Message in the Sand

by Hannah McKinnon

  Julia hadn’t meant to snap, but her little sister was not talking, barely sleeping, and eating even less. “I’ll make it,” she said, rising.

  Her aunt did not try to stop her. As she went through the fridge, Julia wondered why Candace had come at all. She didn’t know a thing about kids, and she sure didn’t seem to want to learn.

  As Julia cracked two eggs in a bowl and began whisking, Candace brought her teacup to the sink. For a moment Julia wondered if she’d come to help.

  “Julia?” Her aunt’s voice was barely a whisper. “At your next therapy session, I think I ought to come with you.” Until then, their aunt had dropped them off and picked them up at the front door. Not once had she come in.

  “Okay,” Julia said uncertainly. She wondered if it was because of the way she’d just spoken. “Is there something you’re worried about?”

  “Yes. It’s about Pippa’s bed-wetting.”

  Julia let out her breath. “That only happened once.” She retrieved a frying pan from the corner cupboard and lit the range burner farthest away from Candace.

  Candace frowned. “Your mother let you use a gas stove?”

  She looked sideways at her aunt. “Actually, my dad did.”

  If he’d been there, her dad would’ve taken over for her by now. He loved being in the middle of everything. If you were standing at the stove cooking, he’d appear at your side and start snacking on the ingredients. Then he’d hand you a spatula while he started in on a story. Then, before you knew it, he’d crack the eggs for you and take over the pan. It drove their mother nuts and made the girls laugh.

  But there was no threat of that happening from Candace. “Well, Pippa’s too old for bed-wetting. I’m going to ask the therapist to draw up a behavior chart or something.”

  Julia poured the eggs into the pan. “She just needs time.”

  Candace was distracted by the clock on the stove. “Speaking of time, Attorney Banks is coming by. We have meetings all day. I’d appreciate it if you girls kept outdoors as much as possible, so we may work without interruption.”

  Julia’s stomach fluttered at the mention of Mr. Banks. “Is this about my parents’ will?” She’d been wondering when someone was going to get around to telling her what was going on with that. Since Candace’s arrival, the focus had been on getting through each day: enduring the funeral, the onslaught of condolence cards and flowers and dishes of food. Just getting dressed and eating breakfast each morning was sometimes almost impossible. But now there was a growing unease about the future. “You said Mr. Banks was planning to meet with us about the will.”

  Candace hesitated. “Not today. First we’re reviewing paperwork and going over plans for the estate.”

  It was not a real answer. “But what about us? We’re staying here, right?” Julia stared at her aunt for emphasis. “This is our home.”

  Candace sighed as if exasperated. “Yes, this is your home. You needn’t worry about that now. When the time comes, we will all sit down and go over next steps.”

  It was the same vague answer her aunt always gave when Julia asked. Though she knew her parents had left a good deal of money for her and Pippa, Julia couldn’t help but feel uneasy. “When will that time be?” she pressed.

  Her aunt was already heading down the hall toward her father’s office at a brisk pace. “I’ll know more after today’s meeting.”

  Julia turned to see if Pippa had been listening, but she was flipping mindlessly through the magazine their aunt had left on the table.

  “Here, Pips. I made you eggs.” Julia carried a plate over and set it down gently in front of her. “Extra butter, just the way you like them.” Her insides relaxed when Pippa finally took a small bite. Julia sat down and studied her little sister gingerly forking the eggs into her mouth. No matter how long it took, she’d sit with Pippa until the last bite was gone.

  More and more, it was becoming clear that it would be her job to take care of her little sister now. Pippa had never been a bed-wetter. What she needed was some affection, not a stupid behavior chart.

  After breakfast, Julia helped Pippa get dressed and steered her outside, as Candace had requested.

  “There’s nothing to do,” Pippa whined, standing in the middle of the yard with her arms at her sides.

  “Let’s try your bike,” Julia suggested.

  “Too hot.”

  “We could take the fishing poles down to the lake.”

  Pippa sighed and plopped down in the grass. “I only fish with Daddy.”

