Chapter 16
Charlotte couldn’t return inside to face Westley and the inevitable questions he’d ask. Instead, she headed for the gardens. Although dark, the moon provided enough light to see around the hedges and the benches and to find her away across the brick paths surrounding the mansion. This place would make such a great venue.
Mounting stress weighed on everyone as voting was Tuesday. They were so close to the election. Why did everything have to happen all at once? She wanted to talk to Eric. But he needed to cool down first.
She collapsed onto a cold stone bench under a tree and stared up at the moon. The wind blew through her thin-woven sweater.
A dark figure crossed through the bushes away from her. She recognized the hat and suspenders.
Jules.
But this time, he didn’t scare her. In fact, an odd comfort filled her. She wanted to talk to him.
Wrapping her arms around herself from the chill, she followed him through the hedge maze, turning left, turning right, around these six-foot hedges. She caught a glimpse of him up ahead. At the clearing, she stopped.
He disappeared.
“Jules? Jules, I’m not scared anymore. Do you need help? I can help you.”
A warmth washed over her.
Jules appeared before her.
She stared, taking in his appearance and clothing. He looked no older than thirty. His pants and shirt were finely made, tailored, and from the twenties.
“Can you speak?”
He opened his mouth. “Talking requires a lot of spiritual energy.”
At the sound of his voice, Charlotte stepped back, slapping her hand over her mouth. He sounded so human.
“See, now I’ve gone and scared you again,” he said in a kind baritone with a hint of teasing.
“No, I’m not scared. Just surprised.”
“I didn’t mean to scare you earlier in the house.”
“It’s all right. I just didn’t know what to expect. Have you been in the house long?”
“What year is it?”
“2023.”
Jules sniffed. “Only a hundred years.”
“Why can’t you move to the other world?”
His shoulders lifted. “I’ve been trying to find out. Maybe I need to do something. Make amends for something I did wrong.”
“Can you think of a specific event keeping you here?”
He grinned under his handlebar mustache. “I’ve made too many mistakes over a lifetime to guess which particular one holds me here. Plus, after a hundred plus years, my memory is getting a little fuzzy.”
Charlotte stared.
“Anyway, I’ve been going over my past indiscretions. I figure it’s got to be one of them.”
“How many indiscretions?” What kind of man was he?
He paced in front of her. “Oh, like the time I took McCaffry’s automobile for a joy ride.” He stopped in front of her, rubbing his chin. “Something like that shouldn’t keep me from moving on, should it?”
Charlotte shook her head. “It would be something big, important, impactful.”
Jules sighed. “I’m trying to remember. At first, when I first realized I couldn’t move on to the next world, I was delighted. I got to stay with my family and friends, watch them from the shadows. But then slowly they grew old, passed on, their children lived in their steads, and then their children and so on.” His voice turned somber. “After a while, living and watching became old, tiresome, burdensome. I wanted to be with my wife and family. I wanted to continue on.” His voice lowered to a whisper. “If only I could.”
“You can’t remember any big transgressions that would keep you here?”
He gave her a flat look. “I mean there are so many.”
“Well, start listing them all.”
He shot her a glance. “It doesn’t work like that. Like I said. Memory is fuzzy after a hundred years. Who are you again?”
“I am a relative.”
“Relative or no, a person’s sins are to be kept to himself. No sense broadcasting each one.” He paused. “How are we related?”
Charlotte squinted. “I think you’re my great-great-grandfather.”
“Interesting. You look like my Charlotte.”
“My name is Charlotte.” She recalled her parents named her after someone in her family tree.
“You don’t say.” His eyebrows shot up. “Well, that worked perfectly.” He lowered his brows again. “I don’t know. I thought when we died we’d have a perfect recollection of our guilt, but it seems I have a short memory. Or a bad one.”
“Shall we run down the list of the usual suspects?”
“Sure.” He paced, keeping his head down, thoughtful.
“Did you kill anyone?”
“No.”
“Did you sleep with anyone else’s wife?”
“No.”
“Did you cheat at business?”
“No.”
“Did you wrong someone?”
“No.”
“Did you bully children?”
