The Gin & Chowder Club, page 18
95
The librarian looked up and saw the envelope in Noelle’s hand. “I thought he would be back by now,” she began. “Would you like me to give that to him?”
Noelle looked down at the name on the envelope. Oh, Asa, where are you?
Her hands were shaking as she put the book she had tried to read back on the cart. She glanced at the envelope again. “No. Thank you, though. You needn’t even say I was here. I’ll see him soon.”
The librarian looked surprised as she studied Noelle’s pale face. “Are you sure?”
“Yes.” Noelle paused. “I’m sure.”
Her trembling hands slipped the envelope into the book she had brought from home to give to Asa. She slipped the book back into her bag, and then she pushed open the door and stepped outside. Rain had started to fall again, and the drops blended with the tears on her cheeks.
96
“Is your name Asa?”
Asa turned to look at the young woman who had just passed him. He studied her face and tried to place her. Her eyes were a pretty hazel, and she had a smattering of freckles across the bridge of her nose. She had the hood of her jacket up, and at first he didn’t recognize her without her glasses.
“Yes,” he answered.
“I thought so,” she began, “because I was at the library earlier, and there was someone looking for you.”
Asa looked puzzled. “Looking for me?”
“Yes, I’m quite sure. I don’t know if she’s still there, but she waited a long time. She is . . .” the girl paused. “What I mean is, I think she is expecting.”
Asa ran the rest of the way to the library. Mrs. Draper was locking the door as he came up the walk. “The library closes at three on Wednesdays,” she said, putting up her umbrella and walking away. On the sidewalk in front of the library, Asa stood with his hands hanging at his sides and looked up at the falling rain. . . .
97
If I can just make it to the car . . . Please let me make it to the car, Noelle pleaded silently after finally arriving back in Boston. The pain deep in her belly was excruciating, and the concerned faces of passersby began to blend together. She saw her car in the parking lot where she had left it, and cradling her belly, she tried desperately to walk with some measure of normalcy. A sudden, shocking pain exploded inside of her abdomen, and she cried out as she fell forward. Nearby, a gentleman saw what was happening and rushed to catch her. Noelle collapsed onto the sidewalk and lay still, trying to focus. She looked up at the clouds and listened to the worried voices all around her. She noticed a patch of blue, the voices fading in and out. The summer sky was there all the time . . . the sweet summer sky. She closed her eyes and listened. The voices were quiet now, but there was another sound, faint at first . . . more clearly now . . . Yes, she was certain—a cardinal was calling. . . .
98
Nate heard the screaming siren pierce the normal sounds of evening traffic. It seemed to draw closer, and as he walked across Dewey Square, he paused to watch the commotion. A crowd had gathered, and the siren stopped abruptly as an ambulance pulled up in front of the bus station. Nate wondered what had happened and silently said a prayer, as he always did, for whoever it was who needed help. After several minutes, the crowd parted again and the ambulance pulled away, its lights flashing across the sky, the unsettling sound of its siren fading into the night.
When Nate pulled into the driveway of the old Victorian, he wondered where Noelle could be. He opened the car door, and even before he reached the back steps, he heard the telephone in the kitchen ringing impatiently. He hurriedly opened the door to answer it, and as he did, his hands started to shake. . . . The screaming siren, the impatient ringing, the voice on the other end all echoed through his mind.
99
The emergency room was swarming with activity as Nate frantically pressed the receptionist for information. A nursing friend of Noelle’s looked up and recognized Nate. She quickly found Noelle’s paperwork and began to explain. “They are wheeling her into surgery right now. . . .” But all Nate heard was surgery as he ran the length of the corridor, his heart pounding painfully in his chest. A second nurse put out her arm as he rushed toward the moving gurney, but he pushed past her and reached for Noelle’s hand.
Noelle’s eyes were closed, but she opened them when she felt his touch. “Oh, Nate,” she murmured weakly, “I’m sorry . . . I’m so sorry. . . .” She seemed to drift in and out of consciousness. Nate pressed her hand to his lips as tears streamed down his cheeks. He held her hand as long as they would let him, even as the sea of worried voices threatened to drown him. She has lost too much blood. . . . The baby is in distress.... Oh, God, get her in there. I don’t know if we can save them. Sir, you must let go. . . .
