The late spring landscape flashed by, most of the apple trees in the orchards fully leafed out with white blossoms littering the ground beneath them like snow. The hills were lined with rows of grapevines, brown and withered-looking from a distance.
“I can’t believe how many vineyards have gone in,” Gail said as she drove. “I haven’t been in this region in years.”
Lauren studied her, still puzzling out where things stood between them. When Gail had arrived the previous afternoon, they’d greeted each other with a hesitant embrace, but no repeat of the parting kiss from their Ogdensburg trip. They’d shared a comfortable meal, chatted in the living room for a while, and then Gail had said goodnight and gone upstairs, leaving Lauren to lie awake for a long time.
“You’re still not going to tell me where we’re going or why?” she asked.
Gail grinned and shook her head. “You don’t like not being in control, do you?”
Lauren had to laugh. “Not really. You’ve figured out my weakness.”
Gail did glance over at that. “Is that the only one?”
“Hardly.” Lauren turned up the volume for a Mary Chapin Carpenter song and returned her attention to the scene outside.
Before too long, the hills parted to reveal a long, narrow body of water where Gail made a turn onto a smaller highway.
“Cayuga?” Lauren asked. “We’re going to Cayuga Lake?”
“Yeah.”
She took another road south that snaked along the east side of the lake. Driving about half the length of the lake, she slowed, reading signs as she drove.
“Here we are.”
She turned onto a small lane that wound its way up a hill where an old farmhouse perched, offering a panoramic view of the lake below. A hand-carved sign reading, Bread & Butter Inn, sat at the entry to the house’s driveway. When she parked the car and turned the engine off, Lauren just sat there.
“This is charming, Gail, but why are we at a B&B on Cayuga Lake?”
Gail reached for her hand. “Trust me.”
Bewildered but intrigued, Lauren got out and tugged her suitcase from the back seat. Before they could reach the steps up to the front porch, a man in a battered, floppy fishing hat sauntered around the corner of the house, carrying a hoe.
“Hi, there.”
“Hi.” Gail paused and changed directions. Lauren followed. “We have a reservation.”
He leaned on his hoe and pushed his hat back on his forehead, revealing more of his weathered face, half-covered by a neatly trimmed gray beard. “You’re Gail?”
“I am. This is Lauren.”
He shook hands with both of them. “Welcome to the Bread & Butter. Come on in. I’m Jim. Josie’s around somewhere.”
He left his hoe leaning against the house and led the way inside. “Mind signing the guest book for us? It’s become kind of a hobby, seeing where everyone is from.”
“Afraid we’re going to be a disappointment,” Gail said, but she signed.
He angled his head to read as she wrote. “Binghamton and… Millvale. Hmmm. First from Millvale.” He studied Lauren, his eyes crinkling into a smile. “Too big? Needed to escape to a smaller town?”
He chuckled at his own joke. “Rooms are upstairs. We live in a wing we added off the kitchen.”
They followed him up the wide stairs, clad with a carpet runner in faded blues and greens that complemented the hand-painted stenciled frieze along the upper walls just below ornate crown mouldings.
He opened a door second from the end of the hall on the left. “You’ll have a great view of the lake from here.”
Lauren hesitated as she stepped into the room, furnished with a queen bed with dual nightstands and a dresser. Surely Gail hadn’t—
“Second room’s through here.” Jim opened another door to reveal a bathroom, beyond which was another bedroom, also with a queen-sized bed.
“You two are our only guests at the moment. This time of year, most folks come on weekends. Not many during the week.”
He walked back to the first room. “Make yourselves at home. Got a nice library downstairs. Nights are still cool enough for a fire. We don’t usually offer dinner, just breakfast, but with only the two of you, you’re more than welcome to join us this evening.”
Lauren opened her mouth to decline politely, but Gail quickly said, “That sounds lovely. Thank you. We’ll bring the wine.”
“Deal.” He tipped his hat. “See you at six.”
As his footsteps receded down the hall, Lauren turned to Gail.
“What in the world?”
But Gail only shook her head. “I think we’ll get some answers this evening. You can have whichever room you’d like, then let’s head out to one of the vineyards.”
Birds flitted back and forth past the infirmary window. A pair of nuthatches was busily building a nest in an old woodpecker hole in a very large oak tree that had some dead branches. Mother Theodora wondered vacantly whether they should have an arborist come to trim away the dead wood, but she hated to disrupt the feeding and nesting of those birds that used it.
From the bed beside her chair, Sister Xavier stirred restlessly. Mother leaned over to lay a soothing hand on her forehead.
Sister Xavier’s watery eyes struggled to focus. “Mother, what are you doing here?”
“Just visiting an old friend. What can I get you?”
Sister Xavier smacked her dry lips. “Water?”