  Julia tried to keep her expression neutral. It was true; their dad was the one who used to walk them down the side lawn and across the lower field to the lake on weekend mornings. They’d walk out to the edge of the wooden dock where the family’s big red canoe was moored. It was the same one their father had grown up fishing in, he said, and every couple of years, he’d haul it up to one of the main barns and strip it and repaint it the same color of cranberry red. Just thinking of their excursions made Julia smile: she recalled how her dad would kneel at the edge of the dock and steady it for them. The way the canoe rocked from side to side when they stepped down into it, and each time their father would laugh and shake it just a little, to make them squeal. But he never took his hands off the sides, and no one ever fell in.

  “Sometimes Mama would come,” Pippa said softly. “She made peanut butter and jelly.”

  Julia looked at Pippa sympathetically as she tried to come up with something to distract her. “I miss them, too.” Then, “They’d want us to have fun, Pippa. Mommy and Daddy would want you to play. And fish in that canoe.”

  Pippa didn’t say anything but pulled at a stray dandelion in the lawn.

  “Maybe another time,” Julia said, glancing down at the lake. What she would have given to have her license. There were three large lakes in Saybrook. She could take Pippa to the town beach. Maybe try seeing her friends. And Sam. She pulled her phone out of her pocket.

  Sam had messaged her that morning, as he did each day, telling her that he was thinking about her. Asking to meet up by the stream. Or on their rock. Anywhere. She could almost feel the ache in Sam’s message. It was something she ached for, too. It would be so good to talk to him, to have him hold her hand. To feel almost normal for just a few minutes. But then the guilt would come washing back: the fact that it was Sam she’d been with when her parents took their last breaths. That maybe if she’d been home that night, something different might have happened.

  And then there was Pippa. Julia glanced longingly at Sam’s last message and shoved her phone back in her pocket. “Come on, Pip. Let’s go visit Raddy.”

  Wendell’s truck was parked by the barn. Just the sight of the blue Ford filled Julia with a sense of comfort. She used to wonder why he drove an old-model truck, the paint faded across its broad hood. Now she smiled at the familiar dented fender.

  The barn was the one place where Julia felt like things were still the same. It was the only place that offered her a sense of safety. As soon as they stepped inside, Raddy nickered and pricked his ears. “Look, Pip. He’s happy to see you!”

  The smallest smile crept across Pippa’s face. Julia went into the tack room and removed the lid from the grain bin. The sweet smell of molasses filled her nostrils as she reached inside and scooped a few handfuls into a small bucket. “Here, give him this.”

  Pippa hurried over to Raddy’s stall door and held her hand up, palm open. Raddy went hog wild for the sweet grain, and Pippa giggled softly as he ate eagerly from her hand. When some spilled from his lips and down her arm, she let out a little squeal of laughter. “It tickles!”

  Thank God for Raddy, Julia thought as she sank onto a bale of hay and watched them.

  There was a creak in the doorway behind them, and both girls turned. Wendell stood in the open frame, watching them. Julia stood up from the bale of hay, feeling suddenly uncertain.

  Wendell was a quiet person, someone she never could quite figure out. But she was sure of one t
hing: he was a good guy. Her dad had thought so, and she’d seen it herself over all the years he’d worked for her parents. Seeing him now made her eyes fill up inexplicably.

  “Sorry to disturb you. I was just looking for the big green garden rake.” He smiled at them both, looking like he was almost as glad to see them as Julia felt to see him in the barn.

  Julia pointed to the far wall, where a small collection of stall rakes and shovels hung. “It’s over there.”

  But Wendell was distracted by Pippa and Radcliffe. His face lit up as he watched Raddy reach over the stall door and nudge Pippa playfully with his nose, begging for more grain. She giggled and got another handful. “Careful, kiddo. You’ll spoil that horse rotten.” He watched the two a moment longer, and Julia began to wonder if he’d forgotten about the rake. Then Wendell cleared his throat, his expression turning serious. Julia swallowed hard, sensing what might come next.

  “Girls, I want you to know I’m really sorry about your mom and dad. What happened to them, and to you, is just so unfair.”

  Julia glanced quickly at Pippa, who’d gone still, her hand extended over her head. Julia let her gaze drift to the doorway and to the bright green morning outside, considering what Wendell had just said. “Unfair” was the first word someone had used to describe her parents’ deaths that made any sense to her.

  “They were such good people, and I…” Wendell paused and swiped at his eyes. To her shock, Julia realized it was tears. “I miss them, too.”

