by Jenna Mindel
Everyone stopped. Darren jiggled his finger in his ear as if she’d blown out his hearing. “Thanks, I think.”
Stella grinned at her. “She’s right. Get back here, Ed. Connie. Let’s find out what they look like.”
“I know what they look like,” Ed spat back.
“Then we’ll follow you.” Darren slipped the edibles booklet back into the pocket of his official-looking canvas jacket.
He seemed calm, but Bree felt tension in him. And she noticed that the tops of his ears were red. This man held back his anger instead of giving it full vent. He had control.
“But we’ll meet at the van in twenty minutes and move to the next spot.” Darren’s stern voice warned against argument.
Ed gave him a nod.
Bree wasn’t sure why Ed wanted to challenge Darren, but at least the class was moving toward a clump of green leaves with purplish stems that disappeared into the dirt.
“These are wild leeks,” Ed said and waited.
“Correct.” Darren bent and used his garden shovel to pry around them, loosening the dirt and bringing up slender white bulbs at the end of those pink-purple stems. “And that’s all there is to it.”
“Wow, easy. And look how many there are.” Connie scanned the area.
“I’m thinking of a potato-leek soup recipe I have.” Stella took Bree’s hand. “Come with me. We’ll have a bunch in no time.”
Bree laughed. The tense moment was forgotten as everyone spread out and started digging up ramps. An oniony scent filled the air along with everyone’s chatter. She spotted Darren on his cell phone, so at least they had coverage out here. Bree had turned hers off.
“Did you enjoy smelt dipping?” Stella asked.
“I did.” The fingertips of Bree’s gloves were crusted with dirt. She should have grabbed her mom’s garden variety instead of these knitted ones.
“And?” Stella wiggled her eyebrows.
Bree glanced at Darren, who was out of earshot, digging up a few ramps of his own. “And nothing. He’s a nice guy and so are his friends.”
“But?”
Bree appreciated her elderly friend’s attempt at kind matchmaking, but it was a moot point. “I’m leaving soon, remember? I can’t get involved.”
“You like him—”
“As a friend, Stella. As a friend.” Bree needed to keep that in mind. She didn’t know what the next two years held but knew she had to go. God had given her this opportunity, maybe to find real purpose. She needed fire in her life, not convenient settling for the easier route. Falling for Darren might be easy and full of exciting fire, but living here would be neither. What could she really do here with her music?
Twenty minutes went by fast, and Bree’s basket was indeed full when she heard Darren announce they needed to load up.
No one had ventured far, so they quickly climbed in the van. Darren headed deeper into the woods, bouncing along an even rougher road. The surrounding trees thinned, and scrubby pines popped up along with mounds of old brown ferns. A creek sliced through a small field with twists and turns.
“Wow, we’re really out here.” Bree had no idea where they were. She exited the van with the rest of the group, anxious to find these elusive fiddleheads.
Darren got out too, and scowled. “Okay, folks, let’s stick close. The weather’s going to turn.”
Bree looked up. Sure enough, dark clouds had rolled in and the temperature had dropped. The light gurgling sound of that creek reminded her of smelt fishing and cold water, making her shiver. She blew her breath out in long white tendrils of mist. “It’s really cold.”
“That’s snow.” Darren had everyone’s attention as he nodded toward the clouds.
“You’re kidding.” Bree looked up. “But it’s May.”
“Let’s make this quick, before we all freeze.” Stella stamped her feet. At least everyone had the sense to wear boots and coats. Not everyone wore hats and gloves, though.
“That okay with everyone?” Darren asked. “Ed?”
“If we must.” He looked like he’d sucked on a sour lemon.
“Yup,” Connie said.
“Your call,” the other elderly gentleman agreed.
Darren went over what they were looking for in the booklet and then elaborated. “There will be several fronds, or fiddleheads, shooting up from the base. Pick only three, and leave the rest so we don’t kill the plant. Look for a brown papery coating. I’ll try to find the first one, but it’s anyone’s game here. If you do find one, whistle so we can all see it.”
They split up with instructions to meet back at the van in twenty minutes.
Of course, Darren found the first one. “Right here, folks. This is a fiddlehead. And there are several more along there, toward the creek.”
Bree forgot all about the cold, jogged toward a field filled with them and picked. Only three per plant. Bree hoped everyone else followed the rules. The immature ferns were a pretty spring green with a grassy scent. Delicate. Wild. She’d try these and find out what she’d missed out on in Vermont.
She made room in her basket for the fiddleheads when the first snowflake fell. Another, and then another. Bree pulled out her phone and took a picture of her basket of goodies with fat snowflakes nestled amid the greens before they melted.
She looked up and noticed that everyone had already gathered around the van. With a sigh, she picked up her basket and walked back. The snow fell heavier now. The flakes stuck to her eyelashes. But it was beautiful and quiet. So very quiet.
At the van, she noticed a hush had settled over all of them as they stood and watched it snow across a pretty field filled with fiddleheads near a small stream.
Darren did a head count. “Where’s Connie?”
Bree looked at Stella. And everyone looked at Ed.
