Keeping Victoria's Secret

by Melinda Peters

  Turning her back on Van Winkle, she resumed her supervision of the movers.

  * * *

  Meanwhile, Ben Cohen, proudly driving his new Cadillac sedan, drove sedately on his return from town. He had just come from the car wash and the Caddy was sparkling clean.

  Mentally reviewing his wife’s shopping list, he hoped he hadn’t forgotten anything. As he neared the old Willet place, he saw what looked like a bit of excitement. As he drew closer, he slowed down to see several vehicles in the drive and on the side of the road. When he was nearly even with the farmhouse, he saw the mail delivery jeep and several people standing about in the yard. Curious, he craned his neck further to the right peering through the passenger side window.

  Unfortunately for him, seventeen-year-old Sandy Spencer was coming towards him on the other side of the road in her little Ford Focus. She was on her cell phone discussing plans for the upcoming weekend with her boyfriend. Later, she would admit that her full attention was not on the road ahead and as her mind swerved in one direction, the Focus swerved in the other.

  At the last possible moment, he and Sandy saw one another, and both turned sharply to their right to avoid a head-on collision.

  Vicky, Jimmy Smith, Jonathan Van Winkle, and all the moving men turned at the sound of two sets of screeching tires as the cars braked. Sandy’s fishtailing ride ended with a metallic “crump” as she connected head-on with a telephone pole. The Cadillac landed with a similar “crump” as its hood kissed the side of the Van Winkle pickup.

  Everyone stared open-mouthed. Jimmy was first to come to his senses. He pulled out his cell and called the nine-one-one dispatcher. He verified that both drivers were emerging from their vehicles looking dazed but unhurt. Closing the phone, he announced that the police were on their way.

  Jonathan Van Winkle suddenly came to life when he realized his truck had been hit. He ran across the yard yelling at a stunned Ben Cohen who looked at him vacantly.

  “Who are you?” asked Ben.

  “That’s my truck you old fool!” sputtered Van Winkle.

  At a slow and steady ten miles per hour, Henry Voorhees drove his tractor pulling a four-wheeled farm cart piled high with bales of hay. Behind him, a patient parade of a half-dozen motorists followed along at the same pace. Henry braked and halted when he reached the accident scene. Peering ahead at the Cadillac T-boned against the truck, its rear-end skewed out into the road, the mail truck parked behind that and then the little car up against the pole, half on and half off the road at an angle, he was unsure if he could get by safely. It wouldn’t be easy to maneuver around the mess. He got down off the tractor and held his hands out in front of him to signal the cars behind, smiling apologetically. Behind the tractor, cars stopped and disgorged their curious occupants. Making the best of a bad situation, they congregated and got acquainted in the middle of the road.

  The wailing police sirens brought Fred, Doc, and Elvira from the house. The doctor went immediately to the young girl who was leaning against her car, crying hysterically. The cops, now out of their cruiser, were trying to calm her and assess the damages. One of them asked Doc Sweeny to check Mr. Cohen out, and he hurried with them across the road. Apparently, no one was hurt. Mrs. Sweeney joined Vicky and Jimmy Smith wondering what had happened. In a matter of minutes, the quiet country road had taken on a carnival atmosphere.

  * * *

  Jack, drawn by the sound of sirens, came from the field behind the barn where he was planting sweet corn. Rounding the corner of the house, he took in the sight of the crowd along the road and filling the yard. To his right stretching down the road was a line of parked cars behind a tractor and cart with a full load of hay. The road was filled with people milling about talking and gesturing towards an apparent accident. It looked like a caddy was nose in against the side of Van Winkle’s truck down by the road. Van Winkle was arguing and yelling at some older guy, both of them wearing ball caps and angry expressions. Across the road, two cops were out of their patrol car, trying to console a young girl in obvious distress. Apparently, it was her vehicle crumpled against a telephone pole. Doc’s car and Fred’s car were in the drive and two trucks were pulled in behind. The trucks were opened in the back with ramps set up against the bumpers. Several strange men were standing on the lawn looking out at the hubbub in the road and the lawn itself was littered with stacks of boxes and odd bits of furniture. And there, in the middle of everything, was Victoria having a discussion with Jimmy and Elvira.

