Lakeside Sweetheart

Vanessa didn’t need a plate full of leftovers, but she wouldn’t be impolite by turning it down. She wasn’t used to this kind of attention, and she wasn’t sure how to respond. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she wished she’d had this kind of family growing up. But in that other place, the dark spot that colored her world in grays and browns, she figured she didn’t deserve this kind of family.

She wished someone had trained her in proper manners or on how to actually conduct small talk. She wished she’d been happy in any of the many places her mother had dragged her. She wished she’d had nice clothes and pretty things.

And she really wished she’d had someone to truly love her.

But she couldn’t change any of that now. Vanessa had learned about all of these things mostly on her own by studying people and reading books and watching television and movies. She’d learned how to dress by working in retail and devouring fashion magazines and with the help of her mother’s last husband, Richard Tucker, who’d taken them on shopping trips. And she’d learned how to stay on her budget by shopping vintage and reworking second-hand clothes.

She still had to learn the truly-loving-her part. She didn’t always love herself very much.

She sent Rory a brief glance and then dropped her gaze to her sandals.

“Hey, I’ll come by next week and help you out with getting ready for the estate sale,” Marla said as she hurried up to Vanessa. “I’ll even find some able-bodied helpers to do the heavy lifting.” She cast a glance toward Rory. “An estate sale is a big job.”

A job Vanessa dreaded. “Yes. But...it has to be done.”

“Are you gonna be okay, doing this?” Marla asked, her green eyes full of understanding and sympathy.

“I’ll be fine.” Vanessa glanced over to where Alec sat at a round wrought iron table with Rory. Were they actually having more cupcakes? “I have to get the house ready to sell, and I can’t do that until I empty it out.”

“Your mother was a pack rat from what I hear,” Marla said with a smile. “I know this has been hard, Vanessa.”

Vanessa nodded. “Yep. Especially since she and I never got along.” She stared at the swing, where she could be sitting right now with Rory. “I guess I’ll get to know her a little more now that she’s dead, at least. I never could figure her out when she was alive.”

“You did your best.”

“I left.”

It was that simple. She’d left after one divorce too many and after one particular stepfather’s bad behavior. It didn’t matter that her mother had tried to make amends to Vanessa after Cora had married Richard, her final husband. At least Richard had been kind to Vanessa during the short time she’d lived here with her mother and him. A good man, a very wealthy man, he’d paid off her mother’s house and shown both mother and daughter a world they’d only dreamed about. He’d died five years after marrying her mother.

None of it mattered now. She couldn’t live in her mother’s house.

She heard the preacher’s hearty laughter and stole another glance at him. “What’s with him, Marla? I asked you about his story, and I’d like to know more.”

Marla followed her gaze. “What makes you think he has a story?”

“We all do. You said he wasn’t always this happy.”

Marla shrugged. “I don’t know much other than he joined the army after attending seminary, served as a chaplain and then came home to become a minister. And I don’t ask beyond that. I’m not even sure Alec knows, but they have this buddy system that holds them all together and they don’t press each other about what they went through while serving. I can allow that, given how I held everything inside when Alec and I started seeing each other.”

“And now?”

Marla’s smile was serene and sure. “And now I tell Alec everything and he shares a lot with me. We’re good.”

“But he doesn’t talk about the preacher’s past?”

“Nope. It’s not his to talk about. But then, they were all over there serving our country in one capacity or another. It’s a bond they share.”

A bond that might not be broken, Vanessa decided. “I have to get going,” she said. “I had a great time.”

“I’m glad you came,” Marla said. She hugged Vanessa close.

“And if you ever need to talk—”

“I’ll call you,” Vanessa replied. She didn’t want to get emotional in front of everyone.

“Of course,” Marla said. Then she inclined her chin toward Rory. “But you should call him, too. No matter what you’ve been through, he’s the best person to listen and help you.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Vanessa replied, remembering how he’d mentioned late-night calls from his congregation members. But she said it with a smile...and a shred of hope.