100
Asa looked up at the panes of glass and counted them again. Six across, eight up: forty-eight panes in the bottom and another forty in the top—eighty-eight panes in one set of windows ; he thought of all the times he had counted these panes while sitting in the pew next to his brother, longing to be on the other side of them. He remembered how the minister had once asked them, during children’s time, to think of something for which they were thankful, and Asa had said that he was thankful that it wasn’t his job to keep all of those windows clean. The congregation had chuckled. Asa wished he could return to the innocence of that day.
They were beautiful windows, he thought, especially when the late-day sun filtered in, as it did now, causing the sanctuary to glow with an ethereal light. Isaac arrived late and slipped quietly into the pew beside him. The two boys sat a few rows behind their parents, who were seated in front with Nate. They stood for the last hymn, and Asa looked at Nate, who was bowed in sorrow, his shoulders sagging with grief. He looked at his parents standing beside Nate, bearing him up, and he looked out the window. I loved her too. I loved her, and no one knows. No one will ever know how much I miss her. He gripped the smooth wooden pew in front of him. No one will ever say, “Asa, we are so sorry for your loss. We know how much she meant to you.” Asa stared at the wooden casket. No one will ever know that I meant something to you and that you loved me.
He looked out the window and listened to the words of the hymn. When I tread the verge of Jordan . . . bid my anxious fears subside . . . death of death and hell’s destruction . . . land me safe on Canaan’s side. He listened to the regal sound of a trumpet. Songs of praises . . . songs of praises . . . I will ever give to thee. Tears streamed down his cheeks as he whispered, “I will never give to thee. . . .”
You . . . You have punished us all—guilty and innocent alike—and this is how it ends. She will never hold her child, and he . . . he will never know his mother. And I . . . I will never have the chance to tell her all the things I meant to say. Never again will I praise You. . . .
The service ended, and the baby, cradled in Sarah’s arms, cried out. Nate took the tiny bundle from her and walked slowly up to the front. He ran his fingers lightly over the smooth mahogany wood and bowed his head. Then he turned and slowly made his way up the aisle.
PART III
Stand at the crossroads, and look, and ask for the ancient paths, where the good way lies; and walk in it.
—Jeremiah 6:16
101
Asa closed The Fountainhead on his lap and leaned back in his chair. Then he hesitated, opened it to the last page, and read the last passage again, about the young college graduate wondering if life was worth living.
Asa closed the book, ran his hand over the cover, and thought about Ayn Rand’s words. He watched the clear water rushing over the rocks; he knew what it was like to not feel inspired . . . to feel nothing at all.
He looked over his shoulder at the clearing behind him; it was coming along, but there was still so much more to do. The land had been purchased with help from his father after he had been hired to teach English at a small high school in Jaffrey. Asa loved the historic little town. Emerson, Thoreau, and Kipling had all spent time here, and Willa Cather had lived here when she wrote My Antonia—she was even buried in the local cemetery. Asa’s parents had been thrilled with his new position and had driven up on several occasions to visit and see the parcel along the Contoocook River. The “Took,” as locals called it, was one of the few rivers in New Hampshire that flowed north, escaping into the solace of the New England countryside, and Asa felt a kinship with its placid waters. He ran a calloused hand through his hair and rubbed his aching shoulders. Clearing brush was slow, tedious work, but he didn’t mind. His brother had drawn up plans for a modest cabin with a center fieldstone chimney, and Asa looked forward to spending the New England winters next to its fireplace, but, for now, all he had was an Adirondack chair and a rustic fire pit. He had grown to love the mountains, and he no longer missed the ocean as much as he once had.
He had returned to Cape Cod only once after Noelle died. Isaac had asked him to be his best man at his wedding, and the small ceremony and reception had been held at the Chatham Bars. To everyone’s surprise, Isaac had fallen head over heels in love with the redhead from college. After graduation, he had taken her out to the Cape, and as they walked along the moonlit beach, he had asked her to marry him.
