Keeping Faith by Cindy Bradford (serial 62)

Chapter 26

Cindy Bradford
In October, Patrick flew to Rome where he walked many of the same streets he had strolled more than twelve years before. He went by the old apartment where he had lived and found Ricardo, looking much older, his back bent further, his step awkward and unsteady, but the same sweet smile came to his face when he looked up and saw Patrick. Tears bathed both men’s eyes.

“Ciao!” Ricardo said excitedly.

“Ciao!” Patrick said, hugging him. The two men sat talking for more than an hour, Patrick in his limited Italian, Ricardo in his broken, struggling English.

“Come,” he finally said to Patrick.

Remembering this scene from a past life, he smiled to himself. Ricardo took him to the big tree and chained there was the blue scooter, shining as it was the day Patrick left.  Ricardo put his hand to his heart and smiled broadly. When Patrick said good-bye the men wept, aware that this might be their last encounter.

The next day, Patrick went back to St. Peter’s Basilica, more for closure than retrospect. Once a symbol of strength to him, a place of spiritual renewal and prayerful solitude, the Basilica now only signified beauty and enduring tenacity to preserve a heritage. Looking around he tried to imagine the millions of people in five centuries who had walked in this historical and artistic treasure searching for answers, asking for peace. He remembered doing that once, but all that was left now was silence, a repressed calmness.

He took the afternoon train to Tuscany and in the warmth of its shell, Patrick began to feel better.

“When I was in Rome, I began to miss academia,” he told Stefano the next morning on the way to check the grapes.

“So, what does that mean, Patrico?”

“Stefano, I have to find something to fill the void of Carol and Olivia. Nothing will ever replace them, but perhaps something could make the hole in my heart smaller. The forecasters are predicting one of the worst winters in recent history. The winters in Maine are so long and harsh and lonely if you’re by yourself. The darkness, dampness and cold are overpowering. I have hated darkness since I was ten years old. I have to find some light.”

He continued, “I love being a student. I know that Harvard has a renowned divinity school. I think I’d like to get a doctorate there. The best scenario would be to live with my dad in Boston during the week and go home to Hidden Harbor for the weekend. I don’t know if I can qualify at Harvard, but if I can, I dare think what the congregation would do with my request. If they would accept a divinity student from Bangor several days a week to help out, I would forgo my salary just to keep the church and deliver the sermons on Sundays.”

“It seems all so logical and well planned to me,” Stefano said, “But when would you do all this?”

“That’s the problem. I may be too late for the spring semester, but it would help if I could get in then, so I could get started. Stefano, I need a diversion. It’s so difficult to be in that house.”

“Can you call someone at Harvard from here?”

“I suppose I could try.”

The call to Harvard was transferred to Dr. Jaime Mata, a professor in the School of Divinity, who listened intently as Patrick related his desire to apply to the doctoral program.

“Mr. O’Brien, what a coincidence. I have a nephew; actually he is married to my niece, who belongs to your church. Roland Wilson. He says you’re the best. My entire family is from Maine. I’ll do what I can on short notice. It generally takes much longer to get acceptance for admission here, but let me see what I can do. I’ve been here more than thirty years; surely that accounts for something. Give me your telephone number and address there in Italy. I’ll be touch.”

“Dr. Mata, I have not discussed this with my church.”

“I understand. I’ll not mention this to Roland or Ruth or anyone else, for that matter, until you tell me it is the appropriate time.”

“Thank you, Dr. Mata. I can’t thank you enough.”

“Well, it’s not a done deal yet, my boy, but this old prof will go into action.”

A week later Dr. Mata called with a swift reply. “If you can send a transcript from Bangor and one from Rome, I believe I can expedite acceptance. Your diverse credentials are a plus. I trust we can work this out.”

“I’ll call both seminaries and have them forward my transcripts.”

“I’ll send you an admissions application. Please complete it and send it back to my attention immediately. Be sure to tell the seminaries to send the transcripts to my attention, also.”

“Dr. Mata, I owe you a great deal of gratitude.”

“Save your thanks. If you get in, just don’t disappoint me. Make me proud. I have a history here you know.”

“Yes sir, I understand. I’ll give it my best.”

The month in Tuscany passed swiftly. Carmella and Stefano were like medicine to an open wound. They knew when to talk, when to be silent, when to push and when to use restraint.

“I can’t tell you how much better I feel. You always have a way of lifting me out of my doldrums. I’ll be in touch.”

“You are the son we never had,” Stefano said, hugging him. “Don’t wait so long to visit.”

Keeping Faith by Cindy Bradford (serial 61)

Chapter 25

Cindy Bradford
Patrick looked at the clock. It was 4:10 p.m. on Sunday and he was expecting Carol to call any minute to let him know she and Olivia were home. Thinking she would be back by now, he was worried about them driving, especially today when it was drizzling rain. He heard a knock at his office door and looked up.

“Come in.”

Stan Harmon and Roland Wilson, two men from his church, and friends as well, walked in, both wearing somber faces.

“Hey, what brings you two here looking so serious?” Patrick asked as he stood to greet the men.

“Patrick, you need to sit down. The news we have is not good.”

“What do you mean?”

“There has been an accident; Olivia has been killed and Carol…Carol is injured. She’s in critical condition.”

Patrick looked at the men in shock, his face the color of the white walls surrounding him, crashing in on him. His chest felt like a weight had been dropped in its center.

“Where? Where is Carol? How bad is she? What happened? Stan, Are you sure about Olivia? Tell me quickly,” he begged, as he began to pace.

“Patrick, the state patrolman, Jim Taylor, a friend of mine, you know Jim; he came to my house because he knows we’re friends. He thought it would be best if you heard it from me. I called Roland and he met me here. Apparently, they were almost home, only about twelve miles out. Carol must have lost control; it was probably slick, we don’t really know yet. No one else was involved though. Olivia was thrown from the car. She was dead when the officers found her. There was nothing they could do. Carol is at Harbor Memorial in surgery. Come on. I’ll take you.”

Dazed and lost, Patrick looked around his office. His world was spinning out of control with him standing still in the middle.

“Here Patrick, I have your jacket,” Stan said, putting his arm around him. “Let’s go to the car.”

As the two men got in Stan’s car, Roland said, “I’ll follow you.” He was having a difficult time talking as he watched Patrick, the tall, strong individual who was always helping others in times of crises, looking suddenly small and weak and vulnerable.

When they arrived at the emergency room, Patrick tried to put his emotions in check, briefly. Bolting from the car he ran in, but an orderly stopped him.

“Sir, may I help you?”

“My wife… my wife is in there,” he said, as tears streamed down his face.

At that moment two doctors walked through the double doors where Patrick assumed they were working on Carol. He recognized one who came toward him because they had served on a town committee together.

“Reverend O’Brien, we are doing everything we can, but it doesn’t look good. She is badly broken up; there is a great deal of internal bleeding, but I’m afraid the worst injury is to her head. We don’t know the extent of the damage; there is too much swelling and bleeding. The next twelve to twenty-four hours will be critical, if we even have that much time. She’s in a coma.”

“Can I see her?” By now, Patrick was sobbing. His daughter, his baby, was gone and his wife was dying. “Please, let me see her.”

“It will be a few more minutes and you can go in. Let me check and I’ll be right back.”

Several members of Patrick’s church had arrived as well as friends of Carol’s from the Art League. Tom and Jean rushed into the waiting area holding their daughter, Susan’s hand. She and Olivia were to have started kindergarten together on Monday.

The doctor motioned for Patrick. “I am afraid you need to be prepared. Her appearance is not good,” he said with a compassionate tone, knowing that she was dying, but trying to give Patrick time to absorb it all.

One look and Patrick knew there was very little chance of survival. He reached to kiss her on the only part of her face and head that was not bandaged.

“Carol, can you hear me?” he asked, but he knew she couldn’t. “Carol, I love you with all my heart. Please try, please hang on. I need you. We all need you.”

Patrick sat there for a long time, his head down, thinking through the fog in his own head. He kept talking to her, hoping to see some twitch of her hand, even a moan, but the only noise he heard, or movement he saw, were on the monitors and machines that crowded the space. Finally, one of the nurses came to him. Reverend O’Brien, we need to move her to ICU; she needs to rest now. You can see her again in an hour. Patrick wondered if she would even be alive in one hour.

“Please God,” he prayed, “Please give me one more chance to see her alive.”

When he went to the waiting area, he was immediately surrounded by friends, hugging him, trying to console him, crying for and with him.

“I have to call Carol’s parents,” he told Tom. Standing there thinking out loud, he said, “I’ll call Nancy first. Maybe she or her parents can break the news. They’re going to need to be with them.”

When he went to the pay phone in the corner of the room, he sat down, but couldn’t remember the number. Carol would know it; he forgot himself for a minute. He called the New York City information operator and then, dialing Nancy, he waited for what seemed like hours. Marie answered.

“Please let Nancy be home,” he thought aloud.

When she said, “Hello,” he broke down crying again. His voice cracking, he said, “Nancy, Carol is hurt really bad; Olivia is dead.”

“Oh, Patrick, how? What happened? How bad is Carol?” Her speech was rapid and her voice pleading.

Patrick related what he knew and then said, “Nancy, I need to call Carol’s parents, but I think it would be best if your parents were with them when I break the news. What do you think?”

“I’ll call my father; he’ll take care of them. They’ll want to go to you immediately. As soon as I call them I’ll take the next flight for myself.” Nancy was crying now, her voice choking. “Oh Patrick, what do you think? Can she pull out of this?”

“Nancy, I think it would take a miracle, but that’s what I am praying for.”

The nurse came in an hour just like she had promised, “Reverend O’Brien, I’ll take you to ICU.”

Nothing had changed. Patrick took Carol’s hand. It felt good to touch her; her skin was cool. He wondered if she needed another blanket. When he rang for the nurse, she appeared almost immediately, but it was to tell Patrick he would have to leave again.

“Would you please see if she is cold?”

“Yes, Reverend O’Brien, I will. You can come back at seven o’clock.”

When the phone rang in the waiting area, Jean answered.

“Jean, I am so glad you answered. Do you know anymore? Is there any improvement?” Nancy asked, glad that she had met Jean earlier under better circumstances.

“Not that we have heard. Patrick is up in ICU now.”

Nancy continued, “Would you please tell Patrick that my mother and father are with Carol’s parents? They’re making plans to leave. We’re all having trouble getting flights this late. Marc said he would drive me so we’ll leave tonight. David will fly tomorrow while Marie stays with Hannah and Heath. Jean, I hate to ask this, but has anything been done about Olivia?”

