A Star Tribune serialized novel by Jane Fredericksen
Chapter 4
The story so far: Even the Pirate can't tell heartbroken Kacie why her mother is gone.
Kacie did as Thea had instructed her. She shook their hands, endured hugs and teary kisses, nodded politely and thanked them. All the while, her eyes scanned the crowd, lingering on the faces of unfamiliar men.
That one? Too old.
This one? No, he came with Annie, who worked the morning shift.
She gave up. Her head was starting to swim. Thea must have sensed she'd had enough, because she gave Kacie's hand a squeeze and led her to the chapel room.
Again, they pushed open the doors. Mourners, seated in pews, swiveled to peer at them. Scattered whispers of "her daughter" punctuated the silence. Kacie held her head high and met each gaze.
Pete and Ronnie stepped out of a nearby seat. Kacie felt a swell of gratitude.
Ronnie's eyes were red, but she wore a brave face. "Kacie, we're so sorry," she murmured.
The lump in Kacie's throat rose again, but she choked it down. "Me, too," she whispered.
They hugged her tightly and Kacie welcomed it, drawing strength. Finally, reluctantly, they disengaged. Kacie took Thea's hand and the two of them marched forward, toward the front of the room.
Gina's body lay in a plain, white, half-open casket.
She looks like an angel should, Kacie thought. Gina's copper-colored hair hung loosely, the way Kacie would always remember it, her face more peaceful than it had ever seemed in life.
She's not here, thought Kacie. She had a sudden vision of her mother's shawl and spirit, dancing over the waters of Lake Superior.
"She looks so beautiful …" Thea began. She couldn't finish, and turned her head.
Kacie, dry-eyed, touched her mother's soft tresses. Her hand lifted to her own coarse, sandy hair and she felt the gardenia. She swallowed hard, pulled the flower from her hair and pinned it in Gina's.
"I'm here for you, Mom," Kacie whispered.
She turned, and they filed into the front row — Thea first, Kacie on the end. They nodded at Bernie, sitting a few seats in, and he nodded back. No one spoke.
Bernie looked shattered, his face streaked with tears and crumpled by grief. He turned his attention to the memorial program, nervously bending and unbending one edge.
Kacie, restless, scanned the crowd. It was merely a reflex; she'd given up searching for anything.
But then a cool gust of wind touched Kacie's shoulder.
She turned.
The door in the back had opened and a man stood at the threshold.
He was about 30 years old, slight of build, dressed simply in a well-worn fisherman's pullover and sailing slacks. His unruly brown hair looked as if he'd made an attempt to comb it, but surrendered. His eyes — there was something about his eyes, Kacie thought — but he was too far away.
He hesitated, and then tentatively moved down the aisle.
Conversations stopped as he passed. Others started in hurried whispers. Kacie strained to hear words, but only caught murmured undercurrents.
The man seemed aware of the whispers, though. His expression grew more defiant and defensive as he approached. When he moved near Kacie, she caught the fresh scent of lake breezes and a glint of gold at his left ear.
A chill gripped Kacie. She struggled to focus on the man's face, but it was too late; the wind had carried him past her.
The man's steps slowed as he reached Gina's casket. He stopped. His head bowed. He wavered for a moment.
Suddenly, he pulled something from his pocket and tied it onto a handle on the casket lid. It was a small wind chime, which gave a quiet ting.
Kacie caught her breath. And then, the man turned.
His eyes were blue, intense, as deep as Superior. He locked gazes with Kacie and she knew, with a thrill of certainty, that there were fathoms of stories behind those eyes.
He seemed startled to see her, but quickly recovered.
Cautiously, carefully, he approached. Thea tensed beside her, but Kacie felt no fear. She stood up.
The man's blue eyes studied her intently, reading her like a chart. She could see now that he wore a single small gold hoop in his left earlobe. When he spoke, his voice was as soft as a zephyr breeze.
"You're her daughter, aren't you?"
Tomorrow: Chapter 4 continues.
