Читать книгу The Little Bookshop Of Promises - Debbie Macomber - Страница 13

Five

Dovie couldn’t believe everything that needed to be done before she and Frank left for Europe. Vanessa Boyd—always called Nessa—her sister-in-law from her first marriage, had agreed to fill in for Dovie at the shop. Amy McMillen, the pastor’s wife, had volunteered to collect the mail and newspapers and keep an eye on the house. Appointments, errands, deadlines crowded on top of one another until the thought of leaving for two weeks overwhelmed her.

Frank was no help. He took all her crises in stride and insisted everything would take care of itself. His problem, in her opinion, was that he’d married too late in life to learn the importance of worry. She’d told Mary Patterson that, anticipating a big laugh, and hadn’t gotten one. Her strained friendship with Mary continued to bother her. Another item to add to her growing list of concerns.

“You look exhausted, and you haven’t even packed yet,” Nessa commented when she entered the shop that morning. She was spending a couple of weeks working at the store to get a feel for the job before replacing Dovie.

“I am exhausted,” Dovie confessed. She poured them each a cup of tea and placed her feet on the chair across from her. The ovens had been on since four o’clock that morning. No one seemed to appreciate how much effort went into preparing for a vacation, least of all Frank.

“Oh, Dovie, you’re going to have the time of your life! Think about it—Paris, London, Amsterdam...”

Dovie knew Nessa was right. She should be excited. Happy. But she wasn’t; she was tired.

Nessa had been a godsend. The previous fall, her sister-in-law had returned to Promise after a long absence. For nearly thirty years she’d followed her oil-executive husband, Marvin’s brother, around the world. In their twenties, Nessa and Dovie had been as close as sisters, but then Leon had started work for one of the big oil conglomerates, and the couple had traveled frequently. Their three children, now grown, had settled in different parts of the country. And then, shortly before he was due to retire, Leon suffered a heart attack and died.

Nessa hadn’t known what to do with herself afterward. Her children each had their own opinions about what was best for their mother. Judging by the phone calls Dovie had received from Nessa’s daughter, Sylvia, they obviously thought Nessa was incapable of making rational decisions. But she wasn’t. After a few months, much to Sylvia’s distress, Nessa decided to leave New Orleans and move back to Promise, and Dovie was delighted she had.

Despite her daughter’s displeasure, Nessa packed up sixty-three years of life, which included a trunk full of mementoes from the family’s travels. She bought the house that had once belonged to Ellie Patterson and moved in. All without the aid of her children, who continued to bicker among themselves. Dovie found it wryly amusing.

“You’re going to love London,” Nessa promised, stirring her tea.

“And Paris.”

“Ah, Paris,” Nessa said dreamily. “The City of Light. There’s nothing like it, Dovie. Nothing.”

Dovie knew she’d enjoy Europe once she got there, although at the moment her feet hurt and her head was full of all the tasks she had yet to complete. “It’s just that I’ve got so much to do.”

“I’ll help. Why do you think I’m here?” Nessa stood, prepared to carry her half-empty teacup to the kitchen. “Now, where would you like me to start?”

Dovie motioned her back to her chair. “You might be ready to get up, but I’m not through sitting yet.” Especially after an entire morning spent baking ten dozen scones to freeze so Nessa could serve them while Dovie was in Europe.

Without complaint, Nessa sat down again. “At least let me dip the peanut-butter cookies for you.”

“All right,” Dovie agreed. A few years earlier, she’d taken her peanut-butter cookies and half dipped them in a pot of melted chocolate. The result had made her cookies the most popular in town. She’d spent the day before baking a triple batch, hoping Nessa would have enough to last for the two weeks she’d be away.

“You haven’t got a thing to worry about,” Nessa assured her. “I promise I’ll watch over the store as if it were my own.”

“I know.” Dovie was grateful, too. Nessa’s return to Promise had been perfectly timed. Normally she would’ve asked Mary Patterson to step in for her. Not now. If Mary had wanted to help, she would have volunteered. And...she hadn’t.

“I’m afraid that when we’re on our trip, I’ll be so tired all I’ll want to do is sleep.” Especially if this week was anything to go by.

“You’re going to be much too excited to sleep,” Nessa said. “Traveling’s a wonderful adventure, and the memories will last you a lifetime.”

“I’m sure I’ll feel better once we’ve actually left. All the work leading up to this vacation is what’s driving me nuts. Frank and I—” She stopped abruptly, realizing how thoughtless she must sound. Nessa had been a widow for only a year. “Nessa, I’m sorry.”

“Sorry?” Nessa repeated. “For what?”

“You traveled all over the world with Leon, and here I am dragging up those memories.”

