The Gathering Place Page 10

  “How are you feeling?” Ben asked.

  “Fit as a fiddle,” Digger assured him. He thumped on his chest with his fist. “I didn’t need to be cooped up in the hospital all that time. Doctors poking and prodding me. Why, that place is for sick people, God bless ’em. I’m not sick.”

  Of course not, Ben was about to say. Then he remembered that Digger was indeed sick; he just didn’t know it. He looked away and adroitly changed the subject. “I brought you something.” He offered Digger a rectangular-shaped package, wrapped in gift paper and a bow.

  “Why, thanks, Reverend. That was kind of you.” Digger took the package and shook it, listening. “Not candy, I hope. Grace will have a fit.”

  “No, not candy,” Ben said, with a laugh. “Go on, open it and you’ll see.”

  Digger tore off the wrapping, revealing a large, thick book. “Over the Bounding Main: A Short History of Shipbuilding in New England,” he said, reading the title aloud. He began leafing through the pages. “Hey, now, this looks like a great book you found for me. Look at these photographs.”

  “Check the index. I think there’s a lot in there about this area, even our town.”

  Digger flipped to the index and scanned the page with his fingertip, leaning his head back a bit to see the words clearly. “Yup. They got a lot in here about Cape Light,” he said, looking back up at Ben with a pleased expression. “Maybe I’ll find a word or two about yours truly,” he added, with a twinkle in his eye.

  Ben laughed. “I think the era it covers is well before your time, Digger.”

  “Sure, I knew that.” The old seaman laughed. “My head is just getting swelled with all this attention, I guess.”

  “I’ll say,” Grace agreed from the doorway. She had entered so quietly that neither of them had heard her coming, Ben realized.

  “Look here, Grace. Reverend Ben gave me this fine book about shipbuilding. It’s mighty thick, too. Ought to last me the winter,” he said thoughtfully.

  “That was very considerate of you, Reverend,” Grace said.

  “Not at all. I hoped to find something he would enjoy. I’m glad you like it, Digger,” Ben said, rising from his seat. “And I’m pleased to see you’re feeling better.”

  “Good enough to hear your sermon on Sunday, Reverend. Don’t you worry,” Digger assured him.

  “I wasn’t worried a bit,” Ben said, with a laugh. He shook hands with Digger again, and there were some more good-byes as Grace retrieved his hat and coat.

  When he got to the stairwell, Grace said, “I’ll go out with you, Reverend. Daisy needs a walk. Just let me get my coat.”

  Ben waited while Grace slipped on a long tweed coat and buttoned it up to her neck. The dog’s tail beat wildly when she spotted her leash, and she nudged Ben aside so it could be snapped on. He followed Grace and Daisy down the stairs, sensing Grace wanted to speak to him out of her father’s earshot.

  “Digger looks well,” Ben said, as they stepped out onto the porch. “You’re taking good care of him, as always.”

  “He’s coming along,” she agreed, as they began to walk together down Main Street toward the harbor. “But he’ll never be quite the same again, will he?” She shook her head as she glanced at Ben. “He was lucky, people say. But it was more than luck. The Lord was watching over him,” she said quietly, staring straight ahead, “and I’m thankful.”

  Ben glanced at her, as they continued walking down the street. It was true. Digger had been spared purely by the grace of God. Yet it was almost as great a miracle to hear Grace Hegman give Him credit.

  “And I don’t think I ever thanked you for coming to sit with me, either. You and Carolyn. I can’t tell you what that meant to me, having some company while I waited to hear. And your prayers,” she added. Her voice broke off, and she pulled a tissue from her coat pocket. “When we got the call that he was still alive . . . well, it felt to me like God had really heard what was in my heart. This time, anyway.”

  Ben nodded. He knew what she meant—how when she lost her daughter years ago, it seemed as if God were deaf to her suffering and appeals. And so she had turned away from the church.

  “He is listening, Grace.” Ben paused, not knowing if he should pursue this topic any further or if the better course was to let her come to her own truth, in her own time. “Have you prayed since that night? Or read the Bible?” he asked.

