25

Luella and the Glynn Girls quietly followed Tara, probably a hundred yards behind her. The young woman deserved to grieve in peace, but Luella couldn’t let Tara get out of sight. Julep, Dell, and Sue Beth said they felt the same way. But the other Glynn Girls hadn’t seen what Luella had—the moment when Tara looked like Sapphira.

Perhaps it happened because Sapphira had been a rare woman with many rare qualities, and in that moment Tara had seemed to have them too. Or maybe it was just the overwhelming sadness Tara bore. Sapphira had carried a similar burden for more than two decades. Luella didn’t know why, but Tara felt like a part of her now—as if she somehow belonged to her.

Tara walked to the far end of the pier where the narrow planks opened to a gazebo over the marsh. She seemed to gravitate to gazebos, whether on this side of the island or near the lighthouse. She seemed so lost, and Luella ached as though she suffered the loss with her. Julep took Luella’s hand. Oh. The girls were going to pray. She joined them in praying, eyes open, as they watched the soft summertime dusk take over the marsh. It was like being inside a dream.

The longer they held hands, quietly praying, the stronger Luella’s desire grew to walk to the pavilion and say something that might stir the young woman’s heart with hope. But what could she possibly say?

“Come on.” Luella tugged on Julep’s hand before releasing it. They walked the long stretch of creaking boards. Tara turned and glanced at them, her face wet with tears. Luella moved to one side of her, and Julep came up on the other side.

Luella leaned in, catching Julep’s eyes. “ ‘Glooms of the live-oaks, beautiful-braided and woven…’ ”

A chorus of Glynn Girl voices finished that first line.

Yes. This was right. Reciting the poem for Tara in unity, in love, in hopes of lifting some of the grief off this young woman, and so they continued reciting the poem, and Luella’s heart stirred.

“…And my spirit is grown to a lordly great compass within,

That the length and the breadth and the sweep of the Marshes of Glynn

Will work me no fear like the fear they have wrought me of yore

When length was fatigue, and when breadth was but bitterness sore,…

“…To the edge of the wood I am drawn, I am drawn,

Where the gray beach glimmering runs, as a belt of the dawn,

For a mete and a mark

To the forest-dark:—

So:

Affable live-oak, leaning low…

Bending your beauty aside, with a step I stand

On the firm-packed sand,

Free…”

Yes, Lord. Let Tara be free…

“Ye marshes, how candid and simple and nothing-withholding and free

Ye publish yourselves to the sky and offer yourselves to the sea!

Tolerant plains, that suffer the sea and the rains and the sun,

Ye spread and span like the catholic man who hath mightily won

God out of knowledge and good out of infinite pain

And sight out of blindness and purity out of a stain.

“As the marsh-hen secretly builds on the watery sod,

Behold I will build me a nest on the greatness of God:

I will fly in the greatness of God as the marsh-hen flies

In the freedom that fills all the space ’twixt the marsh and the skies:

By so many roots as the marsh-grass sends in the sod

I will heartily lay me a-hold on the greatness of God.”

Such powerful words! Words to encourage and heal. The Glynn Girls’ voices rose as if each one sensed the same thing. Their passionate voices spoke every syllable of the poem until coming to its end.

On the length and the breadth of the marvellous marshes of Glynn.

They stood in silence, listening to a summer’s eve on the marsh—birds singing and insects chirping.

Tara shifted and clutched Julep’s arm. “Do you hear the whisper?” Tara’s skin was covered in goose bumps.

The women glanced at each other, shrugging their shoulders ever so slightly.

Tara’s eyes were wide. “I can’t leave here yet. I can’t.”

“What did you hear?”

“A whisper. It sounded like Sean saying stay. I know it might not be real. It could be a symptom of my head or heart trauma. But…”

“It’s okay, Tara.” Julep put her arm around Tara. “This land is filled with unusual things, long shadows, and odd noises.”

Tara backed away from the four women. “I…I need to stay here. On St. Simons. Please.”

“We would welcome you, sugar”—Sue Beth put her hands on Tara’s shoulders—“but it’s not our decision.”

The Glynn Girls nodded.

“Gavin is as patient as the day is long,” Dell said. “And he’s never stood his ground with us the way he did the other day. We gotta respect that.”

Tara peered beyond them, gazing across the marsh again. “But you’d let me stay with you if he agreed?” A few moments later she looked at Luella. How could she refuse? She nodded, and when Tara looked at the other Glynn Girls, each of them nodded too. “Then he’ll have to approve it. Where is he?”

“He’s at work. We’re not supposed to go to the fire station unless someone at the station extends an invite.”

“There are no exceptions?”

Julep shrugged. “I’m a bit unsure.” She tilted her head. “But as I think about it now, it seems that with Gavin being single and having no children, he’s never interrupted by family coming to see him.” Julep narrowed her eyes. “It’s time we change that.”

Tara’s lips tugged into a smile. “Am I family?”

“Most definitely.” Luella grinned.

“It’s the station I’ve passed half a dozen times over the last week, right?”

“Yeah, that’s it,” Dell said.

Tara walked away, and her step seemed to have a little lilt to it.

The Glynn Girls followed, and Luella had a feeling they’d all be on bikes again soon.

Real soon.