by Caron Todd
“It’s not your mother, is it? I know she’s a bit of a mystery.”
“Mom doesn’t say who she is at all. So there’s no lying going on there.”
Eleanor looked concerned. “You think someone is out and out lying to you?” Before Emily could answer, she added, “Not Matthew? He’s the only new person in town.”
“There are some things about him that don’t add up.”
“He strikes me as a complicated man. You don’t come to understand someone like him in a week or two.”
“Maybe that’s all it is.” She smiled. “I wish you’d seen him with Mom today. He really connects with her. It made me wonder about her and my father. How she—” Emily stopped. She didn’t want to hurt her grandmother.
“How your mother, being the way she is with people, managed to find a man to love her?”
Emily nodded.
Eleanor thought for a minute. “Each had something the other needed, I suppose. That might not sound romantic, but they suited each other very well.”
“They met here?”
“That’s right. We hired him to help on the farm. Very nice young fellow—well, not all that young. He was in his thirties. He didn’t seem to have much formal education. Not that he wasn’t a smart man. He was, anybody could see that talking to him. Maybe he just didn’t have the patience for it.”
Emily said, “And that was why he noticed Mom. Because she liked books.” People had told her that before.
“He usually joined us for dinner, and he had a nice way with your mother, so sometimes I encouraged him to stay a while. They’d sit here, where we are now, and he’d tease her into reading to him.”
It was hard to imagine her mother responding to teasing, unless it was to wander away. She must have liked him from the start.
“Not that she was much of a reader, out loud,” Eleanor added. “But your dad would sit back watching her with a look on his face as if any book she read was the most engaging thing he had ever heard. And I think she got to like it. She always read to him, all those years they had together.” Eleanor stopped, then said with a note of sadness, “Well, it wasn’t so many years, was it?”
“People say he brought her out of herself.”
“It often seemed the other way around to me. Your father was willing to join her in her world from time to time.”
“Getting married is a big step from reading aloud.”
“He was clever about that. Once when we were on a picnic, Julia spent the whole time telling him about the grass they were sitting on—which was the timothy hay and which the fescue, and which insects preferred which species. How the grass held the soil together and protected the marshlands, how important the marshlands were to wildlife and water filtration. She spent a great deal of time on damselflies. Not everyone would enjoy that kind of thing.”
Emily smiled at the understatement.
“But he appeared to be riveted. The next week he put it to her in practical terms, how he would take care of the section of land your grandfather was going to give her, keep it healthy and producing. He went on about purple loosestrife destroying the natural grasses if it wasn’t managed right and how the straw after the crops were cut would make good food for migrating fowl and how to protect the habitat of damselflies he wouldn’t drain the marsh. He remembered everything he’d heard her say on those subjects and handed it right back to her so earnestly.”
“And that convinced her?”
Eleanor nodded.
“They got married because of purple loosestrife and damselflies?”
“Do you know a better reason?”
Emily laughed. “I suppose not.”
They sat quietly until Eleanor said, “Remember, however stiff she might seem your mother feels things deeply. I used to think she was missing a layer of something, that her emotions burned. That must sound fanciful.”
“No, Grandma. It sounds just right.”
CHAPTER TEN
THE NEXT MORNING WAS WINDY, with hot drying gusts that bent branches and stirred up gravel on the road. Matthew arrived after breakfast carrying a small cooler that he said contained lunch. He left it in the shade and got to work on the shelves, disappearing into one out-building or another, coming out with a single 2x4 or a section of plywood. Sawdust blowing in his eyes, he ripped 1x6 boards from the storehouse dividing wall, sanded them until they looked fresh-cut, then brushed them with a bleach solution for good measure. If mice had ever curled up behind them, no one could tell. The sound of the electric sander drove Julia upstairs, but when it was quiet she went out and happily approved the results.
The wind and sun soon dried the boards. Matthew carried an armload into the living room so he and Julia could decide exactly where the new shelves should go. Emily stayed outside to clean up wood shavings, so she was alone when a patrol car turned into the driveway.
It was Corporal Reed again. He looked at the sawdust on the lawn. “Making bars for the windows?”
Emily wasn’t sure how to joke with a police officer. “Shelves for more books. Do you have news?”
“I thought you’d like to know how the investigation is progressing. We checked Jason Willis’s fingerprints against those found in the other houses in the area that were broken into recently. They’re a match.”
“He didn’t wear gloves? Isn’t that a basic precaution?”
“Nobody said he was smart. We’ve charged him with seven counts of break and enter with intent. That means even if he didn’t get around to taking anything the onus is on him to prove he didn’t enter a home intending to do harm. I think he’s going to have a little trouble with that.”
“And then what happens?”
“His parents tell me he’s pleading guilty. He’s a youth with no history of violence so he won’t get custody. It’ll be strict probation, which would include having no contact with you and your mother.”
That was fine with her. “Did you ever find his bicycle?”
“We think someone gave him a ride. All of this may be related to an initiation prank.”
“You mean a gang?”
