Chapter 14
Chapter Fourteen
RHETT
I t felt different in the house after Ella pulled on her coat and scarf, flashed her unforgettable smile and walked out. I spent the rest of the afternoon searching for a good contractor and interior designer. I’d convinced myself that I didn’t have the spirit or patience for a big remodel. As long as there was heat and running water (that was questionable) then I could easily live out the next months or year inside the scarred, splintery walls of Grimstone Manor. My state of mind wouldn’t allow me to think past my own misery. In fact, the state of the home fit that state of mind perfectly, scarred and gloomy. Then a ray of sunshine, packaged in an adorable young woman, had sort of shot herself right into my life, and suddenly, I wanted to kick myself. I’d let the two people I cared about the most destroy my life, but I was done with the pity party. I needed to stop feeling sorry for myself and get over it.
The three hearths and chimneys had been inspected, and I’d been given the “all clear” to build fires in any of them. Now, all I needed was wood. I realized how soft I’d become, always working behind a desk. When I was younger, I competed in triathlons, crazy races where you worked your body so hard it took weeks to recuperate. I could fly down a mountainside on skis so fast that friends would joke that I left a trail of fire behind me. I even dropped out of an airplane more times than I could count just to experience the thrill of falling to earth with only a piece of nylon to keep from making it my last jump. But once the germ of an idea for the software company became a full-blown idea and business plan, I spent most of my days and plenty of nights bent over a keyboard and in brainstorming meetings with my developer team. The thrills of youth were replaced with the thrill of building something far bigger than I could have ever imagined.
I doubled up on my shirts and pulled on my thickest coat, a knit beanie and gloves. The dampness that always hovered over the coast held a deep chill. I had no more than an hour of decent light left for splitting wood. The house was surrounded by ten acres of wilderness, mostly shrubs and trees that had all seen better days. There were enough broken trunks and trees to start a decent woodpile. Ella would be back tomorrow, and I was determined to fill the library hearth with a glowing fire. She hadn’t complained, but as she left for the day, her chin was trembling from the cold in the room.
I’d brought so little with me from my past life, a life I’d just as soon forget, I had to go down to the hardware store to buy an axe. There was a wide, dead stump behind the house that had enough blade marks that I easily concluded it had been used to split wood in the past. I gathered up some of the thickest fallen branches. The entire landscape around the house was like a scene from a fantasy movie where the trees and their branches had taken on a life of their own and covered the hillside with their arms and fingers. I’d called several local landscapers about clearing the hillside and the land around the house of debris. They were all keen and ready to start the project until I gave them the address. No one wanted anything to do with Grimstone Manor. That might have been due to the purported curse, or maybe they just knew what an arduous task it would be to clear the property of decades of growth.
I balanced a long, heavy branch on the stump and chopped it in half with two blows. I wanted to credit brute strength for only needing two blows, but something told me it had more to do with the new, shiny and still deadly sharp axe.
I stood up the cut half and sliced it in half. This time it took three blows, and I could feel it in my shoulders. Maybe this house would force me to get back in shape. I was no longer going to spend my days in the office, sitting behind the computer. I planned to get a bike and to walk to town as much as possible. No more elevators. No more cocktail lunches. No more city life. I was done with all of it. I already felt so much better just being in this sleepy, foggy town that I was ready to leave behind everything about my old life. It wouldn’t be hard.
Thirty minutes later, I’d shed my coat, the fog-draped sun had sunk even lower on the horizon, and I had an impressive stack of cut logs. The hard work was the therapy I needed to get past everything tying me up inside. I placed another cut branch upright on the block, dropped the axe back and arced it forward. The wood split in two with one swift blow.
“Impressive,” a soft voice said from behind.
I swung around. Ella was wrapped in a puffy coat, scarf and green knit hat. All I could see was her pretty face peering out between the mounds of wool. She was holding a plate wrapped in foil. “You were such a big help today and then there was the lunch with toast crumbs—and you literally saved my first assignment, so I decided to make you a batch of cookies. We were out of chocolate chips because—well—you know—so I made chocolate thumbprint cookies. They were a little out of my wheelhouse as far as baking goes. Fortunately, I have a tremendously skilled baker on speed dial. Isla talked me through all of it.”
