Keeping Victoria's Secret

by Melinda Peters

  The young woman behind the register turned to smile at him. “Jack, how are you? Haven’t seen you in a while. Been busy out there in the orchards?”

  Jack nodded and mumbled something. Carol Barrett was one of the pie bakers with matrimony on her mind. Always friendly, Jack liked her well enough, and had dated her casually for a while, but when she’d begun to pursue him, assuming they were a couple, he’d had to avoid her.

  On the road back to the farm Vicky remarked, “An old girl friend, or a current one?”

  “Huh? Who?” he replied innocently, though he knew exactly what she meant.

  “Carol. The woman who rang me up at the nursery.”

  How the hell did she detect that? “Well, I guess you’d say she’s.... I guess the answer is yes.”

  “What does that mean?”

  He was becoming irritated. “I guess it means that it’s none of your business.” There was silence in the truck for a mile or so before he spoke again. “Joe Vandersmoot was eyeballing your butt pretty hard when you were leaning over the petunias.”

  “Oh sure. Besides, they were impatiens, not petunias.” More silence ensued.

  By the time they’d returned home neither of them was speaking more than necessary.

  Jack helped her unload flowers and groceries, she thanked him, and he made his way back to the apartment over the garage as the rain began again. He thought that if he lived to be a hundred he would never ever figure out what went on inside a woman’s head.

  Chapter 10

  Vicky stood at the bedroom window in her nightgown, the sun shining through the orchard, brightening her day. As Jimmy Smith had predicted, the apple blossoms lay on the ground, scattered everywhere by the wind and rain. All ready the light green haze of the new growth formed halos around each tree.

  She’d awakened long before dawn and spent four straight hours writing, stopping only for coffee and a quick bite. Washing her few breakfast dishes at the old soapstone sink, she'd set them to drain and headed for the stairs.

  As she made her bed, she remembered Jack asking about her name on that box of Rendezvous Romance from Marsha. I wish I'd remembered to get it out of sight. Keeping my Tori Baxter identity hidden has always been difficult. Now that I’m living in a small town, it’ll be even harder.

  Drawn to the sunny window of her bedroom she stretched, yawning. Were the blooms already down yesterday afternoon when I rode into town with Jack? He really doesn’t like me much. How could yesterday start out so friendly, then by the time we got home with the groceries, what happened? I thought I was being nice! The man just makes me crazy.

  “I'd better get moving.” Stripping off her nightgown, she paused to admire the trees once more before heading to the shower. I’ll never get used to living in such a beautiful place.

  The long warm shower refreshed her and she padded back to her room with a bath towel wrapped around her, dripping hair spread over her shoulders. Patting herself dry, she wrapped the towel around her hair and bent over to rub moisturizer on her legs. That chore done Vicky slipped into a matching pink bra and panty set before tackling her long hair. She gently brushed it out and blew it dry, leaning over to dry from the roots to give it some volume. Work clothes today, she told herself choosing jeans and a top.

  Ready for the day, Vicky made a mental note not to even consider the possibility of moving from the farm. Jack really does have the right idea. I’ll keep myself busy cleaning and exploring this big farmhouse.

  Determined to examine everything from cellar to attic, she ventured downstairs into the basement. It wasn’t the creepy place of her imagination. Sure, there were plenty of spider webs, but at one time, the stone foundation had been painted white and shelving hung from rafters along one side. Smiling, she thought of the women of her family storing things for generations on those shelves. “Those kitchen utensils are antiques by now,” she murmured to herself.

  To her surprise and delight, she did find some memories of her grandmother. Opening a shallow cabinet, she discovered empty canning jars, and a small stack of unused faded labels that looked as though they bore traces of Nanna’s writing. In another cupboard, she found dusty bottles of wine lying on their sides, with no labels. Something homemade? How long had they been down here and who’d made the wine? Could it still be any good? She’d have to ask Jack.

