Final Rights (25 page)

“Oh! That’s just like the one at Gamma’s house!”
Cally burst into tears and laughter simultaneously as Tate bowed formally and
offered her an after-dinner chocolate. Cally threw her arms around Tate’s neck
and began sobbing.

“Whoa! I didn’t mean to make you cry,
Cally.”

“It’s okay,” Cally
choked between sobs. “Okay . . . so happy . . . miss Gamma . . .” The other
hotel guests excused themselves, leaving Cally and Tate alone as they sank onto
a comfortable couch beside the fireplace. Tate waited until Cally quieted.

“Wow, you must think
I’m a real cry baby! Honestly, I think I’ve cried more in the last few days
than I have since the night Mom took me away from Asheville.”

“It’s all right, Cally. You’ve been through
a lot, and crying is a good thing, really . . . though I must admit I rarely do
it myself.”

“It’s just like at Gamma’s . . .” Cally once
again seemed to struggle with a buried memory.

“What do you mean, Cally?”

“That’s what I kept trying to remember. The
secret place. ‘This is our secret place.’ That’s what Gamma told me when she
showed it to me. I was real little, maybe 5 or 6 . . .”

“Ellie showed you a compartment like this
one?”

“Yes! In her house. In the mantel Gampa made
for their house. The one I carved my initials in. Remember? We were talking
about it with Sally . . .”

“Wait. You mean the house I own now? The one
I’m renovating?”

“Well, yeah, if that is, in fact, the house
Gampa and Gamma lived in over on Cumberland.”

“
Now it’s
my turn to be shocked and surprised. So you’re saying . . . wait. I was talking
to Dave about the house—he’s the one doing the work for me. I remember him
saying something about a fireplace. He has to patch the floor where it used to
be in the living room . . .”

“Oh, I wish it were still there, Tate. I’d
love to see it again. Gamma only showed it to me one time, but it was magical.
There were things in there she was saving for me.”

“What things?” Tate had trouble staying
focused as her mind raced between trying to attend to Cally, then to questions
about the missing fireplace, on to her own grief about precious things once
meant for her which were taken by others, and then back to the present
conversation with Cally.

“. . . and a comb . . .”

“I’m sorry, Cally. My mind wandered for a
minute. I have so many questions. Tell me again, please.”

Cally seemed unperturbed and started over.
“One day I was with Gamma, and Gampa was in the workshop out back. She told me
she had something special to show me. Then she went to the mantel and opened
the secret drawer. I remember being so happy. I jumped up and down and danced all
around.”

“It must’ve been wonderful, especially for a
child.”

“Oh, it was! She showed me everything, but
only after she made me promise I wouldn’t tell anyone. I realize now how big a
promise that was to ask of a child, but somehow even then I knew it was truly
something between her and me, and I never told anyone.”

“What was in it, Cally?”

“There was a comb—a beautiful tortoise-shell
hair comb. She told me who it had belonged to, but I don’t remember. It must
have been passed down through her family for generations, though. And a diamond
ring. A few other things. There was a little book of some kind. I don’t
remember much more than that.”

“And she said it was your secret place? Just
yours and hers?”

“Yes, that’s what she told me. She was
keeping those things for me. I wonder what happened to them. I never saw them
again.”

Tate’s own memories grabbed her full
attention, and she remembered sitting with her great grandmother as they looked
through a trunk of clothes in the upstairs bedroom of the old farmhouse. The
musty smell of the room with peeling and stained wallpaper on the slanted walls
and threadbare rugs covering creaky wooden floors filled her nostrils. She saw
where her own father had punched a hole in the wall just above the feather bed,
and the huge Christmas cactus in its pot in front of the east-facing window
with the cracked pane. She felt the soft brush against her cheek of the woolen
fabric in the long skirt and matching, fitted jacket with whale-bone stays that
her grandmother promised would one day be hers—a broken promise that still
caused her pain a lifetime later. She squeezed Cally’s hand and willed herself
back to the present moment.

“Are you okay, Tate?”

“Yeah . . . yeah, I’m okay. I just got
hijacked by my own memories for a moment. You said you never saw those things
again . . .”

“No, only that one time. I don’t know what
ever happened to them. I wish . . .” Suddenly, Cally gulped and turned pale.
The color left her face, and Tate thought for a moment she may pass out.

“What? What is it, Cally?”

“Tate, they’re still there. She left them
for me, and they’re still in there!”

“How do you know that, Cally? How could they
be? I mean that was decades ago and . . .”

“. . . because she told
me so!” Cally exclaimed as she began a frantic search through her handbag. She
fished for the leather pouch, pulled out the old library card that she’d
slipped back into its place after her visit to the library, and from behind it
she retrieved the yellowed, penciled note written in Ellie’s hand. “Look!”

Cally handed the note to Tate, who unfolded
it carefully and then read the words:

There is
always something waiting for you

where the home
fire burns.

