He brought up both hands in surrender, although he could see no threat in that little aerosol can.
“Who are you?” she barked, her blue eyes wide in her pale face. The hand holding the can quivered, but she didn’t back down.
“My name is Henry Braun.” He kept his voice low and soothing. The girl’s wild eyes made his stomach turn an uneasy somersault. “I drove over from Sommerfeld to see your mother.”
“How’d you get in here?”
“Your mother gave me the key. See?” He pointed to the chest in front of the couch, where he’d placed the house key.
Still scowling, the girl inched forward and snatched up the key. Keeping the can aimed at him, she growled, “You stay right there. I’m going to call my mother. Don’t you move!”
The girl backed through the doorway that led to the kitchen and disappeared behind the wall. He heard some clicks, then the girl’s voice. “Jimmy? This is Beth. I need to talk to Mom.”
Henry crept to the front door and let himself out, then perched on the concrete stoop. He would wait out here for Marie. That girl of hers was crazy. For the first time since he headed out on this journey, he wondered if Lisbeth Koeppler had made a mistake.
TWO
Although she normally left her sunglasses in the car, today Marie kept them on her face when she walked from the carport toward her apartment. Why she felt the need for the small shield, she couldn’t be sure—she just knew she needed it.
Rounding the corner of the apartment complex, she spotted Henry sitting on the stoop in front of her door. Marie’s heart caught; her steps slowed. His pose—elbows resting on widespread knees, head down, fingers toying with something on the concrete between his feet—reminded her of when they were teenagers and he would come to visit. Henry’s bashfulness always kept his head lowered, his fingers busy spinning a blade of grass or twiddling a small twig.
Long-buried memories rushed to the surface, clamoring for attention. She shoved them aside and focused on the present. Why hadn’t he gone in? She had assured Beth he had permission to be there. She stopped several feet short of the porch. Her shadow bumped against his right foot, and he looked up. The slash of shade from his hat brim hid his eyes.
“You didn’t wait inside.” A foolish statement, considering where she’d found him.
A slight grin twitched one side of his lips. “No.”
She took a step closer, her shadow swallowing his foot and the pebbles he had been lining up on the sidewalk. “Why?”
Pushing to his feet, Henry shrugged. “With your daughter home, I thought it best to wait out here.”
Of course. He wouldn’t be comfortable in the apartment alone with Beth. Remembering Beth’s panicked phone call, Marie nearly chuckled. Her daughter had no idea how harmless Henry was. “Let’s go inside and we can talk.”
He moved aside and allowed her to step onto the stoop, then waited on the sidewalk while she knocked on the door. Three clicks sounded—all three locks. Hadn’t Beth believed her when she’d said Henry wasn’t dangerous? The knob turned and Beth yanked the door open.
Normally Marie would have greeted her daughter with a cheery hello and a kiss on the cheek. But today, with the clicks of the locks still ringing in her ears, she moved through the doorway and called over her shoulder, “Please come in, Henry.”
He followed, his hands clamped around the brim of his hat. He stepped past the little throw rug and waited silently under Beth’s scowling perusal.
Marie closed the door, then gestured toward the couch. “Go ahead and sit down.” She crossed to the entertainment center and removed her sunglasses, placing them on top of the television. In the glass, she watched Henry’s reflection as he crossed to the couch in three long strides, sat, and laid his hat on the seat beside him.
Shifting her gaze, she caught a glimpse of her tousled curls in the fish tank’s glass. She smoothed a hand over her hair, feeling exposed and vulnerable in front of Henry without the head covering of her youth. Her hand itched to grab the sunglasses again, but how silly she would look, wearing them in the house. Clasping her hands together, she turned to face her daughter.
“Beth, bring Henry a glass of water. He’s been sitting out in the sun for quite a while.” She hoped Beth heard the admonition in her tone.
Her mouth in a grim line, Beth disappeared into the kitchen. Soon the rattle of ice in a glass and running water let Marie know her daughter was following her instructions. She sat in the rocking chair in the corner and offered Henry a weak smile.
