The First Noelle

by Delia Latham

  “Noelle Joy, as I live and breathe.” The booming voice startled her out of her reverie, and she jumped an inch into the air—just before being folded into a huge hug. She grinned against a broad chest covered with plaid flannel. “Somebody shore up my roof. It’s likely to fall right down on our heads.” Oscar Tennerman stepped back, gave Noelle’s shoulder a pat, and shook his head. “It’s a pure pleasure havin’ you back in Hope Springs. Now let’s get you something to eat. You’d blow plumb away if a good mountain wind came zippin’ through here.”

  Noelle laughed. “Now, Mr. Tennerman, I’m in no danger of blowing away. But I do want to splurge on one of those mouth-watering Five-and-Dime burgers. San Francisco has nothing that even compares.” She widened her eyes in mock horror. “Tell me they haven’t been replaced by veggie burgers.”

  Mr. Tennerman tried to frown but couldn’t stop smiling long enough to make it work. “And here I thought you stopped in for a hug.”

  “Of course I did! That still comes with the burger, doesn’t it?”

  “Only for you, sweetheart.” He hustled toward the diner, urging Noelle along with him. “Veggie burgers.” The words accompanied a glare that seemed almost real. “Tennerman’s won’t be sellin’ no pretend burgers, not so long as I’m still alive and kickin’. Come on. Let’s get ol’ Cal to put your lunch on the grill before he forgets how. The old coot’s more forgetful every hour.”

  Noelle allowed him to tuck her hand through his arm and strut through the store like a preening peacock. He walked her right up to the counter in the café and boomed his order through the window. “Cal, this pretty lady wants a Five-and-Dime with cheese.” He glanced at Noelle and winked. “Get her some of those salty french fries too. San Francisco’s starvin’ one of our own.”

  Cal stuck his toothless head through the window and squinted for a moment and then rushed out to repeat the whole hug process. A full five minutes passed before Mr. Tennerman shooed the old fry cook back into the kitchen.

  Noelle chose a table in the back corner while she waited, hoping no one she knew would wander in and put her through another emotional reunion. Or worse.

  She demolished the burger and made a decent dent in the fries while glancing around the store. Some of the merchandise on the top shelves had been in the same spot ten years ago.

  Just as she started gathering things to throw in the trash, a shrill voice bounced off the walls of the building. “Noelle Joy? Oh, my good gracious, honey, is that you?”

  Noelle’s heart sank to her toes.

  She looked up and into the owlish gaze of a tall, vaguely familiar woman about her own age. The gawking newcomer had clearly enjoyed a few too many greasy five-and-dime meals and been a little over-generous with store bought hair color…in a hideous shade of orangey-red.

  She tried to smile, but the tight curve of her lips belonged to the Ice Princess. The first Noelle wouldn’t have turned such a cool greeting on anyone. Besides, she couldn’t place the woman who lunged through the dividing gate between mercantile and diner and zoomed toward her like a deadly missile hurtling through the air, set on wreaking destruction.

  Noelle stood, hoping to make it clear that she was leaving.

  “I cannot believe my eyes!” Whoever she was, the woman loved to over-emphasize. “Why, I thought I’d never see you back here again. ’Course, I’m real glad you are, but you know what I mean, don’tcha?” She clucked her tongue, and Noelle raised her eyebrows. Had this strange person’s eyes emitted a piercing gleam, just like in the cartoons? “You poor, poor dear! Did you ever get married, after that awful Trevor Holden—?”

  “Excuse me.” Noelle’s voice cracked like an ice whip. “I was just leaving.”

  “Oh!” The woman blinked, taken aback for about two seconds. Then she grinned. Something closer to a horse’s whinny than a laugh burst from her mouth. “You don’t remember me, do ya? I’m Charlene Hortzmann, girl. Charlie Horse!”

  Noelle cringed. Her younger self had felt sorry for the girl this woman had been. Even then, she’d lacked social graces, but Noelle always treated her well. Life hadn’t been kind to Charlie, and she got enough teasing and downright meanness from others.

  But that was then, and this was now.

