The Lost Daughter of Pigeon Hollow

by Inglath Cooper

  “You don’t need to apologize.”

  He studied the road for a few moments, then glanced over at her. “I had a good time today, Willa.”

  “So did I,” she said.

  * * *

  IT WAS AFTER MIDNIGHT when Willa tapped at Katie’s door.

  “Katie? It’s me.”

  No answer. She quietly turned the knob and stepped into the room, Sam right behind her.

  Katie faced the other way, asleep.

  Willa walked around the bed, then sat down on the corner. With her barriers lowered this way, she reminded Willa of the little girl who had once looked up to her, cared what she thought. She smoothed a hand across her sister’s hair, love for her welling up in a fierce wave.

  “Oh, Katie, I know Mama did so many things wrong. If I could change any of those hurts, take them away for you, I would. I can’t, but I love you. Shouldn’t that count for something?”

  Katie remained still. And Willa wondered why she had never said these things out loud to her before. But then the answer was clear. What if it didn’t count? Where would they go from there?

  * * *

  AS SOON AS WILLA CLOSED the door behind her, Katie opened her eyes. She rolled over on her back, threw an arm above her head. A little knot of pain sat hard in her chest, the edges unfurling so that she felt singed, as if she’d leaned against a too-hot stove.

  Love. Sometimes, she ached for it. Like she had a big hole inside her that could never be filled.

  And yet she wouldn’t let Willa in. Had shut her out and locked the door.

  She rolled over and punched her pillow.

  She couldn’t let Willa in, because somewhere deep down inside, Katie knew she wasn’t lovable. If your own mother didn’t love you, how could anyone else?

  * * *

  JUST AFTER ONE a.m., Owen gave up on trying to sleep, the hours he and Willa had spent together on the lake that afternoon replaying through his mind over and over again, each loop leaving him more convinced that he did not want it to end there.

  He pulled on jeans and an old Columbia sweatshirt and let himself out of the house. The cool night air felt good on his face, a slight breeze lifting the leaves of the trees along the driveway. He walked fast, hands in his pockets, his head pounding with the need to come to terms with the truth that had taken root inside him.

  He stopped short of the barn, leaned against the board fence, staring out at the moving shadows of the horses grazing in the pasture. He had grown up loving this farm. The thought of losing it turned like a knife in his heart.

  He could marry Pamela and keep it all. But he didn’t love her. And if he were honest with himself, he had known long before today, long before he met Willa Addison, that marriage between Pamela and him would be a mistake.

  It had been his father’s goal to force him to be a more honorable man than he himself had been, to be the kind of man who committed to a relationship and stuck with it, the kind of man who did the right thing.

  Ironically enough, for the first time in a long while, Owen thought he knew what that was.

  * * *

  WHEN WILLA AND SAM came downstairs the next morning, Natalie sat in the kitchen, drinking a cup of coffee.

  “I’m sorry,” Willa said. “I didn’t realize you were—”

  “Owen just left,” she said. “I actually wanted to speak to you.”

  “Okay,” Willa said.

  Natalie gestured toward the coffeepot on the table. “I believe there’s plenty if you’d like some.”

  “Thank you.” Willa poured a cup and sat down on the opposite side of the table.

  “You left so quickly yesterday, we didn’t get a chance to talk.”

  “I know. I’m sorry.” She took a sip of her coffee, and then said, “I can’t accept that money.”

  She had thought about it last night in bed, long into the night.

  “I have to say, that’s the last thing I expected to hear,” Natalie said, clearly surprised.

  Willa looked down at her cup and then met the woman’s direct gaze. “I don’t feel I have any right to it.”

  Natalie said nothing for a few moments, as if she needed time to figure out what to say. “I’ve never been one to pretend something is what it isn’t. You were Charles’s daughter, and I’ve accepted that. I admit, it wasn’t so easy at first. But it was his wish that you be included in his will.”

