Chapter 35
Nothing could deter Laura Danvers from celebrating the new baby—and the fact that the baby herself would attend was a bonus that filled her with great pleasure.
The chosen Saturday was cool and dry, the party set to begin just before sunset—a perfect time to celebrate this new baby, one that the entire town of Sea Harbor, or so it seemed—was welcoming into its arms with love and joy.
Abigail Kathleen Perry had come into the world quickly, once she knew the world was ready for her. In a heartbeat, this tiny baby—with a head of Sam’s sandy locks, a sweet round face that seemed to smile as Sam rested her in her mother’s arms—changed forever the moment, the day, the summer, and many Sea Harbor lives.
Izzy’s parents arrived on the first plane out of Kansas City, and Nell and her sister wept in tandem, sharing this lovely miracle Izzy had brought into the world.
Sam allowed no talk of the past weeks in the birthing room—not when Abigail was present. Only positive, nurturing vibes were to touch his baby girl, he said, and then he held her close and carried her to the window to explain what a wonderful town she was living in, what a wonderful, brave, sometimes foolish mother she had, and how loved she would always be.
• • •
It was over a glass of wine on Sam and Izzy’s deck a week later that they finally revisited the scene, filling in the blanks, though there weren’t many of them. It took that long for the men in the knitters’ lives to face the danger their wives might have been in. Could have been in. And to allow the night on the beach to be talked about in their presence.
But the joy of sweet Abigail assuaged all things, and the worries were allowed to fade.
The police had uncovered that Tami Ashland was Tamara’s given name. She’d been a problem child growing up. No father, just like Justin. And no real sense of right and wrong. Right was what Tamara wanted for herself. Wrong were people in her life who prevented that. Even her surprise pregnancy—the one-week stand with a handsome, gullible Tyler Gibson while her husband was in Europe—didn’t concern her. Her husband wanted a baby, and she would give him one. But when an overly attentive Franklin began asking for every possible precaution and test, she worried some, and talked it over with Martin Seltzer, confiding in him her uncertainty over the baby’s father’s identity. He assured her everything was fine—the tests Martin had asked for were for other things, not paternity. No one would know.
And somehow, perhaps resulting from a talk between Ben and Jerry Thompson, the police had been able to keep it out of Esther’s hearing range and out of Mary Pisano’s column that the father might have been an unsuspecting Gloucester fellow.
Tyler Gibson might never know. Or he might, if Esther uncovered the truth—and decided that truth was the better part of valor. Perhaps there was an important lesson in it all for her cherished grandson.
But Justin Dorsey, standing outside the door, waiting to fix a computer, did know.
And so Tami’s troubles began.
“I don’t think any of it bothered her—not even the fact that two people had been needlessly murdered to protect her lie,” Nell had said.
“The woman didn’t take chances,” Birdie concluded, “even if it meant killing an innocent old man.”
“Would his testimony have been taken seriously?” Cass wondered.
Ben shrugged. “Who are we to say eyesight is more dependable than scent? Coming from someone like Horace, his words might have been the nail in Tamara’s coffin.”
• • •
But it was over, at last, and on a cool lovely Saturday a few weeks later, exactly at sundown, Laura and Elliot Danvers welcomed Abigail Kathleen Perry, her dog, Red, and her parents, Izzy and Sam, into their home.
The rolling grounds, in a hilly neighborhood overlooking the ocean, were filled with balloons and music—and there would be dancing later, Laura said as she took the tiny Abby into her arms and whirled her out onto the patio. When she handed her back to her father, Laura’s face was wet with tears.
“What is it about babies?” she asked, wiping the tears away with the back of her hand.
But they all knew what it was. It was about innocence and joy and a future.
It was about life.
Izzy hugged Laura close. “You’re amazing, you know. To do this after the sadness that has been brought to your family.”
Laura shook her head. This was exactly what she should be doing. “Uncle Franklin is going to be fine,” she said. “We’ve had some long talks, and even convinced him to stay with us for a couple of nights. Remember what I said about realizing money isn’t always the answer? I think he’s beginning to get it. Take a look.” She nodded toward the stretch of lawn beyond the patio.
