Now Noah understood. “The Nazis were the dragons?”
“There are many dragons, mon cher. You fought yours in the only way you knew how, but that war is over now.”
“You think so?”
Agnes walked to him and placed a wrinkled hand on his cheek. “You slew your dragons. I can see peace in your eyes.”
Chapter 12
Tayte’s lithe, tanned arm extended out the window of Nathaniel Briscoe’s Lexus as the car approached the entrance to Alsace Farm. She pointed to an old farm truck exiting the lane and turning the opposite way.
“Someone’s leaving my grandmother’s place.”
“Oh, darn it. That’s John Anderson’s old farm truck. It looks like we’ve missed the chance to meet his nephew today. He mentioned having an appointment in town, but I had hoped to catch him before he left.”
That news relieved Tayte for some reason. Then the lawyer stopped at the entrance to the lane and turned to face her, punctuating the importance of his next question.
“Are you absolutely sure about this? Because it could be better for Agnes to simply forget about you altogether than to have you enter her life and pull out.”
The idea of being lost to another person made Tayte increasingly determined. “I don’t know if I will ever be able to live on that farm or if I’ll feel good about keeping her there, but I won’t pull out of her life, Mr. Briscoe. I want a relationship with my grandmother.”
“All right. Then let’s give this a go, shall we?”
The changes to the farm were evident even as they drove down the lane. The worst of the ruts had been filled in with stone, and the most egregious overgrowth had been trimmed back. The crooked fences in the barnyard were now square, and the formerly propped and fallen gates now hung on hinges. Tayte was impressed.
“I can’t remember the name of John Anderson’s nephew, but he’s a godsend. He’s generally here during the day, but he had an appointment in town this afternoon so we’re on our own. Just introduce yourself to him tomorrow.”
They rolled up near the last gate and parked. “Let’s make certain we’re on the same page about today’s visit. Our primary goal is simply to reintroduce you to your grandmother, correct?”
Tayte nodded. “And to give me a chance to assess what her needs are so I can start making a plan. I don’t remember much from the last visit. I was still in shock I guess.”
“Understandable. So we’ll proceed slowly. Don’t let her needs overwhelm you. Just remember that Agnes is quite taken with this young man. He’ll be a valuable asset to you.”
Tayte registered Nathaniel’s praise of the Anderson’s nephew as some sort of indictment against her. When she bailed, the Anderson’s nephew rode in like a white-hatted hero. However illogical the perception might be, the thought still wounded Tayte, and in her own defense she said, “I don’t need a farmhand to connect with my grandmother. I’ve called her nearly every day these past two weeks. Don’t worry. She’s expecting me.”
Animals squawked and barked in response to the new arrivals. The gate squeaked open, and Tayte and Nathaniel passed into a barnyard that was no longer overrun with random animals nor cluttered with excrement. Tayte felt encouraged, even though she knew the interloper was the source of the changes.
Agnes appeared from one of the dark recesses of the barn, straining under the weight of the bale of straw she carried. She smiled at Tayte, then scowled at Nathaniel. “I see the warden has returned. The car is still broken. I am a prisoner. What are you here to break today?”
Nathaniel leaned down and whispered to Tayte, “She rightly blames me for disabling her car.” He straightened and smiled at Agnes. “Mrs. Keller, I know the Anderson’s nephew drives you anywhere you want to go.”
Her face wrinkled at the statement. “Who?”
“John and Sarah’s nephew. Your helper.”
The comment drew her rancor. “I have no helper. I manage by myself.”
Nathaniel scrambled for the man’s name. “I mean Noah. He helps you, correct?”
A smile spread across Agnes’s face. “He is not my helper. He is my friend.”
“Well, today is a very special day, Agnes. Do you know who I have with me?”
Agnes smiled at Tayte. “I don’t know her, but she is very pretty.”
“Her name is Tayte Donnelly. She calls you on the phone. Do you remember receiving calls from someone named Tayte?”
Agnes’s brow wrinkled, and her head tipped to the right as she studied the subject of the question. “I think you must be mistaken.”
