Until the Dawn (45 page)

One Year Later

Q
UENTIN
INSPECTED
the carpenter’s work throughout the ground floor of Dierenpark, the click of his prosthetic leg marking each step as he surveyed the rooms. He’d gotten used to the clicking, a small price to pay for being able to walk on his own without a cane and without discomfort. His adjustment to an artificial limb had been remarkably easy, giving credence to Sophie’s assertion that there was something in the air at Dierenpark that simply made people feel better. He believed her, and it was one of the reasons they both had known exactly what they should do with the grand old estate.

Only forty miles down the river was a city full of suffering people who could never afford prolonged treatment at a clinic. Their pain was every bit as brutal as what Quentin had once endured. He would bring them here to recover in a clean and serene environment at Dierenpark, where they’d have the best medical treatment available.

The doors of their convalescent clinic would open within a month, and the only major project yet to be completed was
the installation of new windows. He’d already designed and installed a system for adding electricity to the estate, and Sophie had been working in the gardens outside. Pieter’s love of nature continued to grow, and he eagerly worked alongside Sophie as they designed first a new herb garden and then a plot for roses. Pieter was eager to learn everything she could teach him, thriving under the gentle care and attention Sophie showered on him.

The past year hadn’t all been bliss. In January, the Weather Bureau had awarded a contract for an upgraded climate observatory to New Holland, and although the town rejoiced at the news, it had been bittersweet for Sophie. It meant the modest station she’d been tending on the roof of Dierenpark would be dismantled and her services would no longer be needed. The prize she’d fought so hard to win had come to fruition, but there would be no place for her in it, and she’d been weepy for the entire week after the news arrived.

A few days later, she’d learned she was carrying their first child, and the entire focus of her world had shifted. A week that had begun with heartache ended with celebration.

Quentin walked to the old diamond-paned windows overlooking the river from the parlor, running a finger along the cool, rippled glass. Sophie wanted to preserve this bank of windows even though all the other old windows were being replaced. He wanted windows that could open to allow wholesome air to circulate through the house, and even now he could hear the pounding of hammers from the carpenters upstairs as sash windows were installed. He smiled a bit, glad Sophie had convinced him to keep this one intact. It was impractical, but it harkened back to the timeless beauty that would always be a part of this estate.

“A letter from your grandfather has arrived,” Sophie said, walking into the parlor in her awkward gait. She was in her eighth month but still insisted on coming to Dierenpark each
day as the construction continued. They had a fine house in New Holland but would probably always be involved at Dierenpark as it was transformed into a convalescent clinic for the poor.

He gestured Sophie toward the bench beneath the window. “Sit down beside me and let’s hear it.”

“Brace yourself,” she said. “The envelope says he is writing from Egypt.”

She settled in beside him and opened the letter, scanning it with eager eyes. Quentin preferred to simply look at her profile, still amazed that this lovely and generous woman was actually his wife.

Besides, he suspected he knew exactly what would be in that letter. Nickolaas’s spiritual quest was continuing in full force, but after witnessing the profound transformation in Quentin’s life, he’d finally decided to “take a peek” at Christianity. Never one to do anything by halves, Nickolaas immediately set off for Rome to experience the full pomp and circumstance at the Vatican. He wanted the exoticism of the Latin prayers, the incense, the full majesty of seventy cardinals walking in scarlet robes through gilded halls.

Sophie read the letter aloud, which said that although Nickolaas loved the Vatican, he was in the mood for something a little different and had moved on to Africa to find a remote Coptic Christian monastery in the deserts of Egypt, where he was welcomed with open arms. “He says, ‘I love the desert! The austerity, the stark sky, the baked landscape, the solitude and stillness. I am thinking of making my permanent home among the brothers.’” Sophie looked up, aghast. “You don’t really believe him, do you?”

“Can you see my grandfather becoming a Coptic monk? I expect we’ll have another letter within a month from somewhere else, for the charms of a monastic cell won’t last for long. Especially now that Mr. Gilroy is no longer there to fetch and carry for him.”

Mr. Gilroy, as genteel and shrewd as ever, had lost interest in working for the Vandermarks, and his departure confirmed what Quentin was coming to suspect about Dierenpark. Some people saw the beauty and recognized the peace, the hope, and the gift. Others thought it just another patch of land and moved on. Mr. Gilroy was a fascinating man, but he didn’t really belong here anymore.

