Make You Feel My Love

by Robin Lee Hatcher

  “What was the name?” Aunt Rosemary asked.

  “The name?”

  “You said the violin was a birthday gift. To whom?”

  Chelsea shook her head again. “I’m sorry. I was so surprised by what he said about its value, I didn’t pay attention to the name.” She frowned. “No. Wait. I think he said Cora. Or maybe it was Laura.”

  “Cora?” Aunt Rosemary covered her mouth with her fingertips. “Cora Anderson Chandler.”

  “You know her?”

  Aunt Rosemary smiled briefly. “No, more’s the pity. Cora died the year before I was born. She was Liam Chandler’s great-grandmother.” She frowned. “No, his great-great-grandmother.”

  “Chandler. Of course. Then the violin rightfully belongs to Liam.” She swallowed the lump in her throat.

  “Perhaps. I’d like to think whoever sold it or gave it to the shop knew what it was worth or who it once belonged to and didn’t care. But I don’t know that we could ever prove that, one way or the other. Even if we could find a receipt. And that would take a miracle.” Aunt Rosemary leaned her head back and closed her eyes. “Thirty or forty years ago it could have been. Sometime in the eighties, more than likely, but it’s possible it was as far back as the seventies. That chest of drawers wasn’t there when I took over the antique store. I bought the dresser at a yard sale. It was too ugly to resell, but it was handy for storage. That must’ve been about 1974 or 1975. So sometime after that was when we got the violin, although how it got stuck behind that dresser I couldn’t say.” Her great-aunt looked at Chelsea once again. “It must have come from either Oliver Chandler or his wife, Eunice. Oliver was Liam’s grandfather. It just might be that Liam’s father would know something about it, but if memory serves, he would’ve been a teenager at that time. Come to think of it, the old Chandler mansion was still standing back then. The violin may have been something they got rid of before the old house was torn down. It was badly damaged in a storm. A tree fell on it. And the Chandlers decided the house wasn’t worth saving. Too bad. It was a grand old place. Almost a museum. Tourists got to walk through it way back when.”

  Chelsea nodded to show that she listened, but her chest ached a little more with every word. Aunt Rosemary had confirmed what she knew was true. The violin didn’t belong to her. She would have to return it.

  * * *

  Liam was chopping wood when he heard a vehicle approaching on the road from Chickadee Creek. He rested the ax head on the block and waited. Moments later he saw the vehicle coming down his driveway. If he wasn’t mistaken, that was Rosemary Townsend’s car, the one he’d helped her into on Sunday. He set the ax aside and walked toward the front of the house, getting there the same time as the car.

  Chelsea Spencer got out a short while later, looking every bit as pretty as he’d remembered her.

  “This is a nice surprise,” he said, smiling.

  She didn’t smile in return. “Do you have a few minutes? I need to talk to you about something.”

  “Sure.” He gave her a quizzical look, but she didn’t respond. “Come on up to the porch.” He led the way, stopping near a couple of deck chairs. He motioned for her to take one. “Would you like something cool to drink?”

  “No. Thank you.” She sat and clasped her hands in her lap.

  “Something’s bothering you.” He might not be as curious as his brother, but he was observant. He supposed it was one of the skills that made him a decent actor. “What is it?”

  “I found something in the antique store that . . . that probably belongs to you.”

  “To me? Can’t imagine what that would be. I haven’t lived here that long. Haven’t lost anything that I’m aware of.”

  Chelsea shifted on the chair. “Not to you, precisely. But to your family.”

  She proceeded to tell him how she’d found a violin in a storage room of the antique store, that her great-aunt said she could have it, and so she took it to be repaired and refurbished, and then she was told the instrument once belonged to his great-great-grandmother, Cora Anderson Chandler.

  “Aunt Rosemary thinks it must have come into the antique store around the time the Chandler mansion was torn down.”

  “Really?” Liam leaned back. “That came down before I was born.”

