Chapter 18 — Rhett
Maggie invited him along to the farmhouse, and Rhett wanted to go. Firstly, because he was curious about this mystery locale, tucked away in the woods off of County Road 131. Secondly, because he didn’t want to not be around Maggie.
Rhett Houston had come to Hickory Grove with a goal to reconnect with his past. And here she was. In the hotel room next to his.
Letting his one true friend from high school slip back through his fingers would be criminal, really.
But there was Emma. And Travis. And that veneer of decency that only thickened as the drama intensified.
Anyway, none of this was about romance. Romance was the furthest thing from Rhett’s mind. It was about spending time with people he cared about. And Rhett never had stopped caring about Maggie Devereux. Even if she became Maggie Engel.
Even if she always stayed that way.
However, he was a good man first and foremost. So, when Maggie and the kids were scrambling down the stairs ahead of him, he made his decision.
And it would mean that once his tire was changed, he wouldn’t stick around Hickory Grove one minute longer.
“WHERE ARE YOU?” EMMA’S voice hissed across the line, and Rhett wondered if she’d somehow tracked him to the outer edge of Hickory Grove. She sounded close. And cold. The contradiction wasn’t lost on him.
He’d stepped away to take the phone call, which killed him as Maggie and the kids spilled out of the SUV and stood on the corner of the woods, facing a creaking, sprawling property the likes of which Rhett could hardly have imagined.
“Emma, I’m with an old friend. Maggie Devereux. Dirk’s sister, remember?”
His girlfriend snarled into his ear, “You didn’t do the dishes yesterday. Did you get my text?”
Rhett cringed. “I’m sorry. I—you’re right.” He did feel a little bad. The one job he had was to empty the dishwasher, an irritating task at best. A fight-inducing task at worst. And a fragile, failing relationship was the exact context for the worst.
“When are you coming home?” Emma’s voice softened, but not enough.
“Truck’ll be done this afternoon. I’m helping Maggie with something while I wait.”
“I’m having the girls over tonight for Bunco; don’t forget. Which is why I needed you to do the dishes. I’m not nagging you, Rhett.”
Rhett eyed the Engel family as they slowly ascended on the property. “I know, and I’m sorry. I’ll be home as soon as I can. I promise.”
Emma pushed a huff through the phone. “Well, actually, we were hoping to have the place to ourselves.”
“For Bunco?” Rhett asked, ever confused by the life of a thirty-something who’d never married or had children. The life of his own girlfriend. A girlfriend he had never had the desire to, well, marry or have children with. “Listen, I am coming back tonight, because you and I need to talk. Okay?”
“On Bunco night? Wait a minute, wait a minute. Are you... are you going to break up with me?”
Rhett felt his heart stop at the suggestion, and it was only then that he realized that, yes. He was. But certainly not over the phone. And probably not during Bunco night.
“Actually, this is perfect. Wow, this is so totally perfect, Rhett.” Her voice grew louder. “I’m done. I’m so totally done. You want to break up? You win. I’m done. I’ll pack your closet tomorrow. Don’t bother to come home. No reason.”
A click concluded the call, and Rhett figured he had no say. But it was just as well. After all, he had no interest in crashing a Bunco party.
And he certainly had no interest in seeing Emma ever again.
A wave of relief washed over him, breaking up the knots in his neck, assuaging his upset stomach. His spine miraculously straightened. Though he felt not an ounce of guilt or displeasure, Rhett wondered if he ought to.
But then his eyes fell on Maggie. Her blonde-streaked hair whipped across her face, revealing the red underneath, as she turned from the foot of the front deck to search for him. Briar spotted him first and waved wildly with the passion and innocence of a little girl who grew up in a small town. His small town. And then Rhett wished so badly that the Houston family land was still available. Because if it were, he’d start building a house that very night. He’d lay down his roots right then and there.
It wasn’t, though. And Rhett realized that soon enough he’d have to move into one of his rentals in Louisville. Start over. Make the right decisions this time.
No more younger women.
