“Hey you,” she said. He looked up and smiled when he saw her, then reached for a towel. “I was just thinking about you,” he said, wiping the grease off his hands.
“What were you thinking?” she asked, leaning against the John Deer tractor.
“Kind of a loaded question.”
“I’m listening,” she said, and took a step closer.
“I want to help with the house,” Jake said. “I could make a loan with low interest so she doesn’t feel like I’m giving her anything. Let’s talk to her and find out what she is comfortable with doing.”
“It may be a moot point,” Annie sighed. “Grandma got the architectural salvage estimate and it was nearly the same amount as the insurance company.”
Annie pulled a folded paper from her jeans pocket.
“Is that it?” Jake pointed to the paper.
“This is Jerry’s bid for the renovations,” she said, and handed him the paper.
Jake took it and unfolded the sheet, scanned it and looked up.
“This is reasonable. The insurance money will put it in the dry and the rest can be done a little at a time.”
“If I can convince Grandma. That darn Betty Gibson just made it a whole lot harder,” she said, and stuffed the bid in her back pocket. “I thought you were taking up hay?”
“Tractor’s down. Hopefully tomorrow if I can get it running and the rain holds off.”
“Seems like we’re both hoping for dry weather,” she said.
***
Annie drove Beulah’s Marquis an hour to Frankfort the following morning and found the stately Kentucky History Center in the middle of downtown. It was a relief to pull into a parking space rather than parallel park the “tank,” as she called Beulah’s car. She had hoped Lindy could come with her, but she was tied up with depositions. A lawyer would be handy, Annie thought, since I’m building a case to present to Grandma—sole judge and jury.
Inside, she was directed to a locker, where she was instructed to leave her satchel, purse and jacket.
“You should keep your wallet if you are planning to make copies,” she was told by the attendant. With the key on a band around her wrist, she took her wallet and followed the attendant to another door. The attendant swiped a card, the door clicked, and she was granted access to a large carpeted room.
The high security made her especially curious about what she might find in the inner sanctum. There were anterooms with microreaders of one sort or another. Copy machines, large tables and chairs for studying documents, reference books, and map drawers. An information desk was in the center of the room, and she walked over to it.
“Hi, excuse me,” she said. The pale-skinned young woman at the desk looked up and smiled.
“I’m looking for letters written by Joseph Crouch around the late 1700s.”
“Do you have a particular year in mind? Unfortunately, the letters are not indexed by topic. They’re in chronological order, so it helps a bit since they span more than twenty years. They’re all on microfilm, let me show you how to find the rolls.”
The young woman demonstrated how to find a microfilm number, and then a cabinet to find the actual film. Then there was how to load the film, move it around, and copy anything of interest. It took a few minutes of practice but soon Annie found a rhythm for the work. After thirty minutes, Annie realized she could not read everything. Instead, she simply made copies to take home for later.
After a short break when Annie ran out for a quick lunch, she was back in the darkened room, making copies of letter after letter until closing time.
With a stuffed satchel, she was surprised at how exhausted she felt driving home, despite the entire day sitting down in a dark room. Before going home, she wanted to make one more stop on the way.
***
This time, Vesta was in her room. The door was open, but she knocked and waited.
“Come in,” a loud, clear voice answered.
Vesta was sitting in a chair, the Bible spread over her lap, illuminated by a floor lamp next to the chair. The old woman smiled and waved her hand to an empty chair.
“I hoped I would see you again,” Vesta said.
“I promised I’d come back.”
“People use words they don’t mean. I’m glad you are not one of those people,” Vesta said, looking at Annie over her reading glasses. “How can I help you?”
“I went to the History Center today and copied all of the letters. But there’s so much more. I’d no idea how much information is stored there.”
“Wonderful, isn’t it?” she said. “Did you go into the stacks? To be surrounded by all those lovely old rare books is so peaceful.”
Annie looked around Vesta’s room where books lined tall and short bookshelves and some were even stacked on the floor.
“Most of my time was at the microfilm reader.”
“May I see some of the copies?”
“Sure.” Annie pulled a two-inch-thick stack of papers out of her satchel. Vesta put her glasses on and paged through the top pages.
“Yes, this will be a good start. Mind if I keep a few to read?”
“Fine, as many as you like,” Annie said.
Vesta glowed, as if she had given her a piece of jewelry.
“I would love to keep the whole stack, but my eyes aren’t strong enough anymore. I’ll take what I can manage. If I should find anything, is there a number where I can reach you?”
She wrote her grandmother’s landline and her own cell number on a piece of paper and handed it to Vesta.
“I appreciate the help. Can I ask you something else? The last time I was here, you mentioned an oral tradition. It’s why you believe the stone house to be first in Kentucky. How do you know the story?”
Vesta smiled and took off her glasses.
“It was a story told in my own family. And there was much talk about it being the first one of its kind west of the Cumberland Gap.”
“Your family passed this story down? Why?”
“They helped build it,” Vesta said, an amused look on her face.
“They were slaves?”
