by Darcie Chan
“I’m glad you did. How long have you been up?”
“A while. Didn’t sleep much last night.”
Michael threw back his covers and sat up. “How are you and Father getting to the train station?”
“Whibley offered to give us a ride. Said it was the least he could do after all the milk and butter we’ve given him.”
Michael nodded. Aaron Whibley owned the farm next door. Anna usually gave milk and butter to the Whibleys, even though Niall often spoke with disapproval about the needy neighbors who had more children than they could afford to feed.
“Better get dressed,” Seamus told him. “We’ll be leaving soon.”
Michael put on his clothes and hurried downstairs. The fire in the woodstove was starting to warm the room. His mother was packing up sandwiches while his grandmother and father sat at the table with cups of coffee. The plate in front of his father was already empty, and a rucksack similar to Seamus’s was on the floor by the front door.
“I’ve got eggs in the skillet for you, Michael,” his mother said, but he didn’t feel like eating yet. His stomach was unsettled. What he really wanted was some fresh air.
“I’ll eat in a few minutes. The wood box is almost empty.” Before his mother could answer, he threw on his coat and hat and slipped out the back door.
The late winter air was biting cold. Still, he took a deep breath through his nose and enjoyed the clean, crisp scent of pine and impending snow even though the hairs inside his nostrils froze stiff. It was so different here, on his grandparents’ old farm, than it had been at the mill tenement in Winooski. He and his parents had lived here after the Great War, before his father had found work in the mill. True, the farm wasn’t really a farm anymore—not since his grandfather had died and his grandmother had sold most of the cows—but it still had plenty of space to move around. He remembered running around the farm as a young child, when his grandfather waved at him from the barn and the pasture held a pair of sturdy Percheron horses and a good-size herd of dairy cows.
It was a godsend, really, that his grandmother had held on to the property. When his father and brother were laid off and they could no longer afford the rent for their apartment, the old farmhouse a few miles south of Burlington had given them a place of refuge. The nearly thirty acres of woods along the back of the property were ideal hunting grounds. With a decent flock of chickens and a good Holstein cow, plus a couple of mature apple trees and a large garden patch, the farm provided their family with basic sustenance. It wasn’t income, but it was more than many families had these days.
The snow crunched beneath Michael’s feet as he walked around to the woodshed. There, he filled his arms with the logs that he and Seamus had split. He realized that once his brother had left, many of the heavy chores would fall solely to him. There would be splitting wood, certainly, which was never-ending, and the more unpleasant work of cleaning up in the barn. After the snow melted and mud season was over, he would have to help his mother turn over the soil in the garden. Doing all that, on top of school and homework and hunting to supplement their dwindling food supply, would be a challenge. Perhaps he would have to leave school altogether.
A part of him wished that he could go with his father and Seamus. He’d never been outside Vermont or even outside Chittenden County, but the farm was close enough to the tracks of the Rutland Railroad that they often heard the whistles of passing locomotives. The thought of riding a train all the way to New York City was something out of a dream. What did the country look like between here and there? Were the people different? What sorts of towns might they pass through along the way? And the city itself, the city that supposedly never slept, must surely be a wonder to behold.
Someday he would see it for himself. In the meantime, he would keep his word and take care of his mother and grandmother while his father and brother were away.
Seamus had come downstairs by the time Michael returned to the house with the wood. His brother and father were buttoning their coats as his mother placed a cloth bundle of sandwiches in his father’s rucksack. His grandmother, holding one of his late grandfather’s old pipes, had pulled her chair closer to the woodstove. She had the stem of the pipe in her mouth, chewing it with the few teeth she had left. It was a sure sign that she was feeling as uneasy as he was.
As Michael deposited the logs in the box next to the woodstove, a horn sounded outside. “That’s Whibley,” his father said. He turned to the older woman sitting by the stove and put his hand on her shoulder. “Mother” was all he said, and Michael’s grandmother looked up and squeezed her son’s hand.