* * *

A few days later, Rory worked his way around the church yard, clearing away broken limbs and picking up palm fronds. A storm had moved over the area the night before, leaving debris in its wake. He didn’t mind the busywork, though. Not on a nice morning with a cool breeze pushing over the nearby waters of the lake. A few seagulls cawed at him as they came in for a low flight, probably hoping to find some morsels for breakfast.

After dropping some twigs and leaves into a nearby trash can, he stopped to look over the grounds. The little clapboard chapel had survived worse storms than this one. It was over a century old and not much bigger than a shotgun house, but the people of Millbrook Lake loved their church.

He loved it, too. Once he would have gone on by this place, but that Rory was long gone. This Rory loved this place. He stared out over the moss-draped live oaks that edged the old cemetery behind the church and prayed that he’d never have to be anywhere else.

Purple wisteria blossoms rained down each time the wind blew through the trees, their old vines wrapped like necklaces around the billowing oaks. The sound of the palms swaying in the breeze sang a comforting, serene tune. Blue jays and cardinals fussed at each other near the bird feeders one of the church members had built and hung near the pergola where people liked to hold picnics. And the ever-present, pesky squirrels chased each other through the trees with all the precision of drag-racing champions.

What a view.

“You’re not working.”

He whirled to find Mrs. Fitzgerald standing with her flower-encased walker near the sidewalk, her hat today black straw with red cherries around the rim.

“I’m taking a thankful break,” he explained with a grin.

“Can I come and take it with you?” she asked. “I’m thankful and I have corn fritters.”

Rory brushed his hands against his old jeans. “Bring yourself on over to this picnic table,” he said. “How did you know I had a hankering for corn fritters this morning?”

She gave him a mock scowl, her wrinkles folding against each other, her gray hair as straw-like as her hat. “Since when have you not been hankering for something to eat? I declare, I don’t know how you stay so fit.”

“I pick up limbs and trash all the time,” he said with a deadpan expression.

“Yes, you do. And you ride that bicycle and carry that board thing out to the water.” She moseyed over to the table and fluffed her yellow muumuu. “You swim and fish and surf and jog all over the place. When do you rest, Preacher?”

“I’ll rest when I die.”

She shook her head. “Oh, I doubt that. The Lord will put you straight to work when you reach the Pearly Gates.”

They both laughed at that notion. Then she pulled out the still-warm corn fritters that were her specialty. Part hush puppy and part corn bread, the fat mushy balls were filled with real corn nuggets and tasted like nectar to Rory.

“So good,” he said. “I think I’ll be able to finish this mess before lunch, thanks to you.”

Mrs. Fitzgerald chewed on her food and studied the water. “Nice sermon yesterday. I think you impressed that newcomer.”

Miss Fanny, as she liked to be called, took impish pleasure in stirring the pot.

Rory played coy. “We had a newcomer?”

The older woman playfully slapped his arm. “I saw you looking at her. And I’m pretty sure she was looking back.”

“Don’t you have cataracts?”

“Not since that fancy eye doctor up on 98 did some sort of surgery on me. I can see a feather caught in a limb up in that tree yonder.”

He glanced at the tree and squinted. “Feathers are a bit different from watching me and making assumptions.”

“I know what I see,” she replied on a prim note. “It’s springtime. Love is in the air.”

“Well, aren’t you the poet.”

“I used to be, you know.”

“You? A poet?” Miss Fanny was full of surprises.

“Me.” She pointed to the houses lining the lake. “See that Craftsman cottage with the blue shutters?”

He nodded and grabbed another fritter. “The one near your house that’s in need of serious repair?”

She lived in a small Cape Cod style two-storied house across from the church.

“That’s the one. I used to run around with the woman who lived there. We were artists. She dabbled in mixed media and men. I dabbled in poetry and one long and loving marriage.”

“You don’t say?” He’d heard about how much Miss Fanny loved her husband, but she was already a widow when he met her. “So what happened to your friend? That house has been vacant since I’ve been here.”

“That was her home at one time, but after she remarried, it became a vacation home. The last man she married also had a home in Birmingham, Alabama, and they used to travel back and forth. But...she died recently.” Fanny took off her hat and gave him a direct stare. “That woman you’re pretending you didn’t notice in church yesterday, that’s her daughter. She’s come back here to fix up and sell the house.” Putting her hat back on, she added, “Vanessa hated her mother. And I might as well tell you she’s not too fond of preachers either.”

