Return to Heartland: A Heartland Cove County Romance

by Jacquie Gee

  Jebson seems dismayed to see this piece of information. He looks to the man in the gray suit beside him.

  “It is my conclusion, after all this information that something has gone awry. We have the deed to the property, a letter from a Notary stating that my father outright refuses to relinquish his property to them—a.k.a. the bridge—and we have a bridge that is purposely divided from the Ministry’s roadway by two feet of gravel on either side, to keep it separate from it. And then we have this rogue document, signed by someone who claims to be father, yet the signature on the bottom doesn’t match the one on the letter from the Notary. Further perplexing is the fact that it does match the signature on this document here.” I produce the papers found in Mom’s safety deposit box, regarding the heritage designation, signed by Jebson’s father. “This document also proves the bridge is a designated heritage building, and lists my family is the rightful owner. A second piece of proof that the structure belongs to my family is a designated heritage site that the Mayor and his supporters are lobbying to destroy."

  Jebson’s gaze slides onto his father. His mouth falls ajar.

  “Can I see those papers, please?” Justice Keller leans forward.

  I glance back at Mr. Bolley who nods to me fervently and smiles in support.

  I hand them over to the bailiff. Jebson edges toward the back door.

  “Miss Lane, do you have proof regarding these signatures?” Justice Keller looks up.

  I look back again at Mr. Bolley again.

  “If I may, sir.” He rises from his seat. “I’ve been assisting Miss Lane in her investigation. And I had a handwriting specialist look at the signature on these papers.” He holds up his findings. “He confirms it is a match to that of the signature found on the papers claiming municipal ownership over the bridge.”

  “And you are?” Just Keller raises a brow.

  “MP of the neighboring electoral district of Fredericton West-Hanwell, sir. I think you’re going to want to have a good look at this.”

  Justice Keller motions for him to bring his findings forward. He peruses the papers quickly then looks up, a startled streak in his eyes. “You may go on,” he nods to me, and I clear my throat.

  “Those papers also show that Heartbeat Bridge is protected by the Act and should never have been considered for demolition, in the first place. Not to mention, its rightful owner should have been advised before any work was done on the structure, so what happened Saturday night, and just prior to that, I propose are acts of vandalism.”

  The crowd reacts with a gasp.

  “There is also mention of a sizeable grant that was awarded along with that heritage designation, which was intended for the bridge’s upkeep, which my family has never seen.”

  “And where do you allege the monies went?” Justice Keller peers up from his pages.

  “I have it on good authority, sir, actually a verbal admission, that the monies were spent on Jebson Jefferies political rise to fame.”

  The crowd reacts with horror, shock and slurs. Jebson looks like he’s seen a ghost. He heads towards the door, encased in men in gray suits. Several members of the community rise from their seats to block him.

  “However, not all is lost, because,” I pause, “because at least I found the plaque.”

  Trent, Trudy, Aunt Penny and I had spent hours at the local dump last night before we got drunk. Sifting through the wreckage of the bridge brought there by the workers with the backhoe. We finally found it, buried in the cast-off wood. Nailed to a plank, underneath a piece of the roofline, where no one would ever see it.

  I raise the plaque, and the crowd erupts. A collective breath is drawn into every lung in the house as I read out the name of the recipient—owner of the bridge—my deceased father.

  “Where was the plaque found?” Justice Keller asks for clarification.

  “At the dump, sir,” I restate. “Torn down by Mr. Jefferies,” I point Jebson’s way. “Mayor of the town.”

  “I also found this, sir. In his office files.” Mr. Bolley submits another piece of evidence. A paper signed by Jebson’s father, accepting the designation some years ago.

  “That’s breaking and entering,” Jebson shouts. “Those are my private files.”

  “Actually, you're an elected official." The Premier speaks. "You don't have private files." He signals for someone to show him the papers.

  “You can’t just go through my things like that!” Jebson shouts.

