This Place: Holmes Crossing Book 3

by Carolyne Aarsen

  “I’m glad she had a good time.”

  "I'm a bit jealous," one woman said, setting her baby on her shoulder and patting its curved back, brushing a light kiss over its soft cheek. "Spending time on a sleigh ride with Holmes Crossing's most eligible bachelor. And best-looking."

  "Oh, Sandy. It's not like your Gerard is fish bait," one of the other girls teased.

  "He's not. I think he's majorly hot, but he's not eligible, now is he?" Sandy returned with a sly wink. "And Duncan, with his rugged good looks, is."

  I tried not to flush, thinking myself of Duncan's very appealing qualities.

  "I imagine taking care of Celia has turned your life upside down," Rita put in, saving me from myself. "What did you do back in Vancouver? Did you work full-time? Has it been hard to get away? Have you lived there long?"

  Her questions came at me hot and heavy, and Leslie muttered a gentle protest.

  "Oh, you don't have to answer them all," Rita said, folding the muffin paper and setting it aside. "I thought I would give you a bunch to get things started."

  "I work in a hotel," I said, trying not to think too much about my life in Vancouver. Last night, I talked to Christine, and she had gently probed as to when I would be back. Gillian, my boss was making noises about how long I'd been gone, too, saying something about being unsure how long she could hold my job. "As for what I do all day, somehow the days fill up."

  "Don’t they always?" Rita said, with a shake of her head. "That work without a name. If you ever need a break from your own company on Monday mornings, you can come and join us for Bible study. It's not hard stuff. Just women who love Jesus trying to figure out how we can serve him and our families."

  Her description made me smile. "That sounds encouraging."

  "Have you been to Bible study before?" Rita continued.

  "Please don't feel pressured," Leslie broke in, touching my arm. "I know when I first came I wasn't too comfortable with the idea."

  I shot her a surprised look. "Really? I can't imagine that."

  She must have sensed my surprise, because she gave me a smile. "We all have our own stories," was all she said. "All had our stumbles on our journey to God."

  Which made me think of my own stumbles. I looked around this group of women and wondered if they would understand how gullible I’d been to believe Gregg’s lies. Why I couldn’t have caught the clues of his double life.

  Just then a tall, slender woman, her hair a tumble of red curls around a faintly freckled face, came by with a pot of coffee. "Hey sis," she said, nudging Leslie with one elbow as she filled outstretched mugs with the other.

  "Terra, have you met Miriam Carpenter?" Leslie said, looking up at her sister.

  “Actually, it's Bristol," I automatically corrected, as Terra offered her free hand and I shook it.

  "You're Jerrod's sister, aren't you?" Terra asked.

  "I was his foster sister."

  "Same diff. Family is family," she said with a grin that made me immediately like her. "Nice to meet you. Hope that you're managing through all this nasty stuff you've had to deal with. As Les—Duncan's partner—says, this sucks."

  "Terra," Leslie reprimanded. "That's no way to talk."

  "Les Greidanus may be a bit crude, but I have to agree with him. Poor little Celia. And poor you and Duncan," she said, giving me a sympathetic look.

  Her pairing of our names gave me a start and created a flush of warmth that, I was sure, everyone noticed.

  Then my cell phone rang, and with an apologetic look I fished it out of my purse, the name on the call display sending my heart racing. It was the school.

  "What's wrong, sweetie?" Rita asked, clearly not missing a trick.

  "You can take it in the hallway down there," Terra said, pointing to a secluded spot just off the main area of the cafe. "I'll make sure you're not interrupted."

  I shot her a grateful glance, then got up from the table, trying to ignore the curious expressions of the women watching me.

  "Miriam here," I said, as I hurried to the place Terra had shown me.

  "Sorry to disturb you, but I was wondering if you could come to the school." It was Miss Abernathy, the kindergarten teacher. My heart immediately went into overdrive.

  "Is Celia okay?" I asked.

