The Face of Deceit

by Ramona Richards

  My farm.

  —then past the Elkins place, over Oak Drive and past Evie’s, ending, finally, at her own home, the cottage with the tall windows and the perfect studio. It had been years since she’d walked even a partial length of the trail, but it would give her the time she needed away from all this. Breaking into a trot, she hit the trail and disappeared beneath the shelter limbs and broad leaves of the deep New England woodland.

  From the lodge house deck, Jake and Mason watched Karen disappear into the woods.

  “Not good. Not good at all. She shouldn’t wander off by herself like this.”

  Mason agreed. “I’m going—” He broke off as Jake grabbed his arm.

  “No. Let me. I know where she’s going. She needs answers.” The old man inhaled deeply, looking ten years older. “She deserves answers.”

  Mason had no sympathy. “Long overdue answers.”

  Jake nodded, then headed down the steps. Mason watched as he disappeared down the same path as Karen.

  “Lord,” he said aloud. “Watch them.”

  After a quarter mile or so, Karen slowed her pace, inhaling deep gulps of the fresh air. Her eyes still burned from tears, but she brushed them away, knowing these were more from the exercise and the wind than emotions. Still…anxiety and confusion gripped her heart. The overload of information, the rush of forgotten memories were numbing her mind and draining her energy. She felt lost, as if she’d forgotten how to form even reasonable thoughts. In the past thirty-six hours, she’d taken in so much that none of it made sense anymore.

  “Lord,” she mumbled, finding an even pace for the trail, “I need a break. And a whole lotta help.”

  As she walked, her body moved easily into a familiar rhythm, one that had developed as she’d grown up exploring the hiking trails, woods and lakes of New Hampshire. As she walked, her thoughts drifted to those times, seeking refuge in things she actually did remember well, things she cherished. Long summer days with Penny, rambling in the parks, turning empty swing sets into alpine chateaux, trees into castles and seesaws into Amelia Earhart’s plane. Penny’s china doll collection became an audience for their plays, and sometimes Mrs. Elkins would open up the attic, which was a treasure trove of grown-up clothes, hats, exotic furniture and—

  Karen tripped, preventing a fall by catching the trunk of a young tree. Her shoulder smacked a low branch, and a sharp pain shook the left side of her body. “Yow!” She pushed back away from the tree, rubbing her upper arm. “Man, that’s gonna leave a mark.” The remark made her giggle, and she leaned against the tree, letting a good old-fashioned fit of laughter wash over her. Karen slid to the ground, relishing the moment.

  Finally, the giggles subsided and she let out a long sigh as much of her tension and anxiety leeched away with the laughter. “I guess, Lord,” she said, looking up at the sun through the leaves, “a little hysteria never hurt anyone.”

  A brisk wind stirred the trees around her, pushing her hair away from her face. Karen closed her eyes and tilted her head back, letting the heat of the sun and the twists of the breeze wash over her. “Lord, I so need Your direction. I’m scared and I can make sense of none of this. Why is this happening now?”

  The calming sounds of the forest surrounded her. The rustle of the leaves nearby as a squirrel searched for food. Birdsongs bounced from branch to branch. Somewhere in the distance, a dog called for his master. The swirls of air through tree limbs and underbrush were like a whispered calling song, each echoing the other as the breeze passed through.

  “Because it needed to.”

  The answer was her own. Maybe. Yet, somewhere in the back of her mind, she knew that her parents’ final tale had to come out, sooner or later. And what better time than when she had the support of Fletcher, Maggie, Jake and Tyler? And Mason.

  Mason. The flash of his dark eyes made her breath catch. And the way he’d hovered the last thirty-six hours…as if he wanted to take care of her but wasn’t sure if he should. In other men it would have made her feel smothered, but there had been moments when she’d just wanted to collapse against him and take comfort in his arms.

  “Some independent woman you are,” she scoffed at herself, then immediately reflected on her thoughts about the timing of all this, that it’d happened just when she did have the right support.

