“Well, we have some funds left in the account my dad left us, and we’re hoping to have some insurance coverage. We think we’re eventually going to need a grant, because there’s a good chance we’re going to run out of money before we finish. We were just about ready to start refurbishing the seats and replacing the carpets before the storm caused the damage.”
“So you’re looking for funds in the event you’ll need them down the road.”
“It wouldn’t be a good idea to wait until we’ve run out of cash to start looking for a bailout.”
“True enough. And of course, the process isn’t a quick one. The paperwork alone will take time.”
“Which brings us to the question of how much that time is going to cost us. What do you normally charge for a situation like this one?”
“I’ve never really had a situation like this one.” He smiled. “And frankly, I’d consider it a privilege to work with you to put the Sugarhouse back into operation again.”
“No, no, we don’t expect you to not charge a fee. That wouldn’t be right.”
“Des, do you know what I do at Althea?”
“You’re a history professor.”
He nodded. “My focus is on American history. This year, I started teaching a class on the era when coal was king right here in the Appalachians. What you’ve told me about your family—your great-grandfather’s commitment to his miners—is just the sort of material I like to include in my lectures. It makes the history real to know personal stories about the players. I’d like to learn more about your great-grandfather and the operation of his mines and his remarkable philanthropy for the course.”
“I’d be happy to share whatever I know, but I think you should speak with my aunt. She knows much more than I do.”
“I’d love to meet her.” He glanced at his watch. “And I’d love to continue this conversation with you, but I’m going to have to get back to campus. They’re having graduation rehearsal this afternoon, and I’d like to be there with my students.”
“Of course. I appreciate the time you’ve spent with me. I’ll walk you out.” Des headed toward the front door, Greg walking alongside her.
“I can’t believe this place has been boarded up for so long.” He looked around as they walked. “You’ll have to tell me the story of how it came into your hands. I know you said you inherited it from your father, but I sense there’s more to the story than a simple inheritance.”
They left the building, and Des turned to lock up.
“Hey, you’re just the person I’m looking for,” Allie called from the sidewalk.
“Come meet my sister,” Des told Greg.
When they reached the sidewalk, Des turned to Allie. “Allie Monroe, this is Greg Weller. He’s going to look into the possibility of getting a grant for the theater. Greg, my sister Allie.”
“Great to meet you. Des just gave me a tour of this wonderful building of yours. You must be thrilled to be an owner of such a treasure.”
“It’s been a thrill a minute,” Allie deadpanned.
Greg laughed. To Des he said, “I’ll be in touch. I’d like to continue the conversation over dinner one night this week.”
“Great. You have my number.”
Greg turned to Allie. “Nice meeting you.”
Allie and Des watched him walk the half block to his car.
“He’s kinda hot, in a tweedy kind of way. Nice shoulders. Cute face. Great eyes. Nice . . . walk.” Allie nodded slowly. “And he wants to ‘continue the conversation over dinner.’ ”
“To talk about the theater.”
“Over dinner? Please.” Allie leaned over and whispered in Des’s ear, “I bet he thought you were kinda hot, too.”
“Maybe. With any luck.”
“Luck’s got nothing to do with it. He had that look about him. Like he’s really interested. You?”
Des recalled her words to Cara about Seth. “He’s definitely my type.”
Well, Greg did check all those boxes that Seth did not. He was certainly academic enough by anyone’s standards, and she’d always liked that buttoned-down look. She felt a stab of disloyalty to the man she’d professed to be her friend. Then a second stab, this one of regret, as she remembered having walked off without even saying good-bye to him in the park.
“Is Joe here?” Allie was saying. “I thought he said he had some photos of the ceiling. I finally caught up with Dr. Lindquist from the college’s Art Department, and she said she didn’t have time right now to drive out, but if we had any photos she’d take a look at them and get back to us.”
“Joe doesn’t have photos, but I know who does. I’ll take care of it.”
CHAPTER FIVE
In the short time Des had been in the theater, the sun reappeared to dry up the dampness and raise the temperature dramatically, causing her to squint as she walked along the shoulder of the two-lane road. Headed toward Hidden Falls’ farthest boundary, she chided herself with every step for not going home to change her clothes and grab her sunglasses before embarking on this trek, but she hadn’t wanted to get sidetracked or talk herself out of making the trip. Besides, it gave her time to figure out exactly what she wanted to say. She’d never been one to trip over an apology when she knew she owed one, but at the same time, she hadn’t often been in a situation where she felt she’d caused someone to feel . . .
What exactly did she think she’d caused Seth to feel?
She really wasn’t sure. All she knew for certain was that she’d done him, and possibly their friendship, harm, and for that alone she needed to make things right.
By the time she arrived at her destination, she was sweating from the long walk in the hot sun. She was relieved when she reached the end of a narrow dirt-and-gravel driveway and the mailbox confirmed she was in the right place. Ancient weeping willows lined the right side of the drive as she started up the lane to the old farmhouse that stood on the very edge of Hidden Falls.
