by Sarra Cannon
Since the wood I used was free, I hate to charge her too much.
“Five hundred dollars?” I say, the words coming out as more of a question than an answer. I’ve never considered myself a businessman, and I only agreed to do the job because I couldn’t bear to see the original banister destroyed.
Her eyes widen again, and again I’m afraid I’ve done something wrong.
“That’s not enough money for this kind of craftsmanship,” she says. “What you’ve been able to do here is art, Knox. You should know that. Not many people in this area could have restored this to such pristine original condition.”
I laugh and shift my weight from one foot to the other, unsure what to say to that.
“To be honest, I haven’t given it much thought. I’ve always loved to work with my hands and with wood, so for me, it’s never really been about the money or turning this into any kind of business. I was just happy to do it.”
“Well, you better start thinking about the business side of things, because once I show this work to the historical society, you’re going to be getting a lot more requests for things like this,” she says.
I take a deep breath and think about that for a minute. It would definitely be fun to get the chance to work on a lot of old houses like this. Ever since I finished the work on the house my mom grew up in by the lake, I’ve been taking on a few restoration jobs here and there. I’ve definitely enjoyed it, but at the same time, I’m not sure I want to start a full time business.
With Rob’s health declining, Jo is still going to need a lot of help at the new restaurant. Besides, I don’t know the first thing about pricing, invoices, and running a business like this.
Still, the idea of working on more historic homes in the area makes me excited.
“I’ll give it some thought,” I say. “But for now, I’m just happy that you’re satisfied with the work.”
“Satisfied doesn’t even begin to describe it,” she says. “I love it so much, Knox. I can’t thank you enough.”
“Like I said, I was glad to do it.”
She gasps, and her mouth falls open. “Oh my gosh, I don’t know why I didn’t think about this before,” she says. She puts a hand to her chest and starts walking toward the back of the house. “Wait here for a just a second, I’ve got something I want to show you.”
When she comes back a minute later, she’s carrying a large binder. She sits down on the steps and motions for me to join her.
“What’s this?” I ask as I sit down.
“This is only the single most important project the local historical society has undertaken in decades,” she says. “Are you familiar with the old Monroe Estate?”
I shake my head. “I don’t recall it off the top of my head.”
“If you’re passionate about historic homes, you would absolutely love this place.” She opens the binder, resting it across our laps as she turns the pages. “It was originally built by Sullivan Monroe back in the eighteen-twenties. Back then, it was one of the largest cotton plantations in the state of Georgia. In fact, Sullivan Monroe owned most of the land in this entire area.”
I study the pictures, amazed at the sheer size and beauty of the old plantation house. It’s exactly what you would imagine a Southern plantation home to be with its stately columns out front, large wrap-around porch, and black shutters. Large oak trees line the drive leading up to the house itself, casting a gentle shade across the entire structure.
Inside, it’s simply breathtaking. The heart pine floors I’ve come to love so much adorn most of the interior of the home, and the sweeping staircase looks straight out of the set from Gone with The Wind.
“There’s obviously a lot of work to be done to restore a home like this to its original state, but I hope you can see the potential here. Can you just imagine what this home looked like back when it was brand new?” There’s a reverence in her voice as she speaks of the house, and I can tell it’s a project she’s passionate about.
“I can definitely imagine it,” I say. “The historical society is planning to restore the entire house?”
“That’s the plan, but as you can imagine, it’s going to be a true labor of love,” she says. “Up until about five years ago, the house was still owned by the Monroe family, but the woman who lived there, Fannie Monroe, had been in that house for her entire life. She was ninety-six when she passed away, and as you can imagine, she wasn’t in any shape to keep up with the kind of work a house like this requires.”
“Didn’t she have a staff to help her?” I ask.
“From what I’ve heard, she had a small staff to maintain the grounds and the home itself up until about nineteen ninety, but when her long-time maid passed on, she never hired anyone to replace her. A few years later, she let the groundskeeper go, saying that she simply didn’t have the money to pay him another cent.”
“Was that true?” It was hard to imagine someone who owned so much land and who came from such a fantastic legacy wouldn’t have had the money to employ at least a few people to keep the place up.
“Apparently, she made a few bad investments in her old age and lost a lot of what was left of her family’s fortune,” Dr. Wilson says. “She was able to keep up with the taxes and keep one young woman employed to cook and clean, but with a house this large, it would have been impossible for one person to keep up with everything. During the final years of her life, Fannie moved into what used to be the old servant’s quarters on the first floor and had the rest of the house closed up to keep her costs down. She and her maid lived in just two small rooms and the kitchen until Fannie finally passed away five years ago and left the entire estate to the Fairhope Historical Society.”
“Wow, that’s a pretty huge donation,” I say.
We flip through the images, and I’ve lost count of the number of bedrooms on the second and third levels. Each one has its own fireplace. There’s also a large library, a kitchen, a beautiful dining room that still boasts what looks like an original, hand-carved table, and a dozen other rooms in desperate need of restoration. I’ve seen homes in much worse shape, but Dr. Wilson was right, this was going to be a huge project.
