This Place: Holmes Crossing Book 3

by Carolyne Aarsen

  Then she looked around, and when their eyes met, her smile shifted and faded away.

  There he was, she must be thinking. The big disappointment.

  "Dunkle," Celia cried out, finally spotting him. She raced toward him, her eyes bright, clutching her doll under one arm. She reached their table and then stopped, frowning at Jack. "Jane says you're in my way," she announced.

  "Celia, I don't think that's the way you should talk to people," Miriam said.

  "Jane said it," Celia said, still looking at Jack.

  "Doesn't matter who said it, we need to be more polite." Miriam's voice was firm, but Duncan caught a glimpse of weariness in her expression.

  "Please excuse us," Celia said, still clutching Jane.

  Jack stood up and Celia wiggled past him, her good humor restored.

  "Can I please sit on your lap?" she asked, holding one arm up, fully expecting him to comply.

  He swallowed, wondering once again why this girl was so attached to him, when he had done so little to encourage her.

  But when he lifted her on his lap, he felt a melting deep in his soul. Then, in spite of the pain in his heart, he slipped one arm around her to anchor her fast.

  "My name is Cor, by the way, and this is Father Sam, and my son, Jack," Cor said to Miriam, taking over the conversation.

  Duncan's own throat was thick, heavy with fluctuating emotions, and he didn't trust himself to speak as Celia laid her head on his chest, her hair tickling his chin.

  This little girl. His niece. So close to Tasha in age.

  And yet, he found that each time he saw her, she became more Celia and less a reminder of his own little girl.

  I looked around the gathering, nodding at each introduction. Then Jack got up and grabbed a chair, pulling it close so I could join them. An automatic protest rose to my lips, but I caught myself in time. I had only come to the café because I promised to give Celia a treat, and she insisted on a milkshake at the café. I'd had no intention on barging in on anyone else's coffee time.

  "Well, here you are again, Miriam." Terra stopped by the table with a pot of coffee to refill mugs. "You must really like it here."

  "It's the pie," the man named Cor said.

  "Would you like some?" Terra asked.

  "Just coffee." I wasn't hungry after my morning adventures. "Celia, do you still want a milkshake?"

  "Jane wants a milkshake," she insisted, shaking her doll to make her ponytail bounce. A ponytail I had spent an inordinate amount of time putting in.

  "Strawberry, vanilla or chocolate?" Terra asked.

  "Jane likes pink," Celia announced.

  "Strawberry it is." Terra cleared off the empty pie plates, and then left.

  The café was quiet this time of day, but already it felt familiar. It should, I thought. Twice in one day. No wonder Terra had given me a funny look.

  "So, Miriam, how are you doing?" Cor was asking, his expression intent, serious. "Are the people of Holmes Crossing being good to you?"

  "Very much so."

  "I'm sure you've had a lot to deal with the past week.” Cor put a gentle hand on my forearm. "You need to know that we pray for you. And for Duncan."

  More prayers. Was that all the people here in Holmes Crossing did?

  "Thank you," I said, vey sincerely. "I do appreciate that."

  "So you and Duncan are responsible for this little girl," Cor continued. "That's an interesting situation."

  "Okay. Dad. Now you really have to stop." Jack turned to me. "My father has a problem with boundaries, and I apologize for that."

  I waved off his comment. I actually wouldn't have minded following through on the subject, but I guessed, from the frown on Duncan's face, this wasn't the time or place.

  "And why is this little girl not in school?" Cor continued. He turned to Jack with a questioning look. "I'm allowed to talk about that, right?"

  Jack just rolled his eyes, which made me chuckle.

  "I don't like school," Celia said from the safety of Duncan's arms. "Jane doesn't either. But now I can't go back until after Christmas," Celia continued.

  "Why not?" Father Sam asked.

  Celia sat up, looking up at Duncan. "I pushed Bradley Holwyk. He was fighting with me and yelling and talking mean to my doll—to Jane. I got mad and shoved him away, and now I'm a bad girl."

