No doubt that she’d heard a footstep in the upstairs hall—at least a floorboard creaked, then a shadow moved across the wall of the stairwell, and the sound of two or three steps came plainly from the second floor. Anne gasped.
“Hello, Mama!”
“Oh, darling boy, it’s really you! John
Couper, how did you—how did you manage 79 to leave your work?”
Halfway down the curving flight of stairs stood the slender, altogether handsome young man who was her only son. He was smiling at her. Then he began to laugh softly. How she’d always loved his laughter—so like his father’s.
He bounded lightly down the remaining steps, swept her entirely off her feet, and whirled her around until even her heavy dark blue travel skirt made circles of joy.
“Grandpapa did surprise you, didn’t he?” John Couper asked, still half laughing. “Mama, the old gentleman will be so proud of himself that even Uncle James’s most elaborate birthday celebration will have to take second place!”
“The old gentleman?”
“Grandpapa!”
Then it was Anne’s turn to laugh. “Do you know I never think of him that way?”
“I know, because you’ve told me a hundred times that you and Grandpapa always called Uncle James Hamilton the Old Gentleman—even when he was still a boy.”
“Look at us, standing here like bumps on a log. When did you know you could come for Papa’s ninetieth birthday party? I thought Mr. McCleskey said you couldn’t get away quite yet.”
“He did. And even I didn’t know I could come until Mr. McCleskey informed me himself —after he got Grandpapa’s letter, of course.”
“What letter?”
John Couper took her arm and led her toward the closed parlor doors. “Let’s have him tell you. He deserves to squeeze the last drop out of his excellent performance in our behalf, don’t you think?”
“Yes. But first I have to know how long you can stay.”
“Until the day after the celebration. Grandpapa persuaded my employers to give me four full days.”
Anne shook her head and smiled. In her smile she let her son see into the fathomless depths of the singular respect and adoration she’d always held for her own father, who had never failed to find a way to make everything right. “John Couper, your father and I gave you an honored
name.” 81
“I know, Mama. I’ll never be able to live up to it, but I’ll certainly try.”
Anne grabbed his hand in a tight grip. “How —how will I be able to endure losing him too?”
His arms around her, John Couper said nothing for a moment. He just held her close. And as she struggled against tears, her mind went back to the afternoon on the Cannon’s Point veranda only an hour or two after they’d buried John. The strong young man holding her now was six and a half then, but he had helped her believe that once they moved back to Lawrence, the sunrise would somehow push away the shadows nearly suffocating her that frightening day. He’d been right. She had lived almost ten years believing in the promise of the Lawrence sunrise. At least most of the time she’d believed in it—thanks to young John Couper. This minute, as he stood holding her in his arms, there was no need for words spoken in his grown-up, man’s voice. She could still hear her boy child as he had spoken to her that helpless, long-ago afternoon: “I guess maybe when there’s enough light, Mama, the shadows just sort of go away, don’t they?”
Then, the gentle, tender man’s voice asked, “Does the Lawrence sunrise still help, Mama?”
John Couper had done it for her again. She lifted her head from his shoulder and took one step back so that she could look straight up at him. “Yes, Son. The sunrise still helps. Even on a rainy morning, I know it’s there. It will help when—when we lose Grandpapa too. Thank you for reminding me. Anyway, your grandfather’s right here—right in the parlor gloating, I’m sure, unable to wait a second longer to revel in his perfect
“Hello, Mama!”
“Oh, darling boy, it’s really you! John
Couper, how did you—how did you manage 79 to leave your work?”
Halfway down the curving flight of stairs stood the slender, altogether handsome young man who was her only son. He was smiling at her. Then he began to laugh softly. How she’d always loved his laughter—so like his father’s.
He bounded lightly down the remaining steps, swept her entirely off her feet, and whirled her around until even her heavy dark blue travel skirt made circles of joy.
“Grandpapa did surprise you, didn’t he?” John Couper asked, still half laughing. “Mama, the old gentleman will be so proud of himself that even Uncle James’s most elaborate birthday celebration will have to take second place!”
“The old gentleman?”
“Grandpapa!”
Then it was Anne’s turn to laugh. “Do you know I never think of him that way?”
“I know, because you’ve told me a hundred times that you and Grandpapa always called Uncle James Hamilton the Old Gentleman—even when he was still a boy.”
“Look at us, standing here like bumps on a log. When did you know you could come for Papa’s ninetieth birthday party? I thought Mr. McCleskey said you couldn’t get away quite yet.”
“He did. And even I didn’t know I could come until Mr. McCleskey informed me himself —after he got Grandpapa’s letter, of course.”
“What letter?”
John Couper took her arm and led her toward the closed parlor doors. “Let’s have him tell you. He deserves to squeeze the last drop out of his excellent performance in our behalf, don’t you think?”
“Yes. But first I have to know how long you can stay.”
“Until the day after the celebration. Grandpapa persuaded my employers to give me four full days.”
Anne shook her head and smiled. In her smile she let her son see into the fathomless depths of the singular respect and adoration she’d always held for her own father, who had never failed to find a way to make everything right. “John Couper, your father and I gave you an honored
name.” 81
“I know, Mama. I’ll never be able to live up to it, but I’ll certainly try.”
Anne grabbed his hand in a tight grip. “How —how will I be able to endure losing him too?”
His arms around her, John Couper said nothing for a moment. He just held her close. And as she struggled against tears, her mind went back to the afternoon on the Cannon’s Point veranda only an hour or two after they’d buried John. The strong young man holding her now was six and a half then, but he had helped her believe that once they moved back to Lawrence, the sunrise would somehow push away the shadows nearly suffocating her that frightening day. He’d been right. She had lived almost ten years believing in the promise of the Lawrence sunrise. At least most of the time she’d believed in it—thanks to young John Couper. This minute, as he stood holding her in his arms, there was no need for words spoken in his grown-up, man’s voice. She could still hear her boy child as he had spoken to her that helpless, long-ago afternoon: “I guess maybe when there’s enough light, Mama, the shadows just sort of go away, don’t they?”
Then, the gentle, tender man’s voice asked, “Does the Lawrence sunrise still help, Mama?”
John Couper had done it for her again. She lifted her head from his shoulder and took one step back so that she could look straight up at him. “Yes, Son. The sunrise still helps. Even on a rainy morning, I know it’s there. It will help when—when we lose Grandpapa too. Thank you for reminding me. Anyway, your grandfather’s right here—right in the parlor gloating, I’m sure, unable to wait a second longer to revel in his perfect
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