He stopped and looked up. “Do I look like a bully?”
“No.”
“Never mind.” Jules waved his hand and sat next to her on the bench. “What were you crying about when I first came out?”
Charlotte ducked her chin. “I wasn’t crying.”
“Oh, well. Tears coming from the eyes isn’t crying?”
How could Charlotte explain what just happened? “I have a problem.”
“A problem or lots of problems?”
Charlotte chuckled. “Probably the latter. And I’m sure you don’t want to hear about it.”
He put his hand under his chin like an expectant child. “On the contrary, I have nothing more interesting to do. Do tell all. Since I can’t remember my own problems, hearing someone else’s will prove to be…enlightening? Entertaining? Educational.”
She inhaled. “Fine.” Despite his humor, tears threatened to fall again, stinging her eyes. “Last year, I started seeing someone ambitious, smart, and practical.”
“Sounds like a bore.” He rolled his eyes.
She scrunched up her face, even though she agreed with him. “Please. Reserve judgement until the end.”
He nodded. “Continue.”
“He helped me study for the LSAT and get into a good American law school.”
“I hear a ‘but’ coming.”
She eyed him, annoyed that he could predict the story. “But he broke up with me just a few weeks ago.”
“Why?”
“He wanted more than I could give him. He pushed the relationship too fast without any promises. You know, the usual, I guess.”
“Any young man who would break up with you would have to be an utter fool.”
The compliment caught her off guard. “Thank you.”
“I’m not trying to be creepy, but I mean look at you. You’re nice, smart, and sensible. What more could a man want?”
“Nice save.”
He nodded. “So was that the man who left in the pickup truck earlier?”
She squinted her eyes. “How do you know words like pickup truck? Did they have pickup trucks in the twenties?”
“Yes, they did. The Model T Runabout was popular among those who farmed. I believe the neighbor, next door at the dairy farm, was one of the first adopters, thank you very much.”
“Hurumph.” He could remember the name of a car but not any of his sins?
“But now that you bring it up, I am quite familiar with modern vernacular. I know things like CD players, tabletop grills, and MP3 players. Aren’t you impressed?” He raised his eyebrows, looking mighty pleased with himself.
She stifled a giggle. “That technology was from my childhood.”
“Well.” He glanced down at his fingers in his lap. “No one has lived in the house since you left in the nineties. And besides, when you’ve been around as long as I have, it’s easy to get confused.” He meditated. “What do you all have these days?”
“A smart phone.” She flashed each of the apps. Imagine how people a hundred years ago could have used just the weather app! “It can tell you stock prices, the weather, translations. It has your calendar and your shopping list. You can find a camera, music, flashlight, calculator—”
“Stop!” Closing his eyes, he held up his hands. “All of that is in one tiny device?” He opened his eyes and looked at the phone glowing in her hand. “Miraculous,” he whispered. “I wish I could hold it.”
“Can’t you hold things?”
“I can push water droplets around on a mirror. I can almost make something fall, if I use a lot of energy, but I would not be able to hold something as heavy as this beautiful device you’ve got in your hands. People in my day would’ve loved to have something so powerful. And useful.”
She didn’t even tell him about the Internet. How would she explain that all the knowledge in the world is stored in the cloud and was searchable? It seemed like such a shame that most people used their phones to watch cat videos and play games.
“But we’re not talking about this device. We were talking about you.”
“Oh.” Charlotte sat, staring at her hands in her lap. Had she hoped he’d forgotten? “The man in the pickup truck is Eric. He owns the dairy farm next door. He’s also hardworking, ambitious, smart, and funny. And he takes care of me. It’s hard to explain.”
“So, why did he leave so abruptly?”
Charlotte exhaled. “Have you ever felt like you have two good choices?”
He twirled his mustache. “Indeed. It’s better than two bad choices.”
“Yes.” She chuckled. “I should be grateful both of those men like me. With Westley, the intellectual bore, I feel like I would never be good enough. I mean, he found another woman immediately after we broke up. He could get any girl. Yet, when I’m with him, I know that I can do big things that matter in the world. With his credentials and connections, he can open doors for me internationally. I could have a huge impact. But with Eric, I’d have to be content to have a small but meaningful sphere of influence. I worry I’d grow bored in Sugar Creek. As my parents are diplomats, I’ve lived all over the world.”
