Lonely Souls

by Rosemary Fifield

  Shelby looked surprised. “Should I?”

  “You don’t know me.”

  “I don’t know anyone here. I didn’t know Cassie. But how else can I find the help I need? I have to trust people, don’t I? At least you come with a recommendation. And Shane feels good about your work around here so far. Is there something we’re missing?”

  “Did you know I’ve lost my license for DWI?”

  “No. For how long?”

  “A year. I’ve got about eight months left.”

  “Well, I guess that could hinder you from going places, but doesn’t really affect me. In an emergency, I’m sure no one would criticize you for driving without a license. How do you get around now?”

  “Snowmobile. Friends. My brother picks me up for work.”

  “What will you do when there is no snow?”

  “Walk, I guess. Ride a bike.”

  “I guess that’s a ways away, especially this year with all this snow,” Shelby smiled. “Oh, did Shane tell you we wouldn’t need to start this until after the first of the year?”

  “No.”

  “I won’t be here after this week. I’ll be in Boston through New Year’s and back some time in mid-January. Cassie is going to be here to cook for Shane until Christmas week and then he’s leaving for Portland. She has the option to stay here or go elsewhere, and she hasn’t decided yet.”

  Dawson did not reply, for his mind was racing. One of them was going to Boston for Christmas, the other to Portland. Strange. And Cassie would be here alone with Shane day and night for a week and then possibly totally alone for at least another week. He did not like either of the last two arrangements at all.

  “Dawson? Can I say something based on what I think you’re thinking? Shane is no threat to Cassie’s safety. You have to trust me on that, just the way Shane has to trust you with me.”

  A vision of Shane’s cold stare flashed in Dawson’s mind. “I’m not sure he does trust me.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “Just a feeling I get.”

  “Shane can be very hard to read. He doesn’t say much, and he’s not very outgoing. In fact, he’s a lot like a number of Vermonters I’ve met,” she smiled. “But don’t take him wrong. He’s not hostile or unfriendly.”

  “What’s going to happen with the work on the barn while you’re both gone?”

  “I think Shane will be talking with you about that. Basically, we’d like the work to continue as much as possible during the holidays.” She slid one hand across the table toward him, stopping when her fingertips touched his sleeve. “And Dawson, if you’re concerned about Cassie being alone, my answer is, this house is her home. She can invite anyone she wants any time. So the decision to stay here alone or not is strictly up to her. All I ask is that someone check on the house daily to make sure the old furnace hasn’t quit.”

  Dawson looked down at the long graceful hand near his own. Then, on impulse, he covered it with his. Shelby did not pull away, although her face registered mild surprise.

  “I understand what you’re saying,” he said, “but I don’t know where Cass and I are headed, if anywhere. In the meantime, I’ll think about the job. I guess we’d have to make a lot of things clear on both sides in order to make it work.”

  Shelby smiled and nodded. “I think I’d worry if you weren’t cautious about the whole thing.”

  Dawson withdrew his hand, alarmed now at himself for being so impulsive, and rose to his feet. “I’ll let Shane know by the end of the week.”

  “That’s fine.” Her eyes were still trained on the window, as if she were simply staring into space. “And Dawson, if I don’t see you before then, have a nice Christmas.”

  “Thanks. You, too.”

  She nodded distractedly and her smile was gone. He left the kitchen suspecting that her Christmas was going to be less than nice.

  Cassie was driving his truck into the parking area across the driveway when Dawson reached the outside door of the house. A number of large paper grocery bags were beside her on the front seat, their tops showing above the window’s edge. He supposed he should help her carry them in; it would be impossible to avoid her at this point without looking like a thoughtless jerk. He stepped out into the harsh afternoon light and zipped his jacket against the wind, then started toward the truck. Cassie was no longer alone, however. Grant McIan had appeared from behind his truck, his hands full of lunchbox and tools. When he saw Cassie with the groceries, he set his things in the truck bed and went to help her. They were smiling and talking as she handed him two of the bags, and Dawson realized she had all the help she needed. A feeling of irritation rose in him, but he wasn’t sure why. Grant had just rescued him from the need to explain to Cassie why he hadn’t come around lately. Keeping his head down against the wind, he ducked to the right and headed toward the barn, intent on getting back to work.

  Cassie put the last of the groceries away, then started a kettle of water heating for tea. The penetrating December wind had chilled her to the bone.

  Shelby was sitting at the kitchen table. “Dawson was very nice,” she said. “Friendlier than you thought he would be.”

  “He’s not really unfriendly. Just cautious.”

  “I met his brother a few days ago. Blake? He seemed very different from Dawson.”

  “He is.”

  “I assume Dawson’s the older of the two.”

  “Actually he’s quite a bit younger. About eight years.”

  “Really. I’m surprised. Blake seemed a lot more immature.”

  Cassie took two cups and two saucers from the dish drainer and set them on the counter. “Would you like some tea or cocoa?”

  “Tea, please. By the way, someone named Corey Sloan called me while you were gone. Do you know her?”

