“An impressive observation.” She glanced his way and smiled, all the confirmation he needed to keep going. “The restoration you now see was done in the Victorian era.” He tapped Jilly’s shoulder. “Look across the pool, sweetheart. That woman in the long white dress sitting at the pool side is an actor playing the part of a person who worked in these pools two thousand years ago.”
“Wow! That’s a long time.” Jilly eyes widened and her mouth dropped open.
Willow pressed her shoulder to Owen’s but looked at Jilly. “This tour with your dad has been very informative. He’s an excellent tour guide. Don’t you think?”
Jilly nodded, but kept watching the actor who sat on a bench working with a stone mortar and pestle set.
“In fact,” Willow nuzzled closer to him and dropped her voice, “he’s the best guide I’ve had on my trip here.”
“Ha-ha. You’re a regular John Cleese.” Owen slipped his arm around her shoulder. “I’m the only one.”
She softly pressed her lips against his cheek. “Still the best.”
He inhaled the floral scent in her hair and whispered, “I’ll be sure to thank you properly later.”
Her lids softened, the same heated gaze she’d passed him frequently since their night together. One that furled around him like a lasso and threatened to bring him to his knees.
“Daddy?” He tore himself away from Willow’s gaze to find Jilly staring at them through narrowed eyes.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nan says it’s not nice to tell a secret in front of someone.”
“By God, you’re right.” He threw up his palms. “Sorry. I told Willow how she looks pretty today.”
Something about her glowed. It wasn’t just the black-and-white blouse, unbuttoned just enough to drive his desire wild, or the white pants that hugged her familiar curves. Her cheeks glowed and a permanent shine resided in her pretty eyes.
“You’re right, Daddy. She does.” Jilly wedged closer to Willow, gently pushing Owen aside. “I think it’s her new shirt. She got it when we were shopping. When she bought me this one.” Jilly motioned to the navy long-sleeved shirt with a sparkle-filled puppy on the front. “Do I look pretty?”
Owen squatted down and wrapped his arms around her. “Baby, you’re gorgeous.”
Jilly beamed. “Thanks, Daddy. May I go see that lady in the white dress who has worked here for two thousand years?”
“Yes. Go on.” Jilly started to leave as he added, “But she’s an actor, pretending to be someone who worked here two thousand…” He stopped when Jilly kept going and didn’t look back.
He took Willow’s hand and they watched Jilly approach the woman and start talking. Owen shook his head. “I can only imagine what she’s saying right now.”
“Probably that she doesn’t look a day over a thousand, nine-hundred ninety-nine.”
Together they laughed. He slipped his arm around Willow’s waist and her head dropped to his shoulder. His heart bloomed with something so deep it burned his core. This moment, the three of them here, felt more natural than any part of his marriage. If he were granted a wish, it would be Willow would never return to the US and Jilly would stay young and innocent. Always able to find pleasure in the small things and never turn into a teenager who might get angry with him.
But tomorrow morning, Willow would take her walk on the Cotswold Way, the start to the end of her trip to England. And Jilly would grow up, though he’d do everything in his power to make certain she didn’t drift away from him. As he’d done with his father.
* * * *
“I can wait until you get underway.” Owen stood by the driver’s door of his van, coffee cup in hand, reminding Willow of a nervous parent leaving his child at school.
Willow smiled at him and shifted the heavy rucksack on her shoulders. “I’d rather you left.”
This morning, she’d woken with a nervous belly, barely able to eat. Owen had picked her up and driven her to the beautiful town of Chipping Campden, a quaint town with honey-colored architecture. He’d parked not far from a stone marker starting the trail known as the Cotswold Way, and had already kissed her goodbye twice.
He tipped his head. “Okay, then.” He got inside the van, rolled down the window, and motioned with his finger for her to come over.
She stepped to the window. “Are you trying to get me inside that van again? Like you did the first day we met?”
Owen laughed, exactly the smiling face she wanted to see before she began this journey. He leaned forward and gently kissed her again. “Be safe. Now I’ll go.”
She reached out and touched his arm, resting on the window edge. “I will be safe. Before you know it, I’ll be meeting you right back in Bath, at the other end of this trail.”
He winked. “I know you will.”
With one last wave, he drove off. She waved, hoping he saw her through rearview mirror. Her reward came when he stuck his hand out the window and waved one last time. She missed him already. How the hell would she ever return to New York when the time came?
She dropped her worries on the curbside and set her mind on the journey ahead.
The plan to photograph and keep a journal along the way would require diligence. As she looked around, she found the perfect object. She crossed the street, stopping adjacent from an old market. Crouching down, she snapped an eye-level shot of the three-foot-high stone marker that read Cotswold Way - Bath 100 M.
She drew in a breath and exhaled, easing the flurry of butterflies swarming her belly. Ten and a half miles by sundown. Giving herself mental shove, she took her first steps, relieved and rippling with pride to be finally on her way.
A short walk along the main street led her up a side road near a church. Soon she climbed past the last of the houses and hit farmland. She walked quickly, occasionally glancing back at the beautiful views of Chipping Campden she’d left behind.
