The Widow of Saunders Creek Read online

  He shook his head. “I would like to, but I want to finish the floor today. Then we can start putting down the tile tomorrow.”

  My cell phone buzzed from where I had set it on top of the fridge. I pulled it down and rolled my eyes. “My mother …”

  Eli stood, lifted the plates from the table, and set them in the sink. “I’ll get back to work and let you deal with that.”

  I sighed and hit speakerphone. “Mother, we were just talking about you.”

  “We?” Her voice was high and controlled, as if her bun was too tight.

  “Eli and me.”

  “Are you already dating? Good grief, Corrine, you’ve only been there a day.”

  Eli grinned over his shoulder as he headed out the kitchen door and then laughed out loud when I scowled at him. I quickly disabled the speakerphone and put the cell to my ear.

  “No, I’m not dating. You met Eli at the funeral, Mother. He’s Jarrod’s best friend and cousin. Eli is doing all the renovations on my house.”

  “Oh, the handyman.”

  “Yes.”

  She was quiet for too long, and I realized she must be distracted by something at the office. “Did you need something?” I asked, my voice sharp. Who called whom, here? I had plenty to do without being ignored on the phone.

  “Oh yes, I’m sorry, Corrine.” And she’s back … “Listen, honey. Your grandparents’ anniversary is in two weeks, and I’m booking flights for you and the rest of the out-of-towners. I’m e-mailing you your itinerary. I’ve made your return flight a week after you arrive.”

  “A week! Mother, I just got here. I don’t want to be away for a whole week.”

  “Well, how will you see everyone and get in your summer shopping without at least a week?”

  By summer shopping, my mother meant she and Lola and I would be taking a trip to New York while I was there. We’d take the 5:00 a.m. flight, get a cab directly to the hotel, and then hit Saks Fifth Avenue. We’d have a fantastic lunch at someplace expensive, take in a Broadway show, have a fabulous dinner. Stay at The Plaza, and then fly home the next day. When Jarrod was around, I had an excuse not to go to these little family outings. Now I had no excuse that Mother would accept. I had just spent the past six months under Mother’s thumb. How could she not understand that I never had any interest in her world? And even less now. I just wanted to be left alone to grieve my husband and attempt to make sense of his death.

  “I have everything I need, Mother,” I said. I knew I’d have to be determined to stand my ground and willing to make her angry or I’d give in.

  After going round and round for a few minutes, I finally agreed to “think about it” and get back with her in the morning. Mentally, I made a note to send her an e-mail. I hated showing weakness where she was concerned, but the only way to keep my resolve was to not hear her voice.

  By the time I hung up, my insides were so tight that I needed to get out of the house. I left the lunch containers in the sink and headed outside and toward the bridge. A cooling wind was starting to pick up.

  I walked the path, taking in the signs of spring: green grass, squirrels running up and down the trees that lined the thin wire fence that marked off a ravine. I couldn’t resist peeking over the fence, but I couldn’t see anything but trees and shrubs and wildflowers. I knew anyone who fell would end up in the river. Dead or seriously hurt, but in the river either way. The path angled downward, and I walked until I reached the bridge ten minutes later. The temperature dropped a good ten degrees as I stepped onto the covered structure.

  For a second I stood there, taking in the reality that this belonged to me. “Thank you, Jarrod,” I breathed. I felt so close to him here, watching the water move below the bridge. I leaned against the railing and let the breeze brush across my body.

  I sat down on the platform and let my legs dangle over the side, resting my arms on the middle rail, and I watched the water move high and low with the wind. I don’t know how long I stayed there—it was awhile, more than an hour—imagining Jarrod. Wondering what it might have been like for him growing up around here. The solitude felt soul-healing, and I remembered a verse Mother used to quote: “He leadeth me beside the still waters. He restoreth my soul.” Had Jarrod led me here? I shivered suddenly, and for some reason my fight-or-flight sense was alerted. I felt odd, unsafe, as though someone was watching me. I pulled myself to my feet, my legs stiff from dangling for so long.

