“I asked Charlie if he’d mentioned you and the kid to the guy, the fact that you were sort of isolated down here in this little hollow, and he denied it. Said the guy hadn’t asked about you at all, so he figured he’d never met you.”
“Why did you wonder if you asked about me… Us?”
“Well, because of the way he buddied right up to the kid sort of right after he bought the Anderson place. I thought maybe he had some ulterior motive.”
“What ulterior motive could there be befriending a little boy who happens to live on an adjoining property?”
“Oh, Ellie. Come on! You read the papers don’t you? Watch television?”
Eleanor snorted in disdain. She couldn’t help it. What Grant was suggesting was ludicrous, at least as applied to David. “You’re paranoid!”
“Now just a minute,” Grant protested. “Don’t take that attitude with me. It has happened, you know, and the man did act suspiciously. After he found out about your dad, and that Bill was farming the place, he started asking about other properties in the district, implying he was in the market. Charlie told him about the Anderson place, that it had been listed for years and no one seemed to want it. He got really pleased looking, Charlie said, and went off to see Rick Forrest. Charlie got the rest of the story from Katie, Rick’s secretary.”
The realtor wouldn’t be happy if heard about that, Eleanor thought, but raised her eyebrows in encouragement for Grant to go on.
“That Davidson fellow went away for a few days then came back and bought the Anderson place from Rick. Ellie, he paid cash, or, at least with a cashier’s check. For the full amount.”
Eleanor knew that must gall Grant, because for years he had lamented the fact the price on the Anderson farm was too high for him to afford. Not that he wanted a farm as such. What he wanted was property. For a golf course? She had a fleeting thought about organizing a protest march with placards reading “Grow Food, Not Egos!” and parading through town. The notion made her smile.
“What’s the joke?” Grant snapped.
“You make it sound almost illegal to pay cash, and in full.” Eleanor knew she was being nasty, playing like this with Grant, but unable to stop.
“Not illegal, no, but the man being in a position to pay out that kind of cash”—it was a dirty word the way Grant said it—“has to make you wonder, doesn’t it, just where that cash came from? That place didn’t go cheap. Rick said that’s why he’d had on his books were so long, and he was so happy to get rid of it he didn’t ask any questions and even gave the man a deal, as well, by cutting his own commission rate in half.”
Rick Forrest had obviously fallen in Grant’s estimation. “He claims the guy didn’t so much as try to dicker. Rick just called old lady Anderson’s granddaughter, told her there’d been an offer, and she said “Take it.” She didn’t dicker, either.” He spread his hands in disbelief, and continued.
“Not only did Davidson have the cash to pay for the place when he came back, but he’d gotten rid of the flashy car, the expensive clothes, and showed up again in a used truck, with a camper on the back. He’d dressed down, wore work clothes. Charlie says, and he’s a pretty shrewd judge of character, there’s something funny in all that. First, the guy throws money around like he has a tree in of it the backyard, then all of a sudden pulls in his horns and begins to live almost like a tramp. Charlie thought maybe the guy figured he was making too big a splash and scared himself, decided to lie low for a few months.”
“Lie low?” Eleanor knew quite well what Grant was getting at but took pleasure in poking secret fun at him, just as David had the other day. Why am I acting like this? I was furious with David did the same thing… Wasn’t I?
“Yes. Lie low,” Grant repeated. “When a man comes into a new district, saying nothing of himself, like where he’s from, what his line of work is, and asks questions about who’s alive and who’s not, and buys a secluded farm with no really near neighbors—you’re the nearest, Ellie, and you’re separated from him by the hill and the woodlot, unless you want to drive around five miles of the big bend in the highway—Where was I? Oh, yes, well when a man does all that, and all of a sudden begins acting like an itinerant laborer, no one could be blamed for thinking he’d come by all his cash dishonestly and was maybe planning to get some more of it just as dishonestly.”
