The Winter Before

by Karen Crompton

  “What’s Eleanor’s estate got to do with any of us?” asked Sheriff Mason.

  “I know this is gonna come as a shock, but…” The mayor let out a short breath.“Well, it seems she left everything she owned to one of us gathered here today.”

  “What?” Harriet gasped. Her eyes flew open so wide her brows disappeared beneath the rim of her ridiculous broad-brimmed hat. “That makes no sense at all! She had nothing of any worth. Yes, she owned her house, but who in their right mind would want to inherit that eyesore.”

  “It’s not that bad,” muttered the mayor.

  Sheriff Mason burst out laughing, a deep sound that shot out hard and fast like a bullet from a gun. “Are you sure we’re talking about the same place, Clarence?” he said. “It goes against every grain in my being to agree with Harriet, but the old Ackerman house really is in a state of disrepair. I doubt it’s worth the land it’s built on.”

  “That’s putting it politely,” chirped Harriett, though she shot the Sheriff a stern look to let him know she wasn’t pleased by his snide remark. “The cladding’s all blistered and peeling. The gardens are overgrown, the fences need replacing. Admittedly, I haven’t been inside the house for years, but that old porch out front looks set to crumble to the ground given a good gust of wind.”

  Abe Hathaway was half-turned in his seat, listening carefully to the back and forth banter.

  “I have to agree,” he said, wiping his eyes with his thumb. “Whoever inherits the place will want to be willing to get their hands dirty. It’s gonna take some work. Not impossible of course, but sinking that kind of cash into such a rundown property would be overcapitalizing to the extreme. In all honesty, I wouldn’t waste my time.”

  “See. I told you.” Harriett wore a smug grin. “Eleanor’s property is nothing more than a dilapidated old house, with a ramshackle barn, on a few acres of useless, barren land. Yes, barren, much like Eleanor herself.”

  “Harriett!” Abe shouted.

  “What?” Harriett actually had the audacity to look shocked. “It’s true and you and I both know it!”

  Abe glared back at the devious old gossip, trying to figure her out.

  “Oh, get over yourself, Mr. Hathaway. The house is a disaster, the land is useless, and—” Harriett suddenly paused, her mouth falling open as if she’d just had the most horrifying thought. “Oh, dear me.” She fanned herself with her gloved hand—more for dramatic effect than anything else. “The neighbor, I completely forgot about the neighbor! That man frightens me. I’d never sleep at night knowing he was right next door.”

  Under normal circumstances, Abe Hathaway might have held his tongue, but as it was, Harriett had him wound up as tight as a coiled spring. He wasn’t about to sit back and take her judgmental nonsense a moment longer. If there was one thing he couldn’t stand, it was narrow-mindedness—something the folks of Woodlake were guilty of more times than he cared to think about.

  So, when Harriet had the hide to mention Mrs. Ackerman’s only neighbor out at Briar’s Creek, that being Isaac Stone—Abe’s instincts kicked in. His skin bristled and his hands balled up into tight fists against his thighs. He stood so suddenly that the pew scraped back against the hard stone floor. “I swear to God, Harriett—”

  “That’s enough!” Mayor Dell clapped his hands hard and fast. The last thing he needed was an all-out brawl breaking out before poor Mrs. Ackerman had even been laid to rest. He sighed, bent down, and pulled something from a burlap sack hidden beneath his seat, holding it up high in the air for all to see.

  The polished timber box was made of dark mahogany. There was an intricate pattern carved into the sides and all the way around, and a pale bone inlay on the very top. A bronze lock clamped the lid shut, rusty and tarnished, and it looked to Olivia that the box hadn’t been opened for quite some time.

  “You can speculate all you want.” Mayor Dell twisted the timber box back and forth in his hands. “But the contents of this box are unknown, to me or anyone else for that matter. Mrs. Ackerman made sure it was sealed well before she gave it to me with no key in sight, so I’m just as perplexed as the rest of you as to what’s inside. The value is impossible to estimate, so please don’t get your hopes up. It could be worth nothing at all, or it could be worth an absolute fortune. But either way, the box goes right along with the house.”

