Secrets on Cedar Key (6 page)

“T
hat was just delicious, Marin.” My mother wiped her lips with the cotton napkin. “And I can only imagine what that chocolate cake will taste like a bit later with a cup of coffee.”

During supper I'd brought my mother up to date on Jason's phone call.

“Oh, that
is
a shame he won't be joining us, but at his age it's to be expected.”

As I began to clear the table, she said, “Do you think it's serious with this girl, September?” A smile crossed her lips. “That's an unusual name, isn't it?”

I nodded as I began filling the dishwasher. “I know. Can't say that I know of anybody else by that name. Jason didn't really confide in me about the seriousness of it. I think that's where daughters and sons differ, don't you?”

“Oh, I'm not sure about that. But then, I've never had a son.”

I thought again of Andrew's daughter. I hadn't yet told my mother about the phone call with the attorney, and even though she knew I had called him that morning, she hadn't asked.

“Oh, before I forget. First of all, Worth seemed disappointed that you couldn't join him this evening for dinner, but he said Friday evening was fine. And the window looks wonderful. He did a very professional job, Marin. I think you're going to like it a lot. It really opens up that room, and now, of course, you have some natural light in there. He began working on the sill and said that should be finished tomorrow.”

“Oh, good. I'm looking forward to seeing it. But even better, everything seems to be on track. Hopefully, I'll be able to open in time for the Christmas shoppers.”

“Yes, I would think so. And the catalogs arrived today from the various distributors, so you can begin looking through those to get an idea about the stock you want to order.”

“Great,” I said as I pushed the button on the dishwasher. “Coffee's ready. Do you want a slice of cake now or later?”

My mother reached over to give Oliver a pat. “I think I'll just have the coffee for now, and it's such a nice evening, let's have it on the patio.”

Oliver walked over to sniff some bushes as my mother and I sat down.

“Oh, I met Worth's dog this morning at the park. A very pretty Labradoodle named Suzette. Oliver seemed to take quite a liking to her, and she returned the interest.”

My mother laughed. “Yes, Oliver can be quite the ladies' man.”

I took a sip of coffee and then said, “It's true. My suspicions were correct about Andrew. Fiona Caldwell is his daughter.”

My mother reached over to pat my arm but remained silent.

“She's younger than Jason and John. Just turned nineteen in April.”

“Oh.” I saw my mother press her lips together. “I guess I was hoping that perhaps if it was true, it had occurred before he even met you . . . but I guess not.”

I shook my head. “No, it happened the summer he went to teach in Amherst, Massachusetts. Do you remember that? The boys and I spent a lot of time here with you and Daddy.”

“I do remember. It's none of my business, but were you and Andrew having a difficult time? Is that why he left to teach a summer semester there?”

“I was giving that some thought earlier today. Yeah, probably. Although I wouldn't admit it at the time. Not even to myself. But we weren't getting along great. And now . . . I have to question my entire marriage.”

My mother shifted on the lounge to face me better. “What do you mean by that?”

I shrugged. “I don't think we ever had a marriage made in heaven. I think I see that now more than ever.”

My mother shocked me by saying, “Does anybody?”

“What?” I gasped. “You and Daddy certainly did.”

“Oh, Marin. Your daddy was a good man. A hardworking man and a good father. But he was human like any other man, and that means he had his flaws.”

I had never heard my mother say this before. “But you always got along so well. I can't ever recall you fighting or name calling.”

“No,” she said, leaning back in the lounge to look out toward the water. “I don't think we ever did. At least not in front of you. But housewives in my time did what they were told. We didn't speak up very much. Certainly not like today.” She let out a chuckle. “Well, my goodness, today the word
obey
has been taken out of almost all marriage vows. But when I was married . . . that word
obey
was taken very seriously.”

I wasn't sure what surprised me most—the fact that my parents' marriage wasn't what I had grown up to think it was or the fact that my mother was now sharing this with me.

“So what are you saying?” I asked, not even sure I should be asking this question. “Are you saying you never loved Daddy?”

“No, no,” my mother said quickly. “I did love him; of course I did. But, Marin, you're a grown woman. You have to know the definition of love isn't always neatly tied up in one little package. There are different kinds of love. The young, romantic, passionate love, which may or may not go on to become something deeper, something more enduring. And there's the kind of love that grows between a man and a woman based on a mutual admiration and respect for one another. But yes, I did love your father.”

I had a feeling that what my mother felt for Henry Foster was her latter definition of love. She had known him all her life, growing up on the island.

