The Long Road Home

“No, why should I?” he replied, his face suddenly impassive. “Call who you like—as long as you call.”

“Better watch how you throw your weight around, Charley,” said Seth, laughing, “now that it’s hunting season. Big bucks are a prime target.”

Nora witnessed the affection in C.W.’s glance at Seth. Who was this man, she wondered, who wore his sophistication as comfortably as his work clothes?

“Just who are you and what is your name, anyway?” she asked. “C.W. or Charley?”

His smile revealed deep dimples that stretched from the corners of his mouth to the curve of his chiseled chin. “Only Seth gets away with calling me Charley.”

“Never could take to calling a man by letters,” Seth muttered.

“Very well, C.W.,” she continued, her smile disappearing. “Would you mind telling me what your full name is and what you were doing showering in my house?”

Rather than being put off by her tone, he seemed pleased by it. He smiled wryly and put his hands on his hips. “My name is Walker, Charles Walker. I work here as an extra hand. Part of my arrangement was to stay in this house. I’m sorry if I frightened you. You see, I didn’t expect you.”

Nora sought confirmation from Seth, who nodded and stepped forward. “That’s right. Hired him back in January to help with the sugaring and the lambing.”

She returned her gaze to the tall man, then self-consciously realized it was he who was covertly assessing her every reaction.

“I’m sorry about the confusion, Mrs. MacKenzie,” C.W. said, looking down at his feet. When he raised his eyes again, they held a teasing light. “I didn’t mean to send you careening down the mountain.”

Nora flushed and her voice rose a note. “Mr. Walker, I’m not accustomed to half-naked men running out of my house and trying to bully me out of my car!”

He made no reply. Now she read remorse, and perhaps even guilt, in his eyes. This fencing was getting her nowhere.

“It wasn’t entirely your fault, Mr. Walker,” she admitted with an exhausted wave of her hand. “I didn’t expect you either. It was a comedy of errors.”

“With a near tragic ending. Nonetheless, I apologize.”

Something in his tone, sincerity perhaps, caused her to look back his way. With his hands in his hip pockets and his head tucked low, she wondered how she’d ever been afraid of him. He almost smiled at her, and she returned a half smile.

“I assume you’ll be staying here for a while,” he said, straightening his shoulders. “I’ll get my things together immediately and find another place to stay.”

“Wait, Mr. Walker. Things are going too fast.” She closed her eyes and rubbed her temples. He saw the wariness slip from her face like a mask removed.

“Such confusion,” she said, letting her hands fall on the bed. “I should have called—I usually do. Things have been a bit…hurried. I didn’t have you down on my guest calendar and assumed the house would be empty.”

“Right peculiar it is,” said Seth. “I wrote them lawyers about it. But I never did hear nothing back from them.” He didn’t bother to conceal his smile as he scratched his belly. “I figure them fellas didn’t put Charley here on that guest calendar of yours.”

Nora sat still in the bed. They were laughing at her, lying there with a ridiculous lump on her head. Ralph Bellows had failed her again. Worse thing was, nothing she could say could alter their opinion. Only actions counted for much up here.

“Seth,” she began, “from now on nothing, absolutely nothing, goes to the lawyers. Everything goes straight to me.” The skepticism in Seth’s eyes hurt.

He ambled up to her bed and removed his green cap with John Deere emblazoned across it. His oil-stained fingerprints were visible on the visor as he held the cap before him.

“You aim to keep the farm?” he asked with characteristic bluntness.

“But of course,” she replied with emphasis. “I plan to live here. Permanently.” She ventured a small smile. “I guess that eliminates my guest calendar.”

No one laughed. Seth shifted his weight and shook his head.

“Don’t know but you’re up to it here alone,” he began slowly. “Snow comes and you’ll get stuck up here for days before we can dig you out. Power quits too, every bad storm.” Rubbing his chin he muttered, “Nope. This house is just too high up for real living. Leastwhiles in Vermont winters.” He snapped his cap back on his head. “You best know what you’re getting into.”

“I agree with Seth,” C.W. added. “This is no place for you to live alone. It’s brutal. Nobody has the time to keep checking up on you.”

“I wasn’t aware that I asked,” she snapped back.

While outwardly she knew she appeared hard-boiled, inwardly she was thin-shelled. With no family to fall back on, Nora was truly alone. Only her optimism and blind faith spurred her hope that she could form new roots here on the farm.

