Urgency demands action. With barely an explanation or apology, I said good-bye to Gerta and raced for the truck. Then I backed out of George’s and hit the accelerator. I tore through the village, folks stopping and staring, Marla and Darla especially, from their usual seats outside their stores. In less than five minutes, I’d pulled into Annie’s driveway. I saw that my own car was parked near the farmhouse. Annie had borrowed it while I used her truck. She was back from work. Beside it was an unfamiliar-looking Ford Contour, a rental, I assumed.
“Annie? Annie?” I yelled, jumping down out of the truck.
Janey greeted me on the porch.
“Hi, sweetie . . .”
“A friend of yours has come to visit,” she said.
She poked a finger toward the kitchen. “Where the adults always congregate.” She smiled. “That’s a new word, congregate.”
I patted her head quickly, then opened the screen door and burst into the kitchen, where I saw Annie, still dressed in the white smock she wore when doing staining, leaning against the counter, a coffee cup in hand. Sitting down at the table, dressed in New York black and also drinking coffee, was another woman. She didn’t get up. Together, they were a contrast of colors.
“You didn’t exactly get very far away from the city, did you, Brian?” asked Madison Laurette Chasen, sending the synapses of my brain into hyperdrive. This could be nothing but trouble with a capital T. Then she said, with a slightly mocking tone, “And what’s all this silly stuff about a windmill?”
THIRD INTERLUDE
“I knew you were a nutcase the moment you arrived in town. The way you let yourself be talked into running the bar. And now this? Yup, just plain nuts.”
Chuck Ackroyd and Brian Duncan had never exactly become friends over the months, despite the fact that they both knew and loved George Connors—a common bond that failed to unite them. Still, Chuck owed him, and owed him big. Trouble was, Chuck had a hard time admitting to such a thing.
“I’m not asking you to help, Chuck. I’m just asking if it’s possible—and if these plans will help.”
With reluctance worn on his sleeve, Chuck grabbed the crinkled sheets of paper and said, “Well, lemme have a look.”
It was the morning after Janey’s visit with her mother, just sixteen hours since Annie had awakened and smiled and given them hope that all would be fine in time. Encouraged by the previous day’s events, Brian and Janey decided to forge ahead with their plan, and that required a drive to town.
It was noon when Brian and Janey arrived at Chuck’s hardware store—Ackroyd’s Hardware Emporium—in the center of Linden Corners’ tiny business district. And Chuck was just closing up the store for lunch. Brian asked if he could wait a moment, and Chuck said no, he was hungry, and so Brian asked if he could join Chuck for lunch—his treat. That certainly did the trick, and Chuck’s perpetual frown settled into a mildly irritated grimace. Janey’s presence helped, and together the three of them walked into the Five-O.
Brian and Chuck took up on the same side of the booth. Janey sat on her knees opposite them, and each of them had their drinks—two Cokes for Brian and Janey and a Budweiser for Chuck. They were busy poring over the plans of the old windmill. Brian kept silent while Chuck mulled them over.
“What are you boys up to?” asked Martha Martinson, as she set down the day’s lunch specials—meat loaf, mashed potatoes, and green beans for the men, a burger and extra fries for Janey. A big meal at midday, but the perfect energy booster for folks with a plan.
Chuck stopped looking at the blueprints, took a big bite of food, waited for Brian to answer the question she had posed. What exactly did Brian have in mind?
So, Brian, with a quick gulp, admitted that he knew his plan bordered on the outrageous.
“Why is that?” Martha asked him.
“Because,” Brian said, “I want to rebuild the windmill.”
He wasn’t sure what reaction he expected, but Martha’s big round face opened wide with joy, immediately setting him at ease.
“That’s a wonderful idea, Brian Duncan Just Passing Through.” And there was a little sparkle in her eye. “And I know just how you’re gonna do it.”
“How?”
“Not alone, I’ll tell you that much.”