Franklin Danvers sat on an old-fashioned swing hanging from two giant maple trees. And on either side of him was one of Laura’s young daughters. As Izzy watched, Gabby Marietti approached the swing, her mass of hair haloed by the setting sun. She said something that brought a smile to Franklin’s serious face, and then she squeezed in beside them, the girls squealing a welcome.
“Babies and children have healing powers,” Laura said simply.
Every room in the Danvers home was filled with vases of bright summer flowers—roses and cape daisies, pink and blue hydrangea blooms, tulips, and pansies from the garden. Children ran freely and a crib was set up in the sunroom, should it be needed.
And on the patio, long tables groaned beneath platters of lobster rolls, calamari, cheesy fries, and bright-colored salads.
Laura’s husband, Elliot, was everywhere, fixing drinks, greeting guests, and making sure the platters remained full.
Esther Gibson strolled over to Nell, her eyes misty. “I love babies, you know. And look what they grow up to be. Sweet grandbabies.”
They all laughed as she looked over at Tyler Gibson, twisting his legs into a crazy kind of dance with Willow, Pete, and Merry Jackson, his hair flopping to the music.
Ben and Sam ushered them over to a table beneath a tree, where Danny and Cass had filled plates for everyone with lobster rolls and cheesy fries.
Izzy settled down with Abby on her lap, her small, sweet body resting on the yellow cable blanket that Nell had knitted over the months as she’d entertained dreams of this baby, the baby girl who was now the center of their lives. Red sat at her side, dreaming dreams for this child of grace. Simply a miracle, she thought.
Close by, Birdie chatted with Henrietta O’Neal and the man she now introduced as her new gentleman friend. In a rare, uncharacteristic gesture, Martin Seltzer lifted Birdie’s hand to his lips and kissed it gently. Then he turned and looked over at the tree—to Cass, to Nell, to Izzy. To Franklin Danvers.
The nod of his head and a slight smile told them what was in his heart and on his mind. And they all nodded back, ridiculously happy that this once-cranky man had been given a new lease on life, for however long that might be. Beside him, watching, Henrietta chuckled, and then she told him it was time to eat. He was as skinny as a rat’s tail, she said.
Sam looked around. “My daughter—where is she?”
This time it was Lily who had whisked the baby away. She was standing alone on the edge of the patio, holding the baby in her arms, humming to her. A song perhaps her father or mother had once hummed to her. Their eyes seemed locked together. When Janie and Tommy joined her, they looped their arms around each other, bound together by an infant’s smile.
And then Sam was back, taking Abigail into his arms, not able to be away from his daughter for long.
“Attention,” Laura said. Behind her Elliot and his girls happily pounded on an old washtub with wooden spoons to hush the crowd.
“The sun is about to set,” Laura said, her practiced speaker’s voice reaching to the ends of the yard. “It’s time to raise our glasses and toast the new baby who has come into our lives. To Abigail Kathleen Perry—peace and love and happiness.”
Shouts of “Welcome” echoed throughout the yard as Sam stood proudly with his baby girl in his arms.
“But wait, wait, a surprise,” Laura said. She stepped aside and pointed toward the center of the patio, where Pete, Merry, and Andy had set up their equipment and were testing the microphones. They bowed slightly to the applause.
“This is a gift to Abigail Kathleen from the Fractured Fish,” Pete said into the microphone. Behind him, Merry trilled chords on her keyboard and Andy rolled the drums.
And then Gabby appeared out of nowhere, her black hair flying. She took the microphone from Pete’s hand and lifted her head, her eyes on the baby in Sam Perry’s arms. And in a full, rich voice that went clear up to an emerging moon, she belted out “Welcome to the World,” filling the air with the lilting song.
Sam pulled Izzy from her chair and wrapped his other arm around her, with tiny Abby cradled between them, her face turned up. Next to them, Red kept the beat, his tail thumping on the grass.
Then they began to dance—the new family, twirling around.
And Gabby sang on: “Welcome to the world / That will hold you tight.”
Her arms motioned for the others to join in—family and friends, old voices blending with new, welcoming Abby into their lives. “Come dance. Rejoice,” her motions said.
“Love is all around you / And here to stay.”