“Here. Come with me.” He stood and stalked away.
Charlotte had no other option but to follow him if she wanted to continue the conversation. Where was he taking her? She stood and followed him behind the house down a hill where the terrain wasn’t as manicured.
He passed by an old oak. “You have to ask yourself what you want the most. Do you want to go out in the world and change it? Or are you content to change your community?”
“That’s a good question.” Trees and branches, naked of their leaves, whipped her face as she followed his glowing image. If he’d had a body, perhaps he would’ve chosen a different path through the woods. Tiny lacerations tore at her exposed skin. Her feet crunched on twigs and leaves.
He led her farther back into the property than she’d ever been, through neglected paths. “At the end of the day, you must ask yourself, do I want to have a deep impact or a wide one. Look at the grass. Its roots are shallow, but it covers a large and spacious area. The grass feeds the large wildlife that grows on it, cattle etc.” He touched a large oak that grew near the path. “Then there’s the oak. Compared to the grass, the roots are deep, but it only spreads a few score feet. Its shade is important to the smaller animals, squirrels, and birds for their homes. The small fruit it bears, nuts, feed them as well.”
Jules possessed the wisdom of the ages. “Which one is better?”
He laughed over his shoulder. “Oh, that’s not a question I can answer. Only you know your heart. Going out into the world and making a change can gratify the ego, can make us feel important. But to have a profound impact on even a small amount of people can be poignant. Think of it this way: What do you want people to say about you at your funeral?” He stopped in front of a gate.
She glanced up from where she focused on not getting hit in the face with branches. A cemetery with a huge cursive L bent in wrought iron sprawled before her. She had never been to the family cemetery before.
“You are so morbid.”
“I have, let’s call it, perspective.” He walked through the gate. “If you know where you want to end up, then you know what to accomplish in your life. Start with your eulogy and make goals based on what you want for the end of your life. Simple.”
To follow him, she pushed open the black gate with an eerie squeak of old, rusted hinges. Engraved granite headstones, blackened by time, faded by erosion, colored by moss, popped out of the ground. She righted an overturned vase that years ago held flowers.
But he had an excellent point. Helping in the world would be meaningful to many people, but would any of those people remember her name in five, ten, or fifteen years after she passed?
He stood in front of a tall headstone.
Charlotte finally joined him. “What did people say about you at your funeral?”
“It wasn’t nice.” He sat, contemplating, staring at the tombstone. “I just want to move on.”
She read the chiseled words in the granite. Jules’s birthdate and death date.
Then underneath someone had painted: A liar, a thief, and a coward.
The somber reality hung in the air around them. Whoever wrote that wasn’t pleased with whatever Jules did in his life.
“We’ll figure out the reason you’re still here.” Charlotte inhaled the night air, cool and crisp with a hint of smoke. “Maybe you need to spend some time in self-reflection. Maybe you just need to remember your life.”
“You’re probably right.”
“Charlotte!”
Preston called her name in the distance. At least it wasn’t Westley chasing after her.
“Over here!” she called. She turned back to Jules. “I’d better—” Only empty foliage greeted her. Jules was gone.
Charlotte hiked back to the more manicured grounds, taking a more civilized route, hoping she didn’t get bit by a tick.
Preston emerged from the bushes into the clearing. “Where have you been? We were worried about you. I didn’t know if you left with Eric—”
“Leave with Eric? Why would I do that?”
“He left, and you weren’t here. We texted him to ask him if he was with you.”
“What did he say?” Her stomach knotted. The last thing she needed was Eric thinking she’d run away. Would he be worried?
“Just one simple text, ‘No.’”
Great!
“Come inside, you must be freezing.”
“I’m fine. I needed time to think.”
“Westley is inside, and he’s mighty confused. As are we. Coco said he proposed?”
