Chapter 18 Harper
Via Belle might have lived in Catawba sixty years ago, but as Harper read her biography, she felt a spark of sisterhood between them, connecting over their love of story.
A glass of iced tea beside her, Harper curled up on an Adirondack chair, the porch screen deterring birds and bugs alike with a fan whirling overhead to ward off summer heat. A professional gardener maintained their triple-acre wonderland while Gerald and Marcia were in Florida.
Boss Man circled her chair like Harper’s main role in life was to entertain him.
She tossed the cat a treat from a seemingly bottomless bag, Lady of the Lake open on her lap.
With her script overnighted, she tried not to think of its arrival in Hollywood, but a mix of emotion kept vying for her headspace.
She was excited at the possibility of working with someone like Sissie, but the director could—probably would—choose someone else to write her script.
Then again, what if Sissie actually picked her? And what if panic set in, stealing her words?
She took a long sip of the sweet tea. Right now she needed to focus on what she could control. Find a new story worth telling. One that would capture hearts and minds alike.
Via’s books, she was quite certain, would reflect the nostalgia that Sissie wanted. Harper could adapt one for a contemporary audience, in honor of her mom, but before she proposed this idea, she wanted to find out everything she could about the woman who wrote from a tower in the trees.
Lifting the biography again, she started chapter four.
She didn’t know why Dr. Elijah Lamb chose to publish Via’s story—perhaps he was as intrigued as Harper by the novelist’s life and writing—but he had clearly done his homework.
The first third of the book he’d spent recounting Olivia Belle’s childhood in Richmond, Virginia.
Her growing-up years with a father who was equal parts theologian, minister, and writer.
Olivia’s mother died when she was five, and her father encouraged his only child to embrace writing as a calling.
After she turned fifteen, Olivia began submitting articles to a number of children’s and then Sunday school magazines. By the time she attended college, she was making a steady income from her writing.
Olivia’s aunt—Hattie Belle—wasn’t a writer, but she lived with Olivia for decades, reading and editing everything that Olivia wrote until Hattie’s tragic death in 1941, almost four years after Olivia’s husband died.
It sounded like Olivia had been close to her aunt, like Harper had been with her mom, and the common grief from such a loss was shared across the decades. Had her aunt’s voice lingered in Olivia’s heart and mind?
Even now, Harper sometimes thought she heard her mom speak. It was only the memories, words Angeline would have spoken, and here, in Marcia’s home, some of those memories were crystal clear.
Harper used to watch as her mom strolled through Marcia’s gardens with a bucket of bird food, filling the feeders and topping off water in the birdbaths. Then she would cut flowers and arrange them inside. Even though both her marriages failed, her mom was a hopeless romantic.
This afternoon, it felt like her mother might pop up from behind a flower bed, shears in hand, the sunshine reflecting in a smile born from hours in her happy place.
Or step onto the patio with two glasses of strawberry lemonade and a book that she was certain Harper must read.
Even now, Harper could almost hear her squeal of delight at the possibility of her daughter writing a script based on one of Via Belle’s books.
In fact, if Angeline Rayne was standing beside her right now, she’d tell Harper exactly which novel to use.
Harper turned the page.
Olivia had married Reverend Graham Ashe—a beloved minister in Catawba—before her junior year in college.
According to Dr. Lamb, they lost their only child and then the reverend died in 1937.
While Olivia was passionate about finding God’s goodness around her, it was a struggle to find joy in those years.
Even so, she’d continued to press on, producing multiple bestsellers in the early 1940s.
Almost like she grappled with grief through words.
Harper understood. The best stories often brought healing to the author first before offering a balm to the world.
In 1941, not long after her aunt Hattie died, Olivia married another man who was ultimately drafted to fight in World War II.
Simon Farrow.
The engraved name she’d found in the lake.
The name that made Finn Sterling cringe.
Harper glanced up from the book to watch a pair of bluebirds chasing each other through the garden. How long had the button with Simon Farrow’s name been buried in the mud?
Dr. Lamb didn’t include any other details about Simon—perhaps he couldn’t find the information—but Harper wanted to know more about this man.
Olivia’s last novel was published in 1943. According to the author, Moonflower Lake, her bestselling book, was different than her other stories. It was a murder mystery with a shock of an ending. Even more shocking, just as it was topping the book charts, Via Belle disappeared.
Harper paused, thinking back over all the books on her mom’s shelf. Did she have Moonflower Lake? Betsy mentioned it as well, but Harper didn’t remember reading that story.
Dr. Lamb noted the extensive search for the missing writer.