The next day, Isaac had driven to New Hampshire. The two brothers had hiked Monadnock, and Asa had stood at the top quoting Emerson—“ ‘Monadnoc is a mountain strong . . . Tall and good my kind among; But well I know, no mountain can . . . Measure with a perfect man’ ”—and Isaac had interrupted him to tell him the news. Asa had been speechless. He couldn’t believe that his brother had finally settled down, but he had met Nina on several occasions, and he knew she would keep him in line. Asa had smiled broadly and continued: “ ‘Mute orator! Well skilled to plead . . . and send conviction without phrase . . . Thou dost supply the shortness of our days . . . And promise, on thy Founder’s truth . . . long morrow to this mortal youth.’ ” And then he had shook his brother’s hand, clapped him on the back, and said he would be honored.
Asa set the book down on the arm of his chair and made a mental note to lend it to Isaac. Maybe he’d even buy him a copy for his birthday. He pulled himself from the chair, walked over to the river, reached into an icy pool, and fished out a bottle. He opened it, watched the sun slip behind the trees, and pictured Nauset Light—far away from where he stood. He knew, at that very moment, the faithful lighthouse was casting its light through the evening sky; he thought of his boyhood dream of being a lighthouse keeper and he smiled. Asa’s thoughts were interrupted by a sound behind him. He turned in time to see his brother trying to sneak up on him. Realizing that he had been caught, Isaac burst into song. Asa grinned and Isaac nodded at the bottle. “Looks like I’m just in time.”
Asa handed Isaac his untouched beer and reached into the river for another one. He opened it, tapped it against Isaac’s, and took a sip. “So, how’s fatherhood?”
Isaac sat in Asa’s chair and smiled. “Great!”
He and Nina had wasted no time starting a family. He took out a picture of a rosy-cheeked cherub with strawberry-blond locks and showed it to his brother. “She’s so good—never cries, smiles all the time, and loves to laugh. Thank goodness she doesn’t take after her moody uncle.”
Asa sat on a stump near the chair and looked at the picture. “Thank goodness she doesn’t take after her funny-looking father.”
Isaac glanced at the book on the arm of the chair. “Are you reading this?”
“Just finished—thought you might like to read it.”
“Already have. The story of Howard Roark is on the unauthorized reading list for architecture students.” He glanced around at the clearing. “It’s looking good. When do you hope to break ground?”
“Two weeks, if all goes well.” Asa paused. “What brings you up here anyway?”
“Dad sent me.” Asa watched his brother look out at the river and waited for him to continue. “Asa, Uncle Nate had a heart attack.”
Asa stared. “Is he okay?”
Isaac shook his head. “No, Asa . . .”
Asa looked at the last rays of sunlight filtering through the trees and absently wiped at the condensation on his bottle. He realized that the only other time he had seen Nate, after Noelle’s funeral, was at Isaac’s wedding. Isaac had pointed him out from across the room. His hair had turned snow white, and Asa had hardly recognized him. Nate had made his way over to greet them, and Asa had felt a wave of shame as he grasped Nate’s firm, honest handshake. He had searched Nate’s eyes—they still sparkled, but he knew they had seen more than their share of sorrow.
Over the years, Sarah had occasionally mentioned the little boy, Noah. She had reported that he was walking, then starting school, growing like a weed, and she had quietly told Asa that he should come home and see him. But Asa had stayed away—from the memory, from anything that reminded him of Noelle.
At the wedding, Asa had asked Nate about his son, and Nate had slipped a recent photo from his wallet. Asa had studied the picture and said, “He has Noelle’s eyes.” Nate had looked at Asa in an odd way. “Do you think so?”
Asa had nodded and, with tears in his eyes, started to excuse himself, but Nate had put his hand on his shoulder.
“Asa . . . ,” he had said gently, “it’s okay. . . .”
“Asa,” Isaac interrupted his thoughts. “You need to come home.”
