Ladd Springs

by Dianne Venetta

  Chapter Three

  Unsettled by Clem’s sudden shift, Delaney returned to her hillside cabin. Located behind the main house, her small home was situated on the ridge about twenty yards up, tucked away within a cluster of trees and rocks. It was accessible only by a narrow, winding trail—a steep path which she climbed with ease. Ease, because she’d been hiking it for years. Upon reaching the top, she was only mildly winded and closed the distance to the tidy hideaway that once belonged to her mother.

  Built from roughhewn logs secured together by thick swaths of cement, it was square in shape, single story with a tiny loft. It was precariously perched on the mountain’s edge, built for her by Uncle Ernie and Albert during high school. They dubbed it her private little corner of heaven, even screened the front porch to keep the bugs away. Tears pricked at the memory. It was her mother’s special place, the safe haven she sought when she needed to get away from the stress of life, the demands of family, the gruff presence of her father. Grandpa Ladd was no different from Ernie in that both were thorny by nature, the elder compounding trouble when he drank, swelling his heart with anger and his mouth with obscenity. Delaney remembered bits and pieces of his rage from her own childhood, but it was the tales Uncle Albert told that set her heart on fire. Not only was Grandpa Ladd’s heart hard as rock, but his hand was swift with a belt, whipping the boys on a regular basis. Knowing them as she did now, Delaney could understand they might have deserved some of it, at least on occasion. But her mother?

  The bastard even took the leather strap to her. Delaney grabbed a sanded smooth railing, kicking her boots hard against the top porch step to remove as much dirt as she could.

  Thinking back, Delaney couldn’t imagine her mom enduring anything so brutal, yet she never once mentioned it, never once spoke a cross word against her father. Granted her mom didn’t speak many kind words either, but from what Delaney had learned, the man deserved a tongue lashing and then some. Checking her boots, she grunted. The stuff stuck like glue, more a mix of wet dirt and heavy clay. Nothing short of scrubbing the boots clean or soaking them in the creek would do the trick, but she kicked off as much as she could.

  Whatever. She jogged up the steps. None of it would see the inside of the cabin. Delaney had a rule against shoes in the house, same as her mother before her. Stopping at the engraved glass front door—the glass panel an antique she picked up at a local junkyard—Delaney tugged her boots free and set them alongside the welcome mat. Felicity could sweep the rest of it off the porch this evening, once she returned from her visit with Ernie.

  Carrying her gun inside, she indulged in the smooth wood floors beneath her socked feet. Turning on the chandelier, a petite wrought iron piece she’d picked up at an antique store in town, she breathed easy. Coming home was like stepping into another world, a world free of trouble and stress, where she could unplug and get back to the basics of living. Like food. The bag of fresh okra in her refrigerator promised a delicious addition to her fried chicken tonight. Her energy pitched and heaved in a sudden wave of exhaustion, but she had to hurry. Felicity would be home shortly and she needed to get dinner started.

  An hour later, Delaney reached into the oven and pulled the tray of cornbread from the oven, the sweet scent of corn billowing in a hot cloud around her face. At the sound of scuffling on the porch deck, she turned to see her daughter’s slender figure through the glass.

  Within seconds, Felicity let herself in, her pink socks stark against the wood floors as she breezed indoors. “Smells good in here.”

  “Best air freshener known to man,” Delaney replied, bumping the oven door closed with her knee, placing the pan of golden bread loaves on the waiting quilted pad. The fried chicken was cooling on a platter lined with paper towels and covered with foil while the okra continued to sizzle stovetop in a cast iron pan.

  “You won’t hear any complaints from me.” Easing the backpack from her shoulder, Felicity set it down beside the leather sofa and joined her mother in the kitchen. “I’m hungry.”

  “Good. I made extra. Thought you could take a few with you for Ernie.”

  She nodded. “He loves your cornbread.”

  But never said a word to her about it. Not once, not ever, not so much as a thank you. He reserved compliments for one person only. Felicity. Delaney considered her child. From her delicate features and soft-spoken manner to the tender shade of strawberry blonde hair currently pulled back into a ponytail, Felicity reminded Ernie of his sister Susannah. Not only was she the spitting image, she treated him with the same gentle affection, despite his carrying on. Delaney lightly pinched Felicity’s chin. “He’s lucky to have you.”

  She waved off the praise. “He’s not so bad. And he gives me an opportunity to practice. Let’s me play anything I want.”

  “Because everything you play is beautiful.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Mom.”

