Читать книгу Finding His Way Home - Mia Ross - Страница 11
ОглавлениеAlthough his trek down memory lane hadn’t been all that pleasant, Scott was amused by Jenna’s awestruck reaction to where he was living. Built in 1866 when the old sawmill was put into service, the original Barrett farmhouse wasn’t much to look at these days, with its sagging roof and sad excuse for a front porch. But the timbers holding it all up were solid Virginia oak, and they’d still be standing for many generations to come.
Nearby, in a partially overgrown clearing, a tiny chapel with half a roof was losing its battle against the encroaching trees. He’d hacked some of the worst offenders down, but he had a lot of work ahead of him yet. And that didn’t count shoring up the building itself. To most folks, he was certain the place would’ve looked like a lost cause right out of the gate, but it suited Scott perfectly. It gave him plenty to do, tucked away in the woods with only the wildlife for company. Considering people’s varying responses to him since his return, he actually preferred hanging out with the animals.
Angling a look up at him, his pretty guest said, “I wish I’d known about this spot sooner. With all the different colors and shafts of light coming down through the branches, it would make a great painting.”
“Most folks’ve forgotten all about it,” he acknowledged.
“How did you end up here, though? You’ve got family in town and over in Cambridge. Why aren’t you staying with one of them?”
Her forthright manner caught him off guard. He’d grown accustomed to people who kept their mouths shut and their heads down. The few old acquaintances he’d seen since coming back to Barrett’s Mill were polite but understandably reserved with him. This slender woman looked him straight in the eye and spoke openly to him. He wasn’t sure if that appealed to him or not, but it made her different, that was for sure.
“I like it out here,” he replied finally. “It’s quiet.”
She laughed at that. “This whole town is quiet, but I guess I understand you wanting your privacy. I’m the same way.”
He wouldn’t have put it quite that way, but since she seemed to accept his explanation, he decided to go along. And since she’d offered something personal about herself, he felt it was only fair to do the same. “Actually, Granddad left me this place in his will. There’s three acres here that connect to the back of the sawmill property. There’s the house and chapel, with a small trust fund to restore them, and I get to live here as long as I want. It’s not a fortune, but I don’t need much.”
“That sounds like Will,” she commented with a fond smile. “Taking care of someone but making sure they have to work for it. He gave you a lifeline but arranged things so you’re able to keep your dignity.”
What was left of it, anyway, Scott added silently. He wasn’t comfortable voicing that thought, so he settled for something a little safer. “Yeah.”
She gave him a long, curious look, and he braced himself for what might come out of her mouth next.
“You said something about sweet tea?” she asked as she began walking again.
“Yes, ma’am. Not that way, though,” he cautioned before she reached the front porch steps. “All those boards are rotten, and you’ll go straight through. I already rebuilt the ones out back, so they’re much safer.”
“How come you did them first?”
He didn’t answer, and when she rounded the corner of the house, she paused with a sigh. “Oh, I see why.”
Behind the cottage, Sterling Creek wound its way through centuries-old trees on its way to wherever it was going. Sunlight dappled the water, giving the stream a sparkle to go with its cheerful sound. He wasn’t normally big on landscaping and such, but sitting on the rough-hewn stairs and listening to the water brought him the kind of peace that had eluded him for more years than he cared to count. It hadn’t escaped him that he’d finally found that calm here in the woods surrounding the hometown he couldn’t wait to escape from when he was younger.
“This section of the creek was pretty much clogged up when I got here,” Scott explained as he went ahead to open the door he’d cobbled together from scrap wood. It didn’t have much style, but it was a big improvement over the old one that had been rotting on the hinges. At least it kept out the bold raccoons that had been trotting in and out as if they owned the place. “I spent a few days clearing it out so the creek would run like it used to when I was a kid.”
He cringed at the nostalgic twinge in his voice, but Jenna eased his concern with a smile. “That’s really sweet. It sounds like you have great memories of this place.”
