All her earlier fanciful imaginings about him seemed even more ridiculous now. In reality, for all his undeniable attractiveness, she decided that deep down inside, he was probably a very sad, lonely man—a drifter, just as he had said.
Nothing less, nothing more.
Chapter 9
Putting Down Roots
F ollowing lunch, Hallie accompanied Trace to the tack room attached to the barn, to ensure it would provide suitable accommodation for him. Much to her dismay, however, she discovered it was a complete shambles, and she could not see how he intended to live there.
“I’m afraid Aunt Gwen and I made only the most cursory of inspections of the barn this morning. So I had no idea, really, what terrible shape the tack room is actually in.”
“Not to fear,” Trace insisted. “A bit of hard work this afternoon will go a long way toward setting it to rights.”
“But…it doesn’t even have a bed!”
“That’s no problem. I’ve got a camp cot and a sleeping bag in my pickup truck, so I’ll be quite comfortable until I can get a proper bed.”
“But if I’m to provide room and board for your hire, surely, it should be I who supplies the bed,” Hallie declared, then blushed as she realized the wholly unintentional double entendre contained in her words. Hastily, she continued. “If only I’d known, we could have bought a bed at the discount store today. I shall certainly see to it tomorrow.”
Then, before any more could be said, murmuring about having chores of her own that needed tending, she excused herself and hurried from the tack room, feeling guilty and ashamed that she had not offered him a bedroom in the farmhouse.
There were four perfectly good large airy bedrooms upstairs—only two of which were now currently in use. Still, Hallie had hesitated to install Trace in one of the other two, one of which had belonged to her mother and the other of which had been Gram’s. Like Hallie’s own childhood bedroom, the former had remained untouched over the years, and of course, nothing had yet been done about the latter’s, either.
Hallie suffered mixed feelings about both. Despite how much she had loved her mother and grandmother, she genuinely did not believe the rooms should be maintained as shrines to them. While she felt sure Gram must have had her own good reasons for leaving both her daughter’s and granddaughter’s rooms as they were, Hallie herself found the idea more than a little morbid and thought it had not been a healthy thing for her grandmother to have so preserved the past in such a fashion.
With that in mind, Hallie was determined to tackle her own bedroom, at least. For one thing, she was long through with the books, dolls, stuffed animals and other toys with which the shelves were littered. Had she returned as a child to Meadowsweet, she would have been glad to see them all. But now they were only a painful reminder to her of how she had been sent away back East, to embark upon a totally different life from the one she had envisioned when she had lived as a child at the farm.
So, armed with a box of large garbage bags she unearthed in the pantry, she headed upstairs, bent on conquering the childhood clutter.
Not even to herself did she admit she found the idea of Trace being ensconced in one of the bedrooms at the farmhouse not only unnerving, but also secretly thrilling, so much so that she was inwardly relieved she had a reasonable excuse for not offering him one. Subconsciously, she feared that knowing he was just down the hall or, worse, right next door to her own bedroom would prove a temptation she did not want or need right now.
“What are you up to, child?” Aunt Gwen queried, exiting her own room, as Hallie reached the wide landing. “Surely there’s not that much trash up here—although, in truth, I can’t remember when the wastebaskets upstairs were last emptied.”
“No, it’s not that, Aunt Gwen. I simply thought I would have a go at cleaning my bedroom. Although I’ll admit it does seem almost sacrilegious, given how Gram took such pains to preserve it, I’m no longer a child. Many of the room’s contents look almost brand-new. I’m sure there are many deserving poor children who would enjoy having them. So I thought I would bundle all my old belongings up for the Salvation Army or Goodwill or whatever other charitable institutions Wolf Creek may possess.”
“What a wonderful idea, child! I’ll be happy to help you, if you like. I don’t mean any disrespect toward Hennie, but I never did feel it was right to keep your and your mother’s bedrooms looking like rooms in some museum. Still, I think it gave her some kind of comfort—for, on a dreary day, she used to sit in one or the other, lost in her memories. I was always very careful never to disturb her then—for I never wanted to intrude on her solitude, you know.”
