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“No.” Just the house, a small yearly amount to pay the taxes and enough in a trust fund for Mandy’s education.
“Well then, the only thing to do is sell the place.” He made it sound as if she had no choice, but she did.
“I’m not going to sell. I’m going to run it as a bed-and-breakfast.”
Colin stared at her, expressionless. “You’ve got to be kidding,” he said finally. “Unless you’ve got an independent income, you can’t expect to get by that way.”
Rachel lifted her chin. Too bad she hadn’t stayed on the ladder, so she could look down at him. “Mandy and I will be fine, thank you. Mason House should go to my daughter, and I intend to keep it running until then.”
“You’ll be lucky if you don’t starve, the pair of you. Jeannette Walker does okay at The Willows, but she’s been at the B and B business a long time.” He shook his head, turned away in frustration and then spun back.
“Look, did Ronnie leave you anything at all to fall back on?”
She stiffened. “I can’t imagine why you think you have the right to inquire into my finances.”
Colin’s eyes narrowed. “I have the right to be concerned about my best friend’s child.”
“You saw Ronnie...what—once in ten years? I hardly think that qualifies you as a best friend.” She stopped, took a breath, forced down the angry words that, once spoken, could never be taken back.
“That should put me in my place, right?” He gave her a crooked smile. “But I’ve never been very good at taking hints.”
“Colin—” Should she apologize? But she hadn’t said anything but the truth.
“Not very good at minding my own business, either.” He walked to the door and then glanced back at her, hand on the knob. “I’ll be around, Rachel. I promise.”
The door closed behind him, leaving her wondering why that promise should sound remarkably like a threat.
* * *
COLIN HADN’T EVEN reached the steps of the wraparound porch when the truth reared its head. He’d messed up badly, antagonizing Rachel instead of gaining her cooperation. The mixture of guilt and something he hesitated to call attraction had played havoc with his self-control.
Not that Rachel had controlled her temper very well, either. She’d come a long way, it seemed, from the shy, innocent little Amish girl she’d been. Her heart-shaped face and sky-blue eyes still had a slight hint of vulnerability, though, and even with her blond hair pulled back, no makeup and wearing a baggy shirt, he’d felt...well, something.
But this Rachel had given back as good as she’d gotten, with a quick flare of antagonism at what she undoubtedly saw as his interference. Small wonder. Marriage to Ronnie Mason would try the patience of a saint.
Colin went slowly down the steps to the walk, the carved wooden railing wobbling under his touch. If Rachel really intended to open this place as a bed-and-breakfast, she’d have to get that fixed before she had a lawsuit on her hands.
He stood back, glancing up at the house. A three-story Victorian, it towered over everything else in the village. Literally towered, since the whimsical Queen Anne design boasted an actual round tower at one corner, forming circular bays in the parlor and the room above it.
Deer Run hadn’t changed all that much in the hundred and some years since Mason House had gone up. Probably the best thing that could have happened to the village was the decision not to run a state route through the collection of homes and stores.
Deer Run had subsided into undisturbed rural slumber, eventually becoming a bedroom community for nearby Williamsport. The Mason place and, across the road, the Sitler place, a not-quite-so-imposing Victorian, formed the west end of the straggle of homes mixed with businesses that was Deer Run.
Colin had to admit that Mason House was considerably more appealing, even in its current state, than The Willows, the only other bed-and-breakfast in town. Even the weeping willow in the side yard was bigger than the one that gave Jeannette Walker’s place its name.
Still, this was a crazy idea on Rachel’s part. He didn’t suppose Ronnie would have left her anything. Or have had life insurance. Ronnie had thought himself immortal—an excusable folly in an eighteen-year-old, but not in a grown man with a wife and child to support.
And now Rachel was about to compound the folly by sinking whatever little money she did have into this white elephant. She and the child would end up worse off than they’d started.
He reached the end of the walk and turned right. The sensible thing for Rachel to do was sell up. The antique furnishings would be worth a tidy sum, he’d think, even if he had trouble getting rid of the house for her. And she wouldn’t need to know that he’d forego his commission on the sale.
She could start over someplace away from the memories this place had to evoke, away from the family that didn’t seem ready to accept her.
