“You should have talked to your doctor first.”
“My doctor?”
“If you’re having hearing problems, you should have your hearing checked before you hire some crazy ghost hunters,” Mark said over his shoulder.
She should remind him he was too young for Alzheimer’s. Her business and community work would run so much easier if he would remember a few of her marketing ideas.
Mark reached the top of the stairs and stopped short. His gaze locked on the end of the hall, and he swore. Minnie almost bumped into him. She felt Gordon catch himself on the stairs so he didn’t run into her. She smiled a little to herself. He probably shouldn’t have been following so closely.
“I’m sorry,” Mark said when Barbara and Elmer appeared from the doorway on the right.
“Not a problem,” Elmer said. “Comes with the territory.” He stacked some equipment in Barbara’s arms. She nodded. They slipped around Gordon and headed downstairs.
Mark examined the wall outside Gordon’s room, then tore away the soggy plaster and lathe with the claw end of his hammer. Clumps of fuzzy pink insulation dropped out onto the carpet. Gordon stood next to him, peering into the gaping cavity. He bent down to extract a Maglite from Mark’s box and shone it down the space Mark had opened.
“There’s the problem.” Mark pointed to a corroded segment of the cold water pipe. With a touch, more of it crumbled away. He tapped the hot water pipe and a new hole appeared. Water dribbled out. Mark wrapped his fist around the pipe. “Hot!” he hissed.
Gordon fished a rag from the toolbox and pressed it over the hole. Mark wrapped some duct tape around it. “Don’t know why I’m doing this,” he muttered. “Everything’s already wet.”
Minnie groaned. Where will this end? Would the whole place fall apart in a watery mess?
She wanted to blame Gordon. None of this had happened until he arrived. She scowled at him. Was he sabotaging her business? Hadn’t he hurt her enough? She wouldn’t let him ruin the Bower for her. She’d enjoyed some of the happiest times in her life here. Neither he, nor the mysterious buyer, would take it away from her.
Mark continued to tear away the damaged plaster, the pile of rubble rapidly growing at his feet. What was she going to do? Who knew when another pipe would burst? The sink was still leaking in room one, and now Gordon’s room and the room below it were out of commission. That was three—she had five usable rooms left.
“We need to replace everything,” Mark said.
“Everything?”
“From the street in.” Mark tucked the hammer back into his belt. “If you turn off the high pressure water system, maybe you could buy some time.”
“But then the rooms up here won’t get anything.” The water barely trickled out of the faucets without it. The toilets wouldn’t flush.
“You only have three guests,” Mark said. “You can easily fit them on the second floor. If you keep renting out rooms, you’ll risk more pipes breaking. The whole house could be destroyed.”
Her stomach squirmed at the thought of only having one floor between her and Gordon, but she didn’t have a choice. She couldn’t rent rooms where the toilets didn’t work, and Gordon’s room was out of commission anyway. “We’ll get Gordon’s things moved downstairs.”
“Let’s get this cleaned up. We’ve got to get the carpets up and everything dried out,” Mark said.
Minnie nodded. She’d have to find the money to repair everything somehow. Maybe she should sell the place…after she made sure the offer was ‘as is.’ She could take the money and start over.
She shook her head. She’d loved this house for too long. She wouldn’t give it up. “I can move Gordon downstairs.”
10
Minnie closed the door to her apartment, ready to collapse into bed and sleep like the dead. It had taken over an hour to yank out the hallway runners and schlep them to the clothesline outside. Then she and Gordon had torn out the soaked plaster, while Mark carted it out to the dumpster. A lot of work in the middle of the night, but they’d prevented additional damage to the wood floors and other parts of the house. Then Mark had wanted to open the walls around the leaking pipe and make sure there weren’t any other problems at the moment. When they’d finished, he’d turned the water back on, bypassing the high pressure system. No water would be going to the third floor.
