Lord, she missed him.
Giving a sigh, she folded the last of the laundry, then went to stand in the living-room doorway. Micahlyn was sitting in the easy chair with one of her dozen dolls, carrying on a conversation that no one else could share. Nolie watched her a moment before moving into the room. “Hey, babe, get your shoes on. We’re going for a walk.”
“Don’t wanna.”
“That wasn’t a question.” She dropped Micahlyn’s shoes on the floor in front of her, then sat down to lace her own sneakers. “We’ve both spent too much time cooped up inside. We’re going exploring.”
“No, thank you.”
“Micahlyn.” There had been a time when she’d never had to speak to her daughter in that warning tone, but in the past few months she’d found it necessary all too often. When she’d realized her daughter was looking to Marlene for guidance before obeying her, she’d known something had to change.
And it had been a good change. She felt happier and freer than in years. And Micahlyn would come around soon.
Once her daughter had grudgingly fastened the Velcro straps on her sneakers, Nolie herded her out the door, locked it, then headed for the woods. She was aware Micahlyn didn’t follow immediately, but she didn’t wait or turn back. She knew, given a choice between walking with her mother or staying alone at the cabin just down the road from the bogeyman, Micahlyn would come running.
By the time Nolie passed the first pine, little footsteps were thudding behind her.
The trail leading into the woods was so faint that Nolie had had to look twice to find it. Old Hiram had been dead more than a year, and presumably no one had used the trail since then. But fifty years of his tramping back and forth every day had left marks that needed much more than mere months to disappear.
It was a beautiful day for a walk—sunny, not too warm, a nice breeze cooling the air. Everything smelled so fresh after the stuffiness that was slowly disappearing from the cabin, and the birds’ songs were comfortably familiar. It was too perfect a moment for pouting, which was exactly what Micahlyn was doing.
When they reached the stream that she’d seen so far only from the car, Nolie slowed to a stop. A footbridge stretched in a low arc from one side to the other and appeared far sturdier than many of the bridges she’d crossed back in Arkansas. Instead of crossing, though, she knelt in the middle, then stretched out on her stomach with little more than a grimace. The tenderness that had come from hanging off the roof a few days earlier was almost gone now.
So was the hypersensitivity where Chase’s hands had settled.
Pillowing her chin on her folded arms, she gazed into the water. “When I was a kid, every time my dad drove across a bridge, he’d tell me to lick my fingertip, hold it up, and make a wish. Do you ever do that?”
“No.” Micahlyn sat down beside her, then rolled over, and let her chin hang off the side.
“Don’t let your glasses fall in,” Nolie warned, pushing them back up on her nose. “You want to make a wish now?”
“No.”
“Oh, come on.” Nolie gently elbowed her, then moistened her index finger, raised it in the air, and closed her eyes. “I wish . . .”
When she opened her eyes again, Micahlyn was watching her. “What’d you wish for?”
“I can’t tell you, or it might not come true. You want to try?”
With a sulky sigh, Micahlyn mimicked her actions and whispered, “I wish I could go back home to Grandma and Grandpa”—opening one eye, she peeked to make sure Nolie was listening—“where I belong.”
Clenching her teeth, Nolie ignored her words. “Look at that fish. Do you think he’ll get big enough for us to catch and cook him?”
“I don’t eat fish.”
“You do, too.” There wasn’t much Micahlyn liked more than fried catfish with hush puppies and her grandmother’s special tartar sauce.
“I don’t eat that fish. I only eat Grandpa’s fish.”
Trying to ignore a sense of failure, Nolie got to her feet and dusted her clothes. “Come on, kiddo. We’re gonna see the store that used to belong to your great-great-grandpa.”
“I only have one grandpa, and he’s great enough for me,” Micahlyn said, her bottom lip poked out, but she stood up and crossed the bridge at Nolie’s side.
Hiram’s feed store was located another five minutes down the trail. They came out of the woods behind the store and circled around to the front.
