For My Daughters Read online

  The sun climbed toward noon, then past. Just when she was wishing it, Gwen brought a tray with a tall glass of iced tea and a chicken salad sandwich.

  “This looks great. Mother hasn’t called yet?”

  “Not yet.”

  “Did she say she would call before she left, or on the way?”

  “She didn’t specify.”

  “Which do you think?”

  “Your guess is as good as mine. She may not be in a rush. She knows I have a handle on things.”

  “She also knows I was to be arriving today,” Leah said a bit sharply. “Why did she ask me here, do you think?”

  “She wanted to share the place with you. She knew you’d love it.”

  “But that wasn’t why she bought it. She must love it herself. Funny, I wouldn’t have thought it. It’s different from her usual.”

  “Maybe that was the appeal.”

  “At her age?”

  “A lady is never too old,” Gwen said pointedly.

  “Sorry.” Leah debated how best to handle the situation. “I’d try Mother myself, except that she must be on her way by now if she’s planning on getting here today, and I don’t really feel like talking with Lillian. So I guess I have no choice but to wait.”

  The waiting should have been painful; she felt impatience galore. But that was in her mind, and only in fits and starts, and as for her body, it wasn’t having any part of pain. It relaxed by the pool. It spent untold time on the bluff. It explored more of the gardens.

  She was sitting on the neatly mowed grass beside one of those gardens, trying but failing to remember what she had been doing two days before, at that very hour, in Washington, when she felt his approach. He seemed absurdly tall. It occurred to her to stand up, but she couldn’t move.

  Instead she just smiled. “Hi.”

  “Hi,” he said back. His voice was deep. Close up, his face was strong, not startled anymore, but solemn.

  She gestured toward the flowers. “These are gorgeous.”

  He followed her gesture, but only for a minute. When he spoke, he was looking at her again. His words flowed in a way that softened his expression. “It’s the air and the soil. Most everything grows well here, what with the moisture and all.”

  “The growing season must be short.”

  He gave a one-shouldered shrug. “The climate is milder here than inland.”

  “But doesn’t the wind hurt the blooms?”

  “They’re strong.” He hunkered down, tugged at a weed, gently tamped the soil with fingers that were long, lean, and blunt-tipped. “The delphinium are past their best. You should have seen them last week.”

  “They’re still wonderful,” she said. She guessed that if he lived in the city, he would have been a two-shave-a-day man, his beard was that dark. “Will you cut them back?”

  “No. They’ll be stronger next year if they die back naturally. I shaped the phlox, though, so they’ll come in broader and thicker.”

  Leah dragged her gaze from his face and skimmed the beds. They were lush, healthy to a one. “Everything works.”

  “Now, yes. I’ve tried some things that haven’t, and I’ve had to take them out.”

  She was back to looking at his face. His eyes were brown and oddly warm given his solemnity—but that solemnity was odd, too. From close up, she could see creases at the corners of his eyes and grooves around his mouth. He did smile, on occasion. Somewhere. Somehow.

  Her mouth was dry again. She wasn’t used to strange new men. She wasn’t used to men who sweated, or men who smelled like men, and this one did both.

  But he was looking at her, awaiting an answer. Feeling the fool, she cleared her throat and managed what she hoped was an insightful, “You must have color all summer.”

  “Try to. The beds dovetail. By the time one flower is by, another’s in bloom.”

  “That’s great.”

  “It’s scientific. Planned out on paper.”

  “You sound formally trained.”

  “I am, some.”

  “And the rest?”

  “I learned from my father.”

  Something about his response—the personal element in it, perhaps—gave Leah the strength to stand. She brushed the seat of her pants with one hand and extended the other. “I’m Leah St. Clair. I’m the new owner’s daughter.”

  His fingers closed around hers. “Jesse Cray.”

  She nodded, swallowed. Warm fingers, strong hand, deep, soulful eyes. Close up, he was as natural and raw as Star’s End itself. She was thoroughly intimidated, but intrigued. It struck her that he was refreshing.