“No, Patrick hasn’t wanted to leave the hospital. They are only letting him go in ICU once or twice an hour so he doesn’t want to miss a chance to see Carol. We hesitate to bring it up. What do you think we should do?”

“I guess nothing. We can deal with that tomorrow. I’m sure the funeral home is doing what they need to do. This is all too much,” she murmured, crying again. “Please tell Patrick I called and the message.”

“I will Nancy. We’ll see you when you arrive. We’ll not leave Patrick’s side.”

At 10:00 p.m. one of the doctors walked into ICU where Patrick was sitting. Patrick looked up, hopeful though it was obvious the doctor was not. “We need to talk, Patrick.”

As they walked down the long hospital corridor, Patrick suddenly felt sick to his stomach and leaned against the wall to brace.

“I was going to wait until morning when you had some rest, but it doesn’t appear you are planning to do that. Patrick, there is no brain activity. Nothing. She might live a few days, but it is doubtful, because her major organs have been so compromised. She is completely on life support. If we turn that off, she’ll be gone.”

“Are you telling me there is no chance? No hope?” Patrick asked his voice breaking.

The doctor noticed he was shaking and pale; “Let’s go sit down,” and he gave him a minute to regain composure and then said, “Yes, that is what I am telling you. There is nothing more we can do. Her brain is …not showing any activity.”

“My father-in-law is a physician. He will be here in the morning, if not before. I’d like for him to see her first. Maybe you could talk to him?”

“Certainly, if I am not here when he arrives, the other doctors helping me will know. I understand.” Lightly touching Patrick on the back, he said, “I’m sorry.”

When Tom found Patrick, he was sitting, holding his head. “The doctor told me. He came to the waiting room. Without saying more, he put his arm around Patrick’s shoulder and the two men cried together.

When Nancy and Marc arrived at 5:00 a.m., Patrick had not slept and he looked like it. Nancy had obviously cried most of the drive, her eyes red and swollen, make-up long washed away. She hugged Patrick tightly.

“Nancy, there’s no hope.”

“How can this be, Patrick? Tell me it’s not true.”

Meeting her eyes, he continued, “Nancy, I have been so worried about Carol. I didn’t want to leave. It’s so hard to think of my little Olivia all by herself.” He paused, “I haven’t done anything. I don’t even know where to start. I’m a minister. I’m supposed to know how to handle these times, but I can’t believe Olivia is gone. I haven’t even seen her. All I can think of when I look around this hospital is the day she was born here.”

“Patrick, you are a man first. No one expects more. When my mother and father arrive with Carol’s parents, we’ll all think this over and plan what to do next,” she said through tears.

“I’m glad you’re here. I need to thank Marc for coming too.”

“He knows.”

“Oh Nancy, you know how much she wanted another baby. It just never happened.”

When Carol’s parents arrived with Nancy’s, Patrick was brought to tears again. Together they stood for a few minutes with heads down, not knowing what to do or say next. Finally, Patrick said, “I’m so glad you had a nice visit with Carol before this happened. Olivia was so excited to see you before she started school. I just wish I had gone with her.” He hit the wall hard with his clenched fist.

“Patrick, you can’t blame yourself. We have done the same. If only we had come here, instead of her coming to our house. If, if, if…” his mother-in-law said.

“Dr. Neilson,” Patrick said, never able to allow himself to call his father-in-law anything else, “I need to talk with you for a minute.”

The two men walked outside. Squinting because the light hurt his already burning eyes, Patrick explained what the doctor had told him about Carol’s condition. “I’d like for you to talk to the doctor.”

“I will Patrick. We can go together.” Lowering his head for a moment he stopped and looked up. “But it will change nothing. The reason I know that, Patrick,” his voice faltering, “I know because I have looked into the eyes of mothers and fathers and told them their child was dying from leukemia or cystic fibrosis or any number of diseases.

“I have watched their expressions, seen their lips quiver, their shoulders droop and their tears fall. At times I have even believed I could hear their hearts racing and or breaking. And I couldn’t do a damn thing about it, nothing, but just stand there and give them that terrible news and wait for their responses.”

By now his voice was louder, his hands pounding the stone column next to where he stood. He began to cry, his chest heaving and his breath labored as Patrick went to him, putting his arm around his normally stoic and distant father-in-law. For a long time there was silence, interrupted only by their muffled sobs.

“I couldn’t do a damn thing for them, and now I can’t for my own daughter.”

“Dr. Neilson,” Patrick said, but his father-in-law stopped him.

“No Patrick, please, before we go in, I have a question for you.” His demeanor had changed and he had gathered some semblance of control. “You well know I don’t have the same convictions as you. I don’t share your beliefs. To me they are folly, useless, mindless folly. But today, I need something. I need to believe in something. But what God would do this? Tell me, what God would let this happen to an innocent five year old child and her mother?”

Patrick was stunned. He had not expected this outburst or these questions. He stood silent for several minutes, thinking, pondering, and searching his heart.

“I know you are hurting, Dr. Neilson and I know how helpless you feel. I have those same feelings. But I don’t believe God did this or necessarily let it happen. I think there is a plan, however, and somehow our actions figured into that design. I don’t have all the answers, sir, but I do believe I was given your daughter and our Olivia for these few years for a reason and so were you. We didn’t question it during those good years, did we? The scriptures say ‘through faith we understand that the worlds were framed by the word of God, so that things which are seen were not made of things which do appear…. that faith is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen.’ I realize to a man like you that may not be enough, but it is enough for me.”

Dr. Neilson stared at Patrick and shook his head as if to show resolve, but not understanding. Then in a voice that seemed more kind and mellow than Patrick had heard before he said, “Let’s go in Patrick. We’ll talk to the doctor and do what we have to do.”

Patrick put his arm around his father-in-law as they walked back inside the hospital. When they arrived in the waiting area the doctor, looking directly at Patrick, said quietly, “I’m sorry, but Carol is gone.”

Patrick lowered his head and cried softly.

Although the news was no easier than it would have been hours before, Patrick had worked on his emotions, trying to prepare himself for the inevitable. He was also filled with a strange sense of relief, knowing he would not have to make the terrible decision to remove the life support. Carol had saved him that choice.

Turning to his in-laws, Patrick said, “I guess I’ll go home and shower. I need to go to the funeral home. There are a lot of plans to be made. I’d appreciate your help if you think you can.”

“We’ll need to go to the hotel for a short time. Could we meet you at the funeral home at 9:30?” asked Dr. Neilson.

“Fine.”

Patrick went to tell Nancy and his other friends, but they knew from the doctor’s low tone and the look on Patrick’s face that the end had come.

“Patrick, can I help in any way?” Nancy inquired.

“Yes, I’m sure, but give me a little time to know what. I’m meeting Carol’s parents at the funeral home in about an hour. They’re going to the hotel now.”

When he arrived at the house, he had never felt so alone. Though Tom had volunteered to go with him, Patrick had said no. This was something he had to do alone. When he opened the door it was apparent that Tom and Jean had sent someone with their key to turn the lights on. Even with the artificial illumination and daylight, he could feel the darkness.

There was a note that friends had taken Rocky home. Groceries already lined the bar. A small vase of flowers sat on the breakfast table. Everything else was as he left it the morning before, the morning that he had looked so forward to his family’s return in the afternoon. Peri was curled, sleeping on their bed.

Patrick went from room to room… Carol was everywhere. This was her house; even when it was their house, it was still hers. This was who she was before him, with him. This is where they first made love, where they laughed and cried and planned. And now, she was gone.

When he walked into Olivia’s room, he noticed her blankie was on the bed. Someone must have taken it from the car and placed it there because he knew Olivia had taken it with her; she would never go off for even a night without it. Now it lay as lifeless as he knew she had been when they found her. Looking around, he saw the teddy bear that he had won for Carol at the Prater in Vienna; Olivia’s toys were scattered in a corner, but her art work, like her mother’s, was neatly tacked to a small board on an easel, so much unfinished playing, and so many lost dreams.

In her closet, her small dresses hung side by side, but the one she was planning to wear to her first day of kindergarten hung on the door. She had shown it to him at least six times before she left to visit her grandparents. Her lunch kit and tiny satchel were next to the dress.

Rushing to the shower and then hurrying to dress, Patrick knew he had to get out of this house. How was he ever going to live here again?

The remainder of the week was a blur and later Patrick could recall very little. He remembered calling his dad and John and then talking to Carmella, but little else.

At Nancy’s suggestion, the memorial services were moved to the larger Presbyterian Church. Giving Patrick the excuse that his sanctuary was much too small for the crowd of mourners who would be attending, the real issue was the memory–the harsh reality that every time he walked into his church he would see the two caskets, would have to deal with the goodbyes all over again. It would be hard to face, harder to forget.

Patrick made certain when he planned the services with his Presbyterian colleague that they were simple, what he knew Carol would want. In compliance to a request Carol had made one night when she and Patrick had discussed what should happen if either died, she was cremated. In some ways it didn’t feel right to Patrick to cremate Olivia. He didn’t know exactly why cremating an adult seemed different than cremating a child, but burying her wouldn’t have been any easier–it was really her dying that didn’t make sense, but he wouldn’t consider cremating Carol and burying Olivia. He would not separate them. They were connected, an extension of each other.

After the services, friends and family went back to the house to provide comfort and support, to hold Patrick’s hand, to touch his shoulder or to merely share his grief in a moment of inexplicable silence. He paced for a while, alternately sitting and standing. When he thought he might implode, he walked outside where the world was larger, the air less heavy. When finally the sun slipped behind the trees and darkness spread like the wings of an eagle, Tom said, “Patrick we must go in.”

“I’m not sure I can. It’s so hard to stay in that house.”

“Would you like to go home with us?”

“No, Tom. I have to do this. I just don’t have to do it well.”

One by one the friends left and Patrick was alone. Quiet replaced the steady hum of voices, whispers, and sounds. Emptiness swallowed him like a hawk might an ant. There was nothing left but what was and what might have been. The ringing of the phone brought Patrick back to the present. Carmella and Stefano were calling from across the vastness of an ocean. And while they talked and cried there were giant pauses in a conversation thousands of miles apart.

“Patrico, it hurts so much to not be with you. We will come to you, but perhaps it would be good for you to get away. Would you come here for a stay?”

“There is so much I need to do, but I want to think about it. I know I need to get away from here, but on the other hand, I need to stay. Here, at least, I feel close to them. But it is that closeness that is hurting so bad. I don’t know; I don’t seem to know anything right now except nothing will ever be the same. I want to scream and throw things. I want to just go out in our boat and never come back. But I know myself. I won’t do any of those. I’ll survive, but it will be the most difficult task I have ever had. God has tested me on several occasions. He raised the stakes this time, and he’s almost broken me.”

