“Good heavens, no. My granddaughter is married to a federal agent. They’re in London.”
“I see.”
It was clear the reporter didn’t “see.” Charlotte offered to leave them to their interview in the library, but Evelyn asked her to stay. She plopped onto the love seat, set her cane aside and opened the tin that had become her time capsule. “Sixty-five years is the blink of an eye, you know,” she said. “It’s something I couldn’t imagine at eighteen.”
She spread out the contents on the coffee table.
“Now, what about the items you aren’t letting us see?” the reporter asked.
Flustered, Evelyn looked to Charlotte, but Greg came into the library, shaking his head. “It’s a trick question, Evelyn. Don’t answer.”
“Right,” she said. “Our cub reporter here doesn’t know anything.”
“What could I know?” Amanda asked, a mix of interested and innocent.
Evelyn gave her a steely look. “Nothing.”
“There is something, isn’t there, Mrs. Sloan? All the contents of the time capsule aren’t here. I heard something about this at Smith’s when I stopped for lunch. I had a bowl of split-pea-and-ham soup. It was great, but I’d be more in the mood in cold weather. Anyway, I overheard a police officer and another guy. A firefighter, I think. Your grandsons, I believe.”
“Eric and Christopher,” Evelyn said. “I have four more—three boys and a girl. That’s six in all. They’re very protective of me.”
“So I discovered.” Amanda paused. “Your grandsons were talking about your time capsule. I introduced myself and asked them about a rumor I heard at the country store that you burned something that was in the time capsule—something you didn’t want anyone to see. They wouldn’t confirm or deny the rumor. I appreciate a strong family, Mrs. Sloan. Were they upset you had something to hide?”
“My grandsons? No. They wouldn’t care one way or the other. They see everything in their work.” Evelyn narrowed her gaze on the young reporter. “That doesn’t mean I am saying that I sneaked anything out of the time capsule. I know you’re trying to trip me up, just like Agent Rawlings said.”
“It is Agent Rawlings?” The reporter blushed. “I thought Mrs. Sloan was pulling my leg.”
“I’m with the Diplomatic Security Service, ma’am,” Greg said politely.
“You’re not—Is this part of an investigation?”
“No. I’m not investigating Mrs. Sloan’s time capsule.”
Amanda looked relieved but also disappointed. She turned to Evelyn. “I’m not trying to trip you up. I’m not that kind of reporter, and this isn’t that kind of story. Your time capsule is delightful. It’s been wonderful chatting with you. Thank you.”
Charlotte walked Amanda out to the front porch. “I would love to know what Mrs. Sloan is hiding, wouldn’t you?” the reporter asked, digging out a pack of cigarettes. She stared at the unopened pack a few seconds, then shoved it back in her bag. “I’ve quit smoking six times this year and it’s only June. I left my card on the coffee table. Call me if she decides to come clean about what she slipped out of the time capsule, okay? It would make a great human-interest story.”
Charlotte nodded, neutral. “I’ll be leaving Knights Bridge soon but I’ll be sure Evelyn has your contact information.”
“I’m sure it’ll go the way of whatever she destroyed. Sixty-five years ago...” Amanda smiled. “The imagination does run wild with the possibilities.”
She left, and Charlotte went back inside. Greg had opened a window in the library but Evelyn hadn’t moved from her position on the love seat. “The paper I burned was a letter I wrote at eighteen to my future self,” she blurted.
Charlotte took a breath. “Evelyn...”
She held up a hand. “Please. Allow me. Betsy and I asked ourselves where we wanted to be in fifty years. She decided not to write anything down, but I did. I wrote it all down. And I burned it.”
Greg leaned against the cold fireplace, not saying a word. Charlotte sat across from the older woman. “Never mind fifty years,” she said. “Now it’s been sixty-five years.”
“Imagine that. We picked fifty because we both thought we’d be alive at sixty-eight. Not as many people lived into their eighties back then. Those who did seemed ancient. Well—” she smiled faintly “—not for no reason.”
