Guarded

by Angela Correll

  “I’ve enjoyed meeting with him. He’s a fine young man, and our community will be better for having him back here. And Evelyn?”

  “Thrilled to have Jake back.”

  “Good, good. Well, Lindy told me about your situation with the old stone house. It’s a common problem in the preservation world. How do we save our treasures and make them economically viable? I have some tax credit information for you to share with Beulah. There are papers to fill out and certain criteria, of course, but I believe she could get some help there. Who have you talked to about doing the work?”

  Annie listed the contractors and the bid amounts.

  “Uh huh,” Tom said and then wrote down some notes on a legal pad. “How are you at research?” he asked, looking at her over his reading glasses.

  “I don’t know—I’ve never done any, other than college papers.”

  “That house is rumored to have an interesting history, although I don’t think anybody has ever dug into it.”

  “Really?”

  “Oral history says it is the first stone house built in Kentucky. If you could prove it, that could mean special historic status and might qualify for a grant from a national organization.” Tom flipped over a sheet on the legal pad and continued writing.

  “I’m listing several organizations here you should look into for grants. I’m also writing down the name of an elderly lady who is in Richwood Manor; her mind is sharp as a tack. You should go see her about the house. She knows everything about the county and might give you some ideas on where to look for the historical information. I’m also writing down the name and number …” Tom reached for his phone and scrolled through his contacts. “… of a guy who is the best at restorations. He’s also very reasonable and has low overhead since he works for himself. His name’s Jerry Baker. He’s from Rockcastle County, a true artist who loves his work. I think he will give you the best price. Maybe between that, whatever grants you might qualify for, and with the tax credits, you can convince Beulah to restore the place.”

  Tom smiled and tore off a couple of sheets and handed them to her.

  “I’d be glad to work on it,” Lindy said. “Especially the research; I love that side of things.”

  “Let me know what you end up applying for. I have a few contacts at the national level. I’d be glad to make some phone calls if it would help.” Tom stood and looked at Lindy before leaving the room. “Still on for three o’clock?”

  Lindy nodded. “We’re just going to lunch and I’ll be back in time to prepare.”

  “I can’t thank you enough,” Annie said.

  “If you can manage to save the old stone house, I’ll be thanking you,” he said.

  ***

  Just two blocks down the street, a red and white striped awning marked the entrance to Bill’s Diner. She pushed open the plate glass and metal door, which jingled the bell above. Bill was in the back at the grill and threw up a spatula in greeting.

  They slid into opposite vinyl-covered seat benches where checked curtains hung in the windows. Whenever she ate here, she always remembered her waitressing days at the diner during high school. Bill and Viola had given her a chance at her first job. It was hard to think of sweet Viola now in the throes of Alzheimer’s and Bill needing to sell his restaurant so he could stay home and take care of her. She had even considered asking Bill for a job, but she knew he was fully staffed at the moment. And with his plans to sell, it would be short term.

  “Has Jake heard anything on the diner?” Lindy asked.

  “Not yet. A chef is interested in doing a farm-to-table concept, but he hasn’t made a decision yet.”

  “I hope it works out. It’d be a sad loss to the town if it shuts down.”

  “Tea?” the waitress asked.

  They both nodded. “Need a minute to order?”

  “I’m ready. I’ll take the burger,” Lindy said.

  “Same for me,” Annie said.

  The waitress gathered the menus and left.

  “So, Jake’s back for good after this weekend?” Lindy asked.

  Annie nodded. “Now we finally get to see what it’s like to be around each other every day. He’s been back and forth to Cincinnati so much getting his house ready to sell and moving.”

  “I’m so happy for you both,” Lindy said, and smiled. The diner doorbell jingled behind Annie and she saw Lindy’s smile freeze. She turned in her seat. In the doorway stood a man with skin tanned to a golden brown under a faded T-shirt stretched across his muscled chest and shoulders. Annie saw his long auburn hair was pulled back into a twist as the guy turned to shut the door. Ragged shorts and worn sandals: a Goodwill Adonis, she thought.

