by Darcie Chan
Emily couldn’t help but smile. This was an impressive gesture, not to mention an original and thoughtful one. Matt looked really good, too—clean-shaven, and wearing a dark plaid flannel shirt and nice-fitting jeans. She thought about the chicken salad sandwich waiting in the refrigerator, but she’d had the same thing for dinner the last three nights. How much chicken salad could a girl really eat?
“Maybe,” Emily said with a cautious glance at the picnic basket. “Whatcha got in there?”
Matt grinned and started unbuckling the straps that held the rolled blanket in place. “Let’s sit down, and I’ll show you.” He spread the blanket in the center of the great hall, well away from the ladder where she’d been standing earlier. Emily lowered herself into a cross-legged position and watched as he joined her and started to unpack the basket.
“Grilled chicken, still warm,” he said as he lifted out the first container of food. “Baked beans, also warm,” he said when he removed the second container. Matt then held up a bag of small oranges. “Clementines, room-temperature. And last but not least, beer and bottled water, both ice-cold.” He set the oranges on the floor, removed the beverages, and looked at her sheepishly. “I wasn’t sure whether you drink alcohol.”
“I’m not my sister,” Emily said. “I don’t drink much, but I’ll have a beer every now and then. Today, though, since I’m working…” She grabbed a bottle of water and twisted off the cap. “Did you cook all this yourself?”
“I grilled the chicken,” Matt said. “The baked beans came out of a can. I figured I shouldn’t push it, trying to cook something from scratch I’d never made.” He took disposable plates and plastic forks from the bottom of the basket and handed one of each to her. “Here, help yourself.”
“Thank you,” Emily said. She took a plate and served herself a drumstick and some beans. “You know, I actually like canned baked beans. And they sound a heck of a lot better than a chicken salad sandwich for the fourth day in a row.”
“Wow, you weren’t kidding when you said you’d been stuck up here,” Matt said. “What were you working on today?”
“Getting ready to paint,” Emily said after she swallowed. “I have to edge and paint all the new walls, which were put up to address a lead paint issue. It’s going to take me forever, but I don’t want to go over budget by hiring a crew to do it, since I’m perfectly capable myself. I’d rather subcontract out for things I don’t have the expertise in. This chicken is great, by the way.”
“Thanks,” Matt said. “What do you have left after the painting?”
“Some plumbing things, mostly updating fixtures. I’ve been ordering updated toilets and sinks and swapping them out as they’re delivered. I’ve got to stain and seal the wood floors. They’re all sanded, but I didn’t want to finish them until the walls are painted and dry, just in case. I have a stained glass image that I want to install in the window above the front door. Then there are a bunch of smaller things—installing new deadbolts in all the rooms and hanging new flat-screen TVs. I’m sure there will be more stuff that comes up.”
“That’s a lot for one person to do,” Matt said. “How did you…I don’t mean any disrespect at all by asking you this, but how did you learn how to do this? Restore houses, I mean?”
“What, you mean you don’t think women can build or restore houses?” Emily looked at Matt sternly enough to cause him to stop chewing. His eyes grew wide with alarm, and he threw up his hands and tried to speak with his mouth full, but Emily laughed.
“Don’t worry, I was just messing with you. I’m not offended at all. I actually get that question all the time. I started fixing small problems in high school. My mom’s a real estate agent, you know, and every time she got a new listing, she’d let me take care of whatever I could so she wouldn’t have to mess with hiring a professional.” She paused, carefully planning what she would tell him next. “After I left Mill River, I started working as an assistant to a contractor, and I took some courses at technical schools. Eventually, once I’d been through enough renovations to feel comfortable handling everything about them, I got a contractor’s license and starting taking jobs on my own.”
“I’m impressed,” Matt said. “Did you know you wanted to do this for a living early on?”
Emily took a deep breath. The correct answer was no. I was going to be an art teacher, she thought, until my world was shattered and plans to finish college went out the window. But she wasn’t sure whether she wanted to say anything about that to Matt.
