Permelia Cottage

by Carole Lehr Johnson

  Her relationship with Aaron had started out incredible but nevertheless ended in disaster. Now, her own child wouldn’t even have much to do with her. No visits. Snatches of phone conversations on occasion. A gulf much wider than the Atlantic Ocean separated them.

  A swift breeze lifted her hair and returned her to the Azores in the 1980s. The lush island of Terceira was charming, the Portuguese people hospitable and pleasant. The presence of the U.S. Air Force at Lajes Field was a comfort. That’s where she’d met Aaron. He was serving a tour of duty as an Air Force pilot—all masculine, self-assured, and attractive. His charisma had fascinated and overwhelmed her shy demeanor. Thinking back now, she recognized he relished having authority over others—those he was certain he could conquer. Her blindness to his true nature brought her trouble, and she’d happily walked right into it.

  She’d been relaxing in an outdoor café writing in her travel journal about the day spent at the Cinco Picos Volcanic Complex. She could still smell the sulfur and feel the sharp rough volcanic rock underfoot. Her pen raced across the pages. It had been a delightful day.

  Oblivious to the surrounding activity, the gentle wind playing with her hair, she hadn’t noticed the man sitting at a nearby table until the backfire of a motorcycle startled her into the present. Her head darted up to discover his silvery eyes upon her. He was in uniform, sipping on a bottle of some sort of Portuguese drink. He smiled, and she cautiously returned it and bent her head back to the journal.

  She sensed his eyes on her and refused to look again. A few minutes passed before a pair of Air Force issued shoes appeared at her feet. His tone was velvety and rich. Thinking back now—smooth—much too smooth.

  “Good afternoon. May I join you?” His smile was arresting, his eyes languid. She was swiftly sucked in.

  Her stammer was obvious. “I … I’m not staying. I was about to take off.” She grasped her backpack as he sat, uninvited.

  “I didn’t mean to startle you. It’s just that I don’t get to meet many American girls here. I caught your voice when you ordered and guessed you were from the South … Texas?” His grey eyes lanced her to the core.

  Even the way he sipped his drink made her knees weak. “No, Louisiana.” She managed to mutter the words.

  “Oh, yeah, Texas’ neighbor. I’m from Tennessee.” He presented his hand. “Name’s Aaron. What’s yours?”

  Well-manicured, sculpted—she had no choice but to accept. “Susannah.” She now realized it was the way Satan stole into one's life, wrapped in an enticing package.

  The rest was like sinking into a sweet, cool stream on a humid Louisiana day. At least it was until the honeymoon was over, and Aaron’s authentic character presented itself with flashes of anger and words to match.

  Susannah returned to the present and hurried toward the door of her cottage, the painful memories stabbing at her like a knife. No, she would not allow herself to be hurt by a man again.

  Chapter 12

  Neville, North Yorkshire, England

  2019

  Morning, Tristan. How’re you today?” April struggled to offer him a cordial reception.

  “G’morning, April.” Tristan’s wide grin held affection. “Morning to you too, Polly.”

  Polly gave him a nod. “I’ve boxes to break down. Later, Tristan.” As Polly brushed past April, she bumped into her and hissed, “Tell him now.”

  “Bye.” April’s voice dripped with sweetness. She turned back to Tristan. “What can I do for you?” She prayed it was a book request.

  “You’re a hard miss to find. I’ve popped in several times, and you’ve not been about.” Tristan lounged against the counter, relaxed.

  “Yes, well, I’ve been dealing with the purchase of the cottage, and it’s taken me away from the shop.” She straightened books that didn’t need attention, moving them around absently.

  “I understand. Has Ryan—Mr. Wilkinson—left the country?” Tristan’s enthusiasm evident, he mimicked her actions by arranging other items on the counter.

  “No, not yet. He'll be gone in a few days. He’s overseeing the repairs on the cottage. In fact, I should get over there myself, soon.” She trusted he’d take the hint. “Was there a book or something you needed?” Her heart hoped again.

  “Well, no. I was … uh … hoping you’d have dinner with me this weekend. That is—if you’re available.” Tristan squared his shoulders as he fumbled a display of bookmarks.