“I’ll manage, Seth,” she said, bolstering herself up on the pillows and forcing a smile. “I know I can count on you for advice on how to winterize this place. And if Frank and Junior need the work, I’d like to hire them and get started right away. And of course, Esther,” she added as Esther returned to the room.

Nora pushed higher in the bed.

“This is no longer a vacation home. It is home. My home.” Nora’s chest swelled. At that moment, she felt she could really do it.

“Well,” Seth answered with a grunt. “It won’t be any vacation, that’s for sure. But it’s plain you got your mind set. The boys and I will look around and see what’s got to get done before snow sets in. But it won’t be cheap. It’s a big house.”

Nora paled. “I understand. But do keep a tight rein on the budget. Nothing fancy.”

C.W. looked at her askance.

Nora turned to face him squarely. “And you, Mr. Walker. What are your plans?” Her voice was as cool as the autumn air.

C.W. shook his head. It seemed to her he would laugh out loud.

“My plan, Mrs. MacKenzie,” he replied in a controlled voice, “is to honor my contract and finish out this lambing. Then I’ll pack and be out of here by October’s end.” He glanced at Seth for confirmation.

C.W.’s eyes took her measure and she felt she had come up lacking.

“My contract does not stipulate that I work on your house for this…urge of yours to live off the fat of the land. If you get a chill, you can always pack up and jet down to Palm Beach.”

Nora dug her nails into her palms. She wanted to scream at him that she wasn’t that type at all. That she was scared out of her mind.

Pride held her tongue. She knew that to them, she was a pitiful figure. To them, a woman without a man was sad enough, but one trying to make a life for herself alone in the mountains was an object of ridicule.

Nora took a long breath and willed her hands to relax at her sides. “I see,” she replied with a patronizing tone. “Whatever is more convenient for you.”

His blue eyes steamed, and by the way he cleared his throat she sensed that he, too, was swallowing his frustration.

“It’s clear I can’t stay in this house,” he continued in a decidedly polite manner. “I’d appreciate being able to sleep in the cabin.”

A sound of disbelief came from the corner. Esther was whispering furiously in her father’s ear. Seth shrugged and looked away.

“There’s not but a potbelly stove in there,” Esther cried. “No water, no facilities. You’ll freeze your you-know-what off.”

“It’ll do,” he replied, still looking at Nora, “if you’ll agree to let me eat breakfast here, do some laundry, and take a shower or two. I’ll be discreet.”

“Yes, I think that would be fine, Mr. Walker. Until October’s end, that is.”

“I think you’re crazy,” said Esther. “Or just muleheaded.” She scowled. “Shoot, I’ll fix up the cabin for you. But when that frost hits, you’ll be checking to see just what Jack nipped.”

Esther blushed as the men snickered.

“You quit it, you guys,” Esther barked.

C.W. reached out and gave her back a friendly pat. “Thanks, Es. I do believe your temper will keep us all warm this fall.”

Nora was quick to notice the commiserating glance Esther offered him. Once again, C.W. caught Nora staring at him, and a veil of distrust cloaked his features.

“I’ll check on the car,” C.W. called over his shoulder as he headed for the door.

Nora watched his retreating back in silence then glanced from the empty doorway to Seth, to Esther, then back to Seth with her eyebrows raised in question.

“That Charley don’t jaw much,” said Seth. “Keeps to himself. But he’s a good man. Best I ever hired.”

“Where’s he from?” Nora asked.

“The east. Got references from some horse farm. Did some managing, not much handling of sheep. He’s a quick learner, though.”

“It’s true. He’s always got his nose in some sheep or farm book,” added Esther. “I like him. So do Frank and Junior. Thought they’d be jealous, the way C.W.’s taking over and all, but I guess it’s all in the way it’s done.” The look she gave Nora spoke plainly of how poor a showing she’d offered so far.

Seth’s persistent nods and occasional “yeh-ups” confirmed that Mr. Charles Walker had passed the stringent acceptance test of Vermonters. Nora was impressed.

“Seth,” Nora began, looking into the caretaker’s wizened face, “I have to get a handle on the finances of this farm right away. Budgets, expenses, and the lot. When can we meet?”

Seth scratched his head. “Any time, as long as you meet with Charley.”

“Mr. Walker?”