  “The man at the music store believes the violin could be worth twenty thousand dollars. Possibly more.” She paused to take a deep breath and release it. “It was likely made in the eighteen hundreds, he said. If . . . if he’s right, it really should be returned to the Chandler family. It must have been brought to Rosemary & Time by mistake.”

  The Chandlers had never been a prolific lot. It was easy to trace their family tree back through time because it was a single branch. Liam had no aunts, uncles, or cousins on the Chandler side. Now that Jacob was dead, there was just Liam and his father, Richard Chandler, in the bloodline. While not what one would call filthy rich, Liam’s dad was well-off and didn’t have a sentimental bone in his body. He was a practical man who had little interest in anything other than business. He wouldn’t care about a violin that had belonged to an ancestor, not even one of value.

  But Liam felt a spark of interest. Not in the violin itself or what it might be worth. But in the woman who’d found it.

  Chelsea lowered her gaze to her hands, but she couldn’t hide the sadness that flickered across her face.

  “Miss Spencer . . .” He said her name softly. “Chelsea . . .”

  She looked up again.

  “You may keep the violin.”

  Her eyes widened in surprise. “But it’s rightfully yours and—”

  “If it’s rightfully mine, then I’m able to donate it to Rosemary & Time. And the owner of Rosemary & Time has the right to give it to you.”

  The sadness and surprise he’d seen earlier vanished, and for a moment, the joy he saw replace those other emotions stole his breath away. It made him feel like the hero in one of his movies and was worth far more to him than twenty or even thirty thousand dollars.

  He leaned forward. “But maybe there’s something you can do for me in return.”

  The change in her expression was abrupt. Suspicion filled her eyes and hardened her jaw.

  He knew he’d blundered, although he wasn’t sure exactly why his words caused such a severe reaction. He rushed to finish. “I’d like to learn more about the woman who owned the violin. Cora Chandler, right? Mrs. Witherstone at the general store said your great-aunt knows the history of the area and of my family better than anyone else. But she’s still recovering from her surgery. So I was hoping maybe you could be of assistance.”

  Technically, what he’d said wasn’t a lie. He was curious—if only because spending time looking for answers might allow him to know Chelsea Spencer better.

  The wariness in her eyes didn’t completely go away, but the stiffness in her shoulders eased a bit. “Have you forgotten I’m new to the town myself? I probably know less about the people and its history than you do.”

  “I haven’t forgotten. But maybe that’s good. Fresh pair of eyes and all that.” He leaned back again, sensing she’d rather he wasn’t too close. “Are you still trying to reorganize the store?”

  She nodded.

  “Then maybe I could help with that. Mrs. Witherstone says your great-aunt has lots of old newspapers and books and such. You’ve got to sort through it anyway. Maybe we’ll find information about my family while we’re at it. Maybe we’ll get to know more about the woman who owned the violin and how it came to be in that storage room.”

  “Maybe,” she replied softly.

  “I could sort through papers and books and organize at the same time. Under your direction, of course.”

  Her forehead furrowed in thought. “Aunt Rosemary would be glad for someone to take an interest in everything that’s been collected through the years.”

  “That’s me.” He smiled again. “I’m taking an interest.” More by choice than inclination. But wasn’t that splitting hairs?
>
  Silence seemed to stretch out for an eternity before she spoke again.

  “All right,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

  He didn’t know why, but her acquiescence felt like a great victory.

  Chapter 9

  As the truck rumbled along the highway, Chelsea glanced over from the passenger seat toward the driver. A baseball cap covered Liam’s hair, and dark glasses hid his eyes. Country music played from the stereo speakers in the cab.

  How did this happen? What am I doing here?

  Before she left Liam’s house yesterday, Chelsea had agreed for him to come to the antique store to do research on his family. After all, Rosemary & Time housed a great deal of written material from and about Chickadee Creek and the Boise Basin, from the time of the gold rush all the way up to the present. But somehow, as he walked her to her car, the violin had come up again. She’d told him she meant to drive down to Boise to pick it up from the music store, and before she grasped what was happening, he’d talked her into letting him drive her there.

