CHAPTER 13

After stopping at the farmers’ market for heirloom tomatoes, Piper turned onto Main Street and drove past the road that led back to the sleepy cemetery in which her parents were buried. Feeling oddly drawn to stop, she turned in and parked under the majestic pine trees. She hadn’t visited her parents’ graveside in years. Like the attic, it was a place she avoided, but now, it was as if the letters and pictures she’d come across had stirred something deep inside her, and as she walked on the pine needle–covered path, she recalled that long-ago time.

Whitney Quinn had retired from being a Pan Am pilot right after Piper had started her freshman year at the University of New England. Soon after, he and Martha had sold the family home in New Hampshire and moved to Whit’s End full-time. Six months later, though, as so often happens when someone retires, Whitney was shoveling the heavy, wet snow of a late March storm when he suffered a massive heart attack. Martha was standing at the kitchen sink, washing the dishes, and she looked up and saw him leaning heavily on his shovel. A moment later, he crumpled onto the wet snow.

“Whitney!” she cried, running out and trying to lift him up.

“I’m sorry ...” he murmured.

“Sorry for what?” she cried, cradling his head in her lap.

“I’m sorry about Easton,” he whispered, his voice racked with pain, his eyes full of sorrow.

“Oh, Whitney, it wasn’t your fault,” Martha cried, rocking him back and forth. “I asked you to take those kids. If it was anyone’s fault, it was mine.” She looked down, realized his eyes had closed, and shook him. “Don’t you leave me, Whitney Quinn!” she cried, tears streaming down her cheeks. “Don’t you dare leave me!”

Birdie, Remy, and Sailor—who were all married by then—had been devastated when Martha called them with the news, but Piper had still been in college—and three years away from meeting Nat—so her father was still the center of her world, and Martha couldn’t bring herself to call her youngest daughter and tell her on the phone.

It was snowing when Piper returned to her dorm that evening and found Birdie and David waiting for her. “What’s wrong?” she asked, seeing the strained looks on their faces. Her heart pounded. “Why are you here?”

Birdie explained as gently as she could what had happened, but Piper had shaken her head in disbelief. “No, you’re wrong,” she said angrily. “I just talked to Dad. He said he was picking me up on Friday for spring break.”

Tears filled Birdie’s eyes as she listened to her sister try to make sense of it all. Then she wrapped her arms around her and held her as she sobbed inconsolably.

Whitney’s funeral was held at the Federated Church in Orleans on a foggy, slate-gray Monday, and in spite of the dreary weather and the fact that it was a weekday, the historic old church was filled to capacity with family, friends, fellow pilots, and veterans. Years earlier, Whitney had offhandedly told Martha he didn’t want a wake, so when the family walked into the sanctuary that morning, it was the first time Piper saw the dark mahogany casket—visible proof that her father wasn’t coming back. She’d cried out in shock—his body was in that box! It was more than she could bear and her knees had started to buckle, but Jim, who was right behind her, had caught her and gently guided her into the pew next to her sisters.

Whitney Easton Quinn was buried with full military honors, and as the haunting sound of “Taps” was played, Piper had gazed at her brother’s tombstone beside her father’s open grave.

EASTON LAURIE QUINN
JULY 4, 1956–JULY 3, 1964
BELOVED SON AND BROTHER

Piper couldn’t believe it had been fifteen years and she remembered thinking that her tortured father was finally reunited with his only son. After the guests left that day, it became evident to everyone in the family that Piper would need more time to grieve, and at Birdie’s suggestion, Martha arranged for her youngest daughter to take time off from school and stay home with her through the summer, their shared grief drawing them even closer.

 

Piper stood solemnly in front of the three sun-bleached tombstones now, her brother cradled between their parents, and listened to the wind whispering through the pines. Her parents hadn’t been able to protect him in life, but they were forever by his side in death.