A Distant Murder
Page 17
The spunky lady spoke up quickly. The innocent tone was still in play. “And a successful freelance writer can work just about anywhere, can’t she?” Tilda took one delicious scone from the saucer, broke the dessert in pieces, popped one part in her mouth and tossed the other piece to Puddin’ who caught it in midair.
Addie grinned and nodded. “There’s no need to live in the big city any longer. Today’s writer can work from home using email and the Internet.”
“So you don’t have to leave Sparrow Falls!” Ms. MacArdan clapped her hands joyfully and beamed at the young woman. Puddin’ wagged his little tail in rapid beats as though he understood every word of the conversation and was giving the suggestion his wholehearted approval.
Addie laughed, pleased at their excitement. “No, I don’t have to leave Sparrow Falls. But I’ll have to move out, Tilda. As much as I like living here, I can’t impose on your hospitality any longer.”
“Oh, hush, child, it’s no bother at all and you know it.”
The young woman shook her head adamantly. “No, if I decide to stay in Sparrow Falls I’ll just have to find a place to rent or a small house to buy. That’s the way it has to be. Maybe a small apartment or a cute little cottage. A fixer upper would be just fine with me.”
Tilda leaped from the chair suddenly and Puddin’ jumped up right along with her. The little lady scurried toward the back door with the tiny terrier at her heels as Tilda yelled over her shoulder, “I have just the thing for you, Addie! Follow me!”
Addie hurried out the door behind the lady and the dog. She was surprised by the quickness of Tilda’s trot and couldn’t imagine where they were going in such a hurry. They crossed the backyard at a fast clip, Tilda chattering in excitement all the while.
“Bless goodness, I don’t know why I didn’t think of it sooner! Goodness gracious, my Papa was the last one to use it and that was only because he didn’t want my Uncle Jamie and his wild children staying in the big house with us when they came to visit. Those children were into everything! And Uncle Jamie and Aunt Bessie never paid them no mind, just let them run wild all the live long day!”
Addie followed the spunky lady as best she could and tried to make sense of these erratic statements. At last they came to the edge of Tilda’s property, still within sight of the house but with a nice expanse of sparse grassy land between them, and stopped in front of a mound of ivy and kudzu that was taller than Addie’s head.
Tilda turned to her and said triumphantly, “The little carriage house has been standing empty all these years!” She smiled and beamed with pride, and looked at Addie expectantly.
Addie stared at the ivy and kudzu mound and said in blank bewilderment, “Where is it?”
Tilda MacArdan’s cheerful face fell. She answered the question in a dismayed tone of voice. “Bless your heart. It is just a little bit overgrown.” Then she grabbed a fistful of the ivy and kudzu vines and jerked with all the might her small frame could muster. A wrenching sound was heard and the green vines gave way, revealing a stone wall and wooden clapboard siding.
Addie grabbed more vines and yanked. A glass windowpane was exposed. She felt a sudden twinge of excitement. “Tilda, do you think the carriage house can be restored?”
Tilda replied with enthusiasm. “Yes, child, I believe it can! It may take a good bit of work. But you can stay with me and Puddin’ in the big house and work on the carriage house until it’s livable. And you won’t have to pay rent or anything. I would just love to have someone use the old place. It’s just going to waste now, as you can see. My granddaddy built it and it’s even older than the big house.” She hurried to add, “But it would still make a comfy little home for someone if it were fixed up right.”
Addie rubbed dirt from the windowpane and pressed her nose to the thick old fashioned glass. She cupped her hands over her eyes and peered in. “I can’t see much because there’s no light penetrating all these vines. But I can see enough to know that it’s a nice sized cottage.” She turned to face Tilda. “Does it have electricity and plumbing?” she asked politely.
Tilda laughed. “Yes, dear, Macon James updated it with all those fancy things a few years ago. Well, it must have been ten or fifteen years ago. I used it for a guest house once in a while, a long time ago when my kinfolk from out of town were still living, but after they passed nobody ever came for overnight visits anymore and so I just forgot all about it. The vines grew up over it and hid it and just about took it over. But I think it can be cleaned up and fixed up right purty. We’ll have Macon take a look at it and see what we can do. He lives just down the road a piece.”
“I will pay rent, Tilda, whatever you decide. And I can help with the cost of any repairs.” Addie’s tone was severe, but the little lady pursed her lips stubbornly and shook her head.
“No, ma’am, you are not going to take on any costs for repairs! I’ll do that myself. And we can talk about rent later on, after we see that the carriage house can be restored properly. For now you’re just going to go right on staying in the guest bedroom and I don’t want any arguments about it!” She placed her hands on her hips defiantly and Puddin’ sat down next to her, stuck his nose in the air and gave a short yip of affirmation.
The young writer couldn’t prevent herself from smiling. “Agreed, Tilda MacArdan. And thank you. I’ll be glad to stay just as long as you’ll have me.”
The matter settled, Tilda looked at her watch and said, “Oh mercy me, it’s time to meet Morwenna at the burying ground! I’ll go back inside and fetch the flowers for the grave while you go get the car.”
A few minutes later the little blue convertible rolled into the sandy lot next to Sparrow Falls Chapel and came to a stop. Tilda hopped out, carefully carrying the wreath of flowers she had prepared from her own garden at home with Addie’s suggestions on which blossoms to use, and the two women strolled slowly over to the burying ground. Morwenna and Pearce Allen were already there, waiting quietly as Addie approached the grave of Ada McRae.
Tilda handed the flowers to Addie and the young woman took them in both hands tenderly. She knelt by the gravesite and placed the wreath upon it with solemn, gentle movements, pausing for a long moment with one hand upon the headstone. The others stood by in respectful silence.
At last Addie arose. “I hope Ada is at peace now that the truth has been made known,” she said quietly.
A sudden warm breeze tickled the visitors as it blew across the old burying ground. The flowers on the graves stirred in the wind and the sunlight and the day seemed brighter. A pair of mourning doves took flight across the burying ground and lit in the huge old magnolia tree that stood like a sentinel near the old chapel as though watching over the dead and the living. It seemed that life was stirring itself awake, reminding them that it existed, strong and real, against the cold stillness of death. It seemed that something significant was about to happen, in a quiet and unobtrusive way that suited the serenity of the little chapel.
Morwenna gave the tiny gathering a smile that was somehow poignant. “The dead don’t wait around for the living to set things right. They go joyfully into the perfection of Eternity, where they exist forever with our Lord in peace and happiness. There is no need for tears in the place where they are now. This earthly life is only for the living, and for those the living remember.” She spoke the words with the confidence born of childlike faith in truth and goodness, and the words filled them with peace.
Addie McRae searched the faces of the people around her as they listened to the story keeper’s calm and reassuring voice. She was moved by the tender compassion of Morwenna Goss, the kindness of Tilda MacArdan, and the comfortable presence of Pearce Allen Simms. She felt the reassuring warmth of eternal love falling gently over them like the wafting leaves of the ancient magnolia tree spreading its shade over all things beneath its encompassing arms, and suddenly knew without doubt that these words spoken by the story keeper were true, and that these people, this town, and this place were, now and
forever, her home.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Like Addie McRae, author Donna McLean grew up in the city far from her roots in the small towns of the Sandhills area of North Carolina. She discovered her Scottish heritage through the true stories and tall tales told by relatives on both sides of the family tree, many of whom still live in the places established by their Highland Scot ancestors centuries before. Donna hopes to write many more stories about the eccentric but lovable denizens of fictional Sparrow Falls, North Carolina. She also blogs about books on her website, comfycozybooks.