Minnie was glad for the work. It kept her mind off her impending doom. She couldn’t afford to redo all the plumbing. When she’d bought the Bower, she’d used up a good chunk of her savings on renovations. The bed and breakfast business provided a reasonable income for a semi-retired person, and she was able to put the extra away for emergencies, but for this—a catastrophic disaster—she wasn’t prepared.
Since her budget was so tight, she’d chosen a high deductible insurance. Her agent had estimated the damages from the last leak at lower than her deductible, so she hadn’t bothered filing. It’d only raise her rates. She wondered what he would say when she called tomorrow.
If she had to close, at least there was a silver lining. She could kick Gordon out, and she’d enjoy that even more than slamming the door in his face. But then, closing meant the offer on the Bower might be her only option for survival.
The cleaning should have kept Gordon, and the emotions gurgling to the surface of her heart, at bay. But as he’d worked close beside her, scooping and shoveling debris, she could hardly hold off the memories. They’d rushed over her just as the water had sprayed out of her pipes. His proximity made her wonder why she hadn’t tried to find him after she returned from the Philippines. She should have sent him the final letter she’d written.
It was strange working next to him, like they’d never been apart. They complemented each other well, each knowing how best to help the other even after fifty years. She wondered what life would have been like if he had joined her during her second year in the Peace Corps. Would their relationship have worked? What if she hadn’t gotten pregnant at all? What if she hadn’t lost the baby?
Too many ‘if’s to worry about tonight. The Bower teetered on the edge of bankruptcy. Mark was right; she couldn’t remain open with the pipes in this condition, and she couldn’t replace all those pipes right now. If they held out until Christmas, she could scrimp enough money, but she’d either have to host parties that wouldn’t require the rooms upstairs, or be booked solid every weekend. After the last two weeks, she wasn’t sure she could attract enough business for that. The two rooms rented to Gordon and the ghost hunters weren’t going to earn her any extra money.
She’d helped Gordon move to a room on the second floor for the remainder of the night. At three in the morning, all that was important was a bed, but she would have done everything in her power to keep him on a different floor. After making sure he had what he needed—for no other reason than being a good hostess—she’d shuffled down to her room and found her bed cradling a puddle. She stared at the quilt for a full minute, watching the water plip-plop from the light fixture.
Nothing could be simple tonight, could it?
Heaving a sigh, she retrieved her laundry basket from the walk-in closet and dumped the soiled clothes on the floor. If she bundled the quilt in just the right manner, she’d prevent the water from spilling onto the floor. She pulled the corners into the middle like a knapsack and rolled the bundle into her basket. Water sloshed, but the lower two inches of the basket were solid and prevented it from spilling out. She tugged the basket into the bathroom and heaved it into the tub.
She and Gordon had taken a bottle of wine and a picnic basket out to the lake. They’d planned and dreamed under the full moon. They’d kissed, and the passion had led to more. Minnie hadn’t regretted it. She wouldn’t see Gordon for a whole year. She wanted that memory to take with her. It had comforted her through the first few weeks in the foreign-in-so-many-ways country. She’d sent a letter as soon as she arrived, telling him about the Philippines: the climate, the people, and her journey. She received a letter
from him; he didn’t acknowledge her letter, so she wasn’t sure if he’d received it. Their missives had probably passed each other over the Pacific. He said he only had time for a quick note and he’d write more later. He loved her.
After she squeezed the water out, Minnie wrangled the quilt out of the bathtub and flung it over the glass block half-wall screening the tub. She’d wash it and hang it outside tomorrow. The fading fabric was too delicate to throw in the washing machine and dryer. She scowled at a seam where the stitching was coming loose again.
They’d promised to write weekly, and she’d sent her letters as she could, but Gordon’s brief notes became fewer and farther between. He swore each time to write more later, but he never did.
She’d been in her village for over four months before she started to suspect. She hadn’t gotten her period, but she hadn’t missed it either. Traveling, new activities and a new diet would certainly throw her cycle off schedule. She hadn’t worried, until one day she couldn’t button her pants. The next week the button was two inches from closing.
