by Janet Dailey
The rutted pasture track had brought them to the farmyard. Cathie refused to let her gaze roam over the various buildings and once more fall in the grip of her many poignant memories. She kept walking toward the two-storey house with friendly gray smoke rising from its chimney to mingle with the scattering of snowflakes.
"Are you coming in? I'm sure Mrs. Carver would fix us some cocoa," she offered as they reached the green compact car that belonged to Clay.
"Not this time. I'll see you in church tomorrow, won't I?"
Cathie nodded and lifted her head for his goodbye kiss. He claimed her mouth with the gentleness and tenderness that was so much a part of his nature. Then Clay was climbing behind the wheel of his car. Cathie watched him as he drove out of the yard onto the county road that led to the highway before she turned toward the house, following the sidewalk through the metal gate to the back door of the white structure.
"I'm back," Cathie called out as she walked in the door and climbed the few steps of the inside landing to the sun porch. The snow-white hair atop Mrs. Carver's head caught her eye, drawing Cathie's attention to the kitchen. "Where are my mother and Aunt Dana?" she asked, traversing the narrow width of the sun porch to the large kitchen.
"They're in the back bedroom packing away Mr. Carlsen's clothes for the Salvation Army," the housekeeper replied, not pausing in her brisk stirring of some liquid in a bowl. The vigorous movement sent her rotund figure vibrating. A sharp eye was turned on Cathie. "Didn't you ask your young man to come in? I was just stirring up some frosting for a chocolate cake I made."
"Clay had some errands to run, so he couldn't stay."
"There you are, Catherine. I thought I heard your voice." Her mother stood in the kitchen doorway, her auburn hair glinting in the artificial light that couldn't detect a trace of gray. "Didn't Clay come in with you?"
Cathie repeated her previous statement to Mrs. Carver as she marveled again over her mother's youthful appearance even though she had passed the forty mark several years ago.
"That's too bad," Maureen Carlsen replied when she heard that Clay had left. "I was going to ask him to carry this box of clothes out to the station wagon. I'm afraid it's too big for Dana and me to carry. I suppose we could scoot it along the floor and down the steps."
Eyes that were nearly as green as Cathie's studied the route that the box would ultimately have to take before her mother nodded to herself that the plan would work. With that problem solved, she turned her attention back to her daughter.
"Well, did you and Clay tramp over all your playgrounds?" she asked with a bright and indulgent smile.
"More or less," Cathie shrugged, not wanting to discuss how unsatisfactory their conversation was. "What's left to be sorted?"
"Men are seldom as sentimental as we women are." Her mother astutely guessed the reason for her daughter's noncommittal reply. "Look at your father. He's so steeped in American literature that he can barely remember our anniversary. But I've learned to accept that the day of our marriage doesn't rank high compared to the early demise of Edgar Allan Poe."
"Dad isn't the least bit absentminded," Cathie protested with an amused smile. "He always remembers our birthdays and the holidays and he always picks out some wonderful, nonsensical gift for us. I don't believe he's ever forgotten your anniversary either."
"I would hope not! I feed him rice every single night for a week to be sure he gets the message,'' her mother laughed.
"This is a fine time for you to come back to the house, Cathie," her aunt Dana declared, coming to a halt behind her mother. "Just when we've packed the last box. You can take your coat off. You won't need to run back outside."
Long ago Cathie had learned that no matter how biting the comments of her father's older sister sounded, they were not meant that way. Dana Madison had simply never learned tact. With that knowledge, Cathie let the implied criticism slip by without comment.
"I suppose you also let Clay slip away without thinking to invite him in," Dana continued, taking the brown fur parka from Cathie's shoulders.
"He had some errands," Cathie repeated for the third time.
"Have you two set the wedding date yet?" her aunt asked crisply.
"Not yet."
"Ye gods, you two really believe in long engagements!" Dana exclaimed with scorn. "How long has it been since he gave you that ring?"
"Shortly after he passed his bar exam, which was about a year ago," Cathie answered calmly, exchanging a silent look with her smiling mother.