“Some of my best,” he confided, following her inside. Grateful that he’d bothered to wash the dishes this morning, he reached into the small fridge sitting on the counter and brought out a jug of sweet tea. “My brothers and I spent a lot of summer days hanging out at the swimming hole upstream with our friends.”
Sitting in one of the two seats he had to offer, Jenna gave him a cute smirk as she took the glass he handed her. “I’m guessing some of those friends were girls in bikinis and cutoff shorts.”
“A few,” he acknowledged with a grin of his own. “We were the Barrett boys, after all.”
“I’m well aware of your killer reputation.” Taking a sip of her tea, she glanced around the kitchen. “So what are your plans for this room?”
Torn back to the studs, it wasn’t much to look at right now, and he appreciated her not mentioning it. “Once I get the framing done, there’s some scrap oak at the mill I can use to make bead board like the kind that used to be in here before the termites shredded it. It’ll take a while, but I want to keep things as original as I can.”
“Because that’s how it was when your grandfather grew up here.”
That she’d picked up on that detail absolutely floored him, and he stared over at her in disbelief. Apparently, she understood his response because she explained, “When Paul and Jason were rehabbing the mill so they could reopen your family’s furniture business, they said that kind of thing a lot. Your brothers put in a ton of work, but they never complained because it was all for Will.”
Again, the stab of guilt hit Scott hard, and he did his best to roll with the unwelcome sensation. In an effort to stall long enough to regain his composure, he spun the other chair around to straddle it and faced her across the table. He swallowed some of his tea and rested his arms over the back of the chair, rolling his glass back and forth between his hands.
“I wish I could’ve been here. Y’know, to say goodbye.” When it occurred to him he’d just confessed his deepest pain to a stranger, he growled, “You’re way too easy to talk to.”
“Yeah, I get that a lot. It must be the overalls.”
The sound of his own laughter surprised him. Far from the cynical snort he’d adopted, it had a lighthearted quality that appealed to him. Beyond the pleasant sound of it, he marveled at how quickly she’d found a way to make him want to laugh again. It had been a long time since he’d had a reason to do it, and he had to admit it felt good. “Must be. Well, that and you ask a lotta questions.”
“Creative people are curious by nature,” she informed him with another smirk. “It comes with the territory when you hang out with me.”
Translation: this is who I am, take it or leave it. He admired her sassy attitude more than he could say, and he couldn’t imagine any grown man with a pulse choosing anything other than to accept this bright, engaging woman just the way she was. “Thanks for the warning. Ready for a refill?”
“Actually, what I’d really like is to see the chapel.” She tilted her head in the questioning pose that seemed to be part of her personality. “Do you have time to show it to me?”
He had nothing but time these days, and he couldn’t think of anything he’d like half as much as spending some more of it with the perky artist he’d stumbled across in the cemetery. Since it didn’t seem wise to tell her that, he set his glass on the table and stood. “It’s in pretty rough shape, so I’m afraid there’s not much to see.”
“Sometimes things aren’t as bad as they seem on first glance.” Meeting his eyes with her direct, unflinching gaze, she smiled. “I prefer to see for myself and make up my own mind.”
He sensed she was referring to more than decrepit old buildings, and an odd sensation fanned through his chest. Since he’d never experienced it before, he wasn’t sure what it was or what it meant. As Jenna walked past him, something coaxed him to fall in behind her, eager as an old hound dying for some attention from her.
Pathetic, he admitted with a sigh, but true. The problem was, the last time he’d let a woman lead him around, she’d landed him in the worst mess of his life. That betrayal had taught him that trusting his heart was foolish, at best. So while he might enjoy Jenna’s bubbly company, for the sake of his sanity that was as far as he could allow a friendship with her to go.
Logical by nature, he knew his stern resolution to keep things light should have eased his concerns. Instead, he had the sinking feeling that choosing to follow the safe route with Jenna would cost him the chance at something amazing.
* * *
Quite simply, the sight of that forgotten church broke Jenna’s heart.