“Yep. Charley’s the man for the numbers.” He jawed his gums a moment then added, “Sure helps me out, I can tell you. Truth is, he’s so good I just let him handle the whole job now. And he’s teachin’ my Frank the tricks, too.” He hitched his pants. “If you got any questions about budget, missus, Charley’s the man to ask.”

Nora did not respond. She faced the unpleasant prospect of having to work closely with the stone-faced, dispassionate, opinionated Mr. Walker.

“Nothin’ worth doin’ around here,” Seth concluded, tugging at his visor. “I’ll be joining C.W. at the barn. Esther, you wait till this Doc Redman shows up.”

“Sure, Pa,” Esther muttered.

Seth left, leaving the two women in an awkward silence. Nora had never known Esther very well. Unlike the other Johnstons, she had always kept her distance. Esther was tall, angular, and with her penetrating green eyes, striking. She wasn’t a big woman, just strong boned, and Esther never hunched her shoulders, as so many other tall women did. The effect was one of confidence, and it was imposing. Nora remembered stories about Esther, the way she’d venture off into the mountains alone.

“I’ll go make you some tea,” said Esther in her husky voice. “Don’t fall asleep, now. You might have a concussion or something.”

“No, I won’t.”

Nora viewed the closing door with relief. Her triumphant return had turned into an embarrassing disaster. Instead of charging in and taking over, here she was, lying in bed with a goose egg on her head. Life just wasn’t fair. Tomorrow, she’d try again, Nora vowed, burrowing under the blankets. Tomorrow, she’d do better.

The mountain of blankets formed a barrier between herself and the rest of the world. She sank deeper into their warmth. Nora turned on her side and watched, transfixed, as a spider carefully spun its web in the dusty corner.

To each creature a home, she thought with hope.

5

IN THE LOWER BARN, C.W. was working up a sweat. He loved to throw hay. It was hard, backbreaking work that brought his muscles to the point of pure pain. C.W. threw at a steady pace, humming a soundless tune in his head, beating the rhythm of his pitches with grunts. Poke, lift, pitch. Down, up, and out. Down, up, and out. Over and over. Faster and faster. His biceps began to tremble, and sweat beaded his brow and pooled under his arms. He needed to work hard now. This was the one way he could blot out the questions that haunted him.

Today, however, the questions kept coming. Why was MacKenzie’s widow here now? He’d thought he found the perfect haven in which to hide while he redirected his life. Seth had confirmed that the MacKenzies never came here. What was she up to? And why was MacKenzie’s widow worried about old Seth’s house budget? He was right about her, he realized with distaste. She’d be cheap with good, honest people and end up using them, just like her husband did.

From the corner of his eye he saw a figure move near the barn’s entry. C.W. groaned, threw a final forkful of hay, and stopped to catch his breath. Standing still now, his muscles throbbed so; he could hear the beat of it in his brain. After wiping his brow with his dusty shirtsleeve he looked over his shoulder toward the figure by the door.

Seth was rubbing his jaw as if he had a bad itch, and when he wasn’t rubbing, he was hitching his pants and clearing his throat. C.W. coughed, set down his pitchfork, and met Seth’s gaze. There was no delaying it. Seth wanted to talk.

“Hey, Seth,” he called, slipping easily into the vernacular. He walked directly over to the old man, his long legs crossing the barn quickly.

“Barn looks good,” Seth said. His smile was brief.

C.W. was always stunned to note how many of Seth’s teeth were missing. “Thanks.”

“Yeh-up. Can’t work a farm when the tools are rusted.”

“Nope,” C.W. replied. He enjoyed giving the short rejoinders as much as Seth did hearing them. Seth started at hitching his pants again.

“Something I can do for you, Seth?”

Seth looked off at the ewes awhile. “You were acting strange up there with the missus,” Seth said at last.

Here we go, thought C.W. “How so?”

“Like you knew her.”

C.W. skipped a beat. “Nope. I never met her.”

Seth screwed up his eyes.

Cagey old bird, thought C.W. with affection. He held his tongue, however, knowing his silence could outlast even Seth’s patience.

“Silence is a wonderful thing, son,” Seth said after a spell of watching three hens peck the corn. “But it’s a far cry from secrets.”

C.W. kicked the dirt and stared at his dusty boot. “I never met her,” he said quietly.

Seth nodded, knowing it was the truth.