"Let's see, the first excuse was that you were both in college and that it would be too great a strain financially for you to get married. Then it was that you wanted to find a teaching job." Dana was using her fingers to tick off the reasons why their marriage hadn't taken place. "After that, Clay had to pass his bar examination. At least you got an engagement ring then. What's your reason for waiting so long now?"
"We're trying to find a house. Neither one of us wants to live in an apartment even if there was a decent one available, which there isn't. So far we haven't been able to find a house in our price range that's fit to live in," Cathie attempted to explain logically their delay. "But in the meantime, we're saving our money so we can furnish the house when we do get it."
"In my day, we got married and moved in with our parents until we could afford something better."
"That wouldn't work for Clay and me since neither one of our parents live here any more. Besides, we're both enjoying our last bit of freedom without the responsibility of school and all."
"You make marriage sound like a prison," her aunt harumphed.
"There is a confining side to it," Cathie admitted.
"How old are you now? Twenty-three? Twenty-four?"
"I'll be twenty-four on my next birthday."
"And unmarried. That was practically a crime when I was young. We were considered almost old maids, weren't we, Maureen?" The older woman addressed her question to Cathie's mother.
"Customs have changed since then," her mother shrugged.
"I don't know if it's for the better," Dana sniffed indignantly. "In the past, the family home was passed from one generation to another but here we are selling the very place where we were born and raised. It's a shame that you and Dorian couldn't purchase it, Maureen. I wanted to put in a bid, but Al put his foot down, insisting that it just wasn't practical for us to buy it either."
"It is unfortunate that none of us was able to prevent the farm from going out of the family," Maureen Carlsen agreed with a note of sadness that was felt by all.
"Did you tell Cathie that the real estate agent called today?" Dana inquired.
"What about?" Cathie prompted, her honey-blond hair turning toward the older, graying woman.
"To let us know that the new owner will be taking possession, or wants to take possession, the fifteenth of March."
"So soon," Cathie murmured, a pallor stealing the color from her face. That was just over a week away.
"Yes. I guess it was a good thing we set the date for the auction as soon as we did," her aunt Dana nodded sagely. "The agent is making arrangements for Mrs. Carver to have some sleeping quarters for those few extra days between the auction and the new owner's arrival."
"What I'm hoping," Mrs. Carver inserted, bringing her newly frosted cake to the small dinette table in the kitchen, "is that the new owner will keep me on. I just have too much time on my hands to set at home alone. Goodness knows there isn't much call for housekeepers anymore, not around here anyway. Did that real estate man find out anything about the new owner, Mrs. Madison?"
"From what I could gather," Dana replied in her caustic voice, "all he knows is that the man's name is Robert Douglas and he lives in Long Island, New York. The agent never asked if the man was married or single, young or old, whether he intended to farm it himself or hire someone else. I suppose all the agent cares about is his commission."
"It seems to me that a man who would buy a piece of property sight unseen isn't the type
who would make it his home," Cathie stated bitterly.
"Now, I heard that the man flew up here in a private plane the day the real estate man contacted him," Mrs. Carver said, drawing the immediate attention of the rest of the group.
"Did you see him?" Cathie's mother asked, voicing the question that rose in all three minds.
"No." The housekeeper shook her head. "If he actually came out to the farm, he never came to the house."
"That's the first I've heard of any visit," Dana commented, plainly showing her dislike of receiving that piece of information so late. "Who told you that?"
"One of the men from the real estate office when he came out to make a list of the equipment that was sold with the land," Mrs. Carver replied. "Of course, it might not have been the same man that bought the farm, but that's the way I understood him." The cake knife expertly slashed through the white frosting. "Now all of you have to have a piece of this cake before you leave."
Chapter Two
THE SCHOOL CLASSROOM was abnormally quiet. The rows of desks were empty of children except for one boy studiously crouched over his paper. Behind the large desk next to the blackboard, Cathie Carlsen was correcting the last of the fourth grade arithmetic papers. Her blond hair was pulled away from her face and secured at the nape of her neck by a scarf that matched the peacock blue and jade-green paisley print of her silk blouse. As she placed the last paper on top of the neat stack, Cathie glanced at the large wall clock. Rising quietly from her desk, she walked down the row of desks to where the nine-year-old was sitting. Over his shoulder she read the scrawling words 'I will not glue books together' repeated over and over again. The boy turned his freckled face toward her, his sandy-brown hair sticking out in all directions, the result of innumerable cowlicks that laughed at combs and brushes.
