Under a Summer Sky, page 19
He looked down at his notes. “There was a time, early in our marriage, when my wife was a carefree spirit. She took life as it came . . . and saw it as a cycle of changing seasons . . . a rising tide followed by an ebbing tide . . . a world where joy is often paired with sorrow . . . but, even so, she always had a cheerful, positive outlook.
“And then, she gave birth to our first son . . . and she’s never been the same.”
The congregation chuckled.
“When a woman becomes a mother, her old perception of the world is set back on its heels. The love she feels for her child is as fierce as a grizzly bear’s . . . and there is nothing that will stop her from protecting it. In fact, without a second thought, she will lay her life on the line for that new little human being; and the world—which she once viewed as a welcoming, wonderful place—becomes a giant danger zone, complete with yellow tape, and filled with endless reasons to worry.
“From the moment we brought Elijah home from the hospital, my wife was a changed woman. Was the car seat strapped in properly? Were we using the right diapers? Was every cabinet baby-proofed? Should he be allowed to use a pacifier or suck his thumb? Should he be sleeping on his side . . . his stomach . . . his back? Was he breathing? Was he getting enough fresh air? Was he warm? Was he too warm? Was he eating enough? Sleeping enough? Pooping enough? And why was his poop that awful green color?”
He looked up. “Sorry, E, I didn’t know you were going to be in church today.”
His oldest son smiled. It wasn’t the first time he’d been included in his father’s sermon.
“I will never forget the first time we took E and Gabe to the Barnstable County Fair. E was probably around two, and Gabe was still pretty new. In fact, I was carrying him in one of those baby carriers. Well, we went into a crowded tent that was serving a sit-down chicken dinner, and as we juggled our plates and looked for a place to sit, Laney realized E wasn’t with us. She turned to me, and with utter panic in her eyes, squeaked, ‘Where’s Elijah?’
“I looked around. ‘He was just here,’ I said, but in the sea of people, we couldn’t spot him right away. As we looked for him and called his name, time seemed to slow to a crawl. Pretty soon, everyone in the tent had stopped what they were doing and were looking too . . . but when Laney started to frantically make her way toward the exit, shouting his name at the top of her lungs, the crowd parted like the Red Sea . . . because a grizzly bear mother had lost her cub.
“Well, needless to say—as you all can see—he was located. In fact, it was just a moment later that my dear wife found him, standing outside, looking around innocently, completely unaware of the heart attack he’d just given his mother . . . and with tears streaming down her cheeks, Laney scooped him up, wrapped him in a bear hug, and held him so tightly I thought she’d never let him go.”
Noah smiled. “For years afterward, our boys had to hold hands at all times at the Barnstable County Fair. In fact, they’re lucky they don’t have tracking chips surgically implanted in their necks.”
At this, the congregation chuckled, and Noah smiled.
“Well, fast-forward twelve years and imagine E in middle school, announcing that he would not be holding anyone’s hand at the fair. He even ventured to say that he planned on hanging out with his friends . . . and not us. Needless to say, it was a rough night for his poor mother, whose memory of the traumatic night twelve years earlier was still ingrained in her memory. And to this day, although E is now twenty-one, Laney still has a hard time letting him go. Thank goodness someone invented the cell phone!”
Noah paused and looked down. “We all know how hard it is to let go. Every mother and father, since the beginning of time, has struggled with letting go of their offspring, but we must remember that our children are gifts from God, and they are put in our charge to love and raise and nurture . . . and through them, God teaches us to trust him. Even when illness or loss or tragedy strikes, He promises to be with us . . . and with them.
“Life isn’t easy for anyone. When we are facing difficult times, and it feels like our world is crashing down, and we look at other folks walking down the street or on the beach—and they are smiling or chatting with friends—we ask, ‘Why can’t that be me? Why can’t my life be easy like theirs?’ It’s then that we need to remember that we are not alone in our suffering—although it may seem like it at the time—there’s not a soul on earth that doesn’t face struggle at some point . . . but God is always there to give us the strength to soldier on.