Janey’s voice rang out in a cheer that filled the small diner with the sound of hope, spreading smiles to everyone’s faces, Chuck’s, too. Janey held that kind of innocent power.
That afternoon, Janey played quietly outside while Brian continued to puzzle over the windmill’s plans. He knew it could not be rebuilt by sheer will alone. It wouldn’t be easy, he knew, but then he thought of Annie, desperately clinging to life, and realized anything was possible—her recovery and their future; the windmill’s too.
He was in Annie’s study, taking care of the matters that don’t wait for tragedy to pass by, bills and other household chores. He sat at Annie’s desk, filing paperwork, when he came on an envelope that struck him as familiar. Surprised, he realized the letter, addressed to Annie, was in Maddie’s handwriting. Unable to check his curiosity, he withdrew the letter and began reading. It seemed the light dimmed as he read, and a mood settled over him as he absorbed Maddie’s words, a pleading apology for her behavior when she’d come to Linden Corners. Her regret over what she’d done and all that Annie had lost as a result. Brian read the letter a second time and then quietly put it back where he’d found it. Maddie had said nothing to him, not the last time he’d seen her; nor had Annie. This was a silent pact between Maddie and Annie, an attempt at healing through words. Brian felt a sadness for Maddie, his thoughts drifting to happier times. But the telephone interrupted his reverie. It was Cynthia.
“It’s Annie,” Cynthia said, “She wants to talk to you.”
“Talk? You mean . . .”
“The doctor just finished his checkup. Annie’s awake and breathing on her own.”
“I’ll be right there,” he said, and threw down the phone before he heard Cynthia’s cautionary, “But wait . . .”
He passed the good news on to Gerta and Janey amidst a chorus of glee, then headed back to the hospital. Cynthia was waiting for him by the nurse’s station, looking tired and worn out, despite the promising news. Brian told her to go home, get some rest. He’d stay for a while. Cynthia agreed, saying she’d wait for Bradley.
“Where is he?”
“In with Annie—he’s been in there for the past half hour.”
A curious expression crossed Brian’s face. “What’s up?”
“She won’t say. The doctor was by earlier and I didn’t like how he was acting. All frustrated, annoyed. Like he couldn’t figure out what was wrong.”
“But you said she was breathing—”
“She is. But the doctor said that only meant the operation was successful. There’s still—”
He felt his elation deflate. “The damned infection.” “No one is saying anything, Brian.”
“I’ll take care of it.”
He walked over to Annie’s room and opened the door. Bradley and Annie were holding hands, and she was crying. Emotions swirled around the room, and Brian’s presence only added to the blend. He swallowed hard as he knocked lightly.
Bradley turned, acknowledged Brian with an encouraging nod, and then returned his attention to Annie. He leaned in, whispered in her ear, then kissed her on the forehead. Getting up, he patted Brian on the shoulder and then went to find Cynthia. Brian and Annie were alone.
“How are you?”
“Glad you’re here,” she said. “I need to talk to you.”
“So I’ve heard. But wait—what’s going on? Are you okay? What’d the doctor say today? How do you feel?” He asked these questions, too many, he knew, but he wanted so many answers—to why she’d summoned him, why Bradley had spent so much time there, why the doctor wasn’t saying much. Then he noticed that Annie looked pale and tired and completely devoid of energy.
“Later,” she said. “Answers later. Ju
st . . .” She paused to cough, and the cough lingered. Brian held her hand, feeling completely helpless. She had deteriorated a lot, even after yesterday’s promising awakening. “Just listen,” she finally said, and again, Brian swallowed a large lump in his throat, where emotions were lodged.
“Lying around in a bed gives you time to think, and what I’ve been thinking about is Janey. She’s the light of my life, Brian. The best thing to ever happen to me. She’s so good, so energetic, and so little really gets her down. She’s known awful tragedy already, and even though she remembers her father only slightly, she still feels a void in her life.”
“She’s remarkable. The very embodiment of hope and resilience.”
That made Annie smile. “That’s my Janey. She’s been good, these couple of days?”
