The Gin and Chowder Club

knows. No one will ever know how much I miss her. He gripped the smooth wooden pew in front of him. No one will ever say, “Asa, we are so sorry for your loss. We know how much she meant to you.” Asa stared at the wooden casket. No one will ever know that I meant something to you and that you loved me.

He looked out the window and listened to the words of the hymn. When I tread the verge of Jordan… bid my anxious fears subside… death of death and hell’s destruction… land me safe on Canaan’s side. He listened to the regal sound of a trumpet. Songs of praises… songs of praises… I will ever give to thee. Tears streamed down his cheeks as he whispered, “I will never give to thee…”

You… You have punished us all-guilty and innocent alike-and this is how it ends. She will never hold her child, and he… he will never know his mother. And I… I will never have the chance to tell her all the things I meant to say. Never again will I praise You…

The service ended, and the baby, cradled in Sarah’s arms, cried out. Nate took the tiny bundle from her and walked slowly up to the front. He ran his fingers lightly over the smooth mahogany wood and bowed his head. Then he turned and slowly made his way up the aisle.

PART III

Stand at the crossroads, and look, and ask for the ancient paths, where the good way lies; and walk in it.

– Jeremiah 6:16

101

Asa closed The Fountainhead on his lap and leaned back in his chair. Then he hesitated, opened it to the last page, and read the last passage again, about the young college graduate wondering if life was worth living.

Asa closed the book, ran his hand over the cover, and thought about Ayn Rand’s words. He watched the clear water rushing over the rocks; he knew what it was like to not feel inspired… to feel nothing at all.

He looked over his shoulder at the clearing behind him; it was coming along, but there was still so much more to do. The land had been purchased with help from his father after he had been hired to teach English at a small high school in Jaffrey. Asa loved the historic little town. Emerson, Thoreau, and Kipling had all spent time here, and Willa Cather had lived here when she wrote My Antonia-she was even buried in the local cemetery. Asa’s parents had been thrilled with his new position and had driven up on several occasions to visit and see the parcel along the Contoocook River. The “Took,” as locals called it, was one of the few rivers in New Hampshire that flowed north, escaping into the solace of the New England countryside, and Asa felt a kinship with its placid waters. He ran a calloused hand through his hair and rubbed his aching shoulders. Clearing brush was slow, tedious work, but he didn’t mind. His brother had drawn up plans for a modest cabin with a center fieldstone chimney, and Asa looked forward to spending the New England winters next to its fireplace, but, for now, all he had was an Adirondack chair and a rustic fire pit. He had grown to love the mountains, and he no longer missed the ocean as much as he once had.

He had returned to Cape Cod only once after Noelle died. Isaac had asked him to be his best man at his wedding, and the small ceremony and reception had been held at the Chatham Bars. To everyone’s surprise, Isaac had fallen head over heels in love with the redhead from college. After graduation, he had taken her out to the Cape, and as they walked along the moonlit beach, he had asked her to marry him.

The next day, Isaac had driven to New Hampshire. The two brothers had hiked Monadnock, and Asa had stood at the top quoting Emerson-“ ‘Monadnoc is a mountain strong… Tall and good my kind among; But well I know, no mountain can… Measure with a perfect man’ ”-and Isaac had interrupted him to tell him the news. Asa had been speechless. He couldn’t believe that his brother had finally settled down, but he had met Nina on several occasions, and he knew she would keep him in line. Asa had smiled broadly and continued: “ ‘Mute orator! Well skilled to plead… and send conviction without phrase… Thou dost supply the shortness of our days… And promise, on thy Founder’s truth… long morrow to this mortal youth.’ ” And then he had shook his brother’s hand, clapped him on the back, and said he would be honored.

Asa set the book down on the arm of his chair and made a mental note to lend it to Isaac. Maybe he’d even buy him a copy for his birthday. He pulled himself from the chair, walked over to the river, reached into an icy pool, and fished out a bottle. He opened it, watched the sun slip behind the trees, and pictured Nauset Light-far away from where he stood. He knew, at that very moment, the faithful lighthouse was casting its light through the evening sky; he thought of his boyhood dream of being a lighthouse keeper and he smiled. Asa’s thoughts were interrupted by a sound behind him. He turned in time to see his brother trying to sneak up on him. Realizing that he had been caught, Isaac burst into song. Asa grinned and Isaac nodded at the bottle. “Looks like I’m just in time.”

Asa handed Isaac his untouched beer and reached into the river for another one. He opened it, tapped it against Isaac’s, and took a sip. “So, how’s fatherhood?”

Isaac sat in Asa’s chair and smiled. “Great!”

He and Nina had wasted no time starting a family. He took out a picture of a rosy-cheeked cherub with strawberry-blond locks and showed it to his brother. “She’s so good-never cries, smiles all the time, and loves to laugh. Thank goodness she doesn’t take after her moody uncle.”

Asa sat on a stump near the chair and looked at the picture. “Thank goodness she doesn’t take after her funny-looking father.”

Isaac glanced at the book on the arm of the chair. “Are you reading this?”

“Just finished-thought you might like to read it.”

“Already have. The story of Howard Roark is on the unauthorized reading list for architecture students.” He glanced around at the clearing. “It’s looking good. When do you hope to break ground?”

“Two weeks, if all goes well.” Asa paused. “What brings you up here anyway?”

“Dad sent me.” Asa watched his brother look out at the river and waited for him to continue. “Asa, Uncle Nate had a heart attack.”

Asa stared. “Is he okay?”

Isaac shook his head. “No, Asa…”

Asa looked at the last rays of sunlight filtering through the trees and absently wiped at the condensation on his bottle. He realized that the only other time he had seen Nate, after Noelle’s funeral, was at Isaac’s wedding. Isaac had pointed him out from across the room. His hair had turned snow white, and Asa had hardly recognized him. Nate had made his way over to greet them, and Asa had felt a wave of shame as he grasped Nate’s firm, honest handshake. He had searched Nate’s eyes-they still sparkled, but he knew they had seen more than their share of sorrow.

Over the years, Sarah had occasionally mentioned the little boy, Noah. She had reported that he was walking, then starting school, growing like a weed, and she had quietly told Asa that he should come home and see him. But Asa had stayed away-from the memory, from anything that reminded him of Noelle.

At the wedding, Asa had asked Nate about his son, and Nate had slipped a recent photo from his wallet. Asa had studied the picture and said, “He has Noelle’s eyes.” Nate had looked at Asa in an odd way. “Do you think so?”

Asa had nodded and, with tears in his eyes, started to excuse himself, but Nate had put his hand on his