Authors: Terri DuLong

Postcards from Cedar Key (20 page)

BOOK: Postcards from Cedar Key

11.42Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub

ads

I leaned over to kiss his cheek. “I love you, Saxton Tate the third. I love you very much.”

A
ny nervousness I had about getting together with my aunt quickly vanished the moment she opened the door of her cottage at the Faraway Inn.

Stella Baldwin didn't look much different than she had two years before at my grandmother's funeral.

Tall and slim, her silver hair was styled in a chic cut that fell to her cheeks. With her good looks and upbeat demeanor, she didn't strike me as a woman pushing seventy.

She pulled me into a tight embrace while saying, “Come in. It's so good to see you again, Berkley.”

I walked into the combined bedroom, kitchen, and sitting area and saw a little Yorkie hop off the bed to greet me. Stella reached down to pick up the dog.

“This is Addi. She's my BFF.”

“She's adorable,” I said, putting out my hand for her to sniff. “I love her scarf.” I laughed at the small pink bandana that had
Girly Girl
monogrammed on the front in a deep rose color.

“I was just going to make some tea,” Stella said, walking to the kettle on the stove without putting the dog down. “Will you join me?”

“Sounds good.” I went to sit on the sofa and spied a gorgeous piece of needlepoint. A half-finished European street scene was secured in a wooden frame. “Oh, this is beautiful. I didn't realize you also did needlepoint,” I said at the same time the thought hit me that I actually didn't know very much about my aunt at all.

“Oh, yes. It relaxes me and I've been doing it for years. I know you knit, but do you do any needlepoint?”

I nodded. “Yes, my Gram taught me when I was little, and I just recently returned to it. Knitting will always be my first love, but I enjoy the needlepoint for something different. Did you have a good drive to Cedar Key?” I asked as my aunt placed tea bags in two mugs.

“I did. And when I hit that first bridge coming onto the island, well, I can see why you love living here.”

I laughed. “Yeah, the view from the Number Four bridge has that effect on a lot of people.”

Stella filled the mugs with boiling water. “But how on earth did you find this place? I'd never heard of it before you called and told me you lived here. I haven't seen much of the island yet, but it seems so . . . out of the way. Quaint.”

“Thanks,” I said, taking the mug she passed me. “Well, the way I found this place is one of the reasons why I wanted to get together with you.”

Stella settled herself in the rocker across from me as her perfectly shaped eyebrows formed a V.

“I'm not sure how much of this story you know about, if anything. But forty years ago my mother came here for an entire summer.”

“Really? I don't recall her leaving Salem with you.”

“That's just it. She didn't. She came alone and left me with my grandmother. They still lived in Maine then, and by the time my mother returned, we had relocated to Salem. Do you know why she would have come here?”

Genuine surprise covered Stella's face. “Gosh, no. But then, you have to remember that I wasn't in touch with my mother or sister very much, except for letters. Your uncle Rudy was in the military and we traveled a lot. What year would this have been?”

“It was 1972. I was five years old.”

Stella thought for a moment. “Rudy and I were living in England during those years. But it seems odd that my mother didn't tell me Jeanette had left town. I wonder why she would come here?”

“That's what I'm trying to find out. Neither my mother or grandmother would talk about it. I was hoping that you might be able to fill in some pieces of the puzzle.” I went on to tell her about the postcards.

“My goodness, we have a genuine mystery in the family that I wasn't aware of.” She let out a deep sigh. “I can't imagine why they wouldn't tell you the reason she came here, but then, Jeanette was always an odd duck.”

“In which way? Tell me about her, because I'm beginning to think I didn't know my mother at all. Did you know my father?”

Stella shook her head. “That was another strange incident. First of all, I was shocked that Jeanette actually chose to leave Maine and go to college on the West Coast. She was always more of an introvert. And then, to drop out of college during her last semester and not graduate . . .”

“What? I never knew that. I just assumed she did graduate.”

Stella shook her head. “No, silly, isn't it? To go to college for four years and then not graduate. She dropped out and went back to Maine, but then of course she was pregnant with you at that time, so I figured that was the reason. And, no, I didn't know your father at all. Your grandmother told me he was from Houston, apparently from a wealthy family. I imagine he did graduate from Berkeley and then was either drafted or enlisted, but he ended up in Vietnam and your grandmother said he was killed there before you were even born.”

“Hmm, that's the story they told me too.”

“You sound like you have doubts.”

“Well, it just seems odd that my mother wouldn't really talk about him either. I know they weren't married, but you'd think she'd have at least one photo to show me of him.”

