Permelia Cottage

by Carole Lehr Johnson

  “If you’re serious, I’m sure you could work it out. I’d be glad to be your support group of one. I’m sure Amanda would join us.”

  Susannah lost herself in thought. She’d had no support from her husband, and now her son, and yet she’d finally made her dream become a reality—with God’s help. “Letice, my dream came true when I moved to England. I never thought I’d have the courage to do it, but God made it happen. And He can make your dream come true as well.”

  Chapter 6

  Neville, North Yorkshire, England

  2019

  Idiot,” Ryan muttered to himself. Forcing back tears, he stumbled to the bed and buried his head in a pillow. The painful scene rolled over him like a huge tumbling boulder, the memory as vivid as if it’d been yesterday. He’d been in his office and was elated at the capture of a very prominent new client. His aunt Diann called and nearly screamed into the phone, gasping between sobs.

  “Ryan, I cannot believe what’s happened …” She drew in a deep breath. “… to your mother.”

  “What’s wrong. Has she been in an accident?” He stood, began pacing around his desk, fear gripping him more than he could ever remember.

  Diann’s deep inhale was audible. “She’s been extradited from the U.K.—arrested, brought home, and put in jail.”

  Ryan’s heart beat furiously against his chest. “What?”

  “Wayne saw it in the newspaper. I’ll send you a copy, but you can probably pull it up online. She … she’s in prison, Ryan. Has been for a while. I didn’t know.” Her weeping grew louder, more intense. “I didn’t know.”

  It was Ryan’s turn to pull in a deep breath as he paused to stare out his office window at Central Park. He ran a shaky hand through his hair as he hung his head remembering a recent phone call he’d received from his mother. She’d left a message, but he’d deleted it without listening. He hadn’t wanted to hear anything about her prayers nor anything about faith.

  “Please calm down, and we’ll take care of this. I’ll research online and be in touch. I … we’ll help her. We’ll take care of this. Okay?” His voice broke at the strain. The silence festered—he thought the call had been dropped. Until he finally heard her unsteady breathing.

  “All right, Ryan. Please keep me posted. I’m praying.” She sniffled into the phone. “Bye, sweetie. I love you.” The phone clicked.

  Tears now slipped down his face, self-hatred expanding into his very core. He had to get a grip and go back downstairs to April. Why had her praying over their meal triggered that particular memory? What would she think of him? He’d never faced his sorrow like this—not even as a child. His father told him that men don’t cry, so he’d always shoved his emotions down deep. Once more he’d do so.

  He pushed himself from the soft comfort of the bed and ambled to the bathroom where he splashed his face with cold water and gasped at the contact. As he rubbed the towel over his face, he took in his reflection in the mirror and asked himself if he could lie to her.

  His excuse would be that he’d forgotten to make an important phone call and rushed off without regard. Would she be able to see through it? Maybe this once. There was no way she could be aware of the truth about his mother.

  It was bizarre how he always thought of her as mother when it concerned something unpleasant and mom when it was a fond memory. Sometimes it was difficult to separate the two.

  ∞∞∞

  April sipped her tea as Petronella bounced to the table. “What’s up, love? Where’d that cutie run off to?”

  April shoved her shoulders back. “He said he had to take care of something he’d forgotten. He’ll be right back.”

  “Chin up, love. Men can be so unpredictable. And they call us emotional.”

  April twisted her napkin. “I wouldn’t know, Petronella. I’ve had little experience with men. Are they that difficult to understand?”

  “Ha! You don’t know the half of it.” She turned and swaggered away.

  April watched as Ryan entered the room. She stiffened her posture as their eyes met. She hadn’t touched the pasties.

  He slid into his seat. “I’m so sorry. I forgot to make an important call and shouldn’t have left so abruptly. Again, I apologize.” Ryan suspended the teapot spout over April’s cup, his eyebrows raised as he looked at her.

  April nodded. She read pain in his eyes. After a long pause, she said in a low voice, “You shouldn’t apologize. I should.”

  He ran his hands through his hair. “I don’t understand.”

  “I shouldn’t have mentioned your mother’s passing. I’m insensitive and ought to have realized how painful it must be.”