The elderly lady paused for a moment, remembering. Then she continued.
“Well, let us not waste another minute, Hallie! If we begin now, working together, we can get a great deal accomplished before bedtime—for I’m sure you do not want the room to be utter chaos when you retire this evening.”
“No, not if I can avoid it, Aunt Gwen,” Hallie agreed.
Companionably, the two women set to work, sorting through books and dolls, stuffed animals and toys, Hallie deciding which few she would keep for old time’s sake, carefully tucked away in a chest somewhere, and what she would donate to charity.
The furniture itself was of good quality, being solid mahogany, and not the least bit childish. But the girlish canopy and matching comforter and dust ruffle were stripped from the double bed to be sacked up, as well. Much to Hallie’s delight, a rummage through the large linen closet upstairs produced a much more sophisticated, hand-knotted, crocheted canopy, along with a beautiful, hand-stitched quilt and a delicate white eyelet dust ruffle.
“I’m so glad you have such an appreciation for these old things, Hallie,” Aunt Gwen told her. “Many young women your age wouldn’t, you know. They’d want something smart and modern, much more in keeping with the styles to be found at Ikea, rather than in an antiques store.”
“I suppose that’s one of the things Aunts Agatha and Edith managed to instill in me,” Hallie explained. “To value the past and the treasured items handed down through successive generations. Aunts Agatha and Edith believed the fact that the world has become such a disposable society was utterly disgraceful, and that’s something about which I firmly agreed with them. There’s so much waste on our planet, it’s pitiful.”
With the beeswax Gram had always employed, Hallie and Aunt Gwen polished the bedroom furniture until it shone. They cleaned all the lamps and knickknacks, too, and washed the curtains and vacuumed the carpet.
Finally the room was finished, and although they were both dirty and exhausted, they felt a deep sense of satisfaction as they gazed at their accomplishments, then at each other.
“Thank you so much for all your help, Aunt Gwen. I couldn’t have done it without you!” Hallie said, giving the older woman a warm hug. “If you feel up to it tomorrow, we’ll do Mom’s room, too. There won’t be nearly as much work involved with that, of course, because it’s not crammed to bursting with childhood stuff.”
“We’ll need to do Hennie’s room, as well, eventually.” The elderly lady sighed. “I confess I’m not looking forward to that…so many memories for us both. But time marches on, and one way or another, those of us left behind have to get on with our lives as best we can. You remember that, dear, when my own time comes.”
“Oh, Aunt Gwen, I hope that’s not going to happen for a long time!” Hallie averred.
“Thank you, child. That’s so sweet of you—and the truth is that I’m only seventy-three, and in great health, besides, thank the good Lord! So perhaps I’ll live to be a hundred. You never know. Many people do nowadays. Well, I’m off to soak my tired old bones now and get cleaned up before supper. Don’t try to manage all these bundles yourself, Hallie. Get Trace to help you.”
“Oh, they’re not that heavy.”
“Maybe not. But the stairs in the main hall are rather steep, and…well, I just hate the thought of you going down them, carryi
ng all these sacks. You might accidentally slip and fall….”
“Like Mom, you mean?” Hallie asked slowly, comprehension dawning. “Yes, I understand, Aunt Gwen. And I promise you, I don’t want to break my neck on the stairs, the way Mom did. Not that she meant to fall, of course. It just…happened.
“I don’t even remember it, you know. I don’t know if I just wasn’t there when it occurred, if I was outside playing or what, or if I’ve simply blocked the memory from my mind, because it was so shocking and ghastly a thing for a child to witness. Sometimes, I think I must have been present, and then, at others, I believe perhaps I only think I was.
“It’s all such a jumble in my brain and so hard, after so many years, to separate what I actually saw or didn’t see from what I was told over the years by Aunts Agatha and Edith and, more rarely, by Gram herself.”