  The better part of that day, she spent investigating the house, taking time now and again, to clean dusty corners of cobwebs and neglect. From room to room she proceeded, armed with her spray can of furniture polish and dust cloths. To her amazement, she found in an upstairs closet an ancient Kirby upright vacuum cleaner that started right up when plugged in.

  She was hot, tired, and hungry by the time she got all the way up to the attic. There were some interesting looking boxes, trunks, and old suitcases, which looked like they might contain more pictures and keepsakes. I can’t wait to go through all these things! This will be my first job tomorrow.

  She realized it was time for dinner, so after stopping off on the second floor to wash and change into cooler clothes, she returned to the kitchen.

  “What’s good in here?” she said, poking her head into the refrigerator and looking over the contents. Thank goodness, I did go shopping yesterday. I’m totally beat. Deciding on an easy comfort food meal of pasta tossed with sautéed fresh vegetables and a sprinkle of cheese, she located what she needed in the outdated kitchen. As she prepared her meal, she began remodeling the kitchen mentally, evaluating the rooms’ potential. The pre-historic refrigerator gurgled and rattled as it strained to keep its insides cool and make ice cubes. I could easily afford to put in new cabinetry and countertops if I stay away from expensive appliances and granite. Looking around the kitchen, she realized there was no spot for a dishwasher. I’d definitely want a new refrigerator and dishwasher.

  She stopped in mid-thought. Wait a minute. There’s no point in making any long-range plans. The reality crushed her enthusiasm. Why bother fixing the place up, if it’s going to be taken away from me? Frustrated, she slammed the pan filled with her dinner down and watched a few slices of vegetable dance out onto the table. Yes, I definitely need comfort food. And while I’m at it, I’ll open a bottle of that apple wine I bought yesterday. She looked through drawers searching for a corkscrew.

  Every day Vicky reminded herself that if Jack could plant crops he might never harvest, she could at least get her house in order. She’d made a little progress cleaning, unpacking boxes, and organizing. After spending her mornings working diligently at her computer, around noon she went out and watered her planters filled with flowers. She’d hung her baskets of impatiens on existing hooks around the porch, imagining Nanna tending to baskets of flowers hanging in these same places. Her new sleigh bed was made up with smooth sheets and her grandmother’s quilt in the largest bedroom at the back of the house. From there, she had a clear view of the orchards, barn, and garage.

  Afternoons, she took her laptop to the front porch to work outside. Jimmy would arrive in his Jeep with the mail. If she saw him, they’d chat for a minute as he handed it to her. Jack’s would be deposited in the box, while Vicky carried hers into the house.

  She decided that it was best to have as little contact as possible with Jack, because he seemed to want it that way. Since their trip to town together, he’d come and gone, driving past the house, not even glancing in her direction.

  One morning he’d written down his internet password and cell number in a note and left it on the back porch. “In case you have any questions, or need anything.”

  A week went by and at last, Vicky felt that she had things under control. She took her laptop out onto the front porch and got comfortable on one of the large wicker chairs, hoping she could write uninterrupted for an hour or two while waiting for the mail truck to arrive.

  Jimmy’s wife was pregnant with their first child and due within the month. Every day when he made his delivery, he gave her an update of his wife’s progress. He'd mentio
ned Penny craving lemon pound cake with vanilla ice cream so, using a favorite recipe, Vicky had baked one for her.

  The sound of an approaching truck caused her to look up expectantly. Slowing, on the far side of the road was Van Winkle’s pickup truck, easily distinguished by the broad dent in the rear left panel where Ben Cohen’s Caddy had left its mark.

  Rolling to a full stop, she saw him lean out the window and stare at the house. Then he turned and grinned at her. Oh God! Please don’t let him come up here. After a while, Van Winkle pulled away and vanished up the road. Leaning back in the wicker chair she sighed with relief. No use trying to continue writing, her mood was broken.

  When she heard the mail Jeep pull up in front of the box, she grabbed the pound cake from the table and trotted down the steps waving.

  “Hello Jim,” she called to him.

  “Only seventeen more days ‘til her due date,” he announced passing the mail through the open window and accepting the cake. “Wow, this is great! She’ll love this. Thanks Vicky.”

