“Obviously Daddy hasn’t been telling the truth,” Dakota pointed out, innocently.
Ky piped up. “Daddy’s no liar.”
Maggie held up her hands, effectively shushing the bunch before a quarrel broke out. “Daddy has not been doing a lot of things, but that doesn’t matter now. Let’s figure this out, all right you all?”
Collective nodding commenced, and Gretchen moved to the bed to read over her mother’s shoulder.
Moments passed, and Maggie looked up at Gretchen. “Dirk,” her mother said breathlessly.
“What?”
“Dirk. Uncle Dirk. Great Aunt Marguerite named Uncle Dirk the executor. I remember. But nothing ever happened. I didn’t think she had anything to leave behind.”
Dakota spoke up. “Is that Aunt Lorna?”
Mr. Rhett scratched his jaw at the door. “Lorna?”
Maggie shook her head. “She developed dementia a couple years ago and told everyone her name was Lorna. For sanity’s sake, we took her word for it.”
“Does the paperwork say Lorna or Marguerite?” Dakota asked.
“Marguerite Lorna,” Maggie replied. “I don’t think I knew that Lorna was her middle name. Maybe she did go by Lorna as a girl.”
It made sense. In Hickory Grove, some people had crazy nicknames. She knew this solely based on the one vacation they had ever taken as a family. To Chicago, where people called their grandparents either Grandpa or Grandma. Where Williams could be Billies but nothing crazier than that.
In Hickory Grove, you could count on half the people you knew to go by something that didn’t even hint at their given name.
Ky was a prime example. His real name was Hunter, as dictated by their father, but their mother went through a vegan phase that coincided with her fleeting adoration for all things islander, and well, Kai came up as some sort of temporary moniker, but then their daddy was filling out kindergarten registration paperwork and wrote Ky, and the rest was history.
Presently, everyone began talking at once, mostly about how they never did figure out if it was Lorna or Marguerite, despite the hard evidence in Mom’s hands.
Then Mr. Rhett cleared his throat again and, speaking softly, asked, “What did she leave?”
Chapter 14 — Maggie
“The farmhouse,” Maggie whispered. She drew her hand to her mouth. “The farmhouse.”
No one replied, giving her a moment to process. Even Briar, who had wiggled her way in between Maggie and Gretchen, just sat there, quiet and still.
Finally, Gretchen asked, “What farmhouse, Mom?”
Maggie’s eyes flew to Rhett, who looked at her helplessly, and then back to Gretchen. “The Devereux Farmhouse. I thought it was condemned. Or that they sold it. Marguerite never told me...”
Gretchen gasped. “I know what you’re talking about! She told me about it years ago. When I was little.” The two women locked eyes. Maggie was well aware of the bond Gretchen thought she shared with the old spinster. The old woman who was good enough to take in Dirk and Maggie but bitter enough to keep things from them, too.
Like a real home. A motherly love. Anything.
“I’ve never been there. She told me it was far away and that there was nothing left but rotten wood and rusty farm equipment.” Maggie’s voice trailed off as memories rushed in. Her childhood longings for something more. Her teenaged wonderings over where she came from. Who her parents were. How the Devereux family got its start in town. Everyone had a history in Hickory Grove. How was Maggie so in the dark on her own? It seemed like a violation of a small town citizen’s rights to not know her origins.
And what was more, no one else ever bothered to give her any insights. Even her best friend’s own grandparents kept mum when it came to Devereux family lore.
And Fern Gale, sweet Fern Gale whose job it was to collect and document history, was entirely unaware of anything to do with the poor old Devereux clan who’d slowly but surely faded away, leaving behind just one of its own: Margaret Mary Devereux. Maggie. Who’d also forsaken her ancestral name in favor of a tattooed, big-rig-driving jerk named Travis Wayne Engel.
“Was Aunt Lorna your dad’s sister or your mom’s sister?” Dakota asked, his attention beginning to wane in favor of his comic book.