  “Are you helping unpack?” he asked in the easy way he had of speaking.

  “Between Gwen and the movers, most everything’s been done. I’m just waiting for my mother to arrive.”

  “When is she due?”

  “Yesterday. Now today.”

  “Did she sell her house in Philadelphia?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Then this will be her major residence?”

  “Apparently.”

  “Does she look like you?”

  Leah frowned. “You haven’t met her?”

  He shook his head.

  “But I thought you lived here.”

  “I do.”

  “And you didn’t meet her when she bought the place?”

  “She didn’t come.”

  Leah was startled. “Not at all?”

  “I’d have known if she had,” he said so simply that she knew it was the truth.

  “That’s strange. Unbelievable, actually, that she’d buy a house she’s never seen.” Forget the money. To make such a momentous commitment blindly, boggled Leah’s mind.

  She was trying to make sense of it when Jesse said, “She didn’t have to come personally. They use videos now, the realtors do, and her decorator must have reported back.”

  “Still.” Leah had never known Virginia to be impulsive. Then again, Jesse was right. She might have seen a video. “I didn’t learn she’d bought it until recently,” Leah felt called upon to say, but one explanation led to another. “We’re not very close.” Then another, a more self-conscious one. “We don’t see each other often. I live in Washington.”

  His eyes said that he understood, and that she didn’t have to say more, which was good, because the way those eyes held hers made thinking harder. Which was pathetic. She was from the city. She was supposed to be socially adept—and within her own circle, among people of her kind whom she had known for years, she was. But this wasn’t one of her do-it-in-your-sleep conversations. This was real.

  She forced a blink, cleared her throat, and yielded to curiosity. “I understand you’re a native of Downlee.”

  “Yes.”

  “You don’t sound it. I expected an accent, a Maine kind of thing.” But he had none of that. His voice had depth, resonance.

  “It comes out sometimes, when I’m angry or upset.”

  She couldn’t begin to imagine a temper. “Why not all the time?”

  “In this day and age, an accent would be more of an affectation than not. I spend my winters traveling. I go to movies and watch television. Most of the people I hear in the course of a day don’t speak Down East.” He cast a wistful glance toward the bluffs. “Sad, in a way, the passing of something unique. It does have a charm to it, authentic Down East talk. There’s nothing like sitting on the steps of the barbershop and listening to the grand-daddies go at it. It’s like an old song.” His eyes met hers, sad, gentle. “They don’t make music like that anymore.”

  Leah couldn’t remember any old song that was quite as lyrical as his voice. She took a shallow breath. “No.”

  It was a minute before he shifted his gaze and said, “Well. I’d better get back to work.”

  She stared after him. His backside was tight, his legs long, his stride fluid. As gardeners went, he was unusual.

  “Jesse?” she called. He looked back. “Would you mind if I cut delphinium for the house?�
�

  A slick city guy would have said, “I’d be honored,” or, “Be my guest,” or even, wryly, “That’s what they’re for.” All Jesse Cray said was, “Nope,” and with a nod of farewell was off.

  Leah hurried back to the house for the clippers.

  “There you are,” Gwen scolded. “I’ve been looking all over for you.”

  “I was out in the flower beds,” she said, and one part of her was out there still. The other, less distracted part gasped. “Mother called?”

  Gwen nodded.

  “Is she in Portland yet? I could pick her up there. It’s not a bad drive. I suppose I should have thought of it sooner. If she’s already there, it’s probably too late—no, she can make herself comfortable in the Admiral’s Club—”

  “She’s still in Philadelphia.”

  “Philadelphia? You’re kidding,” Leah cried. “What’s the problem?”

  “No problem. She just wanted to spend a little more time there.”

  “With her friends.” Leah didn’t add, as opposed to her daughter, though her tone was duly frustrated.

