Keeping Victoria's Secret

by Melinda Peters

  Beginning to feel sorry for him, she said grudgingly, “I guess that might work. What’s happened isn’t his fault. I can see that now. All I ask is that he stay out of my way and I’ll stay out of his.”

  Jack bristled with barely contained anger as he looked around the room at all three eager faces. “All right, guess I’ve got no choice,” he spat through clenched teeth. “I’ll get out of her way. In fact, I’ll move back to the apartment above the garage. I lived there for years when Charley was alive.” With a controlled fury in his voice, he said to her, “Don't worry. I’ll stay way the hell out of your way.” He gave her one more cold stare before stomping out and thundering down the stairs.

  * * *

  Later, Doc Sweeney and Fred Douglas stood together on the front porch watching the sunset out over the Hudson Valley. The attorney dug his keys from a pocket and they jangled, breaking the silence.

  “Charley Conner was one slippery unprincipled son-of-a-bitch, the way he swindled Jack. That wasn’t right at all,” said the doctor.

  “Well, nothing any of us can do about it now, except try and help both those young folks find a way through the mess,” answered his friend. “I’ll be out tomorrow and give them some facts and figures to chew on before we put anything on paper for their signatures.”

  “Those two would make a real good looking couple, don’t you think? Maybe before this is all over, they’ll get together.”

  Fred Douglas threw back his head and laughed aloud as he walked down the steps toward his parked car. “You always were a romantic, Doc.” Turning he called back, “Pigs will fly before those two get friendly with each other.”

  Chapter 4

  “Where did I put my glasses?” Aggravated, Vicky groped about in the unfamiliar room. “I had them yesterday, but now they’re gone. I really hope my new contacts come soon. Why am I whispering when I’m the only one here? That idiot, Jack, can’t hear me from his apartment. Damn it.” She swore softly as her big toe connected with the dresser. Without contacts or glasses, she was terribly near-sighted and didn’t like admitting it. Finally, sighing with relief, she found them on the bathroom sink.

  Doc Sweeney had brought her overnight bag in from the car before he left, satisfied that her concussion wasn’t serious. Warning against anything strenuous, he instructed her to call him if she had any other symptoms. After a good night’s sleep, she did feel better.

  “What I really want most is a shower.” Locating her soap and shampoo, she discovered towels in the linen closet. The morning breeze that moved the curtains in the dated bathroom felt heavenly. Exploring the old-fashioned shower, she experimented with hot and cold controls until she got the water temperature just right, before climbing in. The warm water relaxed her as it flowed through her hair and over her shoulders, but the knot on the back of her head was still tender as she shampooed.

  After a long hot shower, she returned to her bedroom wrapped in a towel, dug in her bag, and drew out robin’s-egg-blue silk panties and matching bra. Blue today will make me feel pretty. Pausing with the scrap of silk halfway up her legs, a thought flashed into her brain. Oh, man! My skirt was up so high; Jack must have seen my red panties when he carried me into the bedroom yesterday! “Damn!” she swore aloud this time. Indulging herself with sexy under things was her little secret. Why did I have to go and knock myself out? Smiling, she recalled how very, very nice he’d looked fresh from his shower. Well, I guess I did get an eye full too.

  Making her way slowly downstairs, she clutched at the newel post and looked about her tentatively. After walking around, her headache had returned and the swollen knot on the back of her head began to throb.

  She found the big country kitchen at the back of the house. At once, she was impressed with the size of the room, but appalled at the ancient outmoded fixtures. Countertops were worn 1950 era red Formica with metal strip moldings. The scarred cabinets had once been white, but now were a yellow-gray with worn metal handles. Churning and rattling away in one corner was a refrigerator of uncertain age. It was a light green and rounded at the edges. Unlike newer models, the rounded corners screamed out “antiquated”, but apparently, it was still operational.

  Moving through downstairs rooms she opened windows to the delightful morning air that smelled of fields and trees without a hint of vehicle exhaust fumes. Wind rustled the leaves of the big oaks that flanked the gravel drive that snaked past the farmhouse and wound its way to the garage and barn out back. She decided at once, that she was going to like living in her grandmother’s house.