Charlotte smiled. “I can see where your grandsons get their sense of humor.”
“From their grandfather. I learned to lighten up from him. I wrote about my future—what I thought it would be, wanted it to be, was desperate for it to be...” She paused, licked her thin, aged lips. “It’s not how it turned out.”
“That’s probably true for most eighty-three-year-olds looking back on themselves at eighteen,” Charlotte said.
“Yes, but they don’t put it in writing and stuff it into a time capsule for their family to find decades later. Gad. What was I thinking? I remember sitting on the front porch here at the inn scribbling that damn letter to myself. I hated Knights Bridge. The life I wanted—the life I thought I was destined to have—was somewhere else, anywhere else. It would be filled with adventures and riches. Paris, New York, London, San Francisco. And it wasn’t.”
Charlotte said nothing, aware that Evelyn was lost in thought, her words as much to herself at eighteen.
Evelyn sank against the old cushions on the love seat, her eyes shining with emotion. “I married a local man and we had a son together. Eventually I opened a nursery school in the village. Then my son married and had six children, and now they’re getting married. I expect soon I’ll be a great-grandmother. I’m blessed that I’m here, in good health, surrounded by family, even if they can be obstreperous at times. I think deep down when I was writing to my later self, I knew that I was putting it on, writing about someone I never truly wanted to be and a life I never truly wanted to have. I value character, Charlotte. Old-fashioned values of integrity, honesty, hard work, and I see them every day in this little town I disdained.”
Charlotte cleared her throat. “I didn’t read your letter.”
“I know.” Evelyn splayed her fingers and looked at the purple veins and brown spots on her weathered hands. “I came here on a lark and couldn’t imagine staying. I had nothing but contempt for this town.”
“You were only eighteen.”
“I knew boys who’d fought in World War II at eighteen.” She dropped her hands to her lap and sat up straight. “I was an insufferable snot, is what I was.”
Charlotte smiled. “I doubt that.”
“The life I’ve had since I wrote that letter to myself all those years ago has been far better than anything I ever imagined. My wild fantasies at eighteen don’t compare.” She shot Greg a look. “I’m not whistling past the graveyard. Is that even the right saying? You know what I mean. I’m being sincere.”
He stood straight. “Did you burn the letter? You didn’t exchange it for a parking ticket or something in your purse while no one was looking?”
“I did no such thing. I didn’t have my purse.”
“Some old Scrabble score card you grabbed in the dining room?”
Evelyn turned to Charlotte. “I can see why he and Brody get along. I burned the letter and I have no regrets for doing so. Not everything is meant for posterity. Ralph was a good husband and a good man. Knights Bridge has been good to me. Life has been good to me.” She reached for her cane. “This little town changes people for the better. It isn’t always easy, but you have to have faith.”
“It changed Samantha,” Charlotte said.
“She and Justin were meant for each other.” Remaining seated, Evelyn leaned on her cane and studied Charlotte. “You know, seeing you and your federal agent together reminds me of the early sparks between Ralph and me.”
Charlotte sputtered into laugh
ter. “You’re something else, Mrs. Sloan.”
She winked. “I’ve lived, that’s for sure. Justin and Samantha are excited about the inn. Maggie and Olivia have ideas, too.”
“That’s good, because Sam is terrible with paint and swatches and interior decorating.”
“Heather will help with the interior design. Sloan & Sons will do the construction. It will all work out. Innkeepers. Pirate scholar. Carriage Hill can focus on what they do best. Russ Colton will help with security. Adam can redo the stonework.”
“You all can make a time capsule as the new owners of this place,” Charlotte said.
“I can make suggestions, including about what not to do.”
“Keep it fun.”
“Yes, exactly.” Evelyn yawned, obviously worn out. “Walk with me back to the house, won’t you? Elly O’Dunn stopped by earlier with some goat’s cheese and I made a dip with chives. It’s more than I can eat. I’ll give you some.”