102
Samuel stood at the railing in a pressed white oxford and black slacks. He looked out at the endless procession of whitecaps rushing toward the shore. Swirling his glass, he took a sip and whispered, “This one’s for you, old pal.” He looked around one last time at the vase of blue hydrangea blossoms on the linen tablecloth and mentally checked his list of preparations. He glanced from the old metal tub full of ice and bottles to the oak side table set with glasses and mixers.
Long ago, he and Nate had agreed that if anything ever happened, the one who was left behind would make sure that the other’s life would be remembered—and celebrated—with a traditional gathering. Samuel could hear the sounds of Tommy Dorsey’s band drifting out through the kitchen window and remembered that the chowder was still simmering on the stove. He had had a new helper with the clams this year, and his new helper had even known to rinse the clams. Samuel smiled as tears rolled down his cheeks. “You were a good dad,” he whispered.
An hour later, Samuel looked around at the many friends who had gathered to honor Nathaniel Shepherd. He looked at Sarah and the slight, blond-haired boy holding her hand. “Forgive me,” he began, “if I don’t get through this”—he ran his thumb under each eye—“without a few tears. I know Nate wanted it to be a celebration, but hopefully he will forgive me.” He paused again, blinked, and bit his lip. “This gathering is not the same today without Nate, although I know he is with us in spirit. I always thought Nate and I would be sipping gin and tonics together in our rocking chairs.” Those gathered chuckled warmly. “But I guess that is not to be . . .” Tears welled up in Samuel’s eyes again, and he pressed his lips together in a half-smile, fighting them back. “Instead, the good Lord has seen fit to bring Nate home, and He couldn’t have a finer servant. Nate was the best friend a man could ask for—kind and generous, loving and forgiving.” Samuel looked around and saw Isaac standing by the door and then realized that Asa was standing beside him.
Tears spilled down Samuel’s cheeks as he struggled to continue. “Nate weathered much sorrow, bittersweet sorrow, but . . . through it all, his faith was unwavering.” He looked down and smiled, through his tears, at the small boy watching him. “But Nate knew joy too—immeasurable joy.” Samuel wiped his eyes. “Okay, enough.” He held up his glass, and everyone else did the same. “To our dear old friend . . . may God bless him . . .”
The voices joined together in the melancholy toast. . . .
“To Nate . . .
’Tis the chowdah that waarms a man’s belly . . .
But aye, ’tis the gin that waarms his soul!”
103
Asa stood silently, watching the ebbing tide. He noticed a circular formation of old bricks being revealed by the tide. As he watched, the wet sand gently blanketed the edges of the worn edifice, and then the waves washed the sand away again. It had been years since Asa had walked along this beach, years since he had stood in this spot, but he was certain that the old foundation had not been visible when he was a boy.
“I thought I’d find you here,” a quiet voice said.
Asa looked up and saw his father standing beside him.
Asa nodded. He motioned to the bricks. “Was that always there?”
“I suspect it’s been there for a very long time,” Samuel answered, “but time and erosion have now made it more visible.”
“It looks like the foundation of a lighthouse.”
Samuel nodded. “I’m sure it’s from one of the Three Sisters.”
They stood in silence for a while and watched as more of the foundation was exposed. Finally, Samuel said, “I have something for you.”Asa looked up, and Samuel handed him a book. Asa took it and smoothed down a small tear in the cover.
“It was with Nate’s papers,” Samuel began, watching his son. “Asa, I knew Nate better than anyone, but it’s impossible to know someone completely. Sometimes a person doesn’t even know himself.” He paused and looked back at the foundation. “But, Asa, God knows . . . He knows what we do before we do it. He knows what we say before we say it, and He forgives us—long before we are ready to forgive ourselves.” Samuel paused again and looked at his son. “And then . . . Asa . . . God goes one step further and continues to bless us—no matter what we have done.”
Samuel hesitated. “Asa, I don’t know what happened all those years ago. I don’t know what led Noelle and you into such a tragic situation. After all this time, though, you continue to stand there, angry at God for what you believe he has taken away, and, I think, angry at yourself for being a part of it. But, Asa, have you ever stopped being angry long enough to consider all that He has given you?”
