Sam stopped at a carryout so Noah could pick up the order of subs he’d called in. Afterward, they drove to the Andersons’ so Noah could spend a few minutes with his aunt and cousins. Sarah wrapped him up in a warm embrace that set her tears flowing again. Her two suitcases sat packed in the living room. The house was clean, the children subdued, and the mood one of somber expectation. Noah wished the funeral were tomorrow so they could move past this heavy sorrow and remember the happiness shared with John Anderson.
Sarah held his arm as they walked with Sam back to the truck. “Sam told me what happened the other night. I’m sorry, Noah. I called to speak to Agnes today.” She shook her head indicating that the conversation never occurred. “When we asked you to help out over there, we had no idea what we’d be getting you into.”
“Oh, I think Uncle John absolutely did.” He laughed. “He knew I needed to let people depend on me and to let me need someone else. It started here . . . with you two.”
“Love and need often go hand in hand. Funny how ‘needing people’ has gotten a bad rap these days.”
“A bad rap? Listen to you, Aunt Sarah.”
“Two weeks holed up with a houseful of grandkids will expand one’s vocabulary.” She laughed again. “Those women need you. More than that, they love you. That includes Tayte.”
He stopped walking and studied his aunt’s reply. “You think so?”
“I do. She might take a while to admit it, but she does.” As her hold on his arm tightened, he allowed that notion to percolate in his heart.
“I’ve been rethinking my request that you stay here in the house. I don’t think that’s necessary. I’d be content if you’d just check on it now and then. How’s that sound?”
“I’m needed there, but I’ll do whatever you want.”
Sarah squeezed his arm. “You’ll know what’s best, Noah. Stay wherever you feel most comfortable. You deserve to have a home.”
Home . . . He liked the sound of that, and felt its pull. It was that tug of home that kept Agnes going during that terrifying night. He understood that in a new way now.
The first glimpse of the sign for Alsace Farm filled Noah with a relief that was deep and satisfying. He parted ways with Sam at the rise on the road and walked down the first hill. He was pleased to note that the muddy creek had subsided some, but its rapid flow was marred by jagged limbs and refuse it had carried for miles. The banks were littered with everything from dead growth to tires and the carcasses of drowned fowl caught up in the rushing debris. He refused to allow the enormity of the cleanup to drag him down.
Tayte must have been watching for him. As he crested the knoll where the house sat, she opened the door and started walking his way. Her gait and smile increased as she neared him. She threw her arms around his neck in an unprecedented show of affection, and the relief and comfort that overture sent through him erased his former worry.
“This was a great welcome home,” he whispered into her hair.
She buried her face in his neck. “I always worry you won’t come back.”
“Flooded rivers and muddy hills couldn’t keep me away.” She giggled and moved to his side, matching him stride for stride as they walked to the house. “How’s Agnes?” he asked.
Her head flopped onto his shoulder. “She won’t speak, she barely ate or drank anything, and she only left her bed twice, to use the bathroom. I had to feed the baby goats when they were hungry, and when six o’clock rolled around, she didn’t care about lighting her candle.”
That news distressed him most. “I brought subs. Did you already eat?”
“Just soup.”
“Did you get any work done on the portrait?”
“A lot. It’s starting to shape up nicely In fact, I’m ready for the big reveal. How did your day go?”
“Good. We’re actually ahead of schedule, which is great since I’ll need to take off Saturday for Uncle John’s funeral.”
Tayte slowed and then stopped short of the front door. “I don’t think I can go with you. Somebody will need to stay here with Grandma. I’m so sorry, Noah.”
His face pulled into a sober smile. “It’s okay. I already figured that.”
Noah opened the door and Tayte passed through. He followed her into the kitchen, setting the bag of sandwiches on the table before following Tayte to Agnes’s room. There in the corner was a large canvas alive with the Eppleys’ smiling faces. The change in their countenances from that day to this disturbed Noah once again.
“It’s already beautiful, Tayte.”
