cookie jar and hoped with all her heart that their concerns would prove ungrounded.

Pregnant with rain, heavy clouds the color of tarnished silver hung low over Coldwater Cove when Ida awoke. There was something she needed to do. Something important. Something for the family.

“It’ll come to you,” she assured herself briskly as she tucked in the sheets with tight, hospital corners, straightened the bright handmade quilt, and fluffed the pillows. She had no trouble remembering that Savannah had made the Sunshine and Shadows quilt for her 4-H project the summer she’d turned twelve, so why couldn’t she remember the thought that had been teasing at the edge of her mind moments earlier?

“It’s not Alzheimer’s,” she assured herself yet again as she showered. Savannah had installed pretty little soaps that looked like colorful seashells in the bathroom. She’d said that they weren’t only for looks, that they had glycerin and some sort of fancy oils in them that would make your skin smooth, but Ida figured at her age, it was a little late to worry about soft skin. “The only thing wrong with me is Old-Timers.”

She dressed, pinned her hair up in its usual haphazard bun, and went downstairs to make coffee. By the time she was on her second cup, the caffeine had kicked in.

“Raine’s party is tonight,” she recalled in a flash of sudden awareness as bright as the lightning that had just lit up the sky outside the kitchen window. “The family will be expecting me to make my meatloaf.”

She checked the freezer and wasn’t surprised to discover that she didn’t have a single pound of ground beef. Savannah had pretty much taken over the cooking since returning home from Los Angeles, and the girl had never been much of a fan of red meat. Ida didn’t mind all the meals of fish and chicken since her granddaughter was, after all, a whiz in the kitchen. But she’d put her foot down about the sushi.

“Might as well buy some Glo-eggs down at the Hook, Line, and Sinker,” she’d told Savannah at the time. “They’re bound to be cheaper.”

She rinsed out her mug, then hung it on the cute little hooks Savannah had put up. She made a list of ingredients she’d need, took the keys to her Jeep down from another rack that was new since her granddaughter’s return, and picked up her pocketbook, which was right where it belonged on the end of the counter.

Outside, thunder rumbled and lightning flashed. The day was shaping up to be a real frog strangler. As she plucked her rain gear from the hook beside the kitchen door, Ida decided that the fact that she remembered her umbrella proved there was nothing at all wrong with her mind.

“It’s going to rain,” John announced when he brought the morning paper into the kitchen.

“Sure looks like it.” Dan glanced out at the threatening sky. He could vaguely make out the silhouette of the lighthouse in the fog. Farther down the beach, the new Coast Guard light flashed brightly. Dan missed the old red-and-white beacon that had made the Far Harbor lighthouse unique among the others on the strait. He also hoped the guys had finished the roof on Savannah’s keeper’s house yesterday.

“Do you think the rain will ruin the dinner tonight?” John asked with obvious concern.

“If it’s still raining tonight, they’ll just move the party indoors. When Jack called yesterday, he said Raine was ordering out from Oley’s, so there won’t be any outdoor cooking to interfere with.”

“That’s good. I like Oley’s barbecue a lot.” John drowned the stack of silver dollar pancakes in blueberry syrup. “Savannah’s coming, right?”

“Right.” Dan didn’t share the details of the sisters’ plan to observe their grandmother’s mental state in a family setting.

“Good,” John said again, with a decisive nod. “I like her a lot, don’t you?”

“What’s not to like?” Dan chose the maple syrup. “She’s gorgeous, friendly—”