  Mr. Bolley takes his seat, smiling like a Cheshire cat, as Jebson’s face turns from pink to white.

  “You do realize what you are suggesting here, don’t you?” Justice Keller addresses me, his eyes sliding up from the papers.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “You do realize how serious this is. If what you are proposing is true, this constitutes possible collusion and fraud.”

  “Yes, sir. That’s correct.” I slide my gaze from him to Jebson, and back again. “And I’d like to add more to that allegation list, if I may?” I swallow, hard.

  “Go, on.”

  “I would like to include harassment, of not only my mother but the late Mr. Francis Drury." The crowd mumbles. "And I would like to see his real cause of death looked into.

  I glance back into Mr. Bates’ eyes.

  The crowd is abuzz now. Out of control. Justice Percy has to shout several times to get them to listen. Jebson is up and on the move, bringing his gray suits with him.

  Justice Keller studies the papers in front of him, then looks at me boldly.

  “I take it you have more proof than you’re sharing at this time.”

  “I do, sir. Yes.”

  Mr. Bolley nods behind me.

  “All right then, regarding the Mayor’s behavior concerning these issues, as well his father’s.” He looks to the Premiere for permission, who nods. “I’m going to have to remand this matter over to the courts for a proper legal prosecution. If what I suspect is true here, somebody may be serving time for fraud and more. Mayor Jefferies?” He stares back at him. “I wouldn’t be planning any trips if I were you.”

  Jebson makes a mad dash for the door, but Trent is there to block his way, grabbing him hard by the arm. Jebson’s father cuts out the side door, leaving his son on his own.

  The crowd mutters, their heads turn this way and that.

  Mr. Bolley nods at the RCMP to make their move, and they fly out the back.

  “What about the damage to the bridge?” A reporter shouts. “Is this family to be given money to repair it?”

  “There is the money that was raised on the weekend,” the Premier says.

  “Yes. But will it be enough?” The reporter steps out of the crowd. “Isn’t it true that the bridge was nearly flattened?”

  The townspeople grumble in support of him.

  “You can’t expect the people to foot the bill to put it back together if it was illegally torn down. I mean, if they’re going to put it back together.”

  He’s saying everything I want to say.

  “Miss Lane?” the Premier defers to me.

  “Yes, we’ll be looking for funds to help,” I announce over the mic, camera’s rolling. “In this community, we believe in moving forward, while hanging on firmly to the past.” I wink at Trent.

  “No offense, ma’am,” the reporter starts up, “but the community seems pretty crippled financially. I mean, I was out there before I came here, but it looks like it’s gonna take at least three million to put that bridge back together. Wouldn’t your family be better off just accepting a deal for the highway expansion?”

  “It might. But then what would happen to the rest of the people here.” I stretch my hands out to the crowd. “That bridge is just not important to my family. It’s important to everyone.”

  “Hear! Hear!” the crowd shouts.

  A short, slight man, steps forward from the middle. Heads whip around, including my own. He has black hair and is wearing glasses, a golf shirt and khakis. A lanyard and camera hangs
around his neck.

  That’s him. The man from across the bridge. The one I thought missed the tour bus!

  “Hello,” he says. “My name is Ritchie Wong.” All cameras in the room swing his way. “You are right,” he addresses the reporters. “It will take a great sum of money to fix that bridge, likely upwards of three million in my estimate, but I am good for it.” He smiles my mother’s way. I didn’t even know she was here. She emerges from the crowd and takes his hand.

  What—?

  “Four weeks ago, I arrived in Heartland, via a tour bus. I was having so much fun, I missed the bus. They went on with tour without me. So, I decided to stay, and have spent all the time since, wandering around this lovely region, enjoying all that it has to offer, and I fell in love with the place. I came to see an old covered bridge the second biggest in the land, but I have stayed because of the people.” He turns his eyes to me. “I have that evidence you’ve been looking for, Miss Lane. Right here on my camera.” He raises it. “I took photos of the bridge before all the damage was done. For the record, that bridge was in perfect condition when I arrived in the Cove. I also have photographic evidence of who damaged it.”