  "She's fine. I think we need to talk face-to-face."

  This didn't sound promising. What could have happened between me dropping her off only an hour ago and now?

  "When do you want me there?"

  "It can wait…"

  But from the tone in her voice, I guessed it would be better if I came sooner, rather than later.

  "I can come right now, if that's okay."

  "That would actually work well."

  I said goodbye, my face hot, and my head pounding. I needed a few minutes to contain myself. Seriously, if all it took was a call from the school to raise my blood pressure then this being a guardian was certainly not for me.

  And I was suddenly angry with Duncan.

  He should be helping me with this, I thought.

  I came back to the table to collect my purse and once again all eyes were on me.

  "Everything okay?" Leslie asked, frowning at me.

  "That was the school. I need to see Miss Abernathy."

  "Oh, honey, that's no fun," one of the women said. "My son is in her class. She's a good teacher, but a bit dramatic."

  That helped. A bit.

  "We'll be praying for you," Rita said. "You're not alone."

  As I hooked my purse over my shoulder I caught her words and held them a moment.

  Not alone.

  I felt an opening sensation in my chest. An expanding moment of happiness.

  "Thanks. I appreciate that." I gave all the women a smile and received one from each in return.

  "You just don't get pulled into the theatrics and you'll be okay," one of the women said.

  "Take care," Terra said, patting me gently on the shoulder.

  I nodded and left. But as I drove away, I couldn't help an inkling of dread.

  Chapter 9

  "I'm sorry I had to call you in today, but we need to talk about Celia." I could see a tension around Miss Abernathy’s mouth that told me today had not been a good day for Celia.

  Or for Miss Abernathy.

  We were sitting in the classroom, perched on the tiny chairs more suitable for five-year-old behinds than mine. Miss Abernathy was a petite thing, barely reaching five feet, so the chair wasn't a problem for her. I, however, was barely holding on to my perch.

  The children were outside for their noon-hour playtime, which meant that Celia sat in one corner of the playground with Jane, ignoring her fellow students and the teacher on supervision.

  "Is she okay? Has Jane been causing problems?"

  As soon as the words popped out, I realized how they sounded. Like I was entering the same place Celia was occupying.

  "I meant, has Celia taking her doll to school been a problem?" I corrected.

  "Unfortunately, one of the boys was teasing Celia about her doll, and she lost her temper. She gave him a push and he fell down." She sounded so outraged I was tempted to ask if Celia had drawn blood with this 'push', but I knew how inappropriate this would be. I thought of what one of the women had told me as I left the café. Not to get drawn into the theatrics.

  "How badly was the boy hurt?" I asked, trying to sound reasonable. This was a girl. Pushing a boy. Maybe not optimal, but hardly the rumble Miss Abernathy was making it out to be.

  "He wasn't hurt. But he was very upset."

  "I'm sorry about that—"

  "This is the fourth time Celia has had an outburst, and that's just today," Miss Abernathy continued. "She had a number of them last week that Mrs. Lansing asked me not to discuss with you. But I see an escalation I'm not comfortable with. And while I know Mrs. Lansing said we would deal with this step by step, I'm thinking, for Celia's sake, it might be better if she spend some time at home until Christmas."

&nbs
p; A bubble of panic rose up at the thought of taking care of Celia every day. On my own until Christmas. It was hard enough doing this every other day.

  "That seems a bit extreme," I said. "I mean, we're not talking about a teenager dealing drugs."

  Miss Abernathy's frown told me that she didn't appreciate my feeble attempt at perspective. "I feel it might be best if Celia receive some quality time with you." Miss Abernathy continued.

  “What about the counselor Mrs. Lansing was talking about? Has he or she been found yet? Any appointments set up? Maybe if we could start with that it might help Celia cope.”

  “I’m not sure. You’ll have to discuss this with Mrs. Lansing when she’s back. But for now, I think Celia would benefit from some time away from school.”