He paused as if he had just made a decision. “I’m going back to work tomorrow!”

“Patrico, do you not need some time?” Stefano pleaded.

“Time is what I don’t need. I need work. I need to focus on everything but what life was here in this house. Winter is coming soon. Carol’s flowers will die too and I hate to watch that. It will happen slowly, and then there will just be brown leaves and lifeless, muted blossoms on the ground. Some will blow out to the sea where I’ll put their ashes. Maybe I’ll go to you then. I remember telling you once there was a rhythm to life there in Tuscany, a peaceful, busy, contented rhythm. We had that here too, but the flow has changed… the music has stopped.”

“Patrico, we would give anything to be there with you. We would do anything to ease your pain,” Carmella said, her voice breaking.

“I know, but no one can do that. It’ll just have to come in time. It’ll get better I know. It won’t ever be the same, but it will get easier.”

For the next month, Patrick poured himself into his work and taking care of all the details related to the accident and deaths of Carol and Olivia.

Keeping Faith by Cindy Bradford (serial 60)

Chapter 24

Cindy Bradford
The weekend before school was to start seemed an unlikely time for a teacher and her lobsterman boyfriend to choose for marrying, but the young educator was three months pregnant and showing, a fact that the Board of Education did not look upon favorably. So they had come to Patrick asking for his blessings and a rushed up ceremony. The honeymoon would definitely have to be cut short. At first Patrick was hesitant because of the circumstances of the union and of his promise to Carol that he would go with her and Olivia to see her parents in Connecticut. The choices were actually a coin toss of which he preferred less. Weekends with Carol’s father were anything but pleasant, but not going was generally not an option. Only once in their marriage had he stayed behind which hadn’t set well with Carol, and she had let him know exactly how she had felt.

He had put off the inevitable until after the camping trip. Now he braced himself for the negative reaction when he approached Carol with the dilemma. It was no more cheerful than he expected.

“Patrick, they are not even members of the church.”

“I know, Carol, but perhaps they will be.”

“You had the perfect answer…you don’t perform ceremonies for pregnant women or non-members. That’s all you had to say.”

“If I said no to every couple expecting a child, my weddings would be cut in half. At least they are going to marry.”

“Because they have to if she wants to teach here.”

“We could go to Connecticut. I don’t know why it has to be this particular weekend.”

“Because it’s Labor Day and you know my parents always have their end of the season party for their friends at the club. Besides, Daddy wants to show off Olivia.”

Feeling powerless, Patrick slumped. “I need to perform this wedding, Carol. They don’t want a civil ceremony and I’m glad for that.”

“Why can’t Reverend Markum do it?”

“The bride’s father said he wouldn’t attend if it were at the Baptist Church.”

Exasperated, she continued in her tirade. “Then I guess you have made your decision.”

“I could drive up early Saturday morning and still make the party. The wedding is Friday.”

“That’s not necessary. I’ll tell Daddy you stayed home to sanctify the bonds of holy matrimony.”

The sarcasm hung in the air like dense fog. She stormed out of the room, leaving him standing at the window, looking out at what would normally be his favorite view in the world.

≈≈≈

For the remainder of the week neither brought up the impending trip or wedding. Patrick busied himself at work and Carol took Olivia shopping for school clothes and supplies.

“Daddy, Daddy, Look at my lunch kit,” Olivia squealed. She was holding a yellow and white rectangular metal box with Cinderella front and center.

“Let me see it better,” he said, reaching for the handle.

“I’ll show you.” She climbed into his lap, opened the box and pulled out a tiny thermos. “See, it matches!”

“What is Mommy going to put in here for you?” he asked, pretending to study the newest possession.

“A peanut butter and jelly sandwich, an apple and a sugar cookie. We’ve already talked about it.”

“What about the thermos?”

“Juice. Do you want to hear me say my ABCs?”

“Of course, but sing them for me.”

“Okay…ABCDEFG… Now I’ve said my ABCs, tell me what you think of me.”

“I think you are the smartest, most beautiful, soon to be kindergarten girl in the whole wide world.” He kissed her on the forehead and added, “I’m going to miss you this weekend, sweetheart.”

“I’ll miss you Daddy. Mommy says you have to marry some people. Ugh! I’m never getting married.”

“But I thought Kenny was your boyfriend.”

Olivia giggled, “Oh, Daddy, you are so silly.”

≈≈≈

Patrick noticed the shiny pink bike the minute he pulled up at the hardware store. Glistening in the sunlight, tiny strips of multi-colored plastic dangled from the handle bar covers and swayed with each passing breeze. It might as well have had Olivia’s name on it, because it was perfect.

No matter how many times he went into this store he was always amazed. He had never seen a place with so many things, so much stuff. Snow shoes hung from the ceiling and canoes and kayaks leaned against one full wall. There were pot-bellied stoves, rakes, shovels, big implements and every size of small tool. Screws and nails and bolts filled bin after bin to almost overflowing. Brooms of various shapes and lengths were cantilevered from a makeshift wooden structure. Looking around one might see every gadget, contraption and any other device known to man.

An oversized dusty metal sign over the cash register read “Any Day, Any Season, We Have What You Need.” There was no doubt in Patrick’s mind about that. If Wilson’s didn’t have it, it hadn’t been invented. The difficult task was finding it. Getting to it was harder. But it was there…somewhere.

Patrick had stopped for a package of light bulbs and a gallon of paint and left with that plus a bike, a basket for it and horn; one of those with the soft round black rubber ball that makes a deafening high-pitched squeal when it’s squeezed. Was he crazy? Olivia would love it.

The paint he bought was for the bedroom. He wanted to surprise Carol who had talked for months about wanting to change the walls to mauve from starchy white. Patrick had argued that it would make the room too dark. She had said it would add character and warmth. So today he was going to paint and if he had time, he would tend to the other chores he had put off earlier in the summer, like hammering loose nails in the shutters and cleaning the gutters. And he wanted to buy the deep plum bedspread at Berry Cottage she had been eyeing.

With school starting next week, Patrick knew winter would be upon them in no time, bringing with it all the bluster and rawness it did each year in these northeastern hamlets. The evenings were already cooling down and Patrick had noticed last night that at seven o’clock the temperature was 54°. Lately the weather experts had started predicting an unusually cold and wet winter. Anything that required attention outside, Patrick knew needed to be tackled soon.

Patrick was painting the crown molding when the phone rang at nine o’clock.

“Hi, Daddy. I miss you,” Olivia said excitedly.

“I miss you angel. What are you doing?”

“I’m at a party, but Mommy says I have to go to bed now.”

“Have you had fun?”

“Oh, yes. Nana bought me a new dress for the party. It is pink with little white kittens on it. What are you doing, Daddy,” she asked without taking a breath.

“Oh, just a few repairs around the house. I have a surprise for you when you get home tomorrow.”

“What? What is it?”

“I can’t tell you, silly girl. That’s why it is called a surprise. Where is Mommy?”

“She’s right here. She wants to talk.”

“Okay. Goodnight. Sleep tight. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“I love you, Daddy.”

“I love you, Olivia, more than life itself.” He could hear Carol whispering for Olivia to go to bed.

“Patrick?”

“Hello, honey. How’s the party?”

Carol laughed, “Like always. Same people, same stories. Be glad you didn’t come. I’m sorry I made such a big deal about it.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t go with you. I miss you.”

“How was the wedding?”

“Plain, simple. Surprisingly, there were quite a few who attended. Of course, both of them have lived here all their lives and know practically everyone in the area.”

“I guess I had better get back outside and mix. Dad will be looking for me. He is in his element right now, you know.”

“I have the picture,” Patrick said, laughing. “What time do you think you will leave?”

“Early. By six-thirty.”

“Be careful. I love you.”

“And I you, love.”

When he heard the phone click he felt suddenly lonely in the quietness of the bedroom.

It was after midnight when he finished painting. His T-shirt and work jeans were paint splattered and his muscles were already beginning to ache, but he took a look around the room and was pleased. Carol was right. It did look warmer, softer.

Pulling the old bedspread off, he folded it and put it on the top shelf of the closet. Taking the new one from its package, featherlike in its softness, he tossed it across their bed and carefully straightened the corners. For a minute he was tempted to crash on it, but the faint smell of paint fumes lingered in his nostrils. He grabbed a pillow and blanket and headed to the sunroom and was asleep in less than five minutes.

Keeping Faith by Cindy Bradford (serial 59)

Chapter 23

Cindy Bradford
Carol was weeding the flower beds that framed the front of the house when Patrick drove up, two kayaks perched on the top of his car.

“Hi,” he said, smiling as Olivia ran to the car.

“Daddy, Daddy, why do you have those on your car?”

“Because I’m taking you and Mommy on a trip.”

“Hip, Hip, Hooray! Did you hear that Mommy?”

Carol smiled, shaking her head, as she tossed a faded hydrangea bloom into the metal bucket she had found at a yard sale outside Rockland. She let herself fall back from her kneeling position to sit firmly on the pebbled steps. She was accustomed to Patrick’s surprises so she waited for the announcement, guessing that he been secretly planning this for days. His excitement was obvious as he revealed the upcoming event.

He picked Olivia up and lifted her high above his head. “How would you like to go to Moosehead Lake and see a moose, my special little one?”

“A real moose, Daddy?”

“Yes, a real moose.” He looked at Carol, searching her eyes for approval. “What do you think?”

“I think you’re a little crazy, but then it didn’t take a pending moose adventure to convince me of that.”

“Well, I thought you might think that so I talked to Tom, who was game to go. He’s supposed to tell Jean today. I just thought since you are going to your folks next weekend and then school starts, this might be our last chance to take a short trip to the lake before it begins to get too cold.”

“So, when is this backwoods excursion taking place, just in case I need to pack a few things?”

Sheepishly, he asked, “Is tomorrow too soon? I mean, I can help you get things together.”

Laughing and not surprised, Carol said, “Thank goodness I have a few hours. I was expecting you to say this afternoon.”

Standing, she removed her gloves and wiped the dirt off the back of her jeans. “I suppose I’d better stop this and get some items together. Just please tell me we are not camping out.”

“No,” he assured her. “I reserved two cabins within twenty feet of the water. They told me that they have a little pier for fishing, a couple of hammocks, a grill, and picnic table. “See, we’re going in style.”

He reached over and gave Carol a kiss on the cheek. “You’re a good sport. You and Jean can each have a hammock and read until your heart’s content. Tom and I will take care of the kids and cook. He’s bringing a canoe and bicycles. I need to attach my bike rack so I can take mine and Olivia’s. What do you think about that?” he asked, turning to his daughter.

She clapped her hands together. “Can Susan ride with us, please, please?”