  Ryan wriggled in his seat as he lowered his gaze to the table.

  “No. I … I had to make that call.” He averted his eyes as he reached for a pasty.

  She brought her teacup to her lips with a nervous twitch.

  Ryan fractured the silence, now cheerful. “Well, let’s try these pasties and talk about the cottage.”

  As they nibbled, the conversation merged to a more relaxed rhythm as they spoke of the cottage, village sights, and local history. April was careful not to mention his mum. “There’s a castle nearby that you may want to have a look-see, if you’re interested.”

  “Do you go often?” Ryan spoke with a pasty poised in front of his lips.

  “No, not since I was in school. It’s in excellent condition though. A descendant of the original owners brought it back into the family many years ago—Douglas I believe—or was it Butler? Or possibly Weatherly? It was built around 1300. All those names are within that ancestry. It’s so hard to sort them out to the time they belong in.” She leaned back in her seat. “My memory isn’t great regarding dates or names, yet that doesn’t lessen my interest or enthusiasm.” She shrugged. “A local resident recently bought it. He restored it to what it would’ve been like centuries before and has tours. Well his staff does. His business is based in London.”

  “You know … my middle name is Weatherly. It was my mom’s maiden name.” His expression petulant.

  April blinked. “Perhaps your ancestors lived at Horden Castle.”

  “I remember my mom tried to interest me in our family genealogy. After a while, she yielded and never asked me again. If this place has a special family connection, I’m sure that’s a reason she moved here.”

  “So, you aren’t aware of why she chose Neville?”

  “Would you care for anything else?” Petronella interrupted before Ryan could reply. “Perhaps more tea and coffee to finish your pasties?”

  “I’m fine.”

  April shook her head and smiled at Petronella.

  “All righty. Here’s your bill. I’ll be back in a flash.”

  “She’s a gem, our Petronella.” April grinned. “Her family is somehow connected to the Horden Castle ancestors as well.”

  “So, you’re saying it may relate me to a woman named Petronella?” Ryan gave her a teasing grin.

  “I suppose so.” April took another pasty and bit into it.

  “Do you find any resemblance?” He shifted his head to show her his profile. April watched as the corners of Ryan’s mouth struggled not to curve upward. She laughed, and he joined her. When Petronella re-appeared, Ryan handed her his credit card, and she bounced away again. This time she left without a word, returned in a few minutes, and placed the bill in front of Ryan, a fist on her ample hip.

  After reviewing it, he asked where he was supposed to add in the tip. Petronella rolled her eyes. “You, Yanks, worry too much about tippin.’ Just sign it and have a nice evenin’ with my cousin. She’s a love.” She was gone with the bill before either of them could respond.

  Ryan’s eyebrows peaked. “She’s your cousin?”

  “‘Fraid so. I didn’t mean that in a bad way. She’s very nice. We’re distant relatives, and she likes to joke about it.” Clutching her bag, she asked, “Are you ready to go?”

  Ryan stood by the table and waited for April t
o lead the way. As they gathered their raincoats and umbrellas, Mr. Talbot spoke from behind his newspaper, “Won’t be needin’ those.” He went back to his newspaper. Ryan helped April into her raincoat and shrugged his on.

  The sun painted gold streaks across the cloudless sky as they stepped onto the sidewalk. Slashes of pink and lavender glowed within the sunset. April stood still, taking in the scene. “Magnificent.”

  Ryan sent her a questioning glance. “Will we be able to view it from the tavern?”

  “It’s a ten-minute walk. It’ll be nearly gone by then,” she said, her voice tinged with regret, her eyes sparkling. “We could stop at the green and watch.” She added, “If you’d like.”

  “And a green would be …?”

  “A village green is a small park or spot of grass for children to play, have a picnic, or relax. Most villages have one. Ours has benches and a gazebo. It’s rather nice.”

  “Is it on the way to the tavern?”

  “There.” April pointed to a large grass-covered square a block in the distance.

  “Okay.” Ryan slowed his pace to match hers.

  April appreciated his slower gait as she pointed out a few historic buildings and paused at the green and pointed to a nearby bench. “This one faces the sunset.”