I followed her gaze out to the water and softly asked, “Did you ever experience that romantic and passionate love?”

To my surprise, she replied, “Yes. Yes, I did. Before your father and I married. I was a young girl of eighteen.”

I refrained from saying anything, but I suddenly felt a stab of envy. I wasn't sure that I could honestly say that I had ever felt that particular kind of love.

“What happened?” I asked, uncertain if my mother would continue.

But she did. “His name was Julian Cole. It was 1953 and your father was in the army. We had no commitment to each other, no engagement or anything like that. Just friends who had grown up together. Julian was a writer. A journalist, actually. He was from California and came here to write some articles about fishing communities in Florida. That spring of 1953 we fell hopelessly, desperately in love.”

“So he loved you back?”

“Oh, yes. There was never any doubt about that. From the first moment we met at the Island Hotel.”

I was almost afraid to ask. “Why didn't you end up together?”

My mother let out a deep sigh. “I'm afraid it wasn't a good time in our country. McCarthyism was going on. People were suspicious of one another. In Hollywood, it was a very dark time, with many actors losing their careers for being accused of communism. Most of it was false, and this was later proved. But it didn't matter. Lives were ruined and the damage had been done.”

“But I don't understand. You said Julian was a writer. A journalist writing articles about fishing communities.”

“That's right, but although he wasn't a communist, he was a liberal. He believed in equal rights for everybody, and the year before he had written for a progressive magazine. Articles supporting what unions wanted to do for the workers and other left-leaning topics. Actors weren't the only ones singled out. Professors and writers were among the accused, and Julian was one of them.”

I was soaking in this story as if it had happened to somebody else, but here was my seventy-eight-year-old mother telling me about a man who appeared to have meant the world to her.

“The magazine he was working for contacted him that October and told him he had to come back to California, that charges were pending against him and he had to try to clear his name. But at the time, I knew none of this. All I knew was one evening he told me something had occurred and he had to leave the next day. He promised to be in touch as soon as he could. And then . . . he was gone.”

“But you know why he left, so he did get in touch with you again?” I knew this story did not have a happy ending, and I felt sadness for my mother's loss.

She nodded. “Not until almost a year later. A letter arrived with a Paris, France, postmark. Julian explained he had never been formally charged, but many of the accused were leaving the country. Better to be safe than sorry, they felt. And so . . . he left. He began a new life in Paris, writing for an American magazine that welcomed the news that the expats could provide. He begged me to join him there. Julian asked me to marry him and assured me we would have a good life.”

“Why didn't you go?” I whispered.

“Quite simply, because of my sense of duty. Sybile had already left home the year before to go to New York and pursue her modeling career. Daddy was ill by then, and I couldn't leave Mama alone to care for him.”

“So instead you gave up your own life?”

“I didn't look at it that way. Until I received the letter from Julian explaining why he had to leave . . . I hated him for leaving me. Had things been different, we might have married right here in Cedar Key and eventually moved away for his career. But once I received his letter, I couldn't help but feel that everything happened exactly as it was supposed to. Your father asked me to marry him the following year, and I accepted. And over time, I came to forgive Julian, and by forgiving him, it enabled me to learn the true meaning of forgiveness, because forgiveness and love go hand in hand.”

“And you never saw him or heard from him again?”

“When you were about ten, I saw an article written by him in one of the top American magazines. At the end was a small bio, which said he was married to a French woman, had one son, and lived in Paris. And last year . . . I saw on the Internet that he had passed away at the age of eighty-five in Paris.”

I got up to squeeze my mother's shoulders. “I'm so sorry,” I told her.

“No, no. Don't be sorry, Marin. We should only be sorry for what we
don't
experience in life. Not for what we do—both the good and the bad.” She held out her hand so I could assist her to stand. “Okay, now I do believe it's time for a piece of that wonderful chocolate cake, and perhaps you'll share the rest of your conversation with the attorney.”

 

With the cake plates empty, I took a sip of tea and said, “So there you have it. That's what I learned this morning.”

“So you also don't know if Fiona grew up knowing about Andrew or if she ever met him?”

I shook my head. “No, I have no idea. The attorney seemed to feel that there hadn't been any contact between Andrew and Bianca over the years, but he wasn't certain.”

“And the money that Andrew has paid over eighteen years. Fiona wasn't aware of that until after her mother died?”

I shrugged and nodded. “Right. I believe the bank informed her, gave her the attorney's information, and that was the first she learned about the money.”

