Chapter Twenty #2
“They were,” Libby said with surety.
“But I think this time ...” My voice cracked, and I wrapped my arms tighter around myself, shivering in spite of the spring warmth. “I’m broken, and I don’t know how to find my way back.”
Libby grasped my hand as if to tether me to this side of sanity.
“Winnie, you weren’t crazy then, and you’re not now.
” She squeezed my fingers, her gaze so fierce on mine I didn’t dare look away.
“You’re just hurting. And you’re sealing that pain up inside like okra in one of your Mason jars.
Except that isn’t gonna work. You gotta pour it out, sit in it for as long as you need, then step back into your life. ”
“Why? Why do I have to?” I was past the point of caring if I sounded pathetic. I just wanted to crawl into bed until ... forever. “If you tell me to think of all the women who need my help, I think I’ll scream. When will my debt be paid? I don’t have anything left inside me to give them.”
I couldn’t imagine turning away from my grief.
Because then I’d be turning away from Russell.
It was easier to hurt than envision life without the only person who understood every facet of me.
Russell knew every last piece of my soul.
Good and bad. Even the oldest pieces of me that were still pure Eloise.
And he had loved me anyway.
“Of course you don’t have anything to give the network.
Because right now you need to focus on yourself and Bailey Rae.
She needs you,” Libby said in that quiet way of hers that commanded attention.
“Yes, she’s nineteen now, but she’s still a teenager full of attitude and pain.
Trust me, I know a thing or two about troubled teens. ”
My chest ached at the thought of Bailey Rae hurting too. I knew how much she loved Russell. She needed help that I couldn’t give her.
“I love Bailey Rae. And because I love her, I know she’s in much more capable—stable—hands with you, Thea, June, and Keith even.” This conversation was lasting longer than any I’d had in weeks, and it wore me out. “I know I can trust you to look after her.”
“Of course we are always there for her,” Libby said kindly. “But you are her mother, just as Russell was her father, and she won’t survive losing you both at the same time.”
“Well, aren’t you a bundle of sunshine today?” I couldn’t resist quipping. I even tried to pull a smile but apparently wasn’t very successful.
Libby gave me a look in return that broadcast loud and clear I wasn’t fooling her for an instant.
“Winnie, my friend,” she said, her gray eyes as steely as her will. “Yes, Russell is gone, and my heart is absolutely broken for you and Bailey Rae. Perhaps the two of you can grieve together. And while you do, the rest of us are here to carry everything else.”
Somehow her words managed to filter through, bringing a comfort I hadn’t expected as she shouldered some of the weight and let me focus on myself and Bailey Rae.
With my defenses down, I’d allowed old insecurities to creep in, whispers of Eloise.
It wouldn’t be easy to banish those ghosts without Russell by my side, but Libby was right. I needed to look toward the future.
I needed to be the woman Russell had believed in. The woman he’d trusted. Loved.
I pushed myself up out of that rocker, feeling decades older than a month ago. “Libby, do you have anything pressing on your agenda today? After I take a shower, I’d appreciate it if you could go with me to the hardware store. Bailey Rae and I need to plant the garden.”
2025
Bailey Rae filled Skeeter’s water bowl and left a dish of dry kibble out for good measure.
As much as she enjoyed having him with her, this Fourth of July market day promised to be a long one.
Skeeter would be better off here at the cabin using the doggie door and resting up for the big move.
He’d had enough upheaval with all the boxes, then most of the furniture sold or put into storage.
She’d even slept on a mattress on the floor last night.
Not that she’d slept much, second-guessing her conversation with Martin. She still wasn’t certain why she’d decided to give him Russell’s fishing quilt. Chalk it up to another awkward farewell, except she didn’t have Russell to guide her through it anymore.
Better to stay busy. She drained her cup of morning coffee and tugged her scrunchie tighter around her freshly washed hair before hefting up her insulated bag full of frozen water bottles and snacks to carry her through the day.
Even though there would be food booths, she couldn’t count on having time to leave her station.
Firecrackers popped in the distance, no doubt people getting into the Fourth of July spirit early. Or perhaps emptying their stash in case the forecast for thunderstorms came true.
