Passions of Chelsea Kane Part 10

The fact that once she stepped foot outside her bedroom door everything was still slightly raw was secondary to the fact that she was out of the inn and in a home of her own. The farmhouse was different from anywhere else she'd lived. It was more intimate, and all hers. Unfinished though it was, temporary though it was, she loved It. The bedroom was rust-colored-walls, area rugs, even window shades. She had bought a large, light oak bed with a contemporary headboard and footboard and had found sheets and a comforter in a patchwork pattern that combined the same rust with bits of purple, hunter green, and beige. A long, 211 Definaw low dresser stood beneath a mirror on the opposite wall. On either side of the bed itself were matching nightstands, each with a cinnamon-shaded lamp. Beneath one of those lamps, lit gently, was a clockradio. Beside it was the telephone. When it rang for the very first time, she grinned. A ringing telephone meant that all was right with the world. Pleased with herself, with the farmhouse, and with Norwich Notch, she dropped the clothes she was putting into the dresser and went to answer it. "h.e.l.lo?" She wondered if it was Kevin calling from Mackinac Island. She had left the number with his answering service, knowing that he would be checking in. "h.e.l.lo?" It was definitely Kevin. The connection was bad, that was all. "Dad? Can you hear me?" After a minute, when no sound came across the line, she hung up. She was confident thi would call again, working through an operator this time.

She waited for the phone to ring. When several minutes pa.s.sed and it didn't, she returned to the dresser. She finished unpacking one suitcase, then another, then several cartons, filling the dresser drawers, plus two shelves at the top of the closet, plus the closet itself. She made a grouping of favorite photographs on the dresser-one of Kevin and Abby on their wedding day, one of her as a baby, one of the three of them at her high school graduation, one of the three Kanes, the three Harpers, and six other close friends crowded together and smiling on the deck of a boat in Narragansett Bay. She was looking at the photographs, letting her mind meander, when the phone rang again. She was across the room in a jiffy. "h.e.l.lo?" 212 The rawwons Of awlsea Kam Again there was silence. "h.e.l.lo?" She wondered if there was something wrong with the line. Pressing the cutoff b.u.t.ton, she dialed the ".-,.number of the inn. She had stayed there long enough to know that Sukie Blake would be at the front desk, looking for whatever diversion she could find. Sukie was perfectly willing to help. Chelsea gave her the number and hung up, waited until the phone rang again, then picked it up. Sukie's voice came across loud and clear, which meant that if it had been Kevin calling, the problem was on his end of the line. Chelsea went into the bathroom and began arranging the new towels she'd bought-some rustcolored, some cream-on racks first, then shelves. This time when the phone rang, she was slower to answer it. "h.e.l.lo?" Silence.

Feeling a thread of annoyance, because she did so want to tell someone about her new home, she said, "h.e.l.lo. When there was no reply, she hung up less gently. She wondered if Carl had been on the other end of the line, afraid to speak, simply wanting to hear the sound of her voice. If not Carl, perhaps Hunter, trying to spook her. But she wasn't being spooked. She didn't believe in ghosts. The farmhouse was peaceful and quiet. She finished unpacking, soaked for a long while in the oversize bathtub that Hunter had complained about, then got into bed. That was where she was when the phone rang next, in the limbo between 213 wakefulness and sleep, which was why she paid no heed to the static she heard. She simply hung up the phone, turned over, and fell asleep. It wasn't until the next morning that she identified the static as the distant buzz of children's voices. 214 eleven UDD MISSED THE PANCAKE BREAKFAST AT THE church so that he could have breakfast with his father at home. Leo Streeter might not have known he was there, but Judd knew, and that was what mattered. It hadn't always been that way. When he had first returned from Pittsburgh, his sole purpose had been pleasing Leo.

Drawing on memory of all that his father liked, he had squeezed orange juice fresh, grilled steaks until they were black trimmed'hedges straight across, left the bedroom door wide open. He had been sure that the familiarity of all he did would somehow strengthen Leo's touch with reality. But it hadn't. As the months, then years, pa.s.sed, Leo's world shrank to include little more than the fewest, most immediate moments in time. It was doubtful he knew that the orange juice was freshsqueez , or that it was orange juice at all. He had forgotten that he liked his steaks black, that he liked the hedges trimmed straight across, that he liked the bedroom door left wide open. He often forgot that he had a son and regarded Judd with a total lack of recognition. 215 Darbairm Deffnsw The Pa.s.sions of Cbelsen KADC Those times were the worst. Over the years Judd had progressed from denying the condition to fighting it, begrudging it, and then detesting it, but the pain was most brutal when he hunkered down by his father's chair and had to reintroduce himself.