No more property flips.
It was time for Rhett Houston to get serious about his future. If he wanted a family, if he wanted what Maggie Engel had, no matter how she came about it, he’d better get to work.
Chapter 19 — Maggie
Maggie spied Rhett shove his phone into his jeans and stride toward her, albeit slowly. He took in the house just as she had moments ago. Part of her wished Becky was here. Or Fern. Dirk. Someone she was close with to share in this jaw-dropping moment.
The first jaw-dropping moment she’d had ever since she found out she was pregnant with Gretchen.
But when Rhett grew nearer and she could make out the expression on his face—the warmth... the awe... the happiness for her, she felt better. As though she had the exact right person at that moment. Apparently, it didn’t matter that he’d been gone for so long. Apparently, theirs was a genuine friendship that had withstood the test of time. Among other things.
“Maggie, wow. How did we miss this place?”
Briar wriggled loose and begged her mom to go wander inside with her older siblings. Maggie grabbed Briar’s hand before she slipped away. “Not alone,” she answered before hollering for Ky to come and escort his little sister on her adventure through the ramshackle house. “Watch out for nails,” she called after them.
Rhett added, “And loose floorboards.” Maggie smiled at him gratefully. “Don’t you want to go in?” he asked.
She shook her head. “I need to stand here for a minute. Figure out the answer to your question and take it all in. You know?”
He nodded by her side.
They were quiet for a few beats. A patient quiet. If it were Travis standing with Maggie, he’d rush her through a cursory inspection then ask if they could go eat lunch. He was like a child, really. Only now, in the presence of a real man, did Maggie recognize that.
Staring up at the house, she realized it seemed bigger from the road. Back there, the faded wood siding appeared to disappear into the trees behind it. Now, as she stood at the foot of the front deck—a sizable front deck for the time period, no doubt—she realized the place was probably smaller than her current (or rather, former) home. That might be a good thing.
The exterior, at one time, had to have been white. Now pale gray, splotches of discoloration spread from between the second-story windows and the corners where the walls met each other at almost-but-not-quite-perfect ninety-degree angles. No railing existed on the edges of the deck, which gave a sort of looming effect to the whole thing.
Weeds and trees grew into the house, shielding it from the highway and even from its own road. No drive or path had been apparent when Maggie stumbled across a wooden pole that once might have held a mailbox. That, coupled with the general area, was her only clue that she might find what she was looking for.
And so they had. Found what they were looking for, that was.
“When did your aunt live here?” Rhett asked, stepping away to size up a barn that sat sinking directly into the earth off behind the house.
Maggie shook her head as she thought about the answer. “Not during my lifetime. It wasn’t my aunt’s, actually,” she said. “It was my grandparents’. And their parents before, if you can believe that.”
Rhett strode back to her and climbed the steps. He held his hand out to support her as she took cautious steps up. The wood sagged beneath their combined weight, and she squeezed his hand out of necessity.
He squeezed back.
Maggie’s heart pounded in her chest. The farmhouse. The circumstances. Her hand in Rhett’s.
It was too much. Once they reached the front door, she softly tugged herself free of him, crossing her arms over her chest to brace against a whipping wind that came out of nowhere.
Rhett stuck his hands in his pockets and peered in through the gaping door, unfazed by the moment they’d just shared. “I just can’t believe this place hasn’t been tagged to oblivion. Or that no one has been living out here. Maybe they have.”
At that, Maggie’s heart raced yet again. Suddenly panicked, she cried out, “Gretchen! Dakota! Ky! Get back here now!”
The four kids scrambled around the side of the house, panting with excitement. “This place is amazing, Mom,” Gretchen gushed as though she were closer to Ky’s age. The other three nodded with exaggeration by her side.
“Okay, well, just be careful, alright? Stay together. We don’t know what’s going on here.”
The kids agreed and ambled off again, leaving Maggie and Rhett to enter the house, at last.