Being on her way helped her to relax and she soon hit her walking stride, not too fast, but a nice pace. The sun rose higher in the sky and the morning chill lifted, making her sweat in yesterday’s souvenir purchase. A burgundy sweatshirt that read Tall, Dark, & Darcy on the chest. A goofy memento of this historic area, but it would forever make her think about Owen. He was her tall, dark, and Darcy.
She hadn’t gone but a few miles when she hit a place she’d read about, the Dover Hill escarpment. At the high ground where she stood, land rolled into views of distant horizons, fields dotted with sheep, and neat garden rows. Beauty as far as the eye could see. A joyous force inside of her lifted at the buffet Mother Nature had spread out before her.
She snapped a few pictures and looked at her map. Any downtime would have to be monitored so she didn’t get stuck on the trail in the dark. She proceeded on the Mile Drive, a broad, almost straight and level green lane, which took her in the right direction. As she ascended a hill, the Broadway Tower could be seen in the distance.
Her guidebook called the Broadway Tower a folly tower, one built in the eighteenth century primarily for decoration. She studied its three turrets surrounding the central tower and ornate arched windows with balconies on all sides. Then she removed her phone. Flipping through her photos, she found the picture of a painting her granddad had done of the structure and compared it to the actual sight.
After paying a pound, she climbed the structure. An easy climb that took her even higher to observe the spectacular views. This spot was considered one of England’s outstanding viewpoints, the second highest point on the Cotswold escarpment providing a sixty-two-mile view.
She finished and went down, and on ground level met two other American tourists on their honeymoon. The woman recognized her and had even once been a member of Pound Busters. After their goodbyes, Willow left and entered the southern edge of the Broadway village. Although early in the day, to be well underway deserved a treat, so she purc
hased an ice-cream cone.
Some blogs about the trail talked of people occasionally getting lost, or having trouble finding signs guiding them back to the footpath. Yet when she finished her treat, she retraced her steps and located the footpath with ease.
Soon she hit a section of the path where sheep grazed in a neighboring field, the same moment she became aware of a rubbing against the back of her heel. Wearing boots not broken in wasn’t her smartest move, but what choice did she have?
She walked through the pain, focusing on the sights around her. Creamy yellow flowers intertwined with tall green grass. A worn wood fence hugging the hillside. A large tree, its trunk leaning toward the bright sun.
She glanced up and blinked into the sun, reminded she had a destination to reach before dusk. Instead of hurrying, she sat on a tree stump and ate the sandwich Edna had packed her this morning, enjoying the endless stretch of land that served as her entertainment. She imagined peasants walking through the fields, or royalty on horseback traveling from Buckingham Palace to these parts.
By late afternoon, she walked the downhill stretch into Stanton, her stop for the night. Despite the rubbing of a blister on her heel, she left the trail and headed to her overnight stop feeling taller, bigger, stronger.
Proving something to others guided everything she’d ever done. Losing weight proved she did have self-control over her looks. Starting a business proved to Charlie she could make a success of herself. And making Charlie happy made her mother relaxed. Nothing had ever been done with the pure motive of making herself happy. Except this walk.
She entered the village and approached the seventeenth-century-house operating as a B and B where Owen had booked her a room. Part of her wanted to call and tell him about her successful day. Only she couldn’t. Alone on the journey meant alone off the trails, too.
Besides, when they met up again in Bath, she’d have even more to tell him. Because in two more days of walking, she’d meet Sean Cooke.
* * * *
“Bye.” Willow smiled at Pete, the owner of the B and B where she’d spent the night. “And thank you for a perfect stay.”
The beefy man with a bald scalp gave her a warm smile. “You’re welcome. Hope we see you again.”
Willow exited the centuries-old building, already missing the huge oak beams and floorboards, thick walls, low ceilings, and barely a straight line anywhere. Last night, after a satisfying meal at a local pub and a hot bath, she’d crawled under the covers aching for Owen. Luckily the ten-mile walk had left her exhausted and she fell asleep with her cell phone in her hand before she broke down.
Loneliness had set in during her meal, maybe from the one beer, or because everyone sat with someone else. Only the waitress had talked to her, polite enough, but not Bonnie. Yes, she missed Rory’s, although the whole idea of missing a place she’d first entered a few weeks ago seemed silly.
Fact was, she couldn’t call Owen after the royal fuss she’d made about doing this alone and cutting off all communications until she finished the journey in Bath. Single-handedly navigating the trail yesterday had filled her with pride. Much as she looked forward to today, though, she understood how sharing these beautiful sights with another person had some merit.
Today she’d risen with the sun and, with more distance to cover, she set a goal to knock off the first four miles in an hour. As she headed for the footpath, one glitch became obvious: her aching calves and shoulders made her move slower than yesterday.
Still, she soldiered on.
Back on the trail, the pretty farmlands lessened the ache of her physical discomforts. She passed the Stanton House, a manor with gardens and a fountain, and Wood Stanway, a tiny settlement.
Soon she hit a mile-long uphill climb. The first steps came easy, but eventually her calves screamed in agony and she panted like a woman in labor. Despite the sweat warming her neck and armpits, she slowly put one foot in front of the other until the crest of the hill finally appeared.
