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  But maybe this was more her problem than anything he did? Perhaps it was because she liked him so much and still felt unsure of his feelings. That was to be expected at this stage, wasn’t it?

  She poured herself a much-needed cup of coffee and found a vase for the roses. They must have cost a fortune, she thought. She hadn’t noticed the card stapled to the wrapping before. Now she opened it.

  Here’s to the start of great things!—Paul

  HE REALLY WAS VERY THOUGHTFUL. PERHAPS A LITTLE distant or noncommittal, but maybe he was afraid to get involved too quickly because of his divorce. They just needed more time to get to know each other, Jessica assured herself. As she arranged the roses in the vase, she felt almost positive that by “the start of great things” Paul really meant their relationship.

  Jessica carried the roses down the hall to her office. Then she remembered the dust and the mess there. And Sam Morgan. She would have avoided him entirely, but she needed some documents for her meeting.

  When she opened her office door, she was surprised to find the room empty. She was even more surprised to see that it was now mostly in order. The drop cloths were gone, the furniture was back in place, and the plaster dust had been vacuumed up. A large double window, its glass still covered by thin brown paper, had been installed in the far wall.

  He must have worked through lunch, she thought. Still holding the roses, Jessica drew closer to the window. Then she heard someone enter and turned to see Sam.

  “Oh, you’re back. How was your lunch?” he greeted her.

  A bit presumptuous, wasn’t it, to ask her such a question? “It was lovely,” she replied crisply. “How was yours?”

  “I picked up a lovely roast beef hero and sat at the harbor.”

  That smile again. He was either laughing at her or flirting with her. Or both.

  “Good day for it.” She watched him walk over to his tool bag and put a hammer and two screwdrivers inside.

  “Yes, a very fine day,” he replied. She watched him eye the bouquet in her hands again, then he said, “I don’t know where you’ve been . . . but it looks as if you won first prize.” He stood up and faced her. “Congratulations,” he added, his expression quite serious but his eyes secretly laughing at her again.

  She started to answer, then pursed her lips, deciding not to engage him. She turned and placed the vase firmly on her desk.

  “Looks like you’re almost done here,” she said turning back to him.

  “Just about. I’ve been waiting for you, actually. Are you ready?”

  “Ready? For what?” He had the most disconcerting manner.

  “For the unveiling of your new window.”

  “Oh, yes. Of course.” She didn’t have time for this silliness. But still, Jessica felt the edges of her mouth twist up in a reluctant smile as he took a commanding pose by the window and prepared to pull off the brown paper.

  “No . . . wait.” He came over to her and lightly took hold of her shoulders, leading her to a different spot in the room. “I think you ought to stand right about . . . here,” he said.

  Before Jessica could resist, she was standing a few feet away, squarely in front of the window.

  He went back to the window and grabbed the edges of the paper with both hands. “You may want sunglasses,” he warned.

  She tried to look impatient. “Let’s get on with it, shall we?”

  “Okay, here we go. . . .” There was a ripping sound as the paper flew off the top and bottom panes. Then a flood of sunlight poured into the room, and Jessica actually wished she was wearing sunglasses.

  “Wow! That looks fantastic!” Jessica hadn’t meant to be so enthusiastic about his work, but she couldn’t help it. From the second floor of the bank, she not only had a view of Main Street but a scrap of the harbor as well.

  “Nice job, if I do say so myself.” Sam stepped back to admire his handiwork. “God really knew what he was doing when he invented windows, don’t you think? It’s a remarkable thing. Now you have sunlight, clouds, blue sky, even most of Main Street,” Sam said, removing a few bits of paper that clung to the glass. “Hey . . . look at that,” he added, staring at some point in the distance. “You can practically see my shop from here.”

  She turned to him and laughed. “What a bonus.”

  “I told you it would get better.”

  “Yes, it got much better,” she had to agree. “And faster than I expected.”

  “Thanks. Glad you like my work.”

  “You’re welcome,” she said simply.

  His handsome features relaxed into a warm smile. Not a teasing or mocking grin, but a look that made her feel happy and confused at the same time.