In the end, after taking Leo from one doctor to another in search of a treatment that didn't yet exist, he had accepted the facts. He had modified the old house to make things safe for a man in his sixties with the mind of a child. He had hired local women to be there when he couldn't. He had bought comfortable porch furniture so that Leo could sit outside, had put benches in the yard, had installed a satellite dish so that Leo could watch Red Sox games live. Leo had been a diehard Red Sox fan. Judd couldn't think of his childhood without remembering the afternoons he and Leo had spent by the radio. Eventually radio had become television. Now, with the Sports Channel broadcasting every game, Judd had been sure that Leo would be glued to the screen. But Leo sat there blankly, as apt to doze off as to stand up midgame to respond to a doorbell that hadn't rung. He didn't know the players, didn't know the team, didn't know thegame. When Judd reacted to a play, Leo looked startled, and though he always answered in the affirmative when Judd asked if he'd enjoyed the game, Judd never knew for sure. The activity was forgotten the instant the set was turned off. Yet, when it came time, Judd put the next game on. There was a ritual to it, he realized-a ritual that benefited him far more than Leo. Long after he knew it made no difference at all, he continued to squeeze the orange juice fresh, trim the hedges straight 216 ross, and grill the steaks black. He did It because "he needed to do it, as an act of love for the man who had worked so hard to see his son move ahead in the world. Had Judd moved ahead? He asked himself that question as he walked down the street toward the center of town with Buck by his side. Had he moved ahead? He supposed he had. h.e.l.l, -wasn't he wearing a new sport s.h.i.+rt and shorts?

Wasn't he wearing new sneakers? If the measure of a man was how he dressed, he'd moved ahead, all right. Growing up in Norwich Notch as the son of a split-stone wall builder, he had known two kinds of clothes.

There were work clothes, which were st.u.r.dy, practical, and rarely clean, and church clothes, which were st.u.r.dy, practical, and always clean. When church clothes showed the slightest sign of being outgrown, they became work clothes, which meant that something was always tight. For reasons of comfort rather than vanity, Judd had rejoiced when he'd finally stopped growing. But his height had had one advantage. It had given him an edge playing basketball, and basketball had been his ticket to college. With a scholars.h.i.+p for tuition and his father's pitiful savings for incidentals, Judd enrolled at Penn State. Once there, he quickly discovered how ill-equipped he was in many respects, not the least of which was in his wardrobe. He worked as a short-order cook in a local sandwich shop to earn extra money, with which he bought a blazer and slacks to wear to social events, an overcoat to wear around campus during the winter, and oxford cloth s.h.i.+rts to wear with jeans for cla.s.s.

There were more blazers and 217 Bmim" Deuuww slacks, finer s.h.i.+rts and ties, when he started working in Pittsburgh. After several years there, he even bought a tuxedo. The tuxedo hung in his closet unused now.

Likewise the blazers, slacks, and ties. Norwich Notch wasn't a place where a man had much call for those things. So, had he moved ahead in life or not? He was still mulling over the answer when the town green came into view. It looked exactly as it had on the Fourth of July when he'd been a kid-the same bunches of red, white, and blue balloons tied to fence posts, the same streamers decorating the bandstand, the same American flags raised on makes.h.i.+ft poles every dozen or so yards around the green. The same crowds thronged the lawns, professional families with professional families, trade families with trade families, quarrymen with quarrymen. Timothy Mckeague, dressed in full Scottish regalia, played "Yankee Doodle Dandy4 on his bagpipes. Some things never changed. But had Judd? He was living where he had I lived as a kid and was working for the same company. Granted, he had made improvements in the house, and his position in the company was second only to its owner. Granted, his apt.i.tude for playing with computers put extra money in his bank account. But, d.a.m.n it, that bank account was in Jamieson's bank, just as it had been years before. There were times when he feared it would be there until the day he died. He had wanted something better than Leo had had. He had wanted something different. Yet here he was, all spiffed up for the Fourth like every other Notcher, waiting for the start of the parade. 218 The Pusgioso Of Cbelsea Out of habit, he headed for the bakery. He and his father had always watched the parade from the shade of the birch trees on its sidewalk. So had the Stebbens, the Hewitts, the Ridgethorns, and the Fricks. Likewise, there were families who, without fail, sat at the post office, or the historical society, or the bank. Tradition had a hold even on as innocent a thing as that. The Farrs, the Jamiesons, and the Plums, whose houses stood three in a row, parallel to the base of the green, watched the proceedings from their shaded front lawns. Those who weren't in the parade were already there-women of the older generation, a mixed group of Judd's contemporaries, an a.s.sortment of grandchildren spilling over from lawn chairs to the gra.s.s. Intermarriage had blurred the lines among the three families, as reflected in the haphazard way they congregated. Farr siblings mingled with Plum in-laws, who mixed with Jamieson nieces, nephews, and cousins. Only two were together consistently, mother and daughter, Margaret Plum and Donna Farr. Margaret's Oliver was in the parade, while Donna's Matthew stood at the far edge of the group beside his brother and sister-in-law. Judd didn't like Matthew. He had known Donna since grade school and remembered when she'd lost her hearing. If for no other reason than that, he would have paired her with someone kinder. It amazed him that Oliver could have been so blind in pus.h.i.+ng the two together, but then Oliver had never been known for compa.s.sion where his daughters were concerned. He had wanted sons. Having failed in that, he'd been bent on marrying off one of his 219 daughters to a Jamieson or a Farr. Name meant as much to him as tradition. Feeling a sudden urge to thumb his nose at both, Judd nodded his greeting to the friends stationed under the birches in front of the bakery-Buck was the one to greet each with a sniff, the politician with four legs and a tail-and walked right on past. Crossing the green, he climbed the steps of the library and leaned against the top stoop. The view here was better, he decided. He needed the change. The parade started with the flare of trumpets and drums that signaled the traditional march of the regional high school band. It was followed, also traditionally, by the three selectmen of Norwich Notch, propped high on the backseat of Emery Farr's 1961 Olds convertible. The selectmen waved. The Notchers cheered and waved back. From his new perspective, Judd took fresh notice of the townsfolk. He had known many of them all his life. Some had weathered the years better than others, both physically and economically, but none looked down at the heels. As a group they were actually fresh-scrubbed, though that would change as the day wore on. It was only nine o'clock.

