Chapter 14
Jules didn’t appear for Charlotte, even after calling his name several times. Did he really need help? With what? Why?
How could she find out?
Whenever she had questions, she knew one trusted source.
The library.
Among the other first editions acquired over the years, the Laurent family also kept many of their journals and histories.
She stood at the entryway to the library.
The massive room stunned her. Two stories tall and windows to the front. A sliding ladder went around the room with the help of a black steel bar embedded into the built-in shelves. She remembered in years past antiques cluttering the periphery—old milking cans, brass lamps, old surveying equipment. Preston had sold many of those items, leaving the old library less cluttered, but almost hollow.
At least he didn’t sell the books.
Hundreds, if not thousands, of books of every shape and color—dark muted shades of green, black, and reds—filled the room, clear up to the second story. A black spiral staircase led to the second floor. Several moving ladders helped access the more unreachable shelves at the top of the ceiling. Floral stained-glass lamps dating from the last century dotted the room, offering orbs of colored light.
Where would she even start?
Unlike the public library, no signs indicated the genre sections, nor did any Dewey Decimal stickers cover the spine for easy sorting. But as she read the titles along the spines of the books, she noticed a pattern. Someone had organized them. A half-wall contained biographies. Another shelf held leather-bound copies of fiction written before the 1970s.
Clear around the corner, in a little nook was a section of their family and early history of Sugar Creek.
Still, she had to comb through scores of books. “If there is something here that will help me, please let me know how to find it.”
Hopefully, if Jules was listening, he could help her find…whatever it was she was looking for.
She scanned the titles. What was she looking for? Passing the books slowly, she read the spines, hoping for a tingling on her arms or another form of sign that she was heading in the right direction.
Just as she was about to quit and go into town, she heard a sound behind her.
Afraid to turn, in case Jules was standing there, she rotated slowly, keeping her gaze at the corner of her lids. But at the one hundred-eighty turn, she didn’t see anyone standing there, just a book on the floor.
She froze.
She knew for a fact it was not there before. “Thank you, Jules.”
Creeping slowly across the carpet with her eyes locked on the book, she half expected it to jump up or do a dance. But it just sat there.
At last, she bent to pick it up.
She read the spine.
Boundaries of Laurent Mansion
Um…She scratched her head. What?
She flipped open the book and found several copies of the surveys for the boundaries of the estate and how they’d changed over the years. Sometimes they included the dairy, other times not. The same land was bought, sold, and swapped with their neighbors over the years. “I don’t understand,” she said to Jules.
Maybe she was just imagining things.
No. She hefted the small book. Whatever this was, it felt important. The weight of it hung in the air.
The doorbell rang.
Charlotte jumped and yelped, clutching her racing heart. The book tumbled from her hands and landed on a desk as a shot of adrenaline coursed through her. Trembling, she walked slowly toward the door, half expecting no one to be standing there when she opened it. Or maybe Eric wanted to talk some more.
People rarely came to the house. She hadn’t heard any car roll up. Or had she been so absorbed with the book that she didn’t hear it?
Mustering all her courage, she threw open the door. There, on the doorstep in a suit, looking just as gorgeous as when she’d left him, stood Westley.
Now she trembled for a different reason.
“Aren’t you going to invite me in?” He flashed his charming smile.
He was everything Eric wasn’t. Polished, well-spoken, oiled like a machine.
She held open the door, still in shock. “What are you doing here?”
“Let me in, and I’ll explain.”
Charlotte stepped out of the doorway and let him enter. “Okay.” Her heart flooded with emotion. Why was he here?
She soaked him in with her eyes. He stood above her with dark hair and chiseled jaw. His trench coat fell over broad shoulders. It was so good to see him again. “You drove all the way from Toronto?”
“I decided if you weren’t ready to come to Toronto, then I must come to you.”
“But...” When she’d said one apology couldn’t make her return home, she meant it wouldn’t make her go back to him.
“I know you said one apology wasn’t enough. I want to offer as many as it takes for you to forgive my stupidity and come back.”
This was everything she wanted him to say…three weeks ago. And now the words sounded like an echo, and she wasn’t sure just how she felt about it. Westley would be the perfect companion for law school, the perfect pick for work for the State Department as a correspondent for foreign adoptions. Her dream was within her grasp. All she had to do was say yes. But how did she feel about him? What about her relationship with Eric? Only time would tell.