Tayte couldn’t stand it any longer. Despite all the plans to move slowly and not overwhelm Agnes, her need to connect overran her caution, and she blurted out, “I’m Tayte, Grandma. I’m your granddaughter. Angeline’s little girl. You are my grandmother.”
She knew she had fired off too many words with too much emotion, battering the woman’s senses. Agnes dropped her straw bale and retreated a step. “Angeline is dead.”
“Yes, she is,” replied Tayte. “We have both lost so much. I don’t want to be alone anymore. I want to be with you.”
The stiffness in Agnes’s bearing eased, and the tense line of her mouth softened. She raised a hand to Tayte’s cheek, and drew the younger woman to her. “Ahhh, mon petit chou. Do not be sad. We shall go inside and have a bite to eat, and all will seem better.”
Though Tayte easily stood three inches taller than her grandmother, she wrapped one arm behind Agnes, allowing the older woman to guide their way into the house, which also showed some improvement. Then she heard a cry.
Agnes seemed as mystified as Tayte over the sound. She scanned the room until she laid eyes on the playpen, at which point her entire demeanor softened like melted butter. “My babies,” she said as she released Tayte and ambled to the playpen, cooing all the way. “Oh, my sweet darlings. Are you hungry again? Have you missed Momma?”
Tayte shot a frown at Nathaniel, who seemed equally dismayed. “There are goats in the kitchen,” she muttered.
“Yes . . . well . . . at least . . . at least they’re contained.”
“But there are goats in the kitchen,” she repeated under her breath.
“There must be some logical explanation. Be patient until you can speak to Noah.”
The camouflage of improvement provided by an empty sink and clear tabletop was erased as an overwhelming list of urgent needs became apparent to Tayte. While Agnes was distracted by the baby goats, Tayte pulled out her smart phone and began making two lists, one detailing the major offenses that needed addressing, and the other a shopping list.
Nearly an hour passed as Agnes prepared bottles and fed baby goats, having only minimal interaction with the humans. Tayte found something warm and enticing about the aura that overtook Agnes while caring for those babies, and something equally disturbing about it as well. Was it the general idea of goats in the food prep area, or was it more? Agnes looked so content and satisfied. That’s when Tayte knew. It was an ugly and awkward recognition. She was jealous that her grandmother preferred the company of the animals to her.
The notion was humiliating, especially for someone so experienced at being cast aside. Tayte almost left, completely certain she couldn’t survive another rejection, but the loving way her grandmother cared for the baby goats drew her back. She desperately wanted someone to pour that kind of warmth over her. To love her that way. So she dug in, determined to stay and make things right. And she would start tonight.
“I’m ready to go whenever you are,” Tayte said to Nathaniel as she watched the disturbing yet idyllic scene of Agnes bent over the playpen, scratching the ears of the goats.
“Agnes, we need to be going,” said Nathaniel, “but Tayte will return soon.”
Agnes straightened and brushed hay from her sweater. She offered her guests a warm parting smile. “Forgive me for being so preoccupied with my babies. Come again, all right?”
Tayte saw her opening and took it. “Could I come back
this evening? Say around seven?”
Agnes’s eyebrows knit together. “That is quite late for a visit.”
“Uh . . . what if I bring dessert? What’s your favorite?”
A rich, intoxicating chuckle of delight rose from deep within Agnes’s chest. “Dessert? Ohhh . . . Now you are tempting me!”
Tayte longed for a relationship peppered with that joyful sound. “Let me guess what you love. Hmmm . . . I bet it’s anything with chocolate. Am I right?”
“Mais oui!” Agnes clapped her hands together and laughed fully. “But of course another woman would understand that!”
“Then chocolate is what I’ll bring, Grandmother. I’ll see you around seven.”
* * *
A warm satisfaction filled Noah as he drove back to the Anderson farm that night. He ran his fingers through his shortened hair, cut just before his meeting with Mr. Delacourte. He remembered how he felt as he looked in the mirror, watching it fall, and feeling as if he was shedding remnants of his past along with the hair. Agnes’s words kept replaying in his mind. “That war is over. You have peace in your eyes.” They had inspired the change.
