by Jane Keeler
His favorite dominated the wall opposite the door. It was large and unfashionably realistic in technique, harking back to the old masters. The subject matter was unique, however. It depicted two masked figures, in lace and silk picked out with pearls, gracefully posed in some elaborate dance. These revels were held in a clearing within a great green forest; huge tree trunks were visible all around them. Shadows in the background hinted at an audience for the pair.
The painting had a depth and mystery that appealed to Westley. He enjoyed being surrounded by great art, that evidence of the creative spark, of the passion and skill of generations.
He knew he was an object of envy for many people. That didn’t bother him much. He gave generously to charity, both personally and through the company. He had a bulletin board set up in the lobby to display letters from the programs Braxton Industries sponsored: libraries, inner-city gardens, art programs, scholarships, medical and technological research—the list was long.
Westley Braxton considered that he had paid his debt to the human race. He didn’t feel any sense of existential ennui. He loved his job. He loved his son: he didn’t even worry about him anymore—Gabriel was shaping up into quite a satisfactory young man.
Sometimes, though, he felt that he rattled around in his apartment like a solitary pea in a magnificently-decorated drum.
Occasionally, he thought about trying to date again, maybe find someone to bring back to this place, but he hadn’t met anyone he’d found attractive in years. He’d gone out a few times, but the women of his own class were frightened off by the paparazzi. The others he dated turned out to be more attracted to his money than his person.
There hadn’t really been anyone for him since his wife passed away fifteen years ago. She’d fought a long battle against a progressive brain tumor, and had taken Westley’s heart with her when she died.
He ran his fingers through his hair, massaging his scalp firmly. He tried not to think of Sophia too often. It made that empty ache in his chest come back—sometimes he thought it would never go away entirely.
He meandered into the kitchen to see what Doris had left him for dinner. He was halfway through his gazpacho and roast chicken with truffles and wild rice when his cell phone rang.
It was his son Gabriel, with the news that Karlee’s mother had taken a severe turn for the worse. Gabriel and Karlee Gold had been dating for several months now. At first, Westley had been cautious about his son forming such a serious attachment, but as time went on he had come to respect and even love the girl as a daughter.
Emily Gold was sick with ALS. They had all hoped the new treatment would slow down the progress of the disease, and at first the medication had seemed to help, but last night Emily started having trouble breathing. She’d always said she didn’t want them to go to extraordinary lengths to keep her alive. She’d made her daughter promise that when the time came, Karlee would let her go.
The young couple was flying down to Atlanta immediately to be there at the end. Westley wished them Godspeed.
Westley’s throat constricted. There were some problems money couldn’t overcome. Death was one of them. His appetite gone, Westley poured himself another glass of whiskey.
Later that night, as he lay in his Queen Anne bed, he stared at the ceiling for a full hour before falling into a light and restless sleep.
He didn’t feel very rested when he woke up the next morning, but that wasn’t unusual. He drank his coffee, got dressed and went to work.
Just another day.
Westley looked through the list of possible sites for the first fuel cell plant. No location in particular jumped out at him, so he shrugged and set it aside for the time being.
His phone rang. It was Gabriel: Mrs. Gold had passed away early that morning, and the funeral would be held that weekend. Westley said he would undoubtedly attend. Gabriel was devoted to Karlee, and she seemed to love him just as much. She had been a good influence on his wayward son— Gabriel seemed much more likely to think before he acted nowadays, and would sometimes even consider the effect his actions might have on other people.
Westley grieved for the girl. Losing her mother at such a young age must be traumatic for her. To make matters worse, Emily and Karlee were best friends as well as mother and daughter. When Karlee asked him for a favor, he was more than happy to say yes.
“I’d be glad to stop by for your friend. I’ll be taking the jet—we can easily land in Henderson, and I’ll take a car to her house and pick her up. No trouble at all.” He rubbed at the space between his eyebrows. “Take care of yourself, my dear.”
Westley instructed his assistant to have the Gulfstream prepared for Friday and to have matters arranged for him to be absent for a week, maybe two. Atlanta was only a few hours away by plane, after all—if his presence was required, he could easily fly back to New York.
“Oh, and Jeannette, would you also book hotel rooms for me and for this friend of Karlee’s? Her name is Sarah Abbot.”
Westley leaned back in his seat and watched the world flow by underneath him. The Gulfstream had eight plush, leather-upholstered chairs that faced each other across small convertible tables. The tables pulled out to a larger size if you needed a desk or dining area. The seats reclined to a fully horizontal position, so you could sleep comfortably during your flight if you wished. If the seats didn’t suit you, a deep couch hugged the side of the plane. The crew served good food on demand and the jet even boasted a small wine selection.
He remembered a drive he and his wife had taken, many years before, through the same country over which he was now flying. It had been bright spring in the Appalachians, and they’d only been married a few months. Whenever Westley saw Sophia’s face he had felt a flash of surrealism. He could scarcely believe this beautiful woman was his wife.
They’d gotten lost, but it was such a beautiful day they hadn’t minded. Everywhere they looked there were small trees covered in waxy white blossoms; drifts and clusters of wildflowers bloomed everywhere.