With the exception of her little brother, apparently. Benj was a good kid, and he’d have been too small when Rachel left to know what a turmoil her decision had caused. At least she had him to give her a hand.
Colin’s eyes narrowed. Rachel had been wrong about one other thing. Benj wasn’t in the kitchen having lemonade. From where he stood now, Colin could see the boy slipping toward one of the dilapidated outbuildings behind the main house. Sneaking was actually the word that came to mind. Benj glanced around, the movement furtive, before disappearing into what had once been a stable.
What was the kid up to? He knew Benj pretty well, or as well as an Englischer was likely to know an Amish kid. The boy had been doing yard work for him for over a year. He’d have said Benj Weaver was the last person to have something to hide. It appeared he’d have been wrong.
Making a quick decision, Colin started across the lawn, skirting the willow tree. Benj hadn’t come out yet. What could he find to interest him in the old stable? Maybe Rachel had asked the boy to check it out for some reason, in which case Colin was going to look like an interfering busybody.
He neared the stable and glanced toward the house, half-expecting to see Rachel’s face at one of the windows, looking at him disapprovingly. But there was no sign of her. The stable door hung open, sagging on its hinges. Not touching it, he leaned over to look inside.
The interior had become the repository for everything that wasn’t wanted in the main house—lumber piles, a couple of old bicycles, a massive chest of drawers, a miscellaneous collection of discarded furniture. A narrow passageway, almost roofed over with boxes, made its way through the chaos. Benj was on his knees, head poked into the opening.
“Looks like a good place to hide,” Colin said, keeping his voice casual.
Benj jerked, banging his head on a crate. He edged out, rubbing his head, and sat back on his heels, eyeing Colin warily.
“I guess you could keep Mandy busy playing hide-and-seek out here,” he suggested.
Benj’s face cleared. “Ja. It would be a gut hideout.”
“Better be careful, though. Probably plenty of rusty nails mixed in with this junk. You don’t want her to have to get a tetanus shot.”
“I...I’ll be careful.” Benj swallowed, the muscles of his neck working, and shot another furtive glance around.
Colin leaned an elbow on the nearest crate and immediately regretted it. He’d have to change his shirt before he headed back to the office.
“I haven’t seen you for a while, Benj. What have you been up to lately?”
There was no mistaking the flash of fear in the boy’s face before he ducked his head. “Not much.” He shrugged. “Helping Rachel is all.”
Colin studied him thoughtfully. Something was clearly wrong, but like most adolescent males, Benj wasn’t about to turn to a grown-up for help. Colin remembered that stage only too well. Still, how much trouble could an Amish kid get into in a place like Deer Run?
“Well, if you’re helping your sister, maybe you’d better get back at it,” he said.
Benj gave a quick nod, hopped to his feet and darted out the door without another word.
Colin watched him run across the lawn, then turned and glanced at the small opening in the piles of junk. He might, if he had to, be able to worm his way through there, but not today.
He stepped back out into the June sunshine, frowning thoughtfully at the back of the house. Whatever it was Benj thought he needed a hideout for, Colin doubted that it was an innocent game of hide-and-seek. But what on earth could a kid like Benjamin have to hide? And what was causing that spark of fear in his eyes?
CHAPTER TWO
BY MIDAFTERNOON, the early enthusiasm Mandy had shown for painting had predictably waned. Benj was quite willing to keep on working, but Rachel decided they’d all had enough for one day. The entrance hall painting was finished, and the prospect of starting another room seemed too daunting.
“Why don’t you show Mandy the outbuildings?” she suggested. “She’s wanted to explore, and I haven’t had time to go with her.”
“Sure thing.” Benj wiped his hands on the edge of the old sheet she’d used to cover the marble-topped stand in the hall. He grinned at Mandy. “Komm, schnell. You remember what that means?”
“Come quick,” Mandy said promptly. “Bet I can beat you to the back door.” She darted toward the kitchen, with Benj letting her get a head start.
It was a relief to see her little brother acting normally again. “Denke, Benj. I know I can count on you to keep Mandy from trying anything too daring.”
A shadow crossed his face at what had surely been an innocent remark. Then he nodded, smiled and chased after Mandy.
