Willow's Way

by Sharon Struth

  “That sounds delicious.”

  She nodded and hurried past the Orchid Room, also with a hand-painted version of the flower near the room name.

  Edna glanced back over her shoulder. “You’re American?”

  “I am.”

  “What brings you to town?”

  “A property in town that belonged to my grandparents.”

  “Oh?” Edna paused and raised her perfectly penciled-on eyebrows. “What are their names?”

  “Derrick and Sarah Armstrong? Did you know them?”

  “Well, good heavens. Of course. Lovely people.” She started walking again, taking Willow up a staircase to the second floor. “When Sarah died, it was such a loss for poor Derrick, but he kept himself busy.” She shook her head. “Their house has been empty for a long time.” She stopped in front of a door marked Rose Room and turned to Willow. “Would you look at that?” She motioned to Willow’s neck and laughed. “Your necklace is a rose. Must be more than a coincidence.”

  Willow smiled. Whatever the reason, Edna knowing her grandparents seemed a sign things might be going her way.

  “I’ll get a plate of food together for you.” Edna put the key in the lock, turned it, and pushed the door partway open. “Come down when you’re ready and let me know if you need anything. Otherwise, welcome to Bitton.” Edna scurried down the hall, yelling her husband’s name.

  Willow entered and dropped her bag. Soft pink walls. A white bedspread with a pattern of roses. Roses, roses, everywhere. In a vase on the nightstand. Decorating the edges of a mirror positioned over the white dresser. This was much better then sleeping in that dark, dusty house alone, with no power and dirty water.

  As she crossed the bathroom threshold, she touched the necklace and smiled. Perhaps the power of the rose had guided her to the right place.

  * * * *

  “Unfortunately, I got here and found the house needs work.” Willow sipped tea from a delicate china cup decorated with pink flowers. Perhaps the best tea she’d ever had.

  A breeze came through the open casement window, filling the cozy sunroom with the crisp scent of autumn air. She patted the photographs her mother had saved over a lifetime, pressed to Willow’s thigh in the pocket of her linen tunic.

  “Well, fortunately for us, you found our place.” Eddie, a barrel-chested man who’d just received a lecture from Edna about his high cholesterol, reentered the room popping the last of what appeared to be a cookie into his mouth.

  “Oh, Willow. I wanted to show you something.” Edna stood and went to a side table where she opened a drawer. She removed a stack of pamphlets, handing one to Willow and placing the rest on the center of the coffee table.

  “This is everything you need to know about Bath’s annual Jane Austen Festival. I hope you can find time to participate in some of the events.” Edna returned to the seat next to her husband. “Eddie and I go to several of them.”

  Willow chewed a bite of sandwich and swallowed. “I’m only here because of the house. Everything depends on how much I get done. I’m scheduled to fly back in two weeks.”

  “If you can find time, you must come.” Edna pushed a plated scone sitting on the table toward Willow. “All the money goes to a local charity, and we have so much fun. Ms. Austen was a woman ahead of her time, writing about arranged marriage versus doing so for love. Right, Eddie?”

  Eddie sipped his tea then lowered the cup. “Indeed.”

  Edna nodded her satisfaction then looked at Willow. “Are you a fan?”

  “Not really.”

  Obligation had played a part in why she’d married Richard, though. Her stepfather had introduced them at a private family function. Tall, polished, and charming, Richard could work a room and leave lusty-eyed ladies in his wake. And he’d worked his magic on her. Willow easily won her stepfather’s approval when she and Richard got engaged. Their marriage had suited both men, from a business and political standpoint. But in hindsight, deep, passionate love had never entered the equation.

  Edna motioned to a jar on the table. “Have some clotted cream with that scone, dear. They belong together, like salt and pepper.”

  Clotted cream sounded extremely fattening, as if the name alone were a warning from the FDA about what would happen to your arteries if you ate the treat. However, factoring in her walk and lack of food, she opted for a generous scoop. After spreading it on and taking a big bite, she held back a moan as the buttery dough and creamy spread tantalized her taste buds.

