As he moved inside, he opened his laptop, pulling up his email. Instead of looking at his computer, he first pulled out his phone, sending a text to letting the owner know he was available to shop for her when he went into town. Afterward, a quick look showed him that his mailbox was filling with emails from Marty and one from Cherelle. Deleting them all without reading them, he shut down his computer. Deciding to forgo finishing the Steinbeck book from the previous night, he chose Tolkien’s The Hobbit. Grinning, he settled back into the chair, his long legs stretched out in front of him, ready to slide into a world of pure fantasy.
As was becoming a habit, Eleanor stood at the window, the heavy curtains pulled back, allowing her a view of the expanse of lawn in the moonlight. The fireflies danced across the freshly mown grass, seeming brighter than before. Smiling at the view before her, she flicked her gaze toward the cottage, seeing a light in the front room. Disturbed by his offer to shop for her, she had immediately sent a polite ‘no thank you’ text. Now, she wondered if she had been too hasty. After all, I wouldn’t have to see him if he brought groceries to the back door. Shaking her head, she decided she had done the right thing. He’ll leave at the end of the summer. No reason to get used to someone doing it for me. Inhaling in a deep breath, she stared out at the fireflies one last time before dropping the curtain back into place.
6
The next morning dawned sunny as Rafe rubbed the sleep from his eyes. Stretching diagonal across the bed, he felt the burn of muscles that had completed a hard day’s work the previous day. Loving the feeling, it was different than the pain from a gym workout. A memory flash of his father digging in the garden flew through his mind. “Nothing like hard work outdoors to really exercise the body as well as the mind.” It had not made sense to him when he was eight years old, but now, as those words came back to him, he recognized the wisdom of his father.
Sitting up in bed, he glanced at his phone, pleased to see it was only six-thirty. Finishing in the bathroom, he threw on a clean pair of jeans with another t-shirt and the flannel from yesterday. When he first moved to California, he thought about what he wore every day, even going to and from a photo shoot, kidding himself that the attention to detail might make a difference in his modeling career. Hmph…modeling career. What a crock of shit! More like selling my soul.
Moving into the kitchen, fixing breakfast, he had to admit that there was nothing wrong with modeling, per se, but the environment was conducive to building egos in a highly competitive business. No wonder I began to feel as though I was losing myself.
Checking his phone, in case his employer wanted to talk to him, he was surprised to see she had responded, but furrowed his brow as he read that she politely declined his offer to get her groceries.
Eating quickly, he filled a travel mug with coffee and a thermos of cold water, before heading out to the tool garage. Deciding to tackle some of the Boxwood hedges on the perimeter of the grounds first while the dew evaporated, he grabbed a wheelbarrow, placed the trimming shears into it, and rolled it toward the hedge closest to the driveway, but farthest from the house.
The trimming was also going to be a multi-day task, as overgrown as they were. They could be cut back to the shape they needed to be and, since new leaves could grow on old wood, he decided to trim at least eight inches all around. The gas-powered hedge trimmer made fast work of cutting the shaggy limbs, but having to continually stop, pile them in the wheelbarrow and take them to dump into the woods, cost him a lot of time. Finally, he decided to bring out the mower with the trailer hitched and haul the branches away just like he had the grass.
It was lunchtime before he made it halfway to the house on just one side of the drive. Walking back to the cottage, he looked over his shoulder, wondering about the occupant. Still bothered that she lived so secluded, he nonetheless thought it best if he worked his way from the woods toward the house in his lawn care. Just in case she needs more time to get used to someone being here.
Loneliness threatened to overtake Eleanor. How long have I existed by myself in this house? She knew the answer—one year, four months, and three days. Trying to remember what her life had been like before was becoming harder and harder.
She walked down the long upstairs hall, dividing the bedrooms, one on either side, each with their own private bathrooms. The largest, the master bedroom that her parents had shared, faced the river and included a private sitting room as well. The other wing of the house contained a hall, similar to this one, where her grandparent’s master bedroom occupied.