The house itself exactly fit Des’s image of a late-nineteenth-century farmhouse, with one tall roof peak in the center of the top floor, a wide porch that ran straight across the front, and shutters at each of the windows. Of course, her imaginary farmhouse was freshly painted, there were flowers in pots by the front door and on the steps, and the wicker furniture on the porch was arranged to serve as an outdoor living room. Roses grew around the porch and hollyhocks grew tall at both ends to frame it with color.
So not like the real farmhouse before her, where the paint was peeling, the porch sagged a little on one side, and there wasn’t so much as a rocking chair to be seen. The shutters all needed new paint, and one hung slightly askew. Still, the bones were good, and with the right amount of paint, it could be lovely. Its saving grace came in the form of peonies planted side by side to surround the porch with color.
The front door opened, and Ripley flew out to greet her. The dog was followed by Seth, who stopped on the top step and watched Des approach. His hands were in the pockets of his jeans, and even though his eyes were covered by dark glasses, she could feel him watching her walk down that long driveway. The dog raced around her in happy circles as if celebrating her arrival (“You’re here! At my house!”), only stopping long enough for her to pat his head and tell him what a good boy he was for not jumping on her even though she could tell he desperately wanted to.
“I see you’ve been working with him,” Des called out as she drew closer.
“Yeah, some.” Seth came down the steps and slowly walked toward her. “I’ve been trying to remember everything you taught him. Taught us,” he corrected himself.
“He’s a smart dog. He’s catching on.”
“When it suits him.”
“I think he’s wondering where Buttons is,” she said as the dog’s circles grew smaller until he was sniffing wildly at her clothing.
They met up at the end of the brick walk that led from the bottom of the stairs to the edge of the drive.
“So what brings you all the way
out here? On a hot afternoon? On foot?” He pointedly looked her over from head to toe. “Kinda warm for a sweater and long pants.”
“It was cool when I got dressed, and at the time, I didn’t know I’d be coming out here. I thought I’d pick up the copies of those photos you had for me.”
“I could have dropped them off.” She was unaccustomed to his slightly cool tone, and it made her just a little sad.
“I thought I’d save you the trouble.”
“No trouble, but come on in. Your pictures are ready.”
He gestured for her to go ahead of him, and she stepped around him to follow the path to the porch. At the bottom of the steps, he paused to whistle for Ripley, who’d taken off across the adjacent field. The dog raced back, dashed up the steps, and waited at the door for his master. Seth reached past Des to open the screened door.
She pushed open the inner wooden door and was greeted by a gush of cool air.
“Oh man, that feels good.” She lifted her hair from the back of her neck and looked around for a window unit. As soon as she found it, she was going to stand in front of it and let the air blow on her until the sweat that ran down her chest under her sweater formed icicles.
“I heard we were in for a hot summer. I had to replace the heater, so I figured I might as well do the heating and cooling at the same time.” Seth walked past her. “The photos are back here in the kitchen.”
“Wait, you have central air?” She followed him, trying to catch up.
“Seemed to be the best solution. I hate those window things. They’re noisy and inevitably turn the room they’re in into an ice box. Then you walk out of that room and bam! The heat smacks you in the face.” He started to go through a stack of papers on the kitchen table, then hesitated. “You’ve gotta be thirsty. What can I get you to drink?”
“Water. Water would be fine.”
He poured her a glass from a fat round pitcher he took from the refrigerator and handed it to her. While his back was turned, she glanced around the large square room. The wallpaper, a badly faded yellow-and-green plaid, covered three walls above beadboard painted a darker shade of yellow. The old faux-brick linoleum floor was cracked in places, missing in a few others, and she could see what looked like hardwood underneath. The one overhead light was woefully inadequate for the size of the room. But the windows were large and faced the fields behind the farmhouse, letting in not only light but peaceful views. The porcelain farm sink, chipped here and there, stood on wooden legs and was flush into a corner. She was certain it was original. Wooden cabinets were painted the same faded yellow as the wallpaper.
Talk about a fixer-upper. The room was in total need of a redo, but there was something homey and comfortable about it that she liked.
“Not so fast,” he cautioned her when she began to drink steadily. “You’re going to throw up.”
“And that would make this little visit even more awkward than it already is.” She took one last sip, then sighed. “I know you could have dropped off the photos. But I owe you an apology, and that means I should come to you.”
Seth leaned back against the wooden kitchen table, his eyes no longer shielded by those dark shades that looked so menacing when they were outside, and he waited. His expression turned soft, his mouth set in not quite a smile.
“I’m sorry I acted like such a brat. I should have remembered that anything you said to me you were saying as a friend, but I realized that too late. I came here to apologize.”
“Thank you. But maybe I did overstep the line a little. Said more than I should have.”
“You said what you thought. Which you’re entitled to do as my friend.”
He nodded.
“And yes, now thank me for walking all the way out here in the sweltering heat to apologize.”
“That, too.”
“I really am sorry, Seth. Your friendship means a lot to me. I don’t want to lose it.”
“You never will, Des.” He smiled, and she breathed a sigh of relief.
