The Darcy & Flora Boxed Set

by Blanche Day Manos

  I was leaning back against the tree, looking up at the webs when Grant found me. He knelt beside me. “Darcy, are you hurt? What’s wrong?”

  I was so surprised to see him that it took several seconds for me be able to speak.

  “What are you doing here?” I asked.

  “I phoned your house. Miss Flora said you were coming out here. I saw your car parked on the road.”

  I took his hand, his warm, strong, reassuring hand. “I’m glad you are here, Grant. I heard a noise, like someone digging into rocks, and when I tried to find out where it was coming from, I kept running into spider webs. They were so thick I couldn’t see.”

  Grant turned my head from side to side and brushed my shoulders. “I don’t see any webs on you now and I don’t see any on the trees.”

  “Well, they were there! Maybe I swiped all of them off the trees. I’ve never seen so many.”

  “You really shouldn’t be out here alone, Darcy. If there is actually somebody digging on your land, that isn’t good. A trespasser digging? What would he be hunting for?”

  “That’s what I would like to know, Grant. Come on, let’s go look along the bluff.”

  Grant’s keen blue eyes searched my face, and he slowly shook his head. “No, I don’t think so. You can call me superstitious if you want, but those spider webs might have served a purpose. I’ll come back another time with Jim, and we’ll look along the creek and the bluff, but right now I think you should go back home.”

  I didn’t argue. Perhaps he was right. I suddenly didn’t care who was digging or what they were finding. It was enough that Grant was here with me.

  He slipped his arm around me as we sat with our backs against a cottonwood. “I’ve always liked this area of Ventris County,” he said.

  I nodded.

  “Darcy, it is too soon after Jake’s death for you to look very far into the future, but do you think we might start where we left off more than twenty years ago?”

  “No.”

  He turned my face toward his. “No? Why not?”

  “We were kids then, Grant, with kids’ emotions. Now we’re all grown up, and I wouldn’t want to go back to those early days for anything. I like where we are now, you and I, and I like these grownup feelings.”

  “I love you, Darcy Tucker, do you know that?”

  “Campbell,” I managed to mutter just before his lips met mine.

  Chapter 19

  Pat Harris had called my mother and asked if she and I could come out for a visit.

  “If it isn’t urgent, Pat, this would be a good time for Darcy and me to swing by and take a look at my school,” Mom told her friend. Pat agreed that the visit could wait for a bit so, on this sunny, blue-skied but nippy afternoon, we were driving along a country road south of town toward the beautiful area in Ventris County that once was Ben Ventris’ farm.

  Since yesterday I was two people; one was going about doing the usual things; the other was back with Grant at Granny Grace’s place. He had told me he loved me. My heart sang, and everything else dimmed in comparison. Mom looked at me thoughtfully now and then, but she didn’t ask any questions.

  A valley opened up before us, and there was the school. Mom had kept the original homestead that belonged to Ben and his wife, but she made additions and internal changes to it. The farmhouse looked almost the same as when Ben lived there with the exception of an ell added to the back and a new coat of paint. The red barn had been updated, re-roofed and re-painted. The most outstanding addition was the school building. When the architect designed the school, he kept the farmhouse look, painting the walls a cream color and adding a green roof and green shutters. Mom insisted on a wrap-around porch so boys and house parents could sit and watch the sunsets. She wanted it to look as unthreatening as possible to youngsters who had a preconceived notion that school was an unfriendly place.

  My mother’s plans called for the school to be equipped to handle boys from kindergarten through sixth grade. After grade six, they would ride the bus in to the Levi city schools. She continued to work with the state department of education to be sure the curriculum was up to state standards.

  I stopped in the driveway, and we gazed at this dream child of my mother’s. The sun’s rays slanting over a western hill lit the windows, causing them to shine with a golden glow. Everything was peaceful, as I imagine it was when Ben and his wife lived here. Nothing hinted at the explosive events that occurred here months ago, that nearly ended our lives.

  Mom smiled. “Darcy, it almost looks as if there’s a light on inside those windows. Doesn’t it look homey? Don’t you think the boys will feel comfortable here?”

