Libby assumed Elaine wanted the entire project documented. “I’ve already taken a few pictures of it. Mind if I continue?”
“Not at all,” she said. “Go ahead, Colton.”
Libby raised her camera. She always felt calmer behind the lens, knowing it created a barrier between her and the world. When people looked at the camera lens, they became self-aware and ceased to notice her.
As she took pictures, she allowed her line of sight to follow a beam of sunlight shooting from above the tree canopy. The grime on the domed glass shielded most of the light, but some rays seeped into the interior. It looked a little supernatural, like it was glowing.
“I’ve been wanting to open this for a couple of years,” Elaine said. “But as with everything, it’s a matter of priorities. There was so much to fix at the main house and the primary gardens. This was a distant thought at the time.”
Colton wedged the edge of his crowbar between the doorframe and the door, moving it gently back and forth. Portions of the fused metal gave a little but still remained stuck. He patiently moved the crowbar upward, working along the entire seam. This went on for twenty minutes as he methodically worked up and down the length of the door until, finally, he wedged it open.
He set the bar aside and with gloved hands pulled the door open. The growing sound of barking dogs drifted down the hill, and Libby turned to see Kelce and Sarge headed their way.
“I’ll have to take the entire door assembly off eventually, but for now, we can get inside. Elaine, I’d let you go first, but it might be best if I checked it out for any snakes or other hazards.”
“Have at it,” Elaine said.
“I’m not fond of snakes either,” he said, grinning. “But here goes nothing.”
Elaine chuckled. “Woodmont would be in ruins if not for you.”
Libby sensed a comradery between the two that came as close to friendship as an employer and employee might have. However, in this part of the world, the line between their places in life would always exist, regardless of respect or love of the land.
Colton stepped into the greenhouse, pulling a small flashlight from his pocket. Libby took pictures, wishing now she had a wide-angle lens to capture more of the eerie beauty of the space.
Libby listened to the steady thud of Colton’s footsteps as he stepped deeper inside. Midday light did little to penetrate the darkness or dull the dank smell. She could barely see his shape pass in front of the glass, hazy with moss and mildew.
“Have you ever been inside, Elaine?” Libby asked.
“Yes,” Elaine said. “I used to go in with my grandmother when I was a little girl. She and I planted together, and she even gave me my own little garden journal so I could keep notes like she did in hers.”
“If she kept gardening journals, then you have a record of what she grew in here.”
“I have very detailed records. She created her first journal in 1942 and created a new one each year until the greenhouse was closed in the eighties.” Elaine regarded the greenhouse, as if she saw all her regrets reflected back in the murky panes.
Curiosity captured Libby’s full attention. “Why did your grandmother stop maintaining this?”
“I’m not sure why she stopped coming down here.”
“You must have been really close to her,” Libby said, struggling to forge a connection.
Elaine stared at the greenhouse, her thoughts appearing to drift back in time. “She was an amazing woman in so many ways. And she had more influence on my life than anyone. She would have done anything to protect me.”
“Is it safe for Colton to be inside?” Libby asked.
“Colton did a preliminary structural examination of the exterior and said the support beams all appeared sound.”
“No offense, but he’s a gardener,” Libby countered. She imagined the entire thing falling in on their heads and made a mental note to add hard hats to her photography equipment.
“He’s a gardener with a mechanical engineering degree,” Elaine said.
Colton appeared at the door. “It’s clear. Just watch your step. There’s a lot of muck on the ground.” He looked at both dogs. “Stay.”
“You want to go first?” Elaine asked Libby.
“No,” she said. “This is your project. You should be the first.”
Elaine’s eyes suddenly filled with nervous energy, and she hesitated at the threshold.
“I’ll be right behind you,” Libby said. What was she afraid of?
“No, you first,” Elaine said. “I don’t want to hold you up.”
Libby had been born with a natural curiosity and daring. When she was little, she had challenged her parents with endless questions and had often argued with their answers. Her thirst to see and do had compelled her across country to California to attend nursing school. And it had given her the courage to try for the third pregnancy.
In the last few years, her inability to risk anything had grown out of control. She had thought her choice to retreat was strategic, as it had been when she was a kid. However, in the old days, she’d found a way to move forward again. Now, she wondered if she would ever leave her dad’s house and get back on the horse.
Here she stood, afraid to go in a damn greenhouse because she was worried about the stupid roof caving in or a snake biting her or whatever. The world was passing her by, as the images of Jeremy and Monica had proved. That realization pushed her over the threshold. After all, what could go wrong? She glanced up at the greenhouse’s domed ceiling covered in moss. Ceiling collapse. Rats and snakes. Broken glass.
Her first impression of the greenhouse’s interior was the smell. The deep, earthy, fetid smell reminded her of vegetables left too long in the crisper. The damp air was musty and nearly suffocating.
Her gaze was drawn to the center of the room, where a fountain stood silent like a sentry watching over its domain. Dirt had filled the three tiers, allowing grass and weeds to take root in all three. Around the fluted base were brick pavers smeared in green moss and arranged in a herringbone pattern that occupied half the floor space.
