Undying Love (Secrets 0f Roseville Book 1)

by Betty Bolte

  “You selfish bitch.” Paulette glared at her. “Twin Oaks is my heritage too. What did Mom and Dad say about your plan, or haven’t you told them yet? Grandma would never have left it in your care if she had any idea you’d destroy it.”

  “I’m certain you’re right. I’m sure she’d never speak to you again,” Meg said, her voice sharp as it cut into the family dispute. “Why would you want to do such a thing to a beautiful, historic home?”

  “Explain your reasoning so we can try to understand your motives,” Max said, crossing his arms and tilting his head. “I’m all ears.”

  “Yes, please do.” Paulette mimicked Max’s stance.

  Confronted with a triad of accusers, Meredith resisted the temptation to turn on her heel and stride away. They’d probably chase her down and pry the reason from her. Maybe even tie her to a chair and torture her until she confessed the truth. One way or the other, they would eventually find out. She sighed. They deserved an answer of some kind, even if not the whole truth.

  “Returning the property to nature will honor my husband and his life’s work. That’s all you really need to know.”

  “Willy never would have agreed with your intent,” Meg said.

  “Your husband?” Paulette blinked at her. “You want to bury Willy here?”

  “No. Where’d you get that idea?” Meredith shifted her weight to one foot and considered Paulette.

  “It’s kinda the same thing,” Paulette said. “Tearing down the house to plant grass is like digging a new grave for him.”

  “How did Willy die?” Max asked.

  “Protecting me.” The frown on Max’s face cleared, replaced with raised eyebrows as understanding dawned.

  “Oh, I see.” Max’s mouth screwed into a grimace. “You think destroying something beautiful and historic will make you feel better?”

  “In a word, yes,” Meredith said, snuggling her crossed arms tighter to her waist. “I’m glad you finally understand.”

  “I didn’t say I understand,” Max said, huffing out a disbelieving laugh. “I’d never understand harming one board of a historic property. I thought you cherished them as well.”

  “I don’t understand, I don’t mind saying.” Meg frowned and stalked to where Meredith stood, feet braced as though for an attack. “What I do know is I’m ashamed of you.”

  “It’s really very simple.” Meredith cringed at the derision in Meg’s voice as she noted the tension in the woman’s frame. “This is a huge home waiting for the very family stolen from me. In order to move forward, I must restore peace here.” She laid a hand over her heart.

  Meg shook her head slowly, eyes trained on Meredith’s face. “You won’t have peace inside if you do such an awful act.”

  “You need time to think, to let nature take its course in the grieving process.” Paulette moved to stand beside Meredith, one hand lightly resting on Meredith’s crossed arms. “You don’t need to destroy it immediately, right?”

  “True. I did want to research more about the family who lived here, to understand the history of the plantation before I…um, enact my plan.” Meredith unfolded her arms, effectively ending the contact between them.

  “How do you plan to do that?” Max asked. “Pry each board loose and analyze it? God, Meredith, I can’t believe you.”

  His hands flexed and tightened into fists, shooting images of boxers in their corners dancing through Meredith’s mind. He wouldn’t hit her; physical violence wasn’t his style. She forced her shoulders to drop into their normal position.

  “No, Max. But Grandpa Joe’s journals and letters and, of course, Grandma’s research will hopefully shed some light on who lived here over the years,” Meredith said.

  Meg nodded. “The papers in the old trunk Sean carried down for you.”

  “So while you think about your next steps,” Paulette said, “rather than summoning a wrecking ball, you could see what you can find out about Grace.”

  “Right,” Meredith said. “And why did Edith go off to Kentucky and marry? It would be interesting to see if I can find the answer to that question too.”

  “Have you looked at the online genealogy research site?” Paulette asked.

  “No, I’ve never used it, but Grandma did.” Meredith hadn’t had a moment to even figure out where she could access the Internet. “Meg, do we have Internet service here?”

  Meg shook her head. “Not unless you turned the cable service back on.”

  Meredith looked at Max, striving to ignore the tension in his hands and his stance. “I didn’t; did you?”

