Chapter 5
The days at the farm before Christmas were peaceful and relaxing for Veronica and Olivia.
Anson hadn’t called Veronica. He had texted her whenever he had the chance but he hadn’t called, which was a relief.
She didn’t want to lie to him about where she was.
And she would never have canceled their plans and left Olivia on her own, this year especially.
They needed each other, and being at the farm, with Felicia’s decorations and favorite belongings everywhere, made them feel close to their mother.
Veronica wondered if Anson would feel differently if he knew she had inherited the farm with her sisters, but she didn’t feel ready to tell him any of that yet, so she said nothing, and let him believe she was in the city.
It was a sin more of omission than of commission, and she wasn’t hurting anyone.
But she felt guilty about it anyway. And he was with his family.
She had spent ten lonely Christmases without him so far, and this was the hardest one of all, seven weeks after her mother’s death.
None of them had adjusted to it yet. It was going to take time, especially after all the surprises Felicia had revealed after her death, and even some she hadn’t, like her relationship with Spencer York, which sounded like a real love story.
Veronica was glad she had had that, and had known some happiness in her life. Her mother had worked hard.
She and Olivia were going down the long tree-lined drive one day toward the road to get some air and exercise, when they saw the York house come into view through the naked trees.
In the summer it would be obscured, but in winter, without leaves on the trees, they could see it clearly, and they saw a man come out of the house.
He watched them for a few minutes and then made his way through the branches and walked toward them.
“Who’s that?” Olivia asked, as he walked in their direction.
Olivia was rolling slowly in her chair while Veronica walked beside her.
They’d been talking about their mother’s books that they’d been reading, and they loved them.
They had new meaning for them now. They felt as though there was a message to them on every page.
There were little bits of her philosophy and values woven into the stories, her innermost thoughts, her history, and even her humor.
It was like visiting with her each time they picked one up, and they were both sorry they hadn’t read more of them when she was alive.
Veronica had lots of questions about them that would never be answered now, about what was true and what wasn’t.
And they had realized by then that almost all of the books had been dedicated to them, except for a few that were dedicated to “S.Y. with all my heart,” which they knew now was Spencer York, and they had never noticed the dedications before.
They had missed them entirely. But they had read very few of her books.
Felicia’s whole life history was in them, woven in with the products of her imagination, and Veronica was never sure which was which, since she had shared almost no details of her own history and early life.
From her books they had begun to understand that she’d had a lonely childhood, with cold demanding parents who had expected a great deal from her, and gave little in return.
She was never enough to win their approval or their love.
The man who had come out of the York house and headed toward them caught up with them a few minutes later on the drive. He was tall, with a mane of blond hair, and hadn’t shaved in a few days. He was wearing work boots and a heavy jacket in the cold, and smiled cautiously at them.
“Hello, we’re more or less neighbors, I think,” he said, glancing from one sister to the other, “if you’re Felicia Weston’s daughters.
” He wasn’t sure if they were just houseguests or renters.
Olivia looked a little like her mother, with fair coloring, but Veronica didn’t.
“I’m Andrew York. Andy. I’m house-sitting for my father,” he said.
Veronica and Olivia both smiled and introduced themselves.
He had a boyish quality and look to him, although the little smile lines near his eyes said that he was older than they were.
“We’ve been wanting to reach out to you,” Veronica said, “but we didn’t want to intrude. I’ve been meaning to write to your father.”
Andrew nodded. “He’s in London. He was heartbroken when your mother passed away. It’s a terrible thing,” he said sympathetically.
“We never knew about your father until after she was gone. Their agent told us. It sounds like such a beautiful story. I wish we’d known before. We didn’t even know about this farm, and now we own it,” Veronica said, as he walked along with them.
“It’s a beautiful place,” Andrew agreed, “and they were so happy here. They had the perfect arrangement, together most of the time, when they wanted to be, and then they’d retreat to their own houses when they wanted to write.
They never got on each other’s nerves that way.
I always wanted to meet you, she talked about you all the time.
