Semper Fi (43 page)

Everyone laughed, and then the show was apparently over. Sophie beamed. “Wasn’t that funny?”

“Sure. But why do they do that?”

She shrugged. “I dunno. Because it’s funny.”

When they made their way back to the Clover Grove table set up on the street near the bakery, Jim glanced up from a piece of paper. “Did they get him good this year?”

Sophie grinned. “Uh-huh.”

Cal took his seat beside Jim. “Why exactly does the mayor of Tivoli agree to this ritual?”

“People bid money on the pies and it goes into the town’s coffers. It’s a tradition. The bidding wars can get pretty darn fierce.”

“I’m glad it’s not me with a pie in my face. Although…” Cal examined their table. “If there are any of Mrs. O’Brien’s apple pies left at the end of the day, I’m eating one.”

Sophie plopped onto Cal’s lap. “You can’t eat a whole pie.”

Jim snorted. “Oh, he could. Believe me.”

“I won’t even use a fork.”

She poked him in the stomach. “You’ll get fat.”

“It’s true. I will. Let’s hope I don’t get hungry enough to eat you.” He tickled her as she squirmed and squealed.

A little girl in pigtails appeared. “Sophie, come ride the tilt-a-whirl!”

With a quick glance at Jim, who nodded, Sophie disappeared into the crowd. Cal tapped the piece of paper in Jim’s lap. “What’s that?”

Jim passed it over. “I picked up the mail. There was a letter from Joe. He got married.” Jim held up a small black and white photo of big old Joe with a tiny blonde on his arm.

“First Gambler and now Joe?” Grinning, Cal read the letter, scrawled in Joe’s messy hand, telling of how he’d made foreman at the mill and that Miss Lydia Rogers had agreed to become his wife. “We should invite them to visit.” He glanced at Jim’s unreadable expression. “Unless…I guess we shouldn’t.” Cal folded the letter and handed it back.

“No. We should. Definitely. I’ll write this week.”

“Okay.” Cal smiled and felt that silly flip-flop of his stomach that hadn’t gone away yet. He wondered if it ever would. He and Jim sat in companionable silence, watching the townsfolk go by.

“Hello, Clover Grove.” Rebecca approached the table. “I’ll have a glass of cider, please. I’d prefer the alcoholic kind, but I suppose it’s not ready yet.”

“I’m afraid the regular old cider will have to do for now.” Jim poured her a glass and waved off her offer of money. “It’s on the house.”

“All right, if you insist. How did the harvest go? All finished?”

Jim nodded. “We are. Still lots of work, but the picking’s done for the year.”

“Good.” Rebecca smiled at Cal. “And I hear you’re staying on permanently.”

“That I am.” Cal could still hardly believe it was true.

“Welcome to Tivoli, Mr. Cunningham. Officially, that is.”

“Thank you kindly.” Cal stood and walked around the table to kiss Rebecca’s cheek.

They were jostled suddenly, and Cal looked down to find Sophie scowling at them. “Say hello, Sophie.”

“Hi, Aunt Rebecca,” she muttered.

“Hello, honey,” Rebecca said. “Are you having fun?”

Sophie only nodded.

“Well, I should get going. I’ll see you all soon.” Rebecca waved and moved into the crowd.

Staring after her, Sophie’s frown deepened. Jim and Cal shared a glance as Cal sat down again. Jim looked just as lost as Cal felt.

“What’s wrong, sweetie?” Jim asked.

“Nothing.” It was a half-hearted response at best.

“
Sophie.
” Jim gave her a stern look. “Come on, now. Did something happen with Jane? Did you bicker?”

“No.” Sophie peeked at Cal. The next moment she exclaimed, “Are you going to marry her?”

Cal couldn’t have been more surprised if he’d gotten a pie in the face. “Who? Your pal Jane? She’s a little young for me, don’t you think?”

Sophie huffed. “You kissed Aunt Rebecca.” Her eyes narrowed. “I saw.”

“I was only being nice. She’s my friend. Your daddy’s friend too. Not to mention yours. I’m not going to marry her.”

Sophie’s lip trembled. “Promise?”

“I promise.” It would certainly be an easy one to keep.

“Sweetheart, what’s gotten into you?” Jim asked.

