The Summer's End (39 page)

A knock on the front door was followed by a woman's voice calling out, “Halloo!”

“In here, Granny James!”

Harper hurried into the front hall to greet her grandmother. She was dressed more casually than she'd been yesterday, in a pleated gray linen skirt that fell to her calves, a crisp white linen shirt that, being linen, was forgivably wrinkled, and espadrilles. Her hair was brushed back from her face and she looked rested, younger today, though still pale and eyes rimmed red.

“How are you feeling? Truthfully?”

“Perfectly well. A bit stiff, but a good walk on the beach should cure that. I am parched, however. I drank all the bottled water but was a bit afraid to drink from the tap. In this jungle. “You won't get sick. And there's a filter on the kitchen tap. In the meantime, come into the kitchen. I've made you breakfast.”

Stepping into the kitchen, Harper saw that Mamaw had already fled the room. Sighing, she knew she'd have to deal somehow with the friction between the two women. She poured her grandmother a large glass of water and a cup of tea with milk and handed them to her.

Granny James looked at the tea. “Did you make it?”

“Yes.”

“The water came to a roiling boil?”

“Yes. And I warmed the pot.”

Granny James tasted the tea. “Much better. These Yanks still haven't mastered how to make a decent cup of tea.”

“That should handle the liquids. I've cut up some fruit. And I've made you something special.”

“You're cooking now?”

Harper laughed. Her grandmother had often remarked affectionately on Harper's general ineptitude in the kitchen. “Hardly cooking. Though I am trying.”

“What is that you've made?
Porridge
?” Granny James asked in horror.

Harper laughed. “No, it's grits. Stone-ground and cooked with milk and butter and cheese. It's a southern classic.”

Granny James made a face. “Grits? Isn't that what they fed the slaves?”

“I have no idea. I thought you'd like to try something different. If not”—Harper indicated the tin of bakery goods—“there are biscuits and scones.”

Granny James looked idly around the kitchen, then made a beeline for the wide swath of windows. She stared out at the Cove, her face still and watchful.

Harper came to join her at the windows. “It's magnificent, isn't it?”

Granny James stepped back and took a sip from her teacup. “It's a prettyish bit of river, I suppose.”

“It's not a river. There are lots of winding creeks in these wetlands. But that out there is part of the Cove. A heavenly body of water that connects to the great Intracoastal Waterway. You could go from Florida to New England and never go out into the ocean.”

“Really?” Granny James appeared interested.

“Do you want to go out and take a look?”

Granny James gave a long-suffering sigh. “I suppose I might as well.” She walked out on the porch carrying her teacup, her gaze glued to the winding creek that snaked through the waving green grass, sparkling in the morning sun.

“
Good morning, Imogene,” Mamaw called out. She was sitting at the black wicker table eating breakfast from her tray. A newspaper was spread out.

Granny James turned and, surprised to see Mamaw on the porch, walked to the table, a stiff smile on her face.

“How did you sleep?” Mamaw asked politely.

“Oh, the usual way. Eyes closed. Rhythmic breathing.”

“Please. Come join me.” Mamaw offered a chair. “I always eat breakfast out here early in the morning before the heat descends. Harper, be a dear and fetch your grandmother's tray, will you?”

Harper knew a bolt of fear at the prospect of leaving the two women alone, even for a moment. She didn't expect a catfight . . . not exactly.

She hurried to the kitchen for the tray. Carson was inside, picking at a scone with two fingers.

“Please come join us on the porch,” Harper begged. “I could use the help. I feel like I'm commandeering the
Titanic
through the icebergs.”

“Not me.” Carson backed away. “No offense, but your grandmother is one frosty woman.” She made as if to shudder with cold.

“She's not that bad. Normally. Last night she was tired.”

Carson made a face of doubt. “What's her excuse for this morning?”

“Okay, so it takes a while for her to thaw. Please?”

“Can't. I've got a meeting with Blake at NOAA. Must rush.”

Harper reached for the tray but hesitated. “Blake?”

“Don't get your antennas up.” Then Carson's eyes sparked. “We're planning Delphine's release.”

