The Little Barn of Dreams

by Lucy Knott

  ‘You should speak to your nanna. See if she’s heard from George, make sure he’s OK in all of this, that he has a place to live and then the two of you can decide about visiting,’ Bronte suggested, giving Florence’s mind a brief respite from its overly dramatic thoughts. She then nodded her thanks to Bronte as a group of people came in carrying a copy of Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde for their afternoon book club. Florence gulped.

  Twenty-Four

  Fairy lights swirled around every tree trunk, like a twister ice lolly Florence used to eat as a kid and still enjoyed to this day. The horizon looked like a masterpiece, the trees like dark silhouettes against the fiery pumpkin-orange sky that blended into an autumn-leaf red. In the distance a shadow moved up ahead causing Florence to take a step closer. As the figure became smaller and smaller Florence found herself running. Her feet were leading the way, for they knew she had to get to the figure before it disappeared.

  A loud crash snapped Florence back into the low light of her kitchen. A plate lay shattered at her feet. She grunted, annoyed with herself and went to retrieve the dustpan and brush from the cupboard underneath the sink. Her dreams had steadily been getting worse. No longer was she having pleasant dreams of a tall stranger with fetching hazel eyes that made her feel safe and valid, no they had been replaced by a stranger with soulless eyes who was getting further and further out of reach. Tonight, she had tossed and turned unable to stand the images for much longer only to find herself getting lost in her mind as she filled the kettle gone midnight.

  She had to do something. Not hearing from Jo and not being able to speak to him was driving her crazy. She wasn’t sure if he would listen to her or if her opinion on Camp Calla Lily would matter that much to him now, but deep in her bones she knew she needed to fight for it. She couldn’t sit back and just let these new investors rip it apart. All the ideas she had shared with Jo – the book trails, the campfires – all the ideas Jo had shared with her – dances at the barn, writers’ retreats – could they let all that slip away with the swing of one giant wrecking ball? Florence didn’t believe she could.

  ‘Is everything all right in here, my love?’ Her nanna’s voice startled her as she tipped the broken pieces that lay on the dustpan into the bin.

  ‘Yes, sorry, Nanna. I didn’t mean to wake you. Would you like some tea while you are up?’ Florence offered, pulling out one of the kitchen chairs so Margot could sit.

  ‘I suppose I will.’ Margot chuckled. ‘What has you up at this hour?’

  Florence busied herself pulling teacups from the cupboard and with prepping the teapot.

  ‘I was just thinking about George and everything that’s going on at the camp. I’m sorry I trusted Jo and not you or George, Nanna,’ Florence said, flopping down onto the chair and ignoring the click of the kettle. She laid her head in her palm. ‘We just got the camp and all its beautiful memories back into our lives and now it’s going to be taken from us again,’ Florence cried. Her nanna reached out and stroked her hair.

  ‘Treasure, I don’t believe your trust in Jo was misplaced; maybe Jo’s trust in others was unfortunate, but that is just my opinion. Only time will tell. The last I heard from George was that all was as good as it could be and that he needed a few days.’

  ‘What if we go on strike? Hold up signs or I can chain myself to Mum’s favourite magnolia tree. We can pitch a tent like you used to do and refuse to move,’ Florence said, perking up at her ideas. Surely one of them would work.

  Margot chuckled. ‘I love when you are passionate,’ she said, getting up to fill the teapot with the recently boiled water while Florence was running through ideas in her head of how to raise money to save Camp Calla Lily, while simultaneously getting mad at herself for not thinking of the idea sooner. Would Jo care for ideas now if they hadn’t been enough to stop him selling it then?

  ‘If Jo did finish renovating the barn, we could hold a fundraising event, just to get George back on his feet. With advertising, I’m sure the little huts would attract travellers and then we’d just have to keep them interested all year round, just think of the fairs and the festivals. Jo got this far, why would he just give up now and let the people trample all over his hard work? I thought he had a vision, Nanna,’ Florence noted, helping herself to a custard cream from the biscuit tin Margot had just placed on the table.