  “Unfortunately yes, I do remember you, uhm…Charlie Horse.” She injected enough derision into her voice to kill a Clydesdale, and shot the woman a scathing glance that would have shriveled a more sensitive creature. “Nope, I never married. I chose not to—not that my marital status is any of your concern.” She allowed her frigid glance to sweep the other woman’s over-generous body and shapeless clothing. “My guess is that you’re single too…poor thing.”

  She dropped her trash into a receptacle on her way out, leaving the unlovely “Charlie Horse” wide-eyed, with her chin on her plentiful chest.

  Rushing toward home, shame washed over Noelle in a horrible, drowning flood. The Ice Princess was cold, not mean. Wasn’t she? What had she become?

  She ran the second half of the distance to her parents’ place, where she flew up the stairs, slammed the bathroom door, and heaved up the contents of her stomach. So much for Cal’s awesome five-and-dime burger.

  ****

  Michael watched the scene through the interior window of Tennerman’s office. He’d felt the need to get outside the walls of his oversized living quarters today. Besides, he needed a couple of gardening tools. If he called ahead, the old guy always let him in the back door and had his order waiting in the office. Michael never walked through the store, never risked a conversation with someone who might recognize his voice…or his eyes…or any other part of him that hadn’t changed.

  He wished he’d stayed home today.

  “She’s changed.” Tennerman’s voice echoed the sorrow weighing so heavily in Michael’s heart. “Noelle never treated anyone like that back in the day. ’Course, Charlie was awful rude.”

  “Granted, but Noelle…” He pulled in a deep breath, eased it back out and shook his head. “I did that to her.”

  Tennerman laid a calloused, aging hand on his shoulder. “No, son. You hurt her. I won’t be sugar coatin’ that. But we all have pain to endure. How we react to it is up to us. Noelle chose to be who she is now.”

  Michael turned away from the window. Noelle was gone, and nothing else out there drew his interest. “Well, I started the ball rolling. And I couldn’t even explain my actions. She thought—” He broke off and hefted the box of merchandise he’d come for into his arms. “Doesn’t matter, anyway. It’s done.”

  He strode toward the door.

  “Trevor.”

  Whirling, he stared at the shopkeeper. “You can’t be calling me that.”

  “Right now, that’s who I’m talkin’ to, son. Beatin’ up on yourself ain’t doin’ nobody no good. If you wanna see change, then make it happen. Let yesterday go, and work on buildin’ a better tomorrow…today.”

  Michael stood silent for a moment and then met the other man’s kind, faded gaze. “You’re right, my friend. You always are.” He managed a half-hearted smile. “Do you know how much it means to me that you’ve kept my secret all these years?”

  Tennerman waved one big hand in a dismissive gesture. “I got no reason to be tellin’ tales. I know how to hold my tongue when it needs holdin’. Gotta admit, though, I’ll be glad when you stop hidin’ out in that museum of yours and join the land o’ the livin’ again.”

  Michael chuckled. “Not likely, sir. I’ve built a new life, and a successful career, as Michael Holliday. I can’t just become Trevor Holden again.”

  “Well, I guess it don’t really matter none what you call yourself. But you don’t need to squirrel away up there, either. No one in Hope Springs would recognize you.”

  “You did.”

  “Yeah, well, like I told’ja back then, God gave me the gift of discernment. That’s why I saw through that new face of yours and recognized the eyes that peered out of it. I can guaran-darn-tee you nobody else ’round here’
s gonna see beyond the surface.” The old guy grinned. “Who’d ever dream that purty face belonged to Trevor?”

  Michael chuckled. “You’re incorrigible—and don’t give me that look. You know what it means. Your uneducated, small-town act is wasted on me.” He opened the door with the fingers of one hand. He couldn’t stand around jawing all day, no matter how much he enjoyed his visits with the only person in Hope Springs who knew his secret.

  When the old guy first told Michael he knew who he was, he’d been terrified, convinced he’d made a mistake not relocating far away from home, as he’d been advised to do.

  Tennerman explained his God-given gift, and Michael eventually relaxed. If God wanted the old man in on the truth, then He had a reason.

  “See ya next time, son.”