Mother reached for the cup on the table and lifted Sister Xavier’s frail shoulders high enough to take a sip from the straw.
“Better?”
Sister Xavier nodded as she settled back on her pillow. “Thank you.”
“How are you feeling?”
Sister Xavier gave her a baleful look. “Old.”
Mother Theodora sighed. “I know how you feel.”
Sister Xavier waved a dismissive hand. “You’re still a young’un. Just you wait.” She shifted her head to focus more clearly. “How are you? You look thin. Are you eating?”
From the other end of the infirmary, Mother Theodora heard a distinct huff come from Sister Mary David.
“I assure you, I’m eating.”
“Hmmph. Wouldn’t want you passing out again.”
“Sister, it has been over fifty years. Are you ever going to let me forget that episode?”
“No.” But Sister Xavier smiled and reached for Mother’s hand. “You don’t take care of yourself, and the abbey needs you.”
“As I was reminded many times in the old days, we’re all replaceable.”
“Maybe, but it doesn’t mean we’re ready to replace you.”
“Hear, hear,” muttered Sister Mary David as she hurried past the bed, carrying a tray of medicines.
Mother spied a letter sitting on the table beside the water. “From Doris?”
“Read it to me.”
Sister Xavier shifted as Mother Theodora tugged the letter from the envelope. “Dear cousin,” she read with a smile, “How are you? We’re good. Eileen and I just celebrated forty years together by taking a cruise! Can you imagine?”
Sister Xavier scoffed. “No! Heaven help me. A cruise?”
Mother chuckled and read the rest of the letter, mostly recounting a recent social justice march they’d attended. “Write back when you can, dear cousin, and know I keep you in my prayers always.”
She folded the letter and tucked it back into its envelope. “What a nice letter. It’s good to hear from people who’ve known us so long, isn’t it?”
“It is.” Sister Xavier smiled. “They know us through and through, the good and the bad, don’t they?”
Her eyelids began to flutter closed, and she fought to keep them open.
“Rest now, Sister.” Mother Theodora rose from her chair. “I’ll come see you tomorrow.”
She paused again at a window in the corridor outside the infirmary, watching the nuthatches, and decided against the arborist. Even dead wood has its uses.
The owners of the inn proved to be delightful, if eccentric, Gail decided. Definitely products of the age of Aquarius. Jim was a retired studio musician who could play just about any instrument. He regaled them with tales of his sessions playing with The Doors, The Beach Boys, The Turtles—“my favorite, though,” he said over a glass of wine, “was Crosby, Stills, & Nash. Sometimes with Young, and man! Those harmonies. I even got out of the studio and toured with a band for a year, but when I met Josie, that was it. For me,” he added with a wink.
“Took me a while to warm up to him,” she said drily. “I wasn’t looking for anyone, much less an itinerant musician with itchy feet.”
“But I wore her down.” He picked up her hand and brushed his lips over her knuckles. “Swore off the late night jam sessions and settled for a quieter life.”
“What were you looking for?” Lauren asked her.
“All I ever wanted,” Josie said, “was a home of my own. Someplace small, that I could afford and not have to worry about losing. Of course, that was hard, seeing that about the only jobs women could get were teaching or nursing, neither of which paid very much. But I got lucky and landed a job in a high-end restaurant, doing all their baking.”
“That’s how we met,” Jim said. “I was part of a group that got a little, shall we say, over-indulgent with the liquor. Didn’t realize we were the last people there, until this little thing came out and chewed us up one side and down the other.”
“Well, it was past midnight, and I had to be back in the kitchen at four a.m.,” Josie recalled.
“And I was back for lunch,” Jim said. “Never left.”
Josie laughed. “That’s the truth.”
Gail studied her—lustrous silver hair down to her shoulders, but it was the dark eyes, the way they crinkled when she smiled. Yes. I can see it.
“This dinner was delicious,” Lauren said appreciatively. “You haven’t lost your touch with the baking. That bread was so light, it almost melted in my mouth.”
“Glad you liked it.” Josie reached for their plates. “That was the lure for the inn, do all our own baking.”
“Please let us help clean up,” Gail said, standing with her own plate. “We know you don’t normally invite guests for dinner. This was such a treat for us.”
“Fair enough.”
Jim and Josie put away the leftover roast and vegetables while Lauren and Gail rinsed the dinner dishes and loaded the dishwasher. Jim got a fire going in the large stone hearth while Josie poured more wine for all of them.
“What brings you to the lakes?” Jim asked, settling back in a rocker.
Lauren turned to Gail with raised eyebrows.
“Well,” Gail hemmed, “we’re not here by accident.”
“Oh?” Josie shared a puzzled glance with Jim.
“No.” Gail stalled by taking a gulp. “Are you Josette Horrigan?”