  “Yes. Sort of.”

  “She said she wanted to come by and introduce herself. She said she grew up in this house; that her dad’s the one who sold it to us.”

  “That’s right. When is she coming?”

  “At four.”

  Cassie glanced at the clock; it was three-forty.

  “Do I detect something less than enthusiasm?” Shelby smiled. “What’s up with Corey Sloan?”

  Cassie hesitated. “Nothing.”

  “Come on. How am I going to know what to expect?”

  “ Nothing. She’s just not my type.”

  “Oh? What type is she?”

  “Cheerleader type, I guess.”

  “Ah, one of those.”

  The sarcastic edge to Shelby’s voice took Cassie by surprise. But, of course. The athletic, vivacious redhead with the outgoing personality and pretty face. She and Corey were like peas in a pod, right down to their hair color.

  “She’s okay,” Cassie said carefully. “We just never ran in the same circles, that’s all. I’m sure you’ll like her.” She took a third cup and saucer from the cupboard beside the stove, then placed tea bags in each of the cups. “I’ll be happy to serve your tea in the parlor, if you prefer.”

  “ I was assuming you’d join us. Of course, if you don’t want to, that’s your choice.”

  Cassie rummaged in the silverware drawer for spoons. “I assumed it would be just the two of you.”

  “Why? It’s not like she’s a stranger to you.”

  “She’s coming to see you, Shelby. She would never come to see me.”

  “Did something happen between the two of you?”

  “No. Nothing ever happened between the two of us. That’s the point.”

  “Then get over it,” Shelby said, frowning. “Things change. People change. You’re making assumptions based on high school.”

  Cassie was momentarily taken aback. This was a side of Shelby she had not seen before, but rather than find it offensive, she found it made her smile. She had begun to chafe under Shelby’s carefully controlled niceness, and had wondered if the woman would ever show another side.

  “Maybe, maybe not,” she answered as she placed the
cups on a tray to carry into the parlor. “I guess we’ll find out.”

  Corey arrived a few minutes early, her perfect cheeks nicely flushed and her aqua eyes bright as she came in from the cold ell. She greeted Cassie with a friendly smile and looked around the cozy kitchen as she took off her coat, no doubt assessing the house for changes. She continued to look things over as she followed Cassie through the dining room and into the parlor, behavior that irritated Cassie although she knew she probably would have done the same thing. Shelby was seated in an overstuffed chair in the parlor, with an afghan across her legs. A table lamp beside her cast soft light on her upturned face. Cassie introduced the two women, noting with satisfaction Corey’s startled expression at the sight of Shelby’s scars.

  “it’s very nice of you to come,” Shelby said with a smile. “I haven’t had a chance to meet too many people yet. Please, have a seat.”

  Corey sat, looking vaguely uncomfortable as she attempted to not stare. “Thank you. I wanted to welcome you to Chatham and offer any help you might need getting settled.”

  “Well, thank you. That’s very nice. Actually, Cassie’s been doing most of that for me. She’s my right hand, so to speak, but I appreciate the offer.” Shelby paused, and when Corey said nothing, Shelby said, “I understand you grew up in this house?”

  “Yes, I did. So did my dad and his dad.”

  “Really? That many generations! How could you bear to part with it, then? Wasn’t it hard?”

  “Well, my husband is a plumber, not a farmer. And he hates old houses, so he didn’t want it. And the rest of my family is quite a bit older than me and settled into their own lives in other places. No one really wanted a farm.”

  “Still, it’s a shame it ended up with an outsider like me when it has so much family history.”

  Corey shrugged her shoulders. “ I’m just happy to see it lived in and taken care of. My dad’s too old to maintain it properly anymore, even though he doesn’t think so. So how do you like it here?”

  “Well, I really don’t know yet,” Shelby smiled. “I’ve actually only been here a little over a week. I have met some nice people, though.”

  “You come from Maine?”

  “Most recently. I grew up in Boston.”

  “Allen and I go to Maine a lot. It’s so beautiful up there. Where were you?”

  “Portland, mostly. I did live inland with friends for a while.”

  “Allen and I go up to Camden. It’s so gorgeous. When those windjammers come in it’s so spectacular to see …” Corey’s voice trailed off and color crept into her cheeks.

  “I know what you mean,” Shelby smiled. “Shane used to work on a windjammer in the summer years ago, and he’s told me all about them. I remember seeing the tall ships in Boston harbor in 1980. Would you like some tea or coffee? And some of Cassie’s world famous banana bread?”

  Cassie went into the kitchen to fetch the refreshments while Corey and Shelby continued their conversation.

  “Tell me about this house,” Shelby was saying as Cassie placed a cup of tea in her hand. “Shane says your dad feels there are fireplaces inside these walls.”

  “Oh, he’s sure of it. They were boarded up by his father when parlor stoves and kitchen stoves came into use and fireplaces were considered old-fashioned. But you can see the arch in the basement , and he’s pretty sure the whole thing’s intact, ovens and all.”