  He walked slowly, threading his way through people, cars, and boxes shaking his head in disbelief. When he reached Victoria, he tapped her on the shoulder. Startled, she faced him, eyes wide behind horn-rimmed glasses, her hair gathered once more into a bun on the back of her head.

  Could she morph back into the beautiful creature he’d seen the other day? Angrily he barked, “What’s going on? What the hell did you do?”

  “What exactly do you mean by that?” she shot back.

  “Things like this never happened before you showed up!”

  “None of this was my fault,” she said, waving vaguely at the chaos.

  The head and footboards of a huge king-sized sleigh bed leaned against one of the oak trees. “Is that yours?” he asked pointing at the bed frame.

  “Of course it’s mine.”

  “What are you going to do with that?” he asked, eyeing the enormous mattress.

  “It’s a bed Sherlock. What do you think? I’m going to sleep on it.”

  Before he could stop himself, he blurted out, “Alone?” eliciting an icy stare from Victoria.

  * * *

  “Well, that’s about all the excitement I need for today,” Vicky said as she watched the last truck vanish around a bend in the road. Her belongings were all safely deposited inside the house. Police reports were completed and insurance information exchanged. Everyone had driven off and she stood with Jack and Elvira in the sunshine.

  “Now where the Dickens did Doc and Fred disappear to?” asked Elvira looking around.

  “Must be inside. Our coffee will be stone cold by now. Come on in and I’ll make a fresh pot.”

  “I think I need a drink,” said Jack. “That Van Winkle was a pain in the ass. I didn’t like the way he was talking to you Victoria. I wanted to knock his teeth down his throat.”

  “That’s okay Jack, I can take care of myself,” she said coolly, heading for the porch steps.

  They went into the kitchen and found Fred and Doc at the table frowning over the letters and documents strewn before them. She noticed their expressions right away and wondered what was wrong.

  “Have a seat folks. You might say we have a little problem here,” said Doc.

  All three eased into chairs as Fred and Doc exchanged concerned glances.

  “Uh-oh, don’t think I like the sound of this,” said Jack.

  “What is it Mr. Douglas?” she asked.

  They both cleared their throats uneasily, but it was Fred who spoke first.

  “Your grandmother, Vicky, as you are aware, had an older brother. As I remember the terms of their parents will, the farm was left first to their son, Alexander or in the event of his demise, your grandmother. Actually if I’m remembering correctly, it was left to Alexander or his wife and children, if any, first….” Fred’s voice trailed off and he shuffled through the papers on the table.

  “But Alexander was killed in 1945, near the end of World War II,” she said.

  “Yes yes, that’s quite right, but apparently Alexander married a young woman, a Betsy Schummerhorn, here in Pippen’s Grove before he left to go overseas. I confess I wasn’t aware of that fact until today.” Fred again perused the papers in front of him.

  “Here’s a copy of the marriage certificate and letters to and from various family members, which corroborate everything. It seems as though Vicky's grandmother for some reason entrusted these documents to Elvira's mother before leaving Pippen's Grove. Betsy Schummerhorn, or Betsy Willet that is, had a son. W
hat that means is that the property would have been passed after Alexander’s death to Betsy and their son. There’s no record here of his birth but I’m sure that’s easily located.”

  “So this son of Alexander’s would have inherited?” asked Jack slowly.

  “Well yes, the son would have, but he is deceased as of course is his mother.”

  “Well then, there we are. No problem,” said Jack shrugging.

  “Not quite. There is one other thing. That son of Alexander’s also had one child, a son unless I’m mistaken, and Doc says I’m not, and he is very much alive.”

  In unison, she and Jack spoke just one word, “Who?”

  Fred cleared his throat once more. “That would be Jonathan Van Winkle.”

  Stunned she sat perfectly still. “What does this mean?”