“I thought what better way to show that I’ve changed than by coming all the way to Sweet Creek and showing you how much I care.”
“Sugar Creek,” Charlotte automatically murmured, her heart thundering in her chest. “I don’t know. You hurt me. I don’t know if this change is lasting. How do I know you won’t change your mind again?”
“That’s a good question.” He stepped closer. “There’s only one way to find out.”
She took a small step away from him. “You’ll need to give me some time to see if this is real.”
He backed a half-step. “That’s fair.”
She gulped. “I’ll give you a week.”
“A week?” His voice cracked, then he smiled. “Fine. I’ll stay here for a couple of days, meet your family, and we can start again.” He stepped forward and reached his hands around her waist like he used to. “I’ll work remote.”
She stepped back. She wasn’t ready for his physical touch yet. All she could see were his hands all over the other woman. “Just to be open and clear, I have met someone.”
His expression darkened as he retreated. “Oh? Some hometown-hillbilly? You can’t be serious.”
Her heart felt like a wrung-out rag. Were they serious? She wasn’t sure what they were. She and Eric had only kissed. They hadn’t had a chance to talk about what it meant—long term. For all she knew, he kissed lots of girls after bear attacks. Oh, Westley meant was she joking. “We’re friends, of course.”
He studied the black and white marble floor then made eye contact. “I came to tell you, if you still want to attend law school this year, I called the dean and talked to her. If you come back now, she’ll let you start at the beginning of next semester. You wouldn’t waste a whole year, and you could move forward with the rest of your life and to your goals. Your life can get back on track.”
Charlotte inhaled. She could get off this detour and continue pursuing her dream. Taking his offer to start law school was a chance of a lifetime. She had loved Westley for almost a whole year. And now her dream was within her grasp. But what about Eric? Her heart roiled with turmoil. She couldn’t choose now. She and Eric needed to talk.
Charlotte raised her chin. “All right. You can stay. But you must find a hotel. You can’t stay here.”
“I’ll find a place in town. Dinner out tonight? Eight p.m.?
She laughed. “Unless you want to eat at the local grocer’s, we better eat at six. Everything closes at seven around here.”
His brow crumpled. “So early? Even on a Saturday night?”
She hesitated, her emotions a jumble. “Come here for dinner tonight. My brother and his girlfriend will join us.”
He raised his eyebrows. “I’d love to meet them.” A serene smile grew on his lips.
“Great. Eight o’clock, then?”
“I’ll see you then.”
Charlotte opened the door for him. A breath of fresh fall air greeted her.
He stepped out. “Until tonight.”
“Tonight.”
She closed the door and leaned against the hardwood, exhaling. Westley was back in her life, and he wanted her! But Eric. He would be so hurt. She really liked Eric. He was kind and fun. And a great kisser. She loved how he carried a knife and protected her from the bear. But where was he going with his life? He was tied to the dairy farm and Sugar Creek. She couldn’t ignore the sinking feeling in her gut.
“Did you hear the latest poll?” Hank asked, stopping Eric in the middle of downtown Sugar Creek near the fountain. Thankfully, Charlotte wasn’t there campaigning like usual.
Hoping to save the quilts, he’d taken them to the laundromat to wash in the big tub washers before his mom found them. Luckily for him, the stains came out. A few small tears were all that remained of the bear’s midnight snack. For some reason, his heart turned to mush washing away such a vivid memory.
Eric faced Hank, still fuzzy from his sleep deprivation. He’d managed to sneak in a nap but then had to be up and managing the farm. “What poll?”
“The poll about Prop 11.”
Now he was awake. “What did it say?” He switched the laundered quilts from his right to his left arm.
Hank nodded with his chin. “That new girl has changed the minds of people in Sugar Creek. Fifty-three percent say they’ll vote to annex on Tuesday. This close to election, these results don’t bode well.”
“But…” He didn’t have time to talk to Charlotte until eight-thirty, when he’d be finished feeding and taking care of his ladies. “Thanks for letting me know. We’ll figure out something.” He clapped Hank on his upper left arm.
This news couldn’t have come at a worse time.
He threw the quilts in the back seat of his truck and drove home. When he parked next to James’s car in the driveway, dread rose from his stomach. Instead of facing his brother, could he take a drive, hide in the barn, or go back into town?
