Winter Cottage

by Mary Ellen Taylor

  “You knew she was pregnant?”

  “I did. Hell, I even offered to marry her, but she said no. Said she wasn’t waiting around in this little town while I went off to college and became a football star.” He threaded his fingers through his hair. “Loving Beth felt like a damned addiction. I couldn’t take care of her the way she wanted, but I couldn’t let go.”

  Of all the scenarios she’d imagined about a reunion with her father, she’d never pictured this. “What does this have to do with your knee?”

  “She called the casino and told them I was going to screw them and not shave points. A few days later, a guy showed up and told me he’d give me thirty days to get the money. I got some of it, but not all. I made the mistake of threatening them with going to the cops. That afternoon, when I was crossing the street, a car came out of nowhere and clipped me.” He shook his head. “It all went to shit after that. Broken leg. The scholarship. School. The leg never healed right, and the pain was constant. I started to feel sorry for myself and started drinking more. I’ve been hitting the booze hard ever since.”

  “Maybe Beth didn’t feel like she had a choice.”

  He slowly shook his head. “She had a choice.”

  “I don’t know what to say. I’m supposed to just believe you?”

  “I’m not asking for anything. I’m not looking for your forgiveness. I just wanted you to hear my side.”

  “Okay.” She didn’t know if he was telling her the truth or not, but for the first time, she glimpsed some humanity in the man.

  “I’m going to do some time. I broke my parole when I got drunk in public and came onto the school grounds. I’m likely looking at a couple of years.” He reached for the bars, tightening his fingers. “Take care of Natasha for me. I’ll sign whatever papers I need to sign. But she’s better off with you. You’re not like Beth or me. You’re better than us both.”

  “I’ll look out for Natasha.”

  He tried to thank her, but his voice caught.

  “Take care of yourself, Brian.”

  He released the bars and stepped back. “Always.”

  Lucy and Dolly left the jail and drove to the beach. She let the dog run as she walked along the sand, not sure what to make of what she’d just learned from Brian. She wasn’t sure if she even liked the guy, but she gave him credit for turning himself in and giving up Natasha.

  He’d stopped running.

  And maybe, it really was her chance to do the same.

  She and Dolly got back to the Jeep, and she drove to Hank’s office. Seeing a light on inside, she parked and the two pushed through his front door.

  “Hank,” she said.

  Footsteps sounded on the second floor and then the stairs. He looked as if he’d just stepped out of the shower. His hair was damp and his shirt clean, but there were dark circles under his eyes. “I was just coming to see you.”

  “You must have heard Brian turned himself in?”

  “I did. Rick called me last night.”

  “I went to see Brian.”

  He moved closer but didn’t try to embrace her. “How did it go?”

  “He told me his side of his relationship with Beth.”

  “Do you believe him?”

  “Oddly, yes. He also asked me to take Natasha.”

  “What did you say?”

  “I said yes.”

  “That’s really great. Thank you.”

  “Don’t thank me yet. You’ve seen the parenting stock I came from. It could be the worst thing for that kid. But hey, it takes a village to raise a kid anyway.”

  “You’re not alone. You’ll have our help.”

  She nodded, still trying to process it all.

  “I’m sorry about the loan. I’m meeting with the bank this morning and telling them I overcommitted you.”

  “Yeah, I was thinking about that myself. Seeing as I’m staying, and I have a kid to raise, this town is going to have to stay alive. I’ll sign after I’ve read the papers.”

  He took a half step toward her. “Are you sure? There’s no turning back once it’s done. We’ll both have our necks on the line for a long time.”

  She reached out and took his hand, rubbing her fingers against the rough calluses. “Risk doesn’t scare me. What scares me are secrets. Beth kept them all her life. You’ve kept a few. I’d rather have bad news straight up.”

  “Message received loud and clear.” He tugged her gently, and she stepped the rest of the way toward him.

  She traced her finger over his freshly shaved jaw and then kissed him on the lips.