  April had never seen Tristan unsettled before. She felt sorry for him. No, she couldn’t let this go on any longer.

  “That’s kind of you, but …” The door groaned open and the bell jangled. Tristan stood there with a doe-eyed expression. How could she concentrate?

  Polly bolted from the back room, playing defense, she accosted the customer, over-compensating with extreme friendliness, and steered the woman away with record speed.

  Flustered by the interruption and Tristan’s forlorn appearance, April faltered, and hastily replied to his proposal. “Dinner sounds great. There is something I want to speak to you about. Why don’t we meet at Talbot’s about seven on Saturday?”

  “Sure.” He gave her a tentative smile. “I guess that would be fine.” Tristan’s face was an open book. He’d not expected her unenthusiastic response.

  April turned toward Polly and the customer. She called out over her shoulder, “See you on Saturday, Tristan. Cheers.”

  “Cheers,” he said in return. April met Polly’s eyes over the customer’s head. Her glare told April she couldn’t wait to get her alone.

  The next hour seemed a blessing for April and a curse for Polly. The bookstore welcomed a continual buzz of shoppers in and out, allowing no chance for the women to communicate except for work-related requests.

  Once the shop was silent, other than the smooth classical music in the background, Polly made a direct path to April.

  “Please, don’t be upset.” April’s eyes pleaded. “I was about to explain everything to him when that girl came in. It was such a distraction I couldn’t do it.”

  Polly paused, feet apart, fists on hips. Her lips had retreated into a taut straight line, hazel eyes hard.

  April tried to subdue her own anger at Polly’s posture. “I told him there was something I wanted to talk to him about. It’ll be much easier in a relaxed setting with no interruptions.” Finished with her explanation, she wondered why she experienced guilt. A response from her was unnecessary—but her friend’s contempt was clear—no words were needed.

  ∞∞∞

  April walked the path she always took—to her parents’ home. She wasn’t conscious of her surroundings. She left Books-on-the-Green into the warm afternoon sun, her thoughts on Polly. Over the years, they’d had a fair amount of tense moments, especially when working out the particulars of their joint business, but an agreement of sorts always followed. Not this time.

  They hadn’t closed the shop on favorable terms, with Polly unresponsive to April’s cheery parting to have a good evening.

  Anger flaring, April kicked a pebble on the pavement. “She’s the most stubborn, insufferable person.” She shuddered. “How dare she interfere in my personal relationships?” April turned in time to see her image in the boutique window, her face contorted with fury. If she hadn’t been so upset with herself, she would’ve laughed at the reflection.

  “Oh, God. Please forgive me. I’m ashamed to be so bitter.” She closed her eyes and halted on the pavement. Her typical response to severe stress was sleep. That was her escape. Perhaps a nap would be in order when she got home.

  The sound of her name in an all too familiar voice made her eyes pop open. She angled her head. Too late. A pair of beady eyes found hers before she could resume her weary walk home.

  “How do you do today?” A flat, whiny male voice rose behind her.

  A deep guttural moan escaped April’s throat. Mr. Pompous—not today. Self-reproach at her negative thoughts brought remorse for the second time within minutes.


  “Good day, Mr. Borren. How’re you?” She pushed her shoulders back and faced him—an attempt at civility.

  “Fine, fine. I meant to drop by the shop and see if you have a copy of a book entitled ‘Famulus Defined.’ It’s a rare book about …”

  “Sorry, Mr. Borren. I’ve an appointment to keep. Please stop by tomorrow, and we’ll work to locate your book. Have a pleasant evening.” Her words trailed over her shoulder as she hurriedly walked away. In the store window, she saw the stunned expression on his fat, round face. No one had ever left one of his conversations before until he’d kept them at least half the hour.

  “I can’t believe I did that,” April mumbled as she rushed along the sidewalk.

  Lord forgive me, again, but I couldn’t endure one of Mr. Pom … I mean, Mr. Borren’s endless I-know-everything-about-everything—one-sided discussions.