  Then she remembered herself. “I . . . uh . . . need to get into a meeting soon. I’d better get ready. Please excuse me.”

  “Of course.” He nodded and picked up a few more of his tools, packing them in a black metal toolbox. “By the way, not that it matters, but I’d never take you for the roses type.”

  She was already sitting at her desk and looked up, surprised at his comment. “Excuse me?”

  He shrugged a broad shoulder. “They’re pretty but just so . . . routine. I’d say something more like tiger lilies or sunflowers would suit you.”

  Jessica was so surprised by his observation, she couldn’t even reply.

  He closed his toolbox and walked to the door, his wide, supple mouth turned up in a charming grin. “I’ll see you around, okay?”

  “Bye, Sam,” she said slowly.

  She watched him leave and close the door. She worked for a few minutes, then looked up.

  The roses were beautiful . . . but suddenly they did seem a predictable choice.

  She drew her attention back to her work, only to find herself distracted again, this time by the window. It was a perfect day outside—crisp blue skies, a few sailboats skimming lazily into the harbor—suddenly framed for her view like a beautiful painting.

  A window really was a remarkable thing.

  CHAPTER THREE

  ON SUNDAY MORNING DIGGER HEGMAN WOKE BEFORE daybreak and dressed in the shadows of his attic room. Down in the kitchen he drank a cup of strong tea with a slice of bread and butter, then a slice of bread and jam.

  He lifted his pack and left the house, careful of his booted steps on the narrow staircase that led down from the apartment over his daughter’s shop. He liked the secretive feeling of leaving Grace and Daisy sleeping soundly within while he journeyed out.

  Digger would often walk from one end of the village to the other, and back again. He’d take his spot on the dock, pack his pipe, and have a long satisfying smoke. Most mornings groups of fishermen were gathered there, setting out for their workday on the water. He listened to them talk about boats or boast about the size of a catch. He heard them argue and complain, compare prices at the markets, or guess when Maine lobsters would swim down from cold waters.

  The talk was the same as it had been in his day. They looked the same, too, dressed in layers of thermal-knit tops, tar-stained sweatshirts, and sweaters unraveling at the neck or cuff, knit caps pulled low. Some of these boys had long beards, like the beard he’d always worn. Except for the time he woke from a nap to find Grace—just half a biscuit then—standing over him, his whiskers in one hand, her mother’s sewing shears in the others. She claimed the beard scratched too much when he kissed her so, of course, he had to laugh about it.

  Still, the mariner’s craft had changed. There were sonar screens on the boats now to help find the fish or hide the lobster pots. No such thing in his day. That didn’t seem like fishing to him. No mystery left to it at all. He could teach these fellows a thing or two. Never mind their radar or sonar or satellite dishes; he wasn’t out there to watch TV. But Digger never gave advice unless asked, and even then, he kept it short and sharp.

  Some days when he found himself at the end of Main Street, he took Hasty Way to the Beach Road and he just kept going—out to the flats or even Durham Point. He ke
pt a shovel in his pack and might dig for clams to work the kinks out. Digger was content when he was digging, arthritis and weak heart and all. Helped him think, to dig awhile. He knew he was blessed that such a simple thing never failed to make him peaceful and content. If he got his wish, the good Lord would take him some day doing just that, just digging.

  The weather didn’t matter. The rougher the weather, the more Digger enjoyed being out. The raw, damp breezes that swept in from the bay, the icy winds that blew from the northeast and sliced to the bone. The thick, soft fog that settled down over the village, as if the hand of God had dropped an extra blanket on a sleeping child.

  He liked to stroll through a feathery snowfall, or press his body full tilt against an icy blast that stung his lips and cheeks. And best of all, he liked standing beneath the full sun that beat down like a golden hammer.

  On this particular Sunday morning Digger walked around the village twice, ending up at the town dock, where he settled down on his usual bench at the very end of the structure. He took the Good Book out of his pack and read a few chapters, as was his daily habit.

  Today he read from the New Testament, Philippians, Chapter 4: “ . . . Not that I speak in respect of want: for I have learned, in whatsoever state I am, therewith to be content. . . .”

