by Beth Trissel
Aunt Meg’s unintentionally brusque words came back to haunt her. “People resume their lives soon after Christmas.”
If they had lives to resume, that is, and clearly Eric did. Unlike Edward Burke caught in some sort of limbo and Bailey similarly trapped with no real direction. She could hardly expect Eric to put his plans on hold and remain here with—
“Miss Bailey, stop yer brooding.”
Did Ella have eyes in the back of her head? The astute woman stood at the stove in her faded house shoes, stirring chopped carrots, celery, and potatoes into the meaty broth bubbling in a big pot.
There was little point in attempting a denial. And now Eric scrutinized her.
Ella glanced over her shoulder at him. “That girl won’t notice if I dishes up swill fer supper, so I’ll ask you. If you had yer druthers, would you like cornbread or corn pudding with yer stew?”
He swallowed the cocoa he’d just sipped. “Either would be good, Ella.”
“That ain’t making a choice.”
He held up a hand. “Cornbread, then. Yours is the best.”
Her broad face creased in a smile. “Thought I’d make my Sally Lunn tomorrow.”
He sighed. “Even better. I didn’t realize how much you’d spoiled me until I was away.”
She eyed him indulgently. “I missed you, Mister Eric, more’n I kin say.”
And I missed you. All of you.” He returned his focus to Bailey, faint humor in his eyes. “I would have missed you terribly, if I’d only realized.”
Ella looked from him to Bailey, grudging approval in her scrutiny. “She’ll do, I ‘spose.” As near to acceptance as Bailey was likely to get from the irascible old woman. “If she behaves herself,” Ella just had to add, and then to Eric, “reckon yer off agin all too soon,” which made Bailey’s heart sink.
“Don’t rush me.”
“Ain’t. But you was never one fer sticking around.”
“If I had my druthers,” he said in imitation of Ella, “I believe things might be different.”
Hope stirred in Bailey at the promise in his eyes. “What would you do?”
He smiled. “Keep bees and plant a vineyard.”
Bailey considered him in astonishment.
Ella asked, “What fer?”
“To raise honey for sale and make wine. Thomas Jefferson planted a vineyard at Monticello and had high hopes for Virginia wine making. I’d like to prove him right.”
Ella appeared as unprepared as Bailey. “Well, I never. Most folks around here milk cows or graze beef.”
“I’m not most folks.”
Bailey nodded. “You’re sure not. But what about your leg?”
“Getting stronger. Maybe I’ll walk someday without a cane and maybe I won’t, but I think I could manage a vineyard with some help. I’d have to take on a few employees and learn the ropes. Vineyards are taking root in California. Why not Virginia?”
She studied him in wonder. “Keeping bees and growing grapes sounds lovely. When did you come up with this?”
“I’ve had plenty of time to consider what I might do while recovering and this struck me as something I’d enjoy, sort of a gentleman farmer endeavor like my grandfather undertook here.”
Ella’s gaze had that reminiscent quality. “The judge bred the best horses for miles around.” Ever practical, she added, “Takes money to make money. And years to make wine. Mostly the Burke’s just rent out the land.”
“At least it’s paid for. And my father said the land is everything. Maybe someday…” he faded off, seemingly lost in thought.
Bailey nudged him. “Meanwhile?”
“Study hard, sit for the bar, hope to pass it the first time and that a Staunton or Charlottesville firm will take me on as a junior associate. It would mean starting at the bottom and a lot of grunt work, but eventually I’d make a decent living.” He looked at Bailey. “What of you, if you had your druthers?”
She hardly knew how to reply. “Getting into another college is unlikely and I don’t really want to go. I thought maybe I’d paint—”
“Not on them walls!” Ella broke in.
Eric smiled. “How about on a very large canvas?”
Bailey leapt at his suggestion. “Maybe up in my room with a lot of drop cloths?”
Ella’s scowl answered that question.
Eric chuckled. “What about setting up in the old office?”
He was referring to the dingy room in an outbuilding attached to the garage with sparse furnishings, a desk, chair, bookcase…where someone used to keep the accounts. She supposed it had possibilities. “But it’s not heated.”