“Oh! That reminds me,” Stella said, jumping up to run into the bedroom. “I did find a few pictures, and I happen to have one of your mother and father, taken at Berkeley the year before you were born.”

I felt a chill go through me. Forty-five years. Forty-five years and I was finally going to see what my father looked like?

She came back and sat beside me on the sofa. “Here it is,” she said, passing me a blurry black-and-white photo.

Both of the people looked like strangers to me. Here was my mother, a young woman of twenty-one, with long, straight brunette hair falling to her shoulders. She wore bell-bottom jeans and a sweatshirt with
Berkeley
written across the front. Pulling her into a possessive embrace was a young, good-looking fellow. Blond hair reached to his shirt collar in the style of the sixties, and he had a self-assured smile on his face. I brought the photo closer to try and pull some recognition from the stranger smiling at the camera. But there was nothing about him that resembled me.

I blew out a deep breath of air. “They made a nice couple, so I wonder why my mother would never talk about him.”

“I honestly don't know. Your grandmother only mentioned him when she told me Jeanette was pregnant and then when he was killed in Vietnam. Other than that, I don't know anything else about him.”

“What was my mother like growing up? Did she have boyfriends then? What did she want to do with her life?”

Stella leaned back against the sofa cushion and sighed. “Well, she was always quiet. We were only eleven months apart in age, so we were in the same classes at school. I was the loud, outgoing one, but Jeanette was shy. That's probably why she always had her head in a book or she was writing.”

“Writing? My mother liked to write?”

“Oh, gosh, yes. She wrote poetry and short stories. She majored in English at college. I think she wanted to be a journalist.”

Another surprise about the Jeanette Whitmore that I didn't know.

“But she was what I always called a troubled soul. She had a fear of everythingâof herself with doubts, of people, probably just a fear of life. It was like she wanted to succeed but she had a fear of failure and just found it easier to withdraw, I guess.” Stella shook her head. “It's kind of sad when you think about it. Such a wasted life. Have you questioned people here on the island? Surely somebody must remember her from that summer.”

“I've asked a lot of the locals and nobody can remember a twenty-seven-year-old woman who came here that year. But now that I have this photo, it might help.”

“Oh, I have one more for you,” Stella said, passing me another black-and-white snapshot. “Taken when you were about a year old, I'd say.”

I saw my mother sitting on the front steps of the house we'd lived at in Maine. Both arms were wrapped protectively around me as I sat on her knees, and a huge smile covered her face.

“She looks happy,” I said.

“Oh, I think she was. The few times I saw her after you were born, one thing I can say for certainâshe adored you and she loved being a mother.”

Then why would she leave me for a whole summer?

“I'm really beginning to feel like I didn't know her at all. I just don't get it.”

Stella took a sip of her tea. “Yeah, Jenna could be a puzzle. That's for sure.”

My head snapped up as I stared at my aunt.
“Jenna?”

“Oh, yeah, she used to go by that nickname when we were young. My name ended in an
a,
and she thought Stella and Jenna sounded more like twins than just sisters. Anybody that knew her growing up called her Jenna.”

“Oh, wow! Could that be why nobody knew a Jeanette Whitmore? Maybe that's the name she used here on the island, and if she changed her first name, it makes sense that she might use a different last name as well.”

“You could be right. How did she sign those postcards she sent to my mother?”

“Only J. No names at all.”

Stella reached over to pat my hand. “You could be onto something here.”

W
hen Jill arrived the following day, I still hadn't questioned anybody about a woman named Jenna. Part of me was scared that it would be another dead end, so I decided to let go of it until after Thanksgiving and just enjoy the holiday.

I had offered Jill my bedroom, but she insisted that the pull-out sofa was fine for her. We sat cross-legged on the queen sofa bed, a bowl of chips between us and glasses of wine on the table.

“Except for the wine, this reminds me of the sleepovers we'd have when you'd come to visit me after you moved to Salem.”

I nodded. “Yeah, but my mother was so strict and would let me come there only once a year for a weekend during the summer.”

“I know. But at least we could keep in touch the rest of the year with our letters back and forth. Okayâcatch-up time. Tell me all about the ex-wife, what you learned from your aunt yesterday, everything!”

I laughed, took a sip of wine, and shared all the details.

Jill shook her head. “Wow, there's certainly a lot going on in your life. I'm sure you're not sorry Muriel is gone. She sounds like a piece of work. Good riddance to her, I say. And there's no doubt that Saxton feels the same way.”

