“Sounds great.”
“See you soon,” Colton said.
A few feet separated them, and again a strong sexual urge rumbled through her body. Sam leaned over and said something to Jeff, and the two giggled.
“I’ll leave you to the boys,” Libby said.
“Right.”
The morning sun had risen well above the horizon, burning off the morning mist. The day stretched out before her.
Kelce and Sarge ran up to Libby, their tails wagging. Kelce dropped a stick at her feet. Libby tossed it, this time putting some heft into the toss. The dog took off running as she leaned down to scratch Sarge, who was now eager for attention, between the ears.
They climbed the back steps and moved into the kitchen, already filled with the aroma of cinnamon and apples. There was no sign of Margaret, but the oven had several items baking.
“Would you like to see some of the pictures I’ve taken?” Libby asked.
“I would.” Elaine reached for a pair of light-blue readers and slipped them on.
They sat at the table while Libby scrolled through the pictures. Several had caught the sun at a stunning angle that split the light into a rainbow of colors.
“These are magnificent,” Elaine said.
“Hard to go wrong with a subject matter like this.”
“You do any photography for art’s sake?”
“Not since high school. I fancied myself a wet plate photographer back in those days. Collected lots of old cameras. The plan was to start up again this summer, but it hasn’t happened just yet.”
“Why not?”
“Time, I guess. And dealing with Dad’s death, and the rest has taken longer than I thought.”
“Ah, the rest. It can fill up a great deal of time.”
She spoke as if she understood the term amounted to an emotional quagmire that sapped creativity and brainpower.
Libby paused at one shot of the fountain. A bright light swept across the stone, as if she had snapped something fluttering quickly by. She moved to the next image, but there was no light.
When she clicked on the last image, the engraving of Sadie’s name in the glass, her attention was drawn to the light. “That’s odd.”
“It doesn’t look from this world.”
“It’s the kind of place that looks like it could be haunted,” Libby joked.
Elaine’s expression remained serious. “I believe it is. I think this entire property is filled with restless spirits.”
“Why here?”
“Old places often have difficult pasts.”
“You said your grandfather built it for your grandmother.”
“It was built in the summer of 1941. My grandfather wrote to his estate manager and included the sketch of a solarium he had seen in London while he was practicing medicine there. He ordered construction to begin immediately. When he returned home in November 1941 with his new bride, he presented it to her as a gift.”
“That’s love.”
“I suppose it was.”
“How long were they married?”
“Forty-seven years. My grandfather died in 1989.”
The oven timer chimed, and Elaine rose and, using mitts, removed the two steaming dishes. One appeared to be bread, and the other cinnamon rolls. “Margaret left these for me last night with instructions to put them in the oven at seven. I thought you or the crews would be hungry. There’s also coffee here. Help yourself.”
Libby rose and filled a cup, hoping she had not maxed out her morning caffeine quota. As she stood beside Elaine, she noticed the dark, full veins on the back of her hand and the faint mark that indicated a recent IV.
Elaine served up a plate for Libby and then grabbed a ginger ale from the refrigerator for herself.
“You’re not eating?” Libby said.
“I’m not much of a breakfast person.”
Libby cut into the moist, gooey cinnamon roll, stabbed it with her fork, and took a bite. She almost sighed with pleasure. “Amazing.”
“That’s Margaret. Never a minute of formal training but can cook with the best of them.”
Libby noted that in the morning light, she could see that Elaine’s hair was thinning in some spots. She took another bite, wanting to ask but thinking better.
“You can ask,” Elaine said, as if reading her mind.
Libby covered her surprise with a sip of coffee. “Excuse me?”
“I’ve caught you eyeing my arms.” Likely subconsciously, Elaine smoothed her sleeves down over her arms.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be rude.”
“I never sensed any rudeness. Only curiosity and concern.”
“That’s the nurse’s training,” Libby offered. “I’m always diagnosing. It’s a tough habit to break.”
“It was breast cancer,” Elaine said. “Stage three. I was diagnosed two years ago. I’ve had surgery and finished two rounds of chemo. So far it seems to be working.”
“When will you know?”
“By the end of June.”
“I’m sorry.”
Elaine tapped her finger against the cold ginger ale can. “Don’t be. Cancer has a way of stripping away whatever doesn’t matter. I wouldn’t be here now if it weren’t for the treatment.”
“Colton said you hired him and started work on Woodmont two years ago.”
“I decided the craziness of Washington, DC, was too much. Lofton was immersed in law school, and suddenly the idea of spending the rest of my life living in a congested city didn’t make sense. I’m still only here part time, and I’m not sure Ted will ever be able to live in the country. But I spend as much time as I can here.”
“I didn’t see him on Saturday.”
“He’s preparing for a trial. He’s making this coming weekend longer and arriving tomorrow.”
“How long have you two been married?”
“Thirty years in August. We’re planning on a big party here at Woodmont. Consider yourself invited.”
“That’s very kind of you.”
“I mean it. I like you, and it would be an honor to have you here. It’s going to be a real celebration.”
“Thanks. I’ll take pictures as my gift to you.”