“Oh! Maybe he’s a counterfeiter? Or a bank robber? Is that what you’re thinking?”
“It wasn’t me thinking those things, Ellie. You don’t need to be sarcastic. It was Charlie,” Grant said in a huffy tone.
“But you must’ve agreed with him, Grant, or you wouldn’t have come prepared to throw David”—she coughed—“son, out of my house.” She deliberately stressed the pronoun. The picture of Grant doing that to David was ludicrous, too funny to contemplate. She pushed it out of her mind.
“Well…” Said Grant reluctantly, “it did seem a bit odd, I mean after Charlie pointed it all out to me. I started worrying about you. And the kid, of course.”
“Of course,” Eleanor murmured dryly.
“You show so little sense, Ellie. You knew nothing at all about the man, yet you’ve been letting the kid hang around with him all this time, even let the man come into your home when you were sick.”
“But if you’ll remember, I thought he was an imaginary friend, until he did come into my home, and at that point, I was too sick to do any arguing about it.”
“But you let him stay, Ellie, when I offered you a nurse to replace him. What kind of sense does that make?”
“None at all, Grant, I guess, except that… he’s my husband.”
“Of course none all— He’s your what?
“My husband. David Jefferson,” she replied baldly.
“Christ! What do we do now?”
“I don’t know, Grant. I honestly don’t know what I’m going to do. I was sitting here trying to figure that out when you came. I let you go on telling me about him in the hopes that it would give me some clues about him.”
Grant lurched to his feet, strode to the liquor cabinet—which he had stocked for her, or rather for himself, really, not liking her scant offering of wines—poured a stiff rye and drank it down straight. He poured another, then looked over at Eleanor. “Want one?” She shook her head. She hated whiskey of any kind and he knew it.
“I’ll get you some ice,” she said and took her time the kitchen to give Grant a few minutes to pull himself together. I should’ve led up to somehow, she berated herself. I shouldn’t have just blurted it out like that. But he made me so mad suggesting all those terrible things about David.
She returned and gave Grant the glass with three ice cubes bobbing in the whiskey. He took it without thanks and sat back down. “Well,” he said again, “what do we do now?”
“I don’t see as how there’s anything you need to do, Grant, and I’ve already told you I don’t know at this point what my plans are.”
“Why? Why in God’s name did he come back after all this time?”
“I guess, because he wanted to. He says, because he loves me.”
“Where has he been?”
“In South America, as far as I know.”
“Why did he stay away so long… He obviously wasn’t dead.”
Eleanor’s silence was eloquent and Grant went on more quietly. “Ellie, have you asked him any of those questions?”
“Yes.”
“And he didn’t tell you?”
“No.”
“Then what are we doing sitting here like this? Hell, he’s probably a Colombian drug lord. You’ve got to divorce him, Ellie. You simply must, now.”
“Not at ten o’clock in the evening, Grant,” she replied wearily. “I have to think it out.”
“There can’t be anything to think about,” he yelled.
She hushed him. “My son is sleeping.”
“Ellie,” he went on, though he did lower his voice, “listen to me. If he won’t even tell you where he’s been, why h
e stayed away, then you can’t still want him.”
“Can’t I?” she asked bitterly.
“No, of course you can’t!” Grant said, his tone that of a man who knew what was best for her. “You may think you do, and it’s understandable—he’s been your dream for all these years, but dream time’s over, Ellie. Face facts. If he had loved you, he would have returned. I’ve invested four years of my time waiting for you and I’m damned if I’ll sit still and let him have you back after the way he’s treated you. What he’s done is the most reprehensible thing a man can do. He walked out on you when you were pregnant, and then when he decided to come back, he made up to the kid first so you wouldn’t have a leg to stand on. After all, what Philip wants, Philip gets.”