Sophie was tucking the letter back into the envelope when Ratface came bounding into the room. “You are needed in the front hall at once, sir.” Ratface’s normally fearless demeanor seemed a little off. His fists were clenched, and his Adam’s apple bobbed nervously.

“What’s the matter?” Quentin asked.

“I—I’m not sure,” Ratface stammered. “But a bunch of Indians have just knocked on the front door. They’re asking to see you.”

“Indians?” he asked, flabbergasted. Indians had not inhabited this part of the state in over a hundred years.

“Indians,” Ratface confirmed. “Four of them. They say they’re Algonquin.”

Quentin glanced at Sophie. “Maybe you should stay here.”

“Nonsense. We’ve got six bodyguards and twenty carpenters on the property. We are perfectly safe.” She swallowed. “I think.”

The thudding from a dozen hammers upstairs confirmed her words. He held out his arm. “Come along, then.” He followed Ratface as quickly as possible on his artificial leg, grasping Sophie’s hand as he walked to the front of the house.

Quentin couldn’t believe it, but standing in the foyer of Dierenpark were four bronze-skinned men, looking at him with curious eyes. They were dressed in Western clothing, with proper suit jackets and ties, but each of them had something a little extra. One wore a beaded vest beneath his jacket, and another wore his hair in a braid hanging to his waist. Another wore a feathered earring.

A man about Quentin’s age, the one with the feathered earring, stepped forward and offered his hand in greeting.

“You probably don’t remember me,” he said, “but we were at Harvard together. You were studying architecture, and I was on the other side of campus studying law. I knew you were there, but you were a Vandermark, and well . . . we’ve never really mixed too well with that branch of the family.”

“I see,” Quentin said as he shook the man’s hand. He didn’t remember ever seeing this man before, but Harvard had a long tradition of admitting Indians, so he didn’t doubt the truth of what he’d said.

“I am Luke Tanakiwin, lawyer for one of the Algonquin tribes near the border of Massachusetts. These are my cousins. We heard there were big changes going on at Dierenpark and couldn’t quite believe it until we saw it with our own eyes. Is it true you have given it away?”

“Mostly,” Quentin confirmed. “We are affiliated with a hospital in the city who will send us patients. The estate has been turned over to a charitable trust to oversee its future. I am the chairman of the trust.”

“Good,” Mr. Tanakiwin said. “Very good. Excellent.” His voice trailed away as he scanned the interior of the grand hall. He seemed particularly interested in the portraits of the Vandermark ancestors still hanging in the grand salon. One portrait snagged the strange visitor’s attention.

“Do you mind?” he asked and drifted toward the portrait of Enoch Vandermark, Caleb’s son. Enoch had a tough reputation, having fought against the British and again during the Indian wars of the 1690s.

“He’s got the ring,” Mr. Tanakiwin murmured, and the other Indians drew closer to inspect the portrait.

“What ring?” Quentin asked, although he was pretty certain they were looking at the hereditary Vandermark ring that had
been passed down to the eldest son in each generation and was now worn by his grandfather.

“One like this,” the Indian said, holding up an identical ring. “This one belonged to Adrien. We’ve gotten kind of tired of taking the blame for his death all these years, you know.”

Quentin raised a brow. “Yes . . . a misunderstanding that will be clarified soon. We’ve had a number of historians visiting the estate, and I expect their publications will set the record straight.”

“But how did you come by that ring?” Sophie asked, stepping closer. “May I see it?”

Mr. Tanakiwin handed the ring over. Sophie studied it in fascination and compared it to the ring in Enoch’s portrait. “It’s identical to the one Nickolaas has,” she confirmed. “But how did you get this? I thought Adrien’s body was never found.”

Mr. Tanakiwin shook his head. “We know exactly where Adrien’s body is. He was buried alongside his wife up near the Canadian border. He lived with a tribe of praying Indians for almost forty years after his brother tried to kill him. The ring has been handed down to the oldest white Indian in each generation.” A hint of amusement lit his features. “Although after a few generations, we weren’t very white anymore.”

Quentin reeled back, grasping the staircase post for balance. Had he heard correctly? The Indians seemed to take amusement in his shock.