Elaine sipped her ginger ale. “I shouldn’t have been surprised by it. The cancer. My mother had it but recovered. She’d still be alive if not for the car accident. And my grandmother also died from it.”
Libby paused and then said, “My mother never had a physically sick day in her life. She struggled with mental illness. Of course, neither of those things really mean much to me in terms of genetics. I’m adopted.”
“Have you always known about your adoption?” she asked.
“No. I found out when I was twelve. A cousin told me at a family reunion. Looking back, I always wondered how my parents could have thought they could keep it a secret in a small town.”
“Do you know anything about your birth family?”
“I know I was born in New Jersey and that my mother was single. My original birth certificate is sealed, so I don’t have much beyond some nonidentifying information provided to me by the state.” She swirled her coffee cup. “If I can work up the courage to go through Dad’s desk, I might find something about my past.”
“You haven’t looked yet?”
“Lots of changes in the last year. I’m not quite ready for another one.”
“You might be one day.”
“I’m sure I will.”
“Discovering your roots is important.”
“I want medical information more than anything. I’ve had three miscarriages. It would be nice to know if that kind of thing runs in the family. Peace of mind, I guess. A heads-up would be welcome.”
“I’m sorry about your miscarriages.”
Her words carried a deep empathy that was touching. Personal suffering had a way of helping to bond with another’s misery. “Thanks.”
“When did they happen?”
“The last was nearl
y two years ago. I made it to fourteen weeks.” She resisted the urge to skim her hand across her belly and search for the faint flutters.
“I had no trouble carrying Lofton. My grandmother Olivia had several miscarriages in the 1940s.”
“The greenhouse was built for her, right?”
“Yes.”
“What can you tell me about her?”
“She met my grandfather, who had been studying at Oxford. Apparently one of their first dates was in her parents’ solarium. They fell in love. Her parents wanted her away from the bombings in London, so they encouraged the two to marry quickly in London so Olivia could come to the United States.”
“She must have led an interesting life.”
“She did. Very independent woman. She was an artist and an avid gardener. She kept detailed notes and made lovely drawings of the flowers she planted.”
“She was your paternal grandmother?”
“Yes, my dad was born in 1943.”
“And the miscarriages?”
“They came before he was born. She only had my dad.”
“Only?” An unexpected bitterness had seeped out.
“I didn’t mean that the way it sounded.”
“I understand,” Libby said.
“My parents were killed in a car accident. My grandparents raised me. They were both very kind to me. It was important to my grandmother that I get a good education and be able to support myself. She often said if not for the war, she would have continued her schooling. I’m a lawyer because of her.”
A large truck rattled down the driveway, carrying a large construction dumpster.
Colton drove his truck toward the driver and stopped. Each talked, and she could see the truck driver laugh. He seemed to know Colton and was comfortable with him. The driver nodded, and the vehicle headed for the dirt road that led toward the greenhouse.
Elaine’s phone rang. “Colton. Yes, I see it. Okay, I’ll walk down and make sure the dumpster is placed in the spot you designated.” She slid her phone into her pocket. “Colton will be back in twenty minutes. He’s left instructions for the driver explaining where to place the dumpster. He just wants me to double-check. Walk with me?”
“Sure.”
The two followed the truck down the hill, and as they grew closer, they heard the beeping of the vehicle as it backed up.
Libby surveyed a spot boldly marked with a handwritten sign. Colton’s directions were simple and crystal clear. PUT THE DUMPSTER HERE.
“I didn’t see it in the dark, but now it’s hard to miss,” Libby said.
“Colton doesn’t like to leave anything to chance.”
As the driver backed up, Elaine hurried to the driver’s side and motioned him back several more feet. The driver complied and then lowered the dumpster.
Elaine returned to Libby’s side. “Colton has this entire project mapped out. He needs the dumpster accessible but clear of the road so his subcontractors can get in.”
“Who else is coming?”
“I’ve lost count,” Elaine said, smiling.
With the dumpster in place, they exchanged waves, and he drove off.
“Mind if I have another look inside?”
“By all means,” Elaine said.
As Libby stepped through the front door, she was amazed how the extra hour of light had transformed the space. It reminded her of an old bear, stretching and yawning after a long hibernation. She could feel the potential for life, and whatever spirits she had imagined had vanished.
She walked to the fountain, running her fingers along its marbled edge. She tried to picture Olivia here, standing in this spot. They had both wanted children and lost them. Olivia eventually had gotten her wish.
“The greenhouse in its day was full of orchids,” Elaine said.
Her gaze skimmed the bed filled with weeds and dirt. “How do you know?”
“Olivia’s detailed gardening journals. Each journal began in the spring and went through to Christmas.”
“How many years did she keep it?”
“Until Olivia closed it in the mideighties.”
“Did you ever ask her about why she closed the greenhouse and stopped journaling?”
“A couple of times. She never answered me.” Elaine smiled. “But I suppose she was just getting older.”
“Could I see the journals?” Libby asked.
“Sure. Anytime.”