  "Do you want me to take her home now?"

  Miss Abernathy seemed to consider that, then nodded slowly. "I don't want her to think that we are singling her out. That could cause some difficulty for her. However, we need to find a way to avoid potential for future outbursts."

  "So that would be a yes." I couldn't help the sharp note in my voice. Too many words. Too much talking.

  "Correct," she said, her frown deepening.

  Thankfully, I didn't have any big plans for the day. I wanted to talk to a real estate agent about listing the property, just as a fallback. Then I spoke with Phil about some of the bills that had come up, and he had mentioned a recent claim made against Jerrod and Francine’s estate by a contractor Jerrod had done some work for. And that he would need access to Jerrod’s office sometime soon. But Jerrod’s office was locked and I thought it would be better if Duncan asked Esther for the key.

  Duncan again. He really needed to get more involved.

  "Okay. Then I'll get her from the playground,” I said, fighting down my frustration.

  "I would suggest waiting until the children return and you take her then. It would create a better flow."

  Whatever that meant.

  I just nodded, my head growing tight as I tried to visualize what to do with Celia all day, every day.

  Then my cell phone trilled, and as I glanced at the screen I had further reason for dismay.

  It was my boss. Gillian.

  "Excuse me please. I have to take this," I murmured.

  I connected the call as I walked out of the classroom and into the empty hall.

  "Miriam. How are you doing?" Gillians's overly cheerful voice didn't cheer me. Her quiet demeanor hid a steely determination and a ruthless personality. Cheerful usually meant she was performing an unpleasant job.

  "I'm okay."

  "This must be a difficult time for you." She paused, but I wasn't sure where this conversation was going, so I let her take the lead. "I know you asked for four days off, and I don't need to tell you that we're well past that, now. I'm sure you can do math, too." Her forced laugh made me even more nervous.

  "There have been some complications," was all I could manage past the growing constriction in my chest. It had taken me months of applications and rejections before I got this job. And I only got it thanks to Christine vouching for me. "In fact, I was hoping to call you and ask for a few more days. I was named guardian of my niece and the situation, well, it's complicated."

  Please, Lord, please let her understand.

  "So I understand from Christine, and I'm sympathetic, but you must realize I can't go this long without an assistant. You're a great worker and I've been thrilled with your dedication, but—"

  And there it was.

  "Are you letting me go?"

  "I don't want to. That's why I wanted to check in with you." Her quiet sigh ignited the faintest spark of hope. "Tell you what. If you can guarantee me that you'll be back in a couple of days, I'll hold your position for you."

  Though I was thankful for the reprieve I didn’t know if that was enough time. But neither would I tell her that. I know I was lucky to get this job. Gillian was an exacting boss, and because of my record we had an unspoken agreement that she expected me to prove myself worthy of her trust.

  "Thank you so much,” was all I dared say for now. “I really appreciate your kind consideration. I will try my best to make it up to you." I was careful not to lay it on too thick, but she needed to know I understood what would be waiting for me on my return. Longer hours and lesser pay. And I was fine with that. If it meant keeping this job.

  She said a polite goodbye. I did the same and I ended the call with trembling fingers. I waited a moment to pull things together, then returned to the classroom just as the bell sounded.

  One thing at a time I reminded myself.

  But as the outside doors opened, letting in a blast of cold air and a herd of noisy, red-cheeked children, I knew what else I had to do.

  Whether he liked it or not I had to get Duncan involved.

  "It just quit working. Don't know why," Anton was saying, his too-large hard hat wobbling on a tiny head perched on a skinny neck. His coveralls overwhelmed his narrow body and he kept pushing up the sleeves.

  "Seriously? You don't know why?" Duncan could only stare at his least-useful employee, as a nasty winter wind whistled down the cut block and right down the neck of his jacket. “I saw you ramming that skidder over that log deck even though I told you yesterday and the day before and the day before that to stop being so hard on the equipment. What did you think would happen?"

