She had the distinct impression he was grinning at her chest, not her. Removing her glasses and setting them down next to the computer, she rubbed her eyes. Her head had begun to ache. This was too much happening too fast. First, there was that ridiculous encounter with Jack Conner yesterday and now this creature came along, weaseling his way in, to what? He wants to do business? I can't deal with this. I'll have to talk to Mr. Douglas and Jack before making any decisions about this sort of thing. She drew away from his broad grinning face as he leaned in, closer still. His features were heavy, dominated by jowly cheeks, working their way south. He was heavy set and beginning to go to fat.
Replacing her glasses, she answered curtly. “I’ll think about that Mr. Van Winkle. I’ll have to talk with that nephew, Jack. I know where to find you, and I will let you know if I’m interested. Have a nice day.”
The broad grin melted slowly from his face and he nodded. As the precariously balanced chair teetered dangerously towards her, she struggled to move away. Then he shifted back, letting the legs of the chair slam down onto the floor. “Okay then, but I can offer you a better deal than what Jack and that crazy uncle of his had going. If you want to turn a profit here you’d be wise to deal with me.” At this, he rose, and strode off angrily to his truck. Gravel flew as he pulled out onto the road and drove off.
Sighing, she opened the laptop, trying to put her train of thought back on its rails. Scrolling through the paragraphs she’d just written, she began again. After a minute or two, she found her stride and her fingers were flying over the keyboard.
The clearing of a throat just a few feet away from her caused her to start and freeze, her hands poised over the computer. Looking to her right she saw Jack standing there to the side of the porch. They were eyeball to eyeball only four or five feet from one another. How long was he watching me?
He stared at her and nodded towards the laptop. “Doing a little on-line shopping?”
One hand quickly shot out and she slammed down the lid, once more irritated at this latest interruption. No way was she going to let him get a glimpse of her work.
Something caused him to chuckle as he looked with curiosity at the closed laptop.
“What are you laughing at?”
“Nothing, nothing at all I guess. What’s with the laptop?”
“None of your business,” she snapped back, her cheeks reddening.
“Okay.” Jack nodded. “You made your point.”
“You startled me. What’s the best way to get internet access out here, satellite? Is there cable or DSL available?”
“Already got it. Nowadays you need access to the internet for weather, your spraying regiment, and integrated pest management records. It’s not like farming used to be in the old days.”
She softened, regretting her outburst. “All right. I’m sorry Jack, I didn’t mean to sound so snippy. If you don’t mind, I will need to use it. I’ll be glad to pay for the service. That should be my responsibility. If you wouldn’t mind telling me what the password is and anything else I need to know I’d appreciate it.”
Instead of answering her question, he asked one of his own. “What did Van Winkle want? I saw him drive up a while ago.”
“He wants to buy my apples for his cider mill. I guess that would be, our apples. I told him I would think about it. He says both you and Uncle Charley weren’t easy to do business with, but I can’t imagine why he’d think that,” she said, a sarcastic tone in her voice and a little smirk on her face.
“If you’re smart and take my advice, you’ll have nothing to do with Van Winkle. He drives too hard a bargain and any bargain struck, he may not keep.” Jack turned and walked away towards the barn.
“Hey! What about the internet?” she called after him but received no reply. “This isn’t going to be easy,” she muttered. I probably said the wrong thing and made him angry. Not difficult to do, apparently. Opening the computer once more, she tried to put her thoughts in order. Currently she was in the middle of her seventh romantic thriller with the working title “Caribbean Fire”.
As soon as she collected her thoughts and found her rhythm, Mr. Douglas pulled into the drive beyond the house, followed almost immediately by his friend, the doctor. With a sigh, Vicky closed the computer once more. So much for the peace and quiet of the country and working without interruption. As the two older men approached the house, she slipped the laptop into its case and looked up at the sinking sun in the clear blue sky and saw that it was getting late.
“Good afternoon Victoria,” called Fred.
