by Jeff High
“Like what, perhaps?”
“I don’t know. I guess I’m just grabbing at straws here.”
"Well, to answer your question, no, I didn't. But I grew up around them. I know neither of them was Portuguese."
“Yeah, good point,” I said reflectively. “Connie, I’m sorry. I just thought the DNA test would be a fun gift. I had no idea it would stir up such a can of worms.”
She reached over and patted me on the hand. “Don’t you worry about that one bit. It has been upsetting, but it’s also been a blessing, visiting all the places where my family came from and wondering what their life was like. In a way, it has made me feel closer to them. Besides, I can't imagine them loving me any more than they did."
Having said this, she lifted her chin and regarded me with her familiar stern persona. “So, regarding other business, I hear you are leaving us?”
I spent the next few minutes explaining everything that happened including the offer and the money. “I wanted to talk to you before it got out, but you had already left town. Then Walt betrayed my confidence, the little weasel. Since then he has avoided me like the plague. I’m still pretty miffed at him.”
“You need to let that go, honey.”
“Oh, I will. In a decade or two. But right now, the only thing I would enjoy more than seeing Walt Hickman gamma ray zapped by a stealth bomber is to see Walt Hickman gamma ray zapped by a stealth bomber in slow motion.”
Connie ignored this. “Luke, dear...if this research position is what you want, then that’s what you should do. I’ll miss you. But I’ll still be happy for you.”
“Thanks, Connie. You may not find many converts to that way of thinking, though.”
“How’s John taking it?”
“Fine, I think. But he did say something rather odd.”
“Which was?”
"He made a comment about how God has a way of changing your plans. Let's face it; John is not one to bring the almighty into the conversation, at least not in that context."
"True. I think he actually tried to read the Bible once, but when he realized that the books named John weren't about him, he lost interest."
“By the way, have you seen him tonight?”
“Only from a distance. Why?”
“Nothing, really. I always get a little concerned when he has the opportunity to fall under the influence of Bacchus.”
“He was with Ann, and, as I recall, he wasn’t on all fours.”
“Well, that’s a good start.”
By now the band was in full tilt, and people were beginning to dance, some with rhythm, some with grace, most with neither. The female lead singer, who was actually quite good, turned out to be one of the high school math teachers. She belted out one country song after another, singing from the heart and a little through the nose.
I rose from the table, noting to Connie that I probably needed to find Christine and mingle a little more. She stood as well but grabbed my arm.
“Luke, I need to ask you a question about another matter.”
“Sure.”
“This new fellow, Matthew House. You’ve gotten to know him pretty well, haven’t you?
“I guess.” Having said this, a curiosity came to me. “Connie, have you not met Matthew yet.”
She looked away and spoke in a voice of contrition. "No, I'm afraid to say I haven't. I know it's not very neighborly of me. But he almost never comes by the bakery, and I guess I have to admit, Society Hill still gives me the heebie-jeebies. I haven't been able to force myself to go up there."
“So, what do you want to know about him?”
“Do you think he has any real intentions of opening the B&B back up for business?”
“I think I’d be more comfortable if you asked him that question.”
“As I recall,” Connie said stiffly. “It was your job on the committee to ask him that question.”
"Okay, fine. Here's what I know. He didn't come here with the intention of restarting the B&B. But I think the town has grown on him, and now he may be open to the idea. Why do you ask?"
"Let's just say I've learned some things about our little newcomer. He's a man with a few secrets."
The ancestral link to Hiram Hatcher had been common knowledge for some time, so clearly Connie wasn’t alluding to that. I couldn’t imagine how her trip to Chicago could have yielded information about the Capone connection. But then again, Connie had a way of parsing the truth out of any situation. I feigned ignorance, not wanting to betray anything confidential. “What kind of secrets?”
Connie began to speak, but then seemed to think better of the idea. “I don’t want to spread any false information until I’m one hundred percent certain. Best I hold my tongue until I know for sure.”
“Well, whatever these secrets are, how do you plan on confirming them?”
Connie exhaled a deep breath, seemingly to collect her resolve. "I'm going to drive up there to that spooky old house and ask him.”
Chapter 40
CASTLES IN THE AIR
AS I RETURNED TO THE thick of the crowd, the evening's energy and clamor had spiraled to a full, raucous crescendo, bordering on a kind of blissful pandemonium. I found Christine with drink in hand, amidst a lively gathering of handsome fellows and a few of the bridesmaids. They were tapping their feet to the heavy boom of the band and talking in riotous conversations filled with explosive laughter. Upon seeing me, she promptly abandoned them and wrapped her arms around my neck. She kissed me in an uncharacteristic public show of affection that brought out a few applauding whoops from her friends.
Her adoring smile was crafty and spontaneous. “So, where have you been hiding all evening?”
“You seem to have taken mastery of the middle ground, so I’ve been working the periphery.”
“A lot of folks have been asking about you.”
“And I’ve noticed that more than a few of the young men have been keeping you in steady company," I said teasingly.
“Just a few guys from high school.”
“I see. So, have any of the bush hog boys changed your mind about marrying an outsider?”