Coming home to his aunt and uncle’s home could be difficult. Would he face laughter as they enjoyed classic old shows? Or would he find the house frozen in silence? On happy days he felt like a pin, bursting a bubble filled with past memories, forcing the present into a space brim with sweet remembrances. On the hard days he felt like a savior upon whom great expectations of relief fell.
The squeak of the door sent Sarah rushing from the kitchen, her dish towel slung over her shoulder. “Noah? Is that you?”
Her excitement also carried a need for reprieve. He offered her a smile as he shed his baseball cap and jacket on the bench by the front door. “Something smells great.”
She stopped when she saw him, a wide smile breaking across her face. “You cut your hair! Oh, you look so handsome!”
Noah touched his shortened hair. “I feel a little naked, but it was time.”
She gathered him in a hug and whispered, “Let’s show John. We’ll have a little celebration dinner. I made chicken and dumplings tonight.” It used to be John’s favorite. Maybe he’ll eat a little bite.” So much hope rode on that simple phrase.
Five long strides carried Noah into the family room off the hall and behind the kitchen with which it shared an open fireplace. He saw the expectation on his uncle’s face shift into pleasure.
“My, my. Well look at you. Very nice. Did you do that before your meeting with Delacourte?”
Noah shook his uncle’s hand before dropping into a seat beside John’s favorite chair. “I did. Agnes’s attorney was stopping by so I slipped out while she was occupied.”
“And the meeting? How did it go?”
Noah soaked up his uncle’s interest in him. “Very well. He took my five finished frames, and said he’ll take as many as I can get to him.” Noah pulled a check from his shirt pocket, trying to hide his excitement. “Three hundred fifty dollars for the lot, and these had very little hand carving. He said he’ll pay double for more detailed frames.”
John smacked the arm of the chair and laughed aloud before reining in his enthusiasm. “Delacourte’s a businessman. He watches the bottom line. Mark my words, he’ll be distributing your frames to galleries all over the D.C. corridor, so you make sure he treats you right.”
“I’m satisfied with our arrangement for now. I have a custom job tomorrow. Because of Frederick’s connection to Francis Scott Key, the city is celebrating the bicentennial of “The Star-Spangled Banner.” The Chamber of Commerce and local businesses put together a gift package to honor a wounded veteran and his family at the city’s Flag Day celebration. One of the gifts is a family portrait. Mr. Delacourte wants me to make a special frame for it.”
“That would be for the Eppley family. There was a nice story about them in the paper.”
“I hear you spread the word that I’m a carpenter. Another prize was the material for a custom-built deck and ramp. Because of your endorsement, Mr. Delacourte recommended me to build it. It’s a great opportunity for which I’d gladly donate my labor, but I just don’t think I can fit anything else into my schedule right now. Agnes wants her pastures mowed. Have you seen them? They’re littered with grape vines and stubble.”
“They were once Agnes’s father’s vineyard. When it failed, Albert Devereaux sold all the equipment, hired a dairyman, bought a herd of dairy cows, and became a recluse. That dairyman’s loyalty won him Agnes’s hand and the community’s respect. Respect counts in a small town.” John pushed forward in his chair. “I want that for you, Noah. I want people in this town to know the man I know.” He became more emphatic. “You can’t turn down the offer to build that deck.”
The urgency in his voice sat Noah back. “I—I might have to.”
“This opportunity could launch your own construction business. Don’t pass it up. Besides, Agnes’s granddaughter is back. Once she moves in, she can help with Agnes.”
That news wasn’t altogether comforting to Noah. “I’ve fixed the farm’s immediate problems. Things might work out with some help from the granddaughter.” He could hear the doubt in his own voice. “I suppose I could build the deck in the mornings, and squeeze out a few hours every afternoon to chip away at the rest of Agnes’s list.”
Sarah entered and stood near John. “It’s not quite that simple, I’m afraid. Tayte met with Agnes’s doctor and a counselor, and she left the meetings a bit overwhelmed. She wants to be involved with her grandmother, but she’s not ready to move in. I think we still need you to be Agnes’s primary helper for a while. Can you really manage all that?”