  She shrugged. “It wouldn’t be so bad if he didn’t sound so haughty.” She thought about what she’d said to him. “Also, please forgive my little white-lie about the appointment. I mean—I told Ryan I was stopping by the cottage.” There went her nap. Out of guilt, she turned and peeked to watch Mr. Borren’s massive frame trudging in the opposite direction, his blue tweed newsboy cap angled atop his balding head.

  A sharp pang of sympathy gripped her heart. He might be lonesome. His wife had died some years before. Though, if he’d let someone else have a say, he might not be alone.

  Thoughts of Mr. Borren faded as she approached Permelia Cottage. Her sign hung proudly attached to the wall next to the gate.

  “Looks brilliant—don’t it, lass?” Mr. Jenks’ grin ran ear-to-ear.

  “Oh my. Yes, Mr. Jenks. You did a famous job of it.”

  “Mr. Wilkinson’s in the cottage.” He performed an about-face and proceeded with his rusty red toolbox toward the side of the cottage.

  April stood gawking at the sign a moment longer, then walked the path to the front door. She went in and called out, “Ryan, are you about?” She traveled from room to room but found no trace of him.

  As she moved through the kitchen and peeked out the window, she saw him sitting on top of the wall under the dappled shade of a tree. He appeared relaxed—at peace. She’d not noticed him with such a serene air in the brief time she’d known him. He’d always seemed so composed, so … together. Given that, April hesitated to trouble him. He caught sight of her through the window. She stepped back into the room as he slid from the wall and strode to the cottage.

  A strange sensation overwhelmed her, watching his approach. Something deep in the pit of her stomach—an uncertain awareness. She immersed herself in surveying the cabinets—not looking his way when he opened the door.

  “Have you been here long?” Ryan leaned against the inside of the door opening.

  With her head almost inside the cabinet, she replied, “No, not long—reviewing the storage capacity.” She struggled to sound indifferent, but it came out dull. Her throat tightened.

  Ryan closed the door, stepped to the table, and leaned against it. “Do you know Mrs. Claxton who lives down the street?”

  She withdrew her head from the cabinet and closed the door, relieved to have a change of subject. “Yes, somewhat. She’s a nice person. Why?”

  “I met her today—and her cat. Seems she was acquainted with my mother. I think she mentioned that they attended the same church. She also asked me to tea before I leave.” He seemed to contemplate the idea. Silent, he stared at his feet.

  April observed him as he folded his arms across his chest—deep in thought.

  “You should go.”

  He blinked his eyes. “What? Go where?”

  “To tea at Mrs. Claxton’s. You’d enjoy her company. She’s a wonderful cook, and she loves to bake.” Turning to the last cabinet, she opened the door and feigned interest. “Tea is at three.”

  ∞∞∞

  April and Ryan walked around the house and garden, complimenting Mr. Jenks on all he’d done. There was still no sign of rain, so they’d be through with the overhaul in good time. Mr. Jenks was saying, “… we should be done by mid-day tomorrow. We had one slight delay on a rotten window—held us back—no concern.”

  “Doesn’t sound too bad.” April glanced at Ryan with an uneasy, heavy sensation, and looked back at Mr. Jenks.

  Mr. Jenks jumped in. “It’s a cheap fix,” he said with confidence.

  April relaxed.

  “April, ’ave you shown Mr. Wilkinson our castle?” As he turned his head, April thought she caught a fleeting smile cross his lips.

  “No, she hasn’t. I’m glad you mentioned it,” Ryan said. “Could we go in the morning, then come back here? Mr. Jenks should be finished.”

  Polly's face slid into her mind. “That sounds great …” She bit her lip to check her forthcoming words. “But I need to check if Polly can be at the shop.”

  Mr. Jenks gave a knowing nod. “Is that lass at it again? She has a real moody streak in her—that one.”

  “When Polly is in a good mood, which is most of the time, she’s wonderful. But when she’s not …” April hesitated to be derogatory about her friend. “… she’s a tad difficult.”

  “Huh.” Mr. Jenks huffed. “That’s bein’ polite.”