By noon, when the sun was high and hot, there would be untucked s.h.i.+rts, bare feet, mustard stains, grape mustaches, and freckled noses. There was something charming about that, he supposed. Something healthy.

Something consistent. Something normal. There was also something confining, something that made him want to throw back his head and scream in frustration every once in a while. "Good things come to those who wait," Leo had always 220 Ike Paswons of CJWsen Kmw ', but Judd wasn't sure he believed it. His life had stalled. He wanted it moving again. He wanted to know that twenty years down the road he wouldn't be standing at the same spot, watching the same parade, wondering if that was all there was to life. Not everything in the Notch was stalled.

Infants had become toddlers since the last Fourth of July, toddlers had become little Idds, little kids had become big kids. Some of those big kids were members of the star Little League team now marching past with huge grins on their faces, large wads of bubble gum in their mouths, and c.o.c.kiness in their eyes. Judd had been c.o.c.ky like that once when he'd been just about their age. He'd been on a winning Little League team.

He'd even been the one to smack in the run that had put them over the top in the final game of the year. Leo had been ecstatic. Strong and powerful then, he had hoisted Judd onto his shoulders and, surrounded by shrieking teammates, paraded him around the field. Those had been nice times, when a home run meant happiness. He wished things were as simple now. He whistled loudly to Buck, who was making a pest of himself among the decorated bicycles and doll carriages that paraded by en route to the judging at the school. Some were ingenious, clearly the work of parents rather than kids, but Judd didn't begrudge that. Contests were big business in towns like Norwich Notch, where entertainment was in short supply. h.e.l.l, there were mothers who planned their year from one Halloween costume to the next. Not that he had personal experience with that. His mother had left when he'd been four. Leo had 221 Barbam Veunsjw been the one to dress him up for the few Halloweens he'd celebrated, and though Leo's heart had been in the right place, the costumes had been lame. By the time he was eight, Judd had found other things to do on Halloween night. Buck joined him on the library stoop in time to see the contestants in the Miss. Norwich Notch beauty contest, perched on a fire engine, looking lovely as ever. They also looked younger than ever, though Judd a.s.sumed that was a product of his own age. Junior Jamieson's daughter would win. A Jamieson always won. Even now the family was whooping it up as the engine purred past. Then his eye caught a patch of color, way down on the other side of the green.

Chelsea Kane, dressed in red, was leaning against a railing on the porch of the inn. She was holding a straw hat much like those sold at Farr's.

In her hand, complementing her clothes, it looked decidedly stylish.

Judd wondered why she wasn't watching the goings-on with the Farrs, Jamiesons, and Plums. By rights she was a VIP in town. But she was alone. He wondered what she thought of the parade. Janine would have thought it hokey as h.e.l.l. She wouldn't have stuck around long. But Chelsea didn't look as if she were going anywhere. She had her arm around a support column, as though it were her dearest friend. And maybe it was. She said she'd suffered recent personal losses. Judd wondered about those. He tried to make out her expression, but she was too far away. All he could see was that she was alone-and that she was one striking lady. Janine had been striking, but in a deliberate sort of 222 Ike Pa.s.sions of Ciwsea Kam ,,Way. Chelsea was almost inadvertently so, which made her all the more appealing. Poor Sara. She had called from Adams Falls several nights before to ask why he hadn't been around. He had pleaded overwork, but the fact was that since he'd first set eyes on Chelsea Kane, the thought of sweet Sara left him limp. Chelsea Kane made him hard, fast. No matter how often he told himself that she was trouble, all he had to do was think of touching her and his blood grew hot. It wouldn't have been so bad if she had been disinterested. But she felt it, too. He could see it In her eyes, could hear it in her voice, a tiny catch in her breath when they were close. A chemical attraction definitely existed between them. From her post on the porch she looked his way, and his heart began to thud. Oh, yes, she saw himand she wasn't looking away any more than he was. No matter that the Norwich Notch Square Dancers were dancing their merry way around the green on the back of a flatbed truck, or that the Girl Scouts and Boy Scouts were scuffling over who was supposed to be in front of whom, or that Farmer Galante was making a spectacle of himself herding a frightened family of sheep down the street. Chelsea was far more interesting to look at. Her money was allowing him finally to do things with Plum Granite, but he suspected she would be the death of him yet. Donna handed out yet another box lunch, gave change for yet another five-dollar bill, and wished that she had never offered to help Margaret. Every year she wished it, yet every year she was back. The 223 EArbwa Deffinhy Fourth of July wouldn't be the Fourth of July without the box lunch sale at the school, and Margaret, who organized it year after year, needed her help.