I love you
dearly and forever.

Gamma

Tate suddenly felt chilled as goose bumps
popped up over her entire body, and for a fleeting moment, she had the sense
they were not alone in the room after all. She looked into Cally’s face and
found a combination of excitement and grief.

“What is this, Cally?”

“I didn’t know until this instant, Tate. I
found it in a box of keepsakes when I cleaned out Mom’s apartment. She had it
hidden away. She never told me about it.” Cally paused as if trying to get the
courage to say the words aloud that pounded inside her head. “I think Gamma
wrote this note for me just before she died,” she whispered.

“Really? Why do you think she did it then .
. . I mean why not some other time?”

“Why write it at all, unless she thought she
wouldn’t have a chance to tell me herself? And why so cryptic? ‘Where the home
fire burns.’ Why not say ‘there’s something for you in the secret place?’ Or,
‘look in the mantel and you’ll find your things?’ No, I’m sure of it, Tate. She
wanted to give me this message, but she also wanted to make sure only I would
understand it. And now I do.”

“That all makes sense,
Cally, but still, it’s speculation, don’t you think? And in any case, the
fireplace is gone.”

Desolation quickly replaced the excitement
on Cally’s face. She began weeping again. “Of course . . . of course. It’s all
gone. You’re right, Tate. How silly of me to think . . .”

“No, Cally, not silly. Not silly at all. You
may not have the things, but you have the memory. You know she loved you, and
nothing can erase that truth.”

“I know . . . but it would have been nice .
. . it was nice for a moment to think . . .”

“She loved you, Cally.”

“Yes . . . and it would be nice to have
something to touch, something she cherished and passed on to me. It’s one of
the things that’s always been missing in my life. You know, the feeling of
connection you get when you can hold something close to your heart. Memories
are wonderful, but to have something physical, that would be . . .” Cally
sighed deeply and squeezed Tate’s hand. “I’m exhausted, Tate. I’m gonna call it
a night. Do you mind?”

“No, of course not. Do you think you still
want to visit Leland tomorrow? We could do it another time.”

“Tomorrow, yes! I’m going to let myself
sleep as long as I want, but I’ll call you in the morning, and we’ll decide
what time then, if that’s okay with you.”

“That’s fine, Cally. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Tate gave Cally a big hug and bid her goodnight, then headed home. She realized
she was exhausted, too, more from the emotional seesaw she had been on for most
of the day than from the fact she had been on the go for more than twelve hours
straight.

She crawled into bed at a much earlier hour
than usual and spent the night rummaging endlessly through debris scattered
across her dreamscape in search of precious items lost long ago. Just when she
thought she had found what she was looking for—she wasn’t quite sure just what
it was—it would slip away, and she would find herself back at the beginning
determined to continue the search.
I’ll
find it. If I just keep looking, I’ll find it.
 

FORTY-ONE

2004

Tate
woke to the ringing of the phone the following morning and jumped out of bed,
heart racing, to answer it.

“Hello?” Groggy, pressured, demanding an
answer.

“Tate! It’s Cally. Are you okay? You sound
weird. I hope I didn’t wake you up.”

“Uh, yeah . . . hey,
Cally. I thought you were sleeping in.”

“I did. It’s 8:30 already.”

“You call that sleeping in?” Tate exhaled
and tried to ease the tension in her voice. Being awakened by a ringing phone
always triggered panic for her—a the-sky-is-falling response she couldn’t
control. “You sound cheerful.”

“I am! I slept like a rock and had wonderful
dreams about Gamma. I miss her like crazy, but I realized when I woke up that I
felt wrapped up in her love. I just can’t always remember that, especially when
the pain of missing her takes over.”

Tate knew exactly what Cally meant, but she
wasn’t about to say so. She also chose not to share with Cally her frustrating
dream of the night before. “Glad you had a good night after all. You were
pretty upset when I left you.”

“I hate crying like that, but it really
helped. I think I cleared out a lot of emotional stuff I’ve had buried
forever.”

“That’s good, Cally. Listen, I’m gonna need
some coffee and breakfast before I’m fully functional. How ’bout you?”

“I’ll get something downstairs. They have a
nice breakfast layout here, and I think I’ll read a bit. When will you be ready
to head out to Forest Glen?”

“Give me a couple hours. I’ve got to check
in next door before I leave.”

“
No need
to rush. Maybe it would be better if we get there just after lunch. What say
you pick me up around 12:30?”

Tate breathed a sigh of
relief. That would give her plenty of time to ease into the day rather than
rushing. Tate knew most people did not consider it
rushing
to be out of the house
before noon. She was not most people, though. Even after a lifetime of forcing
herself to adhere to a schedule set by others, she showed no signs of ever
becoming a perky morning person. “That sounds perfect, Cally. You promised
Leland some brownies. I could pick some up on my way to you, if that’s okay.”