  When he finished his reading, he put the Bible away and took an apple, a chunk of sharp cheddar, and a paring knife out of his pack to start on his second breakfast.

  It was half past seven and the dockside was still quiet, with just one or two weekend sailors riding skiffs out to sleek fancy boats. The harbor was full, a watery parking lot with powerful motorboats tied up beside long, graceful sailboats and the rougher-looking vessels of the baymen.

  There were also a few people out jogging and walking. It amazed him to see how people these days had made a science out of walking, with special clothes, hooked up to music and blood-pressure wristwatches. He could remember when walking was just a way to get a person from one place to the other. Now people took it up as if it were some newly invented activity, he thought. Even otherwise levelheaded folks, like Carolyn Lewis.

  Digger was not surprised to see her out this early as she strode purposefully down the dock toward him, wearing baggy gray sweatpants, sneakers, and a yellow T-shirt covered with musical notes.

  With her arms pumping and legs swinging, she moved with such momentum he almost feared she’d chug right off the edge of the dock and into the water.

  He raised his hand in greeting. “Morning, Mrs. Lewis. Taking your exercise, I see.”

  She nodded and smiled, panting a bit. For Carolyn, a vigorous daily walk was a necessity, to keep both her body and spirit fit.

  She sat down on the bench next to Digger and took a drink from her water bottle. “How are you, Digger? How is your new job working out?”

  “I’ve got no complaints so far. And neither does Harry.” Digger grinned, displaying a row of large, tobacco-stained teeth through the shaggy opening of his whiskers. “So I guess it’s going better than either of us expected.”

  When Carolyn laughed, he added, “Don’t get me wrong. I’m grateful for the work, grateful to Harry and to the Lord for sending it. It’s good and right for a man to work if he’s able. I like getting my hands dirty, fixing something that’s broken. You get a better night’s sleep if you put your head down on the pillow knowing you’ve put your day to good use. And looking to make use of the next day, too.”

  “I feel exactly the same way,” Carolyn said.

  “Well, good for you. It didn’t sit so well with Grace though,” he confided as he sliced an apple. “She came after me that first day, thinking I’d wandered where I wasn’t wanted. Even after me and Harry explained it to her, she still tried to get me home. Claimed she needed my help in the shop, when it’s really no kind of work at all. Oh, maybe I’ll spruce up a little end table or a chair, fix it so it doesn’t wobble. I can do that much for her in my spare time,” he added.

  “Maybe Grace just wants you to take it easy,” Carolyn said gently.

  “I tried taking it easy,” Digger insisted. “It just didn’t stick. I really don’t understand how you’re supposed to do it. Retirement, I mean. Apple?” He offered her a slice of apple from his pocketknife, and Carolyn took it with a nod of thanks.

  “It’s a challenge for some people. I can see that.” Carolyn took a bite of the apple. It was perfect, juicy and tart. “So you’ve sorted it out with Grace about going to work?”

  “You might say. She’s not happy about it. But it’s going to be so.”

  Carolyn knew Digger was generally an easygoing person, but at times could be as immovable as the stone memorial in the village square.

  This was one of those times, she gathered.

  “Grace worries about me too much,” he said, shaking his head. “But the Lord’s going to take me when He’s ready. Whether I’m napping in a chair on the front porch or carrying Harry Reilly piggyback down Main Street.”

  The image made Carolyn smile. “It’s only natural for Grace to worry. Since you had the heart attack, I mean.”

  “The heart trouble only made it worse. She’s scared of losing me—ever since she lost Julie. She’s been almost too scared to poke her nose out the door since then. She still blames herself. And God,” he added quietly. Digger began to pack his pipe, the scent of sweet tobacco mixing with the sea air.

  Carolyn didn’t know what to say. Putting herself in Grace’s place, she wasn’t sure that she could go on after such a loss. Grace’s daughter, Julie, was only nine years old when she was hit by a car and killed, right in front of the Bramble Shop. Within a year Grace’s marriage had crumbled under the burden of the couple’s grief, and she had lost her faith as well. Her husband had left Cape Light. Carolyn thought maybe he’d moved up to Maine or Vermont. It had been five years since the tragedy, and Grace had never seen him again.

