Windwood Farm (Taryn's Camera)

by Rebecca Patrick-Howard

  June 30, 1921

  Papa was angry when he discovered Donald had come by. He wouldn’t tell me why, but he immediately went to Sally Ann Farm and came back an hour later, even more hot-tempered and said that we wouldn’t be “bothered” again. I am sorely disappointed because I very much enjoyed my brief visit from Donald and I wasn’t bothered at all. Papa did say Jonathan Fitzgerald would be coming back in a few days to speak to me about something important. I am unsure as to what this could be. I have never seen much of the Fitzgeralds before. Their house and farm are grand and they keep to social circles that do not concern us. Mama always said they thought they were better than we were, despite the fact Mama also grew up in a fine house. I don’t know much about these things, although Jonathan has always been nice enough. I only met my grandparents when I was small and don’t remember their house.

  August 5, 1921

  Jonathan Fitzgerald has asked me for my hand in marriage. This is such a shock to me because although I have known him my whole life, I really barely know him at all. He isn’t old enough to be my father, but I’ve never thought of him in that manner, not in the kind of manner to marry him. He is handsome, as most of my friends in school thought, but as a husband! I just don’t know. I told him I would have to ask Papa, but then he told me that he had already asked him himself and Papa said he’d given him his blessing. I spoke to Papa about the matter, and Papa said I should accept it. I’m confused. Papa thundered through the house, asking why I would even consider refusing such a “fine offer” from someone of “such character and wealth.”

  Naturally, I don’t know him well enough to love him. Papa told me I could learn to love him and would get to know him. That doesn’t feel the same to me, however. I always thought that when I married someone, it would be because I had fallen in love with him. I am scared to refuse him now, however, because Papa told me that it was “necessary” for me. I don’t know what that means, but it frightened me. I told him I accepted. He seemed elated and said his parents would be as well. I don’t know how, since they don’t even know me. He said we could set a date of sometime in the autumn. He has family who live in the north and they will want to travel here.

  This all feels somewhat surreal to me. I love Windwood Farm. It just feels like I am destined for something else, not living with the Fitzgeralds. I thought he was going with Maizie Casteel. I saw them together in town all the time. I’m not sure what is happening to me.

  When he asked me to marry him, I couldn’t help but think of the nice conversation I had with Donald Adkins about books. It made me sad.

  August 10, 1921

  There’s a special spot in the woods I enjoy visiting. It isn’t much, just a little clearing, but there’s a tree that fell over years ago and the log has made a nice bench of sorts. I go there with my books after I’ve done my chores and I relax when Papa is out in the fields. I went there this afternoon and had barely been there for half an hour when who should show up but Donald Adkins. He was surprised as I was!

  “I just discovered this a week ago,” he exclaimed.

  I told him it has been mine for years, but that I was happy to share it with him.

  He brought his own books so we sat, side by side, for at least an hour and read in companionable silence. I brought my lunch with me, egg salad sandwich and an apple, and I shared this with him. He brought a thermos of buttermilk and some biscuits his mother made and he shared this with me. We barely spoke a word to one another but it was one of the nicest afternoons I’ve had in years. We agreed to meet there every other day at the same time. He said he always has chores, but his parents allow him to have time to read since he is preparing for college. They truly value education. I asked him not to tell anyone that we were meeting because I don’t think Papa would understand. He agreed.

  August 15, 1921

  Jonathan took me dancing tonight in town at the ballroom. There was a band playing and it was the first time I had ever been to anything like that, except for the fair, of course. The music was fast and I didn’t know any of his friends, but I had a nice time. Maizie was there and that was extremely uncomfortable. She was polite to me, but sneered at me throughout the evening whenever she thought Jonathan wasn’t looking and I kept getting the feeling she was making fun of me and my flowered dress and brown shoes. They were my mother’s and the fanciest shoes I own. I don’t have a lot of dress-up clothes, only clothes I wear to church. The ballroom was full of women in red dresses, short dresses, and lots of makeup. I don’t own any makeup because Papa says painted women are the devil’s work and he won’t allow me to wear any. I wouldn’t know how to wear it even if I did have any, but seeing the other women with it on tonight made me wish I could have at least had some color on my lips. I felt very young. Jonathan promised once we were married, he would find me clothing and a hairstyle that was more suitable to me. He said he didn’t want to change me, but that he didn’t want me to feel uncomfortable. I am not opposed to this and think it might even be fun. Still, I was awfully glad to come back home at the end of the evening. I thought Papa would be angry we were out so late, but he said that as long as I was with Jonathan, everything was “fine.”

  August 21, 1921

  I am so enjoying my afternoons with Donald. Most days, we don’t talk to each other at all, at least not much. I read a book he encouraged me to read by Willa Cather called My Antonia and it made me cry for days. I just cannot stop thinking about it. He read one of my recommendations, The Turn of the Screw, and it kept him up for days, so we’re even, I guess.

