Final Rights

by Tena Frank

  Her unexpected pregnancy shackled her, and long ago she had turned to romance novels to assuage her longing. She kept her “books in brown” hidden away in the back of the closet, along with her shame. Eventually the routine of her daily life subdued the yearning, and she convinced herself she was content.

  But now the force of Leland’s rage had shaken her to the core and obliterated her pretensions. She saw his hidden strength for the first time. Not just his stubbornness—yes, he could be stubborn—but also strong and vital, with dignity and character. A truly good man, an honorable man. And she had done him a wrong he might never excuse. The thought of losing Leland struck a debilitating fear in Ellie, and she prayed fervently for his forgiveness.

  Three days later, Ellie found the chance she had been hoping for. She called Leland to the house for lunch, and he actually emerged from the workshop, taking off his work apron and dropping it on the chair outside the back door before entering the kitchen—just like always. Ellie breathed a quiet sigh of relief. She put a bowl of steaming, beef vegetable soup on the table for him along with butter and freshly baked bread. She sat down opposite him with her own meal.

  “Leland, we need to talk. Can we please talk?”

  “What’s to say, Ellie? I’m not changing my mind.”

  “I know, Leland. I’m done trying to get you to do things my way. I’ve been bossing you around for much too long.”

  Leland looked up in surprise but said nothing.

  “I realize what a burden I’ve been to you all these years, Leland. Having to take care of me and the boy, when you’re not . . .”

  “Don’t say it, Ellie . . .”

  “You know when we married I was already . . .”

  “Hush, woman! Don’t say it! Don’t ever say it out loud. It don’t need to be said.”

  “But that’s how Harland . . .”

  “I knew, Ellie, but I didn’t know who. I guessed it was him when you insisted on me doing that work for him. But it never mattered to me then, and it don’t matter now. The boy is mine, for better or for worse, just like the promise I made to you in your mother’s back yard.”

  “He’s been so vexing to us, to you . . . and you’ve never complained.”

  “Why would I complain, Ellie? I love the boy and I love you beyond words. I loved you long before you ever asked me to go with you to Woolworth’s for that Coca-Cola. How could you not know that?”

  “But I dragged you into this marriage and you . . .”

  “I what? Went along blindly? Unwillingly? Is that what you think?”

  “I . . . yes . . . I thought you married me because I wrangled you into it, not because you . . .”

  “I married you because from the first time I laid eyes on you, you were all I ever wanted. That’s never changed, Ellie. If you loved me even one iota as much as I . . .”

  “I love you, Leland.”

  He stared at her while she continued. She had never said those words to him before. In fact, they had never talked like this before—openly, honestly and about things that truly mattered.

  Ellie sighed deeply. “I’ve been so afraid these last few days you would leave me, and it made me come to my senses. I’ve always thought I could do without you if I really wanted to. But now I know how wrong I was about that.”

  “I . . . I wish I could believe you mean that . . .”

  “I love you, Leland Howard. I didn’t know it myself until a few days ago. I mean I had come to love you, but I’d never allowed myself to see the real you, your strength, and when I did, I thought it was too late, that I’d lost you. You were so angry.”

  “I lost control . . . I’m sorry, Ellie.”

  “Don’t apologize for that, Leland. Harland did a terrible thing, and my part in it was horrid, too. But it woke me up. And I realized I’m in love with you. I don’t just love you, like I love this soup or my favorite pair of slippers. I’m in love with you. I never felt this before, and I always wanted it, always missed it. And it’s been right here in front of me all these years. Only I couldn’t let it in. I couldn’t let myself be in love with you because then you could . . .”

  “I’d never hurt you, Ellie. Never abandon you.”

  Soft tears fell from Ellie’s eyes as she took in the man sitting across from her. She felt passion for him building inside her, an unremitting desire to fall into his arms and meld with him. But can I do that? Can I let myself go like I did that one time, like I’ve always dreamed of doing?