“No,” Emily replied, “but I knew I wanted to do something creative. This just happened to be the work I ended up falling into. You told me you were in the Marines before you came to Mill River. Was that the career you always planned on having?”
Matt nodded. “Yeah, definitely. I went to the Naval Academy down in Annapolis right after high school. After I graduated, I was on active duty for sixteen years. Did three tours in the Middle East, two in Iraq and one in Afghanistan. I made it to the rank of lieutenant colonel, and I was considering re-upping, but I got offered an early retirement package. It was a nice deal, and I didn’t want to spend more time in the desert on another redeployment. Besides, Congress ended up cutting the military’s budget the year after I left. Several of my friends who stayed in had their positions eliminated, so I might’ve been forced out, anyway.”
“I don’t think there are too many people out there who haven’t had some sort of problem with the economy we’ve been in.”
“I totally agree, and it’s sad,” Matt said. “I was happy to get the job with the police department. Not everyone in my class at the academy had a job lined up.” He pulled two of the clementines from the bag and tossed one gently to her.
“So,” Emily said as she turned the miniature orange around in her hands, “you already know a little about my family. Tell me about yours.”
“Okay,” Matt said. “I have two older sisters, Margaret and Samantha. Meg and Sam for short. They used to gang up on me when I was growing up. I got bullied into wearing nail polish and having tea parties.”
Emily snorted. “Is that why you joined the Marines? To get back in touch with your masculinity?”
Matt chuckled. “Could be, now that you mention it. Those Marines sure worked me over. They did their best to beat my sisters’ influence right out of me, but you know, it isn’t completely gone. I’ll tell you a secret.” He glanced at her sideways, the corner of his mouth curved up into a sly grin. “I can still brew a mean cup of Earl Grey.”
Emily laughed. She pictured Matt handing her a mug of hot tea before sitting down to snuggle with her on some cozy sofa. It was startling, how natural and realistic the image seemed. It was also a bit disconcerting when she realized that she liked the idea of being cuddled up with him.
“My mom and dad are still married…fortysomething years now. And still living in the house in Maine where we grew up.”
“That’s a long time,” Emily said, and wistfulness crept into her voice before she realized it. “Are you close with them?”
“Very,” Matt said. “My sisters, too, surprisingly, after everything they did to me. Meg lives outside Boston. She’s married with two boys and works as an ICU nurse. Sam lives in Maine, not too far from my parents. She’s an accountant and has her own business.”
“Sounds like a nice family.”
“Yep, we’re pretty typical. Do you like having your whole family here in town? Your sister and your mom, I mean.”
“Yeah, I do, actually. And my great-aunt, Ivy, too. She’s my mom’s aunt. That’s all I’ve got in terms of family, other than Rose’s husband and son. My dad died when I was two, so I never knew him or his side of the family. My grandmother on my mom’s side died before I was born, and my grandfather was killed in Vietnam. I never knew them, either.”
“That’s rough.” Matt paused, seeming to consider his next comment carefully. “You and Rose seem to be getting along better now. Compared to this past summer, I mean.”
/> Emily sighed. “We’re trying. We used to be close, growing up, and we’re trying to get back to that. It’ll take time, though.”
“What happened to make you not close? Not that it’s any of my business,” Matt added quickly. “If you don’t want to talk about it, that’s fine.”
Should I tell him? she asked herself. He could probably ask around town and someone would give him the scoop. If he really doesn’t know, it might scare him off if he thinks I’m not ready for someone else. Hell, maybe he already knows and he just wants to hear my take on the situation. Besides, I’m over it. I’m over…Andy. She took a deep breath.
“Well, back when I was in college, I was dating a guy. He’d arranged to come down to Mill River over spring break and surprise me with an engagement ring. My mom sent Rose to the train station in Rutland to pick him up, not realizing that she’d been upstairs sleeping off a drinking binge. There was an accident on the way back. Andy was killed. Rose was injured, but she survived, obviously.”
