4. Victoria
4
VICTORIA
“ S o, you’re from the city?” the old man who is driving my taxi asks. He has been trying to make small talk the entire ride from the airport.
“Yes, that’s right,” I tell him, not sure how much personal information to give him. In the city, I don’t talk much about myself, but out here, it appears people love to know things.
“The bright-pink scarf gave it away. Not too many people around here wear colors like that. So, you are going to Marie’s place?” he asks, and my head turns swiftly to look at him in the rearview mirror. I decide not to ask about the pink reference, not having the energy.
“Did you know her?” My eyes thin in question. We drove through the town of Whispers about five minutes ago. It was beautiful, very quaint. But now we are driving through some forests, and I don’t want to panic, but the only thing telling me that I am fine with this strange man in this strange town is the map app on my cell phone that is tracking me to my final destination .
“Oh, everyone knew Marie. She lived here for years. Kept to herself a lot, but everyone knew her,” he says, and I nod.
“I’m her niece. Victoria,” I tell him. I wonder for a moment whether that is a smart thing to do, but he smiles, and it seems genuine.
“Well, good to know she had someone. I’m Peter, the local taxi. The only one. If you ever need a ride anywhere, you just call me,” he says as we pull down Distillery Drive, the road to my new adventure. There are signs everywhere for the Whiteman’s Distillery, and in my research on the town, I now know that it’s home to the country's finest whiskey. I prefer champagne or cocktails over the hard stuff, but each to their own.
“You can find anything you need in town. The Delish Diner is great for breakfast or coffee. Rochelle runs that. Then Jasmine at the local florist is about your age, I think. You should pop in and make yourself known to her. The supermarket is open every day; tourists fill the town on the weekends, and there are a lot of people living here who appreciate their privacy, but many others you will see out and about. Well… here we are.”
I try to remember all that he is telling me and bank it away for later. I look out the cab window as we pull up to the home that looked a lot newer in the photos I found online.
“Wow.” I’m almost lost for words as I step out of the car. The house needs work. A lot of work. As I take it all in, I start to become overwhelmed.
“I’ll bring your bags to the front door,” Peter says as he heads around to the trunk, and I take a few steps toward the property. I look for miles and see nothing but beautiful thick green grass surrounding the house. Over the small hill toward the back, I spot the top of what I assume is part of the distillery, with Marie’s place and the distillery being the only two properties on this road.
“There you go, Victoria. I assume you are meeting Jerry?” the man says, nodding over to the red truck that is parked down the driveway a little. “That’s him.”
“Oh, okay. What do I owe you?” I ask, grabbing my handbag.
“Nothing at all. First ride is on the house. Welcome to Whispers. I am sure I will see you around.” He smiles and I do the same, watching him reverse out and drive away.
“Miss McArthur?” an older man in a suit calls out, walking up the driveway as I start walking toward him. “I’m Jerry Walker, your aunt’s lawyer and Whisper’s only legal counsel. Welcome. I hope your flight was alright?”
Meeting halfway down the driveway, from here, I get a better look at the backyard. It seems to stretch for miles and overgrown doesn’t even come close to describing it. I swallow hard.
“Hi, Mr. Walker. Nice to meet you,” I say, shaking his hand. He seems nice. Much like Peter, he appears friendly enough, and I feel immediately at home, even though I should still be on guard. I don’t know any of these people. They could all be axe murderers or part of a cult, for all I know.
“We have some paperwork to sign off, and I can give you a tour and leave you all the keys,” he says, and I nod.
“I would like that.”
“I must say, before your call this morning, and with less than twenty-four hours to spare, we didn’t think you were coming,” he says with a chuckle.
“We?” I ask and look at him.
“Ahh, well… me.” He clears his throat, and I let it go. Maybe he has staff or something. I am sure in a small town like this, I would be a talking point. Especially since Marie probably never mentioned me.
I look around some more as we walk. “What’s that?” I spot the large building in the distance again.
“That is Whiteman’s Distillery. They own most of the land out here. Quite keen on this property too, if you were considering selling?” he asks, looking at me, seemingly hopeful.
“I’m not,” I say quickly and firmly, shaking my head. After the discussion with my mom and the acute understanding that I have nothing left for me in the city, I am giving myself at least three months. If I don’t make it work after that, then I can think about potential next steps. A decision I don’t feel so good about right now as I step onto the mess of a lawn and immediately feel the dampness of the grass seeping into my bright-pink flats I wore today to match my new scarf. I make a mental note to order some boots.
“Alright, good to know.” He nods, a small smile on his face. “So Marie couldn’t keep up with it much in her later years, but the house itself is solid. Maybe some minor renovations are needed, but structurally, it is sound. The farm here is small, but again, it was a handful for her. There is one milking cow, and Kevin, the young boy from down the road, has been cycling up here daily to milk it, then takes the milk home with him. He is keen to keep doing that if you will allow him, but I told him to talk to you about it when he is here next.”
“That sounds fine.” I have no idea how to milk a cow and can’t remember the last time I drank dairy milk.
“There were two goats, but one seems to have gone missing. So now this one goat has free range of the yard in this fenced area, but it needs to be locked up at night. You know, bobcats and such.” As he continues, I want to tell him that no , in fact, I don’t know, but instead, I add that to my very long list of research topics.
“There is this shed, which has all the tools and materials you will need for the time being. I understand there is a lot of work to do here. Bob runs Whispers Hardware in town, and they will have everything you need and can help you out with anything to do with the maintenance, renovations, or farm. Likewise with the truck,” he says, and my eyebrows rise.
“Truck?” I ask.
“Marie’s truck. I assume that will be your transportation while here. I mean, we have Peter, but that’s all. We don’t have any fancy Ubers like in the city,” he says with a chuckle. Transportation is not something I thought about, so I am glad I have access to a vehicle. He nods in the direction of the shed, so I look around the large door and spot a run-down truck that is a bit rusted.
“She looks old but runs fine. It was recently serviced,” Jerry says, like he knows what I’m thinking.
“Right,” I say with a nervous laugh and an awkward smile, looking back up at the house.
“Have you ever been on a farm before, Miss McArthur?” he asks, glancing at me with concern, and I swallow harshly.
“No, I haven’t.” My response has him grimacing, but he turns it into a smile just as quickly. How hard can it be? There is a fat goat chewing the grass; the cow looks bored with life, and a scattering of chickens run around at their feet. But then I look at the fencing that needs repair, the screen door on the house that’s rusted and barely hanging on, the chipped paint on just about everything, and my breathing quickens as understanding washes over me that I am severely underprepared for this. I haven’t even stepped inside yet.
“Everyone in town is nice and helpful. If you run into any major concerns, you can call me. Here are the keys. The electricity and water are still connected. I have left the paperwork for all that inside on the counter. I just need you to sign the contract of ownership, and I can leave you to it.” He rocks back on his heels.
“Okay,” I say on a breath. I can do this. “Thank you, Mr. Walker. Let’s head inside.” I turn toward the house, and as I do, I get a vision. It is run-down now, needs some maintenance, but I can see it. Big, beautiful, and white. A porch that runs all the way around. Beautiful flowers scattered in the garden. I envision the potential of the new I can make of the old, and my excitement comes barreling back.