She couldn't complain about the setting. In the old days the sale had taken place in the parking lot, often beneath a baking sun. Then the Norwich Notch Beautification Committee had taken upon itself to clean up the shady meadow behind the school. Dead trees had been removed, live ones pruned, wildflower beds transferred to border spots to allow more open s.p.a.ce. There was a small playing field, with bleachers for the hordes of parents who came to watch, and there was Tiny Town, a playground made all of wood with towers, tunnels, bridges, and dozens of other places to climb. and crawl. Even now children swarmed over it.

Donna smiled a h.e.l.lo to some friends, gave them box lunches, took their money. Margaret was doing the same beside her, as were four others down the row. All were Margaret's friends and fellow members of the Norwich Notch Historical Society, which was another of her mother's pa.s.sions.

Historical Society, Quitters Guild, church-Donna often wondered where Margaret found the time and energy to do all she did. Years ago she had done nothing but sit home and brood. With age she was increasingly on the go. Of course, she didn't work as Donna did, and she didn't have children at home. Donna suspected that her activities were as much an escape from Oliver as anything else. He was getting older, slowing down, yielding more and more of the daily operation of Plum Granite to Judd.

With Chelsea doing her part, there would be even less for Oliver to do.

The more time he spent at home, the more Margaret was gone. 224 Me Pa.s.sions of Cbelsen Kow It was sad, Donna thought. For all his name and position and power, he was a lonely old man. But she couldn't blame Margaret. Oliver might be treating her gently, even with kid gloves, but for years his tongue had cut sharply. Margaret had enough anger in her to outlive him and then some. Donna wondered if she would end up that way herself. She and Matthew shared so little. If there had been love once, it was long gone. But divorce among the founding families was unheard of. And then there was Jos.h.i.+e. She caught sight of his blond head on the approach. He had three friends in tow, one of whom was Amy Summers. Her father, Neil, was the local doctor. Donna had been to him.

He was gentle and understanding. He was also divorced, which meant that Amy spent the better part of her winters with her mother in Was.h.i.+ngton and had a sophistication, even at twelve, that Norwich Notch children lacked. On the one hand, that made Donna nervous. Jos.h.i.+e was her little boy; she didn't want him growing up. On the other hand, she wanted him to experience more of the world than she had. Amy was a fine way to start. Apparently Jos.h.i.+e thought so, too, if the color on his cheeks and the faint swagger in his step meant anything. "Hey, Mom," he signed, "can we have lunch?" She held out her hand, palm up, and waited with a knowing smile on her face. Jos.h.i.+e had money. She had slipped it to him that morning. The rule was that he had to budget his way through the day. Given that half the cost of each lunch went toward a series of summer concerts on the green, she planned to stick to her guns. He made token noise for the sake of his friends, but within minutes all four had sh.e.l.led up the cash, 225 Bwbara DCHMW and Donna felt no guilt. They all came from comfortable homes. Some of the other children buying lunches weren't as lucky. In more than one case, she had given more change than was due, stuffing the folded bills in the child's pocket with no one the wiser. She could do that, she decided. It was a crime that Nolan would never chide her for. She stole a took at him. He was propped against the trash bin several yards away, just where he'd been for the past half hour. He was on duty, as always, and looked handsome, she thought. She wished he wore shorts like most of the other men. He had nice legs. When he winked at her, she blushed and pulled her attention back to the lunch table just as a family of stragglers arrived. She took care of them, then caught Nolan's eye again. He hadn't budged, and though he surveyed the meadow every so often lest someone accuse him of s.h.i.+rking his responsibility, for the most part he was looking at her. She didn't mind. Matthew was nowhere to be seen. It was nice to know someone cared.

She motioned him over and held out one of the few remaining lunches, but he shook his head. "Later," he said, and added quietly, "You look pretty."

"Thank you," she mouthed. "I like your hair." - She had it gathered behind one ear much as Chelsea had done that first day. Matthew had taken one look as he'd. stalked through the kitchen that morning and told her to put it back up or she'd be frizzy and hot. She had actually gone upstairs and lifted her brush, but when she looked at herself in the mirror, whether out of satisfaction at what she saw or annoyance with Matthew, she hadn't 226 The pa.s.sions Of cbelsen Kane uched a hair.

