Hometown Girl: The Chesapeake Diaries

by Mariah Stewart

  “I’m sorry. I never realized how hard it must be for you.” Brooke shook her head. “I, of all people, should have known …”

  “Don’t be silly.” Hannah smoothed the hair back from her daughter’s forehead. “I don’t expect either of you to be a mind reader.”

  “Still, we should have—”

  “No, you shouldn’t.”

  “Does Clay know? About this house?” Brooke asked.

  “I told him at lunchtime.”

  “What did he say?”

  “Pretty much everything that you just said.”

  “Are you sure that this is what you want?”

  “This is exactly what I want. More importantly, it’s exactly what I need.” Hannah put an arm around Brooke. “Moving back to the farm was really just an attempt on my part to hold on to my old life. That really hasn’t worked out so well.” She shrugged. “So I figure it’s time to make a new life for myself. By myself.”

  “When are you going to move?”

  “As soon as the contractors finish up a few details and the Realtor gets the place cleaned. Probably no more than a week.”

  “You’re sure you’re okay with this?”

  “I’m more than okay. I’m looking forward to it.” Hannah took Brooke by the hand. “Come on, let me show you the upstairs. Wait till you see my bath …”

  Her mother’s new bath was gorgeous. Her bedroom was everything anyone could want, with a huge walk-in closet and double doors leading to a small porch that looked out over the Bay. Hannah had opened the doors and a crisp breeze floated in, and Brooke had had to concede that the house was darned near perfect.

  Hannah dropped Brooke off at the farm before heading off to her shop, which she had confided to Brooke she would probably be selling.

  “I bought it because I was bored and wanted something to do. Buying this new place for myself has energized me and I don’t feel I need to think up ways to keep myself busy anymore,” Hannah had said. “Know anyone who wants to buy a shop that sells fun things for pets?”

  Brooke stood at the kitchen window in the farmhouse and watched Clay, who was out near the barn working on a tractor that was having engine trouble. The conversation she’d had with her mother was still in her head, and it was forcing Brooke to reflect on her own circumstances.

  It occurred to Brooke that her mother was much braver than she, to take on a new house, to start this next part of her life with her head up and her eyes looking to the future. Of course, Hannah was lucky to be able to afford to live on her own, her husband’s life insurance policies having been ample; the sale of the Myrtle Beach house combined with their retirement investments assured that she needn’t be dependent on her children.

  Of course, Brooke reminded herself, her mother didn’t have a small child to consider. Because Logan had never gotten to know his father, Brooke felt it was important that he have a strong male role model in his life, and Clay certainly fit the bill. Besides, Clay loved his nephew and spent part of every day with him. Brooke definitely believed that raising Logan in close proximity to her brother was in Logan’s best interests. And Logan did love living on the farm. He loved having his friends over, loved having the fields and the orchards for a backyard, and the pond behind the orchard was one of his favorite places. Last spring and summer, Logan had spent countless hours with his buddies roaming the woods. If she were to move into town, he’d lose all that. Of course, if they moved he could come back and visit, but it wasn’t the same as living there and being part of the day-to-day rhythm of the farm.

  On the other hand, though he’d probably never admit it, Clay was certainly hamstrung socially with his mother, sister, and eight-year-old nephew living under the same roof with him. Her mother had been right about that. Even if Clay did meet someone, it could be awkward explaining that they couldn’t hang out at his place because his mother and sister were there.

  Brooke walked out the back door thinking that Clay could well be the last man on the face of the earth whose maturity or masculinity would be threatened by the fact that his mother lived with him.

  Still—it was the mother, not the sister, who was moving out, partly to give Clay the space he might not even know he needed.

  Brooke walked across the yard and around the corner of the barn, where Clay was tinkering with the tractor.

  “How’s it going?” she asked.

  “Right now, it isn’t going at all. However”—he looked up and smiled—“once I get this engine back together, it should be going just fine. How’s it going with you?”

  She nodded. “Okay.”

  “You don’t seem sure about that.”

  “Mom just took me to see her new house.”

  “What’s it like?”

  “Very nice. Everything’s brand spanking new, of course. It’s not real big, but it’s more than enough room for her and her things. I certainly wouldn’t mind having a place like that someday.”

  “Did she say anything about … well, about anything I might have said that may have made her feel unwelcome?” He stopped working and looked at her over the partially dismantled engine.

  Brooke shook her head. “That’s not why she’s moving. She said it’s just too hard for her to live here without Dad.”

  “Yeah, she told me that, too. I just wanted to make sure that maybe somehow I didn’t make her think I didn’t want her here.”

  “I think she would have said something if that were the case.” Brooke climbed up onto the tractor seat. “I believe she means what she said. That it’s too hard for her after all those years she and Dad lived here, and I understand that.”

  “Do you think she’s sorry she didn’t stay in Myrtle Beach?”

  “I don’t think she was ever really happy there. I think she agreed to go with Dad because he thought he’d be happy, but I don’t think he was either. After he was gone, there was nothing to keep her there. She wanted the comfort of her old friends and the familiarity of her hometown. I felt the same way. I needed to come home, too.”

