The Carpenter's Wife

“Where is this sculpture now?” Ana asked. “I imagine some collector snatched it up right away, but I don’t recall seeing it in any of the trade catalogues or art books.”

Rock’s eyes darkened again and the smile disappeared from his face. “You probably never saw it because it wasn’t for sale. But someone acquired the piece, anyway, many years after she’d finished it. Locked it away in a garden behind his fancy mansion up on the bluffs.”

Sensing that Rock didn’t approve of this particular art collector, Ana leaned forward. “Isn’t that a good thing? That your mother sold the piece, I mean?”

He lifted his chin. “Normally, yeah, that’s good, selling a fine piece of art. But she didn’t get a very good price for what she had to give up.”

And that’s all he said. Wondering why he insisted on talking in riddles, Ana watched as he took a long swallow of his iced tea. “Rock,” she said, “did I ask the wrong question?”

Rock glanced over at her as if he’d forgotten she was even there. “No, nothing like that. Let’s change the subject.”

Ana again got the impression that Rock somehow resented his mother’s art. Maybe because it had taken his mother away from him and his brothers? It was a known fact in local art circles that Eloise Dempsey was a woman driven by her talent, a woman who had worked long and hard to become a successful force in the art world. It was also known, from various interviews and articles written about Eloise, that her relationship with her three grown sons was difficult. And even though Eloise knew exactly what to say in order to protect her privacy, she still managed, when necessary, to get a good sound bite on the evening news.

Deciding to venture forth, Ana said, “You know, Rock, I’ve read articles in the trade magazines about your mother. Being an artist is never easy. The art demands a lot, but you and Eloise seem so close. She brags on you—on all of her sons—and she did recommend you to me.”

Rock held his tea glass in one hand while he watched the waves crashing against the seawall and pier outside. “We’ve managed to stay on good terms over the years, in spite of what the media might say. And in spite of what the world doesn’t know or see.”

Thinking he wasn’t going to elaborate, Ana could only nod and sit silently. She didn’t want to appear nosy, yet she yearned to understand what had brought that darkness to his beautiful eyes. “It must have been hard on all of you, losing your father when you were so young.”

“It was tough,” Rock finally said. “For a long time, we didn’t understand why he had to die out there doing what he loved best, shrimping.” He glanced out at the water again. “But then ‘deep calleth unto deep’ or so the scripture says.”

“Did he die in a storm?”

“Yes.” Rock nodded toward the toppled pilings. “The very same hurricane that took that pier.”

Ana let out a little gasp that caused him to look across the space between them. “I’m sorry, Rock. Is that why you don’t want to talk about the sculpture?”

He sighed, kept staring at her, his eyes now as dark and unreadable as the faraway waters over the distant horizon. “It’s not the sculpture, Ana. It’s the fact that my mother designed it out of grief and sorrow and made it into a beautiful symbol of redeeming love. She didn’t sell the sculpture. She gave it to…someone who doesn’t really appreciate it.”

“Can you tell me who?”

Rock set his glass on the table, then folded his hands together across the white linen tablecloth. “I can tell you exactly who, and exactly why. My mother gave that sculpture to my brother Stone. And she gave it to him as a way of asking his forgiveness. Stone took the sculpture, but he has yet to forgive my mother…or me.”

Ana had many more questions, but decided they had to wait. She wouldn’t press Rock into talking about his obviously strained relationship with his middle brother, Stone. From what Ana knew, each of the three Dempsey brothers was successful in his own right. But Stone Dempsey was probably the most successful, business-and money-wise. She’d read somewhere a few years ago that Stone had bought Hidden Hill, a big stucco and stone turn-of-the-century mansion sitting atop the highest bluff on the island, not far from the West Island Lighthouse. But the mansion was crumbling around its foundations, from what Ana had heard. Which meant Stone had to have a lot of money to pour into restoration and renovations, at least.

Did Rock resent his brother’s success?

As they strolled along the shoreline heading back to Rock’s car, Ana couldn’t picture this quiet, talented man resenting anyone because of money. Rock seemed content enough. He had a lovely cottage near the Ankle Curve and he had his little church. He had his own talent, too. His cabinetry work was exquisite. His restoration of old pieces was precise and loving. Based on his ideas, he would turn her kitchen into a functional, but charming, workplace.

So what was eating at this gentle preacher? Ana wondered.

“I guess you’re wondering why I said that about Stone,” Rock told her as he took her hand and guided her a few yards away from the pier and the restaurant to a craggy rock that looked like a readymade bench.

“You don’t have to explain,” she said, taking in their surroundings. Seagulls lifted out overhead, searching for tidbits from the diners strolling along the boardwalk and dunes. “I have…a very delicate relationship with my sister, so you’re allowed the same with your brother.”