Now she was glad. If there were and added warmth to live with, Nolan's appreciation made them worth every degree. Glancing past Donna, he nodded to Margaret. ' job you and the ladies have done here, Miz Plum. It looks like most everyone's fed. Think you @-could spare Donna for a bit? I need her help with something." Donna eyed him curiously.

With a light touch to her elbow, he started to guide her off, only to stop, reach into his pocket for money, and put it on the table in exchange for a lunch. Taking her elbow again, he led her across the meadow to the far side of the playground. There, sitting alone at the base of a tree, where Donna hadn't been able to see her, was Chelsea.

Despite the red of her outfit, which Donna loved, she looked pensive, even sad, as she watched the children play. She was startled when they came up, as though her mind had been miles away, but she quickly smiled.

Nolan set the lunch on the ground before her. "You haven't eaten," he scolded, hitching his chin toward Donna, "and, neither has she. I would have taken two, but then people would have thought they were for Donna and me. Once rumors like that get started, they can be wicked to kill." Wearing the sweetest look, he said to Donna, "You've earned a break.

Please eat?" Donna didn't know whether to be disappointed that he wasn't eating with her himself or grateful that he'd led her to Chelsea. She did know that he was a special man, although she'd known that for some time. In answer to his question, she let her eyes ask one of Chelsea, who promptly moved aside her 227 Bmtom Velkwhy straw hat and said, "Please. I'd love the company." She looked totally sincere. "Thank you," Donna signed to Nolan. "You're welcome," he signed back, then said to Chelsea, "I'll leave you two to talk." With a small salute to her and a gentle touch to Donna's back, he did just that. "What a nice man," Chelsea said, patting the ground beside her. She waited until Donna had settled facing her to say, "f love your hair. You should wear it that way all the time. It makes you look very young."

"Thank you," Donna signed. "You're welcome," Chelsea signed back, looking so pleased with herself that Donna rolled her eyes. "Well, I'd know more if you'd teach me more," Chelsea teased. "Admit it. I'm a quick study."

"I admit it," Donna signed along with a nod that gave Chelsea the gist of the sign.

Whenever they talked, Chelsea asked for more signs, and although she was worlds away from fluency, the fact that she tried meant the world to Donna. She made the sign for lunch and pointed to the box. After opening it, she unwrapped the sandwich inside and gave half to Chelsea. "Chicken salad," she signed, then finger-spelled, "Okay?"

"Okay," Chelsea signed back, but the bite she took of the sandwich was little more than a nibble. Donna wondered if she was all right. She looked cheery enough in red. But the look on her face when she'd been sitting alone hadn't been cheery at all. "You don't look like you're into the spirit of this," Donna signed, without thinking beyond expressing concern. "Is something wrong?"

"You lost me," Chelsea said with a "Say it out loud."

228 "M FUSWOMS of amrsea JLWW Donna felt a familiar frustration. She hated her voice. It was flat, grossly nasal, and either too loud or too soft. She made a grating gesture by her ear. "it does not sound terrible," Chelsea protested. "I can understand every word you say."

Donna touched her cheeks and made a face. "There's no reason for you to be embarra.s.sed. Not with me. Come on, Donna. Tell me what you were thinking." Donna gave in, as much because she wanted to believe what Chelsea said as because she was concerned. "I was thinking that you looked sad before. I wondered why." Chelsea looked sheepish. After a minute she said, "Just feeling lonely, I guess. Sometimes, the more people there are around, the worse it is." She put her head back against the tree. "It's the idle time that does it. The price for laziness is self-pity." She pointed to a large group nearby. "I'd like to be in the middle of a big family like that one over there." Donna shook her head.

"No, you wouldn't. That's Stokey French. He has three wives." Chelsea laughed. "He can't have three wives. You must mean lovers."

"Live-in lovers," Donna signed, knowing Chelsea would understand.

"Three? Really?

How many kids?" Donna held up nine fingers. "Wow. Potent guy. And all three women live with him? What is it, something like a commune?"

"More like a den of iniquity," Donna said, and Chelsea laughed again as she looked at the group. "He's quite the peac.o.c.k, strutting around like that. I've seen him at the quarry. Come to think of it, 229 he made a pa.s.s at me when I first came, only I didn't realize it was a pa.s.s until now. Quite the ladies' man, is he?" Donna rolled her eyes. "How does he manage to carry on with three livein lovers in a conservative place like the Notch?"

"He lives in the Corner. Things are different there."