  “Sure thing, Mr. Tennerman.”

  He drove through Hope Springs and out of town—making a brief detour through the old neighborhood, where he gazed at his parents’ place. His heart ached at the sight of the well-maintained old home where he’d spent his boyhood. How he’d love to drop in and say hello. But he couldn’t risk their safety.

  He glanced toward Hope Springs House of Joy and the parsonage in the adjoining lot. He caught no glimpse of the girl who’d been his partner-in-crime all through elementary and middle school, and who’d become, in their freshman year, the love of his life. Well, Noelle would be at Holliday House sometime in the next hour or so. He’d survive until then, but it wouldn’t be easy. Every minute he wasn’t looking at her, hearing her voice, seeing her smile—no matter how chilly that smile—was another minute wasted.

  He longed to jump ahead in time to Christmas Eve. That’s when he’d know whether bringing Noelle back to Hope Springs had been a foolish fantasy…or divine inspiration. When a person wanted something as badly as Michael wanted Noelle back in his arms, it was easy to see God’s hand where God’s hand had never been.

  He heaved a sigh. Waiting was hard, but he had to let Noelle make his place perfect before Christmas Eve, anyway. For what he planned, only perfection would do.

  4

  Noelle stood dead center of the foyer, eyes closed.

  She’d spoken briefly to Michael when she arrived and then asked to be left alone while she got her bearings. She considered this phase of her job similar to the blank canvas of a master portrait artist. Before placing a single brushstroke on the easel, the painter would familiarize himself with his subject’s bone structure and skin tone. He’d pinpoint the exact shade of her eyes, memorize every expression, learn each nuance of the moods that changed those expressions to even the slightest degree.

  At some point, the artist would know his subject’s appearance so well he could close his eyes and see her face in his mind. He could call up that face wearing any emotion he chose. Only then would he begin to turn the empty canvas into a masterpiece that lived and breathed its subject.

  Noelle would study Holliday House in much the same way. She needed to feel its “soul.” Not that she believed for a moment that any house had an actual soul, but every physical structure, for whatever reason, did possess a specific essence.

  She had discovered early on that houses spoke to her. Voices echoed in her head coming from the walls and ceilings and closet spaces. At four years old, she’d disappeared while her family dined in an upscale dinner house that had once been a family estate. After a terrified search, they found her cowering beneath a large easy chair in the foyer, cheeks wet with tears.

  Noelle’s mother rocked her. “What is it, honey? Tell Mommy what’s wrong.”

  “The house is…so sad.” She’d sniffled and buried her face in her mother’s neck. “The walls are c-c-crying.” And she’d promptly joined them. “Can we go, Mommy, can we? I don’t like it here.”

  The scene was repeated in various ways over the years. Eventually her parents came to believe Noelle had a gift of sorts—although putting a name to that rather dubious talent was beyond their combined education and ability.

  Perhaps it was simply shadows of personalities and people who passed through or lived inside a structure. Maybe it could be traced to the possessions placed within those walls. Whatever the source, “soul” was the closest word Noelle knew to describe the elusive something that spoke to her heart and determined what action she would take on any given job.

  So far, well into her third hour within the walls of Michael’s place, she lacked any real direction. When she closed her eyes and listened for the voice of the house, she heard…almost nothing. Whispers of loneliness. Regret. Longing. All were there, but so faint as to be almost useless for her purpose.

  “Noelle?”

  She opened her eyes and then narrowed them in Michael’s direction. “How long have you lived here?”

  His brows took an upward hike, and he grinned, white teeth glinting against tanned skin. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard anyone ask that question in such an intense manner.”

  “How long?”

  He sighed. “Five years. Noelle, do you ever relax?”

  “Not when I’m working.” She wandered to the arched entryway between the foyer and the great room. “Maybe that’s it.” She didn’t realize she’d muttered the last three words aloud.

  “It? What’s ‘it’?”

  “Not enough life here. No fond memories or heartbreak or sickness and death. Nothing. Just…” She whirled to face the handsome man who watched her as if she might be dangerous. “Michael, where are your family photos? Do you have a pet…a dog, maybe?”