“I still have so much work to do, but I’m pleased with how it’s shaping up.”
“Have you spoken to the Eppleys lately?”
“I spoke to Margot.”
“How did she sound?”
“A bit subdued. Why?”
He shook his head, at least pleased to hear that he wasn’t the only one noticing a change. “They seemed really distant today. Almost as if they were avoiding me.”
“We’re an intrusion on their privacy. They’ll probably be glad to see us go.”
It made sense. “You’re probably right.”
He turned his attention to Agnes, who was lying on her side, facing the wall where the TV sat, playing an old black-and-white movie. Her eyes were closed, so he placed his hand on her shoulder and patted it. “Hi Agnes. I missed you today.” He noted a small shrug of her shoulder. “I brought some subs home. I had one made just the way you like it, with lots of hot peppers.” Another small jerk. “I’m very sorry about Lancelot. He was a good old horse.” Her eyes opened slightly, making a brief connection with his before clamping shut.
“Is she responding?” asked Tayte.
Noah offered her a half smile and shrugged. “Not too much.”
“I had hoped that maybe it was just me. That maybe she’d perk up once you got home.” Tayte looked at the floor and shook her head. “I’ll set the table and heat the soup.”
Noah sat with Agnes a few minutes more after Tayte left, talking idly about his day and providing a report on the flowerbeds Agnes helped the Eppley children plant. He was about to leave when he felt Agnes’s hand slip from under the covers to rest on his knee.
Her eyes opened and she asked, “Is this my home?”
He leaned close and placed his hand on her back. “It will always be your home, Agnes.”
“My home,” she repeated, pulling the covers tightly under her chin.
Chapter 25
Friday’s work proceeded as seamlessly as Thursday’s, with a large crew of Uncle John’s volunteers showing up. Plumbers, masons, and a few unskilled laborers swelled the cast, along with Jared, who felt he too could use a little construction therapy before the next day’s funeral. By late afternoon, they had the railings and benches set. Soon after, they dug, plumbed, and lined the path of the water feature with heavy plastic, and placed the stones. The crew broke work at four, having completed the major construction. All that remained was the tedious artistry Noah had planned—the carving and detail work that would complete his vision.
Sam drove Noah to a department store to buy a suit for the next day and then discovered, to their relief, that the creek had finally subsided enough to make the muddy lane passable by truck once again.
When the truck pulled into the barnyard, the men found Tayte and Agnes perched in the glider on the home’s front porch. Tayte waved to Noah and pointed Agnes’s attention in his direction, but the woman remained unresponsive—and unconcerned about her lackluster appearance.
“I brought my med bag along. Would you like me to take a look at Agnes while I’m here?” asked Sam.
Noah offered a sigh of gratitude. “You read my mind.”
Sam approached Agnes with a smile. “Hi, Mrs. Keller. I’m John and Sarah Anderson’s youngest—Sam. I was probably eighteen the last time you saw me. A lot of time has passed since then, hasn’t it? I’m a family man now. I’ve got a wife and a couple of kids. I’m also a doctor. May I examine you?”
>
Agnes offered no verbal response, but her eyes followed his as he studied her.
“I hear you had a frightening night a few evenings ago. What made you head out into the storm like that?”
She didn’t answer, but she stared at his hand as it reached for her wrist to take her pulse. When he opened his bag to retrieve his stethoscope, she recoiled and remained rigid as he pressed it to her chest and lungs, asking, “Can you give me a few deep breaths, Agnes?”
She made no effort to comply with that request or any of the others.
Sam checked her eyes, her ears, and her reflexes, and asked her to stand and walk, which she refused to do. Sam snapped his bag shut and motioned for Tayte and Noah to follow him a few steps away.
“I can’t detect any physical explanation for the changes in her. She doesn’t appear to have suffered a stroke, but I’m not qualified to determine whether she’s suffered some mental snap or if she’s just unwilling to respond. I’d have her seen by a neurologist.”