The room she had claimed as a child, with the balcony overlooking the gardens, was across the hall. However, the balcony faced the sun most of the day, keeping her from enjoying the space. Since coming back, she had left it, preferring the bedroom next to the master, which also overlooked the river.
Situated on a high point, a straight cliff leading to the water, gave her a sense of privacy, as well as freedom. She could sit on her balcony, unseen by anyone and watch the water below rushing by. Occasional boats—commerce, fishing, and personal—would float by. The sun did not hit this side of the house until the late evening, giving her a perfect place to enjoy the view without any of the unpleasantness.
The doorbell sounded, startling a gasp from her lips. The groundskeeper? Remembering the family attorney was coming today, she immediately felt foolish. Hurrying to the door, she peeked out first, before opening it.
“Ms. Bellamy,” he greeted, shaking her hand warmly.
“Mr. Thomas,” she smiled, stepping back to allow him to enter. The older gentleman, always so precise in his dress, followed her. His uniform of a dark suit, paired with a crisp white shirt, and red tie that matched the red handkerchief tucked into his suit pocket, was familiar to her. His snow-white hair was neatly trimmed, as was his mustache. Small in stature, he nonetheless gave off an air of competency that had most men jumping to do his bidding.
“Where is Sally?”
Closing the door behind him, she led the way into the study. He was an old family friend and deserved to be comfortable in the study as opposed to the formal living room. Waving her hand, she replied, “She has this week off to go see her family. She’s usually only here three days a week anyway, but I’ve come to rely on her so much, it feels odd not having a housekeeper around.”
She poured a cup of coffee for both of them and they continued to make small talk before engaging in the business aspect of his visit.
He pulled out several legal and accounting papers for her to sign. “Make sure to read these carefully,” he warned unnecessarily.
“Now, you know that my father always taught me to never sign before reading.” Looking at him, she said, “I’ll read these tonight and can have them sent to you tomorrow.”
“That will be fine,” he agreed. Leaning back in his chair, he asked, “How has your physical therapy been going?”
Her lips pinched as she answered, “Okay. Painful, but okay. I haven’t been going in to see anyone lately. I decided it was just as easy to do the exercises here myself.”
“Do you think that’s wise, my dear?”
Offering a slight shrug, she said, “I find it easier…both physically and emotionally.”
His warm gaze held understanding. Sighing heavily, he said, “Before I go, I have one other thing to bring up to you.” Throwing his hands up, he added, “I already know what your response will be, but I have to ask, nonetheless.”
She cocked her head in silence, waiting to see what business he had left to discuss.
“A buyer wants to make an offer on this property. I know it’s not for sale, but he’s willing to pay handsomely.”
“A buyer?”
“A developer. Philip Hayden.”
Her breath left her lungs in a rush. “A developer?” Nodding slowly in understanding, she said, “He wants to turn my home into a high-class hotel doesn’t he? Well, you can tell him it’ll be a cold day in hell before I sell my family home.”
His li
ps twitched as he held back a grin. “My dear, I could not have said it better.” Standing to leave, he reminded, “Don’t forget, I’ll need the papers tomorrow. Just have a courier bring them to me.”
As they walked to the front door, arm in arm, he said, “Martha wants to have you over for dinner soon.” Seeing her about to protest, he added, “Just you. It would be private.”
Smiling as she kissed his cheek, she said, “We’ll see. If not, I’ll have you and Martha over here.”
Watching him drive away, she stood on the front stoop for a moment before hearing the buzz of a gas-powered motor close to the side of the house. Realizing the gardener was nearby, she hastened inside, closing the door firmly behind her.
Sitting outside that evening, Rafe sipped his beer while enjoying the setting sun over the trees. The long shadows arched over the freshly mown grass and the long row of hedges banking the drive on one side, now neat with their new trim. He had run the mower over the few patches that needed a re-do and felt satisfied that the lawn would just need weekly mowing from now on.