I looked toward the gravel path leading to the house. “Did you walk up here?”
“Sure. I love to walk in this kind of weather. It gives me a chance to pull on this ridiculously puffy coat that I purchased online. I swear it wasn’t nearly this puffy in the picture.”
I chuckled. “I was worried that a breeze might push you over and send you rolling back down the hill.”
She was staring at me with wide brown eyes.
“I’m sorry. My years as a computer nerd have wreaked havoc on my social skills. I shouldn’t have said that.”
“Yes, it’s true. It’s that puffy. That’s not why I’m wearing this look of utter shock.” She paused as if she wasn’t sure she should continue.
“Utter shock?” I asked.
“You chuckled,” she said quietly. “And there was a smile along with it.”
“I guess you had me pegged as a real Grinch, eh?” I pulled off my beanie and raked my hair back before replacing it. “I don’t mean to come off like that.” Just as I said it, the scars that trailed from the back of my hand all the way up to my elbow twinged with pain from chopping wood. I’d noticed the scar tightened and stretched according to the weather. Cold weather definitely made me feel as if my arm no longer fit in my skin. “I’ve gone through some things in the last year that have left their marks on me, both physically and mentally.” I looked back at the house. It always looked better at dusk when you couldn’t see all the loose shingles or siding. “This place is supposed to be cursed, but I feel like it’s been waiting for me. And I’ve been waiting to be here in this house, this town. I’m glad I’m here.”
Ella smiled shyly and tucked a strand of blonde hair behind her ear. “The place does grow on you. The town, that is. The jury is still out on the house, but I’m glad you found each other. Maybe it was meant to be. Maybe this old place has been standing here, looking sad and lonely, because it was waiting for the right person to come in and appreciate what a cool house it is.”
“Either that or I’ll die a grisly death, and it’ll release a sinister sigh knowing it has taken yet another victim.”
“Oh my gosh, you’re warped, do you know that, Rhett Lockwood?” We both laughed. “And now I’ve heard your laugh as well as your chuckle,” she said. “Neither disappoints. You should do it more often.”
“I’ll work on that. How about some milk with those cookies?” I dropped the axe over my shoulder. “How is that for my lumberjack impression?”
She nodded with approval. “Not sure how many lumberjacks sit down to milk and cookies, but that axe thing really works for you. Need to get you some flannel, though.”
We reached the house, and while the heating system was nothing to brag about, it was a relief to get out of the clammy cold. I hung up my coat and hat. Ella did the same, and we carried the cookies into the kitchen. I poured the milk as she removed the foil from the plate.
“Those look like the kind my grandmother used to make.” I sat down next to her. “She always made them at Thanksgiving. Every once in a while, she used raspberry jam to fill them instead of chocolate, but I have to admit I was always partial to the chocolate.” I pushed an entire cookie into my mouth. The wood chopping had sparked some pretty significant hunger. I reached for another. “These are just what this lumberjack ordered. What did your editor say about changing the article to talk about Margaret Grimstone’s accomplishments instead of the curse?”
“Well, you were right. It was a mistake.”
“I don’t think I ever said that.” I picked up the milk. It’d been years since I’d enjoyed the simple treat of milk and cookies. It made me question why as adults we were always so quick to give up on the best parts of childhood.
“No, but it was implied by your expression. I wrote a lengthy but well-worded email to defend my position and point out why I thought it would work as a good story. In return, I received a four-word response, one that was curt enough that I knew the discussion was over. ‘Stick to the plan.’ That’s all it said. So, I guess I’ll be sticking to the plan.”
“Seems like you could stick to the plan and at the same time squeeze in a few interesting nuggets about Margaret’s life.” My suggestion made her smile.
“You, sir, are reading my mind. It’s my piece, and they want details, so they’re going to get them.” She dipped her cookie into the glass of milk. “Hmm, these did turn out well. Isla’s such a good baker, even over the phone. You mentioned your grandmother. Where did you grow up? If you don’t mind me asking,” she threw in hastily.