No, he had to confront James. No sense putting it off.
He cut the engine and stared at the Victorian house with the wrap-around porch. So many memories. He could still see his pa rocking, whittling on the front porch, whistling a tune, his mom sitting next to him. She was content to just sit and watch him.
He wanted a marriage like that. Contentment. Peace. Love.
A car lit the driveway behind him, one he didn’t recognize.
Who was here? He craned his neck to get a view of the driver.
An older man parked the car and got out. He tucked his chambray shirt into his chinos and brushed his blue blazer.
Tax collectors don’t work weekends, do they? Who was this guy?
Still sitting in the car, Eric’s gaze followed him up up the rickety wood stairs until the man knocked and waited at the door.
Laurie opened it wearing…a dress? The black slip came to above her knees.
Eric threw off his seatbelt and opened his door. After slamming the car door behind him, he ran to the front porch.
Laurie opened the door further. “Glad you’re home. You’re just in time to meet Carl.”
The man in front of him reminded him of one of his history professors at the college. Except he had nicer shoes.
“Nice to meet you.” Carl stuck out his hand.
Eric shook it, staring at his mom. Was she going on a date? He didn’t know how he felt about it. “You, also. So, should I be the parent here and grill you two? Where are you going, what are you doing, and what time will you be back?” These were the questions his mom always asked when he went out.
Laurie blushed and batted her hand at him. “Hush, Eric.”
Carl smiled, pointing to Eric. “I like him. You’ve trained your kids well.” Carl unfolded a piece of paper. “We are going to the music festival, to listen to Henhouse Rock”—he handed him a flyer—“and we’ll be back when we feel like it.” He raised his eyebrows.
Eric took the flyer. The live band was playing at the park. Cool. Part of him was grateful that he courted his mom. The other part wished he didn’t have to. “Well, take care of my mother, will you?”
“Will do!” Propping out his elbow, Carl escorted Laurie out of the house.
Watching them go, Eric’s gut twisted. Was this how his parents felt when they went out? It was such a weird feeling.
Farther into the house, noises came from the kitchen. Angie and James laughed.
Eric walked through the hall until he reached the kitchen. The two were sitting at the table eating grilled cheese sandwiches. Their laughter immediately stopped.
Eric stepped into the room. “Hey, guys.”
James lowered his head and focused on his sandwich.
Hooking his keys on a peg near the cabinets, he addressed his siblings. “What are you talking about?”
“Nothing. Nothing.” With a slight smile, James waved a hand.
Angie stuffed another bite of crust into her mouth, stifling a laugh.
“Oh, I want to hear.”
She finished her bite. “Did you see Mom in a dress?”
“She looks nice.”
“Well, I don’t like it.” Eric missed his a something fierce.
James looked up, staring him straight in the eye. “You don’t have time to sit around and laugh with us. You have work to do.”
The mood in the room went from laughter to tense in three seconds flat. James mastered turning conversations sour.
Eric felt the sting of his words. James didn’t approve of the way Eric ran the dairy. James cut corners. Eric didn’t. “I guess I do.”
He turned, went down the hall, and left the house. James would turn everyone in the family against him.
He headed toward the milking barn, already in a bad mood with no sleep, but with James here…The door slammed behind him.
Stopping, Eric turned.
James stood on the front porch.
Eric huffed. “Are we going to fight again?”
“No. I wanted to apologize.”
Eric approached the stairs cautiously. “For taking the money?”
James sighed and looked off into the distance. His blond curly hair blew in the wind. “If it makes you feel better, Mom lent me the money.”
He said it so quietly, Eric almost didn’t hear it. “She gave you the money?” His voice cracked with emotion. He felt so betrayed. Why would his mother risk the farm for James? It was a generous but foolhardy move. The news didn’t make him feel better.
James stepped down, a stair at a time. “Even though you only worked the farm in the summers, it thrived. I knew I was the failure. I wasn’t born to be a dairyman like you, like Pa. I asked Mom for a loan to invest in a business of my own.” He kicked the ground. “But the money didn’t turn a profit as I hoped.”
Eric was gutted. A sliver of his heart hoped James had the money to repay them and all would be well with the dairy. That they could at least pay for the pumps. Hope slipped into despair and bottomed out in anger. All these years he’d thought James stole the money. The blame and the resentment didn’t rest with him, but their mother.