Chapter Three

Rory stood up to stare over at the rambling one-story house with the blue shutters. Well, the shutters used to be blue. Now they were a peeling, weathered blue-gray mess. The whole place wore a facade of neglect even though the neighbors kept the yard mowed and the flower beds pruned and trimmed, as a courtesy and in keeping with the pretty factor that Millbrook Lake prided itself on.

So that was the house Vanessa had mentioned the other day. And Miss Fanny had been a friend to her deceased mother.

“I’ve often thought someone needed to buy that place and fix it up,” he said. “So that’s where Vanessa Donovan used to live?”

And now she was back.

“Her mother lived there for years, but Vanessa only lived there for a couple of years after Cora and Richard got married and moved here. She finished high school and then she left. To my knowledge, this is the first time she’s been back.”

Rory thought about how long the house had sat vacant. “But somebody kept up with the place. I mean, it’s still full of furniture and belongings.”

Miss Fanny sat staring across at the house. “Cora, Vanessa’s mother, went to a nursing home in Alabama near where her last husband had property, right before you came to town. After Vanessa graduated high school, Richard and Cora split their time between Birmingham and here. Then after he died, Cora came back here. But she got sick and that ended, so she moved to a retirement home that had around-the-clock nursing. We all tried to keep the house ready for her to come back, but she never recovered from her first stroke. She had another massive one about a month ago and died. Buried in Alabama beside the one man she truly loved.” Miss Fanny’s shrug was eloquent. “Maybe because he left her a ton of money. She never talked much about the men in her life, but Richard was very special to her.”

Suddenly, Rory understood a lot of things. “So Vanessa came back to...settle things?”

“That’s an understatement,” Miss Fanny replied. “The girl inherited the house and probably some money and other property, too. But I’m thinking she won’t want to live here. She’ll probably sell out and leave again.” Miss Fanny leaned close. “Vanessa loved her mother’s last husband, Richard Tucker. He was like a true father to her after so many other men, but Vanessa and Cora did not see eye-to-eye about anything. Too many bad memories.”

Rory thought about the woman he’d first noticed in church last Sunday. Afraid and unsure and wound as tight as fishing line on a reel. Yeah, he could see a lot of settling things needed to occur.

And he had to ask. “Why does Vanessa dislike preachers, Miss Fanny?”

Miss Fanny got up and adjusted her hat. “I’ll give you one guess.”

Rory closed his eyes and lowered his head. “Which husband was it?”

“Number three,” Miss Fanny said without missing a beat. “Vanessa was around thirteen or fourteen, I think, when her mother married a minister from Atlanta. They moved here since she already had this house. He served a church out on the highway for a couple of years. Neither his assignment nor the marriage lasted. But while he was here, he tried to reform Vanessa but in the worst sort of way.”

Giving Rory a pointed glance, she started pushing her walker toward the street, Rory following while he kept his gaze on the house. “Her mother sided with the preacher, of course.”

The rich fritters Rory had woofed down now felt like lead inside his stomach. He had to wonder what Vanessa had been through, how much she’d suffered. He didn’t ask. Miss Fanny probably knew, but he wouldn’t ask her to tell him.

Vanessa would have to be the one to do that.

If she ever trusted him enough to tell him anything.

“Let me walk you to your door,” he told Miss Fanny. He needed to think this through. He checked the driveway next door to see if Vanessa’s little blue car was parked there.

“She’s not there,” Miss Fanny said, already reading his mind. “I think she went to the lawyer’s office to take care of some business. Probably the reading of the will.” The older woman turned when they reached her front porch steps. “But she’s planning a big estate sale sometime soon. She’ll need help...sorting through all that clutter.” She shrugged. “And since you’re also planning a rummage sale at the church...”

Rory nodded. “I’ll be glad to help.”

Miss Fanny nodded, her work here done.

“Thank you for the corn fritters,” Rory said after he’d made sure she was safe back inside her house. “Go take your afternoon nap.”