He considered. “It could be. What would you paint?”
The answer came with surprising ease, considering she hadn’t really decided. “The valley, the animals, and people.”
Ella rounded on her. “Not necked folk!”
“No, with clothes on.”
“Humph.” But Ella appeared slightly mollified.
Eric’s lips twitched. “Who would you paint?”
“You if you’ll let me, and Ella, Old John…”
Eyes twinkling, Eric raised his cocoa to Bailey in a toast. “Sounds splendid. And you could display your work in art galleries; maybe even have a little studio in town.”
“I don’t think my allowance would stretch that far. Assuming my father doesn’t cut me off entirely.”
Eric shook his head. “He won’t.”
“If you behave,” Ella repeated, as though Bailey were bent on a life of debauchery.
“I will. Scout’s honor.”
Ella still appeared skeptical.
Bailey signed an X over her chest. “Cross my heart and hope to die.”
Ella shook her grizzled head. “Don’t be hoping for that in this house. Tempting fate, it is.”
“Maybe if we found that gift and made things right for Edward—”
Eric’s low groan cut into her proposition.
Ignoring him, Bailey continued. “I’ve searched most everywhere else. Ella, did there used to be a secret passage in this house?”
The older woman looked at her hard. “Good heavens, girl, did Mister Edward tell you ‘bout that too in yer dream?”
“No.” Eric waved a hand. “Guilty.”
Ella brandished a ladle at Bailey. “Well then, reckon it ain’t sech a secret. But afore you think Miss Claire hid her present in that passage under them stairs, let me tell you I looked and that was back in the days when I could see good.”
“Where did it lead?”
“Down to the cellar.”
“What for?”
Ella spoke as if the answer were obvious. “To hide, if soldiers got in the house afore folks got out.”
Bailey tried to envision the seemingly peaceful valley as the site of major conflict. “Which soldiers were they worried about?”
Ella raised her eyes heavenward. “Don’t they teach you nuttin in them schools, child?”
“Yes, but—”
Ella waved aside her excuse. “Fust they worried ‘bout them English soldiers torching Virginia back when we was fighting a king, then them damn Yankees come round burnin up everything. How they reckoned destroying all that foodstuff was any help to us colored folk I don’t know. We starved along with the rest. My granny told me. It’s a wonder any of these old places still stand.”
Eric pursed his lips and parted them to say, “They must have missed a few houses.”
“Burnt most of the old mills to cinders too.”
Eric grimaced. “Terrible loss. Not sure why General Sheridan turned back before he torched absolutely everything. Guess he had bigger fish to fry.”
Ella shrugged. “He fried plenty by the time he marched them boys in blue away. Bragged how a crow flying over the valley would have to pack its lunch, that’s how scarce vittles was in them days. Everybody, white and colored, hated Sheridan. Ever hear anyone round here giving their younguns that name?”
“Never. So, when was the passage
closed off?”
“After the Great War we didn’t figure on getting invaded no more. A fierce draft leaked out from that closet, so yer grandpa had it closed up inside. Now the only way into the cellar is through that old door around the side of the house.”
Bailey bent toward her. “What’s down there?”
“Crates of apples, bins of taters, stuff you’d keep in a cellar. A little wine. My blackberry cordial, bottled peaches, green beans, tomatoes…odds and ends, nothing to interest you, Miss.”
The sound of a car in the driveway put an end to any more conjecture. Ella peered out the window and her mouth turned down at the corners. “Tucker’s come. Reckon y’all will be having yer supper in the kitchen tonight after all. Give me time to git that boy cleaned up.”
Eric snorted. “Are you gonna hose him down, give him a good currying?”
“Have more luck with a horse than that one I kin tell you.”
“We’re about to find out.” Eric got to his feet and picked up his cane. Bailey rose beside him.
Captain barked in greeting and feet stomped the mat, then Tucker blew in the door with a jangle of bells. His blue eyes alight in welcome, he slid the duffle bag and guitar case slung over his shoulders to the kitchen floor and raised his hand. “What say, man! Slap me some skin.”