The gravel parking lot provided a home for weeds and assorted trash thrown from car windows. Nolie and Micahlyn stood in the middle of it and looked at the store. The building had once been painted red, though it probably hadn’t seen fresh paint in Nolie’s lifetime. One of the two plate-glass windows was boarded over, broken by vandals, according to the lawyer. The other was coated with grime and flaking paint.
It didn’t look like much, but that was to be expected after standing empty for months. It was dilapidated, a little lonely, but it had once been a prosperous business. She intended to make it so again.
Not that she knew anything about stores. Or feed. Or, as far as that went, being prosperous.
Movement at her side drew her attention to Micahlyn, who was waving hesitantly. “Who are you waving at, babe?”
“The ladies.”
Nolie glanced at the store, then back again. “What ladies?”
“Them.”
Nolie looked back at the store as the door opened and two women came out. They reached her and Micahlyn before she had time to voice any of several questions dancing in her brain. Who are you? and What are you doing in my store? and Who else has keys? and Why wasn’t I told?
“I told you it was them,” the older woman said to the younger. “Nola Harper and her daughter, Michael Lyn. Welcome to Bethlehem, and welcome to Hiram’s Feed Store. You know, you don’t look much like a Hiram. You might want to consider changing the name.”
“Of course she’s not a Hiram, and she’s not a Nola, either,” the younger woman said. “Her name is Nolie, and the little one is Micahlyn.”
“Well, of course she is. That’s what I said.” The woman beamed at Nolie and extended her hand. “I’m Gloria, and this is Sophy. We were just doing some cleaning inside. The place is a mite dusty.”
Which would explain the smudges of dirt across her cheek and the cobweb in her brown-and-gray hair. She was about Marlene’s age—late forties, early fifties—and had the sort of smile that involved her whole face. She was plump and, as Nolie’s father used to say about her mother, built for comfort.
Her friend, Sophy, was the type Nolie had always envied—slender, pretty, with golden skin, blond curls, and not a freckle in sight. She wore a white T-shirt and short faded denim overalls, and looked about fifteen, though in reality Nolie would put her age closer to twenty-five. There wasn’t an ounce of extra fat on her hips, or anywhere else, for that matter, and she seemed genuinely happy to meet them. Beautiful, blond, thin, and nice. The worst kind. Nolie couldn’t even properly dislike her.
“Are you two the welcoming committee?” Nolie asked.
“Sure are,” Gloria replied at the same time Sophy said, “Not exactly.”
Nolie looked from one to the other, and so did they, then Gloria laughed. “We’re not officially the welcoming committee. In fact, I wouldn’t say there was one officially— well, unless you count Miss Agatha and Miss Corinna. But we make it our business to look out for everyone.”
“That’s a nice business to be in.” Taking Micahlyn’s hand, Nolie started toward the store. The two women fell into step beside them.
“It keeps us busy,” Sophy replied. “When do you think you’ll be ready to reopen the feed store?”
“I don’t know.” Nolie hadn’t thought to ask Alex Thomas what had happened to the store’s inventory. If it had been disposed of, she would be starting from scratch. If it hadn’t . . . The thought of eighteen-month-old feed made her nose twitch. If it was still around, she would have to get rid of it, and then start
from scratch.
A cement slab extended ten feet from the front of the store, with one step running the length of it. Spidery cracks rambled across the surface, and a dandelion bloomed near the door. As Micahlyn bent to pick it, Nolie released her hand and stepped inside.
The place smelled worse than the cabin had—of must and dust, various animal feeds, and fifty years’ of cigar smoke. If she had to guess, she would say old Hiram had spent most of his time on a tall stool behind the counter, where a sooty trail wound its way around a post to the ceiling.
The steel shelving was bare, and nothing remained on the walls but some old calendars and a clock, its hands permanently stopped on 3:17. The old-fashioned cash register still sat on the counter that stretched practically across the store two-thirds of the way back, and a dull brass bell sat beside it. Everything seemed original to the store— translating to old, but at least she could clean up that bell and make it shine.