“It was a big. . .” Shock? Accurate, but too strong. “. . .surprise to see you in the restaurant today.”
Beth entered the room, moved stiffly to Henry, and held out the water without a word.
“Thank you.” He took a long draw, giving Marie a dizzying sense of déjà vu that quickly disappeared when he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “I probably should have called, but—”
Marie drew back, startled. “You know my number?”
He set the half-empty glass near the stack of magazines. “Lisbeth had it.”
At the mention of her aunt, Marie’s heart melted. Images of the sweet-faced, gentle woman filled her head. Of all the people in Sommerfeld, Marie missed Aunt Lisbeth the most. Leaning forward, she spoke eagerly. “How is she? It’s been weeks since I’ve heard from her.”
Henry dropped his gaze. “Your aunt Lisbeth is why I’m here.”
His voice sounded strained. Marie’s chest constricted.
“I’m going to my room.” Beth turned toward the hallway.
Henry jumped to his feet. “No. Please. I need to speak with both you and your mother.” He waved his hand clumsily at the couch. “If you’d care to sit, I’ll explain why I’ve come.”
Beth sent Marie a puzzled look, but she sat on the arm of the couch near the rocker. Henry remained standing at the other end, and for a few minutes he worried his lower lip between his teeth. Marie knew he was gathering his thoughts, but she sensed her daughter’s impatience. She touched Beth’s knee—a silent plea to sit quietly and wait.
Henry cleared his throat. “There is no good way to share bad news. I’m so sorry, Marie, but your aunt Lisbeth passed away six weeks ago.”
Marie covered her mouth with her fingers, holding back the words of anguish that rushed to her lips. Dear Aunt Lisbeth. . .dead?
Beth dropped to her knees beside the rocking chair and placed her hands in Marie’s lap. Tears glittered in her blue eyes. “Oh, Mom, I’m sorry.”
Marie blinked rapidly, managing to give her daughter a wobbly smile of thanks. Beth knew what Lisbeth meant to her. She’d named her baby Lisbeth Marie for her great-aunt. Even though the two Lisbeths hadn’t seen each other since Beth was only two weeks old, Beth had read the letters that had arrived over the years, had listened to her mother’s stories of time with her favorite aunt. Beth would mourn, too.
Looking at Henry, Marie choked out a single-word query: “How?”
Henry sat back on the couch. Sympathy shone in his eyes. “Her heart.”
Marie nodded. The Koeppler bane.
“She’d been ill for the past two years,” Henry continued in a tender voice. “The doctor warned her to slow down, but. . .” He shrugged. The gesture communicated clearly, You know Lisbeth.
Yes, Marie knew Lisbeth. Always busy, always giving, always smiling. Closing her eyes, she allowed a picture of her aunt to fill her mind. . . Aunt Lisbeth at the table in her kitchen, wrinkled hands kneading a lump of dough, her eyes sparkling beneath her white prayer cap. Marie swallowed the lump of sorrow that filled her throat and gave Beth’s hands a squeeze. Beth slipped onto the couch, still holding one of her mother’s hands.
“Thank you for coming all this way to tell me.” For a moment, Marie longed to reach out and clasp Henry’s hand, too. Instead, she coiled her hand into a fist and pressed it to her lap. “Lisbeth always informed me of family deaths in the past, and it was hard to get news like that in a letter. It was kind of y
ou to break this to me gently. Six weeks. . .” She shook her head. “Of course, no one in my family bothered to let me know.” She made no attempt to mask the resentment in her tone.
Henry ducked his head. A few moments of silence ticked by before he met her gaze. “There’s more.” He glanced at Beth, his brow furrowed. “This word is for you.”
Beth shot her mother a startled look.
“Your mother’s aunt Lisbeth ran a little café in Sommerfeld.”
Beth released a little grunt of irritation. “I know. Mom and I talked a lot about Great-Aunt Lisbeth.”
Henry’s gaze bounced quickly to Marie, an unreadable expression in his eyes, before returning to Beth. “I guess you also know Lisbeth never married, so she has no children.”
“Yes.”
Henry swallowed, scratching the hair behind his left ear. “Lisbeth and I were. . .close friends.”