I nodded. “Yeah, I have to admit . . . I think I was a bit jealous of her at first. But by the end of the evening I knew she wasn't right for him.”

Jill patted my hand. “Now, look, girl. I hope any doubts you have had are gone. Don't second-guess yourself like you always do. From what you've told me, it sounds like this is the real thing for you.”

I smiled. “Yeah, I think you're right.”

“Show me the photos of your mom.”

I jumped up to get them from my bedroom and passed them to her.

“Gosh, your mom didn't look anything like this when I knew her. Look at her, with those bell-bottoms and long straight hairâshe looks like a typical product of the sixties. And this is your dad? Good-looking guy, but you definitely resemble your mom more.”

“Yeah, I thought so too.”

“And still no more pieces to the puzzle?”

“Nope, and I'm going to let it go until after Thanksgiving. I'll go to the knitting group next week and take the photos. So we'll see what happens.”

I woke the next morning with an extra fullness to my heart. My best girlfriend was sleeping in the next room and my aunt was just a few streets away. There's a lot to be said for having a history or shared blood with people. I hadn't known my aunt very well at all, but after spending time with her two days before, I felt a connection. In very subtle ways, I saw a likeness to my mother that made me feel good. Made me feel that although she was gone, a part of her still remained.

Knocking on the door caused me to jump up and tiptoe out into the living room where Jill was still sleeping.

“Hey,” I said, opening the door to find Chloe standing with a tray filled with juice and muffins.

“Oh, no, I woke you, didn't I? I'm so sorry, but I thought you gals might like some breakfast.”

“That's so nice of you,” I whispered. “Jill's still sleeping, but . . .”

“No, I'm not,” I heard her say.

I laughed. “Oh, good. Come on in, Chloe. I've been anxious for you to meet each other.”

Jill sat up, rubbing her eyes, and yawned. “Not the best condition to meet, but I've heard so much about you, so just ignore my sleepy appearance.”

Chloe laughed and headed to the kitchen to set down the tray. “I've heard a lot about you too. So nice to finally meet you, Jill.”

“Just let me pop into the bathroom and I'll join you shortly.”

I went to start the coffee as Chloe arranged the juice and muffins on the table.

By the time Jill had joined us, I had the mugs filled with the dark brew.

“It was nice of you to bring this over,” Jill told Chloe before taking a sip of coffee. “Oh, you haven't lost your touch, girlfriend. Wonderful coffee.”

“Help yourself to juice and muffins,” Chloe told her. “So I bet you guys had fun visiting last night.”

“We did,” I said, and glanced at the clock over the fridge. “My God! It's nine already! I had no idea we slept so late.”

“Well, we were up till after two.” Jill reached for a muffin and nodded. “These look delicious. Thanks, Chloe.”

“What time are you due at Saxton's?”

“Not till three, so we don't have to rush. What time is Maude doing dinner?”

“At two. I'm looking forward to spending the day and evening with Grace and Lucas. I haven't seen much of her since they got back.”

I explained to Jill that they'd been in France since late April.

“I haven't even seen her at all,” I said.

“Well, she'll definitely be at the knitting group a week from tonight. Said that she has lots of things to tell us.”

“I want you to meet my aunt while she's here too. Maybe we can do lunch over the weekend.”

“That would be fun. Count me in. It was great to meet you, Jill, but I have to run. Time to get my pies out of the oven. Have a wonderful dinner and I'll see you soon.”

“Thanks again,” I hollered as she left.

As Jill, my aunt, and I climbed the stairs to Saxton's deck I held my breath that his house would be in order and I wouldn't be embarrassed by his normal clutter.

He greeted us on the deck with a huge smile and hugs for all of us. I could see the two large tables had been pushed together and were covered with the tablecloths and napkins I'd brought over the day before. Doyle and Saxton had also managed to do a good job of getting the table set, complete with candles and flowers.

“Doyle's already here, but the others should be along shortly. Come on in,” he said as we followed him through the open French doors.

Introductions were made as I quickly glanced around and smiled. No stacks of magazines and newspapers, no socks strewn around, no sense of disarray. Yes, there was hope for this man after all.

I noticed that Doyle's gaze seemed to linger on my aunt. Well, she was a very good-looking woman, and today she looked exceptionally sharp with a gorgeous, long burnt orange silk skirt and black silk blouse.

He drew his eyes away from her to announce, “Saxton put me in charge of the bar and I'm serving mimosas. Do I have any takers?”

“Definitely,” Jill and I said at the same time, and laughed.

Lola came running from the back of the house to greet everyone, and my aunt bent over to pat her. “What a sweet dog,” she said. “I bet my Addi would like her.”

