Cas: Heroes at Heart

by Maryann Jordan

  Turning into his own drive, he curved around the gravel lane before coming to his cabin in the clearing. The two-story dwelling had needed minor repairs when he first discovered it, but with Asher and Cael’s expertise and the hard work of the rest of his brothers, it had been restored beautifully, even adding a connecting garage. By doing a lot of the work themselves, he had been able to build a large workshop behind the house without a lot of extra costs.

  At first thinking small, he was thankful that his brothers had convinced him to go ahead and make it a large workshop. It held space for all of his woodworking tools and equipment as well as giving him a dry space for storing the wood that he purchased for his builds. It also included a full-size drafting table where he could create his designs.

  Parking in the garage, he walked into the utility room and was greeted by a solid-white cat with blue eyes. He bent to rub her head, murmuring his greeting. “Hey, Princess.” The cat looked up at him as he patted her, arching her back and flicking the end of her tail. He always greeted her the same way, and even though she was deaf, he still called her ‘Princess’ out of habit.

  She kept her eyes on him as he moved into the kitchen, swirling about his legs as he fixed her bowl with her food. He tried to stick to a schedule, knowing that made it easier for her to know what was going on. Once she was fed, he moved to his refrigerator and grabbed a beer before heading out to his workshop.

  Jayden often kept music on in the garage, although at times it could barely be heard over the noise of engines and machinery. With all four bays being filled on most days, the noise and activity could be distracting.

  But out here, Cas reveled in the quiet around him, the only noise coming from whatever machine he was using at the time or perhaps soft music. As he sanded over the wood, he planned his next day now that he did not have to go into the garage. Looking at the headboard, he knew that if he could finish it tonight, he would have tomorrow to stain it.

  His movements were skillful and practiced, and he allowed his mind to wander. And it drifted back to his teen years with Bianca. Talking with her as they sat in the front yard, his hands busy with whittling and she plucking little yellow flowers and tying their stems together. Jesus, I haven’t thought of that in years.

  Hours later, the bed was finished except for staining. He spent time cleaning the shop, not wanting to become buried in sawdust or wood chips. “Son, make sure you sweep up all the sawdust, or it’ll soon cover everything in here.” His father had given him the job of sweeping the floor of his workshop, keeping it tidy. He could still hear his father’s words and was grateful his wisdom was passed down through the years.

  Walking back over to the headboard, he ran his palm over the smooth wood, his fingers dipping into the divots of the carvings of the forest with a little boy and girl peeking from behind the trees.

  He felt a sense of satisfaction that working on a car never gave him. Certainly, diagnosing and fixing an automotive problem had its own reward, but here in his workshop was where he could imagine, create, and bring something to life that had before just been wood.

  Not for the first time he wondered if his father would be proud. Smiling as his hands skimmed over the headboard, he knew the answer to that question would be… abso-fucking-lutely. His father had loved his craft, often telling Cas that throughout history man had worked with wood, whether for practical functions, hunting, warfare, or art. To learn the skills used to turn trees into works of art was something to be proud of, and to do it by hand in modern times was a craft slowly dying.

  Staring at the carving of Hansel and Gretel, he realized that subconsciously they represented he and Bianca. Granted, they were not little children when they met, but the copse of trees in the corner of Miss Ethel’s yard had become their place. Miss Ethel was right this evening when she said that he remembered Bianca more than he let on.

  When she left Virginia, it was as though she fell off the ends of the earth. A week later, he left for boot camp, and his world became his Army buddies, keeping up with his brothers wherever they were stationed, and checking on Miss Ethel. He had cared for Bianca and thought maybe they had a future, but those were the dreams of a very young man, still in his teens. There had been the one letter sent… He squeezed his eyes shut tightly for a few seconds, remembering how the embarrassing rebuttal that came back had cut right through him.