He turned to Michael next. “Son, I’m leaving this place in your hands.”
“Yes, sir,” Michael said. “I’ll take care of everything.”
His father nodded, and Michael thought he might say something more or extend a hand in a gesture of man-to-man trust, but instead, his father pulled him into a tight, quick embrace.
His mother was standing to the side, and his father turned to her last. “I wish you didn’t have to go,” she said as Niall took her in his arms.
“I know,” he said. He kissed her tenderly and drew her against him, pressing his cheek against her hair. “I’ll send word once we get to New York and get ourselves settled, so you’ll know where to reach us.”
His mother nodded and wiped her eyes. When she looked up at her husband, she seemed to be trying to smile.
Seamus followed their father in saying goodbye. He quickly hugged their mother and grandmother, giving them each a peck on the cheek, and he clapped a hand on Michael’s back. “Hang in there, brother. And keep your fingers crossed for us.”
“I will,” Michael replied. His brother’s tone of voice reminded him just how much younger than Seamus he was.
With his mother and grandmother, Michael stood in the open front doorway and watched the other part of his family squeeze into the cab of Whibley’s old pickup. His father peered out the side window as the truck backed onto the road, and Michael focused on his father’s steady gaze and nodded. His grandmother heaved a sigh. His mother said nothing but raised a hand, holding it up amid the newly arrived snow flurries until the pickup had disappeared in the distance.
Chapter 3
In the kitchen of Kyle’s apartment, Claudia was trying to throw a salad together while he assembled sandwiches to grill. She opened his refrigerator and removed a withered brownish ball wrapped in plastic. “Is this what I think it is?” she asked, holding up the object.
“Oh,” Kyle said when he saw what was in her hand. He gave her a sheepish grin. “That would be the iceberg lettuce, I think. I must’ve forgotten about it in there.”
Claudia winced. Finding enough fresh vegetables for a salad was going to be a bigger challenge than she’d thought. “Okay…is there anything else lurking in your fridge that I should know about?”
“I’m not sure. There might be a few other things,” Kyle admitted. “Sorry. You know I’m not great at fridge organization.”
Claudia shook her head and set the lettuce on the counter. “Just so you know, I’m taking over that job once we move in together.”
“That would be great! One more way we complement each other,” Kyle said. He gave her a quick kiss before turning back to his sandwiches in the frying pan.
In spite of her disgust at the brown lettuce ball, Claudia smiled to herself. Since Kyle had asked her to marry him, she hadn’t had a bad day. It didn’t matter if the kids in her class at school got extra-rowdy or her alarm clock summoned her at an hour much earlier than she would have liked. Refusing donuts and pie from the bakery had become easy, with her gorgeous white wedding gown hanging in her closet. Even half-rotted Franken-produce in Kyle’s fridge wasn’t a big deal. A cloud of happiness seemed to have surrounded her, cushioning her against all the unpleasantness of life, and every glimmer of her engagement ring gave her mood a buzzy, giddy boost.
There was still the matter of the salad, however.
With a bit of trepid
ation, she started sorting through the contents of Kyle’s refrigerator. She found some carrots and half a red onion that were good. There was a head of romaine lettuce, too. The outer leaves were dark and wilted, but the rest was fine. There were two cucumbers in one of the vegetable bins. The first one squished all over her hand when she grabbed it, but the other one was firm and edible. If she got lucky and found a can of olives in the pantry, she would be in business.
“You know, my brother called earlier today,” Kyle said as Claudia washed her hands at the sink. “He said that he and his new girlfriend, Misty, were thinking about coming to Vermont while the leaves are at their peak. I told him they should visit this weekend, since it’s getting late for good foliage. We could all have lunch or dinner together somewhere. Neither of us have met Misty yet, and it might be nice to spend some time with the two of them before the wedding.”
“I’d love that,” Claudia said as her happy, buzzy feeling ramped up to full power. Kyle’s younger brother was a sweet guy—shy at first, but able to find humor in almost every situation once he relaxed and started to talk. “He knows you want him to be your best man, right?”