“Actually, I have a better idea. I’m going
to ask the chef here to make a batch for me. If that doesn’t work, we’ll find
some on the way.”

“Great idea, Cally. I’ll see you later,
then.”

Tate turned the burner on under a saucepan
of water, pulled the Melitta cone, coffee beans and a filter from the cupboard,
then peered into the refrigerator looking for breakfast. She decided on eggs
and toast for herself, put out some food for Pocket, then settled on the couch
with her coffee and a pile of paperwork. She paid some bills, wrote out a to-do
list of things to discuss with Dave and errands she could no longer put off,
then bathed, dressed and headed next door.

She glanced at the clock on her way out.
Only 10:20!
Amazing—I feel
ready to go!
Cally’s early
morning call had set the stage for a grumpy Tate, but instead she felt
energized, a curious reaction that puzzled her. As she contemplated her mood,
she felt an unfamiliar stirring in her solar plexus. She realized the thought
of seeing Cally made her happy, and that made her very uncomfortable.
Don’t be foolish. There’s no future
there, and even if there was, I’m not ready.
The silent reprimand had little impact on the insistent
excitement that pushed to the surface of Tate’s awareness.

Cally
bounded out of the Princess Hotel lobby as soon as Tate pulled up to the
entrance. The small package she carried filled the truck with the enticing
aroma of warm chocolate and cinnamon.

“So, the chef came through, huh? Those smell
yummy!”

“Yeah, she sure did. I love this place, you
know? Everyone is friendly and helpful. Dawn, the chef, even let me help make
these. She had a recipe from her mother, and we added some cinnamon like Gamma
taught me to do. So they’re homemade after all. I hope Gampa likes them.”

“I’m sure he will, Cally. Are you ready for
this?”

“More than ready. I love Gampa so much, and
even if I don’t get answers to my questions, at least I have him again. He’s
really old and I want to spend as much time as I can with him.”

They chatted amiably during the short drive
and a few minutes later, Ruby greeted them as they entered Forest Glen.

“Oh, Mr. Leland will be very happy to see
ya’ll again so soon!”

“Hi, Ms. Ruby. You look lovely today.” Cally
seemed to have no problem with the Southern traditions.

“Ms. Ruby . . . nice to see you again.” Tate
tipped her head slightly in Ruby’s direction. The greeting and gesture earned a
big smile from the receptionist.

Cally interrupted: “Have they finished
lunch? Is this a good time to see him? I brought him some brownies!” She spoke
more rapidly than usual.

Ruby quickly reassured her. “It’s a good
time, honey. They finished lunch half an hour ago. Dorothy’ll take ya back to
him.”

Leland sat in his usual spot and appeared to
be totally engrossed in his work on the ornaments for the Christmas Bazaar.

“Hi, Gampa.” Cally’s soft voice filled the
space between them and Leland looked up at her. He studied her face carefully,
and Cally worried that he didn’t recognize her. “It’s Cally, Gampa. I brought
you brownies just like I promised.”

Leland turned his gaze to Tate and Dorothy,
then back to Cally. Without speaking, he slowly rose from his chair and reached
for a hug from Cally. “I didn’t know if you’d come back. I thought it was a
dream.”

Cally wrapped her arms around the frail old
man and held him gently. Tears filled the eyes of both as they shared an
embrace five decades in the making.

Dorothy excused herself to break up a
squabble between two residents on the other side of the room, and Tate found a
seat a discreet distance away, giving Cally and Leland their privacy.

Cally
pulled up a chair close to Leland’s and leaned into him as they talked. Old
people develop a particular aroma, often unpleasant, but in Leland’s case, he
smelled much like the wood he so carefully worked—a hint of age, yes, but also
a sweet, earthy mustiness that at first reminded Cally of hiking through the
northwestern forests with Lauren, but then took her back to her childhood. She
remembered the workshop, remembered sitting in the old rocking chair, whittling
away on little wood scraps Leland provided and being lulled to sleep by the
rasping hum of sandpaper on wood as Leland created his masterpieces.

“I loved the workshop, Gampa. I miss it.”

Leland continued working on the ornament in
his hand. “That was a long time ago, Cally. Best not to remember too much.”

“I wish I didn’t, but I
do. At least I remember as much as I can. Mom took me away and I didn’t
understand, never have until just recently. I know a lot about what happened
now. And I have so many questions . . .” She waited, hoping Leland would offer
answers. “. . . and I want to ask you about . . . Gamma, and . . . and so much.
Can I ask, Gampa?”

“I’m an old man with a broken heart . . .”

“It hurts you to talk
about it, doesn’t it? Oh, I’m so sorry, Gampa. I didn’t mean to . . .”