  Carolyn knew that Ben had done all he could to help Grace and bring her back to the church. Though he hadn’t made much progress so far, she knew he was still trying in his quiet but persistent way.

  Digger lit his pipe and took a long draw. “My daughter is a good-hearted woman, Mrs. Lewis, and she means well. When I was flailing about on my own, she took me in to live with her, no questions asked. I know I’m not the easiest fellow to live with, either. The gal’s going to lose her mind someday, for sure, if I turn up with another bucket of clams.”

  Carolyn laughed. “Yes, she does have patience with you, Digger. If you don’t mind me saying, I’ve noticed that myself.”

  But the arrangement had also been beneficial for Grace, Carolyn knew. Except for Digger and Daisy, who had been Julie’s dog, Grace had very little in her life.

  For a few moments Carolyn and Digger sat side by side, silently gazing out at the harbor.

  Carolyn realized she had a question for Digger. “By the way, I meant to stop by the shop and ask Grace about this, but perhaps you know. Is that old piano still sitting out in her barn? I have a new student, Lauren Willoughby, who could really use it. And Molly can’t afford much. I thought maybe she and Grace could work something out.”

  Digger glanced at her, then back out at the water. “The piano is still there. But my daughter is unlikely to part with it, being it was Julie’s. I know some have inquired, and she always says no.” He glanced at Carolyn, then scratched his ear for a second. “You might ask. Just to test the waters.”

  Carolyn hadn’t realized that the piano had been Julie’s. She was glad now she’d asked Digger about it first. “Well, I’ll see. There are a few other possibilities. I’ll look into those first.”

  “As you wish.” He took a long draw on his pipe. “You know it’s hard sometimes for me to see the way Grace is living her life,” he confided, “like a crab, scuttling backward on the sand, more worried about where she’s been than what’s right in front of her. Not making any headway at all. I don’t think it’s what the Lord intended. But there doesn’t seem to be much I can do
to help her.”

  “I’m sure you do your best, Digger,” Carolyn said, briefly meeting his pale blue gaze.

  Privately, though, she agreed. She, too, was sure that He had something much different in mind for Grace. Like forgiveness. And faith. It had taken years, but Carolyn had finally begun to learn those hard lessons herself. She hoped Grace would eventually get there. More than just hope for it, she would pray for it.

  “I’m sorry about Grace.” She reached out and lightly touched his arm. “I’ll remember her in my prayers.”

  Digger nodded and puffed his pipe. “Thank you, Mrs. Lewis.”

  Carolyn smiled at the formality. Although she and Digger had known each other for nearly eighteen years now, he still called her Mrs. Lewis out of respect for the reverend.

  Digger picked up a crumb of cheese and tossed it to a fat gull who sat perched on a nearby piling. The bird swooped down with a feathery flap, carrying the scrap away in the blink of an eye.

  “There’ll be rain by nightfall,” he noted, tipping his head back.

  Carolyn followed his gaze, but could only see blue sky and large puffy clouds—the kind she’d watched as a child to find faces and animals. “Do you really think so?”

  “Absolutely. Heavy, too,” he predicted.

  Carolyn’s brow crinkled. She hadn’t heard a word about rain on the radio, but over the years she’d learned that Digger’s local forecasts were mostly infallible. “I’ll remember to roll up the car windows.”

  She checked her watch. “Oh, dear. I need to get home and get ready for church.”

  There was one service on Sundays at Cape Light Bible Community Church, which began at ten-thirty. Her husband usually went to the church much earlier, to look in on the Sunday school and review his sermon. Carolyn liked to walk to the church, which wasn’t even two miles across the village from the rectory, but she was short on time today; she’d have to take the car.

  “Bye, Digger. I’ve got to run.” Carolyn waved as she headed down the dock again.

  Digger nodded and waved back. “See you in church, Mrs. Lewis,” he replied. Carolyn knew he meant the phrase literally; Digger Hegman rarely missed a Sunday.