Final Rights (16 page)

Harland’s chance to
confront the issue came a few days later when he cornered Leland at the
hardware store.

“How dare you, Leland Howard! You
intentionally humiliated me.”

“What do you mean?” Caught off guard, Leland
instinctively cringed as he turned to face Harland.

“I know what you did. Someone mentioned it
at my party last week. You stole my idea for the door and put the same design
on your pitiful little place.” Harland loomed over Leland, fists clenched.

Leland mustered as
much forcefulness as possible. “I take strong exception to your tone, Harland.
Step back!”

“Not until you make a public apology! You’ll
not treat me with such disrespect and get away with it.”

“You’ll get no apology from me. I did the
work exactly as you requested. You had no complaints when I finished the job.”

“But you copied it! I wanted something
unique, and you deprived me of that!”

Leland stood his ground. “Actually, Harland,
I didn’t copy your idea exactly. My door is a much better creation than
yours—more artistic and finely done, more refined.”

“You bast . . . you fool! You’ll pay dearly
for this, Leland, I promise you.”

“Well, I guess I can rest assured you’ll
never again manipulate my wife into convincing me to work for you.” An
unfamiliar boldness had taken hold of Leland, and he seemed pleased as
Harland’s face flushed a deep crimson.

“You . . . you damn fool! You impudent bore!
I tell you, Leland Howard, you’ll pay dearly for what you’ve done. You wait and
see!”

With that, Harland
stormed out, leaving Leland to wonder what kind of revenge Harland had in mind.
Lacking the imagination of a man like Harland, a man who had felt thwarted his
entire life, Leland’s idea of the impending revenge fell astonishingly short of
its reality.

For almost two months
following his last conversation with Leland, Harland worked diligently to
finalize every detail of his plan. Now only one act remained to carry out his
elaborate scheme. He carefully positioned the wicker armchair with its thick
cushions covered in royal blue duck cloth before his massive front door and
settled into it. A strange mix of dread, excitement and self-satisfaction
caused him to shudder as he placed the pearl-handled pistol into his mouth and
quickly pulled the trigger. Blood and brain exploded out the back of his skull
and splattered against the door. When the police finally arrived, the
hand-tooled crevices of the door had soaked in the stain of Harland’s short and
pitiful life.

TWENTY-SEVEN

2004

Cally
strolled down Haywood Street and stopped at nearly every window, peering in at
the goods on display.
Maybe
I’ll take weaving classes.
The idea captivated her as she studied the huge loom in the window at Earth
Guild. Pausing in front of Mobilia, just down the street, she allowed herself
to imagine making a home in Asheville.
That
white leather sofa would be great in a big open room with hardwood floors.
Totally impractical. I want a dog . . . and maybe a cat, too. White furniture
will never work. That contemporary look doesn’t suit me anyway.
She thought of Laurel. Maybe if Cally stayed
and her happiness returned and she didn’t work so hard all the time, Laurel
would come and join her. She breathed into the feeling of loneliness enveloping
her.
I’ll be all right. I
just need to keep moving forward, not backward.

She stepped into the recessed entryway of
the store to get a better look at a table in the back. Something caught her eye
and she looked down at the golden letters embedded in the floor. They jumped
out at her.

J. C. PENNEY

COMPANY INC.

Cally gasped as she flashed back to being a
very young child tracing those letters with her little fingers while her mother
urged her to hurry up. The next day Cally would go to school for the first
time, and her mother had agreed to buy her the shoes in the window at Penney’s.
Cally’s fascination with the letters in the smooth floor quickly subsided in
favor of the coveted red shoes.

The childhood memory had taken Cally
completely by surprise. Until that moment, she felt like a visitor in
Asheville, an interested tourist just like the hundreds of others enjoying the
shops housed in the beautifully restored downtown. She sat on the bench outside
Mobilia and willed herself to remember. Everything looked so different now, but
the old department store helped her gain her bearings.

This used to be her neighborhood. Even as a
little girl she roamed through town by herself, and she had spent many
afternoons meandering home from school by way of the old shops on Haywood
Street. She knew all the nooks and crannies back then, but most of them had
disappeared or become unrecognizable. The stores she visited today had been
reclaimed from the ruins of a defunct commercial center that had come close to
being lost forever once the major businesses fled to the shopping malls on the
outskirts of town. That had occurred after Cally had been spirited away by her
mother long ago.