“We’ll see. I’ll bet we can work that out,” Patrick said. “Now, come help me get our bikes and fishing gear.”

In the garage, he handed Olivia her Mickey Mouse fishing rod and tiny tackle box.

“Can you take that and set it by the car? Come back and get your life jacket when you finish that.”

Her little feet pattering on the steps, Olivia took her assignment seriously, elated at being her daddy’s best assistant. She loved the outdoors and was his perfect sidekick for any adventure. “Can Rocky go with us, Daddy?”

“We’ll have to ask your mommy, but I don’t see why not.”

Carol spent the remainder of the afternoon packing the suitcases while Patrick loaded the car with other necessities. Olivia and Rocky played within earshot. Often Patrick overheard the little girl whispering plans to the dog, assuring him he was not going to be left behind.

≈≈≈

By the time the sun was coming into view both vehicles, packed with clothes, and loaded with outdoor toys, were being maneuvered along the winding back roads of rural Maine. Long before noon, the little girls and their daddies were wading in the cool water of Moosehead Lake while their mothers were comfortably ensconced in Adirondack chairs, enjoying their solitude, reading. Occasionally they looked up in answer to the never-ending “Watch us, Mom!”

When the men left with their daughters for a moose safari, Carol giggled and said, “I think they think we’re going to be so lonesome here all by ourselves.”

Jean laughed, “I know. Did you see how they looked at us so pitifully, like we had made such a mistake not accepting their invitation?”

“I hope they see a moose, otherwise Patrick will be more disappointed than Olivia.”

≈≈≈

The sky was changing to a deep orange when Carol and Jean heard the loud voices of their daughters, “We saw four. We saw four mooses,” Olivia yelled.

“Four moose,” Carol corrected.

But Olivia was oblivious to her mother’s clarification.

“They look just like Bullwinkle,” Susan added, excitedly.

The men stood grinning as the little girls gave details of the boat ride, enthusiastically describing the moose, ducks and one beaver they had seen.

“One moose shook his head and sprayed water everywhere. He was so funny. You should have seen his face,” Olivia said, still out of breath from running and talking so fast.

“I’ve got to go to the bathroom,” Susan said, running off to the cabin.

“Me, too,” Olivia yelled, following at Susan’s heels.

Patrick laughed, “They drank a root-beer on the boat before we realized there was no restroom. They’ve both been about to pop for the last thirty minutes, but then they got so excited, I guess they forgot.”

“Did you have a good time?” Jean asked, looking at Tom.

“It was great. As you can see they were two excited little girls. They should sleep well tonight.”

“You missed a gorgeous sunset,” Carol said.

“I can tell. The sky is still beautiful. Look over there,” Patrick said, pointing to Mt. Kineo, silhouetted against the fading oranges and reds.

Tom came from his cabin holding a bottle of cabernet and four glasses. “Shall we toast to the moose?” he asked.

“Sounds good,” Patrick said.

“Let me check on Olivia to be sure she’s in the tub and I’ll be right back,” Carol added.

“I guess I’d better do the same. I’m afraid this won’t be a very thorough bath if I don’t insist that Susan settle down for a few minutes.”

When the two women went inside their cabins, the men sat silent, watching a pair of herons fly over the blackness of the gentle water. A loon’s cry in the distance broke the hush.

“I think I’ll start a fire. The night air has a chill,” Tom offered.

“Good idea. It would be nice to sit out here for awhile. Maybe we can hold the wives off wanting supper if we keep pouring wine and stoking the fire.”

As Patrick was finishing his sentence, Olivia came rushing out, with Carol several feet behind, holding two plates of sandwiches.

“Well, look at you all dressed in your pajamas,” Patrick exclaimed.

She climbed onto his lap, cuddling close. “Look, Daddy, look at the stars.”

“Did you make a wish?”

She smiled, “Yes, Daddy. I wished we could stay here forever.”

“I made the girls sandwiches. I know they’re hungry and wouldn’t be able to wait until we eat.” Carol explained, setting the plates on the wooden table.

“Good, we were just saying we hoped we could postpone dinner awhile so we can enjoy our wine.”

Carrying chips and drinks for the girls, Jean joined the others. Susan and Olivia climbed into the chairs at the old, wooden picnic table.

“I wonder what the moose are doing,” Susan asked her friend. They giggled and each took a bite of peanut butter and jelly sandwich.

Within minutes after they finished eating, both girls were asleep in their daddy’s laps.

“I’ll put her to bed and start the steaks,” Patrick said.

≈≈≈

Early the next morning, after breakfast, Patrick and Tom loaded their fly-fishing gear and headed for the Kennebec River while Carol and Jean prepared to go antiquing.

Five shops and six hours later they came back to the camp dragging their treasures out of the back of the car. “Look at this vintage electric fan. The woman said it was probably made in the 1920’s, hence the lack of adornment and, of course, because it’s black,” Carol explained. “Don’t you think it will be cute in the sunroom?”

“Sure,” Patrick answered, without fanfare.

“Look what else we bought. I got this silver spoon set for our next little one.”

He looked quickly, smiling faintly, anxious to get back to cleaning fish.

“Don’t you think they are sweet?”

“Yes, that used to be a tradition in our family. It means the baby will have good fortune. I should have remembered that for Olivia,” he said, frowning. His mind raced back to a time when he did remember.

“I bought this for you, Tom,” Jean said, handing him a bronze lantern, “and these Nantucket lightship baskets for me.”

“You girls did well.”

“We’re having fish for dinner…our fish!” Patrick announced. “We need to get a few vegetables. You girls want to ride?”

Olivia and Susan jumped into Tom’s station wagon, ready for any adventure.

“See our new moccasins?” Olivia said, as both girls held their feet high in the air.

“Those are pretty. Where did you get them?” Patrick quizzed.

“Mommy bought them this morning.”

At the grocery store, the girls immediately spotted stuffed moose toys in a variety of sizes.

“Daddy, can we please have one? Please, pretty please,” Olivia begged.

Looking over at Tom, Patrick rolled his eyes while he reached for his wallet. “Can’t let the mothers get ahead of us, can we?”

Later after several hours of canoeing and a short ride on a seaplane, Patrick announced to the girls, “Quiet time. Grab your crayons. We’re going to sit outside and visit with your moms.”

The two couples talked as the sun slowly set over the mountain, the pristine waters glistening from the afterglow.

“What a great idea you had,” Carol said, patting Patrick gently on the arm.

He smiled, remembering how she had told him she thought him a little crazy when he had broken the news to her about the trip.

Keeping Faith by Cindy Bradford (serial 58)

Chapter 22

Cindy Bradford
Patrick was the same pushover with Olivia that he had been with Rocky. If she cried, he picked her up, if she refused to open her mouth for spinach, he tried tapioca pudding. When she slept he stood over her crib, watching.

“Patrick, you are going to spoil her,” Carol warned.

“So?” he grinned mischievously.

When she took her first steps and fell, he almost cried, but when her first complete sentence was “I wove Da-Da,” he did. He was doting as a father could be.

“Do you think Olivia needs another dress?” he would ask whenever they were close to a children’s store.

“Patrick, she cannot possibly wear everything she has before she outgrows them!”

“Okay, I just wanted to be sure,” he said, looking disappointed.

He loved packing up lunch and heading out with the family on their boat every Saturday that the weather cooperated. Rocky, once Patrick’s sidekick, now never left Olivia’s side. “I wove de puppy,” she would say, as she rubbed her cheeks against his fur.

Many of their friends now had children also, so entertainment took on a different twist. Instead of dinner parties, they had picnics in the park with other families, took camping trips in Acadia National Park or bicycle rides around Hidden Harbor. Olivia especially liked her own special place on Patrick’s bike, and almost every summer and early fall afternoon while she was still small, he loaded her up and pedaled around the neighborhood. When she was three, Patrick announced that it was time for her to learn to ice skate.

“Don’t you think she’s a little young?” Carol asked, looking doubtful.

“I was younger than she is when I first skated.”

“Okay, I’ll watch, but you’ll have to be the one to teach her,” she said, unfazed, knowing that if Olivia fell a few times and cried, he would sweep her up in his arms and carry her around the rink. But she took to the ice like a pro. Soon father and daughter were a common sight as he held her tiny hand and they skated slowly.

“Next year we’ll take her skiing,” Patrick announced after being at the rink. “She has a great deal of coordination, good balance,” he bragged, taking off her scarf and coat and then his.

“How about my selecting something, like ballet?”

“Oh, she would be good at that as well. Wouldn’t she look cute in that little,” pausing, “What do you call it?”

“A tutu?”

“Yes. I can just see her at her first recital. Carol you must find her a class!”

Carol winked. “I already have. Jean and I have signed up both girls. I was going to surprise you.”

“Patrick, I went to the doctor today. He can find no reason why I am not getting pregnant again. He said to just keep trying.”

“That’s good news. I mean that you are okay. Well, I don’t have any quarrel with his suggestion either,” he winked. “Did he prescribe two times a day or three?”

“Patrick, you’re bad!”

“I just wanted you to know I was interested in what the doctor had to say,” he said, kissing her on the cheek as he followed her into the kitchen.

“Hmmm, something certainly smells good. What’s cooking?”

“New Brunswick stew.”

≈≈≈

On a weekend in early spring, Marc and Fredrico drove up from Camden where they had been scouring the flea markets. Fredrico had called ahead to tell them, “We will not be there until around six or seven o’clock on Friday and we’re staying at the hotel so we would like for you to meet us at the restaurant for dinner.” Not waiting for a reply, he continued, “We’ll leave early the next morning to shop a little more along the return trip home. Be sure to bring Olivia. Marc has a surprise for her.”

“Come by the house first; we’ll have one glass of champagne before going to dinner. But be prepared; it won’t be the good stuff,” Patrick laughed.

They were forever sending gifts to Olivia in the mail, so Carol could not imagine what Fredrico could be referring to.

When they walked in Marc was carrying a box, wrapped in pink paper and ribbon, in one hand and bouquet of flowers in the other. “For our favorite women,” he said, handing the bouquet to Carol and then showing Olivia the box. “Your mommy will have to help you with this, Olivia.”

Fredrico handed Patrick an insulated sack. “For you, I could not think of wasting my lips on that other dreadful champagne!”

Grinning, Patrick carefully opened the sack. It was a chilled bottle of Dom Pérignon. “You guys are crazy,” he said, slapping Freddy on the back.

Carol sat on the floor next to Olivia and helped her open the box.

“Careful you two,” Marc cautioned. Carol gently took the wrapping off the first item she lifted from the box, as Olivia waited less than patiently, “My box, Mommy!”

“Just a minute, Olivia.”

Carol lifted out a tiny porcelain cup and saucer. “This is beautiful,” she said, noticing more. She reached in and brought out all the pieces to a small English tea set.