“Now hold on, Grant. I have never given my son everything he ever wants. He’s not spoiled as you would have everyone believe. You are the only person in the world he’s failed to take to, and that’s your fault. As far as I’m concerned, Grant, this is the best moment to tell you that I will not be giving the slightest thought to marrying you. Not now, not ever, regardless of what happens between David and me.”
Grant, forgetting germs, measles, forgetting even his duty to the traveling public, moved with bulldog determination to Eleanor, caught her under the arms and lifted her to her feet, holding her with bruising fingers. His face was but an inch from hers as he grated, “You don’t mean that. You’re just annoyed because you know I’m right about how you give that damn kid what he wants, not what’s good for him. I won’t take no for an answer, Ellie. You are my woman and don’t you forget it. You had what…? A few months with that man? I’ve invested four years waiting for you and your farm to be mine, Ellie, and—”
“My farm?”
He looked momentarily taken aback, as if he hadn’t meant to say that, but plunged on. “Yes, damn you, your farm. You know I’ve had my eye on it for some time. I do want you. Of course I do. You’re a good-looking woman and will make a good hostess for me. You’re not stupid and can carry on intelligent conversation. I’ve always liked that about you.”
“Well, thanks so much for that,” she said, trying to jerk away. He reeked of alcohol. “But the farm is more important, by the sound of it.”
“Not more important, but equally so. I’ve wanted you and it for a long time. Property is of vast importance to a businessman looking to expand and that farm is prime property.”
“That farm is in the Agricultural Land Reserve.”
“You think there aren’t ways to get around little snags like that? Believe me, nothing like that would hold me back.”
“Except the fact that I hold title to the farm,” she reminded him, her voice taut, her head beginning to ache again.
“Once we’re married, of course the farm will become community property and as I said, I can put that land to much better use than dairy-farming and growing a truck garden. Oh, you won’t suffer financially in the deal. I’ll see to that. I’ll give you everything any woman could possibly want, but I have plans to raze that old house and build another tourist destination along with the golf course, a—”
“Grant! Listen to what are you saying! How much did you have to drink before you came here?”
“I’ve said none of this because I had a few drinks. I’ve said it because it had to be said. Because you needed to hear it. You are a fool if you think that husband of yours has come back for any reasons to do with you. Wherever he was, he must have had to run. Run from the law somewhere—probably a Third World banana republic we don’t won’t let extradite him because they have the death penalty and we don’t.”
“You have absolutely no reason to think or to say that. And whatever decision I make about David will be between him and me.”
“That’s what you think. I have ways to find out where he’s been and what he’s been up to and why he’s come back. Believe me, I will find them and I don’t think you’ll like what I find. I don’t think you’ll want your son to grow up knowing whatever I discover about his father. And since your precious little boy is more important to you than anything else in the world, I believe you’ll protect him—even from knowledge about his father’s past activities.
“So, my sweet little innocent Eleanor, unless you want darling Philip hurt, you’ll give up any idea of going back to that crook.”
“Are you threatening me?”
“I don’t make threats, Ellie, I make promises. And when I make a promise, I keep it. I’ll give you one week to make up your mind.” He shook her once then shoved her hard back into her chair and strode off into the night.
~ * ~
The weekend was long and dismal for Eleanor. Her son and the puppy spent every waking hour with David and she was left to recover her strength by sitting in the rose arbor brooding. The dull hum of the bees droning in the scented air, the warmth of the late June sun and the residue of weakness from her days in bed made any profound thoughts difficult to hold onto.
She worried over her conversation with Grant on the Friday evening. Did owe him something for the four years he’d “invested” in her as he put it, and if so, what? Consideration, respect? She’d thought she did until he’d let slip that the farm had been as important to him as she herself, so no, she owed him nothing. Nada. Zilch! But, on the other hand, did she owe David consideration? Respect? She did not know yet her heart told her she owed David to Philip. Her son deserved the father whom he loved above everything, herself included, she sometimes thought, even if the child did not know that man he called Jeff was his father. He would have to know sooner or later.