She stopped for tea and
a scone at Malaprop’s. She remembered this building. It once housed the
Asheville Hotel, and she could still bring up the smell of the
cigar-smoke-filled lobby. She bought scented candles and a yummy body wash at
Sensibilities, imagining a long relaxing bath when she got back to the hotel.

Continuing down the
street, she came to an abrupt halt in front of the library.
When did this
happen?
She
looked at the name on the building—Pack Memorial Library. She remembered that
name from her childhood, but not this building. She stepped into the entrance
and paused before continuing into the library itself.
I know I have it
here somewhere. I always keep it with me . . .

Cally fished around in
her bag and pulled out the pouch containing all her membership cards.
Why do I have all
this stuff? I rarely use any of it!
Finally, tucked away in a protected slot with a frequent
flyer card from a long-gone airline, Cally found what she wanted. She had few
mementos from her childhood in Asheville and she cherished them all equally.
One was the tattered library card she pulled carefully from its hiding place.
Clasping it close to her heart, she stepped across the threshold.

After more than an hour of rummaging through
the library, she decided to head back to the hotel. She had enough reading
material to keep her busy for a few days. The eclectic mix included an old
classic,
My Antonia
by Willa Cather, the most recent Harry
Potter installment and a book about the history of Asheville. When her turn
arrived, she approached the counter hesitantly, clutching her library card.
I hope this still works. I doubt they
let strangers check books out.

“How can I help you?” The librarian spoke
softly. A web of tiny wrinkles encased her light brown eyes, accenting their
long lashes. Her makeup consisted of only a bit of lip gloss. Light danced off
the embellishments on her t-shirt, framing her face with dozens of glittery
reflections.

“I hope you can. I have this, and I wonder
if I can check these books out with it.”

The woman took the yellowed card from Cally
and studied it carefully for a moment.

“Calliope Ann Thornton?” The librarian
enunciated each word beautifully, the space between them accented by the
wavering tone of her voice. She looked up and studied Cally’s face intently.

“Cally?”

“Yes . . . ?” Cally returned the intent
gaze. On guard, she wondered why the woman acted so strangely. “. . . yes, my
name is Cally.”

“It is you! I can’t
believe it. Cally, it’s me, Sally! Sally Barton. I mean Sally Simpson. You must
remember me . . .”

“Sally? I don’t think I
. . . but that sounds vaguely familiar . . .” Cally felt herself tumble back
through ancient memories again. And there she sat on the playground with her
best friend at her side. She looked deep into the eyes of the woman in front of
her and saw they still sparkled. “Oh! Yes! We used to pretend the rainbow ended
over your head, because of the gold flecks in your eyes. Yes, Sally! I remember
you!”

Her old friend came
around the counter and she and Cally hugged each other tightly for the first
time in decades, tears streaming down both their faces.

“I’ve always wondered
what happened to you. You just disappeared.”

“I know. My mother
packed us up in the middle of the night and we went to California. I cried for
weeks because I missed you and Gampa and Gamma so much.”

“I want to hear
everything, Cally. Why don’t you come to supper tonight? Meet my family and we
can talk about everything! We have a lot of catching up to do.”

“We most certainly do.
I’d love to join you. Oh, I’m so glad I found you!” Tears collected in the
corners of Cally’s eyes again.

“It’s a miracle, really.
I can’t wait to sit and talk with you again.” Sally looked around and realized
another customer waited in line.

“Now what about these
books?” Cally asked. “Can I still use this old library card?”

 
“No, but I’ll get you a new one right
now. Where are you staying?”

“At the Princess Hotel.”

“Okay, we’ll use that
address.”

They laughed and
chattered on while Sally issued
the
new card and checked out the books her friend had chosen. As Cally stepped to
the end of the counter to pick them up, they made their plans for the evening.
Cally stood quietly for a moment, breathing in the unique aroma of the library
and letting the joy settle into her body. Sally returned to her station to
attend to the next customer.