Westley had pulled over and picked a small bouquet for Sophia. She thanked him prettily, hand to her mouth like he’d given her diamonds. She rinsed out a fast-food coffee cup, arranged the flowers in it, and placed it in the car’s cup holder. The rest of the drive had been scented with a gentle perfume.
Westley remembered her soft lips on his and the texture of her soft hair under his hands. He’d felt like his heart was as big as the whole world that day. They found their way back to the main road sometime towards evening. The temperature dropped as it got dark, and they booked a hotel for the night.
The hotel had a huge fireplace in the lobby, with a large, roughly-carved wooden statue of a bear on one side and a deer and her fawn on the other. They sat in front of the crackling fire and drank wine. Her face was flushed from the wine and the heat of the fire. Later that night they made love. The satin skin of her throat had smelled sweet, like wildflowers.
When Westley awoke, his face was wet with tears. He wiped his face, glad the flight attendant was in the galley and couldn’t witness his embarrassment.
He focused on his breathing for several minutes, feeling his chest expand as his lungs filled with air and contract as they emptied. When he rang for coffee, he looked as calm and composed as ever.
He looked over the list of factory locations he’d brought with him. It might be a productive use of his time to look around and ask about possible sites when he landed. North Carolina was far enough away from the New York and D.C. that land was cheap, while still close enough by plane that people from the main office could run down if needed.
He wondered about this Sarah Abbot. Gabriel and Karlee had met her on their adventure last year. She and Karlee had developed a strong friendship. If he remembered correctly, Karlee and Gabe had even gone down to visit once. He thought Sarah would be a good contact to have—maybe this town would make an acceptable factory site.
They were coming in for landing, so Westley put his laptop back in his
briefcase and fastened his seatbelt. He was actually looking forward to the ride. He hoped Jeannette had managed to find a good car for him.
Westley gave the silver Mercedes Benz S600 the once-over. It was several years old, but looked well-maintained. He would have preferred a Rolls or a Bentley, but this would do. The uniformed chauffeur nodded politely and asked if he needed anything before they left.
“No, I’m fine. Let’s get started. My assistant gave you the address and other details, correct?”
Chapter 3
Sarah fixed up the herbs for the Jenkins family—she decided to add some blessed thistle and fenugreek tea to help bring Naomi’s milk down. That baby looked like he could drink up a Holstein milk cow and ask for another. Arabella was coming by later to pick up it all up (and she was going to tie That Menace up securely outside while she did it, too).
She put everything into a patchwork canvas bag, and leaned over it to breathe in the herbs: the apple sweetness of the chamomile, the floral cleanliness of the lavender, the bittersweet butterscotch of the fenugreek, the faint musky scent of the thistle. She told them to do their best to bring help and healing to the Jenkins family. (Plants almost always listened. It was animals you had to watch out for.)
The phone rang. Sarah still had a black rotary dial phone. It was the one she and Charlie had gotten when they first bought the house and she liked it. It wasn’t broken and she saw no need to fix it.
She smiled at the memory—Mama and Daddy hadn’t liked her marrying right out of high school, but she and Charlie had been too much in love to listen to any predictions of doom and gloom. As it turned out, she and Charlie had been right and Mama and Daddy had been wrong. Once the first grandbaby came along, her parents rallied round quick enough.
Her grandson Fenton tried to convince her to get one of those cell phones, but she had enough people running around after her as it was. She didn’t need to carry what amounted to a two-way radio so they could call her every minute of every day too.
The phone rang again. Sarah frowned at it, shrugged, and picked it up. It was Gabe, her friend Karlee’s boyfriend, with some bad news. Karlee’s mother had died. She’d had ALS, and Sarah knew Karlee had been expecting it for some time, but that wouldn’t make the blow fall any softer when it hit.
Gabe apologized for not calling earlier, but he’d been having a tough time with Karlee. Sometimes she cried so hard she threw up. She was sleeping now, sedated by the pills the doctor had given her.
Sarah frowned again. She knew how dangerous and addictive those drugs could be. Gabe said his dad would stop by to pick up Sarah and take her to the funeral in Atlanta, if she wanted to go. He and Karlee would consider it a favor if she stayed with them for a while.
“Of course I want to come to the funeral, Gabe, and I’d be glad to stay with Karlee. When did you say your dad’s coming by?”
She checked the clock on the wall. “My goodness, that’s only a few hours from now. I’d better get ready. Tell Karlee my thoughts are with her—are with you both. Bye dear, I’ll see you soon.”
Sarah muttered to herself, rummaging around in her closet. “Now where is my good black dress?” She hadn’t worn it in years, but it should still fit. Ah, there it was. She tried it on, turning to and fro in the mirror, checking for rips and stains. It still looked good.
She wondered whether she could say the same about herself. She was trim from all the exercise she got gardening. She also spent a lot of time walking through the woods, looking for the more uncommon ingredients she used in her remedies. She had to climb trees to get to some of them, and that was no errand for the frail and fragile.
Her iron-gray hair was thick and healthy. She tried to put it up in a French twist, but it sprang loose again like it had a mind of its own. She sighed and gave it a good brush. When left to its own devices, it reached her shoulders. The waves in it made it stand out from her head—Charlie used to call it her mane. His lioness, he used to call her.
