by Lin Stepp
After wolfing down their sandwiches, the boys begged to pull off their shoes and wade in the creek while John and Lydia finished their lunch.
They sat in silence for a time, except for the sounds of the creek and the shrieks of pleasure of the boys, until Lydia spoke.
“John, I want to ask you something.”
He turned his gaze toward her. “What?”
“Did Mary Beth talk to you about the letter she got from Sonny?”
The flash of anger that flicked across his face gave her an answer before his words did. “Yes, and she told me she talked with you about it.” He took a swig of his water. “It worries me that Sonny plans to come through this area and wants to see the boys.”
He crossed his arms. “I don’t know if you’ve been told this, but Mary Beth legally took back her maiden name after Sonny deserted her. She and I had the boys’ names changed to Cunningham, too. We thought it would be too confusing for them to be raised as Harpers when they were growing up on the Cunningham Farm.”
“I remember Billy Ray told me his full name was William Rayfield Cunningham, and I wondered about it.” She thought about this. “Do the boys understand their names have been changed?”
John nodded. “Mary Beth and I explained it to them before they started school. We wanted them to be able to explain it to anyone who asked questions.”
“Did Sonny agree to this?”
John snorted. “Mary Beth got him to sign the papers by sending him money one time when he wanted it. Apparently, the money meant more to him than his kids.”
“How sad.” Lydia shook her head. “That boy comes from a nice family. It’s hard to believe he’s gotten so messed up.”
“I know.” John finished his sandwich. “He’s troubled in some unnatural way, and I’ve heard through a few sources it might be drugs. That makes me more worried for him to spend time with the boys.”
Lydia felt her eyes widen. “You don’t think he would hurt them, do you?”
John kicked at a rock. “I don’t know, but I wouldn’t put it past him to use the boys to threaten Mary Beth to give him money. She’s told Sonny she won’t send him any more and he hasn’t been happy about it.”
Lydia watched the boys jump from rock to rock in the mountain stream. “Well, maybe he won’t come through here at all. He’s visited so few times over the years. Perhaps he’ll change his mind.”
“I hope so.” John sighed. “The boy is their natural father and they have a right to know him. But I wish they were older first so they’d understand his problems more.”
Lydia slipped off her socks and shoes and splashed her feet in the cold water of the stream. “I think you need to talk to them. Tell them what you know about their father.”
He scowled. “The boys go to visit the Harpers—their other grandparents. They also visit Sonny’s brother, Eric, his wife, Faye, and their kids. They know Sonny lives out west somewhere, has his own life there, and isn’t interested in any of his family anymore.”
She pulled her feet up on the rock again. “That must be hard for them to understand.”
He shrugged as he packed the lunch remains back into his backpack. “They ask questions sometimes, but they have so many people in their lives who love them and that helps. Both understand, too, that some people have problems and are harder to live with than others.”
Lydia dropped her eyes as she started putting her socks and shoes back on. “Yes, I guess they learned that early, living with Estelle.”
John lowered his voice and Lydia felt him tense beside her. “I never let Mother give the boys a difficult time. I stressed to her that if she did, her only chance for future heirs for the farm would be toast.”
Her eyes met his. “Do they want to be heirs?”
“They say so, but they’re young. Only time will tell.”
She put a hand on his. “I’m glad you see that, John. And because you are offering them the freedom to choose, they are more likely to stay.”
“I’m trying to change, Lydia.”
“I know.” She gave him a quick kiss on the cheek while the boys’ heads were turned.
Later that night, Lydia sat in the loud and boisterous atmosphere of the Stompin’ Ground barn remembering that earlier conversation. She’d heard Mary Beth sing twice and she watched her dance now, with joy and abandon, around the huge dance floor of the big barn theater with Neal.
“They sure make a nice couple,” Rebecca said, following her eyes. She and her husband, Tolley, had joined them at a large table tonight.