The rich soil around the edges was filled with overgrown plants that had turned so wild they barely resembled any plant she had ever seen. A honeysuckle vine grew up the side of the greenhouse, searching for more sunlight.
Kelce and Sarge ventured into the room, each enamored by all the new smells. Sarge hiked his leg and definitively marked his territory. Kelce followed suit.
Colton moved to chase the two out, but Elaine stopped him. “That’s fine. They’re family too.”
“I like it.” Libby’s gaze rose up to the domed ceiling.
“It was pure luxury,” Elaine said. “My grandmother loved orchids, and Grandfather built this place so she could enjoy them all year long. She was from London and said this greenhouse matched the one her parents had in London. It was destroyed along with the family house in the Blitz.”
Colton walked up to one of the glass panes and inspected a crack that ran the diagonal length of it. “Elaine, you could make a small fortune if you had the place dismantled and sold all the pieces and parts to an architectural salvage company. It’s all quality construction.”
“We’ve had this conversation before,” Elaine said. “I want to fix it up. Make it what it once was.”
“It’ll take months,” he said.
“And money. I know the drill.” Elaine ran her fingertips along the edge of the fountain. “I suspect the plumbing that supplied water to this will need repair.”
“Yes,” he said. “There’s a gravity-fed system that feeds from a well near the main house.”
“Quite the engineering,” Libby said.
“My grandfather wanted only the best for his bride,” Elaine said.
“What was your grandfather Edward like?” Libby asked.
“Very dedicated to his work—that at times was controversial.”
“I think I read something about him years ago,” Libby said.
“It wo
uld have been hard to miss.”
Not only was the air thick with humidity, but it was also full of sadness and loss. The greenhouse had been designed to bear fruit, but neglect had left it infertile and a relic, more trouble than it was worth. A chill rolled down Libby’s spine, and she wondered if Sierra’s curse theory was not far off the mark.
Colton remained silent as he moved toward a far corner and knelt to inspect the foundation. He picked up an empty beer can that was faded and crushed. “When I was in high school, some kids used to sneak in here from time to time.”
“Sounds like you were in that group, Colton,” Elaine said.
“It was a long time ago,” he said.
Everything about Colton appeared to be in place, but Libby wondered if the sixteen-year-old version of him had been so contained.
“Did you sneak in here, Libby?” Elaine asked.
“I went to boarding school, so I missed out on the fun.”
An alarm buzzed on Colton’s phone. He removed it from his pocket and shut it off. “I’ve got to go get the boys, who are playing with friends this afternoon,” he said. His voice was smooth and mellow, unrushed. “As soon as I get them settled, I’ll be back to start on cleaning this place out. Libby, you want a ride back to the house with me or Elaine?”
“She can ride back with me,” Elaine said.
“Right,” he said.
“Colton, if you need help or extra manpower, get it,” Elaine said. “I want this done right, without delay.”
“Will do.” He strode outside and whistled for the dogs, who happily followed him to the truck.
Libby allowed her gaze to roam over the herringbone brick floor to a small stone table angled in a corner. “I’m glad you’re opening the property. From a business standpoint, it will allow you to upkeep all its beauty and history.”
“Perhaps,” Elaine said. “Or I might keep it private and available exclusively to the family. My husband calls it another one of my rescue missions.”
Libby wondered if she too might be one of those rescues, though she would argue she did not need rescuing. “Seems a worthy cause to me.”
“I’m glad you feel that way,” Elaine said.
Libby pointed her lens toward a small statue of a little angel. It was made of white marble and, like everything else, was covered in a thick coating of moss. She crossed to the opposite side to look back. Libby captured more images, and as she glanced to her right, she caught misshapen letters that had been etched in one of the glass panes. “Sadie.”
“What?” Elaine sounded slightly startled.
“Sadie, 1942. The name and date were etched in the glass.” Libby took more pictures.
Elaine crossed and gently traced the letters with her fingertips. “I had forgotten all about this.”
“Who was Sadie?”
“She was a local girl who worked for my grandmother for a time.”
“Is she still in town?”
“She passed away in the 1990s.”
Libby wondered if a search in the local archives would reveal much about Sadie. Even as the thought occurred to her, she wondered why it should matter.
Libby followed Elaine to her truck and slid into the passenger seat. Elaine started the engine, put it in reverse, and backed up and turned around as if she had done it a million times.
“It’s a beautiful space.” Libby clicked back through images of the domed roof—the glass cut the light into a rainbow of colors.
The truck bumped and rocked up the hill toward the road that led to the circular drive in front of the house. Elaine pulled up beside Libby’s car.
She wondered again why Elaine’s grandmother had turned her back on this incredible space. “I’ll put the proposal together and email it by tonight.”
“I’m having a little dinner tonight. It’ll be Margaret, Colton, and the boys. My daughter, Lofton, might also attend. Bring it in person and join us.”
“Are you sure?”
“I am.”
“Yeah, sure. That would be great. Thank you. What time?”
“Five. I know it’s early, but the boys will be ready for bed by seven. Children have a way of taking over our lives in the best ways.”