“More like some sort of club—dumb kids copying what they see in the movies. Talking about a bicycle was probably an attempt to keep his friends out of it.”
Emily walked the corporal back to his car. He turned the key in the ignition, then rolled down his window.
“Where did you say Daniel Rutherford went?”
“I don’t know exactly. Ottawa, I think.”
“Ottawa. To visit a sick relative, you said?”
“That’s right.”
He looked as if he was thinking that over. “Okay. Thanks, Ms. Moore.” The car rolled partway to the road, then stopped, and Reed poked his head out the window. “Ms. Moore?”
“Yes?”
“Your father—he wasn’t from around here, was he?”
The question startled her. “No, he wasn’t. He moved here a couple of years before he and my mother got married.”
“From?”
Emily’s mind drew a blank. She had always thought he came from Winnipeg, the city closest to Three Creeks. She couldn’t remember if anyone had actually told her that. “I’m not sure where he lived.”
“He came late to farming, didn’t he? Do you know what he did previously?”
She shook her head, embarrassed. “I’m afraid I don’t know very much about him.”
He thanked her again and drove away before she could decide if she wanted to ask why he was interested in her father.
EMILY SUMMARIZED what the corporal had told her, and gave a frustrated shrug. “So there’s no bicycle, no real danger, just kids trying to prove something to each other by making us lose sleep.”
Matthew thought he heard uncertainty in her voice. “You don’t believe it?”
“Do you?”
“Is there any reason not to?”
“No good reason.”
“Tell me the bad reason.”
That made her smile. Faintly,
but it was still a smile. “There isn’t a bad one, either. Only a feeling.”
He always paid attention to feelings on a job. “Can you attach it to a thought, to something you saw that night or something Willis said?”
Her face changed. She shook her head, but it was clear she’d thought of something she didn’t intend to tell him. She wouldn’t protect the kid. Her parents? Her uncle?
He put down his hammer. “It’s time for a break, isn’t it?” Not the break he’d planned, maybe, not with the wind still going strong and rain clouds forming. “Who wants to go for a picnic?”
Julia kept smoothing her hand over the boards. “We ate outside last week.”
“Are you sure, Mom?” Emily checked out the window. “It won’t rain for hours, if it does at all. We could to go back to the big creek, Matthew. It’s a great spot on a windy day.”
By the end of the walk through the meadow and the woods Emily was almost her pre-break-in self. They sat on rocks edging the creek, pant legs rolled up, shoes off, feet in the water, listening to the leaves rustle so loudly they sounded like waves.
He began to unpack the cooler. “I’ve brought Mrs. Bowen’s bumbleberry pie, your aunt Edith’s macaroni salad and my own tuna et Miracle Whip avec pickle, lightly peppered and caressed by whole wheat bread. And that’s not all….”
He silently put the last of his offerings in front of her. The smile that had grown bigger with each item grew again. Every time he saw it he wanted to quit his job, like Jack, and become a farmer.
“Pumpkin muffins.” She sounded amused.
“I’m afraid so. I had a good look at my uncle’s resources and it was this or a sinus-clearing concoction of doubtful antecedents.”
“Is that what he keeps locked in the basement? His still?”
Was she serious? “That has such an illegal ring to it.”
She picked up half a sandwich, holding it carefully so no filling would fall out. “Mrs. Bowen and I wondered. All the expensive equipment in the main room and then the other door is locked. Did you try it?”
“Try what?”
“The sinus-clearing concoction. Fruit brandy, Daniel says.”
He shook his head emphatically. He’d taken one whiff and put the stopper back in the jug. Was she saying Daniel had actually brewed it?
“It’s quite good,” she went on. “More of a winter thing, though. Makes you warm all over.”
“You’ve had some?”
“Starting by the thimblefull when I was ten. I’ve graduated to medicine cups. Daniel takes it by the goblet.”
“He gave you that stuff when you were a child? It must be a hundred proof!”
Emily shrugged, but she looked pleased to have shocked him. “Good tuna salad.”
“Did your mother know?”
“Probably not.”
“If I ever have a child, remind me not to turn my back on Daniel!”
She looked at him curiously. “Have you ever come close?”
“To turning my back on Daniel?”
“To having a child.”
“No. You?”
“Nowhere near it. So…no ex?”
He wasn’t comfortable with the direction the conversation had taken. After he ate half a sandwich she was still waiting curiously so he said, “I suppose I’d characterize any relationships I’ve had as careful and uncommitted.”
He could see right away he’d put her off. He was trying to be honest. Well, to be honest, he was trying to be uninformative.
“That sounds cold, Matthew. Haven’t you been in love?”
“Be nice, Emily. I’ve been pushing a saw all morning. In this heat!” He didn’t like the way she looked at him. Almost as if she was evaluating him. She never looked like that. “What about you? Have you been in love?”
“I don’t think so. I did at the time.”
“Who was the guy?”