  I was about to protest her comment when Duncan laughed, which was hardly an appropriate reaction. "Don't worry, Celia. Bradley comes from a long line of yellers," he said. "Didn't his dad used to try to push you around?" Duncan directed his question to Jack, who shrugged.

  "Tried. Failed," was his concise reply.

  "His brother wasn't any better." Duncan turned to Celia. "Did you start the fight?"

  "No. He was following me around," Celia said matter-of-factly. "And he wouldn't leave me alone."

  "Then you did the right thing." Duncan held my surprised gaze and grinned at my muffled protest. "If she walked away and he followed her, she had every right to deck him."

  "She hardly decked him," I protested. "More like a push."

  "She should have decked him."

  I wasn't sure I liked the way this conversation was going. Certainly not with Celia present. On the way to the café I had talked to her about controlling her anger. I'd seen my biological mother's temper too many times and seen the havoc it created. Though I knew the underlying cause of Celia's anger, I was also knew her genetics. And it made me nervous.

  "I'm sure you would tell her to turn the other cheek," Duncan said to Father Sam, a faint gleam in his eye.

  "I'm supposed to be impartial, but I think there are times when it's better to give to a Holwyk than to receive," Father Sam said.

  This elicited chuckles all around, and started Cor on a story about his own experience with a member of this Holwyk family, which reminded Jack of a story that he subsequently related.

  Terra came by with Celia’s milkshake and another round of coffee, good-naturedly grumbling about the campers at table eight. No one seemed inclined to move, however, and, truth be told, I was content to stay and listen to the stories. All that waited at home was more work, and with Celia around, I would have to hold that off.

  Plus, I needed to check in with my boss. A conversation I preferred to hold off on as well.

  "So, Miriam, we've been rather rude," Father Sam was saying, leaning forward and smiling at me. "Sharing stories of Holmes Crossing. I understand that you live in Vancouver. How do you like living there?"

  I glanced around the table, uncomfortable with being the center of everyone's attention. "Um, I like it. Though it's rainy season in Vancouver, now. Not the best weather."

  "That's Vancouver," Cor said with a shake of his head. "My sister lived there for five years. Came that close to a nervous breakdown." He indicated how close with his finger and thumb an inch apart.

  "Are you sure it wasn't this close?" Duncan said, reaching over and pushing Cor's fingers closer together.

  "Smart aleck," Cor returned.

  "And what do you do there, if you don't mind my asking," Father Sam asked, ignoring both Duncan and Cor.

  "I work for a hotel. In the administration department." That was a bit of a stretch, but somehow, with Duncan watching me, I didn't want to say that all I did was help the floor manager do her job. Nor did I want to say that I was borderline unemployed.

  "Nice that you can take this much time off to take care of your niece," Father Sam said.

  I simply nodded, not sure I wanted to embellish my small evasion in front of a priest.

  "Miriam also works as an illustrator," Duncan put in. "She’s done a couple of children's books. Celia has them."

  He said that with a touch of pride that surprised me.

  "Really? That's intriguing," Father Sam said

  "I haven't done that for a while," I said. At least with this I could be straight up.

  "Why not?"

  So much for straight up, I thought as I dug around, looking for a diploma
tic way to avoid telling him the less-savory details of my detour in life. I tried to avoid thinking about it at all.

  "I needed to make a living," I said, looking down at the mug of coffee that Terra had just refilled. "A person doesn't make that much as an illustrator, and I had bills that needed to get paid."

  Legal bills and damage deposits and living expenses while I tried to find an employer willing to hire me with my record.

  Which made me think of Gillian and the axe hanging over my head.

  "That's too bad. Do you think you might ever go back to it?"

  I shrugged, thinking of the sketches and watercolors Christine insisted I try and sell. "I'm not sure. I think I would need to be inspired."

  "And what better place to be inspired than Holmes Crossing?" Cor asked, pointing out the window to the snow collecting, softening the green of the spruce trees in the park across the street, the old brick post office flanking it on one side, and the brick façade of the Co-op on the other. "I bet that's prettier than the rain you'd be seeing in Vancouver right about now."