  When we talk, we end up laughing a lot. He makes up silly songs and we take turns finishing each other’s lyrics. Sometimes they’re about the same people we know. A few days ago, we made up one about Maizie Casteel and her long, pointy nose. I know that sounds mean, but she really had no reason to make me feel so uncomfortable. Jonathan told me she called off the relationship with him. I told Donald about feeling underdressed at the dance and he said he understood. He talked about how he often felt bad at school because his family doesn’t have a lot of money, despite the fact they live on a large farm. He has won a scholarship for college and is saving his money by working for other farmers when he can. He is a hard worker and also very intelligent. I know his parents must be proud of him.

  Yesterday, Donald and I went for a walk. It was just around the woods, but I pointed out some of the herbs that I enjoy using to brew some of my favorite teas and he showed me some bark that Indians used to use for medicines. He’s very knowledgeable about these kinds of things. Later, he tripped and fell into me and I teased him about trying to play tag, as though we were children. We ended up running through the woods, laughing, chasing one another. I feel like I have a real friend, for the first time in a long time.

  August 28, 1921

  Tonight, I overheard Papa and Jonathan talking about oil. They were at the kitchen table and didn’t know I could hear them. Jonathan was very excited and discussing the contract options that a company could make with him, but Papa reminded him that nobody is allowed to drill until after the wedding. This made my blood run cold. I don’t understand. I could feel tears stinging my eyes, but I didn’t understand why. Why can’t they drill until after the wedding? I didn’t even know that we had oil on our farm.

  September 5, 1921

  Donald assured me that Papa probably doesn’t want any drilling done until after the wedding because there is a lot going on. We have set the date for December 14th and that isn’t too far away. Maybe he is right. There is a lot of planning underway. I’ve been to town three times to have my dress sized and I’ve already been to the Fitzgerald farm once to have tea with Jonathan’s mother, a stern woman who rarely cracks a smile. I think she would prefer he be marrying Maizie. I also met Jonathan’s sister. She has even less humor than her brother.

  Donald did confide in me that the business he sought with my Papa that afternoon was a financial one. Papa owed Mr. Adkins money and was meant to repay it that day. He still
hasn’t repaid the loan. Donald says the word about town is that he owes money to a lot of people, so maybe if there is an oil well on our land that is a good thing. Perhaps Jonathan is helping him in find a company to drill, then that will solve our financial debts. I do hope so. I couldn’t bear to lose our farm. This is my home.

  September 10, 1921

  There were many things I hoped to accomplish today, but it was all I could do to stay around the house and finish the chores. My stomach has felt funny for a few days. I’ve been hungry and having what feels like hunger pains, and my stomach is certainly grumbling enough, but I find when I eat I’m unable to get much down. I suppose it’s just nerves. I do hope they pass soon.

  September 15, 1921

  These are the last few warm days of summer. Today Donald and I slipped off to the creek and cooled down in the water. It was blazing hot, so I brought my swimsuit and we splashed around like children, dunking each other in and holding each other down until we couldn’t take it anymore. We laughed and laughed and then lay on the banks and watched the clouds, talking about his future plans.

  “I’ll miss you when you’re gone, you know,” I told him wistfully.

  “You’ll be an old married woman, you won’t have time,” he said playfully.

  I’m not sure why, but I burst into tears and he put his arms around me while I just cried and cried and cried. When I stopped I realized I had completely embarrassed myself and I quickly dried off and got dressed. I went on home then because I just couldn’t stand for him to feel sorry for me.

  September 30, 1921

  Jonathan took me to town for lunch today. He wanted to surprise me by letting me pick out something for our new parlor. Although we’ll be living in his parents’ home for a time, we will have our own parlor. I have never picked out any furniture before and, having no idea what to look for, I chose a lamp since I love to read. He laughed at my choice but then gave me a hug and said he honestly did cherish me and love me. I think he might have meant it.

  We ran into Maizie while we were in town and she commented on how “pale” I looked and said I needed to spend more time in the sun. I actually felt rather well today and assumed she was just trying to cause trouble. Jonathan told me I looked beautiful. When I got home, however, I looked in my mirror and I did appear a little peaked. Perhaps I should get out in the sun more while the weather is still nice. I can already feel the tips of winter trying to sneak in and steal the last drops of summer and I’m not ready to let them go. My hands are cold and I can’t seem to get warm anymore.

  October 15, 1921

  I finally felt well enough to face Donald again. My stomach has been in knots and I’ve even been a little nauseated, but I wanted to see him and apologize. He had been showing up at our spot every day, patiently waiting for me. As soon as I started talking to him, though, he grabbed me by the shoulders and shushed me.

  “Please don’t do that, Clara,” he said. “You’re my best friend. If you can’t fall apart on me, then who can you fall apart on anyway?”

  “I don’t even know why I did it,” I complained. “Jonathan is a very nice man with a nice house. But I don’t love him.”

  “Then don’t marry him,” he said adamantly. “If it feels wrong, then it is probably wrong.”

  “I have to. I told Papa I would and he’s insistent. And I have a dress and everything.”