“I know, dear.” The older woman patted Hallie’s hand solicitously. “Childhood memories are frequently confusing that way. One hears a story so often that one comes mistakenly to believe one was actually there when the incident giving rise to the tale happened. I know there were things that occurred when Aggie and Edie were children, before I was even born, that I later came to think I’d had a part in, also. But that just wasn’t true.
“So no doubt you were outside playing when your mother died. It was a bright summer’s day, I understand, so that would have been only natural, wouldn’t it?”
“Yes, you’re right, of course.” Hallie smiled tremulously. “I’m not even certain it was I who found her body…Sometimes, there’s so much I wish I could remember about that day. But, then, at other times, I’m so grateful I can’t recall much of anything about it. In the end, I don’t know which is worse.”
“Perhaps one day, when you’re ready, it will all come back to you, Hallie—if that’s what you truly want. In the meanwhile, you can take comfort from the fact that wherever Rowan and Hennie may be now, they’re together again, just as they were in life.”
“Yes, I’m glad of that. Well, don’t use up all the hot water, Aunt Gwen! Even though I showered this morning, I’m unquestionably in need of a bath now. I don’t remember when I last saw so much dust! Gram would have been so upset. She always kept the farmhouse spotless.”
“That she did, dear. Well, I’m really off to the bathtub now. Don’t forget to have Trace help you with those bundles.”
“No, I won’t. I promise.”
Leaving the elderly lady to make her way down the hall to the main bathroom, Hallie headed downstairs and out to the tack room, where she discovered Trace had been equally as hard at work as she and Aunt Gwen had been in the bedroom.
“Good Lord. This doesn’t even look like the same place.” She gazed with astonishment at all he had managed to accomplish, the years of clutter, trash and dirt he had cleared out in a matter of hours.
All the old, rotten leather bridles and halters that had previously dangled from askew hooks in the walls were gone. Battered saddles astride rickety wooden racks had been got rid of, along with the racks themselves, moth-eaten blankets, torn rubber muck boots, long-rusted curry combs, ancient shoeing equipment, and cartloads of other accouterments previously used to maintain the horses once housed in the barn.
The tack room itself had been hosed down and swept clean, and in one corner Trace had erected his camp cot and unrolled his sleeping bag on top. He had set up a small camp table, too, on which he had placed an electric lantern.
“As I assured you, I’ll manage just fine out here,” he told her, tossing aside the rag he had been using to dry his wet hands. Plainly, he had washed up himself with the hose, as well. “Tomorrow I’ll get started on the barn itself. Your great-aunt said something about you maybe wanting horses here at Meadowsweet again.”
“I hadn’t really given that a whole lot of thought yet,” Hallie confessed. “Still, it would be nice—and great exercise, too.”
“Not to mention practical, if you’re intending actually to run this place as a farm again. From what Frank Kincaid told me, I don’t believe your grandmother had done so in that regard for years, letting the land lie fallow instead.”
“I think she had a hard time getting help,” Hallie explained. “Naturally, people with their own farms work those and don’t have time for anybody else’s, and from what my great-aunt has said, it seems the kids hereabouts nowadays are more interested in electronic pursuits than in turning their hands to the land. Small farms like Meadowsweet are a dying breed. It’s just too difficult to compete with the giant farming corporations anymore.”
“Why didn’t your grandmother just sell the place, then?”
“She loved the land—she always said it was the only thing that endured—and she actually did have a small but thriving enterprise here, with chickens, her bees and her herb garden. She sold eggs, honey and other bee products, and dried herbs, locally—at the farmers’ market on Saturdays, mostly. But I gather from Aunt Gwen that the two of them had ambitions about trying to expand, mainly by setting up a Web site and starting a mail-order business.”
“With the right products, keywords and marketing, that’s something that could prove highly successful,” Trace mused aloud.
“Yes, I know. It’s what I actually do for a living. I’m a graphic designer.”
“Then you shouldn’t have much trouble at all, implementing your grandmother and great-aunt’s plan.”