She had attributed earlier nausea to adjusting to the water and different foods, but the village women confirmed her suspicions. She wrote to Gordon, telling him the news. He didn’t write back. Not even one of his brief notes. But her supervisor said the mail was delayed because of the heavy rains. She took hope in that.
Minnie returned to her room and stripped the sheets and mattress pad off the bed. The water had soaked through the mattress, leaving a damp circle in the center. So much for a good night’s sleep.
She wrote another letter to Gordon when she felt the baby move for the first time. Surely he would respond to this news, despite whatever was keeping him so busy. She dropped it in the mail and started counting the days to when she could possibly expect to hear from him.
She didn’t. The rain let up. Another two weeks passed, and supplies started to make their way into the village. Mail trickled in, but no letters from Gordon.
Minnie rolled the sheets up and carried them to her washing machine. She added soap, mesmerized by the bubbles congregating on the surface as water filled the tub. The bubbles crowded and dissipated, seemingly unaffected by what was around them.
The baby’s movements had been the same: light, iridescent, and delightful. It was the only connection she had with Gordon then. She wanted to believe a letter from him would get through eventually. The rainy season would end in a week or so. The villagers assured her travel was much easier after that. But as each day passed, her doubts grew. They fed off each other. Gordon didn’t want to be associated with her any longer. He’d gotten what he wanted, and to heck with her. She faced delivering this baby all alone.
Minnie stuffed the sheets in the washer and slammed the lid. It thunked against the machine with a resounding clang. She hoped it startled Gordon in his sleep. No doubt he’d drifted right off. In his nice dry bed.
Despite his abandonment, she still loved him. Until she confronted Gordon face-to-face, she wouldn’t give up hope the weather or the distance was all that interfered with their communication. Maybe he had exams. She’d heard about a typhoon. Maybe his letter was delayed. It’d arrive in a day or two.
Truth be told, that glimmer of hope hadn’t truly died until he’d showed up on her doorstep last week with another woman’s ring on his finger.
To keep the dark thoughts at bay, she told the baby about Gordon and the adventures they would have together. She held her palm against her stomach as a tiny foot or knee or elbow punched it. Each tiny kick knocked the doubts deeper, away from the surface where she wouldn’t have to confront them.
At seven months, she couldn’t hide her growing belly from her supervisor anymore. He’d send her home as soon as he saw her condition—it was policy. He wouldn’t have a choice. The weather had prevented visits since her pregnancy had become obvious, but now…
She didn’t want to go home. The Peace Corps had given her a chance to see the world, and now that she was here, she didn’t want to cut her experience any shorter than she had to. And until she was certain of Gordon’s feelings, she’d be more comfortable here, facing her future without the gossip and disparaging looks bestowed on an unwed mother.
She shoved a mop bucket onto the center of the mattress to catch the drips and pointed a fan at the damp spot. Casting a wistful look at her bed, she found some pajamas in her dresser and shed her clothes in the bathroom. A shower to wash off the plaster gunk would have been nice, but she didn’t have the energy. She tugged on the flannel top and bottoms and padded back to her bed. Her pillow had escaped the deluge, so she tucked it under her arm and snatched a quilt from the linen closet.
Too late, she realized she and Gordon had used this blanket for their last picnic together before she joined the Peace Corps. It had been shoved in the back of her closet for so long, she’d almost forgotten she still had it. She was too exhausted to exchange it for a different one.
The gossip didn’t matter so much to her, but she didn’t want her baby to endure it. If Gordon had answered her letters, they could have made plans for her return. They could live somewhere stateside for a while before embarking on their next adventure, or returning home. The gossip would ease quickly once everyone gasped over the math. But they’d shrug and say, “At least they got married.”
She tossed her pillow on the couch and tried to settle into a comfortable position.