Nessa dismissed that idea with an absent wave of her hand. “Don’t be silly. The memories I have are happy ones. I loved my husband and never regretted a day of our lives together. But I’ve adjusted to life without Leon. It took me six months to regain my balance and decide where home would be. I don’t know why Sylvia thinks she needs to watch over me twenty-four hours a day. I’m not a child.”

“What’s Sylvia up to now?”

“Nothing new. She seems to think I’m the type of woman who needs a man in her life.”

Dovie had rarely met a woman as capable as her sister-in-law.

“Lately she’s been suggesting I remarry. She said she wouldn’t worry about me so much if I wasn’t living alone. Have you ever heard anything more ridiculous in your life?”

“She’s joking, right?”

“I wish. She’s already lining up men for me to meet when I visit this summer. I told her I wasn’t interested, but that’s never stopped Sylvia before and I don’t expect it will now.”

“Are you going to put up with it?”

Nessa laughed. “No, but I’ll have to go through the motions. She’s got her brothers involved in the great manhunt now.”

“Oh, dear.”

“Don’t worry, Dovie, I know how to handle my daughter.”

“Perhaps I should talk to her,” Dovie suggested.

“I don’t think so, seeing that you’re to blame.”

“Me?” Dovie gave a small shriek. “Me? What did I do?”

“Nothing much but find happiness after losing your husband. Sylvia says you’re a perfect example of a woman who’s gotten on with her life.”

“I was a widow for eleven years before I married Frank,” Dovie protested.

“I know.” Nessa fell silent for a moment. “Actually, I have only myself to blame for this. After Leon died, I was a mess. His death came as such a shock. He kissed me goodbye that morning, and by noon he was dead. Like I said, for six months I wasn’t myself—I hardly slept or ate or anything else. Then one day I woke up and realized Leon was dead, but I had the rest of my life to live. After all the moves and adjustments we’d made over the years, I figured I could do it one more time. Do I miss Leon? Damn straight I do. But he’s gone and I’m alive.”

“Oh, Nessa, you’re so wise.”

“Not really.” She laughed and shook her head. “Now, what is it you need me to do this morning?”

“Were you serious about dipping the cookies?” It would be a great help, and one less headache for Dovie. They froze so nicely, too.

“Of course I was serious.”

“Oh, good.”

The door opened and Frank walked in, looking as if he hadn’t a care in the world. “How are my two favorite women this fine morning?” he asked, strolling leisurely across the room. He wrapped his arms around Dovie’s waist and nuzzled her neck.

“Frank,” Dovie chastised him, embarrassed at the open display of affection. In the years since their marriage, he’d become more demonstrative.

He chuckled and gave her a small squeeze before he released her. Dovie cast an apologetic glance at Nessa, but their eyes didn’t meet. Before Nessa could hide her response, Dovie viewed the pain on her sister-in-law’s face as clearly as if it’d been written in ink.

* * *

Annie was surprised by how much she was looking forward to her luncheon date with Lucas Porter. Because of their busy schedules, it seemed impossible to find an evening they were both available. Between the children’s needs, including parent-teacher interviews, and extended office hours at the animal clinic, Lucas had no evenings free. And Annie still spent every night checking inventory, studying publishers’ catalogs and reading Publishers Weekly. Her free time coincided with his only once—on Wednesday afternoon of the following week. So they agreed to meet for lunch.

By one o’clock, when she joined him at the Chili Pepper, she was nervous and uneasy. She could see that he was, too. After they’d been seated and ordered their lunch, the conversation came in fits and starts.

“I don’t know what it’s been like for you since your divorce,” Lucas said, shifting his silverware from one side of his plate to the other, “but since Julia died, I’ve sometimes felt starved for lack of adult conversation. At least, conversation that isn’t strictly work-related.”

“It does get lonely,” Annie admitted.

“For me, too,” he muttered. “That’s why...” He hesitated and glanced in her direction, as if to gauge how much to say. “It’d be good to have a friend,” he said in a rush. “Someone who understands how damned lonely it can get. I’m not looking for anything more.”

She nodded, unsure of what else to do. He didn’t need to paint her a picture. He wanted a friend. Okay, fine. An occasional lunch date. No problem. Someone to talk to, another adult who understood. She wanted that, too, so she really had no reason to feel disappointed.

“I’m not interested in remarrying anytime soon, if that’s what concerns you,” she told him.

“You’re not? Great.” His relief was evident.

“Friends,” she said and held out her hand for him to shake.

“Friends,” he said, reaching across the table.

Until today’s lunch, Annie hadn’t quite known what to make of Lucas Porter. She had the impression that he was a good father; his daughters clearly adored him. And the way he’d botched asking her out had actually been quite endearing.

Once Louise Powell had spread her news at a frenzied pace, half the people in town seemed intent on telling Annie what they knew about the widowed veterinarian and how much he’d loved his wife. Each recounted tales of what he’d been like three years earlier when he arrived in Promise, grief-stricken and depressed.