“We did some sweeping,” Sophy said, “and started washing the windows. And we found some old catalogs from Hiram’s suppliers while we were dusting. We figured you might want to do business with them, too, so we left them on the desk for you.”
Gloria picked up where she left off. “Trust me, if Ham did business with them, you won’t get a better deal anywhere. The man was a stickler for getting his money’s worth.”
While she’d spoken, Nolie had started toward the counter. At that, she turned back. “Did you know him?”
“Oh, honey, we know everyone.”
“What was he like?”
“That’s right—you never met him. Well, let’s see . . .” Gloria tapped one finger against her chin. “He was really quite—no, forget that. I remember a time when he— Hmm. Forget that one, too. He was—”
“Ill-tempered,” Sophy supplied. “Unforgiving. Hard. And just plain mean.”
Gloria’s eyes opened wide, and so did her mouth. “Why, Sophy, you can’t be saying things like that! Poor Mr. Legrand had some major disappointments in his life that were beyond his control. That’s what made him the way he was.”
“Which was ill-tempered, unforgiving, hard, and mean. You wouldn’t want me to lie, would you?”
“Well, of course not! But—but—”
“And his name wasn’t Legrand. It was Legare. Like Simon Legree.”
Micahlyn chose that moment to wander inside, the ragged dandelion clutched in her hand, and gaze up at Gloria. “My daddy’s dead,” she remarked as evenly as if she were commenting on the blue sky. “That means he’s living in heaven.”
Gloria knelt in front of her. “Why, that’s exactly right, Micahlyn. Your daddy’s in heaven, and he’s watching over you and your mama.”
Unbidden, an image of their neighbor flashed into Nolie’s mind—his strength when he’d caught her the other day, especially impressive since she was no lightweight. His hands, so large and warm when they’d touched her skin. His arousal for that moment when they’d touched practically from head to toe. She fervently hoped, if Micahlyn and Gloria were right, that Jeff’s attention had been elsewhere at that moment.
Not that he would have begrudged her feeling, wanting, or remembering. He never would have expected her to live the rest of her life alone. He’d been too sweet, too generous for that . . . even if his parents weren’t.
“There’s really not much else to do here,” Sophy said, drawing Nolie’s attention back to her. “Why don’t you take those catalogs home with you and get some idea of what you need to reopen? And there’s a list inside the top one of phone numbers you’ll need—the power company, the water company, the best glass man in town.”
“Yes,” Gloria chimed in. “Sit out on the porch and enjoy the beautiful weather. It’ll make the catalogs seem less like work. And since it’s going to be a lovely evening, too, when you’re done, you can fire up that new grill you bought and invite your neighbor over for hamburgers or steaks.”
“How did you know I bought? . . .” Nolie let the question trail off. Compared to Whiskey Creek, Bethlehem seemed like a bustling city, but in reality it was still a small town, and she was the newest outsider in town. No doubt there’d been plenty of talk and speculation about her and Micahlyn.
“Here you go.” Gloria handed her a plastic shopping bag, loaded down with catalogs, then walked them out the door.
Nolie stopped long enough to lock the door, then slid her keys back into her pocket. “I really appreciate all the work you did.”
“Oh, it was nothing. Was it, Sophy?” Gloria bent to solemnly shake hands with Micahlyn. “It was a pleasure to meet you, Martha Lyn. And you, too, Nola.”
“Nice to meet you, too. I hope we see you around.”
Sophy smiled. “You will.”
The two women headed across the parking lot as Nolie and Micahlyn started off in the opposite direction. They’d just turned the corner when Nolie remembered the bell. Leading her daughter by the hand, she went back around the corner and came to a sudden stop.
The parking lot was empty. She could see both shoulders of the road all the way into town, but there was no sign of the two women. Maybe there was a path hidden in the weeds and they’d taken that, she told herself, even as she searched for and didn’t find any evidence of it. After a moment, a soft flapping in the breeze drew her attention skyward, where a vinyl banner stretched from one corner of the roof to the other. REOPENING SOON, bold gold letters proclaimed on a red background.