“Of course he can.”
Sarah offered an apologetic glance to Noah and a shoulder squeeze to John, which her husband ignored as he plowed on in pursuit of his point.
“Can’t you Noah?” he challenged.
The expectations were crushing, as if an elephant had perched on Noah’s back. After a long day with Agnes, he used the evening hours to build his frames. Now this construction job loomed before him as well. Noah blew out a rush of air. “I’ll . . . work something out.”
Chapter 13
Noah’s surrender to Uncle John’s terms only relaxed the ailing man for a few moments. Pain set in with a vengeance that night. The sounds of John’s discomfort were magnified by Sarah’s worried voice and rapid footsteps as she hurried up and down the hall and stairs. Noah offered his help, but there was nothing either of them could do except watch the clock tick down to the hour when medication could again be administered to relieve John’s pain.
Knowing that John’s pride would ache if Noah were to see him weakened this way, Noah left the nursing to Sarah and looked for other, small things he could do to help her. At three a.m. he unloaded the dishwasher and carried the laundry baskets upstairs, meeting his aunt on the landing. Her fearful, red-ringed eyes left a knot in his stomach. Once again, he felt powerless and useless. The old voices taunted him. Numb it. Cut it . . . He set the basket down and wrapped his arms around Sarah, as much for himself as for her.
“Something’s changed, Noah. John’s never been like this.”
Noah wanted to hit something. He pressed the urge down. “Let’s take him to the ER.”
Sarah wiped away a tear and shook her head. “I called the doctor. He told me to increase John’s medication and get him to the hospital lab in the morning.”
Noah needed a task. A mission. Some control. “I’ll take you.”
“Let’s see how he is. If I can manage him, you go to Agnes’s. You need to meet Tayte. You’ll probably have your work cut out for you just getting Agnes to accept her.”
The plan was set, and the medicine finally kicked in, allowing everyone to get a few hours’ rest. More meds in the morning left John weak and disoriented, but with Noah’s help he was loaded in the car, and Sarah headed off with him for the hospital. The car’s exit down the driveway seemed symbolic, foreshado
wing the end of Noah’s time with his uncle.
“It’s a darn shame. That’s what it is,” said Marty, who watched John and Sarah’s painful exit from a spot near the barn. “Your coming home has made him the happiest I’ve seen him in a long while. I only wish it wasn’t working out like it is. You two just get your fences mended, and now you’re likely gonna lose him.”
Noah’s eyes dropped to the ground, where his heart had already landed.
“Have you thought about what you’ll do if he doesn’t make it? Head back to South Carolina?”
Marty’s earlier words continued to reverberate through Noah’s mind, drowning out everything else.
“It’s a darn shame for sure. If only you’d gotten here sooner. Who knows? Maybe he’d a taken some time off and seen the doctor. Leastwise you would’ve had more time together. Yep. It’s just a doggone shame.”
The unintended implication of Marty’s words carried barbs that reopened old wounds. The remaining minutes Noah would have with his uncle seemed ominously finite, and now he wondered if it was perhaps his own fault. If only he’d come sooner. Isn’t that what Marty said? Once again, he was the cause of another’s suffering. How could he be what Uncle John had said—a good man—when he felt so small, like that father-hungry boy, whose hero carved a sled trail in the snow?
What would he do if John’s miracle didn’t come, if he passed away? Noah had surrendered his job and his “home” in Myrtle Beach. He knew he could get them both back if he chose to, but the last two weeks had proven that he did not. The thought of returning to that life felt like trying to squeeze into a child-sized sweater. It no longer suited him, nor was that life big enough to accommodate the new dreams and hopes stirring within him. But more than that, a sense of loneliness filled him, crawling into corners of his being that had been locked to such vulnerability. He’d been the gold-medal winner in the sport of isolation, squandering a decade alone, ten years he could never retrieve. He wanted a connection to people, to a family, but now that he knew what he wanted, it was slipping away.
A SECOND CHANCE ROMANCE BOXED SET Page 13