Chapter 5
After failing to get in touch with Darren again, Chelsea headed back to Lilydale with her groceries.
She spent an hour cleaning the kitchen and dining area so it was free of dust before making an omelette for dinner and then settled at Aunt Maggie’s roll-top desk.
This was where Aunt Maggie had paid her bills and kept her affairs in order.
There shouldn’t be many sentimental things here.
Chelsea couldn’t bear to start anywhere else.
Not with the emotions swarming around her in every room she entered. She needed an easy win to begin with.
She lined the bin with a bag and opened envelopes, reviewing the contents and sorting them either into the needs-further-investigation pile or tossing them in the bin.
Then she opened the top drawer and tears welled in her eyes blurring the vision before her. Her throat tight, she picked up the pale purple writing pad with its border of irises and ran a finger over the cover.
This was where her aunt had sat to write all the letters she’d sent to Chelsea.
Receiving a purple envelope in the mail had always made her drop everything and sit down to read her aunt’s letter.
Perhaps she’d send Miles and Amelia a letter while she was here.
They might think it was cool—or old-fashioned.
She placed the paper in the keep pile and closed the drawer, jiggling it to get it to go in. No fancy rollers on this desk, just wood on wood.
The second drawer contained two small boxes side by side.
Chelsea opened the first and gasped. It was full of envelopes.
She recognised the matching stationery from writing pads she’d bought to write to Aunt Maggie.
Her heart ached as she slowly flicked through the familiar envelopes, seeing her penmanship go from that of a child to the script she now used.
Aunt Maggie had kept all of her letters.
She blinked to keep the tears at bay.
Her hand trembled as she replaced the lid and put the box on the keep pile. One day she might reread them and discover what younger Chelsea had deemed important to tell her aunt.
The second box was also full of letters of a similar age to Chelsea’s. She opened the first one and scanned the contents.
Her mouth dropped open as she read the words and then noticed the signature.
Ethan Ward.
She flicked through the envelopes and saw the same handwriting on each one.
Why had Ethan corresponded with Aunt Maggie?
Why hadn’t Aunt Maggie ever mentioned it to her?
She closed her eyes as an image of the boy she’d loved flashed into her mind. Shy and angry at the world until you earned his trust. Then his warmth and kindness came out.
Of course he would have written to Aunt Maggie. She’d treated him as a person, not a burden, and he’d often told Chelsea he owed Aunt Maggie a lot.
She checked the dates. The last one was dated over a year ago. Did Ethan know Aunt Maggie had died?
He hadn’t been at the funeral.
She hadn’t known to contact him—though she would have asked her mother to do it.
Chelsea opened the last letter and scanned the contents. He’d joined the army straight out of school, but he mentioned little about it in his letter. Probably wasn’t allowed to.
He sounded happy though. She heard his voice in her head as she read his words. There was no mention of a wife or children, and she scowled at the flutter of relief that passed through her.
He had left her.
Why should she care what he did now?
But a part of her did care. She’d loved him intensely, and it had taken years to stop hoping he would realise he’d made a mistake and come back for her. No one else had understood her like he had.
Tap… tap, tap, tap. The soft knock on the front door had her glancing up. This is what thoughts of Ethan did to her. It sounded like his knock.
She exhaled to calm her racing heart and shook away the fancy as she approached the door, switching on the porch light. It was probably Darren coming to explain himself.
She opened the door wide and her breath left her body.
Thick dark hair, a little messy with an oleander leaf in it, brown eyes the colour of jarrah bark, and beneath a well-maintained beard was a mouth which turned up at the edges as if uncertain about his reception.
She blinked to clear the apparition as her gaze lowered further.
Broad shouldered, tight muscles underneath his black T-shirt, cargo pants that didn’t show the shape of his legs.
Surely she couldn’t conjure someone just by thinking of them.
“Hey, Chelsea.”
The same smooth tone she’d heard in her head while reading his letter.
“Ethan?” Her head spun and she reached out to grab the door frame to steady herself but somehow missed it.
She tripped, falling towards the floor, but before she hit it, Ethan’s strong arms encircled her and he helped her over to the sofa.
“Sit.”
He pressed her into the seat and she was too stunned to protest, but her body heated where his touched hers. She blinked rapidly again as he crouched next to her, concern in his gaze. “I’ll get you some water.”