  Grace shook her head. “No, I never was much of a Bible reader. But I guess I have prayed. In my way,” she added. “Giving thanks for the rescue and for Dad’s recovery.” She stared down at the ground and shook her head. “Honestly, Reverend, after the way I’ve acted toward God—the things I’ve said to Him in my mind—I feel awfully guilty asking for any more help. Or even just talking to Him, for that matter.”

  Ben already knew Grace felt this way, but it was a great step in the right direction, he thought, for her to see it so clearly. To see the boulder that blocked her spiritual path. The loss of a child is so life shattering, so incomprehensible, he thought. It amazed him that anyone was able to go on after that. Though he had ministered many facing that unthinkable event, he realized that he could never totally imagine the devastation a parent must feel. He could understand how a woman like Grace would enter into a lifelong, angry stalemate with God. But now she felt remorseful for turning her back on God, it seemed, since this time in her hour of need He had not turned his back on her.

  Ben reached out and touched her shoulder. “Grace, God forgives you. Whatever you did or said, the anger in your heart—He understands and forgives. Even if you have never truly forgiven Him for taking Julie,” he added quietly.

  Grace pursed her lips and stared down at the dog walking just ahead of them. “I’ll never understand it,” she admitted, “not as long as I live.” Her voice trailed off, and she took a deep breath of the cold air. “I don’t understand why God spared Dad and not Julie. Maybe someday I will.”

  “Understand . . . or merely accept that God’s ways are often beyond our understanding,” Ben said. “Prayer does help, you know.”

  She didn’t answer, as she paused and pulled out a pair of brown woolen gloves from her pocket, somehow managing to put them on while still holding on to the leash.

  Ben wondered if he should mention coming to service. She had not attended for years, but it would do her good now, he thought. Yet he sensed it wasn’t time to push her any further. She seemed to be thinking a great deal about these questions, working on them. He was grateful for that at least.

  Daisy whined and tugged on her leash. Ben noticed that they had already reached the green. “She’s caught a scent. I guess I’m going this way,” Grace said. “Thanks again for the visit, Reverend. It was good of you.”

  “My pleasure, Grace. I’ll be seeing you.”

  Grace waved good-bye again, then she turned abruptly onto a path leading toward the harbor. Ben watched her for a moment, the big yellow dog tugging her along.

  The weather report called for snow tonight, but the sky above him was clear, a startling shade of blue, the water out in the harbor sparkling in the sun’s reflection. Would it snow? he wondered. That was yet another mystery.

  God’s mysterious ways are beyond our understanding, as deep and fathomless as the sky above, he thought. If he could ever help Grace accept that . . . well, then he’d really have helped her on her journey.

  JANE HARMON BREEZED INTO THE NEWSPAPER OFFICE AND DUMPED HER shoulder bag on her desk, then tugged off her woolen cap. Dark curls flew out in all directions, like a small explosion, Sara thought.

  Sara was happy to see her. She had been alone in the office the past few hours and was eager to have someone to talk to. Jane had been really nice so far, offering encouraging remarks on Sara’s articles or sympathetically rolling her eyes when Wyatt got into one of his states.

  “Listen to this,” Jane said. “I just covered that meeting of the Public Services Commission this morning. I thought it was going to be a real snore and didn’t even ge
t there on time—don’t tell Wyatt, of course,” she added in a quick aside. “Then the mayor got into this major brawl with the county commissioner. I mean, I thought good old Emily Warwick was going to haul off and sock the guy. You should have seen it.”

  “Emily?” Sara wasn’t sure Jane knew that she and Emily were related. Closely related. “I’ve never really seen her lose her temper. Not like that, I mean.”

  “Believe it. I got a really good shot of her, too. Wyatt is going to love this. I can see the caption now: ‘Mayor Avoids Assaulting County Commissioner—but Just Barely.’ ” She grinned. “I was dying to get more pictures but my shutter jammed.”

  Lucky for Emily, Sara thought. It was hard for her to realize that they’d be printing a photo and story that would make Emily look bad.

  Jane’s grin faded, and she stared at Sara for a long moment. “Oh man, I’m sorry. Emily Warwick’s your mother, right?” Jane slapped her forehead with her hand. “How dumb am I?”

  Sara swallowed and nodded. “She’s my birth mother.”