  It was a ritual Felicity had begun less than a year ago, but one Ernie now lived for. Each and every night, she sat and played her flute for him. Soft and serene, like a beast lulled to submission, he sat and listened to her play. Song after song, she practiced her craft. Fluting was Felicity’s passion. One day, she hoped to play professionally as part of an orchestra, but that was only a dream. Her grades were good, earning her a partial scholarship, but it only covered the first year. Delaney’s fear was that she wouldn’t be able to afford the next three.

  “Don’t ‘mom’ me. It’s true. You need to further your training, and why he doesn’t see that is beyond me. We need title to the property so we can sign on for the logging before they go elsewhere.”

  Felicity’s hazel gaze clouded. “Are you sure that won’t ruin the land?”

  Delaney wiped her palms against the white cotton apron tied at her waist. “You won’t even notice. They want to work the north side of the property. A patch of about a hundred acres. We’ll never see them.”

  Felicity sank to a barstool. “A hundred seems so much...”

  “Clearing the forest is good for the land,” Delaney told her. “The trees will grow back and we’ll have plenty enough money to pay the property taxes and your tuition.”

  “Maybe I shouldn’t go to UT. It’s causing so much trouble—”

  Delaney held up a stiff hand. “I don’t ever want to hear those words come out of your mouth again. You’re going. That’s final.”

  Felicity’s small mouth closed as instructed, but the hint of frown upset Delaney. Her daughter should not feel guilty about getting an education. She shouldn’t be dragged into the mess of Ernie’s foul disposition, nor should she have to endure threats from a complete stranger. Nick Harris’s image formed in her mind. While the man seemed nice enough, looked nice enough—nicer than anyone would ever hear her admit to—he did not have her daughter’s best interests at heart. He wanted this land for himself, for his hotel. Delaney needed it for her family, her daughter’s future. The two were incompatible goals.

  Delaney brushed the stressful thoughts from her head, hushed the clamor of her pulse. She didn’t want to think about it right now. She wanted to enjoy Felicity. Loosening a mini loaf of cornbread from the black iron bake pan, Delaney slathered it with butter, set it on a plate and slid it toward her daughter. “So how was school?”

  “Good.” Felicity picked up the yellow bread and held it before her mouth. “The Parker boys asked me to be their date for their graduation party.”

  Delaney gaped at her. “Both of them?”

  Felicity smiled and said, “It’s the current running joke between them.” She bit off the end of the bread.

  Identical twins, they forever teased Felicity. They claimed to have lost their combined heart to her—it was she who had to choose. “And you said?”

  “Told them I’d have to think about it.” She cast a dramatic gaze toward the ceiling and said, “Because they’re so different, I’d have to decide what kind of night I want grad night to be—fun or funner.” She giggled. “It’s such a dilemma!�
��

  “Funner is not a word.” Delaney dipped her chin and peered at her daughter. “Please tell me I’m not wasting my money on flute lessons when you should be tutored in grammar.”

  “JK.”

  Just joking. Delaney shook her head at the incessant “text turned speech.” JK. IDK. LOL. It was like some kind of new language with these kids.

  Felicity peeked beneath the foil of fried okra. “Are these from Ashley’s garden?”

  “They are. Picked them myself.” Ashley Fulmer had been her mother’s best friend. She was also their local gardener-extraordinaire, with a thumb greener than a meadow in summertime.

  “Travis and Troy want to go riding this weekend. Is that okay?”

  The mention of riding led Delaney’s thoughts back to this afternoon. “Yes. But I don’t want you in the woods by yourself.”

  She furrowed her brow. “Since when?”

  Since we have strangers lurking between the trees. “Since today.”

  “Mom.”

  It was Felicity’s one word rebuttal spoken with emphasis to insist, I’m an adult now. You can be honest with me. On one level, that was true. But her daughter was not strong on self-defense. It wasn’t in her nature. “There’s been some trouble with trespassing,” Delaney informed her. “And until we can get a handle on it, I don’t want you out there by yourself.”

  Delaney knew Felicity understood. Ladd Springs adjoined public land—the USFS—and it happened that on occasion people ventured onto private property. That property was Ladd property. But to do so, they had to ignore posted signs against trespassing, which meant anyone on their land were people willing to ignore the rules. Not exactly the nicest slice of population.

  “Okay,” Felicity agreed. “I’ll make the boys stay with me.”

  “Tough life you have,” Delaney teased, breathing a sigh of relief as she tested the temperature of her bread. Her daughter was mature. She knew there was danger out in the world and she was willing to be smart about it. While she refused her mother’s offer to teach her how to shoot, Felicity wouldn’t purposefully test fate.

