Beloved by Antoinette Stockenberg Page A

had no idea which of the soldiers was Sam Merchant. They all looked alike: young and naive, and new to the game. How could any one of them have made a decision to go AWOL in a foreign country and leave behind a wife and a home — and a boat? It seemed such a monumental, passionate thing to do. She felt a sudden stab of jealousy for someone so thoroughly ravaged by love.
    She laid the curled photograph face down on the letters and tied them up with the ribbon. Never mind, she told herself. You have a list of the symptoms. When it happens, it ' ll be obvious.
    She thought about it and smiled. Just like the flu.
    ****
    That evening Jane decided, after all, to go to St. Michael ' s bazaar; with any luck she ' d find out something more from Mrs. Adamont about her aunt. She put on a black wool skirt and a bulky teal sweater, and black leather boots which weren ' t very waterproof, and headed off for the day care center.
    St. Michael ' s Day Care was a small gray-shingled house standing alongside a small turreted church of the same name, near the Nantucket Airport . The area was one of the less fashionable in Nantucket , probably because it was too far inland for the pied- à -terre set. The parking lot was reasonably full. Jane followed the signs and ended up in the church ' s basement, a wide-open, well-lighted room filled with tables and tables of ... stuff. She had no idea what to expect — she ' d never actually been to a church bazaar — but this one looked like fun.
    There were raffle tables, a take-a-chance display, a handmade crafts and linens table, a book sale, and a white elephant section. There was even a concession table serving up pizza and Coke. A long table set up at the far end held a mouth-watering assortment of baked goods, including three still-warm coff ee cakes Mrs. Adamont had just put out.
    " Isn ' t that nice, you ' ve come, " she said to Jane when she s aw her. She leaned over and whispered, " Buy this one; it has extra apricots. "
    Jane bought it. And two slices of baklava. And two cupcakes with sprinkles. And a Napoleon. She and Mrs. Adamont were arranging the haul in a brown paper bag when the churchwoman spied someone behind Jane. " Hey! Mac! Come over here! "
    Jane whipped around in time to see Mac McKenzie laughing with a couple of men behind the pizza table. It was like being splashed with cold water. McKenzie — laughing! McKenzie — at ease with other human beings! So he wasn ' t a misanthrope. And he didn ' t look anything like an ax murderer. He glanced over with a wave of acknowledgment and sauntered toward them, hands in the pockets of his corduroy slacks. If he was surprised by Jane ' s presence, he didn ' t show it.
    " Mac, you never endorsed that third-party check over to St. Michael ' s, " Mrs. Adamont said, rummaging through her handbag for it.
    She found the check and laid it on the table, then dove back into her purse for a pen. Jane, normally the soul of discretion, read the front of it. It was from Bing Andrews to Mac McKenzie for thirty dollars. On the memo line, Bing had written " plow J.D. drive. "
    " There ' s a pen here somewhere, " said Mrs. Adamont. " I ' ll find it. " She plunged into her purse with both hands, like a clamdigger with a bull rake at low tide. " I ' ll find it. "
    McKenzie turned his back to the bake table and murmured pleasantly to Jane, " Slumming? "
    It was uncalled for. Almost everything he ' d ever said to her was uncalled for. " Not until now, " she said, just as pleasantly.
    Mrs. Adamont brandished a pen in triumph. " I found it! Sign it over, Mac. Before you change your mind! "
    McKenzie bent over the table to endorse the check and Jane found herself assessing the broad expanse of his back. She averted her eyes, she wasn ' t sure why. She studied his signature instead: strong, quick, illegible. His personality exactly.
    " Thank you, Mr. McKenzie, sir, " Mrs. Adamont said cheerfully, snatching up the check. " This is a lovely donation. But take