“My mom’s,” Maggie answered, slowly. “She was my mom’s aunt.”
“I thought Devereux was your dad’s last name?” Ky asked.
“No. Some people think that because Marguerite was such a hermit. And she was a fibber,” Maggie added lightly. “She liked to tell stories, and she would make things up and confuse people.” Maggie pointed to the pages in her hands. “I guess that’s why I’m bewildered.”
“It would have been Dirk who’d set this up, right?” Rhett asked.
She nodded. “Right. He’s on a rig right now. I haven’t talked to him since the funeral.”
“Did you know he was the executor?”
Maggie replied, “Yes. He handled the funeral entirely. But he never mentioned this.”
“Maybe it was supposed to be a surprise,” Gretchen reasoned.
“Maybe. The date is from three months ago. That would have been right after the service. Right before Dirk left.” Maggie was working through the details in her mind.
“He probably figured the probate folks would settle it with you,” Rhett offered, now moving toward Maggie. “May I look?”
“Yes, please.” She passed him the documents and pulled Briar into a tight hug, kissing the little girl’s flyaways into place along her temple.
“All you have to do is call this number,” Rhett said at last, underlining an out-of-town series of digits with his index finger.
Maggie checked the time on her phone. “They’ll be closed now,” she answered.
“First thing in the morning,” Gretchen said, a grin pushing her dimples high up on her cheeks. “Mom, I think we have a plan.”
Chapter 15 — Rhett
Surely the paperwork didn’t lie. Surely there existed some broken-down farmhouse from the 1800s, wasting away on the far side of Hickory Grove’s town limits, just waiting for a desperate woman to take it over and turn it into cash, maybe.
But despite Rhett’s distance in the last two decades, he knew Hickory Grove like the back of his hand, and this farmhouse had never made it on his radar, nor had anyone else in town ever mentioned any special property rotting out on the edge of civilization.
He took to his bedroom, had a shower, slipped back into his boxers, and dropped onto the bed. With no cellphone charger and few television channels, his only option was to lie awake in bed for some time and ruminate on life.
Emma came to mind but just as soon left. In place of thoughts of his long-term girlfriend, plans for the future flooded in. He hated to consider Hickory Grove a bust. But hope was lost. There was no point in making something out of nothing. Especially since the land was gone.
Visions of Louisville suffocated him. The traffic. The soulless world he’d been enduring—flipping house after house and all for what? Money? Cash he’d stuff away in his already potbellied checking account and 401K? Cash he’d never spend on a diamond ring or a college savings fund or a kitchen remodel for the woman with whom he’d toil over a Thanksgiving dinner?
Rhett wanted more from life. A family, sure. But was it too late?
A pickle. He was in a pickle.
Stay in Louisville and try to meet a new woman who would be willing to start a family with someone north of forty. Or: pick a small town and settle for a lonesome existence that would at least provide the community he’d missed for so long.
A knock came at the door. Rhett threw the covers back and, without thinking, strode to answer it.
No peephole in the door and no chain lock, so Rhett cracked it at first. Through the slit, peering tiredly into the darkness of his guest room stood Maggie.
Of course.
“Is everything okay?” he asked in hushed tones, glancing behind her down the hall.
Qu
ickly, she averted her eyes. “I’m so sorry. Did I wake you?”
“No, no. Come in.” He gestured her in and opened the door wider, but she froze in place, staring off to the right.
Rhett realized he was standing there almost naked. Laughing, he let the door fall shut somewhat. “Oh, jeez. I’m sorry. I’m used to—”
“Being naked?” she joked back, finally meeting his gaze, her hand catching the door and holding it for him.
He pulled it open wider. “Hang on,” he told her, turning to find his jeans and tug them on.
Maggie let out a breath and entered his room, her arms crossed over her chest, shoulders hunched. “I’m so sorry. Really, I can go back.”
“Oh, please. I could use the company. Can’t sleep.”
She nodded. “Same here.”
“Want to talk about it?” he asked, sitting on his bed and patting the small space next to him.