  Regina was right… he could have searched for her in later years with social media, but by the time he finished his years in the Army, he chose not to. After all he had gone through, he could not see the point of reaching back through the years to grasp onto something that had been settled securely in the past.

  There had been other women, ones who came and went in his life, some for a few months, some for a night. But, unlike his brothers, he had never met anyone that he considered to be a soulmate. Maybe there’s only one of those in a lifetime… and I knew her as a teen.

  With a final smooth of his hand over the wood, he sighed and closed the workshop, going back inside his house.

  “I’m back, Mom.”

  Bianca had come into town to shop but first gave in to the overwhelming desire to visit her mother’s gravesite. It was just as she remembered. Beloved wife and mother graced the tombstone. Kneeling, her fingers traced over the familiar carved marble.

  She had already made arrangements for her father’s ashes to be interred next to her mother, and the simple ceremony would be next week. That would finally lay to rest her parents together and would also end the reign of Lucille’s terror.

  “I know he’s already with you, Mom.” She lifted her face to the sun and smiled as the warmth filled her.

  Bianca did not visit the old neighborhood since finding the cemetery and shopping took most of the day. Once she was back inside her cabin, her time was filled with putting away her purchases and groceries and giving the cabin a good scrubbing.

  She was tired when she finished, but that was something that often affected her. She lifted her hand, her fingers lightly tracing the scar that ran down the middle of her chest.

  She spent the late afternoon working on her manuscript, glad to have a career where she could work from home. Editing for others had led to her finally deciding to write her own books and self-publish. All the stories and characters in my head finally have a home inside a book.

  Her romance stories were a combination of fairy tales with twists, often with suspense mixed into the plots. An old-fashioned cuckoo clock on the wall chimed and she sat up straight, stretching her arms over her head. Determining she was at a good place to stop, she saved her manuscript and shut her computer before finally retiring to the living room. The chair was comfortable, and she tucked her legs up under her.

  She snagged her knitting from the basket on the floor, smiling as the needles clicked a rapid rhythm. Knitting was a task learned many years ago. One she could perform as she allowed her mind to roll through the stories and characters that filled her head. Sometimes she was surprised to realize that she had been knitting continuously without giving much consideration to the pattern she was creating.

  Life had not taken her where she had thought it would go, but she was no longer willing to settle for what others wanted. She had done that for her father. She had done that for her stepmother. And she had certainly done that when she became ill, putting all of her dreams aside.

  Now, it was time for her. Placing her knitting back into the basket, she moved into the kitchen and fixed a cup of herbal tea. Taking it to the back patio, she sat on the steps as she had done the previous evening. Her phone dinged another incoming message, but she quickly turned the sound down on her phone. There was no one who would be contacting her that she cared to talk to. Or hear from.

  Leaning back, she sipped her tea and let the sounds of the evening in the forest move through her. She could hear the humming of equipment in the background and wondered what the neighbor was working on.

  She considered walking through the woods to see if
she could meet them, but it was already getting dark, and she did not want to run into a neighbor who did not want to be disturbed.

  Her tea finished, she went back inside and soon crawled into bed. Thinking about the old neighborhood, she remembered the street that she and her father lived on. Tomorrow… I shall go tomorrow. Just for old times’ sake. While she could not remember the last name of the wonderful woman who had lived across the street, she had no trouble remembering her first name. Ethel. The amazing Miss Ethel. Just thinking of her made Bianca smile.

  Snuggling under the covers, she allowed her thoughts to drift once again to Cas. It had been many years since she was a young teenager falling for the handsome boy across the street. She wondered where he was and if she ever crossed his mind when he thought back to his youth.

  Bianca had never spent much time on social media and never attempted to stalk him. When her youthful dreams were taken away, she had no desire to see him moving on with his life. Sighing, she rolled over and re-fluffed her pillow, trying to find a comfortable position. Finally exhausted, she fell asleep.

