His lips caressed her fingertips as he spoke. “I’ve been wondering what kept me alive, kept me believing the fight was right and good. I’d always thought it was the memory of these trees, this orchard, a farmhouse glowing gold.”
“You moved here three years ago.”
“I returned here then.”
“Oh.”
“But there was more to the memory, one I’d give my life to protect—a place where a lovely little girl was free to chase the twinkling Christmas lights on the apple trees she loved…and where, even when she sat sobbing at the end of the driveway, she was safe from harm.”
“Because,” she whispered, “her hero happened by.”
“A lonely boy happened by.”
“And she stopped crying.”
“He sang to her. And,” he said, “she sang to him.”
“Off key.”
“In her key. A happy key. One he’d love to hear again and again.”
“If you’ll sing with me.”
“Always.”
The fingertips he’d been kissing moved to his eyes.
Gram had said the boy who’d rescued her granddaughter had the most brilliant blue eyes. And she was right. Elizabeth saw in his eyes what Gram had seen, the color Nick’s eyes became when the loneliness was sent away.
Elizabeth didn’t know, although it was true, that tonight’s blue was far brighter. For on this night, and all the coming nights and days, his eyes would be filled with love.
Epilogue
To:
[email protected]
From:
[email protected]
Date: July 18
Subject: Happiness! Seeing clearly! Love!
Dearest Winifred and Helen (for whom I’m popping a colorful copy of this colorful e-mail in today’s post),
Please accept my apologies for being so remiss in not responding to you before now. As both of you knew, losing Charles has been difficult. I’ll always miss him, as you miss your beloved Sam and Richard. I feel he’s closer to me now than in those impossible months after he died. He was never very far away, I realize. I just wasn’t able to find him. I’m letting the memories of our love come back to me now, and smiling when they do, and he’s right there with them.
I have fabulous—and interesting—news.
The fabulous, first. Elizabeth and Nick (yes, Nick!) are in love. Matthew was wrong for her, and, fortunately, she discovered it in time. But Nick is so right for her and loves her as she should be loved, and she loves him—as he should be loved—right back.
They’re planning to live in Sarah’s Orchard. She’ll be the Apple Butter Ladies’ “in house” counsel to begin with, and if the legal spirit moves her, she’ll branch out from there. Her first corporate responsibility will be to register the official Apple Butter Ladies’ logo (the .JPEG is attached, and, Helen, you have an eight-by-twelve-inch glossy). She drew the pictures when she was eight, and we’ve scanned them into the computer (I’m becoming quite good at scanning) and made the four-quadrant design. The winter apple tree, with its red Christmas lights, will—I think—also become the invitation to Nick and Elizabeth’s Christmastime wedding. (You’ll each be receiving one.)
I’m so thrilled for both of them. And I know, know, that Charles is, too. As for my social-butterfly daughter, we’ll discover what she’s really made of (ancient blue-blood genes or motherly love) when she and Thomas visit next weekend. Call me an optimist, but I’m betting on her daughter’s happiness trumping every snobbish impulse she might have.
My interesting news is that I’ve recently had cataract surgery. (Cataract-surgery advocate that I’ve become, I plan to have both eyes done). I’m more than an advocate. I feel like sharing what feels like a miracle to everyone I know (or don’t know!). That’s why I’m attaching (and including) a few articles on the topic. If any of the signs or symptoms seem familiar to you, please, please, please make an appointment with an ophthalmologist. Or, even better, come on down and see mine, Dr. Diana Hathaway, the loveliest and most competent surgeon you’ll ever meet. If the prospect of making the trip to Sarah’s Orchard is off-putting, too much of an ordeal, that may be a symptom in itself. Elizabeth, Nick and I would be delighted to provide door-to-door service—anytime!
You can see how giddy I am about this. But it’s such a gift to see colors again. Without my even realizing it, the world had become a dull, dull gray. And I can read again. And play cards. And smile at the night sky. And send belated messages to my two dearest friends.
I’ll write often, now that once again I can. Our friendship means so much to me and has meant so much for so long, I can hardly bear to think it might have faded (as colors did) because of tiny deposits in my eyes—aaaaaah! Never.
Take care, dear ones. All my love,
Clara