  “Uh…nooo. Must I have a dog for you to work here? I could…” He glanced around at the scattered sculptures—some of them clearly priceless—and the pristine white furniture. “I suppose I could bring one in.”

  Noelle huffed. “I don’t need a dog, Michael. I’m asking if you have one. Have you ever had a pet that you loved? What about…family?” She hesitated, not wanting to tread into private territory. “Parents? Siblings? Have they ever been here? I’m not hearing th—” She broke off. He’d think she’d lost her mind. “I haven’t seen evidence of any kind of relationships—not family, not friends, not a lover. No pictures, no items left behind that clearly don’t belong to you. Nothing.”

  She half expected Michael to laugh, but he didn’t. Instead, his hazel eyes softened, and his expression…what was that? Understanding? Not a chance.

  He stepped closer, moved as if to reach out to her, but didn’t. “There’s nothing for you to hear, is there?”

  She sucked in a breath. “What—?” He couldn’t possibly know. “What do you mean?”

  He laughed. She was coming to realize Michael laughed and joked to cover whoever he really was…the man down inside, where it mattered. She’d known only one other man who did that on such a consistent basis, and…well, that was a long time ago.

  “It’s kind of quiet here, I have to admit. My staff and I don’t make a lot of noise. I don’t have a dog, and I don’t bark either, so that’s out. I’m sorry if the silence makes your job harder, for some reason.” He hiked one brow. “I was actually coming to see if you’re hungry. Josie has a nice snack prepared in the dining room, if you’d like to join me.”

  Noelle opened her mouth to decline but nodded instead. Her oversized lunch hadn’t stayed long in her tummy. Shame curdled her stomach even now. She’d behaved like a shrew. While Charlie wasn’t the most pleasant of creatures, she didn’t deserve what Noelle had dealt out. She’d been mean-spirited and cruel, and she regretted her behavior.

  A glance at the clock built high into one entry wall elicited a gasp. “How did it get to be almost five o’clock already? Yes, thank you. I guess I am a little hungry.”

  This time he did stretch a hand toward her. Noelle blinked and realized she’d placed hers in it and was walking alongside him to the dining room. Her instinct was to pull her fingers free, but at the first twitch of withdrawal, his tightened around them.

  “Huh uh uh.” Out came that million-dollar grin, accentuating a couple of deep dimple
s that did something crazy to Noelle’s composure. “I knew you’d change your mind if I didn’t have a firm hold on you.”

  Noelle opened her mouth to dish out a scathing reply but found herself laughing instead. She didn’t stop all through the small meal Josie, the cook-and-all-around-handywoman, called a snack.

  When Michael showed his humorous side, he emitted a near-lethal charm and a charisma that all but demanded a response.

  This man could be dangerous to her Ice Princess persona, and her career was built around the chilly exterior she showed the world. If the public found out she could laugh like this and allow a man to take the lead—even in his own domain—they’d eat her alive.

  Or maybe not. Maybe they’d accept her for who she was. Just Noelle Joy, from a little podunk mountain town called Hope Springs. But she didn’t dare take the risk.

  For today though, it was nice to enjoy the company of a nice-looking man most of the world considered a mystery.

  Michael’s fingertips grazed the top of her hand and then slid along the length of her ring finger. “What are you thinking?”

  She gasped and stared at his hand. His little gesture sent delicious tingles along the length of her arm. The sliding touch, barely a hint of pressure…and then the feather-light stroke of his fingertip along her finger—the one Trevor had promised to someday grace with his ring. Once upon a time, that oddly intimate gesture had been so familiar, so cherished…

  “Trevor.” She breathed the name as her heart pounded a painful tattoo against her chest.

  Michael’s hand jerked back as if he’d touched something hot. “What did you say?”

  She blinked and looked up. Fine, hazel eyes were narrowed. Michael’s expression was tense.

  Noelle closed her eyes and pulled in a deep breath. Forcing a smile, she shook her head. “Nothing. Just a bit of déjà vu.”

  “Ahh.”

  “Look, Michael, I—” She bounced upward, barely catching the high-backed chair, which probably cost more than her car, before it hit the floor. “I can’t—”