“Apparently her mother shared very little with her about her father. I guess it stands to reason that Fiona is now looking to you for some answers. You do plan to call her, don't you?”

“I'm not sure.”

My mother got up to place her cake plate in the sink. “I see,” was all she said.

A
s I drove down Second Street, the bay window caught my eye immediately. I pulled the golf cart in front of the shop and gazed at the new addition. It looked wonderful, and I was excited as I unlocked the door and stepped inside. I could hear Worth working in the other room.

“Hey,” he said, turning around as I walked in. “What do you think?” His arm gestured toward the window.

“I think it looks great. I love it. It already makes the room look larger.” I walked closer to get a better look. The window jutted out from the building with a large pane of glass in the center and side sections that each held six smaller panes.

“I'm glad you like it, and I think it was a good choice to go with this type of window. It will increase the flow of natural light into the room.”

“I love the oak wood and the wide sill attached to it.” I trailed my hand across the smooth finish. “This will be perfect for displaying finished pieces of needlepoint.”

“I still have to get it stained, but other than that, this project is about finished.”

“Terrific,” I said, feeling my spirits lift. “What's next on the agenda?”

“We'll be working on the ceiling and walls today, getting them sanded down, and I'm hoping the ceiling light will be delivered by the middle of next week. There was a back order on the fluorescent ones with the oak frame.”

“Hmm. I hope you're right and that won't cause a delay. And the ceiling fans? You'll be installing one at each end of the room, right?”

“Yes, I picked those up yesterday in Gainesville.”

“Great,” I said, heading back to the yarn shop. “We're right on schedule. I'm going to brew some coffee. Would you like some?”

“Sure. Kyle should be here shortly, but I think I have time for a quick break.”

I brought Worth's coffee to him when it was ready.

“Thanks,” he said, shooting me a smile. “We're still on for dinner tomorrow evening, right?”

I nodded before taking a sip. “We are, and thanks for understanding about last night.”

“Not a problem. I'm glad you asked for a rain check. How're you doing?”

“Okay,” I said, but before I could say any more, Kyle walked into the room. “Well, I'm going to let you guys get to work. If you need anything, just give a holler.”

My mother had the day off, but Chloe would be in at noon. I turned on the computer and was going to check e-mail for any recent orders, but instead I found myself doing a Google search for Fiona Caldwell in Marblehead, Massachusetts.

I clicked to bring up a Boston University website on the screen where her name was listed. She was a student at BU? According to the article, she was. I read that Fiona Caldwell had participated with a group of freshman nursing students passing out toys the previous Christmas at Boston Children's Hospital. She was studying to become a nurse? Had she inherited an aptitude for science from Andrew? And had Bianca Caldwell also had a career in science or nursing? The link below this one told me that Fiona also had a Facebook page, but when I clicked I discovered it was private and a friend request had to be sent, which of course, I wasn't about to do. Not even a photograph was available to the public, which left me feeling oddly disappointed. I realized that the main reason I had even done the search was in the hope that I might be able to see what she looked like. Silly me. Those were the only two mentions listing Fiona Caldwell, so unless I made the decision to call her, the limited information I had would be all I knew about Andrew's daughter.

Closing the screen, I went to the e-mail account to check for new yarn orders.

 

Shortly after Chloe arrived, Raylene came into the shop accompanied by Mr. Carl.

“So,” she said, her tone indicating she was here for a chat and not yarn. “Now we know why you're adding on the needlepoint shop.”

I looked at Chloe, who shrugged her shoulders and raised her eyebrows.

“You do?” I asked.

“Yup, we do,” Mr. Carl confirmed. “You've known about this film company coming to town and you wanted to spruce up the shop and make it look better.”

I shook my head and pursed my lips. “Hmm. You found us out, didn't you?” I couldn't resist. There was no sense in trying to set them straight, so I might as well play along.

I heard Chloe cough and turned around to see she was actually stifling a giggle.

“See,” Raylene said, jabbing her husband in the arm. “See, I told you some people know for sure what's going on. I knew you were right about this.”

“Well, I'll be!” A huge smile covered his face, making me feel a tad guilty. “So when will the rest of us be told? Do you know what the movie's about? When is the film crew coming?”

“Geez, I'm really not sure, Mr. Carl. Maybe you should go back over to the Welcome Center and see if you can get some information there.”

“Good idea,” Raylene said, pulling her husband's arm as they headed out the door.

Chloe broke down laughing. “Oh, you are
so
bad. But that was priceless the way they both lapped it up.”