“So far I haven’t seen any reason to trade up. But a girl has to keep her options open, you know.”
“Completely understood. Hey, before he gets away, I want to be sure you meet Dr. Bray. He’s here. I spoke to him earlier.”
“We’ve met. Estelle introduced us just before you walked up. He seems to have a rather high opinion of your intellect, Bradford. I think I heard the word brilliant bounced around.”
I dismissed this, turning my gaze toward the band. “That’s only because he got a good look at the woman I’m marrying.”
Christine offered a rebuking smile then stepped beside me, wrapping my arm in a yielding embrace. She followed my example of watching the band and the joyous abandonment of those dancing, many of whom were notably rhythm challenged.
Before long a steady stream of well-wishers bided for our time. Invariably they gravitated toward Christine first. Her response to everyone was warm and natural, conducting all conversations with flowing ease and an engaging spontaneity. I was more characterized by a feeling of naked insecurity, repeatedly parroting the same words with as much sincerity as I could manage. Nevertheless, the evening was filled with euphoric magic, overflowing with food, music, and rapturous laughter. Time became blurred, suspended, forgotten. Consumed with a contagious joy, it seemed that everyone found themselves in the moment, reveling in a dizzying and uninhibited celebration.
At some point long past midnight, the crowd, the music, and the laughter had all faded into the mist and dew. Wrapped in the silent, dreamy flicker of Tiki lights and candles, Christine and I offered our final thanks and hugs. Exhausted, we collapsed onto the seats of my car and began the isolated, moonlit drive to her farmhouse. High above the cool air was charged with blue starlight and the great bowl of heaven provided a tender covering for our lonely passage.
Both of us were awash in a
kind of warm, sublime lethargy. Christine turned toward me, curled up her legs, and rested her head and left shoulder against the back of the seat. She reached over to hold my hand and breathed a deep and luxurious sigh of contentment. Her hoarse, sleepy voice was husky, delicate, sweet.
“So, did you have fun?”
“Of course, I did. I danced with the prettiest girl at the party.”
A contented smile melted across her face. “Well, aside from that, how was your evening?”
"It was interesting. Had a rather fascinating conversation with your grandmother."
“Oh, and what did you learn?”
“I learned that she knows how to wear senility like a costume. I saw a rather different side of her tonight.”
Christine exhaled a small, satisfied laugh. “She said she was going to make amends with you this evening.”
“She did just that. But I have to admit, it was delightful and terrifying all in the same breath.”
“Maggie’s a sweetheart. But I guess she can still be a little intimidating.”
“She was certainly dressed to the nines tonight, maybe even a tinge on the risqué. She asked me to promise her a slow dance sometime during the evening, but it never happened. All the older fellows kept her dance card pretty full."
“I guess grandmother can be a little spirited. But I think it’s all in fun. You know, a wink and a glance and you dream about romance.”
I briefly looked at Christine; her guileless, sleepy face illuminated by the dashboard lights. “I wouldn’t be so sure, sweetheart. There was quite a bit of gusto between your grandmother and one of the older fellows. I think she had something a little more expedient in mind.”
“Oh, like what?”
“Like a drink and a dance and then you take your chance.”
She shook her head in a quick note of dismissal. "You need to periscope down on that assumption, Bradford. I don't think she has anything of the sort on her radar.”
I cut my eyes sharply. “Okay, fine. We’ll go with your theory. But, answer this question for me. Is she staying out at the farmhouse tonight?”
Christine paused for a moment, searching. "Well, actually no. She said she was going to stay over at Betty Hudson's house tonight. Betty is an old friend, and they had some catching up to do." Having said this, she stared impassively into the darkness beyond the headlights, her uncertainty continuing. “What made you ask?”
Late in the evening, I had walked to my car because I had forgotten to grab my hostess gift when I had first arrived. I was on my way back through the dark field when I noticed Maggie Chambers in a rather passionate lip-lock with a tall, older gentleman. I skirted wide and wasn't seen. But in the still air of the night, I heard enough of the exchange to know that plans were being made for a later rendezvous. This foray into a little passion was Maggie's business and not mine to divulge, although I would never let her know it. I was definitely going to keep this knowledge in reserve in case it was needed at a future date. It seemed that the cosmos was finally rewarding me for all I had endured under Maggie’s theatrical capers.
I responded innocently.
“Oh, no reason. Just a lucky guess.”
Christine’s face was still framed in a bemused disbelief. “Her staying with a friend doesn’t prove anything. Although...I suppose it is a little suspect.”
“Ahhh,” I said, brushing off the topic. “You’re probably right.” It was time for a subject change. “So, how about you? Did you have fun tonight?”
She smiled sublimely. She took my hand and held it to her cheek before softly kissing it. “Yes, Luke Bradford. I had a perfectly splendid time.” Dissolving back against her seat, she exhaled a long, enchanted breath.
“Well, you certainly seemed to be in your element.”
Her words were slow and affectionate. “That’s because I have lived this evening a thousand times.”
“I don’t think I understand.”