Until now, Annie had been convinced this lunch was a mistake. She’d predicted to herself that they’d spend the entire time talking about his dead wife, her illness, her sterling character. And if not her, the conversation was sure to center on his two daughters.

But Annie was wrong. After they agreed that being friends would be the extent of their relationship, they talked about books. Both were voracious readers and had read many of the same titles. After the initial awkwardness, their discussion during lunch was lively and animated, with a friendly argument or two. For instance, he thought a particular much-hyped new author was intellectually pretentious; she disagreed. Over coffee, the conversation flowed naturally to other subjects. They discussed similar experiences they’d had and exchanged observations. They talked about how moving to Promise had changed them. Normally shy, Annie was amazed at how much they had in common and how comfortable she felt with him.

Eventually, they talked about the ghost town some miles outside Promise. Jane had written long letters telling Annie about Bitter End and the story behind it, so Annie knew the town had been the first settlement in the area. She remembered that shortly after the Civil War, disaster had befallen Bitter End and driven all the inhabitants away. They’d established a new settlement, which they’d named Promise, and the town had flourished from then on.

Their lunch hour flew and almost before she was aware of it, they discovered it was time to leave.

They continued to talk as he escorted her back to Tumbleweed Books. Reluctant to part, they found their steps slowing as they reached the store.

“I had a great time,” Annie told him at the entrance. “I only hope we lived up to the rumors Louise Powell’s been spreading about us.”

Lucas grinned. “I don’t know if that’s possible.”

Annie smiled, too. Poor Louise was destined to be disappointed.

“I’m kind of surprised myself,” Lucas admitted, looking mildly guilty. “I had a good time, too....”

“Ah, so the truth is out. Enjoying yourself came as a shock, did it?”

They stood smiling at each other until Annie finally broke eye contact. “Thanks again, Lucas.”

“Thank you,” he said. Then, as though it was an afterthought, he leaned forward, and in full view of anyone who might be watching, kissed her cheek.

A kiss on the cheek. Fair enough, since they’d decided they were friends and nothing more. “Bye,” she told him quickly, starting inside.

“Annie.” Lucas stopped her, his voice urgent. “Would you...are you willing to do this again?”

She nodded without hesitation.

“When?”

She gave a little shrug. “What works for you?”

“How about now?” he asked. “I’m working tomorrow evening, so I can take the afternoon off. Just let me call my assistant first.” He paused. “You said you’d never been to Bitter End. Would you like to go?”

“I’d love to! Give me ten minutes to change clothes and talk to Gina.” Because she was a high-school senior, Gina’s class schedule allowed her to work at the bookstore two afternoons a week. The teenager was perfectly capable of tending the store for the rest of the afternoon. Besides, Annie was intensely curious about Bitter End.

She still remembered reading Jane’s long account of her own initial visit to Bitter End, and the eerie feeling she’d experienced when she first stepped onto the main street. As Annie recalled, Jane and Cal had had quite an adventure, complete with dramatic rescue. It was Jane who’d discovered a badly injured Richard Weston hiding out there.

* * *

“I’m assuming Jane told you about her experience in Bitter End?” Lucas asked as they headed out of town in his truck.

“She wrote about finding Richard Weston there, nearly dead after the staircase in the old hotel collapsed on him.” That particular letter had been riveting. If Jane and Cal hadn’t arrived when they did, Richard would surely have died. “You’ve been there?”

“A couple of times,” Lucas told her. “Wade McMillen’s held church services out there the last Sunday in August for the past two years. Speaking of Wade, did you know Joey McMillen was born in Bitter End?”

“Really? A preacher’s son... Didn’t a preacher’s son die there a hundred-plus years ago? Wasn’t that the story?”

Lucas told her what he knew of how a preacher’s son had been hanged by a group of drunken men. When the preacher discovered what had happened, he’d placed a curse on the town. In time, everyone who’d settled in Bitter End was driven away by plagues and disasters, and Bitter End had been virtually forgotten.

Lucas parked the pickup, then led Annie through a field of bluebonnets toward a worn pathway. Holding her hand, he guided her down an embankment. Because of her injuries from the car accident, Annie proceeded cautiously, watching her step. When she looked up again, she went abruptly still at the sight of Bitter End nestled below. Two rows of buildings, mostly stone and some of wood, cut a swath through the heart of the town. A church and cemetery stood at one end, a large corral at the other, with hitching posts and water troughs. For its age, the church, which was the most prominent building in town, seemed to be in good condition. The hotel, with its second-floor balcony, appeared in the worst shape, leaning precariously as if ready to topple at any moment.

Annie stared at the colorful array of rosebushes in bloom. She took in the other plants, some in window boxes and others in flower beds that bordered the buildings and splashed bright colors against their drab exteriors.

“I remember Jane told me about this—but I still can’t believe it,” she said, astonished at the vivid flowers everywhere she looked.

