Charlotte took her bag and wandered out of the kitchen and across the foyer to her great-uncle’s living quarters.
It had a smaller version of the river rock fireplace in the living room, a panoramic view of the hillside, a cozy sitting area, and an antique ceiling fan. It was almost unchanged from how she remembered it. On one wall still hung a wrought iron rack that held horse tackle and a couple of cowboy hats. She reached for the one that looked the most worn and brought it to her nose. She was not sure what she was expecting. She’d only spent a few weeks with her great-uncle, and that had been over twenty years ago. She certainly wouldn’t know his signature smell.
Still, there is something familiar about the hat’s musky scent.
“Besides the obvious painting and polishing of the wood beams and window frames, this layout makes the space seem smaller than it is,” Charlotte said, thinking out loud. She mimed drawing in the palm of her hand and then spotted a legal pad on her great-uncle’s desk in one corner of the room. She snatched it up along with a pencil and walked to the center of the space. It took only moments for Charlotte to lay out a new schematic, noting the pieces of furniture that should be sold or donated. When her eyes rested on a long cedar chest at the foot of the sleigh bed, Charlotte moved toward it, both excited by and a little frightened of seeing what was inside it.
The lid needed a little extra encouragement. It had probably sat shut for a number of years. Charlotte got down on her knees and applied the full force of her upper body. With the second try, it finally popped open and then locked in place with the extension of the side hinges. She’d expected it to be full of old bed linens wrapped in tissue paper and perhaps some blankets. There was some of that, but most of the space was taken up by a smaller wooden box. It was older looking, with a keyhole that was held firmly shut by an iron lock.
Someone wanted what’s inside kept private.
The discovery put Charlotte a little on edge. She’d had enough surprises for one day: she put the box back and closed the chest.
The sun had almost set, so Charlotte walked around the room, turning on floor lamps. When one lit up the French doors to the outside, she spotted the pig.
This guy sure does get around.
He didn’t seem to be watching her, although his head was cocked to one side, and he almost looked like he was communicating with something on the glass just above his head. Charlotte bent down for a closer look and had to blink twice to make sure that she wasn’t imagining what she was seeing. There, on the inside of the glass, perched Mrs. Robinson, the ladybug, and she seemed to be looking back at the pig.
Charlotte could hear Diane and Alice chatting away in the kitchen. She caught snippets of the conversation, mostly about the beautiful produce, which Diane couldn’t stop raving about.
Diane seems to be falling in love with the place, just like me.
Charlotte came across an old black and white photo of her great-uncle Tobias, framed and standing on a bookshelf. This looked to have been taken in his fifties. His auburn hair was starting to gray at the temples, but he still posed, tall and proud, for the picture. She recognized that he was standing in the paddock beside a beautiful chestnut horse, and behind him, hanging off of or sitting on the split rails, was a group of girls and boys around age eleven, watching him with admiration. This was the great-uncle that she remembered: a showman, an educator, and a lover of nature.
* * *
“Oh my, this is quite the spread,” Beau said, bouncing into the room. As always, he was full of energy. “Those drapes look like they came off the set of Gone With The Wind! Frankly, my dear Charlotte, I’d ditch the damask,” Beau delivered in his best Southern accent.
Charlotte laughed.
“Believe me, I’ve started a list,” she said, holding up her laptop. “I’ll keep as much as possible, for sentimental reasons I guess, but there are things in this house that, well, that I need to share with the rest of the world.”
“Well put.”
She figured that if she did this throughout the house, she’d soon have a truckload to take into town. Maybe that cute antique shop would be interested in some of these items.
“Do I hear thoughts of redecorating in your plans? Because you know who loves nothing more than building settings for every extravaganza. Moi!”
“I honestly don’t know what I’m thinking right now, Beau. I never expected emotion to creep into the equation.”
“Just relax and keep an open mind, and remember to dream big and laugh lustily. I’m off to curate some music to set the mood for a night on the farm. Let me know if you like it.”
