by Tena Frank
She continued exploring the surface of the desk, under the knee hole, around the tops of the legs, every seam she could find. No luck.
“Pull out the bottom left drawer,” Mr. Price instructed.
Tate followed his directions.
“Slide the whole drawer unit out. There’s a small notch on the right interior.” Tate found the spot and out came a frame that held both of the drawers.
“Reach in to the very back. There’s a panel that slides out from under the desk top.”
Tate removed the thin plate and searched under it. Nothing.
“Thought that was it, didn’t you?” Mr. Price’s eyes gleamed with playfulness.
“Where else could it be?” asked Tate, her frustration growing.
“There on the left, very bottom, right in the middle. Lift up on the sidewall.”
Tate searched for the release point and pushed in lightly. The sidewall slipped out of position, revealing the secret compartment. No more than one inch wide, about three inches deep, and running half the length of the left side of the desk, it could easily conceal small treasures such as jewelry and coins.
“Oh! How clever! I love things like this.” Tate surrendered to the joy of the moment and suddenly found herself lost in a memory from childhood.
Tate’s love of secret places had grown out of necessity, and she had been teaching herself the art of self-protection for as long as she could remember. She learned to hide right alongside learning to crawl, and while she could not remember with images and sounds her tiny self under the sofa or behind the clothes in the closet, she knew that feeling of being surrounded by musty darkness and being safe in the moment.
One of her favorite hiding places as a child was under the sheltering bush at the edge of the yard by the little house her family moved into when she was five. The shrub grew tall, wide and untamed, with long arching branches radiating out from its center.
In the spring, Tate watched each little bud form along the boughs and push toward life. She carefully inspected the branches, sometimes pulling one or two into a different position to close any gaps. When the buds opened, tight clusters of white blossoms filled the willowy arms from end to end, and the little flowers put out a scent so strong it made her woozy if she breathed in too much of it. She loved that aroma—the sweet, sticky smell of it—and the fragile coolness of the white blossoms against her eyelids as she dipped down into the safety of the scent, knowing the little flowers would be followed quickly by thousands of tiny leaves, knowing behind those leaves there awaited a Tate-sized hollow, and remembering when hunkered down there she would find respite, albeit too brief, from a depressed mother and angry father.
“Miss Marlowe?” Richard Price’s voice brought Tate’s attention back to the library.
“Oh, I’m so sorry! I got lost for a moment.” She felt the blush move quickly from her chest up her neck, then settle in on her face.
“Somewhere long ago and far away from the looks of it.”
“Yes, that sums it up nicely.”
“A pleasant memory, I hope?”
“A fond one. I just remembered hiding under a bush at a house I lived in as a child. Seeing the desk took me right back there—secret places and all that.”
Mr. Price beamed at her, and Tate reluctantly reassembled the desk, then returned to her chair.
“Thank you for showing that to me. It just makes me love Mr. Howard more. He’s much like the furniture he created, I think. He holds lots of secrets.”
“That he does, but they are his secrets to keep or to share. It’s not my place to tell you about his life.”
Joy turned to disappointment quickly, and Tate let out a deep sigh. “Okay, I won’t press you for more information. But I won’t give up, either. You may find me sitting here again at some point, and I hope I’ll be welcome.”
“My favorite is brownies—with walnuts.”
Tate laughed out loud at the old man, whose eyes twinkled with mischief.
“I’ll take that as an invitation!” Tate said goodbye and made her way back to her truck. It had been a long, emotional day, and she wanted a nap more than almost anything. But on the way home, she took a circuitous route past 305 Chestnut Street.
“I won’t give up!” she yelled out at the house as she cruised by slowly. At the same moment, she noticed an approaching pedestrian who gave her a quizzical look. Now all the neighbors will think I’m a nut case. I really should learn when to keep my mouth shut!
She spent the evening preparing turkey chili, which she devoured while watching her favorite TV show, Wheel of Fortune, followed by more television, dessert and a bedtime snack. In the back of her mind, she also thought through her eventful day.
Her social network had expanded significantly. Ruby would be a good friend, she was sure of that, and she would take the truck to Price Automotive for any work it needed in the future. Leland Howard would be on her schedule as often as he would permit, and she fully intended to visit Mr. Price again as well. I can’t get lost in all this. I’ve got to get the renovation next door done, find new tenants . . .
She dropped into bed at 10 p.m. and descended into intricate, Technicolor dreams about travel to non-existent foreign countries, puzzles that needed solving but had no apparent solution and a fluffy brown dog that kept showing up in the most unlikely places.
TWENTY-THREE
1940
“I ain’t about to do it,” Leland said. He kicked a loose stone with the toe of his boot, keeping his eyes cast to the side and his thumbs tucked into the back pockets of his overalls. His rigid posture sent a clear message that he had no intention of budging.
“I need you, Leland.” Harland kept his voice firm. Stooping to saying he needed someone humiliated him. Saying it to Leland made it even more aggravating, given that the roots of their fractured relationship went so deep.
“Nope.” Leland’s flat affect barely cloaked his anger.
“I’ll pay you a bonus. You’re the best woodworker in the region for doors, and I really want you to do this for me.” Harland pressed on, determined to win this battle of wills.