  On her second bite, eating guilt crept into her belly. Always hiding around a corner, waiting to ruin her day. She used her palm to flatten her shirt at the waist, running her hand over her stomach. Always checking, even when thin. Gone were the days when she couldn’t find an inch to pinch. Now there was definitely an inch, reminding her of her stepfather’s nasty weight comments and her old, pudgy self. She lowered the plated scone.

  “Isn’t that so, Willow?”

  She turned to Edna, shaking off the ache in her chest. “What’s that?”

  “Your grandparent’s house. It’s been left to you?”

  “Oh yes, yes.” She drew in a breath. Steady girl. How could Charlie’s meanness still bother me after all these years? “I’m anxious to start cleaning the place up. Is there any place I can buy supplies?”

  Edna motioned to her husband. “Eddie can drive you into town to get what you need.”

  His gaze lifted from Willow’s scone, making her want to give him half of the treat. “I’d be happy to.”

  “I appreciate it.” She turned to Edna. “Could I show you some pictures that belonged to my mother? I’m wondering if any of them might be my grandparents.”

  Edna’s eyes widened. “So, you’ve never even seen photos of them?”

  “No.” Willow removed the pictures from her shirt pocket and handed them over. “My mother—their daughter, Chloe—always told me she moved to the States after they’d already passed. When I found the will, I realized she’d lied.”

  “I never knew Sarah and Derrick had a granddaughter.”

  “The home was originally left to my mother. The will said it went to me in the event of her death. When she passed in a car accident, I received some of her special things. The will was amongst them, but for some reason, she’d never told anybody about it.”

  “I’m so sorry she passed.” Edna frowned. “I remember when Chloe left town. Her parents never talked about her much after that. Only to say she seemed happy in her new home.”

  Evidently, secrets had been kept on both sides of the Atlantic.

  Edna pressed her lips tight while flipping through the photos. She held up a picture of a young couple getting married. “This is definitely them.” She passed it to Willow. “Take a look. I can see a bit of your grandmother in you. You have the same jawline.”

  Willow studied the photo. She didn’t have her mother’s delicate facial features, and had always wished to know where in the gene pool she’d acquired her blond hair and high forehead. But here she’d found a connection in the determined jawline of a stranger.

  “And Derrick…” Edna paused and looked off into the distance. “Often quiet, but always friendly. He worked very hard at his accounting job and was quite active in the church. That’s how my family knew them. Goodness.” She smiled with happy remembrance. “Derrick always walked around town. He loved to walk. And paint. He painted a beautiful oil painting of the church that still hangs in the pastor’s office. Your mum was a few years older than me in school. She didn’t always come with her parents to church, and I never got to know her that well. But your grandparents knew everyone at the church.”

  Willow devoured each word. Even though Edna couldn’t identify any of the others in the photographs, Willow had learned more from this stranger than from repeated efforts asking her mother about family history.

  A yawn escap
ed. “I’m sorry. This has been wonderful, but I’ve been up since yesterday morning my time.”

  “Go rest. You need sleep.” Edna stood. “If you want dinner, Rory’s starts serving at six-thirty. Maybe take a short nap.”

  “Good idea.” She thanked Edna for the tea and went back to the cozy room.

  Lying on the bed, she closed her eyes and conjured images of the life that once existed in her grandparents’ home. Each tidbit Edna offered about a family Willow had never known existed nourished her soul. Unanswered questions bombarded her as she sank deeper into the mattress and drifted off to sleep.

  * * * *

  “Good night, baby.” Owen pulled a blanket up to Jilly’s chin and kissed her forehead.

  “I’m not a baby.” She scowled.

  “You’ll always be my baby girl, no matter how old you get. But maybe I can think of a new special name for you. How about Jilly Bean because you’re sweet as candy?”

  She giggled. “I like it.”

