by Betty Bolte
Meredith wandered through the rest of the house, Max following silently. Her tour of the upper floors was cursory at best. She avoided the attic entirely, not prepared to open that door to the past. Max’s silence suited her. She didn’t want to talk about her plans with anyone. Others wouldn’t agree with them, for one thing. They didn’t understand the hurt and anger deep inside her. Hell, she didn’t totally understand it. She surveyed the interior, knowing without thinking it through what she’d need to do to put this past firmly behind her once and for all. She glanced at Max when he stopped beside her in the kitchen, his spicy aftershave helping to obscure the odors of the old house.
“I guess I’ll stay here until I can make the necessary arrangements.” Meredith refrained from touching the white ceramic counter dotted with green mold. Outside the window, the backyard extended for about five acres before opening up to a large—perhaps two hundred acre?—meadow beyond. A separate two-car garage was tucked at the end of the driveway near the small caretaker’s cottage, out of sight from the front of the property, likely to ensure its curbside appearance remained faithful to that of the nineteenth-century expectations. Primordial oaks and maples, ones she and Paulette used to monkey in, provided shady oases across the expanse. Two giant magnolia trees stood sentinel at the back, where she knew they marked the entrance to the O’Connell family cemetery nearly hidden at the edge of the open area. She leaned slightly to the left. There. The grave stones, some drunken with age, were clearly visible and surrounded by a black wrought-iron fence and gateway. The arch above the gate announced the family name in wide, rounded letters. From here she could discern the weary steps leading up to the ancient gazebo, the gingerbread trim drooping over the entrance to the shadowy interior.
“Good. You’ll have chance to decide what you’ll do with such a lovely property.” He regarded her and appeared to wrestle with what to say next. After a pause he said, “I envy you, Mrs. Reed. I realize it needs a bit of work, but this is a wonderful place. Both peaceful and historic. I wish I could afford such a home as you’ve been given.”
Meredith turned and gaped at him, wondering if he was joking. He wasn’t. “Peaceful? Have you heard crickets in the summer? Or roosters? God, the roosters crowing all day drive me insane.” She wouldn’t listen to him go all sentimental on her. Restoring the property was not her agenda. “Shall we go? I have to take care of a few matters, and I’d like to put the wheels in motion.” Meredith shook off the glower Max gave her at the abrupt change in conversation. She headed for the front door.
Once outside, she sauntered toward the truck, hearing Max close the door and lock it. She didn’t look back as she reached the truck and stepped up and inside. Only then did she permit herself to scrutinize the home—no, the house—she’d inherited. Above the front porch, a set of French doors opened onto a balcony with a black wrought-iron railing. Not even a chair occupied the space. With such an old house, she doubted that the balcony floor could support any weight. She had an image of ladies in hoop skirts and men in Confederate uniforms dancing inside the open French doors in the upstairs ballroom, and shook the daydream from her head. She scanned the rest of the area. Over the decades the expanse between the main house and the separate kitchen behind it had been closed in to form one building where at one time there stood two. Soon, after her plans came to fruition, there would be none.
Max joined her in the vehicle and drove for a time in silence, the only sound the symphonic muzak oozing from the stereo. She felt the weight of his assessment. Even after he returned his attention to the winding road before them, she sensed his appraisal, weighing her words and actions and the silences between them.
“I assume you’ll go through with the application your grandmother had me submit.” Max shot her a glance and then focused on navigating the streets of Roseville. “Right?”
Outside the car’s window, the quaint town square slipped past. Roseville had been established early in the nineteenth century and served as the county seat of government. The stately brick courthouse with its white clock tower stood in the center of the square surrounded by a hodgepodge of antiques stores, diners, boutiques, and a two-screen movie theater. A woman holding the hand of a child skipping along the sidewalk hurried toward the Hideaway. The popular restaurant once housed the old jail. Eating in the former jail cell with her parents had been a highlight once upon a time. Shoving away the sharp stab of nostalgia, she refused to allow the past to influence her future.