The librarian looked up and saw the envelope in Noelle’s hand. “I thought he would be back by now,” she began. “Would you like me to give that to him?”
Noelle looked down at the name on the envelope. Oh, Asa, where are you?
Her hands were shaking as she put the book she had tried to read back on the cart. She glanced at the envelope again. “No. Thank you, though. You needn’t even say I was here. I’ll see him soon.”
The librarian looked surprised as she studied Noelle’s pale face. “Are you sure?”
“Yes.” Noelle paused. “I’m sure.”
Her trembling hands slipped the envelope into the book she had brought from home to give to Asa. She slipped the book back into her bag, and then she pushed open the door and stepped outside. Rain had started to fall again, and the drops blended with the tears on her cheeks.
96
“Is your name Asa?”
Asa turned to look at the young woman who had just passed him. He studied her face and tried to place her. Her eyes were a pretty hazel, and she had a smattering of freckles across the bridge of her nose. She had the hood of her jacket up, and at first he didn’t recognize her without her glasses.
“Yes,” he answered.
“I thought so,” she began, “because I was at the library earlier, and there was someone looking for you.”
Asa looked puzzled. “Looking for me?”
“Yes, I’m quite sure. I don’t know if she’s still there, but she waited a long time. She is . . .” the girl paused. “What I mean is, I think she is expecting.”
Asa ran the rest of the way to the library. Mrs. Draper was locking the door as he came up the walk. “The library closes at three on Wednesdays,” she said, putting up her umbrella and walking away. On the sidewalk in front of the library, Asa stood with his hands hanging at his sides and looked up at the falling rain. . . .
97
If I can just make it to the car . . . Please let me make it to the car, Noelle pleaded silently after finally arriving back in Boston. The pain deep in her belly was excruciating, and the concerned faces of passersby began to blend together. She saw her car in the parking lot where she had left it, and cradling her belly, she tried desperately to walk with some measure of normalcy. A sudden, shocking pain exploded inside of her abdomen, and she cried out as she fell forward. Nearby, a gentleman saw what was happening and rushed to catch her. Noelle collapsed onto the sidewalk and lay still, trying to focus. She looked up at the clouds and listened to the worried voices all around her. She noticed a patch of blue, the voices fading in and out. The summer sky was there all the time . . . the sweet summer sky. She closed her eyes and listened. The voices were quiet now, but there was another sound, faint at first . . . more clearly now . . . Yes, she was certain—a cardinal was calling. . . .
98
Nate heard the screaming siren pierce the normal sounds of evening traffic. It seemed to draw closer, and as he walked across Dewey Square, he paused to watch the commotion. A crowd had gathered, and the siren stopped abruptly as an ambulance pulled up in front of the bus station. Nate wondered what had happened and silently said a prayer, as he always did, for whoever it was who needed help. After several minutes, the crowd parted again and the ambulance pulled away, its lights flashing across the sky, the unsettling sound of its siren fading into the night.
When Nate pulled into the driveway of the old Victorian, he wondered where Noelle could be. He opened the car door, and even before he reached the back steps, he heard the telephone in the kitchen ringing impatiently. He hurriedly opened the door to answer it, and as he did, his hands started to shake. . . . The screaming siren, the impatient ringing, the voice on the other end all echoed through his mind.
99
The emergency room was swarming with activity as Nate frantically pressed the receptionist for information. A nursing friend of Noelle’s looked up and recognized Nate. She quickly found Noelle’s paperwork and began to explain. “They are wheeling her into surgery right now. . . .” But all Nate heard was surgery as he ran the length of the corridor, his heart pounding painfully in his chest. A second nurse put out her arm as he rushed toward the moving gurney, but he pushed past her and reached for Noelle’s hand.
Noelle’s eyes were closed, but she opened them when she felt his touch. “Oh, Nate,” she murmured weakly, “I’m sorry . . . I’m so sorry. . . .” She seemed to drift in and out of consciousness. Nate pressed her hand to his lips as tears streamed down his cheeks. He held her hand as long as they would let him, even as the sea of worried voices threatened to drown him. She has lost too much blood. . . . The baby is in distress.... Oh, God, get her in there. I don’t know if we can save them. Sir, you must let go. . . .