  * * *

  Double Chocolate Brownies

  1/2 cup butter

  4 ounces unsweetened chocolate

  4 eggs

  1/4 teaspoon salt

  2 cups sugar

  1 teaspoon vanilla

  1 tablespoon rum (optional)

  1 cup sifted all-purpose flour

  Preheat oven to 350 F. Melt the butter and chocolate in a bowl placed over a pot of barely simmering water. Mix well and let this mixture cool completely, or the brownies will be heavy and dry. Beat the eggs sugar and salt until well creamed. Stir in chocolate mixture, vanilla and rum. Fold in flour until just combined. Pour into a 9” X 13’ pan that has been greased and lined with parchment paper. Bake for about 25 minutes at 350 F. Cool completely and Frost. Don't cut until the brownies are cool as the interiors are still moist when fresh from the oven.

  Luscious Ganache Frosting

  8 ounces finely chopped chocolate, milk or dark

  1 cup heavy cream

  2 tablespoons dark rum

  Heat cream until the boiling point, remove from heat and pour in chocolate. Stir until smooth, add rum. Pour into a mixing bowl and place over a bowl of ice water. Beat over ice water until fluffy and thickened. Frost quickly and chill.

  Chapter 8

  “Fred, I don’t believe it for a minute.” Elvira was insistent. “It just can’t be.”

  Fred lifted his palms up in a helpless gesture. “If everything Doc and I’ve seen here is correct, then it is indeed quite possible.”

  Elvira took a sip of her coffee and set the cup down with a decisive clunk. “No. I don’t believe so Fred. And here’s why. Your father was a good friend of Alexander Willet and was as honest as the day is long. He never would have gone ahead with that legal agreement between Charley and Victoria if he’d had any idea that Victoria wasn’t the sole owner. It stands to reason.”

  “Perhaps Dad had no idea there was a child, or even a marriage between Alexander and this Betsy Schummerhorn.”

  At the other end of the kitchen table, Doc Sweeney shuffled through the old letters and envelopes spread before him as he watched Vicky quietly growing pale. With a concerned look, the doctor glanced frequently at her as she sat gripping the table with her white knuckled hands.

  She felt deflated, only half listening to the conversation. I’m losing Nanna’s home. This is how awful it must have been for Jack when he realized the farm wasn’t his. Now I know how he felt. She stole a glance at him as he reached for a second brownie before he’d finished his first chewing methodically, a dark frown on his face. Poor Jack has had the rug pulled from under him twice in one week. Looking around at her boxes stacked in corners tears welled up and she was engulfed by a wave of helplessness. There’s probably no reason to unpack all the boxes. Vicky felt a little funny and decided to go into the bathroom and wash her face with a cool cloth. When she moved her chair out and started to stand, the world began to spin. Oh no! Not again! Then everything went black.

  * * *

  On the other side of the table, Doc Sweeney pushed back his chair and shouted. “Hey, look out! Somebody catch her.” Vicky swayed on her feet for a second, pale as a freshly laundered bed sheet, and then began to crumple.

  Jack vaulted to his feet and caught her just as she was going down. Losing his balance, he collapsed into his chair, her shapely bottom pressing hard into his lap. For an instant, as he cradled her, the fragrance of her hair and soft touch of her cheek on his, were intoxicating. With an effort, he forced licentious thoughts from his mind. He sat shaking his head in disgust with the unconscious girl in his arms. “Here we go. It’s like déjà vu all over again.”

  * * *

  Vicky was unconscious for only a few seconds. When her eyelids fluttered open, she was looking straight into the fierce scowling face of Jack Conner. Confused, her mind flickered back to where she’d left off writing that morning. In her confusion, she imagined the handsome pirate of Caribbean Fire had her in his evil clutches.

  Struggling against him, she cried out, “If you’ve brought me here to have your way with me then…,” she sat up with a start, blinking at their puzzled faces. She could feel a warm flush as color returned to her cheeks.

  Doc was grinning at her. “The two of you make a good looking couple in each other’s arms.”

  Wriggling away, in an attempt to extricate herself, she inadvertently ground her behind into Jack’s crotch, and she felt him flinch.

  “Oops, sorry,” she said, clambering to her feet.