“What application?” Did the man have to speak in riddles? Keeping her eyes averted, the young family held her attention as she waited for his answer.
“To have the plantation added to the National Register of Historic Places.” Max turned on his indicator and waited for the light to change.
“No.”
“No?”
“That’s what I said.” Was he hard of hearing too?
“It’s already in the system.” He cut her a glance and focused on the traffic. “Why don’t you want it to be listed?”
“I have other plans for the property.” She looked at him, observed the frown pull down between his brows. “It is mine to use or sell as I choose. No strings attached?”
He steered the car onto Market Street. “I’d assumed you’d want to honor your grandmother’s intent and keep the house in the family like so many others in these parts choose to do. Or at least, given your background, appreciate the need to preserve the area’s history for future generations.”
“You know what they say about assuming things.” Meredith tugged on the seat belt strapped between her breasts where it bit into her. She held on to the vinyl strap to relieve the discomfort. “And, to be clear, I never said I was selling.”
“But you don’t want to have official protection for the structures, to keep them as testimony to the history of this area?” Max eased the car into a parking spot in front of the old house that served as his office.
A white sign hung on a matching post beneath a spreading maple tree growing next to the sidewalk. The former residence housed Estate Planning Attorneys, specializing in historic preservation law, with five attorneys listed. She scanned the names until spotting Max’s—James M. Chandler—second from the bottom. Not a ranking member of the firm. Good to know.
“I haven’t decided exactly what I’ll do, but I will over the next week or so.” Electing to keep her own counsel, she opened her door and stepped out into the soft morning air. Max soon followed suit, studying her over the roof of the pickup. The sound of tires on asphalt joined with the thump of music blaring from radios in passing cars. She should say something. “I’ll collect Grizabella from your secretary and head back out to settle in for the duration.”
“You make it sound like you’re preparing for a siege.” Max chuckled and closed his door, and then strode to meet her in front of the vehicle. “I put my card in the folder I gave you earlier. Call me if you need anything.”
“I doubt that will be necessary.” She extended her hand and met his curious gaze, steeling herself from any memories attempting to assert themselves. “I appreciate all you’ve done for my grandmother and for me.”
“My pleasure.” He engulfed her hand with his larger one.
Never had the touch of a hand ignited such a warm buzz against her skin. The sensation brought to mind the practical joke Paulette had played on her not too many years ago. The stupid buzzer handshake had jarred and left her tingling all over. The feeling sparked by Max’s grip topped even that. Did he feel the same jolt of electricity that zinged through her? He peered at her, probing her expression. When his gaze landed on her mouth, she inhaled sharply, lips parting involuntarily. Damn. That did not happen. She would not permit anything to distract her or sway her self-imposed mission. She pressed her lips together and ended the contact between them. She had no time for complications in her life. No interest in another man.
“Um…is the grocery still off the square on College?” She took a step backward, putting distance
between them, away from whatever vibes he radiated.
Max smiled, a slow, sensual movement that implied they shared a secret. “Edna’s? Yep, it’s still there.”
She nodded and moseyed up the sidewalk toward the office door, careful to step over the eruption of concrete under pressure from a tree root threatening to trip her. “I’ll get Grizabella, stop at the store for essentials, and then head back to the house.”
Max strode in front of her and opened the door, waiting for her. She slipped past him, avoiding both touching him and looking at him. She smelled cinnamon and apples as she scanned the homey reception area. More of that instrumental music similar to the compositions she’d heard in Max’s truck made her think of happier days with her husband. The antique furniture, flowered wallpaper, and apple pie combined to make the law office feel surreal. If it weren’t for the laptops and printers scattered among the vases of flowers and stacks of files, she’d feel like she were visiting someone’s home. The secretary, Sue Grimwood, approached her with a smile on her maroon-painted lips and two cups of coffee in hand. The woman had welcomed her warmly when she first arrived to meet with Max, sharing that she loved old homes and had three children and a grandson all in the space of minutes. If Meredith was planning to stay, which she wasn’t, Sue could become a good friend.