  I patted her arm. “Indeed I do, Mom. You’ve put so much of yourself into this school. It’s going to be a wonderful place. Ben would be very proud of you for using your inheritance in this way.”

  “You know, Pat said she would be the cook, but that will mean she’ll have a drive to work every day. Of course, she doesn’t live far so maybe Jasper can take his meals here too. And maybe she and Jasper can keep that old truck running. She is a good cook, that’s for sure. In the summer, the boys can swim and fish in the river. In the fall they can pick apples and chop firewood for the fireplace.”

  “That is too funny, Mom. Have you thought that maybe the boys will not equate picking apples and chopping wood with swimming and fishing?”

  She sniffed. “Well, you know what I mean.”

  “You will probably have a daily events schedule worked out next week, Mom. Is Hiram Schuster still over-seeing things?”

  “He is, Darcy. Hiram Schuster and his wife are going to be house parents when school starts. I hope everything is completed so we can kick off the new school year next fall. I admit I get too enthusiastic. I think Ben would be happy with how this is turning out.”

  I nodded. “Such a beautiful place, Mom. So quiet and peaceful.” I looked at the surrounding low hills, the generous yard where flowers would grow and the trees whose limbs were meant for climbing. “The boys who will call this home will be lucky indeed.”

  “Yes, and it’s all because of Ben Ventris. I think he would be pleased. Well, I’ve seen what I came to see so let’s go on to Pat’s and find out what is so important. She sounded kind of secretive on the phone.”

  “I guess that’s better than sounding hysterical. I have heard her when she was so over-wrought, she made no sense at all.”

  I turned the Escape around and headed down the driveway toward the country road leading to Pat’s place.

  “This is a rough old road. Slow down, Darcy.” Mom grunted and grabbed the door handle as I turned at a corner sign that read “Old String.” A skeleton of a house appeared between leafless trees in the distance, the house where Old String had lived.

  “This is Pat’s driveway,” she added, pointing to some narrow ruts leading off through the trees. A neatly painted mailbox with the words “Pat Harris” stood on a post next to the ditch. I rounded a curve and there was Pat’s little white frame house.

  “It looks lonely,” I said as I came to a stop.

  “She probably does get lonesome. No neighbors close, just her and Jasper all by themselves out here. But she’s lived here a long time, and I’m sure she’s used to it.”

  “Do you think she asked us to come because she was feeling blue?”

  “No, I think she wants to talk to us about something that’s troubling her.”

  We climbed out of the Escape and started up the short pathway to Pat’s front door. The hedge roses bordering the walk looked beautiful in spring and summer, but now they were just gray bushes without a sign of green.

  Murphy, Ben Ventris’ red hound that Jasper had adopted after Ben was killed, came down the walk to meet us, voicing his welcome. Mom stopped to scratch behind his ears. He tossed his head, his tail going a mile a minute.

  Pat opened the door before we could knock. “Come in out of the cold,” she said, beckoning us inside. She took our coats and we sat down on her g
ray sofa.

  “I’ll bring some coffee. Despite that sunshine, it is cold enough to freeze the horns off a brass monkey.”

  “I don’t know anything about brass monkeys, but I imagine your wood stove keeps the whole house snug, doesn’t it?” I asked.

  “Sure does,” Pat called from the kitchen. In a few minutes she reappeared with a tray bearing three steaming cups. I gratefully sipped and felt the hot drink travel all the way down to my stomach. Pat’s coffee was second in flavor only to Mom’s.

  “Thanks for coming,” Pat said. “My old truck wouldn’t start this morning, or I would have come to your house. I’ve called Hiram Schuster and asked him to take a look at it. He’s bringing jumper cables. It’s probably just the battery.”

  Mom swallowed her coffee and put the cup and saucer on her lap. “Why Pat, we’re always glad to come see you. I’m sorry about your car but I am always glad to come for a visit. You know that.”

  “I appreciate it because I found something and wanted you to have it right away.” Pat fished around in the sewing box next to her chair. “While I was sweeping Jasper’s room yesterday, I swept this from under his bed, and I just don’t know what to make of it. I think it must have fallen out of something, and he didn’t notice it because the bedspread was covering it.”