“Yes, they do.” Lydia pulled her seat closer to Rebecca so they could hear each other talk. “What was your impression of Sonny Harper?”
“I remember Sonny as a slightly spoiled younger son who got involved too early with a rock band and unhealthy dreams.” She shook her head.
“Do you think he’s dangerous—that if he came back to the valley he might hurt Mary Beth or the boys?”
Rebecca tapped a nail on her teeth, thinking about this. “It’s hard to say. Sonny grew very self-absorbed at the end before he finally left the valley. He didn’t care about Mary Beth, his family, his babies. He only cared about his band and running around doing gigs and shows. Folks whispered that he had drug and alcohol problems. Maybe he did. That can go a long way toward ruining a nice young man’s life.” She glanced at the dance floor, her eyes finding Mary Beth. “It’s nice to see Bee finding some happiness with someone good and decent like Neal. She deserves it.”
“I know.” Lydia felt a catch in her heart, knowing how absent she’d been during the hard years Mary Beth had had to endure.
A voice interrupted her reverie. “Wanna clog a little, good-lookin’?” Tolley Albright held out a hand and winked at her. “I thought I’d steal a dance with you while John is talking shop with that farmer.” He gestured across the room.
Lydia agreed and moved to the floor with Tolley as Neal and Mary Beth came back to the table to rest and join Rebecca.
The farmer John was talking with turned out to be a neighbor. He told John about another ghost sighting near Drop Off Ridge. John filled Lydia in on all the details later as they shared tea on the porch of Hill House.
“Two little boys not much older than the twins got scared out of their wits yesterday.” John frowned into the dark. “They had pop guns and were playing in the woods. The ghost jumped out from behind a tree, swinging its arms and moaning, waving what the boys described as a bloody knife. They told the sheriff they ran for their lives, with the ghost hollering threats behind them to never come back there again.”
“Honestly, this has really got to stop.” Lydia pushed the porch swing into a soft rhythm with her foot. “Doesn’t the sheriff have any clues?”
“No.” John ran his hands through his hair in irritation. “And I don’t like that at all. This sighting occurred right near our property line on the other side of Indian Creek below Drop Off Ridge. That’s not far from Ridge House above the Upper Orchards where Nevelyn, Vera, and the children stay alone every day while the men work on the farm.”
Lydia stopped her swing. “You’re right. Charlie and Nevelyn’s house isn’t far below the ridge woods or from the Indian Creek boundary, either.” She paused. “That’s near where that little girl got so badly scared before, too.”
He stood to walk over to the porch railing, obviously upset. “It takes a sick person to scare children.”
She got up to stand beside him, putting a hand on his arm in comfort. “I’m sure the sheriff’s office will find who is behind this soon. Maggie is a small valley and someone will come forward who knows something.”
“I hope so.” John turned slightly, slipping his arms around her in the darkness. “It’s good to have you to talk with again, to share with.” He traced a hand down her back. “Did you have a good time tonight?”
“Yes.” She made an effort to shift out of John’s embrace but found herself backed against the porch rail instead.
“Don’t pull awa
y. I won’t press beyond what you want.” His lips moved to hers as he finished his words and the kiss he gave her was soft and sweet.
Reveling in the familiar spicy smell of him, Lydia moved closer, engulfed in old memories and, at the same time, stirred by new feelings.
“I feel like a kid courting a new girl.” John spoke the words against her neck, echoing her own thoughts. “But it’s a good feeling, sweet and tender but stirring up my blood, too.” He kissed her again and Lydia returned the kiss with passion this time, joyous to think she’d come home at last to the man who’d filled her dreams and heart these long years.
“I love you, Lydia Ruth.” He wrapped her tight in his embrace until she could feel his heartbeat against hers. “There’s never been another woman in my thoughts or another woman I’ve felt drawn to since I met you.”
