Satisfied he had returned the terrace to a safe place for Ms. Bellamy to enjoy, he took the broken table and loaded it up on the trailer. Pulling out his phone, he sent a text.
I am finished and leaving. You are now free to enjoy the terrace, remnants of last night’s storm have been erased.
By the time he made it back to the tool shed, his phone vibrated. Pulling it out, he let out a held breath, reading her response.
Thank you. I apologize for my terse behavior this morning. I appreciate your hard work.
Sending another quick text, No apology necessary - Have a nice day, he smiled as he started the chainsaw, ready to tackle the next downed limb, over the shed.
Dressed, with her former tears now washed away, Eleanor pulled back the curtain, looking down toward the shed. It was too far to see clearly, but she could just make out Mr. Walker piling cut limbs onto a stack of wood next to the shed. He was much larger than she anticipated. Why had I imagined an older man? Retired, perhaps? This man appeared fit and able. Wondering why he would want the job of a groundskeeper when there were many more interesting jobs out there, she acknowledged that her reasons for desiring privacy were not necessarily obvious, leaving some to question her choices as well. We all have our needs… some more secret than others.
Forcing those thoughts from her mind, she moved back to the terrace doors, peeking through the curtains. A slight gasp left her lips as she surveyed the pristine patio. No debris. No glass. No leaves, branches, limbs. Her furniture had been righted and stood ready for her to enjoy. He didn’t have to do all that.
Smiling, she carried her latest book outside and, staying in the shade, she sat in one of the comfortable chairs, placing her glass of lemonade on the stone terrace beside her. After a while, warmth seeped into her body, lack of sleep from the previous night causing her eyes to grow heavy.
Sometime later, jarring awake, she sat up quickly, trying to ascertain where she was. Seeing she was still alone on the terrace, she calmed. While she was asleep, the sun had stretched across the yard, now casting beams over her chair. Leaning over, she grabbed her glass before standing. Uncertain how long she had been asleep, she moved inside, glancing out the window just as Mr. Walker walked up from the shed, the leaf blower in his hands.
Placing her empty glass into the sink, she smiled before sending a text.
Several hours later, Rafe had most of the storm’s damage cleaned up. Firing up the gas-powered leaf blower, he moved by the side of the house, blowing the downed leaves away from the flower garden he had just worked in a week ago.
Finishing that task, he stood with his hands on his hips, turning in a slow circle, pleased with the scene that met his eyes. Nodding in satisfaction, he felt his phone vibrate.
Pulling it from his pocket, his smile widened as he read the text. I will leave lemonade on the table by the back door if you would like some refreshment.
Deciding to take Ms. Bellamy up on her offer, he walked around toward the back, spying a thermos on the small table, as well as a covered, plastic tub. Opening the container, he grinned at the sight of a piece of pie along with a fork.
Taking the treat to the wall overlooking the river, he sat on the stone, digging in, listening to the rushing water below.
Finishing, he washed the container out with the hose connected to the outside spigot before setting it back on the table. He did the same with the thermos, before sending a text. Thank you for the dessert. Just finished.
A moment later his phone buzzed as he walked back down toward the cottage. You’re welcome. Thank you again for making my terrace safe.
My pleasure. I hope you enjoyed some time on it today.
Yes - a nap, in fact. Have a nice evening.
You too. By the time he slid his phone back into his pocket, he had arrived at the cottage. His heart light, he realized that was the longest communication he had had with his employer. It felt good to be doing something that was appreciated and maybe she was beginning to trust him, even if just a little bit. No one should be completely alone.
After heating a pizza for dinner, he moved his spare chair outside to enjoy the early summer evening. The fireflies were back to dancing across the lawn. His eyes naturally drew upward toward the house, where a light shone in one of the downstairs windows. The faint sound of music could be heard.