  “The arch?”

  “The brick support for the big central chimney that the fireplaces backed up to. It’s arch-shaped for strength. The wood cookstove in the kitchen is on it.”

  “Ah, yes. The wood cookstove. So far we’re not using it. I know Cassie would like to, but I have a real fear of fire. Especially in a place I’m not used to. But the idea of the original fireplaces still being there intrigues me. In time, I would love to restore the house to its original condition.”

  “The one to talk to about that is Grant McIan’s mother. She’s president of the historical society, and old houses are her hobby.”

  “Grant McIan? He’s the one who’s going to be using my trees. I’m still trying to keep everyone straight. I’ll have to talk to him about that.”

  The three women sipped their tea and then Corey said, “You know, Shelby, we could be sisters. Your hair is more auburn than mine, but I’m a red-head, too, freckles, and all. Did you hate it when you were growing up? I did.”

  “Yes,” Shelby grinned. “The boys always made fun of me and called me ‘Tomato Head.’”

  “They called me ‘Red’ or ‘Patches’ because of my freckles. Tink Johnson still calls me ‘Patches.’”

  “Who?”

  “Tink Johnson.” Corey began to laugh. “I guess that’s a pretty ridiculous name itself. We used to call him ‘Tinkerbell’ and then it just became ‘Tink.’ I don’t even remember what his first name is.”

  “Why ‘Tinkerbell?’”

  “Because he was the biggest lummox around.”

  Shelby laughed. “Isn’t there a guy working on my barn that they call ‘Dasher?’”

  “Butch Phillips’ brother. He was one of Santa’s reindeer in third grade and the name stuck. We also had Ringo Wyman who thought he could play drums.”

  “And don’t forget Frog Cooper,” Cassie added. “He was the one we dared anyone to kiss.”

  “Yeah, but have you seen him lately? He came home from New York for Thanksgiving, and I don’t know what he did, but he’s no frog anymore!”

  “Actually, he never was that bad. It was just his stupid-looking haircut and all the zits.”

  Shelby was obviously enjoying the conversation. “So what about the women? Or don’t they get nicknames?”

  “They don’t seem to stick as much,” Corey said, looking to Cassie for confirmation. “In school they were mostly take-offs on a name, like ‘BoyJoy.’ They were never very original, and, of course, some weren’t very nice.”

  “I saw 4H Peters last week,” Cassie said. “He hasn’t changed at all.”

  “4H?” Shelby grinned. “Let me guess. ‘Horny?’”

  “Yup.”

  “Uh, ‘Hairy?’”

  “Very good!”

  “ ‘Husky?’”

  “Nope.”

  “ ‘Heavy?’”

  “Nope.”

  “I give up.”

  “ ‘Hickied’ and ‘Horrible.’”

  The three women burst into laughter and were still recovering when Shane walked into the living room. Their contagious merriment brought a smile to his face. “Mrs. Sloan, it’s nice to see you again. It sounds like you’re all having a good time.”

  Cassie wiped a tear of laughter from her eye. “We were talking about nicknames.”

  “Shane has a nickname,” Shelby offered. “It’s what attracted me to him the first time we met.”

  “Shelby.” Shane’s smile had disappeared.

  “Oh come on, you’re here with ‘Tomato Head’ and ‘Patches!’” Corey said to him. “How bad could it be? What is it?”

  “You honestly think I would tell you?”

  “’The Bod.’” Shelby said with a devilish look on her face.

  Corey’s eyes lit up. “’The Bod?’ Wow.” She looked Shane up and down in an exaggerated fashion, and Cassie found herself looking him over as well. He was trim and lean, but had none of the sculpted muscle development that would rate calling him “The Bod.”

  “It’s not what you think,” Shane said, watching Corey. “It’s short for Ichabod, as in Ichabod Crane. The tall gangly geeky guy.” He then turned steely ice-blue eyes on Cassie. “And if any of those guys out there ever call me anything remotely similar, you are in trouble, and I’m not kidding.”

  Cassie grinned at him. “The Headless Horseman couldn’t drag it out of me.”

  Shane gave her a tight smile. “Very funny.”

  Cassie raised her hand in a gesture of peace. “I understand. Try calling Sonny ‘Tonto’ some time and see what happens.”

  “Well, I
need to get home and make supper,” Corey said, rising from her chair, “but this was fun. We’ll have to do it again soon. Perhaps at my house next time.”

  “Some time after the holidays,” Shelby smiled. “I enjoyed it too. Thank you for coming.”

  Corey said good-bye to Cassie at the door, and Shane walked her out to her car. Cassie paused at the kitchen window to watch them, and her eye was drawn to movement in the shadows of the barn. Grant was standing there, a stricken look on his face as he watched Corey drive away. It was true then, Cassie thought to herself. What a shame. Grant was wasting himself pining after Corey Sloan. If only Sonny were half as devoted to her. If only Sonny were devoted to her at all.