He stepped back slightly until he could look down into her eyes. “I want you to know I yearn to have you back. I want to be married to you again in every way, to hold you in my arms as we fall asleep every night, to wake up with you every morning, to cherish you in my heart until we’re old and white-haired.”
“You already have a touch of white hair,” she teased him, running her hands along his temple lightly.
He chuckled and then kissed her again with a warm passion that hinted of more, threading his hands through her hair, nibbling on her neck in a delightful way that heightened her breathing and sent her senses yearning.
She clung to him with pleasure, her hands moving over the familiar lines of his back, enjoying the taste and feel of him.
With a heavy sigh, John kissed her forehead and held her back from him at last. “I need to go or I’ll urge you for more.”
His eyes loomed dark with desire as she opened her eyes to look at him. She wasn’t ready to encourage him to stay yet, but it felt sweet to see the yearning in his eyes again. Passion and desire had slipped away from them in those last difficult years with Estelle.
“We can get married a second time if you’d like, Lyddie, to symbolize a new beginning.” His eyes moved toward the door. “I can carry you over the threshold like I did the first time.”
She giggled and then drew in a ragged breath, feeling another rush of urgent wanting wash over her. “I’ll think, John,” she told him. “It’s all I can give you for now.”
“It’s enough.” He put a hand to her cheek. “Do you still love me?”
“I do.” She whispered the words softly.
“That’s sweet to hear.”
Lydia leaned her forehead against his chest and he buried his face in her hair. They stood there close together for a few moments, hearts beating so loudly that Lydia felt she could hear them in the quiet of the night.
Then John gave her a last quick kiss and walked to his truck, leaving Lydia to drift into her house feeling cherished—that was the perfect word—a feeling she hadn’t known for a long time.
CHAPTER 14
As a farmer, working with the orchard, the changing seasons, and the land, John had learned to be patient. It took time and nurturing to grow things well, and John was giving ample time to grow his relationship with Lydia back into a healthy and sweet place. As the weeks passed, he’d watched her trust toward him increase and he knew her feelings for him strengthened daily.
He found her working in the flower bed in the front yard this morning. John often dropped by to see Lydia before his day began, and they shared dinner most evenings now, either here at Hill House or down at Main House with the family.
Lydia stood up, brushing dirt off her knees and hands, her face flushed. “With the heat wave we’re having now in July, I decided to get out and weed my flower beds early today.” She smiled. “But I’m finished and I’m glad you stopped by. Go in the kitchen and make coffee—or look for something cold to drink—while I shower off.”
Despite the heat, he made coffee, nursing a cup afterward and nibbling on Lydia’s fresh coffee cake he found on the kitchen table. The wall phone rang and John picked it up automatically, expecting it to be Sam or Manu. They knew he stopped by in the mornings, and few people knew the house number except family.
“John here,” he answered.
An angry voice erupted back. “What the devil are you doing there?”
“Is this J. T.?” John thought he recognized the voice. “Your mother’s in the shower and she should be out in a few minutes. Do you want me to give her a message?”
“No,” the voice snapped back. “But I have a message for you. I don’t like it that you’re there early in the morning like this, with Mom in the shower. We don’t want you getting back in her life and hurting her again, you understand?”
Irritation crawled up John’s back. “You have no right to talk to me like that, J. T. I’m your father.”
“Some father.” J. T. snorted. “And I meant what I said about Mom. I’m not a little boy anymore, and I’m not going to let you make Mom unhappy again. In case you didn’t know, Will and Parker and I didn’t want her to go back to North Carolina.”
John bit down on an angry retort. “J. T., I think you and I need to talk some time. I would never willingly hurt your mother.”
“Too late, you already did,” J. T. snapped back. “And I don’t want to chat with you any longer.” Sarcasm laced his voice. “You let Mother know we have the rest of her things all packed up. Tell her to call if she wants us to ship them or if she can come down to pick them up.” He paused. “I don’t want you in her life again and I don’t want you in mine.”