“Of course. The Douglases owned them—not your family. The Mays came from Scotland and brought with them the skill of laying stone. But they needed help digging out limestone. It was hard work, as you can imagine, and while the May family paid for the labor, the money went to the Douglases since they owned my people.”
Annie was silent for a moment, taking in the magnitude of Vesta’s words.
“I’m sure it’s fairly insignificant to say this now, but I am sorry.”
Vesta’s eyes were soft under raised eyebrows.
“Words of reconciliation are never insignificant.”
***
Beulah was in the living room watching the nightly news when Annie got home. Her grandmother reached for the remote and turned off the television as Annie plopped down on her grandfather’s recliner.
“I didn’t know what happened to you,” Beulah said. “Are you hungry?”
“Did you know the Mays were Scottish?”
“My father told me. I think we’re a mix of other things through our different lines.”
She told her grandmother about gathering the information in Frankfort and the visit with Vesta.
“The Givens are an old Somerville family. I suppose we are all more intertwined than we realize.”
“I would love for you to go with me sometime to see her,” Annie said, gathering up her bag.
Beulah nodded. “I’ll take her some vegetable soup. Have you had supper?”
“I’ll find something while I put on coffee, the real stuff, not decaf. I’ve a lot of work ahead tonight.”
“Don’t wear yourself out over all this. You need your rest,” Beulah called out.
Rest was not on her mind now. The visit with Vesta had motivated her to find answers. While rich coffee brewed, she began the task of reading handwritten letters from the late 1700s.
Chapter Six
/> BEULAH FACED A stack of mending that piled up over the summer while she was laid up with her knee operation. If she was going to hem tablecloths for Mary Beth’s reception, she needed to get caught up. And as the old green Singer sewing machine whirred away, she had plenty of time to think.
Beulah regretted always being so hard on her granddaughter. It was a thing she had struggled with from day one, being too hard on her own child, Jo Anne. All it had done was drive Jo Anne straight into the arms of slick-talking Eddie Taylor and running off to Jellico for a quick marriage. There had to be boundaries, and didn’t boundaries mean love? It was how she had been raised, and how she had tried to raise Jo Anne and Annie.
Annie was taking the two-week deadline seriously and had the blurry eyes and dark circles this morning to show for it. If her granddaughter was committed to finding a way to save the old house, well, it suited her just fine. Tearing it down was a last resort; but the value of the architectural salvage was tempting. Big business, apparently, with folks wanting a piece of history in their homes, so much so they spend hard-earned money.
Growing up in the aftermath of the Depression made Beulah frugal. It was a hard habit to break, and one she wasn’t sure should be broken. Money was hard to come by and it could be gone in a flash. Those hard times marked her, even though their family had it much better than some people.
Back in those days it was common for people to stop at the house and ask for food. Beulah’s mother never turned anybody away and sometimes gave folks eggs or garden produce, especially if they had children. Sometimes it was a single traveler. Other times it was a family. Whoever they were, no one went away hungry. Her mother prepared a hot meal and served them on the porch. It was not like out West with the drought and the dust bowl, but they were hard times. To this day, Beulah could still see the face of a little girl her own age in a torn dress, barefoot, with large brown eyes looking with wonder at their abundant garden. They went right into World War II when gas and tires were rationed along with groceries.
But could money be valued too much? Over a relationship or family heritage?
The house was all she had left of a mother, father, and brother long in their graves. And Annie was right about one thing: once it was gone, it could never be brought back.
There were the steers Joe was just about to sell for her. With beef prices so good now, it would likely be a much larger check than she had anticipated. Beulah prayed for wisdom while she pulled the hem out of an old dress. She most wanted to be a faithful steward.
***
After the supper dishes were cleared away, Annie brought out her papers and placed them carefully on the table.
“I’d like to show you what I’ve found so far and present a proposal for your consideration.”
“Sounds quite formal,” Beulah said, her hands folded on the table. “I’m ready.”
“If we restore the house according to certain criteria, which Jerry Baker knows and has included in his bid, then you’ll receive approximately this much in credits on your taxes.”
Annie pointed to a number on a piece of paper she turned toward Beulah. “Of course, the exact number depends on whether it’s federal or state, when we get the paperwork submitted, and how much they allow us. This is a conservative estimate.”
Annie pulled out another sheet of paper. “Here’s Jerry’s bid. It’s lower than the others and I had him break it down into phases. Phase one includes everything needed to close the house up: roof, glass repair, new windows, and stonework. The insurance money more than covers these things, with some extra to help repair the interior woodwork.”
Beulah had made her decision and waited patiently for Annie to explain her idea.
“What’s not known are the grant possibilities. There’re organizations that might consider us if we can prove certain things of historical significance about the house. Unfortunately, we won’t know about that until after the first of the year. Since we can’t count on something that is unknown, my proposal is to take the insurance money and do all the repairs we can do now. I’ll continue to work on the grants. Jake and I will contribute our labor to cut costs wherever we can. I’ll start paying rent here this month. Hopefully, I’ll have a job soon anyway. That money will offset some of the rental income you were getting from the house.”
“You’re already buying groceries,” Beulah protested. “When you get a job, you can start paying rent.”