Lauren’s mouth fell open as she turned back to Josie, who looked equally surprised.
“I am, but why would you know that?”
“Well, my dad has been doing a little sleuthing, trying to help us track you down,” Gail admitted.
“But why?” Josie looked completely befuddled.
“I see it now,” Lauren murmured, tilting her head as she stared hard at Josie. “The resemblance.”
“Resemblance to whom?” Josie asked.
“Your sister, Patricia.”
Josie’s face drained of all color, and Gail suddenly wished she’d delivered that bit a little more gently.
“My sis—” Josie dropped her face to her hand. “Dieu. How do you know my sister?”
“I didn’t know you had a sister,” Jim said, looking lost.
“That’s because she dropped out of my life more than half a century ago,” Josie said coldly. She raised her head, looking equal parts angry and hurt.
“She’s—” Lauren began. “I was a nun at St. Bridget’s Abbey until a few years ago.”
“A nun?” Jim turned to his wife. “Your sister’s a nun?”
“Not just a nun,” Gail said. “She’s the abbess.”
“What?” Josie stared open-mouthed.
Lauren nodded. “She became abbess in 2002. She’s… she’s probably one of the most influential women ever to serve in that capacity.”
“Well, isn’t that just grand.” Josie raised her glass in a mock toast and drained it.
Gail shared a silent, baffled exchange with Lauren, who shook her head.
“You can tell my sister—”
“She doesn’t know we’re here,” Lauren cut in. “She doesn’t know anything about this.”
Josie sat back and glared at the pair of them. “Then why are you here? Why now?”
“Um,” Lauren hesitated, clearly off-balance, “this year will be her Golden Jubilee—”
“Her what?” Jim interrupted.
“A celebration of her fifty-year anniversary of taking her solemn vows,” Lauren explained.
“So what?” Josie asked. “She wants to have a reunion?”
“No,” Gail said quickly. “As we said, she doesn’t know we’re here. We thought, well some of the nuns thought it would be a nice surprise to invite her family if we could find them.”
Josie broke into a harsh laugh. “Oh, it would be a surprise, all right. Especially given that we haven’t spoken since 1966.”
“But why?” Jim looked completely at sea, a feeling Gail understood, as she felt the same.
Rather than answer, Josie held out her glass, which Jim obligingly refilled. The crackle of the fire was the only sound for a few minutes as they waited.
“My father—our father—had a heart attack. Before Pip went into the nunnery. It took a long time, but he recovered enough to go back to work, except work was now double what it used to be, thanks to her.”
“What do you mean?” Jim prompted gently, reaching for her hand.
“She had the brilliant idea that owning a flour mill wasn’t enough for us. We needed a bakery to go with it. She got all gung-ho about starting it, got it up and running, and then she just disappeared to run off and be a nun. Left my dad and my brother—who never wanted the bakery—to pick up her mess. My dad lasted only five more years and then had a second heart attack that killed him. We drove, Sister Ruth and I, all the way to St. Bridget’s to get her and take her to the funeral.” Josie paused, her hand trembling so that the wine splashed in small waves against the glass.
“But she walks in and says she can’t go. She’s not allowed to leave.” Josie’s eyes flashed. “She chose them over family. I left that day and never spoke to her again.”
She stood. “And if she—or you—think I’m going to go help her celebrate fifty years in that… that cult, you’re wrong.”
She turned on her heel and stormed through the kitchen. In the distance, a door slammed.
“I’m sorry,” Jim said, looking in the direction she’d gone.
“No,” said Gail. “We’re sorry. We have been looking for her, but we had no idea this was such an estrangement.”
“When her mother and brother died, I thought that was it. She only had Garrett’s wife and kids left as family.”
He bent to poke the logs apart and replace the screen. “Please, stay up as long as you like. I’d better…” He pointed in the direction of the kitchen. “We’ll see you in the morning.”
“Whoa.” Gail ran her hand through her hair after he left. “I am so sorry. I arranged all this, picturing some kind of happy reunion. I had no idea.”
“Neither did I,” said Lauren. “But did you hear what she called Mother?”
When Gail only frowned in confusion, Lauren said, “Pip. She called her Pip.”
Lauren showered as quickly as she could to let Gail have the bathroom next. Back in her room, she dressed and toweled her hair some more before brushing it out. Standing at the window, she gazed down at the lake, smooth as glass under a sky just beginning to go rose and lavender. She was getting ready to braid it when Gail knocked softly on the door.
“Come in.”
“Good morning,” Gail said, looking suddenly shy.
“Morning. How’d you sleep?”
“Not terribly well,” Gail admitted. “I feel horrible. Like I stirred up a hornets’ nest.”