She sighed. She’d better get back to him. Maybe she needed to be more open about her relationships. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you when we started dating. And Eric is a wonderful guy. We had a moment after the bonfire. I hurt his feelings tonight. And I disappointed Westley. I don’t know what I want.”
“You’d better figure it out. You can’t string them both along.”
They’d made their way back to the top of the hill near the mansion. She looked down through the meadows around them. The Bentons’ Victorian farmhouse and the dairy cut an outline into the horizon. She hurt for Eric. How could she decide on either one of them if she didn’t even know her own heart?
Laurie had a fabulous time with Carl. The music festival and live bands thrilled her. They walked along the split rail fences lined with corn stalks at every post, crunching through leaves, and eating apples from Twelve Oaks Orchard. Why had it taken her so long to get out of her house?
At the end of the night, Carl drove her home.
The house had no lights on. Laurie wasn’t surprised. She didn’t expect anyone to wait up for her. In her family, all were early risers.
Carl opened her car door. He escorted her to the porch.
She held her wrap and bag, swinging her hips like a young lady. “Would you like to come in for a cup of hot apple cider?”
“I’d love that.”
A thrill ran through her. She opened the door and let him in.
Warmth swallowed her. She removed her wrap and led him down the hall.
Carl surveyed the rooms leading to the kitchen. “This is a homey house.”
“Thank you.”
He stopped near the front room where her flute case sat in the corner near the old upright piano. “You play the flute?”
She paused, frowning. “A long time ago.”
“I’d love to hear you.”
She blushed deeply. “I haven’t played in years.” The kids and the farm kept her pretty busy. She wasn’t even sure if she knew her fingerings anymore.
“Ah, music is like a bicycle, once you learn, you never forget. But if you don’t want to, I won’t pressure you.”
“A gentleman? Well, I’ll tell you what. How about I practice and play for you later?”
He lifted his chin. “I’d like that.”
She led him into the kitchen and put cider in a pot and warmed it on the stove.
“You have seven kids?” He stood in the eight-foot doorway.
“Yes! Three are in college. Three living at home, and one recently returned home this morning actually.” She frowned again, thinking of James and the rift she’d caused. Could she ever make things right in her family again?
“How fun!”
“Do you have kids?” She pulled out a chair at the table for him.
He settled into the seat and spread his hands over the quilted place mat. “I have two daughters, twenty and twenty-two. They were only six and eight when my wife died.”
“I’m sorry.”
He flashed her a strained smile. “Ah, it was so long ago.”
“Where are your girls now?”
“One just left for university, too, after two years at CCC. The other is married, lives in Burlington with her husband.”
“What are their names?”
“Cassandra, the older, and Imogene is the younger. We call her Imo.” He grinned.
She straightened and tilted her head. “I’m surprised someone like you never remarried, attractive, attentive, talented.”
A shy grin covered his face. He reddened to the tips of his ears. “Ah, now that’s a good question. I get asked it a lot, especially from my aunts at family reunions. So much so that I stopped attending. ‘How come you’re not remarried?’ they’d ask.”
Laurie got out two mugs. Would he answer his own question? “And?” She encouraged him.
He inhaled. “It’s a long story.”
“I like long stories.” She settled the mugs onto the counter near the stove.
He smiled and looked down at his hands. “I gave myself over to raising my daughters, trying to be both parents, always feeling guilty that I wasn’t good enough, failing all the time. I felt guilty taking time for myself.”
“I imagine.” She poured cold cider into the pot.
“Plus, I guess no one wanted to get into a relationship where she had to compete with two other women.” He grinned.
Cinnamon, cloves, and other spices went into the pot. “But surely the girls would’ve welcomed a step-mother.”
Carl shrugged. “Oh, yes. Step-mothers aren’t at all like they are in fairy tales, are they? I guess I’d never given it much thought or attention. Until now.”
Laurie raised her eyebrows. Did he mean because he’d met her? Or because Imogene was finally out of the house? Her heart picked up a pace. Surely the latter.
Looking up, he inhaled, making eye contact with Laurie. “Raising the girls on my own left me out of the dating pool for a long time. And now women see me at an age and wonder what’s wrong with me.”