  I was about to head back to the safety of the house when I heard the hum of a small motor coming from the path on the opposite side of the bridge. I turned and saw a Gator coming toward me. The driver waved, and I waved back, but it wasn’t until the vehicle stopped just short of coming onto the bridge that I recognized Eli’s Aunt Trudy. She turned off the motor and slid off the ATV.

  “Aunt Trudy,” I said, walking toward her in case she needed a steadying hand. “What a coincidence.”

  “There are no coincidences.” She showed the toothless grin that had revolted me the day before, but today I found it grannyish, and it didn’t bother me at all.

  “Well, I think this is a lovely chance meeting, anyway.” I was a bit surprised to find that I truly meant it, despite the spooky encounter in the store and Eli’s concerns over her interest in me. “What are you doing out and about all alone?”

  “I sensed the need to come to the creek,” she said matter-of-factly. “And I had a feeling it had something to do with Jarrod’s widow.”

  “And here I am,” I said, mostly to placate her.

  “Yes, you are.”

  She took my arm, though I wasn’t sure which of us was leading the other.

  “What about you?” she asked. “Why did you come here today?”

  I shrugged. “Eli told me about the bridge, and I needed a break from unpacking boxes, so I thought I’d come see what all the fuss was about.”

  “Or maybe Jarrod led you here.”

  I thought about the eerie feeling of being watched I had experienced just before she came, and my heart rate picked up.

  We stopped midbridge. She motioned toward the water. “This is where Saunders Creek began.”

  I had a vague recollection of Jarrod relaying the story of how the town originated, but I could see she was set on telling me anyway. “My grandparents settled here right after the Civil War. Back then, there was nothing here but woods and river.” Her voice lifted with pride and a twinge of regret. But I began to wonder if there could be more. If maybe she had been designated to speak for the family or something.

  “Do you think I should give the land back to the Saunders?”

  Her eyes narrowed a bit as she studied me. I got the eerie feeling she was probing my mind.

  “We all have to decide our own path. Who would you give it to?”

  Eli’s face came to mind, but I shrugged. “I guess I’d have to give it back to Fred.” After all, the land had gone to Jarrod’s dad before coming on to Jarrod. Guilt about Jarrod’s parents plagued me. I still hadn’t called or gone by to see them since coming to Saunders Creek. It wasn’t right and I knew it, but I didn’t have the strength to face them. They would be looking for stories about Jarrod, wondering about conversations we had that might have included them—there weren’t many. Mostly, I feared their accusations. For two years we lived only a hundred miles away, so why didn’t we visit?

  The honest answer was that Jarrod was gone so much of the time that when he was home we wanted to be together. Alone. Jarrod knew I would have gladly come with him if he’d suggested visiting his folks. But truth be told, he hadn’t. On holidays, we went on vacation. That’s what he wanted, though I’m sure they blamed me. What family wouldn’t blame the wife for their son’s lack of interest?

  She nodded. “That’s the right thing.”

  I blinked, trying to find my way back to our conversation. She went on. “I thought you were going to say Eli.”

  My face warmed. She had read me so easily. “He’s been nice to me.”

  S
he gave the railing a little slap. “I think you ought to hold right tight to the land and the house. I was starting to wonder if you’d come back when you stayed gone for so long. And that would have been a shame.”

  Somehow, my heart lifted to know she was on my side. Today, out here in the beauty of this place, she didn’t seem at all spooky. She was just a nice lady with a bit of clairvoyance.

  A gust of wind blew through the bridge, strong enough to catch me off guard. Her hand tightened on my arm. “I best get on home,” she said. “Looks like a storm’s blowing in. Besides”—she demanded my gaze and I looked up to meet her eyes—“I think I know why I came here today.”

  I smiled and gave her an impulsive, quick hug. The look on her face showed it delighted her.