“In chapter eleven, Matthew shares Jesus’ invitation: ‘Come to me, all who are heavy laden, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you, and learn from me; for I am gentle and lowly in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light.’ ” Noah looked up, his eyes sparkling. “And these, my friends, are some of the most comforting words in the Bible.” He smiled. “We would all do well to inscribe them on our hearts. Amen.”
41
Asa stood on the porch, listening to the mournful cries of the gander as he swam slowly back and forth in the last golden rays of sunlight. For as long as he could remember, he and Maddie had looked forward to the pair’s arrival every spring—they’d even had an unspoken rivalry as to who would see or hear them first. And they never tired of listening to the gander’s deep a-honk, or her loving reply—a higher ca-honk that assured, “I’m here, dear.” But now the male’s calls were heart wrenching—it had been two days since the fox had killed his beloved mate, and he was still grieving.
“What will become of him?” Maddie asked.
“I don’t know,” Asa replied.
“I wish we could help.”
“I don’t think there’s anything you can do for a broken heart.”
“We have that old incubator. Maybe we could incubate their eggs. They must’ve been pretty close to hatching.”
Asa shook his head. “They’ve been neglected for two days now . . . and even if they do hatch, he may not take care of them. What will we do then?”
Maddie looked thoughtful. “Raise them ourselves.”
Asa shook his head. “Hon, I know you want to help, but we have a lot going on. We certainly don’t have time to be playing Father and Mother Goose.”
“I have time.”
“What about the weekend of the wedding?”
“I’ll get Bella to take care of them,” Maddie said, thinking of the young daughter of their next-door neighbor.
Asa sighed, suddenly realizing his wife had latched onto an idea and had no plans of letting go. He put his arm around her. “What if taking the eggs from the nest causes him more trauma?”
Maddie looked skeptical. “I don’t think he even remembers they’re there.”
“Can it at least wait ’til morning? I don’t have the energy to dig out the incubator tonight.”
Maddie nodded. “First thing . . .”
Asa agreed. “First thing.”
42
Beryl sat on the porch of her childhood home and watched as her mom’s old bulldog waddled along behind her sister’s big black Lab, Norman, trying to sniff his hind end. “Flan-o,” she called. “Could you try to be a little more ladylike?” But Flannery ignored her and continued to stop and pee wherever Norman peed.
Rumer looked up from husking corn and laughed. “She’s just reclaiming her territory.”
Isak took a sip of her wine and added, “It was her territory first, and she can’t understand why it smells like Norman everywhere.”
“She’s too much,” Beryl said with a resigned sigh, reaching for another ear of corn. “Is this corn from Kimberly’s?”
“Yup. Just picked this morning,” Rumer said.
“I wonder if we should get our corn for the clambake from them.”
“You should. They have the sweetest corn around.”
Beryl nodded. “Maybe we’ll stop and talk to John on our way home.”
Isak reached for an ear. “How come Micah’s parents aren’t coming tonight?”
“His dad hasn’t been feeling well,” Beryl confided. “He’s a little evasive about what’s going on,” she added quietly, “but Micah says he’s always been that way.”
“Will’s parents are like that too,” Rumer said with a sympathetic nod. “I hate it when people aren’t forthcoming. Whatever it is, just come out with it.”
Beryl stacked several ears of corn on the arm of her chair. “They also had a Canada goose killed in their yard.”
“Oh, no!” Rumer said. “That’s awful.”
“It is awful. The same pair has been nesting on their pond for years, and the other night, the female was killed by a fox . . . and now her mate keeps calling for her.”
“That’s so sad,” Isak said, reaching for another ear. “Don’t geese mate for life?”
“They do,” Beryl said. “And now Micah’s parents are worried about what will happen to him. He’s so heartbroken.”
“Okay,” Micah interrupted, coming out on the porch with a plate in his hands. “Who’s having a burger and who’s having a hot dog?”