  Leland stepped around the table and pulled her into his arms. She relaxed into his embrace, buried her face in his shoulder and breathed in his enticing scent—the earthiness of the wood from his shop and the staleness of dried sweat on his work shirt, mixed in with his personal aroma, reminiscent of a fresh spring breeze—his own unique fragrance, which she had never let herself enjoy before.

  “I’m so tired, Leland. These last days have been terribly trying.”

  “For me, too, Ellie.”

  They walked into their bedroom and lay down on the bed. Had they been young, had they felt this way about each other on their wedding night, their eagerness would have taken over. Instead, they wrapped themselves up in each other’s arms and cried themselves to sleep. Both now trusted that passion would be there when they awoke.

  THIRTY-NINE

  2004

  Tate had not been to the gym in over two weeks and as she looked outside at the drizzling rain, she knew she would not be returning today. The past several days with Cally and Leland had been mentally and emotionally stimulating, but her aching body craved exercise.

  She took her coffee to the living room and sank onto the sofa, intending to read for a while. But her mind kept returning to yesterday’s reunion between Cally and Leland. Although it had lasted less than half an hour, it left a profound impact on everyone involved.

  Tate and Dorothy had excused themselves from the conversation once Leland recognized Cally, so Cally brought Tate up to date as they drove home.

  Cally had chosen to sidestep painful questions about Leland’s past, focusing instead on his daily life in Forest Glen, his favorite foods and other neutral areas. He told her about the peanut butter cookies Tate had made for him and Cally had promised to bring brownies on her next visit. In return, he promised to save the prettiest of the Christmas ornaments for her. Leland also asked after her health and her family, unaware of the pain that particular question would cause her. She had easily moved the conversation to another topic.

  Tate had noticed that throughout the visit, Cally kept physical contact with Leland. She patted his forearm, or held his hand, touched his cheek, gently brushed his shoulder. Leland never took his eyes off Cally, searching her face intently as if determined to commit every aspect of her image to memory. They shared a hug and mutual tears when they parted.

  Tate listened to Cally’s report with interest as they drove back into town.

  “It sounds like a great visit, Cally. I assume you want to go back.”

  “Absolutely. The sooner the better. Maybe we could discuss when over dinner tonight?” Cally had turned to Tate and gazed at her in a way that made Tate a bit uncomfortable.

  “Sure, dinner would be nice. Did you have anything particular in mind?”

  “No, not really . . . other than just getting some more time with you . . .”

  Tate instantly picked up on Cally’s thinly veiled message, and her defenses kicked into high gear. “Oh . . . well . . . I meant any particular food, but sure. Let’s have dinner. But if you don’t mind, can we do that tomorrow? I’ve got a bunch of things to get caught up on at home.”

  “Oh . . . sorry. I guess I’m taking up too much of your time.”

  “No! I didn’t mean that, Cally. I just have some deadlines to meet. I can go tonight, but tomorrow would work better for me.”

  “It’s a date then!” I’ll just have to occupy myself ‘til then with shopping and beautifying myself. Maybe a facial and a mani-pedi. Any idea where I can find a place f
or that?”

  “On Haywood, just down from the library, but believe me, Cally. You really don’t need to be any more beautiful than you already are.” Tate gulped. Matter-of-fact honesty came easily to her, but the spontaneous compliment had slipped by all her filters. She feared it had revealed too much, perhaps hinted at a promise she knew she could not keep or exposed a personal wish she herself had not previously recognized.

  “Why thank you, Tate. That’s very nice to hear. So just drop me off on Haywood Street, okay?”

  “Sure. You’re welcome.” Tate’s pulse pounded and she knew her face was flushed. “I didn’t mean anything by that remark about your beauty . . . I mean it sounded too personal . . .” Tate felt Cally pull back emotionally. Her smile vanished just as they pulled up in front of Malaprop’s. “Uh . . . okay, then. I’ll pick you up around seven tomorrow it that works for you.

  Cally opened the door, then looked back at Tate. “Well, I’m not going to take any of that personally.” With that, Cally jumped out of the truck and gave a cheerful wave, leaving Tate alone to figure out the meaning of Cally’s parting remark.

