Wild Raspberries

by Connie Chappell

  “That’s something dear John would have done,” Arnett said with none of the affection the words inferred. “There are times in one’s life when the importance of an occasion dictates a week without the insipid sport.”

  Had Callie decided not to be bated into an argument, she would have reminded Arnett that Jack’s livelihood, his talent for golf-course design, provided her a generous lifestyle.

  Arnett snapped her fingers. “What’s the buzzword I hear bandied about these days?” Arnett bit down on her lip, overplaying a moment of feigned reflection. “Ah, stakeholder. That’s it. You don’t have any real stake in the outcome of this peace summit, do you? For you, this is just another occasion to play golf. How nice.”

  Callie remained under Arnett’s scrutiny a moment longer, then the older woman shook her head, conveying lingering disgust. Callie knew her lack of a comeback would be savored as a victory, and a victorious Arnett might be more inclined to accept her proposition.

  The turn signal clicked steadily while Callie waited for traffic to clear. Within seconds of maneuvering onto the turnpike, mountains rose up on their right, large and imposing. The peaks were a natural barrier against urban sprawl. At intervals, sections of the pine-covered mountaintops had been shirred for the passage of live wires that brought energy and communication. Reaching the turnpike equaled the last leg of the trip. Heatherwood was just around the corner, relatively speaking. Nothing was as squared up as corners in the West Virginia mountains. Snaky switchbacks being prime examples.

  She gave Arnett a sidelong glance. Never, never waste an opportunity, she thought. A golfer always converted opportunity into success. Hopefully, Arnett was ready to plot another victory.

  “I know you find this awkward,” Callie said, opening with neutral words. “I do, too. But I think we can all agree that Lizbeth needs our help.”

  “I don’t like the way you’re including yourself in this.” Mocking Callie, Arnett added, “We can all agree that Lizbeth needs our help”

  “Look, Arnett, Lizbeth included me. It was not my choice. I was asked to help, and I will. If you don’t comply, if you don’t accept me in this—based on Lizbeth’s frame of mind—you’re cutting your own throat, plain and simple.”

  “Me? I figured that’s what you were here to do.” Her craftiness quickly changed to anger. “My life has gone to hell because of you.”

  “Right here, right now,” Callie said, struggling to maintain decorum, “let’s not make this about you and me. We need to focus on Lizbeth. We need to help her make clear decisions. Those decisions affect you more than me. In fact, they don’t affect me at all.”

  “My point exactly. Lizbeth wanted you along to keep me stirred up. It’s sabotage. She’s setting me up.”

  Callie held back the sigh that wanted to escape. “No, she’s not. She’s asking you to—”

  “I know what she’s asking. I don’t need you to tell me. My precious daughter-in-law didn’t pack that quilt in her luggage. She laid it out on the back seat as a ready reminder.”

  Several minutes passed while the women watched the highway disappear under the SUV and an idea dogged Callie. “Why don’t you and I make a pact?”

  Arnett shook her head. “No more pacts. The one with Lizbeth is enough.”

  “Let me explain first before you decide.”

  “Fine,” Arnett said, glaring. “Explain.”

  “Why don’t you and I caucus about circumstances between us first. We might resolve the issues before they’re brought up in group.” Callie incorporated the counseling terms Beebe used in what little conversation had taken place at lunch. “You’ll appear less tense if you have time to think things through. Ruminate, as Jack always said,” she added with a smile Arnett didn’t return. “Lizbeth and Beebe will perceive this new attitude as improvement. And it will be. I just think no pre-warning of caucus material is only going to lead to hurt feelings and offhanded remarks. There’ll be no real headway, just backpedaling and apologizing.”

  “Are you saying you have caucus questions for me?”

  “I wouldn’t dismiss it. I was thinking more of your questions for me.”

  A look of surprise fled onto Arnett’s face, closely followed by anger. “So, your pact would give you time to prepare. Another one-sided pact. Arnett loses again.”

  “No. You’d be prepared for my answers, and not go off the deep end.”

  “Like back at the depot.”