“Oh, I guarantee no women are wondering that!” Laurie immediately blushed. What a stupid thing to say! Now he knew all the women were falling all over themselves for him.
His cheeks pinked. “Thank you. I see you meant it as a compliment.”
She needed to backpedal. “I mean. No one wonders why you’re not married. They might be astonished.”
“No, I get it. A single man should get married.” He sighed and looked down at his hands. “Alas, I guess now I’m married to my music. No one would want an old widower.”
“You’re not that old.”
He turned more toward her and propped his elbow on the table. “Well, let’s not talk about me. What about you?”
“What about me?” She avoided his gaze, stirring the pot with a cinnamon stick.
“You’re not looking to get married, are you?”
A slight disappointment went through her. But then, she remembered, it wasn’t like she was dating for marriage. She needed a friend—a companion to chase away those cold, lonely nights. “I don’t know if I could do that to the kids. I have the dairy, and Lizzie still is so young.”
When the apple cider warmed enough, she poured two mugs full and stirred them with a cinnamon stick. She brought the two warm vessels to the table and set them on the quilted placemats.
“So how did you get here?” Carl looked at the steam rising from the mugs.
She sat heavily into the chair. “What’s my story? Single? Seven kids?” Now it was her turn to sigh. “My husband passed away from a heart attack three years ago.”
He reached across the table and patted her hand. “I’m so sorry.”
Unsure about the touch, she retracted her hand to fold a napkin over her lap. She both craved his touch and was scared of it at the same time, of how comforting his warmth felt against her skin. “He worked himself to death. Will was so self-sacrificing. He died ensuring we could live. It was ironic, I guess. He loved this dairy, he loved the cows, the early hours, the rolling hills.” Now she woke every morning, touching the cold spot in her bed where Will used to lie beside her, an ache throbbing in her heart. “He loved the milk production and making the best milk in Sugar Creek.” She didn’t have the heart to tell him that if Prop 11 passed, they would have to fold.
“Thank you for sharing that with me.” He placed his hand over hers, only this time she didn’t move it.
“Oh, well. We all have our fair share of problems, for sure.”
“Don’t we all.” He lifted his hand, blew, and sipped from his mug.
“And—”
Eric walked into the kitchen. He looked like he’d been run over by a truck—dark circles under his bloodshot eyes, hair sticking out. “You’re home.” He sounded so surly. Opening the cupboard above the sink, he snatched a cup, slammed the door, and turned on the tap water. Something was clearly bothering him. He drained the cup.
“What’s wrong, Eric?” Her chest still smoldered from the interaction. She flashed a glance at Carl. Would he find this awkward? Being a mom would always come first to her.
Eric threw the cup into the farmhouse sink; the sound of glass on the porcelain made Laurie shudder.
“I should probably go.” Glancing to Eric and then to Laurie, Carl drained his cup and stood. “I don’t want to get in the way.”
“It’s okay. Eric is just—”
Eric blinked and turned to Carl. “What are you doing here?”
“I, uh—” Carl stammered.
Eric twisted his face into a grimace. “Don’t think that you can replace my pa, because you can’t.”
“Eric!” Laurie’s neck burned. “Apologize to Carl right now.”
Carl held up his hands. “It’s all right. I see my cue to leave.”
Laurie couldn’t help but be a bit disappointed and angry. “Thank you for taking me tonight. I had a real nice time.” She walked him to the door. “I’m so sorry. I hope we can do this again.”
Carl opened the door. “This may not be the best time for us to start a relationship. It looks like you’ve got your hands full.”
Whatever had started to heat up, just blew out. Eric had ruined her one night of bliss. Annoyance bubbled beneath her ribcage. “Eric is just loyal to my late husband.” Her voice held an edge.
“Understandably. And it’s probably best if we don’t rock that boat.”
“So is this goodbye?” Laurie felt as if all the wind had been knocked out of her lungs.
“It’s a goodbye for now.” He clutched her hand in both of his near his chest. “You’ve got a lot on your plate. Your kids need you. Maybe now’s not the time to start any new friendships.” He looked back over her head to the house.