  Mom smiles.

  I look to Aunt Penny, who stands looking-relaxed, her hands clasped elegantly in front of her.

  What the heck is going on here?

  “When I found out your bridge was in jeopardy, I met with your mother.” Richie directs his conversation to me. “I could not stand by and see this beautiful community injured. I have enjoyed hospitality at Ava Simmons.”

  What? She had room for him, but not me?

  “I dined on poutine from the fry truck,” he nods to the Mr. Fenton in back. “Fished off the docks at Bernie’s Bates.” He waves to Bernie. “Even enjoyed lobster, at Lobster By The Bay,” he winks at Teresa who runs the establishment. “I even attended your grand potato festival, where I volunteered to help in the cotton candy booth.”

  That was him!

  “And through it all, I have fallen in love with the place and its people, so I’ve decided to invest in its future.”

  My heart pounds as he squeezes Mom’s hand.

  Oh, no, Mom. What have you done? Who is this stranger?

  “There will be no highway project run through this area, because I am prepared to pay for the bridge’s repairs, and any so-called taxes should they arise, in exchange for part ownership of the bridge.”

  What?

  The crowd gasps.

  “Don’t worry. Don’t worry.” Richie fans his hands. “Nothing about the bridge or its operation will change. The bridge’s rightful owner and I have come to this agreement,”

  Oh, no, Mom.

  “As of this morning, Mrs. Laura Lane and I have become business partners.” Richie throws out an arm, and squishes her happily to him. Mom curls into his side.

  “Mom?” I call to her from the front. She waves my worried words away.

  Trudy’s mouth falls open beside me. Still, Aunt Penny looks unfazed.

  Mr. Wong continues, shaking out an official-looking set of papers. Mom brings her hands together delighted, and I nearly faint. “According to our agreement, Mrs. Lane will continue to be owner and proprietor of the famed Heartbeat Bridge and its attractions, overseeing the daily operations, for as long as she chooses. At which point, I will hire a qualified manager to run things for her, and she will be free to retire and enjoy her riches.”

  Riches? This guy is crazy.

  “Effective immediately, I will become the Lane family’s new business manager.” Richie looks to me for approval. “As long as that is all right with her daughter. Which means, from this day forward, I will oversee the business side of things regarding the bridge and their surrounding land and their attractions, and handle all the business financials. Mrs. Lane has asked to continue managing the store and to reap the profit from it, which is fine with me. I have no interest in her money, only in helping her to save the region. Therefore, the bridge. I am a very successful businessman. I have enough money for seven lifetimes. I like the idea of investing in this.”

  The crowd begins to clap.

  “Oh, and, along with the deal comes a new home of her choice for Laura, anywhere in Heartland Cove, of course. I’ll build to suit. My treat.” He claps his hand together and bows his head. “And I will, of course, need a place to stay as well, so if anyone in the crowd knows a good realtor…”

  The crowd laughs, knowing the number one realtor in the area will likely be going to jail.

  “Oh, and there’s more,” Ritchie adds when the crowd simmers down. “We will again be offering carriage rides through the bridge again, as a regular activity come next spring. So prepare yourself, people. There may be traffic jams.” He squishes Mom to his side, and she smiles like crazy as the laughter rises again.

  “Miss. Lane,” Ritchie concedes to me. “This is, of course, only if this meets your approval, since you are the sole and rightful heir of the property, which will not change. At such time as you wish to take the property back into your hands, we will come to an amicable agreement.” He smiles. “I’m sure you would like to have this contract checked by your lawyers, on behalf of your mother.” He reaches out, handing it over to me. “Please know, my books are open to your discretion.” I cross the floor to take the contract. “Know also, that I am prepared to help you look after your mother here,"—he pinches her close—" as long as she needs. That is if you will have me?”