  After dinner, the tray of cornbread warmed by the oven in one hand, her long, slim, velvet flute case in the other, Felicity traversed the path with ease, careful not to slide on the rocks as she took her shortcut down to Uncle Ernie’s house. Leaping over a rock, she hit level ground with a thud, raising both plate and case in sync to keep them level. Crossing the narrow bridge, she took in the thick scent of trees in the air, the moist smell of earth, the constant movement in the creek below. She loved being outdoors. Felicity could almost feel the crisp chill to the water, the slimy texture to the rounded rocks that shifted in color from tans and browns to grays and blacks. The wall of trees surrounding the small clearing was drenched in gold, the sky a gorgeous blend of violet, blue and orange. Early May, days were longer now, leaving plenty enough sunlight to light her way. But later, when the night turned black, her mom would insist on making the return trip with her. It was her prerogative, she’d claimed.

  Not that she didn’t appreciate her mother’s watchful eye, she did. She understood where her mother’s over-protectiveness came from and understood it would not change. Ever. Actually, she considered herself fortunate to have a mother who cared so much. So many kids at school didn’t. Half their parents were gone, the other half present but checked out. Unlike the Parker boys. Their mom and dad were checked in and totally charged. Actually, their house ran like a zoo, the back door swinging open and closed as kids came and went. Travis and Troy were the youngest of eight, or as Mrs. Parker called them, “momma’s little surprise bundle at the end of the litter.”

  Felicity smiled as she recalled their dual request for her company to the prom. Felicity, we’ve wrestled four times and are two for two. Either you choose, or one of us gets hurt.

  I’ll go with both of you. She giggled, pleased with herself. She adored the attention, but truth be known, there was only one Parker boy for her. Boots clapping up the steps, Felicity tucked visions of him away and rapped on the wood door. “Uncle Ernie, I’m here!”

  Letting herself in, she saw her uncle teetering down the stairs. “Well, you don’t have to yell about it.”

  Felicity’s instincts were to rush over and steady him as he made his way down, but the one time she did he got mad at her. “I don’t need no help gettin’ around my house,” he’d hollered. So rather than assist, she patiently waited until he landed on the bottom step, his white knuckle grip locked solid around the wooden post. She held out the tinfoil-covered paper plate. “Mom made cornbread.”

  He eyed it warily. “It any good?”

  Felicity suppressed a smile. Uncle Ernie was so suspicious. He acted like it was tainted with poison! “You know it’s the best.”

  “I don’t know any such thing,” he grumbled under his breath. “But I’ll trust your word.”

  As expected. Felicity put the bread on the bulky coffee table, the top made from old planks salvaged from the barn that used to sit on the property, the legs knotty sticks made from pine branches. “I learned a new piece this week.”

  “Alrighty.” Ernie ambled over and settled himself in his Lazy-Boy, the seams of which were split open on a top corner. Shifting his weight from side to side, he wedged himself into the seat, his body fitting into the ratty piece of furniture as if he were part of it. “Okay, honey. Play away.”

  Albert Ladd trudged in from the kitchen. On the heavy side, he moved at the speed of molasses. Dressed in denim coveralls and white T-shirt, Felicity never saw him in anything else, nor did it seem like he ever combed the thin hair that fell from his bald head. Long and stringy, it hung clear down to his shoulders and looked downright un-kept. But that was her great uncle, bless his heart.

  “Did I hear the princess?” he asked.

  She grinned. “Hi, Uncle Albert.”

  “You gonna play us a song?” he asked, and walked slowly to his chair.

  “Yes, and it’s a new one.” Retrieving the shiny flute from its black velvet case, she pulled a sheet of music from her portfolio, set it on its stand and prepared to play. Shaking the hair from her face, Felicity brought the mouthpiece to her puckered lips and warmed up by blowing a steady stream of air into the instrument.

  Hands folded across his small protrusion of a belly, Uncle Ernie laid his head back against the chair and closed his eyes.

  Felicity straightened. She pulled her abdomen in, focused on her diaphragm, aligned her fingers on the keys and blew a steady stream of air into the flute as she held it high to her side. Breathing in and out, she played a tune composed by Charles Griffes. The piece reminded her of the ebb and flow of the property’s numerous streams and creeks, sweeping rhythm moving high and low, spanning a broad range of timbre. Along the waterways were her favorite spots, the ones she sat by for hours. When she was younger, she used to sit by the water and read. Now, she played the flute. Slow, fast, her fingers danced along its length, hitting keys in rapid succession as she released herself to the power of the music. Swinging and bowing, her head and arms moved in rhythm as she played, dipping and pausing, escalating the pace toward the grand finale.