“Fair enough. Wait! You agree with everything?”
“Agreed.”
Annie nearly came across the table to hug her, making her eyes fill with tears. Annie held onto her a long time and Beulah was glad she had time enough to blink back the moisture. It wouldn’t do for Annie to see her soften too much.
Chapter Seven
“THANKS FOR COMING,” Lindy said, shutting her office door. “Have a seat.”
“You okay?” Annie said and put her purse down on an empty chair.
“Same old thing. Rob’s gone again. Every time, I think this visit will be different. He’ll realize I’m the only one for him and want to settle down. I’m still in love with him,” Lindy slumped over her desk, her face in her hands. “There’s a trial coming up. I’m not sleeping but I have to get my work done.”
“Did he say when he’ll be back?”
“He never says.” Lindy seemed on the verge of tears. She was about to offer more words of comfort but Lindy shook her head as if shaking off the emotion. “Anyway, it’s not why I called you. This is good news.”
She picked up a document and handed it to her.
“Dad was at a meeting yesterday with the Stone Conservancy. He mentioned the stone house to them and they were really interested. They have a program where they offer free labor as part of their training to new stonemasons if the structure is over one hundred years old. We know the house qualifies. If you can fill out this information and send it to them, they will come out and do the repairs.”
“Oh, Lindy, thank you so much. We can have Jerry do more work if we don’t have to pay for the stonework.”
“So Beulah agreed?”
“For the initial work, and that’s enough to save it,” Annie said. “We still have a long road to finish, but it’s a start.”
“Dad will be happy to hear it.”
While Annie was in Somerville she stopped by the bank, an insurance office, and an accountant’s office to follow up on the résumés she had dropped off earlier in the month. Everyone was pleasant and encouraging, but there were no job openings. She had applied with the school system as well, but those jobs were snapped up in early summer. After Janice’s visit in October, she would branch out to Rutherford, and then to Lexington if necessary, but she hoped desperately for something close to home.
Her thoughts were on Jake as she drove May Hollow Road in the farm truck. Her heart warmed at the memory of him saying “I love you.” They had decided to take things slowly when they began dating. Some might call it old-fashioned, but they wanted to be sure.
Annie also realized there was much more she and Jake needed to learn about each other. Ten years apart was a long time. They needed time to get to know one another again and build a solid foundation for a strong future, despite Betty Gibson’s desire to rush them to the alter. It hurt her to think how absent she had been when Jake was dealing with the loss of his father. Her life was going in a completely different direction back then.
Beulah’s car was gone when Annie bumped over the potholes and pulled next to the house to unload the groceries. When everything was put away, she sat down at the kitchen table and began filling out the information for the Stone Conservancy while it was fresh in her mind. Once she completed the application, she folded it into an envelope and put a stamp on it. There was still a stack of papers to read from Joseph Crouch’s letters, but she stood and stretched, needing to do something with her hands. She knew exactly where to direct her energy.
***
The fire had not reached the downstairs of the old
stone house, but water used to extinguish the flames had done its own damage. The odds-and-ends furniture had been abandoned by a previous renter, so at least they were saved the sadness of losing family heirlooms.
There was little to do in the upstairs room where the fire started. The roof opened to the sky and Jake warned her the floorboards could collapse under foot. Across the hall, the other bedroom was spared the most water and fire damage. Still, the stench was strong as Annie swept the floor. She worked around the ragged blue and yellow braided rug in the center of the room until she had a neat pile of trash in the corner. Then she turned her attention to the old bed frame and stained mattress atop the faded rug. There were no box springs, only a mattress on planks, and Annie pitied the person who had called this bed their own. She lifted the mattress and quickly realized it was heavier than she thought. This time she bent her knees and grabbed it with both hands, using her body against it for balance, and then heaved it upwards until it flopped onto the floor like a great fish. After a deep breath, she bent down and lifted again, again using her body to leverage it up and onto its side. Bit by bit, she pushed it into the hallway. At the top of the steps, she leaned it against the wall and considered her next move.
A shadow moved in the corner of her eye and she turned to look. A dark brown rat skittered across the landing to the burned-out room. She screamed and lunged forward, plunging headfirst down the stairs and wedging herself between the mattress and the wall. Wood groaned and creaked as the handrail gave way and the mattress slid down the steps before lodging itself against the newel post at the bottom of the stairs. Annie had covered her head on the slide down and waited, breathless, until the ride ended. When she rolled off and looked back, she was dismayed at the sight. The handrail hung off the side of the stairs like teeth knocked loose but holding on by threads.
“Another expense,” she said, and kicked a piece of plaster in frustration. Once she maneuvered the mattress out the front door, she leaned it against the truck and went back up for the bed frame. After taking it apart and carrying it outside, she rolled up the braided rug, sneezing twice as dust swirled, and then carried it outside. On the front stoop, she stopped for rest and looked through the open doorway at the splintered handrail. Tears welled up in her eyes. If she had just waited, Jake said he would help her with anything she couldn’t manage. Why was it so darn hard for her to admit she needed help?
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