Tayte leaned against Noah as Sam’s truck pulled out. “The alarm company came today and installed a system. It’s kind of ironic, isn’t it, that I waited until I broke her to keep her safe.”
“Don’t say that. Sam doesn’t know what’s wrong with her, and even if she did suffer some breakdown out there, you didn’t cause it.” He tipped her chin up until her gaze met his. “It looks like you had a good day together. Hold on to that, okay?”
After supper, Noah headed to the barn to complete the frame while Tayte painted. He came in hours later and found her asleep in the old green chair in Agnes’s room. Dried paint still marred her hand much as maple stain marred his. He studied the portrait, which was now alive with light and life. Where had that light gone? The Eppleys’ eyes now appeared as dull as Agnes’s when he spoke to the family members. What changed? Privacy? Peace? As he fed the baby goats a final evening feeding, more questions formulated in his mind. If chaos could rob people of that peace, was there something that could restore it? Something that could help Agnes? Normally, he would have thought her farm and the baby goats would’ve pulled her back, but they hadn’t. What was left? He considered what Sam had said about music therapy.
Noah scrubbed up and set his hot spot and laptop on the kitchen table, scouring the Internet for the recent studies on dementia and Alzheimer’s, and he found many touting the positive effects of music on patients suffering with these disorders.
The only two radios in Agnes’s home were set to a static-filled station that played classical music. He headed into the living room where an old stereo cabinet stood. An ancient turntable sat under a plastic cover. There was no needle in the head, and broken wires protruded like stray hairs from the arm. It clearly hadn’t been operable for some time. He slid the doors back on the storage area beneath and found an extensive collection of old vinyl records—LPs and forty-fives—spanning several decades and every imaginable genre.
He pulled out a few of the most worn records and carried them into the kitchen. The albums he chose spanned the fifties, sixties, and early seventies, musical titles that included country-western hits, pop, classical pieces, and musicals. “So this is the music you and Tony shared.” This discovery pleased him. “Now, what music did you and Charles fall in love to, Agnes?”
Once seated back at the computer, Noah searched for the hits that corresponded to Agnes’s age from high school through her early twenties, music from the late forties, compiling another sizeable list. The hour grew late, but he had a good start to begin making a CD of music Agnes loved. He debated telling Tayte about his idea. The last thing she needed was more false hope. He awoke her, and they both made their way to their rooms, knowing another hard day lay ahead.
Mentally and emotionally exhausted, they both ignored the rooster’s morning reveille. Noah made his way downstairs after seven. Noting the lateness of the hour, he rushed back to Agnes’s room to check on her, and to his dismay, she was in nearly the exact same position she’d been left in the night before.
Tayte awoke, and she led Agnes to the bathroom to prepare for the day, Noah fed the animals and whipped up some eggs and toast. He surveyed his music list once more. That simple list buoyed him on this otherwise dreary day, giving him something tangible, something positive to do.
Another plan had likewise been picking at his brain. It was a happy surprise for the Anderson grandchildren—the one Uncle John wanted Noah to give them before the storm denied him the chance. Noah looked out the window and surveyed the weather, confident he could proceed.
The good-bye was awkward. Tayte came to him three or four times under the pretense of straightening his tie or his collar, then offering him a hug and words of regret for not being able to support him at the funeral. It pained him that she still needed an excuse to draw near to him.
Her last wardrobe adjustment came as the old cuckoo clock struck nine. “You look very handsome in this suit,” she said as she walked him to his truck. “Grandma’s neurologist is on call today. I’m going to try to get her to see Grandma. I don’t want to wait any longer.”
Noah held his tongue about his music therapy plan. “Let me know how it goes.”
“I will.” Her head dipped and she hesitated. “Will you be coming back here tonight?”
He’d forgotten to tell her the news. He wondered why. He took her hands and faced her. “Yes. I’ll be here tonight.”
Relief brightened her eyes, and he could see the tension ease from her shoulders and arms. A moment passed before her happiness radiated to her smile.