Breathing deeply, the cool air with the scent of pine filled his senses, and he wondered when the last time was that he just sat for the pure enjoyment of the evening. The fireflies were darting around and he grinned, knowing he had not noticed such simple pleasures in a long time.
Turning his mind to the next day, the weather forecast called for rain and he considered cleaning the tools and mower since he would not be able to trim the tree branches. With his tomorrow planned, he finished his beer and then headed back inside. Moving to the chair in the sitting room, he picked up The Hobbit, determined to read more before turning in for the night.
Pacing in front of the fireplace in the study, Eleanor fretted, papers clasped in her hands. They needed to get into her attorney’s office the next day, but when she went online to arrange for the courier service, she discovered they had gone out of business. Without being able to call upon Sally, she did not know anyone else she could contact.
Rubbing her forehead, she tried to focus. I could call Mr. Thomas to come back. She hated that idea, considering his office was thirty minutes away and he had just been to her house. I could drive myself. That idea was dismissed, knowing it would be difficult to drive that far. Or, at least, I don’t think I could. Passing by the window overlooking the lawn, she stared down toward the woods, seeing a light beaming from the cottage’s window. The gardener…I could ask him.
Not being able to come up with a viable alternative, she moved to her phone and composed a text, hoping he would read it before starting work the next day. Placing the papers in an envelope, she lay them by the table next to the back door. Sucking in a deep breath, she moved through the first-floor rooms, turning the lights off. As she walked up the stairs, her phone chimed an incoming text alert.
Checking, she saw it was from Mr. Walker, the gardener. Probably should start thinking of him by name, not just as ‘the gardener’. Scanning the missive, she breathed a sigh of relief. He agreed to take the papers into the attorney’s office. He also added that he would be stopping at the grocery store and if she changed her mind and wanted him to pick up anything, he would be glad to. He’s so kind, definitely need to think of him as Mr. Walker.
Flipping off the hall light as she entered her bedroom, her lips curved in a slight smile. Even though she had not laid eyes on the new groundskeeper, she felt better knowing someone was nearby, especially without Sally around.
Later, settled into bed, she opened the book lying on top of her nightstand, reading to relax until her eyes grew heavy. Turning off the light by her bed, she slid down under the covers, longing for a dreamless sleep…or at least one without nightmares.
7
Rafe approached the back door, his footsteps slowing as he neared. This was the closest he had come to the main house and his appraising gaze wandered over the stonework in appreciation. The drive split into two directions, one side leading to the back where he knew the original owners would have had servants enter and received deliveries. The other side curved toward the front door where a wide portico would have accepted the family and guests, keeping them from the weather.
A three-story turret was built into only one front corner, facing the long expanse of lawn and gardens. Moving beyond the back of the house, he peered over the stone wall, seeing the drop down to the river. The view was breathtaking and he realized all the rooms at the back of the house would have that same view.
Bringing himself back to his task, he saw a small table by the back door with a large, manila envelope sitting on top with a note attached. Stalking over, he read the note.
Thank you for taking the envelope to my attorney. The address is enclosed. Please take the day off for your trouble. I do not need anything from the grocery, but thank you all the same. Please call if needed. Ms. Bellamy
The handwriting was definitely feminine, the lettering strong and precise. He smiled at the thought of the elderly lady handwriting her correspondence while sitting at a delicate antique table overlooking the gardens.
Shaking his head, he turned and headed back down the drive toward his truck. With the day off, he decided to drive to Richmond first to take care of delivering the envelope before stopping to check on Miss Ethel.
An hour later, he entered the stately offices of Mr. Thomas and observed a distinguished, white-haired gentleman speaking to the receptionist. As the man finished, he nodded politely toward Rafe before turning to walk down the hall.