As she hit flat ground, the reward came with another heaven-sent view.
A feast of fields colored in a patchwork of variegated greens, one dotted with black-and-white cows. Trees grew in clusters, leafy tops still green but with bursts of gold and burnt orange. Her throat grew thick and eyes watered. Such a glorious sight. She lowered herself onto the cool grass and gave herself a well-deserved break.
As she sipped her water and studied the scenery, she couldn’t think of a single time in her adulthood when she’d given herself a break. Proving herself had become as routine as walking. An unquestioned part of her daily routine. For the first time in her life, she could see how she’d missed out by not slowing down.
She pushed her pitiful history from her head and finished the water. After a few minutes, she stood, brushed off her baggy, drawstring pants, and soldiered on. And on and on. Step. Step. The flatter terrain agreed with her, easier to labor through the ache in her calves and the tug of her weighted rucksack against her shoulders.
At the escarpment, she passed an Iron Age hill front, noted in her handy guidebook. In Hailes, she took a few snapshots of a ruined Cistercian abbey and followed the flatter, grassy footpath to Winchcombe, where she met a German couple who spoke very good English and asked her to join them for lunch.
After the couple left, she wandered the sidewalks of the quaint town and stayed longer than planned to view its historic center and many shops. Hadn’t John Lennon said, “Life is what happens when you’re busy making other plans”?
For a short while, she allowed herself to forget about schedule demands while exploring a church built during the prosperous Cotswold wool trade era. Well worth the detour with its superb gargoyles, some of which were said to be caricatures of local dignitaries of the era. By the time she returned to the trail, she had no regrets about being off schedule. The only regret came from admitting she should’ve employed this more carefree philosophy over the span of her life.
As she walked, her mind drifted to the daily operations of her company, left in the trusty hands of her senior management staff. While here, she’d received a few emails on work matters, but only to inform her they’d taken care of something. She’d hired well. Competent and loyal people.
Only after walking for an hour did it dawn on her she hadn’t seen a sign for the trail in some time. Plus, the effortless grade of the land seemed to be taking her downhill, not higher as her guidebook had said.
A wave of panic assaulted her, leaving her mouth dry and heart beating fast. In the city, she’d never felt lost. A street sign stood at each corner, making it easy to find your way around. Not so in the woods.
Glancing around, she saw only trees, fields, and a few houses in the distance. A second jittery wave passed through her, leaving her brain frozen.
Now stop. Don’t panic. Think. Think!
Her map. She pulled it out and searched for the last town she’d been in, Winchcombe. Following the map’s path with her finger, she came across a turnoff she may have followed by mistake instead of staying on the trail.
Did she keep walking or backtrack? Right now, she had no idea exactly how far off course she’d gone, or if she’d followed the right path.
Standing here alone and exposed, vulnerable to getting further off track if she made the wrong choice, she swallowed back tears. Good God, how silly. She’d handled the rise of a company, ran it like a five-star general oversaw a military operation. So, what was missing now?
Then it hit her… Trust.
Had she ever trusted herself, or was her militant drive based on fear of falling apart?
Maybe the Cotswold Way offered a journey in trust. Perhaps every bad moment that left her feeling “less than” existed to prepare her for today. For this very moment in the wilderness, where she’d stand alone with the challenge of proving she believed in herself.
She turned around and looked up the hill she�
�d just come down. Digging her walking stick into the ground, she took one heavy step up. Then another. And another. The thick socks she’d put on this morning to cover the sore on her heel rubbed in a whole new area, but she kept going with her chin held high and the confidence of trust in herself as her guide.
At this rate, she wouldn’t reach Cleeve Hill until dusk. Too late to view the place Owen had said would give her the most spectacular views of the Cotswolds.
But the views would be there tomorrow. That was, if she found the trail sign she guessed she missed.
Later on, she hoped she could laugh at this mishap and write in her journal about the adventure of getting lost. But in the meantime, she held onto her newfound faith in herself like a long-lost friend.
* * * *
“Come on now.” Owen motioned to Jilly’s dinner plate, though he’d barely touched his own food. “Eat up if you want to grow big and strong.”
Jilly crinkled her nose. “But I hate carrots.”
“You ate them last week.” He took his fork and ate one of his. “Mmmm, good, and quite good for your eyes. Did you ever see a rabbit wearing glasses?” He laughed for his daughter’s sake, although it brought little respite to his worries over why Willow hadn’t arrived at her hotel.
Jilly frowned and let out a sigh. “Rabbits don’t wear glasses.”
“Yes, sweetheart. I know. It’s a joke. Evidently not a funny one.” He stood and took his plate to the sink. “How about I get you an apple? Would you eat that?”
She nodded, even smiled.
He took one from the counter basket, peeled the skin, and sliced it the way his daughter liked before handing her the plate. “Go ahead and watch TV while you eat this, if you want.”
“Yay!” She took the plate and pranced off to the sofa while Henry followed, certain to get handouts.
Owen lifted his cell phone from the counter to see if he’d missed a call from the hotel near Cleeve Hill. Willow should’ve checked in two hours ago, if she’d been sticking to her schedule.
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