Maple Dale (Maple Dale Series)

by MaryAnn Myers

  All of us liked Leah, because she made us feel special in spite of our mistakes. She was always telling you when you did good and you knew she meant it. Because when you did bad she told you that too. That's the way she was.

  I've heard these past few weeks that she was nothing but a lonely woman, but I don't think that's true. I'm not saying that I think she was happy being alone, just like I'm not happy that I stutter. But sometimes there's nothing you can do about it. One time I asked her about her saddle and why she didn't have knee rolls or a forward seat, and she laughed. I can close my eyes and see her laughing. She said she preferred things simple. The finest quality, but simple. Then she said something that I didn't really understand then but I think I understand now. She said she liked things plain, because it was what she did best.

  I don't know if Leah had a personal life, because she never talked about it. Maple Dale was her life. And if it's possible, I hope we can make sure Maple Dale never forgets her. I know I'll never will. I miss her. I wish she was still here.

  Love,

  Bethann

  Richard stared down at the letter through eyes filled with tears, and whispered thanks for a daughter so precious, and a second chance. Then he folded the letter, and tucked it safely away in his top drawer.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Leah stood up to brush off her shirt and breeches, convinced she'd been resting a long time, and couldn't understand why she was still tired. Her hands were dirty, her boots scuffed and muddy. She couldn't find Shad. She couldn't find her home. And she couldn't find the horses. She knew she was right in the middle of the Maple Dale cross country course, yet she felt lost.

  She sat back down and ran her hands over the moist grass, her fingers spread through the lush clover. The dampness felt tingly, inviting her to lie down, to nestle, to feel it all over. She raised her arms above her head and back down to her sides, again and again, then rolled over and brushed her lips against the dew. Her fingernails were anchored deeply into the soil, when suddenly her mood changed. She watched an ant make its way through the grass, carrying a fly three times its size. It climbed up and over and never once veered from its course. She envied it. It knew exactly where it was going. Exactly. It was going where it came from. Why an ant and not her? Why not her? She edged away from it and rolled onto her back, raised her fists to the sky, and cried out.

  * * *

  Bill paced back and forth between Christine and Walter's desks, pausing only to look out into the arena every so often at the idle equipment and shake his head, before starting up again. Walter was perched on the top bench of the bleachers, with his elbows on his knees and chin in his hands.

  "Let's go for a walk," Christine suggested.

  "What?" Bill looked at her like she was crazy. Walter did too.

  "Come on, it'll do us some good," she said. "I haven't seen all of the northwest corner and now seems as good a time as any."

  "I don't feel like walking," Walter grumbled.

  Bill stopped only to nod in agreement before pacing on, but Christine persisted. "It's not as if we have other things to do. Besides, when this is all settled, we won't have time for these luxuries. Think about it. And I'll bet there's all sorts of qualities you could point out that I can use to help sell some of those lots." She was repeating what Walter had said to her just the other day, on purpose, and it worked.

  "All right, let's do it." He jumped down off the bleachers and they both turned to Bill.

  He shook his head. "I've seen it all."

  "Not with us you haven't," Christine said, amazed by her own tenacity. "Come on. Humor us."

  Why not? This standing around was getting to him. They all headed toward the door. "Who knows?" Christine said. "Maybe we'll see the cat."

  Walter grabbed Bill by the arm when he turned on his heels, tugging him along, and the three of them were laughing as they started out. About a hundred yards or so up the trail though, they heard a noise. A howling sound, as if the wind had been given a mournful voice. And just as abruptly, their laughter ceased.

  "What was that?" Christine gasped.

  "Someone crying," was Walter's guess.

  Bill said it sounded like a cat in heat.

  It was anybody's guess. Whatever it was, managed to stop three adults of above average intelligence, dead in their tracks in broad daylight. When they heard it again, Christine backed up and took cover behind Bill, jokingly at first, but with her heart pounding in her ears.