“A gem.”
“It’s her birthday next month—October thirteenth. We’ve always had this wonderful tradition, Brian, the annual raking of the leaves. Janey loves jumping into the huge piles of leaves we create . . . just remembering last year. Oh, Brian, don’t let her forget all she’s come to know.”
“Never,” he said, and waited, knowing there was more.
“Thank you for bringing her to see me. I know it was against the rules but . . . I needed to see her, and she needed to see me. That’s the only rule I know, and you knew it, too. A mother and daughter cannot be separated, not by anything, not even . . . by death.”
“Hey . . .” Brian said. “No such talk allowed here. You’re going to be fine, because we have a life to get on with, the three of us.”
Annie looked away, trying to hide her emotions. At last she turned back, and the look on her face was the expression of a woman who needed to talk. There were issues to be addressed, Annie said, and she wanted to talk without interruption. Brian protested, telling her that this could wait but rest couldn’t. But she interrupted him.
“This is my time,” Annie said, her voice cracking slightly. “And I need you to honor it.”
And he quieted, and he listened.
“Brian, when I sent you away all those weeks ago, after . . . after Maddie’s visit, I asked you to figure out what you really wanted. I made it sound so one-sided, as though only you had a decision to make. But I needed time, too, because what was happening between us, as wonderful as it was, was also terrifying to me. I needed the time to really examine my feelings. And then when Janey and I came back to Linden Corners and you still hadn’t returned, well, I thought you’d changed your mind, or found your answers, only they weren’t the ones I was hoping for. I thought we weren’t meant to be. Now that you’re back, I’ve been thinking, wondering what it was that brought you back. What it was that originally brought you to Linden Corners—of all the places on the planet, why here, why now?”
“Because of you—”
“No interruptions,” she said. “Then it occurred to me—it was Janey. The realization hit me here, in this bed, thinking and pondering the future and wondering what if. Who’s going to take care of Janey? Of course, I had always provided for that; it’s something a parent does, anticipating the worst—it’s only practical. When . . . Dan died, certain provisions needed to be taken care of and . . . arrangements were made for Cynthia and Bradley to care for Janey. Just in case. But then you came along, and honestly, I’d never seen Janey take to someone like she’s taken to you—the Windmill Man. It’s a connection that goes beyond any blood relation. It’s cosmic; it’s predestined. Cynthia and Bradley, they’ll be starting their own family soon; they’re trying. You, Brian, Janey needs you, and I think you need her.”
“Annie, what are you saying?”
“I’m saying, Brian, that if . . . if something happens to me . . . whenever . . . that I want you to be there for Janey, like you have been during this time. Will you? Bradley will take care of the legal issues.”
So that’s what they’d been discussing.
“Annie, you’re going to be fine—”
She cut him off. She was a woman without a lot of time. “That’s not an answer.”
Brian knew he had to reassure her, despite his fears about where this was heading. He felt like she was giving up, and he wasn’t willing to hear that. But all she really wanted was comfort, and she had the foresight to realize that maybe an alternate plan needed to be written.
Brian stole a glance outside, where night had fallen and the moon had emerged, and suddenly tears were falling from his eyes, falling like droplets of rain on her bed. He wouldn’t wipe them away, he wouldn’t break his hold with Annie, not now and perhaps not ever. But he did speak, at last, his voice clogged with emotion.
“You want me to raise Janey?”
Annie stifled tears, trying to remain strong. “None of us can alter our destiny. Events happen; we react, we continue on. You told me, Brian, that your friends accused you of running away. You assured me that wasn’t true, that maybe you were running to something. To someone. And you were right: You were running to Janey. You couldn’t stop nature, couldn’t save me from what was to happen. But now we have to face the consequences of all that’s occurred. Brian, Janey was meant to be in your life.”
