"It sounds interesting, Mal, but don't you think you have enough on your plate at the moment?"
"I am doing a lot, that's true, Diana. But I'm not thinking of starting the publishing company until next year, and I'm not asking you to put up any money."
"Oh, I see. But you did say you had a proposition for me."
"I do. I'd like you to become my partner, as I said, publishing only four books to begin with, in fact, we might never publish anymore, after that."
"Which books?" she asked, giving me a speculative look.
"Your books, Diana. The two Lettice Keswick diaries, her cookbook, and her garden book. Later we might do Clarissa's Victorian cookbook, but I'm not sure. If we went ahead, I would publish the Lettice diaries first, then her cookbook, and finally her garden book. It would be a special series, and therein lies its appeal, in my opinion. Eventually, once they'd all been published, the series could become a boxed set, a gift item. I really think it'll work."
"Where will you get the money? You say you don't want it from me."
"Only because I don't think I'll need very much," I pointed out. "Look, you own the books, and you're going to give me the rights. I can type up her text and do copies of her drawings. My only cost will be the printer and the bindery."
"I'm willing to give it to you."
"Thanks, Diana, but by the time I do it next year, I may well be able to finance the publishing project myself."
"Whatever you want. But in any case, I think the idea is brilliant, Mal! Just brilliant! I'd love to be involved. In any way you want."
I reached out and squeezed her hand. "Thanks. By the way, I'm going to call it Kilgram Chase Press. Is that all right with you?"
"I love it! How clever you are, darling." She stared at me for a moment, and then she began to shake her head wonderingly. "What I said earlier is perfectly true, Mal. You are going to be a woman of substance for the nineties."
CHAPTER THIRY-NINE
Connecticut, May 1992
I lay in bed, staring at the clock in the dim light of the room. I could see that it was only four-thirty. I had awakened sooner than I usually did. Although I was an early riser, and always had been, I generally slept until six. Lingering in bed for a while, I let myself drift with my thoughts. Then I remembered what day it was: Monday, the fourth of May. My thirty-seventh birthday. Thirty-seven. That didn't seem possible, but it was true.
Sliding out of bed, I went to a window, opened a blind, and stood peering out. It was still dark. But far off, beyond the trees and the wetlands, the horizon was tinged with a green luminescence, and wisps of pale light were trickling up into the sky. Soon it would be dawn.
Walking into my little sitting room next door, I sat down and stared at my painting of Lissa and Jamie, then my eyes automatically swung to Andrew's portrait above the fireplace.
Though my grief was held in check, my sorrow contained, my longing for them had not lessened. There was an aching void inside and, at times, moments of genuine despair. And busy though I was with Indian Meadows, loneliness was a familiar companion.
Last year I had finally found the courage to sort through Jamie's and Lissa's clothes and toys. I had given everything away-to Nora's family, Anna's friend, and the church. But I had been unable to part with my children's two favorite possessions, Oliver, Lissa's teddy bear, and Deny, Jamie's dinosaur.
Going to the bookshelves, I took down these well-cuddled toys and buried my face in their softness. Memories of my children momentarily overwhelmed me. My throat suddenly ached, and I felt the rush of tears. Blinking them away, I took firm hold of myself, placed the toys in their places, and went into the adjoining bathroom.
After pinning up my hair under a cap, I took a quick shower. A few minutes later, as I toweled myself dry, I found myself glancing at the corner of the bathtub near the taps, as I frequently did. I had never found my art knife, after it had vanished the night I planned to kill myself. What had happened to it? It was a mystery, just as the empty tub and the open kitchen door were also mysteries.
Recently I had confided in Sarah, who had listened to me attentively.
When I had finished my tale, she had been silent for a moment or two, and then she had said, "I'm sure there's a logical explanation for these things, but I like to think it was something inexplicable, like a special kind of intervention, or perhaps the house itself looking after you."
Sarah and I had long agreed that there was an especially wonderful atmosphere in the house these day's. It seemed to us that it was more benign and loving than it had ever been, and there was an extraordinary sense of peacefulness within its old walls.
"It's a house full of loving, friendly ghosts, just as Andrew once said," Sarah had murmured to me only last weekend. We had stared at each other knowingly then, as we realized we were thinking the same thing: Andrew, Jamie, and Lissa were present in the house, for it was alive with our memories of them.
Once I had dressed in my usual working clothes of jeans, a T-shirt, jacket, and penny loafers, I went downstairs.
After putting on the coffee, I drank a glass of water, picked up the bunch of keys for the shops, and went outside. I stood looking around, breathing the air. It was fresh, redolent of dew-laden grass and green growing things; the scent of lilac planted around the house wafted to me on the light breeze.
It was going to be a pretty day, I could tell that. The sky was clear, unblemished by clouds, and it was already pleasantly mild.
As I struck out toward the ridge, a bevy of small brown birds flew up into the sky, wheeling and turning into the haze of blueness soaring above me. I heard their twittering and chirping as I walked, and in the distance there was the honk-honk of Canada geese.
Since I had plenty of time this morning before opening up the shops, I sat down on the wrought-iron seat under the apple tree. Like the lilacs, this too was beginning to bloom, bursting with green leaves and delicate little white buds. Soon it would be in full flower.
Mommy's Place. That was what Andrew had always called this spot. I settled back against the seat and closed my eyes, and I heard their voices clear and resonant, saw their images so vividly in my head. They were here with me, as always. Safe in my heart.
This was the fourth birthday I had spent without Andrew and the twins. I knew from past experience that it would be a sad day for me, just as their birthdays and special holidays were always tinged with sorrow, hard for me to bear without them.
And yet despite my pain and loneliness, I had managed to go on living. One day I had finally come to understand that no one could really help me or do it for me. I had to find my courage myself.
To do this I had reached deep inside myself, gone to the very core of my being, the center of my psyche, and there I had found hidden resources, a strength I had never known existed in me. And it was this strength of character, and a determination to start anew, to make some sort of life for myself, that had propelled me forward, brought me to where I stood today.
Perhaps it was not the best place, but given the circumstances of my life, it was a good place to be. I was healthy mentally and physically; I had managed to open a business, become self-supporting, pay off my debts, and keep the house I loved. I had even been able to reduce the loans from my parents, Diana, and David. By the end of the summer I would retire the loans in full, I was certain of that.
You're making it, Mal, I said under my breath. You're not doing badly at all.
I got to my feet and went down the hill toward the compound of barns. As I drew closer, I noticed that the pond was alive with wildlife this morning, mostly the mallard ducks and a few geese. Later in the summer the blue heron would come and pay us a visit, as it usually did. We had all grown attached to it, awaited its arrival eagerly. And brief though its stay was, we loved having it with us. It had become a sort of mascot, and I was thinking of using the name Blue Heron for another label, a line of locally crafted baby clothes.