Isak frowned. “I thought we were having steak. . . .”
Micah laughed. “I knew that would get you going,” he teased, and as he went down the steps to the grill, Isak threw a cushion at him.
“You’re not funny, Coleman,” she called.
Beryl laughed. “Micah is really looking forward to Bermuda,” she confided softly. “He’s like a little kid. He even bought a new bathing suit.”
Rumer laughed. “I’m so jealous. Will and I never got to go on a honeymoon.”
“Micah and Beth never did either.”
“Well, you guys are going to have such a good time.”
Beryl nodded. “I hope so. I hope there aren’t any hurricanes.”
“You don’t need to worry,” Isak reassured. “Hurricane season doesn’t really get going until September.”
As she said this, Matt and Will came around the corner of the house, and Matt stopped to admire the porch Will had just restored. “It needed new flooring and posts.”
“Well, it looks great,” Matt said with a nod. “Everything you’ve done to this old place looks great.”
“Thanks,” Will said. “We still have a long way to go. Ru wants to re-do the kitchen, but I’m so busy right now I think it’s going to have to wait until winter.”
“I heard that,” Rumer called over the railing, and Matt and Will both laughed as they walked over to join Micah at the grill.
“You’re not supposed to be doing that,” Will said apologetically.
“Not a problem,” Micah said with a grin.
“Well, can I at least get you a beer?”
“Sure,” Micah said.
“How about you, Matt?”
“Sounds good.”
“Are the steaks almost ready?” Rumer called.
“Just turning ’em now,” Micah called back.
Will came back out on the porch with three frosty bottles as Rumer gathered up the corn. “Hon, can you round up Charlotte and Rand. I think he’s showing her the tree house,” she said.
Will nodded and held the door for her.
Beryl and Isak picked up the ears they’d husked and followed Rumer inside, and as Isak refilled their wine glasses and Beryl pulled salads out of the fridge, Rumer plunged the corn into the steaming pot on the stove.
Moments later, giggling Charlotte chased her new cousin into the kitchen with Norman at their heels and Flan waddling as fast as she could to keep up. “Go wash up, Char,” Micah commanded as he held the platter of sizzling steaks up so it wouldn’t get knocked from his hand.
“You too, Rand,” Will called.
When they were all finally seated around the kitchen table, Rand reached eagerly for an ear of corn, but Charlotte nudged him and whispered, “Grace!”
Rand frowned, and Rumer raised her eyebrows. “You know what grace is.”
Sheepishly, Rand bowed his head, and everyone else turned to look at Micah.
“Me?” he said with a groan.
“Might as well be you,” Matt said matter-of-factly. “You’re closer to the cloth than any of us.”
Micah shook his head, but then looked down and paused reflectively. Before he spoke, he glanced around the table at the bowed heads—including Rand’s and Charlotte’s, whose eyes were squeezed shut—waiting, and he bowed his head again. “Thank you, Father,” he began softly, “for the blessing of a beautiful summer day . . . a bountiful table . . .” And then, in traditional Coleman style, he paused before adding, “And a big, crazy, wonderful family.”
They all chuckled, and Beryl squeezed his hand.
“Amen!” Matt said, holding up his drink.
A chorus of voices responded, “Amen!” and then cheerful chatter and laughter filled the kitchen as bowls of potato salad, Caesar salad, and Beryl’s famous three bean salad circled the table, followed by steak, corn on the cob, and deviled eggs.
43
Maddie woke to the cheerful sound of chirping—the cardinal was first, then the chickadee, and then a titmouse joined in. She rolled onto her side, smiled sleepily, and was about to doze off again when she realized something was amiss—the traumatized honking that had haunted them for three days was silent.
“Asa, wake up,” she said, pulling on her robe and hurrying down the stairs with Harper at her heels. The pond was gray and misty in the early dawn light so she pulled on her gum boots and went out into the yard. As she walked along the edge of the pond, her heart pounded. She noticed Harper nosing near the nest. “Harp, leave it,” she commanded, and Harper backed away. She stepped closer, and then her eyes filled with tears—the gander’s lifeless body was lying among the cattails.
