The House at Rose Creek

by Proctor, Jenny

  She turned and hurried from the room. Kate sat motionless on her bed, listening as Ashley descended the stairs. Andrew was still outside. She heard a few muffled words between them, and then Ashley’s car roared to life. She waited until the sound had faded before she stood up and, retrieving her own keys and handbag, walked out the door. She passed Andrew and, without a word, climbed into her car and left.

  Chapter 26

  “It’s amazing, really,” Kate said, talking on her cell phone with Linny. She stood in front of the library, a large stack of photocopied information about her family in her hand. “The Wylies really played a big part in the establishment of Harrison County, and yet we never knew any details of their history. I think there might be enough to save the house, Linny. If I can pull it all together in time, it just might work.”

  “You’ll get it together in time,” Linny said. “It’s a marvelous idea, Kate. I’m sure it will work.”

  Kate appreciated Linny’s unfailing optimism. Linny was happy to oblige when Kate asked her to fill the rest of the family in on this new idea. They were all planning to attend the hearing on Friday, but if the petition was turned in before that, it wasn’t necessary for them to be there. Kate had called the county commissioners office just before calling Linny to confirm that point. Once the petition was in, the farmhouse would be taken off the list of properties involved in the Friday-night hearing. After thirty days, the board would vote on the petition at one of their regular weekly meetings. Kate would be notified when the vote would take place so she could be present. If the petition was denied, she would then be given a new hearing date with the department of transportation.

  Linny listened as Kate explained all of the details and then readily agreed to call everyone. Kate had wanted to wait to tell her family about the journal until they were all together so they could see and experience it firsthand, but it was too difficult to keep it out of her conversation with Linny. It was, after all, an integral part of the house’s history and something she hoped would heavily contribute to her petition for landmark status.

  “Well, I’ll be,” Linny had exclaimed when Kate told her of the journal. “How many years old is it?”

  “Nearly two hundred years, Linny,” Kate said. “It’s remarkable. I can’t wait for you to see it.” Kate still got goose bumps whenever she thought about the journal. She felt such a strong sense of kinship with Ian and his family. She wondered if any of her family would feel the same way.

  Kate had also called Mr. Marshall that morning on her way to the library. When she explained her desire to register the house as a landmark, he was enthusiastic.

  “It’s a wonderful idea, Ms. Sinclair!” he said. “And with the knowledge that you are prepared to take legal action if your petition is denied, they may just rule in your favor after all. Even better is the news that now we will have thirty more days to prepare for legal action in the event that your petition is denied.”

  Kate was encouraged and, despite the rough start to her morning, found herself almost in a good mood. Her trip to the library had proved highly successful. John Wylie, Ian’s great-grandson, had moved to the mountains of North Carolina sometime after the Civil War. Kate found record of his marriage to a Charlotte Willson in 1885 just a few counties over from Harrison. And then in the Harrison County Historical Almanac, she’d found a record of a land donation—two acres in the heart of Rose Creek, purchased and then immediately donated to the First United Methodist Church for the construction of a new sanctuary. John Wylie and his wife, Charlotte, made the donation. Ian must have done well for himself, Kate realized, and his children as well.

  The gesture of goodwill and faith also said much about the spiritual climate in the Wylie home. Faith and respect for God hadn’t been important just to Ian. His mother had warned him of the necessity of raising his children in the church, and whatever he’d decided to do, it had obviously worked quite well. With a bit more digging, Kate imagined she could find more on John and Charlotte, but time was of the essence, and she still had much to do to prepare her petition before Friday. After her conversation with Linny, Kate left the library and drove to the Harrison County Preservation Museum to see what help they might be able to offer.

  The museum was located in an old Victorian-style house just down the street from the courthouse. A dusty plaque sat beside the door, the words “Where being old is a good thing” etched on top. Kate pushed open the heavy door and adjusted her eyes to the dimness within. A tiny man, at least eighty years old, sat behind a tall counter, reading a newspaper from 1964. He wore oversized glasses perched on his oversized bulbous nose. Thick, bushy eyebrows stuck out from behind the glasses in such a wild frenzy that Kate found it difficult not to laugh.