  "It is pretty," I agreed. And he was right about the rain. Though this would have only been my second winter in Vancouver, I hadn't been looking forward to the overcast skies and the steady drizzle that I'd experienced last year.

  "Well, now that you're taking care of Celia, are you settling down here?" Cor asked. "This is her home, after all. Her grandparents and her uncle all live here."

  "Again, Dad, not our business," Jack said, a stern note in his voice that seemed to surprise his father. "Especially considering who is here." His head tilted toward Celia, but his eyes were on his father as he sent a wordless signal.

  Thankfully, Cor caught the hint and gave me an apologetic smile. "Sorry," he whispered.

  "I think Holmes Crossing is a good place," I said, cradling my mug. "My brother seemed to think so. I'm sure that's why he moved his family back here."

  Unwittingly, my eyes cut to Duncan surprised to see him looking at me. For a moment our gazes held, and I read confusion in his eyes.

  As if he agreed, but didn't know what to do about it.

  "And Celia, I heard it was your birthday a few days ago," Cor turned back to Celia. "Did you have fun?"

  "Jane and me went on Dunkle's sleigh," Celia murmured, finger-combing Jane's ponytail. Then she sat up, grabbing Duncan by his chin. "You said at my birthday party that you would give me a ride on your horses. Can I do that now? I don't have to go to school."

  "I have to ask your Aunt Miriam first."

  He shot me a look of entreaty, as if he hoped I would help him out.

  "You know, I think that's a fabulous idea," I said. "I can go back to the house, get some warmer clothes and we could meet you at your place. It could be an adventure."

  "So, today?"

  "No time like the present," I said, keeping my tone light, joking, knowing he couldn't weasel out of this commitment. Not with witnesses.

  But as my eyes held his I felt it again. That frisson of awareness and connection that seemed to tremble between us.

  Neither of us looked away, and for a moment I felt as if we were the only people in the café.

  Be careful, a warning voice told me as I finally jerked my eyes away, my cheeks warming. You are treading a fine line.

  I knew it, but at the same time I didn't have much choice. If I wanted to get Duncan more involved, I would have to work alongside him.

  It's all for Celia, I told myself. I can do this if it means Celia will end up in a safe and secure place.

  I just had to make sure to guard my heart.

  Chapter 11

  This was a mistake. This was a mistake.

  Duncan repeated the words over and over as he drove back to his place, wondering how he had gotten roped into taking Celia riding at his place.

  A little girl who made him feel guilty, that was how.

  He rolled his neck, trying to ease a growing tension, still struggling with the idea that he was here and Les was managing his operation in the bush. Trying to figure out what he was supposed to do to help Miriam with Celia, both of whom were slowly worming their way into his life.

  He used to be able to compartmentalize the parts of his life and store it in little boxes. Keep it all separate.

  But since Francine and Jerrod's deaths, he felt as if the boxes were coming apart and things were bleeding into each other.

  He pulled himself back to the moment, focusing on thinking about which horse Celia would ride.

  Maybe Bess. She was his old faithful. A bit of a plug.

  He parked the truck and walked through the snow that had fallen since he left this morning. He grabbed the snow shovel standing beside his back door and made quick work of clearing a path. Tonight he'd have to start up his tractor to clear the yard.

  Back inside the house, he re-stoked the wood stove and did a quick man-clean of the house. He shoved everything on the counter into the dishwasher. Bread and toaster went in a cupboard. Books and magazines were gathered and dumped in the oversized ottoman that Kimberly paid way too much money for. He gathered up the laundry he'd been planning on putting away and dumped it on the unmade bed in his bedroom.

  This is why the good Lord made doors, he told himself as he left the room.

  He shot a critical glance over the house, trying to see it through a woman's eyes. Kimberly always accused him of not being able to see the mess.

  She was probably right, but he couldn't see anything else that needed to be done.

