Pumping her arms, Kate pushed her way up the last stretch of hill before reaching the elementary school. The little brick building had one of the best views in the entire valley. Nestled among sprawling oak trees and flowering dogwoods, it overlooked acres and acres of protected farmland. The richly colored mountains climbed in the distance, creating a picturesque, almost enchanted setting for the little school. And then the best part, if you asked the children: the back side of the school overlooked the little runway to Rose Creek Airport. Kate remembered standing on the playground during recess, watching the small, single-engine planes take off and land, often circling right over the school. On rare occasions, something bigger would fly into Rose Creek, and all of the kids would race to the windows of the school to watch, wondering what important person warranted such a large plane.
Kate paused at the top of the hill to catch her breath. The school was out of session for spring break and was quietly unoccupied. She pulled off her headphones and stood alone in the parking lot, looking down toward the airport, also still in the early-morning hour. She took a slow, deep breath and noticed how at odds the scene seemed with the general nature of her life. There was little simplicity in a big city. She missed this—the solitude and serenity.
“I’ve never seen anyone else running here before.”
Kate turned, startled by the voice of a man now standing next to her. He was bent over with his hands resting on his knees. He was obviously trying to catch his breath, likely after making the same steep climb that led up to the school.
“No, I, uh, I don’t run here often . . . I live in Atlanta,” Kate responded.
“Wow. That’s some run, all the way up from Atlanta,” he joked.
Kate rolled her eyes. “Ha, ha,” she said sarcastically.
He stood then, and Kate saw his face clearly. She didn’t think he’d grown up in Rose Creek. He looked to be about her age, and Kate thought she would have recognized him had they gone to school together. No, she was certain she had never seen this man before. He was tall, with brown hair and chocolate eyes so dark they almost looked black. Kate realized she was staring and quickly turned away, hoping the pink of exertion would cover the blush now warming her cheeks.
“Well, I do run here,” the man said, “every morning, and that stupid hill hasn’t gotten any easier yet.”
“Oh, it’s not so bad,” Kate teased. “I was actually thinking of running it again just for fun.”
The man laughed. “Yeah, well, you have fun with that. I’ll just stay here and be exhausted.”
Kate looked at his finely muscled arms and well-worn running shoes and guessed perhaps he was feigning a bit of his exhaustion. “I ran cross country growing up,” Kate said to the stranger. “We’d run over from the high school and run sprints up and down this hill for practice.”
“Oh, that’s brutal!” He paused. “Wait, I thought you didn’t live here.”
“I grew up here,” Kate replied. “But I moved away a long time ago.” For a moment, Kate had forgotten why she was here in Rose Creek, why she was running, what she was running away from, but it all came back, settling nicely in her stomach like a solid, immovable piece of lead.
“I’m Andrew Porterfield,” the man said warmly.
His smile drew her in, lifting her up from the inside out. She shook his hand. “I’m Kate,” she replied. “Kate Sinclair.”
“Well, Kate Sinclair, it’s a pleasure running into you this morning. Are you in town for long?”
“Um, no,” Kate answered, hoping her disappointment wasn’t too obvious. “I’m actually heading back to the city tonight.”
“Oh, that’s too bad,” Andrew replied. His voice was casual, uncommitted, but Kate thought she sensed a bit of disappointment on his end as well. “Maybe we’ll see each other the next time you’re in town.”
“I hope so,” Kate replied, and she meant it. She hoped he would ask for her number or even her e-mail address before running on, but he didn’t.
He smiled one more time, and then just as quickly as he appeared, he took off running down the road. Kate watched him for a few moments and then turned, making her own way home.
One thing was certain: she no longer had any doubts about ending things with Steve.
Chapter 5
Walter Marshall’s law office sat in a little corner building adjacent to the courthouse, squeezed in between an insurance agency and a little lunch café. Kate waited with the rest of her family among the dusty plastic plants and heavy leather-upholstered furniture that filled the small lobby of the office. Everyone was weary after the weekend, and little conversation passed among the siblings. Sam, as the executor of his mother’s estate, assured everyone the will was simple and straightforward. No surprises, nothing complicated.