  She handed Mom a photograph so old that the edges were yellowed and bent. I peered over Mom’s shoulder. An attractive, dark-haired girl smiled at the camera. She looked like she was straight out of the 1940s. A wide brimmed, floppy hat was pulled down over one eyebrow. Tight waves cascaded across her forehead. She wore a two-piece suit, the hem just below her knees. A blouse peeked discreetly above the collar of her jacket. Strappy shoes with chunky heels finished off her stylish ensemble.

  The dark hair and eyes, the square jawline and the high cheekbones were unmistakable. “Why, Mom, that’s you!”

  Pat nodded. “It sure is. It’s Flora when she was a mite younger. Only thing is, what was that picture doing in Jasper’s room? Where did he get it? You didn’t give it to him, did you, Flora?”

  “I love that outfit, Mom. Why were you dressed in those retro clothes?”

  Mom’s hand shook as she held the picture. “That’s not me,” she said quietly.

  Pat slapped her knee with her hand. “Of course that’s you, Flora. Or if it’s not, it’s your twin, and I’ve never known there to be but one of you.”

  I looked at the photo more closely. “If it’s not you, then who? Maybe it was taken so long ago that you’ve forgotten.”

  My mother frowned at me and rose hurriedly. “I guess that I would know if I had my picture taken in clothes like that. Thanks for giving me this, Pat. Darcy, we’d better go.”

  “Are you all right?” I asked. Her face was pale and she definitely appeared unwell.

  Pat looked surprised and uncertain. “Well, OK, if you’ve got to go, but you just got here. I was hoping you could help me figure out how in the world your picture came to be on Jasper’s floor.” She took our coats from the peg in the hall and handed them to us.

  “And I’m telling you, Pat, that is not my picture,” Mom said, pulling her coat around her and opening the door.

  “Thanks, Pat,” I said, as I followed my departing parent. “Sorry we weren’t more help.”

  Mom didn’t even stop to say good-bye to Murphy. She trotted to the Escape and was in the seat and buckled by the time I opened the driver’s door.

  “Mom, what’s wrong?” I asked as I backed down Pat’s driveway.

  “That picture, Darcy. If I didn’t know better, I’d say it was me, but it’s not, and I don’t have any sisters. If you’ll remember, I was adopted.”

  I turned onto Old String Road and headed back to Levi. “Yes, I remember. You said Granny Grace told you that your birth mother was a young girl who had gotten into trouble.”

  “That’s the term people used in those days. Nobody ever came right out and said an unmarried woman was pregnant. But Darcy, I think that may be a picture of my natural mother.”

  She put her hand to her eyes and wiped away tears. “And the picture looks so familiar. I’m afraid I might know who it is. But how? Oh, I don’t know. When we get back to the house and I’ve had time to think, maybe I can puzzle this out and decide what we should do next.”

  The face in the picture was familiar to me too. But if it wasn’t Mom, I couldn’t think who it might be. And as Pat said, why did Jasper have it? The drive back to town was silent while we were busy with our own thoughts. Who was that smiling, attractive woman from the past, and what was her photo doing on Jasper Harris’ floor?

  Chapter 20

  Mom sat down in front of the fireplace. I moved the screen back and tossed on another log. She looked ill, and although she still clutched that picture, she stared at the fire. I put her old green afghan around her shoulders and sat down on the footstool at her feet.

  We hovered in front of the warmth of the fire listening to the pop and crackle of the logs. It seemed that every day, we were being pulled deeper and deeper into a mystery that became ever more complex. Did the picture have anything to do with Eileen and her attempt to murder me? Did the picture and Eileen and the bushy-haired man have something to do with our land? Was the secret of Mom’s birth somehow tied in with all the other things; the gun, the marriage, Eileen’s death? Surely somebody could shed some light on this murky business, but that somebody certainly was not me.