With that “the magic that is Beau” went about setting wireless speakers around the farmhouse. God love him, he always makes me smile.
Beau blasted a musical line-up, starting with “Bohemian Rhapsody,” that interrupted Charlotte’s thoughts as she browsed through design websites. She heard Diane turn on a mixer, and then … the lights went out. Between the three of them, they’d succeeded in tapping the electric circuits beyond their capacity.
At least that’s what I think happened.
Not just in the house, but in all the surrounding farms as far as the eye could see. The dead silence didn’t last long before shouts echoed up and around the hillside. On top of that, Charlotte could hear the howl of coyotes joining in the chorus.
Anyone could have caused this blackout, right?
Chapter Three
“I should be able to salvage the biscuits for breakfast, assuming that the power comes back on by then.” Diane passed around a huge wooden bowl heaped with three different kinds of lettuces, tomatoes, shaved cucumber, fennel seeds, and scallions, all dressed in a strawberry mustard vinaigrette. She loved feeding people, and it showed in her big brown eyes and dimpled face.
Beau had been quick to find the candles, and set a beautiful table in back on the patio. He told everyone that he wanted to do his part to atone for his contribution toward draining the power.
Along with Joe and Alice, Farmer Brown had also joined them for dinner.
“I’m not so sure that your power usage triggered this blackout, Beau,” Joe soothed. “When Tobias threw a party, we’d have all kinds of electric devices going—music, strings of lights everywhere, and sometimes he’d rent a small Ferris wheel for the kids.”
Charlotte thought about that for a moment. “Joe, will you be able to find out what has caused this?”
“Will do. It could be a blown out transformer.”
“So Farmer Brown, is it just you living here? What about the wife and kids?” Charlotte noticed Beau wink at Diane; he approved of his sister’s prying.
“Just me. I grew up around here, so if I ever get the need for family, I got brothers and sisters and parents I can visit.”
With that, the story was over. Beginning, middle, and end. Joe wasn’t exaggerating when he told me that the farmer was a man of few words.
“Miss Charlotte has a realtor coming by in the morning, Samuel. She’s hoping to get an assessment of the value of Finn Farm,” Joe explained.
“Just to have in my back pocket. For planning purposes … strategy.”
Farmer Brown stared directly into Charlotte’s eyes without saying a word, so she was compelled to continue rambling.
“A starting point is all this will be. You know, from which to map out the future.”
He gave no response but kept staring.
“We’ll need you to conduct the tour of the fields, Samuel.” Joe broke the awkward silence.
Diane carried in an impressive cheese tray that was accompanied by fresh bread that Alice had picked up at the market earlier in the day. Farmer Brown took a couple of cheddar slices and a hunk of bread and stood.
“Call when you need me in the morning, Joe.”
With that, he left and headed back down to the barn.
“Under forty,” Beau said to the table.
“What? His age?” Diane gave her brother a quizzical look.
&n
bsp; “He’s closer to our age,” Charlotte corrected.
“No, not that. Farmer Brown said less than forty words tonight. I’ve been known to say more than a hundred from the time I open my eyes each morning until I sit down for breakfast.”
Even Joe and Alice snickered at that.
Finally they feasted on strawberries and sliced melon marinated in cassis and doused with fresh cream.
Charlotte hadn’t eaten like this, farm to table, in perhaps … ever. Each bite sent a wave of images and sensations to her brain. The warmth of the sun burning off the morning mist; the verdant and earthy smells of the origin of this bounty; and finally, the sense that she was feasting on love. She knew that people planted and cared for the food she was eating from tiny seeds or from nurturing goats and cows. The best part was that she was now sharing this food with the people who had created it. The diners at the table couldn’t be described as either “eat to live” or “live to eat” people. They were simply paying proper respect and admiration to the pure and distinct tastes of food enjoyed in its absolute prime.