Rachel frowned after him for a moment before going into the powder room that had taken the place of a large closet once Amanda Mason had decided she didn’t care to go up and down the stairs too often. A quick washing got rid of most of the paint stains, but the face that stared back at Rachel from the mirror still wore the worried frown that had become almost a permanent fixture in recent months.
She forced a smile, trying to counteract the effect. With her hair pulled back from a center part and the lack of makeup, she looked...well, not like the Amish girl who had run away with Ronnie Mason. That girl had had rosy cheeks and stars in her eyes. With her hair pulled back and sans makeup, this was closer to the Amish woman she would have turned into had young love, in the shape of Ronnie, not intervened.
Splashing some cold water on her face, Rachel turned away from the mirror. Dwelling on the past was seldom a good idea, as Colin had said, and she’d been doing too much of that lately. She couldn’t build a future on what-ifs.
Besides, she had Mandy. Fierce maternal love surged through her. Mandy was worth any sacrifice. The doubts Colin had voiced were the ones that kept her up at night, but she couldn’t listen to them. She would make a success of her plans because Mandy’s security and happiness depended upon them.
The house seemed empty with Benj and Mandy gone. She crossed the hallway and headed out the front door. She might as well check and see if any mail had found her at her new address yet.
The long porch across the front was one of the house’s beauties. In her mind’s eye, Rachel could see it the way she intended it to be, its gingerbread trim freshly painted, geraniums blooming in pots and hanging baskets, with comfortable rockers where her guests could relax.
She grasped the railing as she started down the steps, and it wobbled under her hand. Yet another thing she’d have to fix. She’d make up in hard work what she lacked in money.
The mailbox stood on a post next to the road, since Deer Run wasn’t big enough to warrant a mail carrier who walked from house to house. She pulled it open, finding an electric bill that had apparently chased her from the rental apartment in Philadelphia and what appeared to be a complimentary copy of the County Gazette, a weekly newspaper that was primarily composed of advertisements.
Holding it conjured up an image of Daadi reading through it, word by word, after he’d finished reading The Budget, the Amish newspaper that kept far-flung Amish communities in touch. She could see him so vividly, sitting in the wooden rocker next to the gas stove, his drugstore reading glasses sliding down his nose.
“Rachel? It is Rachel Weaver, isn’t it? I mean, Rachel Mason, of course.” The woman who’d hailed her hurried across the road after a cautious look in both directions.
Rachel waited, heart sinking. She’d been reasonably certain she could count on a call from Helen Blackwood, an elderly crony of her late mother-in-law, but she’d hoped to be a little better prepared for it. All the people in Deer Run she least wanted to see seemed determined to find her when she looked like a bag lady.
Not, she supposed, that Helen Blackwood would use those words. Having spent her entire life in Deer Run, Helen’s knowledge of the wider world was probably limited to whatever she watched on television.
The woman had nearly reached her, and Rachel arranged what she hoped was a welcoming smile on her face. “Miss Blackwood, how nice to see you. I hope you’re well.”
“Right as rain.” The woman’s returning smile was somewhat guarded, as if she questioned her welcome. “But do call me Helen. After all, I was your mother-in-law’s greatest friend.”
“Helen,” Rachel repeated, trying to infuse some warmth into the word. His mother’s shadow—that was how Ronnie had referred to Helen in the light, contemptuous way he sometimes had of dismissing people.
Unlike Amanda Mason, who had never succumbed to the idea of women wearing pants, Helen had stuffed herself into a pair of navy stretch pants, worn with a three-quarter-sleeve blouse in a jaunty sailing print. Her sense of the fitness of things had apparently not extended to bare feet, because she wore what must be knee-length nylons with her sensible sandals. With her round pink cheeks and curly white hair, she looked like a china doll in improbable dress.
“I’ve been intending to come over and welcome you back to Deer Run, but I didn’t want to intrude.” Helen sent an inquiring glance toward the house, and Rachel realized she was expected to invite her visitor in.
“You caught me just finishing some painting,” she said, indicating her paint-stained clothes. “Won’t you come inside? I’m sure I can rustle up some lemonade, if my daughter and my brother haven’t finished it.”