  Ryan nodded and waited for her to sit and settled beside her. Thin scattered clouds gathered and mingled with varied shades of blue, gold and yellow as the sun slid from sight.

  “I’m so amazed at God’s creativity,” April said, her tone reverent. “No painter could ever put that on a canvas.” She glanced at Ryan when he didn’t respond.

  Ryan kept his gaze on the darkening horizon and rose. “Are you ready for dinner?”

  “Yes, please.” April grew silent on the walk to the tavern. Ryan hadn’t been comfortable with her mention of God or his mother, and she wondered why.

  ∞∞∞

  Ryan stretched his shoulders to lessen the tension caused by the subject of God—his mother’s favorite topic. Was April trying to push her faith on him too? She reminded him of his mother, but he hadn’t been uncomfortable about it until now. He ran fingers through his dark hair. April wasn’t his mother.

  He glanced at her, her expression pleasant, undisturbed by the silence. She stopped in front of a two-storied building. “This is Talbot’s Tavern.”

  “Looks old.” Ryan took in the red brick structure, his gaze roaming the facade.

  “It should.” She glanced at him with raised eyebrows. “It was built in the mid-seventeenth century.”

  His laugh was light. “Definitely an antique.”

  “Yes, but I don’t think about it much. I suppose growing up here I’ve taken things for granted. Not very appreciative, is it?”

  The notion stirred something inside Ryan—not appreciating something or someone until it was too late.

  Ryan considered at April, knowing his face reflected his now solemn mood. Upon entering the tavern, April addressed an elderly man with thinning gray hair dressed in sturdy work pants, a white button-down, and tweed vest. He bent over a book with colorful pictures of roosters, his forehead creased in deep thought. “Hello, Mr. Talbot.” April clapped his shoulder.

  Nonplussed by the interruption, he greeted her, “Why, hello there, pretty young girl. It’s nice to see ya.” He noticed Ryan. “And who is this fine-lookin’ fella?”

  Ryan felt heat rise to his face. “Ryan Wilkinson, sir. Nice to meet you.”

  Hodge Talbot gripped Ryan’s hand with a strength belying his age. “You too, you too.” His appraising eyes travelled over the much-younger man.

  “Mr. Talbot, it’s good to see you. But I’m far from being a young girl anymore.”

  “At my age, it seems but yesterday you were in the pram.” The wrinkles around his eyes deepened as his smile grew, eyes sparkling with mischief. “I’m teasing.”

  April placed a kiss on Hodge’s cheek. “I know.” Turning to Ryan, she continued, “He’s quite the jokester. Have a good evening, sir.”

  “Don’t be strangers now.” He nodded and held his place in the book.

  From their table, the view was of a courtyard with long grass flowing in the breeze and flowerbeds in full bloom. Their brilliance stood out against the stone wall enclosing the garden even as dusk settled into night, and a wall-mounted fountain gurgled from deep in shadow.

  Tiny lights dotted the darkening space, their soft glow illuminating the area enough to appreciate the garden in its entirety and offer the illusion of a fairyland. As they waited for service, April stared out at the scene, and in her gaze, Ryan saw both admiration and a child-like wonder. “I love this spot—night or day. Mr. Hodge does such a fine job. You must see it during the day. Although, the lights do bring a certain ambience of intrigue and romance.” She coughed sharply, her face reddened, and she fidgeted with the edge of the tablecloth.

  Ryan glanced at the courtyard. There was something familiar about it. April spoke, her voice low, but he didn’t catch it. Get control of your thoughts and pay attention, he chided himself. He looked at her. “Yes, I’d like to see it during the daytime.” It struck him. His mother had written a travel article about this place. He’d seen it in a magazine while in a client’s lobby.

  The server placed the menus on the table, and Ryan glanced up to see a tall man around his age with his gaze fixed intently on April.

  “Good evening, April. How’ve you been?” the man said, his grey eyes only for her, which somehow unnerved Ryan, though he didn’t want to admit it.

  She brought her gaze up, seemingly taken aback by the man. “Hi, Tristan.” Introducing Ryan to Tristan Durham, he shook the man’s hand, matching the strong grasp with his own, the hint of challenge in his eyes not getting past Ryan. Who was this man to April?