  I have to stop this. Tate willed herself to quit rehashing the conversation with Cally and turned back to the book she intended to read. Regardless of how hard she tried, she found herself unable to settle, especially since her body still felt so sore and tired. She rose from the couch and looked out the back window into the empty parking area behind the house. Good—no one home.

  She switched on the boom box which was already tuned to WOXL 96.5 and started looking through her CDs as Bob Seger belted out the catchy lyrics to his hit “Still the Same.” The bouncy tune filled the room and Tate sang along, humming the parts she didn’t remember until she found her Disco CD and popped it into the slot.

  The Weather Girls instantaneously replaced Bob and started their slow build to the jumping chorus of “It’s Raining Men.” Tate turned up the volume and started dancing, slowly at first, then with more enthusiasm. She sang along gleefully. “You can’t carry a tune in a bushel basket,” she chanted to herself, then raised her voice and sang even louder, laughing as she did so.

  She danced and swayed and shook and shimmied all the way through “It’s Raining Men,” then “YMCA” and “I Will Survive.” By the time she was halfway through We are Family, she panted heavily and sweat rolled down her face and back. Flushed and ready to collapse, her body felt energized and tingly.

  There had been a time in Tate’s life when she had danced with abandon whenever the urge hit her. Now, she allowed herself that freedom only in solitude, aware of how her aging body no longer looked appealing gyrating across a dance floor in tight jeans and high heels under black lights. Besides, Disco had died long ago, and other than a cheek-to-cheek slow dance with a sexy partner, or a synchronized line dance to twangy country music, Tate saw no sense in dancing at all if she couldn’t dance to Disco.

  The music ended and she fell onto her couch spent and happy. Though she would have preferred to nap, work awaited. She had to check in with Dave next door and pick up groceries for the next few days. And she had plans to meet Cally for dinner.

  Dinner. Not a trip to the library or another visit with Leland, but dinner, just the two of them. Tate had suggested inviting Sally, but Cally had nixed the idea quickly. Is this a date? The thought left Tate with a queasy feeling which she pushed aside by heading over to see Dave.

  “Yucky day to be working, isn’t it?” Tate’s greeting caught Dave by surprise and he looked up from his work on the new windows. Still under construction, the apartment remained unheated and drafty. The temperature had dipped significantly, leaving the room cold and damp.

  “I don’t mind. Being indoors is way better than some of the other things I could be doing today.”

  “You always have a positive attitude, Dave. I appreciate that about you.”

  “Even though I’m slow as a snail sometimes?” Dave’s sheepish grin signaled his attempt to apologize for the many delays in getting the job completed.

  “Looks like things are moving along, though,” Tate countered. Why do I do that? Always let him off the hook like that, even when he acknowledges messing up?

  “Yeah, and I’ve got a surprise for you.” Dave motioned for Tate to follow as he headed down the hallway. “Look!”

  Tate stepped into the bedroom on the left and saw that the new half-bath had been installed in the space that used to be a small closet.

  “Wow! That’s great. When did that get done? I thought the plumber was busy elsewhere.”

  “He had an unexpected change in his schedule, and he came over yesterday and finished it up. Thought you’d be happy to hear it, but I haven’t seen you in a couple of days.”

  In fact, Tate had not been around for more than a few minutes here and there for the past week. Everything was behind schedule, and she had postponed the carpet installation as a result.

  “Yeah, I’m happy all right. Sorry I haven’t been around as much, but I’ve been busy looking into that old house over in Montford.”

  “What old house?”

  “The one with the fancy door. I told you about it, didn’t I?”

  “You mentioned a house with a door like that one,” Dave said as he gestured toward the open entryway, “but that’s all.”

  “I can’t believe I haven’t chewed your ear off already. I’ve been obsessed with it for almost two weeks!”

  “Nope. What are you obsessing about?”