  “I heard that story a few months ago, but when I met you the other day, I didn’t put it together. I’m sorry about what I just said. Really,” Jane said quickly. “I think she’s pretty cool, actually. That’s just the way I get sometimes. I talk first, think later—”

  “It’s okay,” Sara said, cutting her off. “We all need to be able to cover stories the way we see them. I completely understand. So how long have you worked on the paper?” she asked, wanting to change the topic.

  “It will be two years in February. But I was only part-time at first. Then in September, when Dan lost two of his regulars to Crown News, he asked me to come in full-time. So I did.”

  “Crown News again,” Sara said. “They’re starting to sound like some science-fiction monster that sucks up unsuspecting newspaper staffers like a giant sponge.”

  “Almost.” Jane laughed. “They now own a lot of newspapers around here that were once independent. Our local competition, the Chronicle, used to be run by a guy like Dan once, too. But Crown bought it a few years ago. Paid a load of money for it, I hear.”

  “Really? I wonder how Dan’s escaped their clutches.”

  “They’d buy the Messenger in a minute. But Dan would never sell out. He’s been saving the paper for Wyatt—the family tradition and all that.”

  “Right, I’ve heard about that,” Sara said. “Did you grow up around here?” she asked, thinking Jane knew a lot of local history.

  “In Ipswich, just south of here,” Jane said. “I went to college in Vermont. I wanted to work on a big daily, like the Boston Globe. But I got the job here as a stringer and thought it would be good experience. At least for a while.” Jane paused and pushed at her hair with her hand. “Working for Dan was okay. He never said too much, though you sure knew when he didn’t like a story,” she added, with a laugh. “Wyatt is a lot different. It’s taking me a while to get used to him.”

  Me, too, Sara thought, but I thought it was just because I was new. “How do you mean?” she asked.

  “Well, he gets more excited about the stories, so that’s sort of fun,” Jane mused. “And he’s definitely cuter,” she added, with a mischievous grin.

  “Yes, he’s definitely that,” Sara agreed.

  “But sometimes I feel like . . . well, like he doesn’t really know what he’s doing. You always knew what Dan wanted you to do and where you stood with him. Sometimes Wyatt seems like he wants me to tell him what my assignment should be.”

  “He does seem disorganized at times. I guess he’s still getting used to running the paper.”

  Jane shrugged. “Maybe that’s it. I sure wouldn’t want his job.” She took a sip of her coffee and glanced at her watch. “I’d better write up that story.”

  Wyatt suddenly appeared in the doorway. “What’s going on here? Sounds like a coffee klatch,” he said, with mock severity.

  “It could be. Except that we don’t have any coffee left. I had to buy this at the diner,” Jane said, holding up her take-out cup.

  Wyatt tugged off the long scarf he wore slung around his neck. “I’ll put it on my list, Harmon. How was the meeting? I hope you have something for me. I have a huge hole on page three.”

  “Never mind page three, this is page one. Above the fold,” Jane said excitedly. She picked up her notebook and followed Wyatt back to his desk, describing the confrontation between Emily and the commissioner.

  Sara didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but it was hard not to. Wyatt sounded pleased with Jane’s report.

  “Sounds hot,” he said. “Don’t go overboard, though. And call Warwick and Commissioner Callahan for comments. Guess I will have to rip up page one. For once, I thought I’d get out of here at a decent hour.” He sat back in his chair and sighed. “Did you get any pictures?”

  “I think I caught the mayor looking as if she’s just about to have a stroke,” Jane replied.

  Sara secretly cringed. Poor Emily, she thought. But there was really nothing she could do about it. Rather, nothing she should do about it. She couldn’t have anyone here thinking she wanted the paper to give Emily special treatment, just because she was related to her. Besides, Emily had been mayor for the past three years. This was her second term. She had to be used to this by now, Sara reasoned.

  Sara turned back to her computer and focused on finishing her article. It was really dull stuff, compared to Jane’s story, page-five caliber. But maybe Wyatt would use it for the hole on page three now, she thought hopefully.

  BEN PULLED UP IN THE RECTORY’S DRIVE AND SAW CAROLYN STRUGGLING to unlock the front door while holding two bags of groceries. She paused and waited for him.