Eric stepped forward and gave him a high five. “Good to see you, Tucker. You made good time.”
“I was haulin!”
“On these roads?”
“Yeah. Did a brody.” He laughed. “Almost wiped out. I would’ve been bummed if my old moby wound up in the bone yard. Don’t have the bread for a new set of wheels.”
“No, guess not.” Eric glanced at Bailey as though in need of a translator.
She smiled. Tucker wasn’t as disheveled and disreputable as she’d been led to believe. He had a quirky sort of charm and the bluest eyes, but the contrast between him and Eric was marked, to say the least. Compared to Eric’s military clip, Tucker’s shoulder length brown hair resembled a prophet’s. The beard she’d heard about was more of a goatee and reasonably trimmed. He appeared to have bathed in the not too distant past.
Granted, having the flag emblazoned on his t-shirt was an error in judgment when visiting a recently returned Marine. The red, white, and blue stripes were visible at the neckline beneath a tweed blazer with suede patches at the elbows. The sort of jacket a college professor or English country gentleman might wear; Tucker’s way of conforming without conforming, the hallmark of a hippie, and paired with faded jeans, of course. The usual sandals had been replaced by cowboy boots.
Ella inspected him as a suspicious dog might a stray venturing onto its property. “We put you in the downstairs bedroom.” She nodded at the kitchen door. “Across the hall. Right next to the bathroom so you kin freshen up afore supper.”
He clapped her on a meaty shoulder. “Ella, you’re righteous. I’m twitchin’ to take a wiz. But first,” Tucker flashed Bailey a smile imbued with the sort of glory Eric possessed, only more dazzling. “You are one boss chick. Bailey, right?”
She nodded.
“You hep?”
“Yeah.” She had a fairly good grasp of the situation. But no idea what it would all mean.
****
Tucker wasn’t half bad, Eric had to admit, but the living room literally vibrated with his rendition of In-A-Gadda-Da-Vida and he’d held forth for over ten minutes. This hard-hitting song by the rock group Iron Butterfly wasn’t at all suited to the sedate home or the festive occasion, rather like playing in church. Poor Meg tried to appear suitably impressed while her cheeks colored and she seemed a little breathless.
What a performance. If Tucker’s jeans weren’t skintight, he’d gyrate his skinny ass right out of them. And when he bent near Bailey, the guitar resounding beneath his fingers, and in a provocative voice coaxed, “Oh, won’t you come with me…” Eric balled up his fists.
Bailey looked on, wide-eyed, whether from awe or stupefaction Eric wasn’t sure. As expected, Tucker had swiftly targeted her as a desirable conquest. Earlier this evening, Eric overheard the two of them speaking together in the living room. He’d come downstairs from his bedroom and paused in the doorway as Tucker slid in beside her on the couch.
“Wanna split after Xmas and tour with the band? Get to see a lot of country. We bring in enough bread to eat and crash.”
Eric had started to break up this tete-a-tete, but waited to see what she’d do.
Bailey gave Tucker a noncommittal smile. “I’m on probation, trying to get it together.”
“Come on, babe, tune into your inner mind.”
“If I tune in anymore, I’ll lose it entirely.”
He grinned. “Chill then. Ease the pain. I was out in San Francisco this summer.”
She seemed impressed and Eric’s gut tightened.
Tucker hummed a few bars from the song San Francisco. “‘Be sure to wear some flowers in your hair…’”
She sat up straighter. “Far out. What was it like?”
He looked supremely pleased with himself. “Totally bitchin. Blew me away. Gotta be dullsville cooped up here.”
Exactly what Eric feared she might think.
Bailey shrugged. “I’m cool with back to nature stuff. We have plenty of that. And I have a good reason not to cop out.”
“For real?” Tucker leaned in closer to her. “My hawk cousin?”
She shied back. “If he wants me.”
Tucker gave her a disbelieving look. “Say what? Is the guy blind?”
“He’s got a life I might not fit into.”
“That’s right on. Eric’s too hung up for a righteous chick like you. Reminds me of my old man.”