  “Yes, like back at the depot. No points for you there. Chad is still out of reach.”

  Arnett’s entire body stiffened. “Cheating is obviously something you learned well from John,” she said, “but I won’t be partners with you.”

  Callie thought Arnett made a bad decision. A partner was just what she needed, but Callie understood. The ship had sailed on Callie’s integrity with Arnett. “If you change your mind, let me know.”

  “I won’t.”

  Both women’s gazes drifted to their respective side mirrors. Lizbeth’s dusty Tahoe followed like a gray ghost.

  A short time later, Old County Road A came up on the left. The two SUVs turned and proceeded up its low grade. The width of the asphalt accommodated two lanes of traffic, but was devoid of a painted centerline. On Callie’s side, the road dropped off. An abundant mix of wildflowers, weeds, and brambles grew up along the edge. On Arnett’s side, a solid wall of evergreens looked down on their ascent.

  Farther up, a clearing appeared on the right. Callie pulled onto a small off-road parking area in front of a weathered building labeled office check-in. Lizbeth eased the Tahoe in behind. Arnett nearly jumped out of the Santa Fe, following a short struggle with the seatbelt. Callie walked between the two bumpers, her gaze fixed on the building’s façade, its rough-hewn finish, the six steps up to the railed porch, the two Adirondack chairs beside the front door.

  Callie was vaguely aware of Lizbeth bending at the waist, stretching her long muscles and moaning. The last door closed. Beebe commented on the general-store look. Callie smiled. She had the same thought over a decade ago on her first trip to Baron. In the next heartbeat though, she fiercely resented the women accompanying her inside and their forced replacement of Jack. She felt his loss thicken quickly until its pain choked. She desperately wished she could bewitch them with a string of charmed words that would cause them to tarry in the afternoon sun, chatting and laughing.

  Beebe ambled over. “Should we wait here?” Her tone was low. She seemed tuned in to Callie’s thoughts. “The first time you saw this place and walked in, it must have been with Jack.”

  “Actually, no. Jack gave me directions. I stopped for a second cabin key.”

  “But still, returning must be difficult.”

  She searched Beebe’s brown eyes. “We took an honesty pledge.”

  “I understand, but it works both ways. Do you honestly want us to wait here?”

  It hadn’t occurred to Callie the honesty pledge could be twisted to create a benefit. “It’ll be fine,” Callie said, not accepting Beebe’s alternative, “you all can come. This is small, considering I opened Heatherwood to this peace summit.”

  “I don’t believe that, but okay.” Then Beebe’s chin came up. “No, I take that back. It’s not okay. You don’t have to play the complete martyr. That isn’t necessary.”

  Callie wavered. She did prefer a private reunion with Sarah, but she didn’t want to appear to be hiding something and get a row started. On the other hand, Sarah needed to know she had guests. Callie shifted her gaze to Beebe. “Let me go alone first. Then I’ll wave you in. Everyone can meet Sarah.”

  “Fine. Much better. I’ll hold them here. Take your time.”

  “Thanks, Be
ebe.” On a rush of relief, she added, “Heatherwood is just up the road. I couldn’t drive by without letting Sarah know I arrived. She was always wonderful to Jack and me.”

  Beebe’s hand whisked her away. “Go ahead. Go see her.”

  A moment later, Callie stood inside. A large oval-shaped braided rug occupied the center of the room and led to a counter parallel with the back wall. There, a smiling Sarah Prosser waited a beat before buzzing around the counter. Her broad shoulders tapered to thin birdlike legs. The oversized white shirt she wore over gray leggings precipitated her youthful appearance, but energetic Sarah was pushing seventy. Her emerald eyes didn’t stray from Callie until she was gathered into a tight embrace.

  Sarah rubbed Callie’s back with the same hand that, after she pulled away, cupped and raised her chin. “It is so good to see you.” Standing back, she took Callie in. “A little thin, I think, but we’ll see what we can’t do about that.”

  “Don’t worry about me. Good to see you. You look great,” Callie said, tugging on Sarah’s shirtsleeve, pinching the ironed-in crease.

