When the Seasons Change (Henley Falls #1)

Prologue

Cyrus

Three Years Ago

“Perfection,” I whispered as I looked out over my mountain, thankful for whatever fates had led my great-great-great-grandfather here. I couldn’t imagine a more perfect spot to live, to raise children, to love.

To die.

Luckily, we’d had a relatively wet summer, and the trees blanketing the mountain proved why fall in Virginia was spectacular.

Now, with the season in mid-change, reds and yellows and oranges abounded overhead and extended all the way down to Henley Falls.

I often wondered if that long-ago ancestor knew he would eventually lend his name to the place he chose as home.

He’d started this little town from nothing, so it was only fitting.

Generations of Henleys have lived here, making it thrive, and—God willing—the next generations will make it even better.

I just wouldn’t be here to see it.

A car engine broke the silence of what I considered my mountain retreat.

The place I felt most at home. Away from town, from people.

Though no place felt quite right since I lost my Betty.

The door opened with a whoosh and then slammed shut, snapping me out of what could have been a devastating trip down memory lane.

“Cyrus Henley, why the hell did you bring me all the way up here?”

From the moment Momma and Daddy placed a squealing baby girl in my arms and told me I was to protect her, Martha had become my world. Over the years we’d grown our families side by side, but nothing could change the fact I was still supposed to care for her.

I could also give her grief.

It was a brother’s prerogative.

“Took you long enough, Martha. Having trouble seeing over the steering wheel again?” She was as short as I was tall, a fact she’d taken umbrage with ever since the day she simply stopped growing.

“Some of us are better, pint-sized,” she quipped.

Height difference notwithstanding, we would never be mistaken for anything other than siblings. We both looked like our Momma, with one exception: our Henley blue eyes. Damn near every Henley had shared the same trait for generations.

“You know, you’re not supposed to make your brother wait all damn day for you.”

“I can damn well make you wait as long as I want. I have things to do, you know.”

“Are any as important as me?”

“More, you old geezer,” she laughed the words out as she climbed the cabin steps and sat down on the cushioned swing next to me, her legs not even coming close to reaching the floorboards.

Throwing my arm around her shoulders, I pulled her close. “You’re a tough one.”

“That’s why you love me.” There were many reasons, but her ability to hold her own in this extensive family of ours was definitely one. I watched as the sparkle in her eyes faded a bit. “How are you doing?”

It was the question I’d been asked the most since my beloved Betty left this Earth, and for as many times as I heard the words, I never had an actual answer, because I simply didn’t know.

I didn’t know how to deal with not having her by my side, not hearing her wake me in the morning or talking to one of the kids on the phone.

“It’s hard, Mart. I don’t know if I ever really understood how it was for Daddy.”

“I know. I think of all the years he was alone, and I wish…” She paused for a second, looking away from me. “I don’t know what I wish.”

“I can’t imagine living without the love of my life for over ten years.” Hell, most days I couldn’t imagine living without Betty for another day.

“I get it. I’d be lost without Arthur, but you have so much more to live for, Cy.”

I should be surprised Martha knew where this talk was going, but her understanding of me still stunned me. How well she could read me. There was time to broach that subject, though. Right now, I wanted to reminisce and remember.

Pointing down the mountain, we both looked in that direction. “Remember the day we broke ground on the winery? I’m not sure if you wanted to strangle me and Art, or—”

“Strangle. Absolutely strangle. I love you both, but that day…” Martha shook her head, the only answer she really needed to give. “Betty felt the same, trust me on that. We talked about it for years after.”

“We’ve grown a lot, haven’t we?”

What started out as a lot of family land with very little going on, turned into so much more.

So much I could be proud of. Not because we built it all, but because Betty and I, along with Martha and Art, had raised children willing to take a chance.

To see what was possible and go for it. To build a life and a family on this mountain like so many of them before had.

Sure, some had moved away, but family was never far, no matter the miles between us.

Everything Henley blood, sweat, and tears had built in the Falls was part of the family.

“That we have. The kids have done good, Cy.”