“Janey’s such a gift, the fuel behind the sun,” Brian said, himself trying to be as brave as Annie, holding back the emotions that rippled through his body, touching nerve endings and threatening to expose him, to reveal the heart that was breaking and melting and healing and longing all at once. His hands grasped hers, felt her warmth, fed her his strength. “Yes, Annie, Janey will be safe with me. I’ll take care of her. We need each other—I know that, I feel that. But Annie, you’ll be fine, too, and we’ll be together, all of us.”
“Thank you, Brian Duncan Just Passing Through.”
“Not this time,” he said.
Brian leaned in, mindful of the bruises as he gently kissed her forehead. They sat, locked together, one reassured about the future, the other terrified of the present. No one disturbed them, and before long, Annie fell asleep, leaving Brian alone with his thoughts.
How had life taken him so far? Just last year, he was on the fast track of a high-profile, well-paying job, the so-called woman of his dreams at his side. Then he became ill, he was betrayed, and his world shattered all around him. Months later, New York was all but forgotten. His life revolved around a little girl whose own world was now being robbed of its innocence, and she needed him. Someone needed Brian Duncan. Was this what he’d left the city for? Was this where he was meant to be?
Yes, he decided, because I’m already here, and a little girl—and her mother—need me. Annie is right. You can’t control destiny. But you can embrace it.
Sleep came to him, then, his hands still entwined with Annie’s, and he dreamed of them all, Annie, Janey, himself, together at the base of the windmill, so majestic. Then the picture blurred and images faded and suddenly Brian was alone, no Annie, no Janey, and inside his heart he felt coldness and emptiness. This picture was wrong.
He awoke with a start.
It was morning.
Brian stirred, stiff from sleeping in the chair beside Annie’s bed. A feeling of disorientation enveloped him. His dream—nightmare—was gone, but he was left with lingering feelings of emptiness.
Immediately he sensed something was wrong. Terribly wrong.
He stared ahead, saw an unfamiliar sight. He rubbed his eyes to ensure that he was fully awake. He was. And he realized then that he was alone in the hospital room. Annie’s bed was gone, and so was Annie.
PART FOUR
JULY - A UGUST
ELEVEN
Love—finding it, feeling it—and its wondrous power represent the height of human experience. But love is also so terribly fragile and risky. Because with love comes the possibility of loss.
These thoughts coursed through my mind as I sat in Annie’s kitchen, across from Maddie. Her presence was more than simply awkward, and her condescending comment about the windmill angered me. What, I wanted to know, was she doing here? Maddie knew she’d slipp
ed up, and I left it up to Annie how to respond. Annie remained dignified and announced that she had to take Janey up to the neighbors for some strawberry picking, and before I knew it, the front screen door slammed shut and Maddie and I were alone in Annie’s kitchen.
“Was it something I said?” Maddie asked, a weak attempt at levity.
“Actually, yes,” I remarked.
“She likes windmills, I gather.”
“What was your first clue?”
Indeed, Annie’s interest in windmills was everywhere. From the wall calendar beside the refrigerator to the series of ceramic tiles hung on the wall, to the salt and pepper shakers on the table, her kitchen was a veritable windmill museum. Maddie examined the latter two items, setting down the salt shaker so carelessly that it tipped over. She didn’t bother to throw salt over her shoulder. Perhaps she should have; who knows what trouble she could have averted.
“Let’s get out of here,” I suggested, and I took hold of her arm and led her out the back door. “You need to see something.”
Once outside, I noticed first that the grass needed cutting again, and I’d been promising to do it for the past week but had put it off while I fixed up George’s tavern and completed the new sign. As we walked through the tall grass, our feet stayed dry and the rustle of the blades managed to soothe my nerves. Being around Maddie like this made me feel uneasy. I wasn’t sure what to say, and I guess she didn’t know, either. Still, she must have had a reason for coming, and it didn’t look like she was going to volunteer that reason.
“How’d you find me?”
“I suppose you’d like me to say I hired a private investigator and spent lots of money and hours because I couldn’t stand the way you left things so up in the air.”
“It’s not the method that concerns me. I’d just like to know.”
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