  “You’re home early,” she said, kissing his cheek.

  “Or you’re a bit late tonight,” he replied. He took the bags from her, and she twisted the key in the lock.

  “I stopped in to see Rachel. She was so tired, I stayed and cooked them dinner.”

  “Aren’t you sweet. I’m sure she appreciated that,” he said, setting the groceries on the kitchen counter.

  “Yes, she did appreciate the help. But that means your dinner will be late.”

  “Let’s just call up for a pizza or something. You don’t have to cook twice, dear.”

  Carolyn cast him a look. “You don’t really like pizza, Ben. It always gives you heartburn.” He could see her dutiful nature warring with her fatigue.

  “That’s because I ask for too many toppings,” he insisted. “We’ll just get a plain one tonight. Maybe pepperoni on half,” he amended. “I’ll be fine, honestly. I’ll call them right now.” He picked up the phone before she could argue further. While Ben ordered the pizza, Carolyn began to put the groceries away.

  “How is Rachel feeling? Besides tired, I mean,” Ben asked.

  “Oh, you know. Just what you would expect. Tired of waiting. Very excited.”

  “That goes for all of us, I’d say,” Ben replied.

  Carolyn took two dishes from a shelf then turned to face him. “She’s still talking about calling Mark. She wants to try to persuade him to come back in time for the baby.”

  Ben shrugged. “Maybe she should call him again if she really wants to. Maybe she can persuade him.”

  “I think he wants to come back—but he’s still angry at me, Ben. He can’t forgive me, so he can’t face me.” Carolyn put the plates down on the table. The rattling sound unnerved him.

  “Carolyn, please, we’ve been through this before. You can’t blame yourself for the fact that you suffered from depression. And you can’t blame yourself for Mark’s reactions.”

  “Ben, please, you know what I’m saying is true,” she insisted. “My depression doesn’t excuse anything. Mark felt ignored, unloved. He didn’t get enough from me then, and he never really understood why. Well, on an intellectual level he did, maybe, but deep down, it still left scars. Then he always felt as though you didn’t really recognize his feelings. You didn’t believe how much it hurt him. You wanted h
im to just buck up and get with the program—and he never quite could.”

  “That’s not true,” Ben insisted. “I bent over backward to understand that boy. All the times he got in trouble, the way he embarrassed the family—deliberately humiliated me,” he admitted. “The private school. The counseling. Nobody tried harder than we did.”

  Carolyn sat down at the table but didn’t say a word. Her hurt silence seemed to echo through the room.

  Ben tried again. “Mark is an adult, a grown man. Whatever shortcomings you may have had as a mother came about because you were sick. He has to face that and accept it.” He paused, trying not to sound impatient with his son—and his wife. But he was tired and it was difficult. “If anyone should take the blame for his anger, it’s me. Not you. I agree with that much at least.”

  “Well, we’re both to blame then,” Carolyn said, sounding even more upset now. She impatiently swept a lock of hair from her eyes.

  “Maybe I could have done more for him,” Ben said quietly. “But I was stretched pretty thin just trying to keep up with the congregation. I didn’t understand what was troubling him, and he hid a lot from us back then.”

  “Yes, he did,” she agreed. “Or we weren’t watching closely enough.” She sighed, picking up a napkin and folding it carefully in half. Her hands were still so graceful, he thought, like a young girl’s.

  “Carolyn, the point is nobody is guaranteed perfect parenting, Mark included. Yes, we both have our shortcomings, yours being more forgivable than mine, I think. But we’ve always shown him our love. What more can we do?”

  “I don’t know. . . . I just wish that there was something. There mustbe something,” she said. She’d been staring down at the table but now lifted her head to look at him. He saw a film of unshed tears in her eyes. “Don’t you want to see him? Aren’t you just aching to see him? Our only son. It’s been two years.”

  He heard the pain in her voice, a mother’s anguish. It tore at his heart, but it only made him feel more angry and frustrated with his son for hurting her so callously.

  “Of course, I want to see him. I think about him all the time. I miss him as much as you do,” he insisted quietly. “But I also feel at my wits’ end. How many times can we call and encourage him to come back? I think we have to wait for Mark to decide he’s ready.”