  “Welcome to Cape Hudson, Lucy.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  Mrs. Catherine Buchanan

  June 26, 1988

  Mrs. B sits alone in the parlor, staring at the camera. She’s been waiting for Beth for almost an hour. The girl is always a little late, but this is ridiculous. The girl is fire, bright and entertaining in one moment and reckless in the next. She is her own worst enemy. Just like her father, and like her grandmother, Victoria, before that. She has none of Jimmy’s temperance. Mrs. B thinks back to the moment she held Victoria and Jimmy’s son in her arms on that long-ago night. The winds churned up something terrible, and the rains were strong. It was as if the skies opened up and wept for the child unwanted by his mother and unknown to his father.

  When the clock strikes four, she realizes Beth has accepted her offer. She has run away with her unborn baby inside her. She’s taken the money Mrs. B left out on the table by the front door. The money won’t last her forever, but it will give Beth a start. Maybe she’ll call once she’s settled and the child is born.

  “Ah, Jimmy,” she said. “You’ve a strong-willed granddaughter, and I have no doubt her child will be as strong. I only hope one of them has your level sense.”

  She feels the wind blow across the back of her neck, and she knows Jimmy is close. He is always close. This has been their home for nearly seventy years.

  She tips the edge of her glasses forward and studies the camera. The button on the right is the one that Beth always pushed before she told her it was recording. Beth never thought Mrs. B was paying attention, but she always has.

  She presses the button, moves as quickly as she can, which isn’t that fast, and sits in the chair. She fusses over her collar, touches her hair, and moistens her lips. A woman is never too old to be vain.

  She begins to speak.

  Claire

  June 22, 1917

  Of course, Claire knew she would go to jail. A poor woman who killed her husband from a well-connected family was always punished. Marriage was for better or worse, and it was her lot now to bear the worse.

  She sat holding her son close as he rooted for her nipple, crying as if he needed comfort more than sustenance. He latched on to her breast and drank greedily, kneading her breast with his small fists. Soon he stopped whimpering and relaxed against her.

  Robert’s body had grown still as a stone, and a chill had crept into the room. She was terrified he’d rise up from the dead and tell the world what she’d done to him. And if the world knew what she’d done, her father-in-law would take her son and send her to prison.

  Footsteps sounded behind her, and she tensed, expecting Mrs. Latimer to have fetched the sheriff. Stiff, she gripped her baby tight. She knew she could take the baby to the Jessups. She’d rejected the thought of her in-laws raising her son, and if Mrs. Latimer asked the town to hide the boy, they would. The Jessups were good people, and there was always room for another baby in that house.

  Still, the idea of losing her son made breathing difficult.

  Accepting what must be, Claire drew in a breath and rose. Jimmy stood in the doorway beside his mother, and she looked past him, but there was no one but the two of them.

  He didn’t try to hide his face, and she didn’t look away. He was her beautiful Jimmy, no matter what.

  He frowned when his gaze settled on the rising bruise on her cheek. Rage tightening his face, he walk
ed to Robert and pressed his fingertips to his neck. “He’s dead.”

  “Are you sure?” Claire asked.

  “Yes. Very much. Give the baby to my mother, Claire.”

  “Why?” she asked. Was Jimmy to be the one who would deliver her to the police?

  “I’ll need help with the body,” Jimmy said. “My right arm is not as strong as it was. My mother will tend to the boy and keep him safe.”

  Mrs. Latimer came back in then and crossed to Claire, who still couldn’t bring herself to let go of her child. “He’ll be safe with me. Go with Jimmy. He’ll help us fix this proper.”

  She looked past Mrs. Latimer to her son. “You’ll help me?”

  Jimmy nodded. “Yes. But we must hurry.”

  Claire laid the baby in Mrs. Latimer’s arms and kissed her boy on the head. “Thank you, Mrs. Latimer. Take him to the Jessup house if I don’t come back.”

  “You’ll be back.”

  “Why are you helping me? You know the consequences if we’re caught.”

