“Once these prayers of forgiveness began, her sobs would gradually begin to subside, and I knew she would be all right. I would then go back to bed, stopping on the way to reassure my brother. Then, we went to sleep feeling secure, certain that it would all come out right somehow, because Mother was praying.”

“And… did he ever come back?” Katherine asked.

“No, we never saw him again—but don’t you think for a moment that it made the rest of my childhood dreary. You see, because Mother handled the whole thing so splendidly, we were surrounded by love and concern, and had the attitude of forgiveness and hope fostered in us. We prayed every day for Papa, that God would protect him and bring him home safe one day, and we were taught to pray those prayers in a tone of love and from a heart full of longing to forgive and to restore. Our home was never a place of anger, bitterness, or despair. No matter how hard things got, Mother just never gave up.

“The whole village rallied around us, and it seemed as if every old lady thought it their responsibility to mother us while our own dear mother was at work. We were well-fed, well-petted, and well-scolded when we did wrong. In all, we were surrounded by people who loved and cared for us, so that we never had reason to feel sorry for ourselves—except we did often wish that Mother didn’t have to work and could have spent time with us like our friends’ mothers did. But even so, she would make the time she did spend with us so special. She always had some treat planned, whether a simple picnic, or a walk in the twilight, or just reading a book to us. What a good mother she was!” Another long pause followed, in which Miss Harriet seemed engulfed in visions of the past. Then with a deep breath, a quick shrug, and a gentle smile, she brought herself back to the present and resumed her task of scrubbing the plates.

“She’s still alive, you know”, she continued brightly. “She lives with my brother in one of the larger villages, not too far from the hills we so loved to wander as children. My brother takes good care of her, and I call her up a couple times a week just to chat.”

****

When Katherine climbed the stairs to her apartment that night, she took with her a heart and mind full to the brim. She couldn’t fathom the kind of love and devotion that could cause someone to forgive an offender who never changed or asked for forgiveness.

As she contemplated all this, it occurred to her just how much her own parents had sacrificed to give her the peaceful, stable childhood she had enjoyed and how much she had taken for granted their presence in her life all those years.

Katherine closed the apartment door, picked up her phone, and stood frozen for a moment, a torrent of feelings raging against itself inside her. She knew what she needed to do. Part of her even wanted to do it, but struggled against letting down her guard, even a little. Finally, she took a deep breath and dialed.

“Mom? Yes, it’s me. I’m fine. I ended up staying in Harborhaven. Yes, I’m working at a tea shop. I just…” She gulped back the flood of emotions that threatened to steal her voice, “I… I wanted to say thank you, for… for everything, I guess.”

9 Cliff Top Memories

It was Saturday. Katherine had the day off, for which she was glad, although she always wondered at Miss Harriet’s choice to work the busiest day of the week all by herself.

“It’s mostly just tea and scones anybody wants on Saturdays, and besides, I need the reminder of what a rush every day was before you came. It keeps me grateful.”

Katherine had her suspicions that perhaps one reason for Miss Harriet’s generosity in making Saturday her day off was really because she secretly enjoyed the challenge of the Saturday rush and wanted an excuse to be out among the people more than she would have with Katherine there to wait tables.

This particular Saturday, the weather was fine, and Katherine decided to take her library book and a few scones and go looking for a good place to read outdoors. Miss Harriet thought this a wonderful idea, and insisted on adding a small thermos of tea and a couple sandwiches, “In case you find you’re hungrier than you think you’ll be.”

Katherine stepped out onto the sidewalk and looked up into the lofty blue of the sky. It was cool enough for a sweater, but walking would warm her, and as the sun climbed higher, it would be just right for sitting and reading outside.

Now, she thought, Where shall I walk to?

She knew the area well, particularly the little neighborhood atop the cliffs, and she tried to think of a place where she could sit and enjoy her book and tea undisturbed. She began to walk towards the center of the downtown blocks where Main Street crossed First, which ran between the buildings from wharf to hillside. There, a long flight of stairs had been cut into the rocky slope of the cliffs.

As a child, Katherine had enjoyed racing her friends up these stairs, to see how far they could get without stopping. Now, she stared up them, gathering courage and energy: energy because it was a very long flight of stairs, and steep, too, and courage, because she had not been to the top of those stairs since she had moved away, and wasn’t sure just what memories and emotions would be there to greet her at the top. She felt compelled to go, however, and placed her foot upon the first step. Soon, she was nearing the last step, all out of breath.

There at the upper landing, an arch of trees formed by two great weather-beaten oaks met her gaze. She had forgotten how lush and green Cliffton Park was in the early autumn. The trees were just beginning to turn, and the grass was bright, abundant, and soft, ringed with tall firs and the dark foliage of camelia and rhododendron bushes beneath them. Even now, just past the driest part of the year, this park remained fresh and vibrant, partially due to the large evergreens which threw the lawns into shade at the hottest part of the day.