Libby picked up a smooth stone from the fountain. She rubbed her thumb against its dark-gray surface, now very curious about Olivia Carter.
A horn beeped three times in the distance, drawing Elaine’s attention toward the main house. “Three beeps. Sounds like my husband is here.”
“I thought he wasn’t due until tomorrow,” Libby said, setting the stone back in the fountain.
“He worries about me.” The words were wrapped in affection.
“That’s sweet.”
“Come on. I’d like you to meet him.”
“Sure.”
Libby followed Elaine toward the main house. In the circular driveway stood a man beside a black Mercedes. He was in his early sixties, tall, with a build that looked as if he had been athletic in his younger days but had grown soft sitting too many years behind a desk. He wore jeans, a white shirt, and brown shoes that looked too polished for farm life.
“Ted, this is a nice surprise.” Elaine hugged him and kissed him on the lips.
His gaze studied his wife’s face as his hand came up to the small of her back. “How’s it going?”
“Great. We’re cleaning out the greenhouse today.” Elaine turned toward Libby. “I’d like you to meet Libby McKenzie. She’s going to be photographing this project.”
Ted stretched out his hand to Libby and wrapped long fingers around hers. His grip was firm and his gaze direct. “Pleasure to meet you, Libby. I hear good things about your photography work.”
“Thank you.”
“Elaine said you handled yourself very well during Saturday’s wedding with the downpour.”
“If you don’t count the monsoon, the day went off without a hitch.” Libby grinned.
Ted chuckled. “What’s a wedding without a little drama?” Ted’s face sobered with his next sentence. “Libby, we were sorry to hear about your father’s passing.”
“Thank you.”
“I met him once when our daughter was about two. Lofton had a terrible ear infection while we were visiting Woodmont. Your dad was on call that night. He fixed Lofton right up.”
“Dad was always great with kids. I’m still getting letters from former patients sharing lovely stories about him.”
“I know I was glad he was here for me that night,” Ted said.
Colton’s truck crested the hill. He parked and, when he got out of his truck, offered his hand to Ted. “Ted, this is a nice surprise.”
“Checking on my girl,” he said as they shook.
“Your girl is doing fine,” Elaine said. “She had dinner with Libby, Colton, the boys, and Margaret last night.”
“Sounds like it was a party.”
“We’ll do it again when Lofton arrives.” Elaine turned to Libby. “Can you make it this Friday?”
“I can’t, Elaine. I’ll be in Richmond shooting a wedding.”
“That’s right. I forgot. Maybe Sunday when you return?”
“I won’t be good company for anyone,” Libby said. “I’ll be knee deep in edits for a few days afterward. That’s when the real work begins.”
“We’ll find another time,” Ted said.
“I’ll set a place at the table if you finish early,” Elaine said.
“If you’re going to the trouble, I’ll make my best effort but may be running late.”
Elaine grinned. “Great.”
“I don’t know about you all, but I’m starving,” Ted said. “I hope that’s Margaret’s baking.”
Elaine chuckled. “Yes, rest assured it’s not my cooking. Libby, I’m the worst. I could burn water.”
<
br /> Libby held up her hand. “It’s an elite club.”
Elaine high-fived her. “But a noble one.”
“Best you all clear out,” Colton said. “The crew I hired is ten minutes out, and it’s going to get pretty busy down there.”
“How long will it take to clean out the greenhouse?” Ted asked.
“Two days, if there are no surprises. Once we have the overgrowth stripped away and debris cleared out, we’ll check the structure and repair the glass. By Sunday, there should be some solid progress.”
“We leave it to you,” Ted said.
Libby glanced back in the direction of the greenhouse, feeling a pull she couldn’t describe. “There are no secrets that time doesn’t ultimately reveal,” she said, more to herself.
Elaine stilled. “Where did that come from?”
“A seventeenth-century French playwright, I think. Must have seen it on a plaque or a Pinterest page,” Libby mused.
“The greenhouse had its secrets, I’ll wager,” Colton said.
Libby felt a lift in her spirits she had not felt in a long time. “I can’t wait.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
SADIE
Monday, February 2, 1942
Bluestone, Virginia
Sadie was nervous as she drove onto Carter land without her brother. For all her talk just before Christmas about being the best driver, she was scared of the Carters. They were rich, and even though her mother said rich folks put their pants on just like the poor, Sadie knew different. They lived by their own set of rules.
The old engine groaned as Sadie downshifted and drove along the winding road toward the big house. Last week’s snow had melted, but her mother had said to expect a good bit more. Winter was not nearly finished with anyone yet.
Woodmont came into view. The brick exterior without the green wreaths wrapped in red bows looked bleak and unwelcoming. The trees were bare, and the only splash of green came from the boxwoods that filled the front beds.
Sadie hated this time of year. It was like the world was asleep, and they were all just waiting for spring.
She hated Bluestone even more now that Johnny was gone. She and her mother had driven him the twenty-five miles to the train station in Charlottesville. None of them had said a word in the truck, and when Sadie had hugged Johnny on the train platform, she and her mother had both cried like small children.
Honeysuckle Season Page 12