It had crossed her mind to hide the pregnancy longer and deliver the baby in her village. The third-world conditions made delivering a baby risky—no drugs, no doctor, no hospital. The village women had a midwife, and Minnie had assisted at some of the deliveries, including one where things had gone very wrong. The village women were strong and had their families supporting them. Mothers, sisters, aunts. Husbands.
Minnie was alone.
She tucked the quilt up under her chin and stared at the ceiling.
None of her family had even known she was pregnant. She didn’t tell her parents or her brother. She needed to hear from Gordon first. It was his baby, and he should be the first to know.
The weather had given her more time to wait for Gordon and decide what to do. Heavy rains doused the islands again, washing out roads and bridges and preventing travel and mail delivery. The last hurrah of the rainy season, the villagers said.
She’d started to feel a rhythm in the baby’s movements by the time she was finally able to make the trek to see her supervisor. Thankfully, she’d been able to hitch a ride on a delivery truck. Her ungainly figure made navigating the steep hills of the valley treacherous. But the truck got stuck in the still muddy two-track, and she’d had to walk across a ravine to find another vehicle. Her foot slipped on the incline and she skidded through the loosened earth and rocks down the hill.
She didn’t feel anything besides a sore backside after her tumble. She protectively cradled her belly. A kick jabbed her palm. Relief spilled through her. She stood carefully, taking a few tentative steps, debating which direction she should go: to her supervisor and home, or back to the village to wait for the roads to dry out.
Then there was blood.
She hurried to the midwife in her village, and her face confirmed Minnie’s fears. A couple days later, the baby was but a memory.
Minnie rolled onto her side and punched her pillow into shape.
She’d named him John Mark, and buried him beneath a beautiful flowering tree.
She wrote her last letter to Gordon, pouring out all the joys and heartache she’d experienced in the last six months, but she tucked it away in her suitcase. No sense in mailing something that wasn’t going to be answered. The loneliness, the fear, the agony—she tucked it all away with the letter, wondering how she would survive it alone.
Since she couldn’t bear to leave John Mark behind, she stayed. She immersed herself in work, dulling her pain with exhaustion. Her heart blamed Gordon. If he had only written her, she wouldn’t have taken the risk of traveling in treacherous conditions. If... If… If�
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She’d assumed his lack of response meant he didn’t care, and he didn’t want anything to do with her. Even so, after John Mark had died, she should have sent another letter, letting him know any responsibility he felt toward her was no longer needed. She’d talked herself into and out of it so many times. If he hadn’t cared when she was pregnant with his baby, he wouldn’t care when she no longer was.
And here she was on the couch reliving it all again, with Gordon only a floor away. She’d shuffled down to her room feeling older than she had in years. All those memories and emotions were no longer hidden in her beat-up suitcase. They demanded to be sorted and acknowledged, like the muscles that would be growling at her in the morning. This tumultuous night on the couch wasn’t going to silence either of their protests. If anything, it’d enhance their demands to be heard.
Somehow, none of this would have been so bad if she could only sleep in her own bed. Rolling to her other side, she chastised herself for not checking the ground floor before Mark had left. With as much water as had flooded through the ceiling to the second floor, they should have known. At least Mark hadn’t thought of it either.
She tossed and turned for an hour or so, then grabbed the TV remote and her phone before retreating to her recliner. A few minutes of the home shopping network and she’d surely be asleep, the turmoil of the night held at bay.
Unfortunately—both for her attempt at sleep, and for her pocketbook—the porcelain cats she’d been collecting for the last five years were greatly discounted. She dialed the phone. The recording had reiterated for the third time that her business was valued, and a customer service professional would be with her shortly, when she heard rattling at the back door.
Who would be coming around at this hour? Nobody good, that was for sure. The prowler couldn’t really expect anyone to be awake. She pushed the button on the phone to switch it to speaker, then dropped the handset in her lap. She didn’t need to have the hold music directly in her ear.
Hauntings of the Heart Page 10