Katherine decided to walk along the paved path to the edge of the park, where she remembered a gravel trail which led out of the park along the top of the cliffs. There was a tree somewhere along that trail, way out on a promontory.

That would be a good place to read, she thought.

She followed the trail for a while, then at last, rounding a bend, she spotted the promontory. The tree, which she had remembered as seeming small and spindly and a little too frail to be on its own out there on the promontory, was now strong and tall, with a thick, wind-twisted trunk and a spreading canopy that provided just the right amount of shade.

Katherine spread her large scarf, which she had worn for just such a purpose, over the grass beneath the tree, and sat down with her back against the sturdy trunk. She opened her bag and brought out the tea, sandwiches, and a copy of Sense and Sensibility.

How right Miss Harriet was about the sandwiches, she thought to herself as she unwrapped the first of the dainty triangles. The walk up the stairs itself had been strenuous, and she had walked pretty far along the cliffs to get to this spot.

The sun gently filtered through the leaves of the tree as she immersed herself into the trials and tribulations of the Dashwood sisters. A light breeze was blowing up from the harbor, and when Katherine surfaced again from the enthralling story, it was mid-afternoon. She stood up, a little stiff from sitting so long on the hard dirt, and stretched. Then, packing her scarf and the remnants of her lunch into her bag, she set off down the trail back towards the middle of the park.

As she walked, she began wonder what her old house looked like now.

I suppose it might not even be there still, she thought, It could have been torn down.

Katherine wasn’t sure if she wanted to see the house if it was much different, but by the time she neared the stairs, curiosity had gotten the better of her fear. She turned away from the cliffs and walked along the paved path towards the entrance to Cliffton Park.

Katherine hesitated a moment at the entrance, then strode out of the park and into the neighborhood. Turning down a familiar street, she looked with unexpected delight at the houses around her. They were almost exactly as she remembered.

The neighborhood had an interesting history. It had begun as a collection of little white farmhouses, each with a large enough lot to accommodate a substantial kitchen garden, in addition to an outbuilding or two. Katherine remembered having seen them in an old painting of the neighborhood on a long-ago school trip to Harborhaven’s small museum.

Beyond the cluster of houses had been an expanse of fields. As time went on and the shops and businesses below had become more successful, the inhabitants of the houses above had become more affluent, and nearly all of the original farmhouses were pulled down, with grander houses in various styles erected in their places.

The Victorian period especially had brought a boom of development to the cliffs, as the town’s industry and businesses flourished, and farming went out of style for the more affluent citizens of Harborhaven. While all this development was occurring, new arrivals to Harborhaven began to fill in, buying up some of the old farmhouses or building new ones, some between the grand houses, some in small clusters beyond, until the fields disappeared, and the neighborhood reached halfway to the next town. Katherine’s steps began to slow as she turned a corner.

Among the grander buildings along the street was nestled a little blue house, resembling the style of the original farmhouses, though a bit bigger, and having been built much later. It was carefully situated, so as to have a view of the harbor from its second-story windows. There was a porch out front with three steps, and a walkway which led between two white fenceposts at the sidewalk.

Katherine stopped before the house and stood pensively, taking in the scene. There were different curtains in the window, the old porch swing was gone, but yes, that was the same house she remembered. That was the walkway where she had played hopscotch with her friends, the three steps where they would sit and eat popsicles in the summer, the window, way up at the top of the gable, where she would look out at the harbor every morning. How she missed those days!

She stood and gazed for a while, then turned back the way she had come. She walked back to the park and down the stairs, reliving old memories—good memories, mostly—of a time when all the world seemed so simple, so fresh and new.

Now those days were gone, the people scattered; and life was so very different than she had imagined when she was still a child, eating popsicles on the front steps in the sunshine.

* * * *

Still deep in reverie, Katherine arrived back at Miss Harriet’s just before closing. She walked up to her apartment, unpacked her bag, and then returned to the shop. She entered the kitchen and quietly slipped an apron over her head.

Miss Harriet, just about to start the washing up, looked at Katherine in surprise.

“Well. And did you have a nice afternoon?” Miss Harriet asked gently, sensing something was amiss.

“Yes. I read for a while under a tree, and then I walked around Cliffton.” Katherine picked up a dishcloth and prepared to dry the dishes as Miss Harriet washed them.

“Did you, now? And how was Cliffton? I hardly ever get up there myself, but there are some very fine houses to see. The Historical Society has a walking tour now, you know. They have maps at the museum that tell you all about the houses up there.”

Katherine just nodded. The two washed dishes in silence for a while, then Katherine said softly, “I walked by my old house today.”

Light dawned in Miss Harriet’s eyes. “Is that why you’re so quiet tonight?”