When they reached River Pines, Old Joe stepped out to meet the wagon and helped Therese down. “Welcome home, miss.”
“Thank you,” she answered, tears filling her eyes. It truly was all the home she had.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Nicole
Between working full-time at the farm and volunteering on weekends at the racetrack, the next few weeks flew by. Before I knew it, it was nearly the end of June, and our cousins Renee and Danielle, along with Renee’s boyfriend, Blake, would be arriving first thing in the morning. The plan was for the six of us to spend the day together, and then the reunion would officially kick off with dinner tomorrow night. Though I couldn’t wait to see them, I was feeling some trepidation about the rest of the weekend, but for now I needed to put all of that out of my mind and focus on deworming some horses.
Not nearly as awful as it sounded, the deworming process basically involved giving a dose of medicine to every single horse in the place. My job was to check the chart and measure out the correct amount for each animal and then hand the syringe to Nate, who would squirt the medicine into the horse’s mouth and get it swallowed—a task far easier said than done. The horse would shake its head and spit and sputter and generally fight him as best it could. But he had to be persistent until all of the medicine had gone down, a process that was necessary, if exhausting.
Nate and I chatted easily between battles, our relationship having moved to a new level after what we’d dubbed the “night of the logjam.” We were still just friends, but we’d become good friends, especially on the weekends when we weren’t so conscious of our status as boss and employee.
I’d been amazed at how easily I’d fallen into the role of youth helper at the track, and even more amazed at how many of the teens really seemed to have taken to me. Maddee was the one children usually flocked to, not me, but apparently when it came to teenagers, I was clutch. At least that’s what they said, according to Nate, who was telling me all about it as we crossed between paddocks.
“You know why they like you, right?” he added, brushing a bug from his arm.
“You mean besides my abundance of charm and wit?”
He smiled. “That too. But I was going to say authenticity. The single most important quality for any youth leader is genuineness. Kids can smell a fake from miles away, but if you’re real, they’ll know it. And they’ll respect you for it.”
I considered his words as we reached the next horse, stopped, and launched into the dosing process yet again. If being real was the biggest requirement, I thought as I checked the numbers and pulled the liquid into a fresh syringe, then it was no wonder they liked me.
“Well, I’m nothing if not authentic. I am what I am, take it or leave it.”
“I’ll take it,” Nate said.
I looked up quickly, astounded that he was finally going to flirt with me after all this time. But then I realized his hand was out, and he was talking about the syringe I’d just filled.
Heat rushing to my face, I passed it over and then busied myself with the medicine bottle, glad he was too distracted by the frisky gelding to notice the color in my cheeks. I don’t know why I kept hoping things would change between us. He clearly saw me as just a friend and nothing more—and I feared he always would.
If only I didn’t care about him so much in return! Some days, it was all I could do not to throw my arms around him or shout words of love across the paddock.
But I didn’t. I wouldn’t. For the first time in my life, I was determined to hold back, take things as they came, and leave my love life—or lack thereof—completely in God’s hands.
Later, on my way home, I thought about that some more, about how utterly foreign this thing with Nate was for me. I’d been friends with guys before, but never with guys who looked like him. In the old days, whether he’d been my boss or not, I would’ve made a play for him on day one—and likely landed him too. That’s just how I rolled.
But that wasn’t really me. That was the Nicole whose life had been a train wreck. That was the Nicole I was still a little bit scared of—and had been since the early days of my sobriety.
Besides the drugs, there’d been other areas in my life that had needed work too. Lying was one of them, and I’d really made progress there. But men were another, and my efforts on that front had yet to begin. All I’d done thus far was avoid the male sex entirely. I hadn’t had so much as a single date since the accident. I’d just been too scared to try, not to mention too focused on my recovery.
But I was ready now. I even knew what I wanted.
I thought back to my drive home at the beginning of the summer, when I’d worked through all the things I didn’t want. I didn’t want to end up with the kind of guy I’d always gone for before—the tough, sexy, dangerous type—but since then I’d learned that there was a third option, a man who was the tough, sexy, dangerous type, but who had stepped out of all that and aspired to a higher standard now.
Back then, I didn’t want to end up sitting in a stuffy office working as a one-on-one counselor all day, but now I knew without a doubt that I wanted to be an equine therapist, which was still in my field but so much better suited to who I was. I’d already contacted my adviser at school, and though she said they didn’t offer that specialty under my degree, she would see what she could do.
Even the investigation, as stagnant as it felt sometimes, had made progress since I first got home. I’d been scared to tell my big secret back then, but not only had getting it out been a tremendous relief, it had led to Nana sharing a secret of her own.
On the other hand, I was currently frustrated with Detective Ortiz, who had finally gotten back to us a few days ago about the Door of Freedom scholarship. She said she’d looked into the matter but had found no connection between it and my grandfather.
Maddee was willing to let the subject drop after that, but I wasn’t. Ortiz had never even met Granddad, so she couldn’t really understand the nuances of the situation. I just knew, deep in my gut, that he’d had something to do with the money that had funded the educations of Taavi Koenig’s children.