She rolled her head toward the side window. The broad, moonlit fields slipped by. Her words were solemn, reflective. “I grew up a little girl on a big farm, Luke. I had a lot of time on my hands; a lot of time to daydream. I took those daydreams and made castles out of them, castles in the air.” She looked down for a moment, seemingly embarrassed at her confession, before returning her musing gaze toward the darkness.
“The years come and go. You grow up, and life happens; you go to school, you go to work... loved ones die. You cry, you laugh, you move on. Some days you live, some days you exist, and slowly each day becomes so much like the last that over time they merge into an unchanging pattern and slip away unmarked.”
For a moment longer, she focused on the shadowy world stealing by before turning toward me; her face tender, warm, adoring. “Then one day there's a knock on your classroom door. But when you open it, it doesn't lead into the hallway; it leads into an entirely different world; a world you had forgotten, a world you had buried deep in the past, a world with all those castles. And a fellow is standing there with an easy smile and sky-blue eyes, and something about him makes all those memories come flooding back. So, yes. I’ve lived this evening a thousand times, Luke. But all those times before they were just little girl imaginings, whims, silly fantasies. You changed all that. You made them real. You made them true again.” Her voice softened to barely a whisper. “Oh, Luke Bradford. I don’t think it’s possible for me to be a drop more in love with you.”
Just as she had done with mine a few minutes earlier, I took her hand and gently kissed it. The headlights pierced into the darkness and soon I made the turn down the long driveway to the farmhouse. I walked her to the door and held her for the longest while. It was not a time for words.
After that, I made my way home, parked the Austin-Healey, and walked to the backyard to reacquaint myself with the stars. I moved leisurely. Knowing that the evening would be a late one, my next-door neighbors, the Foxes, had suggested they keep the dog-boys. I had gladly accepted the offer.
In reflection, it had been a wonderful, near-perfect evening. To see Christine so blissfully happy filled me with an unspeakable joy.
Conversely, Connie’s news was troubling, but not consuming. If there was infidelity on her mother’s part, it would be a blow for her, but not a knock-out punch. Connie was made of sterner stuff.
Perhaps of all the people I spoke to and saw that night, I was most intrigued by two that I didn’t. Neither Matthew House nor Polly Shropshire had come, and their absence bothered me. As to why, soon enough, I would have an answer for one of them.
The other would come later. Wretchedly later.
Chapter 41
INTO THE WOODS
I WAS AWAKENED SATURDAY morning by a ding on my cell phone, a text message. I lazily reached for it on the bedside table. The time was half past ten. The text was from Matthew. It read, “Are you up for a hike today?”
After washing my face and ambling downstairs to make some coffee, I texted him back. “Sure, what time?”
“Whenever you get here,” was the immediate reply.
“Be there in thirty,” I responded. I dressed, ate a quick bowl of cereal, and went next door to retrieve the dogs. My thirteen-year-old neighbor, Will Fox, answered my knock and we talked briefly. Astutely, he took notice of the fact that I was about to leave again and offered for the boys to stay until I returned. Will was a great kid, albeit, a little on the nerdy side. I surmised that his day was probably more fun with them than without them. I easily agreed.
Fifteen minutes later, I was on Matthew’s front porch.
He opened the door in full hiking gear and his cell phone pressed to his ear. He motioned for me to come in and I followed him to the kitchen. From the overflow of the conversation, I gathered that his children were at a friend's house and sleeping over that night. After finishing the call, he extended his hand.
"Thanks for coming. The kids are gone for the day, and I thought it might be a good opportunity to go explore the old spring house."
&
nbsp; “Sure. Works for me.”
“I’ve rounded up a machete and a pair of bolt cutters. Anything else you think we might need?”
“How about a nine-millimeter?”
In his mild, quiet way, Matthew smiled. “And listen to you talking all sexy.”
“Yeah, well...I was also thinking some silver bullets, wooden stake, garlic necklace...the usual stuff.”
“Come on, Captain Courageous. The gear is on the patio.”
I followed him through the rear service door where a small backpack and the aforementioned tools sat on a small outdoor table. He strapped the bolt cutters to his pack and handed me the machete. “Here. You can carry this if it makes you feel any better.”
“I’ll channel my inner ninja.”
“I was more hoping you would channel your inner weed-eater. The undergrowth is pretty thick down there.”
“Either way.”
As was often his nature, Matthew seemed preoccupied, contemplative...making him something of a difficult read for me. We stood for a moment as he seemed to be working through some private mental checklist. In time he nodded, made a head gesture toward the rear yard, and set off. I followed.
After a few steps, however, he stopped and turned toward me, his face transformed into a more engaging persona. "Listen. I should have mentioned this sooner. But I apologize for missing the party last night. My sitter bailed on me at the last minute."
"Oh, no worries," I said lightly. "Sorry, you couldn't make it. I think you would have enjoyed yourself. Several women asked about you."
He acknowledged this with a dry nod, notably not interested. We resumed our trek, walking side by side. Matthew returned to his reflective mood, but a few steps later, he spoke without breaking stride. “Well, I guess I’m curious. Any of them particularly eye-catching.”
“A few of them had features that merited attention.”
“Anybody I know?”
“Not sure. But they all seem to know you.”
“Humph,” he grunted under his breath. “They just think they know me.”