  “Do you think she’ll be happy in her new place, living by herself? She hasn’t ever really lived alone, you know.”

  “I think she’ll be very happy once she gets settled in.”

  “I hope so.” Clay stopped working and straightened up. “I hope you don’t feel like you have to leave just because she’s moving.”

  “I don’t.”

  “Good. This is your home, too, you know. Yours and Logan’s. I know that my name’s on the deed, but this will always be your home.”

  Brooke nodded her thanks, not trusting herself to speak for a moment, her throat having tightened with emotion. She did love the farm, it was as much a part of her as it was of her mother and Clay, and she loved her brother for understanding that.

  Still …

  From her seat atop the tractor she could see clear across the fields to the woods on one side and the orchard on the other. Clay was engrossed in his task again, so she hopped down and started off across the fields that weeks ago had been harvested of their grain and corn. She surprised a flock of geese that were feasting on the remnants of the corn shocks, and they headed off noisily toward the pond. Brooke found herself following them, and minutes later, stood on the bank, thinking how small the pond looked to her adult eyes. When she’d been a child, it appeared almost as big as the Bay.

  The red-winged blackbirds scolded her from the dried cattails and the geese continued to grumble as if her sole purpose for being there was to spy on them. The red-and-yellow maple trees were reflected in the water, and as Brooke walked around the pond she startled a great blue heron that flew off indignantly, its territory invaded.

  When she turned toward the orchard and the tenant house that stood at its edge, she realized that it had been her destination all along. She followed the well-worn path to the front porch, which was almost flush to the ground and held up by two thin pillars. The window in the door was caked with dust, and she brushed it away so that she could look inside, bu
t the sun was low in the sky behind her, creating a glare on the glass. Almost as an afterthought, she tried the door, and was surprised to find it unlocked. She pushed it open and stepped into the still, stale air of the large front room.

  The light was poor, so she found the switch on the wall near the door and turned it on. She went from window to window, pulling up the shades to let in the afternoon sun, all the while brushing away the dried dead flies and bees from the sills to the floor. She suspected that the rooms had not been aired out since Clay left.

  Her footsteps echoing on the wide plank floorboards, Brooke went into the kitchen. The room was a large rectangle with plenty of room for a table and chairs near the windows that looked out on what might have been a garden many years ago. The appliances were so old she couldn’t even venture a guess as to when they’d been purchased or by whom. She turned on the faucet and watched the rust-colored water spew out in fits and starts before settling into a steady stream and finally running clear. There was only one real counter, which she guessed was added sometime in the 1950s judging by its Formica top. The porcelain farm sink was attached to the wall and held up by two scrawny legs, and the stove was a light-it-yourself gas job. The windowsills and the stove top were a study in dust and mouse droppings. She backed out of the kitchen and made her way upstairs.

  There were three bedrooms, one large one in the front and two in the back, each with dormer windows and alcoves. She would have bet money that the bath would contain a claw-foot tub, but it turned out that it had been replaced with a small porcelain one. Brooke didn’t bother to turn the water on. She was pretty sure she knew what color it would be. Before going back down the wide stairway, she glanced out all the upstairs windows, which offered views of the farm in every direction. The back bedrooms looked out directly onto the pond, and the front one, into the orchard. If nothing else, this old place had beautiful views, she noted.

  Once back downstairs, she went through a small room that divided the two main living areas. There was a stone fireplace on one wall in the front room, but other than that, it was just one big empty space. It could be nice, she thought, cleaned up and painted and with some nice furniture. She went back into the kitchen and took a long hard look. One old stove, one ridiculously old refrigerator. One worn and badly scratched counter. A sparse row of wooden cabinets on one wall and linoleum that had probably been installed back around the time of the Second World War.

  But there was so much room, room for more than one big stove and a second oven. Room for more cabinets and counters and a baking center with a marble top. A new sink and dishwasher. It needed a new floor, and paint would be a necessity, but maybe the windows were okay. She tried them, one by one, but almost all of them would need to be replaced.

  She wondered how much all that would cost.

  It was unlikely that the electric wiring had been updated and the plumbing system would most likely need to be replaced as well.

  But still … the possibilities taunted her as she walked around the house, seeing it with an eye toward what it could be.

  A room off the kitchen could be divided and made into a powder room and a laundry room. The small room between the kitchen and the living room could be an office. There was enough space upstairs to add another bath and some decent closets.

  “It could work,” she said aloud as she stood in the middle of the living room floor. “It could work …”

  Taking one last look around, she went out and closed the door tightly behind her. She stepped back to assess the outside, and even though she knew she’d have her hands full, her mind was buzzing. Yes, it needed paint and the shutters needed repair. It needed a new front door. The porch needed shoring up. She walked around the house through the tall weeds, and tried to be realistic about what it would take to make this a home for her and Logan.