  The next morning dawned bright and clear, and she felt invigorated. After an early morning breakfast of cereal and a cup of herbal tea, she was ready to go. It was only a twenty-minute drive to the old neighborhood. Along the way, she passed by the high school where she had started before she and her dad had moved to California.

  I must have been the envy of every girl there when I walked in each day with the eight most handsome guys at school. She stopped and stared at the building, memories washing over her. Cas walking her to class. Meeting with all of them after school. Watching them play ball. Cheering for Cas when he ran cross-country. Giving her head a little shake, she pulled back onto the road.

  She turned down several streets, thinking that she might need to use GPS, but found that the way was familiar. Once on her old road, she drove slowly. The houses on either side of the road did nothing to bring forth any memories, but as she approached the end of the cul-de-sac, her breath caught in her throat as she spied her old house. Freshly painted, with flower boxes in the windows, she smiled at the sight of children’s bicycles in the front yard.

  Her memories were filled with her dad as he tried to make a good home for her. He was often gone for work, but when they were together, they had fun. She knew he had missed her mom, but after her mom’s death, Bianca thought she and her dad had forged their own little family of two. I thought we would stay here, Dad. I wanted us to stay here. But that was before Lucille. He had been so determined to give me a stepmother. Inwardly growling, she pushed thoughts of Lucille from her mind.

  Turning her head to look at the very end of the cul-de-sac, she viewed the large, two-story home that she remembered so well. The picket fence was in good repair, freshly painted. It appeared the house and porch were equally well-tended. The trees in the corner of the yard still stood, and she remembered the hours sitting there with Cas as they talked.

  Looking back, she was amazed that a thirteen-year-old boy would have spent time talking to an eleven-year-old girl. Oh, my… I was such a little dork. Dancing and singing in the yard. She put her vehicle in park as memories flooded over her. Even his brothers, older and bigger, had never treated her as though she were a pest.

  And Miss Ethel’s comforting presence had always made Bianca feel welcome. She thought about the four years that she and her dad lived across from this house, and how in many ways Cas’ family was like her own. She had had big dreams… she had written Cas’ name in her notebooks hundreds of times and thought that she would be waiting right there for him when he got back from the military. Rolling her eyes, she scoffed at the folly of youth. Even her one letter sent to Cas, care of Miss Ethel, had brought no reply.

  She sighed as she started her vehicle and glanced into her rearview mirror, making sure there were no other cars coming. From that angle, her father’s house was what she saw in the mirror, and she closed her eyes for a few seconds. It seemed like she was always looking behind her. She opened her eyes as she gave her head a little shake. No more… from now on I want to look forward.

  Sucking in a cleansing breath, she let it out slowly and pressed on the accelerator. Out of the front windshield, she observed a woman stepping out onto the porch of the house in front of her. Blinking to assure that she was not dreaming, she recognized Miss Ethel. Slamming on the brakes, she stopped and watched as Miss Ethel, older but so familiar, began watering the hanging baskets.

  Drawn by an invisible magnet that she knew was connected to her past, she put her SUV in park, shut down the engine, and stepped out. She walked up the front sidewalk toward the porch on unsteady legs. Just as Miss Ethel turned toward her, she called out, “Miss Ethel? I don’t know if you remember me but—”

  Miss Ethel set the watering can onto the porch and peered carefully at her. Then, gasping, she exclaimed, “Bianca! Bianca Winters!”

  Miss Ethel opened her arms wide, and Bianca found herself running into the older woman’s embrace. Holding on tightly, it was as though time stood still, and she relished the warm comfort that Miss Ethel had always provided.

  Finally, Miss Ethel’s arms loosened, and Bianca stepped back. Wiping the tears that had gathered in her eyes, she smiled. “I had no idea you’d still be living here!”

  “Oh, my dear, in a life where things are changing daily, some things never do. I’m not sure I can ever see myself living anywhere else.” Miss Ethel held her at arm’s length and asked, “But what are you doing here?”

  Shrugging, she replied, “I just came to see the old neighborhood.”