“It is the one we told you about,” Fredrico said. “You know, the one Marc’s mother brought him from London, twenty-five years ago.”

“Oh Marc, this is so special. We’ll put it on a shelf high in her room for now. This is a gift to cherish,” she exclaimed, as she stood to give him a hug and a kiss.

“Olivia, you and Mommy can have tea parties.”

Olivia clapped her hands together and went to kiss Marc just as her mother had.

“Well, are you going to open the bubbly or not?”

“Sorry Freddy, I got caught up in the tea set,” Patrick said.

“Thank God it is out of our place,” Fredrico remarked, as a toast.

“How were the flea markets?” Carol asked.

“Wonderful, we found some great iron lamps and an old hand carved boat,” Marc replied.

“The best find though was the carved wooden statuette of a woman who obviously must have adorned some boat at least fifty years ago. It is in perfect condition, meticulously detailed. It won’t last two days at Renaissance. Someone will grab it up,” Fredrico added.

“We were going all the way back to the city late tomorrow night, but we saw a sign that Rockport is having a fair and market tomorrow, so we must stop. If we don’t get home until Sunday late, we’ll be no worse for the wear,” said Marc.

“I wish you guys could have been here last weekend. It was Olivia’s ballet recital,” Patrick said with a broad, proud smile.

“I know she was the cutest one,” Fredrico said, his hands in the air.

“Well, sure,” answered Patrick.

“It was so fun watching all those little girls, no two doing the same step at the same time,” Carol added.

“The teacher had them grouped according to age, and Olivia was with the youngest group. One little girl just stopped and watched the other girls; another walked off the stage in the middle of the dance. We laughed so hard, I think we missed part of the recital,” Carol said, laughing again.

“We’ll be at the next one, if Olivia will call to invite us,” Marc offered.

“Oh, for certain. I want to see those sweet little feet dance like moonbeams,” Fredrico said animatedly.

Patrick looked at Carol grinning, “Fredrico, you are an artist with words.”

“I don’t run an art gallery for nothing,” he bantered, obviously pleased with the compliment.

After dinner as they said goodnight Patrick said, “Don’t wait so long to visit.”

“We are definitely coming back this year in August for the blueberries. Don’t let us forget. Goodnight Darling,” Fredrico said, giving his traditional kiss to Carol. “Tell Olivia we said bye-bye,” he whispered as Patrick carried the sleeping princess to the car.

Because Olivia showed early signs of artistic talent, Carol worked with her regularly. Even at four, her pictures were much more advanced than most children her age. At five, Carol began to let her experiment with oils.

“I know it’s messy, but she’s really quite good,” she told Patrick as she helped Olivia take off her little smock.

“Look Daddy, I did this for you.”

It was good, Patrick thought. He kissed her on the forehead and said, “When you start kindergarten, you are going to be the best artist in your class.”

“That is what Mommy said, too! Can I send this one to Nana and Poppy?” she asked, holding up a water scene.

“Sure, we’ll mail it tomorrow.”

“I want this one for Papa,” referring to Patrick’s dad.

“Maybe Susan can come over this week and you two can do some finger paints. Would you like that?”

“Yes, Yes, Yes!”

“I’ll call Jean later to see if she would like for Susan to spend the day here instead of day care.”

“Goodie, and will you make us sugar cookies and lemonade?”

“Yes, Olivia, I will.”

Keeping Faith by Cindy Bradford (serial 57)

Chapter 21 Part II

Cindy Bradford
This was one time, however, that Carol was not going to have her way, not if Mother Nature had hers. The seed had already been planted, literally, and Dr Taylor delivered the news to Carol on the first day of spring. The heated conversation in February had been for naught. She was already pregnant then.

On her way to Patrick’s office Carol felt a sense of relief. In some ways she wanted to be pregnant now and she knew how much it meant to him. Arriving at his office her mind was on a million things and she didn’t think to knock.

Startled, Patrick looked up, “Carol, what’s wrong?”

“Wrong? Nothing’s wrong. I simply thought you should be the first to know. I’m pregnant.”

A mixture of emotions crossed his face, excitement, confusion, and happiness. “But, what about your book?”

“It just wasn’t supposed to happen. My book can wait. Apparently, there are some things we don’t control.”

“Hmmm. I’ll bet that’s not easy for you to accept,” he grinned and said, only half teasingly.

Smiling, she said, “I really am happy, honey. We need this baby in our lives.”

“When are you due?”

“End of October or first of November.”

“Well, this calls for a celebration,” Patrick said, pulling on his coat. Let’s go shopping.”

“Shopping?” Carol looked genuinely surprised. “Patrick, you never like to shop. What are we going shopping for?”

“Baby things!”

“Patrick, we don’t even know what colors we want or anything,” Carol said, calmly.

“Let’s do something! I can’t just sit in this office and try to concentrate now. Why don’t we stop by the market, pick up a few easy hors d’oeuvres for a light cocktail hour. You call a few friends to join us and tonight we’ll make the announcement.”

“It’s three o’clock already.”

“I know, but tell them to come at 6:00 p.m. and apologize for such short notice. They’re going to think I’m crazy, but that is okay, too. I’m going to be a daddy!”

“Tell you what; I’ll run over to the supermarket, you stay here and make the calls. I’ll be back to pick you up in about thirty minutes.”

Patrick took his coat off and sat back down, smiling. He looked at his watch quickly and calculated, in his mind, the time difference for Italy. “Mind if I call Carmella and Stefano? If I wait until you come back it will be too late to call.”

“You can call anyone your heart desires, Patrick,” she said, smiling, shaking her head and rolling her eyes though she was obviously pleased that he was so excited. “Just be sure they’re someone you know,” she said with a grin as she closed the door behind her. He was already on the phone.

Stefano answered, a rather weak “Hello.” Patrick hoped he had not awakened them.

“Stefano?”

“Patrico, hello,” his now voice stronger and cheerful.

“Did I wake you?”

“No, but Carmella was reading and dozed off, so I was trying to lower my voice. She will want to talk to you, you know. She is awake now, looking at me, smiling, knowing it is you. Hang on.”

“Wait, Stefano. Just tell her to put her ear to the phone. I want you both to hear. We’re pregnant.”

Patrick could hear Carmella shriek in the background and then Stefano lost the phone.

“Patrico, Patrico, congratulations! Stefano! We are going to have a God baby or whatever it is called.”

Patrick’s face was beginning to hurt from smiling so much, and he knew he could feel their excitement through the phone.

“When is the baby to be born?”

“End of October or first of November. I’ll call you soon with more news. Sorry to call so late, but I just found out. Carol has gone to the market to buy a few things so we can have friends over for a small celebration.”

“Patrico, you know you can call anytime. We are so happy for you.”

When he hung up, he sat looking around for a few minutes before he picked up the phone again to call his dad and within fifteen minutes he had completed his invitations.

Everyone who was invited came for cocktails, no one knowing the reason for the last minute event. Tears came to his eyes as he lifted his glass and said, “To my loving wife and child.”

It didn’t sink in for a minute. Friends looked around, confused.

Finally, Tom cheered, “Congratulations Buddy. Now I get it! I propose a toast…To the soon to be expanded family.”

≈≈≈

From the start it was not an easy pregnancy and Carol was sick every morning. Worried and hovering over her, Patrick hated to leave to go to work, but she assured him she would be better as the morning passed.

Within a month, their friends Tom and Jean announced that they were going to have a baby. Patrick and Carol had met the couple at a supper club party six months earlier after Patrick convinced Carol it would be fun to have a regular group of friends to have dinner with once a month. Tom, a local attorney and Patrick hit it off immediately and began a weekly handball competition. Jean, the city librarian with a passion for art and literature quickly became Carol’s friend and confidante. They agreed it would be perfect to have children the same age.

At the beginning of Carol’s eighth month of pregnancy, the doctor finally gave her orders to stay in bed. “If we are going to term with this one, you’re going to have to rest,” he said.

Carol was not happy to give in, but she knew it was important for her health and the baby’s. Patrick complied with her every whim, pacing and returning every few minutes each morning until finally Carol could stand it no longer.

“Patrick, would you please go to work? You’re driving me crazy,” but she smiled and winked at him as she said it. At noon he was back for an hour.

“Look at me; I’m getting huge. I lie here and read and then you bring me food, and I just get bigger and bigger.”

“And more beautiful every day,” he said.

“Right, a beached whale is a beautiful creature,” she said mockingly.

≈≈≈

On the last day of the month, Carol said, “I guess we are not going to have an October baby. I simply knew when the doctor put me to bed, it meant this baby would come early, but it appears he is determined to tell us when he is ready.”

“He? You think it’s going to be a boy?”

“You don’t think a female would be so obstinate, do you?”

“I’m not about to touch that. A pregnant woman is always right.”

The next morning shortly after Carol banished Patrick to his office, she called, “I think it is time.

“I am on my way!” he exclaimed, fumbling for his keys.

Hurrying into the maternity suite, Patrick heard Carol’s moans. She called out to him as he rushed to her side, pushing her damp hair away from her face.

“Breathe, Carol, Push, Harder!”

Within moments, he heard the first cries of a pink bundle of softness.

“It’s a girl!” the doctor said, snipping and tying the cord and placing her into the outstretched arms of the father.

“She’s beautiful. Perfect,” Patrick beamed, but there were tears in his eyes. He laid the baby in the crease of Carol’s arms. “Are you okay?”

“Tired.” She drew in a deep breath and gazed upward.

“You look beautiful too.”

“She looks like you, Patrick.”

Patrick grinned sheepishly, “Maybe, a little.” But no one could miss the connection, the blue eyes and wispy auburn curls.

Moving to sit beside the bed, he couldn’t take his eyes off of her as she cooed softly. He stared in awe.

“I promise to bring her back,” the nurse said, as she carefully took her from her mother. We’re going to put you in your room, Mrs. O’Brien, and I’ll bring her then.”

“Will you be all right while I go make some calls?” Patrick asked, touching Carol’s face gently.

“I’ll be fine. I’m sleepy now.”

“We have a girl, Carmella! A six pound, nine ounce, beautiful little girl!” Patrick said excitedly into the payphone.

“Oh, oh…What is her name?”

“Olivia, Olivia, in honor of the olives, the sweet memories of Tuscany in November.”

“Are you serious, Patrico?”

“Yes, Olivia Ann. Ann is Carol’s middle name.” He started laughing, “Carol said to tell you she is so glad the baby came in November and not October! She was afraid I would have wanted to name her Crush!”