“No cream with two sugars, and black.” Sue handed Meredith one cup and Max the other, and then tucked her hair behind both ears, making her appear like an eager teenager. “So, ready to move in?”
Meredith shrugged lightly. “For a while anyway. Thanks for remembering.” She lifted the cup in salute and took a sip. Hot and sweet. Perfect.
“Has Griz been any trouble?” Meredith cradled the steaming cup between her hands. The cat carrier sat where she’d left it, but the top door stood open. She looked around, searching for the feline. “Where is she?”
“She’s fine.” Sue gestured with a manicured hand to the elegant settee situated in the bay window, sunlight streaming in to highlight the calico snuggled there. “I took pity on her and let her out.”
“Thanks for keeping her for me.” Meredith took a long gulp of coffee and set the mug on the desk. “I should be going.”
“First,” Max said, “let me give you a copy of that application so you’ll at least know what’s been put into motion. You’ll want one for your records, I’m sure.”
Sue nodded her head rapidly, silky hair escaping from behind her ears to bob frantically about her chin. “You know what Max always says. That beautiful old plantation really ought to be preserved for future generations to enjoy and learn from. You’re fortunate to own such a splendid property.”
“Yes, it is beautiful.” Meredith didn’t have the heart to burst the woman’s bubble of excitement. While nothing would change her mind on this subject, she’d learned how to play the angles until the plans became actions. Max folded his arms, waiting, his expression guarded. She should at least pretend to care. She shrugged. “Fine, but make it quick.”
Max motioned for her to follow him and then strode to his office. Pacing behind him, she estimated the weeks needed to make the necessary arrangements and have the right people do the right things to carry out her plans. Given the very real possibility of resistance from local historians and probably her own family, she’d have to allow extra time. She hated to draw this process out any longer than required, but she’d learned long ago to be realistic when setting the timeline for a demolition. Her reputation rested on her ability to carry through with the detailed plans. Once she’d set the schedule for a project, she had never missed her deadline.
“I expect we’ll hear one way or the other in a few weeks,” Max said.
She stopped beside him. His desk, an expanse of highly polished wood, reflected not only the late morning sunshine but the apparent extreme orderliness of Max’s mind. Or perhaps Sue’s. The inbox matched the desk and contained a pile of folders, stacked with military precision. Not the haphazard mishmash of Meredith’s desk at home, but with the corners aligned and the tabs all pointing in the same direction. Pens and pencils stood at attention in separate wood cups, likely, Meredith thought with a grin, to prevent them from mingling after hours and procreating. Mixing the two just wasn’t done in polite society.
“Working with the National Register is never easy.” She fingered a gold-tipped pen, angling it against the flow of the others in the cup to see if Max would notice. She hid a conspiratorial grin at her little rebellious act. “I’ve managed to avoid working with them any more than absolutely necessary.”
“We have plenty of time, though. Right?” Max glanced at her and then back to the folder on the desk. One manicured finger, the nail clean and blunt-tipped, toyed with the edge of the manila stock, capturing Meredith’s gaze.
Willy’s hands sprang into her mind, his long fingers and wide palms calloused and capable. How many times had those fingers clasped her own, squeezing gently to share a joke or convey his feelings? She’d watched Willy work magic with those hands, creating a work of art from bushes and flowers and rocks. They’d joined forces once they married, she designing the homes, the developments, and other buildings, and he designing the artistic landscapes to enhance the overall appearance. Walking through his gardens was like exploring a fairy world, complete with blossoms and lighting and winding paths. Willy’s designs had won multiple awards over the past decade, and she’d been proud to be his wife.
They’d built a good life together, filled with love and promise. Their love had brought a deep abiding happiness into her world. Until the attack stole everything from her.
* * * *
Paulette O’Connell drew up to the curb and killed the engine. The pale spring sky provided a backdrop to the house she’d shared with Johnny for the last four years. Across the street, the bungalow sat dark and empty, a for-sale sign swinging in the early morning Indiana breeze. She clutched the steering wheel, wishing she felt something akin to the sadness or grief she ought to feel at the end of this once oh-so-promising relationship.