“Uncle Cal said he’s going to stay with us. For good.”

Cal opened his arms and beckoned Sophie onto his lap. “I’m staying. For good.”

She glanced back and forth between Cal and Jim. “Okay.” She relaxed against him. “I believe you.”

Holding her close, Cal pressed a kiss to her head, and Jim rubbed her arm gently. He and Jim looked at each other, and Jim smiled softly.

The sun was setting as they packed up the truck with the table and chairs and leftover apples and cider. Sophie and Adam were already slumped together in the middle of the cab, fast asleep. Cal had the keys in his pocket and got behind the wheel as Jim climbed into the passenger side.

Even when the engine rattled to life, the kids didn’t so much as twitch. Jim flicked on the radio, keeping the volume low as Art Mooney crooned about his four leaf clover. Cal sang along softly as he pulled onto the road, and Jim reached over the kids to rest his hand on the back of Cal’s neck.

Cal came to the crossroads and turned toward home.

Sophie inhaled deeply as she walked around to the kitchen door with her suitcase in hand. Clover Grove was just as she’d left it.

Well, almost.

Most of the leaves were off the trees, and a thin layer of snow clung to the roof of the barn. The orchard extended for another twenty-five acres now, and the young trees were ready to give fruit next year. The demand for Clover Grove hard cider had grown steadily through the years, and the cider house hummed with activity near the ever-expanding storage and fermentation shed.

She breathed in the sweet, fresh air again. It was good to be home. Her oxfords slipped in a puddle of slush, and mud splashed her stockings. Her knee skirt wasn’t quite as practical here as it was at school.

The rich smell of Sophie’s favorite beef casserole wafted out as she opened the door. Her dad spun around from the counter, dropping the knife he was using onto the cutting board with a clatter. “Sophie?”

“Hi, Dad.” She put down her case and hugged him tightly, relaxing into his warm, familiar embrace as she rested her head on his shoulder.

When she pulled away he checked his watch. The face was scratched and the gold worn, but he’d shrugged her off when she’d suggested getting it fixed or buying a new one.

“I thought you were coming in on the later train?”

“I finished early so I decided to surprise you. Dr. O’Brien gave me a ride on his way home. He said Mrs. O’Brien wants us all to come for lunch on Saturday, and to invite Grandma and Grandpa too.”

“Sure. That’ll be nice. Grandpa might not want to come, but if you give your grandmother a call, you can convince her. What time’s the train on Sunday? Can you stay for church?”

“Of course.” Sophie secretly hadn’t been to a single service since going to college, but she knew it would make her father happy.

“Oh, were you able to meet up with Aunt Rebecca in the city last week on your class trip? I forgot to ask.”

Nodding, Sophie smiled at the memory. “We went for lunch near Central Park, and then took the kids to FAO Schwartz. It was really fun. They’ve gotten so big now. Stephen’s almost seven and Lucy’s five already. Uncle Luke’s got a new job on Wall Street. Aunt Rebecca said he likes it a lot.”

“I’m glad to hear it.” Dad took hold of her shoulders, smiling the way he did when he got sentimental, the little wrinkles deepening around his eyes and mouth. He asked, “And how are you? How are your classes?”

“Since we talked on Sunday night? They’re still good, and yes, I’m still studying hard.”

“I know you are, sweetie. Look at you. A college girl.” Something flickered across his face. “Your mother would be so very proud.”

The old familiar sadness flowed through Sophie for a moment. “I know she would.” She smiled. “Geez, don’t make me cry already. I’ve only been home for five minutes.”

“Sorry.” He ran his hand over the short waves of her hair. “You cut it. Looks beautiful.”

Sophie beamed and patted where her hair curled just under her ears. “Thanks, Dad. Where’s Uncle Cal?”

“In the barn. Why don’t you say hello while I finish up dinner?”

She grinned. “You made my favorite.”

“Of course. Mostly because it’s one of the only things I can cook, and Cal’s making the Thanksgiving turkey tomorrow. He says I’m allowed to mash the potatoes and that’s it.”

“A wise move after last year.”

Dad picked up a dish towel and snapped it at her playfully before she escaped outside, squinting at the sun disappearing beyond the treetops. She thought about going to change into her old overalls as she hopped over a puddle of slush, but didn’t want to take the time.