“It’s a very generous donation, but since Miss Fannie was the last of the Monroe family and never had children of her own, she wanted to make sure the home went to someone who would restore it to its former glory. Her words, actually, on the will,” she says. “We’ve been raising money for the project for years, and we’ve only just now gotten enough saved up to really get it going, but the most important thing to all of us is that we do the home justice by keeping as much of the original materials and charm as possible.”
“I’m glad to hear that. A place like this deserves to be responsibly restored,” I say.
Dr. Wilson smiles. “Which is where you come in,” she says. “We’ve been accepting proposals on the work for the past couple of weeks, but there’s still time for a few more bids if you’re interested.”
I nearly choke on an ice cube. “Me?”
“Well, why else do you think I’m telling you all this?” she asks with a laugh. “Of course, you. Knox, you would be perfect for this. I honestly don’t know a single restoration company that could do half the job you could if you even put a fraction of the detail on that that you’ve done with this staircase. There is so much hand-carved wood in this home, and I’ve never seen anyone do as beautiful of a job as what you’ve done here in my home.”
“I don’t mean to be rude, Dr. Wilson—”
“Please, call me Susan,” she interrupts.
“Susan,” I say. “I don’t mean to be rude, but you can’t possibly look at a handful of balusters and know that I would be qualified to take on such a huge job. It would take me years to do all this work.”
“We have years, if that’s what it takes,” she says. “Besides, we have a healthy enough budget that you could afford to hire a team to help you with the work.”
My chest tightens. A team? Right now, I’ve only go
t a couple local guys who help me on some of the bigger jobs, but I mostly work alone. I can’t even imagine taking on something like this and trying to manage an entire team of people in making sure it all got done right.
“I am honestly flattered, but this isn’t something I’m qualified to do,” I say. “Don’t get me wrong, I love working on these types of homes, and I can certainly appreciate what you’re trying to do with it. In fact, I’d be happy to donate a generous amount to the restoration project, but as far as me doing the work myself? I really don’t think that’s possible.”
She frowns and places her hand on top of one of the images, tracing an intricate pattern across the old wallpaper.
“Maybe it was a long shot, but I just got so excited when I saw the work you did with my staircase,” she says. “I don’t think you understand how much time I’ve spent looking for someone who I thought would do even half the job you’ve been able to do here. The company with the most impressive proposal so far is kind of known for cutting corners here and there. I can’t tell you how much that worries me. Will you at least promise me you’ll think about it?”
The anxiety I’ve been feeling lately over the engagement and the opening of the restaurant amplifies into a raging headache that pounds against my skull. It’s been a week since our engagement and Leigh Anne still hasn’t had a chance to tell her parents. We’re due to head over there tonight, and I have been dreading the whole thing.
Leigh Anne is sure her parents are going to be excited and happy for us, but I have my doubts. Whenever Leigh Anne’s mother has a chance to make her feel bad about her choices, she takes it and runs with it. I have a hard time imagining the woman ever being happy for her daughter.
“Okay, you don’t have to say anything now,” she says. “I can see I’ve completely overwhelmed you, and I’m sorry. It’s just that this Monroe project has been a night and day passion of mine for some time now, and now that a large part of the fundraising side of it is done, I’m determined to find the right contractor for the job.”
She closes the binder and stands, placing it on the hall table.
“Let me write you a check for the work here, and I’ll let you head out,” she says, obvious disappointment in her tone. “I’m sure you’re very busy. I know you’ve been helping out at Rob’s, which has to be a lot of work. My husband and I came in to eat there during the opening this past weekend, and it was incredible. Fairhope really needed a great place like that, so you tell your cousin Jo I’m proud of her for taking the risk.”
“I will,” I say.
I wait in the hallway for her to return with the check and do a double-take at the amount she’s written down. She’s paid me twice what I asked.
“This is too much.” I try to hand the check back to her, but she shakes her head and pushes it back toward me.
“It’s not enough, believe me,” she says. “The last contractor I talked to was going to charge me three times that to pull the entire banister off and replace it. You’ve given me the joy of being able to keep the original pieces intact, while making the new pieces fit in seamlessly. I honestly can’t thank you enough.”
“It was truly my pleasure,” I say.
I turn to leave, but she places her soft hand on my arm.
“I know I’m overstepping here, but humor an old lady and take this with you, too,” she says, handing me an envelope full of paperwork. “It’s the information on the bidding process for the Monroe house. Just take a look at it and give it some thought. Even if you make a bid, I can’t promise you’d get the job because the entire council will have to vote on the final choice, but I can tell you I’d certainly go to bat for you if you decided to do it.”
I take the envelope, and she gives me a quick hug.