“No lemonade for me, thanks, but I will come in for just a moment.” Helen opened the wrought-iron gate, which squeaked in protest, and joined her on the flagstone walk. “I’m afraid you found the house in need of a great deal of work. I told Amanda and told her she should keep it up better, but she got rather...” Helen paused, as if selecting the word carefully. “Well...rather bitter toward the end, saying what difference did it make, since she had no one—”
Helen stopped, her already pink cheeks turning a deeper hue. “Well, anyway, I’m sure that was just her illness talking.”
“Most likely.” Rachel was noncommittal. Maybe Colin had been right in his offhand comment about Amanda leaving her the house to punish her. No, she wouldn’t let herself descend into that sort of cynicism.
This visit could be a blessing in disguise. If anyone knew why Amanda Mason had left her property the way she had, it would surely be Helen.
Rachel took a step to the left as they went up the stairs to the porch, making sure that Helen had the side where the railing was solid. Fixing the railing had better be promoted to the top of her to-do list.
Helen moved into the house and stopped, staring. “Oh. You’ve painted the hall. Amanda always insisted it be papered. I’m sure I don’t know what she would say.”
“I’m afraid wallpapering isn’t among my skills.” Rachel couldn’t help the stiffness in her voice. She should have expected negative comments. Mason House was a landmark in the village, and people didn’t like to see landmarks changed.
“I’m sorry, my dear.” The sudden sympathy in Helen’s voice caught her off guard. “Every time I open my mouth I put my foot in it, that’s what Amanda used to say.”
Maybe it hadn’t been an easy task, being Amanda Mason’s closest friend. Ronnie had come by his penchant for making cutting remarks from his mother, most likely.
“It’s all right.” Rachel led her guest into the front parlor, thankful that it was virtually untouched save for a vacuuming that had been desperately needed. Sunlight streamed through the windows in the circular bay, making patterns on the Oriental carpet. “It’s natural that you hate to see the house changed after all these years.”
“Well, change is inevitable, isn’t it?” Helen sat down on the curving tapestry love seat, putting her feet together and glancing with apparent satisfaction at her slacks. “I tried to tell Amanda that once, but got my nose bitten off for my trouble.”
“I suppose she preferred things the way they’d always been.” Rachel darted a glance at the portrait of her mother-in-law that hung over the mantel. Amanda, with her coronet of white hair, regal bearing and elegant bone structure, had been suited to the style of a century ago. It was impossible to imagine her wearing Helen’s current outfit.
“True enough.” Helen patted her soft white curls. “Why, she insisted on wearing a hat to church every single Sunday, even when she was the only woman in the entire congregation with a hat. So it just goes to show you, doesn’t it?” she added, a bit obscurely.
Rachel wasn’t sure what it was meant to show, other than that Amanda had the courage of her convictions. And Rachel already knew that, didn’t she? Amanda had cut off her only son without apparent regret when he married Rachel. Not even the birth of the granddaughter Ronnie had optimistically insisted on naming after her had made a difference. And that made the legacy of the house all the more inexplicable.
“I’m going to risk putting my foot in my mouth again,” Helen said, leaning toward her. “But I believe Amanda realized, once it was too late, that she’d been wrong in the way she’d treated her son.”
Rachel studied her face, but Helen seemed genuine. “Perhaps. But she never tried to get in touch with him.”
“She wouldn’t have known how to say she was sorry. Amanda wasn’t always so rigid, you know. She changed after her husband died. Dear Ronald.” Helen sighed. “He was devoted to her, and his death was such a shock.”
“He had a heart attack, didn’t he?” Ronnie had rarely spoken of his father’s death.
Helen nodded. “Right down there at the creek.” She gestured toward the rear of the house. “And then a few years later that Amish boy drowned in practically the same spot. You probably don’t remember that, do you? Anyway, I think Amanda blamed herself that she hadn’t put up a fence. Not that that would necessarily have stopped anyone from reaching the creek if they were determined to get there....”
Helen’s voice seemed to fade as she prattled on about the dangers of the small dam on the stream behind the house, while Rachel’s memory slipped backward twenty summers. She might have forgotten the death of Ronnie’s father, but the memory of Aaron Mast was clear as crystal even though she hadn’t thought of him in years. He’d been eighteen when she was ten, and she’d had the sort of crush on him that girls now seemed to have on the latest teen pop star. His death had been devastating.