Maggie wasn’t much for sentimentality, but something told her to savor the experience. After all, the more time she spent there, assessing the property and studying the project, the less time she had to worry about her undelivered divorce paperwork. Or where her husband was. Or what was becoming of the only other house she’d ever known.
Rhett stayed to the far side of the front door, allowing Maggie to enter first.
The inside was, surprisingly, in better shape than the outside.
Rotted and withered in some spots, sure, but better.
The front door opened into a narrow foyer with a staircase to the second floor. Hardwood peaked out beneath worn-down rubbery squares. Maggie tapped her foot on the dusty white. “Linoleum?” she asked Rhett.
He shrugged. “Maybe your grandparents had it updated?”
At that, they both chuckled. “Easy to keep up, I guess,” she murmured, turning left into what must have been a parlor or living room. Maybe both. Early Hickory Grove settlers who’d arrived by way of France likely struggled to strike a balance between pragmatism and old-country opulence.
What surprised her was the in-tactness of it all. It was like a movie. A haunted-house movie. Sheets and plastic draped over the low-profile furniture. As she lifted the dry-rot plastic, Maggie detected one sofa and two sitting chairs. On the floor between them spanned a rug, which had largely dissolved, though due to what elements was unclear. For a snowy few days, the interior of the house felt dry and preserved. Much like a tomb. Chilly, yes, but dry.
It reminded her of Marguerite, and she shuddered.
“I wonder why Dirk didn’t put up a fight for this place,” Maggie mused aloud.
Rhett, who’d wandered off in the opposite direction, called her over to a back room.
Maggie passed through a second doorway and found him in a tight dining room space.
Missing from the boxy area was a table, but four weathered dining chairs lined the far wall, as if waiting for a party. Through the far doorway of that space was the kitchen.
She swallowed and tried to quell her nervous energy as she entered the kitchen. With a good vacuuming and a few coats of wax, it would be something out of a modern-day catalogue, meant to convince an upper-middle-class family that down-home chic was still in.
A once-white apron sink sat squarely along the back wall in the center of a wooden countertop. At the far side, a shapely Frigidaire taunted Maggie. Reading her mind, Rhett tried to open it, but it was stuck shut, as though the rubber seal had melted into glue. “I can pull harder, but I’m afraid I’ll...”
His voice trailed off, and their attention turned to a pot-bellied stove on the adjacent wall. On top, a cast-iron pan, rusted over entirely.
“I can’t get over it,” Maggie whispered. “It’s like a museum or something.”
Something dawned on her. “Hold on,” she said to Rhett. “If anyone knows anything about this place and why it’s just sitting here, preserved like a mummy, it’ll be Fern.”
Rhett asked, “Are you talking about Fern Monroe?” His eyes grew wide. He remembered her, apparently. The odd girl who’d been homeschooled. The one who seemed fifty years older than them while they were children. She wasn’t even five years older, in fact.
“Yeah,” Maggie answered, her phone to her ear.
Fern answered after the first ring. “Maggie, are you okay?”
“Yes, I’m fine. Fern, listen. I have a big question for you. Huge, really. There’s a lot to explain, but basically, did you know about my family’s farmhouse out on County Road 131? The old Devereux place, apparently?”
Fern sighed before launching into a long, winding story. Maggie signaled to Rhett that he could go look around as she settled in to listen.
Chapter 20 — Gretchen
“What did she say?” Gretchen asked Maggie. They had all gathered in the kitchen. Briar and Gretchen had just finished examining the upstairs. Three bedrooms. Small, but still. One bathroom—or at least, that’s what she assumed it was meant to be. There was no toilet, and Gretchen found it hard to believe that a house with linoleum floors and a refrigerator didn’t have indoor plumbing.
Then again, Dakota was swearing up and down he found an outhouse. “A real, live outhouse! With a padlock!”
“Yeah,” Ky chimed in. “The barn was locked too. I couldn’t even see inside.” Sadness filled his voice, almost suddenly, before he went on. “Dad could probably break the lock. Let’s try calling him again.”