  “No. Damn it, Meredith, I’m still stunned by your plan.” Max shoved his hands into his back pockets and rocked onto his heels, glaring at her. “But if it will delay what you seem to consider inevitable for even a day, I’ll call them right now.”

  “Once it’s back on,” Paulette said, glancing askance at Max, “I can help with the research. I discovered a lot about Johnny’s side of the family, so I’d know where he came from.”

  “One day you’ll have to tell me what happened between you and Johnny,” Meredith said. “He seemed like a good fit for you.”

  “He gave me fits,” Paulette said, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. “But, yeah, I’ll tell you about him one day.”

  “So you’re giving Twin Oaks a reprieve?” Max asked. “You’ll not tear it down without notifying me first?”

  He really did care about the old place. Or, worse, he wanted to control the situation. Meredith studied the tightly pressed lips and worried glacier eyes. “For now, but I haven’t changed my mind, if that’s what you’re asking.”

  “Gawd. What do you want?” He strode closer to her. His eyes darkened to deep wells of worry. “What would it take for me to convince you not to do this?”

  “You can’t.” Her throat constricted, making breathing difficult. “You’re the one who made me decide to do it.”

  __________

  Paulette pulled the last article from her suitcase and placed it in the drawer. The old oak dresser held all her clothes with room to spare. She pushed on the drawer, but it didn’t budge. She leaned against it, and finally it rubbed closed. She turned and scanned the room. Her room. It felt good to be home, if only for a little while. Above Meredith’s old twin hung her cross-stitch sampler. Paulette sauntered over to examine it and smiled at the careless stitches. Meredith had never enjoyed the sensation of needle and thread in her hand. She’d rebelled about having to make the sampler, but Grandma insisted a girl should know how to sew. Paulette adored the slide of the needle as it pierced the fabric and then pulled the floss through with a slight vibration. Sewing created music in her hand.

  If Grandma had left everything as is, then her diary should still be under the floorboard in the closet. She opened the door and pushed aside her dresses hanging inside. Two boards from the back of the closet, she pressed on the knothole and popped the third shorter one up. She reached into the dark space, trying not to imagine something grabbing her hand. Feeling around, she found the red clothbound book and drew it into the light. She stood and started to close the door again, but spied a large wooden box up high on the second shelf above her head. She blinked. Her samples. She stretched onto her tiptoes but couldn’t reach the prized box of fabric scraps Grandma had supplied to Paulette from her sewing projects. Scraps that became dresses and blouses and skirts and tops for her Barbies. She wanted to take it down, but she couldn’t reach it. She needed a chair.

  She turned around and spied the only movable object in the room she could stand on. The desk chair. She’d used it before to reach her box. One more time wouldn’t hurt. She hurried to it and rolled it to the open door.

  __________

  Grizabella raised her head, eyes and ears pointed toward the front door. Meredith paused in reading, a frisson of anticipation brushing across her nerves. Was it the Lady in Blue? She sniffed but smelled only the cinnamon-scented candle burning on a small side table. The front door knocker banged
twice, making the cat leap from her napping place and dash into the hallway. Meredith hurried after her to answer the door.

  “Howdy and welcome to the neighborhood.” A lanky brunette with heavy makeup blinked at her with hazel eyes that sparkled with mirth. The woman thrust a foil-covered casserole dish into Meredith’s hands. “We haven’t met yet. My name’s Luanne Brashears. I’m your neighbor to the south of here.”

  “Nice to meet you, and thanks.” Meredith held the cold dish, not quite certain what she should do with the gift. She didn’t want to be impolite, but she also didn’t want company. Would it be rude to not invite her in?

  “I’m so glad you came to take charge of this beautiful plantation.” Luanne smiled at Meredith even as she looked beyond her into the house. “Mrs. O’Connell set such store in your ability to polish this old place up like a new penny.”

  “You knew my grandmother?” Did everyone know Grandma? As well as her desire for Meredith to restore the plantation? Hopefully not.