Miss Fanny waved him away and shut the door.

Rory hurried back down the steps, but he stopped on the sidewalk and glanced over at the long, sprawling house to the left of Miss Fanny’s place.

He hadn’t said this to Miss Fanny, but Rory had often thought he’d like to buy the old Craftsman cottage and fix it up.

But now, he also had the added challenge of trying to help repair the woman who’d come to town to sell this house. He’d have to pray hard on how to manage that without scaring Vanessa away for good. And he’d have to pray hard for her to forgive the minister who’d obviously damaged her for life.

* * *

“What did you say?”

Vanessa stared at the studious gray-haired lawyer sitting across from her in the elegant conference room situated in an old Georgian-style building across town.

Charles Barton leaned up and studied Vanessa’s face, his bifocal glasses low on his hawk-like nose. “I said you have inherited the bulk of Richard Tucker’s estate. Mind you, after your mother’s care and expenses over the last few years, a fourth of it is gone. But you have the Millbrook Lake cottage and you have the holdings in Alabama, namely a house in Birmingham and several commercial rental properties in that area.”

Vanessa sat staring at the man across from her, unable to comprehend what he was telling her. Finally, she swallowed and spoke. “I knew Richard left my mother comfortable, and I was grateful that she had constant, around-the-clock care at the nursing facility, but I had no idea about something such as this happening.”

When Mr. Barton had stated the exact amount of the inheritance, Vanessa had almost fallen out of her chair. Growing up, she’d often dreamed of that kind of money. Now, she was content with her shop in New Orleans and the online boutique full of eclectic clothes and artisan wares from hundreds of vendors. She wasn’t rich by any means, but she made a good living, selling quirky items to quirky people. Vanessa’s Vintage had taken off in the last year or so. The boutique in New Orleans had become popular with both locals and tourists, and the online store kept up a steady business.

“You are now a wealthy young woman,” the lawyer stated. “Of course, we’ll deal with probate and a few other minor details, but all in all, since Richard had no other close relatives, this should be an easy transition.”

“I’d planned to clean up the cottage and sell it,” Vanessa admitted, still numb. “I thought that was the only thing I needed to worry about.”

“You can decide what to sell off and what to keep once this sets in,” Mr. Barton said. “After a death, I always tell my clients who are left to take over estates not to make any rash decisions. Give it some time. You’re still working through a lot of emotions.”

The older man’s soft-spoken advice calmed Vanessa. “You’re right. I have a lot to do back at the cottage. Getting the place cleaned up and renovated to sell will give me time to decide where I go from here.”

“Do you think you’ll want to keep the mansion in Birmingham?” he asked.

Vanessa thought about the stately Tudor-style house sitting up on a remote bluff. “It’s a beautiful house, but I never actually lived there. I visited a few times, but I can’t see me living in that big, old house.”

Mr. Barton’s assistant began gathering files and folders. He stood, too, and waited for Vanessa to do the same. “Take your time. The money and holdings won’t be going anywhere and there are trustworthy people in place to take care of things.”

Vanessa thanked the lawyer and left, thinking she wouldn’t be going anywhere for a while either. She now had a lot more to take care of than she’d ever imagined.

But for now, she’d focus on the cottage.

She drove around the lake and circled back toward Lake Street, where all the quaint Victorian houses sat next to the few Cape Cod homes and the other one-story Craftsman cottages that were scattered throughout. The view across the water was breathtaking and beautiful.

Until she spotted her house.

The cottage looked sad and lonely, neglected.

That mirrored how she’d felt most of her life. This house held a strong pull over her, one that she needed to resist and one she’d managed to avoid up until now.

Ironic that now she had the security and wealth she’d always craved but she didn’t have anyone to share it with.

Her mother had finally found her fairy tale with Richard Tucker, but it hadn’t lasted. He’d died a year after Vanessa left to go to college.

Vanessa had never wanted a fairy tale. She’d only wanted a family. They’d had that with Richard. He’d been kind and gracious and so patient with her mother’s temperamental mood swings and crazy impulsive nature. He’d also taken time with Vanessa, showing her proper decorum and giving her instructions on manners and how to win over even her worst critics. But he’d done it all in a caring, loving way that made Vanessa feel treasured and special.