  "Jesus..." Walter chuckled to try to make light of it as well, but his pitch was too high and he sounded giddy instead. "I've never heard anything like that in my life. Have you?"

  Bill shook his head and glanced over his shoulder at Christine, who was staring up at him wide-eyed. "No, but let's go see what it is," he said, already moving in that direction.

  Walter's mouth dropped. "What? You want to what? You of all people with all your talk about strange?"

  Bill laughed. "Strange ain't strange unless you see it's strange," he said. And with that, he changed his voice, imitating an old Cajun. "My momma tole me don't be messin' with them spirits, cause if they see you, they gonna get you."

  Walter laughed. "So why do you want to go check it out then?"

  "Because that I gets from my daddy. My ole man would check it out, yes sah! He would, uh huh, yes sah!"

  "Oh? Your old man was brave, huh?" Walter said.

  Bill shook his head. "No, jiss crazy."

  Christine laughed now too, but funny as Bill's antics were, she was giving some thought to turning around and heading straight back to the arena. But then they heard the noise again and she decided she didn't want to be alone. Tagging along, she stayed so close to Bill she practically clipped his heels each time he stopped to look around and listen.

  They walked on for some time without hearing it again though, and after a while, grew rather very quiet themselves. The Maple Dale grounds were captivating, so captivating, that now whenever they spoke it was in praise of the hills of clover, and the apple orchards, and the peach trees, and the majestic hardwoods. Most of the trees had to be at least fifty years old, and stood proud, waving and fluttering their leafy fingers.

  When they came upon a large willow, where beckoned an old park bench, they sat down to rest and were tucked in by large branching arms that responded gently to the slightest whim and breeze. Christine gazed out over the cross country course and in her mind, recalled Bethann's first show. Was she ready? Yes. Leah said she was. She remembered how nervous she and Richard were for her. She and Richard were still together then. Bethann was petrified.

  "Take a deep breath," she could hear Leah telling her. "Take a deep breath. Keep your head. Make like you're doing it for practice. And go out there and do it right."

  Bethann placed third that day to two seasoned veterans. As parents, she and Richard couldn't have been prouder. But their pride paled in comparison to Leah's reaction. "I knew you could to it," she told Bethann. "I knew it." And if she said it once, she must have said it again at least ten more times. "I knew it."

  "What the hell?" Bill said, staring straight ahead.

  Walter and Christine turned. "What?"

  "There!" Bill pointed, then stood and walked across an area that had been cleared for a road. Walter and Christine followed, puzzled even more then when he stopped in front of a tiny tree, an oak seedling about two feet tall.

  "This wasn't here yesterday," he said.

  What? The tree? Walter frowned. "Maybe it was buried and just worked its way back up."

  Bill glanced at him. "Yeah right. And when it popped up, it patted all that dirt down around itself too." He shook his head. "I don't believe this. Someone planted it."

  No doubt about it. Even Christine agreed. But why? What on earth for? Bill bent down and touched it gently with his fingertips. "This is getting really weird."

  Walter nodded and looked around. "Probably some conservation nut."

  Bill counted the branches, eight, and all healthy. "Yeah, wel
l whoever it is, has to know we can't leave it here."

  "Maybe not," Walter said. "Maybe they don't know anything at all. You might as well yank it out."

  Bill sighed, gazing at the little twig of a tree, then shook his head and stood up slowly. "I'll come back later and plant it over there." He motioned to a wooded area just beyond them and was looking for a good spot, when all of a sudden his expression changed. "What the...?"

  Christine and Walter turned. "What now?"

  "There!" Bill pointed. "The grass. What does that look like?"

  It came to both Walter and Christine at the same time, but it was Christine who answered. "If this were winter and the ground was snow covered, I'd say it was a snow angel."

  Bill nodded. That's exactly what he thought it looked like. "This is great," he said. "Just great. We got us a goofball roaming the woods around here planting trees and making snow angels in the grass. What next?"