“Not much to say,” she admitted, easing herself down. They sat there, together, in silence for some time, until Maggie’s weight shifted. Subtly. Comfortably. She cleared her throat. “I still can’t get in touch with him.”
Rhett’s heart skipped a beat. He felt silly. Like a teenager again. A jealous teenager with a boyhood crush that would never resolve. He inched away. “Do you think he’s still in town?”
“No, I don’t. Someone would call me. It’s Hickory Grove,” she reasoned.
He nodded. “Do you think he’ll come back?”
“No.”
Again, silence.
Finally, Rhett asked, “Do you want him to?”
Maggie squeezed her eyes shut, but still a lone tear pushed its way out and down her cheek. Rhett was torn between keeping up the facade of decency and giving in to being a friend. Or more.
Her mouth stretched and she pushed the heels of her hands to her eyes, and the moment passed.
And in that moment, Rhett realized that the facade of decency was nothing more than a sheet of armor, protecting him from admitting that he had never stopped loving Maggie Devereux.
He swallowed hard, searching for the right thing to say. The good thing.
But it never came.
And soon enough, she rose and told him goodnight.
Dedicated to preserving what was left of that armor, he simply replied in kind, and locked his door.
Chapter 16 — Gretchen
The next morning, Gretchen woke up to a phone swollen with missed phone calls and text messages. The phone calls were all from Miss Becky. The texts, from Theo.
Carefully, without stirring Briar, she twisted under the covers and took to answering his many questions.
Yes, they were fine. Safe. No, they didn’t need his help. Yes, she promised to call him if they did need his help.
But all that was for naught when, an hour later, a loud rap came at the door.
Standing just beyond it, was not, in fact, her mother clad in yesterday’s outfit bringing over crusty bagels.
It was Theo himself. Tall, sinewy-limbed, dark-haired Theodore Linden. With two boxes of doughnuts teetering on one hand and a cardboard coffee carafe dangling from the other. “My mom is in your mom’s room. She said I could come here first,” he told Gretchen as she opened the door and waved him in.
The eighteen-year-old girl felt naked in her oversized t-shirt and threadbare boxer shorts—an old pair of her father’s which now felt somehow meaningful and morbid all at once.
She had never stood in front of Theo without at least a smear of lip gloss and a coat of mascara.
This was a first in their friendship. Him seeing her like this. Jean-less. Makeup-less.
Homeless.
“How are you?” he asked, his face earnest. Underneath the boyishness of the college freshman there was something about Theo that was decidedly... manly. Gretchen wondered how that happened. How and when, exactly, a boy started to take the shape of a man.
Because even in her own father such a quality always seemed absent.
“Tired,” Gretchen answered, pointing surreptitiously toward Briar who was now awake and doodling with focus on the back of an envelope Maggie had given her.
“Hi Briar,” Theo offered the little girl. She pretended to ignore him, but a teensy smile curled up the edges of her pink mouth.
Gretchen rolled her eyes. “She’s in love with you.”
The Engels had only met Theo in the fall, but from there, he and Gretchen hit it off. As friends. Strictly.
He’d visited their house a few times and frequented Mally’s whenever he knew Gretchen was working. They texted almost constantly.
But he’d be returning to Notre Dame in less than a week now. It was a better life for him, no doubt. Academia and heavy textbooks. Good instructors and a strong school parish. Little Flock was the only church Gretchen had ever known, but she hadn’t known it much. Her parents rarely dragged everyone to mass. Though every last one of the Engel kids was baptized. That had never been negotiable. It was the one tradition Maggie had stood by no matter how little Travis had to do with it.
And Gretchen always clung to that early spiritual rite. It gave her something more than what she had. Something deeper. Intangible, perhaps. But there.
Currently, it struck her that she had no idea whether Theo was baptized. Not that it would matter. Would it? She shook her head.
“Thanks for the doughnuts,” she offered, taking a glazed one to Briar before selecting a cinnamon twist for herself.