  Kyle shuffled forward and reached into his back pocket, pulling out a pocketknife. “Here, we can just pop the lock.”

  Sheriff Mason snatched the knife out of Kyle’s fist, swearing under his breath as he shoved it into his coat pocket, and Mayor Dell’s voice took on a harsh note.

  “We won’t be opening anything today,” he said. “I promised Eleanor that whoever inherited the house would agree not to open the box until the time was right.”

  Kyle rolled his eyes and stood slowly to his feet. He pushed his dirty blonde hair back from his face, and then gathered his wool coat from the empty space on the pew beside him, shoving his arms roughly into the sleeves. “What the hell’s that supposed to mean?”

  “I’m not exactly sure, but…” The mayor hesitated slightly. “Look, just trust me; things will make much more sense after the meeting. Everything will be explained in greater detail once the funeral service is over. So I suggest we get back to burying the poor woman—”

  Before he could even finish his sentence, half the congregation were on their feet, scrambling for jackets, scarves, and gloves from the floor, or from handbags, and headed for the south door toward the church hall, situated on the vacant plot of land adjacent to the church.

  Harriet lunged forward into the aisle with her frilly umbrella swinging all about, and Kyle bent quickly out of the way, apparently not caring to lose an eyeball—which in turn set off a chain of events that couldn’t be halted.

  Kyle collided with Mr. Fallon from the grocery store, who then lurched into the back of the town barber, Sammy Tyrell, and then Mr. Tyrell slammed straight into Leroy Malone—the finest mechanic this side of the border—before all four of them came crashing down in a clumsy heap right there in the middle of the aisle.

  Even the preacher was in a hurry now, or so it seemed. He threw a few loose blessings over the congregation, made the sign of the cross roughly toward the coffin, and then lifted the bottom of his long robes as he headed for the door.

  “May she rest in peace.”

  Clarence Dell had to shout to be heard over the raucous chatter that surrounded him.

  “Order… order!”

  The church hall was bursting at the seams and there wasn’t a spare seat to be found. Ranchers, housewives, business people, even the odd cowhand had turned out to learn the fate of the old Ackerman place, or more importantly, the contents that lay inside the mysterious timber box.

  He rapped his knuckles hard against the edge of the podium just to be heard. “If you all don’t settle down, then I’ll cancel the meeting altogether.”

  “Just get on with it…”

  A deep voice echoed from somewhere at the back of the room. The mayor couldn’t tell who it was, there were so many voices all mingled together and his hearing wasn’t the best, not even on a good day.

  “We’ve been called here today to read the final will and testament of Mrs. Eleanor Ackerman.”

  The crowd settled slightly, a hush of heavy anticipation falling over the room like a wet sheet.

  He pulled the letter from the envelope and unfolded the pages carefully, then took a deep breath and started reading from the very beginning.

  “Dearest friends,

  If you are reading this letter, then my time on Earth has come to an end. Please don’t mourn for me, for I can safely say I have gone to a better place.

  If there is one thing I have learned in this lifetime, it is to never take for granted the joy of knowing true love. A love so deep, profound, and immeasurable that one’s heart simply aches just with the thinking of it. I have been blessed to feel such love in my lifetime and I pray that you w
ill all take comfort in the fact that my passing will soon reunite me with that love once again.

  We are all capable of unconditional love, no matter how difficult the circumstances. You just need to dig deep, to the very bottom of your soul, and take a look inside. That’s the key to unlocking your heart, and when that happens, you’ll find what you’ve been searching for all along.

  Life is a precious, fleeting gift and this is my gift to you. I’ve thought long and hard about my decision today, and it is with much certainty that I bequeath all my worldly possessions to…”

  The room was so silent you could hear a pin drop.

  “…Miss Olivia Louise Parker.”