  Julia nodded, forcing back her own tears. It was all such an unexpected demonstration from the Wendell she was used to that she didn’t quite know what to say. “Thank you,” she said finally.

  Thankfully, he relieved them of the moment. “Well, I’ll let you get back to fattening that horse up. I have to head up to the house to meet your aunt.”

  This got Julia’s attention. “What for?”

  Wendell shrugged. “About my work on the estate, I think.”

  “Are you sure it’s today? She’s already meeting with our family lawyer.”

  “Yes, Mr. Banks. She mentioned that.”

  Julia’s eyes narrowed. “That’s weird. She won’t let us meet with him, but she’s invited you?”

  Behind them, Pippa gasped. Wendell and Julia swiveled to face her at the same time.

  “Are you being fired?” Pippa’s voice was small, but she’d spoken. Julia couldn’t believe it.

  Wendell smiled softly. “I sure hope not, kiddo.”

  “She can’t fire him,” Julia assured her. “Can you imagine her trying to mow the fields? Or muck the stall?”

  This caused Pippa to giggle, so Julia went on. “Besides, we wouldn’t let her fire him.” She could feel Wendell’s eyes on her.

  “Well, I’d best get up to that meeting,” he said. “You girls enjoy the day.”

  Julia watched Wendell stroll down the path to the big barn. What a surprise adults could be. But what was more of a surprise was how Pippa had talked to him. “Hey, Pips, do you like Wendell?”

  Pippa was busy scooping grain into her hands. “ ’Course.”

  Julia waited ten minutes. By then Raddy had eaten his fill of grain, and she was almost certain Wendell would have been invited in and the adults would be retired to her father’s office. “Let’s go up to the house,” she said. “I need to use the bathroom.”

  “I like it out here,” Pippa said.

  “Raddy’s had enough. Wendell’s right, you will make him fat. We don’t want him getting a bellyache. C’mon. We can play Barbies.”

  “Really?” Pippa’s eyes grew wild with excitement. The promise of playing Barbie was Julia’s golden ticket, and it worked like magic every time. It was something the sisters used to do together years ago. Desperate for a playmate, Julia would sometimes allow Pippa to join her in the playroom, but inevitably, she’d get annoyed because Pippa would strip all the dolls naked and mess up the DreamHouse she’d arranged just so. It didn’t last long; because of their age difference, by the time Pippa was old enough to appreciate the DreamHouse, Julia had outgrown it. But that didn’t mean Pippa didn’t occasionally beg her to play. As such, Julia reserved it for dire circumstances.

  “Yes,” Julia agreed. “If you play Barbies very quietly up in your room—and promise not to come downstairs—I will play with you. But first I have to take care of something.”

  Pippa was already halfway to the door. “Let’s go!”

  * * *

  Back in the house, Julia set Pippa up in her bedroom with the pink DreamHouse, a bowl of crackers, and a glass of apple juice. “I’ll be right back,” she promised.

  Pippa jumped up and put her hands on her hips. “Hey, no fair. You said you’d play, too.”

  “I will, I will. But I have to do something downstairs first. Promise you’ll play quietly up here, okay?”

  Pippa scowled. “You better come right back.”

  Julia put her finger to her lips. “Before you know it!”

  Downstairs, she crept through the kitchen and down the hall to her father’s study. How many times had she burst into that room to ask a question, share a story, show him a blue jay’s feather she’d found by the lake? Now, crouching outside his closed door, she missed him more than ever.

  Muffled voices came from inside the study, and she knelt, listening.

  Mr. Banks had a deep voice. “I understand your concerns, Ms. Lancaster. Which is why I’ve drafted this contract as per our previous conversation.”

  Julia pressed her ear gently to the door to hear Candace, whose voice was much softer. “Good. Please show Mr. Combs where we’ve made provisions for his bonus.”

  Mr. Banks spoke softly so that Julia couldn’t hear all of it, but she caught the tail end. “Ms. Lancaster proposed a bonus of fifty thousand dollars in addition to your annual salary to tide you over once the place is sold.”

  Sold? Julia sat up.

  There was a long pause.

  At first Julia wasn’t sure if Wendell was in there. Perhaps they hadn’t invited him into the meeting yet. She glanced nervously down the hall behind her.