  Annie turned back to Lindy and saw the frozen smile had thawed to wide eyes and mouth forming the word What?

  “What’s wrong?” Annie asked.

  “That’s Rob. My ex-boyfriend.”

  “Are you okay?”

  “I thought he was in New Zealand. Or at least he was, the last I heard,” Lindy said.

  Smiling, Rob spotted Lindy and glided over to the booth.

  “Hey, Lin,” he said, sliding into the booth next to Lindy in one catlike motion, then leaned in to give her a gentle kiss on the cheek. He turned to Annie.

  “Rob McElroy.” Annie took the extended hand and noticed callouses and a strong handshake.

  He looked back at Lindy, who had yet to say a word to him, the longest stretch of silence she had ever witnessed from her friend.

  “I stopped by your office and they sent me here,” he said.

  “I thought you were in New Zealand?” Lindy said.

  “I was, but I’m done and headed to El Cap. Got a little guiding job there for a while. Are you busy later? I thought we could hang out when you get off work.”

  “That would be great,” she said, smiling now.

  “Brilliant. I’ll pick you up. Maybe a little dinner in Lex?” he said, easing out of the booth. “Nice to meet you,” he said to Annie, and then was gone.

  “He’s your ex?” she said. “He didn’t act like an ex.”

  “He’s my weakness,” Lindy said. Her face glowed.

  “Where or what is El Cap?” she asked, just as the waitress brought their plates.

  “Rob’s a rock climber. El Capitan is a vertical rock formation in Yosemite National Park. He’s well known in that group. Climbing Magazine did a feature on him once.”

  “That’s his job?”

  “Sort of. Sometimes he gets guiding jobs and sometimes he gets sponsors to do a certain climb for events. It’s a simple lifestyle with lots of travel and adventure.”

  “Which is why you are broken up.”

  “I don’t hear from him for months and then he just shows up. This is even stranger because I didn’t think he would come back until spring.”

  With a generous dollop of mustard on her burger she took a bite. Ah, perfect. “So he shows up and you hang out.”

  She could see color rising in Lindy’s face. “Well, sort of,” she said. “It’s complicated.”

  ***

  The back door of Evelyn Wilder’s brick Italianate was usually unlocked during the day, like many other houses on May Hollow Road. She called a hello and followed the responding voice of Jake’s mother into the kitchen where the scent of cinnamon hung heavy in the air. Evelyn, always elegant even in blue jeans and polo, twisted dough into buns at the kitchen counter. She turned and smiled.

  “Annie, you came at just the right time.”

  “Yum, Cinnamon rolls,” she said.

  Evelyn laughed. “If you stick around for another thirty minutes, we can enjoy one of these on the back porch with some coffee. The sun should just be going down about then.”

  “Sounds good. Sure you don’t mind if I use your computer?”

  “Of course not. I told you, anytime. I have some coffee brewing if you’d like a cup while you work.”

  The steaming mug was in her hand when she sat down in the small maid’s room just off th
e kitchen. While she waited for the computer to boot, she looked at Evelyn’s menagerie of photographs on the desk. One in particular caught her eye. It was of Annie and Jake, leaning against a white plank fence next to her grandmother’s house. The picture was taken when she had just arrived home after losing her job and Jake had just come home to sort out his future and choose between banking and farming. Annie had freshly broken up with her old boyfriend Stuart and Jake was dating Camille.

  Camille, the daughter of Jake’s Cincinnati friend and mentor, was Jake’s intended until he brought her to the farm for a visit. Annie was grateful for the jealousy that had reared in her own heart, catching her off-guard, and making her realize Jake was much more than just a childhood friend. As bad as it was at the time, her feelings had forced a confrontation with Jake that led to his breaking off with Camille and their eventual honesty with each other.

  When the computer was ready, Annie typed the names of the organizations Tom had given her into the search engine. When she found something interesting, she printed it out. One site led to another, and she lost herself in the search until Evelyn called to her from the kitchen. “Rolls are ready.”