  Tristan turned his attention back to April. “Thought you’d be out with Polly tonight.”

  April pushed a strand of hair behind her ear. “Ryan and I have business to discuss and decided to do it over dinner.”

  Ryan watched their exchange but didn’t see the same interest in April’s eyes that he saw in the man’s.

  Tristan only gave a curt nod. “What would you like to drink?”

  April asked for water with lemon, then studied the menu as if she’d never been there before. Ryan ordered iced tea.

  “Right.” Tristan turned on his heel and sped off, his shoes squeaking on the tile. He returned with the drinks before Ryan had read past the appetizers. “Have you decided yet?”

  “We need a few more minutes.” Ryan heard the curt tone in his voice, and April peered over her menu at him with a curious expression. He lowered his voice and peered back at her. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to be rude, but your friend is a tad pushy.”

  “I guess that’s my fault.” She sighed. “I try to be nice to everyone, but I think he may have misread my friendliness as more—” She cleared her throat “—well, as more than friendship. We went to school together, and he’s a stand-up chap and all, but it’s just not like that between us.”

  Ryan met her eyes. “I see.” He raised one brow and added with a smirk, “I suppose we’d better decide before your fellow comes back.”

  April’s mouth fell open, though she quickly closed it, the corners of her mouth tugged upward as she threw him a humorous expression. “Yes, I think you’re right. I’ll have the fish curry.”

  “Have you tried the roast?”

  “Yes. It’s rather tasty. Tender roast, sliced thin, with your choice of steaming vegetables.”

  “That’s a glowing endorsement.” He gave a lopsided grin. “Maybe you should write the menu.” His cheek tingled from all the smiling and banter. He hadn’t enjoyed himself this much in a long time. There was something about this girl. He felt lighter, less burdened, around her, but he had to clear his head and stay focused on the purpose of their dinner.

  Tristan suddenly appeared. “So, you’ll have the fish curry?” April’s smile faltered, and Ryan wished to ease her discomfor
t somehow. She nodded, eyes downcast.

  “I’ll have the roast with broccoli and potatoes.” Ryan fixed Tristan with a stare, holding contact longer than necessary.

  Tristan didn’t back down. “Coming right up,” he said and left with a scowl.

  April’s voice was quiet. “How do you do that?”

  “Do what?” Ryan took a sip of tea.

  “I’ve never seen Tristan like that. Docile. He always seems in full control of every situation—at least when I’ve been around him.”

  “I think he’s threatened by another man. Since he doesn’t know me or our connection, he believes he’s competing with me.”

  She straightened in her seat. “Hmm … I guess that means he suspects he has a chance with me. Am I sending him mixed signals and not realizing it?” She bit her lip.

  “From what you’ve said, and the short time I’ve spent with you, I find nothing that would show you’ve given him the wrong impression.”

  “You seem sure of yourself and reading others. Does this have something to do with your profession, or are you just a good judge of character?”

  “Maybe a bit of both.” Ryan massaged the back of his neck. “I meet with a lot of clients. It helps to read body language to make a judgment call on their reaction when I deliver a proposal.”

  “Perhaps you can tell me what I can do to dissuade Tristan.” She tapped a finger on her chin. “I’m clearly in need of some help.”

  “In my experience, sometimes a direct approach is best. You may need to have a one-on-one conversation with him and tell him the truth.”

  Her face paled. “You mean, tell him straight out I’m not interested?”

  “I take it you’re uncomfortable with confrontation?”

  She gave him a sheepish look. “I’d hate to hurt anyone’s feelings.”

  “I don’t mean to tell you what to do, but if you want a suggestion …”

  April interrupted. “Please.”

  Ryan continued, “—stop by here during a slow time of day. Ask him for a quick chat. Tell him you think he’s a great guy, and you appreciate his friendship, but you’re getting the impression he may want more than friendship. If you’ve misunderstood, there’s no problem, but if you haven’t, you can set him straight. If you talk while he’s at work, it’ll provide a forced time limit, so it won’t become a marathon discussion. A break only lasts so long.” Ryan shrugged. “Confrontation is best to get over with quickly, so you can move forward.”