Matt had stopped chewing and was staring at her. “I really don’t know what to say. That’s…horrible. Worse than horrible.”
Emily shrugged. “It was. And is. But I really need to move past it. All those years after the accident, I felt like I was drifting. I don’t think I ever came to terms with what happened until I moved back here, to Mill River, last July. I just want to go forward, try to forgive Rose, and build a real life for myself. It’s easier said than done, but I’m working on it.”
“That’s a lot to forgive. I don’t know if I could do it if I were in your situation.”
“I hope you never are.” She smiled at him. “But you have only one life, and I finally decided I’d spent enough of mine being miserable. I wanted to be happy again, really happy, and I realized that would never happen unless I stopped living in the past.”
“Yeah, I think I know what you mean. When I came out of the service, I was pretty messed up for a while. I didn’t have any PTSD problems, like some of the guys did, but it took some time before I could relax easily and focus on the future. And some of the things I saw…like guys being blown up or shot right in front of me…I don’t think I’ll ever be able to get those images out of my head.”
“I can’t imagine seeing something like that.”
“Most people can’t. It changes you for sure. Makes you realize what you have and what other people have given up so you can have it.”
Emily nodded. Neither of them said anything, but strangely, the silence didn’t seem awkward. Instead, it was almost a moment of mutual reflection.
“I love these,” she finally said, holding up the clementine that he’d given her, “but I think I’m going to save it for a snack later. I know we haven’t been sitting here long, and I don’t mean to be rude, but I should get working again. I need to get a lot of the edging done tonight to stay on schedule. This has been great, though. A lot nicer dinner than I would’ve had, and with unexpectedly pleasant company to boot.”
“I guess the picnic idea was a good one?” Matt asked with a smile. He was turning his own clementine over and over in his hands. “I have another idea. What would you say if I helped you with the painting?”
“What?”
“I’m serious,” Matt said. “I’m off tomorrow, so I could stay tonight and help you edge, and then I could help you roll the rest of the walls in the morning. And when I’m not on duty, I can help with some of the other things, like the locks on the bedrooms.”
“Oh, goodness,” Emily said, “I couldn’t ask you to do that.”
“You didn’t ask. I’m offering,” he continued, and his earnest expression made Emily feel strange, as if her heart had started to glow. “Look, I understand you’ve got a lot on your plate for the next few months. I’d like to spend more time with you any way I can. If that means I have to work for a…lady contractor…that’s cool with me.”
Matt’s eyes sparkled as he watched how she’d react to his razz, and Emily couldn’t help but smile. She rested her hands on her knees as she pondered his offer. “Do you know how to paint?”
“Sure. My parents’ house got painted inside and out every five years. My sisters and I did most of it once we were old enough.”
Emily squinted at him. “I couldn’t pay you anything.”
“I’m not asking for payment.”
“You are, in a way,” she said. “You want my company.” The quid pro quo nature of his offer made her feel cheap.
“C’mon, Emily. We’d be no different from any other man and woman normally spending time getting to know each other, except that the time we spend would happen here. For now, at least.”
“What if I decide I’m not interested in getting to know you any further? Or if I decide that I can work better without you here?”
“You’re the boss,” Matt said simply. “You call the shots. Whatever you say goes, no questions asked.”
Emily felt a rush of emotion, a warm, fuzzy feeling spreading throughout her body. Maybe Matt was just a smooth talker, but since their initial contact at the hardware store, his words and his intentions had seemed honest and sincere. If they were, she realized that he might just be the rarest of creatures: a handsome man who was accomplished, intelligent, and thoughtful, one with a good sense of humor who was capable and self-confident enough that he wasn’t threatened by who she was or what she did for a living. Plus, he liked dogs.
There had been only one other person in whom she had found all of these qualities, and that person was no longer living.
It scared her to feel the way she did and to think about giving Matt the answer he desired. But it was an answer she wanted to give him, too.