  “How’s Penny feeling?”

  Quickly, he told her about the latest doctor appointment. While they were talking, Jack’s truck came from the back, rattling and crunching down the gravel drive. He halted before getting to the road, opened his door and climbed out.

  “Morning, Jimmy, Victoria. How’s everybody?”

  “Just super, Jack. Vicky’s got the mail.” He grinned at her. “You folks have a good day now. Vicky thanks again for the cake. See you tomorrow.”

  Jimmy accelerated for a few seconds, braked a hundred yards down the road at the next box, and then he was off again vanishing around the bend.

  “Baking cakes for Jimmy?”

  She looked at Jack, squinting in the sunshine and smiled. “He’s such a nice guy always very pleasant and helpful. I thought I’d do something nice for him.”

  “Jimmy is a married man you know. Very happily married I might add.”

  Her smile faded and her tone became guarded. The remark had stung, causing her to bristle in response. “So yeah, I know that.” She turned and marched towards the porch, mail in hand. Speaking over her shoulder she said, “Penny’s having a baby soon and Jimmy told me she had a craving for lemon cake so I made them one. Got a problem with that?” She rapidly blinked back tears. Does he think I’d try to hit on Jimmy? What an idiot!

  Jack followed her. Feeling a little foolish he said, “I’m sorry. Guess that was kind of a stupid thing to say. My experience has been, when a single woman shows up with pies, cakes, and stuff it usually means she’s angling for something.”

  Turning to him on the porch, she said, “Yes of course. I’m sure legions of women must beat a path to your door bearing gifts.”

  Jack held up his hands. “I'm sorry. I was totally out of line. Can we just call a truce? We’ll probably need to be working together.”

  “I know you’re right,” she sighed. “There’s no reason we can’t manage to be civil to one another.”

  “I’ve got a bad feeling about Van Winkle.”

  She looked up in surprise. “He just drove by a few minutes ago. He stopped on the other side of the road and just stared for a while. I have to tell you, it sent shivers up my spine. The guy creeps me out." She looked down at her mail sorting through junk, bank statement, and… “What's this?” She stared at an envelope and then frowning slowly opened it. Removing a single sheet, she read it over and dropped it on the table as though it were a poisonous snake. “Oh my God,” she said softly sinking down into the chair.

  “What is it Victoria? Bad news?”

  Dazed, she shook her head. “It’s Van Winkle. A letter from his lawyer.”

  Jack snatched up the letter and she made no move to stop him. Quickly he read it, glaring at the page. When he finished reading, he dropped it back onto the table by the laptop.

  “Looks like they’ve started proceedings. There’s a lot of ‘lawyer speak’, but the gist is they claim Jonathan is rightful heir and owner. We need to talk to Fred Douglas right away. You have his number?”

  Without a word, she dug her cell from a pocket, scrolled through the address list, and punched the send button when she reached Fred. She handed the phone to Jack.

  “Want me to talk to him?” he asked.

  She nodded, unable to speak. There was a knot in her stomach.

  Jack’s conversation with Fred was brief. He closed the phone and handed it back. “He wants to see the letter. I’m on my way to town and I’ll take it straight to his office. Fred says he’ll want to meet with you soon, but it’s not necessary right now. Want to come along anyhow?”

  She shook her head. “No Jack, if you don’t mind I’ll just hang out here a while. Guess I need to do some thinking. Tell Fred to call if he needs to tell me anything.”

  “Hey, we’ll work this out. Like I said the other day, I intend to fight this thing and I want you to help me. You’re the legal owner of this property, at least for now. Don’t crumble on me and give up, okay?”

  “All right, Jack. You know the last thing I want is to lose my Nanna’s home. Go on and take the letter to Fred.”

  Jack actually jogged down to his truck and floored the gas pedal as he turned into the road with squealing tires laying rubber.

  She sat staring across the road into the rows of apple trees feeling the gentle breeze fan her face. Jack’s a bit of a hot head, but just maybe it’s good to have a hot head in my corner now.