  Quickly, Callie looked around. The building’s interior was just as she remembered. A beverage cooler took up much of the entranceway. The general-store theme expanded through the room with small quantities of personal items and food stuffs on low shelving beneath the windows that lined the front and far walls.

  “How are you?” Sarah asked solemnly, then held up a hand. “No. Don’t answer that. You’re here; I know progress was made.”

  Callie appreciated Sarah’s efforts to let her stay the course. Callie would talk about Jack when she was ready. Hooking Callie’s elbow, Sarah walked her to the counter. A reddish-brown accordion folder lay there.

  “Later in the week,” Sarah said, tapping the folder, “I’ll stop by, and we’ll go over some paperwork. Update things. There’ll be a few forms to sign. But that can wait. You had a long trip; you’ll want to get settled in.”

  Callie’s finger scratched at the folder’s edge. “Sarah, I know I didn’t tell you this on the phone, but I brought some ladies with me.”

  “Oh?” Then her face lit. “For a gab session.”

  “Well, something like that.”

  “That’s a great idea.”

  “Anyway, I want you to meet them.” Callie pointed toward the windows and her traveling companions beyond.

  “By all means. Get them in here.”

  Callie walked back to the screen door and called Beebe’s name. The three women climbed the wooden stairs, sounding as offbeat as iron-shod oxen. Callie led them to Sarah. Stepping back, she gestured toward the trio now rooted to the rug. “Sarah, these are my guests: Beebe, Lizbeth, and Arnett.”

  “Welcome,” was all Sarah got out. A rustling sound carried through the doorway behind the counter that led to the back office where a second entrance door opened and closed.

  “That’s Nadia, my second in command.” Sarah patted Callie’s arm. “I want you to meet her. Excuse me.”

  An awkward silence waited with the four women until Sarah returned with Nadia. Both were giggling. Nadia was a wispy woman in her mid-twenties. Her dark blonde hair was tied back with a scarf. She trailed Sarah around the counter and smiled brightly at the group.

  “Callie, this is Nadia,” Sarah said, extending her hand. “She got Heatherwood ready for you. Nadia, meet Callie MacCallum. Their surnames are different, but she’s Jack’s wife.”

  There, the frivolity ended for Sarah and Nadia. Their mouths dropped. Arnett shouted over Beebe’s and Lizbeth’s attempts to calm her. Callie was just as stunned as her companions.

  “That’s not true! I was his wife. Me!” Arnett’s anger gathered like a heated summer storm, then she wrenched herself free of Lizbeth’s grasp and ran for the door. Beebe was two steps behind.

  Ground Rules

  Lizbeth whirled on Callie, hands on hips. Behind her, Beebe disappeared through Sarah Prosser’s office door. Arnett could be heard thundering down the wooden steps. “I’m going to pull the honesty cord here. You’d better tell Sarah and Nadia the story, so they don’t step in it again!”

  Callie’s heart thudded. She was caught off balance between a glaring Lizbeth and stupefied Sarah and Nadia. “I never referred to myself as Jack’s wife.”

  “Maybe, for the ladies here, you should start a little farther back and be more specific,” Lizbeth said.

  But it was Sarah who spoke next. Her hand lay against the base of her throat, fingers crushing her shirt’s stiff collar. “I am so sorry. Oh, my word. This isn’t Callie’s fault. Well, I don’t know, but— Jack. Jack’s the one who referred to Callie as his wife. Several times. And you know, now that I think about it, you were never with him. You two weren’t married? Why, I didn’t know. Callie?” Her eyes pleaded for an explanation.

  “It was an affair, Sarah. We had an affair.”

  Sarah’s next question escaped on a heavy exhale. “How long?”

  “Twenty-two years when he died.”

  “My heavens.” After a beat, Sarah asked, “You’re here with his wife?” Her tone said Callie was exhibiting a twitchy kind of insanity.

  Callie indicated Lizbeth. “And with his daughter-in-law.” She thought she used just the right amount of cheer an insane person might. Sarah swallowed an involuntary gasp, and Nadia’s expressive eyes grew owl-like. “It’s a long story,” Callie added.