100
Asa looked up at the panes of glass and counted them again. Six across, eight up: forty-eight panes in the bottom and another forty in the top—eighty-eight panes in one set of windows ; he thought of all the times he had counted these panes while sitting in the pew next to his brother, longing to be on the other side of them. He remembered how the minister had once asked them, during children’s time, to think of something for which they were thankful, and Asa had said that he was thankful that it wasn’t his job to keep all of those windows clean. The congregation had chuckled. Asa wished he could return to the innocence of that day.
They were beautiful windows, he thought, especially when the late-day sun filtered in, as it did now, causing the sanctuary to glow with an ethereal light. Isaac arrived late and slipped quietly into the pew beside him. The two boys sat a few rows behind their parents, who were seated in front with Nate. They stood for the last hymn, and Asa looked at Nate, who was bowed in sorrow, his shoulders sagging with grief. He looked at his parents standing beside Nate, bearing him up, and he looked out the window. I loved her too. I loved her, and no one knows. No one will ever know how much I miss her. He gripped the smooth wooden pew in front of him. No one will ever say, “Asa, we are so sorry for your loss. We know how much she meant to you.” Asa stared at the wooden casket. No one will ever know that I meant something to you and that you loved me.
He looked out the window and listened to the words of the hymn. When I tread the verge of Jordan . . . bid my anxious fears subside . . . death of death and hell’s destruction . . . land me safe on Canaan’s side. He listened to the regal sound of a trumpet. Songs of praises . . . songs of praises . . . I will ever give to thee. Tears streamed down his cheeks as he whispered, “I will never give to thee. . . .”
You . . . You have punished us all—guilty and innocent alike—and this is how it ends. She will never hold her child, and he . . . he will never know his mother. And I . . . I will never have the chance to tell her all the things I meant to say. Never again will I praise You. . . .
The service ended, and the baby, cradled in Sarah’s arms, cried out. Nate took the tiny bundle from her and walked slowly up to the front. He ran his fingers lightly over the smooth mahogany wood and bowed his head. Then he turned and slowly made his way up the aisle.
PART III
Stand at the crossroads, and look, and ask for the ancient paths, where the good way lies; and walk in it.
—Jeremiah 6:16
101
Asa closed The Fountainhead on his lap and leaned back in his chair. Then he hesitated, opened it to the last page, and read the last passage again, about the young college graduate wondering if life was worth living.
Asa closed the book, ran his hand over the cover, and thought about Ayn Rand’s words. He watched the clear water rushing over the rocks; he knew what it was like to not feel inspired . . . to feel nothing at all.
He looked over his shoulder at the clearing behind him; it was coming along, but there was still so much more to do. The land had been purchased with help from his father after he had been hired to teach English at a small high school in Jaffrey. Asa loved the historic little town. Emerson, Thoreau, and Kipling had all spent time here, and Willa Cather had lived here when she wrote My Antonia—she was even buried in the local cemetery. Asa’s parents had been thrilled with his new position and had driven up on several occasions to visit and see the parcel along the Contoocook River. The “Took,” as locals called it, was one of the few rivers in New Hampshire that flowed north, escaping into the solace of the New England countryside, and Asa felt a kinship with its placid waters. He ran a calloused hand through his hair and rubbed his aching shoulders. Clearing brush was slow, tedious work, but he didn’t mind. His brother had drawn up plans for a modest cabin with a center fieldstone chimney, and Asa looked forward to spending the New England winters next to its fireplace, but, for now, all he had was an Adirondack chair and a rustic fire pit. He had grown to love the mountains, and he no longer missed the ocean as much as he once had.
He had returned to Cape Cod only once after Noelle died. Isaac had asked him to be his best man at his wedding, and the small ceremony and reception had been held at the Chatham Bars. To everyone’s surprise, Isaac had fallen head over heels in love with the redhead from college. After graduation, he had taken her out to the Cape, and as they walked along the moonlit beach, he had asked her to marry him.