  “A lot of hard work and a fair amount of cash,” she muttered. But still, it wasn’t impossible. She did have Eric’s life insurance and there was still money in an account from an inheritance from her paternal grandmother, who’d left each of her three granddaughters a lump sum so they’d never have to be dependent on anyone. Brooke didn’t know how her two cousins had spent or invested theirs, but she’d invested every penny of hers with an eye toward the down payment on a house someday. She couldn’t think of a better way to spend some of it than to spiff up this little place.

  Brooke headed back toward the farmhouse thinking how she’d approach her brother. The tenant house, like the fields and the barns and the equipment and the main house, belonged to Clay now. She was pretty sure he’d have no objection to her sprucing it up so that she and Logan could move in. He seemed sincere when he said he liked having her and Logan there at the farm. Well, this way, she would say, you can have your cake … make that cupcake … and eat it, too. You can have your nephew here, and you can have the farmhouse to yourself. You can have a social life, she’d say. You could even have a date over for dinner and—well, what you do after dinner is your business, she’d say.

  She checked her watch and noted that it was almost time for the school bus and Logan’s birthday party down at Scoop, so she took a shortcut around the side of the farmhouse and walked down the lane. Logan could still take the same bus to and from school and she’d still walk down to meet him at the same place. There’d be no real disruption to their schedule. The only real difference would be that they’d be in their own house again, just the two of them, like they were when Eric was overseas.

  In retrospect, she knew that she’d been stronger, back then, than she was now. But Eric had still been alive, and the path before her had seemed so clear and sure, there’d been no reason for weakness, no cause for doubt. Now her steps were more tentative because she no longer knew where they were leading, and her dreams were as muddled and confused as her future. And somewhere deep inside she knew that the longer she put off taking those first steps to put her life back together—however small those steps might be—the more likely it was that she’d still be here, living under her brother’s roof, in the house she grew up in, until she passed from this life into the next.

  Watching her mother take those first steps had made Brooke think about things she really hadn’t wanted to face. Moving away from her comfort zone, even if that move only took her from the farmhouse as far as the orchard, was still a move in the right direction. The tenant house was close enough that Logan could still see Clay every day, but separate enough to give Clay his privacy. It seemed like the right solution at the right time.

  Now she just had to figure out what it would take to make the old neglected house livable once again … and sell the idea to Clay.

  Chapter 8

  YOU know, I’d thought about asking if you wanted me to fix up the tenant house for you, but I didn’t want you to think I was trying to get rid of you.” Clay leaned against the kitchen doorjamb.

  “Was this before or after Mom told you she was moving?” Brooke emptied the dishwasher of the implements she needed for frosting and decorating her cupcakes for the following day. Logan’s birthday party had been a big success—as any child’s party at Scoop was sure to be—but she’d lost several hours of work time that now had to be made up. Not that she minded. Besides making her son happy, the few hours off had given Brooke a few hours of socializing with the mothers of Logan’s friends.

  “Before. Actually, I’ve been thinking about it for a couple of months. I thought maybe it was hard for you, living with Mom and me again after having been on your own and having your own place for so long. But I didn’t know how to bring it up without making you feel like I was kicking you out. You know I like having you around, but I gotta be truthful, Brooke. I really love having the kid here.” He grinned. “Logan gives me an excuse to be a kid again.”

  “When did you stop being a kid?” their mother asked as she came into the kitchen.

  “I keep the kid in me around for Logan. He needs a playmate,” Clay replied.

  “A shoddy excuse, that.” Ha
nnah tapped Clay on the back of the head with a rolled-up newspaper as she passed on her way to the paper recycling bin.

  “Brooke’s thinking she might want to spruce up the tenant house and move down there,” Clay told her.

  “Oh?” Hannah dropped the paper into the bin, then came back to the table where her son sat watching her daughter frost cupcakes. “Are they all going to be for sale?”

  Brooke nodded. “Everyone wants three times as many because of the Halloween Parade tomorrow. At this rate I’m going to be baking until dawn.”

  “So is that supposed to be a spiderweb?” Clay pointed to the thin black lines crisscrossing the top of one cupcake.

  Brooke nodded. “That’s the prototype.” She picked up a cutting board and a package of black licorice. “Here. Make yourself useful. Cut the licorice as thinly as humanly possible.”

  “Where’s the spider?” Hannah asked.

  “I’m still working on that,” Brooke admitted. She looked toward the ceiling at the sound of running feet. Logan and his friend Cody were on the move. “That’s right, boys, run off all that sugar,” she muttered.

  “While you’re working you can tell me about moving into the tenant house.” Hannah pulled out a chair and sat.

  “It just occurred to me that now would be a good time to start to move on.” Brooke looked up at her mother. “You know, like you’re doing.”

  “Honey, I’m going because I have to,” Hannah said softly. “You don’t have to.”

  “No, but I want to.” Brooke turned her back and began to measure the ingredients for another batch of frosting.

  “Well, that place is going to need a considerable amount of work,” Hannah said.

  “Besides painting inside and out, it looks like it needs everything: a kitchen and bath update and new wiring and plumbing.”

  “The electric and plumbing were updated about ten years ago when I was living there,” Clay told her. “I got tired of blowing fuses every time I turned on the TV and the coffeepot at the same time.”