After a quiet breakfast, for which neither of them had much appetite, Asa rooted around in the garage for plywood to make a box while Maddie looked for the incubator. After twenty minutes, she groaned, “I don’t see it.”
“It has to be here,” Asa said. “Did you look under that drop cloth?”
Maddie lifted a folded drop cloth up off the shelf behind their bicycles, and there it was. “You could’ve suggested looking there ten minutes ago.”
“I didn’t know,” he said innocently.
“Mmm,” she said, eyeing him skeptically. She brushed away the cobwebs and lifted the incubator off the shelf. Years earlier, after checking the prices of incubators at Agway and Tractor Supply, Asa decided he could make one that worked just as well. He found plans online, constructed a simple box out of plywood, and cut a hole in one end of it for a lightbulb and socket. It worked perfectly.
Maddie set the incubator on the workbench and plugged it in. The lightbulb flickered to life. “It still works,” she said in a surprised voice.
“Why shouldn’t it?” Asa asked. “We used it last year for the Bantams,” he said, referring to the laying hens they’d had the previous summer—before the fox discovered their yard was a perfect hunting ground.
“That’s probably why he took the goose,” Maddie surmised. “He was mad because we didn’t have any chickens this year.”
“Well, now there isn’t anything for him to snack on so he’ll have to move on. That is unless you’re successful at hatching those eggs. Then he’ll be back.”
Maddie frowned. “I didn’t think of that. . . .”
Asa stopped what he was doing and looked up. “It certainly would be sad if the goslings met an unfortunate end too.”
Maddie shook her head. She knew what her husband was doing, but she wasn’t falling for it. “I guess that’s a chance we’ll have to take,” she said as she disappeared to gather the eggs.
By lunchtime, their appetites had returned. The box had been built, a hole had been dug, and an old, soft towel had been folded into it. Together, they gently laid the gander in the box, and while Asa nailed on the top, Maddie folded another soft towel into the incubator and put the eggs under the warm light. They buried the goose under the pine trees on the far side of the pond, and while Asa put his tools away, Maddie checked on her eggs.
“A watched egg never hatches,” Asa teased.
“Very funny.”
“What’s for lunch?”
Maddie paused thoughtfully. “How about grilled cheese and tomato soup?”
Asa smiled. “That sounds good.”
44
The next two weeks flew by in a flurry of activity. The new oven, and to Laney’s delight, a matching stainless steel refrigerator with an ice and water dispenser were both ordered from Cape Appliance, and then several gallons of dark red paint with wooden paint stirrers appeared in the garage, along with new drop cloths, scrapers, and brushes.
Ben and Seth were immediately set to task, scraping loose paint off the front of the house, and although they were getting paid by the hour, it was tedious work and they were thankful it was only the front of the house that needed attention as the sides and back—in traditional Cape Cod style—were shingled.
On the morning the appliances were to be delivered, Laney cleaned out the contents of the old fridge and realized they had two bottles of ketchup, three jars of mayonnaise—two of which were nearly empty—and three flavors of mustard: spicy Dijon, classic yellow, and honey. They also had enough bottles of salad dressing to open a restaurant, and several of them looked like they’d been in there for years. There was every flavor jam and jelly—also of vintage origin—as well as eggs, carrots, celery, cold cuts, one container of orange juice, and an almost empty gallon of milk. When she finished with the fridge, she dragged in two old beach coolers, filled the bottoms with ice, and packed them full with several half gallons of ice cream, Popsicles, waffles, frozen vegetables, chicken nuggets, French fries, ziplock bags of mystery meat, and numerous cans of frozen lemonade. Next, she carefully plucked off the outer layer of magnets that were holding up years of photographs, notes, and phone numbers and put them all in a box for safekeeping.
