by Jane Peart
Back in the car, they headed north again. A few miles farther along, Alan pointed to a sign that read, “Burlington Falls.” “That’s it,” he said. “That’s where we’re going, where the bookstore is. Ben said—that’s Ben Swain, the man who owns the bookstore—he said it’s hardly a dot on the map but it’s a town filled with book lovers.”
They took the next turnoff and found themselves on a winding two-lane road along a stretch of peaceful, pastoral scenery. Every once in a while they saw a farmhouse on the hillside, a rock fence, some children walking home from school. Alan said, “I made reservations for us at a place called the Colonial Arms Inn, just in case. I don’t know if it’s one of those that boasts that George Washington or Paul Revere slept there, but it came highly recommended.”
“Let’s just hope it wasn’t Benedict Arnold who slept there!” Evalee exclaimed in mock horror.
Alan added quietly, “Separate accommodations, of course.”
“Of course,” Evalee nodded, suppressing a smile. Alan was always the perfect gentleman.
They came down a slight hill and they were right into Main Street. It was late afternoon, and there were few people on the sidewalk, only three or four cars parked along the curbs. The street itself was lined with small shops—a hardware store, a dress shop, a grocery, a bakery, a cafe. At the very end, on the corner, they saw a wooden sign stating simply, “Books.” “There it is!” Alan exclaimed excitedly.
It did not look too inviting, Evalee thought to herself as they pulled over and got out of the car. Ahead of her, Alan cupped his hands and peered through the glass in the door. A faded card-board sign in the dusty window said that it was closed.
“Ben hasn’t been well. Had a slight stroke a few months back. That’s why he decided to sell the business, take it easy. I guess he keeps short hours. I’ve got his home number, so I’ll call him later, let him know I’m here.”
From what she could see of the place—books piled haphazardly in the window, a general look of disarray—Evalee had a dismayed feeling that it was a business long neglected and rundown. It would take a great deal of energy and optimism to take over such an establishment, especially in a town as small as this. She began to wonder if Ben had been entirely truthful with Alan. But Alan was clearly exhilarated, and she did not want to dampen his enthusiasm.
“Let’s go find the inn, have dinner,” he suggested. “I’ll call Ben, set it up so that we can get together tomorrow. In the meantime we can see a little bit of the town.”
Evalee refrained from saying that they’d probably already seen what little town there was. She also reminded herself that a town wasn’t buildings—it was people, friendships, community. Mayfield wasn’t much to look at lately, but it had a great spirit—supportive, civic-minded people who cared about their town and each other. Burlington Falls just might be the same kind of place. Evalee decided she would reserve judgment about Alan’s opportunity.
Alan called Ben Swain from the public phone booth and came back looking happy. “He’ll meet us here tomorrow morning at nine.”
The Colonial Arms Inn was a gabled, white frame building with dark-green shutters. At each side of its red front door was a row of six rush-seated rocking chairs. A bunch of Indian corn tied with a russet-colored bow hung above a brass knocker. Inside, the owner, Monica Preston, a serene, gray-haired woman, greeted them cordially. First she showed Alan to his room on the main floor, then escorted Evalee upstairs to hers. This was a spacious room with a magnificent view of the wooded hillside. Evalee’s trained eye appreciated the fine antique furnishings, the maple armoir, the poster bed with the candlewick bedspread and handmade quilt, the braided rug.
Later they dined in the inn’s firelit dining room, at a table set in a bow-windowed alcove with a nice view of the town, which in the autumn dusk looked like a toy village. They were served a delicious New England meal of pot roast, vegetables, and pumpkin pie for dessert.
After dinner, both tired from the long drive, they called it an evening. At the foot of the staircase, Alan covered Evalee’s hand as it rested on the wide banister. “I’m glad you came with me, Evalee. This may be the most important decision of my life.”
Evalee saw something unspoken in Alan’s eyes. A question? Not knowing what to make of it, she simply smiled and said, “I’m glad I came along, too, Alan.”