Aunt Mary and Uncle Grey had lived a relatively modest lifestyle and had been very diligent in their savings. Mary’s untimely death left a generous sum behind that everyone assumed would simply be divided among the children. Kate wondered where she would fit in. It wasn’t that she needed the money. She had a good job and was quite capable of providing for her needs. She feared the sting of exclusion more and the loneliness that would surely accompany such a slight. Sam said the attorney was very clear in requiring that all family members be present, but Kate still felt uneasy.
Mr. Marshall’s secretary led them back to a large conference room. A massive oak table sat in the center of the windowless room and was surrounded by large, square-backed chairs. Floor-to-ceiling bookshelves packed tightly with stuffy law volumes and county record books lined the walls. The room was void of decoration or warmth, with the exception of a plastic fern in the center of the table and velvet-trimmed purple cushions on the seat of each chair. Kate immediately noticed the cushions and was struck by how ridiculous they looked in the otherwise characterless room.
“Sorry to keep you waiting,” Mr. Marshall said as he waddled through the door. He was a small man, just over five feet tall, with a round protruding middle and a round balding head. What little hair he had stuck out in silvery tufts above each ear, circling down and around the base of his scalp. His nose seemed entirely too small for his face and barely held up the wire-rimmed spectacles perched delicately upon it. Kate thought he must be near sixty and wondered how he managed to keep up in a courtroom. But then, this was Rose Creek—hardly a hotbed for criminals or high-profile divorce cases.
Let’s hope the reading of one Mary Ellen Walker’s will is as low key as the rest of Rose Creek, she thought to herself.
Sam had met Mr. Marshall on one other occasion and, after greeting the attorney, introduced the rest of his family. Mr. Marshall smiled, his eyes disappearing into the folds of his face, and invited everyone to take a seat. Kate moved to the opposite side of the table and sat down next to Bryan, across from Leslie, Sam, and Teresa.
“Where are the matching curtains?” Bryan whispered as he settled onto his purple cushion.
Kate smiled at her cousin as Mr. Marshall started to speak.
“Well, should we just get started, then?” He pushed his spectacles up on his nose, then pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket, dabbing gently at his brow. “Your mother, Ms. Walker,” he said, “came in many years ago with her husband and worked out her affairs right here in this office.” His words were slow and thick, with the gentleness of typical Southern delivery. “Her will is simple and straightforward,” he continued, “and stayed the same, even after the death of her husband. She did, however, make one amendment since then that I’ll include in the reading.” He looked up and glanced around the room. “Does that suit everyone?” he asked.
When everyone nodded, Mr. Marshall began.
“‘I, Mary Ellen Walker, of Harrison County, North Carolina, declare this to be my last will and testament. My residuary estate, being all of my real and personal property, wherever located, not otherwise effectively disposed of, shall be disposed as follows:
—To my children—Samuel, Leslie, and Bryan—I lea
ve my residuary estate to be divided in equal shares in fee simple.’”
Mr. Marshall looked up from the file before him and then pulled out another sheet, handing a copy to each of Aunt Mary’s immediate children. He motioned to Sam. “As executor, Mr. Walker was relatively aware of what your mother’s estate contained. Though it will not compensate for your loss, each of you, her immediate children, will receive quite a generous sum of inheritance. The sheet before you indicates this amount.”
Kate looked down at the sheet of paper in front of Bryan—$37,000. It was a generous sum—a sum left specifically for Mary’s children. Not for her. It hurt worse than she had anticipated. Bryan reached under the table and grabbed her hand, then turned to Mr. Marshall and his older brother.
“Surely the will doesn’t indicate that Kate be excluded, Sam. She’s a part of this family.”
“Bryan, it’s all right,” Kate said quickly. “You don’t need to—” She stopped as Mr. Marshall raised his hands.
“That actually brings us to the amendment Ms. Walker filed shortly before her death,” he said.
Kate looked up, searching the faces of her cousins for any indication of awareness. They all looked as startled as she did. They turned in unison to Mr. Marshall.