Harper released the tray and hurried to hug Carson. She knew how much Delphine's release meant to her sister and to Blake. To all of them. “I'm so happy for you. Oh, this is such good news. When?”

“Soon.” Carson's eyes were bright. “Blake and I both want this release to go smoothly, and we're getting together to work out the details. It forces us to work together, and I'd like us to remain friends. And speaking of together”—Carson tilted her head toward the back porch and drew back—“if I were you, I'd get back out there ASAP.”

Harper blew out a plume of air and picked up the tray. When she returned to the porch, she found both women reading the newspaper in silence. “Here we are,” she called out cheerily. She laid the tray on the table. “I've brought you a pair of sunglasses.” She handed them to Granny James. “It can get bright out here.”

“You've always been a thoughtful girl.” Granny James slipped on the black sunglasses.

“Yes, she has,” Mamaw confirmed. “Southern girls are raised to know their manners.”

“But Harper comes from good British stock. For the English, good manners come as naturally as the air we breathe.” Granny fanned herself with the newspaper. “It's positively Congo-like out here.” She looked at her grits with distaste, then took a hesitant bite. “Oh, my, dear . . . quite lovely,” she said, clearly swallowing with effort and then moving to the less offending fruit.

The three women sat in silence for a few moments. “That's a lovely garden,” Granny James finally remarked, looking out across the yard. “Would you show it to me?”

Harper beamed with pride. “It's the garden I mentioned yesterday, Granny James. I planted it.”

“Really?”
Granny James said with disbelief.

“I'm becoming quite skilled in all the domestic arts,” Harper replied smugly.

“In the South, all properly brought up young ladies are skilled in the domestic arts,” Mamaw added.

“In the James family, young women also learn the domestic arts.” Granny James smiled thinly. “So that we can direct the staff.” She turned to Harper. “Come, my dear. Show me this pretty little patch you call your garden.” Granny James rose to her feet.

Harper knew her grandmother wanted to steer her toward a private moment away from Mamaw. As they strolled through the garden, Harper began what she knew would be a long conversation. She explained how she and Dora had started the small garden, digging out the tough weeds under the relentless sun and discovering the slave manacles.

“You mean to say you dug the dirt yourself? Without help from a gardener?”

Harper laughed. “You're looking at the gardener,” she claimed with pride. “I planted each and every one of those flowers, each rosebush, each herb. I hover over them like they're my children. I'm much more proud of this garden because I did the work myself, rather than if I'd just told a gardener what to do. Oh.” She stopped herself. “Sorry, Granny. Your garden is so large. I couldn't . . . I didn't mean to offend.”

“No, of course not,” Granny James replied wryly.

“I do so enjoy it. Getting my hands in the soil, making something my own. Who knew? Me?”

Her grandmother removed her sunglasses and studied Harper's face, then replied thoughtfully, “Yes, you.”

Harper enjoyed the expression on her grandmother's face. As if she were seeing Harper for the first time, or at least the woman she had become. She felt different inside and liked to think that difference showed on the outside as well.

“Do be careful though, dear.” Granny James slipped her sunglasses back on. “You're getting freckled. Now, let's sit a moment. Over by the water, shall we? In the shade.”

From the garden they walked down the slope to the shade of the covered dock. The tide was high and racing, glistening in the sun. The lower dock creaked against the ropes as the water lapped its sides. Overhead a fleet of gray pelicans flew past, wings outstretched. Somewhere in the water, Harper heard the plop of a large fish jumping.

Granny James stared out a while, her eyes gleaming with appreciation. Then she turned to Harper, her expression serious, yet tender. “Tell me all.”

Harper regaled her grandmother with stories of this incredible summer. How Carson had met the dolphin Delphine, how they'd befriended her, how this beguiling dolphin brought them all joy and laughter when they needed it most. And the sad consequences of her accident. How Harper had gotten to know her sisters again, her nephew. How the ocean and the beaches, the palmettos and pluff mud, the sounds and scents of the lowcountry, had seduced her. She spoke of meeting Taylor, how it had felt like a thunderbolt, the kind she'd read about in all her books. She also told of the many hours she'd spent staring out at this very same view, pondering who she was and what she wanted out of life.