  “Was it a good year?” she asked, motioning toward the paper.

  “What?” The man asked, obviously confused by Kate’s question.

  “1964,” she said, pointing to the newspaper.

  “Oh,” the man said. “Well, that makes sense. I didn’t think we were still at war in Vietnam.”

  Kate raised her eyebrows, suddenly wondering if coming here had been a good idea.

  “Would you like to look around the museum? It’s free,” the man said, smiling broadly. His eyes disappeared into the wrinkly folds of his aging face. Kate liked him already.

  “I would love to, but I was hoping you might be able to help me first.”

  Kate thought it best to ask if he knew anything about her family, specifically John Wylie’s donation of land to the church.

  “Oh, I am quite familiar with the history of the Methodist church,” the man responded. “They were in quite a financial pickle when Mr. Wylie gave them that land. You say he’s an ancestor of yours?”

  “Yes, my great-great-grandfather,” Kate acknowledged. “Do you know anything else of his history?”

  “Hmm. A bit off the top of my head, but I’d guess there’s even more about the Wylies in the museum.” He motioned to the room around him. “They were a wealthy family, I can tell you that much,” he said as he stood up and slowly moved out from behind the counter. He shuffled toward a back corner of one of the rooms. “It was all in land—they never had much liquid wealth.”

  “I’m surprised you know of the Wylies. They’re my family, and I didn’t even know about them until this afternoon.”

  “Well, you might have just gotten lucky with me. The Wylies were part of my own history, so perhaps I know a bit more than your average museum volunteer.”

  Kate smiled, enchanted by the little man. He was local, his voice rich with Southern influence, but there seemed a cadence to his voice that was different than just classic Southern speak. When she really listened, she thought he sounded a bit Scottish.

  “What do you mean?” Kate asked.

  “Old Ike Wylie—he would be your great-grandfather, no? He owned near two hundred acres out in the valley. He farmed a good portion of the land himself, and then he leased the lower portion of his farm to other farmers, anyone, really, in need of a leg up or a place to start. Leased farms weren’t all that rare, but Old Ike was different. He never asked for much rent, though a lot of people insisted on paying more than he required, whatever they thought fair. And he never expected a portion of the crops come harvest time. He could have. It was his land, after all. But he was a generous man. I think he liked to help people.”

  Kate shook her head. “I had no idea.”

  “My own father lived on old Ike’s land for near two years before I was born, farming, working, saving money until he could afford his own piece of property. He came over from Scotland with my mother and didn’t have a penny to his name. But he got along quite well after Ike offered help. He always talked about him, talked of how many found help at Ike’s door.” The old man stopped and pointed at a large photo in the corner. “Here, a picture of Isaac Wylie’s homestead. You can see it wasn’t very grand, but it held his family, no doubt.”

  Kate looked at the photo, a hazy capturing of
the very farmhouse she had lived in most of her life.

  “That’s my house!” Kate said, reaching forward, tracing the outline of the photo. “It looks different,” Kate said. “It’s been renovated and expanded many times, but it’s still there. And much of it is still the same. We have a garden here,” she said, pointing behind the house. “And a row of apple trees here. It’s funny to think there’s a picture of my house in the local museum, and I don’t think anyone in my family has ever seen it.”

  “Life keeps us busy,” the old man said. “Sometimes we are so occupied with looking forward, we forget to look back.” His eyes twinkled as he looked at Kate. “But there’s pleasure in looking back, isn’t there?”

  Kate shook her head in wonder. “It’s amazing.”

  “So your family has always lived on the land?” the man asked.

  Kate nodded. “The land was divided up between Isaac’s sons, one of them my grandfather. It was all sold, except for the portion my grandfather kept, the house and surrounding six acres. He raised his family there, and I grew up there too.”

  “Oh, family history is such a lovely thing!” he said. “I love it when connections are made and cherished. You will cherish these connections, I can already see.”

