Elderberry Croft: The Complete Collection

by Becky Doughty

  “Oh, Joe. That’s so romantic! So you were married and lived happily ever after, right? Except that you lived happily ever after apart.”

  “Not quite, Miss Willow.” Joe stood up and began clearing the dishes, needing to stretch his legs, and keep his achingly empty hands busy. Thinking of Vivian always made them feel that way. Willow leapt up, too, and the two of them worked together to put the kitchen back in order. “Vivian had a husband when I met her. And three children by him, to boot. But he’d run out on her a month before we met, leavin’ her with the three kids, less than one month’s paycheck, and a car that couldn’t make it around the block more than twice without catchin’ fire under the hood.”

  “Well, no wonder she was unloading on it.” Willow chuckled, drying the dishes Joe handed her.

  “It took the police nearly six years to locate Bob Harper, and after they did, it took another three years to convince the courts she didn’t owe him a dime. Instead of givin’ in to temptation, I moved out here, far enough away that I wouldn’t be knockin’ on her door when my need for her got so bad I couldn’t hardly stand it, but still close enough to her that if she needed me, I could be there for her, even if it was just over the phone.

  “When the day came that she was a free woman, I got in my car—that same one parked out there under the carport—and I drove straight to her job at the Department of Motor Vehicles. I didn’t bother callin’ ahead. I’d waited long enough. I pulled her up out of her seat, nearly gettin’ myself arrested for it, and hauled her down to the courthouse, with her cursin’ and hollerin’ about how no woman in their right mind would marry a caveman like me.” He shot Willow a cocky grin. “Funny thing; when we stood before the judge, she got all weepy and tender, and she said ‘yes’ to every question he asked us. We were married that day, she kissed me like there might never be a tomorrow, and I got her back to her job three days later, after makin’ sure she had no more doubts about being my wife.”

  “Oh, my,” Willow sighed, dramatically fanning herself with the dishtowel.

  “Oh, yes.” Joe nodded, still quite proud of the way he’d handled everything that day. “Mona stepped in to look after Vivian’s children, and I brought her here for the first time nearly ten years ago now. We talked about our future and realized that regardless of our marital status, Vivian was in no condition to move out here with me—not with three teenagers still under her roof—nor was I prepared, after livin’ my whole life as a single man, to take on a ready-made family. I love those kids, mind you, but I know how I would have felt if some man had stepped into my life when I was a teenager. No thank you. Especially not someone who knows nothin’ about raisin’ kids.”

  Joe turned around and leaned against the counter, pressing both palms down on the cool surface on either side of him. Willow returned to the stool she’d vacated and poured herself another cup of coffee. He rolled his eyes when he saw the face she made with the first sip. It had been sitting on the hot plate too long, and he knew it must taste like burnt mud.

  “So, she comes out here when she can, mostly weekends, and I head that way once or twice a week. It works for us, at least for now. There may come a time when things change, and it may come sooner than later with the last of her kids gettin’ ready to graduate from high school this year. I’d love to have her here with me every day, but I sure do cherish the mornins’ I wake up with her in my arms. I never thought I’d have me a wife; I’d accepted that my lot in life was to take care of the women God had given me in my mother and three sisters. So now that I have Vivian Harper-Sanderson, I don’t begrudge a single moment I get with her, nor do I bemoan the moments I don’t.”

  “Ten years, Joe.” He didn’t know if Willow was still struggling to understand, or just letting it sink in. She had her chin resting in her cupped palms, but when he continued, her eyes closed, as though to shut his words out.

  “Well, Miss Willow, there’s nothin’ more painfully sweet than missin’ someone you love.”

  Chapter 7

  The silence that stretched between them was suddenly filled with unspoken words, and it took everything in him not to look away from her obvious misery. “Child, you got to un-load some of your ghosts. I believe you’re listenin’ a little too closely to the lies of the devil in that pretty little head of yours.” He watched for a reaction from her, but when she didn’t stop him, he continued. “I don’t know who hurt you, Miss Willow, or what you’re hidin’ from over in that little cottage of yours, but I can tell you this. I’ve learned a thing or two in my life, and believe me when I say that livin’ with regrets isn’t livin’ at all.”