  “Oh, I have so many questions!” Miss Ethel said, her smile as warm as Bianca remembered. “Do you have time for a cup of tea?”

  “I’ve got plenty of time for a cup of tea,” she replied. Giving Miss Ethel’s hands a squeeze, she said, “I can’t think of anything I’d like better right now.”

  Following Miss Ethel into her home, Bianca had the strange sensation that the past, the present, and the future were sliding into place together.

  9

  Stepping over the threshold, Bianca sucked in her lips as she looked at the living room she so vividly remembered, and, in fact, tried to replicate with her cabin. Miss Ethel’s sofa had been updated, still appearing comfortable but in a deep green and burgundy pattern. Even the wingback chair next to the knitting basket was new. The seat cushion was indented, but the burgundy color worked so well with the new sofa.

  The end tables and coffee table were the same, and as she stood in the middle of the room, she deeply inhaled the soft scent of rose water.

  Miss Ethel turned to her and said, “I’m afraid the house has not changed much, other than it’s just me here now, of course. Come on back to the kitchen with me, and I’ll fix the tea.”

  She eagerly followed Miss Ethel down the hall, past the large dining room whose table now appeared even longer. Once inside the kitchen, she recognized that it had also been updated with new appliances and countertops. The warm oak cabinets were still the same, and she found herself glad that some of the old still remained with the new.

  For a few minutes, she quietly looked around as Miss Ethel made a pot of tea. Once it was placed on a tea tray with two cups and a plate of cookies, she stepped forward and picked it up. She carried it for Miss Ethel back into the living room, placing it on the coffee table

  After they poured the tea, she said, “I have to ask you, Miss Ethel. How on earth did you recognize me?”

  Miss Ethel’s eyes danced as they moved over Bianca. “Your hair is longer now, but it was always so black and sleek. And your eyes are such a deep blue. I think, my dear, that I would’ve recognized you anywhere.”

  She sipped the warm tea and settled into the deep sofa cushions. Her gaze moved to the bookcase flanking the fireplace, still filled with the volumes that had been lovingly read and passages memorized. There were new pictures, some with women, but she was too far away to see them clearly. She wanted to ask about the boys, b
ut uncertainty held her back.

  “So, tell me,” Miss Ethel began, “How’s your father?”

  Her gaze dropped from the bookshelf to Miss Ethel, and she sighed. “My father died last year.”

  Miss Ethel’s brow furrowed, and her smile fell away. “Oh, Bianca, I am so sorry.”

  Swallowing deeply, she nodded her acceptance of Miss Ethel’s condolences. “He’d been sick for a long time. Cancer. In the end, his death was a blessing. I knew then he was at peace.” She took another sip, hesitating before adding, “My stepmother, Lucille, had made things very… um… well… um… difficult.”

  “Ah, yes. I remember Lucille. I used to wonder if she ever got what she was looking for,” Miss Ethel stated, showing neither surprise nor censure.

  Bianca was curious about that comment, but as she sat for a moment, she realized that there were things Miss Ethel would have discerned about Lucille that she had never seen as a teenager. Nodding, she replied, “Yes, initially, I think she did. Lucille loved attention, and when Dad married her, he seemed quite… smitten with her.” Giving her head a little shake, she smirked, “Smitten is such an old-fashioned word, and yet, it seemed to fit my father perfectly.”

  Peering at her closely, Miss Ethel stated, “And you were never quite so smitten.”

  A small snort erupted, and Bianca blushed. “I was definitely not smitten. Lucille was a rather… um… singular person. Someone who preferred to not share her husband’s attention or affection. She wanted Dad to give her more. Take her places. Spend money on her. I sometimes think she wanted him to show her off. She was very vain. Very demanding. Sometimes even very demeaning.”

  “I am sorry, Bianca.” Miss Ethel’s voice was soft, and she cocked her head slightly to the side. “And yet you stayed in California. Was that because of your father?”