  "It's a tough piece of equipment. It can take it." Anton's goofy grin made Duncan even angrier.

  "No. It can't. Something's gonna give when you're always that rammy." His voice rose on every word, as the frustration he'd been pushing down the past week surfaced. He caught himself then took a breath as Les joined them.

  "What's up?" Les asked.

  Duncan jerked his chin toward Anton, not trusting himself to speak, his gloved hands clenched at his sides.

  "Skidder broke down," Anton said, shifting himself to move closer to Les, as if he needed his protection.

  "What were you doing when it happened?" Les was asking, thankfully taking over.

  Duncan hunched his shoulders, frustrated with his own lack of control. He knew the value of keeping frustrations in check, something he learned from watching his father blow up every time something went wrong. But today, he felt as if he'd used up all his restraint. He felt as if stress was piling on his shoulders and he didn’t know where to put it.

  Stop clinging to what you don't need to carry.

  So what didn't he need to carry? All this? This work that sucked more from him every day? Work that took up every winter for the past six years since he married Kimberly and discovered a part of her he hadn't seen before?

  Kimberly had expensive tastes, which required more income, which necessitated more work. So, against his will and against his better judgment, Duncan had partnered with his father in a business he never cared for.

  A business, which was almost giving him ulcers. But what could he do, now that his father was disabled and unable to run the business himself? And the irony of it was, it was working here, in the bush, that his father got hurt working an unstable log pile on a snowy day.

  He fell, the logs rolled and he got pinned.

  Now he was in a wheelchair and Duncan was going crazy.

  "Duncan? Are you with us?"

  Les' voice broke into his spinning thoughts.

  "Sorry. Other things on my mind." Duncan adjusted his own hard hat, wishing he'd put on a toque. His ears were freezing.

  “I get that," Les said giving him a sympathetic look, which quickly faded as practicality took over. "So what do you think the problem is?"

  Les and Anton were looking at him as if he had all the answers. And suddenly it was too much. "I don't know. What do you think?" His question came out harsher than he intended, but he didn't care.

  "Okay. Fair enough," Les said. "I'm thinking hydraulic hoses."

  "Then start with those." He was about to say something more when he heard Will, one of the truckers, calling his name just as his cell
phone rang.

  He glanced at the phone, frowning at the unfamiliar number.

  "Tell Will to wait," he said to Les. "I've got to take this call."

  He had no clue who was on the other end, but right about now, even talking to their lawyer, Phil, about Jerrod and Francine's tangled estate was preferable to dealing with one more breakdown, or slow down, or question.

  "Duncan here."

  "Sorry to bug you at work."

  Curious how the sound of Miriam's voice could immediately lift him from his funk.

  "That's okay. What can I do for you?"

  "I need to talk to you."

  Take a number, he felt like saying, but he didn't, because talking to Miriam was preferable to anything else right about now.

  "I just came back from the school," she continued. "Celia's teacher asked if we could keep her home from school until Christmas."

  "What? Why?" The snow squeaked under his heavy boots as he made his way to the lunch trailer parked farther down the logging block, trying to suppress his disappointment.

  What? You thought she called to tell you she missed you?

  "Apparently she's been causing problems in school," Miriam was saying. "I'm not going into details on the phone, but Duncan, I need your help with this."

  "What can I possibly do?"

  He stepped into the trailer, shedding his grease-stained jacket one-handed, and grabbing his thermos to pour himself a cup of coffee.

  "I can't keep taking care of Celia on my own. I'm sorry, but you need to be more involved."

  He stopped in front of the large map hanging on the wall, laying out the cut blocks for the logging season. They were supposed to have five done by now, but instead, were still working on number three because of added restrictions placed on them by the company they logged for.

  Frustration wrapped relentless fingers around his gut. This business was grinding him down. Never caught up. Never on top of things. Always pushing reluctant employees, fighting inflexible deadlines, and trying to keep swimming against a relentless flow.