Stepping up to the desk, Rafe said, “I’m here to deliver this envelope of signed documents to Mr. Thomas from Ms. Bellamy.”
Before the receptionist could take the envelope, the older gentleman turned on his heel and stared unabashedly at Rafe. He moved toward him, his gaze sweeping up and down, assessing.
“I’m Mr. Thomas,” he introduced. “And you are?”
“Rafe Walker, sir. Nice to meet you.” He stuck his hand out, noting the attorney’s firm handshake. “Well, I’ll be on my way.”
“You are her new groundskeeper, I believe?”
Cocking his head to the side, he nodded. “Yes, sir. I’m working there during the summer.”
“I understand you came recommended by Miss Ethel. That’s the highest recommendation I can think of,” Mr. Thomas said, a twinkle in his blue eyes.
Chuckling, Rafe nodded. “Then I consider it an honor to have her think that of me. Actually, Miss Ethel raised me.” If he thought that bit of information was going to settle uncomfortably with Mr. Thomas, he was surprised when the attorney smiled widely.
“Ms. Bellamy is not just a client, but a friend. You’ll forgive my inquisitiveness, but I like to make sure she is well taken care of.”
“I would expect no less from a friend of hers, sir.”
Mr. Thomas nodded, a slight smile curving his lips before sticking his hand out once more. “It was my pleasure to meet you, Mr. Walker. I hope your stay at Bellamy House is a good one.”
“Thank you, sir. So far I’m loving the work there.”
“I’m glad you’re there, especially now that her housekeeper is on holiday.”
Eyebrow lifted, he nodded. “I wondered if there was no one to assist her.”
“Oh, she gets around just fine, but has someone to assist a few days a week with the heavy cleaning.”
“Good. Glad to hear that,” Rafe replied, finding himself relieved at the information. With a nod, he walked back out into the late spring sunshine. Driving out of town, he called Miss Ethel. She picked up on the first ring.
“Rafe, dear, how are you?”
“I’m good. I had to run an errand for Ms. Bellamy and am in town. I thought I’d run by and take you to lunch.”
“Oh, dear. Normally I would, but I’m going to a church mission afternoon tea today.”
Disappointed, he said, “I’m glad you’re staying busy, but I’ll miss you. Maybe on my next day off we can make plans.”
“Of course, Rafe. Just let me know. By the way,
how is the job going?”
“Perfect,” he enthused. “I’ve been outdoors every day this week so far. Got the lawn and drive hedges whipped into shape. Next I need to start on trimming the trees and flower gardens.”
“Have you…uh…met your employer yet?”
“No, but we communicated by text if she needs something.” Chucking, he added, “I’m glad she can handle a smartphone.” Realizing he sounded patronizing, he hastened, “Not every older person is as adept at staying up on technology as you, Miss Ethel.”
Her laughter rang out before she said, “You know, Rafe, life has a way of surprising you when you least expect it.”
Disconnecting after goodbyes, he turned down the highway heading back toward the west, following the James River. Stopping in the little town closest to Bellamy House, he dropped into the local grocery store to stock up. Eggs, meat, bread, oatmeal, peanut butter, fruit, and cans of soup and vegetables. Shaking his head, he thought about how lean he ate while living in California. Now, not having to worry about his shape, he worked hard outside every day and burned off the calories he ate…and enjoyed eating.
Looking around the little store, he wished he could take something back to Ms. Bellamy, but had no idea what she would like. Passing the bakery, he noted a little plate of freshly made sugar cookies and stopped. Reminded of the millions of cookies Miss Ethel used to make, he snagged the plastic-wrapped platter, thinking no one would turn down cookies.
On the way to the checkout counter, he spied a platter of fresh fruit. Grabbing that too, he added it to the basket. Smiling at the cashier, he noted her eying him up and down. Inwardly chuckling, he realized he had not been ogled in over a week. God, that feels good. Just a couple weeks home and he already felt the change.
RafeHeroes at Heart Page 5