  “Coming,” she said, pulling together all the printed papers and putting them in her notebook.

  Evelyn had served each of them a steaming roll with drizzled icing on top.

  “I’ll bring these if you don’t mind to grab a couple of afghans off the couch and bring them outside,” Evelyn said. “It gets a little chilly now when the sun goes down.”

  Annie fetched the colorful hand-knitted afghans from the living room couch and followed Evelyn out to the back porch.

  “I may need to come back. So many things need to be printed out,” she said. “I’ll bring a ream of paper next time.”

  Annie tore off a piece of the sweet bread and popped it in her mouth. Delicious.

  “Anytime; and don’t worry about the paper. I hardly print anything off—maybe a recipe or two once in a blue moon. What are you working on?”

  “Historic preservation grants for the old stone house. Did Grandma tell you about the dismal insurance check?” The two widows talked every evening on the phone and Annie was sure Evelyn was informed.

  “Oh yes, disappointing. Have you talked with Tom Childress? He’s awfully good at anything involving history.”

  “As a matter of fact, I talked with him today. He suggested I go see a lady in Richwood Manor who knows a lot about local history. And he gave me some organizations to contact. I don’t know if she told you, but Betty Gibson is pushing a salvage company that will pay for the architectural pieces,” Annie said, rolling her eyes. “I know Betty means well, but sometimes I wish she would stick to her own business.”

  Evelyn laughed. “There’s a reason we are told to ‘love your neighbor.’”

  Annie sighed. “I only have a couple of weeks to come up with some sort of plan. I understand where Grandma is coming from, but it’s not much time.”

  “Don’t worry. If you can meet her halfway, I am willing to bet she will do what she can.” Evelyn took a sip of coffee. “Any luck finding a job?”

  “None. My friend Janice is coming to visit the first week of October, so at this point I might wait to expand my search to Rutherford and Lexington until after she leaves.”

  “Tell me about her,” Evelyn said.

  “Janice is like the sister I never had, yet we’re so different. She’s 100 percent New Yorker, and a full-blooded Italian on top of it. My first day on the job out of training, I was assigned to work a flight with her, and I was so nervous I spilled coffee on a passenger. The man yelled at me and complained to the crew chief. I cried in the galley, and then Janice yelled at me for crying.”

  Annie pulled the afghan tighter around her.

  “I guess she felt bad later and she asked me to come home with her for dinner. After being in New York for a few months and not knowing anybody, it was so nice to be with a family. After dinner, she apologized, but she told me I needed to toughen up if I was going to survive the city.” Annie smiled at the memory. “Janice was right, and I did toughen up. We’ve been best friends ever since.”

  “Those kind acts when you are vulnerable mean so much,” Evelyn said. “Beulah took me under her wing when I was a young bride and new to the farm. I remember that first summer I had a pile of green beans on the table and a canner on the stove and no idea what to do in between. Beulah stopped by to check on me, and when she saw the mess I had she took over and helped me with my first batch of green beans. My mother taught me all about etiquette and how to set a table, but we didn’t know anything about farm life.”

  “Janice wants to experience nature,” Annie said. “Her mother-in-law is living with her so it’s been a little stressful lately. She mentioned learning to can. What’s in season now?”

  “There are persimmon trees around the graveyard. We have some pawpaws in the back of our farm. Both ripen about then so you could make jam,” Evelyn said. “Are her kids coming?”

  “No, but it’s why she’s free. Her sister invited them to spend the week with her because they have a short break at school.”

  Annie held the coffee mug in both hands and breathed in the rich aroma, enjoying the comfortable silence between them. “How’s the wedding coming along?” she asked.

  “Mary Beth was trying to keep it simple since it’s a second wedding for her. But, it’s Scott’s first and he has a big family in Alabama, so the guest list is already up to a hundred. The church will have a reception for them after they return from the honeymoon, which smoothed over a few ruffled feathers with not inviting all the church members out here for the wedding and reception.”