She opened the container of macaroni salad. “Hmm, nice, you put pickles in with it.” She took some salad before she answered his question. “There were two people who caught my interest, let’s put it that way. One more than the other.”
“Tell me about the other first.”
She shrugged. He liked that. Remembering men with a shrug was good.
“He taught here one year—a temporary job while another teacher was on maternity leave. His next job was miles away so we stopped seeing each other.”
“And the one who mattered more?”
“He grew up here. Jack bought his family’s house. John Ramsey was his name.” For a moment, something clouded her face. “He’s coming for a visit soon. Next week, I think.”
“High school sweetheart?” Matthew guessed. “What happened?”
“He didn’t want to farm. He wanted me to move to the city with him. Of course, I wouldn’t do that.”
“Why of course?”
She looked at him with a surprised blink. “My mother.” She said it as if it didn’t need saying.
“You wouldn’t move to the city because of your mother?”
“You’ve seen how she is.”
“Lost in her books.”
Emily nodded.
“And?”
“Lost. Lost in them. She doesn’t take care of herself, Matthew.”
“I guess this John Ramsey wasn’t too happy with your decision.”
“He told me to stay in my convent, then, if that was what I wanted.”
“He was hurt.”
“I understood that.” She looked as if it still bothered her. “The other day Mom told me she never liked him.”
“She wouldn’t, would she? He wanted to take you away.”
“That makes her sound selfish. She isn’t selfish at all.”
“No. But I’ve watched her enough to know she needs everything to stay in its place.”
“Its place? Thanks.” Emily gave him a quick, tight smile. “The second prospect, the teacher, said I had a martyr complex.”
“Do you?”
“No.” She didn’t take even a second to think about it. “You haven’t given up the life you would have wanted?”
“Haven’t we talked about this before?”
“Oh, yeah. Great town, good food. That conversation.”
She stood up with a decisive air that let him know the subject was closed. “Do you get seasick?”
“Not usually.”
She tucked her wrappers into the cooler and took his hand. “Then come with me.”
THEY STOOD at the base of a poplar, watching its branches bend in the wind.
“You’re kidding.”
She smiled and shook her head. She must have been twelve when she was last buffeted around in a tree with Sue and Liz.
“It’s a good day for it,” he admitted.
“Perfect.” She and her cousins had always come to these trees, but she remembered her father taking her to the oaks beyond the marsh. Not to climb when it was windy. To sit in and eat raisins, to tell stories, to see the end of the property line. He’d point from side to side to side to side and tell her as far as they could see the land belonged to Robbs. She hadn’t thought about that for years.
“You first,” Matthew said.
“Chicken?”
“Hey. It’s so I can cushion your fall.”
She jumped to grasp a branch above her head, swung her legs over and pulled herself to her feet. It was like riding a bike. You didn’t forget.
As soon as she was off the ground she could feel the tree swaying. She kept climbing until she reached branches that might not hold her weight. Matthew was right behind her. Just when he let go of one branch to reach for another a huge gust shook the tree. Her heart pounded, but he grinned and gave her a thumbs-up sign.
Every time the wind came up the leaves shook so hard she couldn’t hear anything else, not even Matthew’s voice beside her. It died down, and the tree rocked gently. It blew and the tree swayed like a ship on rough seas. She was exhilarated, but frightened, clinging to the branch even th
ough it didn’t feel connected to the ground.
“I always hated this!”
He pointed to the ground, then eased to the next lowest branch and waited for her to follow. Her foot found the crook of the branch where it met the trunk and then she was there, between his body and the tree. They went all the way down like that until they stood in the grass again. They didn’t touch, but he was so close she could feel him.
“Okay?”
She nodded.
“That was amazing. Why do you do it, if you hate it?”
His nearness made her body ache. She kept her voice as light as she could. “Because it’s amazing.”
He let go of the tree and stepped back. She felt it like a pull and almost reached for him.
“I’ve been thinking about you a lot.” The words popped out. She felt her face flush. No doubt a signal to pay attention to, but ignoring it seemed like a better idea. “I know you won’t be here much longer. Maybe that doesn’t matter.” She should just say it. She would, this time. “I’m attracted to you, Matthew.”
His eyes were warm. “Country girls are so direct.”
“I wish I’d been direct earlier.” They could have had a week already.
“Em, you deserve more than a summer fling.”
A fling. It was the wrong word. A week with Matthew would matter.
“I think about you, too,” he went on, “but I’ve been doing my best to stop. Maybe I’ve given you mixed signals because of that. No wonder you were confused. It’s not a good idea, Emily.”
Cautious and uncommitted. When he’d said that warning bells should have sounded. She picked up the cooler and started walking. Too bad the house wasn’t just around the corner. She needed to get into it and shut a door. Tears seemed to be in her future and she wasn’t sure how long she could head them off.
“Let me take that.” He reached for the cooler. Their hands tangled together while he tried to get hold of it.
She’d kept betting on the warm version of Matthew. Should have gone with the distant one.
Fifteen minutes to home. “Has Daniel called?”
“Not lately.”