  * * *

  "Klaus Bukener here to see you, Mr. Morrison."

  Richard glanced at his watch. "Send him in." Klaus was nineteen minutes late, and worse, hadn't called to offer an apology or excuse. When they shook hands, Richard motioned to a chair.

  "It's good you agreed to see me," Klaus said.

  Richard nodded noncommittally.

  "Nice office."

  Richard nodded again. Christine had taken a lot of pride several years back in decorating it. She had exquisite taste, and had perceived a trend for muted pastels being declared masculine as well as feminine, long before it became vogue.

  "Mind if I smoke?"

  Richard motioned for him to go ahead, and while he lit up, took a good long look at him. He hadn't liked Klaus the first time they met, and lately, liked him even less. He was overweight and unkempt, and always gave the impression of having something more important to do. The stubby cigar that dangled from his mouth seemed a fitting summation.

  The intercom buzzed. Richard pushed down on the broadcast button. "Yes?"

  "Mr. Kirk is on line one. He's confirming his appointment for three today. Shall I set him back?"

  Richard looked at his watch. "No, keep it as it is."

  "All right, I wasn't sure," his secretary said. "What with the late start with Mr. Bukener."

  "Three's fine," Richard said, staring at Klaus to make a point, and with that out of the way. "What can I do for you, Klaus?"

  Richard had his own reasons for agreeing to see him, but wanted to know what was on Klaus's mind first.

  "My father wished for a continuation of the equestrian program," Klaus said, puffing on the cigar. "He didn't demand it. He didn't stipulate it."

  When Richard reached for his tape recorder to adjust the volume, Klaus paused, then continued, obviously annoyed. "So let's cut through all the malarkey. Are you for the project or against it? Because if you're for it, and I suspect you are, considering your wife's involvement, then we ought to be moving ahead."

  Richard hesitated. "I don't believe we can do that. As you know, I haven't even read Leah Oliver's will yet."

  "What? Jesus!" Klaus said, in an instant huff and spraying saliva down the front of his suit. "Three goddamned lawyers in on this thing, and no one knows what's going on! What the hell have you been doing?"

  Richard's eyes hardened, but he spoke softly. "What I do with my time is no concern of yours."

  "You're right. I'm sorry," Klaus said quickly. "But surely you're aware that all this legal lolly-gagging could very well ruin this project."

  Richard smiled caustically. "Yes, I am. Which is the reason I agreed to meet with you today. It seems there's a document missing from Leah Oliver's personal possessions."

  "So?"

  "So..." Richard said, purposely looking distracted now while fidgeting with his pen. "Until we can locate it, her bequests can't be administered."

  Klaus shifted his weight in another huff. "It wasn't her will."

  "No, that's obvious, since Mr. Howell has it." Richard leaned forward, appearing to adjust the volume on his recorder again. He looked at Klaus. "You wouldn't happen to know where this document might be, would you?"

  "Me?" Klaus's forehead started to shine with perspiration. "Why me?" he sputtered, launching a spray of spit balls across the top of Richard's desk. "Why are you asking me that?"

  Richard reached for a tissue and wiped his desk, leaving Klaus with nothing to do but stew, and stew some more, until he finally looked up. "Without the document, Klaus," he said, "we can't move ahead."

  "Why? What could be that goddamned important?"

  "I don't know. Your guess is as good as mine." Richard glanced at his watch, then stood up and extended his hand. "But nevertheless, until we locate it, we're at a virtual standstill."

  * * *

  The more Bill and Christine and Walter talked about it, the more sense it made. What they were dealing with was probably just an eccentric conservationist, not unlike the ones who complained about the Century Home being destroyed. By the time they got back down to the arena, they were feeling pretty sure about it. At least it was a tangible explanation.