  ‘I’m sure he did but I don’t suppose it would be quite as lucrative as the investors would like. Fairs and festivals sound wonderful, Florence, but George is but one man and an old one at that. Maybe Jo was right to persuade him to sell. Maybe this is what is to become of Camp Calla Lily.’

  ‘Nanna.’ Florence gasped in shock. ‘Don’t say that. I can help – you and I can help. We must do something.’ Florence felt a stir of adrenaline course through her veins. Since she had faced her past by holidaying at Camp Calla Lily, she had got herself a job she enjoyed at Caffeine Heights, made new friends, and had applied for school – all things she had previously been fearful of. Adding Save Camp Calla Lily to her list now didn’t seem so daunting.

  She looked to her nanna with a new determination on her face, to find Margot looking at her, her blue eyes considerate. ‘Is there more to this than just saving the camp, my dear?’ she asked gently.

  Florence bit her lip and played with the lid of the biscuit tin. She let the question linger in the air while she gathered her thoughts. ‘If I can save the camp, if I can show Jo that it doesn’t deserve to be given up on, then maybe he will feel the same about me and not give up on me,’ she confessed with a shake in her voice. Margot patted her softly on the hand and then pushed another custard cream in front of her with a sweet smile. Florence picked it up and nibbled at its creamy corners.

  ‘I will pack my bags,’ Margot then announced to Florence’s great surprise. She had been happy to hear her nanna talk so joyfully of visiting the camp and seeing George again over these past two weeks but hearing her announcement so bold and so confident bowled Florence over. Though the saying often went “diving into a book”, Florence felt that she and her nanna were taking great strides of late – leaping out of their books and grabbing the real world by the horns.

  It wasn’t like Florence was able to pack her bags right away and leave on the dot with Margot. After putting a plan together, Florence decided that she would need to give Bronte and Langston enough time to think over her holiday. After all she had only been working at Caffeine Heights for coming up to three weeks and she didn’t want to lose her job. On the Monday she had helped Langston unload a tray of wonderland brownies into the cake counter and put in her request for the weekend off. Florence had spoken quickly, her nerves getting the best of her, but Langston had been incredibly kind about the whole thing, Bronte having filled him in on the situation.

  The week had gone by with Florence gaining more confidence and easing into a rhythm at the delightful coffee shop. There had been no more accidents or disapproving customers, for which she was thankful, and her nightmares had been replaced by thoughts of Camp Calla Lily buzzing with people enjoying picnics and the great outdoors and only the occasionally one of a tall stranger falling down a well.

  Friday afternoon soon rolled around. Florence and Bronte were getting ready to close up the café for the night, seeing to their usual routine of organising the counter before splitting up and seeing to the patio and the café floor. Florence looked around to see if Langston was out of earshot and occupied in the kitchen. When the coast was clear, she spoke.

  ‘Have you spoken to him about how you feel?’ Florence asked quietly as they jumped into action sterilising the machines.

  ‘There’s never a good time. He’s always so busy with this place and back at the flat is the only chance he has to get some writing in. I never want to disturb him,’ Bronte said with a shrug.

  ‘But your feelings are important; he’ll want to know. I know it’s scary. If I can do anything let me know. I can be someone else’s wing woman for a change,’ Florence noted, trying to keep the c
onversation light for the sake of her friend. She saw the way Langston looked at Bronte, how his eyes were always so focused on her when they spoke, taking in her every word. They were so at ease in each other’s company, but Florence understood Bronte’s fears and didn’t want to force her to speak up when she wasn’t ready. They had something beautiful. She could see why Bronte was showing trepidation about change. She of all people knew how scary opening up your heart was.

  ‘Thanks.’ Bronte laughed. ‘I should probably be taking my own advice really, huh?’ she added with a wink.