“Adrien said his brother made a number of attempts on his life before paying the groundskeeper to finish him off, so he saw no point in returning. He didn’t want Caleb to forget, though. Every few years he sent his brother pages torn from the Algonquin Bible, but he had no interest in ever returning to Dierenpark. He sent them to remind Caleb of his sin and in hopes that his brother would eventually repent. I guess he never did, since Caleb ended up keeping the money.”

“But how did he escape drowning?” Sophie asked. “An old letter we found indicates Adrien was drowned in Marguerite’s Cove.”

Mr. Tanakiwin shrugged. “He thought he was dead, too, but God must have had other plans for him. The groundskeeper went for a shovel to dig a grave, and Adrien roused and managed to drag himself from the river. He went north to a town of praying Indians, where he fell in love with an Algonquin woman, married her, and had six children.” He glanced at Quentin. “So that makes us cousins.”

“That makes us
brothers
,” Quentin said. He held out his hand, giving more than a cursory shake this time. There was no family resemblance between them. They had a different skin color, different backgrounds, and certainly very different taste in dress, but they were brothers despite it all. Quentin felt an irrepressible grin spread across his face. “I hope you will join us for dinner,” he said. “My wife is a good cook.”

The celebration that night lasted long after the moon rose high in the sky, illuminating their gathering on the back terrace beneath its shimmering light. The table was filled with platters of steamed oysters, bowls of olives, figs, freshly baked bread, and an array of cheeses from the farm across the road. One of the Indians showed Sophie how to make sweet corn pudding, and laughter echoed across the valley as two families came together after centuries apart.

As the celebration began winding down, Quentin drifted to the far side of the terrace to gaze up at the stars hovering millions of miles above. The awesome sky made him feel dwarfed in a universe so much larger and more profound than he could grasp.

“So you survived,” he whispered into the night sky, sensing that somewhere out there Adrien Vandermark looked down on their celebration tonight and smiled.

Sophie drew up beside him, slipping her arms around his waist and gazing up at the sky with him.

“It’s nice to know the ending of the story,” she said, and he squeezed her hands, even though he knew they were a long way from the end of their story. Ahead of them lay a life filled with purpose and celebration for the time God had given them. Quentin had been a cynical and embittered man, but God had forgiven him and welcomed him to the table, just as Sophie had welcomed him into her life. The world was full of hardness and suffering, but Sophie had opened his eyes to the fact that there were little glimpses of Eden everywhere.

Despite his happiness, Quentin accepted that pain would always be a part of his life. His body still ached on occasion, and debilitating spells of melancholia still sometimes darkened his days. But no matter how bad the pain, he knew the light of dawn would always come again.

Blessed are the pure in heart, for
they shall see God.

Quentin had seen God, and he was truly blessed.

Questions for Conversation

1. Marten and Sophie remain friends despite the painful breakup of their earlier relationship. Is it possible to remain friends with someone you once loved romantically, even if they let you down? Why do so few people manage it?
   
2. Nickolaas looks for spirituality everywhere, but his curiosity rarely lasts long. Do you know people who “shop” for a religion? Is there something worthwhile in sampling other religions? What are the potential problems with it?
   
3. At the beginning of the novel, Quentin has contempt for all forms of religion based on Nickolaas’s erratic spiritual quests. Do you know of people who have soured on religious faith because of an isolated negative experience? What is the best way to respond to such a situation?
   
4. Sophie loves cooking the recipes that have been handed down to her from generations of her ancestors. Do you have any family recipes you cherish? Is it based on the quality of the recipe or on something else?
   
5. A major theme of the novel relates to loving
   all people
   , not just those we deem worthy of love. What are the practical implications of this in your life?
   
6. Are there any places where you believe it is easier to feel closer to God? What do you suppose gives such places that quality?
   
7. Why is Quentin so adamant that his son not become one of the “idle rich”? Do you know of any such people? How did it work out for them?
   
8. At the beginning of the novel, Pieter believes that his grandfather is the only person who loves him, and he fears his father. Should a parent and grandparent have different roles in a child’s life? What are the problems and benefits of such roles?
   
9. Sophie and Marten were supposed to marry when they were eighteen, and she later admits they were too young to be making that sort of commitment. Is there a right age at which to marry?
   
10. What sort of future do you imagine for Quentin and Sophie? For Pieter? For Dierenpark?