  The door slammed . Felicity cried out, her breath expelled in a rush of fright.

  Ernie shot forward in his chair.

  Clem Sweeney stood just inside the threshold.

  “Damn it, Clem! You nearly gave me a heart attack!”

  Tall and lanky, he wore a blue plaid shirt that looked like it hadn’t been washed in weeks. “Sounds like an angel is playin’ in here,” he said, his smile dripping with creep.

  Felicity’s heart thudded hard against her ribs. She swallowed hard. Clem was not one of her favorite people. He was rude, crude, and took every opportunity to leer at her whenever she was within eyesight. Her mother didn’t care for him either. She grew up with the man, so she should know. And if she knew he was here, she’d have a fit.

  Drawn to the plate on the table, Clem stepped forward. “Is that cor
nbread I smell?”

  “It’s mine,” Ernie warned him, “so keep your grubby hands off it.”

  Albert watched the exchange wordlessly.

  “Felicity here make it?” he asked greedily, though the hunger she discerned in his eyes had nothing do with the food.

  Felicity stood. “I should go.” She glanced between the two men, her mood for music dunked in ice water. She didn’t want to be anywhere near this man.

  “Sit down—you’re not going anywhere,” Ernie commanded. “Clem’s the one who has to go.”

  “But we have a meeting,” Clem said, his attention jarred free from her, latching on to Ernie. “You scheduled it yourself.”

  “It can wait.”

  A meeting? Felicity’s mind whirred as she glanced between the two. What could these two possibly have to meet about?

  “I ain’t waitin’ no more. You put me off last night, and now I’m here.”

  Ernie’s eyes practically popped out of his bony skull. “You keep this up, and I’m not givin’ you a thing.”

  The image of her Uncle Ernie frightened her, more skeleton with eyes than old man with a beating heart. But the comment served to silence Clem. Hurriedly, Felicity collected her instrument and music, closed up her case. Tucking the portfolio under an arm, she turned for the door. Through the front windows, she could see the sun had almost set. If she hurried, she could make it before complete dark. “I’ll come back tomorrow.”

  Moving past Clem, she held her breath against the stench of cigarette smoke that clung to him—it was in his clothes, his hair and from experience she knew that if she looked, she’d see nicotine stains on his fingers, too.

  Fleeing the cabin, Felicity dashed down the steps and over the creek bridge, her heart pounding. But more than the initial surprise from Clem’s arrival, it was nerves that battered at her now. Her mother’s warning about trespassers slithered up her spine. The sound of rushing creek and whisper of wind usually appealed to her, but at the moment only served to scare her.

  Forcing her legs to keep pace, she trekked up the path to her home. Her mother would not be happy knowing Clem showed up. Nor would she like the fact that her daughter had decided to make the trip back on her own. But taking the time to call for her mother’s escort seemed silly and would keep her near the wretched man all the longer.

  A branch snapped in the woods below her. Felicity froze at the sound—but only for a second. Was someone there? Her heart kicked into overdrive, adrenaline pummeling her muscles into action. It could be a deer or a rabbit. It could be a bear.

  Making it to the porch, she ran up the steps, not pausing until she was at her front door and her mother’s figure was in sight through the glass. Felicity breathed in and out, calming her pulse. As she gathered her wits, the door opened in a rush.

  “What are you doing here?”

  Partly relieved by her mom’s aggressive stance, the lamplight washing over her, Felicity lifted her pant legs to remove her boots. “I left early,” she said, purposefully vague. Although grateful for the safety of her mother’s strength, she didn’t want to worry her.

  “Why didn’t you call me? It’s dark outside.”

  “It wasn’t when I left,” Felicity said.

  Her mother walked inside and closed the door behind her. “You know how I feel about it, Felicity.”

  The hard edge in her mother’s voice demanded explanation. She turned. Met by the expected displeasure circling like wolves, she said, “Clem Sweeney showed up so I left. But, honest, it was still kinda light out. I figured if I hurried, I could make it.”

  Her mother stilled. “What was Clem doing there?”

  Working to smooth out the final bumps in her pulse, Felicity replied, “I don’t know. He said something about a meeting.”

  “A meeting?” She paused. “What does he have to meet with Ernie about?”

  Felicity relayed the conversation and her mother frowned. “You stay away from him, you hear me?”

  Breathing a sigh of relief, Felicity nodded. There would be no argument on that point.