“Nope,” Leland repeated. “I ain’t about to do it.” He turned and quietly continued on his way home where he had been headed when Harland had stopped him.
Harland watched his retreat, his mind rushing furiously as he schemed how he would change Leland’s mind. He didn’t want to do it, but he had one more idea about how he might be able to get what he wanted.
Harland Freeman did not believe in heaven, and that was a relief. Because if you don’t believe in heaven you don’t believe in hell either, and most people would send him straight to hell for what he planned to do. It took longer than he hoped, but he forced himself to remain patient and vigilant. At some point she would pass his store and he would find a way to talk to her privately. Usually when she shopped she had the boy with her, and that would cause a problem. He had to talk to her alone, ideally not even to be seen with her.
Eventually, Harland got his wish. Ellie walked by as he rearranged the store’s window display, no boy in sight. He followed her down the street and cornered her in an aisle at the fabric shop, sheltered by the tall stacks of wool, cotton and gabardine.
“Ellie.”
Even though she had not spoken with him since their ill-fated encounter in the park so many years ago, she recognized his voice immediately and whirled around to face him. She stiffened as he stepped close to her.
“What do you want, Harland?” Had Harland been a man in touch with his feelings, he might have felt hurt by the chilling tone of her voice.
“I want Leland to make the door for my new house over in Montford,” Harland said. His thin attempt to disguise his boastfulness failed miserably.
“Really, now why would you want him to do that?”
“He’s the best woodworker in the region,” Harland stated matter-of-factly, “and I want only the best.”
“Did you ask him?” Ellie assumed Harland ha
d not approached Leland directly.
“Yes, and he said ‘nope.’” Everyone in town knew when Leland put his mind to doing something, or not doing it, there was no going back.
“Then the answer is ‘nope,’” Ellie said. “I can’t change his mind.”
“I think you can, Ellie.” Slipperiness had seeped into Harland’s voice, and she felt a wave of nausea passing over her. She had first-hand experience with Harland’s caginess, and she knew she wouldn’t like what came next.
“It’s for the boy’s sake, Ellie. I see how fast he’s growin’ up now. Must be thirteen or fourteen, right? I know you and Leland both want what’s best for him.” Harland’s mouth curled into the slightest smirk.
What a despicable man. How could I ever have . . .
“You want what’s best for the boy, don’t you Ellie?”
“Are you threatening me, Harland?”
“No, of course I’m not meaning to threaten you, Ellie.” Harland held her gaze, conveying through his eyes the truth while continuing to speak his lie. “I’m just saying . . . we wouldn’t want him to have a hard time in life, would we? If people knew the truth . . .”
The use of “we” made Ellie’s stomach turn again. She had been in tight spots before, once because of this same man. She had persevered that time, and she would do so again. The strength of her shame fell far short of the power of her indignation, and in that moment she knew exactly how to assuage the humiliation she had suffered at the hands of Harland Freeman.
She placed her hand on the bolt of fabric closest to her and stretched to her fullest height, feet planted firmly. She tipped her chin up slightly, narrowed her gaze and looked her adversary straight in the eye.
“You are a despicable man, Harland, but I’ll get that door for you. I only hope you’re prepared to pay what it’s gonna cost you.”
“I thought you’d see it my way . . .” Harland’s smugness waned quickly as the full impact of Ellie’s message began to sink into his awareness. He shuddered as the coldness in her eyes and her menacing tone gripped him.
“. . . what do you mean?” The fear in his voice sent a wave of pleasure through Ellie and she smiled at him for the first time since he walked away from her in the park so long ago. She held eye contact and waited. His breathing became shallow. Ellie stood firm as he began fidgeting.
“What do you mean? I told Leland I’d give him a bonus . . .”
“It’s not what you’ll be paying Leland. You’ll pay him what he asks and not a penny less, and he won’t take a penny more. It’s what you’ll be paying me that you’re not gonna like.”
Beads of perspiration broke out on Harland’s broad forehead and the bridge of his pocked, bulbous nose.
This is wonderful! He’s actually afraid of me. Maybe I’ll wait ‘til he cries! Ellie knew this time she, not Harland, would be the one getting exactly what she wanted. So she released him with the demand he meet her that evening to finalize her plan.
After dinner, Leland and Clayton went to the workshop while Ellie set out for her evening walk. She headed straight to the park and positioned herself behind a clump of rhododendrons where she could watch for Harland. He arrived on time for this encounter, looking around furtively as he approached the meeting spot under the tree.
He’s got some demons following him, and I’m one of them! Ellie took great delight in this risky venture. It may have hatched itself in the aisle of the fabric shop earlier that day, but she knew it had been brewing in her subconscious ever since Harland abandoned her and their child a lifetime ago. Until that moment today, though, she never knew how she would even the score with him. After making him wait almost fifteen minutes, she sauntered into the park herself.
“You’re late . . .”
“I’ll do the talking, Harland. Sit down.” As she issued the command, Ellie took a seat on the small bench at the base of the tree, forcing him to find a perch on the ground. This gave her a big advantage and increased his discomfort considerably.