After all this time, she’d finally felt at ease with someone, and now, he was walking away. A cord of emotion flashed through her like a hot poker. “When will be the right time, Carl? Do we have to wait until conditions are perfect? Because I guarantee life will never be perfect.” She pulled her hand away from him. “This is just an excuse. You’re not ready for a relationship because you’re scared. Life is easy for you, and getting involved with a woman who runs a dairy and has seven kids scares you.” As soon as she said it, she slapped her hands over her mouth. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean—”
His face blanched, even in the pale moonlight. “You’ve said enough,” he mumbled. In haste, he fumbled with the keys to his car, ducked inside, started it up, and left in a cloud of dust and lights.
Laurie closed her eyes, hating herself for her moment of spite. Did she really mean all those awful words? The whole night had been wonderful until Eric came home in his foul mood.
When she returned to the kitchen, Eric was rummaging through the pantry.
“You embarrassed me in front of my friend.” Heat flowed through her veins.
He made a sound between a grunt and an apology but kept his head in the pantry. That was as close as she would get tonight.
“What is bothering you?” She stabbed a fist into her hip.
“I’m fine,” he growled.
“You don’t sound fine.”
He snorted.
She pointed toward the door where Carl had made his hasty retreat. “Is this about Carl? You don’t want me finding happiness again?”
He didn’t even make eye contact. “Don’t want to talk about it.”
“I don’t know when I’ve been so humiliated.” She sat at her place at the table, sipping her cider, still warm from earlier. “He’ll never ask me out again. Was that your goal? To ruin my happiness?”
He grabbed an apple from Tara’s place, took a bite and munched, stalking the kitchen floor.
Seeing the apple reminded Laurie she’d have to call Tara and tell her all about her fallout from the night’s date. At least it had started well.
“What is bothering you?”
Finally, he rested against the farmhouse sink, giving her a steely gaze. “So, you gave James the money.”
All the heat and anger she felt moments ago disappeared into the deep pit in her stomach. Guilt flushed her cheeks. “I was trying to help him.”
“By giving him a hundred thousand dollars?”
“He said he had an investment opportunity. He promised to pay us back.”
Eric leaned forward. “Why didn’t you come to me and ask for advice? I woke up, James was gone, money was missing. I didn’t know anything. I thought he’d stolen it. And even worse, I blamed him.”
Guilt consumed her. “I wanted to help him.”
He stabbed his chest with his hand. “You should’ve taken my voice into consideration. I worked the farm. I had to make it go on little or no reserves in savings, and now we’re going to lose it.”
“What do you mean?”
“According to the county inspector, we have to buy a whole new pump system if we want to stay in business.” He wiped the apple juice from his chin.
Laurie’s night kept getting worse. She knew how much those things cost. Upwards of a hundred grand. The floor beneath her opened and swallowed her whole.
“That’s not the worst of it. Hank. I met him in the town square. He said in the most recent poll, Sugar Creek wants to annex the southern part.” His voice cracked with emotion. “There! It’s over. Next, we’ll have to foreclose. We find a way to support ourselves and move on with our lives.” His voice held a finality to it.
Tears stung her eyes. “I didn’t think—”
“About the consequences?”
What could she say? She had been grieving. She’d already had so much loss. Even letting James go was painful. But knowing he had money eased the pain somewhat.
“What’s this?” Eric’s gaze landed on a pile of bills. “How long have you had this?” He held up a letter from the bank.
“Oh, the mail I picked up from the business P.O. Box the other day.”
Eric opened it and read it, a look of horror on his face. “It says that even if we foreclose on the house, the nature of the debt is such that we will have to pay for any difference if we sell back to the bank or sell to a buyer.”
She pulled her eyebrows together. “What does that mean?”
“The type of debt you incurred to withdraw the money against the farm to give James means we have to repay all the debt, even if we foreclose.”
Her heart thundered. “But I didn’t know.”
Eric slapped the bank notice on the table, rubbing his hand down his face. “That means that we’re in big dog doo if Sugar Creek passes Prop 11.”
Laurie bowed her head and cried into her hands. They wouldn’t lose the farm, would they?