“Good.” She smiled back at him, knowing their friendship was intact, then took another few sips of water.
“I appreciate the apology, but you didn’t have to get dressed up for the occasion.”
“Oh.” She glanced down at her sweater and black pants, which now were dusty from the walk up the unpaved driveway. “I had a meeting at the theater and decided to come straight out here when I was finished.”
“Aren’t you dying in that . . .” He pointed to her sweater.
“I am, I’m not gonna lie.”
“How ’bout I get you something a little lighter to put on? T-shirt, maybe.”
“That’d be great, but I’m afraid one of your T-shirts would be down to about my ankles.”
“Wait here. I think there’s a . . . I’ll be right back.” He disappeared into the hall, and she heard his footsteps on the stairs and the creaking of floorboards overhead. A few moments later he returned, a blue polo shirt over his arm.
“Try this. It’s clean. I couldn’t find a pair of shorts, though.” He handed her the shirt. “There’s a powder room right back there.” He pointed in the direction of the back door.
Des held it up. It was a woman’s shirt, without doubt. She wondered whom it had belonged to, and why a man would offer another woman’s shirt to—
Never mind. We’re just friends. It doesn’t matter who it belonged to, or why it’s here. It’s none of my business.
“Thanks. I’ll be right back.” She went into the bathroom and closed the door. The room itself was surprisingly well decorated. On one wall there was black wallpaper with white dots, and the other three walls were painted white. The fixtures were white, and an old mirror with a metal frame hung over the sink. The floor was black-and-white tile, the curtain at the lone window black and white checked. She suspected this was one of the first rooms to have gotten a makeover.
Des peeled off the sweater and sighed with pleasure as the cool air surrounded her. She stood almost motionless until goose bumps began to appear on her arms.
A black-and-white-striped washcloth and matching towel hung on a rack on the back of the door, and she used both before pulling the blue shirt over her head. The fact that it was two sizes too big and too long didn’t matter. It was dry and it was cool, and she welcomed the change from the stifling cashmere.
“I feel like a new person,” she announced as she came back into the kitchen, her sweater over her arm.
“Good.” He frowned. “I thought maybe you and Amy were about the same size, but I guess not.”
“It’s fine, really.” She heard herself ask, “Who’s Amy?”
“My sister. Haven’t you met her?”
Des shook her head. “Barney mentioned a Dr. MacLeod the other day.”
“That would be Amy. She’s the good MacLeod. The one my dad was proud of.” The lines around his mouth seemed to deepen, and his eyes narrowed slightly. Someone who didn’t know him might not have noticed.
“Because she followed in his footsteps and became a doctor, and you didn’t, you think he wasn’t proud of you? Even though you graduated from college with honors—oh, I already heard about that from Joe. He said you were the smartest of the three of you. Won all the math prizes at Althea.” Des leaned back against the counter, a teasing smile on her face. “He said he was the best athlete, Ben had the best people skills—my sister would of course argue that—and you were the smartest.”
“I did okay. And I’d challenge Joe Domanski to a shoot-out on the basketball court any day of the week. He just grew bigger earlier and faster than the rest of us. Made him a natural for football. He was fast, too.”
“Joe also said that in high school you won the state science fair every year.”
“We’ve digressed.”
“All the same, I’m sorry your father had that attitude toward you. I know a lot of people who’d have been delighted to have a son like you.”
“Thank you for saying that.” They stood looking at each
other for a moment, Des remembering the zip she’d felt when his bare skin had touched hers.
“Come on outside.” Seth picked up his shades from the kitchen table where he’d tossed them and gestured toward the back door. On his way, he grabbed a baseball cap from a rack on the wall and pulled it onto his shaven head. “I want to show you something.”
There were four outbuildings behind the house. One was clearly a barn, but it was anyone’s guess what the others were used for.
“Here, walk around this way.” He took her elbow and directed her around the side of a small, low building with windows close to the ground.
“Chickens?” she asked when she saw the fenced area behind the building.
“Yup.”
They reached the edge of the fence and she looked through the wire to where twenty or so hens pecked at the grass. She was expecting all white chickens, but there were none. Seth’s hens ranged from buff to black to speckled to red.
“You must get a mess of eggs every day from all those chickens.”
“I supply a couple of restaurants.”
“What’s the overhead wire for?”
“It keeps the hawks out. And the owls. I had to reinforce it”—he reached overhead to show the double layer of chicken wire—“because an owl got into the henhouse one night and helped itself to a few of my chickens.”
“How did it get in through the wire? And don’t you close the door at night?”
“It ripped the wire next to the gate there and pulled the door right off with those big talons. I never heard of such a thing, but that’s what it did. I went in the next morning and there was blood and feathers everywhere.” He must have seen Des flinch. “Anyway, I doubled the amount of wire, top and sides, and got a new door, put a lock on it. Also put up a motion sensor.” He pointed to the roof of the chicken house. “When there’s movement around the perimeter or overhead, a light goes on and an alarm sounds in the house.”
The Sugarhouse Blues Page 10