“Surely you remember this place. ’Course there was no bench or swing back then, but it’s pretty much the same otherwise, don’t you think? You were very happy to see me the last time we were here, weren’t you?”
“Ellie, I should have . . .”
“Like I said, Harland, I’ll do the talking. I used to care about what you should have done, but I got over it. I’ve made a good life for myself, no thanks to you. But now you come to me wantin’ something more. You’re a greedy, contemptible man. You think the world owes you something you haven’t earned. You demand respect from others even when you give them none in return.”
Harland did everything he could to be indignant. How dare this woman speak to him in such a manner? But it didn’t work. He hung his head as she continued.
“You could have had something good. We could have been a family. At least I used to think so, until I saw who you really are. I don’t pretend to know what it was like for you growin’ up with Crazy Eulah as your mother. But you’re an adult and you’ve continued on a bad path when you didn’t have to.”
“Ellie, I . . .”
“People laugh at you, Harland. Behind your back they call you a buffoon. Still, you’re an important businessman here in town, so they show you respect to your face. That’s the most you’ll ever get from them, no matter how fancy a house you build.”
She studied him as she ranted on. She felt her own power, but also the meanness behind it. I’m not a mean person. I’m just angry. I have a right to be angry. I have a right to get something out of him.
“Here.” She handed him a folded paper along with a notepad and pen. “You’ll copy those words in your own hand and sign your name to it. That’s what the door you want so bad is gonna cost you.”
Harland read the note and looked up at Ellie in disbelief. “You can’t be serious . . .”
“Oh, I’m plenty serious, Harland. You want Leland to do that work? Then you copy that out just like I wrote it.”
“What are you going to do with it?”
“I’m gonna hide it away in a very special place. If you ever so much as speak to me again, or to my boy, you’ll see what I do with it then. Leland will do the work for you. Then you will never speak to him again either. That note’s my insurance policy you’ll keep your word.”
“How’ll you get Leland to do the work? He said no.”
“I got him to marry me when he barely knew me. He’s stayed with me all this time. I’ve got some sway with him you wouldn’t understand.”
“How do I know you’ll keep your word?”
“Common sense, Harland, not that you’ve got a lot of it. The truth could ruin me, too. You’ll have to trust I’ll keep the secret, just like I’ve done all these years. I guess your decision rests on just how bad you want Leland to do your work.”
The solace of Harland’s dreams for himself, and now for his perfect home and all it would bring him, had comforted him greatly throughout his life with its many difficulties and disappointments. It did not fail him now. How could he know for sure all those dreams and plans would turn out as he hoped? He couldn’t, but giving them up would leave him bereft. With a deep sigh of resignation, he picked up the pen and wrote the note.
Ellie took it from him and rose from her seat. She fixed him with her gaze before turning and heading home, this time leaving him under the tree, shocked and confused, to fend for himself.
One chapter of their lives now closed while another opened. Neither had any notion of what they had conceived that day.
TWENTY-FOUR
2004
The time 9:47 glowed green from the clock radio as Cally slowly opened her eyes. The sunlight streamed into her room at the Princess Hotel, filling it with warmth and hope.
“Damn,” she hissed as she looked at the clock. “I can’t believe I slept so long.”
She sat up, feet not touching the floor as she perched atop the high, old-fashioned bed. No wonder . . . what a comfortable bed! She stroked the
silky soft sheets. The luxurious mattress and down pillows tempted her to slide into the soft warmth and drift back to sleep. But, she had things to do. She would dedicate her first day in Asheville to finding her Gamma’s house. Gamma Ellie and Gampa Leland probably didn’t live there anymore, but she would find the house and then figure out what to do from there.
Gamma and Gampa. She chuckled at the names she had given them as a little girl unable to pronounce the letter “r.” Love and protection had surrounded Cally in their house, and her memories of the place brought her as close as she could come to what she imagined home to be like. Maybe the people weren’t there, but surely the house remained, and she intended to see it again.
She took a shower, brushed her hair and climbed into clean jeans and a lightweight shirt. Shaking the wrinkles out of a jacket pulled from her suitcase, she headed downstairs. She scavenged a cup of coffee and a muffin from the remains of the breakfast buffet as the waiters cleared the dining room. Skimpy, but it would hold her until she decided what to do for lunch.
Asheville had changed greatly since Cally’s mother spirited her away in the middle of the night all those years ago. Now she found it difficult to figure out where she needed to go. She remembered she and her mother had lived on Starnes Street and her grandparents’ house stood close by. After some maneuvering around the new highway, she found her way to the corner of Starnes and Flint and parked the car. She would walk from here, she decided, retracing the path she had known by heart as a child.
Finding her way proved to be much more difficult than she could have imagined. Many of the landmarks she had used as a child had vanished. It took her several minutes to realize the huge blue tarp on the corner covered a crumbling foundation—all that remained of the old grocery store. After more intense scrutiny, she finally found her childhood home, now nearly unrecognizable. Had it not been for the stone wall bordering the sidewalk, she would have missed it. The sparse lawn where she had once played sported a maze of flowers and decorative plants laced with a beautiful brick walkway ending at a small fountain with water spurting from the mouth of a mermaid.
