Chapter 10 Harper #2
Instead of driving straight to the café, she rolled down her window and followed Betsy’s map to the covered bridge.
The solitude on the Pacific Coast, she loved.
The brush of water on the shore and pounding waves against rocks.
But here in the valley, the seclusion felt boxed in, fortified by trees and a maze of roads that could lose any driver not familiar with Pennsylvania’s backwoods.
The planks drummed as she drove across the bridge, their rhythm echoing between the ceiling and walls. Harper glanced at the bookstore bag beside her, the biography of Via Belle inside. Perhaps Mrs. Belle was the lady of Harper’s magical lake.
When she reached the other side, Harper pulled the truck off the main road and checked her map. There was no lake noted near the covered bridge or any information about Via Belle’s former house. She’d call Marcia before she lost service.
“My favorite niece,” Marcia exclaimed when she answered the phone. Harper loved how the woman always made her feel like family. “Is Boss Man keeping you good company?”
“Only when he’s hungry. His current strategy is to pretend that I’m not there.” Which meant he spent most of his day roaming on the opposite side of his cat door.
“He’ll warm up to you soon enough.”
As the clock on the dashboard ticked past the hour of one, Sunshine Café was starting to seem like a better plan than trying to find Mrs. Belle’s property. “I’m not so sure.”
“It’s a godsend to have you care for our house while we’re away.”
Like a housekeeper. That would make Kelsey laugh. “I can’t tell you how much I appreciate you letting me stay.”
“I’m having a hard time hearing you, hon.”
“I’m near the covered bridge.” Harper eyed the dirt road beside the river. “A woman at The Book Barn told me that Via Belle used to live around here.”
“Deidre told you that?” She sounded shocked at that possibility.
“No, it was another lady. Betsy.”
“She probably mentioned the spelling bee too.”
“She did!”
“That woman doesn’t forget a thing.” Marcia laughed. “Why were you asking about Via Belle?”
“I brought a few of Mom’s books with me. She was pretty proud that her favorite author was from Catawba.”
“I think Angeline read all of Via Belle’s books at least once. Maybe twice.”
“You didn’t read them with her?”
“I only opened a book when my teachers required it of me.” Marcia spoke to someone in the background and then returned to the phone. “There’s a road near the bridge that follows Hammer Creek.”
“I’m right beside it.”
“Perfect,” Marcia said. “Keep driving.”
White petals blew past Harper’s windshield as she turned, a summer snowfall sprinkling across the riverbank. “Service is sketchy back here. I’m afraid I’ll lose you.”
“Let’s see how far we can go.”
The river narrowed below the lane and disappeared into the trees.
She followed the neglected path north, grateful for a truck to dodge the tallest weeds and scattered branches from last night’s storm.
About two minutes up the lane, the road split, and her aunt told her to park beside the gate on her left, at the base of a hill.
“Hop out,” Marcia instructed.
Harper stepped out of the truck in her Tevas and checked the rusty gate. “It’s locked.”
“You don’t need to go inside. Just look up.”
Harper scanned the ceiling of trees, the sky. “I see a whole lot of green and blue.”
“Take a few steps back and try again.”
Harper skirted around rocks and branches until she reached the narrow lane. When she tilted her head back, she saw the tip of a tower rising above it, crowning the trees. “What is that?”
“A writing turret.”
“Seriously?”
“Built years ago by Via Belle’s husband.”
Gold burst on the canvas of blue as sunlight brushed the glass. Did the woman write about Verity in her turret?
“Who owns the property now?” she asked.
“Probably her estate. Much has been kept secret about that place over the years.”
“Mom never told me that Mrs. Belle was missing.”
“Knowing Angeline, she probably preferred to think of her as found even if no one in Catawba seems to know where she went.”
“What do you think happened to her?” Harper asked.
“No idea.” Marcia laughed. “But I bet it will fire up something in that imagination of yours.”
“Someone around here must know the truth!”
“Oh, a hundred rumors flew around the playground when your mama and I were kids, but sixty-some odd years have passed. No one talks about Mrs. Belle anymore.”
Harper was increasingly curious about this woman who caught the world’s attention with sweet romance that she wrote from a tower. “How does one simply vanish from friends and family?”
“I don’t think she had any family left. Her husband and daughter died long ago.”
“So she just left this beautiful property behind . . .”
“Hence the many legends.”
Now, all these years later, if Mrs. Belle could tell the story of her life, what would she say?
Harper turned to scan the trees along Hammer Creek. “I remember visiting a lake near here when I was younger.”
“The nearest lake is probably ten miles away.”
“I swear I found one near the creek.” But no matter what the experts said, hindsight was not always twenty-twenty. At least her memories, mixed up with her imagination, could be unreliable.
The phone crackled. “I’m losing you.”
“A lake,” Harper repeated. “Close to the creek.”
But Aunt Marcia was gone.
Harper tucked her phone into her jeans pocket and eyed the tower again. A beacon almost, calling to her. As if it wanted to share its story.
First, she’d hike up the creek to search for the lake from her memory. Then, perhaps, if she could find her way around the gate, she’d visit the house.
Ghosts didn’t scare her.