  “You’re a good girl, Corrie Saunders,” she said. “I know you love him still.” She grew pensive. “Jarrod isn’t far away. He’s with you now.”

  I caught my breath because everything in me wanted to believe. “Are you sure, Aunt Trudy?”

  “Honey, you’ve already felt him. He’s been there even when you didn’t know he was there. But other times he’s reached out, and you’ve known it was him. Isn’t that right?”

  I nodded. I didn’t understand how she could possibly have known such a thing, but I couldn’t deny it, no matter what Eli’s opinion of ghosts and demons was.

  “Then he’s only a whisper away.”

  I walked with her to the Gator, a little freaked out, but mostly fighting tears.

  “You come see me sometime,” she said. “We got a lot to talk about, you and me.”

  She fired up the engine, and I stepped back as she maneuvered the cart around. I thought she might say something else, but she lifted her bony fingers and waved, then went off as suddenly as she’d arrived, leaving me to wrestle with the significance of the encounter as I headed back to the house.

  Eli

  I carefully placed the last plank of wood, knowing that I’d definitely made the right choice. As much as I’d wanted to tell Corrie yes and go for a walk by the bridge, I was on a deadline. The kids would start coming to camp in a few weeks, and I hadn’t even started making my place ready for this year’s campers. The land had to be brush-hogged and cleaned up. Plus, I was building a rock-climbing wall. It was one of the main requests we’d gotten on the feedback cards last year.

  The cabins also had to be cleaned out and painted and basic repairs made. Two years ago when I built the camp, I’d decided to make the dwellings out of lumber rather than logs. I didn’t want the experience to be too rustic for kids to enjoy. Still, these were army brats. Indulged because of guilt that during deployment the child had only one parent. I didn’t begrudge them the right to feel a little entitled. After all, they hadn’t signed up with the military, and yet they were forced to serve their country whether they liked it or not. The kids seemed to like the painted cottages, and I had to admit they were easier to maintain than logs would have been.

  I nailed the last plank in place and then stood in the doorway, admiring my handiwork. Next I would tile the floor and replace the scalloped sink and the toilet. Then this bathroom would be finished.

  “Corrie!” I called. “You want to come see the floor before it gets covered up?”

  There was no answer, and I remembered she had gone down to the bridge. It was easy to lose track of time in the peaceful shelter over the creek. Still, I’d heard a couple of rumbles of thunder and hoped she would have the foresight to head home before the storm kicked up. I glanced at my watch and noted the time. Three o’clock. I’d been working for two hours without a break. I heard some shuffling from the master bedroom. I knew it had to be that room because there were only three bedrooms on this floor, and the other two were at the far end of the hall. I smiled. Corrie must have come home and not wanted to disturb me.

  “Corrie?” I called, moving down the hall toward the bedroom. The door was open. I heard the noise again. “Corrie? You okay?” My stomach tightened, and the hairs on the back of my neck stood up.

  I reached the bedroom door and was about to step inside to investigate when the door slammed. Hard. If I’d been a second ahead, it would have broken my nose. “Hey!” I said. Reaching forward, I twisted the knob and pushed the door open. The hinges protested the movement, but the door opened easily.

  My heart pounded, but I forced myself to step inside. I had practically grown up in this house and knew its eccentricities and family legends. I knew these sensations. The tingling jaw line; hair on my arm standing on end. Sudden cold or sudden hot. But familiarity certainly didn’t ease my tension. Something otherworldly was messing with my mind.

  I blew out a breath as a blast of wind from the open double windows caught the white curtains and fluttered them up. My knees went weak, and I realized I’d been letting my imagination go crazy since the encounter with Aunt Trudy yesterday.

  “God hasn’t given me a spirit of fear,” I said. “But power, love, and a sound mind.” A sound mind. So I needed to stop imagining things.

  The next gust of wind caught the door, and it slammed shut again. I jumped. It had been a long time since this house had given me the heebie-jeebies, but despite the Scripture I knew, I could feel the tingling continue down my spine, and the hairs on my arms were beginning to take on a life of their own.