  “Sure. I stopped in now and then to bring her some veggies from my garden. You know you can never eat all the zucchini and peppers even a small patch yields.”

  “How kind.” Meredith clasped the door, debating on how best to end the conversation.

  “I’d love to see what you’ve done since you moved in. May I?”

  Panic flared in Meredith’s chest. “I’m sorry, but I’m really busy at the moment. Perhaps another time?”

  Luanne blinked rapidly, cocking one hip as she contemplated Meredith. “I see. Well, sure. I don’t mean to intrude.”

  That was code for Meredith had hurt her feelings. Not her intention, by any means. “I am sorry. I—”

  A loud scrape upstairs preceded a muffled scream. Meredith gaped at Luanne as a second scream reached down the steps. Meredith plopped the casserole on a side table, and then they both raced up the stairs.

  “Paulette?” Meredith called. “Paulette, are you okay?”

  “Owww. In here.”

  Meredith steeled herself against the anticipated emotional onslaught and hurried into their once-shared bedroom. She focused on her sister, struggling to sit up on the floor. An overturned desk chair, its wheels spinning, lay on its side in front of the open closet. A quick glance inside showed a wooden box stuffed with various scraps of colored cloth nearly falling off the highest shelf.

  “What were you doing?” Meredith helped Paulette to her feet.

  “I found my old box of swatches and patterns.” She checked herself over and then looked at Meredith. “I used to be able to balance on the chair, easy peasy.”

  Meredith frowned. “It’s always been foolish to try to stand on a chair with wheels.”

  “Why did you want that old box?” Luanne asked.

  Meredith blinked at the unfamiliar voice, having forgotten momentarily the woman had followed her.

  “I’m sorry; I don’t believe we’ve met.” Paulette smiled at the stranger and stuck out her hand, and Meredith snickered at the non sequitur. “I’m Paulette O’Connell.”

  “Luanne Brashears, your southern neighbor.” Luanne shook hands with Paulette. “Nice to meet you. So, why did you risk your neck?”

  Paulette chuckled. “Over some scraps of fabric, I’m afraid. Dad always said it was a waste of time. I didn’t realize it could be dangerous too.”

  “What?” Meredith strode to the closet and stared up at the box.

  “You don’t remember?”

  Something in her voice made Meredith turn to scrutinize her expression. She found disappointment blanketing her features. “There’s much I tried to block out from our childhood. Refresh my memory.”

  Paulette righted the chair and pushed it back to the small desk. Resting both hands on the back of the chair, she turned and regarded Meredith. “I dreamed of being a fashion designer, of one day having my own line of clothes.”

  “Like Coco Chanel.” Meredith grinned. “I do remember now. You made clothes for your Barbie dolls.”

  Paulette shrugged. “I did.”

  “They were pretty too.” Meredith considered her wistful countenance, the tension in her hands gripping the chair. “You became an interior designer, though. So what happened?”

  “In a word? Dad.”

  “Because it was a waste of time?”

  Paulette nodded, knuckles white.

  Meredith hurried to her sister, wanting to hug her but afraid of being rebuffed after all the rough water between them. “I’m sorry.”

  “You should ignore your dad and follow your heart,” Luanne said, striding across the room. “After all, Meredith here did and look how successful she is. Your grandmother was so proud of all her accomplishments. And now she can apply her God-given talents to restoring this beautiful home.”

  Meredith gaped at Luanne, flummoxed as to how to respond without making things worse. How dare she say such a thing? Her comment made it sound as though Meredith was somehow better, more accomplished than Paulette. As though Luanne understood anything at all about her family and the right course of action regarding Twin Oaks. She let her gaze wander instead of piercing into the intruder. Only then she had to face all the reasons why she’d avoided coming into this room.

  The quilts her grandmother had stitched still graced the twin beds with their matching wooden headboards, each featuring a raised, carved bouquet of flowers. The clusters of pink roses on the cream wallpaper desperately clinging to the wall had seen brighter days, but they still made her think she smelled their delicate perfume. Her first, or rather only, cross-stitch sampler of the alphabet and numbers hung on the wall, its uneven stitches a testament to why she did not attempt another.