Curiosity got the better of him and he stood, moving toward the melodious tones of a piano. Walking straight up the hill, uncertainty slowed his steps. Almost turning around to go back to his cottage, he hesitated, rubbing the back of his neck. She wants her privacy. She deserves to live her life the way she wants. He halted as a voice was added to the song. No longer able to pull back, he moved closer to the window.
Shrubs, now neatly trimmed, kept him from standing close but, with the draperies pulled back, he was able to see inside the room. The large room contained a formal sofa and settee flanking the fireplace. A family portrait hanging over the mantle caught his eye, but it was the baby grand piano in the corner that captured his attention.
The woman from the terrace, judging by her hair, was seated on the bench, her hands on the keys. She rocked back and forth gently as the music poured from her fingers. Not perfect, some wrong keys were played, but she kept going. Some passages appeared to be more challenging than others but she did not stop.
Her back was to him, so he was unable to see her face, but her long, dark hair hung in waves down her back. Dressed simply in dark pants and a blue, long-sleeved shirt she was still of indeterminate age, but was definitely not an elderly woman, like he had assumed she would be.
Her head lifted slightly as she began to sing again, causing his heart to stutter. The melody floated through the air, filling his soul with peace. Standing in the dark, the fireflies still dancing across the lawn, the sweet scent of early blooming flowers in the air, Rafe wondered if he had crossed into another world, one he thought was only in fairy tales.
As the song came to an end, she turned slightly on the piano bench and he caught a glimpse of the left side of her face. His breath caught once more, this time in awe of her beauty. Flawless, pale skin glowed in the light of the candles on the piano. No smile graced her lips, but it did nothing to detract from her profile. Her eyes closed as her head bowed, her hands now resting in her lap instead of on the piano keys.
Suddenly aware that he was trespassing upon her privacy, he ducked, beginning to hurry back down the hill. Embarrassed to be sneaking away, he nonetheless hoped his presence had not been detected.
As he made it to the door of his cottage, he shook his head in derision. What an ass I am. First, I sneak to the main house, then I stand peering into a window, then I run away like some child about to get in trouble. Moving inside, he sucked in a deep breath. What is this place doing to me? Laughing out loud, he realized he felt freer than he had in years.
Lights now out, Eleanor walked up the wide staircase, a small smile on her face. It had been a long time since she played the piano. Or sang. She knew she had played a number of wrong notes, her fingers struggling to stretch over some keys, but the desire to feel the music flow again soared through her.
What has come over me? Why now? Halting at her bedroom door, she turned and walked into the room across the hall again. Pulling back the curtain, she peered down at the cottage. She lifted her hand, placing it flat against the pane, as though touching…something.
Jerking her hand back, she shook her head. Stop being ridiculous. The time for fantasies is long gone. Letting the material slide through her fingers, she walked into her bedroom. Finishing her nightly routine in the bathroom, avoiding the mirror, she moved to her bed, sliding underneath the covers.
With a slight smile still curving her lips, she fell asleep, her heart lighter than it had been in years.
10
Steadily walking along the back side of the house, Rafe continually moved his eyes over the area. Up, to see if there were any large limbs that the storm had damaged that might eventually b
low onto the house, and down, because there was only a narrow path behind the house before the ground fell off into the ravine. The forecast called for another large storm system to come through the area today and he hoped to take care of the work before it hit.
He thought the storm the other night was fierce, but the predictions for this one were worse. A ‘nor-easter’ was coming, the wind velocity expecting to spin off several tornados, possibly in the central Virginia area.
Stopping for a moment at the back of the house, he marveled, yet again, at the craftsmanship of the structure, especially in light of its age. From the back edge of the cliff, the stone manor rose three stories. With the size of the trees clinging to the forested ravine, he knew many of them had been there when the house was built. The large, dark stones were the same color as the river rock below and he wondered if most came from the ravine, hauled up by workers long ago. The windows on the front would have the garden view, but he now appreciated the windows on this side of the house, the woods and river below providing an ever-changing panorama.
