by Nan Rossiter
A moment later, he heard Gus—who’d been sleeping on the porch—scramble to his feet, barking. At the same time, Pilgrim started squawking frantically, and Gage got up to look out the window. “How did you get in there?” he shouted angrily. He reached into the drawer for the key to his gun case, opened it, lifted out the rifle, loaded it, and went outside. The fox was on the inside of the reinforced fence of the coop, staring down Gus—who was going nuts. “Back off, Gus,” Gage growled, and the big yellow Lab—to his surprise—listened.
Gage lifted his rifle and looked down the sight. The fox was staring right back at him, its dark eyes defiant. Feeling his heart pound, Gage slowly pulled back the trigger until it clicked, and then clenched his jaw determinedly—he had never killed anything before. His dad and Cale had loved to go hunting, but whenever he’d gone, he’d never been able to pull the trigger. It didn’t matter if it was a buck or a grouse, he could only see the beauty of the creature. Afterward, his dad always teased him about not being able to pull the trigger, and finally, he’d just stopped going. The only reason he had a gun at all was because his grandfather had given him one of his old refurbished Winchesters and made a fine oak case to keep it in. Now, the fox with its copper-red fur and white twitching tail was daring him to take its life, and he knew, if he didn’t, it would continue to torment his chickens and they would always have to be cooped up in their pen.
“Damn you,” he whispered, blinking back tears, and then he closed his eyes, and squeezed the trigger. The powerful rifle slammed his shoulder and he fully expected to see the fox running off, but when he opened his eyes, it was lying in the grass. A moment later, a little copper head peered out of the grass and playfully hopped over to sniff the lifeless body and then lie down next to it.
27
“THANKS FOR COMING, MRS. HARRISON,” MASON SAID, AS HE HELD OPEN the door of the attorney’s office.
“Oh, Mason, you don’t have to thank me. I’m happy to help. If you ever need anything—anything at all—please don’t hesitate to ask.” She stopped and put her hand on his cheek. “You are part of our family and you always will be.”
“Thanks,” he said, smiling. “That means a lot.”
“And we fully expect you to spend the holidays with us. We’ve always loved having you and your mom come over, and we expect you to continue the tradition.”
Mason laughed. “Okay. I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else anyway.”
“Good,” she said, as they approached the receptionist’s desk.
“Good morning,” the silver-haired receptionist said without looking up. “How may I help you?”
Sue looked at Mason, and he cleared his throat. “Umm, we—I have an appointment with Mr. Bartholomew.”
“Your name?”
“Mason Callahan.”
The receptionist looked up and her stoic face crumpled as she removed her glasses and came around from behind her desk. “Oh, Mason, I’m so sorry about your dear mom,” she said, reaching for his hand. “She was the kindest person I’ve ever had the privilege of knowing . . . and she baked the most delicious apple pies. Did you know she would bring us a pie every time she came into the office?”
Mason smiled. “Thank you. I’m not surprised. She was always baking pies and giving them away.”
The receptionist smiled. “I hope she baked some for you, too.”
“She did.”
“You must miss her.”
He nodded and then gestured to Sue. “This is my mom’s friend, Sue Harrison.”
The receptionist let go of Mason’s hand and extended hers to Sue. “How do you do? I’m Carol Carson.”
“It’s nice to meet you, Mrs. Carson,” Sue said, shaking the older woman’s hand.
Mrs. Carson nodded. “Well, you may sit right over there,” she said, motioning to two stiff Queen Anne chairs in the corner, “and I’ll let Mr. B know you’re here.”
She returned to her post and resumed her all-business demeanor, as she called into the office to let her boss know his client had arrived. Then she looked up again. “May I offer you some coffee or water?”
Mason pressed his lips together—he hadn’t had breakfast or coffee that morning. He looked questioningly at Sue and she nodded that it was okay, but he declined. “No, thank you. We’re all set.”
He leaned back in his chair and looked around at the dark paneling, wishing he could be anywhere else—anywhere, even mulching.
He was just about to reach for a magazine when a tall, stately gentleman with a mane of white hair filled the doorway. He was wearing a light blue seersucker suit, crisp white shirt, and red bow tie. “Mason?” he boomed.
And because the man’s demeanor demanded respect, Mason lurched to his feet. “Yes, sir.”
The older gentleman smiled and extended his hand. “Beau Bartholomew.”
Mason shook it politely. “It’s nice to meet you, sir.”
“I’m very sorry about your mom. She was a sweet lady . . . and her apple pies, oh my!” he said in a slow Southern drawl.
“I already told him,” Mrs. Carson chimed in, smiling.
“Thank you,” Mason replied, and then turned to Sue. “This is my mom’s friend, Sue Harrison.”
“Good. I’m glad you brought a friend—it’s always good to have an extra set of ears.” He turned to Sue. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, I’m sure. Please, call me Beau.” He eyed Mason. “You, too, young man. Bartholomew is a bigger mouthful than a mouse in a tomcat’s jaws.”
Mason smiled, already feeling at ease.