  Just in time, too, he thought, as he heard a vehicle pull up. He grabbed his coat and walked down the walk, waiting until Miriam shut off her SUV. He opened her door just as she reached for it, which netted him a puzzled smile.

  "Aren't you the chivalrous one?"

  "You've met my mother," he said matter-of-factly.

  Her smile grew, and the gleam in her eye showed him that she knew exactly what he meant.

  "I should help Celia," she said, sliding down out of the vehicle.

  He half-hoped she would lose her balance so he could help her again, but she was fairly nimble and managed to slam the door shut and stride around the truck in the snow and not slip once.

  Too bad.

  Celia sat in her booster seat, dandling her doll on her lap. Then she glanced over at him, and her serious expression was blasted away when she grinned at him. "Dunkle."

  And, as always when she called him that, he tried not to cringe. Whenever she used that name, he imagined some twinkly-eyed, jolly man with a beard who whittled toys out of wood and kept candies in his pocket.

  And yet the nickname was oddly endearing.

  "Hey, Celia."

  "Where's my horse?" she demanded, as Miriam unbuckled her seat belt and helped her out of the vehicle.

  "I just got here, Miss Demeanor," he said with a gruff laugh. "Give me a few minutes."

  "I'm not Demeanor, I'm Celia," she said, missing his joke.

  But he saw Miriam grin. She was his target audience, so he was happy.

  And now you're trying to entertain the ladies.

  He pushed the thought aside, and waited as Miriam reached into the vehicle and pulled out a bag. "Food," she said, when Duncan shot her a puzzled glance.

  "You think I don't have any?"

  "Whatever you have, I can see you and raise you six casseroles," she said. "I figured I may as well share the wealth if I'm getting you to help me."

  "A bachelor never says no to food," he said as they walked down the shoveled path toward his house.

  Celia danced ahead of them, bouncing like a kangaroo, clearly happy.

  "She seems perky."

  Miriam nodded, but Duncan could see that she looked troubled. "She is now," she said.

  "Much as I know you probably don't like the idea of her not attending school, it might end up being a good thing for her."

  "It might," Miriam agreed. Then she shot him a solemn look. "But like I said, it will mean I need more help from you. I haven’t had a chance to tal
k to Mrs. Lansing yet about setting up an appointment with a counselor so for now, it’s you and me your family. And, hopefully, eventually, just you and your family."

  Duncan held her gaze her words creating another feeling of unease. "One of these days you need to tell me exactly why you won't take care of her."

  "It's not that I won't," she said, stopping as if to gather her thoughts.

  "So what is it?"

  "I can't give her what you and your family can.” Her eyes cut to his house as if to underline her defense. “I can't give her a place like this. And I don't think it would be fair to move her away from here to Vancouver."

  It all sounded so practical but still a part of him wanted to protest. "She hasn't lived here that long,” he said, still trying to marshal his own arguments. “I don't think she's that attached."

  "Really? She calls you Dunkle. She goes directly to you every time she sees you. You're the one person she doesn't talk to through that crazy doll of hers. She's crazy about you."

  Each one of her comments landed and clung. "I don't know why," he muttered. "I haven't encouraged it."

  Miriam’s expression softened. "And I understand why you don't want to be with Celia. And…" She eased out a sigh. "You may not want to hear it again, but I'm sorry for what you lost in your past. But this is the present. Celia has lost much, too. Right now she needs you. Besides, her grandparents are here," Miriam continued, as if she needed to make it abundantly clear why he needed to do this. "The more time I spend here, the more I know I'm right. She has family and community here, all things I can't give her. Plus, she barely knows me."

  "I got it," Duncan said. "But I still don't know how this will work."

  "We'll take it one step at a time," Miriam said as she started walking back to the door. "Usually the best way to make major life changes."

  "You're wise," he said giving her a crooked smile.

  "I've learned my own life lessons the hard way," she said.

  Again with the oblique reference that he wanted to find more about, but Miriam had opened the door to the house and was going inside.