“I don’t mind. My grandmother had a farm in Nebraska, and before you ask, no, it wasn’t filled with adorable baby goats and sheep and chickens like they used to show us in grade school. Corn. Just fields and fields of corn. She did, however, have a pet pig named Roly who would follow us around the barnyard in case we dropped crumbs from our sandwiches or cookies. Despite the endless fields of corn, I loved going to her house. A river ran behind the farm, and my brother and I would fish in it. We could ride our bikes for what seemed like miles and not worry about traffic. We’d play all day and then stumble back into the farmhouse, hungry and tired and usually a little grumpy, and my grandmother would have a big plate of fried chicken and mashed potatoes waiting for us.”
“Sounds idyllic. Like what my sisters and I had with our grandmother. You have a brother?”
“Yep, just the one sibling. Evan lives in Boston. He’s a lawyer. We rarely get time to see each other. I plan to invite him out here once I get the place fixed up. Which, according to my list of improvements, should be in about ten years.”
Ella’s laugh was the kind that you could listen to forever. “So, are you working up that patience and enthusiasm?”
I nodded. “Yeah, I think I am.”
She sipped her milk and then licked the frothy white off her top lip, a gesture that held my attention far too long. “What changed your mind?”
“Not sure,” I said, but I knew exactly why. Our gazes locked over our glasses of milk. It stunned me how quickly this petite, cheery, positive force of a woman had become a friend. We were so comfortable talking together as if we’d known each other for years. I felt like I could be myself around her, and that was not easy for me because, somehow, I’d managed to lose all contact with that person—the real me. It would be easy to blame the success and the business taking off for wiping out my old self, but I realized, now, it was the people I’d surrounded myself with.
“Well, I’m glad you’ve worked up the enthusiasm. Although, I’m sure the patience part will be tried over and over again when you have contractors and workers trudging back and forth through the house. Still, I think this old house deserves a second chance. Its reputation has kept it from being loved by the proper owner. A facelift will make the manor smile again.” She picked up her glass of milk for a toast. “Here’s to lifting the curse for good.”
We clinked glasses and took swigs of milk.
Ella’s fine brown brows furrowed for a second as she looked at me. “When I first brought up the curse—you told me you were already cursed.”
“Did I? I guess I did. It’s a long story.”
“One that goes with the scar?” She motioned toward my left hand. I’d pushed my sleeves back some when I warmed up cutting wood. A good four inches of the scar was showing. It had changed my skin so much; I barely recognized it as my arm anymore.
“Yeah, one that goes with the scar.” I smiled up at her. “You really are a journalist, aren’t you?”
She covered her face with her hand. “Nonna used to call me ‘nosy posy.’ I’m sorry. Let’s erase the last minute and go back to—to—” She bunched her brows again. “What were we talking about? Oh yes, getting rid of the curse and letting this magnificent old house shine again. It’s going to cost a pretty penny, isn’t it?” she asked with some hesitation.
“It’s not going to be cheap. You took the journal home. Any more revelations about Mags ?”
“Didn’t have much time. Once I got home, I took a long, hot shower.” She rolled her lips in, coyly.
“I’m sorry about that. I saw the chin tremble as you were leaving. Tomorrow, I’ll have a fire roaring in that room. Looking forward to testing out my skills at fire building. Back to my caveman roots and all that.”
“And I promise to spend at least half my work time packing those boxes. It was part of the deal, after all.”
“That was just me being a grump. You don’t need to pack up anything, Ella. Just spend the time doing research. You might want to start looking at those bookshelves though. Maybe you’ll find another journal or ledgers, something that will give you more details about Margaret’s death.”
Ella’s entire tiny body shook with excitement. “Can’t wait to dig in tomorrow. And I’m equally excited about that fire, so you better drum up all those caveman instincts, ‘cuz I’m expecting to be as toasty as a marshmallow between chocolate and graham crackers tomorrow.”
“Oh, wow, you just conjured up another great childhood memory. S’mores. Loved those little marshmallow sandwiches.”
“Yep. They’re a classic.”