Eric swore under his breath.
Bailey raised her chin. “Eric’s solid, when he’s not uptight.”
Tucker nodded. “Hell yeah, he’s solid. We go way back, even though we don’t speak the same lingo anymore.”
“Then don’t put him down.”
“I’m not. All I’m saying is the man can’t help his feathers. Bird’s gotta fly with his flock.” Tucker lifted his hand to her face and drew a finger over her cheek. “But you’re a dove.”
She flinched. “Are you on the make? I don’t know what you heard, but I’m not some kind of slut.”
He held up both hands. “Whoa. Don’t freak out. We’re just rapping here.”
“Why are you drawing designs on me?”
“You’re one choice chick.”
“Don’t you have a steady?”
He smiled. “Not now. You up for it?”
Eric’s abrupt arrival had ended that proposal. He’d wanted to answer for her and say, “Hell no,” and punch his cousin in the nose, but that would distress Meg, likely Bailey too.
No doubt Tucker would proposition her again and he’d offered Bailey a way out that some girls would find tempting, should she care to take him up on it. Though Eric strongly expected he’d ditch her somewhere along the way if she did. Tucker was long on charm and short on dependability, but could she see that?
Eric clenched his jaw as Tucker crooned at her, crouched over his guitar. Long hair flying, he strutted around the room, really putting himself into this endless song. He’d probably be a successful rocker and have his share of followers swooning at his feet.
Not Ella among them. She and her family fled to their quarters earlier, or she’d have put a halt to this performance. Eric had had enough. Rather than intrude in a manner that might further embarrass his stepmother, he broke into the refrain with seemingly spontaneous applause, eagerly seconded by Meg.
Bailey clapped too, darting glances at Eric and then at Tucker who had the sense to cease and desist.
He flashed a roguish smile at her. “Sorry. I go ape on that number.”
“It was out of sight,” Bailey assured him, while Meg smiled through her teeth. With an inquiring glance at her aunt, Bailey suggested, “Maybe something more Christmassy now?”
Tucker shrugged i
n the easy manner Eric remembered. “Sure. I’ll go with the flow. What chords you want me to lay on you?”
Humor touched her eyes. “Do you know ‘The Chipmunk Song’?”
Meg brightened as though offered a treat, and this was a woman who appreciated classical music.
Eric slapped his good leg and hooted. “Now that’s the most righteous thing I’ve heard all evening.”
Tucker smiled wryly. “I dig it.”
“And while we’re making requests, what about White Christmas?” Eric nodded at the window and the heavy white mantle closing in around the house.
Meg looked outside. “Oh my. It’s really coming down hard.”
Bailey turned her head, firelight playing over the gold streaks in her honey-colored hair. “You just made it ahead of the storm, Tucker.”
Eric wouldn’t wish his cousin harm, but would rather he were safely ensconced by his own fireside with his offended parents, which is probably why Tucker came to Maple Hill in the first place. Eric doubted it was solely to see him and Meg. And now, they’d inadvertently given him another reason to stay.
Tucker shifted his gaze from Bailey to Eric. In that moment, he knew Tucker was aware of his feelings on the matter. Undeterred, the challenge in his blue eyes said, Game on.
Maybe his cousin had finally found something worth fighting for. But Eric was way ahead of him.
****
The cold was sharper than ever in the unheated foyer in the far hall with its white plaster walls and far-flung ceiling. Snowy light shone through the deep-set window above the second floor landing. There was nothing remotely cozy about this portion of the house and Bailey shivered in her pullover and skirt. Still, it was festive. Garlands wound around the banister up the curving staircase. Another set of sleigh bells hung on the heavy front door, but they were mostly silent as few visitors entered here. Most people found their way in through the homey kitchen.
The strains of Silent Night emanated from Tucker still in the living room. He’d agreed to perform a medley of traditional carols at Aunt Meg’s request, but Bailey had slipped away to pursue her exploration. He was quite talented and very sweet, though a terrible flirt. She imagined he’d draw a horde of groupies, given half a chance. But the affairs of Tucker Burke didn’t concern her.