“Thank you,” she says. She leans in, whispering. “And I heard through the grapevine that you had finally proposed to our sweet Leigh Anne. I am so happy for you both, Knox. I know the two of you will be very happy together.”
“Thanks, Dr. Wilson,” I say, but she shakes her head and I correct myself. “Susan.”
“You should consider talking to Leigh Anne about this job,” she says, her eyes widening. “She’s a very bright girl, one of my favorite students over the years. She could put that economics and marketing degree to good use helping you run your business,” she says. “Something to think about.”
I glance at the beautiful staircase one last time before I open the door and head for home, the idea of running a business with Leigh Anne suddenly making the whole thing seem possible.
Chapter Eleven
I reach behind my neck to fasten the clasp on my necklace, but my hands are shaking and I can’t get it hooked. I set the necklace back down on the bathroom counter and lean forward, taking a deep breath.
Why am I so nervous about this?
Telling your parents you’re engaged should be one of the most exciting things a woman ever gets to do, but I’m terrified they aren’t going to act like I want them to act. Just this once, I pray that my mom and dad can at least pretend to be happy for me.
I know they love me, but sometimes they think they know what’s best for me. I used to listen to every word they said and take it like it was my religion. If they said go to church, I went. If they told me to study Economics, I did it. Hell, even if I came downstairs wearing an outfit I felt amazing in and my mother told me to change and put on that sweater she loved better, I would do it.
Before the whole mess with Burke, I never thought of it as a weakness. I simply thought I was being obedient and respectful of my parents’ wishes. But when they asked me to say that Burke never laid a hand on me so that we could avoid the press and the scandal of it, I realized my parents didn’t always know what was best for me.
Still, living here in Fairhope has made things complicated. I’ve been trying to find the right balance between doing what I know is right for me and trying to keep my mother happy. It’s exhausting, and there are days when I just wish I could be free of those kinds of expectations.
But at the same time, I’m not sure I could live with the constant guilt of disappointing her all the time. I know there are people who think that makes me weak, but I can’t help it. I just want my mother to be happy. I hate it when anyone is upset with me.
She was completely against me dating Knox from the beginning, but over time, she’s really come around to it. Knox says it’s just because she knows he has money, but I really think it’s more than that. I think my parents see how happy we are together. That’s really all they want, I think, is for me to be happy. Isn’t that what all parents want for their children?
Everything’s going to be fine. I probably have been worrying myself over nothing. Of course they are going to be happy for me.
I try the necklace again, but I just can’t seem to get my fingers to work. Luckily, Knox appears in the doorway at that moment, looking incredible in his best dark jeans, a white dress shirt open at the collar, and a navy blazer that accentuates every muscle. I’m half-tempted to tell him I want to make up some excuse and skip this dinner altogether. I’d much rather spend the evening here alone with him.
“Here,” he says, taking the necklace from my grasp. It only takes him a half a second to fasten it behind my neck.
“Thank you.” I spin toward him and plant a soft kiss on his chin.
“You look gorgeous,” he says. He takes my hand, steps back, and motions for me to twirl.
I giggle and spin around, showing off my new navy dress.
“It looks nice with that ring,” he says.
“Everything looks nice with this ring,” I say. “Are you ready to go?”
“Ready as I’ll ever be,” he says. “I still don’t see why you couldn’t just call your mom and tell her. Why do we need to make such a big deal out of it?”
“Because it is a very big deal,” I say. “Their only child is getting married. It’s a huge deal.”
He makes a face and looks away, and something twists i
n my stomach.
“What is it?”
“Nothing,” he says. “I just hope…”
His voice trails off, and I know exactly what it is that he’s feeling. I’ve been feeling the same butterflies in my stomach all day.
“It’s going to be fun,” I say, brightening the tone of my voice and putting on my best smile. “I promise.”
He kisses my forehead and follows me out to the car. On the drive, Knox tells me about his visit with Dr. Wilson earlier today.
“She loved it?” I ask.
“She did,” he says. “She said she’d never seen a restoration that looked more authentic.”
I rub his arm and smile. “You’re so talented, baby. I’m really proud of you,” I say. “I keep telling you that if you really put yourself out there more, you could have a ton of restoration jobs in this area.”
He glances over and nods. “It’s funny you mention that. Dr. Wilson—who told me to call her Susan, by the way—said that the historical society is looking to restore the old Monroe Plantation house. Are you familiar with it?”
I gasp, my hand fluttering to my chest. “You’re kidding, right?” I ask, eyes wide. “The Monroe place is only one of the most beautiful, ornate plantation homes in the South. People have tried to get their hands on that place for decades, but Fannie Monroe was determined not to let her family’s home get torn down or restored by some modern family who liked carpet more than heart pine. She donated it to the historical society when she passed, and I know they’ve been raising money for it for years. My mom’s on the board, you know. I’ve helped with a few of the fundraisers.”
“Oh, now that you mention it, I do remember a couple of events where you talked about a house, but I wasn’t familiar with the place at the time.”