  Willow opened her eyes, and to his dismay, her tears began to fall. “Well, Joe, sometimes we don’t choose our regrets. Sometimes regrets choose us, and there’s not a thing we can do about it.” Her voice rose like she was getting all fired up, but he didn’t think she was angry at him.

  “I’m not listening to the devil, even if he is hollering at me half the time. I’m trying to stay tuned to God’s voice, but sometimes even his is hard to hear. When I moved here, I made a deal with him. I told him that on the days I couldn’t hear him, I’d be out looking for someone else to listen to, someone else who needed lifting up. Last night, when I came here, it was because I couldn’t hear God, Joe. I even went outside to the elderberry tree he put there for me, and I leaned into it, begging him to wrap his arms around me, to soothe my spirit. He didn’t. Not then and there, anyway. Instead, he put you on my heart.” She used the cuff of her sweater to dab at the moisture on her cheeks. “He reminded me of the way you looked when I dropped by yesterday morning to chat with you and the Davises. You seemed a little beat up to me. Hollowed out. Like maybe you needed some fortification. I thought the pie was for John Bishop when I put it in the oven, but when I pulled it out, it had your name on it instead.”

  Joe dropped his chin to his chest and let out a long breath. How could he help this girl? Mama always said that the good Lord only wanted vessels. And empty ones at that, empty vessels that he could fill. Well, I have nothin’, Lord. I have nothin’ to give her.

  He opened his mouth to say so, and the words that slipped out were a surprise even to him. “Willow Goodhope, the good Lord may not tell you what you want to hear about you, but I can see now that I have clearly misjudged you and your ears. Your visit last night was just what this old man needed. I was missin’ my Vivian somethin’ fierce, and I was gettin’ ready to draw some lines that I knew she couldn’t keep from crossin’ and that wouldn’t have been fair to her. You, and your pie, sweepin’ in here along with your ghosts, gave me somethin’ else to think about. Someone else, besides ugly ol’ me. I haven’t thought of Farmer McGregor in eons. And Granny Didi? Last night I lay in bed thankin’ the good Lord for the angels he placed all around me throughout my life. I’ll have you know that your name, Willow Goodhope, came up in that conversation.”

  He pushed away from the counter and crossed the room to the table. He didn’t touch her; she seemed fragile, almost see-through again. But he looked her in the eye and said, “But before you go gettin’ a big head or anythin’ like that, remember that even angels fall. You hear me? You’re not immune to slippin,’ no matter how many good deeds you do to drown out the devil.” He bent forward, furrowing his brow to emphasize his words. “You are not immune to fallin’.”

  Then he straightened. “But neither are you alone. You got your daddy, and it sounds like he’s a good man. For that I’m glad. But you also got Kathy. She’s a changed woman since you prodded her toward makin’ amends with her son. You got Patti and Richard and that Ivan boy, even if he is still tryin’ to figure out who in tarnation he is. They’re good folk, and you’ve given them a wakeup call on what’s important. And you got this ol’ fool standin’ in front of you. I may be old, Miss Willow, but I’m not blind. I can see you’re standin’ on shaky ground. So if you need a hand, or a shoulder, or someone to bake another one of those pies for, you just mosey on down here to my door.”

/>   Willow was smiling by the time he finished his little unrehearsed speech. “Thank you, Joe.”

  That was all she said, and for now, he realized it was all she had to offer. He’d just have to be okay with that. He pulled out the stool across from her, sat down, and took a deep breath in. Why did she still smell like boysenberry pie and Mama? He was just about to ask her when she spoke first.

  “So tell me something, Joe. Why haven’t you introduced your wife to the rest of the folks here? Word around the park is that you’re an eligible bachelor.”

  He nodded. “I know. It’s the funniest thing, too. I mean, they’ve all seen my Vivian comin’ and goin’ for years. I guess people here just don’t want to be up in anyone’s business. Except for you.” He pointed a long finger at her.