“Hey, there was no sense trying to tell them that the needlepoint shop has nothing to do with a movie that any of us know a thing about.”

 

Laughter broke out later that evening as we sat knitting at the yarn shop.

My mother was wiping at her eyes and still laughing. “You naughty girl, Marin. Shame on you leading Raylene and Mr. Carl on like that.”

Corabeth had gotten her laughter under control. “I'd say they both deserve it. They thrive on rumors, the both of them. I think that was rather clever of Marin.”

All the other knitters agreed.

“Well, sometimes no matter what you say to people, they still only believe what they want to, so I figured I'd let them do just that.”

“Yeah, and it might keep them from nosing around in other business for a while,” Flora said.

We all looked up as Berkley walked in. “Hey, is it really true about the film company coming here?” she asked, and that brought forth another round of laughter. “What?”

I quickly explained what I had done, and Berkley shook her head, grinning. “Aw, geez. I was all set to spruce up on my acting skills.”

“Well, don't toss that idea aside,” I told her. “Apparently Mr. Carl did overhear something at the Welcome Center. We just don't know yet what's going on.”

Berkley pulled up a chair and began working on a pair of multicolor cotton socks. “So I guess we'll just have to wait and hope it might be true.”

“Did Saxton's daughter and her husband arrive today?” Corabeth asked.

Berkley nodded. “Yes, Resa and Jake are here, and they're meeting with Ali tomorrow to look at the bed-and-breakfast. Saxton and I have our fingers crossed that they'll purchase it.”

“Oh, Polly,” Monica said, looking up from the blue knitted hat she was making for her son. “I need to call you tomorrow and make an appointment for Clarissa. She wants her hair cut.”

“Sure. Probably a little trim? I have a couple openings on Saturday.”

Monica shook her head. “Ah, no . . . not a little trim. She wants all of it cut.”

Sydney shifted to face her daughter. “What?” she gasped. “That gorgeous long hair of hers? Why?”

Sydney was right. Clarissa had just turned thirteen. Her beautiful hair fell to the middle of her back, thick and wavy and envied by her classmates.

“Well, Adam and I wanted her to be her own person, rather than a follower copying everybody else, but I guess we didn't have to worry. You remember her friend Zoe, who moved away when her mother died?”

“Right,” Flora said. “Sandy Collins's daughter. Zoe went to live with her dad and stepmom, didn't she?”

Monica nodded. “Yes, and one of the girls in Zoe's class was recently diagnosed with cancer. She's going to be going through chemo and of course will probably lose her hair. So Zoe and a few of her friends decided to get their hair pretty much shaved off, and they donated the hair to that program Locks of Love.”

“I've heard of that,” Dora said. “The organization then makes wigs for the children who have lost their hair from chemo.”

“That's right. Zoe e-mailed a photo of herself to Clarissa last week and told her all about it, so now Clarissa has decided she'd also like to do this.”

“Wow,” Berkley said. “What an admirable thing to do.”

“I agree,” I told Monica. “That's really quite brave of her.”

“I know. Adam and I have discussed it with Clarissa; we told her while it's a very nice thing to do, once her hair is gone, it will take a while for it to grow back. But she's determined to do it.”

“I'm really proud of her,” Polly said. “And I'd be very happy to participate. Isn't there a minimum on the length?”

“Yes. It has to be ten inches or longer, and the hair must be sent as a ponytail or braid. Clarissa pulled up all the guidelines on their website, so she'll bring them with her when you cut it.”

“Very good, and tell her there'll be no charge for the cut. Just call me tomorrow and we'll figure out the time for Saturday.”

Shortly before nine my mother prepared the coffee for the group.

“It was my turn to bring the snack,” Chloe said. “And I brought fudge from the Cedar Key Fudge Company.” She opened a box to display the various flavors.

“Oh, my.” Flora sighed and leaned forward for a better look. “So much for that diet of mine tonight.”

I laughed as I stood up and stretched. “Look at all the great flavors.”

“I'm not familiar with this shop. Where's it located?” Berkley asked.

“The fudge is made at Ada Blue's restaurant out on 24,” Chloe told her. “My favorite is the key lime.”

Conversation continued while we enjoyed the fudge and coffee, but my mind wandered back to Clarissa and the bold step she was taking with her hair. I admired the fact that a thirteen-year-old girl could be that brave and make a decision that might wind up causing her ridicule from her friends for being different. But she didn't seem to care; nor did she seem concerned about the outcome.

Unlike me. I wasn't even brave enough to make a telephone call to gather more information about Fiona Caldwell.