"Standards, you mean?" Chelsea asked, then looked up suddenly and said, "h.e.l.lo, Margaret." Donna wasn't surprised to see her mother. Margaret was like a shadow at times. This time she was carrying two lunches, and for a split second Donna wondered if she'd set out to chaperone Nolan and her. But no, she didn't look startled to find Chelsea. "May I join you?" she asked. "Of course," Chelsea said, sitting straighter. "We were just talking about Stokey French." Had it been up to her, Donna never would have broached this particular topic in front of her mother.

Margaret had strong feelings about certain things, and although she was miserly with words, she could be expressive. "Smarmy man," she said now as she lowered aside herself to the ground. Setting one of the lunches she carried by the one already there, she opened the other. "it's indecent, how he lives, how they all live in that place." She unwrapped her sandwich, lifted the top piece of bread, and studied the filling.

"'Twasn't always that way." "How was it before?" Chelsea asked. "Safer.

They were docile. They followed our rules at the quarry and at home. A man lived with the woman who bore his children. If she bore any chil-230 The pasokos orikww dren other than his, she was punished." "Punished?" Chelsea asked, frowning. Margaret replaced the top piece of bread, turned the sandwich over, and removed the bottom. "Cast out."

"Exiled?"

"Shunned."

"That's dreadful!" Chelsea said, and Donna held her breath, but Margaret remained calm. "'Twas actually quite humane." She replaced the bottom piece of bread. "Rather than being sent away penniless, she was allowed to remain."

"But her life must have been miserable."

"Yes. She was made an example to the others of what not to do." Chelsea looked appalled. Turning to Donna, she said, "Did that really happen?" Donna hesitated, then nodded. "Do you remember it?"

Donna was wondering how she could change the subject when Margaret said, "Donna was very young when it last happened. The woman was the wife of one of our men. Twelve months after he left her, she gave birth to a b.a.s.t.a.r.d son. You know him. Hunter Love." Donna's stomach had started to clench. Chelsea's jaw dropped. "Hunter? That's incredible."

"She was a trollop," Margaret said. "His mother?"

"She went mad, all alone."

"Before he was born?"

"She did something she shouldn't have done, and she paid the price. Then the boy killed her." Donna died inside. 231 "Killed her? Hunter?" Chelsea asked. "Hit her over the head." Donna bit her tongue to keep from crying out. Chelsea looked shaken. "How old was he?"

"Five. That was how long she kept him hidden in that shack of hers.

He killed her to escape, hit her over the head with a piece of wood, then ran off. They found him on the road. He refused to talk." He was only five, Donna wanted to cry, little more than a baby. He'd been locked up all his life. He'd been damaged. But she didn't say a word.

She never did when it came to Hunter. She'd learned her lesson the hard way. Taking a tiny straw of salt from the lunch box, she focused on it so that she wouldn't know what they were saying. It was the one advantage of being deaf, blocking things out simply by looking away. But she couldn't bear that, either. She wanted to know what Margaret was saying about Hunter so that she could set Chelsea straight. Chelsea looked as though she were having trouble with Margaret's story. For that alone Donna adored her. "She died of a blow to the head," Margaret said, "and he was the only one with her."

"She might have fallen," Chelsea argued, "She was. .h.i.t."

"Was it ever proven?"

"Not in a court."

"Did they ever do anything to him?"

"He was just a child. What could they do?"

"If they deemed him dangerous, they could have put him in an inst.i.tution."

Margaret drew herself up. With measured movements she laid her sandwich in its wrapper, returned 232 The Fams10AW or akism KWW it to the box, and closed the cardboard lid. "They didn't do that, because my husband said that the boy couldn't be blamed for what his mother had caused. My husband saw to it that he was placed with a family in the Corner and cared for until he was old enough to care for himself. Then my husband saw to it that he had work. To this day my husband sees to that. Oliver Plum is a very charitable man." Seeing Margaret's words put Donna on the edge of hysteria. Even Chelsea, who didn't know the half, looked pale.

"Charitable is one word for it. Wise is another. From what I can see, Hunter does a decent job."

"He's a hooligan," Margaret scoffed. "He's done a fine job on my farmhouse." Stiffly Margaret got to her feet. "Are you defending him?"

"No," Chelsea said. "I'm simply giving him the benefit of the doubt."

"He doesn't deserve that. She was a wh.o.r.e, mother to a murderer. I have the newspapers from that time in a box at the historical society. They-tell it all. If you'd like to see them, you should stop by."

"I just may do that."

"We're open Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays from ten to one, Tuesdays and Thursdays from two to three-thirty." Chelsea nodded. "I'll remember." Margaret turned and walked off. Donna stared after her, waiting, waiting until she was far enough away. Then she turned to Chelsea with a flurry of words such as hadn't come from her mouth since she'd gone deaf. "s wrong, all wrong, don't listen to what she says about him, Katie Love fell, the autopsy said it." 233 Zarbm= Dehnslw Chelsea took both her arms.

"Shhhh. Go slow." Donna looked around to make sure no one else was near.

Even then she struggled to keep her voice low. "He thought he killed her. That was why he didn't talk at first. And he was scared of people.