  “It’s so much money. That must take away from your—”

  “My dear,” she interrupted. “I loved my husband very much. He took good care of me. And he wanted to take care of you, too.”

  The sincerity in her voice tied a knot in Willa’s heart, and she thought how gracious this woman was to put aside her own feelings in regard for her husband’s.

  “Would it help,” Natalie said, “if there were a way you might get to know him better?”

  Willa blinked, surprised. “How?”

  “He kept journals over the years. Would you like to read them?”

  Again, Willa didn’t know what to say; Natalie’s generosity was overwhelming. “Are you sure that’s something you want to share?”

  “I’ve given it a good bit of thought,” she said. “I know it must be as hard for you to understand why Charles waited so long to see you as it has been for me to understand why he didn’t tell me about you. Maybe this will help in some way.”

  * * *

  OWEN HAD A nine o’clock meeting with a potential investor an hour’s drive from Lexington. He called Pamela’s house on the way, only to learn from her mother that she had gone to see her sister and would be returning the following day. He tried her cell phone and got her voice mail.

  “Hey,” he said. “We need to talk. Call me when you get back, and I’ll drive out to your place.”

  He clicked off the phone, flipped the top closed. She deserved to hear this from him face-to-face. And the sooner they resolved it, the better.

  * * *

  NATALIE INVITED WILLA and Katie to stay at her home while Willa went through the journals. Willa thanked her, but told her they would find a place, not wanting to intrude on her privacy.

  Natalie had just left when Katie walked into the kitchen and rubbed Sam under the chin. “Morning,” she said.

  “Good morning,” Willa replied, startled by the lack of sullenness in her sister’s voice.

  Katie poured herself a glass of orange juice from the pitcher on the counter. “Was that Mrs. Hartmore leaving?”

  “She came by to tell me that my father had kept journals. She’s offered to let me read them.”

  Katie made a sound that wasn’t approval or disapproval, something in between.

  Willa started to tell her about the inheritance, but decided to wait until she was more certain of her own feelings. “What would you think about staying a few days longer?”

  “Here?” Katie asked.

  “Maybe it would be better if we found another place to stay.”

  Katie failed to hide a look of disappointment. “I kind of like helping out Jake.”

  Her response surprised Willa to say the least, untainted as it was by the belligerence she had grown so used to hearing in Katie’s voice. Since they had been here, the change in Katie was noticeable. She and Cline had been spending more time together, and Willa wondered if it might have more to do with him than Jake. Whatever the impetus, the difference was gratifying. “I’ll ask Owen.”

  Katie finished off her orange juice and made a more convincing display of nonchalance. “Whatever,” she said. “I told Jake I’d help him do stalls this morning. I’ll take Sam with me. Come on, Sam.”

  Katie darted out of the kitchen, and for the first time in longer than she could remember, Willa felt hopeful that they might somehow find a way back.

  * * *

  LOUISA CAME IN SHORTLY AFTER Katie left, and Willa spent the morning helping her in the kitchen. Willa liked the other woman’s quiet sense of humor. They shared some recipes, and at Louisa’s request, she made h
er best-selling dessert from the diner.

  “You’re a wonderful cook,” Louisa said when Willa pulled the meringue-covered coconut-cream pie from the oven. “That’s perfect.”

  “My mother taught me how. At the time, I was pretty bored with it, but I’m glad for the skill now.”

  Louisa wiped her hands on her apron, and said, “Nothing like a woman’s good cooking to keep a man in line.”

  “Is that all it takes?”

  “It’s a good part of the equation. Just as important as sex,” she said with a wink and a nod.

  “I’ll file that one away,” Willa said, smiling.

  “You have a boyfriend at home?”

  She shook her head. “No time for that right now.”

  Louisa clucked her disapproval. “Life’s not what it should be if you don’t make time for love. Or so I keep telling that Owen.”

  “He’s had a lot of girlfriends?” As soon as the question was out, Willa wished she could take it back.