  Is he proposing?

  He concludes his speech with a deep-waisted bow to uproarious applause.

  How can you say no to that?

  Mother is smiling so hard it looks like it hurts. My heart is aflutter in my chest. I’m not sure what to think of all this at this moment, and if we should trust him, but I must admit, it sounds grand— and I'm not about to screw this up for Mom. I will have a lawyer check into this, and Mr. Ritchie Wong, you can bet.

  But for now, I’m just going to enjoy the moment. Because this is the best one yet!

  The crowd disperses after a long session of conversation and greetings, many neighbors step up to congratulate Mom, and thank Ritchie for his good intentions. The line of well-wishers forms a half mile long.

  “Mom,” I say, finally reaching her side, and rushing up to hug her. “Are you sure about this?” I pull back.

  “Of course.” She nods. “Mr. Wong has been forthright and honest. And I’ve had your father’s lawyer look everything over.”

  “You have? When did you contact a lawyer?”

  “Oh, I’ve been very busy, darling. I don’t have time to share everything with you. Besides, what do you take me for, a fool?" She nudges me in the ribs.

  "Becca." Mr. Wong sticks out his hand for me to shake, and I take it right away. "Your mother is one amazing lady," he says. "And a fierce business woman."

  “I know.” I smile her way.

  Another neighbor whisks Mom away from me, and I turn to Aunt Penny. “Did you know anything of this?”

  “You know your mother—a terribly independent, secretive woman.”

  “So, you did then?”

  “Only since this morning.” She gives in.

  “Honestly, the two of you.” I cross my arms.

  Trent comes galloping up at my back. “Come ’ere, you've got to see this." He tugs me backward by the arm and drags me out of the building. We get out the doors, just in time to see the RCMP pulling away, Jebson in the backseat.

  “Couldn’t have happened to a nicer guy,” I say.

  “And to think, you could have been married to that.” Trent hugs me about the waist.

  Chapter 57

  “What are you doing out here all by yourself?” Trent strolls up to me, standing on what’s left of the bridge, arms on the railing, staring out over the water—a cup of coffee in my hands. The moon hangs low in the cloudless sky. The water rushes loud below.

  “Everybody’s celebrating, you know?” In Trent’s hands, he holds two glasses of champagne. Half the t
own has gathered at Aunt Penny’s the day after the big event, to formerly welcome Richie Wong into the fold, and to thank him for saving the bridge. Trent hands me a glass, clinking his to mine, and we drink to the moment, in the glow of the moon.

  “I just thought I’d have one last look, you know?” I swallow, letting the bubbly elixir warm my throat.

  “What do you mean, ‘one last look’?” Trent’s eyebrows crowd together.

  "Before I leave for New York in the morning." I whirl around.

  Trent’s face falls. “Y-you’re leaving?”

  “Yeah. In the morning…” His face changes color. “I guess I just assumed you’d understand.”

  The pupils in Trent’s eyes flash. He turns his face away, and drinks. “I see,” he says to no one in particular. In particular, not me.

  “Well, now that mom’s affairs are all in order, the bridge saved, and her livelihood secured, I’ve got a cupcake business and a business partner to get back to in New York City.” Even as I say it, it sounds hollow and shallow. Especially after the last two nights. “It’s just that—” I stammer, searching for better words, for the right excuse to justify what I’m about to do. “Surely you didn’t think I was going to stay here forever?” I find the words. But they’re horrible.

  “I mean, I—I could, it’s just—”

  “You don’t want to.”

  He removes his cap, drags his hand through his hair, and drops his cap back on his head.

  For a long time, there is nothing but the churning of the rapids and the chirp of crickets, silence spreading out between us. His gorgeous green eyes grow dark. He slumps his shoulders. “Of course, you can’t. I mean, how ridiculous, right?” He swallows hard and steps away from me. “You know what? It doesn’t matter.” He shakes his head.