“That sounds wonderful. I’d love to walk with you.”
Twenty-Two
Charlotte made sure Evelyn was settled in her cozy living room with water, cookies and her TV remote. The time capsule and her confession, as she saw it, about her long-missing letter from her eighteen-year-old self had taken an emotional toll. She looked drained but also at peace, with none of the turmoil, impatience and strain that had gripped her since she’d first enlisted Charlotte to find the time capsule.
“Don’t worry about me,” Evelyn said. “Eric and Christopher will stop by later. I hope I haven’t distracted you from your Agent Rawlings.”
“He’s not why I’m in Knights Bridge.”
“But he’s not a bad side benefit, is he? You don’t have to answer.” She shut her eyes. “Thank you, Charlotte.”
“Be sure to drink the water, okay?”
“I will. The boys will insist if I don’t.”
Satisfied Evelyn was okay, Charlotte left through the front door. It was a warm, pleasant afternoon, but she felt oddly disoriented, as if she’d been plucked from everything she knew in Edinburgh and set down in this small, unfamiliar town. She breathed in the fresh, clean air and cut through the hedges to Red Clover Inn. The Sloans and Bennetts were different in countless ways, but both were solid, tight-knit families. At first, she’d worried Samantha had been too impulsive in marrying Justin and would come to regret staying in Knights Bridge, but no more. Samantha and Justin would return from their honeymoon and pick up where they’d left off with family, friends, work and projects—an inn, an old cider mill, pirates.
And what will I do when I return to Edinburgh?
Charlotte shook off the question and trotted up the steps to the front porch. Greg stood up from a wicker chair, his phone in his hand. “I had to walk up the street to get a decent signal,” he said. “I need to be in Washington tomorrow morning for meetings.”
She noticed the duffel bag by the door. “You’re leaving now?”
“I have a flight out of Boston tonight.”
“Everything’s okay, I hope.”
“Everything’s fine. The meetings are unexpected but that’s the way it goes sometimes.”
“Will you be back here?”
He shook his head. “I dive right into the new job.”
Charlotte bit back her surprise, a sudden, crushing sense of disappointment that she couldn’t explain. But she wanted to focus on him, since he was the one who had to leave. “I’m sorry you have to cut your break short. At least you got to spend some time with your kids.”
He slid his phone into a back pocket. “I need to get rolling. Charlotte...” He looked past her, out at the field of wildflowers and tall green grass. Then he shifted to her. “I don’t want what we started here to end. I’m not going to Washington and forgetting you.”
“Thank you.” It seemed like an awkward thing to say, but it was the best she could do. “I know you’re going into an intense job.”
“You’ll be in Washington soon to figure out Max’s house. Let me know. Call me.”
She nodded. “I will.”
He hesitated, chewing on his lower lip. Finally he sighed. “Damn.” He raked a hand over the top of his head. “All right. I’ll just say it. Listening to Evelyn Sloan talk about her life...” He sighed again. “It got me thinking about where I want to be in fifty years, and I want to be with you.”
Her throat tightened. “Greg.”
He moved closer to her, brushed a lock of her hair off her face. “I’m not great at this stuff, but you’re the one, Charlotte. It wasn’t love at first sight in England, but I’m pretty sure it was love at second sight when you got me up to bed. Definitely love by the time we danced at your cousin’s wedding with you in your maid-of-honor dress, and last night...” He smiled. “I’ll let last night speak for itself, for now.”
“It does, yes, for now.” She took his hand, her heart beating rapidly, her throat dry with emotion. “Things have moved fast between us. Maybe it’s the Knights Bridge effect.”
“Maybe it’s us. Where do you want to be in fifty years? I want to be with you, looking out on Echo Lake. Healthy, vibrant, as much in love with you as I am right now.” He squeezed her hand, kissed her softly. “It’s a great image, Charlotte. Think about it.”
And he was gone. Duffel bag in hand, down the steps, out to his rental car and on to Boston and his flight to Washington.