  “It’s all so confusing, Lord. Help me find my way.” With a sigh, she stood up and resumed her hike, more determined than before. Instead of dwelling on details, however, Karen let her mind drift, and it tumbled rapidly between old memories and new, thoughts of Penny and play, Jake and clay and the flashed glimpses of her mother and father that seemed to be growing stronger, clearer, as the hours passed.

  What grew even stronger than her memories, however, was the sense of the love and affection her parents had had for her—and she for them. What had begun as a flickering image of her mother chasing her around the yard had fleshed out with smells of newly mown grass, wild onions and the scent of her mother’s perfume. Karen found herself remembering the warmth and comfort of her mother’s hugs and the strength of her father’s shoulders as he’d lifted her.

  “How could I have forgotten those, Lord? Will the memories help me through this?”

  As her mind roamed the past, her steps brought her to the logging road, and she stopped. The gravel road, overgrown but still visible, had once been the access to a large tree farm as well as the driveway to her parents’ place. Now it led only to one small cottage, not yet visible from this spot where the trail crossed. The farm driveway, however, lay only a few yards up, and Karen could see the indentation in the road’s edge that marked it.

  “No.” Her voice sounded flat. “I want to go home.” She turned to the trail opening directly across from her, and guided her steps toward it.

  What is home?

  Karen stopped in the middle of the road, the thought making her throat constrict. Evie’s house wasn’t, even though she’d grown up there. She had no desire to ever live there again. Even with Jake there, its sterility and darkness felt oppressive. The Elkins’ place had come closer, but still…it wasn’t hers. Her own tiny house shone in her mind, and she thought about how hard she’d worked to make it her nest, her warm, comforting refuge. Definitely a home, but hers as an adult. Where did her childhood belong?

  The farm, which she’d known about less than a day, tugged at her. Or maybe she tugged at it. “I give in,” she muttered. “I want more.” She headed up the road, her steps retracing those of that morning as she picked her way over the drive, pausing at the edge of the weed-choked yard. Had it really only been a few hours ago?

  The jumble in her brain felt as if it had been building for a lifetime…and perhaps it had. She’d retreated to her room when they’d returned to the lodge in an effort to let her mind adjust—to separate the flood of repressed memories from what she’d had prior, but to no avail. Now…

  Karen let her gaze travel slowly from the house, to the barn behind it, to a third building (Daddy’s workshop?) on the far side of the barn. Two smaller structures struck her as being a chicken coop (we awoke to roosters crowing!) and corn crib (Mama hated the mice that lived there). The small memories amazed Karen now—how bread had smelled or that the sun had risen over those trees—instead of the more eventful ones from earlier. They were the true signs that she had lived there; this had been her home.

  The rush of images that had overwhelmed her earlier began to slow as she crossed the yard toward the workshop. She didn’t want to return to the house just yet. Instead, there was something about this smaller building that spoke to her. The door was latched but not locked, and she pulled it open. The hinges protested with a hardy squawk but gave way and opened with a rough, grainy feel. Karen stepped inside the door and back in time twenty years.

  It had been a Saturday. Her father had been working on a new table for the dining room, turning the legs on his lathe, sweat soaking his Jimmy Buffett T-shirt and rolling down his temples and cheeks. Yet he’d sm
iled through the work, a look of joy on his face. Karen had been there, playing among the shavings, making letters out of the longer curls, like a giant, splintery alphabet soup. Her mother had come in, bringing them both lemonade. They had laughed, and Karen had broken into her audition song for the next day.

  Karen snapped back to the present. The next day, they had died. “No wonder I wanted to come in here.”

  The workshop had not been touched, except by time and weather. A thick layer of dust covered everything, and long strands of spider webs dangled from the rafters and windowsills. A heavy, musty smell permeated the air, made up of moldy earth, damp wood and machine oil. Two of the windows had cracked. The last leg of the table was still secured in the lathe, although it had bowed, cracked and turned gray with age. Other tools, including her father’s beloved collection of wooden hand planers, were just as he’d left them that Saturday night, when he’d returned to the house.