All the same, she intended to err on the side of hope and head on over to the market. She swung open the front door to whistle for Skeeter.
“Hello?” A masculine voice carried across the yard, from a tall, slim man in his twenties, with a headful of dark hair and clothes that spoke of understated wealth. He stood beside a luxury SUV.
She didn’t recognize him, but at least he didn’t resemble Gia’s husband. Still, he was a stranger, and she was out here alone. After the past few weeks of turmoil and strangers lurking around her property, she wasn’t letting down her guard.
He held up a broad hand with some kind of college ring.
“I didn’t mean to startle you. I’m looking for the lady who lives here.
Winnie Ballard? I’ve written her a number of letters and even spoke with her on the phone around four months ago about helping me with my search for my grandfather’s wife. ”
Search for a missing wife? Bailey Rae’s skin prickled like her nerves were on fire now that she knew about Winnie’s help with the network to relocate at-risk women.
She thought of all those letters she’d scanned in, planning to read them later.
What had she missed? Could this guy have been the stranger who had been spotted around town and the lurker on her property?
Even though this wasn’t Ian Abernathy, was this some other abusive husband in search of a spouse Winnie had helped to escape? How many more people like this would land on the doorstep? Since her phone was already in hand, she typed out a text to Martin.
Stranger at the cabin. Please come.
She hated how scared she felt in her own home. Although that made her think of all the women Winnie had helped, women who’d felt deeply afraid in their homes on a regular basis.
The echo of more firecrackers snapping carried on the wind, each gust picking up speed and swirling leaves. Flinching, Bailey Rae clutched her cell phone tighter. “Sir, unfortunately I can’t help you. Winnie passed away three months ago.”
Would that be enough to send him on his way?
“My condolences. She seemed like such a nice lady when we spoke. I came today to try one last time to find answers about my grandfather’s wife.” He started to walk away, but before she could so much as breathe a sigh of relief, he paused, then turned back. “Maybe you can help me.”
The nerves shifted into all-out alarm. “How about leave me your number and I’ll get in touch with you later. My friend Martin is due here to pick me up any minute.”
She hoped.
The man raised both his hands and moved no closer.
“I didn’t mean to spook you. I should have explained myself better.
” He tapped his chest. “My name is Phillip Curtis III. I’m from Mobile, Alabama.
My grandfather’s first wife—not my grandmother—went missing back in 1971.
I am almost certain Winnie Ballard is—was—that woman. ”
Bailey Rae grabbed a porch post, her head swimming. “You must be mistaken,” she denied automatically. “Winnie was my aunt.”
Not really. But she felt like the Lord would forgive her this little lie.
“Just hear me out,” he said. “Please?”
If she told him no, would that make things worse? Anger him? Should she run into the cabin? Her gut told her to keep him outside while waiting for Martin. If this Phillip fellow was dangerous and they went indoors ... “I’m listening.”
“I came across an article in a publication discussing the history of paper mills in the United States and how they’re closing at a rapid rate.
They ran a photo taken at the Bent Oak facility in 1972.
The woman looks exactly like my grandfather’s first wife.
” He picked up a manila envelope off the hood of his car, took slow steps toward her, and carefully placed it on the bottom step before backing away again.
“Inside is the article, along with a photo of my grandfather’s wife—Eloise Carlisle Curtis. ”
Curiosity got the better of her, and she snatched up the envelope.
Her heart hammered hard in her chest as she pulled out the newspaper clipping first. The local paper mill was easily recognizable, as was the image of Winnie standing beside an oversize roll of paper.
Bailey Rae tugged out the glossy picture next.
And that woman looked exactly like a younger Winnie.
Bailey Rae went dizzy again and blinked to clear her vision. Still, the truth was right there in front of her. A truth that would have made no sense a few months ago, but after learning about the way Winnie and her friends helped women at risk?
The identity of Eloise Carlisle Curtis—Winnie—was clear. Winnie had been one of those women escaping a dangerous homelife.
Yet for some reason when the man had questioned Winnie in their phone call, she’d denied it. She had wanted to keep her life, her name, and her history safe here in Bent Oak. That reason had been important enough for Winnie to hold her secret for decades.