“Yeah. I asked him right after we got engaged. He’s pretty excited about it. So is Rowen, since she’s going to be our flower girl. She’s nuts about Kev. Which reminds me…” Kyle turned to yell down the hallway. “Rowen, dinner’s about done. Can you set the table?”
“I’ll be there in a minute, Dad,” Rowen called from her room.
“She’ll be so thrilled if Kevin and Misty come for a visit,” Claudia said. “How long have they been dating?”
“Just a few months, I think.” Kyle paused and sighed. “My brother’s never had great luck with women. His girlfriends have always turned out to be losers. But maybe this time will be different.”
Claudia wanted to ask more about Kevin’s dating history, but she decided against it because Rowen entered the room. Kyle’s daughter was holding a book up to her face as she walked; somehow, she had made it to the kitchen without bumping into anything. Her expression brightened when she saw what Kyle had prepared. “Oooh, grilled cheese. Did you put tomato on mine?”
“Sure did. Sliced onions, too, just how you like it.”
“What?” Rowen crowded up next to him at the stove. “But that’s gross! I don’t like onions on my grilled cheese. Are you kidding?”
“Yes. Gotcha.” Kyle grinned down at her, and Rowen shoved him sideways once she realized that he’d been teasing her.
“I can’t wait until we’re all living together,” Rowen said to Claudia. “Then he’ll have someone to pick on besides me.”
“Nah, he won’t be doing much picking,” Claudia said. She looped her arm around Rowen’s shoulders and pulled the girl in for a hug. “We’ll form a united front. You know, girl power! That way, you and I can pick on him.”
Rowen laughed and squeezed her in return, and Claudia enjoyed another wave of pre-wedding bliss. As if it weren’t enough to be marrying the man of her dreams, she was also gaining a precious stepdaughter whom she adored. Thinking about her soon-to-be-expanded family made her wonder again about Kevin and his new companion. Hopefully, Misty would also be someone whose company she would enjoy.
—
With a sigh, Emily slammed down the metal lid of her toolbox. The loud clank reverberated through the empty rooms of the McAllister mansion. Nothing she had in the box was small enough to fit in the tiny keyholes of the briefcase she had found. With her hammer and a chisel, she could easily break the locks and have the case open in a few minutes, and the idea was tempting. But besides the fact that the case wasn’t hers, she couldn’t bring herself to do anything that might damage it. She’d always been partial to antiques and furnishings of times past. She had built a career restoring old houses, after all. So, as curious as she was about the contents of the briefcase, she would baby it and find a way to open the locks properly.
Emily gathered up her purse and keys. There wasn’t anything more she could do at the moment, and it was completely dark already. Her dog, Gus, was waiting for her at home and probably eager to be let outside.
She put the briefcase on the backseat of her car after she had locked up the marble mansion. On the short drive home, she thought about what she might have at her house that she could use to pick the locks. She had several small metal tools that she used to melt leftover bits of glass from her stained glass projects into beads. And there was no telling what she might find in her kitchen junk drawer.
Emily had just lugged everything into her house and let Gus run out to the backyard when someone knocked at her front door. Before she could get to it, the door opened and her mother stuck her head inside. “Em, it’s me, honey. Are you home?”
“Barely,” Emily said. “What’s up?”
Her mother stepped into the foyer dressed in her typical real estate agent uniform—a tailored pantsuit and comfortable pumps. Since it was Saturday, she’d undoubtedly been out showing houses most of the day.
“I picked up two new listings today,” she started, and Emily knew exactly where the conversation was heading. “They’re both in pretty good shape, but one needs to have a few ghastly lighting fixtures swapped out, and the other has a really slow drain in one of the bathroom sinks. Do you think you’d have time tomorrow to take care of those things for me? I know I can sell them both quickly, but the drain worries me because it would show up on inspection.”