  While Jack was gone she sat, thinking about Nanna and wondering what it was like when she lived here as a young girl tending her flower gardens or baking apple pies in the autumn. It's so peaceful here, it's a shame someone had to come along and overturn the apple cart. She smiled to herself considering the irony of that analogy.

  Roused from her reverie by the sound of tires on the gravel driveway, she looked up expecting to see Jack returning. Instead, she realized with a feeling of dread in the pit of her stomach, that it was Van Winkle’s truck. She watched as he slowly got out and made his way to the porch, a lecherous grin on his plump face.

  “Morning there. Uh. Is it Victoria? That right, Miss Victoria Bundies?”

  She didn't bother correcting him. He mounted the steps and as he had on his first arrival, pulled one of the wicker chairs around and sat uninvited and much too close. She drew back and froze, fear gripping her as Van Winkle stared at her malevolently. He reached over and plucked the empty envelope from the table, examined the return address before snickering and dropping it again. “Seems like you’ve got a letter from Albany. Looks like a letter from a lawyer now, don’t it?”

  Fred would probably advise me to reveal nothing. “I haven’t anything to say to you. Have a nice day and you can leave the property, please.” This was all she could manage under the circumstances.

  The porcine Van Winkle sat for a moment leaning back, filling the wicker entirely. “Well now that’s not very neighborly. And just when I’ve come to make a deal with you. How’d you like a way to stay here in your grandma’s house?” He paused for effect, and then continued. “I expect you and that knucklehead Conner have a real friendly arrangement, you being the owner of this place, and him being the muscle you might say. Jack Conner has to go, but I can help you out, if you’re willing. Now I’m gonna be the owner and you can keep things real nice for me.

  She shrank away from the smell of his sweat as he leaned even closer.

  “You’re taking good care of Jack living in his house while he takes care of the barn, the planting, and such. How’s about this? You can take care me, just like you take care of him. I’ll do the farming work. You do some cooking, maybe you could kind of be the housekeeper, take care of whatever I need.” At this, he nodded towards the house, indicating her place in the arrangement. He paused, leering at her.

  She felt helpless. God only knew what this cretin had in mind. At a loss for words, she knew how a mouse feels when it’s waiting for the cat to pounce.

  Van Winkle opened his mouth again to sp
eak, but was cut short.

  “I believe, Mr. Van Winkle that you are trespassing. You’ve been harassing this nice young lady and I suggest you be on your way.”

  She recognized that voice. They both turned to see the silver haired man leaning on the porch railing. It was the elderly man that had visited her last week, claiming to be a Willet relative. How did he materialize so quietly?

  “I don’t know who you are old man, but why don’t you shuffle off. This lady and I are talking business.”

  The elderly man shook his head. “Where I come from….” His voice trailed off and he gazed around at the surrounding woods and fields. “Where I come from a gentleman doesn’t talk to a young lady like you’ve been doing. I’ll ask you once more to just go on your way and leave her be.”

  The smile dropped from Van Winkle’s face. Angrily he barked, “Who the hell are you?”

  Sighing, the man sadly shook his head. Slowly a shotgun barrel rose into view and rested across the railing, the stock nestled into the older man’s shoulder.

  “Van Winkle, I’m your worst nightmare!” the man said, leveling the gun at Jonathan’s head.

  For such a chubby man, he moved quickly. Van Winkle stood up so fast that the wicker chair he was sitting in toppled backwards. Taking a couple of quick steps back, he lifted his hands palms out saying, “Now wait just a minute, you can’t….”

  “Go on. Keep heading back to that truck there. Get in and get on down the road. Go on now,” said the gray haired man confidently.

  Van Winkle took a couple more steps back, still protesting and before he realized what was happening, ran out of porch. He stepped off into mid air, lost his footing, and did a complicated little dance down the front steps losing his balance, regaining it and finally ending up on the lawn. He scurried for the truck, got in, and started it up. Pulling slowly into the road he stopped and looked back at the old man.