  Then, “Well, Mr. Combs? Can we count on your discretion?” It was Candace talking. “Saybrook is a very small community. We don’t want word of our plans getting out before the property is listed.”

  Julia’s heart began to pound. Her father owned several properties in town, from the small shopping center in the village to the gas station. There was no need to panic, she told herself. No one had said anything about White Pines. She leaned closer to the door, straining to hear more.

  Finally, Wendell spoke. “As I said before, my word is good, Ms. Lancaster. But I do have one question.”

  “Yes?” Candace’s tone was impatient.

  Wendell’s was full of concern. “When will you tell the children?”

  Thirteen Wendell

  Since the moment Candace had asked him to attend, the meeting with the family attorney had weighed on him. So much so that the night before, he’d had the strangest dream about it. In the dream, Candace called and said he needed to come to White Pines immediately for an urgent matter. Fearing something terrible, he hopped in his truck with Trudy. Upon his arrival, the sky grew dark and clouds tumbled overhead. No sooner had he run up the front steps than the front door swung open. Candace met him on the threshold. “Hurry inside,” she whispered, glancing up at the stormy sky. Wordlessly, Wendell trailed her to the rear of the house and down a long dark hallway until they reached a closed door at the very end. She beckoned him through it. Inside, the office was dimly lit, the walls paneled in rich mahogany. Seated behind a large antique desk, an older gentleman looked up at them over his spectacles. Imposing shelves of books lined the walls behind him. Wendell stepped inside, and the door shut behind him.

  The man gestured to a ladder-back chair. “Sit.” Then he pushed a thick manila folder across the desk.

  Hesitantly, Wendell opened the file to find a stack of loose-leaf papers. White Pines was typed in boldfa
ce across the cover sheet. Wendell thumbed through the pages behind it, all of them blank. When he looked up, the man was gone. Candace sat in his place. “It’s yours,” she said.

  “All of it?”

  She nodded and handed him a brass key. It was small and tarnished, with a fancy scrolled handle.

  Then she escorted him out of the office, back down the hall, and to the front door. This time she stepped through it. “Good luck,” she said without looking back.

  “Wait!” Wendell followed her outside. The sky had cleared, and the sun spilled through. He scanned the bucolic view that unrolled before him: the barns at the bottom of the drive. The silvery span of lake to the west. The shadow of woods behind it. He stood blinking on the front steps as Candace disappeared down the driveway.

  When he turned back to the house, the door had shut. Wendell tried the handle, but it was locked. At first Wendell panicked. But then he remembered the key. Carefully, he slid it into the lock. There was the slightest click. He was just about to turn the key when he awoke.

  All day leading up to the meeting, the dream had stayed with him. It was ridiculous, of course. White Pines would never be bequeathed to him. There were Julia and Pippa. And Candace. Knowing Alan, there was just as much chance he’d leave his worth to charity. There was no way on earth Wendell factored in to any of it.

  And that was fine with him, as long as he kept his job. These days, it was the only place where Wendell felt any sense of peace in his own skin. The veteran who’d returned from his tour with the National Guard may have looked and sounded the same, but the old Wendell Combs was long gone. Without White Pines, he could not imagine what he would do.

  Finally, four o’clock came, and as Wendell knocked on the front door, he tried to push the strange dream from his mind.

  The door opened almost immediately. “Ah, right on time,” Candace said. “We’re meeting in Alan’s office. Follow me.”

  Wendell and Alan had always held their meetings on-site: outdoors in the fields, or along the lake, or inside one of the barns. Never before had he been inside Alan’s office, and as he entered, he allowed his gaze to wander discreetly. It was not the dark mahogany-paneled room he’d dreamed. Rather, it was light-filled and airy, with vaulted ceilings. A scrolled circular metal staircase led up to a small loft at the far end of the room, flanked by windows. A cozy nook, he thought, imagining the Lancaster girls. There were built-in bookcases along the wall beneath, and floor-to-ceiling windows along the adjacent wall, filling the room with the outdoors. Candace directed him to two leather armchairs seated across from a chesterfield sofa, where a middle-aged gentleman stood from his seat. “Geoffrey, this is Wendell Combs, our property manager.” The two men shook hands. Wendell appreciated his strong grip and easy smile. Candace took a seat in the armchair adjacent to Wendell’s. “Well, shall we get down to business?”