  “Too many, if you ask me,” Louisa said. “Just none of them the right one. That’s the key. Finding the right one.”

  Louisa’s words still echoed in Willa’s thoughts later that afternoon when Owen arrived back at the house. He walked into the living room where she had been trying, unsuccessfully, to read, her thoughts everywhere except on the page in front of her.

  He wore a light gray suit with a white shirt and red tie, which he loosened at his throat. “Sorry to desert you today,” he said.

  “Don’t be.” She hesitated, and then said, “About yesterday—”

  “If you’re going to say none of it should have happened, please don’t. I look at you, Willa, and for the first time I can remember, it feels like maybe I’m looking at something that could be really, really right.”

  The words fell over her, sincere, imploring. “Wrong time,” she said softly. “Natalie offered to let me read the journals Charles left. I think it would be best if Katie and I found another place to stay.”

  “There’s no reason why you can’t stay here,” Owen said.

  “Yeah. There is.” She stood then, and placing the book on the coffee table, left the room.

  * * *

  OWEN WAITED A WHILE and then walked down to the barn, hoping Willa had headed that way.

  She stood by the riding ring, watching Katie trot around on one of the older mares they used in the summer children’s camp. Sam lay on the grass beside her, panting.

  “Hey,” he said.

  She turned her head to look at him. “Hey.”

  “She looks good out there.”

  “She does. I haven’t seen Katie take interest in anything other than being rebellious in so long. I’m grateful to you for letting us come here. It’s been really good for her.”

  He considered the words, and then said, “Pamela is out of town. I’m going to talk to her tomorrow when she gets back. We have some loose ends to settle. But there’s no reason for you and Katie to go somewhere else, Willa. We should be able to deal with this like adults.”

  She looked at him for a long moment, then glanced out at Katie, and said, “Okay. And again, thank you. For everything.”

  Owen nodded once, put his elbows on the top board of the fence, only then admitting he had been holding his breath for her answer.

  * * *

  THAT EVENING, WILLA called Judy. She tried her at home first, and when there was no answer, dialed the diner number, even though it was after nine o’clock.

  Judy answered, sounding tired.

  “You’re still there?” Willa asked.

  “Hey you,” Judy said, her voice brightening too quickly. “Yeah, it beats going home, you know?”

  Willa did know. Knew what it was like to prefer peace, however it might be found. “Judy—”

  “Don’t, okay? I’ve been the one wearing the dunce cap, but I think I’ve finally come to my senses. There are far worse things than being alone.”

  “Oh, Judy—”

  “No sympathy, okay? This is something I’ve needed to do for a long time. So tell me what’s going on,” she said, clearly changing the subject.

  Willa brought her up to date, told her about Charles and the inheritance, as well as her misgivings about it.

  “And you’re considering not taking it?” Judy blurted in disbelief. “No, but of course, you’re thinking about it. Willa! When are you ever going to believe that you have a right to something good coming along in your life?”

  “Maybe on the day you believe the same about yourself.”

  Judy sighed. “Honey, you better think about this long and hard. This diner’s a fine business, but we both know you’re stretched thin by the end of the month.”

  “Should that be a reason to accept it?”

  “Do you need a reason? The man obviously wanted you to have it.”

  “I don’t know, Judy. It’s all been really strange. He left some journals. His wife has offered to let me read them. I’d like to stay a while longer and do that if you can—”

  “Of course, I can.”

  “Thanks, Judy. You’re the best.”

  “Go on now,” she said, a smile in her voice.

  They talked of other things then, Willa telling her about the changes in Katie.

  “That child is enough like you that she’s bound to turn out all right,” Judy said. “You planning on filling me in on that hunky Owen?”

  Willa stalled, recalling Owen’s words from earlier. Loose ends to settle. She wished she’d had the courage to ask him what he’d meant by that. “I’m not exactly sure what’s going on, she said, “It’s a little complicated.”