  I gathered a deep breath and walked to the door. I reached out, turned the knob, and pulled, but it didn’t budge. It must have slammed too hard and caused the old door to jam in the warped frame.

  At least I surely hoped that was all it was. I straightened up and took a deep breath, trying to force myself to stop allowing my imagination to run away with me.

  I pulled again, harder. But it still refused to move. The wind behind me was growing stronger, and outside a loud clap of thunder rattled the glass in the old panes.

  Okay, this was getting ridiculous. I had to get out of this room. I worked my hand, spreading out my fingers, then balling them into a fist. Twice, three times, as though warming up for a sports event. I grabbed the doorknob, determined that this was the time the darned thing would open. I was just about to yank for all I was worth when I heard Corrie calling.

  “Eli!”

  “In the master bedroom,” I called back. “The door’s stuck.”

  “What are you doing in my bedroom?”

  My face warmed. “I thought I heard you in here, but it was the wind.”

  “The door’s stuck?” Her voice was just on the other side of the door, and I felt ashamed at the relief flowing over me. How could I be such a coward?

  “Yeah,” I said. “I might need you to get the hammer and take the outside frame off if we can’t get it to open. The wood probably swelled from the moisture in the air.”

  “Yeah, it’s pretty humid. From the looks of the sky, we’re in for a pretty bad storm.”

  A sense of urgency welled up in my chest as I stared at the white door. Painting a wooden door probably didn’t help the sticking factor either.

  “Hang on,” Corrie said. “Maybe I can open it from this side without taking the trim off. Besides, I only have one hand available now.”

  My lips twitched at her words. A warped frame was a warped frame. “What do you mean by that?”

  “You’ll see.”

  The doorknob twisted. I didn’t even bother to step back. I was that sure she couldn’t open the door. “Okay,” she said. “I’m going to shove my shoulder into it, so be sure to stand back.”

  “Okay,” I replied, but stayed planted, grinning like an idiot. The next second I was seeing stars as the door flew open and connected with my face.

  “Oh my goodness! Eli!” Corrie gasped. “I told you to stand back. It wasn’t even stuck.”

  Blood flowed between my fingers. “Good Lord,” Corrie said. “I’ll be back in a second. Let me get a hand towel to catch that gusher.”

  My eyes watered. My nose was broken. It had to be. Corrie was back in a flash with a wet towel. “Here, put this on your fa
ce and come downstairs to the kitchen so you don’t get blood all over the rugs in here. They were your grandmother’s, and I don’t want them ruined.”

  “Thanks for your concern,” I said, only it sounded like “Thaksfoyocudcerd.”

  “It’s probably not broken. I think it just popped a vessel.”

  “What do you have in your hand?” I asked, feeling like a fool for the absurd way my speech sounded.

  We reached the bottom of the stairs, and she turned, her face glowing. “Look what I found.”

  My head was beginning to pound, and I could feel my face starting to swell. I squinted as I glanced at the creature she held in her arms. “A kitten?”

  “Yep. I found him sitting all alone meowing at me as if he was asking me to take care of him.”

  “Where?”

  “By the barn.”

  I nodded. “The barn cats have been part of the family forever. They keep the rats and field mice away from the house.”

  She opened the freezer and pulled out the ice bin, then grabbed a plastic storage bag from a drawer and filled it. She took a thin dishtowel from the linen drawer and wrapped it around the bag of ice. “Voilà—instant ice pack! See how good I am—all that with one hand.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Here,” she said, her voice softened. She set the kitten on the counter and took my arm. “Sit down at the kitchen table.” Finally, a little sympathy. “Tilt your head back, and let me take a look. I had a first-aid course, so I’m well qualified to nurse you back to health.”

  I tilted my head back as she instructed, but I followed her with my eyes as she looked over my wound. She wiped away blood. “It might be broken. I can’t tell. Best put the ice on it.” So much for her stellar nursing qualifications.