The next morning, after a hearty breakfast of omelettes, currant scones, coffee, they walked down the hill into town. At the door of the bookstore, Ben Swain, a stooped, balding, lean man in his mid sixties, met them. A whimsical sign had appeared in the window—"Browsers Welcome, Buyers Preferred.”
To Evalee, for whom orderliness was next to the proverbial godliness, the interior of the bookstore was even worse than its exterior suggested. There were books everywhere. Books were stacked on the floor, crammed into the floor-to-ceiling shelves, spilling out of cardboard cartons, falling out of every conceivable nook and cranny in the long, narrow room. It was so dark that one could hardly read the titles, so crowded that she wondered how customers could make their way through to search for a particular book.
She was amazed at how both Ben and Alan seemed to disregard all this. All they could see was the mountains of books, each one a source of delight, information, and hours of enjoyment for some lucky reader. She could hardly believe the pitch of their voices as they discussed contract terms and payment. She was picking her way through a patchwork puzzle of books to see if she could discover a first edition or even a Victorian children’s book she might buy to display in her shop, when Alan said, “Evalee, Ben and I are going over to the bank to sign the deed on this. Do you want to come along or wait for us here?”
So he’d done it. He hadn’t really asked her opinion after all. Alan’s eyes were shining, and his expression was so happy that she didn’t have the heart to ask him if he thought he should think it over a little more. He must have made up his mind about it before they even came up here. Why had he brought her along, then? “I’ll wait here,” she said, waving them out the door. She watched with a sinking feeling as the two men—one young, vigorous, the other old, faltering—walked down the street, arms linked, both still talking. Kindred spirits, no doubt.
Left alone amid the dusty books and the musty smell of old leather and paper, Evalee realized with a shock what all this meant. Alan would be leaving Briarwood, leaving Mayfield, leaving Virginia! The next thing she realized was that she would miss him terribly. So would Natasha. Evalee’s heart gave a small, sharp twinge as she thought of Natasha and Alan together. She recalled how the two of them laughed when he taught her to fish that day they picnicked by the river. She remembered the patient way he helped Natasha learn to balance when the training wheels came off her two-wheeler. With a sudden pang, Evalee realized that if Alan wasn’t in it, their life would be very empty.
The drive back to New York that afternoon was a quiet one, at least as far as Evalee was concerned. Wrapped in her ever increasing melancholy, she only half listened to Alan’s enthusiastic recounting of his plans for his newly acquired bookstore. She was facing the reality of losing someone she had come to depend on, someone she thought of as a dear friend, maybe even the best friend she ever had. New England was a long way from Virginia. And it was always the one left behind that missed the other the most. Alan would become totally absorbed in his new project, his new surroundings, his new friends in Burlington Falls. It wouldn’t be just a business—it would be an entire life.
In contrast to her silence, Alan was euphoric and talkative. “It will be the kind of bookshop I’ve always envisioned. I’ll have one of those Franklin stoves, and some comfortable chairs, maybe even a rocker, tucked away in a corner near a window. There are two long windows in the back—maybe you didn’t see them?” Not waiting for her answer, he went on. “And a cat. I’ll have to get a cat, to sleep in the window in front, in the sun. There’s something so…I don’t know…just something about a cat in a bookstore.” He chuckled. “And of course we’r
e going to have good lighting. I already talked to the man in the hardware store about some ceiling lamps, and he told me there’s a local electrician who’d put them in for me___”
Alan’s voice went on, enthusiastic, filled with excitement. The more he talked, the more withdrawn Evalee began to feel. She couldn’t remember when she had felt like this before. It was a kind of loneliness, a feeling of abandonment. She tried to shake it but it continued to grip her.
The city lights were on as they crossed the bridge and entered Manhattan. Traffic was heavy, so there was little conversation as Alan drove to the hotel.
“When will you be back in Mayfield?” Alan asked as he pulled up to the front entrance.
“I leave the day after tomorrow,” she replied. “When will you be going back to Burlington Falls?”