  “Luanne, is it?” Paulette recovered first. “Is there something we can do for you?”

  “Oh no, dear,” Luanne said, waving a hand as though shooing away an annoying gnat. “I simply stopped by to bring my famous casserole to welcome you to the neighborhood.”

  “I’m sure we thank you for your thoughtfulness.” Paulette managed to herd Luanne toward the door, drawing the intruder with her eyes and the motion of her body. “I’m sure you have other tasks you must attend to, as do we, so let me escort you to the door.”

  Meredith bit back a grin and tagged along. When her sister launched into her bossy-bitch mode, nobody could stop her.

  “I see.” Luanne scooted down the steps rather clumsily as Paulette hurried behind her. “Um, remove the foil and pop the dish in the oven for an hour at three-fifty, and you’ll have a nice hot dinner.”

  Paulette opened the front door with a flourish. “Thanks again.” Luanne hurried through the opening. “Bye.”

  Paulette leaned her back against the closed door and grinned at Meredith. “Whew.”

  “Impressive.” Meredith crossed her arms and laughed along with her sister. The relief of being outside of the bedroom made her slightly dizzy. “I never knew you were so diplomatic.”

  An unladylike guffaw erupted from Paulette. “She was a nosy neighbor more than anything else. I can’t stand them.”

  Meredith sobered. “She was right about one thing.”

  Paulette eyed her. “About your awesome talent?”

  Meredith shook her head. “No. You really should follow your heart. It’s not too late.”

  “It doesn’t matter now.” Paulette pushed away from the door and walked to the foot of the stairs. “I’ll go paw through the memories associated with my childhood dreams, then donate the scraps to some quilting club or something.”

  Meredith watched her sister walk up the steps. So often some little thing a person said, whether thought through or not, directed or derailed the course of a person’s life. Paulette’s shoulders were rigid, her back straight, yet emotionally bowed from dreams abandoned after their father punctured them with a passing comment. If only she had a magic wand to wave in order to mend her sister’s broken heart.

  Chapter 8

  Anger can lead a person to say and do things they never thought possible. Including
taking something lovely apart in order to create something even more rewarding. Or at least that was Meredith’s hope as she began contemplating her next steps. She wandered outside to get some air after all the excitement.

  Soon Twin Oaks would help her find the path to alleviate the pain. She finally had a course of action that would assuage her turmoil. She’d bury her grief through the catharsis of a fresh beginning by returning the once-beautiful but now decaying plantation to nature. Let the land heal her, as her grandmother had long ago told Meredith their Irish ancestors believed, though perhaps not in the way she meant.

  First, she’d dismantle the manor one piece at a time, removing anything of value and selling it off to whomever had the money to buy it. Despite the building’s grand scale, the house was too small to warrant using dynamite to implode. Damn. An implosion would satisfy on many levels. But she could visualize a nice, hot fire licking up the exterior. Yes, a fire would serve the purpose of bringing it down.

  Studying the front of the house, she automatically categorized which pieces of the architecture were salvageable. One shutter clung precariously to an upper window frame. Ultimately, what could be saved didn’t matter as much as how quickly she could do her job and subsume the grief into the ground. Hopefully, the inside decor didn’t include any faux painting. She hadn’t noticed any. Otherwise, much of the woodwork would prove worthless. She was in luck that the fireplaces had been constructed using real marble. She’d have to contact a local appraiser to determine the true value of any other items worth recovering from a historical perspective. Then salvage anything else for scrap that would help offset the cost of either the heavy equipment needed to take it apart or for hiring the guardian firemen to conduct a controlled burn.

  Burning down the building in a controlled fashion tugged at her desire to contain the pain, to manage it and flush it once and for all out of her system. Perhaps afterwards she could breathe without the raw hiccup of intense grief snatching at her lungs. Maybe she’d be able to sleep in her half-empty bed without missing Willy like a severed limb, the ghostly ache never far from her mind.