  And so here they were, in this big fancy truck of his, rolling down the highway out of the mountains toward the capital city.

  Liam pressed a button on his steering wheel, turning down the volume on the stereo. “I thought after we get the violin, we could stop for something to eat. There’s a little restaurant that my brother really liked on that end of town.”

  Chelsea didn’t care for the idea. The less time she spent with Liam Chandler, the better. Not that she had anything against him. He seemed nice, polite, and caring. But Tom had seemed those things, too, in the beginning. She’d learned that charm and good looks often disguised ugly personality traits.

  “Hey, Chelsea?”

  She looked at him again.

  “Have I done or said something to upset you?”

  “No. Why?”

  “Because you’ve about plastered yourself to that door. As if you can’t get far enough away from me to suit you.”

  She felt warmth rush to her cheeks. “I’m sorry.”

  “You don’t need to apologize. I just wondered if I’d done something wrong.”

  “No.” She shook her head. “You haven’t.”

  He looked at the road, then glanced at her again. Uncomfortable, she turned her head to look out the window at the passing scenery. After a short while, the volume on the stereo went up again.

  When Chelsea was young, she and her siblings had ridden in the back of the ancient pickup truck her father owned. Rain or shine, snow or sleet, blazing heat or frigid temperatures, if the Spencer family went somewhere, the kids were in the open bed of the pickup. Thinking of her sisters and brother, remembering how things had been, she felt guilty sitting in the luxury of this cab.

  An older Martina McBride song was playing through the speakers when the volume went down again.

  “Chelsea, are you sure I haven’t done something wrong?”

  She drew a steadying breath and looked at him. “I’m sure.”

  “Then something else is bothering you. Whatever it is, I’m a good listener. Maybe I can’t do anything about it, but I can listen.” He glanced at her quickly, then back at the road. “I got good at listening last year. To my brother. That may have been my main job. Listening. Letting him talk. Letting him say whatever he needed to say.”

  It surprised her, how tempted she was to take him up on the offer. She’d grown guarded lately. No, not true. It wasn’t just lately. She’d lived like that since she was a child. She’d learned to weigh her words before saying anything. She’d learned that punishment could come out of nowhere. She’d learned that the slightest comment could bring retribution without explanation.

  But Liam is kind. I’m not wrong about that. He let me keep the violin.

  Pleasure washed over her at the thought, but the feeling was of short duration. Because on its heels came the reminder that others in the past had manipulated her with gifts and kindness. What made her think Liam Chandler would be different? Besides, the violin and its worth meant nothing to him. He was a rich movie star.

  So, what was she doing on this stretch of highway, alone, with this man she barely knew?

  She closed her eyes as a chill ran up her spine, that all too familiar panic rising to cut off her breath. “Stop the truck.”

  “What?”

  “Pull over. Stop the truck. Please.”

  The music playing over the stereo stopped. A moment later, the crunch of tires on gravel sounded before the engine, too, went silent. Chelsea grappled with the door handle. When it opened, she half jumped, half fell out of the cab, stumbling into the underbrush before she fell to her knees.

  “Chelsea?”

  She didn’t look behind her, but in case he meant to approach her, she held up a hand to stop him. “I’ll . . . I’ll be all right. Just . . . just leave me alone for a while.”

  “Okay.” He sounded unsure, but he did as she asked.

  The heels of Chelsea’s hands pressed into her thighs as she dragged in air and released it slowly. Colors flashed on the backs of her eyelids. A sound similar to a rushing river filled her ears. She had no sense of time.

  Whether short or long, time did pass, and at last the fear began to drain from her.

  “God, help me,” she whispered.

  From behind her came a soft but strong voice. “‘For God has not given us a spirit of timidity, but of power and love and discipline.’”

  She twisted to look at Liam. He knelt on the ground, watching her with concerned eyes. Not judgment. Only concern.

  “I’m sorry,” she said.