  “I told Jake I would help him organize his house for the wedding guests from Alabama,” Annie said.

  “Thank goodness. I was worried about him ever getting those boxes put away before the wedding. For all his good qualities, he can live in a barn stall and feel like he’s staying at the Ritz.” Evelyn laughed. “He’s just like Charlie. Could care less about tracking in mud or keeping things neat. I have to confess, I was somewhat relieved when he decided to stay in the servant’s cottage.”

  Annie smiled, thinking about the difference in Jake and her old boyfriend Stuart, the compulsive neat freak.

  “It’s getting late, and I want to digest all this grant information so I better go home.” Annie stood and gathered up the dirty dishes.

  “Annie, what do you think about a dinner party next weekend to celebrate Jake’s official return to Somerville? I was thinking around twelve people. Scott, Mary Beth, Woody, Lindy, Betty and Joe, Tom Childress—I’ll see if he wants to bring a date—and the four of us.”

  “I’ll be glad to help,” Annie said.

  “I think I can manage it. Saturday night?” Evelyn asked.

  “Looking forward to it,” Annie said, and walked out the back door.

  Chapter Three

  THE NEXT MORNING, Annie found her grandmother in the kitchen, bent over the oven. Beulah wore a cotton work dress with a faded blue apron tied around the waist and her “sensible shoes,” as she called the particular brand of flats.

  “Grandma, do you know a lady named Vesta Givens?”

  “Sure do,” Beulah said, standing and turning to face her.

  “Tom Childress suggested I see her. He said she knows about history in the area, particularly related to the old stone house.”

  Beulah rolled her sleeves up past her elbow and began working dough for a pie crust. “Vesta’s bound to be in her nineties now. Her people were from just over the hill behind the May Family Cemetery.”

  “She’s in the assisted-living section of Richwood Manor. I think I’ll drive over there this morning, unless you need me for something. Later, I’m meeting another guy who might be able to work on the stone house for less than the other bids. Tom recommended him.”

  “Give Vesta my regards,” Beulah said.

  ***

  Richwood Manor was a red brick building
that sat atop a leveled hill with a smattering of young trees. It was on the highway to Rutherford, just beyond the Somerville city limits. Annie imagined the planners selected the site for easy access to both communities since no such place existed in Rutherford.

  There were two wings of Richwood Manor: one side was a nursing home facility for residents who needed more care; the other was for assisted living for those desiring more independence.

  When she inquired about Vesta, the silver-haired woman at the reception desk looked at her watch. “This time of day, she is likely in the common room.”

  “Thank you,” Annie said and headed in the direction she pointed. If she were honest with herself, a sense of dread accompanied the assignment. In her few experiences, nursing homes were filled with the heavy smell of urine, the sad sight of residents in various states of decline, and the lack of adequate staff.

  Richwood, or at least the assisted-living side, seemed cheery and clean. Skylights invited natural light and the interior colors were warm instead of the cool blues and greens so long associated with institutions. It smelled fresh, as if the windows and doors were open, allowing the autumn breeze to cleanse the hard smells of aging.

  In the common room, residents sat on couches and chairs, some watching television, some playing cards, and some reading magazines. A young woman shelved books on a far wall and Annie approached her.

  “Excuse me,” she said. “I’m looking for Vesta Givens.”

  “She’s right there,” the worker pointed to the living area, but there were nearly ten ladies sitting around.

  “Which one is she?”

  “Well, she’s the only one reading Tolstoy. And, she’s the only black lady in the room right now.” The girl smiled at Annie.

  “Tolstoy?” she said.

  The girl nodded and raised her eyebrows.

  She made her way over to the woman who sat with her back straight, despite the confines of the wheelchair. “Mrs. Givens?”

  Bright almond eyes looked back at her through crystal clean glasses.

  “I never married, so it’s still Miss Givens.” She shut the book and placed it in her lap.