  “Ah, but you see, anything worth having usually is.”

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  THE NEXT MORNING, Natalie drove over with several boxes containing the leather-bound journals. Owen had again already left the house when Willa came downstairs. He’d left a note offering the use of an extra office on the main floor where she could read.

  Once Natalie had driven away, Willa went into the room, waited for Sam to trot in behind her, then closed the door. She sat down in the chair behind the desk. The journals had been organized in chronological order. She picked up the first, studied the cover for a few moments, uncertain about opening it.

  The label on front read: July–September 1958.

  Charles would have been around twenty years old. A young man with life ahead of him.

  Her hand shook a little as she turned to the first page. The handwriting was neat, the blue ink slightly faded against the white paper.

  School today. Dad still up in the air about the biochem class I’m taking. Just the thought that I might actually buck the system and choose med school over following in his footsteps has him in a pretzel of worry.

  A small shiver skittered down Willa’s back. Charles had wanted to be a doctor? She rubbed her arms, staring again at the words. Since her first toy medical kit, that had been her life goal.

  She thought about her own dream, of how she’d let it go. Let herself fall into a life that wasn’t of her design.

  What had happened to make her father choose another direction?

  She turned the page and read on.

  * * *

  IT WAS ALMOST SEVEN O’CLOCK when Owen arrived home that evening. He’d been in meetings all afternoon with several breeders concerned about the recent interest of a group of investors in some of Lexington’s biggest farms.

  Pamela’s car sat in the driveway. He propped an elbow on the doorsill, pressed two fingers to his left temple, willing the pounding to stop. The headache had nagged at him throughout the day, and now picked up its tempo.

  He left the vehicle outside the garage, got out and went inside the house. Voices carried from the living room.

  He stopped in the doorway. Willa stood behind a leather chair, her fingers clasped at the top of the cushion. Pamela sat on the couch, legs crossed, a newspaper on her lap.

  “Owen,” she said. “Your message sounded as if it wer
e important so I came straight here.”

  “I’ll be upstairs,” Willa said.

  “Don’t go yet,” Pamela said, holding up a hand. “I was just about to congratulate you for making local headlines.”

  She handed the paper to Owen. He unfolded it. The photo from the night at the marina took up the center of the page. He frowned, folding it back up.

  “Have you enjoyed making a fool of me, Owen?” Pamela’s voice rose on a shrill note.

  “It wasn’t like that,” he said softly.

  “Then what was it?” She set her gaze on Willa. “I’ve been trying to figure out what you’re thinking, Owen. No offense, but would I be too far off base to say she’s not your normal type?”

  “Pamela,” Owen warned.

  “So what is it? Are you thinking this little heiress from Hicksville can get you out of your bind?”

  “That’s enough,” he said, steel in his voice.

  Willa started to say something, pressed her lips together, then walked out.

  “Willa, wait,” Owen said, but she kept going, closing the door behind her.

  Pamela dropped onto the couch, crossed her legs and pulled a pack of cigarettes out of her purse. She lit one and inhaled deeply. She released a stream of smoke, and said, “What would you have me do, Owen? We’ve been going out for a year. Was I wrong to expect something to come from that?”

  “No,” he said, his anger at her smothered by a sudden cloud of regret. “You weren’t. But you had no right to say those things to Willa. She’s done nothing wrong.”

  “Not for lack of coercion?”

  “Pamela.” He ran a hand through his hair, sighed deeply. “I didn’t plan any of this. I didn’t go looking for it.”

  “Damn you, Owen,” she said, stubbing the cigarette out in a nearby ashtray. “Was I nothing more than an answer to your inheritance problem, or just the stand-in until something more appealing came along?”

  “It wasn’t like that,” he said. “I never meant to hurt you. You deserve better than the way I’ve handled this.”

  She folded her arms across her chest. “You’re right. I do.”

  “I’m sorry,” he said.

  “And that makes it all better?”