“Hello Mr. Douglas, Dr. Sweeny.”
“I picked up the things you needed,” said Doc pulling bags from the back of his car.
“Thanks! Let me help you,” she said taking some packages from him. “I’m feeling much better now, so you don’t have to babysit me anymore.”
“I’ll just set these things inside and then Fred and I’ll go find Jack so we can talk.”
* * *
Fred Douglas cleared his throat and looked at the other three sitting at the kitchen table. Doc smiling, Vicky anxious, Jack arms crossed grimly rocking on the back legs of his chair. “Okay then,” he said laying out some legal papers. “Here’s what I propose. It’s really quite simple. Victoria as the property owner shall have responsibility for paying all the expenses, taxes, utilities, maintenance, equipment, and supplies. In short, she pays for everything, nothing whatsoever coming out of Jack’s pocket. Net profits from all sales and proceeds from the farm’s output will be divided with a sixty-forty split, the greater percentage going to Victoria. That’s it in a nutshell without all the legal mumbo jumbo. All that will be included in the documents that will be ready to sign in a day or two. How does that sound?”
“I think that’s entirely fair. Sounds fine to me.” Vicky turned to the doctor. “What do you think, Dr. Sweeney?”
“Fred here is the lawyer. If he thinks it’s fair and it’s okay with you, then I certainly don’t need to give my opinion.” He turned to Jack, “What do you think?”
“So I have to go through her to make any decisions.” They turned to look at Jack Conner who sat stone faced, staring at a point in the center of the table.
She felt a palpable anger and hopelessness emanating from him. Sympathetic tears filled her eyes.
“Jack?” the doctor tried once more.
He rose and walked to the back door and looked around at each of them. “I’ll have to think about it.” The hinges of the screen door squealed and the door banged shut after him.
After a moment Doc spoke. “I guess there’s no reason we should have expected this would be easy or simple. I’ll go and try to talk to him. Every last one of that Conner clan always was stubborn as a mule.”
“No! Wait.” She stood up, eyes shining and faced them. “I don’t care what you do about the money. I can get along without it. Let Jack take over the farm and all the profits and expenses for as long as he likes. I just want my grandmother’s house and the few things of hers still left here.” Turning, she ran up to her room.
Fred turned to look at his friend. “Like you said Doc, no reason we should expect this to be easy or simple. What was that about getting these two together?”
Chapter 6
Before dawn the next morning, Jack slung a pack over his shoulder and ran down the steps from his apartment. Hitting the light switch, he continued to the rear wall of the garage where fishing rods were hung neatly above tackle boxes. He slipped out the side door and guided by the beam of a flashlight; he crossed between the plowed fields and climbed a narrow path into the woods. Entering the cool dark passageway beneath the trees, he could hear a rippling stream. Something rustled and skittered away from him in the underbrush as he kept his steady pace through the trees and down towards the water.
Reaching the stream, he stood on a flat rock looking down into the black depths, playing the shaft of light over the surface of the little brook. The silence was broken only by the rustle of wi
nd in the trees and passage of the stream. Moving along the familiar path to his right, he stepped carefully from rock to rock until he came to a level spot where the waters broadened into a small pond. In this peaceful spot, he’d made himself a seat of upended stones. Putting down his fishing tackle, he settled himself, looking east where dawn was making its appearance.
Thinking over the events of the last two days, he cast his line far into the water. “Damn Uncle Charley!” His scheming has ruined my life. I should never have trusted the old bastard! Now what can I do? That bitch just waltzed into my life and stole my future.
For a while, he fished, but the fish must have sensed the tension in his arms. Not a nibble. Nothing is going right!
The sky was beginning to lighten. He took out his thermos and poured scalding black coffee into the plastic cap. The morning was cold for mid May and he cradled the cup in both hands holding it close and letting the steam wash over his face. The farm, Vicky what’s-her-name, Fred and Doc can all go to Hell! Baiting his hook, he cast his line out again into the center of the pond.