“Sea Breeze was my sanctuary. Where I discovered myself.”

“You obviously love it here. And”—Granny James sighed—“I can see why. It
is beautiful. Bucolic. But let's get to the heart of it, shall we? As lovely as it all is, I didn't travel all the way from England for the view.”

“I don't know what Mummy told you, but first, you need to know that I'm well, clear thinking, and happier than I've ever been before in my life.”

“I can see that.” Granny James paused. “Am I to assume it's all this fresh air? Or is it because of this young man you've fallen in love with?”

Harper grinned and impulsively hugged her grandmother. Granny James felt stiff and unrelenting, but Harper knew that her grandmother felt a deep affection for her, even if she couldn't always express it with words or physical gestures.

“I'm so happy.” Harper pulled back. “His name is Taylor. Taylor McClellan. He served in the Marine Corps. Now he's in business. He's not a fisherman, though his father used to catch shrimp. He's brave and kind and compassionate and smart. I love him, Granny. I truly love him.”

“Yes, but does he deserve you?”

“Do I deserve him is the real question.”

“I'm quite serious.”

“I know you are. You'll just have to meet him. Make your own judgment.”

“I intend to. That's why I'm here.” Granny James reached out to place her hand over Harper's. “Darling, will you listen to my opinion?”

“Of course.”

“And if I don't like him?”

“I hope you will. But”—Harper withdrew her hand—“if you don't, I'll marry him anyway.”

Granny studied Harper's face for a moment, looked off at the water, then turned back, her face resolute. “About your trust fund,” she said, shifting gears. “Tell me about that debacle. Why did you ask your mother if you could access your funds immediately?”

“I wanted to buy Sea Breeze.”

“That's what your mother said.” Granny nodded in self-satisfaction.

Harper released a labored sigh. “Why don't you begin by telling me exactly what Mummy told you?”

“Well”—Granny James slightly lifted her shoulders—“I guess I have to go back to last May. Georgiana called me after a row she'd had with you. She was very upset that you up and quit your job at the publishing house. Really, dear,” Granny scolded, “to quit your job without notice.”

Harper simmered. “Go on.”

“She was very upset that you'd refused to return to New York or even go to England to see me. I tried to calm her. I reminded her that you were not a child, after all. You're a grown woman capable of making your own decisions.”

“Thank you.”

Granny James gave Harper a pointed look. “Though I admit, I would have appreciated a phone call from you this summer.”

“You're right,” Harper apologized. “I was selfish and rude. I'm sorry.”

Granny James accepted the apology with a wave of her hand. “Anyway, summer passed, and then just this week Georgiana called again to tell me that not only were you staying here, but that your grandmother, Marietta Muir, was manipulating you to get your trust fund early so you could buy her
house and help her financially. Georgiana made all sorts of slurs and comparisons to your father. Not at all kind, I'm afraid, and I won't insult you by repeating them.”

“It's all ridiculous!” Harper said, steaming. “Nothing could be farther from the truth.”

“Why don't you tell me your side of this sordid story.”

“First of all, Mummy treated me horribly at the publishing house. I won't go into my personal relationship, or lack of one, with her. We've been through that before. God knows how many times I've cried at your knee about it.”

“Yes, dear,” Granny James said in a softer tone, and reached out to touch Harper's hand. “Your mother can be harsh.”

Harper released an unladylike snort. “She can be cruel. And an utter bitch of a boss. You'd expect her to be at least professional, but she treated me as her lackey, not her editorial assistant. It was embarrassing. She refused to promote me. I honestly believe she enjoys keeping me under her thumb. Last May we had words.” Harper didn't add that the argument was about Granny James, how Georgiana had demanded Harper fly to England to be her nurse. “She told me my job was to do what she said, period.” Harper shrugged. “That was the last straw. I quit. You must believe me. It was all between her and me and had nothing to do with Mamaw.”