  “And you always do everything you’re told, right?”

  I nodded miserably.

  Donald nodded, too. “Well, I have seen the wrath of your papa. The day he came over to our farm, he was so angry he shot at our house and broke the window.”

  “What?” I cried, shocked.

  Donald told me it was all his mother could do not to call the police. They had stopped because of me, not wanting to leave me on the farm alone. Papa must be under a lot of stress and tension, but even I hadn’t known it was that bad.

  October 20, 1921

  Oh, things are just terrible. They could not get any worse. My stomach is miserable and aches something awful. At breakfast, I tried broaching the subject of calling off the wedding and Papa grew so furious, he actually threw his plate up against the wall, shouted at me, and stormed out of the house. He must have gone to town because he’s not on the farm and it’s very late at night now.

  That’s not even the worst of it, not by a long shot. I did something horrid.

  After Papa left, I went to the clearing and there was Donald, reading. I have no idea what came over me but, without thinking, I ran to him, threw myself into his lap, and buried my face in his neck. Before I knew what was happening, we were melting into the sweetest, most promising kiss I have ever known. Jonathan has kissed me, of course, but those have been quick, hasty, and almost hard. This one was hopeful. I didn’t want it to stop and, indeed, I think time stood still!

  When we were finished he rocked me back and forth for what seemed like an eternity and then, again, I embarrassed myself and cried a little bit. I have gotten myself into such a mess. I wish my mama was still alive.

  October 28, 1921

  I am leading two separate lives now. One is full of dress fittings, wedding plans, and looking at menus. I go out with Jonathan and his friends, I visit with his mother and father, I listen to him and Papa talk about business, and I smile at his endless talks of the railroad. I scrub our house from top to bottom, straightening rugs and polishing silver. I mend clothes and sweep the porch. I cook dinner and breakfast every day. I am even trying to learn how to be a wife.

  And in my other life, I sneak away every afternoon to the woods. There, I run through the trees and dance in the sunlight. I read books and sigh over passages that sing to me. I laugh and dream and love and kiss and lay in the arms of the one I really love. I have memorized his every move, his texture, his skin, his hair, his fingernails. I can breathe him. I think, in a blackened room without any sound, I would still know he was there.

  I don’t know how I am going to live without him.

  November 10, 1921

  Today I overheard an argument between Papa and Jonathan. It was about the oil wells. Oh, I do not think that there are any on our property at all. Jonathan still thinks there are, of course, but he asked Papa for proof of his business contract with the drilling company and Papa grew belligerent. Jonathan stormed out of the house in a rage. Now I wonder if he only wants to marry me because of the wells. What if Papa has lied to him? Is money all anyone cares about anymore? I feel ill.

  Jonathan is going out of town on business the day after tomorrow. He won’t return for three weeks.

  I am going to speak to Papa about Donald tonight.

  Chapter 13

  Taryn paced the room impatiently, first sipping on her Coke and then draining it while she waited for Matt to finish reading the pages she had uploaded to him. Allison Moorer sang in the background, something about a soft place to fall. She hadn’t trusted going to the library and scanning them; instead, she had taken pictures of them and sent them to his email. It felt like it was taking him forever, but it was less than half an hour. Matt was a fast reader.

  “Well.” It was a statement.

  “Well!?” she pounced.

  “I guess we can come up with some theories then, can’t we?” he mused thoughtfully.

  “So I reckon we can assume poor Donald probably didn’t make it out of Vidalia, for starters,” she agreed, getting settled on the bed. She’d been dying to talk to him since she finished reading the pages in the heat of her car. She hadn’t even been able to make it back to her room before diving into them.

  “Not necessarily,” he hedged.

  “Oh, come on Matt,” she snorted. “One of them obviously killed him. Either her dad did it because she was fooling around with him and would have called off the wedding, or Jonathan did it because she would have called off the wedding and either way it would have screwed up their oil deal—the deal that would have made both of them rich. Donald didn’t make it out of there alive and one of
them is behind it.”

  “There is another alternative, Taryn. You’re always seeing conspiracy theories,” Matt chastised. She hated that tone in his voice. It grated on her, although it was true she saw conspiracy theories a lot.

  “And what, pray tell, would that be?”

  “Maybe he left because he couldn’t stand to wait around and watch something he couldn’t have,” he replied softly.

  Even Taryn wasn’t dense enough to catch the hitch in his voice and she felt guilty enough to drop her head and bite her lip. It wasn’t time, not yet. It might be the right time, maybe one day. But she would know, wouldn’t she? If it was meant to be Matt?

  “I still think one of them killed her,” she said stubbornly.

  “So why was the engagement called off?”

  “Whose?”

  “Maizie’s.”

  “Because she was a bitch, obviously,” Taryn snorted. “And then Jonathan got back together with her because men eventually go back to women like that because they’re nuts. Maybe he did have a moment of lucidity with Clara but then she died and in a moment of weakness he went back to the crazy chick.”