He hadn't seen anyone in his life but Katie. At first he used to have nightmares and wake up crying. The Mayc.o.c.k kids made fun of him for it, so he kept himself awake at night. Then he would fall asleep at school in a corner of the playground. I remember seeing him there, all huddled up. It was so sad." She had always thought it so, but particularly after Jos.h.i.+e's birth. She used to watch him playing with other children and imagine how she would feel if he were plagued by nightmares, afraid to sleep, called names, excluded, all alone. That wouldn't happen, since he was a Farr, but Hunter hadn't had that advantage. Hunter hadn't had any advantage at all. "Who was his father?" Chelsea asked. Donna shrugged.

"Does anyone know?" Donna shrugged again. "Does Hunter know?" Donna suspected he did. She also suspected he had been bribed to keep quiet, and she couldn't blame him for taking every cent. Life hadn't been easy for him. Money couldn't begin to cover what he'd missed. But she couldn't tell Chelsea all that. She didn't know anything for sure. -Her thoughts were muddled sometimes, and her ears rang. She was saved from replying when Chelsea looked up again. "Well, well," Matthew said with his patronizing grin, "look who we have here. This is the brightest 234 The raswoxw Of cbeafto KMW corner of the playground by far. You're looking patriotic, Miss. Chelsea." "Why, thank you," Chelsea said. "We could use more good-looking women like you In this town. You're a welcome sight." He held out a box lunch. ' was coming to make sure you had one of these. Looks like someone beat me to It. I keep telling them to do something different, like cold fried chicken, but the ladies say it has to be chicken salad. Must be a little embarra.s.sing for someone like you." "Embarra.s.sing?" Chelsea asked, and raised her brows toward Donna. "I mean," he said with distaste, "chicken salad.", "Actually, I like chicken salad," she said. As though to prove her point, she took a large bite. Matthew beamed. "Then we're doing things right after all.

That's good. Say, will you be going to the basketball game this afternoon?"

"You bet," Chelsea said and- asked Donna, "Are you?" Donna wanted to say that she'd be there for a short time before she left to help get things set up for the barbecue on the green. But she didn't want to talk to Chelsea in front of Matthew. He was sure to say something cruel about her voice. So she remained quiet while Chelsea's eyes went back to Matthew. "I'll be glad to be your guide there," he told her. "I saw you all by yourself at the parade. You could have come and joined us, you know. Some of them don't want you around, but if you were with me, you'd be okay. How about I provide a little color commentary* You're still a newcomer. The faces must get confusing. I can tell you who's playing for 235 Harbaza Dchnghy who, give you a little of the ... dirt on each, if you know what I mean." Donna knew just what he meant. Matthew was the type to bad-mouth anyone who was superior to him in any way, shape, or form. When it came to basketball, for which he had little interest and even less apt.i.tude, he was full of venom.

Chelsea, bless her, refused his offer. "I was thinking I'd just wander around. I want to see the art and quilt sale, so I'll be back and forth.

I may not sit in one place for long." "That's fine," Matthew said with a generous nod. "I can understand it. There's a lot to see in our town on the Fourth. But you be sure to look for me if you have any questions."

With a one-fingered salute and a wink for Chelsea, and absolutely nothing for Donna, he was gone. 236 twelve HELSEA WANDERED FROM BOOTH TO BOOTH on the green. The artwork on display was local, and although some looked distinctly homemade, some was quite good. There were crafts for sale as well, interesting wood carvings, decorative candles, woven wall hangings. Most impressive, though, were the quilts that had been made by the guild. A large one with panels each done by different women was on display prior to being sent to Was.h.i.+ngton for inclusion in a "Back to American Basics" show. Smaller quilts, no two the same, were up for sale. Chelsea fell in love with the smallest of them, the crib quilts, but she was uncomfortable buying one yet. Instead she bought a pair of slightly larger quilts to hang on the wall in the living room of the farmhouse. They had a warm feeling. She wanted that in her home. Leaving the quilts to be picked up later, she walked on. As opposed to when she had arrived four weeks before, she knew a smattering of people. She spoke to those and smiled at others. Occasionally she got a smile in return. She would have liked more. She hadn't counted on such an awful sense of 237 Barbara Definsky aloneness, a waking up in the middle of the night feeling cold and frightened, a dire need to be held. The pregnancy was to blame for a lot of it, she knew. She was supersensitive. Her emotions were raw. She had never been a mother before, and with the pa.s.sing of her initial bravado, a vague nervousness had set in. She wished she had someone to talk to, but Cydra was the only one who knew, and they had never been phone friends. Besides, Cydra had never been pregnant. Donna had. Her son, Jos.h.i.+e, was an adorable boy and seemed like a good kid to boot, which was a tribute to Donna, given the state of her husband. Matthew Farr was impossible, alternately ignoring Donna and insulting her. He bothered Chelsea every time she saw him. Judd Streeter bothered her, too, but in a totally different and somewhat overwhelming way. It hadn't died down in the least, the heart-throbbing each time she saw him. If anything, it had grown worse, because he was aware of it. He held her eye now. He sent her the clear message that he found her attractive-that he didn't want to, because he didn't like who she was, but that he found her attractive anyway. There was some gratification in that, she supposed. With a sigh, she adjusted the brim of her hat against the afternoon sun and walked on. She stopped at a booth selling sheepskin goods and picked up a pair of slippers.

