7. Dahlia #3
"Because I saw the train schedules on your desk," Beckett replied softly, his voice steady despite the rapid beat of his heart.
He moved a fraction closer to Dahlia, his tall frame casting a shadow over the workbench.
"I saw the books you were reading, and the maps of Chicago you had tucked into your folders.” His voice was now hoarse and he cleared his throat.
“You had a hunger in your eyes, a desire for a world that went far beyond the river line of Harvest Hollow.
I knew that if I asked you to stay, you might have done it.
And I loved you too much to let you grow to resent the valley. Or me."
The silence that followed was absolute, broken only by the steady drum of rain on the metal roof. Beckett watched her, his fists clenched in his pockets as he waited for her to speak, the weight of a thirty-year secret finally laid out between them on the dusty floorboards.
Dahlia
Dahlia’s heart felt like it was trying to pound out of her chest it was hammering so hard from Beckett’s confession.
For a few moments she sat there in stunned silence.
She opened her mouth, her fingers curling into the rough wood of the crate, but the words trapped in her throat felt like they were too small, too inadequate to bridge the massive space of those missing decades.
Years of pent up anger and heartache suddenly dissolved under the heat of his honesty.
But before Dahlia could find her voice, a sudden, violent shudder ran through the timber-frame wall of the barn.
The fury of the gale outside struck the eastern siding with a deafening roar.
Overhead, the steady stream of rainwater that had been trickling down the vertical boards finally soaked through the dry-rotted pine support of the high utility shelves.
Under the sudden shifting of the wall and the weight of the water-logged wood, the overloaded shelves buckled.
With a sudden, sharp splintering sound, the entire top shelf collapsed, sending a dozen metal storage bins and rusty brackets crashing to the floorboards with a deafening metallic racket.
The sudden crash shattered the spell between them. Dahlia flinched, her hands flying to her chest in fright as the clatter echoed through the rafters.
"We need to clear this before the water ruins the lower boxes," Beckett said, his voice instantly dropping into a practical, urgent tone. He didn’t let his gaze linger on her face, turning instead to the scattered metal parts.
"Of course. Right," Dahlia whispered, glad for the physical distraction that allowed her to hide the shaking of her hands.
She knelt on the dry section of the floor, her fingers wrapping around the cold iron of a fallen metal bin. She began to gather the scattered bolts, her movements rapid as she tried to quiet the frantic beating of her heart.
Beckett knelt beside her, his broad frame shielding her from the dripping ceiling as he stacked the fallen timber supports. Working in unison, they quickly cleared the debris.
"Let's slide the entire shelving unit away from this section," Beckett suggested, his knuckles brushing against her wrist as they reached for the frame. "The leak is spreading down the siding. If we leave the remaining shelves here, the rest of the boxes will soak through."
Dahlia stood, bracing her hands against the sturdy upright of the pine frame while Beckett took the opposite side. Together, they braced their shoulders and shifted the massive unit six inches away from the wet wall.
As the wood slid across the floorboards, a dark, narrow line was exposed in the timber framing behind it.
Dahlia paused, her hand still resting on the shelf.
In the space between two massive support posts, a narrow door had been built directly into the wall of the barn.
It was constructed from thick, reinforced oak planks that looked completely different from the rough-sawn pine of the siding.
The door was flush with the framing, hidden so perfectly that she had never noticed it during her childhood.
She moved closer, her fingers tracing the clean edge of the wood.
A sturdy, black iron latch was mounted on the oak, secured by a solid padlock that looked surprisingly new.
Unlike the rusted hinges and weathered latches on the rest of the farm buildings, this lock was clean, showing no signs of corrosion.
More than that, the thin wood of the frame around the keyhole was completely free of dust.
"What on earth is this?” Dahlia asked, her thumb brushing the pristine wood. Her curious eyes lifted towards Beckett’s. “Have you seen this before?” She glanced back at the cabinet. “Did you know it was here?”
Beckett stood beside her, his face pale under the amber light of the lantern. He stared at the lock, his jaw tightening as his eyes scanned the reinforced door.
"No. I’ve spent thirty years helping maintain this barn, and I’ve never seen anyone open this section of the wall." Beckett’s eyes bore into the cabinet with an intensity as if he was trying to open it with his eyes.
"Look how clean it is," Dahlia noted. Confusion and curiosity warring within her. What was locked inside it? She pressed her fingers against the cold iron of the lock plate. "The lock isn’t rusted either. It must have been used recently."
A myriad of thoughts and questions tumbled through Dahlia’s mind as she stared at the locked cabinet. Could the secrets of the ridge be locked inside here? Deeds to the mysterious extra six acres? Or is it just another empty box?