  Returning to the kitchen, she hunted for a coffee pot. More than anything, she craved a steaming hot cup of strong coffee. It would be relaxing to sit on the porch with coffee and watch the sunrise. There was, unfortunately no pot of any kind in evidence. She wrenched open the refrigerator, its hinges giving a squeal of protest, but there was nothing but a half stick of butter and a few cans of beer.

  Naturally, Jack wouldn’t leave me any food. He probably took everything out to his apartment last night when he was stomping in and out, moving his stuff. Now what? I’m starving! I haven’t eaten since lunch yesterday, and I lost that in the upstairs hall.

  She began making her way around the room methodically, looking in each cabinet and drawer as she went. She found silverware and a drawer full of utensils, but when she found the dishtowels, it made her laugh. What a sight Jack made trying to “cover his ass” in front of all those people.

  In a cabinet above the old soapstone sink, she found a mid-century Proctor Silex Citation percolator. “Well, that’s more like it.” Pleased, she took it down and began hunting for coffee. Almost there, all I need is some coffee to go with my percolator and water. A thorough search of the entire kitchen turned up no coffee. Sighing with frustration, she leaned against the counter and considered her next move. A teakettle sat on the old gas range. Doc made tea yesterday, so there must be teabags somewhere, but what I really want is coffee!

  The crunch of wheels on the gravel drive signaled the arrival of visitors. Vicky peeked through the window and saw a dark sedan had pulled up to the house. Doc Sweeney was climbing the porch steps laden with packages as a gray haired woman emerged from the car’s passenger side and opening the trunk, lifted out shopping bags. She rushed to the front door to greet the Sweeneys.

  “Good morning my dear and how are you feeling today?” asked the doctor.

  “Much better thanks, Dr. Sweeney.” She held the door for them. “Thank you for everything yesterday. You were very kind.”

  “I hope you don’t mind, my wife wanted to meet you. Elvira, this is Miss Victoria Buonadies.”

  Vicky thought they looked alike, although Mrs. Sweeney was a head shorter than her husband, she had a pleasant smiling round face similar to his own. The doctor and his wife both had the same shade of gray hair and wore similar wire rimmed glasses.

  “Call me Vicky,” she said greeting the couple. “Please come in.”

  “It’s nice to meet you Vicky. I do hope you’re feeling better. I was here briefly yesterday, but with all the excitement, I thought I’d just be in the way, so I went on home.”

  Elvira Sweeney made straight for the kitchen where she set down her grocery bags on the counter. “John, just set those things there,” she said gesturing to the counter. From this cornucopia, she proceeded to draw an amazing number of interesting items. “I felt certain that there wouldn’t be much in this house in the way of food, so I hope you don’t mind my bringing a few things over. John says you’re in no condition to go traipsing out to the store, at least not yet.”

  A loaf of homemade bread appeared, followed by a coffee cake. There was a carton of eggs, a pound of butter, and several mysterious packages wrapped in white butcher’s paper. The doctor’s wife turned and flashed a big smile.

  When a large thermos of coffee appeared, she said, “Oh Mrs. Sweeney, this is totally awesome!”

  * * *

  Vicky leaned back in her chair at the big round oak tab
le that dominated the kitchen. Before her was an empty plate with a scattering of cake crumbs. She reached for her second cup of Elvira’s delicious steaming coffee. “I can’t thank you enough Mrs. Sweeney. This was so nice of you and Doc to come by and bring all this.”

  “It’s no trouble at all, dear. It’s the least we can do for a new neighbor. It’ll be so nice to have a woman living in this house once again. Poor Jack; it was a terrible thing Charley did stringing him along that way for all those years. John told me the whole story last night. That Charley Conner was just no good from the start and that’s a fact.”

  “I know. He must be so hurt and angry.”