The air was fresh this time of the morning, dew still clinging to the leaves in the trees and the fern fronds on the ground. For a moment, as he stood appreciating God’s glory all around, he felt a kinship with the man who built the house…who had the vision to place a home on the edge of the cliff so that on one side was the river below and on the other, the sloping lawn leading to the forest. The image of castles belonging to a time gone by, defending their walls and creating a safe haven for the inhabitants, moved through his mind.
A squirrel scampering through the underbrush rustled the leaves, drawing him from his musings. Turning back from his perusal, he continued toward the terrace side of the house. He had sent Ms. Bellamy an early morning text, letting her know that he would be on the backside of the house and near the terrace.
As he rounded the corner, he spied a large limb damaged from the storm, but previously hidden from his view on the other side. He knew it would only weaken with time and, when another storm came through, it would land too close, if not directly, onto the terrace. Worried that might happen when he was not around, he wanted to make sure it was safe for her to enjoy.
Walking back down the hill to the shed, he loaded the chainsaw and the ladder into the trailer hitched to the mower, and drove back up to the house. Once at the terrace, he walked around the base of the thick tree trunk, looking for the best place to secure the ladder while giving him optimum room to use the saw.
Once satisfied, he steadied the ladder’s base on the stone floor, pulled the rope to extend the ladder, and leaned it against the trunk. With a few shakes, he confirmed its security before climbing.
Halfway up, he observed the damaged limb was larger than he expected, almost the size of a small, full-sized tree. Still, he was determined to cut the dead wood off. It would take more than one cut to complete the task, so he’d have to move the ladder halfway through the process.
With storm clouds brewing overhead, he fired up the saw and carefully began moving the whirring blade through the wood. Since the limb was damaged but not dead, the wood was firm, not easily cut. Leaning over, he was just about able to cut it off completely. Frustrated that it bent but did not completely break off, he accepted that he could not continue to lean at the dangerous angle to finish.
Climbing down, he placed the chainsaw on the stone and turned back to the ladder. First lowering it to a manageable height, he moved it around the base of the tree until it was on the other side of the heavy, now-dangling limb. Repeating the process, he pulled on the rope to extend the ladder, steadying it against the trunk. Once satisfied it was in place, he bent to pick up the chainsaw when he heard a loud crack. Looking up, he barely had time to cover his head as the massive, tree-sized limb came crashing down.
Eleanor groaned in frustration, the Internet going out making her work more difficult. Inside, she was staying away from the family room, whose patio doors opened onto the terrace, not wanting to be seen by Mr. Walker. From the upstairs study, she gave in to temptation and peeked from the window, jumping back when she saw him close by with the chainsaw in his hands, his thick arm muscles straining with the exertion of the task.
Dropping the curtain, she stepped back a few paces as though he might see her, an impossibility with the thick drapes between them. His face had been obscured through the branches, but he was larger than she imagined. Blowing out a breath, she turned and moved back to her desk.
The noise of the saw stopped and she heard the squeak of the extension ladder being raised and lowered. The Internet had finally given up and she knew her phone landline was out as well. Continuing her paperwork, she found it difficult to concentrate, knowing he was just outside. Standing, she decided to move to a different part of the mansion so she would not be tempted to sneak another peak.
Gathering some files, she was walking toward the door when she heard an enormous crash. Startled, she stared toward the curtained window. Realizing what a large limb he had been working on, she wondered if he would be sawing it into logs for the fireplaces.
Standing in the middle of the room, she listened for the chainsaw engine to fire up again. No sound. Cocking her head to the side, she listened for the sound of the ladder being lowered. No sound. Curious, she moved past her desk, placing the laptop and files back on the top as she walked toward the window. Still no sound.
Placing her fingertips on the fringed edge of the material, she barely pulled it back, letting out her breath. He was no longer up the ladder, close to her. The large limb was now gone, it’s space allowing sunlight to shine in a bit more.