  She reached out, her hand gently touching the table leg. “Amazing no one stole them,” Karen muttered.

  “No one knew they were here.”

  Yelping, Karen spun, her hand to her throat. Jake straightened, fighting a smile. “Sorry. Thought you’d heard me.”

  Karen caught her breath. “No. I think I was lost in time. What are you doing here?”

  “I followed you. I wondered if you’d come back after this morning.”

  Karen looked around. “It called me back.”

  “No doubt. Feeling overwhelmed?”

  Karen faced him. “I feel like I’ve had another person move into my head. A little girl who has all these memories that I should have grown up with—but didn’t. Why did no one ever tell me?”

  Jake clasped his hands together behind his back. “Evie wouldn’t permit it. When we realized you had blocked everything, including the first seven years of your life, she thought it would be best for everyone if you never remembered. She instructed your teachers, all those around you, not to mention it at all. Said it had been too traumatic for you and that talking about it might send you back to the hospital, as catatonic as you had been after the murders. Of course, people talked. You know how much you’ve learned just from sitting in Laurie’s café and listening to the old folks chatter. But most of what you’ve heard is probably exaggerated or just plain wrong. I couldn’t convince Evie how much people would talk. She kept saying it would be old news in town within a couple of years. After a while, though, most folks forgot the real details, anyway.”

  “Except for you.”

  “David was my best friend.”

  “Then how could you stay away from here?”

  Jake let his hands swing free and moved a little closer to her. “This ripped me apart, too, Karen. My best friend had been murdered, and I couldn’t grieve in front of you or Evie. She didn’t want me to come here, and…being here hurt.”

  Karen understood. “Which is why you took my mother’s dragon box away from here.”

  The old man nodded. “Plus a few other things. A photo album I keep locked in the truck. Evie turned blind when it came to this place. I pushed her to sell the livestock, but I took the dog and made sure some of the important stuff, like photos, were moved to a safety-deposit box.”

  “Do you think she ever planned to tell me?”

  “In two years, you’ll take control of the estate. She’d have no choice. Although I suspect she planned to have the lawyers give you the details.”

  “So how does Carver Billings fit into all this?”

  Jake’s eyes narrowed, and Karen shrugged. She walked to the door and motioned for him to follow. “Let’s find a place to sit.” They left the workshop and returned to the front steps of the house, which, unlike the porch, were made of solid concrete and brick. Jake dropped down with an exhausted huff, while Karen perched, looking up at the full-leaved maple that sheltered them. “This really is a beautiful place.”

  “I’ve been told the O’Neills picked it around the turn of the century for its isolation as well as its beauty. Apparently, your great-grandfather preferred his own company.”

  Surprised, Karen looked around at the house. “So this place is more than one hundred years old?”

  Jake picked a spot of dried clay off his shirt and flicked it away. “Yep. And it was in excellent shape before your parents died. David and Stephanie wanted to make it a showplace, but never got the chance.”

  Karen stood and turned, scanning the roofline, which did look solid, despite the presence of a few saplings sprouting from the gutters. “Looks like some maple seeds have gotten embedded up there.”

  “What did Evie tell you about the sale?”

  “Not much really.” Karen looked back down at Jake. “Just that Shane had sold the house to Billings. Most of what I know is what Maggie told us about them being in competition.”

  “David and Carver didn’t care for each other. They vied for the same contracts. But I always got the impression that it was just business. Nothing personal.”

  “What about my father buying Aunt Evie’s house? Was that personal?”

  Jake remained silent a moment, then huffed again. “I should have stayed at home this afternoon.” He grinned at Karen. “Are you hungry? I’m starved.”

  Karen grinned. “You’re not trying to change the subject?”

  Jake’s eyes widened in mock innocence. “Me? Never. I’ll talk the moon out of the sky.” He pushed up from the steps. “Nope. I really am hungry. I also want to show you something. Let’s go back to the retreat and get a sandwich. Need to let them know where you are, anyway, before they call out Tyler and his troops. Then we’ll chat about the ins and outs of David and Evie’s relationship.”