“I’ll make something special for dinner.”
“I’ll probably miss dinner. I’ve got unfinished business to attend to for Uncle John.”
“What is it?”
Noah pulled her to himself and held her close for several seconds. “You’ll see.”
“I really am sorry I can’t be there with you.”
“Shhh. I know. It’s all right. I’m fine.”
He was not fine. Not really. The six-mile ride to the funeral home passed too quickly, as if arriving there had thrust Noah through an unwelcome portal where John Anderson no longer existed. A confident man had gotten into the truck at Alsace Farm, but somehow the man who exited the vehicle felt smaller, reduced to boyhood during that short journey. Noah wondered if anything would ever be “fine” again. He was being emancipated from the only father figure he’d ever had. Now he would know what he was made of, whether he truly was solid or if he was merely a scaffold built over the foundation John Anderson had supplied.
Sam explained a pallbearer’s duties to Noah and invited him to sit with the family in the front pew of the filled-to-capacity chapel. Noah’s mind blanked out somewhere during the service, following numbly through the prayers and songs and sermons. When the service concluded, he helped carry the casket to the hearse and was ushered into one of the family limos for the ride to the cemetery. The concluding words spoken at the graveside provided a somber finality to his uncle’s life. Sarah wept and clung to her oldest grandchildren, who also wept.
As everyone made their way back to the limos, his uncle’s friends, many of whom had staffed the work crew the two previous days, came up to Noah with their hands extended, offering him their support, sharing kind words John had spoken about him.
The owner of one of the local hardware stores said, “It can be hard getting a new business established in a new town, so if you need anything—a letter of recommendation, a reference—you call me, okay? John Anderson’s word is as good as it gets, and he thought highly of you.”
His offer was matched by a contractor, a banker, the owner of the local livestock auction, and three retailers. Noah reeled from the overwhelming hand of friendship extended to him. On the limo ride home, he marveled that, even from beyond the grave, his uncle was still helping him. It made the final exit from the gravesite excruciating.
He became a captive as he was ferried to the farm leaving his truck at the funeral home. He thought about the surprise
he’d stuffed into the back seat. Sam promised him a ride to retrieve the vehicle after the luncheon.
The spread of food supplied by friends of the family overwhelmed every table and counter in the Andersons’ large home. The small gathering of John’s and Sarah’s “closest friends” proved to be nearly every attendee at the funeral, but snippets of conversation revealed that John’s wake was also a going away party for Sarah, since many of the neighbors didn’t expect her to return to the farm to live. Cameras snapped with the Andersons dragging Noah in to many of the shots. More people thumped his back and shook his hands than in the whole of his life, and he knew that Uncle John and Aunt Sarah had made certain that with or without them, this area would remain Noah’s home.
After Nathaniel introduced Noah to his wife, she offered to wait for her husband in the car to give the pair a few more minutes to talk. Nathaniel pulled Noah aside. “You already knew the identities of the people in Agnes’s portrait, didn’t you?”
“I had a pretty good idea they were your parents. So your father was a soldier?”
“ROTC. It’s how he offset Columbia University’s tuition.”
“I see. And Columbia is where he met your mother?”
“Yes, and speak of the devil . . .” Nathaniel nodded toward the window where an elegantly suited woman could be seen heading up the Anderson’s stairs to the porch. “There she is . . . Eleanor Murdock Briscoe. She said she wasn’t up to attending the funeral. She said it was too soon after my father’s funeral, but I should have figured she’d attend the luncheon.”
“Why?”
“Networking. Every Frederick County civic leader has at least sent a representative.”
“Is she in government?”
“She’s the philanthropic queen of the nation of Eleanor.” Nathaniel rolled his eyes. “I’m being terribly unkind today. She has championed a lot of worthy causes, and proudly claimed credit for each one. I planned to visit her tonight to have her explain why her version of our family’s history doesn’t quite square with that painting.”
A SECOND CHANCE ROMANCE BOXED SET Page 26