That was why I had decided to shift my schedule for today, get off an hour earlier than usual, and take matters into my own hands. The investment firm I’d found online a few weeks ago was located inside a fancy sprawling office complex in downtown Richmond called the James Center. I went there now, located the suite, and stepped inside. From the looks of things—the expensive furniture, the polished floors, the marble-top counter ahead of me—it was obvious the company had done well through the years.
Trying not to feel self-conscious in my jeans and work shirt, I told the receptionist I needed to speak with someone about a transaction that had been handled by their firm back in the late 1990s. I thought the woman might ask for details, but instead she just told me to have a seat and she’d find out if one of their “long timers” was available.
I was perched on the edge of a fancy chair, looking around the room at the portraits of various executives and board members that hung on the walls, when one of the paintings caught my eye. I stopped and did a double take. It was the biggest one of all, in a gilded gold frame: a portrait of none other than Lev Sobol, Miss Vida’s boyfriend.
I was still sitting there, just gaping at it, when a middle-aged man in an expensive suit came out and asked if he could help me.
I pointed to the portrait and blurted, “Who is that?”
The man looked at the picture. “Our founder. His name is Lev Sobol.”
“Is he here now?” I asked, though a big part of me hoped he wasn’t.
“No, I’m sorry. He retired a few years ago. But I’m sure someone else can help you.”
Without replying, I jumped up and rushed for the door.
“Miss?” the man called out.
I kept going, my heart racing.
When I got home, I collapsed on the couch and breathlessly told Maddee what had happened. We tried to decide what it meant.
I shook my head. “Do you think Lev has some connection with the Koenigs?” I asked. “And if not, did he at least know what the scholarship was about?”
We both sighed and then looked at each other. If my theory was correct, Granddad had arranged a scholarship for the Koenig children through Lev Sobol’s investment firm. Now Lev just happened to be dating Maddee’s landlady? Surely that was no coincidence. There was something fishy going on here—especially considering his story about how they met through a random “cold call” he’d made for business purposes. Since when did successful owners of well-established investment firms make cold calls—after they had retired, no less?
Maddee wrinkled her nose. “So what’s next? Tell Ortiz? Go straight to Lev?”
I stood. “Let’s talk to Miss Vida first. She needs to hear about this. For all we know, she could be in danger.”
Maddee shook her head, reminding me that Miss Vida wasn’t home because of her big women’s getaway this weekend with the group from her synagogue. “I’ll try and reach her,” she added, “but at least she’s not in any immediate danger. Let’s call Ortiz first.”
I sat back down, listening as Maddee dialed the detective and put her on speaker. After a quick hello, we cut to the chase and told her about Lev and his connection with the scholarship and our concerns that he was somehow using Miss Vida to get to us. Unlike last time, Ortiz seemed to take this new information seriously and promised to look into it right away.
“Don’t worry about Vida,” she added. “I’ll send someone out to keep an eye on her.”
Once we hung up, I felt relieved about Miss Vida, nervous about Granddad’s potential involvement, and excited about this new development. After all this time, maybe we were finally moving closer to the truth.
Maddee went upstairs to change, and I set about making dinner. According to the printout on the fridge, tonight’s meal was to be a simple stir-fry, so I washed my hands and then began chopping and slicing the ingredients.
My mind went to the reunion as I worked. As excited as I was about our day with the cousins tomorrow, I had to admit that the rest of it I could do without. I thought I had wanted this, but the closer the reunion got, the more I realized I was dreading it. Maddee was super excited and had spent every evening this week over at Nana’s, helping her get things ready. But I hadn’t joined in with any of that. At this point, I couldn’t think of anything I’d rather do less.
It wasn’t so much the fact that Maddee was pushing for us to pay a return visit to the cabin that bothered me. True, I had no desire to go there, and I was hoping she’d be outvoted on that one, but she kept insisting that it looked totally different now that it had been partially dismantled by police in the course of their investigation. She felt that seeing it this way would give us all closure, so I would let majority rule once the cousins were here.
My problem with the reunion was that this was going to be the first one I had attended in three years. The last time I’d gone, Granddad was still alive. But he’d died a few months after, which had sent me into a terrible downward spiral, and by the time of the next reunion, I was “deep in the D’s”—denial, depression, and drugs. I was living in Norfolk then, and I’d skipped the reunion weekend altogether, something no one in the immediate family had ever done.
At least I had come to Nana’s place after it ended, at the request of my sister and two cousins, so that we could go to the old cabin together. They wanted to investigate it for blood residue and finally prove that a murder had taken place there. That hadn’t been so bad, and I’d told myself then that I’d try not to miss another reunion ever again.
But by the time the next one rolled around, one year ago, I had been through my accident, recovery, and then months in rehab. I was still in rehab at that point and used it as my excuse not to attend—even though I was nearly done by then and easily could’ve gotten a pass if I’d wanted. But I was still in a pretty fragile state, emotionally speaking, and I’d been holding on to the secret Granddad said I must take to the grave. Just the thought of being there and having to interact and reminisce had been too much for me, and so I had declined.