She realized Helen was eyeing her curiously and knew she’d been lost in memories too long. “I do remember Aaron, yes. I didn’t realize his accident bothered Ronnie’s mother so much though.”
“She became so strict with Ronnie after that summer.” Helen’s tone was mournful. “She was overprotective, and no boy appreciates that sort of thing. And she seemed to pin all her hopes for the future on him.”
She knew this part of the story too well. “Those hopes were ruined when he ran away with me,” she said bluntly.
“Yes, well...” Again Helen seemed to search for words. “I always thought if she’d handled it better, and frankly, dear, if your parents had, as well, things might have ended differently.”
They might not have married at all—that was what Helen meant, and Rachel was mature enough now to know that was true. If it hadn’t been for so much outspoken opposition...again, that was the past. She had to concentrate on now and on the future, for her daughter.
“I knew how Amanda felt, of course. That’s why it surprised me so much when she left Mason House to me.” Rachel let the comment lie, hoping Helen would pick it up.
“I was sure she’d do the right thing in the end,” Helen said. “She might talk of leaving everything to charity, but at bottom, she’d never consider letting Mason House go out of the family. I remember the day Jacob Evans came to have her sign her will. That’s Jacob Senior, not the son who’s in the firm now. She said she’d provided for little Amanda’s education. And she was content knowing that she’d grow up in this house. ‘There’s been enough sorrow and anger in Mason House,’ she said. ‘Maybe Ronnie’s child will bring the joy back.’”
Ronnie’s child. Of course that was how Amanda would have seen it, leaving out the woman of whom she’d disapproved so completely. There would have been no thought of Rachel in her final dispositions, except as the necessary guardian of Ronnie’s child.
Well, she’d wanted to know why Amanda had left the place to her, and now she did. She could hardly complain if the answer wasn’t to her liking.
* * *
“I’M HOME.” Colin figured the announcement was hardly needed, since Duke, Dad’s elderly black lab, had given his customary woof of welcome and padded over to receive a thump on the back.
But there was no answering call from the kitchen or the study. “Where is he, Duke?” Colin walked back the hall toward the kitchen, poking his head into the study and laundry room en route, his pulse accelerating as each place he looked turned up empty. Duke padded after him, head down, as if accepting blame for his master’s absence.
Colin opened the back door for a quick look at the yard, but his father wasn’t dusting the rose bushes or checking out the young tomato plants in the garden. Colin stood for a moment, hand gripping the knob.
Okay, think. Don’t panic. If his father had fallen somewhere in the house, Duke wouldn’t be trailing along at Colin’s heels. That meant Dad had gone out.
“Did he go for a walk without you?”
Colin must be losing track of his mental facilities himself, standing here questioning the dog as if expecting an answer. Dad was an inveterate walker, but he ordinarily took the dog with him, and that fact provided Colin with a minimal measure of assurance. If Dad forgot why he’d gone out or how to get back home, something that happened at times, Duke could be relied on to pilot him safely home.
“Stay, Duke.” Leaving the dog sitting forlornly in the living room, Colin headed out the front door. He’d take the car and do a quick spin around town. No doubt he’d find his father walking casually back from the coffee shop. There was no need for the apprehension that prickled along his skin.
Rachel would hardly credit it if she could see him now, he thought wryly. In her eyes, he was obviously still the hell-raiser who’d turned his parents’ hair gray. She’d never believe he could be as panicked over his seventy-year-old father as she must sometimes be over her nine-year-old child.
He’d nearly reached the car he’d left in the driveway when another vehicle pulled in behind his. Jake Evans, driving the battered pickup he’d had since college, came to a stop. Dad sat next to him, frowning a little with that faintly lost look he’d worn so often since Mom’s death.
“Hey, Colin.” Jake slid out, going around and opening the passenger-side door before Colin could get there. “I ran into your dad down by the antique shop and gave him a lift home.” The look he sent Colin suggested there had been more to it than that, but whatever it was would keep until his father was out of earshot.
Colin nodded, caught between gratitude and grief—gratitude that most people in Deer Run seemed to accept his father’s mental lapses with kindness, and grief that his father, always so sharp and in control, had to rely on others just to find his way home.