Keeping Faith by Cindy Bradford (serial 56)

Chapter 21 Part I

Cindy Bradford
Back from the honeymoon, life took on an easy cadence. The most difficult task for Patrick was training Rocky, mainly because he was not very good with the word “no.” When Patrick tried scolding the puppy, Rocky would cock his head, and with big brown eyes look pleadingly at his master, who immediately melted under the animal’s charm.

“Okay Patrick, if you can’t do this, we have to take him to obedience school,” Carol said finally, after Rocky rolled and tumbled over a bed of impatiens.”

“I’ll do it, I’ll be more forceful with him,” Patrick promised, but Carol was doubtful.

“I’m not yet convinced,” she told him, smiling faintly.

“I’ll try a leash. He understands about going out, so I’ll take him out on a leash and see if that helps.”

“Well, if that doesn’t work, you both may be on one leash,” she said teasingly, but firmly.

After three weeks and many more flowers, Rocky began to get the message about where he was allowed. But, if he couldn’t conquer the yard he wasn’t giving up so easily on Peri, who was neither impressed nor amused with Rocky’s exuberance. Stubbornly, the puppy nudged and playfully raked Peri’s fur with his front paws as if to say “Come on, be a sport.” Peri tried ignoring him, acting indifferent to his spirited antics, but Rocky persisted until the cat either gave up on ever returning to his former life or decided a furry friend wasn’t so bad. Late one afternoon Patrick found them curled up together, a single act that quickly became a pattern.

Patrick’s church was growing as were his responsibilities. There was always someone to see at the hospital, or to visit at home, a counseling session for a confused teenager, a couple planning to get married, a funeral or a wedding. In between, there were sermons to plan, business to take care of and general daily duties. But he loved his work. He felt that he had finally found his niche.

Carol slid back easily into her routine of painting and photography.

She sent some of her work to the gallery in New York and held three private showings in the area. She was looking forward to winter’s release so she could get outside more with her camera. February was always the most difficult month for her and this year it had been particularly brutal. Thankfully it was almost over.

“Patrick, I’ve been thinking,” she said, putting the remaining dinner dishes in the cabinet. “I’d like to put together a book of landscape photographs, a coffee table book, if you will.”

“Really? Maine landscapes?”

“I don’t really know yet. Maybe more places. Perhaps, landscapes of New England. What do you think?”

“Well, wouldn’t that mean some travel?”

“Yes, but I’d generally only be away one night, two at the most. I talked to Fredrico and he said with his connections and some of mine from years ago, we don’t think publishing would be a problem. He said he has several deep pocket donors from the gallery whom he believes would help.”

“So, you’ve already talked to Fredrico? Wouldn’t it have been nice if we could have had this conversation first?”

“Oh, Patrick, don’t be so cavalier! You know I talk to Freddy often and one topic just led to another, that’s all. It wasn’t like I was keeping something from you for God’s sake,” her voice rising.

“I wasn’t suggesting that,” he said defensively.  “I am simply surprised I guess. Besides, I thought WE wanted a baby now. You wouldn’t want to travel that much if you were pregnant would you?”

“That’s another reason I wanted us to talk. Maybe we could postpone the pregnancy for a year. I think I can have the book ready in that length of time.”

Patrick looked stunned, like someone had hit him hard from behind. The silence for the next few minutes was penetrating. “Let me be sure I understand.” His face was red, his voice quivering slightly. “You want to publish a book of pictures instead of having our child?”

“You oversimplify, Patrick. What is the big damn deal of waiting a year? You have your work. I certainly don’t interfere with it. And God knows you tend to everybody’s needs and wishes any time of the day or night!”

“Carol, be reasonable. It’s a little different, don’t you think, when someone is dying in the middle of the night and their relative calls the minister to come? You want me to say ‘sorry, I can’t be there until morning, it’s not convenient?” His face flushed a brilliant red.

“Forget it! It’s always like this. We can’t talk without getting into a shouting match.”

Patrick lowered his voice. “Look, I’m sorry. I just don’t understand. I thought we agreed we wanted a baby…now. If you don’t, then I guess I’ll adjust. End of conversation.”

Tension filled the bedroom as Patrick clicked off the reading light and turned over without kissing Carol goodnight.

During the next three weeks, the deep freeze appeared to be thawing outside, but not within the walls of the O’Brien home. The couple talked civilly enough and went about their daily responsibilities without arguing, but the air was cool and strained. They had never stayed angry with each other this long and it was beginning to wear on them both. Patrick was tired all of the time from his inability to sleep. He also felt like a fraud when he was asked to counsel a young couple with marital problems and he couldn’t solve his own. Carol felt generally run down. Her head hurt and her stomach was queasy.

Finally, Patrick broke the chill, bringing home a bottle of wine and a dozen roses. Meekly, he handed them to her, “I’m really sorry. I have been a major pain in the ass. I didn’t realize your work was that important to you and I should have. Let’s forget about our quarrel. You deserve the same consideration for your work as I do mine.”

Hugging him, she said, “I’m sorry too, Patrick. I have acted badly, like the spoiled brat I can sometimes be. Just give me six months for my photographs. I think, now, I can have them done by then and with the other part, it won’t matter if I’m pregnant.”

“You’re the boss. Now let’s have some wine and catch up on the last few weeks.” He poured them both a glass and leaned to kiss her.

Keeping Faith by Cindy Bradford (serial 55)

Chapter 20 Part II

Cindy Bradford

Their last day there, they found seats on the upper deck of the boat for a three hour ride down the Danube.

“Look, there must be hundreds of castles along this river. It seems as if they are around every curve in the waterway. Every time I look up there is another one on the top of a hill. Is this not gorgeous?” Carol added.

Terraced vineyards lined the hills of the Wachau region; Baroque buildings jutted out among the tall trees as the boat slow waltzed down the waterway.

When they disembarked they discovered why Krems is a must see; one of the oldest towns in Austria with buildings from the twelfth century, its arched gateways framed the entries to the cobble stoned streets where vendors were selling local wines from kiosks.

“Should we taste?” Patrick asked.

“Today I believe I can face wine again. Yesterday, I wasn’t so sure,” Carol laughed.

≈≈≈

They had been in Venice for less than an hour, when Carol exclaimed “There it is, Patrick!”

“What?”  He looked startled.

“The painting I want!”

Under a sunburned umbrella, that looked as old as the Rialto Bridge, sat a young man in his late twenties, his brush dancing across a fabric of vibrant hues. He didn’t look up as they approached, but concentrated on the canvas stretched in front of him.

“Excuse us,” Patrick said softly, hating to disturb his intensity.

He stopped, placing the brush gingerly in the wooden groove of the easel and looked up.

Without as much as asking the price, Carol said, “I want that one,” pointing. It was oil, a single gondola on a deserted canal against a backdrop of slumbering, crumbling, brick structures. “Look at the way his shadows caught the light. It’s magic. Oh, I love it, Patrick.”

“I’m glad you found what you wanted. “Will you, can you pack it for travel?” he asked, turning to the artist who obviously spoke little English, but was accustomed to the request.

They waited patiently as he wrapped it as if it were a baby in a fleece blanket. Then they walked, up and down the narrow alleyways, pretending to know where they were in this city of palaces and canals.

“In some ways Venice looks out of place and out of time with the rest of the world, don’t you think?” Patrick asked, not waiting for an answer. “I think I identified with that when I came the first time. Its faded glory lures you. It’s too bad the future isn’t as promising as the past.”

“You’re not getting sentimental are you?”

“No.  I still think it is one of the most beautiful places I’ve ever been,” he answered, glad to be back on a crowded street.

“Hungry?”

“Starved!”

“Let’s try that trattoria. Pizza and wine okay with you?”

“Perfecto, Patrico,” Carol giggled.

By train the trip to Florence took three hours. Carmella met them at the station and immediately swallowed them up, talking nonstop to the villa.

“Patrico tells me you want to take a cooking class.”

“I do?” Carol looked surprised.

“You told me a long time ago if we ever went to Italy, you’d like that.”

“Yes. I guess I did.”

“It’s okay if you’d rather not,” Carmella said, carefully. “But if you decide, I have one arranged for tomorrow. You can decide when you’ve had time to think about it.”

“What do you know about it?” Carol quizzed.

“The owner is a dear friend of mine, Ilaria. She takes you to the neighborhood market where you select your own fresh ingredients. That alone will inspire you. Then she teaches you about oils. Finally you cook, of course while sipping a glass of nice wine.”

“Patrico, her husband does a wine class at the same time.”

Patrick looked at Carol hopefully. It’s up to you.”

She was quiet for a minute. “Okay,” she said, though not extremely convincingly and the mood seemed to change from upbeat to slightly strained until Stefano suggested the couple check out their bungalow.

It was as if nothing had been moved since Patrick had last stayed there. The air, however, was strangely cool and he knew it wasn’t due to the air conditioning.

“I’m sorry, Carol. I…I thought you would enjoy a cooking lesson. I would never have said anything, otherwise.”

Carol looked away. It was hard to stay angry in this remarkably romantic setting.

“I’m sorry too. I overreacted and took it that you hate my cooking. But I’m the very one who has admitted I’m a lousy cook.”

“You’re not lousy.” He brushed her hair back and kissed her. “You couldn’t be lousy at anything.”

≈≈≈

The next three days were a frenzy of events, first the classes, followed by shopping, wine tastings and beautiful side trips through the snaking sandy roads, flanked by cypress trees on rolling hillsides that cast long shadows over the lush valleys.

When it was time to leave, Patrick was a mixed bag of emotions; this place was so much of his past, comfortable, soothing, somewhere to take your soul when it longed for solace and strength. But Maine was home and a new chapter was beginning.

Keeping Faith by Cindy Bradford (serial 54)

Chapter 20 Part I

Cindy Bradford
The flight to Vienna was uneventful. Patrick read brochures about museums and landmarks and slept little while Carol was rarely awake.

“I guess I was more tired than I thought,” she said when he woke her for breakfast.

“Weddings are hard for you, huh?” he asked her.

It was still early morning when they arrived at their hotel, an elegant old pensione centrally located inside the ring between Stephansplatz and the Staatsoper. Tall, vaulted and frescoed ceilings and floors of beautiful dark wood adorned the room that was furnished in Old Vienna Biedermeier style.

Carol unpacked while Patrick went to the desk for a map.

“Are you ready for a walk?”

After they had gone a few blocks, Patrick stopped a taxi and asked to go to the Museum of Fine Arts. “You want to see Rubens, and a few Rembrandts, don’t you?”

“Yes, and they have the world’s largest collection of Brueghel’s.”

“Our next stop will be the Belvedere.”

The Austrian Gallery, home to works by Renoir, Monet, Van Gogh, Pissarro, and Max Liebermann, and a walk through the gardens was more than Carol had even imagined.