Saxton smiled. “Yes, Berkley told me you came with your little Yorkie. You should have brought her.”

“Oh, thank you,” she said, accepting a champagne flute from Doyle. “But I think she's worn out from all this ocean air. She was napping away when I left.”

Leigh and her daughters, followed by Mr. Carl and Raylene, arrived a few minutes later and our group was complete. I had prepared everything the day before, and I could smell the wonderful aroma of turkey filling the air. Leigh had brought a sweet potato casserole along with a pumpkin pie, and Raylene had brought a green bean casserole and pecan pie, so our table was also complete.

After our mimosas, combined with conversation, Saxton and I shooed everyone out to the table while we went to work in the kitchen mashing potatoes, slicing the turkey, making the gravy, and getting biscuits out of the oven.

A little while later, I carried a tray of bowls out to the deck. “Just about ready,” I said.

“Are you sure we can't help?” my aunt asked for the third time.

I laughed. “Nope, we're all set, but we'll use you later for cleanup duty.”

Saxton placed the large platter of turkey on the table as I went back for more items. Within a few minutes both tables were overflowing and we sat down next to each other. I looked around and swallowed the lump in my throat. Here I was having the large Thanksgiving dinner that I'd always yearned for. Here I was sitting beside a man who loved me the way I had always wanted to be loved, with my best friend, my aunt, and some wonderful Cedar Key peopleâall because of my mother.

“Okay,” I said, reaching for Saxton's hand on one side of me and my aunt's on the other. “Time to give thanks for all that we've been given.” Hands clasped around the table as heads bowed. “Dear Lord, thank you for this beautiful day, this wonderful food, but most of all, thank you for allowing me to find my way to Cedar Key. Amen.”

“Amen,” everybody chorused.

“This looks like a mighty fine dinner,” Mr. Carl said. “Miss Raylene and I are very pleased to be here with you.”

As bowls and platters were passed around, everybody began eating and chatting.

Doyle looked across the table at my aunt. “How long are you here for, Stella?”

“Until Wednesday, so I hope to see the entire island.”

“Well, if you gals don't have any plans on Sunday I'd like to take you out on my boat. The island's pretty small so you'll get to see all of it, but you might want to see it from the water and also some of the other islands.”

“Oh, that sounds like fun, but Berkley is my tour director,” she said, glancing at me.

“I think that would be great. Thanks, Doyle.”

Conversation shifted to Leigh and her plans for a day care center. “So with the back support payment that's owed to me and my share of the sale of the house, after the first of the year I just might be able to rent something here on the island.”

“That would be great,” I said. “We'll keep our eyes open for rental property.”

“Well, ya know . . . I do have that property on Third Street, near the Curl Up and Dye.” Raylene fingered her napkin as all of us looked at her. Was this the same nasty woman I'd first encountered trying to ban Corabeth's books now offering assistance?

She looked at Mr. Carl, and I saw him nod as if to encourage her.

“It's not much and needs a lot of remodeling. Two cottages side by side. One could be used for your day care center, and you could live in the other one.”

The expression on Leigh's face showed her surprise. “Are you serious? You'd be willing to rent me that property? I know exactly where you mean. I've walked past there many times thinking it would be the ideal spot.”

“Well, if you're interested, we can discuss it. But as I said, it will need sprucing up. Hasn't been lived in or used in a long time.”

“I'm pretty handy with remodeling,” Doyle said. “I'd be more than happy to help you out.”

“Same here,” Saxton told her. “I'm not sure how handy I am with that kind of work, but I'd be happy to help you too.”

I caught the excitement and said, “Oh, me too. I can swing a paintbrush pretty well, and I'm good with wallpaper and just general cleanup.”

Leigh wiped her eyes with her napkin. “My goodness, I never expected this. Okay. That would be great. Miss Raylene, why don't I take you to lunch next week and we'll discuss this. Thank you.”

I smiled. That's how things happened on this island. Somebody needed help and the community chipped in. I remembered the story that Chloe had told me about Mr. Al and how his house and property had been such an eyesore that a few disgruntled residents felt he should be put into a nursing home and the property sold. But that had not happened. The entire community had banded together and cleaned up the property, and Mr. Al still lived there with his precious dog, Pal.

By the time dessert and coffee were served, everybody was filled with good food and good feelings.

“Okay,” Mr. Carl said, tapping his spoon against his coffee cup. “I have a little announcement that I'd like to make.”

BOOK: Postcards from Cedar Key

11.42Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub

Read Book Download Book

ads