“C’mon back,” he said, motioning for them to follow him, “and let’s take care of this.” He looked at Mason. “I’m sure you’d rather be anywhere else on this beautiful summer day than in a stuffy lawyer’s office. Maybe up at the lake with your girlfriend?”
“I don’t have a girlfriend, sir.”
“What?!” the old man teased. “A handsome fella like you? Why, I’m sure all the girls love that hair o’ yours!”
Mason smiled. “I—I don’t know,” he stammered, feeling his cheeks flame.
“My own dear mother—rest her soul—had hair the color of a copper penny, but none of us kids got it. I would’ve loved it.”
Mason nodded as they followed him down the hall.
“Carol,” he called over his shoulder. “Could you bring us some coffee and maybe a cookie or two?”
“Yes, Mr. B,” she called back.
“Right in here,” he said, pushing open the door to a large conference room with tall windows overlooking a lovely rose garden. He gestured to two chairs and then sat across from them with a large folder. “Your mom has been a client of mine for a very long time. She cared for her own parents—your grandparents—and they were among my first clients, so we go way back.” As he said this, he opened the file and perched his reading glasses on the tip of his aristocratic nose. “Let’s see,” he began, humming to himself.
A moment later, Mrs. Carson brought in a tray with three coffee mugs, a silver creamer and sugar bowl set, and a plate of chocolate chip cookies. Beau peered over his glasses at the cookies. “Are those Mrs. Stoeffler’s?”
“They are,” Mrs. Carson confirmed.
“You are in for a treat, my boy,” he said. “We consider ourselves blessed when Mrs. Stoeffler bakes us some of her chocolate chip cookies, just like your mom’s apple pie—which we never shared with anyone,” he added with a wink.
Mason offered the tray to Sue and then helped himself, and they munched and sipped while the distinguished old attorney his mom had left in charge of her affairs proceeded to explain everything.
By the end of the meeting, Mason realized he should not have spent so much time worrying. His mom had assured him that all would be well, and it was. Beau Bartholomew would pay off the home equity line of credit and any other outstanding bills, including her medical bills . . . after, of course, the insurance company had renegotiated down the allowed expenses and paid their part. The remainder of his mom’s savings
and her sizable life insurance benefit would be added to the trust, and a set sum would be deposited in Mason’s new checking account every month.
“Can you get by on that?” Beau asked, jotting a figure on a scrap of paper and peering at Mason over his glasses.
Mason swallowed. “I’m sure I can—I actually think it’s too much. The only real expenses I have are food and gas and utilities.”
Beau chuckled. “I’m sure there will be other things that come up . . . especially when you find yourself a pretty girl who wants to spend all your money . . . and then, you better look out!”
Mason smiled, thinking about Ali—he didn’t think she would ever want to spend all his money, and he would’ve loved to tell the kind gentleman all about her . . . except that her mother was sitting right next to him!
“How will it work if I decide to go to college?” Mason asked.
Beau looked up and frowned. “I thought you were going to college,” he said, sifting through his papers. “Your mom had me send a deposit to Georgia Tech for the fall semester, along with a letter explaining why it was late, and they confirmed receipt and are holding a place for you.” He looked up. “Am I wrong about this?”
Mason sat up in his chair. “Well, no, you’re not wro . . . She did that?” he asked, sounding stunned.
“She did. She called me . . . let’s see, it was . . .” He looked at the paperwork again. “It was toward the end of May, and she asked me to contact the school because, with everything going on, she said you had forgotten.” He looked up again. “She was so proud of you, and she said you were planning to major in aeronautical engineering and had already applied for—and been accepted into—the Air Force ROTC program, including a scholarship.” He looked down again. “She sent me copies of everything.”
Mason shook his head. He couldn’t believe—no, actually, he could believe it! Sue reached over and squeezed his hand. “Mason, if you don’t feel ready, I’m sure you can get a deferment.”
Mason swallowed and nodded. “I just thought it wasn’t an option because I missed the deadline.” He took a deep breath and let it out. His mom had been right—he didn’t have anything holding him back, except himself . . . and what was he going to do for the next year except continue to work for a landscaper and wander around an empty house? Even Ali was going to Emory and wouldn’t be around. “I don’t know,” he said uncertainly, and then he looked up. “I’ll have to think about it.”
“That’s fine,” Beau said, “but don’t think too long. Freshmen—or I guess they’re called ‘first-years’ now—are expected to arrive at the end of August . . . and athletes even sooner. Your mom mentioned you’re a runner.”
“Okay,” Mason said, nodding. “I’ll decide soon.”
“Okay, good.” He shuffled his papers and then spied a light blue envelope sticking out of the folder. “Oh, there’s one more thing . . . and it’s probably the most important thing,” he said, smiling. “At least to your mom.”
28
WHEN MAEVE PULLED INTO THE DRIVEWAY, SHE SAW GAGE DOWN NEAR the river behind the cabin, and as she walked through the grass and wildflowers toward him, she realized he was digging a hole. “I guess you didn’t like where we planted the blueberry bushes,” she teased, but when he looked up, she realized his eyes were rimmed with tears. “What’s wrong?” she asked, her face suddenly shadowed with worry.