Now here I was again, the same weekend at the end of June looming, but with no excuse in sight this time. I was sober, strong, and secret-free—and truly dreading the thought of all those relatives and how they probably viewed me by now. I couldn’t bear the idea of all that small talk and gossip and whispering, even if I did deserve it. So not fun.
Besides that, there was still the messy, unfinished matter of the investigation. Somehow I’d assumed that revealing my big secret at the beginning of the summer would be the key to solving the questions that remained. But here it was almost two months later, and we still didn’t know who killed Taavi Koenig or why, or where the body went, or what Granddad had to do with it. Somehow, the idea of spending the weekend with several hundred of my closest relatives only made those lingering questions that much more unbearable.
My thoughts were interrupted by Maddee, who showed up to help. The veggies were already sizzling in the pan, so I told her she could set the table—a habit of hers I had teased her about in the beginning but had eventually grown to appreciate.
As she worked, she chattered happily about how great it would be to see Renee and Danielle again, how Blake would be there too, and how he and Renee were doing so well together.
It’ll all be fine, I told myself. Just hard.
As if reading my mind, Maddee paused and shot me a curious glance. “You okay, kid?”
“Meh.” I gave the boiling rice a stir before re-covering it with the lid. “I’ll survive.”
“You know,” she said as she neatly folded a napkin and placed it under knife and spoon just so, “if it’s gossip and whispers you’re worried about, just forget all of that. You have a secret weapon.”
“A secret weapon?” I turned, eyebrows raised, a giant spoon in hand.
Maddee nodded. “Aunt Cissy. She’s your biggest champion, you know. I guarantee you she won’t put up with nothin’ from nobody.”
Smiling at my sister’s attempt to sound tough, I turned back to the stove and thought about our aunt and how much I’d enjoyed getting to know her better this summer. I’d misjudged the woman for years, thinking she was just some foolish old biddy. But she was a sweetheart, not to mention an important family historian, and I knew that what Maddee was saying now was true. Aunt Cissy was in my corner, and she was a stand-up kind of gal.
“Trust me,” Maddee added, stepping closer and putting a hand on my shoulder. “Between her and Nana and Renee and Blake and Danielle and Greg and me, we’ll have your back for the whole weekend. Easy peasy. Okay?”
My stir-fry done, I shut off the burner and looked down at the steaming pan of vegetables, which began to blur. Setting the spoon aside, I wiped the tears from my eyes and then turned and wrapped my sister in a big hug.
“Stupid onions,” I said when we finally pulled apart. I reached for a paper towel to dab at my eyes.
“Yeah, stupid onions,” she agreed with a grin, grabbing one as well. “Amazing, isn’t it, how they can burn this bad—even after they’ve been chopped and cooked?”
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Therese
Therese arrived home just in time to tell Warner she loved him and then goodbye. He passed the next morning with Polly, Michael, Mother, and her at his side. Polly said the gangrene hadn’t returned, and that he’d actually been growing stronger. It seemed he might make it, but then a week ago he took a turn for the worse.
“Fever. Chills. Increased heart rate. Paler than usual. All signs of blood poisoning,” Polly said, “most likely from his stomach wound. The last couple of days, I think he was only hanging on in hopes you would come home soon. He needed to know you were safe.”
Michael and
Old Joe dug a hole next to Grandfather’s grave while Polly and Therese washed Warner’s body, dressed him in his uniform, and wrapped him in a sheet. When Michael and Old Joe finished, they came into the house with a pine box Warner had asked Old Joe to make a few weeks before. Therese swiped her tears away at the thought. Poor Warner.
Mother rallied for the burial. She asked Michael to pray. He finished with, “Lead us, Lord. Heal us. Show us how to follow Your teachings.”
Therese’s heart swelled at his words. Yes, that was exactly what they needed. She was surprised he recognized it. After the short service, Michael headed west to find his unit. Therese was filled with emotion as she watched his battered army wagon roll down the lane away from her, feeling the old invisible thread give a tug. She said a prayer for his safety and that God would spare his life from the last of the fighting. She prayed for his soul, that he would come back to his boyhood ideals. She tried to shake away the thread, but she felt as if it was tangled around her feet, threatening to trip her.
During the next week, Auntie Vera, Therese, Polly, Old Joe, and even Mother worked to care for the soldiers. On Monday morning, Therese sent Old Joe, with a pass, to the Huguenot Springs Hospital in hopes of securing gauze for the dressings. When he returned, he found her in the dining room, tearing the last of the fabric she could find in the house into bandages. He seemed excited.
“What’s the matter?” Therese asked.
“The Union has prevailed! No disrespect intended, miss, but hallelujah! It’s over.”
“Over,” she echoed.
“The war. The nurses at Huguenot Springs said General Lee surrendered yesterday, out at Appomattox Courthouse.”
Therese wrapped her arms around the man, tears streaming down her face. “It’s over!”
“Miss Jennings,” he said, pulling away.
“You’re free!” She turned toward Polly, who stood under the archway into the parlor. “Old Joe is free! The war is finally over.”
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