When the last morsels were consumed and the dishes had all been cleared and rinsed, awaiting a proper wash when they had hot water, Charlotte and Beau and Diane gathered on the front porch for a look at the star-packed sky.
“We should really make this an early night,” Charlotte commented, mesmerized by the twinkling lights.
“Agreed. For not doing very much today, I’m suddenly totally exhausted.” Diane yawned.
“It’s all this country air and farm livin’,” Beau chimed in. “It just makes you want to go to sleep with the chickens and wake with the roosters.”
“Where did he learn phrases like that?” Charlotte looked at Diane, laughing.
“Who knows? I sometimes think that Beau has been reincarnated many times, and every so often, elements of a past life emerge. So what do you think the realtor will want to see tomorrow?”
Diane and Charlotte boarded a porch swing, and Beau claimed a wicker rocking chair.
“I have no idea, guys. I don’t know what kind of demand there is for a property like this or even really how much potential this farm has, although from the look of some of the idle farmers that I saw in town, I’d have to guess that this area is in need of a source of employment for the people that make Little Acorn their home.”
“There goes the Charlotte that I know and love, once again trying to save the world.” Beau stood up and gave Charlotte a hug. “Stop your worrying, and get a good night’s sleep. You’ve got the sketches that you did for renovating the master suite. That will show him how you could envision the entire farm being made over.”
“You know, for a silly man, you are sometimes so wise, Beau.”
Charlotte kissed him on the cheek, and the three bid each other good night.
* * *
Charlotte got ready for bed but was still too keyed up to fall asleep. She thought about taking the wooden box out of the chest again and then looking for the key, but changed her mind. Whatever was in there could keep her up all night, and that was a bad idea.
Joe had lit the fire for her in her great-uncle’s comfortable bedroom, and it cast a soft yellow glow in what otherwise would be a pitch-black room. Rumor was that the power would be restored some time after five A.M.
Just as Charlotte started to doze off, she heard a knocking on the French doors, and when it didn’t cease, she grabbed her phone and used its flashlight to investigate. Unable to see anything in the darkness outside, she nonetheless opened the door, and the pig scooted past her and raced into the house. Charlotte called out for the pig.
What the heck is his name?
This time she made sure that she’d shut the door to her room. She wasn’t about to go rooting around and lose any more sleep, so she went back to bed. Just as she laid her head down, she heard snoring coming from inside the room. She bolted upright and reached for her phone, but it wasn’t on the nightstand. She’d left it by the bedroom door. When her eyes adjusted to the dark room, she could see from the glow of the fire that the pig had settled at the foot of the bed. His eyes were closed in sweet repose, and she could swear that he had a smile on his face.
He suddenly started shaking, and Charlotte wondered if he was having a particularly active dream. She reached down to pet him, and soon after he crawled up next to her and nestled into her neck and shoulder. He nibbled playfully at Charlotte’s long, curly, soft, red hair, and she noticed that his eyelashes were almost the same color.
“Do I remind you of your mama? Does she have ginger in her genes?”
He looked at her and blinked his eyes once.
Was that a “yes”?
“I hope you wiped your feet, little pig.” She smiled. He looks like a little angel. “I’ll have you know that tonight is an exception. Now go to sleep,” she whispered. “You too, Mrs. Robinson,” Charlotte said to the dark room, praying that the ladybug was also curled up for the night.
Charlotte fell back to sleep, listening to the soft beat of the pig’s heart.
* * *
The next morning Charlotte noticed that the electricity was back on, and the pig had left.
I must have left the door ajar, and he probably didn’t want to miss his morning feeding.
She dressed quickly in one of only a few outfits that she thought was somewhat appropriate for the plans of the day, a powder-blue sundress and white sneakers. At least Charlotte hoped that this attire would work. All she’d be doing was walking along the paths that run parallel to the plants. She applied ample dollops of sunscreen to her peaches-and-cream skin and was lured out of her room by the aromas of breakfast being made.