He motioned to Gus lying solemnly on the grass next to the lifeless body of the fox. “Oh, no!” she said softly. “What happened?”
“I heard a commotion, looked out, and the fox was inside the fence again—she’d dug a hole behind the coop.” He shook his head. “I had to, Maeve,” he blurted, “or she’d keep coming back,” he said, trying to justify his actions. “What’s the point of having chickens if . . .”
“I know,” she consoled. “You did the right thing. What else could you do?”
He nodded. “And that’s not the worst part,” he said. “You were right—she did have a kit. It peeked out of the grass right afterward and then it just lay down next to her.”
Maeve took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Just one?”
“That’s all I saw.”
“Did it run off?”
“No. It’s a he . . . and he was inside the fence, too, and he couldn’t find his way out, so I was able to catch him, but what the hell am I going to do with a baby fox?”
“Where is he now?”
“In Gus’s old dog crate.”
Maeve nodded thoughtfully, wondering if a wild baby fox could be domesticated.
Gage eyed her. “I know what you’re thinking, but I am not keeping him or trying to turn him into a pet. I have enough going on . . . besides, his instinct is to hunt, so the hens would never be safe, and I would’ve killed his mother for nothing.”
“I know,” Maeve said. “You’re right, but maybe we can find a wildlife rehabilitator who takes in injured and orphaned animals.”
Gage nodded. “Maybe.”
“I’ll see if I can find someone online.” She started to walk back to the cabin, but stopped and turned around. “Are the hens okay?”
“Yeah. Just traumatized.”
She nodded, turned back, and Gus—who was watching her—gave the lifeless body of the enemy one last sniff and trotted after her . . . just in case she was planning to have a snack. She smiled and tousled his soft ears as they crossed the lawn. When they reached the porch, though, the fur between Gus’s shoulders stood up on end and he stopped in his tracks. Maeve followed his gaze and realized the dog crate was on the porch and the baby fox was trying to dig his way out. She knelt down next to the crate and the fox quickly scampered to the back corner, almost taking an unplanned swim in the water bowl Gage had put in the crate. “It’s okay,” she said softly. “I’m sorry this happened, but we’re gonna find a new home for you. Everything is going to be okay.”
Then she stood up and looked back at Gus, whose fur was still standing on end. “C’mon, silly, he’s not going to hurt you.” The very tip of Gus’s tail wagged tentatively, and with his ears back, he tiptoed across the porch as far from the crate as possible.
Maeve dropped her bag on a chair and walked across the room to get her laptop, but as she passed Gage’s drawing table, she realized the lamp was on and the little narrow drawer beneath it was open. When she started to push the drawer closed, she noticed a small black box from a jewelry store in Savannah on the table and froze, staring at it.
With a pounding heart, she glanced out the window. Gage was still digging, and she knew he would be occupied for a while. She looked back at the box, and then slowly reached over to pick it up. Would it hurt to look? Honestly, wouldn’t any girl—given the opportunity—peek inside a little black jewelry box . . . just to see what was inside? It was probably earrings—after all, she’d recently complained about how many earrings she’d lost—but as she held the box in her hand, the temptation tore at her heart. On one hand, she could hear her friends and her sister absolutely encouraging her to peek, but on the other hand, something was stopping her. She knew Gage had left this room in a hurry, abandoning whatever he’d been doing . . . and if he were to come in right now, what he would think? What would he expect of the woman he loved and trusted? Would he be disappointed if he saw her opening the box? She knew, deep down, he would. She looked out the window again and suddenly felt as if she were seeing him for the first time . . . and it didn’t have anything to do with the box or its contents. It was because he was sweating and struggling to dig a hole that would be deep enough to protect the body of the fox he’d had to kill. This good, honest, kind, gentle man was trying to make things right the only way he knew how, and his eyes were glistening with tears because killing the fox had been against every fiber of his being . . . and how incredibly lucky was she that this tenderhearted man loved her? She bit her lip, put the box in the drawer, closed it, and reached up to turn off the light, but before she did, she noticed Dutch’s eyes gazing up at her. “I didn�
��t open it,” she whispered with a half smile, and then she clicked off the light and picked up her laptop.
She sat down at the kitchen table, opened her laptop, and googled “wildlife rehabilitators in Savannah, Georgia.” Several names and websites popped up, but one name sounded oddly familiar: Sage Finch, licensed wildlife rehabilitator, Tybee Island. Maeve frowned. Where had she heard that name before? She clicked on the link, and in the banner of the website there was a picture of a boy with a little raccoon trailing behind him. The caption read: “Sam and Ty Coon.” Of course, she thought. Harper is always talking about her friend Sam and his gentle affinity for animals. Harper even mentioned that his mom takes care of orphaned animals. That is how Sam came to have a pet raccoon.
She scrolled through the page, looking for information, and after jotting down the address, she called the phone number and Sage picked up after the first ring.