“‘To my niece, Katherine Isabelle Sinclair, I leave the property, in its entirety, 728 Red Dogwood Lane, including the land and structure and all that is contained therein.’”
Leslie spoke for the first time. “There must be some mistake,” she said, rising from her chair. “That’s the house . . . That’s Mother’s house. That house is included in this, in this that she left to all of us!” She held up the paper that had been sitting on the table in front of her. The color rose quickly in her pale cheeks, her eyes wide with astonishment and anger. She turned to her brother. “Did you know anything about this, Sam?”
Sam shook his head. “No, Leslie. Mother didn’t tell me she made any changes, but she had that right. You didn’t expect her to exclude Kate, did you?” he questioned. “She is part of this family.”
“Mr. Marshall,” Leslie pleaded. “Really, this must be some sort of mistake. I really feel my mother would want that house to be for her grandchildren . . . for my children.”
“I’m sorry, dear,” Mr. Marshall responded. “Your mother was certainly of a sound mind when she came to me and requested I add the specification. There is no mistake. The house belongs to Ms. Sinclair.”
“But it was my mother’s house! It was my house!” Her voice was shrill, intensified by her disbelief.
Kate had been silent through all the debating, motionless as waves of shock, sadness, and utter amazement took turns washing over her racing heart. But Leslie’s words struck a chord deep within Kate’s conscience. When she spoke, the words came from a place so deep and dark inside her she hardly recognized them as her own. “It was my mother’s house too, Leslie,” she said calmly.
“What?” Leslie asked.
“My mother.” Kate’s voice rose, thick with emotion. “She lived in that house too, grew up there, just like your mother did. Please don’t forget about her. Perhaps it would have been her house had things been different. It would have been her growing old, watching her grandkids play in the yard, drinking lemonade on the porch. But that will never happen, Leslie.” Tears suddenly erupted, flowing freely down Kate’s face. “That will never happen because my mother is dead. She died long before she ever had the opportunity to build up an inheritance, to leave me anything but a few fragments of memories, fuzzy photos, and ticket stubs from the circus. That’s all I have—hardly enough to fill a shoebox. Do you know what that feels like? I lived in the house almost as many years as you did. It was the family’s farmhouse. And even though you seem dead set on forgetting, I am a part of this family.”
No one spoke. Leslie stared at her cousin, eyes wide. She slowly lowered herself back into her chair and looked down at the table. The silence was finally broken by Mr. Marshall, who cleared his throat.
“Well then. Shall I just continue on?” He pushed forward, leaving no time for any objection.
“There is one thing in regard to the house that I imagine you are all aware of,” the attorney continued. “It seems it is one of the properties listed as ‘under negotiations’ with the State Department of Transportation regarding a highway going through the valley. Was your mother in the process of negotiating the sale of this home?” He looked first to Sam for an answer.
Sam immediately shook his head. “No, that must be old information. The house was in danger at one point. There were two possible routes for the highway, only one of which came near the farmhouse. It’s been going on for years, the town meetings, the petitions. Mother fought with all she had to keep her house off that list. And it worked. Just, oh, I don’t know, two months or so ago, she received a letter indicating the state’s decision to use the route that did not include our house.” Sam paused, smiling at the memory. “It was the happiest I’ve seen my mother in a long time. She was so relieved.”
Kate looked down at her hands, embarrassed that something as critical as the potential loss of the farmhouse had plagued the family for years, as Sam had mentioned, and yet she’d known nothing of the impending danger.
Why would Mary fight so hard to keep the house and then give it to me? I don’t deserve it.
“Ah,” Mr. Marshall said. “Well, that would roughly coincide with the final change Mary made to her will. Perhaps her assumed victory inspired her to think of Ms. Sinclair.” He smiled in Kate’s direction. “What that doesn’t explain,” he continued, “is why, if two months ago the house was no longer a property of interest, the deed would still be flagged. This paperwork all seems current, dated just last week. Has your mother received anything else, then, from the department of transportation or perhaps from the county board of commissioners?”