The next day, Isaac had driven to New Hampshire. The two brothers had hiked Monadnock, and Asa had stood at the top quoting Emerson—“ ‘Monadnoc is a mountain strong . . . Tall and good my kind among; But well I know, no mountain can . . . Measure with a perfect man’ ”—and Isaac had interrupted him to tell him the news. Asa had been speechless. He couldn’t believe that his brother had finally settled down, but he had met Nina on several occasions, and he knew she would keep him in line. Asa had smiled broadly and continued: “ ‘Mute orator! Well skilled to plead . . . and send conviction without phrase . . . Thou dost supply the shortness of our days . . . And promise, on thy Founder’s truth . . . long morrow to this mortal youth.’ ” And then he had shook his brother’s hand, clapped him on the back, and said he would be honored.
Asa set the book down on the arm of his chair and made a mental note to lend it to Isaac. Maybe he’d even buy him a copy for his birthday. He pulled himself from the chair, walked over to the river, reached into an icy pool, and fished out a bottle. He opened it, watched the sun slip behind the trees, and pictured Nauset Light—far away from where he stood. He knew, at that very moment, the faithful lighthouse was casting its light through the evening sky; he thought of his boyhood dream of being a lighthouse keeper and he smiled. Asa’s thoughts were interrupted by a sound behind him. He turned in time to see his brother trying to sneak up on him. Realizing that he had been caught, Isaac burst into song. Asa grinned and Isaac nodded at the bottle. “Looks like I’m just in time.”
Asa handed Isaac his untouched beer and reached into the river for another one. He opened it, tapped it against Isaac’s, and took a sip. “So, how’s fatherhood?”
Isaac sat in Asa’s chair and smiled. “Great!”
He and Nina had wasted no time starting a family. He took out a picture of a rosy-cheeked cherub with strawberry-blond locks and showed it to his brother. “She’s so good—never cries, smiles all the time, and loves to laugh. Thank goodness she doesn’t take after her moody uncle.”
Asa sat on a stump near the chair and looked at the picture. “Thank goodness she doesn’t take after her funny-looking father.”
Isaac glanced at the book on the arm of the chair. “Are you reading this?”
“Just finished—thought you might like to read it.”
“Already have. The story of Howard Roark is on the unauthorized reading list for architecture students.” He glanced around at the clearing. “It’s looking good. When do you hope to break ground?”
“Two weeks, if all goes well.” Asa paused. “What brings you up here anyway?”
“Dad sent me.” Asa watched his brother look out at the river and waited for him to continue. “Asa, Uncle Nate had a heart attack.”
Asa stared. “Is he okay?”
Isaac shook his head. “No, Asa . . .”
Asa looked at the last rays of sunlight filtering through the trees and absently wiped at the condensation on his bottle. He realized that the only other time he had seen Nate, after Noelle’s funeral, was at Isaac’s wedding. Isaac had pointed him out from across the room. His hair had turned snow white, and Asa had hardly recognized him. Nate had made his way over to greet them, and Asa had felt a wave of shame as he grasped Nate’s firm, honest handshake. He had searched Nate’s eyes—they still sparkled, but he knew they had seen more than their share of sorrow.
Over the years, Sarah had occasionally mentioned the little boy, Noah. She had reported that he was walking, then starting school, growing like a weed, and she had quietly told Asa that he should come home and see him. But Asa had stayed away—from the memory, from anything that reminded him of Noelle.
At the wedding, Asa had asked Nate about his son, and Nate had slipped a recent photo from his wallet. Asa had studied the picture and said, “He has Noelle’s eyes.” Nate had looked at Asa in an odd way. “Do you think so?”
Asa had nodded and, with tears in his eyes, started to excuse himself, but Nate had put his hand on his shoulder.
“Asa . . . ,” he had said gently, “it’s okay. . . .”
“Asa,” Isaac interrupted his thoughts. “You need to come home.”