  At last Mom spoke. She handed me the photograph. “Look closely, Darcy. Try to imagine what this person would look like, sixty or seventy years after the picture was taken. Suppose her hair is white and pulled away from her face in a bun. Imagine that square jawline is sagging, the face wrinkled. Try putting a pair of wire rimmed glasses on her.”

  I squinted. The girl in the photograph was young and beautiful. How might she look if she were now an old woman, much older than my mother? At last, like an electric shock, the answer came. “It’s . . . Mom, could it be one of the Jenkins twins?”

  A slight smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. “I do believe you are right, Darcy. Anyone can see the resemblance to me, but I am sure that it is a picture of one of the Jenkins twins several decades back. I think, Darcy, that you may be looking at a picture of your natural grandmother.”

  My face felt stiff and I could hardly speak. “Oh, but surely not. Surely . . . .” I couldn’t think of anything to say. Was it possible that my natural grandmother had been right here in our home town all this time? How could she have kept something like that a secret? Did things like this really happen?

  As if in answer to my thoughts, Mom said, “We never did see much of the Jenkins family. They live on the other side of town. They go to the Methodist church, not our church. And they hardly get out. Real recluses. So I guess it would be possible to live in the same town as my birth mother and never know it. But why did everybody keep me in the dark? Why didn’t Mom or Dad tell me?”

  “So,” I said slowly, gazing into the dancing flames. “So, I guess maybe it would be possible.” Levi, my small home town, was deceptively calm on the surface but under its peaceful appearance, secrets swirled like hidden currents in a river. During my growing up years, I was completely unaware that Levi was a town touched by intrigue or dark secrets.

  “How did this picture get out to Jasper Harris’ room? Where did it come from?” Mom held the photo under the table lamp, her eyes devouring it.

  I shook my head. “If anybody had the picture, it would have been the Jenkins family. Or . . . .”

  “Or maybe Mama, your Granny Grace? Maybe Miss Georgia or Miss Carolina, whichever one this is, gave it to Mama?”

  “I guess. But we’ve never seen it before. If she gave it to Granny Grace, where would it have been all these years?”

  “If Mama didn’t want me to know the identity of my birth mother, I imagine she would have hidden it somewhere out of sight; maybe stuck back in something.”

  I thought about Mom’s Bible. Inside that Bo
ok were newspaper clippings, pictures, and a few obituaries. In fact, it was a suitcase of interesting tidbits she had gathered through the years.

  “Or maybe she slid it within the pages of a book that she thought no one would look into, like her journal?” I asked.

  “My thoughts, exactly,” Mom said. “But would that mean that Jasper was the one who took the journal and the gun from off my table?” She drew a quavery breath. “Oh, Darcy, what a muddle.”

  “All right, let’s just assume for a minute that Granny Grace put this picture in her journal for safekeeping. The journal is about twenty or thirty years older than the picture. Maybe she stuck it in there about the time you were born.”

  Mom pulled the afghan tighter around her shoulders. “Could be.”

  “We didn’t know about the journal ’til the day it went missing. While we were talking to Eileen, both the journal and the gun disappeared from your dining table.”

  “That’s right.”

  “Then this picture shows up at Pat’s house. Yes, I’d say it’s a pretty good bet that Jasper is our intruder.”

  “That boy is odd. He has never been a thief, and I’d hate to think that of him. But somehow that picture got to his room.”

  “If he took the journal, it must be at his house yet. And the gun would be there too. But why?”

  Mom tossed the afghan off her shoulders and stood up. “Why indeed? I’m tired of all these questions, Darcy, and I’m ready for some answers. One riddle I’m going to solve right now. We’re going to pay the Jenkins sisters a surprise visit.”

  “Okay, that’s probably the thing to do, but shouldn’t we call them first? Remember, these are old ladies. What if they are so shocked that one or both of them has a heart attack when we come barging in demanding answers.”

  Rarely had I seen Mom’s eyes shoot daggers, but that’s what they were doing now. “Oh, I think somebody who could give away her baby probably has a pretty strong constitution. My heart stood the shock of finding my mother’s picture, and I imagine I inherited a healthy heart from her . . . whoever she is.”