“Sorry I kept you
waiting so long,” Sally told the woman who had a curious look on her face.
“She’s a long lost friend who just turned up again. May I help you?”

“It’s always nice to find an old friend
again,” the woman responded. “I’m looking for Carla in the North Carolina
section. She helped me last week, but I don’t see her there today.
Interestingly enough, I’m trying to track down a particular book she found that
references the Princess Hotel, where your friend is staying, and a local
artisan named Leland Howard. Can you help me with that?”

“Why are you looking for my grandfather?”
Cally screeched. Then she turned a blazing red from embarrassment.

Those were the first words Cally ever spoke
to Tate. Sally and Tate stared at Cally, mouths open in disbelief.

“Leland Howard is your grandfather?” Tate
asked.

“Yes, he is! Well he was
. . . I assume he’s gone now. I haven’t heard from any of them in ages.” Cally
left her books on the counter and walked back toward Tate.

“Oh, honey. I’ve got some good news for you,
then. He’s still alive, and I know where he is.”

Cally burst into tears.
The words sank into her soul and searched out the deep pocket of grief she kept
hidden from everyone, even herself. Her sobbing deepened and she nearly dropped
to her knees, weakened by the internal battle between disbelief and joy. Tate
caught her and they stood there locked together by the common bond of Leland
Howard, a man Cally had lost long ago and Tate had only recently found. Tate
knew instantly she and Cally would be friends for a lifetime.

TWENTY-EIGHT

1940

Ellie left the park and walked home quickly. She looked
out the kitchen window and saw Leland and Clayton just finishing up in the
workshop. With a few precious minutes to herself, she went directly to the
fireplace mantel, opened the secret compartment and slipped Harland’s note into
a corner.

She lifted her
grandmother’s antique tortoise-shell hair comb out of the drawer and caressed
it gently. One of her prize possessions, it rested in its hiding place along
with the bank book for the still-active savings account holding money Mary
Alice had given her years before. The drawer also held the diamond ring her
father had given her mother as a 45th birthday present and then passed on to
Ellie after her mother’s premature death the previous year.

These items comprised
the totality of Ellie’s dowry, accumulated only after her marriage, piece by
piece. She clung to these valuable personal possessions, vestiges of
possibilities she once imagined for herself. In different circumstances, Ellie
would have thought of her collection as the financial means to launch her
independent life. But over the years she slowly resigned herself to what she
had, rather than what she wanted, and she came to think of her belongings as
the nest egg she would eventually pass on to her son. She wished she had a
daughter to hand them down to—a girl who would recognize the power and value
the freedom inherent in having one’s own money—not a boy who took the
inheritance for granted. But her son would become the custodian for Ellie’s
accumulated goods and he would decide whether to use them or pass them on to
his own children.

She pushed the drawer back into place just
as her husband and son entered through the kitchen door.

“What’s for dessert, Maw?” Clayton called.

“Clayton, I’ve told you
a million times, don’t call me ‘Maw.’ It sounds awful, and you just do it to
aggravate me!”

“Okay,
Mom
, what’s for dessert?”
Ellie bristled slightly at Clayton’s lack of apology and Leland’s silence, but
she kept her irritation to herself for the moment.

“Your favorite—rhubarb pie with vanilla ice
cream.”

“Thanks,
Mom
. .
.” Clayton put even more emphasis on the word this time as he bounded into the
bathroom to wash his hands.

“He’s getting worse, Leland, and you don’t do
anything about it.”

“He’s a good boy, Ellie. He’s just testing
the waters, trying to become a man.”

“Testing the waters! Is
that what you call getting into trouble all the time? We’ve had to haul him out
of the police station two times already, and he’s only thirteen years old!”

“Now, Ellie, that incident with Jimmy
Boykins—Clayton had a right to protect himself.”

“He had a right to stand up for himself, but
not to give the boy a concussion and a broken nose, Leland. And what about the
stones through the store window? What’s the justification for that?”

“Boyhood prank, Ellie . . . just a prank.”

“You didn’t do things like that at his age .
. .”

“No, but I didn’t have Clayton’s spirit,
either.”

“Spirit, is it? Or something else?”