102
Samuel stood at the railing in a pressed white oxford and black slacks. He looked out at the endless procession of whitecaps rushing toward the shore. Swirling his glass, he took a sip and whispered, “This one’s for you, old pal.” He looked around one last time at the vase of blue hydrangea blossoms on the linen tablecloth and mentally checked his list of preparations. He glanced from the old metal tub full of ice and bottles to the oak side table set with glasses and mixers.
Long ago, he and Nate had agreed that if anything ever happened, the one who was left behind would make sure that the other’s life would be remembered—and celebrated—with a traditional gathering. Samuel could hear the sounds of Tommy Dorsey’s band drifting out through the kitchen window and remembered that the chowder was still simmering on the stove. He had had a new helper with the clams this year, and his new helper had even known to rinse the clams. Samuel smiled as tears rolled down his cheeks. “You were a good dad,” he whispered.
An hour later, Samuel looked around at the many friends who had gathered to honor Nathaniel Shepherd. He looked at Sarah and the slight, blond-haired boy holding her hand. “Forgive me,” he began, “if I don’t get through this”—he ran his thumb under each eye—“without a few tears. I know Nate wanted it to be a celebration, but hopefully he will forgive me.” He paused again, blinked, and bit his lip. “This gathering is not the same today without Nate, although I know he is with us in spirit. I always thought Nate and I would be sipping gin and tonics together in our rocking chairs.” Those gathered chuckled warmly. “But I guess that is not to be . . .” Tears welled up in Samuel’s eyes again, and he pressed his lips together in a half-smile, fighting them back. “Instead, the good Lord has seen fit to bring Nate home, and He couldn’t have a finer servant. Nate was the best friend a man could ask for—kind and generous, loving and forgiving.” Samuel looked around and saw Isaac standing by the door and then realized that Asa was standing beside him.
Tears spilled down Samuel’s cheeks as he struggled to continue. “Nate weathered much sorrow, bittersweet sorrow, but . . . through it all, his faith was unwavering.” He looked down and smiled, through his tears, at the small boy watching him. “But Nate knew joy too—immeasurable joy.” Samuel wiped his eyes. “Okay, enough.” He held up his glass, and everyone else did the same. “To our dear old friend . . . may God bless him . . .”
The voices joined together in the melancholy toast. . . .
“To Nate . . .
’Tis the chowdah that waarms a man’s belly . . .
But aye, ’tis the gin that waarms his soul!”
103
Asa stood silently, watching the ebbing tide. He noticed a circular formation of old bricks being revealed by the tide. As he watched, the wet sand gently blanketed the edges of the worn edifice, and then the waves washed the sand away again. It had been years since Asa had walked along this beach, years since he had stood in this spot, but he was certain that the old foundation had not been visible when he was a boy.
“I thought I’d find you here,” a quiet voice said.
Asa looked up and saw his father standing beside him.
Asa nodded. He motioned to the bricks. “Was that always there?”
“I suspect it’s been there for a very long time,” Samuel answered, “but time and erosion have now made it more visible.”
“It looks like the foundation of a lighthouse.”
Samuel nodded. “I’m sure it’s from one of the Three Sisters.”
They stood in silence for a while and watched as more of the foundation was exposed. Finally, Samuel said, “I have something for you.”Asa looked up, and Samuel handed him a book. Asa took it and smoothed down a small tear in the cover.
“It was with Nate’s papers,” Samuel began, watching his son. “Asa, I knew Nate better than anyone, but it’s impossible to know someone completely. Sometimes a person doesn’t even know himself.” He paused and looked back at the foundation. “But, Asa, God knows . . . He knows what we do before we do it. He knows what we say before we say it, and He forgives us—long before we are ready to forgive ourselves.” Samuel paused again and looked at his son. “And then . . . Asa . . . God goes one step further and continues to bless us—no matter what we have done.”
Samuel hesitated. “Asa, I don’t know what happened all those years ago. I don’t know what led Noelle and you into such a tragic situation. After all this time, though, you continue to stand there, angry at God for what you believe he has taken away, and, I think, angry at yourself for being a part of it. But, Asa, have you ever stopped being angry long enough to consider all that He has given you?”