“Patrick, this is even better than I dreamed.”

“I’m starved,” he said, taking her hand. “Let’s get something to eat. I think I remember reading about this place,” peering through the ironworks into a covered courtyard of a vine-covered building. Daily specials were posted on a chalkboard by the front door. “What do you think?”

“Looks good to me,” Carol said, suddenly realizing she too was hungry.

After wiener schnitzel and apfelstrudel, Patrick leaned back in the booth and let out a sigh. She read his thoughts perfectly.

“You’re tired, aren’t you?”

“A little, I didn’t notice until I sat here for awhile. Then after that meal, I feel drained, but happy.”

With her foot she rubbed his long leg under the table and then put her hands over his. “We have a whole week, Patrick; we don’t have to do it all today!”

He grinned at her for a minute and then just gazed directly at her enjoying the silence and the comfort of their relationship.

“You know what I would like to do, Patrick?”

“What?” forcing himself to sit straighter.

“I would like to go back to the hotel and have a nice, long, relaxing bath with tons of bubbles and maybe a glass of wine.”

“I don’t think the Europeans have those big round tubs for two,” he whispered, mischievously.

“I think I used the word relaxing. You would never allow that. There is a nice balcony outside our room, I noticed. Perhaps you would enjoy that.”

He smiled longingly at her. “Then a bath it is and a nap for me.”

Carol sank into a cushion of pearlescent bubbles, enriched by the fragrant luxury of almond oil, jasmine and musk. The hotel had left a bowl of rose petals and she sprinkled them on the creamy foam.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to join you?” Patrick mischievously grinned, handing her a glass of cool Pinot Grigio.

She closed her eyes, pretending to ignore him.

“I guess that means no…” He stripped to his briefs and stretched out on the duvet and immediately fell into rapt slumber.

Carol had no idea how long she had been in tub when she forced herself out. Standing, she felt replenished and warm inside. She drew a pale green knit sweater over her head, found a pair of low-rise jeans in the drawer and tied her hair up with a ribbon that matched her pullover and went to check on Patrick who was sitting on the balcony.

She put her arms over him, forming a V on his chest and leaned to kiss his ear.

“You smell delicious,” he said, turning to look up at her.

“I certainly feel better.”

“Yes, you do,” as he stood and put his hands on her narrow waist.”

She gave him a long, lingering kiss.

“My turn, but my shower won’t take long,” he winked, pinching her gently.

He had to admit, the hot, sudsy water felt good hitting his skin. He stood there longer than he planned, letting it pepper him on the back. The mirror was fogged and the warmth of the small room covered his nude body as he stepped out of the shower. He didn’t deserve to feel so good, he thought to himself as he wrapped the thick towel around his waist.

“If the rest of the trip is anything like the first day and night, I don’t know if I will ever take you back to Maine,” he said, lightly pulling the cover over her long, sleek body. “You have made me a very happy man, Mrs. O’Brien.”

“Did you say horny or happy?”

The moon cast its glow through the curtains, revealing a broad smile on his face.

“Well, both, and it’s your fault,” he admitted freely.  He kissed her cheek, “I hope you sleep well,” adjusting his pillow to her level.

Her eyelids were heavy, the word, “goodnight” barely left her lips before she was asleep.

After breakfast the next morning, the couple walked to the Schönbrunn Palace. Standing in the gardens that encapsulated it, Patrick said, “I know you are disappointed about the opera, but I noticed on a flyer that there is an operetta both tonight and tomorrow night.”

“That’s perfect, Patrick. It was not so much the opera itself that I wanted to see, but the opera house, besides I saw in the palace that during the Rainbow of Music this month there will be waltzes there every night.”

As the week took shape, the couple took in as many sights as time allowed, seeing the homes where Mozart, Schubert, Strauss, Haydn and Beethoven had lived and their statues that adorned the city. At high noon on Wednesday they gathered in the city’s oldest square to watch the twelve historical figures and pairs of figures of the Anchor Clock parade across the bridge of the Anker Insurance Company building, accompanied by music from various eras. They ordered special tortes and carafes of coffee in some of the famous Vienna coffeehouses, and walked along the same cobblestone streets and medieval alleys as the Hapsburg royalty had, more than six centuries prior.

At the Prater, Patrick won Carol a small stuffed animal and they rode the famous giant Ferris wheel in spite of Carol’s objections, but over a glass of wine at a small tavern, she admitted she was glad he had cajoled and coerced her into the ride.

“I’ll keep the teddy bear for our first child and tell him or her how mean Daddy was to make Mommy get on that big, scary ride.”

“Are you still taking the pill?”

“No, and after this week, you might worry.”

“I told you, the sooner the better,” he smiled.

“The desk clerk told me that we should go to a Heurige in the wine growing district of Grinzing. They have about twenty of these wine taverns. They’re actually outdoor wine gardens and he said the wine tastes better under the sky. Each door that has a sprig of pine or fir and small plaque with the word ‘Eigenbau’ written on it means it is open and the grower serves his own wine. They call it new wine because it can only be served the year it’s made.” He added, “It probably will not be the best wine we will ever drink, but it is worth the experience.”

“I’m game; do you know how to get there?”

“The clerk said to take tram #38. It is about a twenty minute ride.”

Along the route there were vineyards scattering the fertile landscape. Many of the grapes, had already been picked and were piled two and three feet high, filling and spilling over the edges of open trailers, parked haphazardly along the sides of the roads leading to the outdoor wine gardens. Like translucent purple marbles, the grapes sparkled in the fading light.

Pointing, Patrick said, “Look! The clerk told me we might see some grapes, although he said it will be about three weeks or so when most of the harvest takes place.”

“The houses are so quaint. They look like scenes from a child’s fairy tale,” Carol said.

In Grinzing, they walked hand-in-hand, absorbing the sweet smells of summer blossoms that filled the moss containers hanging over the terraces. At wooden tables and benches people of all ages lingered, talking and laughing, sipping wine from quarter liters.

“This looks like a fun place,” Carol said, watching a group of tourists toasting.

“You want to try this it?”

“Yes, let’s do.”

Patrick took Carol by the arm as she led him through the vine covered trellis to a sign that read, “Built in 1527.”

In a wine garden, they quickly learned, everybody is jovial and friendly. Within minutes they found themselves sharing a table with five Canadians and three students from Munich who appeared to be vying for the wine drinking championship. First they drank and then they sang and drank again.

Looking at his watch, Patrick noticed it was after ten. “If we’re going to feel like seeing the Vienna Woods tomorrow, I think this should be my last wine.”

He gazed up through the leaves of the grape arbor to see the skies twinkling in the ebony sky.

“I think I should have stopped an hour ago, but the cold cuts, cheeses and Schweinebraten were so delicious that I thought I needed a little more wine,” Carol added, giggling, with a slight slurring in her words.

“Mrs. O’Brien, I believe you are becoming drunk,” he teased, “but be assured you are in good hands.”

She grinned, “That I don’t doubt.” Falling asleep on Patrick’s shoulder during the train ride, she didn’t know when he put her to bed.

When she awoke the next morning she said, frowning, “Oh Patrick, do I ever have a headache! I think I should have had more mineral water and less wine. Would you get me two aspirin and a large glass of water, please?”

“Sure,” he said, smiling as he handed them to her.

She drank the whole glass in one gulp; “More please. I’m really thirsty.”

“Do you feel like going anywhere?”

“I’ll be fine as soon as these take effect. Why don’t you shower and I’ll nap a few minutes.”

Within thirty minutes she felt better and dressed quickly for the thirty minute train trip to Baden.

“Do you feel like walking to the village? I think it’s just about a ten minute walk.”

“I really am feeling fine now, Patrick. My head is okay and that toast settled my stomach. I had a great time last night. That kid from Munich was funny, wasn’t he? I hardly remember going to the hotel though.”

“The reason you don’t remember is that you were asleep. I’m just glad you’re fine now,” he said, pulling her closer to him.

“Can you smell the sulfurous baths?”

“Yes. We should have brought our bathing suits. Look. There’s a thermal pool, just right over there!”

“I read they have several, and this was once a popular destination for Napoleon, Beethoven, Mozart and others.”

As they entered the pedestrian-zoned small downtown they saw boutiques, beautiful gardens and sidewalk cafes lining the square.

“I might like to do some shopping.”

“I was afraid of that,” he smiled, “Would you like to meet me back here in an hour or so?”

“What will you do?”

“I think I’ll go over to that café, pointing to an open air seating area, have a cappuccino or something and just watch the people stroll around the square.”

“Are you sure? I really haven’t done any shopping and these look like wonderful shops.”

“Take as much time as you like. I’ll be right there. Do you want a glass of wine before you go?” he asked, teasing her.

“Patrick, you’re cruel.”

Smiling, he dodged to keep from being hit.

“Don’t leave,” she said, as she walked away, looking like a woman on a shopping mission. Two hours later Carol came back to the café, arms loaded with shopping bags.

“Look Patrick.”

Turning his head to see, he quizzed, “What did you find?”

She began pulling a sweater out of one bag, “Isn’t this beautiful. It is pure Austrian wool.”

“That’s perfect for Maine. What else?”

Actually, I found three sweaters,” showing one to him. “This is for you, holding up a brown wool sweater with just a hint of orange blended through the wool, around the collar, wrist and waist bands.

“I like that.”

“I thought it would look good with your hair. What have you done while I shopped?”

“I’ve talked to several people. I particularly enjoyed one older Austrian gentleman who came here today with his wife so she could take a thermal bath. She has arthritis so they make the trip from Vienna three times a week. He was very helpful with information. He suggested we take a boat down the Danube to Krems and then take the train back. You’ll like this. He said they usually have some kind of art show in an old converted tobacco factory. He also told me it was too bad we’re not going to be here at Baden over the weekend because they have musical events celebrating the grapes. They do that each year for a month.”

“There is so much to do and see; tomorrow is our last day, Patrick,” her shoulders drooping as she finished her sentence, “I have had such a wonderful time.”

“But then we are off to Venice for two nights. This time I am riding the gondola!”

“You didn’t when you were there?”

“No. It looked too romantic, those guys serenading couples…” He paused and glanced down at her, “Now it will be good to be romantic.”

Keeping Faith by Cindy Bradford (serial 53)

Chapter 19 Part III

Cindy Bradford
The wedding was small, simple and beautiful, with the little church filled with well-wishers, friends and family. Carol was a stunning bride, but it was just as she had predicted; Hannah upstaged everyone. Every few steps, she stopped to curtsy to the wedding guests, blowing kisses. She almost dropped the basket of petals. After the ceremony, Nancy said, “I promise Carol; I don’t know where she got the idea. I feel so bad.”