The phone slammed down and John stood there in shock for several seconds, his son’s angry words sizzling in the air.
“Who was that?” Lydia asked, coming into the kitchen fresh and fragrant from her shower. Her thick hair was pulled up under a clip at the back of her head, and damp tendrils drifted down her neck.
His eyes traveled over her in appreciation. “That was our son—or perhaps I should say your son.”
Lydia’s eyebrows lifted in surprise at the irritation in his tone. “What happened?”
John’s hands clenched involuntarily into fists. “J. T. made it clear he doesn’t want me in either your life or his.” He paced around the small kitchen. “He wanted to know what I was doing here so early with you in the shower. There were insinuations in his voice, as though I didn’t have a right to be here or have any right to be with you.”
Lydia wandered into the kitchen and poured herself a cup of tea from the teapot on the counter. Then she perched on the corner of a chair. “John, I think you need to calm down.”
“Easy for you to say.” He scowled at her. “You weren’t just insulted by your own son. He had no right to say those things to me. No right. Haven’t you taught him any manners over these years?”
She sent him a steely look. “Don’t criticize J. T. to me, John. He loves me and is defensive of me.”
“And I don’t love you?” He tried to bank his irritation.
“He’s remembering his last memories. Things were in a bad state then—both of us hurting. He’s worried for me. He wants me to be happy.” She calmly stirred a little milk into her tea.
John walked over and clenched his hands on the chair back across from hers. “I can’t believe you’re making excuses for the way he talked to me. He was rude and out of order, Lydia, and he hung up on me.”
“He was upset. I’m sure it shocked him to find you here so early in the morning and to hear you say I was in the shower. You have to admit, the situation suggests intimacy.”
“So? We are intimate,” said John. Lydia’s patient tone infuriated him.
“We’re not intimate in that way.” She crossed her arms primly.
“Not for any lack of desire on my part.” His eyes narrowed. “Have you not told the boys we’re developing a relationship again?”
He saw her eyes drop to her lap. “No, not yet. The boys worried when I came back to North Carolina. They feared I would get involved with you again. I haven’t confided to them yet that we’re
seeing each other, except in casual interactions with family and friends, of course.”
“Are you ashamed of caring for me?” She’d pricked his pride and he knew he snapped out the words.
She sighed. “No, I’m just wary. I still remember problems from the past sometimes. Have flashbacks. I wanted to be stronger in myself before I talked with the boys. More sure of myself.”
“Well, great. That’s just great. Certainly a boost to my ego.” A cold chill went through him. “And where does that leave me with my sons?”
Her eyes flashed with annoyance as she looked across at him. “Exactly where you placed yourself with them. It’s your responsibility to work to restore your relationship with your sons, if you want one again. Not mine.”
She got up and walked away from him into the living room. Sensing him following her, she turned. “You’ve been working to reestablish a relationship with me, John, but you’ve done nothing to patch up your relationship with your sons. I can’t do that for you. It’s not my responsibility.”
He began to lose his patience. “And you think it’s my responsibility to do that?” His voice dropped dangerously as he spoke the words.
“Yes, I do. And quite frankly, I think it’s cowardly that you haven’t made any effort to approach J. T., Billy Dale, and Parker.”
“Cowardly?” He practically roared the word, sending the kittens scampering under the sofa.
Undaunted, Lydia squared her shoulders. “Yes, cowardly—your typical avoidance tendency. Pretending there’s no problem and hoping maybe it will just go away by itself.”
He grabbed her arm. “You don’t think very highly of me, do you, Lydia?”
“In the way you’ve handled the situation with your sons, no, I don’t.” She looked at his hand on her arm until he released it, and then she walked over to stand behind a chair, farther away from him. “I made the effort to keep in touch with Mary Beth after I left. I wrote her letters—which I learned your mother destroyed and didn’t let her read. Then I sent her letters through Rebecca as I could, trying to keep in touch with my daughter. Loving her enough to want to stay close.”