  “Okay.” Tate sighed. Here I go again. “There’s an old house over on Chestnut. The County plans to seize it for non-payment of taxes and they’re going to sell it on the Courthouse steps. Some developer wants to tear it down and build a bunch of cottages. But I found the man who owns it. Everyone thought he was dead, but he’s living out at Forest Glen and then his granddaughter showed up a couple days ago. I met her at the library, but she thought he was dead, too. I took her out to meet him yesterday and now I’m still trying to figure out how to save this old house even though he doesn’t seem to care about it.”

  Dave’s puzzled look finally brought Tate’s outburst to a halt.

  “Sorry, Dave, it’s just such a long story, and I’ve been living and breathing it for so long that I think everyone should automatically know what I know about it. In a nutshell, this old place is going to be torn down if I don’t figure out how to save it. And I have to save it. I just have to!”

  “I know that place—over on Chestnut, sitting up on a hill, right? Been in the news recently?”

  “Yeah, that’s the place.”

  “I’ve done a lot of work on the old places in Montford. Years back I worked on the house next door. Someone used to take care of it. It’s only been in the past ten years, give or take, that it’s gotten so run down.”

  “Do you know who took care of it?”

  “I never talked to anyone, but I’d see them over there on occasion. I still see the guy who used to mow the lawn around sometimes.”

  “Seriously? You still see him? Where? When?”

  “Well, I don’t have his schedule written down . . .” Dave grinned and Tate couldn’t help but laugh.

  “Okay, I know I can get intense sometimes! Any ideas on how I might track this guy down?”

  “I’ve seen him working over there at the Black Walnut. Maybe they know something.”

  “Thanks, Dave!” Tate turned to leave then caught herself. “Wait, I almost forgot. Fill me in on what’s happening here.”

  “Thought you’d never ask! The plumbing inspector is due in this afternoon, and assuming everything is all right, I’ll be able to start the finish work on the bathroom first thing tomorrow.”

  “That’s great, Dave. Any idea when I can start painting? I need two days and then you’ll be able to install the bathroom fixtures and the cabinets and countertops in the kitchen . . .”

  “Let’s take it a step at a time, okay? I’ll finish the bathroom tomorrow, and that includes the laundry area on the other side o
f the new wall. Next step will be the vinyl flooring, then the painting.”

  “Okay. Sounds good. That gives me a couple of days to work on a plan for saving that old house.”

  Tate took a quick shower then went directly to the Black Walnut Inn, an elegant bed and breakfast establishment occupying a house designed by Richard Sharp Smith and dating back to 1899. After accepting the hostess’s gracious invitation to tour the Inn, she left not only with the name of the gardener, but also a generous sample of the homemade pastries being prepared for that afternoon’s tea.

  She jumped into her truck and immediately dialed the number for Scott, the gardener. He was working only half a mile from the Black Walnut and agreed to talk to her if she had time to stop by. You bet I have time. In fact, Tate could hardly wait. Minutes later, she greeted an aging skinny man in overalls with a pronounced limp and a wad of chewing tobacco tucked into his cheek. A blue merle Australian Shepherd trailed along a few paces behind him.

  “I’m Tate Marlowe. Thanks so much for seeing me.”

  “Yessum. Scott’s my name and this here is Blue.” Scott nodded at the dog and tipped his battered cap to Tate, but he did not shake her outstretched hand. The old dog ambled up to Tate and sniffed her carefully.

  “Friendly fella, that’s for sure.” Tate scratched behind the old dog’s ears.

  “You got dogs?”

  Caught off guard by Scott’s question, Tate wondered why that was important. A test of some sort. She answered carefully. “No, no dogs. I have an old cat, though, and I have friends with dogs.”

  “Well, ain’t nothin’ like a dog.” Tate noticed how the Shepherd leaned into Scott as the man reached down to stroke its head.

  “I can see getting a dog. Maybe someday, if my cat approves.”

  “Why you lookin’ for me?” Tate was surprised that his directness unnerved her a bit.

  “Well, a guy who’s renovating an apartment for me says he used to see you mowing the lawn over at 305 Chestnut. Says there used to be people who took care of the place, you being one of them. So I’m hoping you can tell me what happened over there, why it’s gotten so run down.”