“That wasn’t there . . .” But of course it had been. It couldn’t have just appeared out of thin air.
But how could she have missed it? She’d stood in the middle of the parking lot and studied the building carefully. She couldn’t have overlooked such a large, brightly colored banner.
But she must have. She hated to repeat herself, but it couldn’t have just appeared. Either Gloria and Sophy had had helpers outside who hung it while they talked inside, or Nolie just hadn’t noticed it. Those were the only two choices.
“Mama, let’s go home,” Micahlyn whined, tugging her hand. “I wanna dry my flower so I can send it to Grandma. Come on.”
“Okay.” But Nolie didn’t move until Micahlyn tugged hard enough to pull her off balance. Giving a shake of her head to clear it, she stumbled after her daughter.
Micahlyn made a beeline for the path, charging up the hill with much more energy than she’d shown coming down. When they crossed the footbridge, she licked one fingertip, raised it in the air, and clomped across the bridge in time to her singsong words. “I wish I could go back home to Grandma and Grandpa, where I belong.”
Nolie was about to make a face at her back when Micahlyn spun around. “I liked Gloria.” She continued spinning until she was facing forward again, then marched along the trail.
Well, that was something, Nolie consoled herself. Not the wholehearted acceptance she was looking for, but quite possibly the only thing Micahlyn had liked since they’d left Arkansas. It was a step in the right direction. Raising her gaze to the pale blue sky that showed in patches through the pines, she mouthed, “Thank you.”
And for one fanciful instant, she would have sworn she’d heard the words, “You’re welcome,” in a whisper as soft and as distant as a memory.
But surely it was just the wind.
LIPS PURSED, AGATHA WINCHESTER GRAYSON STUDIED the basket on the table. She and her sister, Corinna, had begun packing it that morning, before Sunday church services, with a foil pan of their famous cinnamon rolls, bags of cookies in five different varieties, and a tin of brownies. After Sunday dinner with their usual crowd of children, grandchildren, and good-as-family, they’d added some of the leftovers—thick slices of ham, creamy potato salad, a low-fat pasta salad, and a fluffy fruit salad, as well as two loaves of fresh-baked bread.
“Do you think it’s adequate?” Corinna asked dryly. “There are only two of them, you know.”
“I know.” Going to the counter, Agatha took a loaf of banana nut bread from the rack where it had cooled and wrapped it tigh
tly in foil before adding it to the basket. Like the pasta salad, it was low-fat. She had never thought she would see the day when anything low-fat would come from her kitchen, but she was a married woman now. She had good reason to watch her figure.
When she started back to the counter, Corinna stopped her, then firmly closed the lid on the basket. “That’s plenty. We’re just welcoming the Harpers to town, not feeding a horde. Come on now. Let’s go.”
“I was just going to fix a jar of lemonade . . .” Agatha’s explanation trailed off as her sister picked up the basket and headed for the door. With a sigh, she hurried after her.
Agatha’s husband, Bud, was playing football with the younger of their grandchildren. With squeals of delight, the children tackled him, then they all rolled together on the ground, laughing and gasping for breath, until they realized she stood over them.
“There’s my girl,” Bud said, disentangling himself from the boys and getting to his feet quite easily for a man of his years. “Where are you off to?”
“Hiram Legare’s great-granddaughter has come to town to take over the feed store, and Corinna and I are going to visit her.”
“Be careful, and come back to me soon.” He kissed her soundly, not on the cheek as he usually did when they had company, but on the lips. They’d been married almost a year, but he still had the power to make her blush with no more than a kiss.
“Young love,” Corinna said when Agatha joined her in the car.
Though Agatha gave an unrefined snort, secretly she smiled. She’d found love once when she was a girl, only to lose it when war claimed her young man’s life. She had mourned Sam so long that eventually she’d despaired of ever finding someone else. She had resigned herself to being an old maid, to doting on her nieces and nephews and the children of friends, and never truly having a family of her own.
Cabin Fever Page 4