Something else Grant had mentioned a while back popped into her mind. Philip, in what seemed like a horrifyingly short time, would be leaving her. If she continued to find it impossible to accept David back on his terms, then she was in for a good many long, lonely years. These thoughts, and more like them, kept her company all weekend, except for a brief spell on Sunday afternoon when she moved out to the shade of an apple tree in the small orchard near the cottage. David, determined, it seemed, to go on making improvements on the place which he’d claimed needed a man’s attention, was cutting the long grass with a scythe.
The grass under the trees was in deplorable condition, Eleanor had to admit. She hadn’t trimmed it since early spring when it first began to stand up again grow tall after its winter snow-cover. She sat and watched David working with her father’s old scythe, making steady progress in neat swaths from tree to tree. It was the sweet scent of the newly mown grass that brought the lump to her throat, she thought, not the sight of the smooth muscles rippling under David’s darkly tanned skin, or the sight of her son working sturdily beside him. Philip was using a sickle—a tool she’d kept well out of his reach—but he was using it carefully, trimming near the trunks of trees were David could not go with the longer blade. Clearly, David had taught him how, which was what she would have done—in three or four years, maybe.
While they worked, David talked to the boy. “Take it easy, sport. Slow and easy. If you take gouges out of the bark it hurts the trees.”
“Will they bleed? Do trees have blood?”
“In a way. It’s called sap and they need it just like we need blood. It’s what keeps them alive.”
Philip looked worried. “That tree I nicked, is it going to die now?”
“No, silly.” David laughed, wiping the worried look from Philip’s face. “Do you die from a little cut on your finger?”
“No, but I hurt.”
“The same with the trees. Cut them a little, and they hurt a little. Cut them right down, and they die.”
“But Jeff! What about the trees we cut down to make the cabin, they all died!” The boy was near to tears and Eleanor made a move to go to him. For the first time, David acknowledged her presence. He waved a hand at her to keep out of this.
He leaned his scythe up on a tree, took the sickle from Philip and led him to the shady spot near, but not very near Eleanor. She felt hurt, unaccountably left out, as David beg
an talking.
“Son, each kind of tree has a different kind of use. And I believe each tree knows it.” Conviction rang in his tones. “The ones we cut down to make the cabin knew they were meant to grow tall and strong and straight so they could be turned into houses and furniture, just like these trees here”—he gestured to the fruit trees—“know they were meant to stand here in the sun and grow apples and plums and pears and apricots for us to eat. Maple trees make big leaves to give us shade, and in the colder parts of the country, give a special sap to makes that good syrup you like on your hotcakes. The dogwoods know their purpose on earth is to grow those white flowers just to look pretty and give people pleasure. So don’t feel badly about the trees we cut down to make the cabin; they like being part of a home for people to live in.”
“Just like Christmas trees don’t mind being put in a house and decorated? Mom read me a book about a little tree nobody wanted. We always get a tree like that, so it won’t feel left out.”
“That’s a kind thing to do for the skinny little trees that might feel left out. But me, I’d have a living Christmas tree, instead. A living Christmas tree grows in a big pot and you can take in the house for a few days and decorate just like the kind you cut down. But then, after Christmas, you put it back outside so it can grow some more.”
“Do you have a Christmas tree in a pot?”
“Uh, well, no. I haven’t had a Christmas tree since my parents died.”
“You don’t have a mom and a dad?”
“No, but I was twenty when they died, not a young’un like you. I just never bothered with a Christmas tree since then, but if I ever do again, it will be a living one. When it grows too big for its pot, it can get planted and I can dig up another little tree, put it in a pot, and take it inside, instead.”
“That’s a neat idea, Jeff.” Philip grinned. “When we have a Christmas tree in our cabin, it’ll be a living tree, an’ it’ll know it’s meant to be a Christmas tree, and a real tree, too, right?”
“Right, son.”
A Father for Philip Page 15