He strode into the kitchen, knowing exactly where the glasses were. Of course he did. He’d practically lived here when he’d been in Honeybrook.
Her fingers brushed his as he handed her the cup. She sipped the cool water, allowing it to refresh her mind. “Thanks.”
Right, so he was definitely in front of her and not a figment of her imagination. Joy and love filled her, followed quickly by anger. He’d broken her heart. “What the hell are you doing here?”
He looked down at her for a long moment. “I came to visit Aunt Maggie.”
All at once her shock and anger dissipated, replaced by empathy. “Oh, God. No one told you she died.”
He cleared his throat. “The neighbour did when I arrived.”
What a horrible way to find out the woman he considered a surrogate aunt was dead.
“I’m so sorry. I had no idea you kept in touch with her.
If I had, I would have contacted you.” She moved past him to the roll-top desk and picked up the box she’d discovered.
“I found this just now.” She handed it to him.
“We didn’t go through her things after the funeral. Everything was too raw.”
With a slight frown, he opened it. Grief crossed his face as he stared, not saying anything. His fingers brushed each letter, the only movement he made.
His stillness cried out to her. He was only ever this still when he was sorting through his emotions. She’d seen it twice; once when she’d told him she loved him, and the second, when he’d read the letter to say he’d been accepted into the army.
Chelsea longed to comfort him the way she used to. “She kept all of mine as well.”
He glanced at her, tears glistening, and she couldn’t keep her distance. Yes, he might have hurt her when they were young, but he was hurting now. She took the box from him, placed it on the couch, and then wrapped her arms around him.
He stiffened and then he hugged her back.
She closed her eyes as his body trembled. This would mean so much more to him. He’d spent his entire childhood being passed from foster family to foster family, no one wanting him. Aunt Maggie was the first person who had cared. And she had cherished his letters enough to keep them all.
She rubbed his back, feeling muscles which hadn’t been there before, and his arms cocooned and protected her like they always had.
The two of them had needed each other that summer.
She’d felt vulnerable about her place in the family with her mother pregnant with Ezra’s first child, and he’d been anxious about what he would do when he aged out of foster care.
Two souls coming together when they’d needed each other most.
Perhaps that’s all they had ever been and Ethan had been right to break up with her.
She pushed away thoughts of the past and focused on now. He smelled the same; a potent combination of grass and sweat. Her cheek rested on his, and she had a strong urge to kiss it.
Chelsea stepped back, shocked by the strength of her emotion. Not appropriate.
“It’s my turn to get you some water.” She strode into the kitchen, her insides scrambling; one portion wanting to go back and kiss him, and the other portion reminding her he’d broken her heart. If he’d wanted to be kissed by her, he wouldn’t have left her.
Handing him the water, she moved across the room and tucked a few stray hairs behind her ears.
Damned if he didn’t look good. He’d grown a beard, but it was trimmed short and had been soft against her cheek.
He’d never reached six feet, possibly due to the malnutrition he’d suffered as a child, but he was stocky now, pure muscle.
The cargo pants he wore reminded her of the army, as did the black T-shirt that clung to his chest. His hair was messy and she noticed the leaf again.
Her eyes widened. “You weeded Cupid’s bed.”
He nodded. “I arrived yesterday. When I saw the place… I had to do something.”
She understood completely. “I’m waiting for the groundskeeper to call me back.”
“Darren.”
Chelsea frowned. “How did you know?”
He rubbed the back of his head. “I heard you talking to your mum.” He looked a little sheepish.
“I spent last night in the barn. Thought I’d do some more work in the garden while I was here.
I was going to track you down, find out what you were doing with the place.
The neighbour mentioned a property developer was sniffing around. ”
Staying in the barn? Surely it wasn’t in a liveable state. But if he’d been on site… “Did you see Johann when he was here?”
Ethan nodded again. “Heard most of your conversation.”
“You eavesdropped?” How did she feel knowing he’d been here all along? Sure, there were plenty of places to hide, but it was kind of creepy.
“You’ve got to admit, Chels, it’s awkward. I shouldn’t be here and you’ve just arrived. I wanted to give you time to settle before I made myself known. This place has a lot of memories for us both.”