Without maintenance, the clapboards had rotted and fallen away in many spots, and those that remained were a pale dried-out gray. It struck her as being the color of surrender, and it had absolutely no business being on God’s house. The steps weren’t good for anything but kindling, and what was left of the roof looked ready to collapse at the slightest hint of a breeze.
“It’s looked better,” Scott commented wryly, bracing his hands on either side of the door frame to haul himself up to the gaping front entrance. “I found the front doors, but they’re toast. They have a nice arch to them, though, and I’ll build new ones to fit after I get the roof squared away.”
Offering her a hand, he helped her climb up into the entryway. Once inside the single room, she stood there for a few moments to let her eyes take it all in. She’d anticipated a complete disaster and was pleasantly surprised to see that while it was in deplorable condition, the small church had been swept clean of debris. Here and there, she noticed a fresh beam or piece of lumber shoring up the weaker sections.
Some people might have considered them a futile attempt to halt the decay, but to her eyes they looked hopeful. The way Scott did right now, she added with a little smile. She got the feeling he wanted her to approve of what he’d accomplished so far, and she was more than happy to oblige him. “You’ve been busy in here. I can already imagine how it’ll look when you’re done.”
“Really?” The eagerness seemed out of character for him, and he quickly reverted to the more casual indifference she’d picked up on earlier. “You’re the first one besides me to see it this way. I figured you’d say something polite and leave it at that.”
She was about to respond when a glint of something at the front of the church caught her artist’s eye. Moving carefully around the holes in the floor, she walked toward a section of wall sporting a faded painting of Jesus and some of his followers on a wood panel. It was classic Americana, more cute than beautiful, but it was the raised nature of the panel that had her curiosity humming.
Scott sauntered up behind her, and she asked, “Did you notice this up here?”
“Sure,” he replied with a shrug. “Why?”
“Not the painting,” she clarified, nudging the frame away from the wall to reveal a shard of something that looked suspiciously like red glass. “This.”
“There’s no opening on the outside, so I didn’t even know it was there. Hang on a sec.”
He hurried over to a battered toolbox, and she couldn’t help noticing that while it looked ancient, every tool was laid precisely in its place. It reminded her of her mammoth selection of paints, all arranged in order up the spectrum, and the paintbrushes of various styles she kept beside them. It seemed she and this handsome hermit both treated their tools like precious gems. Interesting.
Using a metal pry bar, he worked his way around the bottom half of the frame, then climbed on a ladder to do the top. When there were only a few points still attached, from his perch he instructed, “You hold the bottom, I’ll steady it up here so we don’t damage anything. Ready?”
Grasping the bottom near the corners, Jenna braced herself for the weight. “Ready.”
Once they’d lowered it to the floor, she stepped back for a look at what they’d uncovered. She thought her jaw might have actually hit the floor, but she couldn’t help herself.
Scott let out a low whistle. “That’s incredible.”
Jenna couldn’t do anything more than nod. There, set into the wall of the decaying old chapel, was a stained-glass depiction of what could only be the Garden of Eden. Some of the lead dividers holding the glass shards in place were cracked or missing, leaving gaps in the colorful design that managed to shine through decades of grime. Going closer, she gently brushed away some of the dirt, admiring the depth of the greens and blues. It was humbling to consider the tremendous patience it must have taken some long-ago craftsman to fit together the tiny pieces that made up the birds and flowers.
“Who did this?” she asked in a reverent whisper.
“I dunno. Gram might, though, or know how we can find out. We should ask her.”
“I can’t believe it’s mostly intact, after all this time.” Glancing around the abandoned church, she added, “It’s like getting a gift from God, isn’t it?”
Scott didn’t respond to that, and out of the corner of her eye she caught his grimace. Turning to face him, she asked, “Did I say something wrong?”
“I’m just thinking we should figure out how to get this thing outta here before the roof caves in on it.”
“Good point.” Instinct told her there was more to his reaction than he was letting on, but it wasn’t her place to force him into discussing something he was clearly intent on keeping to himself. In the past year, she’d learned the Barrett men were stubborn to the core. They didn’t do anything against their considerable will, and she doubted that anything she might say would change this one.