  With such enthusiasm, Kate had no doubt he would appreciate Ian’s journal. She pulled it out of her bag. “Can I show you something?” she asked. “This is Ian Wylie’s journal. He was Isaac Wylie’s great-great-grandfather.” She handed him the book.

  He flipped through it gently, stopping here and there to read a few lines. Without prompting, he adjusted his glasses, cleared his throat, and started to read.

  13 November 1848

  I find great sadness in Jennie never having had the opportunity to meet my father. He was a good man—an honest, kind, generous man. And he would have loved my Jennie. I think of him often and hope that I’ve done right by the Wylie name. It is a good name, one I’m proud to have and I’ve tried to honor throughout the years. I hope I’ve taught my own children well—to honor their name and remember who they are and all that they stand for. I hope their grandfather Wylie, if he has the opportunity to look down upon them, will always be proud of the individuals they’ve become and, of course, that I’ve become as well.

  “Well, that’s a nice thought, isn’t it?” he asked, looking back up at Kate. “You’re a Wylie! It’s quite a legacy.”

  Until Kate found Ian’s journal, she had often wondered if her own parents watched over her, but she’d never extended that thought to include anyone else. It brought surprising comfort to consider her ancestors—grandparents, great-grandparents, and beyond—watching over and taking an interest. She’d never really thought about what it truly meant to be a Wylie.

  “Yes, it is quite a legacy,” Kate agreed. “I’m sorry, you’ve been so helpful and I didn’t even catch your name.”

  “Angus McFinley, at your service,” he said. The man took a deep bow, and Kate smiled at his old-fashioned sincerity.

  “Mr. McFinley, I’m Kate Sinclair. I’m happy to make your acquaintance.” She paused then said, “Perhaps there is something else you can help me do.”

  Kate quickly explained about the hearing at the end of the week and her hope to turn the old farmhouse into a landmark. Mr. McFinley, in all of his ancient appearance, was a wealth of information regarding the county preservation society and their role in the establishment and maintenance of historic landmarks. The more they discussed the process, the more confident Kate became, especially when she considered the impact that two of her ancestors had made on the fellow citizens of Harrison County: first the land donation to the church and then Isaac’s generosity on his farm.

  Kate soon found herself overwhelmed by the sincerity and kindness of her new friend. Once Mr. McFinley started looking for information regarding Kate’s family, she could hardly get him to stop. When she told him it was time for her to go, he made her promise to come back the following day to see if he’d learned anything new that might help. He also agreed to make copies of anything Kate might be able to use in her petition, including the old photo of the farmhouse. He invited her to pick those up the following afternoon as well.

  Kate asked Mr. McFinley if he would come to the hearing, perhaps even share a bit of what he knew of the Wylie family’s history.

  He readily agreed, taking Kate’s hands into his own and smiling broadly. “I would be delighted to assist someone as lovely as you.”

  Sitting in her car in front of the museum, Kate hesitated to go home. She had nowhere else to go and assumed Andrew would be waiting for her. After hearing Ashley’s side of the story, she was a little less enthusiastic about hearing Andrew recount the tale. She wanted to believe she would understand why he had behaved the way he did, and, of course, there were always two sides to every story. But she was afraid, nonetheless. She was afraid she would learn something about him that might affect the way she felt, and she didn’t want that. She wanted to believe Andrew was better than all of the shallow, self-serving men she’d dated in the past. She had to believe he was better.

  She reached for Ian’s journal and casually flipped through its pages, stopping on the passage Angus McFinley had read inside the museum. She read it again and smiled. I am proud to be a Wylie, she thought. A few pages later, another entry captured Kate’s attention.

  16 December 1848

  I learned today that old man Patterson has been stealing from me. I’ve always trusted and respected Patterson and find it difficult to now have such cause to question his character. Jennie thinks I ought to write off the man, cease all business with him so as to avoid any further consequence of his dishonesty. I wonder what my Savior Jesus would do. Would He extend an arm of forgiveness? I think there must have been reason for this man’s blunder. Surely he found himself in a bind most desperate for him to resort to such measures. My heart tells me I should not condemn him, and though I cannot convince my brain to trust him fully just yet, I feel I ought to give him the chance to redeem himself.