  She pressed a hand to her chest and raised her eyebrows in mock surprise at his accusation, mouthing the question, “Me?” Then she pointed back at him. “Well, I know you’re not asking for my opinion on this, but as you just pointed out, I’m not timid about getting up in your business. So here’s what I think. I think you should make it official. I think you need to honor Vivian as your wife while you have her; while she has you. You don’t know what tomorrow might bring, Joe. Don’t wait until it’s too late—” Willow’s voice cracked just a little, but she swallowed and went on, although a little quieter. “—to appreciate her to the fullest. Only the Lord knows how much time each of us has on this earth.”

  “And how are you suggestin’ I do that?” he asked, politely ignoring the tremble in her voice. “Hang a sign out front? Throw a party?”

  “Whatever it takes! Hang a sign, throw a party; shout it from the mountaintop!” Willow leapt to her feet and cupped her hands around her mouth, calling out in a loud voice, “Ladies and gentlemen—but especially you single ladies—this is the one, the only, the remarkable Vivian Harper-Sanderson. My wife!” Then she turned to look at him, hands on her hips, reminding him of Vivian, herself. “Whatever it takes, Joe Sanderson.”

  Instead of sitting back down, she crossed to the coatrack by the door and grabbed her scarf. As she wrapped it around her neck, she said, “Or you could just take a walk.”

  “What? A walk?”

  “Take a walk around the neighborhood with your wife on your arm. Introduce her. People should know that she’s not just your gal-pal.” She waved a hand at the empty scone basket on the table. “By the way, that’s for your collection of TV Guides.” Then she thanked him for one of the best breakfasts she’d had in ages.

  “You know, Joe. I’m used to people talking about me behind my back. I’ve heard the whispers my whole life. I don’t exactly know why; maybe I lack social graces or proper etiquette. Maybe it’s simply because I don’t mind.” She was standing at the front door, her hand on the doorknob. “But I’ve learned a thing or two in my own life, and one of the things I’ve learned, is that the best way to shut out the whispering is to live even louder. Stop letting them whisper about you and Vivian, Joe. Take a walk around the neighborhood. Live out loud.”

  Joe stared at her for a few moments, then stood to see her out. “Wise words for one so young.” He held the door open for her. “I believe you’ve seen more than your fair share of trouble, haven’t you, child?”

  Willow bowed her head and slipped past him, her silence all the confirmation he needed. He watched her as she made her way down the steps and out his gate, then just before she disappeared around the end of the trailer, he called out in a loud voice for all to hear, “Vivian—my wife—is goin’ to like you, Willow Goodhope. I look forward to introducin’ you to each other!”

  He heard her laugh long after she was out of sight.

  APRIL SHADOWS

  Chapter 1

  “There he is again, Mr. Tibbles.” Shelly released the vertical blind slowly so it wouldn’t set the whole plastic curtain to moving. The cat in her arms was too busy playing dead to care what was going on outside in the dark. She carried him over to her desk chair, settled him into the spot she’d recently vacated, then returned to the small sliding door at her back entrance.

  She’d opted for the wide clackity blinds because if the cats played with them, they didn’t shred, and they were easy to wipe clean. Digits, especially, loved to rub her arched back down the length of them, setting the whole row of plastic strips swishing back and forth, batting at them to keep them moving. She knew it wasn’t likely that the man outside could hear the blinds rattling together, but the movement, even with all her lights off, might catch his eye if he happened to look her way.

  Mr. Tibbles wasn’t happy about losing the warmth of her body. He leapt off the chair, and wandered off in search of a bite to eat, or a catnip mouse to bat around.

  She’d first noticed the man a few weeks ago. Although it wasn’t common to see strangers in The Coach House Trailer Park, she rarely paid attention to the few that did come through. People were allowed to have guests, after all. But this one never seemed to visit anyone, at least not that she could tell. He always slipped in on foot, walking slowly, almost furtively, and usually well after dark.

  The gravel drive looping through the park was essentially a giant horseshoe back here. After crossing the bridge over the little stream that divided the property front to back, the drive passed by her place where it sat at the west end of the park, then turned left and ran alongside Spaces #9, #10, and #11, before turning left again and crossing back over the second bridge at the other end of the property. Space #12, the new girl’s place, was just opposite Space #11, at the farthest east corner, just beyond the laundry shed.