Outside, they pulled a few of the old clapboards from the structure and discovered that whoever had covered the window had nailed up a piece of wood to protect it. So with Jenna inside steadying the fragile piece, Scott used a circular saw to cut out a square slightly bigger than the glass. Then she ran out to hold the frame while he made the last cuts, and together they lowered it to the ground.
Tufts of grass stuck through the open spots, completely ruining any aesthetic effect it once had. Jenna plunked her hands on her hips in disgust. “Well, that’s heartbreaking. I’ve never done stained glass like this, so I have no idea how to go about matching those colors.”
“Whattya mean?” Scott asked, clearly confused.
“We need to restore this and hang it back where it belongs,” she explained patiently.
“Why?”
“Because that’s how it was meant to be.” His baffled expression made it plain he still wasn’t following her line of reasoning. Reaching for an explanation he might understand, she said, “It’s like you making bead board for the kitchen. They have this really cool invention now, y’know. It’s called Sheetrock, and it works great for building interior walls. You can paint it and everything.”
“All right, you got me,” he relented with a chuckle. After a moment, he sobered, and that lingering sorrow clouded his face. “I’m sure Granddad would want the chapel the way it used to be. The problem is it’s gonna take most of my budget to fix the structural stuff, and I don’t have a lot of cash to throw around for doodads. How much do you think it’d cost to restore this thing?”
“If you help me get it to and from my studio, I’ll do it for free,” she blurted impulsively. Busy as she already was, taking on another project—a free one at that—made no sense at all. But in her heart she knew it was the right thing to do. When he gave her a dubious look, she added, “For Will.”
While he considered that, some of the darkness lifted from his features, and he offered his hand to seal the deal. “For Will.”
They stood that way for a few seconds, hands joined as they stared at each other. She noticed a hint of warmth in the depths of his eyes, and Jenna felt herself inexplicably drawn to this broken man who was trying to rebuild his life much like the property he’d inherited. She couldn’t help wondering if Will had intended just that, giving his wayward grandson another path to follow than the errant one he’d chosen.
Thinking about the generous man still made her teary, so she pulled her hand back and tried to focus her wandering mind on what needed to be done. While she was mulling, she spotted an ancient Ford delivery truck parked under a nearby tree. Decades of use had left the burgundy paint dull and faded, and she could barely read the Barrett’s Sawmill logo on the door. “Don’t tell me you ended up with the old mill truck.”
“Yeah, it’s my turn. Paul used it when he first came back, then Jason. It’s not fancy, but it runs. Most of the time,” he added with a wry grin.
“My van’s over at the cemetery. If you can give me a lift, I’ll drive it back here so we can put the window in back.”
“Actually, the other day I found some old quilts in the attic of the house. We can wrap the window in those and lay it flat in the bed of the truck. It should travel well enough that way, then I’ll drive you back to get your van.”
His suggestion made the task easier for her but required more effort from him, she realized. She approved his gesture with a smile. “Works for me.”
He retrieved the blankets, and they worked together to cushion the priceless artwork for its short trip across the valley.
Once it was secured in the back of his truck, she strolled over to eye the area beneath the hole they’d just made. “I’m guessing there are pieces of glass in the cavity between the interior and exterior walls.”
Scott groaned. “Sure, tiny ones that broke when they fell outta the frame. You won’t be able to repair them.”
“But I can get the original colors from them,” she argued, refusing to let his pessimistic assessment drown her enthusiasm for this project. “If you want this place to look the way it’s supposed to, having an accurate history of the decor will be important.”
“Decor. You sound like my new sisters-in-law.”
Biting back a sharp comment, she deflected his criticism with her sweetest smile. “What a nice thing to say. Chelsea and Amy are two of my favorite people.”
After a moment, his bravado faded a bit. “Yeah, I can see why. I didn’t mean to insult your friends.”
He clearly meant it as an apology, and she decided to take it that way. “They’re both great people, and if you take the time to get to know them, you won’t be sorry. After all, they’re part of your family now.”