“I turned in my letter of resignation to the headmaster at Briarwood even before I planned this trip. I knew I was going to make a change of some sort. Then when I found out about Ben’s bookstore, it seemed to be the answer I’d been praying for. The direction for my future.” He paused. “I believe we all have a niche to fill in our lives—a purpose. I really think I’ve found mine.”
For some reason Evalee felt tears stinging into her eyes. Her throat felt tight and terribly sore.
Alan reached for her hand. “Thanks for coming with me, Evalee. It meant a great deal to me. I wanted you to see the town, the bookstore, meet Ben, catch some of what’s drawing me there.”
Evalee felt as if she might cry She had to get out of the car quickly, escape, before she broke down. “I’ll see you back in Mayfield,” she managed to say. Then she pushed open the door, grabbed her overnight case, said a choked good-bye, and ran into the hotel.
All the way back to Mayfield, Evalee gazed out the window of the train, remembering the last time she made this trip, the last time she traveled in this direction over these same tracks. She had been filled with doubt and fear, facing a frightening future, coming back to Mayfield with some bitterness, little hope. Things had turned out much better than she could ever have imagined. God had been very good, had blessed her hard work, her diligence, her goals. Her business was successful, things were working out. Why then did she feel so sad?
She should be happy for Alan. As he said, he had prayed for guidance about his future, and he felt he had found it. Why then had there been that look in his eyes, in his expression, as if he were waiting for something more from her, expecting it, hoping for it?
He could have gone alone to Burlington Falls, could have completed the arrangements, signed the contract on his own. Why had he made it such a point for her to come along?
She thought of the quaint little town, the main street with its row of little stores and shops, the country roads with small farmhouses tucked into the hillside, the breathtaking colors of the fall landscape. It had all looked like one of those “New
England autumn” calendar pictures. Emily Dickinson, Amy Lowell, John Greenleaf Whittier—the poets of her high school English literature classes—had loved New England, had written about it. She thought of all the things Alan planned to do with the store to make his dream come true. She thought of the quiet dignity, the authentic decor, of the Colonial Arms Inn—and she thought of the gray-shingled house with the “For Sale” sign on its sagging fence, which she had seen just as they were driving out of town…..
Oh, this is all foolishness, Evalee told herself sternly. Why was she being sentimental about a town she had visited only briefly?
She had a life of her own to think about. A life with Natasha, a life with a business she had created. Then why this emptiness, this sudden ache of loneliness? People admired her, her taste, her chic, her air of self-confidence.
Yet all that was deceptive, a facade for what was really going on inside. The truth was, she longed for a completion that seemed to have eluded her these past few years. She longed for love—strong, true, devoted love.
Trent MacGowan had offered her everything else, a life of easy elegance. She had been tempted, perhaps, but she had turned it down, knowing that this was not what would fulfill her deepest longings. A real home, a caring husband, a father for Natasha—-that was the dream she hardly dared name.
Alan had prayed about his dream and he had received his answer. Had she tried to do it all by herself, afraid to surrender it all to the Source of all good gifts?
Her thoughts drifted. If only someone like Alan…What? Loved her? Wanted her and Natasha in his life?
Maybe that’s why he had taken her along with him to Burlington Falls. Maybe he had wanted to see her reaction, get her approval, bring her into his dream.
Evalee’s heart began to pound. She began to picture the dark, narrow little store. Slowly the image changed. She saw it with proper lighting, a Windsor chair or two, hooked rugs, the potbellied stove Alan had talked about, books arranged by categories, a few good paintings on the walls—and the cat! Yes, of course, a taffy-colored cat curled up in the front window, to be viewed through crystal-clear glass by the welcome browsers. She could do all that for Alan, help make his dream bookstore a reality. And they could live in that gray-shingled house by the side of the road, with nasturtiums climbing the picket fence, which would be all whitewashed and straightened. Natasha could go to school in that little red schoolhouse on the hill, and…
Suddenly Evalee couldn’t wait for the train to pull into the Mayfield station. She couldn’t wait to tell Alan all that was in her heart to tell him. In the deepest part of her soul, she knew that he loved her, that he had been waiting, hoping that she would feel the same way.
chapter
22
SOME OF EVALEE’S certainty faded away during the next forty-eight hours. There was much to do when she got home—calls to return, work to be finished on some decorating projects, Natasha to be made ready for the opening of school.