Which made Bailey Rae’s response simple. “I’m sorry, but this isn’t my aunt.” She shrugged. “They say everyone has a doppelg?nger.”
“I can understand why you may be cautious, your aunt too. My grandfather was not a ... kind man.” Wincing, he rubbed a scar on the corner of his bottom lip.
“My grandmother was actually his third wife. His second wife killed herself. Which should have alerted my grandma, since he had his first wife—Eloise—committed to a psychiatric hospital before she went missing. She left a suicide note, but her body was never recovered. I think the odds of him having two wives die by their own hands are slim.”
She kept a lock on her jaw so it didn’t fall open to hear how close Winnie had come to an even worse fate. But apparently, she’d been through a special kind of hell in the first place to prompt the change of name.
Just like all the women she’d helped.
“I’m sorry you had so much turmoil in your life,” she said gently, earnestly, her heart aching all the while over what kind of painful life Winnie must have endured before breaking away. “But this has no bearing on me.”
“Except, yes, it does,” he said. “Eloise inherited a substantial sum of money in a trust from her parents. I want to make sure the inheritance goes to her—and if not to her, then to her relatives.”
More money raining from the sky like the cash in the cabin?
The minute she unraveled one mystery of Aunt Winnie, another came around.
The image of Winnie growing up in a wealthy family didn’t fit, except in some ways it did.
Her education. Her speech patterns. Dozens of other tiny things that in isolation meant nothing, but taken as a whole made sense.
“Well, even if she was who you think, Winnie was a widow and doesn’t have any children. ”
Nodding with resignation, Phillip Curtis sighed. “Just think on what I’ve told you, and if you need to reach me, my phone number and address are on the envelope.”
The gentle hum of his departing SUV barely registered over the roaring in her ears, compounded by a screaming firework that had no hope of lighting the morning sky. Now that he had left, the weight of his words settled. Winnie had been in a psychiatric hospital and staged her suicide to escape.
Bailey Rae didn’t think for a moment that Winnie had been anything but sane. Sure, she was eccentric, but she was also one of the most grounded, giving individuals who’d ever lived. Yet the visitor’s story had called something else into question now.
Would a woman who’d faked suicide once ever be tempted to do it again? Bailey Rae wasn’t sure if Winnie’s drowning had been accidental or something far more tragic when faced with the past threat catching her.
Either way, Bailey Rae owed Winnie more than she could ever repay her for saving her life all those years ago, for giving her more than a future, but also a home and love. And she intended to honor Winnie’s wishes.
With the same fervor that had driven her to sell everything and move to Myrtle Beach, Bailey Rae knew what she needed to do now. She closed the envelope and studied the phone number. She pulled out her cell phone full of all those scanned documents and typed out a text to Phillip Curtis III.
This is Bailey Rae Rigby. We just spoke at my aunt’s farm. Here’s Winnie Ballard’s birth certificate. I hope that clears up the confusion. Best of luck on your search for answers.
The whoosh of the sending message echoed her exhale of relief as she jogged back toward the cabin to check that she hadn’t left any boxes behind.
She willed away bad weather and dark thoughts.
Dew brightened the grass, birds lifting their morning chorus with a woodpecker keeping the beat.
The garden had been emptied of the last of Winnie’s harvest, the earth churned by a hoe and ready for whoever purchased the property.
Nostalgia tugged at her as she entered the cabin, her steps echoing in the empty rooms. Her throat tightened, and tears she absolutely did not want to shed burned her eyes.
She ran back toward the front door, shouting, “Skeeter, get on over here right now so I can go.”
Yanking open the door, she plowed through.
And slammed into the hard wall of a masculine chest, his T-shirt dirty and rancid with sweat. Nothing like the crisp and clean Phillip Curtis III. Dread and a horrible sense of foreboding filled her as Bailey Rae looked up into a face she recognized from photographs.
His blond hair darkened with perspiration and his eyes full of rage, Ian Abernathy gripped Bailey Rae’s arm in a bruising vise and growled, “Where’s my wife?”