“I’ll try,” Emily said, though she had no idea how she would squeeze in her mother’s house maintenance projects. She was scheduled to open Turner’s Hardware, where she worked part-time, in the morning, and she had been counting on having a solid block of time in the afternoon to finish the floors in the McAllister mansion.
“Thank you so much, honey,” her mother said. “I don’t know what I’d do without you. How are things coming with the new bed-and-breakfast?”
“They’re coming. Ruth wants to have a wedding party stay there right before Christmas, and there’s a lot to do before then. I’ll probably be working up there most of tomorrow afternoon.” Emily started toward the kitchen to let Gus back inside.
“I’ll bet it’s Kyle Hansen and Claudia Simon’s wedding, right? Ruth was telling me they’re engaged.”
“Um-hmm.” The big brown and white dog bolted through the door, tail wagging furiously. Emily managed to catch him by the collar before he could launch himself at her mother.
“Hello, Gus,” her mother said, already backpedaling toward the front door. “I don’t want to risk him jumping up on me while I’ve got my good clothes on. By the way, I’m off Monday, and I invited Rose and her family to supper. Ivy’s coming, too, and so should you. A home-cooked meal would do you good after a long day of work.”
“I’ll try,” Emily said again.
Her mother nodded and backed out the door, calling, “Okay, then. Have a good night, honey,” as she closed it.
Emily released Gus and went to the kitchen. After she filled his bowl with dog food, she stood and stared into her refrigerator. She was starving but too tired to think about cooking anything. A simple peanut butter and jelly sandwich would do.
As she ate, she wandered from room to room, searching for something that would be suitable to pick the locks on the briefcase. There were some toothpicks in the junk drawer, along with an old nutpick, and she also gathered up a few of her smallest bead-making tools.
When she had stuffed the last bit of sandwich into her mouth, she took the old briefcase into the living room, beside a bright reading lamp, and sat down with it on her lap. She soon shoved the briefcase aside and flopped back in her chair. Only the toothpicks were small enough to fit in the keyholes, but they weren’t strong enough to withstand the pressure she applied in trying to open the locks. One of them nearly broke off inside.
With fatigue finally overcoming her curiosity, Emily decided to take a long hot shower and go to sleep early. She would bring the briefcase to the hardware store in the morning,
where she would have at her disposal umpteen different tools to open it.
—
Long after Ben had fallen asleep, Karen Cooper sat on the sofa in her living room. She couldn’t bear to turn on the television, with its blaring twenty-four-hour news stations going on and on about the latest accidents and atrocities. From time to time, she glanced at the phone, willing it to ring, to bring her good news about her husband. We’ve found Nick and he’s fine, she imagined a voice on the line telling her. Maybe he’d taken a wrong turn somewhere in Riyadh. Or maybe his vehicle had broken down and he and his colleague had had trouble finding someone to help them. As much as she tried to console herself with potential explanations, she knew very well that her husband would not disappear for four days unless something was horribly wrong.
The need to touch Nick, to reach out and grab his hand, to reassure herself that he was there with her, was as overpowering as it was impossible to satisfy. Not knowing what else to do, Karen reached under the coffee table where they kept the family photo albums, and moved several of them to the couch cushion beside her. These were their older pictures, taken when they were newlyweds and new parents. Smartphones and digital pictures hadn’t existed back then, and the images in the albums were precious and irreplaceable.
She had forgotten about the evening when she’d been hugely pregnant with Ben and Nick had decided to paint her tummy. He’d used her makeup to transform it into a face, complete with a protruding tongue made possible by her popped-out belly button. In between fits of laughter, they’d used the timer on the camera to take a close-up of Nick’s face, with his tongue also stuck out, right next to her decorated stomach.
The next album held pictures of Ben as a four-year-old. She gently touched one of the few that included Nick. In it, he was dressed in fatigues, standing in front of their house on a Texas air base and holding their son on his shoulders. Both of them were smiling in the picture, taken just before Nick shipped out on a new deployment. As soon as Nick had left, she’d started to cry, and little Ben had kissed her wet cheeks “to make Mommy all better.”