“No problem. Eat as much as you want,” he added meaningfully as he stood there, boxes still awkwardly resting on his forearm. Theo’s bicep twitched above the coffee box, and Gretchen chuckled.
“We’re not starving,” she said. “Yet,” she added for comic effect, but Theo didn’t laugh.
He searched the room for a spot to set the coffee, but there was none.
“Here, I’ll take that.” Gretchen reached for the cardboard handle. Her fingers brushed against his, and he fumbled to pass it over.
Once she positioned it carefully on the bed, she offered him a seat on the chair next to the window. Suddenly, the room felt a little less like a jail cell and a little more like the bed-and-breakfast it was advertised as. Speaking of which, it occurred to her that the owners might be serving a delicious breakfast just then, as she was chewing into a pastry.
Oh well. She’d rather have Theo’s treat anyway.
“You know, Gretchen,” he started, glancing furtively toward the distracted child on the bed. “You’re crazy not to stay with us. It could be... fun. To have you there.”
Gretchen blinked. Her joke from before disappeared and with it any humor. And at last, grief fell over her. A powerful, humiliating grief. Never in her life had she been reliant on handouts. Her parents had provided well for them, and neither Gretchen nor her siblings had ever wanted for anything. All that, perhaps, added to her mortification at Theo’s innocent and kind offer. Uncomfortable, she stood from her seat on the bed. “Thanks again, Theo. I’m sure the boys are starving. Why don’t you take the doughnuts over to them?”
Embarrassed too, Theo rose and nodded urgently. “Right, sure. Sorry, I’ll go.”
And, he did.
Gretchen strode to the bathroom, tore off a length of toilet paper, wrapped the rest of her doughnut in it and tossed the whole sticky mess into the trash. Then she rummaged into her makeup bag until she found her mascara and proceeded to add four thick, black layers.
Chapter 17 — Maggie
One night at the Inn wasn’t enough to convince Maggie to stay with Becky. Even if they were cramped together in two tiny rooms. Her pride was still too great.
And now, the little group of five had an out. A place.
Maybe... a home.
It was too soon to tell, and Becky had to go to work.
Theo disappeared on them after dropping the doughnuts off, and Gretchen began to pout, curiously enough. Especially when Rhett Houston appeared in front of Maggie’s room soon after Becky and Theo had left.
&nb
sp; “It’s Mr. Houston,” Gretchen called back to her mother, who was five minutes into the luke-warmest shower of her life.
Despite the distinctly uncomfortable feeling of a shower that was far too short of steaming hot, Maggie’s anxiety had ebbed that morning, what with the second offer of a place to stay and the reassurance that she had something to do that day. Namely, learn more about this supposed farmhouse.
She killed the water, dabbed her skin dry, and pulled on a fresh pair of yoga pants and a thermal sweater before popping her head out to discover Rhett was not inside the room but rather out waiting in the hall.
“You four get dressed and ready. We’re leaving in about five minutes,” she directed, aiming her phone at Briar who couldn’t seem to resist the box of paperwork.
“Hey,” Maggie said to Rhett, whose tall frame leaned into the wall.
“Hey,” he replied, combing his hand through his hair. “Sorry to interrupt you all, but I just wanted to check in on you. And,” he began, searching for his next sentence.
Maggie found it for him. “You want your truck back.”
His lips formed a line, half smile and half apology. “Yep.”
“I already called Gunner this morning. He’s going to open the shop without Travis. Your truck should be done by the afternoon.” She smiled at Rhett, whose face lit up.
“Thank you so much, Maggie,” he replied earnestly. “I really didn’t want to ride in a tow truck down the Ohio back to the city.
“I don’t blame you,” she answered. “And, Rhett, I am so sorry it even came to this.” She gestured around herself at the bed-and-breakfast.
Rhett pushed off the wall and shoved his hands in his jeans pockets, then faced her fully, his face impassive, his voice quiet. “I’m not.”
The Farmhouse Page 6