  Elvira became pensive and sipped her coffee. She set the cup down and gazed through the window at the morning sunshine playing over the trees. “You know dear, your grandmother left Pippen’s Grove before my time, but my mother told me many stories about her friend. She had fond memories of her and told me she spent many happy hours in this house with young Victoria when they were girls.” The older woman paused, as if she were trying to remember something, staring into her empty cup as though the answer might be found there.

  Here was someone who could tell her more about Nanna as a young woman. Vicky leaned forward, interested.

  “Mother said she tried to talk Victoria out of that marriage with Charley, but it was no use. There were circumstances…that apparently Victoria revealed to my mother after the marriage. Mother never divulged those things. I suppose she felt they were best left buried. All of that generation is gone now and it isn’t right to speak ill of the dead. My dear, that’s not why I mentioned your grandmother, I wanted to let you know that I have several photographs taken of my mother and your grandmother together. Photos of this house back then as well. Your grandmother had the loveliest flowerbeds around the house and a large cutting garden in the back. Pity, it’s nothing but weeds now.”

  “Mrs. Sweeney, I’d be thrilled to see those pictures. Nanna never talked much about her life here in Pippen’s Grove. I knew that she grew up here on a farm, but I had no idea she still owned it.”

  Doc Sweeney came in through the back letting the screen door slam behind him. Going to the counter he cut himself a generous wedge of coffee cake and came to sit with the two women.

  “Did you find Jack?” asked Elvira.

  The doctor nodded, chewing thoughtfully. “I did, and I can tell you his mood is unpleasant to say the least. Poor Jack feels cheated and betrayed by everyone, even by Fred Douglas and myself. He’s out there beyond the barn taking it out on a pile of firewood, even though there’s no need for wood ‘til next fall. I guess he’ll get over it in time. Fred will be out later this afternoon with his proposal for an agreement between Jack and Vicky. I believe I’ll come along as well, if you don’t object. I have an idea Jack may take some persuading on the matter.”

  Listening, she could hear the distant angry chunk chunking of a persistent ax splitting wood. “I don’t mind at all Dr. Sweeney. I want to get this mess settled as quickly as possible, before my things are delivered from New Jersey at the end of the week. There’s not much, just a little furniture, some books, my clothes, and a few kitchen things.”

  The doctor nodded again and pointed to the ancient percolator that she'd found in the cabinet. “Why don’t you throw that old thing out? I know from past experience that it leaks. When I was here treating Charley, I tried to use it to make some coffee. Charley was on his deathbed but refused to replace a broken coffee pot. That’s the way he was, just plain ornery.”

  She laughed. “The whole kitchen needs to be replaced!”

  Smiling, he told her, “If you give me a list, we’ll pick up anything else you think you might need for the next few days, and bring it by when I come this afternoon. I want you to continue to rest and not venture out for another day or two.”

  Overwhelmed with the kindness of these two people, Vicky was glad they were her neighbors. She found pencil and paper, putting coffee and drip pot at the top of the list.

  * * *

  Mother’s Friendship Crumb Cake From Elvira Sweeny’s Kitchen

  Makes 2 - 9” round cakes. One to keep, one to give to a friend.

  Crumb Topping

  1 cup butter

  1 cup sugar

  2 cups flour

  2 teaspoons cinnamon

  2 teaspoons ground nutmeg

  Stir together the dry ingredients in mixing bowl. Slice butter into bowl and mix on medium-low until crumbs are formed. Set aside.

  Cake Batter

  1 cup butter, softened

  1 8 ounce package cream cheese, softened

  3 cups sugar

  6 large eggs, room temperature

  1 tablespoon vanilla extract

  3 cups all-purpose flour

  1/8 teaspoon salt

  Grease, flour, and line two, nine-inch cake pans with parchment paper. Beat the butter and cream cheese on medium speed for 2 minutes or until creamy. Gradually add sugar, beating five minutes. Add eggs, one at a time, beating just until yellow disappears. Add vanilla mixing well. Combine flour and salt. Gradually add to butter mixture, beating at low speed just until blended after each addition. Pour batter into two prepared 9-inch cake pans. Cover batter with crumb topping. Bake at 325F for 45 - 50 minutes or until toothpick slides out cleanly. Cool, turn out and wrap well.