She was very proud of you. I lost my own mother when I was very young, so I feel for you. ”
“She was too young to die,” Olivia said sadly.
“And so senselessly, in such a horrible way,” he added.
“Would you like to come up to the house for some coffee or wine?” Veronica offered, and he ambled slowly up the drive with them.
“I’ve been wanting to meet you, but I was afraid it was too soon.
My father was in terrible shape when he left.
He says he can’t be here without her. I don’t know what he’s going to do.
I hope he doesn’t sell the house, and can make his peace with it.
It might help him to meet you. You’re like a part of her.
And it makes it seem like she’s still alive.
I think it’s going to take my father a long time to get over the shock,” Andrew said, obviously worried.
“Do you have children?” he asked them. “I know she had grandchildren, although she didn’t look it.
” He smiled as they reached the house. Veronica invited him in and he followed them inside.
“We don’t,” Veronica said, “but two of our sisters do, and another one doesn’t.
There are a lot of us.” Veronica smiled and led the way into the front hall, which was familiar to him.
Andy had been there many times, although it was still new to them.
He caught sight of the Christmas tree immediately, with the beautiful decorations, and stared at it.
“They were like children. They both loved Christmas. They collected those ornaments together. Fifteen years is a long time.” It made it seem even more incredible that Felicia’s daughters had never known. “Are you staying for Christmas?” he asked them, and they said they were.
“Are you?” they asked him.
“I am. I’m a bit stuck here. I promised my father I’d watch the house, he’s afraid a pipe will burst or the house will burn down.
I go to the city occasionally, but I feel so guilty, I come rushing back.
I was going to go to England to spend Christmas with him, but he’s with friends.
I’ve been living in Aspen before this. I used to write screenplays in L.A.
, for TV and the movies, and I’ve just written my second book.
Robert is my agent too, he’s a wonderful man and a great agent. He introduced them to each other.”
“Do you have children?” Olivia asked him as she rolled into the living room and they followed.
She was intrigued by him, and wondered if his father was as nice as he was.
Andy seemed desperate for company and someone to talk to.
He had said he was living at his father’s farm alone, which had to be lonely.
“No, never married, no kids. I think writers are hard to live with. My father was, until he met your mother. She tamed him, and he was gentle as a lamb after that. My mother died when I was a child, and he never remarried. He locked himself away, and I think he will again. I don’t think he’ll ever get over your mother.
The fairy tale didn’t have a happy ending. ”
“I have to write to him,” Veronica said. “I hope he comes back to visit. We all want to meet him.”
“He said he would.” Andy accepted a glass of wine, and the two sisters had one too, and they talked until it was dark, and the lights in the trees went on and he stared at them through the tall windows. “They used to light the trees just like that,” he said, moved by the sight of it.
“The housekeeper told us. Veronica did it all when we got here.”
“It’s beautiful.” He smiled at them both and stood up when he finished his wine. “I don’t want to keep you. You’ll have to come down the road to have dinner.”
“Would you like to come for Christmas Eve?” Veronica asked. “It’s just the two of us. Our older sister is coming for New Year’s Eve, and maybe another of our sisters. The oldest one is in Paris for Christmas with her kids.”
“You’re lucky you have each other, and if it wouldn’t be an intrusion, I’d love it. I feel a bit shipwrecked being at Dad’s house alone. It’s pretty solitary. He likes that. I’m delighted you’re here,” he said, smiling warmly at them both.
“We wanted to meet you too,” Olivia said to him, and Veronica offered him a ride back to his place.
“No, I’ll walk. I love walking around here. I have to confess, I’ve walked around your property too. The lake and the forest are wonderful.” Both women felt a strange kinship with him. They talked about it after he left.
“If they had gotten married, he’d be our stepbrother,” Olivia said, and Veronica nodded.
“It kind of feels like he is. It’s so weird that he knew Mom, and we didn’t know anything about them. But it feels really comfortable talking to him. I hope we get to meet his father.”
“So do I,” Olivia agreed.