“Stone…is bitter,” Rock said. “He blames my mother for our being so poor when we were growing up. You see, she gave up her inheritance to marry our father. His name was Tillman. Everyone called him Till. Till Dempsey, a kid from the wrong side of Savannah. He had the audacity to fall in love with the beautiful debutante from one of the oldest families in Savannah.” He pointed to the big curved rock. “And he brought Eloise here to propose to her. It’s an island tradition.”

A marker sign standing beside the rock stated that this was the Wedding Rock, a place where down through the centuries, sailors and fishermen had proposed to their true loves before heading out to sea. The sign also said that often couples got married here in front of the rock, their faces turned toward the ocean as they pledged their love.

“My parents were so in love, they didn’t care about all that old money back in Savannah. But when my father died, my grandparents tried to make amends. They wanted us to come live with them in Savannah, but on their terms, of course. My mother refused to conform, so we stayed here in what was once the family vacation home, the house she lives in now—the only thing she accepted from her parents—and that was just so we’d have a roof over our heads. Stone got angry with her for refusing their help and their money, and I guess he never got over it. I tried to make him see that we didn’t need them, but he was just twelve years old—you know, that age where peer pressure makes life so hard.

“The other kids teased us because we wore old clothes and couldn’t afford the things they took for granted. Stone resented our mother for that. I rode him pretty hard back then, trying to make him see that we were going to be okay. But we weren’t okay, really, and I guess I wasn’t the easiest person to live with. Stone hasn’t forgotten. It’s not something we like to talk about.”

Ana finished reading the historical marker, then turned to Rock. “If you don’t like talking about this, why did you bring me here to this particular restaurant?”

“The food is good,” he said with logical clarity.

“But the memories—”

“Won’t go away,” he finished as he tugged her down on the smooth surface of the rock. “The memories are scattered all over this island, so I quit fighting them long ago.”

Ana settled down beside him, then held her face up to catch the soft ocean breeze. The wind felt cool on her heated skin, felt good blowing over her hair. “So we both have painful memories. Why is it so hard to let go, Rock?”

“I don’t know,” he said, his eyes open and honest. “I read a quote once about old memories and young hope. I guess we cling to the sadness of the past in hopes that something better will come along and change the future.”

“You have a good memory for quotes, at least,” she said, smiling. “I like that.”

“Really?” He lifted a dark brow, tilting his head toward her. “Most women find my quotes—and me—stuffy and old-fashioned.”

“I’m an old-fashioned kind of girl, remember?”

“Yes, I do recall.” He leaned back against the veined rock. “And I apologize. We didn’t get to discuss business very much.”

“We’ll have tomorrow for business,” she said. Then she ran a hand over the gray-blue rock formation. “The Wedding Rock—very romantic. I bet there are a lot of memories here.”

He nodded, his eyes shimmering a deep, dark blue. “And young hope for new, better memories to come. Maybe that’s why I keep coming back to this spot.”

Wondering why he had taken Ana to that sad, old pier, Rock walked Ana inside her house, then checked around to make sure everything was intact.

“We rarely have any crime here on the island,” he told her, hoping to reassure her. “We have a two-man police department and I think they mostly play cards and watch television all day. Or rescue a cat from a tree here and there.” Then he grinned. “Besides, you strike me as a capable, independent woman.”

“I already have a security system in place,” she told him as she hit buttons on the code box on the hallway wall. “I learned the hard way in Savannah—my apartment got robbed once.”

Rock waited, wondering what he should do or say. He was uncomfortable now that he’d revealed some of his family secrets to Ana. But she didn’t seem to be holding that against him. Thinking it might be best if he just went on home, he said, “About those plans—I’ll come by first thing in the morning with some sketches and ideas. I think we can have your cabinets renovated and your pantry shelves built right on time.”

“Good,” she said as she automatically checked the phone sitting lonely and misplaced on the hallway floor. “Oh, I have a message. Do you mind if I check it?”

“Go ahead. I need to be going, anyway.”

He was about to leave, but she held up a hand while she waited for the recorder.

A feminine voice said, “Hi, Ana. It’s me. Listen, I really need your help. I have to do some extensive traveling this summer—we’re working on buying up a big spot of land near Atlanta for development. This just came up and I’m still trying to sell that land I own over near Savannah, so I was wondering if…well, I might need your help with the girls. I’ll call you back tomorrow.”

Rock watched as Ana’s expression went from mild interest to a keen awareness. She seemed to stiffen, her eyes glazing over with what looked like dread. “Everything okay?” he asked, to break the silence that creaked through the old house.

Ana sighed, clicked the delete button on the message machine. “That was my sister, Tara,” she said. “I have a feeling I’m about to be hit up to baby-sit all summer.”

“And open a new business, too? That might be hard.”