  “This is a big move for her,” Gwen tried to explain. “I think she sees a finality in it.”

  “But she’ll be seeing her friends again. They’ll visit here, and she’ll visit there, and they’ll all be together in Palm Springs come winter.”

  “Still, this is a big move.”

  “Maybe she shouldn’t be doing it. Maybe it’s a mistake. Did you know that she hasn’t ever actually come up here and seen the place? But of course, you know it. You’re the one who makes her travel arrangements.” She threw a hand in the air. “I don’t understand the woman. It’s as simple as that. I’m going upstairs.”

  She thought of calling Ellen. I knew I shouldn’t have come. I set myself up to be knocked right back down. She does it every time. But she didn’t call Ellen, because there wasn’t anything Ellen could say that she hadn’t already said.

  Leah slipped off the white jeans—grass-stained now, damn it, from sitting by the gardens—put on her bathing suit, and knotted a sarong around her hips. Taking a different book from the one that had bored her earlier, she went down to the pool.

  She sat prettily for ten minutes. During the entire time, her skin was covered with goose bumps. Then it struck her that with Virginia not coming that day, there was no need for her to try to impress. So she went right back upstairs, unknotted her hair and let it spill down her back, wrapped herself in the patchwork afghan, and went down again.

  That was when the hurt began to fade. Likewise disappointment and frustration. They went the way of the wind, along with the rest of her thoughts, leaving room only for long, deep breaths of a heady potpourri, the mix of ocean air, beach roses, and spruce that charmed her so.

  She lay quiet and content. She dozed off. She awoke, stretched, smiled.

  Things could be worse, she mused. Star’s End could be a dump. It could be on an island miles at sea, connected to the mainland by a leaky mailboat. It could be infested with bats. It could lie on drab, barren ground. It could be cared for by trolls, instead of an intriguing gardener with solemn brown eyes.

  Things could be worse, she thought again, and took another long, deep breath. This one caught in her throat, though, when two figures suddenly emerged from around the back of the house and came to stand between her and the sea.

  six

  LEAH SAT STRAIGHTER IN THE LOUNGE CHAIR. “What are you doing here?”

  Caroline walked right over to her side. “Ginny didn’t tell you?”

  “Not a word.”

  Annette came to stand beside Caroline and said in a slow, deliberate, mocking way, “We’re helping her settle in and make the place special. We’re bringing warmth.”

  “More important,” Caroline added similarly, “we’re spending quality time with her—time she regrets she hasn’t spent before.” Her voice straightened. “Are you sure you didn’t know anything about this?”

  Leah had grown increasingly dismayed by the familiarity of the words. “How would I know? She doesn’t confide in me.”

  “You see her more than we do.”

  “I knew nothing about this house, let alone either of you.” And she wasn’t pleased at all. She had been relaxed sitting alone by the pool, warm beneath the afghan, with her hair blowing loose. Now she felt self-conscious, and it was all Virginia’s fault. “She sent me a letter along with the tickets. She told me the same things she told you. She had it all scripted out.”

  Caroline scowled. “I’ll say.”

  “What a witch she is,” Annette cried and glanced at her watch. “I’m calling home. I don’t believe this. Is there a phone out here?”

  Leah pointed toward the kitchen. She pulled the afghan tighter, gave her hair a twist and stuck it between her head and the back of the chair. She looked up at Caroline. “Did you two come together?”

  “In the taxi. We met in Portland. Ginny must have coordinated our flights. How about you? When did you get here?”

  “Last night. The flight I was originally booked on would have gotten me in at two-ten this afternoon.”

  “Right after me and before Annette.” Caroline looked away. “She implied I was the only one coming. Same with Annette.”

  “And with me. Why’s Annette in such a rush to call home? Is there a problem?”

  Caroline’s mouth twisted. “She thinks her family can’t live without her.”

  “More likely it’s the reverse. Her family is her life. I’m surprised she’s here without them. Are you sure they aren’t out front?”