They had instant appeal. Having had a taste of the Notch's cool summer nights, she shuddered to think what winter nights would be like. "Did you make these?" she asked the teenaged boy behind the table. "No, ma'am," he said nervously. "My dad did." Chelsea remembered the sheep in the parade 238 The Pa.s.sions of amimm Amm that morning. With a gentle smile to relax the boy, she asked, "Is your dad Farmer Galante?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Do these come from your sheep?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Then I'll take a pair," she decided, to please both the boy and herself. She liked the idea of wearing local goods, particularly when the goods were as practical as this. She was paying the boy when she caught sight of Hunter. He was sitting on the split-rail fence at the edge of the green, not far from where she stood. His legs were crossed at the ankles, his hands tucked under his arms, and he was watching her. At least, she thought that. His head was aimed her way, but he wore reflector sungla.s.ses that allowed no glimpse of his eyes. Margaret's story came back to her. Chelsea wondered how much of it was true. If even the smallest amount was, Hunter had suffered a horrendous childhood. She couldn't begin to imagine what he had experienced and the lingering effects that would have. Looking at him now, she felt an odd affinity.

But for the grace of G.o.d and one woman's decision to relinquish her child, Chelsea might have been in his shoes. Taking the bag from the boy with a smile, she headed for the fence. "Hi," she said. "I haven't seen you all day. You've been missing the fun."

"What fun?" Hunter asked in an even tone. "The pancake breakfast. The parade. The trashand-treasure sale." "Ahh," he said with a dry humor that Chelsea liked, "that fun."

239 Barbara Delinsky "The lunch was good." "Don't tell me. Chicken salad." She smiled. Behind the smile, she was wondering how he had spent his holiday if not here, whether he had anyone in the world to give him warmth. The day was ripe for couples, but he was alone. She didn't understand why. He was a nice-looking man, well built, of good height.

He was wearing his customary black, in- this instance a T-s.h.i.+rt and jeans, but the darkness was an attractive foil for the pecan color of his hair, even for the gold of his earring. In Chelsea's experience, men who looked like Hunter, and were aloof as he was, usually had women waiting in line. There was an air of mystery to them. The more disinterested they were, the more women flocked. Hunter didn't appeal to Chelsea that way, but she was curious about him. The motorcycle and the earring were signs of a rebel. One part of her identified with that.

Another part respected the work he was doing on Boulderbrook. Another part wanted him to make it at Plum Granite. She had always been one to root for the underdog, and Hunter was clearly that. Having heard Margaret's talk, she wasn't averse to being his friend. "You survived the night at Boulderbrook," he observed. "Uh-huh. Aside from a few weird calls, everything was fine."

"Weird?" His face was impa.s.sive. "How?"

"Silence. Then voices. Children's voices." So gently as to be nonoffensive, she teased, "You wouldn't by chance know anything about those, would you?"

"Not on your life," he claimed. "Any idea who would?"

"Someone who wants you spooked." 240 Me Pa.s.sions of Cisamm KAM "Who would want that?"

"Half the town. You're rich and smart and city. You come here showing them all that they're not, and now you've moved into their haunted house. They'd love to see you scared so bad you'll turn tail and run." Chelsea might have counted on Hunter to put it so bluntly. She didn't have to see his eyes to know that there was a challenge in them. "Would you?" she asked. "Like to see you run?" He thought about it. "I don't know." He thought some more. "When you first came, I did. Now I'm not so sure. You can give the company a good shaking up. About time someone did." Chelsea took that as quite a concession on his part, even a compliment. Pleased, she took his arm and said, "Walk me to the game?" He pulled his arm from her grasp. She felt a quick hurt; her gesture had been one of friends.h.i.+p. She was about to tell him that, when he pushed off from the fence, buried his hands in his pockets, and hitched his head to invite her along. She was a toucher. He wasn't. She could accept that. With an arm's length of open s.p.a.ce between them, they walked in silence to the end of the green and started along the narrow road that led to the fire station. Their destination was the basketball court behind that. When they were halfway up the road, Chelsea asked casually, "So, what's your stake in the company?" She was still trying to define his role, not on an everyday basis, but in the long run. Clearly it was tied in with his relations.h.i.+p with Oliver. 241 Barbam Deunsky After a brief silence he said, "I've got no stake."

"You're third in command." He snorted. "Looks that way, doesn't it."

"Not so?"

"Nope." They walked farther. When they came even with the fire station, he said, "I've got no power."