They walked toward the stairwell in silence and Ford could only imagine what they were thinking. When they got to the bottom of the steps, his mother said, “Oh. Dan’s son D.J.’s been using your old room, dear, so we moved you to another suite. I hope it’s all right.”
“It’s fine, Ma. Any room that has a bed and a bathroom with a working shower is more than fine,” he assured her.
“There really isn’t another room in the family wing, since Diana has Lucy’s old room. We needed to keep Dan’s children together, and …”
“Ma, don’t worry about it.”
“I saved a special room for you.” Dan took Ford’s bags from his brother’s hands. “Overlooks the bay, has a sitting room and a bedroom. Nice fireplace, one of the few rooms that has its own balcony …”
“Captain Tom’s old room?” Ford paused on the step.
“Yup.”
Ford grinned. “I always wanted to sleep in that room.”
“I thought you’d like it.” Dan grinned back.
“Dan, don’t you think the room just around the corner from our suite might be more appropriate?” Grace frowned and gave her eldest son a look of clear disapproval.
“Nah. You heard Ford. He wants that room.” Dan continued up the steps.
“Ford,” Grace called from the bottom of the steps. When he turned, she said, “That room might have a few”—she cleared her throat—“cold spots. You might be more comfortable sleeping in a different room.”
“ ‘Cold spots’ is Mom’s shorthand for ‘uninvited guests,’ if you get my drift,” Dan whispered loud enough for their mother to hear.
“Daniel, you know there have been reports …” Grace waved her hands in defeat. “Oh, never mind.”
“Ma, you still think that the old captain is hanging around?” Ford laughed. “Dan used to try to scare me with that old tale about how the old man never left the building and how he haunts his old room.” He winked at Grace. “I don’t scare quite as easily anymore. But I’ll tell you what. If Tom shows up, I’ll be sure to get an interview for the Gazette. Can’t promise a photo, though …”
He took the steps two at a time to catch up to Dan, who’d already reached the second-floor landing.
“You remember the way?” Dan asked.
“Sure. End of this hall, take a right and go to the end. Last door on the left. I used to sneak in there every chance I got. Never did see the captain, though.”
“I think that was something Mom made up to keep us from going out onto that balcony and falling off.” Dan made the turn onto the side corridor and Ford followed.
“It wouldn’t surprise me. She and Dad had any number of crazy stories about their ancestors. Tom was, what, Great-granny Hunt’s maternal grandfather?”
“Something like that. I know he went back about four generations.” Dan handed one of the bags off to Ford so he could search his pockets for the key to the room. “Sea captain, had a whole fleet of ships at one time. Rumored to have been a Union spy during the Civil War. Smuggled slaves north in his ships.”
“That’s his portrait downstairs in the library, isn’t it?” Ford asked.
“Used to be. Now he’s hanging right over the fireplace in here.” Dan fitted the key into the lock and gave the door knob a good twist. The door swung open silently.
The two men entered the suite through a short hall that led to a sitting room with a brick fireplace over which hung the ancestor in question.
“Ah, there’s the old guy.” Ford stood with his hands on his hips. “Good to see you again, old man.”
The portrait’s dark eyes seemed to be looking back at them as they entered the room.
“I’m sure he’s happy to see you again, too.” Dan went past him into the bedroom. “There’s only a light blanket on the bed, but if you need something else, just let housekeeping know. It’s been pretty hot lately, and even though we have central air these days, this part of the building doesn’t seem to cool off quite as well as some of the others.”
“Central air, huh? So much for Ma’s cold spots.” Ford followed Dan into the bedroom where an old poster bed stood directly opposite a pair of French doors. Ford crossed the room to open them, stepped out onto the balcony, and inhaled deeply. “Ah, the Chesapeake. Nothing smells quite like it.”
“Be grateful we had this end of the marsh dredged last year, or you’d be smelling something else entirely.”
Ford laughed. “Hey, that marshy smell is a big part of one of my fondest childhood memories.”
“Yeah, you and that buddy of yours …”
“Luke Boyer.”
“Yeah, him. I remember the two of you used to spend hours out there and come home covered in mud and mosquito bites.”
“Tracking nutrias. Never caught any—never really wanted to. The fun was all in the hunt.”
“You’d find the hunting not as good these days. Nutrias have been mostly eradicated in this area. I’d like to get my hands on the guy who thought it would be a good idea to raise those nasty little things.” Dan stood in the doorway, his hands on his hips.
“I don’t think anyone expected them to get loose. I think it was someone’s get-rich-quick scheme. Raise the animals, sell them for their pelts. Just didn’t turn out that way.”
“They created chaos in the marsh here a few years ago before the town found a way to control them. Furry little bastards ate through large sections of the wetlands, cleared out whole areas of bulrush, cordgrass, cattails—you name it, they ate it. Big loss of habitat for a lot of wildlife. You take out the native grasses, the sediment erodes, and the native plant populations suffer.”
Ford walked to the end of the balcony and looked across the vast lawn to the wetlands his brother was going on and on about. He knew all about the nutria and the damage the population had done in changing the face of the wetlands. He was well acquainted with the many ways that outside forces could change a place.
He could have told Dan how the long bloody wars had changed the face of emerging African nations, but what, he asked himself, would be the point? Besides, the last thing he wanted to do right at that moment was to look back at the devastation he’d left behind when he’d boarded the helicopter outside Bangui in the Central African Republic. There were so many rebel groups battling the government forces—rebel groups themselves—it had become impossible to know for certain who was shooting at whom. As the member of a small, covert team whose job it was to protect remote villages from being preyed upon by any of the rebel militias, Ford had witnessed the kind of horrors that were the stuff of nightmares. Being here, in this peaceful place, was almost jarring to his senses.
“So, you ready to head downstairs and see if we’ve exaggerated about our chef?” Dan asked from the doorway.
“Think I could grab a quick shower and change my clothes first?” After having traveled nonstop for the past forty-eight hours—including a debriefing in McLean, Virginia, just that morning—Ford was a little road weary.
“Sure thing. Just come down to the lobby when you’re ready.” Dan started toward the door. He glanced back over his shoulder and said, “I guess it must be great to be back after all those years living in those foreign places.”
“Yeah. It’s great to be back.”
“I’ll see you downstairs.” Dan closed the door behind him.
Ford stood in the middle of the small sitting room, taking in the papered walls that surrounded him and the cushy carpet under his feet, the comfortable-looking sofa and chairs. He went into the bathroom and stared at the clean white tiles and the gleaming glass shower. There were fluffy towels on a chrome shelf and a new bar of soap in a porcelain dish on the counter next to the sink. He picked up the soap and inhaled its light pine scent. The everyday things he’d once taken for granted were now luxuries that he’d only dreamed about. He turned on the hot water and let it run through his fingertips.
After where he’d been, home seemed like the most foreign place of all.
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At the River’s Edge Page 34