Marie wondered briefly if they had bonded after her unexpected departure from Sommerfeld—perhaps sharing their heartache at her decision to leave and marry Jep.
“I spent a great deal of time with her, especially when her health began to fail,” Henry went on. Beth sat with pursed lips, her fingers tight on Marie’s hand. “She asked me to see that her things were cared for after her death. I promised her I would. My sister, Deborah, and her daughter, Trina, have kept the café running, and I’ve checked her house each day to make sure nothing has gone wrong.”
Beth held up her hand. “What does all this have to do with me?”
Henry continued in a calm voice, as if he had rehearsed the words a certain way and they must be delivered as planned. “Two weeks ago, at the prompting of your grandfather. . .”
Beth’s fingers convulsed on Marie’s hand, and Marie tightened her grip.
“. . . I began to clean out the house in preparation for sale of the contents. In Lisbeth’s desk, I found her will, written in her own hand. She bequeathed all of her earthly belongings to you, Beth.”
Beth jerked back, her hand yanking free of Marie’s. “W–what?”
Marie’s heart pattered so loudly it nearly covered Henry’s quiet statement.
“The café, the house, and everything inside has been left to you.”
Beth’s wide-eyed gaze met her mother’s. “But—but what do I want with all that?”
Marie ignored her daughter and looked at Henry. “Do my parents know this?”
Henry’s gaze dropped briefly, his forehead creasing, before he offered a nod. “I showed them the will. They couldn’t deny it was what she wanted.”
“They aren’t protesting it?” Marie held her breath. Surely her father would fight to his own death the bestowment of anything to this unclaimed grandchild.
“No, they’re not.”
Marie released her breath in a whoosh.
Beth broke into a huge smile, jumped from the couch, and clapped her hands. “Mom, this is a real windfall. Now maybe Mitch and I won’t have to take out a loan to start our business after all. It’s like Karma or something!”
Spinning to face Henry, she fired off a rapid explanation. “My boyfriend and I want to open an interior-design shop with one-of-a-kind antiques and specialty items. We were going to get a smallbusiness loan, but now. . .” She paused, licking her lips. “How much do you think you’ll get for the house and café? I mean, I know it’s in a small town and all, but surely it’ll raise at least—what?—thirty thousand? Maybe more?”
Henry rose, holding his hand toward Beth. “You need to sit down.”
“I’m too excited to sit!”
Her smile lit the room, but it also cut Marie’s heart. This “windfall,” as Beth had called it, was at the loss of someone Marie held dear. Beth seemed to have lost sight of that.
The girl paced across the small room. “After everything is sold, go ahead and keep a little for your trouble—maybe 3 or 5 percent—then send me a check for the rest. I trust you.”
Henry shook his head. “That won’t do.”
“Okay,” Beth huffed. “Eight to 10 percent.”
Henry drew in a breath. “It’s not about the money.”
Beth tipped her head, scowling. “Then what?”
Once more Henry gestured toward the couch. “Please, will you sit down?”
Beth sent Marie a wary look, then seated herself on the edge of the couch. Looking up at Henry, she flipped her palms outward. “Well?”
“Lisbeth included a condition in the will. Before any of the property can be sold, you must reside in it for a period of no less than three months.”
“What?” Beth’s voice squeaked out shrilly. She leaped up again and placed her hands on her hips, glowering at Henry. “You must be joking!”
Henry remained calm. “It’s not a joke.”
“Oh, this is rich.” Beth laughed, but the sound held little humor. “These people I’ve never met kicked my mom and me out of their lives, and now I’m supposed to drop everything, move to Sommerfeld, and live with them for three months? That’s the biggest farce I’ve ever heard of.”
“Beth. . .” Marie rose and touched her daughter’s arm.
The girl pulled away. “I’m sorry, Mom. I know you loved that old lady, and maybe a part of me loved her, too, just because you did. But what she’s asking me to do. . . I won’t do it.” She pointed at Henry. “You figure some way around that ridiculous condition. I don’t care how you do it, but get me the money without forcing me to live in that awful town.”