  The nerves in Florence’s stomach danced and twirled for her friend. It was refreshing to talk about someone else’s love life and slightly comforting to know that she wasn’t the only one who struggled in matters of the heart. By the same token, she didn’t wish for Bronte to go through the same tribulations that she constantly put herself through with her brain forever battling her heart. It was exhausting. As, the minutes ticked down for Saturday, the time drew nearer to when Florence would be putting her words to the test. She did not know what lay ahead at Camp Calla Lily, whether Jo would be there. What she did know was that Jo being present or not, she was going to help George and do her utmost to rally the village and do her best to save the camp. She would let her emotions do the talking and show the big-time investors that what they were doing to the precious land was a travesty and she would not stand for it.

  Once all the customers had left and Bronte had flipped over the sign to closed, Florence took a deep breath, breathing in the last lingering smells of the Mansfield Tarts and Huckleberry muffins from the day’s menu.

  ‘You, you are going to be just fine,’ Bronte said, coming to stand next to Florence and reaching out to rub her forearm softly, as if sensing Florence’s brain noise. Florence opened her eyes and smiled gratefully. ‘Take it at your own pace and I know it’s scary but listen to that heart of yours. I think we’ve been tricked to believe that our hearts steer us wrong and get us in to trouble, but really the trouble, the doubts, they only seep in and make things messy when we mistake our mind for our heart. If you start to feel overwhelmed, just stop, close your eyes, breathe and really listen,’ Bronte said, with a bright smile. Then she wrapped her arms around Florence and squeezed her tight in a giant hug. ‘Those investors won’t know what hit ’em,’ she added making Florence chuckle. A few weeks ago, she would not have imagined that sentence to be used when talking about her. It sounded so brave, so feisty.

  ‘I wish you were coming with me,’ Florence said when Bronte released her. It was true. In just a few short weeks Bronte had become the closest thing to a sister that Florence had ever felt. Florence envisioned the two of them on the hilltop, looking out across the land, bulldozers, and diggers opposite them preparing for battle as she and Bronte held their thickest hardback books aloft and made to charge.

  ‘Me too,’ Bronte added, dreamily. Florence wondered for a moment if her friend was picturing the same thing. ‘But this time it’s your adventure. I will come along for the next one,’ she added with a smile.

  ‘Deal,’ Florence replied, matching Bronte’s grin.

  ‘Oh, and if Jo is there, don’t be afraid. You are a mighty warrior,’ Bronte said, squeezing Florence’s shoulders.

  ‘OK, well from one mighty warrior to another, maybe talk to Langston while I’m gone,’ Florence returned.

  ‘Hmm, deal,’ Bronte replied with a nod and a warrior stance, making Florence laugh.

  No dreams filled Florence’s head Friday night; instead she tossed and turned, got out of bed and back in bed numerous times and eventually stayed out of bed and started packing at five a.m. As quietly as she could, not wanting to wake Margot, she chose her outfits for the weekend. She fingered the soft flowing fabric of her vintage maxi dresses and neatly folded her collared playsuits and lace blouses into her small suitcase and when the clock struck six, she tiptoed into the kitchen to make the morning’s first pot of tea.

  She would not have to sit around and fester in her nerves for too long as they had an early train to catch at nine a.m. Margot joined Florence in the kitchen, as the kettle finished its boil and the toast popped up from the toaster, and she took her seat at the table.

  ‘Morning treasure,’ she said, sounding sprightly.

  ‘Morning, Nanna,’ Florence returned, placing her tea in front of her nanna at the table.

  ‘Thank you, dear. I do not suppose your stomach is aflutter with nerves like this old lady’s?’ Margot asked, leaning back in her chair, and shakily picking up her teacup. Florence stopped buttering the toast and turned to look at her nanna. In her own distracted state this morning, she hadn’t noticed the wrinkles around her nanna’s eyes that contradicted the cheerful tone of her voice. Her face looked faintly white and she looked tired – all signs that Margot hadn’t slept much either last night.

  ‘Oh, Nanna, are you nervous about seeing George again?’ Florence asked, rushing to Margot’s side, and squatting down in front of her, her own anxiety forgotten for a short time. She held her nanna’s delicate hands in her own, after taking the wobbly teacup from her.

  ‘I have not felt these dastardly things in quite some time. They are mighty uncomfortable,’ Margot said with a look of playful annoyance. She looked young when she pouted. Florence let out a chuckle.