  “Are you feeling quite all right now?” This came from Doc, coming around the table, peering closely at her face.

  “I’m not okay, but I guess nobody cares about that,” growled Jack.

  Elvira hurried to the sink, filled a glass of water, and brought it to her. “Drink this slowly dear and sit back down. I know this is all rather a shock for you but I’m sure we’ll figure something out. The good Lord wouldn’t have brought you up here to your grandmother’s place without a reason. Things will work out. You’ll see. Now I’ll make you some tea with plenty of sugar. It’s the best thing for someone who’s fainted.”

  The reason for her distress came back to her in a rush. The house and the farm were never Nanna’s to begin with. She’d never even considered that one day she’d inherit this place until a month ago when she’d received the letter from Mr. Douglas. She’d been so excited and so happy to have this connection with her grandmother’s past and now it was all going up in smoke.

  Mrs. Sweeney gathered up the empty coffee mugs and took them to the sink. Returning to her seat at the table she turned once more to Fred and asked, “Do we know the name of Alexander and Betsy’s son?”

  Fred looked through some papers and then pulled out a single sheet. “There’s a letter here from Victoria, Vicky’s grandmother, telling your mother that Betsy’s son was named Theodore. This is dated July 1947, when Victoria was still married to Charley Conner, before they divorced and she left town. Says he’s a darling little baby. What happened was, as Doc and I pieced it together, Betsy remarried a Van Winkle long about 1949 and her husband legally adopted young Theodore so his last name was changed. Doc believes that he passed away about ten years back and Jonathan Van Winkle is his only child.”

  At the mention of Van Winkle’s name, she sat up and blurted, “Oh my God, he must know something.”

  “What the hell are you talking about? Who knows what?” snapped Jack.

  “Van Winkle. This morning.” She clutched the back of Jack’s chair to steady herself. “With everything else happening, it slipped my mind. He kept asking me about the apple crop and I told him he’d have to talk to you, Jack. He told me that soon the apple orchards wouldn’t be your decision and maybe neither of us would have the farm. I can’t remember precisely, but it was something along those lines. Don’t you understand? He must know he’s the heir, or at least he has a suspicion?”

  Jack got up and began to pace, a dangerous gleam in his eye, looking very like the pirate captain of her imagination. “If that son-of-a-bitch comes around here trying to steal this place out from under us, I’ll stick my boot so far up his butt; he’ll taste shoe polish. Pardon me, M
rs. Sweeney.”

  Elvira grinned at him, amused. “That’s quite all right Jack. I can understand how you’d be a bit upset. I noticed that you said, ‘If he tries to steal this place out from under us’.”

  Jack glanced at her and shrugging he took another brownie from the diminishing pile on the plate.

  Vicky was wringing her hands. “How can you be hungry at a time like this?”

  “Mrs. Sweeney makes a damn good brownie. Can’t resist,” he mumbled with his mouth full.

  Fred began sorting all the documents and letters again, separating them from the old photographs. “Tell you what. Vicky, you hold onto these pictures for now. I’ll take all these letters and papers and go through them carefully. See if I can’t discover any additional information. There are a few facts that we still don’t know for sure. Elvira, do you have any more letters or anything from Vicky’s grandmother?”

  “Perhaps,” the doctor's wife said thoughtfully.

  A loud knocking came from the front door. All five of them glanced around the table with raised brows.

  “What now?” Still a little shaky Vicky got to her feet.

  “I’ll see who that is.” Fred gestured for her to sit and went to the door.

  The others waited around the table listening to the murmured voices out on the front porch.

  Fred returned accompanied by a silver haired elderly man, clutching a battered felt hat in his hands. Though neat and clean, his clothes were a couple of decades out of date. “This fellow says he wants to see Jack Conner,” Fred announced.

  Everyone stared at the newcomer as Doc got up and pulled out a chair for him.

  “Thank you.” The old man sat down smiling at them.

  Jack, still scowling said, “Well, you found me. I’m Conner. Who are you and what do you want.”

  The codger smiled and declared, “Oh my. Land sakes alive. Are those brownies?”