Chapter Sixteen
Bailey Rae hadn’t imagined seeking answers about the cash and the safe would only bring dozens more questions.
Yet here she sat on Thea’s veranda, head still spinning from hearing her aunt had been part of some secret network to help at-risk women.
They’d dodged sharing any more information, instead simply eating cake and talking about pruning bushes, book club reads, shelling pecans.
Anything other than revisiting the conversation about Winnie until Thea had ducked into the kitchen, locating Tupperware for a to-go dessert.
June had stepped off the porch to take a work call from the college. Real or fabricated? Who knew?
More than anything, Bailey Rae longed for the sound of Winnie’s voice to explain the shifting reality, to tell if the stories she’d shared about her own childhood were true.
Such as how her father had taken her to the beach, where they’d built sandcastles together.
Or how her mother had taught her to bake pound cake and sew Halloween costumes.
Was there a grain of reality in those? Timelines and memories were hard enough after those chaotic first years with Yvonne.
Bailey Rae refilled her tea and Libby’s as well, while the older woman crocheted and the ceiling fan fought a losing battle with the rising sun.
Libby loosened more of the cornflower-blue yarn from the skein. “People assume my hearing went along with my memory. But that’s not the case.”
“I’m sorry.” Wincing, Bailey Rae placed the pitcher back on the table. “I would never want you to feel discounted.”
“No need to apologize.” Libby tapped the safe with her crochet hook. “I can give you some insights into the cash and what this might contain if you would like.”
Bailey Rae sat up straighter in the wrought iron chair.
“Please, yes,” she said, not holding out much hope, but wanting the dear woman to feel heard and valued, however lucid her words.
“The answer is simpler than you would think. More money. When Winnie and I were your age, we women didn’t have as much control over our finances.
” Libby looped stitches with each word. “The first time I tried to leave my husband, I went to the bank to get a credit card. My application was denied unless he cosigned. Ironic, since in those days, I worked in a textile mill and earned more than he did. When he worked. Which wasn’t often. ”
A textile mill. I looked at the yarn in her hands, another piece of the Libby puzzle sliding into place. “I’m so sorry you were devalued that way.”
“That’s in the past.” Libby waved a dismissive hand before resuming her crocheting.
“When Winnie and I each arrived in Bent Oak, we opened an account for those bills that required a check. Using cash, though, became easier than dealing with a banking system that didn’t respect us.
And we socked away what we made at the market selling her canned goods and my crafts.
I used to hide mine in my cowgirl boots.
Boot cash is ‘I gotta leave my man’ money. ”
Listening with a new understanding, Bailey Rae heard the shades of pain and struggle in Libby’s past.
“If the stacks of money lying around the cabin are any indication,” Bailey Rae said dryly, “that was a lot of canned peaches and rag dolls.”
“We were frugal,” Libby said with a flickering smile, her narrative clear. She seemed to be having a good day to relate the details of the past so well. “We were preparing in case we had to run again.”
Again? We?
Had Libby meant to use those words? Keith had talked about his violent father, but what would have made Winnie hide?
Bailey Rae thought about pressing Libby on the point but worried she would clam up.
Or worse yet, grow stressed and agitated, losing the conversational thread in the tangle of dementia.
The need for answers had to take a back seat to concern for this fragile lady. “Winnie sure did know how to pinch a penny and track expenditures. I remember recording sales for her in elementary school as a way to practice my math tables.”
Libby chuckled, her face animating at mentions of the past. “She was always looking for ways to keep you occupied and out of trouble. You were a sweet child, although it was tougher to see at first because of all the acting out. Kind of like June did when she first arrived as a teenager.”
And there it was again, the hint of something different in the past from what Bailey Rae had been told. “When June came to Bent Oak as a teenager?”
“That’s what I said,” Libby answered smartly. “The night the old barn burned to the ground.”
Now that story she remembered. A massive summer storm had blown through with lightning striking a tree and the barn. Uncle Russell had been critically injured. Winnie had hated discussing that dark time in their past. “Such a tragedy they didn’t know there was a drifter sleeping in the hayloft.”
“A drifter ...” Libby’s gray eyes flickered with shadows of confusion, like cataracts coating her memories and making them hazy. Until one day, they would fade altogether. “Russell kept us safe from him, though. Like you did too. I mean, like Winnie did. You’re not her.”