Knowing the terrace was directly underneath the window, she sucked in a breath, wondering if the limb had damaged the trellis. Still not hearing any sounds from Mr. Walker, she pulled the draperies back an inch more, leaning forward until her forehead was pressed against the cool glass. The heavy limb was lying awkwardly on the partially destroyed trellis, but most of its mass was on the terrace below.
Mr. Walker had shown nothing but skill and finesse since he had begun working there, so the damage to the trellis was surprising. Still uncertain why she was unable to hear him moving below, and getting a bit concerned, she stepped closer to look down, her eyes focusing on the scene below. Gasping, she blinked to clear her eyes.
She could not be seeing what she thought she was. Mr. Walker was lying face down on the stone, his legs sprawled out, trapped underneath the massive wood…and he was not moving.
Whirling, she ran as best as she could out the door of the study and down the stairs, her slight hobble tripping her occasionally, but with her hand firmly on the railing, she managed to stay upright. Continuing down the hall and through the first-floor study, she made it to the terrace doors, gasping for air, before pulling back the draperies, blinking as the sun poured through the glass.
The view before her appeared more daunting than from the floor above. She could easily see Mr. Walker sprawled out, unmoving, on the flagstone terrace, blood streaming from a large gash low on his forehead, right above his eyes.
Without hesitation, she headed for him, stepping over limbs and branches in the way. The wind picked up, whipping her hair wildly about her face. Glancing upward, she spied dark, black clouds moving in quickly, the air was already moist with the impending storm.
Focusing her gaze back on Mr. Walker, she breathed a sigh of relief. The heaviest part of the limb was not crushing him as it was caught on part of the broken trellis, barely being held off his body. Grimacing, she stood in indecision for a moment, wondering how to get help for him, knowing the electricity was off and the phone line was dead. She had her cell but it was all the way upstairs and he needed help now.
Looking down at her blouse, she stripped it off as fast as she could, leaving her in a camisole. Stepping closely, she knelt, tying it around his head, making sure to tighten the ends around his gash. His chest rose and fell with each breath, giving proof that he was alive. I’ve got to get him inside…but how?<
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Knowing she would not be able to use the chainsaw to get him loose of the fallen branch, she stepped around until she was at his head. Bending, with her hands under his shoulders she gave a great heave, only managing to move him mere inches. He mumbled incoherently and she dropped to the cold stone, crying, “Mr. Walker…Mr. Walker, we’ve got to get you inside. Please…can you move?”
His eyes blinked open a few times, but the swelling kept him from opening them completely. He tried to sit up, but fell back immediately.
“If you can just help a bit…um…maybe push your legs…” Immediately contrite, she wondered how injured he was. Perhaps using his legs was impossible. She felt desperate tears forming in her eyes. For someone who had once been so strong, she cursed her weak body.
He mumbled, groaning in pain, as he rolled onto his back, before lying still once more. A gale-force wind whipped past, knocking her over. A loud crash followed and she crawled to the edge of the terrace, looking out over the lawn. A massive tree at the far end of the drive had snapped, it’s large branches now lying across the lane.
Terrified, she forced her mind back to the task at hand. Casting a glance over her shoulder, she estimated they had almost ten feet left to go, just to get to the door. Swinging her eyes up to the sky, she could feel the rain beginning to fall.
An idea forming, she stood and pulled the rope from the back of the mower parked to the side of the terrace. Bending over near his head, she pushed and pulled until she had the rope looped under his back and around his shoulders. After running back inside to get a thick blanket, she rolled him side to side, placing the material underneath his body. Dragging the ends of the now wet rope to the mower, she looked at the attached trailer. Biting her lip in indecision, she leaned over and found the trailer was attached with only a pin. Unclipping it, the trailer came loose easily and she pushed it to the side, her muscles screaming with the exertion.
Rafe: Heroes at Heart Page 7