  He shrugged. “No reason to be.”

  “I hate to appear weak.”

  “Nobody likes that. But sometimes we are weak. Sometimes we’re afraid. Sometimes the circumstances of life feel like too much.”

  She turned and sat on the ground, drawing her knees up to her chest and clasping them with her arms. “What makes you afraid?”

  Pain flickered in his eyes. “Watching my brother die. That made me afraid.”

  “Your brother.” Understanding dawned. “The one you listened to.”

  “Yeah. His name was Jacob.”

  “Jacob,” she echoed—and wished she knew words that might comfort him as he’d tried to comfort her.

  * * *

  Liam could tell the moment Chelsea turned her thoughts from whatever had brought on her panic and focused on something else. In this case, his brother.

  As if to confirm the thought, she said, “Tell me about him. Please.”

  “He was a special kind of guy.” He looked at the mountain rising to his right. “Everybody liked Jacob.”

  “How did he . . . What . . .”

  “Cancer. It was advanced when they found it. Unusual in one that young, one doctor said.” He released a humorless laugh. “Jacob said he always wanted to be unusual. Just not in that way.”

  “You two were close.” It was more comment than question.

  He looked at her again. Whatever had caused the panic to rise in her appeared to be gone. “Yeah. Real close.”

  It was her turn to look away, staring at the trees and the rugged terrain surrounding them. “I’ve always loved the mountains. I feel lost when I’m too far away from them.”

  “Mmm.” He watched her, trying to judge her mood, trying to be sure she was all right.

  “Tell me more about your brother.”

  He hesitated, then did as she asked. “There was a little over a year between us. I’m the older one. Our mom doted on Jacob, as far back as I can remember. I don’t know why. He wasn’t a sickly kid. Serious. Gentle. But not sickly. Just a good, all-around guy.” He plucked a long blade of dry grass and twirled it between his fingers. “It was hard on him when I left for LA. I tried to get him to go with me, but he didn’t want any part of that scene. And he was right, of course. He wouldn’t have liked it there. But I wish—” He broke off, not sure what he wished.

  That he’d stayed in Idaho and never ch
ased the acting dream.

  That he’d paid more attention to what was going on in his family, between his parents.

  That he’d been there to see the physical changes in Jacob and maybe taken his brother to see a doctor sooner. Soon enough to save him.

  “We can’t revise the past,” Chelsea said, almost too soft for him to hear.

  “No. We can’t. We can only try to make today all it should be and try to be a better person tomorrow.”

  A small smile tipped the corners of her mouth. “Have you always been this smart, Mr. Chandler?”

  He laughed, surprising himself. Surprising her, too, if her widened eyes meant anything.

  Without warning, she stood, brushing dirt and small twigs off the seat of her pants. “We’d better get going. I’ve delayed us long enough.”

  Liam didn’t know why, but he wished they didn’t have to be on their way. He wouldn’t have minded staying there and talking awhile longer. He would like a turn to ask her some questions, to get to know her better. For one thing, he would like to know what had brought on that panic attack. It had been real and vicious. No doubt about that. So what was behind it? Not so much what triggered it. That could have been anything. But what was behind it?

  He got up and headed for the truck. When he got in, he was glad to see Chelsea wasn’t clinging to the passenger door the way she had before. She seemed more relaxed than when their journey began. Liam started the truck and pulled onto the two-lane highway. He considered turning on the stereo again, then thought better of it. Maybe they would talk some more without any background music. It was worth a try.

  “Tell me something,” he began. “I know you’re excited about the violin, and I’d wager good money that it doesn’t have anything to do with its age or value or who used to own it. So why so excited? Do you play?”

  There was a lengthy pause before she answered, “No, I don’t play. But I’ve always wanted to. Since I was a girl. I thought I was going to get to learn, but my . . . But it wasn’t possible. After I left home, I didn’t have money for luxuries like a violin or the lessons I would need to learn to play. So I thought . . . I just forgot about it. Put it behind me.”