  “I’m sure,” Caroline said with a small, but halfway natural smile this time.

  It was an attractive smile, Leah mused, but then, Caroline was an attractive woman. Leah didn’t usually care for the way she dressed—too sleek and hard—though she did look good now. Leah wished she looked half as good herself, but even if she was dressed, she wouldn’t be dressed right. The closest she could come to appropriate pants were white jeans that now had a grass-stained seat.

  But white jeans weren’t right. Star’s End was a blue jeans kind of place. Definitely a blue jeans kind of place. Caroline had known that.

  “So where is the matriarch?” Caroline asked. “I can’t imagine she’s playing cards in town. Why isn’t she out here with you?”

  “She isn’t here.”

  Annette materialized in time to ask, “Where is she?”

  “She hasn’t left Philadelphia yet.”

  “You’re kidding,” both of them cried.

  “Why isn’t she here?”

  “What’s she waiting for?”

  “When’s she coming?”

  If there was any solace to be had, it was in Leah’s being the one in the know—or, as much in the know as Virginia allowed. “She could be up tomorrow. Then again, she was supposed to be up today and changed her mind. Gwen says she’s having trouble saying goodbye. Wouldn’t it be a kicker if she changed her mind about leaving?”

  “But she sold the house.”

  “She can buy another.”

  “But she dragged the three of us up here!” Annette argued. “I don’t know about you, Leah, but this is the worst time for me to be away.”

  Leah was thinking that she had nothing better to do, when Caroline turned to her and said, “Speaking of which, have there been any calls for me?”

  “Not that I know of.”

  “I’m going inside to phone the office.”

  Leah watched her go, then asked Annette, “Is there a problem there?”

  Annette made a sound. “Caroline may want to think so. To hear her talk, her practice is going to hell in a handbasket without her. You’d think her clients were infants.”

  “Her clients and your family,” Leah murmured. Her sisters never failed to make her feel aimless and nonproductive. Add to that unappealing—which infuriated her. She had been feeling so good before they’d arrived.

  “Excuse me?”

  “Nothing.”

 
; But the damage had been done. “I know my family can get along without me,” Annette argued. “It’s just that I like being with them. There’s no better time for that than when the children are out of school.” She looked around in bewilderment. “So what am I doing here?” She seemed about to say something, then looked around again. “I have to say, it happens to be a pretty place.” She frowned. “There’s something familiar about it—but it isn’t like any place I’ve ever been. The kitchen’s wonderful. How’s the rest of the house?”

  “Beautiful.”

  “Unpacked and settled?”

  “Relatively so.”

  “Then why did she want us here? If all she wanted was to get us together, she could have picked a better time.”

  “There is no better time.”

  “Maybe not for you. The social season is done.”

  Leah bristled. “What I meant was that it wouldn’t matter when she invited us, none of us would have wanted to come. Our family isn’t the get-together type.”

  “Well put,” Caroline remarked, lowering herself to the lounge beside Leah’s. She sat on its edge with her elbows on her knees. “I can’t believe Ginny did this. I just can’t believe it. You’d think we had nothing better to do.”

  Okay, Leah reasoned, so she had nothing better to do in D.C. But she didn’t have to be here either. She didn’t have to put her mental health on the line in an effort to win Ginny’s approval—and there wasn’t a chance in hell of impressing Ginny now, not with Caroline and Annette here. Beside them, she paled.

  “The boys got home safe and sound,” Annette told Caroline.

  “Did you doubt they would?”

  “They were very late. A mother worries.”

  “Ginny never did. I doubt she is now. She’s probably playing cards at the club as we speak, feeling no guilt whatsoever for disrupting our lives. She’s heartless.”

  “Heartless, thoughtless, self-absorbed—what else is new?”

  “More to the point, where does that leave us? What are we going to do?” Caroline looked off toward the bluff. “I really ought to leave.”