  Isaac inhaled deeply until his lungs protested and his ribs pushed hard at his sides. He ran his hands back through his long hair with a slow exhale that echoed the exhaustion he felt all the way to his bones.

  He was sore and stiff all over, his strong body betraying him after a long week on the tools.

  He tossed his splintered gloves onto the workbench in the backroom of the hardware store. His overalls were filthy. The pockets were filled with beaten nails and wood shavings, evidence of an entire morning spent carving corbels for the new gazebo he was building for the town square.

  Mayor Dell had finally received that grant he’d been chasing from the county office, which now meant Hathaway’s had been contracted to rebuild the gazebo, as well as add some new park benches and construct up-to-date facades on all the shopfronts.

  There wasn’t a whole lot of time left.

  The annual Woodlake Winter Festival was coming up, mid-December, which coincided with school letting out, as well as the lighting of Main Street for the holidays, and there was still so much left to be done.

  Dropping his heavy work belt on the floor by the door, Isaac headed to the sink to wash up. He was tired, and he was hungry. Like always. He was hungry.

  He grabbed a sandwich and a soda from the small fridge beneath the bench and then wandered to the front of the store—something he rarely ever did. But on account of Mrs. Ackerman’s funeral currently being underway, the hardware store was closed, and Isaac reveled in the peace and quiet that came with having the place to himself for a change.

  He held back the metal blinds at the front window, making them screech across the glass, and it was in that moment he caught a glimpse of himself in the reflection mirrored by the bright fluorescent lights of the hardware store.

  A familiar tremble flickered in his chest, a haunting shiver that raced through his veins and made his pulse kick.

  The memories were near, always tumbling over one another, etched deep into the back of his mind, and he knew they would visit him no matter how hard he tried to push them away. So he let them come instead. And that was always a mistake.

  A thin sheen of sweat broke out across his forehead as he tried to calm his breathing. But it was of no use. He’d let himself go there, and now he was paying the price. He was anxious again, his stomach was empty and his mind was racing.

  The thing was, no matter how many times he’d looked at himself in the mirror over the years, no matter how many times he’d narrowed his eyes, squinted until his scars had all but disappeared, he still wasn’t used to seeing the person who stared back at him.

  It was a man he didn’t always recognize. It was a man who wanted more, dreamed of more, but knew he deserved less.

  Isaac traced his fingers over the raised skin that marred the right side of his face. He did it rhythmically, unconsciously almost, reading the raised bumps and deep divots like Braille, a story he’d read a million times before. A blind man looking for answers to unspoken questions.

  The scars trailed from just beneath his hairline near his right temple, then down over his cheek, along his jaw and throat, before disappearing inside his overalls. The chino cloth hid the puckered lines across his shoulder, but he could still feel the twists and turns, the tightness and the pulling, the roughness and the rawness all mixed together over his chest, so that he couldn’t quite make out where his disfigurement ended and the smooth skin of his unscathed stomach began.

  Isaac Stone wasn’t like other men, he knew that.

  He constantly felt like running. Running toward something. Running away from everything. Either way, he didn’t care.

  But run, he did.

  The night his grandfather passed away, Isaac’s life changed in ways he never expected. It broke him. He felt the weight of death like a black cloak over his head, like heavy chains around his neck. For months he grieved alone, angry. So angry his neck would bubble with perspiration and ice would pulse through his veins, making him shiver and shake with what felt like a terrible fever.

  But it was his anger that drove him, and in the dark of night, he forced himself out the door—dew on the ground, the only light sourced from the stars in the cloudless sky above—and he ran.

  Isaac ran because it let him escape, and he ran because it freed his mind to think beyond the chains. He found endless comfort in running late at night. With every passing day, he ran farther and farther, until his lungs felt like they might explode and his legs were heavy and wobbly from the exertion.

  Running became Isaac’s own private exile from the world, where it was just him and his running shoes, and whatever song was playing through his earbuds.