“She wasn’t with me.” Ed raised his hands in surrender. “I’m not her keeper.”
Bree glanced at Darren.
“Everyone get in the van and stay there. I’ll do a quick sweep.”
“Can I help?” Bree asked.
“Stay in the van.” Darren gave her a nod. “Keep them in there, Bree.”
She nodded. He didn’t need more people getting lost. Not out in weather like this. She flicked on her phone—still bars but only a couple in this spot.
“Come on, let’s do what he said and get in the van. We’ll be warmer in there.” She hoped that proved true, because Darren hadn’t left her the keys.
She watched him disappear over a small hill. They were on their own, but then, so was Connie.
Chapter Seven
Darren walked a large half circle, calling out Connie’s name to no avail. The snow fell and stuck in places. A snowy ground cover would soon mask tracks, making his search more difficult. He’d started by following many sets of footprints that had become a few and then one. Someone had walked this way. He hoped it was Connie.
He shuddered to think what might happen if she kept moving, wandering farther away. He hoped she had sense enough to stop and wait, knowing they’d look for her, but the fact that she hadn’t blown her whistle worried him. What if she’d fallen? With an older woman, that was all too possible. Add in the temperature drop, and he had to find her—fast.
He checked his watch. He’d been searching fifteen minutes with no success. He prayed everyone stayed in that van.
His cell phone buzzed with an incoming text message. From Bree.
Connie is here. Safe and sound.
Darren texted back.
Good. Be there shortly.
Shaking his head, he made his way back. Spotting a small red thing sticking out of the snow at the base of a tree, Darren knew why Connie hadn’t used her whistle. He stooped over and picked it up. The string of the lanyard was broken.
Nice. He gritted his teeth. She’d have had access to another whistle if she’d stayed in a pair as he’d instructed.
Darren rubbed his forehead. But then, he’d rushed them with the threat of snow. He’d counted all of them in the field, and then his attention had snagged on Bree taking pictures of her basket. Was that when Connie had wandered off?
This incident wasn’t going to look good to Bree’s mom. Nor did he look forward to entering it in his daily field report, but he wouldn’t shirk his duties. Connie’s mishap was his own fault. He was dealing with older people who needed reminding to stay in pairs because of the dangers out here. Many of the missing person searches he’d been part of had found folks a mile or less from where they’d started out.
He’d do better. Blowing out his breath, Darren made quick time back to the van. The windows were steamed up with so many in there. He noticed Bree’s passenger window and one in the back had been rolled down some to let in fresh air. Smart girl.
Without a word, he climbed in the driver’s side, started the van and cranked up the front and rear defrosters.
“Darren, I’m so sorry,” Connie said.
“Not much of a tracker, are you?” Ed sneered.
“Ed—” Bree and Stella chorused together, ready to jump all over the guy.
Darren raised his hand to quiet everyone, then turned and faced them. “All the more reason to stay in pairs. Got it?”
He looked at Connie. She held something in her hand besides her basket of ramps and fiddleheads. She’d picked a couple of jack-in-the-pulpits. Those wildflowers, which happened to be protected on state lands, were the reason she’d veered away from the group.
Staring down Ed, he reiterated the seriousness of the situation. “Let’s use this as a reminder of how easy it is to get turned around out here. Agreed?”
“Absolutely, Darren.” Stella led the group in agreement.
Even Ed nodded, but he didn’t look impressed.
Darren didn’t care. The old guy was impossible to please. He’d encountered Ed’s type several times in the woods, especially during hunting season. Men who weren’t going to let the DNR tell them how to do things.
He glanced at Connie, and the woman looked so forlorn that Darren gave her an encouraging smile. At least she’d apologized instead of giving him that air of snobbishness he expected from Bay Willows residents. It dawned on him that there wasn’t much of that with this group. Not much at all.
He’d bust her about those flowers, but only a warning. It’d be bad form to ticket one of his class attendees.
“Okay, let’s get back to town.” He didn’t say any more but glanced at Bree.
She gave him a proud smile. She had his back.
He could count on her, and that realization broke something deep inside. She’d chiseled a hole in the shell he’d built around his heart. A year and a half of careful construction, and Bree had rammed through with one look, one smile. Dangerous, maybe, but it felt good.
* * *
Bree stayed behind to help Darren clean up the community room kitchen from their preparations of fiddleheads and ramps. She’d finally tried them, and while the ramps were super flavorful, the fiddleheads didn’t live up to all the hype.
“Could you introduce me to your mom?” Darren dried off the frying pan and placed it in the cupboard.
Bree stopped wiping off the counter. “Yeah, sure. What’s up?”
Darren looked pensive. “I’d like to let her know what happened today. I’d rather she didn’t hear it secondhand.”
From her. Is that what he meant? Bree nodded. “Sure, we can walk over there right now.”
“I’ll drive.”
It wasn’t far. Was it meeting her mother that had Darren looking so uncomfortable? Silly. Her parents were nice people. Although her father wasn’t around. He’d returned home in order to work in Detroit for the week. They exited the building and climbed back into the van.