Their mom offered a sympathetic smile and scruffed Ky’s hair. “We’ll call him again. I promise.”
“Mom,” Gretchen pressed, attempting both to garner more information from Miss Fern and also to distract her brother. “What did Miss Fern say?”
Gretchen saw Rhett inch toward her mom, and it made her feel queasy. The whole thing was nauseating—getting booted from their home, her useless father running off, a sleepless night in a hotel room, meeting this stranger who acted like he was best friends with her mother. She tried to ignore their proximity as Maggie began to share.
The farmhouse was vacated just months before Maggie was born. All of the Devereuxs lived there. Mimi and Papa Devereux, Camille (Maggie’s mother) and Marguerite, too. Then, one day, just months before the twins were born, something happened, Miss Fern said. According to Mrs. Monroe, Miss Fern’s mother, the Devereuxs sent Camille to a boarding house for young ladies. Marguerite stayed behind, but then something else happened, and they put the farmhouse up for sale.
Hickory Grove being what it was—no one made an offer. Months passed, and during that time, Mimi and Papa slowly sold off their livestock. Papa took a position as custodian at Hickory Grove High. Mimi took up work at the seamstress’ house, teaching and training Marguerite as her replacement when Marguerite wasn’t caring for her dead sister’s newborn twins.
“So what happened to your mom?” Gretchen asked Maggie, saddened to hear the strange story, and curious about why the family would give up a perfectly good farm. Even in the wake of their daughter’s untimely death.
Much to everyone’s shock, Maggie’s eyes teared up and her mouth stretched into the beginnings of a sob. Alarmed, Gretchen crossed to her mother and wrapped her in a hug.
Rhett stood nearby, awkwardly patting Maggie’s back.
Briar burst out wailing. Ky choked up. Dakota muttered under his breath that he’d rather be at school after all.
Everyone sort of gave Maggie a moment to recover. Her chest still heaving, she covered her mouth with her hand and tried to continue. “I never spoke about it, because they never told us. I didn’t even know. I can’t believe I didn’t know. They never told us,” she began.
Gretchen frowned. “Who never told you? Never told you what?”
“No one told us, but I always figured it might be the case,” their mom answered, shuddering through the tail end of her flash sob session.
“About your mom, you mean?” Rhett pinned
Gretchen’s mother with a sympathetic stare, and it seemed to work.
“She went into labor at the boarding house. The nuns weren’t prepared. It happened fast. First Dirk. Then me. She didn’t run away like I thought. She gave birth to us. Then...”
“What, Mom?” Gretchen asked, grabbing the woman’s writhing hands and squeezing them together in place to quiet her. “Then what?”
Calmly staring through the children, her gaze fixed on nothing, Maggie whispered her reply. “She didn’t make it. My mom died. Right there in that boarding house across the river. She died.”
Chapter 21 — Rhett
Rhett’s parents were dead, too. And they were young, too. But nothing quite as dramatic as Maggie’s situation. His mother had cancer. Twice. That she beat it the first time set their expectations too high for round two.
His father had a heart attack just weeks after his wife’s funeral. A shock to him and everyone. No matter how many times a person beat cancer, her death would always be hard. They always were.
Death was like that. Traumatic. Something you never recovered from. Losing a loved one grew easier with time, sure. But it left a little hole in your heart. One that could never be sewn closed with a neat stitch. It was just there. Exposing your insides and turning you vulnerable. Sending a choking feeling to your throat. Giving you a headache or making you cry on a perfectly usual day years later.
So for Maggie to learn about—and then have to relay—her own mother’s death (and the circumstances surrounding it) was difficult to be part of.
But he was there. He was committed. And not because his truck was tied up with some goofball understudy at the garage. Not because Emma broke up with him. Not because he came back to Hickory Grove to head down to the brewery with Luke or Dirk or any other number of old buddies. Not even because he thought he had a claim to some land.
Rhett Houston was there, at that farmhouse, with Maggie and her pitiful children, because it’s where God needed him to be.
The Farmhouse Page 7