“Ellie, he’ll be fine. He’ll grow out of it.
Let’s just give him some time.”

If Ellie pushed any more, Leland would dig
in his heels. She knew that. “I’ll put the pie on the table okay?” she asked to
end the argument.

“Yes, please.”

After dessert, Ellie
spent the rest of the evening tidying up the kitchen and thinking about how she
would get Leland to do the work for Harland. She had extracted a choice prize
from Harland. It had been sweet in the moment. Now she had to uphold her end of
the awful pact she had forged with him.

“
Leland, we need to talk.” After a long night of fitful
sleep, Ellie felt prepared to plead her case. Ellie rarely went into the
workshop, but she believed Leland would be his most receptive to her request in
the place he felt the happiest.

“Ellie, what are you doing here?”

“I’ve got to tell you something, and I’m
going to ask you to do something you will not want to do. But it’s important,
Leland, more important than I can say. Will you hear me out?”

“I’ll always hear you out, Ellie. What’s got
you so worked up?”

“I went to the fabric shop yesterday. I
didn’t find what I wanted, but while I was there Harland Freeman approached me
. . .”

“He did what?” Alarms
started sounding in Leland’s head.

“He asked me to talk to
you about the work he wants you to do . . .”

“Why on earth would he approach you when I
already . . .”

“You already told him no.”

“I told him
NOPE
! I won’t work for that
despicable man!”

Ellie waited while Leland fumed, pacing back
and forth in front of his workbench, fists clenched.

“I’m asking you to do that work for him,
Leland. As a personal favor to me.”

“Why would you want me
to do it, Ellie? I don’t understand why you want me to work for that horrible
man.”

“Well, Leland, he is family.”

“Ellie, it’s not right to bring up family in
regards to Harland. He may be blood-related, but he ain’t family—not in the
true sense of the word!”

“Whether we like him or
not, Leland, family is family. Besides, it would be easy work for you. He would
pay you a good wage and we can always use the money.”

“We have enough money, Ellie. We don’t need
more. We’re just simple folk.”

Leland’s words cut deep and went to the core
of the biggest divide between the two of them. Leland relished being simple
folk while Ellie found the designation intolerable. Rage engulfed her, and
unable to control herself, she lashed out.

“You may be simple folk,
Leland, but I am not! All my life I wanted things I didn’t get. I wanted a
life, a real life with adventure and excitement. I got you instead. I wanted to
travel and see the world. I stayed here with you instead. I wanted freedom and
independence. But what did I get? A husband and a troublesome son!”

Leland fell back, astonished at the force of
Ellie’s tantrum. He had never seen her this way, never heard these things from
her before, and it terrified him.

Ellie felt all her long imprisoned dreams
rising up, fueling the tirade. Once unleashed, her emotions poured out.

“Don’t ever call me
simple folk again, Leland! And don’t ever think for a minute I don’t notice all
the things you do for others that you never do for me. You build beautiful
furniture and help create fancy houses for all the rich people who want you.
But when I asked you for a house, a real house instead of livin’ in this old
shack you love so much, what did you do? You built me a house all right. You
built me the simplest, plainest house on the street. The most boring, basic
house you could conjure up when you’re the finest craftsman around. Why?
Because you think of yourself as simple folk, not worthy of something special,
and you think of me that way, too.
I AM NOT SIMPLE FOLK, LELAND!
I had wishes and dreams
and ideas and plans just like everyone else. Big plans, big ideas. And I
squandered them all in a moment of shameful passion!”

Wracked with emotion,
Ellie could not believe the words she heard coming out of her own mouth. She
stopped, tears streaming down her face, arms clutching her sides in an effort
to regain some control. She sank, bent over, into an old chair and continued to
sob. Leland, shocked by the scene in front of him, sat motionless and
speechless on a stool, hands on knees, head hanging low, engulfed in panic.

Finally Ellie spoke
again, this time more calmly. “Leland, I’m sorry for all that. Not for saying
I’m disappointed about some things, but for saying it that way. And for trying
to make it your fault. I chose this life with you. It is a good life in so many
ways. But I’m not simple folk, Leland, and I wish you could see that and try to
stretch more to my way of thinking.”