  Chapter 5

  Lifted from the storm-drenched deck, Gwendolyn’s thoughts were confused as she felt herself carried away in strong masculine arms, water streaming from her skirts. Triumphant shouts from the pirates and the cries of their unfortunate prisoners filled her ears, as she fought to remain conscious. The sound of her captor’s boots on the ship’s companionway echoed in her head as he carried her safely into the quiet darkness below. Suddenly icy fingers of fear gripped her heart as she became aware of the hard steel of his manhood pressing against her thigh. Was the handsome buccaneer with the flashing dark eyes her savior, or was he only whisking her off to ravage her privately, thus not to be shared with the rest of his fellows?

  From “Caribbean Fire” by Tori Baxter.

  * * *

  After waving good-bye to Doc and Elvira, Vicky walked out to where she’d parked her car the day before and popped the trunk with her remote. Today would be the perfect day to get caught up on her work. The weather was nice and the quiet solitude soothing. She retrieved a small suitcase and laptop computer. The suitcase she lugged upstairs to what she now thought of as her bedroom. Before she was too settled, she intended to look over the other rooms and decide which had the nicest view, avoiding the one she knew Jack had just vacated.

  On the porch, she removed her computer from its case and laid it on a small wooden table she’d found against the wall. There were four lovely oversized wicker chairs she’d discovered were quite comfortable. Opening the laptop, she booted up and checked her battery life. She’d have to see about getting internet service out here right away. Opening the file that she’d last worked on a few days before, she began to read. Reaching the end, she sat back thinking and let herself be carried away by the story line. Sitting up abruptly, she began to type, totally absorbed in her writing.

  Like an unexpected gunshot, the slamming door startled her and broke her concentration. Looking up, she saw a stranger standing beside a dusty Ford pickup truck she hadn’t even heard pull into the drive. He smiled up at her and touched the bill of his cap.

  “Morning to you, Miss. Fine day isn’t it?” Without waiting for an answer, he continued. “Name is Jonathan Van Winkle. I guess you’d say I’m a neighbor like, but I’m also a customer. I have the cider mill down the road towards town. Mind if I come up and join you there?”

  ”No, I suppose I don’t mind, Mr. Van Winkle,” she said coolly, closing the lid on her laptop. There was nothing she hated more than people peeking over her shoulder, trying to read her writing.

  He mounted the porch steps and reaching over, pulled one of the large chairs close to hers, and sat, making himself at home
. Obviously, in no hurry, he relaxed gazing out over the fields and orchards. “Yes, it is one mighty fine day. Good weather we’ve been having. I’m afraid I didn’t catch your name.”

  The man seemed to take up more than his share of the space on the porch. “That’s because I haven’t told you yet Mr. Van Winkle. I am Victoria Buonadies.” She grinned mischievously and unable to stop herself asked, “Any relation to Rip? After all, we are in the Hudson Valley.”

  “Yeah, I get that a lot,” he muttered, his expression becoming sullen. “Rip Van Winkle wasn’t a real person though. My people have lived here in the Hudson Valley for over two hundred years. You’re new here aren’t you?” He leaned in closer as he spoke.

  “I am. I just arrived yesterday. You managed to find me very quickly,” she said, not really wanting to give this stranger any more information.

  “Well now, you’ll be the lady that inherited this farm and the orchards. It used to be the Willet place. Story ‘round town is the granddaughter of Victoria Willet is now the owner. I guess you’d be her; that right?”

  She'd always heard that small towns were like this. Everyone seemed to know everyone else’s business in the blink of an eye. She decided that Mr. Van Winkle was a little too presumptuous. Staring back at the newcomer, she didn't answer.

  Unfazed, he continued. “Well then, as I said, I’ve got the cider mill up the road and I’d be interested in doing business with your orchard. Always looking for good apples. Old Charley Conner was difficult to do business with and his nephew, Jack, he ain’t any better. Now I was thinking that you and me might be able to strike a deal. Like I say, always looking for good apples.” He leaned over a little too close for comfort and gave her a conspiratorial grin.