Her words tumbled on top of each other, and she trembled until she dropped a stitch. Her face creased in confusion, and she fidgeted in her chair.
Bailey Rae rested her hands on top of Libby’s. Guilt pinched over pushing too hard and upsetting the delicate balance. “You don’t have to say anything more.”
“Yes, I do.” Libby’s gaze settled, locking in on Bailey Rae’s. “Winnie loved you. I hope you know that. She may have had you call her ‘aunt,’ but she considered you the daughter she and Russell never had.”
Bailey Rae nodded, her throat too tight for words. She missed Winnie with a sort of homesickness that would never go away. “She was the best thing to ever happen to me.”
“To many of us.” Libby held up her crocheting.
“They thought this was a baby blanket for Thea’s grandson, but it’s really a vest, like the kind they wore back in the ’70s.
I made one for Winnie to wear on a date with Russell.
I thought you might like one for the next time you see that nice young man . .. Officer ... Um, Officer ...”
And just that fast, Libby was fading again as she struggled to remember Martin’s name.
Still, Bailey Rae treasured the moment of connection all the more for its rarity.
Losing Winnie had taught her too well not to take an instant for granted.
“I would love to have one.” Bailey Rae angled forward to kiss her cheek.
“Thank you. He’s not my boyfriend, though. ”
“That’s what Winnie used to say about Russell.” Libby tucked away her yarn. “Now let’s have some cake.”
Rather than remind her they’d already eaten, Bailey Rae cut another slice.
She’d come to Thea’s home in search of answers, not expecting Libby to fill in surprise details.
And again, those answers spurred more questions.
Not the least of which was, what had brought Winnie and Libby to Bent Oak decades ago?
And why did it feel crucial to get answers before leaving?
By suppertime, Bailey Rae had finished restoring order to half of the cabin, if not her thoughts.
In replacing books and knickknacks, she’d uncovered another $1,473.
The little safe—tougher to break open than expected—held another $10,000.
No paperwork, though, that gave a clue to Winnie’s life before Bent Oak.
Maybe if she searched the barn again. Bailey Rae grabbed the bug spray on her way outside.
Libby had grown agitated when discussing the night the old barn was struck by lightning.
Could there be a clue in that somehow? The new structure had an apartment and office in back.
Bailey Rae had searched the files and letters there, but not with her newfound insights—and questions.
She made a mental note to scan the papers later to save space when she moved into the Airstream yet keep them available for reference.
Halfway across the yard, she caught sight of an unfamiliar sedan turning off the back road onto the long drive. Unease whispered through her, and she hated whatever had disturbed the sense of safety she’d felt here growing up.
“Skeeter,” she called, then whistled. She pulled out her cell phone in case she needed to text for help. In fact, maybe she should do that anyway.
Her fingers flew across the keyboard, messaging Martin and sending him a photo of the vehicle. She’d lived without fear for so long, thanks to Winnie and Russell, she’d almost forgotten how quickly security could be ripped away.
As the silver sedan drew nearer, she saw the rental car plate on front. Gia sat behind the steering wheel.
Bailey Rae puffed the bangs off her forehead with her sigh of relief and texted Martin a follow-up. She tucked the cell into her back pocket and walked to the sedan just as it parked under a tree.
Gia stepped out from behind the wheel and slammed the door. “I hope you don’t mind my stopping by. I promise not to keep you.”
“Of course it’s fine. What can I help you with?” As she stepped closer, she could see the mottled yellow of the fading bruises on her face.
Gia held out a baggie with some kind of treats inside. “It’s not much. Just peanut butter fudge as a token of thanks for everything you and your friend did for me—and for Cricket.”
“Thank you so much. I love peanut butter fudge.” Bailey Rae took the bag with a smile, her gaze skipping to the sedan and finding it empty. No child hid under a blanket. The past threatened to push through. “Where is your daughter?”
Gia tucked her hands into the back pockets of her jeans. “Cricket’s still at the day care provided by the women’s shelter. They’ve been such an incredible help. They even lined up a job for me at a church day care where I can bring Cricket at a discount.”
“That’s wonderful. I’m so glad for you.”