“Where should I go?”
“Drive straight for two blocks and take a left toward the lake.” Bree pointed. “We’re on the corner in a white cottage with green trim.”
When he didn’t say anything, Bree tried to lighten the mood a little. “She won’t bite.”
Darren tipped his head. “Who?”
“My mother. She’s a reasonable woman. Well, most of the time.”
He chuckled. “It’s not that.” He pulled in front of her parents’ cottage and stared out over the bay.
Small, insignificant snowflakes fell and disappeared as soon as they hit the ground. Nothing like the heavier snow they’d had earlier while on state land.
Bree waited.
He shrugged. “There are a lot of memories here.”
“Of Raleigh?”
Darren nodded.
“What happened?” Bree knew what Kate had said, and Stella, too, but Bree wanted to know why. Maybe Darren didn’t know the answer to that. “I mean, if you care to share.”
He looked at her. “It’s old news. I can’t believe you didn’t hear about it. She took off with my best man the night before our wedding, right after rehearsal.”
Hearing him say it in such a matter-of-fact way made her wince because of the pain in his eyes. This was a wound that still festered. “I’m so sorry.”
“In hindsight, we probably wouldn’t have worked.” He made a sweeping gesture. “I can’t provide all this.”
“This?” Bree didn’t miss the bitterness in his voice.
“I live a simple life and I like it that way.”
Bree felt her hackles go up when she remembered Neil’s comment about Darren’s dislike of the summer resorters. “Not everyone who comes up here is a jerk, you know. This isn’t Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous. We’re just people who’ve made a tradition of summering here.”
“People with a lot more cash than I’ll ever have.” Darren didn’t sound envious at all, just disappointed. As if the summer community had let him down.
Was that because of Raleigh? Or a pattern of actions by some of the more arrogant wannabes who also summered here? She’d run into a few of them, too, but that didn’t mean she painted everyone with the same broad stroke.
Her parents had pushed Philip with her because of the security his career provided. They wanted her settled with the promise of being taken care of. She’d grown up with an expectation of financial security, and maybe too much emphasis was made on that sort of stability.
By accepting the music residency, Bree had placed her trust in God’s provision. She had faith that she’d find the right path through this opportunity, but it wasn’t about the money. Her music had never been about the money.
“Come on, then. I’ll show you how the other half lives.” She gave him a smirk.
He laughed, getting the joke, and his tension eased.
They weren’t rich. Very few in Bay Willows could have been called seriously wealthy, but many were secure or they couldn’t have maintained two homes. Many of the cottages here had been handed down and kept in the family. A long-standing tradition of summering up north in a beautiful place that was void of the employment options found elsewhere.
Bree glanced at Darren as he walked up her parents’ porch steps. The man oozed a different kind of security. A woman could depend on him to do the right thing. That kind of stability was harder to find. That kind of strength lasted.
She slipped past him, walked inside, set down her basket of edibles and pulled off her hat and windbreaker. “Would you like something to drink? Coffee? Or pop?”
“No. I’m good.” He looked determined and a little antsy.
“I can take your coat.”
He refused that, too. “I won’t be long.”
Of course not. He didn’t want to socialize with her kind. Now who was th
e snob? Bree nearly laughed at the thought. She brought him into the living room, where her mother sat in a wingback chair with her foot propped up on an ottoman stacked with pillows. “Mom, this is Darren Zelinsky, the conservation officer facilitating your class.”
Her mother glanced over the rim of her reading glasses, and then her face brightened into a smile. She reached out her hand. “Nice to meet you. Sorry, I’d get up, but I just got situated.”
Darren returned the handshake. “No problem, Mrs. Anderson. I thought I’d touch base and let you know how your class is progressing.”
“Wonderful. Please, sit down, and call me Joan.”
Darren did as asked but didn’t relax. He leaned forward, bracing his elbows on his knees. “Today we had an incident I wanted you to be aware of.”
Concern flashed across her mother’s face. “What happened?”
Bree sat down, too, but kept quiet.
“One of the ladies got turned around in the woods. It could have been a bad situation, especially with this weather, but fortunately, she found her way back before too long. She’d lost her whistle and veered away from her partner. We have to stay in pairs.”
Bree watched her mother digest that information, feeling like a school-age kid sitting in on a parent-teacher conference.
“Yes, of course.” Her mother nodded agreement and glanced at her. “Bree, was there anything you could have done to prevent this?”
Bree had been caught with her head in the clouds once again. She opened her mouth, but Darren cut her off before she could speak.
“Your daughter has been a big help, but keeping everyone safe is my responsibility.”
Her mother’s eyes narrowed. “Thank you for telling me. I’ll be walking with only a cane in a couple days, so I should be able to join you for the next class.”
“About that.” Darren pulled out the schedule from inside his jacket. “My parents have offered to give a tour of their maple syrup operation, and their nearby woods should be loaded with tan and white morels, so I’ve made that change.”
“Wonderful. That works very well.”
“Good.” Darren rose to his feet. “I won’t keep you. Thank you, Joan.”