C.W. ran his hand through his hair with a long sigh.

“Well, I guess I was hard on her for a while there. Skinny New York women have a way of getting on my nerves.” He was relieved to hear Seth chuckle. “From what I know of MacKenzie, she’s going to be a real pain.”

“What you know of MacKenzie?”

Clever man, mused C.W. “I know what I hear. Let’s see, from you I heard he was ornery as a mule and late to pay his bills. From the boys I heard he was short on charm and long on demands, and from Esther…” He paused. “I get mixed messages from Esther. I gather she both hates him and, dare I say, admires him?”

Seth rubbed his jaw again. C.W. sensed an untold story there. Seth looked away for a moment, but when he swung his head back, his face flattened to a deadpan.

C.W. went back to his hay. He hadn’t thrown more than three forkfuls before he heard Seth’s voice again.

“You workin’ up a frenzy today,” Seth said.

“Lot of delays,” he grunted between pitches. “Lot to get done before the sun sets.”

“Lot of thinkin’, seems to me.”

C.W. slowed, stopped, and peered over his shoulder once again. Seth was standing with his hands in his rear pockets and one foot slightly before the other. His eyes were boring into him.

“When a boil starts to fester, it’s time to stop everything and clean it. Else it spreads and ruins you. Makes you mean and ugly and you hurt bad all the time.”

“Just what is it you think I need to clean out, Seth?”

Seth gummed a bit, holding back. “Reckon you know that best, son. But I do know that you’ve been festering for months now and it looks like its comin’ to a head. Might be time to tend to it, that’s all I’m saying.”

A quiet pall settled in the barn. C.W. leaned on his fork while staring at the ewes. They stared right back at him, as though waiting for his response.

C.W. shook his head and dug his fork into the ground. Festering was the word for it. Perhaps it was time to purge. He trusted Seth, both his wisdom and his silence. Running his hand in his hair, he approached Seth.

“I never met Mrs. MacKenzie,” he began slowly. “But I knew Mike.”

Seth’s eyes widened.

“Everyone on Wall Street knew the ‘Big Mac.’ Mac, the big dealer. Mac, the big spender. There was this inside joke, spawned by jealousy: ‘Have you heard today’s Mac Deal?’”

He looked up at Seth. The old man wasn’t smiling.

“MacKenzie was this ruddy, handsome fellow with a loud, confident laugh and a firm handshake,” C.W. continued. “People enjoyed gathering around him and listening to the ribald stories that he told with professional skill. But his eyes were cold and calculating.

“At least he was honest about it,” added C.W., kicking the dirt. “Mike wanted to make money. And boy did he. Some called him a genius. Others called him a shark. He had an instinct for the kill and devoured businesses and swallowed profits in huge gulps. And that was business.” He shrugged. “I saw him as a highly leveraged con artist.”

“I guess I ain’t surprised you’re some kind of money man, the way you handle numbers. Still, it makes me wonder. I know how MacKenzie left. Why’d you leave?” Seth asked.

C.W. flinched, hearing in his mind the revolver’s retort, Mike’s blood blurring his vision again. His nose burned. His breath choked. C.W. wiped a shaky hand across his face, squeezing his eyelids tight. Then, suddenly, the answer came to him. A burst of clarity, after so many months of confusion. C.W. took a great gulp of air before speaking, more to himself than to Seth.

“I don’t want a killer instinct.”

C.W. didn’t move; he stared out of the barn with his hands in his hip pockets, while a muscle twitched in his broad jaw. From across the barn the sound of bleating was a staccato against the quiet dusk. Seth waited, giving C.W. the time he needed to clean out the wound.

After a spell, C.W. blinked, absently stretched his shoulders, and turned toward Seth, a sheepish look on his face.

“I suspect the boil burst.”

“Yeh-up.” Seth shifted his weight. “Speakin’ on MacKenzie. The missus, she ain’t nothing like the mister.”

“Oh? How is she different?”

“She’s a sad one. Used to wonder what made her so. When they first came up here she laughed all the time. Sweet thing, always comin’ down to the house with a gift from town or to buy more syrup from us than she’d ever use. They didn’t always have that big house. Nope. Used to camp up there before the building set up…and during. Some of them nights was cold enough to freeze water in a pail.”

He shook his head and chuckled. “We used to credit it to love. And them being young, ’course. Heard he got pretty rich, real quick. Money can change a man.”