  As they rounded the corner, Bill saw a cat dart into the barn. "Quick!" He motioned for Walter to go around back, he'd take the front. Christine was to watch to see if it came out. It didn't. And after a while of hearing, "Kitty, kitty, here kitty, kitty," in baritone and bass, she wanted to laugh. Here they were, the three of them, with seemingly nothing better to do than chase a cat. How ironic, compared to yesterday's hectic schedule.

  Then everything fell quiet, the barn door opened, and there stood Bill and Walter. Empty-handed.

  "What good are we?" Christine said, and burst out laughing. She couldn't help herself. And soon, Bill and Walter were laughing with her. When they'd finally run down and were all dabbing at their eyes, Bill looked back into the barn and sobered instantly.

  "Okay..." he said, "Now explain that."

  Christine turned to look. "What?"

  "That!" Bill said, pointing to the blackboard.

  Christine and Walter followed him inside. "It's the blacksmith's list," Christine said. "Why?"

  Persian Son - Thrown Shoe

  Plisky One - All Four

  Damsel - All Four

  Handsome Sam - Pads & Reset

  Bill swallowed hard. "These names weren't here before."

  Christine's face went blank. "What do you mean?"

  "I mean, this board was empty. I cleaned it myself weeks ago."

  "Then who...?"

  Bill stared, just shaking his head. Good question.

  Who?

  A cold breeze swept through the barn, one that chilled Christine to the bone.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Klaus couldn't imagine which of Leah's papers was responsible for delaying the processing of her will, but rushed home in a frenzy to gather them up. He also couldn't imagine why his father had gone to such lengths to screw up his life, even after his death.

  Actually, they'd never gotten along. Not like fathers and sons should. Why should now be any different? By all accounts, Klaus did care about his mother, but she died twenty years earlier from an inoperable brain tumor, taking with her the only real sense of family he'd ever had. His father never remarried, though Klaus knew for a fact that he always kept some whores comfortable and waiting in the cities he frequented on business. Because of this, Klaus had prepared himself for the surfacing of some bastard trying to lay claim to his father's holdings. It just never occurred to him, that of all people, Leah would be the one.

  It wasn't quite dusk when he arrived at Maple Dale. His plan was to put the papers in a conspicuous spot in Leah's old office so that tomorrow he could show up, find them, and look surprised. He parked his car well past the barn and out of sight just in case, took the back way, and headed for the arena. A stiff breeze weaved through the trees around him with hushed sounds, whispering sounds, as the large sugar maple, singed from the burning of the Century Home, bowed sinisterly.

  A wave of anxiety came over him, n
ot unlike the others he'd been experiencing. He tried to shrug it off by walking bravely, marching actually. Double time. Hut two, hut two. When he reached the office door, he heard a noise behind him, and turned quickly. Nothing. It was the arena, its rafters creaking and moaning. Breathing. It sounded like breathing, inhaling and exhaling. In and out. In and out.

  He couldn't stand it and tried to run, but his legs refused to move. He tried to scream, but had no voice. He screamed and screamed in silence. Panicking. He looked at his feet and then the ground. It seemed to be breathing too. Up and down. Up and down.

  Off in the distance two lights appeared, growing larger and more intense with every passing second. A gust of wind knocked him against the building and almost off his feet. He let go of the bundle of documents to grab the door handle for balance, and gasped as the papers soared into the air.

  Suddenly he could move again and ran to his car, with barely enough time to get down the other side of the hill before another car pulled up and parked next to the arena.

  Richard turned the engine off and looked around. Christine thought she'd seen a car by the barn as they'd started up, but she'd obviously been mistaken. Probably just her imagination, she told herself, an excuse to leave. After all, when Bethann suggested they ride out and look for the cat again, it's not as if she really wanted to be a party to this. Not after today.

  She'd tried earlier to tell Richard about all that had happened this morning, but Bethann was always present, and she ended up only telling them about the snow angel. Coming back at night was the last thing she wanted to do. But for Bethann's sake...