  He always came from Shelly’s end of the park, walking past her trailer, his feet crunching softly on the gravel. Didn’t he know that the sound of footsteps on the drive in the middle of the night echoed loudly off the bank of hills behind the property? Back here there was very little noise from the busy street out front, and once the sun set, things got pretty quiet. Next door, Joe’s light usually went out about nine, the trailer on the other side of him, around the same time. Kathy in Space #11 kept a wacky schedule, but from what she could tell, it wasn’t for the sake of entertaining. If there was activity at Space #11, it was just Kathy rearranging the heart-shaped rocks in her heart-shaped yard.

  That woman must have hundreds of those rocks. Because Shelly only did her laundry twice a month, and then, only at night, she rarely passed by Kathy’s house. But every once in a while, the stocky, energetic woman would be out in her yard, the floodlight on, carting piles of rocks around in an old metal wheelbarrow.

  At first, Shelly thought she was a druggie. She’d transcribed enough patient charts to know the signs and symptoms. But Kathy, with wide-eyed clarity that defied the typical paranoia of drug abuse, claimed she simply suffered from bouts of insomnia.

  “A parting gift from my heavy-handed husband,” she declared. “He made sleeping one of the most terrifying activities of my night.” It was the only time they’d spoken, and it had been very uncomfortable for Shelly. She’d felt the pressure to explain her own nocturnal lifestyle, but it wasn’t anyone’s business but her own. It hadn’t helped that all three of Kathy’s dogs were barking as though they’d like nothing better than to jump the fence and chew on her legs.

  She didn’t understand why people liked dogs. They terrified her. They were deceptive and manipulative, with those big, sad eyes and soft, furry bodies. Then they’d open their mouths, and the fangs, the drool…Shelly knew all about dog bites from the patient files, too.

  She usually waited until all the lights were out along the drive before she turned on any of her own. Her cats liked to sleep during the day and play all night, so she adjusted to their schedule because she could. Her work didn’t require set hours, just a finished product, and she could transcribe in the middle of the night just as easily as she could in the light of day. She didn’t sleep well at night, anyway, so it seemed to like a good solution to her. Sure, it meant she spent the majority of her waking hours alone, but she had Mr. Tibbles
and his harem, so she was never lonely. Besides, the things she learned from the doctors’ voices droning in her ears for hours at a time were really rather fascinating. Who needed television when her job provided her with so much entertainment and education?

  She’d just turned on her computer and opened up the first file when she heard his faint footsteps. Shadowman, she called him. She knew it had to be him; it was nearly midnight, and the whole place had been asleep for hours.

  She lost sight of him around the Davis place, but she got the impression he never went much further. It wouldn’t make sense. Otherwise, he would have just come in from that end of the park, and he always came back out this way.

  It must have something to do with that new girl in the cottage by the laundry shed. “It’s none of my business, Mr. Tibbles,” she murmured, more to herself than to the cat who was no longer in the room with her. She turned away from the door and the shadowy figure of the man; whatever he wanted with the cottage lady had nothing to do with her.

  Shelly returned to her desk, wiggled the mouse to wake up her computer, and pulled the pile of folders toward her. She had several reports to transcribe before morning, and the rule was that she had to finish one before the kettle whistled, another while her chamomile tea brewed, then a third before she was allowed to eat her breakfast of three scoops of cornflakes, and toast with peanut butter.

  Chapter 2

  By six o’clock the next morning, just as the first hint of light was beginning to seep into the sky, Shelly was finished. She checked and double-checked the printed copies of her transcription, making certain they were in alphabetical order by physician. She checked one, two, three times, that the flash drive was the correct one, and tucked it into its case inside the plastic expandable folder with everything else. Then she stood, stretched, and sat back down. Pulling the flash drive from its case, she plugged it back into the computer, and checked it one, two, three more times. Satisfied, it went back in its case, back in the plastic folder. She went through the process one more time, making absolutely certain that there would be no mistakes, no error she’d have to explain, and no mishaps she’d have to recompense for.