Charlotte followed the scents to the kitchen, where she found Diane scrambling some eggs.
“Good morning. Did you sleep?” Charlotte asked her BFF.
“Like a baby. I can’t remember the last time that I left the world entirely behind and fell into the cottony peace of slumberland.”
“Wow, those must have been some dreams,” Beau said, entering the kitchen and peeking into a large basket that had been covered by a tea towel. “Praise be, the biscuits have been resurrected!”
Charlotte noticed that Beau was still in his bathrobe, a royal-blue velvet number with his initials embroidered in silver on the breast pocket. His feet were clad in leather Mexican sandals. Sunglasses completed the ensemble. Yet his wavy brown mane of hair had been combed back and held in place with product. She hoped that he’d change into more traditional daywear by the time the realtor arrived.
“Here, I’ll make you a plate of biscuits and jam. Otherwise, you’ll just keep picking at things and bothering me in the kitchen, Beau.”
“My sister loves me.” He grinned, accepting the plate from Diane. “I’m going exploring. Ta-ta!”
“Don’t forget about the realtor,” Charlotte shouted to him. “Have you seen Alice this morning?” she asked, turning back to Diane.
“For a split second; then she disappeared down into the cellar.”
She sure spends a lot of time down there.
Charlotte heard the sounds of tires crunching on gravel and went to the front window.
“Good God, he’s here and he’s early. Quick—let’s set a place for him at the counter so he can have a coffee and some of your wonderful baking. That should buy some time for everyone else to get ready.
“Don’t worry, Char—I’ve got this. Go outside and greet him.”
* * *
Joe had also seen the man drive up, and arrived just as Charlotte did.
“Hello again, Mr. Lurvy, and thank you for coming by.” Charlotte extended her hand and then introduced Joe. “We’ve got coffee and fresh biscuits for you to enjoy before we tour the property.”
“Oh. I suppose that I could take some nourishment—fuel for the day.”
Charlotte guessed by his plump shape and round face with puffed cheeks that he’d already filled the tank at least once before coming here.
The way to a
man’s heart is through his stomach. Maybe I should ask Diane to make him a plate of eggs as well.
After being introduced, Diane did indeed offer a more robust meal.
“Thanks, but I’ve got a full day of appointments ahead of me.” Mr. Lurvy downed the biscuit in two bites, leaving a good-sized deposit of butter and jam in a corner of his mouth. He slurped his coffee at about the same speed and rose from the barstool.
“Let’s start with the fields, and then I’ll finish up with the farmhouse.”
Charlotte exchanged a look with Joe. This guy wasn’t giving anything away, and she began to worry that she might not get an accurate assessment of the farm’s value at the end of the tour. She also didn’t like hearing about all the other people wanting him to sell their properties. Is there that much available farm inventory in Little Acorn?
“Alright then. Diane, I’d love for you to join us. Maybe leave a note for Beau?” Charlotte said.
“Could you leave one for Alice too? I think she’s in here somewhere.” Joe guided the realtor out of the house and took out his cell phone. Charlotte and Diane were right behind them.
As it had been yesterday, the weather was ideal. The sun was burning off the morning mist, spotlighting the flowing fields as if being revealed by a slowly opening curtain.
“I’ve texted Samuel and asked him to meet us at the paddock,” Joe informed the group.
“So, what are we waiting for?” Mr. Lurvy seemed impatient or nervous or both.
“I called out for Alice but got no response.” Diane eyed the realtor, and Charlotte could tell that right off she didn’t like him.
Not a good sign.
“Alice knows where to find us, and we’ve waited long enough.” Joe motioned out toward the dirt pathway, sensing Lurvy’s frustration with the delay. “Let’s head out to the fields this way—and watch your step. The ground can be damp and slippery in the morning.”
The pig emerged seemingly out of nowhere and kept pace with Charlotte. Mr. Lurvy gave a shriek on seeing him, which Charlotte thought odd.
Dead on the Vine Page 3