“Ellie, I . . . I don’t
. . . you’re . . .” Head still whirling, Leland searched for words. “You’re
right, Ellie. I always stick to the way I was raised. Not taking more than I
need. Simple things are enough for me, and I didn’t realize how vexing that is
to you. I’m deeply sorry.”

“You made me that beautiful fireplace,
Leland. You made that special place just for me, and I love it so much. I guess
I want more things like that. I guess I just want too much.”

Leland paused before responding. “As far
back as I know, the men in my family made wonderful things for other people.
They never kept those things for themselves. We had our home, some basic
furniture, all beautiful, of course, but not fancy, nothing more than we
needed. The fancy things were always for others. You knew that when you moved
here after we got married.”

“I was just a child then, Leland, only 16.
Your parents were good to me and I didn’t want to stir things up. Then we had
the baby, and we all lived in this tiny cabin. When you started building us a
new house of our own, it seemed grand by comparison. But when I asked for nicer
things, and I did ask several times, what did you say?”

“We just need a solid house, Ellie, nothin’
fancy.” Leland answered. “That’s what I always told you.”

“That’s right. You said
it so many times and I always gave way. And that house there? That’s ‘a solid
house, nothin’ fancy,’ just like you insisted in your stubborn way.”

“I never realized how
much it disappointed you, Ellie. I truly never did.”

“I came to terms with it, Leland. I’m
comfortable there, and I’ve made it my own.”

“But still, you should have what you want,
Ellie . . .”

She looked at him,
taking a moment to gauge his mood.

“And that brings us back to where we
started, Leland,” she said, matter-of-factly. “I want you to do that work for Harland
and not to ask me any more questions about why.”

Leland contemplated his
wife and her request, both the things she said and those left unsaid. Her
vehemence unnerved him, but his love for her persisted as strong as ever. She
had a reason for asking what she did, and he wondered again what it might be.
Leland was certain Ellie’s moment of shameful passion had not been with him.
And she had invoked family obligation, which seemed odd since he had never had
a familial attachment to his cousin and Ellie seemed to dislike Harland as much
as he did.

He could think of only
one possible source of the power Harland had over Ellie, one sole explanation
for how he would be able to persuade her to do his bidding. Too awful to
contemplate, Leland pushed the thought away just as he had done long ago the
first time the idea occurred to him. Adrift in indecisiveness, a course of
action suddenly popped into his head full-blown—a scheme so out of character
for him it took him by surprise. But it would accomplish so many things, this
unexpected plan of his. Harland would get his door, Ellie would get her fancier
house, and Leland would prove to everyone, especially himself, he had a
backbone. He resigned himself to his shocking decision.

“I’ll do it, Ellie. Like
you said, he’s family, and maybe I understand just what that means a little
better now than before. And I’m gonna make things right for you, too, Ellie.”

“Thank you, Leland. And I’m sorry, really,
for everything I said. You’re a good man and I’m lucky to have you.”

Leland thought about how
much he loved his wife as he watched her retreat to her kitchen, and he
reckoned Ellie saying she felt lucky to have him would be the closest he’d ever
get to knowing if she loved him in return.

Leland
screwed up his courage and went to Freeman Mercantile the next day. He listened
to Harland boast about his house plans and how it pleased him Leland had come
to his senses and agreed to do the job. Leland studied the sketch Harland had
drawn for a Baroque-style door of massive proportions, discussed the type of
wood he wanted, the time frame, the cost—all the details necessary to get the
job underway. Not once during the conversation did Leland express his disgust
for the man or the work, and not once did Harland seem to notice how Leland
recoiled when he moved too close. When the conversation concluded, Harland
unwarily put out his hand. Then, and only then, did Leland look Harland in the
eye.

“I’ll do this work, Harland, but I’ll not
shake your hand. That’s what gentlemen do at the conclusion of business, and
you’re no gentleman.” Leland took the drawing from Harland.

“I’ll send along an estimate and you’ll
return a check for half the cost of the job. Once your check clears the bank,
I’ll get the supplies and begin the work, and you’ll have your door by the
deadline. Thereafter, don’t ever speak to me, my wife or
my son
again.” Leland turned on his heel and left the store without
another word.