  Mrs. Latimer took Claire’s hand in hers. “I’m the one who owes you thanks. You saw Jimmy when no one else could. And I’ll always be grateful.” A tear fell down her cheek. “Now you two get to work, and I’ll clean the room. The other servants will be back in the morning.”

  “Why didn’t you leave with them when Robert sent them away?”

  “When I saw Mr. Robert, I knew in my bones there’d be trouble. I pretended to leave, but I came back and waited in the kitchen.”

  Claire squeezed the old woman’s shoulder and stepped past her. She pushed up her sleeves and moved to the body of her dead husband.

  As Jimmy elevated the shoulders, she grabbed the feet, and together they lifted. Robert had lost weight since his banishment to the shore, but even now his slender frame was awkward and unwieldy.

  “What do we do with him?” Claire asked.

  “Down the back staircase. I’ll bring a cart around.”

  “The storm.”

  “It’ll protect us.”

  Nodding, she gritted her teeth, and together they half carried, half dragged the body down the back stairs. Her muscles screamed, and her lungs burned from the exertion, but she kept putting one foot in front of the other. They crossed the kitchen, and when they reached the back door, her body was spent. She could barely catch her breath.

  Jimmy turned to leave, and she grabbed his hand, pulling him toward her and kissing him. “I love you,” she said.

  He touched her face with his hand. “I love you, Claire. I should have seen it years ago. I should have wed that sixteen-year-old girl who thought she could sail the bay.”

  When he opened the door, the wind and rain pelted them, soaking her dress and plastering it to her skin. She looked down at her shoes, which had been covered in blood, and watched as the rain washed it away. They dragged the body across the back lawn toward the small sandy beach.

  “I’ll be right back,” he shouted, his voice nearly lost in the wind. “Stay right here.”

  “Yes, Jimmy.”

  Jimmy jogged out into the rain and down the sandy path toward the boathouse. He didn’t return for what felt like an eternity as she jumped at every crack of lightning.

  Finally, she heard the rumble of a boat engine as it came out of the boathouse and around the canal toward the shore.

  He jumped out, his booted feet hitting the water, and he strode toward her. Again, they heaved the deadweight and placed it into the boat. She hurriedly climbed aboard.

  “No, Claire,” Jimmy said. “I’ll take it from here.”

  She grabbed his hand. “I want to help you. I don’t want you to do this alone.”

  “No. Stay. This is my job.”

  “Where are you taking him?”

  “Let me worry about that. Go inside to your son. And look after my mother. You’re all she has now.”

  Lightning cracked, briefly illuminating the whitecaps. “You’ll be back.”

  He hesitated. “Aye, I’ll be back.”

  She kissed him, her hand cupping the broken side of his face. “I need you to come back.”

  He nodded. “And I need you to be safe.”

  Together, they pushed the boat back in the water, and he settled into his seat. A pull of the cord started the small engine, and he slowly pulled out into the bay.

  Claire stood on the shore until the boat vanished into the darkness.

  Mrs. Buchanan

  June 22, 1988

  Mrs. B looks directly into the camera. Gently, she touches the broach on her jacket. “And of course, everyone knows Jimmy did not return. He took his boat into the heart of the storm. He and Robert were lost as his mother and I washed all traces of blood from the house.

  “And my secrets sank to the bottom of the bay forever.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  Lucy

  January 30, 2018

  Lucy had DNA tests done and confirmed what she’d suspected. She and Natasha were half sisters. Brian Willard was her father. Custody of Natasha was settled relatively easily. Brian signed over custody as he’d promised, and she’d left the courtroom with some empathy for the man.

  She wasn’t sure why her mother had finally told her about Cape Hudson or why she wanted her ashes brought back. Maybe Beth thought enough time had passed and she needed to do right by Lucy even though she’d not been able to face the truth while she was alive. Lucy wanted to believe this and would until she knew differently.