Her gentle suggestion seemed to curdle the air between them, and the wariness he’d shown earlier returned with a cool vengeance. “Thanks for the tip,” he replied in a tone edged with sarcasm.
“Oh, don’t even bother with that,” she scolded, glaring up at him. “Growl and sulk all you want, but I’ve dealt with way tougher customers than you. You don’t scare me for a minute.”
As he studied her intently, his expression shifted from detached to fascinated in a heartbeat. “Tougher than me? When?”
“That’s absolutely none of your business,” she informed him, pivoting on her heel to grab another crowbar from his immaculate toolbox. “Now, do you want to help me or am I taking this wall apart by myself?”
He didn’t reply, and it took all her willpower not to look over her shoulder to gauge his reaction. Doing her best to forget he was even there, she inserted the bar into the rough-cut opening and started prying the dry, cracked boards away from the studs. Before long, Scott appeared beside her, and she braced herself for an arrogant masculine lecture on what she was doing wrong.
Instead, he silently took a position on the other side and began dismantling that section. She’d never have pegged him as the kind of guy who’d let a woman take the lead in anything, and she was more than a little impressed by his accepting attitude.
Of course, he also had a peculiar knack for aggravating her, she reminded herself immediately. Since he was a Barrett, she felt safe assuming his mulish disposition was equal parts inherited and acquired from his punishing recent history. She’d always had a weakness for bad boys, searching for the good in them and more often than not ending up disappointed when she found there wasn’t enough to work with.
It was just as well, she knew. Once she finished her current backlog of projects, she’d be pulling up stakes and joining the circuit of art fairs that made their way through the region every summer. Her allotted year in Barrett’s Mill was almost over, and it was time to move on. Usually, she looked forward to packing up and heading someplace else filled with new people and experiences.
Unfortunately, this time she wasn’t as enthusiastic about her upcoming adventure as she’d been in the past. Sometimes being a gypsy was a lot harder than it looked.
* * *
When they pulled in at Jenna’s studio, there was a familiar beat-up SUV already in the gravel parking lot.
“Were you expecting my mom this morning?” Scott asked as they got out of her van.
“No, but I’m always happy to see her,” Jenna replied with a quick laugh. “When she drops by, she either has something yummy and homemade or a new customer for me.”
“Now I remember where I saw your name,” he said as he waited to open the car door for his mother. She was talking animatedly on her cell phone, so he went on. “Mom and Dad have a painting of yours in their living room.”
“I did the original for Will last fall,” Jenna explained with a melancholy smile. “His cancer got so bad, he really couldn’t move around on his own anymore. He missed going for his walks, so I went out to one of his routes and took some photos, then did up a landscape of the area for him. Your parents liked it so much I painted another one for them. Your dad told me whenever he looks at it, he feels like his father’s still here.”
Only he wasn’t, and Scott swallowed hard around the lump that suddenly clogged his throat. It frequently returned when someone mentioned Granddad, and Scott had no idea how to make it stop. Maybe it never would. Pushing aside the depressing thought, he said, “It was nice of you to do that for them. I know it’s a little late, but thank you.”
“For what?”
“Being so good to my family. Most people I know couldn’t care less about anyone they’re not related to.”
That earned him a long, assessing look. “I think you’ve been hanging out with the wrong kind of people.”
He gave a short laugh, then realized she wasn’t trying to be humorous. Seeking to cover his harsh reaction, he dredged up a crooked smile. “That’s pretty obvious, wouldn’t you say?”
“What’s obvious?” his mother asked through the window she’d lowered when he wasn’t paying attention.
“That it’s good to be home,” he answered smoothly, opening the door for her. Since her hands were empty, he assumed that meant she was bringing Jenna more work. Which was interesting if the lady was intent on leaving soon. Maybe there was more going on than he understood. It certainly wouldn’t be the first time. Kissing Mom’s cheek, he asked, “What’re you up to today?”
“Nothing much. Running around mostly.”