  “Then goodnight, Jilly Bean. I love you.” He patted Henry, who’d already curled into a ball at the end of her bed. “’Night, Henry.” The dog squeezed his eyes shut tighter, but his tail flopped once.

  Owen left the room, closing the door halfway. After grabbing a few cookies from the kitchen cabinet, he went into the living room and flipped on the television. His phone sat on the coffee table and showed he had a voice message. He listened to the faint message, the connection poor.

  Hello. I’m looking for the caretaker for a house at… My name is Willow Armstrong…about…power being turned on and a few… I’ll be working there tomorrow…I’d appreciate it if… Thanks!

  Willow Armstrong. She sounded like the American woman he’d met this afternoon. Rosebud. He chuckled at her reaction to what he’d called her. Most women would’ve liked a pretty nickname. Not her.

  Using his phone, he typed her name in the internet search bar.

  Sure enough, several photos of a blonde resembling Rosebud appeared, but the photos showed a severely slimmed-down version of the woman he’d met today. Her silky wrap-around dress clung to slim hips and the heavy pendant of her necklace looked like it outweighed her long neck. Shoulder-length, shiny hair framed intense blue eyes. Determined as steel. Like if she only held one match in her hand, she’d somehow set a field ablaze. Yes, this was her. Only now with a slightly fuller face and curves any man would stop and notice. He left the image search and clicked on the website.

  Well, look at that. Founder and CEO of a firm called Pound Busters. On the “About Willow” page, he learned she’d founded and started the company that had gone from private to public in the past decade.

  He clicked on a link to Willow’s Five Commandments of Weight Loss. A small blurb on top said these were the five rules their founder followed to achieve her own success.

  Commandment One: Balance is Best

  Commandment Two: Believe, Don’t Blame

  Commandment Three: Consistency is Your Companion

  Commandment Four: Fix, Don’t Feast

  Commandment Five: Motivate Your Mind

  He’d never had to lose weight in his entire life, but if he did, those rules sounded as good as any.

  He learned about her struggle with weight as a child and how she’d overcome it with a militant weight-loss regime during college. Her company had started based on this dieting premise, first with a Manhattan location, but it grew rapidly into a weight-loss empire followed by both celebrities and regular people alike.

  So Rosebud had money.

  “Daddy?” Jilly squeaked from her bedroom. “Can I have some water?”

  He exited the search and put down the phone. So began the nightly ritual of Jilly asking for things before she finally went to sleep.

  “Be right there.”

  He walked to the kitchen and filled the glass with a small amount of water. Many well-off Americans owned homes abroad. So why not Willow?

  As he walked toward his daughter’s room, he began to wonder if he could change Willow’s mind about selling. Somehow convince her to keep the place for vacations.

  Sure. It might work. Then he wouldn’t have to move and could stay here as caretaker.

  But how could he best show her what the Cotswolds and neighboring areas offered without appearing as desperate as he felt?

  Chapter 6

  Willow sniffed. Food. Bacon, maybe sausage?

  She rolled to her side and pulled the covers to her chin. The scent lingered, taunting her until her stomach grumbled with need and she opened her eyes.

  Bright sunshine seeped through the frilly rose-patterned curtains in her room. She lifted her phone off the nightstand. Seven-thirty a.m.? Her catnap had turned into twelve hours of sleep.

  The list of chores waiting to be done today booted her in the ass. She dragged herself out of bed, still dressed in the clothes she’d changed into when she got here. After a quick shower, she dried her hair and tied it in a ponytail then slipped on a fresh pair of faded jeans and a white oxford shirt, the tails worn out so she could feel comfy and not stuffed in her clothes.

  She followed her nose to the scent that woke her, ending up in the sunroom where tables had been set up along the casement windows and guests she hadn’t seen before dug into hearty plates of food.

  Edna stuck her head into the room. “Morning, sleepyhead. You missed dinner and must be starving. A full breakfast okay for you?”

  “Yes, please. Sounds delicious.”