She sighed again and packed the large duffel bag that doubled as her suitcase. She went to the pantry to pick out some herbs and remedies for Karlee. She was trying to choose between ghost pipe and skullcap, and had just decided to take both, when she heard the doorbell.
It was Arabella, carrying a gift basket of blueberry muffins from Naomi. You was nowhere to be seen, something that Sarah viewed with deep suspicion. She handed over the herbs and obtained a promise from Arabella to keep an eye on her garden while she was gone. Fenton would do most of the work, but an extra eye, especially one that could control You, would be helpful.
“Where you going, Miz Abbot?”
“I’m going down to Atlanta for a while to see a friend of mine. I’ll probably be gone a few days, maybe a week. Not too long.”
Arabella’s big brown eyes regarded her thoughtfully. “Alright, ma’am, I’ll make sure your garden’s watered every day. In the early morning, so the leaves don’t get burnt.”
“I deeply appreciate it, dear. Oh—and where is your dog?”
“Somewhere round here, ma’am. He don’t always stick close.”
Sarah quelled a sense of foreboding and hugged the little girl. Then she went back to getting ready for the trip. Sarah hadn’t left the state in ten years. Somehow she never got the chance, with people calling on her all the time and asking for help. Sometimes she worried what they’d do without her. Well, they’d have to find a way for a few days: Karlee needed her.
She chuckled to herself—listen to her go on about how indispensable she was. She was merely a human being like any other, doing her best in the sphere where the Good Lord had placed her. We are all equal in the eyes of the Lord, she reminded herself.
Besides, there was something about this trip. It made her heart drum in her chest and her blood sing in her veins. The chance to go out and experience the wide world didn’t account for all of it. She hadn’t felt this sense of anticipation in years.
The doorbell rang. Sarah rubbed her suddenly perspiring hands on her skirt and went to answer it. She opened the door and got a gander at the fanciest car she ever did see, sitting in her driveway as if it belonged there. It was silver and looked like it turned its nose up at anyone lower than a movie star. Still and all, she forgot about the car when she looked up, straight into a pair of level gray eyes gazing steadily into her own.
He was tall and dressed in a tailored, gunmetal-gray suit. The weave had a subtle pattern in it so that the color shifted slightly according to the light. The man’s dark hair was brushed back, with white showing at the temples. His lips were firm and his eyes were calm, but there were lines around both that spoke of long-term suffering.
“Hello,” he said. “You must be Sarah Abbot. I’m Westley Braxton, Gabriel’s father. I hope he informed you that I would be calling on you?”
“Yes, indeed he did. Pleasure to meet you.” She wiped her palms on her dress again and extended a hand. His skin was soft but his grip was firm. Her hand remembered the feel of his skin on hers, long after they let go.
“Why don’t you and your driver come in and refresh yourselves before we leave again?” she said.
Sarah followed her guests back into the house, taking the opportunity to check her fingernails to make sure all the dirt from the garden had been cleaned away. Her face felt warm and her whole body felt alive with new possibilities.
Chapter 4
The ride’s much more pleasant now that we’ve left the highway, Westley thought. The trees by the side of the road had thick canopies that rustled in the light wind, leaves dancing and sparkling in the summer sunlight. On impulse, Westley decided to open the window and feel the breeze on his face. It smelled pleasant: green growing things, with the scent of some resinous vanilla and a hint of sunbaked earth.
The warmth of the summer afternoon felt good on his shoulders. He leaned back, relaxed, and decided to loosen his tie and take off his jacket. He sat there for a while, eyes closed, feeling the wind rushing against his face and ruffling his hair. W
hen he felt the car turn off the road he roused and looked around.
He heard a low musical chime off to the right. The sound came from a small white tree that someone had decorated with bottles in all shades of blue. They rang softly as the wind stirred them. The tree was beside a wooden gate, carved in an openwork style with leaves and flowers.
The gate was part of a tall, steel-mesh fencing system that enclosed one of the most beautiful gardens Westley had ever seen. There were flowers and vegetables and fruit-bearing trees, as well as stands of other plants he couldn’t identify.
It was designed with an artistic eye—even the vegetables weren’t laid out in neat rows, but cultivated with other varieties of plants: small flowers, creeping vines, and tall bushes all grew gloriously together.
The smell of green things intensified as they drove down the driveway beside this wonderful garden, the leafy smell interspersed with unfamiliar scents—bitter, spicy, pungent.
At the end of the driveway a small white house with a wide front porch welcomed them. Westley rang the doorbell and a woman answered.
She was about a head shorter than Westley—he knew her head would fit perfectly into the hollow of his shoulder, and wondered where the thought had come from. She moved with an unconscious grace that made his breath catch in his throat. Her lips were full and expressive; the line of her cheek and jaw could be the model for a statue of some ancient goddess. He stood there gawking at her until she lifted her gaze to his. Her brown eyes seemed to see right through him.
He had hours to spend with her, he realized. He felt schoolboy sheepish as he introduced himself and was invited into her house.