“I think the grandkids will do even better.”

“You think?” Martha turned her attention back to me and set the swing rocking gently.

“I know. Our kids just have to get out of their damn way. You see it, don’t you?” My sister was one of the most intuitive people I knew, so I did not ask the question in vain.

She nodded, her gray hair bobbing around her face. “They want more.”

I’d sensed the restlessness in my grandkids and their cousins for a while now, even if they didn’t truly understand it.

Times change and ambitions morph. What was good for one generation may not be what the next wants.

I’d mentioned it to Betty not long before I lost her, and her words still play in my head as if she were standing in front of me speaking.

“They want something of their own, Cy. Their parents and us, we built what we have; they want to build what they see. Those are the types of babies we helped raise.”

“I can’t wait to see it.” Martha’s words took me away from thoughts of Betty, though she never truly left me, and that was fine. I didn’t want her to. As I looked at my sister, moisture pooled in her eyes.

She knew. Somehow, she knew.

“You see it for both of us.” I hadn’t been feeling well lately, and she pushed me to go to the doctor. After a boatload of tests, the prognosis wasn’t good, and oddly enough, I was fine with that. If it meant I’d get to be with my Betty again, how could I not be?

“That’s not the way it’s supposed to be,” Martha whispered.

“Life rarely is.” It’s what I learned when Momma died.

“But look at all we have, Mart. Look at the family we’ve created: men and women who are good people.

I think that’s more than enough compensation for getting a few years less on this Earth than maybe we wanted.

Besides, who are we to make that call?” I wasn’t a religious man, but maybe someone up there knew how much I missed my wife.

I reached over next to me and pulled out a hand-carved wooden box, placing it on her lap.

She stroked her hand over the lid. “Is this Daddy’s?”

I smiled and nodded. “One and the same.” Looking at it, memories flooded back.

“You know, I don’t think I told you, but I sat with Granddad when he carved that.

Was probably about four years old, a few years before a certain pest was born.

” I rejoiced in her laugh. I missed my Betty, but I’d miss Martha something fierce too.

“He used it for a while, then gave it to Daddy.” I’d taken it after he died. “Soon it will be yours.”

Her hand lifted as if to open it, but I placed mine over hers, stilling her movement.

“I want you to do something for me.”

Martha smiled almost as bright as the fall sun in the sky. “Anything.”

“I’m writing letters for everyone.” If I couldn’t be here, I wanted my words to be with them in some way.

“For you and Art, my kids and grandkids, your kids and grandkids. Might even throw one in for Wally.” That old coot, even if he was a competitor, was one of the best friends and best people I’d ever known.

“You want me to give them out after you're gone?” Her voice caught on the last word, and I hated what she’d have to go through, but she had our family around. Just like she supported me when Betty died, they would be there for her.

“No.” She looked at me quizzically, but let me answer. “You’ll know when each one needs to get theirs. Somehow, I think this younger generation is going to need some wisdom and guidance pretty soon. Lucky for them, they can get some from the beyond from me and some in the present from you.”

“I won’t know.”

Waving my hand, I shushed her. “You will. Because you know me.” She would know when I’d dole out what I needed to and do it then.

My trust, full and total, I laid at her feet.

“Enough about that now. I still have some time.” I bopped her on the nose, like I used to do as a kid. “You’re not getting rid of me yet.”

Martha wiped her eyes as tears fell, and whispered, “I don’t want to get rid of you at all.”

I knew the feeling. For a fleeting moment, I reconsidered my options. Gaining a short time would make everything harder on the family in the interim, and that simply didn’t seem fair to anyone.

“Come on. Let’s talk about what’s going on with all these grandkids of ours. The youth really do bring me joy.”

For the next few hours, we watched the sun set over our mountain, talking about the past and the future, about those we’ve loved and lost. About being brother and sister.

Later, after she’d left, I sat at the table, the old-fashioned chandelier burning bright above me, and pulled out a piece of paper. Time to write.

And I knew exactly where to begin.

Dear Reese…