Newspapers across the country ran stories with her photograph.
Readers barraged her publisher with letters, worried about the safety of their favorite author.
Eventually police found her vehicle near Philadelphia, but no one in Catawba, at least no one willing to talk, knew where she went.
Olivia Belle Ashe Farrow was gone, Dr. Lamb wrote, but her stories lived on.
Harper closed the biography but didn’t move from her chair. She hated unfinished endings. Real life was full of them, she knew that well, but not for someone like Via Belle.
How could a novelist, so well-known in the 1940s, vanish? Or had something terrible, like Rene suggested, happened to her? And what had her husband told police? Once Mr. Farrow returned from the war, they must have interviewed him.
Then again, maybe Simon Farrow never returned. Olivia could have honored his life by casting the gold button into the water, a quiet tribute to him and his service.
But Harper wanted a better ending for Olivia, preferably a happily ever after like in all of her books.
Riding into the sunset with Simon Farrow, perhaps, or something equally romantic.
Maybe—after he returned safely from the fighting—Olivia and Simon had sequestered themselves in a mountain cabin.
Or a cottage by the sea. Someplace quiet to start anew.
They might have lived for decades together, away from the spotlight.
Since she had no living children, had Olivia’s publisher created a trust for her royalties? If so, who was put in charge of that in the early years and how did they spend the money?
Dr. Lamb left those questions hanging.
The lumberjack might have the answers, but she had no number to contact him or confidence that he would even speak with her. So she called Brett’s cell phone instead.
“Everything okay?” he asked after the fourth ring, the sound of a keyboard clicking in the background.
She glanced across the pristine garden and then down at Boss Man. “All is well at the house. I just had a quick lawyerly question to ask when you have a moment.”
“Ask now. I’ll call you back if I need to.”
“Do you ever work in copyright law?”
The keys quieted. “Occasionally.”
“If I wanted to make a movie from one of Via Belle’s books, how would I get the rights?”
“You’d have to option them from her literary trust.”
“Trust . . .” Her voice trailed off in thought. “Does that mean Olivia Belle passed away?”
“Not necessarily,” he said. “She would be presumed dead, of course, after being gone for so long, but she could also have had the trust in place before she disappeared.”
“Any idea how I’d find the information to contact her estate?”
“Just a sec.” A few more clicks on his keypad, and then he gave her the URL.
The Via Belle Literary Foundation had a website, but it contained neither a physical address nor phone number.
Only a contact form to fill out and send.
Which meant, if Finn Sterling oversaw Olivia’s literary estate like he did her property, she’d somehow have to persuade him that she was the right person to adapt a book.
But why would he want to contract with her after he’d accused her of trespassing? She’d have to help him see the possibilities of what might happen to Via Belle’s collection of books if one was turned into a movie.
Her phone chimed, alerting her to a missed call.
“I got your script,” Sissie said in her voicemail. “And Kelsey was right. You know how to write decent dialogue. Better, in fact, than that whole mess we sorted through at Evan’s house. Put some skin on that idea of yours and let’s talk Tuesday.”
Harper paced across the patio floor, the phone in her hand. Decent was a high compliment coming from Sissie. She’d wear it like a badge.
She waited for the panic, the fear of overpromising something she couldn’t deliver, but all she wanted now was to work out an idea that Sissie would love.
Tomorrow was Friday. If she was going to adapt a book, she needed to get permission from Via’s foundation right away so she could spend the weekend writing.
Somehow she’d have to convince Finn that a movie option was good for both of them.
She’d have a great script idea, and if Sissie directed it, the foundation would have a flood of book sales.
Olivia’s books would be displayed beside The Book Barn counter instead of gathering dust in the attic, finding their way into a whole new generation of readers searching for stories with heart and soul.
Surely the foundation would want that.
Harper filled out their online form, and as she waited that evening for a reply, she picked up her newly acquired copy of Silver Summer. Boss Man sat on the edge of her bed, watching as she read.
The story was utterly fascinating. A Cinderella plotline with a sweet twist and love-conquers-all end.
Harper could springboard from the original concept, leaving all the nostalgia intact while updating the dialogue.
If Sissie was intrigued enough to option it, Harper would write an unforgettable story with a romantic ending that would win over anyone who ridiculed love.
And the marketing potential. Honey for a bear. The media wouldn’t be able to resist the unsolved mystery of its original author. The studio would garner articles and interviews galore about the novelist who’d long ago disappeared.
Even after the story ended, Via’s characters continued chattering in her head.
All she and Finn had to do was partner together to create a new story.