Dressed in her usual jeans and a simple blouse, she didn’t look like someone who ran herd over a large family and teen centers in both Barrett’s Mill and nearby Cambridge. Her dark eyes snapped with intelligence and the irrepressible humor that charmed everyone she met within ten seconds. More than once, Scott had wished he had more of her in him.
Turning to Jenna, she smiled. “I actually came by to ask you a favor. Before you answer,” she cautioned with a hand in the air, “take some time to think it over. It might not seem like much to you, but it could mean everything to someone else.”
“Someone young and in trouble, you mean.” When Mom nodded, Jenna’s eyes softened with compassion. “Fill me in.”
“Gretchen Lewis came to the Barrett’s Mill center yesterday after school. She and her father just moved here. He works at the power plant and also in one of those quick-stop marts out on the highway, trying to keep his head above water. From what I gather, his wife cleaned out their bank account before she took off for who-knows-where.”
Her tone made it plain what she thought of that, and Scott had to chuckle. “Don’t sugarcoat it, Mom. Tell us how you really feel about it.”
“I’m not one to judge,” she said, looking from one to the other with a determined expression. “But I was raised to believe that when things get tough, family pulls together, not away. That’s never more important than when you have children to consider.”
Glancing over at Jenna, Scott noticed her frown seemed deeper than it should have been for a teenage girl she’d never even met. His suspicion was confirmed when she quietly asked, “How old is Gretchen?”
“Sixteen,” Mom replied in the sympathetic tone that had guided Scott and his brothers through so many of their own problems. “She’s adorable and whip smart, but also timid as a mouse. She mostly keeps to herself, but I noticed her drawing and went over to see what she was working on.”
Reaching into her oversize canvas bag, she pulled out a piece of paper folded in half and handed it to Jenna. When the artist opened it, Scott worried that her eyes might pop right out of her head.
“Wow.”
Holding it at arm’s length, she stared at it for several seconds and then passed it to him. He didn’t have much of an eye for art, but he instantly recognized the Crossroads Church, complete with its modest bell tower and open entry doors. She’d drawn it looking through town toward the old chapel, and he easily recognized the trees and charming old homes that stood on either side of Main Street.
The Whistlestop Diner appeared open for business, and further up was his sister-in-law Amy’s dance studio, Arabesque, complete with the unfinished section Jason was adding to the old building’s living quarters. There was the Donaldson house, the Morgan place and the town square with its old-fashioned gazebo. The detail was stunning, to say the least.
“If she can do this with a pencil and paper, imagine what she could manage with some real supplies,” he commented.
“My thought exactly,” his mother confirmed, giving Jenna a hopeful look. “I know you’re planning to leave soon, but I was hoping you might come into the center and give her some encouragement. When I complimented her, she brushed it off like she didn’t believe me. If that praise came from someone who makes her living as an artist, she might take it more seriously.”
Jenna hesitated, but something told him it wasn’t because she was reluctant to help. She’d put a lot of time and effort into Granddad’s painting, and that combined with her volunteering to plant flowers at the cemetery told Scott she had a generous nature. So what was holding her back now? It must have been something important—and very personal. Which meant it was none of his business, but he couldn’t help wondering about it all the same.
Mom didn’t say anything more, and he recognized the patient look on her face from the many times he’d been on the receiving end. While she waited, Scott realized she was treating Jenna with the same respect she had her own kids. Even when they’d messed up, the Barrett boys could always count on her to hear them out before bringing down the hammer. Because of that, she was the only person he could comfortably look in the eye these days.
And Jenna, he realized with a jolt. Why, he had no clue, but he couldn’t deny it was true.
When she glanced at the drawing again, Jenna finally nodded. “Okay, I’ll talk to her. When would you like me to come in?”
“Thursday,” Mom answered in her usual brisk way. “She said she was coming back after school that day, and I’d love for her to meet you.”
“Then I’ll be there.”
“That’s what I like most about you, honey,” Mom approved, giving her a quick hug. “You don’t stand around hemming and hawing like so many folks. When there’s something that needs doing, you step in to take the reins and make things happen. Gretchen should be in around four. See you then!”
With a brisk wave, she was gone.