She’d fallen in love with the tall, sandy-haired man with the quick smile. He liked to joke and chat about anything and nothing. He seemed to be the perfect man for her. Only somehow she hadn’t noticed Johnny’s lack of willingness to share his feelings with her. His inability to actually care about most everything. Or, at least on the surface, he showed no signs of possessing a flicker of emotion, good or bad, about anything. Including her. Even when she finally had had enough and told him she held no ill will toward him but she couldn’t live with him any longer. He’d blinked and nodded, as though she’d told him the mail had arrived. Then he’d gone on about his plans to move, alone, to his dream job in Alaska.
Her car held the entire sum of her possessions, crammed into two good-sized boxes and a pillowcase. When she’d thrown her things together two days ago, she didn’t think through her actions. She’d crashed on a former coworker’s couch while she contemplated her situation. She no longer had a home, a man, or even a job after the house she’d been assigned to decorate had been completed. The firm she’d worked for told her they had to cut back on staff, and she’d been the last one hired. Time to face the awful truth. She had one last place she could go, one person she could descend upon who couldn’t refuse her. And after all the sacrifices she’d made, surely her sister, Meredith, owed her. Even though Paulette had tapped her before to get her out of a scrape here and there, they were still siblings. Sisters looked out for each other, right? It was no matter that they hadn’t actually seen each other in years or talked on the phone in many months.
Paulette laid a hand on her abdomen for a moment, her resolve slipping as she envisioned the murky path ahead. Given that Meredith now owned the plantation, she definitely had the room as well as the means to provide a home for Paulette. There was enough space in the old place that they could go for weeks without ever seeing one another should push come to shove. If only Paulette could manage to stifle the impulse to argue with her, perhaps they
could coexist in relative peace. Maybe.
She turned the key and slipped the car into gear. Pulling away from the curb, she glanced at the once-welcoming house for the last time. The flowers and bushes she and Johnny had carefully planted when they first moved in were beginning to bud in anticipation of spring. White lacy sheers hung at the windows bordered by green shutters. Her dream home, or so she’d thought. She choked back a sob. Such a forlorn hope, after all.
Johnny had already left for his new job in Ketchikan, one of the tipping points that told her he didn’t truly care about her and what she wanted in life or, for that matter, in their relationship. She’d argued against his taking the job, hating the idea of living where it snowed and stayed cold the majority of the year. She’d tried to convince him to look for a different position in the South, where the climate stayed warmer on average than the north. Hell, Indiana had been difficult enough for her, with the gray skies and cold, windy winters. She longed for the sun like a cactus in the desert longs for rain. He’d ignored her, told her she was being selfish, and continued making the arrangements necessary for his move.
Now it was her turn. Driving faster, she merged onto I-65 southbound and headed for her new home.
Chapter 2
Edna’s Supermarket hummed with customers. On Saturdays, the town of Roseville enjoyed the onslaught of people hurrying to complete the many errands the workday left no time for during the week. Meredith lowered her car windows enough to allow ample airflow on this spring afternoon. She’d parked in a shady spot at the back of the small lot, hoping to avoid dings and scrapes as well as to keep the car as cool as possible. The cat’s repeated plaintive yowls reverberated from within the bold yellow Camaro. “I understand, Griz. I’ll be back as quick as I can.”
Meredith strode across the lot and into the closely packed aisles of the town market. Edna’s had existed as long as she could remember and served as the town nexus. Everybody shopped there, if for no other reason than to know what was happening. The automatic doors ground open, a cold blast of air greeting her when she strolled inside. She hadn’t been to this town in decades, and yet everything seemed the same as when she last visited. She moved along the aisles, making her choices quickly. The sooner she finished her shopping, the less likely she’d run into anyone she knew. Of course, that was unlikely, since she hadn’t even thought of Roseville in more than twenty years. She relaxed her shoulders and walked on.