  She got seated and before she knew it, Edna hustled back in and lowered a plate in front of her. Two eggs over easy. Sausage and bacon. A halved tomato that looked fried on one side. Whole mushrooms. Toasted bread. And in the center a scoopful of rustic, brown baked beans. This ensemble of goodies served as a poster of Pound Busters Don’ts, but the company philosophy—while engrained in her thought process—went straight out the window, where years of her dieting logic had gone.

  A half hour later, with her stomach satisfied, Willow went with Eddie to a DIY store where she purchased trash bags, packing boxes, and cleaning supplies.

  He turned into the dirt driveway leading to her grandparents’ house. “Now call me if you need anything. It’s no bother to run over here for an errand or when you’re done.”

  “Thanks. I plan to be here until the afternoon. Edna made me lunch.”

  “She’s a good cook. I’m a lucky man.” They reached the house, and he stopped the car. “Here you are. I’ve always thought this quite a lovely place.”

  With a clearer head, and through less-tired eyes, Willow stared at the two-story country Victorian. “It is beautiful.” She pushed open the door. “Thanks for the ride.”

  She retrieved her supplies and waved as he pulled away.

  Willow headed for the house, her step light and energized for the day ahead. New assignments sucked her right in, where she’d get so immersed in the details, the project would be completed long before the due date. Heck, her classmates in boarding school had voted her “least likely to pull an all-nighter.”

  Unfortunately, when she pushed open the door, the excited buzz faded with the old stench of the house. Probably made worse when she’d opened the refrigerator yesterday.

  The cleanup here suddenly seemed more daunting than starting her weight-loss company. Smells and trash. Broken conveniences, like water and electricity.

  She dug deep inside, retrieving the resolve that always pushed her through the day. She could do it. She had to do it. The sale of this house was a “do or die” moment. At least from a financial perspective.

  After leaving the door open, she opened all the windows to get rid of the awful smell. She made a mental note to call the groundskeeper again if he didn’t call or stop by soon.

  She gathered her supplies and headed for the living room, plunking them in the room’s center on a patterned cream-and-Wed
gewood-blue area rug. A full turn around the room proved she had her work cut out for her. Wall shelves and an étagère held books and bric-a-brac, perfectly arranged as if someone had decided to step out for the day, not leave it for good.

  She cracked open a garbage bag and packing box and set about her task. What she learned about her grandparents after an hour of work could be summed up in one sentence: they’d loved to read. Books about history, religion, popular fiction, self-help. It pained Willow to give them away, or worse, throw them out. After glancing through The Years of Grace, basically a guidebook on preparing to get married and raise a family, she tossed it in a box of things to donate. The topic, though, made her wonder how her grandparents had gotten along with her mother, who Willow remembered as more of a free spirit.

  She rose from the floor and looked around, taking some pride in her accomplishments so far. Back in the foyer, she removed a bottle of sparkling water from her lunch bag. While taking a long gulp, she studied the dark wood staircase.

  Photos lined the wall leading upstairs. She took her drink and walked up the first three steps, stopping at a landing. Family pictures of her mother and grandparents. As she moved up the steps, new faces appeared, all unfamiliar. Maybe more family she didn’t know about?

  Slowly, she made her way up the flight of stairs, pausing to study each photograph until she reached the top. She faced a long hallway, counting eight closed, dark wood doors, including one at the end of the hallway, possibly a closet or attic.

  She opened the first door. Two nightstands holding brass lamps flanked the headboard of a four-poster bed. Framed photos, a Bible, and a hairbrush sat on top of a tallboy.

  She crossed the hardwood floor, covered only by an oriental-patterned area rug, and pulled open a shade. Dust particles flittered in front of her face and she swatted them away as her gaze landed on a photograph on the tallboy.

  Pictures. Eyes to the past. In her case, they were all she had left. She went over and lifted it. In this one, her mother—about seven or eight—stood between her parents, holding each of their hands. Even back then, the camera lens clung to her huge eyes, so unique and pretty they’d been her trademark during her brief modeling career.