Fishing rod in one hand and coffee in the other, he eased back into his seat among the rocks. He couldn’t stop thinking about that girl, Victoria. I wish I’d never met her. He mulled over all the irritating things she’d said and done and then the vision of shapely legs and red panties would subtly worm their way into his mind.
I suppose it’s not all her fault, but does she have to be so smug and smart-ass about everything? Telling me that Van Winkle wants to buy ‘her’ apples. All of a sudden, they’re ‘her’ apples! And another thing! She assumes that I don’t have internet service on the farm. Does she think only city people use computers and we’re all a bunch of dumb hicks up here?
Wakened by the sun, birds began flitting from branch to branch above his head calling to one another. From the fields of a neighboring farm, just past the pond, came the harsh caw of crows and a rooster greeting the sunrise. Feeling a tug on his line, he began to reel it in, but then felt a release of pressure and his empty hook emerged.
Why doesn’t that woman just leave? She really won the lottery, getting everything without working a day for it. I’m not going to give up without a fight. I’m going to confront her and demand my share. The more he thought about it, the more his Irish temper neared the boiling point.
The piercing screech of the crows and rooster kept demanding his attention. Remembering the book of poetry, he pulled a thick paperback from his pack. There was enough light in the sky to read by and he turned the well-thumbed pages of a volume of the collected poems of W. B. Yeats.
As the sky lightened, he tried reading some of his favorite poems. Rather than soothing or calming him, the words left him cold and frustrated. He realized his thoughts kept drifting back to his uncle and that girl who’d shown up from nowhere. He couldn’t decide which of them he loathed the most. Uncle Charley was dead and gone, depriving him of the satisfaction of strangling him.
He snapped the book closed. Yeats was right. The world is full of evil and evil people. Charley was a little crazy but not stupid. That bastard knew this farm wasn’t his to leave to anyone. He used me and there’s nothing I can do about it now.
Sighing, he stood up, lifting his rod once more. Might as well catch dinner. Expertly he cast his line upstream into the rippling water and allowed his mind to wander.
I’ll tell her the way it’s going to be. Anger building in him, he rehearsed what he would say to Victoria.
There was a sharp tug on the line and grinning with satisfaction, he firmly gripped his rod, jerking to set the hook. This is a big one. Finally, things are going my way. Moving closer to the bank, he stepped onto the smooth wet stones, steadily reeling in his catch. At the last moment, just before the fish broke the surface, the hook pulled free and flew into the air. He swore as he lost his balance, overcompensated, and began to slip. Loose stones beneath his feet gave way and he fell off the bank and into the cold water of the pond. He found himself flat on his back in the shallow water up to his neck, arms and legs flailing.
“Shit!” He dragged himself out, shivering, and cursing. In an ever-worsening black mood, he stormed off to find Victoria.
* * *
Vicky rose early that morning from a fitful sleep and made her way down to the kitchen. Sipping coffee freshly made in her new coffee pot, she mentally thanked Doc Sweeney for everything he and his wife had done.
She’d decided to have a serious talk with Jack and tell him just what she’d told Doc and Fred the day before. He could run everything, make all the decisions, and take everything, all the profits, if she could just live in the house and be left alone.
Peeking through the faded kitchen curtains, she saw no lights on above the garage. Jack was either sleeping in, or he’d started work early. After breakfast, she’d find him and insist they talk this out.
Cup in hand, Vicky explored the first floor. I can’t wait to remodel this room, she thought stepping into the kitchen, which ran the entire width of the house along the rear. Wide doorways on either side of the large fieldstone fireplace led into dining and living rooms. In front of this fireplace was a large scarred oak table. The two front rooms also had smaller fireplaces. All across the front and wrapping around one side was a wide porch. In back, a smaller porch was on the left rear and beside this, a small room opening onto both kitchen and rear porch. Her exploration ended here.