She had been alone a long time. Maybe that was about to change. Maybe she owed it to herself to find out.
“All right,” she said quietly. “Let’s get to work.”
Chapter 18
Saturday, April 28, 1934
Michael and his uncle reached the Holy Cross Mission in Colchester just after eleven o’clock. Instead of driving into the cemetery on the narrow road that circled it, they left the sedan in its usual parking spot outside the rectory and walked into the graveyard.
As his uncle had instructed before leaving the farm, Michael was wearing mucking boots and work clothes. He had brought a lantern and a sturdy stick he had whittled sharp at one end.
The graveyard was dark and preternaturally still. Without a hint of a breeze, the dormant trees that stood interspersed among the headstones were great sentry-like pillars with bare, outstretched arms. The snow that had blanketed the cemetery several weeks earlier was gone. In its place, between the dark, wilted patches of grass, the mud was slick and several inches deep, stubbornly persisting as spring continued to coax the cold ground to warm and soften.
“Right over here,” his uncle whispered over his shoulder as he turned from the paved road to walk down one of the rows of headstones. Michael followed him to a spot in the middle of the row, beneath the branches of one of the trees. A great mound of earth was piled near the tree trunk, and two shovels were stuck upright in the dirt. Next to the pile was a freshly dug grave.
“The grave diggers barely got through the ground,” his uncle said. “They managed, though, which is lucky for us.”
Michael shuddered, growing fearful about what his uncle had planned. “Uncle Frank, what are we going to do?”
“You’ll see. First, give me the lantern.” Michael did as he was instructed, and his uncle took him by the arm and guided him closer to the hole in the ground. “This was dug today, for the first burial of the spring Monday afternoon. A grave needs to be five feet deep, measured from the bottom of the casket to the surface. We need to make this one a little deeper, at least another eighteen inches. I’ll hold the lantern. You jump down there, and I’ll pass you a spade.”
“What if someone sees us?”
“Not likely, at this hour. But if I see someone coming, I’ll tell you, and you keep low and quiet. I’ll walk over to the pat
h and make the excuse that I was inspecting the grave for tomorrow’s burial.”
Michael stared at his uncle. “Would someone really believe you’re out inspecting a grave just before midnight?”
“Yes. Once thing I’ve never had is a problem with credibility.” He raised his chin higher, as if to call attention to his white collar. “Now, let’s get you down there. The quicker you dig, the quicker we can be done.”
Michael hopped into the grave and took the shovel and stick his uncle handed to him. “What am I supposed to do with this?” he asked, holding up the stick.
“Push the sharp end into the side at one end, flush with the ground you’re standing on. That way, you’ll be able to gauge how much deeper you’ve gone.”
Even with the light from the lantern, the pit in the earth was a dank, cramped place. Michael worked at a feverish pace, using the shovel to cut through tree roots and throw out fresh dirt. The sweat ran down his face and dripped off the end of his nose. He ignored the pain from blisters forming on his hands. He began to get a stitch in his side from the effort, but he pushed through it, stopping every once in a while to glance down at the stick protruding from the dirt wall of the grave.
After what seemed like hours, Michael paused and looked up toward the lantern light. “Uncle Frank?” he whispered as he caught his breath. “Is this deep enough?”
His uncle peered down into the pit, where the protruding stick now pointed to Michael’s knee instead of being on the same level as the sole of his boot. “Yes, that’s nearly two feet. Come now, pass me the shovel and then grab on,” he said, extending his hand. “I’ll help you out.”
Back on regular ground, Michael took several deep breaths. It was a relief to feel cool, fresh air on his face and not stagnant air scented by soil and rot.
“Let’s go get what we left in the vault,” his uncle said, thrusting the spade back into the dirt pile. Michael followed him, grimacing at the odor as they entered the storage structure. His uncle noticed his expression as he closed the door behind them. “You understand now why we hold burials quickly once the ground thaws,” he said with a wry smile.