“Frank mentioned once that the town used to be completely dead,” Lucas said as he slowly navigated their way down the embankment. “A genuine ghost town. He said it was really something, what happened after Joey McMillen’s birth. Some folks think that having a preacher’s son born in the town is what broke the curse. Others—of a less romantic bent—talk about an underground spring breaking free.” He shrugged. “For whatever reason, everything started to grow again.”

“What an incredible story,” Annie said, awed. “Did anyone think of restoring the old place and making a tourist attraction out of it?”

“Apparently there was quite a debate about doing that,” Lucas told her, “but the council voted it down. On the other hand, no one wanted to let the place deteriorate, either. The history of Promise is rooted in Bitter End.”

“So what happened?” She gestured around her.

“Frank told me that slowly, one by one, families started visiting the old town. Soon they were making improvements. The steeple on the old church got rebuilt. That’s where Pastor McMillen holds the annual service. The church has been cleaned and the pews straightened. A couple of the buildings, like the hotel, are boarded up because they’re unsafe, but the old stone structures are still solid.”

“Everyone’s done a wonderful job.”

He nodded. “The last time I was here, I noticed that a number of families have put furniture in the buildings—stuff that was handed down to them from their grandparents and great-grandparents.”

“I imagine Savannah planted all these roses,” Annie said.

“She was the one who started it all, you know. It was her search for old roses that brought her to Bitter End. Soon after, others came, and later when word got out about Richard hiding here, people got really curious. Bitter End was what originally brought Travis Grant to Promise.”

Annie proudly featured his books at her store, and he’d already come to speak once. Travis wrote bestselling children’s books as T. R. Grant and had written two blockbuster adult novels as Travis Grant. It’d been a thrill to meet him, along with his wife, Nell, and their children, including a pair of adorable two-year-old twins.

“Nell and Travis were the ones who solved the mystery,” Lucas went on to explain.

Annie had known that, but she hadn’t heard details.

As he led her into the buildings he knew were safe, Lucas described the search Travis and Nell had undertaken, which involved interviewing descendants of Bitter End’s residents, going into newspaper archives on the Internet and piecing together an antique story quilt.

When Lucas and Annie finished exploring, they sat in two rocking chairs placed on the boardwalk outside the mercantile. The scene was a pleasing one. Annie could imagine what it must have been like 130 years ago, and her thoughts slid pleasantly back in time.

They sat in companionable silence for a while, the subject of Bitter End apparently exhausted. Lucas glanced at her and said, “I hope my girls haven’t made pests of themselves. They’d be at the bookstore every day if I let them.”

“Pests? Heather and Hollie? Never!”

“They like you.”

“Well, I like them. I hope you’ll let them come as often as they want.” She wanted to add that he was welcome, too, but didn’t.

Lucas chuckled. “I don’t think I could keep them away.”

Annie recognized the girls’ need to be noticed and nurtured and loved. As a motherless child, that was what she’d sought herself. Whatever she could do to comfort them, to assuage their sense of loss, she would.

Lucas looked at his watch. “We should probably think about heading back.”

Annie knew he was right, but she hated to leave the tranquillity of Bitter End. Nor was she ready to give up this time with Lucas.

By tacit agreement, they returned to the truck. Lucas walked ahead of her, assisting her as she made her way carefully up the embankment. When the terrain became steep, he reached for her hand. She smiled her appreciation and was rewarded with a lazy grin, which unaccountably sent her pulse skittering. Friends, he’d said, and she’d agreed—yet it seemed somehow that they’d already gone beyond friendship.

She was well aware that Lucas was a handsome man, especially when he smiled. But it wasn’t his good looks that impressed her. Billy, her ex-husband, had been known as a heartthrob in their college days. But unlike Billy, Lucas Porter was a man of character, a man of inner strength. When his wife became ill, he hadn’t turned his back; instead, he’d remained steadfastly at her side. When she’d died, he hadn’t handed his children over for others to raise, but had uprooted himself and moved to Promise to be closer to his parents. This was the kind of man who would accept her scars. A man who wouldn’t turn tail and run at the first sign of trouble. Friends, she reminded herself. That was all they’d be and that was fine by her. Wasn’t it?

As they traveled back to town, they talked about the old families—the Westons and Pattersons and Frasiers—who’d left Bitter End and come to Promise. Truly a place for new beginnings, they decided. Lucas parked behind Tumbleweed Books and walked her up the stairway that led to her small apartment above the store.

She unlocked the door and was about to invite him in when he said, “Thanks, Annie, for a very enjoyable afternoon.”

“Thank you.” She held her breath, hoping he’d ask her out a second time right then and there.

He didn’t. Instead, he tucked his hands into his pants pockets, nodded and walked away.

Apparently the interest she felt wasn’t mutual.