“So I’ve been told.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
LIBBY
Monday, June 8, 2020
The Woodmont Estate
As Libby was about to drive away from the Woodmont Estate toward Bluestone, her phone chimed with a text from Sierra. Meet me at the general store. S. She texted back a thumbs-up emoji and then put her car in gear and headed for the center of town.
Parked in front of the old store was Sierra’s red MINI Cooper. Libby nosed her car behind Sierra’s and crossed the sidewalk to the front door. The large picture window was covered in brown paper with a GOING OUT OF BUSINESS sign. The door’s worn handle was made of tarnished brass. A spiderweb and a bird’s nest sat atop the transom.
She pushed open the door and stepped from the bright summer sunlight into a dingy space filled with shadows and stale air. The floors and the three remaining shelving units were covered in dust. Across the room stood the storekeeper’s counter. On top of the counter was a sealed mason jar filled with clear liquid.
Libby picked up the jar and cleaned off its metal lid. She had lived in this area long enough to know that this was moonshine and long past its shelf date for safe consumption. Either way it had to be toxic as hell. “Sierra, please tell me you didn’t buy this place.”
“I bought it!” Her voice echoed from a darkened back room seconds before she appeared. Sierra had changed into a black T-shirt, fringed jeans that hit midcalf, and red sandals with a thick cork sole.
“You’re serious?” Libby asked.
Sierra’s grin brightened, as it always did when she was a little panicked. “The good news is that I bargained the seller down considerably.”
“What about the bank loan to renovate the building?”
A small shrug lifted her shoulder. “I didn’t get the loan.”
“Why not? What about the land you inherited from Adam? Wasn’t that going to be your collateral?”
“The land is in a trust for the next ten years. His family feared he would marry a gold digger.” The bright smile dimmed for a split second and then returned. “Tanner thought I could take out a bank loan against the property, but as it turns out, it requires his father’s approval.”
Libby kind of sympathized with the man. This was not the soundest investment, and keeping the money in a trust would mean Sierra would have resources down the road. “You can’t persuade your father-in-law?”
“He won’t budge.”
She walked through the dusty room. “And this will be your sandwich shop.”
“It’s just what the area needs. There are enough pizza places in a twenty-mile radius, which is fine if you’re feeding kids or want an easy meal. But if you want a nice picnic lunch to take with you to one of the dozen wineries in the area, then you’ll come to me. Anything I sell will nicely complement a picnic basket. In fact, that’s what I’m going to call my place. Picnic.”
“Picnic.” She could kind of see it, but she already knew Sierra would be working long hours for marginal profits at best.
“Simple. Straightforward. How long until you launch?”
“Midfall. Or at least that was the plan. Now that I’ll be doing most of the work myself, it will likely be spring.”
“Negative cash flow for the next year.”
“Give or take.” Sierra lifted her shoulders in a slight shrug. “Hard work is not tough. Sitting and thinking is tough. I’ll do it all myself if it comes down to it.”
“No truer words.” She raised her camera and aimed it at Sierra. “Have you ever knocked down a wall?”
“No. But I’ll research it on YouTube.”
“Seriously?”
“That’s how you taught yourself photography.”
“Yeah, but there are no structural beams involved in taking pict
ures. Or electrical wires or plumbing that can kill you.”
“I can learn anything on YouTube,” she said brightly. “I have utter faith.”
“Okay.”
“Be happy for me, Libby. I need this.”
“I’m happy for you.”
It was one hell of a risk, but at least Sierra was not afraid to try.
Libby started clicking pictures. “Might as well start documenting this adventure. When HGTV sees your blog and comes a-calling, you’ll have plenty of before pictures.”
“Ohh, I like how you think.” Sierra rested her hands on her hips, angled her body sideways, and smiled broadly. “This is my best side.”
Libby snapped several pictures. “You should be on a magazine cover.”
Sierra shifted her pose so that she was looking directly at the camera, her arms crossed. “And just so you know I’m not totally crazy, I have a contractor coming by tomorrow. He’s going to make sure I don’t knock out the wrong wall and bring the entire building down. John Stapleton. We went to high school together.”
“Good, you know him.”
“We actually dated back in the day.”
“Oh, really?”
“Long story.”
“I won’t ask.”
“Better that way, but he’s still cute.”
Libby pointed to the mason jar. “Is that moonshine on the counter?”
Sierra held up the jar of clear liquid. “I believe so. There was a box of six hidden in a back closet.”
“Whatever you do, don’t drink it. No telling how old it is. You could go blind, if it doesn’t kill you first.”
Sierra laughed as she lifted the jar. “I’m not that crazy. I just found it curious. The original owner, Mr. Sullivan, must have had a taste for it. How did it go at Woodmont?”
“Elaine Grant has a fixer-upper project as well. She’s restoring a greenhouse that’s on her property.”
“The greenhouse. I have fond memories.”
“How could you know about the greenhouse? I never heard about it.”
“You were at boarding school. During high school, it became the place to visit at night when we were seniors.”
Honeysuckle Season Page 7