“Sweet child . . . you were always such a
dear thing. Ellie loved you, we both loved you so much. You were her pride and
joy, even more’n Clayton . . .” Leland grasped Cally’s hand and blinked back
tears.

“Don’t talk if you don’t want to, Gampa. I
love you and I don’t ever want to make you sad.”

“Best not to remember too much. That’s what
I been doin’ ever since . . .”

Cally waited quietly, holding Leland’s hand.

Leland sighed. “. . . well, since Ellie . .
.” He could not complete the sentence. “I don’t remember the funeral. I know I
was there, but I can’t remember it. Richard Price would know.”

“Is he that man who lived in the big house
near you and Gamma?”

“Good friend. He took
care of me after Ellie . . . I went to his house for a while and then I fell
and . . . somehow I ended up here. This is a good place. How long’ve I been
here?”

Cally feared the strain of their
conversation was taking its toll on Leland, so she changed the subject. She
picked up one of the ornaments he had finished. “These are beautiful, Gampa.”
Three had been completed with one more in process. All shared common elements
of design while retaining unique features.

“They’re for Christmas. I carve ’em and the
girls paint ’em.” Leland nodded to a table across the room where Cally saw two
old women dabbing red, green and white paint on Leland’s creations. Personally,
Cally liked them better without the paint, but she kept her opinion to herself;
then Leland spoke again.

“They’re better without paint, but everone
wants shiny things for Christmas.”

Cally burst out laughing. “I was just
thinking the same thing! They’re so beautiful with the natural wood colors
showing. This one looks like cherry, but those others are something else, maybe
birch?”

“Pine. Some basswood, too, but mostly pine.
But that cherry one . . .” Leland picked it up and turned it in his hands,
holding it up to the light, sniffing it for the sweet scent. “. . . this one’s
for you, just like I promised. See, I don’t forget everthing.”

“It’s beautiful, Gampa. I love it.”

“Alls it needs is a clear finish, but wipe
it on with a cloth so it don’t drip.”

“Oh, I remember seeing you do that when I
was a very little girl! I’ll do it just like you say.” Even tiny flashes of her
childhood, such as this one, filled Cally’s heart with joy. “And I have
something for you, too.”

“You brought me a treat?”

“I sure did.” Cally opened the package of
brownies and Leland peeked in.

“I thought so. I could smell ’em. Wondered
when you’d get around to giving ’em to me.” He chose a brownie with no hard
edges, picked it up carefully, inhaled its aroma, then took a small bite. His
face lit up in a big smile, his blue eyes sparkled. “There’s cinnamon in
’em—just like Ellie’s!”

“Yes, I remembered Gamma
teaching me that. Is it good?”

“Did you make ’em?”

“I had help from the cook at the hotel where
I’m staying. We used her recipe, but I added the cinnamon. I haven’t tasted
them yet.”

“Well, you should, and give one to your
friend there.” Leland pointed at Tate, who had dozed off in her chair in the
sun.

Cally chuckled. “Do you think I should wake
her up? I already did that once today.”

“I bet she won’t wanna miss out on brownies.
Besides, I need to talk to her.”

Cally approached Tate and called to her
softly. “Tate, Gampa is asking for you.”

Tate opened her eyes and stretched,
cat-like. “I was snoozing. The sun coming through the windows here is
delightful.”

“I can see that. You looked quite peaceful.”

“He’s asking for me? Why?”

“He wants you to try the brownies and says
he needs to talk to you.”

“Mr. Howard, nice to see you again.” Tate truly enjoyed
being around Leland Howard.
He’s like the grandfather I always wish I had
. Tate’s grandfathers,
both of them, had been mean men with abrasive personalities and harsh words for
small children who dared approach them. She had learned early on to steer clear
of them whenever her parents took her and her siblings for a visit.

“And you, too, Mrs . . . no, don’t tell me .
. .” Leland struggled to recall her name. “. . . Mrs. Martin?”

“Marlowe. Tate Marlowe. But you can call me
whatever you like.”

“Yes. Mrs. Marlowe. Now I remember. Have a
brownie? My granddaughter here made ’em herself!”

“I know she did, and they smell wonderful.”
Tate bit into one of the soft, fudgy brownies and nearly swooned. “They’re even
better than I expected!”

“Why thank you, both of you.” Cally beamed.

Leland began reciting the chain of events
since Tate’s first visit, looking to her for confirmation of each part. “You
came here by yourself, then you brought me peanut butter cookies, then you
brought me my granddaughter.”

“That’s right.”

“Why did you come the first time?” Leland’s
directness never failed to catch Tate a bit off guard.

“Well, that’s an easy question to answer and
a hard one at the same time.”

“Should be easy. What’s hard about it?”

“I don’t want to upset you again like I did
the first time I was here.”

“You asked about a house.”

“That’s right.” Tate’s eagerness to get
answers to her questions proved difficult to control, but she held back, determined
to let Leland lead the conversation.