Before Marie or Henry could respond, she dashed down the hallway. The slam of her door echoed through the apartment. For long moments, neither of them spoke. They just stood at opposite ends of the couch, looking past each other.
Finally, Henry sighed. Without looking at Marie, he said, “If Beth doesn’t fulfill the condition, the property transfers to Lisbeth’s brother and sister.”
A bitter taste filled Marie’s mouth at the thought of her father and her aunt Cornelia sharing the proceeds. Marie wished Lisbeth had just left everything to Aunt Cornelia rather than involving Beth. It was a kind gesture, but that condition. . . It guaranteed heartache. Aunt Lisbeth must have known it would be met with resistance. Why would she place such a requirement on the acquisition?
“I’m reasonably certain you can proceed with splitting the property between Aunt Cornelia and. . .” She couldn’t say the word Dad. She hadn’t had a dad in more than twenty years. Swallowing, she finished, “Beth is very headstrong.”
A brief smile flitted across Henry’s face. “I can see that.”
Marie laughed ruefully. “She won’t give in.” Even though Beth had never known her father, she had inherited many of Jep Quinn’s characteristics. The tendency to act first and think second was very much like him. But even after a lot of thought, Beth was unlikely to concede to Aunt Lisbeth’s requirement.
Marie didn’t know what to say. There had been a time when she and Henry had spoken freely with each other. But those days were long gone, buried under years of separation. Standing in his presence now was uncomfortable. And sad.
“I’ll mail you a copy of the will.” Henry’s low-toned voice carried a hint of regret.
“Thank you.” Marie finally met his gaze. His velvety eyes locked on hers, causing an unusual patter in her heart. “It was kind of you to make the long drive,” she blurted out. “I hope your family didn’t mind you taking the time off.”
Henry blinked twice, his sooty lashes momentarily shielding his eyes. Then he swallowed and picked up his hat, putting it on his head. “Lisbeth was my only family.” Without another word, he slipped out the door.
THREE
Mitch, it was the most aggravating thing!” Beth slammed her fist against her pillow. Clicking the hands-free button on her cell phone, she held the phone like a microphone and continued to vent her frustration. “Can you imagine the nerve of that guy? Standing in my living room, telling me I have to live in some tiny little backwoods town for three whole months just to claim an inheritance. It is so tot
ally stupid!”
She jumped up from her bed and stomped back and forth across the small bedroom. “And Mom just stood there, saying nothing.” A pang of guilt struck. “I mean, I kind of understand. She got a shock, finding out her favorite relative died.” The ire rose again. “But still, she knows as well as I do that we aren’t welcome there. Why didn’t she just tell him to get out?”
From the other end of the line, Mitch’s husky chuckle sounded. “Maybe because your mama is a lady, and a lady doesn’t holler ‘Get out’ at a visitor?”
Flopping across the bed, Beth threw one arm over her head. She pictured Henry Braun standing uncertainly beside the couch while she aimed her mace can at him, and she laughed. “You should have seen the way he was dressed—straight out of Little House on the Prairie.”
“Oh, yeah?” Mitch’s voice held humor. “One of those bowl haircuts and a beard that hangs down to his chest?”
“No.” Beth twirled a strand of hair around her finger. “Real short, neat haircut. And no beard. Actually a pretty decent-looking man for an older guy, except for those clothes. They made him look so. . .backward.” She snorted. “Did he really think I’d go live with a whole town full of people like him? No, thanks!”
Mitch’s husky laughter sounded again.
She sighed. “I told him to figure out some way to sell the property and send me the money. But I doubt he’ll do it. Mom said if I don’t meet the condition, my grandfather”—she managed to make the title sound like a dirty word—“will get it all instead.”
“Is that what you want?”
Beth’s throat felt tight. “No! He shouldn’t get anything after what he did to Mom—sending her away in disgrace, like she’d done something terrible by marrying my dad and having me.” What kind of a father disowns his child? Beth wondered for the hundredth time.
“Listen. . .”
Beth’s fingers tightened on the phone as Mitch’s tone turned wheedling.
Bygones Page 2
