But now? Lucille wasn’t here. Her loved ones were gone. What was the point of continuing the fight?
A gust of wind sprayed droplets of rain from the tree’s leaves across her face. Mamaw sucked in her breath at the chill of it. Turning her head from the rain, she saw Lucille’s chair beside her rocking back and forth. Mamaw’s breath caught in her throat. She sensed Lucille’s presence, very real and very close. So close that she called her name.
“Lucille?”
There was no reply. Only the calls of birds and the rustle of leaves. “You old fool,” she muttered to herself. It was just the summer wind. Yet, closing her eyes, she still felt Lucille’s presence.
Thunder rumbled softly in the distance. Mamaw opened her eyes and saw that the sun had emerged from behind the clouds. She gripped the arms of her rocker and rose to her feet to stand again at the edge of the porch. Stepping into the mist, she felt the cool moisture against her skin. Looking at the dewy, fresh surroundings, Mamaw remembered Lucille’s words. When the hard times come, just dance.
She stretched out her arms and lifted her face to welcome the sun and the rain. Going up on tiptoe, she swirled around. She was alive! The night had been filled with terror, but the morning sun rose on another day. Lucille would want her to be grateful, even joyful, in this moment, despite the grief and the pain.
Mamaw lowered her arms and walked back toward Sea Breeze, taking the time to let her gaze sweep over her house and the landscape she loved. The old house with its mullioned windows, graceful, sweeping stairs, and gables had survived the storm, too. She didn’t want to go inside quite yet. Inside the house, the girls were still sleeping. Mamaw wanted a few more moments alone with her memories.
She took the pebbled path around the side of the house. She passed the outdoor shower and near the porch spotted Harper’s raised garden beds. The small stalks of starter plants were bent over from the storm’s driving rain and wind. Some of the tiny leaves were plastered with the mud. But a few hearty ones had already straightened, and in time, most of them would perk up in the sunshine.
She stepped out of the dappled shade into the light. The sun felt warm on her damp skin. The wet grass soaked her slippers but she ignored it, walking on toward the Cove. The air was heavy with the pungent scents of pluff mud and that powerful post-rain sweetness she called the perfume of the lowcountry. She breathed deep, feeling cleansed, looking at the refreshed green of the sea grass. She walked with arms swinging across the rain-drenched ground to Harper’s garden.
Who knew her Harper had a green thumb? Sweet city girl was growing roots in the lowcountry, she thought as she took in the newly planted flowers. Drops of dew hung fat and heavy on the roses that she knew had been planted especially for her. Bending, she plucked the best one and cradled it in her palms. It was a bright pink, just opening its petals to the sun. She brought it to her nose. The bud didn’t have much scent, but she gloried in the fact that it was the first rose she’d gathered from this garden in years.
She heard the piercing cries of an osprey from the Cove. She looked up, searching for the great fish hawk. She’d always loved that plucky bird. Putting her hand like a visor over her eyes, she spotted it, circling gracefully over the water, on the hunt. This time of year there would be babies on the nest, squawking for breakfast.
“There she is!” came a call from the porch.
Turning her head toward the house, she saw her granddaughters walking toward her in the light. Her summer girls. Dora in a flowing floral robe, Harper in a sleek silk sheath, Carson already in her swimsuit and shorts. So different, yet united by blood. Together . . . Mamaw felt her chest swell, knowing that she and Lucille had done the right thing in bringing the three women back home to Sea Breeze for this final summer. This was their shared triumph. These young women were their legacy.
Mamaw felt her heart warm in her breast and pump with love. Despite all the as-yet-unsettled questions, regardless of the many decisions yet to be made, on this troubled morning, looking at her granddaughters, she rediscovered her purpose for living.
Yes, they needed her, perhaps now more than ever. Yet not, she knew, as much as she needed them.
She raised her arm over her head in a wide-arc wave.
They were coming toward her.
Mamaw opened her arms.
“I’m here!”