Not ashamed and embarrassed.

Still in shock from the lawyer’s news, she drove on around the lake and pulled up into the driveway of her house. When she got out of the car, she glanced toward the church and wondered what Rory was doing. Marla had told Vanessa that he lived in a small garage apartment behind the church. Maybe he would be a good person to talk to in confidence about her situation.

But then again, maybe not. She was leery of showing him any signs of weakness even if he didn’t seem the type to take advantage of her.

She wouldn’t be pulled into something she’d regret. She couldn’t be fooled into getting too close to organized religion again. She believed in God, but she was afraid of putting too much trust in people. The pain of her last encounter with a man of God still gave her nightmares.

She couldn’t go through that again.

No matter how much she needed a friend.

* * *

Rory went on with his day. It was nearly sundown now, so he finished up the yard work behind the church, careful to stay out of sight of the house across the street. But it hadn’t been easy to stay away after the heavy hints Miss Fanny had dropped regarding Vanessa’s past.

Usually when a visitor came to church, some of the welcome committee members would take over a basket full of books, cookies, gift certificates to local establishments and ground coffee from Marla’s place with a cute Millbrook Lake Church mug sporting a pelican sitting on a pew with the caption Don’t fly by. Come on in.

Sometimes, he’d tag along on these welcome visits.

Not this time.

It wasn’t that he didn’t want to reach out to Vanessa. But he’d counseled enough members of the military to know that when someone didn’t want to listen, it was hard to talk to them. Rory had his ways of helping people to find their faith, and those ways didn’t involve being pushy and too in-your-face. He’d have to bide his time with Vanessa Donovan. He’d seen people hurt by those who used their own agenda in the name of the Lord.

It was never pretty.

So now, he raked and prayed and raked some more and tried to think about what he could have for dinner. Maybe he’d go to the Back Bay Pizza House and order a takeout meatball sub. Or maybe he’d swing by the Courthouse Café and get a big hamburger and fries before they shut down for the day. Or he could pull out his bike and ride around the lake and stop at the Fish Barrel, the new alfresco dining truck that offered up some really good grouper sandwiches, shrimp baskets and other local fare.

He was leaning toward the bike ride and the grouper sandwich when he heard a low, feminine groan echoing out over the street. Then he heard a thump and a crash, followed by another groan and the word “Ouch.”

Dropping his rake, Rory peeped around the corner of the storage shed behind the church and saw Vanessa standing in the front yard by an old wheelbarrow full of trash. He watched as she tried to move the wheelbarrow, but one of the wheels had obviously gone flat. The weight of the trash wasn’t helping matters.

That old thing wasn’t going to go anywhere except—

Onto its side.

It toppled over with a shudder of regret, causing another loud crash to reverberate up and down the street. Old glassware, plates, cups and other knickknacks spilled all over the driveway and sidewalk. And another groan of frustration followed.

Okay, now he had to walk over there because he had to be gallant and helpful, didn’t he?

“Need some help?” he called, to show he was only trying to be a gentleman.

She glanced around, surprise brightening her shimmering eyes. Surprise, followed by what might be dread. “I’m beyond help.”

“I wouldn’t say that,” he told her, his hands on his hips. “But...this wheelbarrow is beyond anything. I hope these dishes weren’t important.”

She stared at the shattered mess lying at her feet. “No, not really.” But she picked up what looked like a children’s cup that had colorful princess characters on it. “Just stuff my mom had shoved into the garage out back. She was a bit of a hoarder.”

Rory heard the pain behind that comment. And saw that pain reflected in Vanessa’s eyes while she moved her fingers over the faded little plastic cup. “Was that yours?” he asked as an opening.

She nodded. “Once, long ago.”

“Where were you taking these things?”

“Out to the curb.” She tossed the cup back onto the pile. “I thought someone might come by and take them.”

He gave her time to get past what she had to be thinking. It must be hard to let go of so many memories. “Let me help you get this cleaned up.”

She waved him away. “You don’t have to do that.”