  Sarah’s mouth popped open. “I remember now. He called you his wife the day I remarked on his ring. I paid attention later when you came in. You two wore matching rings.”

  “Fifth anniversary gift,” Callie said, displaying her left hand and the diamonds in both rings.

  “I’m shocked,” Sarah said.

  Callie immediately panicked. She pulled her hand back, closing it, but Sarah was not expressing the scandal or outrage side of shock. She went on, surprised at being fooled.

  “I can’t believe you weren’t married. You were so sweet together, so right.” Catching herself, she cast a chagrined look at Lizbeth, who stepped closer.

  “Is there more about the cabin story we should know?” Lizbeth asked, her attitude abrasive.

  Callie bristled, but managed to work an even tone into her reply. “I suppose I could expound some. Jack bought into the association when the cabins went from rentals to condos.” Callie glanced Sarah’s way. “We stayed here quite a bit, more while he designed the two courses for Brier Hills. Jack transferred the deed to me shortly after he was diagnosed.”

  Overall, Cheat River Estates were ten cabins. Some of the cabins were built on property that dipped down to the river. Others were perched at higher elevations on Baron Mountain.

  Condo manager Sarah Prosser spoke up. “When Jack bought in, he wanted the name changed.”

  “The name? Heatherwood, you mean?”

  “Yes,” Sarah said to Lizbeth. “Jack wanted theirs changed from Big Pine to Heatherwood. You’ll see. There’s a sign at the drive.”

  “That was Dad’s idea?”

  “Yes, and Sarah saw to a first-class reproduction of the original,” Callie said, ready to terminate the conversation before Lizbeth probed into the significance behind the name. Honesty pledge notwithstanding, Callie wasn’t ready to share that very personal story. “The new sign is a match for all the others. Jack loved it, you know.” Callie kissed Sarah’s cheek. “We’ll get together on that paperwork. Nice to meet you, Nadia. Sorry about all this.”

  Lizbeth followed up with a round of meekly issued pleasantries.

  Callie stepped out into the pine-scented mountain air. She saw Arnett, presumably locked inside Lizbeth’s Tahoe. “Guess I lost my co-pilot,” she said, her descen
t slowing on the front steps.

  “Big surprise,” Lizbeth said, passing her.

  Beebe stood, arms folded, leaning back against the Santa Fe’s cargo door. She said nothing. Callie picked up the pace. Lizbeth’s Tahoe was pumping exhaust by the time Callie and Beebe piled in her SUV, simultaneously closing the doors. As Callie wheeled her vehicle from the berm to the asphalt, Beebe broke the silence.

  “This has been a rough first day. Arnett was all but ready to quit back there and stay in a motel.”

  Tension and fatigue took over. Callie barely absorbed Beebe’s words. Events were moving too quickly with no time to sort them out. When Beebe called on her to speak for Jack, Callie committed to that. She fully expected to shoulder the blame for Jack’s reference to her as his wife, but she could not stand in for him as the Sebring family’s mediator. She could not control the balance scale when it tipped sharply with Arnett’s wild emotional rants. Her arms weren’t strong enough. She prayed Beebe didn’t ask her.

  “After you left,” Callie said, “Sarah remembered Jack only referred to me as his wife when I wasn’t around. I didn’t know.”

  “Honestly?”

  Ah, Callie thought, the honesty pledge twists again. “Well, not an outright reference. There was the occasional misconception in public. In twenty years, how could there not? Once, a maître de in a Boston restaurant asked a waiter to show ‘Mr. Sebring and his wife to a table.’ Jack made a reservation. It was an assumption on the maître de’s part.”

  With the mistaken identity, Callie and Jack passed smiles back and forth. Those smiles were two parts satisfaction, three parts mischievous. She and Jack had the look of a married couple, at ease, in love—as Sarah said—so right. That evening, Jack’s fingertips found the small of her back as he guided her through the dining room. If he feared that the maître de’s words would put ideas in her head, it wasn’t evident, not by the seductive way he moved a finger over the thin fabric of her dress causing her spine to tingle.