Sam looked at Leslie and shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t know of anything. Leslie, did Mother mention anything to you?”
“She told me everything about the house,” Leslie answered. “I knew everything that was going on. I even read the letter that told her the house was no longer in question. If she received anything else, I would have known about it. She would have told me.” Leslie was answering Sam and the attorney, but it was clear her words were meant for Kate.
“Mr. Marshall, it must be a mistake,” Sam reiterated. “Surely the state would send notification if something had changed.”
“You could be right, Mr. Walker, and I hope you are. At any rate, I feel it my dutiful responsibility to make certain. I will make some calls this afternoon and see what I can find out. Ms. Sinclair, would it be all right if I contact you directly if I am able to learn anything further?”
Kate suddenly felt very overwhelmed. Not only was she a brand-new homeowner, but she was a homeowner in a potential battle with the State Department of Transportation.
“Um, well, sure. I . . . Yes. That would be fine,” she finally concluded. “I can leave you my cell number before I go.”
Mr. Marshall read through the remaining portions of Aunt Mary’s will and then led the family through the consent and agreement of all parties involved, the signing, and the explanations and definitions as required by law. Kate was barely aware of the proceedings. The only thing she felt was the heavy pounding of her own heart and the intense heat of Leslie’s insufferable stare bearing down on her.
Chapter 6
Later that afternoon, Kate sat on the porch of the old white farmhouse, now empty, and wondered what on earth she was going to do. Sam and Teresa had come back to the house for lunch, but they’d left shortly after for Asheville. While a little surprised at their mother’s decision to leave the house to Kate, they hadn’t seemed bothered by it. For that, Kate was grateful. Bryan left for Maggie Valley directly after the meeting with Mr. Marshall but had assured Kate he was okay too as long as she didn’t touch anything in his old room until he’d gone through it himself.
“You think I want to find wh
at’s hidden in that room, Bry?” Kate had joked.
She sighed deeply and leaned her head back against the worn slats of her rocking chair.
The house, of all things, was the last thing she had expected. Suddenly, she was faced with so many choices and had little idea of where to begin. Selling wasn’t an option. And she most definitely didn’t have any intention of moving back to Rose Creek herself. It seemed silly that the house should sit empty. The logical part of Kate wondered if she should have accepted Leslie’s offer made shortly after the meeting with Mr. Marshall. Once the fireworks had all fizzled out, Leslie had approached Kate, offering a simple exchange.
“I’m sure Mother had the best of intentions, whatever her reason for doing it this way, Kate. But it just doesn’t make much sense, you, alone in this big house. And with your job in the city, I just think it’s more practical for me to have the house,” she had said.
And for all that seemed good and practical, she was right. It did make more sense for her to have the house. The old house would fall apart quickly without someone to tend to its needs. Leslie could do that. Her children could fill it up, bring friends over, and crowd around the kitchen table. They could climb the trees and plant vegetables in the garden. They could keep the house breathing.
For a moment, Kate nearly conceded. The words sat on the tip of her tongue as she thought of the house alive and cared for.
But the old walls seemed to beckon her, taking hold of her heart and making it impossible for her to relinquish her claim. The house was hers. It had to be hers. For some reason she didn’t understand and some purpose much bigger than she could presently comprehend, the house on Red Dogwood Lane was a permanent part of her future.
She’d been adamant in her rejection of Leslie’s offer. “I’m sorry, Leslie,” she’d said firmly. “Aunt Mary wanted me to have this house. I may not understand why, but I can’t let it go.”
Kate couldn’t fathom why her aunt would ever feel compelled to give the house to her. Leslie did not understand either. In her estimation, the house was always destined to be hers. But the only thing Kate could conclude was that Aunt Mary remembered that, as Kate had so vehemently shared in the conference room that morning, the house did, at one point, belong to Kate’s mother as well. Whatever the reason, and as confused as Kate felt about the house’s future, she was grateful to her aunt for remembering her in such a magnificent way. It was much, much more than she felt she deserved.
The House at Rose Creek Page 4