  Lucy and Dolly pushed through the front door of Arlene’s and settled at the counter. She didn’t need to pick up a menu.

  Arlene grinned as she poured Lucy’s coffee. “You look ready for bear.”

  She poured sugar in the coffee. “Morning drama. Just dropped Natasha off at school.”

  “What was it this morning?” Arlene asked.

  “Like every morning. Her hair. She doesn’t like the way the woman did it at the salon. The honeymoon is over,” she moaned.

  Arlene laughed. “Welcome to parenthood.”

  Lucy sipped her coffee. “We visited her mom’s grave yesterday and rewatched some of Mrs. B’s tapes. That always churns excitement.” When Lucy pointed out the young caregiver in the tapes was Grace, Natasha cried as she watched it. However, the girl kept rewinding the tape again and again, until Lucy had the tape transferred to a digital format for fear it would break and they’d both lose what they had left of their mothers.

  Lucy shook her head, still worried she was somehow going to botch parenthood. “Natasha is so positive and upbeat with the rest of the world, but she can be a moody teenager prone to slamming doors when she doesn’t want to do her homework.”

  Arlene began to wipe the counter with a rag. “I never understood why that girl was always smiling and so eager to help. She was desperate for love, and now she has it. She trusts you. You’re the safe place to vent her frustrations. Believe me. It’s healthy.”

  “I hope so.”

  “You’re doing fine with her. We’re all proud of you. You’ve stepped into a crazy life, and you’re managing so well.”

  “Thanks.”

  “So what will you have?”

  “Pancakes to go. I’ve got to start packing the furniture. Megan wants to start the restoration soon.”

  Arlene shook her head every time Megan’s name came up. “Bless her heart. How’s she doing? Not pushing herself?”

  “She’s due in four months and has the energy of six people.” Lucy also understood that kind of energy was often fueled by desperation. Megan hadn’t spoken about anything beyond the house, but Lucy hoped one day she’d open up about what was driving her.

  “Well, you make her slow down. That girl is living on nervous energy.”

  “Understood.”

  Minutes later, she took her carryout box and drove back to the cottage, pausing at the front entrance to take in the beauty of this majestic place. She then turned and looked toward the yellow caution tape still wrapped around the capped well. She thought abo
ut the bones that were still being examined in the state medical examiner’s office. She’d told Rick about Robert Buchanan’s watch that she’d found at the boathouse, thinking perhaps the body in the well was Robert’s and that he’d not been lost at sea but buried. A seaman like Jimmy would have known dumping the body in the bay risked it washing up with the tide if he didn’t take it out far into the bay and weigh it down.

  DNA testing had been done on one of the body’s back molars. It had been sent to the state lab and had been compared to Megan’s dad, James, as he was Robert’s grandson. The test had come back as negative. Rick had then gone back into the well, excavated deeper into the muck, and this time had found an old poker chip. Lucy thought back to the tapes and remembered Robert had had a fight with a man from the Franklin family. Mrs. Reynolds had searched the newspaper archives and discovered Kevin Franklin had gone missing in January of 1916. The Franklin clan had a reputation for gambling and later moonshining during the 1920s. Franklin’s descendants had been traced, and this time the DNA test had been positive. Perhaps Robert had killed the man and stashed his body in the old well.

  The familiar rumble of Hank’s truck pulled Lucy into the present. She smiled and turned from the house where Megan and her crews would soon arrive and begin removing the old furniture that would be restored off-site and returned after the cottage renovation was complete.

  Hank grinned as he crossed the front lawn in long, even strides. He was dressed in faded jeans, work boots, and a long-sleeve sweater. He and his father were scheduled to work in the vineyards this morning. Spring would be here in a couple of months, and they needed to be ready.

  Dolly barked and ran toward him. He rubbed the dog between the ears, and then he stepped up on the front porch and wrapped his arms around Lucy. He smelled of clean soap.

  He sniffed her hair. “You smell like pie.”

  “It’s my new scent. Megan bakes when she’s nervous.”