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?”
“I guess so. It just brought back lots of memories from my childhood, and I’m not sure what to make of them yet.”
Silence reigned for a few moments more, then Miss Harriet asked, “Do you want to talk about it?”
Katherine looked up at her friend and smiled weakly. “No, not yet. As you always say, ‘sometimes all the world needs is a good nap to set it right’. I think a good night’s sleep is all I need—but thank you, anyway.”
Miss Harriet returned her smile and said, “Anytime, my dear, anytime at all.” She handed the last dish to Katherine and said in a brighter tone, “Well, then. I suppose you’d better get on up to bed. I’ll finish up in here. Pick you up in the morning for church?”
Katherine nodded. “Of course. I’ll be ready by eight-thirty.”
She turned and walked up the stairs to the little apartment that had become her home. Then, closing the door behind her, she wandered listlessly over to the window seat and basked in the fading light. Her mind whirled with pictures of the past, of her home and family in Harborhaven. Oh, how her heart yearned to return to those days of peace and happiness!
Better get some rest before church tomorrow.
She reached up to close the curtain, but paused for one last lingering moment with her hand grasping the heavy folds of fabric. This was the time of year when she hated to close the windows at night. Everything stayed so beautifully luminous, even after dark. With a sigh, she twitched the curtains closed, then walked to her room where the small round window let in just a bit of the pale blue twilight.
As she lay in bed, trying to fall asleep, a memory surfaced—one she hadn’t thought about in years. She remembered the pink curtains of that long-ago attic room in Cliffton, and could see in her mind’s eye the familiar scene: her mother, coming in on such a night, pulling the covers up little closer to Katherine’s chin with a motherly caress, then walking soundlessly over to the large window to pull the curtains shut. She always left a little sliver through which the morning light would peep, so Katherine wouldn’t have to wake up in the dark. How young her mother looked in those memories! How young and lithe and unhurried! A tear trickled down Katherine’s cheek.
How can I be here, home in Harborhaven at last and still not be free from the misery of the past? If this can't free me, is there anything that can?