Charlotte went inside and sat in the library. She didn’t know what to do with herself. She felt the emptiness of the inn. She shut her eyes, hearing Greg’s laughter, seeing his smile, feeling his mouth, his hands, on her.
His emotions had gotten the better of him when he’d realized their time together was coming to an abrupt end. Lust. That was it. The unfinished physical business between them.
She opened her eyes and stared at the ceiling. All that stuff about love and Echo Lake fifty years from now was just because he was on a flight tonight instead of having sex with her.
“That’s it,” she said aloud.
That and the Knights Bridge effect, maybe.
She wandered to Smith’s and had the turkey club by herself in a small booth. There were no Sloans at the restaurant tonight. When she walked back to the inn, she noticed Christopher’s truck at his grandmother’s house. She knew she could have knocked on the door and invited herself in. She could move to Carriage Hill for the night. The McCaffreys would take her in.
She continued on to Red Clover Inn and headed up to her room. She’d take a bath and crawl into bed early with Pride and Prejudice. She had only a few chapters left.
As the tub filled with hot water and she peeled off her clothes, her phone vibrated with a text.
Miss me yet?
She smiled, shaking her head.
I will if a bat gets in here.
Damn straight.
Airport?
About to board my flight.
Safe travels. She held her breath, then typed. Miss you.
Knew it.
She laughed, aching for him now. He would get absorbed in his new job. He was that kind of man and it was that kind of work. He’d paid a high cost for his dedication to a job that could be all-consuming.
Knights Bridge could easily become a distant memory.
Charlotte sprinkled the last of the lavender oil into her bathwater. She’d need it if she had any hope of sleeping tonight.
* * *
For the first time since she’d arrived in Knights Bridge, Charlotte heard mice scurrying in the walls. She figured it was because the place was so quiet. By morning, she had her plan. She packed, locked up and got back in the old Mercedes-Benz and drove to Boston. She parked the car at Harry’s house but stayed only to freshen up while she waited for her Uber car.
By noon, she was on a flight to Washington.
Two hours later, she let herself into her grandfather’s bungalow on a quiet, shaded street. Except for Max’s grandfather clock, she rented the house unfurnished. The previous tenants had left it in good shape, and she’d had it professionally cleaned and painted for new tenants.
She ran her fingers over freshly painted wainscoting in the living room. She’d always loved this place. She could see Max sitting by the fireplace, reading a book. A voracious reader, he had been a regular patron at the library. He’d take Charlotte when she’d visited.
Her property manager texted her.
You’re here. Great. I have a guy interested in renting the house.
Excellent.
He says you’re charging too much. He wants to meet you. Okay with that?
When can he get here?
Between five thirty and six.
Works for me.
Charlotte grabbed a broom and swept the front steps and walk. It was a hot, humid afternoon, but the typical Washington summer weather only reminded her more of Max. In his last years, he’d loved to putter in his garden. After winters in New Hampshire, he said he never complained about the heat. My heart medicine doesn’t hurt, either. I’m cold all the time.
She sat on the freshly swept steps, sweat trickling down her temples, when Greg came up the front walk. I’m having a heatstroke. It’s like that morning at Smith’s except this time I really did conjure him up.
“I’m for real,” he said, amused. “You didn’t make me up.”
“My prospective tenant?”
He stopped in front of her and squinted at the small house. “This would be a good place for Thanksgiving since it’s pretty much like it was when Lincoln was president.”
“It wasn’t built when Lincoln was president.”
“Close enough. Want to show me around?”
“I’m not lowering the rent.”
He grinned. “We’ll see about that.”
She led him inside, through the downstairs with its living room, dining room, sunroom, kitchen, and master bedroom and bathroom. Upstairs were two small bedrooms and a three-quarter bathroom. She debated but decided not to mention that the upstairs would be perfect for Andrew and Megan when they visited.
Red Clover Inn--A Romance Novel Page 26