“You couldn’t have known.” Lauren finger-combed her hair into three thick strands.
“Don’t.”
“Don’t what?” Lauren asked, confused.
Gail stepped up behind her. “I’ve never seen your hair loose like this.” She reached up and ran her own fingers through it, smoothing it and sending shivers through Lauren. “It’s like golden silk.”
Her voice was barely a whisper, and then her lips pressed to the side of Lauren’s neck. Gasping at the unexpected contact, Lauren wasn’t prepared for the explosion of sensations that erupted everywhere. Without giving herself time to think, she turned in Gail’s arms and kissed her. Gail’s hands swept down her arms and back up, taking her by the shoulders as their kiss deepened. Lauren wrapped her arms around Gail’s waist, pulling her close.
She had no idea how long they stood like that, blind to everything but lips and tongues and hands. When at last they pulled apart, Lauren rested her forehead weakly against Gail’s.
“Gail, I—”
“I know.” Gail took both Lauren’s hands, raising them to her lips. “No expectations. No promises. Just let me be with you.”
Lauren nodded, lifting a hand to caress Gail’s cheek. “Shall we?”
“I suppose.” But Gail didn’t sound very confident as they left the room and headed down the stairs.
They found the dining room buffet already set with a stack of plates and an assortment of fruit, biscuits, croissants. A carafe of coffee sat beside an eclectic selection of mugs.
Jim appeared, flipping a dishtowel over his shoulder. “Good morning. What would you like for your main course? Omelette? Waffle? Plain eggs? Oh, and I have hot water on the stove if you prefer tea.”
“Coffee’s good for me,” Lauren said. “And an omelette would be wonderful, thank you.”
“Bacon? Onions? Cheese? Peppers?” he asked.
She smiled. “All of the above.”
“Make it two,” Gail said.
“You guys are making my morning way too easy.” He pointed to the table. “Make yourselves comfortable. Be right up.”
They poured coffee and filled plates—a croissant for Lauren, and a biscuit for Gail.
“No sign of Josie,” Gail muttered as she split her biscuit in half and buttered it.
“I know. I’m tempted to see if she’s in the kitchen. Think we should confront her?” Lauren watched Gail drizzle some honey over the biscuit while she broke her croissant apart in a shower of flaky pastry. She closed her eyes when she took her first bite. “Oh, my goodness. This is wonderful.”
“So is this,” Gail mumbled around a mouthful. “That woman can bake.”
When Jim brought their omelettes, Lauren asked, “Can you and Josie join us? Since we’re the only guests.”
When he hesitated, she added, “Is she very angry with us?”
“Not with you.” He glanced toward the kitchen. “She hasn’t thought about her sister for a long time. Let me talk to her. Eat while those are hot.”
Gail leaned forward and whispered, “Did you know? About her father?”
“No. I never really thought about how hard cloistered rules are for families.” Lauren scooped a bite of omelette onto her fork. “My mother died long before I was notified, and I had no desire to attend a funeral, so I never asked.” She frowned as she chewed. “I suppose it would be heartbreaking for someone who was close to her family.”
“Seems pretty harsh,” Gail observed. “Kind of medieval.”
“Monastic life isn’t for everyone. I think a lot of rules have been loosened and eased under Mother’s leadership, and not all the old nuns were happy about it.”
They looked up in surprise when Josie, dressed in overalls and a tie-dyed T-shirt with a bandana holding her hair back, stepped into the dining room carrying a plate. She set it down on the table and got herself a cup of coffee.
She smiled wryly at their awkward silence. “Sorry about last night. I’m cursed with temper on both sides of the family.”
“No,” Gail said. “I’m the one who’s sorry. I arranged all of this without considering that springing it on you without warning might not be such a good idea.”
Josie shrugged. “You had no way of knowing.”
Jim came in and joined them, a thick Belgian waffle on his plate. “Any plans for the day?”
“Thought we might take a lake tour,” Gail suggested.
He gave them a couple of recommendations on which boats gave the best tours, but his gaze kept flitting to his wife.
“How is my sister?” Josie asked unexpectedly.
Lauren set her fork down and picked up her mug, cradling it in her hands. “Mostly good.” At Josie’s questioning look, she added, “She honestly is a wonderful leader. The abbey has thrived under her. I see her every few weeks. But lately, she has seemed… I don’t know exactly. There’s a kind of melancholy.”
“You said that fifty year jubilee thing is coming,” Jim said. “That would be enough to make anyone look back on their life.”
But Josie shook her head. “Regrets.” At the stares from the others, she laughed. “I may not have seen her for a very long time, but I know my sister.” She poked at her eggs. “Lord knows, there’s plenty to regret.”
She blinked rapidly. “When you get back tonight, join us for dinner again. I’ll show you some photos.”