“Nance, I loved it. How could I not? She is precious. I told you she would take everyone’s heart. Besides you now have her potty trained, do you not?” Carol said laughing. “Now let’s get dressed for the reception. Patrick is waiting, and I’m curious beyond hope about what Marc and Freddy have done. You know they would not let me see anything after ten o’clock this morning,” she said, rolling her eyes.

Carol met Patrick in his office. “We’re finally married, Mrs. O’Brien,” as he smothered her in kisses.

“I almost can’t believe it. Shall we go see what Freddy and Marc have done to our place?”

“I’m not sure,” Patrick said with a wink. “This could be dangerous.”

As they drove up to the house, they saw twinkling lights and candles illuminating the entire back yard.

“Is it on fire or are those decorations?” Patrick teased.

“I’m not sure, but be ready to call the fire department just in case.”

“It really is gorgeous, Patrick,” as they walked through an elaborate twig arch, with fuchsia, tear drops and Baby’s Breath spilling over. “The fragrance is heavenly, isn’t it?”

“Yes, I’m amazed, Carol,” he said, as he ducked slightly to miss hitting his head on a branch.

The crowd cheered and clapped as the couple entered the back yard. Hannah ran to Carol, hugging her as Carol bent down to greet her.

“Did I do dood? I haf on pantwees.”

“I know Hannah. You were precious and I’m so proud of you. Have you found the cake?” But Hannah was gone, looking for the cake as soon as the question had been asked, Carol supposed.

Patrick found Fredrico and Marc; “You guys did a terrific job. This is unbelievable. Thank you so much.”

“We loved every minute of it. Have you tasted any of the refreshments?”

”No, but I am on my way.”

“Carol, can you believe these decorations?” Nancy asked.

“No this is even more beautiful than I ever imagined. And the food is just as pretty, but I am too excited to eat. Look at those tables!” she exclaimed.

The first table was completely filled with hot hors d’oeuvres: crispy shrimp wontons with sweet and sour dipping sauce, crab cakes with a plum tomato salsa, tiny spinach and artichoke pizzas, fried mozzarella, cheese scones and smoked salmon rolls, fish fritters, and roasted red peppers with garlic.

The second table held any number of cheeses, spicy Mexican shrimp cocktails with avocado, cold meats and a pasta salad.

Serving as the centerpiece for the next table, a traditional wedding cake was surrounded by dishes of lavender ice cream, a spiced molten chocolate cake, lemon crème brulée tart, a chocolate mascarpone cheesecake and a spiced walnut cake with lemon sorbet, honey and mint.

The final table held two elaborate punch bowls on either side, one with champagne, another with harbor breeze punch made of grapefruit and cranberry juices and vodka. In the center was a carved ice sculpture with pear martinis flowing through two entwined wedding bands.

“Dad, have you ever seen anything like this food in your life?” Patrick asked, putting his arm on his dad’s shoulder.

“No son, your mother would be so proud for you.”

“I know Dad. I miss her so much. Are you having an okay time though?”

“Yes, these are all nice people. There is a mixture here for certain,” he said with a smile.

Patrick smiled back. “You noticed, huh?”

Patrick made every effort to involve everyone as he went among the crowd greeting people from his church and thanking them for attending. He made his way to Carol’s parents to thank them again for sharing their daughter. Her mother hugged him with tears in her eyes and her father stiffly shook Patrick’s hand.

“We are happy for both of you. I understand you are leaving late tomorrow for Vienna. Nice choice! Bring Carol to see us when you can. She has not been as good about that as we would like,” his new father-in-law commented.

“I’ll do my best, sir. He looked around to be sure everyone was having a good time.

At 10:00 p.m. only a few people had left and most of the guests were lingering and enjoying the food and view. Although it was long past time for Patrick and Carol to make their exit for the hotel, they agreed that they were having too much fun to leave.

“It may be awhile before we see some of these friends again,” Patrick said. “If you want to stay later that’s fine,” he said, handing her another glass of champagne.

“I really would like that. We can certainly sleep on the plane tomorrow night, but I’m afraid Hannah may finally pass out, and I would like to toss my bouquet to her, so I’ll go ahead with that.”

The crowd came together when Patrick’s brother John asked for their attention. “We need to have a few toasts before the bride and groom escape.” Carol’s father was next to toast, and finally Patrick said a formal thank you to everyone, toasted Marc and Fredrico and then the crowd. “Normally we are supposed to leave, and I know you are ready for us to go, but we are having too much fun with you. So Carol is going to toss her bouquet,” he said, winking, “and we are staying a bit longer. So enjoy! Marc and Fredrico assure me they do not mind cleaning up late tomorrow!”

Hannah was ecstatic. She ran around showing her bouquet to anyone who would look, but it was not long until Nancy found her curled up in a chair asleep with Peri.

At midnight, Patrick and Carol finally departed for the hotel.

“Patrick, I have something special for you when we get to the room.”

“Oh,” he said with a smile, “I didn’t know you had been holding back. This should be a really wild night. Why didn’t you tell me? I would have left before the reception,” he joked.

“Not that,” slapping him lightly, “A present.”

“You really are going to jump nude out of a cake, aren’t you?”

“Patrick!”

When they arrived at the door of the honeymoon suite, Patrick leaned down to lift Carol. “Here we go,” he said, carrying her to the bed. Kissing her, he whispered, “I have a present for you also, but it can wait.”

He began undressing her as soon as he laid her on the bed, smothering her in kisses. As he bent over her, she reached for the clasp on his pants and then slid her hand inside.

“You’re driving me crazy, Mrs. O’Brien.”

Soon their nude bodies melted into each other. It was almost two o’clock when Patrick turned to look at the clock. “Time flies when you’re having fun!”

“I want to just lie here beside you forever,” Carol whispered, curling her fingers in the hair on his chest.

Patrick kissed the curve of her neck and began running his fingers down the small of her back.

“I said lie beside you,” catching his hands and holding them. “I want you to open your present.”

“I just did,” he said, stealing a chance for another kiss.

“Patrick!”

“Okay, but you are so sexy, I can’t help myself,” he whispered, trying one more time to rekindle her passion.

She stood up, naked, the light from the lamp illuminating her tall, slender body. He watched as she slowly put on her robe. When she went to find his gift, he pulled on his briefs and took a small package from his suitcase. She came back and he was sitting on the bed, waiting, looking like a little boy at Christmas. Then he handed her a box.

“You first,” he said. Inside was a tiny frame with a note: “Any art or photo of your choice from Vienna, Venice or Florence. I couldn’t think of anything else. It’s not very creative.”

“It will be fun for us to look together; this will be our first art together. I can’t wait to look for just the right piece.” She paused, “Your turn!”

When he opened the box a tiny porcelain object and silver disk fell onto the sheets. He picked them up and looked closely. It was a tiny porcelain Irish setter with a tag that read, “Pat’s Irish Shamrock,” and when it hit him, his face lit up. “Could this possibly be what I think it is?” he asked, hopefully.

“Yes, when we get home from the honeymoon, he’ll be six weeks old and we can take him from his mother. I decided to name him so they could have his papers ready. I hope that’s okay.”

“Sure, I’m going to call him, ‘Rocky.’ This is terrific; I haven’t had a dog since I was a teenager. She was a mutt, but I truly loved her. She was killed by a car and my parents never let us have another one. My mother said she had too many kids to take care of anyway, without a dog. I guess we weren’t too good about feeding and cleaning up.” A familiar longing filled his thought. “Her name was Boots. I remember I was ten,” he said brusquely, and Carol saw the look in his eyes that she had seen before. The look that told her he was alone in his world.

The next morning Patrick woke before the alarm and eased out of bed, gently closing the bathroom door before turning on the shower. As he came out of the bathroom and started for the door, she said softly, “You running out on me already?”

Turning, he smiled, “I was trying not to make any noise. I’m going to get coffee.”

“I’ve been awake since you went to shower, just lying here thinking about yesterday and last night.”

He leaned down and kissed her gently, “Yesterday, last night, why? What happened?” he teased as he sat down on the bed.

“What time is it, Patrick?”

“Seven o’clock. I’m going to see if anyone is in the coffee shop. I told Stefano we needed to leave at 11:00 a.m. I’m going to try to tell Dad good-bye before he, John and Joey leave.”

“I’m getting up now and I’ll be ready anytime after 8:30. I’d like to go by the house to see if Marc and Fredrico are still there and say good-bye to Peri.”

“I’ll be back in about thirty or forty minutes. Would you like a Danish or something?”

“Yes, anything, a muffin would be fine, but don’t make a special trip back, just bring it when you’re finished seeing everyone.”

When Carol was dressed, she decided not to wait for Patrick and headed for the restaurant where she found him talking with his dad and brothers and her dad and David.

“Is Nance awake yet?”

“Yes. I think she’s just helping Hannah, and then they’ll be down.”

“I’ll go check.”

Hannah and Nancy were just coming out of the room when Carol turned the corner.

“Wook Arol, your fowers,” Hannah exclaimed, holding up the bouquet.

Carol smiled down and lightly patted her on the head. “That means you are next to be married.”

“Ugh!” Hannah frowned.

Carol looped an arm around Nancy’s. “Thanks for being my matron of honor. I’m going to miss you. I don’t know when I’ll get back to the city.”

Nancy looked around at the harbor that was the backdrop for so much of the little town. It was serene, filled with boats begging to be released for the day. Some people were already making their way down to the docks and it wouldn’t be long until it was a frenzy of activity.

“I guess this is really home for you now,” she said, a touch of sadness in her voice.

Although it was only 10:00 a.m. Carol was surprised that Marc and Fredrico were already gone. She walked in the kitchen to find the cabinets and table covered with gifts that guests had left.

A note was taped to the refrigerator: “We decided to work after everyone was gone. Finished up about 6:00 a.m. Full of caffeine, so heading back to NYC. Have a wonderful honeymoon. Love to you both! Freddy and Marc”

“They are such dears. I couldn’t ask for better friends.” Looking around, she added, “Can you believe all these presents? We don’t have time to open them all. We’ll have to wait until we return. Here is something else from Carmella and Stefano. I thought the wine and glasses were our wedding gift.”

“I did, too. Go ahead and open it. It looks like a painting.”

Tearing off the paper, Carol unveiled a landscape painting of the Tuscan countryside, framed in antique gold. The card said: “So you will not forget us. Love, Stefano and Carmella”

“As if we could ever forget them; the colors in this are so soft, yet crisp and detailed. It is beautiful, Patrick. I know just the place for it.”

“I don’t want to rush you, but we need to go.”

“Okay, just let me kiss Peri,” she said, stroking the cat’s long hair. “You be a sweetie. Jean will check on you.”