Underneath all this ran the question, should she call Alan? Had she assumed too much? Had she raced ahead of him in her own thoughts? If Alan felt the way she had come to believe he did, why hadn’t he spoken while they were in Connecticut, asked her then how she felt? Or hadn’t she given him a chance?
She remembered that she had done a lot of the talking. Excited by the experience of attending her first big New York auction, she may have given him the impression that her career was more important than anything else. Maybe he had been put off by that, discouraged inadvertently by her enthusiasm. What could she do to correct that?
Once Alan left for Connecticut, it would be too late. He would never know how she really felt. Did she dare just come right out and tell him?
She prowled Gatehouse like a nervous cat, unable to settle down. Two days passed. Did he know she was home? If so, why hadn’t he called? The third morning, Evalee sat staring at the phone on her desk. Dru had come to take Natasha to go shopping for some school clothes, and Evalee was alone.
Briarwood opened later than the Mayfield public schools. Was Alan there? The resident teachers had their own apartments in the dormitory buildings. On the trip, Alan had remarked that moving was going to be a major undertaking. He had accumulated so much “stuff” that it would take a steam shovel to clear it out. Was he over there now, moving out?
Impulsively Evalee reached for the phone. What did she have to lose?
The phone seemed to ring for a long time. She was about to hang up, when Alan came on the line. “Hello.”
“Alan? It’s Evalee. I just wondered if you were still there.”
He sounded very happy to hear her voice. “Yes, I’m here, but I’m practically inundated with cardboard boxes. I’m packing up, getting ready to leave.”
“I thought so. I was afraid I might have missed you—”
“I wouldn’t have left without coming to say good-bye to you and Natasha.” He sounded almost reproachful.
“I’d hoped not. When are you leaving?”
“Day after tomorrow. That is, if I can get all this sorted out.”
There was a paus
e. Then Evalee took a long breath and asked, “Want some help? I’m free. I could drive over. I’m very good at packing.”
“You’d do that?” Alan sounded surprised.
“Of course. I can be there in forty-five minutes.”
All the way over to Briarwood, Evalee kept asking herself, What am I doing? What do I expect? What do I want to happen ?
She still hadn’t answered those questions when she turned in the gates of Briarwood and drove along the winding roads around the rolling campus greens. Alan’s apartment was in Bellamere, one of the dorms. The old brick building was covered with Virginia creeper, its leaves now turning crimson at the edges. She pulled to a stop in front. Before she had even cut her engine, he came running out of the arched doorway. He must have been watching for her.
He looked endearingly boyish. His hair was tousled, and he was wearing a V-necked sweater, rumpled khakis. He was also grinning from ear to ear. “It was great of you to come.”
“I couldn’t stay away,” she said, smiling up at him as he opened the car door and helped her out. They stood there for a long minute, very close. Evalee’s heart began to beat very fast. “What I mean is, I couldn’t let you go without—”
“Without what?” His hands tightened on hers.
Evalee glanced around. There was no one in sight. The campus was empty.
“Maybe we’d better go inside,” she said shyly, feeling her face warm.
They walked into the apartment, which was now bare of furniture, books, pictures. Boxes were everywhere, some already sealed and ready for loading, others standing open. Evalee had hardly stepped over the threshold when Alan prompted, “Now, what couldn’t you let me go without doing?”
Evalee might never have had the courage if Alan’s eyes and eager expression had not convinced her that she had not come on a fool’s errand. She took a deep breath. Although she spoke in a low voice, her words seemed to echo in the empty room. “Alan, I don’t want you to go. Not without me. I love you.”