  Ryan intervened with a playful glint in his eyes. “Why don’t I come by the shop tomorrow morning, and we’ll find out what kind of mood she’s in?”

  April wasn’t sure that was such a good idea. But what could she say? Ryan was leaving on Sunday—and she was having dinner with Tristan on Saturday evening. This was her Saturday to watch the shop and the only day she could go with Ryan. “I suppose that’d be fine.”

  Mr. Jenks walked away and called out over his shoulder, “Best prepare yourself, just in case.”

  April sighed. If looks could kill, the glare Polly had shot April after Tristan left would’ve struck her dead right in the middle of the shop. What was up with her? Mr. Jenks had said Polly had a strong personality, but this was somehow different. What was going on?

  Chapter 13

  Neville, North Yorkshire, England

  2016

  Colin’s gaze skimmed the room in search of Susannah. Her enthusiasm in this project was strong, so, where was she?

  Amanda’s tone rose as she asked Virgil to make the treasurer’s report for the committee. Once completed, Amanda resumed by moving that they elect members to occupy the special sub-committees regarding the factory.

  “Glad we have all present today. Well, except Susannah. She sends her apologies. We need to address two issues. One being the overall renovation committee, which Colin will chair, as well as a committee for funding, fundraisers, etc. Also, we’ll need a committee for designing the floor plans for each flat, as well as for the cosmetic design of each one—like color scheme, décor, and furnishings. Do I hear any nominations or volunteers?”

  Deep in thought about Susannah, the sound of his name called him back to the meeting. He stared at his pen and noted that he’d been idly writing her name. He shook his head. Ridiculous. What was he—a juvenile with an infatuation? He barely knew the woman. He scratched out his scrawling, and with a snap clipped the pen to the pad.

  Vita stated, “I’d like to organize the indoor design scheme—floor plans for each flat and so on.”

  Several members nodded. Virgil stood. “I’ll make that motion for Vita.” His leer was blatant, which she accepted with a smile, nodding in Virgil’s direction. “Thank you, Virgil.”

  “Okay, now we have someone to chair a committee we had not considered.” Amanda’s gaze darted around the room. “I’m sorry I didn’t think of that.”

  Colin asked to speak.

  Amanda’s sigh held relief. “Yes, Colin.”

  “While I do believe Vita would do a fine job with the task, I must remind the committee that it falls under the structural renovation of the property. I think there should be one committee that manages the flat floor plans and another regarding cosmetic, décor and furnishings.


  Vita popped out of her seat like a jack-in-the-box. “Well, thank you, Colin, for your vote of trust. That means I’d better meet with you as soon as this meeting is over so we can get set up.” With allure, she slipped into her seat, crossed her legs, and glanced at Virgil.

  Amanda cleared her throat. “Let’s get on with other committee appointments. Maybe three per committee. We’ve just enough people to do that.”

  The remainder of the meeting progressed without incident considering the tension that Vita had created by her spectacle. As soon as Amanda adjourned, Colin walked straight to Letice and attempted to keep his voice casual. “Where’s Susannah this evening? I hope she’s well.”

  Something glinted in Letice’s eyes, and then it was gone in a flash. “She’s well. She had another engagement this evening.”

  Colin offered a gentle smile. “Good. She seems to be a wonderful asset to this committee and the community.”

  That sparkle in her eyes returned as she nodded and said, “I completely agree, Colin. I’m glad to see you do too. Susannah is a very special person.”

  ∞∞∞

  Susannah searched the crowd at Talbot’s Tavern for a free table. Hodge came forward, an apologetic expression on his face. “Sorry, ladies, we’re busy for a Thursday night.”

  Letice pointed a long slender finger at a table that had not been cleared. “May we claim that nice table by the window? We don’t mind waiting for it to be cleaned, do we girls?” Susannah and Amanda nodded.

  “Certainly, my dears. One moment and I’ll have it cleaned in a jiffy.”

  Once Hodge had seated them, a slap on his back brought his attention away from them to Colin Heard behind him. The men addressed one another. Colin nodded and greeted each woman by name, saving Susannah for last. He fixed his gaze on her, and she twisted the linen napkin on her lap.