C.W. felt a chill. “So I hear.”

“Not her though. She was sweet as ever. But she started getting that sad look on her face, like a ewe what’s been left behind in the field.”

“Then they just stopped coming up?”

“Yeh-up. No word, no nothin’. Just stopped coming.” He shrugged. “I guess that’s the way it is with rich folks. Maybe they just get bored. Still…” Seth scratched his belly then his head, ending the pause with a slap of his cap against his thigh.

“This still be her place and she’s a nice lady.”

“I understand, Seth.”

“Figured you would. Well, better get down to dinner before Esther starts to calling. Lord, how that woman can holler.”

C.W. walked over to the hay pile and resumed a steady rhythm of throwing hay.

Seth slipped his hat on, paused, then added, “If you feel like jawin’ a bit more, you know where to find me.”

C.W. stopped and faced the old man. His chest swelled.

“Thanks, Seth. I believe I will.”

Seth gummed a bit, then gave a brief wave. Before he left the barn, he threw a final sentence out. It seemed to reach C.W. after Seth had left the barn.

“You’re a good boy.”

The few words touched C.W. in a deep place that no words had reached in a very long time. It had been a very long time since anyone had called him a good boy. Or since he had thought that of himself.

C.W. sat on a bale of hay and rested his head in his hands.

The blue skies outside the great room were turning misty, signaling the end of her first day home in the mountains. Birds skittered in the sky, frantic at being away from home so close to dark. Nora went out on the deck to watch them arc, swoop, and bank turns, understanding how they felt. The warm day was becoming cool night. The sweet day songs had ceased; only the nighthawk, with its long pointed wings, kept up its nasal peent, peent. From the north, a wind was picking up and carrying off the first of an army of leaves. In the air, Nora could taste sweet rain.

She wrapped her arms around her shoulders. She should go in, but the cloud mist on her face refreshed her. So she stood out on the deck awhile longer to stare out at the mountains, dark purple now under lowering clouds. The clouds would soon swallow the house. Thunder rumbled in the valley.

“I’m safe now,” she called back to the nighthawk. “I’m already home.”

Speak them she might, she didn’t feel the words in the red hush of dusk. As she stood alone in her large, unfinished, mountain home, she thought if this were a nest, she’d be wildly searching for twigs, twine, and mud to patch together a safe haven against the incoming storm. But she was a woman, with neither the practical skills nor the money needed to finish the endless projects she’d discovered today.

She had forgotten how much remained to be done. Miles and years had fogged her memory in a romantic vision of country life, leaving unremembered unpleasant details such as unfinished floors and ceilings. Memory was selective, she realized.

Esther, however, had reminded her all too clearly in her forthright manner earlier that afternoon.

They’d been walking up the short flight of stairs to the great room. On this first day, Nora had made overtures to a possible new ally. A friend, a woman friend, would be welcome. So she sought out Esther’s opinions on what she’d do in the house, even though she already had her own plan firmly set in her organized mind.

Esther was not easy to approach. She was definite about her opinions and did not couch them with “I think” or with questions. She could be intimidating.

“I don’t know what you’re going to do all by yourself in this big house,” Esther said bluntly.

“There’ll be no shortage of projects to keep me busy. Besides, I’m used to living alone.”

Esther raised her brows. “Well, it’s going to be pretty lonely up here when you get snowed in. All those windows will make it cold too.”

“I suppose,” Nora replied, scanning the high ceilings and huge plates of glass that surrounded the great room. She’d look into sewing some insulated shades right away.

“All these cement floors,” Esther said in the lower levels, “get icy, and there’s nothing you can do to warm them up till summer—and that don’t come till July.”

Nora’s gaze swept the pitted gray cement floors of the lower floor. This part of the house was low on her priority list of improvements.

“I’ll have to get wood floors put in, someday.” In the meantime, she thought to herself, a row of carpet samples might do.

“You’ll probably want the upstairs john done too, I suspect.”

“Not this year.”

“That means you’ll have to run down three flights of stairs just to pee? Long trip in the middle of the night.” Esther laughed, but at the sight of Nora’s face, she cut it short.

It went on like that as they toured the house, and Nora’s to-do list grew. Esther also pointed out all the fine features of the house, like the redwood beam and deck, the slate roof, the rosy brick, and more copper piping than anyone else in town could dream of putting in.