"Can I go home now, Miss Carlsen?" he pleaded, his sparkling brown eyes using their influence to the fullest.
"May I go home," Cathie corrected.
"May I go home?" he sighed, his shoulders slumping at the lack of response to his beguiling look.
Charles Smith, or as he was known to his classmates Charlie, was the instigator of nearly every misdeed done during the course of a school day. Behind the bewitching innocence of his freckled face was a midget monster who was either in mischief or thinking of it. Today's escapade had involved gluing Mary Tate's schoolbooks together during the lunch period. Mary, who possessed a desire for learning, was one of the more intelligent pupils in Cathie's class, which earned Mary the nickname of "teacher's pet" and the revenge of Charlie for her almost perfect behavior.
"Yes, you may go home now, Charlie." Her acquiescence was followed by slamming books and shuffling papers as Charlie raced to accomplish his escape before Cathie could change her mind and make him stay longer. He was halfway to the coatroom when she called her warning after him. "The next time you get into trouble, you'll go straight to the principal's office."
"There won't be a next time, Miss Carlsen," he assured her, backing slowly but surely toward his coat.
"I hope not."
It was difficult keeping a severe expression on her face. She had long ago resigned herself to the fact that every class had a Charlie Smith. And as long as they kept to the frogs and the spitballs and avoided the destructive mischief, the best course was to mark it up to the exuberance of youth, and especially small boys with their snips and snails and puppy dogs' tails.
A few minutes later Cathie was slipping on her three-quarter-length black leather coat and picking up the case filled with her own "homework" to follow Charlie Smith's path out of the brick schoolhouse. The house that she shared with two girl friends was conveniently only three blocks from the school, thus eliminating the expense of driving her car back and forth. On blustery days like today, the three blocks were just about all that Cathie wanted to walk.
Two weeks had passed since her visit to the farm. The auction had taken place and presumably the new owner had moved in, since the possession date had gone by. Still, in this the latter part of March, there remained a trace of snow on the ground and March promised to go out like a lion instead of a lamb. Spring was several corners away.
Duchess, the English shepherd, was huddled next to her new kennel. At the sight of Cathie walking up the sidewalk, she rose to a crouching sit, her tail tucked between her legs and her head lowered near to the ground as if the chain attached to her collar weighed too heavily on her neck. The forlornly sad eyes watched Cathie's approach.
"How was your day, Duchess?" Cathie asked brightly, trying to ignore the woebegone expression on the dog's face but not succeeding. "I'm sorry I have to tie you up, pretty lady, but you keep running away if I don't."
There was the teeniest wagging of the feathery red, gold and white tail at the soothing sound of Cathie's voice. As the chain hook was unsnapped the wagging increased, although Duchess remained subdued, attaching herself to Cathie's heels to follow her inside the house. There, the shepherd went immediately to the hallway rug where she could keep an eye on all of the comings and goings of the household occupants and especially her beloved new mistress.
Neither of Cathie's two roommates were home yet. Connie Murchison worked in the local bank while Andrea "Andy" Parker was a dental assistant. Since Cathie was usually always the first one home, she prepared their evening meal during the week and the other girls took the responsibility during the weekends. She was in the middle of mixing a meat loaf when Andy burst through the door.
"Oh, there you are, Cathie!" she cried exuberantly, her cap of dark hair ruffled by the brisk wind outside. "You'll never guess who I met today!" In the midst of taking off her brown corduroy parka, she glanced over Cathie's shoulder. "What's for supper tonight? Ummm, meat loaf. Baked potatoes, too? Oh, with gobs of butter and sour cream," Andy groaned. "And just imagine all the calories! Not everybody is like you, Cathie, and can eat anything they want and not gain an ounce of weight."