  ‘That they are,’ she commented, squeezing Margot’s hands. ‘I’ve no doubt that they will turn into happy flutters once you set eyes on George again,’ Florence reassured her.

  ‘Ahh the happy wings, those are the welcome ones. Your grandad gave me those happy wings every day you know,’ Margot noted, her eyes gazing off across the kitchen table. Florence gave her a moment, knowing that look and letting her nanna wander in her thoughts to say hello to her husband, to see him again in her mind. A smile spread across her face and her eyes shone with tears. Florence was patient and still and after a few moments her nanna was back in the room and tapping Florence’s hands, then waving her off to see to the toast.

  ‘I think Grandad would be happy that you’re going back to Camp Calla Lily and to see George,’ Florence said casually, sensing that her nanna was feeling some guilt over her excitement in reuniting with George after all these years, even if it was just in friendship.

  ‘Oh yes, dear, I know he is,’ Margot replied with a smile and a more confident sip of tea.

  ‘I know Mum and Dad are too,’ Florence added gently. She had been speaking to them a lot more in recent days and it had been a great comfort to involve them in her life and imagine what they would do or say. Of course, she couldn’t quite know for certain but there were times when she felt that warmth in her heart or a light breeze around her and she felt they were with her, watching her and guiding her. Her nanna smiled a small smile, her eyes glistening. Florence took the seat next to her and buttered her some toast before helping herself to some, hoping that the butterflies in her own stomach liked toast and that they would settle once they were fed.

  ‘When she was a girl, Darcy would lie at the top of the steepest hill and roll down all the way to the bottom, shrieking. She always looked a mixture of terrified and exhilarated when she reached the bottom, then she’d do it again.’ Margot chuckled. ‘Ned and I used to watch in amazement and wonder how we had created such a fearless little creature. Then you came along. Henry suggested we make the camp a family tradition, knowing how special it was to your mother.’ Margot paused and Florence stopped chewing, listening to her nanna intently. It had been a long time since Margot had shared a memory of her daughter, Florence’s mum. ‘You were coming up to three, confident on your feet, always twirling and dancing. During one afternoon stroll, you spontaneously dropped to the ground and flew down that very same hill. You about gave me a heart attack until Darcy gave me a knowing look before both her and your dad rolled after you. By the time I safely walked to the bottom, you were all huddled together, giggling. It was music to my ears.’ When Margot finished, they both reached for a tissue to dab at the tears that had sprung to
their eyes.

  ‘Maybe you can show me the places Mum used to play and where she and Dad used to adventure. You and Grandad too,’ Florence suggested through her sniffles.

  ‘I’d like that,’ her nanna replied. Florence sent a little prayer up to her parents that she wasn’t too late and that she could salvage any damage that had already been done to their treasured camp.

  Twenty-Five

  The ladies made quick work of getting dressed and gathering their belongings. With the sun already warming up the day the short walk to the train station around the corner from their house was a pleasant one. They made their train and with Margot by her side, Florence stayed present for the journey as she chatted with her nanna about the scenic views beyond the windows and the books that they should look for in The Vintage Bookshop.

  It wasn’t until they arrived at the train station in Lily Pines that Florence came to a bump in their smooth trip thus far. Looking in the direction of the taxi rank, her nanna paused, seemingly sensing the tension in Florence behind her.

  ‘My sweetheart, I know this is quite the big task and I do not wish to frighten you but dare I ask that you do this for me?’ Margot said, as a taxi man walked over to help her with her things.

  Florence was glued to the spot. She knew that her nanna couldn’t possibly walk the miles to Camp Calla Lily, and she couldn’t bear to leave her in the taxi alone. She wasn’t sure which was causing her more anxiety at this point, her having to get in a car or her nanna going in one alone while she walked. She didn’t know what to do. Her legs stiffened, and she couldn’t move. The taxi man was looking at her with an odd expression as she felt the blood leave her head and plummet to her toes. Her nanna came and stood next to her, taking a clammy hand in hers.