This’ll be a perfect place to work mornings. Obviously, the room had once been used as an office. With windows on three sides, it had a lot of natural light. A roll top desk dominated one wall and an oak bookcase nearly filled the inside wall. Long ago, the sunroom must have been designated the clutter catchall. Sandwiched in between desk and bookshelf were cardboard boxes, small pieces of furniture, lamps, and discarded items, too good apparently, to take to the dump. The morning sun streamed in, revealing years of accumulated dust. She resolved to spend the day cleaning her new office.
After she showered, Vicky returned to the messy sunroom. In the kitchen, she’d found a damp cloth and began dusting the furniture. Opening a few of the desk drawers, she found only pencil stubs and rusty paper clips. As the sun rose and filled the room with its warmth, she realized she needed to change into something cooler.
Back upstairs, she shed her sweater and jeans, choosing instead a pair of denim shorts and sleeveless top. Her hair was nearly dry and she started to pull it back into a bun, then looking in the mirror changed her mind and let it fall loose. She liked her auburn hair. It was very thick with golden highlights. I’ll need to find a hairdresser and get my hair styled. Mrs. Sweeney will know a good place.
Downstairs, she tracked down a broom and dustpan and went to work. Opening the windows, she let fresh air in. Dragging boxes, lamps and all of the miscellaneous items accumulated over who knew how many years, onto the porch. She felt as though she were finally accomplishing something. At last, the only two pieces remaining were the desk and bookshelf. These she couldn’t move herself. Briefly considering asking Jack to help with this, she decided against it. I’m not going to ask him for anything. He probably wouldn’t help me anyway.
Next, she emptied every one of the desk drawers and all the nooks under the roll top of the desk. It was amazing how many little shelves, doors, and drawers there were and it took some time before it all was cleaned out and dusted. After searching the kitchen and closets for furniture polish, she added that to her shopping list.
Then she dragged a chair from the kitchen and sat before the bookshelf. It was filled with a hodgepodge of books and papers. There were some ancient dictionaries and a couple of King James Bibles. Yellowing government leaflets on agriculture and sales ads for farm equipment were tucked between larger volumes. She made a pile of the old leaflets and items which could be discarded and put other things of value to one side.
Three shelves empty, two more to go. Wedged between stacks of keepers and piles of trash, it occurred to her that some of these books weren’t put ther
e by Uncle Charley or Jack. Jack probably reads nothing except what he needs to know to grow apples. Tucked in at the very end of a middle shelf she found a worn copy of Little Women. Curious she drew the old volume out and opened it. What she saw caused a quick intake of breath and rush of emotion.
To My Dear Daughter
Victoria A. Willet
Mother
Christmas 1939
This book was a gift to Nanna. Her grandmother must have been just twelve or thirteen. She sat for a moment her eyes misting, remembering her. Poor Nanna had such a difficult life. She’d lost Grandpa Joe to a heart attack before he was sixty years old. Her only daughter and son-in-law had been killed in a car accident just after Christmas ten years ago. She fought back tears, thinking of her mother and father, killed in a fifty-car pile-up on route 80 in Pennsylvania. A freak snow squall blowing in from the Great Lakes caused a white out and iced roadways within minutes. I don’t even remember where they were going.
Then, it had been just she and Nanna, comforting and leaning on one another. Nanna sold Vicky’s parent’s large house and moved them both into an apartment. A house and yard was just too much for her to handle. Life moved along, grief fading over the years, until Nanna began to lose her memory and her judgment. Finally afraid to leave her alone at all, she dropped out of her community college and devoted more time to caring for the older woman. That was when she began to write seriously. It was something she could do to earn money while home in the apartment with Nanna. It was also her only escape from a very lonely existence.
She hadn’t been aware of this earlier marriage, a tragic chapter of her grandmother’s life. Determined to learn all she could, she decided to look through the entire house, from attic to cellar, and find any other remnants of her Nanna’s life in Pippen’s Grove. Blinking away tears, she reverently placed Little Women back on the shelf. Removing her glasses, she wiped her eyes.
Keeping Victoria's Secret Page 4