“No. I’m just not sure I want to sell bee pollen the rest of my days—or even if I’m going to stay here at the farm long term,” she confided. “I do have a life back East—and a good job from which I’ve taken a sabbatical. Right now, I’m just trying to get myself sorted out. I’m—I’m recently divorced…no children, thank goodness. Still, I didn’t plan on a failed marriage.
“Anyway, that’s one of the reasons why I’m not all that eager to leap headfirst into another relationship right off the bat—and why I haven’t made up my mind yet about Meadowsweet’s future, either. And although I’m very glad my great-aunt’s here, her presence has complicated matters. If I wind up selling the farm, she’ll be homeless, and somehow, I have the distinct impression she wouldn’t be too keen on the idea of accompanying me back East, that she isn’t any more interested in big-city living than you are, Trace.”
“A body could do a lot worse than to settle down on this old farm,” he pointed out. “It’s got a great deal of potential. In fact, I’ve been saving all my life for a place just like this one. So if you decide to sell, I hope I’ll be the first person you tell—because if the price is right, I’d be real tempted to make you an offer.”
“I thought you were a drifter—footloose and fancy-free.”
“I am. But there comes a time in every man’s life when he comes to a fork in the road, and he’s got to make a decision about which one to take. I reckon I’m about there now—and I never planned to be a drifter all my life. Your grandmother’s old farmhouse is truly an outstanding piece of Victorian architecture, just the sort of rambling place filled with nooks and crannies, which I’ve always found interesting. I don’t want to live in one of these modern boxes people are crammed into nowadays, in some neighborhood where all the houses look just alike and are jammed up next to one another like sardines in a can, and where there’s a home owners’ association with a whole bunch of rules to adhere to, neither. That wouldn’t suit me at all.”
“No, I don’t suppose it would. All right, then. If I decide not to stay at Meadowsweet permanently, you’ll be the first to know.
“Now, if you’re not too worn out, would you mind giving me a hand upstairs in the house? I’ve got several sacks full of childhood stuff I’m getting rid of, and Aunt Gwen doesn’t want me carrying them down the stairs in the main hall. The bundles aren’t that heavy, but she’s worried I’ll trip and fall and break my neck on the stairs.
“That’s how my mom died, right here at this very house, so I really don’t want Aunt Gwen upset that I’m going to suffer a like fate.”
&nb
sp; “No problem. I’m sorry to hear that about your mother. That must have been rough—having your dad run off, then losing your mother.”
“No harder than you losing your own parents because of a drunk driver, I don’t guess. At least I had relatives who took me in, my grandmother’s sisters, Aunts Agatha and Edith. I’m still not sure why Gram sent me away back East to them, but, anyway, that’s what she did.”
“Maybe she thought it would be too painful for you to grow up in the house where your mother died.”
“Maybe. I don’t know. But it’s all water under the bridge now.”
After walking with her back to the farmhouse, Trace carried all her neatly wrapped childhood belongings down to her Mini, loading them into the cargo space for delivery to the Salvation Army in the morning.
By then, Aunt Gwen was finished in the bathroom, and gratefully, Hallie filled the bathtub to indulge in her own long, hot soak. After that, the three of them ate supper, then played a couple of rounds of cards together in the back parlor.
But by ten o’clock, Hallie was so exhausted from yet another long day that she could scarcely keep her eyes open, and making her apologies to Aunt Gwen and Trace, she trudged upstairs to go to bed.
Moments later, after stripping off her clothes and donning a clean, fresh nightgown she had earlier unpacked from her luggage, she was fast asleep in her newly made bed.
Chapter 10
Only Bad Dreams
D espite her weariness, it was an uneasy, restless slumber into which Hallie slipped, and at some point she began to experience a vaguely disturbing dream that gradually metamorphosed into a dark, erotic nightmare.
She dreamed that despite all her and Aunt Gwen’s hard work that afternoon, her childhood bedroom somehow mysteriously restored itself to its previous state of being, with all her books and dolls, stuffed animals and toys haphazardly cached upon the shelves.
From the Mists of Wolf Creek Page 9