  ELEVEN

  The color photos in the album Jake had stashed in his truck showed an extended family filled with joy. Karen recognized the grinning younger versions of Evie, Shane and her parents, who stood close, arms around each other. “That squirmy three-year-old is you.” Jake pointed at a tiny blond girl who had twisted sideways in the arms of a patrician-looking woman with a bare hint of a smile. “The one afraid of showing her teeth is your grandmother Steen.” The child’s arms reached determinedly toward a handsome dark-haired man. Jake chuckled. “You apparently preferred your father.”

  Jake and Karen sat on the lodge house sofa nearest the fireplace. Maggie had left a small fire going in the grate, which Karen found oddly comforting, even though they didn’t really need the heat of the flames. It made the large room feel cozier, with a warmth and comfort that the Steen home had never achieved. Maggie had also left them sandwiches, chips and tea, which remained virtually untouched as they concentrated on the album.

  Karen took in all the information she could about her family and asked for more. Talking to Jake now brought back those hours in his workshop, when the topics were pottery, faith and life. “I remember her picture in one of the parlors at the house. She certainly doesn’t look much like a Nana or Memaw.”

  Jake almost choked on his laughter. “No, Elizabeth Steen wasn’t much for cutesy nicknames. She was very much the proper New England matron. You and Shane called her ‘Grandmother.’ She insisted on it. This was taken at a church picnic.”

  Karen pointed at the photo again, her finger dipping toward her father, then Evie. “They don’t look like they hate each other.”

  Jake finally took two bites of his sandwich before answering slowly. “There is this myth around here that David and Evie didn’t like each other. That wasn’t quite the case.”

  “But I thought you said—”

  Jake pushed on through her interruption. “You see, the Steens were unbelievably private. But Evie has told me things she’s never told anyone, certainly not her children.” He paused. “Do you know what the expression ‘land rich, money poor’ means?”

  Karen nodded. “Old families who used to have a lot of cash but now have only land.”

  “That was the Steens, only no one knew. When Stephanie and David married, the Steens couldn’t even pay for
the wedding. That was one reason they decided to run off to California. It transferred the embarrassment away from the family, and Stephanie and David could have cared less about old proprieties.”

  “Is that how my father wound up buying the house?”

  “More or less.” Jake paused for another bite. “He and Evie got along fine at that time, although he really chafed at Mrs. Steen’s meddling in his finances. Then came Mrs. Steen’s diagnosis of ovarian cancer. She had no money and no insurance. Evie mortgaged the house, but eventually couldn’t make the payments on both the house and the chemotherapy. At one point, they even went six months without electricity and told no one. Stephanie finally found out, and she and David got together and brought the bills up to date.”

  “Did the bank try to foreclose?”

  “Yes. Then David got word that Carver Billings was trying to buy the mortgage. David knew Elizabeth Steen would never let him take care of it—”

  “So SDKM did it.”

  Jake nodded. “With Evie’s help.” He abandoned the sandwich and put the plate on the end table. He settled into the couch, ready to talk at length. “David took his plan to her, and she helped him make the arrangements without her mother’s knowledge. David bought the mortgage, then sold off about a hundred acres of the estate to developers. He used the money to settle the mortgage and put enough in the bank so that Evie and her mom could live mostly off the interest, as well as what meager income Mrs. Steen still got from investments her husband had made.” He looked pointedly at Karen. “Your father was Evie’s white knight. She had no reason to hate him. Unfortunately, it was too late. By that time, Elizabeth had stopped her treatments.”

  “But he never transferred the house back.”

  “No. Evie could do some things on her own, but she remained under her mama’s thumb. David felt there was too much risk of Mrs. Steen finding out, going ballistic out of some kind of pride issues and messing up the balance again.” Jake sniffed. “Controlling old woman, and yet a financial genius she wasn’t.”