  “When you’re finished admiring yourself over there…” Abe’s voice was thick and gravelly as he bowled through the back door of the hardware store. “Reckon you might help me finish up that Flannigan job? Damn fool wants it done by this Saturday. Pain in the backside he is.”

  Isaac whipped around. He hadn’t heard the key turning in the lock. He’d been so lost in his thoughts that he’d completely lost track of time and his surroundings.

  “Sure, yeah…” he muttered quickly, embarrassed to have been caught looking at himself. He let the blinds fall away and hurried toward the back of the store again, downing his soda in three huge gulps. “I thought we still had another week?”

  “You and me both,” replied Abe. “Been a change of plans. They’re setting up for the wedding this weekend instead. Did I mention he wants it delivered too?”

  “All the way to Williamstown?”

  “Yep.”

  “Was delivery included in the quote?”

  “Nope.”

  “That thing must weigh a ton. How do you propose we get it to—” Isaac paused when Abe glanced over at him, his head cocked to one side. Abe’s lips twitched and Isaac knew what was coming.

  Isaac drove a Ford F-150 pickup. Abe drove a two-door Honda Civic. It wasn’t rocket science.

  “I’ll cover gas and mileage,” said Abe, hopefully.

  Isaac took a bite of his sandwich. “Fine, I’ll take it. But you’ll have to help me load the truck Saturday morning.”

  “No problem.”

  “And I’ll be coming straight back. No stops.”

  Abe grinned. “I wouldn’t expect anything different.” He turned and strode into his office, apparently very pleased with himself. He’d been asking a lot of Isaac lately, he knew that to be true, but the Flannigan order alone would cover next month’s rent and he couldn’t afford to get Mr. Flannigan offside.

  “How was the funeral?”

  Abe didn’t bother to look up, choosing instead to flick through a stack of invoices that were piled high on the end of his desk. “Interesting.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You’ll find out.”

  Isaac frowned. He had no idea what Abe was talking about. “You’re back sooner than expected.”

  Abe put down the gas bill he held in his hand and glanced across at Isaac. “The service was cut short. Don’t ask,” he said lightly, with a quick shake of his head. “There’s a town meeting going on over at the hall as we speak, but I didn’t stay till the end. Flannigan cornered me right after the big announcement, started in on me about getting the arbor finished for Annabelle’s wedding. Anyway, that’s all by the by. You should have been the
re.”

  “At the meeting?”

  Abe pressed the tips of his fingers into the edge of his desk, letting his head loll to one side. “At the funeral. You should have been there.”

  Isaac stared back at Abe, stricken for a beat. He closed his eyes as guilt flooded his entire body, and Abe could tell he’d struck a nerve. “I wanted to go,” he said quietly. He picked up a pencil from the desk and rolled it nervously between his fingers. “But I… I couldn’t go.”

  “Yes. You could have,” Abe replied sharply. He was tired too, and he was not in the mood for Isaac’s self-pitying bullshit. He pushed himself away from the desk and walked over toward the cash register. “You don’t go to anything the town puts on. You don’t go anywhere or do anything. You don’t talk to anyone. You just keep to yourself. It’s not healthy, Isaac.” Abe sounded annoyed for some reason. “You should have been there today for Eleanor, if nothing else. She was good to you over the years, good to your grandfather. She looked out for you when he died. You should have been there to pay her your last respects.”

  Isaac stood frozen, his expression pensive, but he felt anything but pensive on the inside.

  Abe would never understand.

  As kind as he’d been to Isaac over the years, as generous and accepting as he was, he wasn’t the one who had to walk around looking the way he did. He wasn’t the one who made adults gasp, made children gawk, who turned heads because he looked like he belonged in a sideshow alley rather than a small country town.

  Abe lifted his shoulders. “Am I wrong?”

  “Let me do things my way.”

  “And how’s that worked out for you so far?”

  Isaac felt it. A small flicker of his muscles that was so infinitesimal it would have gone unnoticed by anyone else, but Isaac felt it alright. It was right there under his skin, a stinging sensation that made his head itchy and his lips tingle.