  Kate closed the book with a little more force than necessary and placed it on the seat beside her.

  You would say that, Ian Wylie, wouldn’t you?

  She sighed, knowing it was time to give Andrew a chance to redeem himself.

  Chapter 27

  Kate pulled up in front of the farmhouse and saw Andrew sitting on the front porch steps, head resting in his hands. He looked up as she approached and stood as she got out of the car.

  “I’ve finished the survey,” he said, head low, both hands in his pockets.

  “And?” Kate said.

  “It’s definitely an old house.” He smiled timidly. When Kate didn’t respond, he continued. “The original structure was no bigger than fourteen or fifteen hundred square feet, which is actually still a good-sized house considering the year it was constructed. The house has had several additions, including the incorporation of modern day amenities, but the core of the house, the unique characteristics of early twentieth-century construction are still present—high ceilings, narrow stairs, the livable attic space, as well as many superficial elements based on style alone that directly reflect the building styles and influences of the house’s original era.”

  “That’s good news.” Kate sighed. “Thank you for your help.”

  The silence stretched on for a few awkward moments until Andrew finally spoke. “Kate, I should have told you.”

  She shook her head. “We’ve only known each other a few weeks.”

  Logically, it made sense that he wouldn’t have told her. Leaving your bride at the altar wasn’t exactly an experience one clamored to tell a new acquaintance. And yet, Kate thought he should have told her. The emotional investment in their relationship already seemed much larger than anything typical. But then again, maybe Andrew would have told her, that very night even, if Ashley hadn’t so inconveniently arrived on the Spencers’ doorstep. Most likely, this was the long story he had alluded to the previous afternoon in the car. Kate
looked at him and saw his distress.

  “Please, just let me explain,” he said softly.

  Kate turned around and sat down on the top step, motioning for Andrew to join her.

  He sat down and dove into his story before she could stop him. “I got a job right out of school working for a design firm in Richmond. It was an all right job, but it wasn’t exactly what I wanted, so after a few years, I started looking and found Westonhouse. It was a great firm, exactly what I was looking for. The company had a great reputation, great location, and the guy was Mormon, so I couldn’t really ask for a better situation. Within a few weeks, I’d met Ashley. She was Westonhouse’s daughter. Her father orchestrated everything . . . bought us dinner, tickets to shows, sporting events . . . It almost felt surreal, like I was on some reality dating show, except there was only one girl. Everyone but me was convinced we were perfect for each other.” Andrew pressed his forehead into his hands, elbows propped up on his knees. Kate could tell the story made him tired.

  “Ashley was—still is—a lovely person. She was kind and compassionate, faithful in the gospel, but it just wasn’t there. I knew it, and I think deep down, she knew it too, though I’m not sure she ever would have admitted it. Eventually, I started to tell myself that there’s more to love than just sparks and good chemistry. There’s the kind of love bred from commitment, endurance, a shared faith. I could see Ashley and me working toward those things. We dated for almost a year, all while I worked for her dad. I advanced up a line of promotions so fast it would make your head spin. It wasn’t because of me though. It wasn’t based on my performance or skill. It was for Ashley. I was being polished to marry daddy’s little girl. I mean, don’t get me wrong, it’s not like I was manipulated. I made all my own choices, but it just seemed like everybody made it so easy to make certain choices and follow this predetermined path. Before long, I was convinced it was the path I wanted too. So I asked her to marry me, she said yes, and we planned a wedding . . . D.C. Temple, big reception, everything . . .” He paused, fidgeting, uncomfortable. “I’m not proud of what I did, Kate,” he said firmly. “I never should have let it go so far. I think I really believed that if we were faithful, if we made good decisions, God would bless our marriage and everything would work out. But I sat there in the parking lot of the hotel the morning of the ceremony, and I was suddenly terrified at how long eternity seemed. I wasn’t even married yet, and I was already looking for a way out. Everything about our marriage was practical and logical, obviously the best thing to do. But my heart wasn’t in it. I just didn’t love her like I needed to.”