"You could eat the baked potato with butter and not sour cream or vice versa," Cathie laughed. Andy was on a perpetual diet in a losing battle to combat her tendency toward overweight.
"I could," Andy agreed, lifting her shoulders in a characteristic acceptance of fate, "but potatoes taste so much better with both."
"What are you doing home so early? It isn't even five o'clock."
"Dr. Roland had a meeting of some kind, so he decided to close the office early. That reminds me, I started to tell you who I met today and we got sidetracked." Enthusiasm once more bubbled to the surface as Andy flung her coat on the chair and danced back to the sink to clean the potatoes for Cathie. "Dr. Roland sent me to the bank to make the deposit after work. When I walked into the bank I saw Connie talking to this gorgeous hunk of man. Naturally I went over there to say hello. You could tell she was absolutely furious with me, but she had to introduce me to him just the same. As luck would have it, the very second after she'd introduced us, old Mr. Hammer wanted to see Connie and I was left alone with him."
"Left alone with whom, Andy?" Amused exasperation curved Cathie's lips at her girl friend's uncanny ability to drag out explanations.
"With Robert Douglas." The way Andy made the pronouncement, Cathie expected a trumpet fanfare to blare from some hidden speaker in the room. During the brief span of seconds before Andy continued her recounting of her meeting, Cathie tried to place where she had heard the name before. "You know," Andy prompted at the blank look she was receiving, "the man who bought your grandparents' farm."
There was an instantaneous rise of antagonism inside Cathie. She had to halt her molding of the meat into a loaf for fear she would mash it into a pie. But Andy didn't pay any attention to the adverse reaction she had received, logically thinking that Cathie would be interested to hear about the new owner.
"He is a dream! He's tall, over six feet, and lean. He's got thick, wavy brown hair, the kind that you want to run your fingers through, and beautiful brown eyes that just make you melt when you look at him. And talk about a tan! He made ev
erybody look as if they'd been hibernating. Oh, and he was wearing this cashmere sweater that was out of this world. So was the physique it covered! My guess is that he's about thirty something, thirty-two or three probably. Another neat thing about him was his voice. It was low-pitched and quiet as if what he was saying was only meant for you to hear. I mean, it was really sexy."
"Are you sure you didn't forget something?" Cathie asked caustically, irritated by her friend's enthusiasm for this usurper of her family home.
"Yes!" Andy exclaimed with a gasp, as if she had forgotten the most important thing. "He had a scar. A little inch-long scar near the corner of his right eye. It makes him look sort of-" a dreamy expression crept into Andy's eyes "-rugged and masculine."
The oven door banged loudly shut after Cathie jammed in the meat loaf pan.
Andy handed her the potatoes neatly wrapped in aluminum foil. "Here, you can put these m the oven, too. Do you want to know something else I found out about him that's just absolutely rotten?"
Visions of bulldozers tearing down the farmhouse to make room for an ultramodern ranch home sprang immediately to mind. "What?" Cathie breathed, half afraid to hear the answer.
Andy sighed heavily, "He's married. The first really neat guy that moves into the area has to be married. Is that some kind of luck!"
The muscles that had tensed in anticipation of some shocking news relaxed and Cathie laughed in relief. "You didn't just come right out and ask him that, did you?"
A suitably injured expression appeared on the dark-haired girl's face. "I'm not totally lacking in tact, Cathie. Besides-" an impish grin spread over her face "-he had a little boy with him who kept calling him father. I just reasoned it out that where there was a daddy and a little boy, there had to be a mommy."
"That wouldn't necessarily follow. He could be divorced or a widower." Now why had she said that, Cathie wondered to herself.
"Wouldn't that be wonderful if he was eligible!" Andy clasped her hands together in glee. "Not that it would bother Connie if he was married or not. She's terribly unscrupulous when it comes to good-looking men, and Rob Douglas was one handsome male! Which reminds me, you'll probably meet him yourself. He's enrolling his boy in school here. Naturally I mentioned that my roommate, meaning you, was a teacher and also the granddaughter of the former owners of his farm."