From the paddock, old Trixie nickered, and Sophie called out softly as she passed, her breath clouding the wintry air. “I’ll see you soon, girl.”

The barn was still green, but a deeper shade that had been freshly painted that summer. She admired it as she drew near, smiling as she remembered how they’d all ended up splashed in green after Adam decided to splatter Uncle Cal and their dad with his paintbrush. Sophie hadn’t gotten it out of her hair for days.

Inside the barn, Uncle Cal looked up from where his head pressed against Gretchen’s flank as he milked her. “Would you look at what the cat dragged in.”

In the corner, Finnigan raised his head as well, his tail wagging. He trotted over slowly. Sophie bent low and scratched behind his ears. He was too old to chase deer now, and she was relieved to see him again, knowing it wouldn’t be much longer for him. “Hi, Finnigan. Are you keeping Uncle Cal out of trouble?”

“Never. Trouble’s my middle name.” Uncle Cal hauled her up into his arms and gave her a spin.

Her laughter echoing in the rafters, she clung to him.

Uncle Cal placed her gently on her feet and brushed back her coiffed hair. “Very stylish, Miss Bennett. You’re early. Eager to leave the bright lights of Ithaca behind?”

She grinned. “Something like that.” Reaching up, she touched the hair by his temples. “You didn’t have gray in September. Must be because you miss me.”

He nodded seriously. “It must be. Or I’m getting old, and it can’t be that.”

Laughing, Sophie went to Gretchen and gave her a pat. “You’re only thirty-nine. It’s not
that
old.”

“Thank you. That’s very reassuring. You want to take over? I’m sure Gretchen won’t mind. She’s never kicked anyone—not even me.”

They shared a smile as Sophie took the stool. She leaned down and pulled gently. The rhythm of milking was strangely comforting. After a few moments of peaceful silence, she gathered her nerve. “I met a boy,” she blurted, and then mentally cringed. This wasn’t at all how she’d rehearsed it.

“Did you?” Uncle Cal didn’t sound too thrilled. “All right, tell me more about this boy.”

“His name’s Matthew, and it’s not like that. We’re just friends. We sit together in American lit.” She pulled steadily, the milk squirting into the bucket. With a deep inhale, she rushed on. “He’s a homosexual.” Holding her breath, Sophie dared a glance back.

Uncle Cal was frozen in place where he stood leaning with one shoulder against the wall. He cleared his throat. “Is he?”

“Uh-huh.” Sophie’s pulse zoomed as she went back to milking, watching the bucket fill. “I don’t really see what the big deal is. Doesn’t bother me.”

“It doesn’t?” Uncle Cal’s voice was strained.

“Nope.” There was no milk left, so she stood and backed out of the stall. Sophie shrugged and forced herself to meet his gaze. “Not at all.”

Slowly, a smile lit up Uncle Cal’s face. “That’s good to know.”

“Maybe…” Her nerve faltered.

“What, sweetheart?”

“Maybe you could tell my dad some time. Or I could.
We
could. I think it would be good. For him to know.”

Nodding, Uncle Cal swallowed hard. “It would.”

Finnigan barked as Adam burst into the barn, dropping his bike with a clatter. His jeans were splattered with mud and getting too short for him. He was even ganglier than she remembered, all awkward limbs and pimples, and his hair had lost all its blondness now. Sophie grinned. “Hey, goober.”

Adam rolled his eyes. “Aren’t you too old to call me that now?”

“I’ll never be too old to call you goober.” She pulled him into a hug. He pretended to be reluctant the way he usually did now, but he still held her close. She leaned back. “Christ, you’re almost taller than I am already.”

“Whoa, is that the kind of language they’re teaching you at Cornell?” Uncle Cal chuckled. “Don’t let your father hear you talk like that.”

Dad’s voice floated down from the house. “Dinner’s ready!”

Adam patted his scrawny belly. “Thank God—I’m starving.” He took off at a run. “Come on!”

Uncle Cal put his arm around Sophie’s shoulders and pressed a kiss to her temple. “Good to have you home.”

She wrapped her arm around his waist tightly, and they made their way back to the warm glow of the house as the night settled in, laughing as they puddle jumped.