Keeping Victoria's Secret (34 page)

“What in hell’s going on here?” Seeing that
it was Van Winkle, John didn’t stop to ask any further questions,
but threw him to the ground and sat on him.

At that moment, a tremendous boom sounded
from down the road. Everyone in the house turned in that direction
and all, nearly in unison exclaimed, “What was that?” As flames
rose high above the trees.

With everyone distracted, Vicky took the
opportunity to button herself up and straighten her hair. Jack was
rooted to the floor like a statue, grinning sheepishly. Putting his
arms around her from behind, he whispered in her ear. “How did you
know it was my birthday?”

Vince Cangelosi stood in the back yard next
to the pair on the ground. He looked out over the apple trees, saw
a fireball shooting high, and even at this distance could hear the
roar of flames. “I’ve got no idea what the hell that is,” he said,
“but it can’t be good.” He took out his cell phone and called
nine-one-one. After speaking with the operator, he put the phone
away.

“When my guys get here to answer the call, we
can have them read Van Winkle his rights. Looks like attempted
arson to me. Hey John, you know the nine-one-one operator said this
is the fourth call from this address in as many months? Guess
that's right. I answer the first one myself, when Jack was running
around naked scaring people. Remember?”

Jonathan made no attempt to get away from Van
Wart, who had him pinned to the ground. He continued moaning and
whimpering in terror, yelling about being attacked by aliens.

“John, what the hell’s wrong with him
anyway?” asked Vince, as he stood, frowning at the fire down the
road.

In the moonlight, John leaned over and saw
long lines oozing red on the man’s chubby face. “Damn Vince, looks
like Rip Van Winkle was in a knife fight or something. He doesn’t
look so good.”

Edna and Ben Cohen turned at the sound of the
explosion. They stood next to their parked car in their driveway
watching the orange flames licking skyward a mile away. Nearly in
unison they exclaimed, “What was that?”

With the last of his strength waning, he
jumped and stumbled over the trunks of fallen palms. His eyes
flashed and his feverish brain raced. Reaching behind as he ran, he
helped the girl, encouraging her to keep going. When they began to
falter, the shouts of their pursuers stiffened their resolve. Open
mouthed, they drew ragged lungfuls of humid air. Sweat coursed from
his brow and ran under his shirt.

At last he glimpsed the sea and caught its
scent. The shouts of their pursuers grew stronger; they must be
gaining on them. He took the girl’s hand pulling her along. Cold
fear gripped his heart. Where would they go when they reached the
sea, could she even swim? He didn’t know. The nearest islands were
miles away. Instinctively he fled to the ocean, the enemy close
behind.

They broke through the last cover of palm
trees, running down the beach dodging debris. A shattered lifeboat
lay on the sand, where it had been thrown onto the beach by the
storm. He looked out to sea; a lifeboat meant there were ships out
there somewhere, if any ship had survived the raging storm that had
torn through the islands for days.

A dead sailor, dressed in only blue trousers
was tossed up at the high water line, tattoos on his upper arms,
legs splayed, staring skyward. With a sinking feeling, he drew the
girl behind him down to where the ebbing tide was scouring the
sand.

There was something out on the water’s
surface, that appeared and disappeared as the surf rose and fell.
It was a small boat, adrift. “Can you swim?” He rasped out. The
girl nodded as she swept back damp locks of her long red hair from
her forehead. “Come on then,” he yelled and waded into the water,
the surf still running high. He fought against the incoming waves,
hoping the ebbing tide would carry them away from the shore. Then
from behind he heard the gunshots.”

The old man woke in a sweat to the pounding
of his heart. The gunfire was always what roused him from the
dream. He closed his eyes and tried to relax as the smell of the
damp jungle and tang of the sea, slowly drifted from his
memory.

Gradually, the terror of the nightmare
subsided as he collected his thoughts. It was getting late. The
morning light split the partially closed curtains lighting the
motel room. He sighed and swung his legs over the side of the bed,
sitting up. Scratching at the beard stubble on his wrinkled face,
the old man coughed and stretched.

How many times had the dream come to him? Was
it really sixty-seven years since their escape from the island?
With a sad smile, he allowed his thoughts to cascade down all the
intervening years. They were good years with his Laura. She was
gone, taken from him by the cancer five years before. Presently,
he’d joined her in a better place.

Several times over the summer months, he’d
made the journey between his home in Ohio and the little town in
the Hudson Valley. The first hints of autumn were in the air now
and it would be a good day to take a long walk. He wanted to feel
the sun on his face.

Today I’ll go see that lawyer, Douglas, and
tell him the rest of the story. Just as that guy on the radio, Paul
Harvey, always used to say. I’ll tell him the whole tale from
beginning to end, instead of just what he needed to fix that legal
mess.

Fred Douglas was on the telephone when his
secretary poked her head in to tell him that the old man was back
and would like to speak with him. Fred ended his call and stood,
smiling and holding out his hand to Alexander Willet.

“Glad to see you Mr. Willet. I can’t thank
you enough for your assistance with Victoria’s case.” The lawyer
gestured toward a chair and Alexander sat, heaving a long sigh.

“It’s such a perfect day out there; I walked
all the way and enjoyed stretching my legs.”

“What can I do for you today?” Fred leaned
back in his chair and looked curiously across at his visitor.

“I wanted to make sure you’d found everything
necessary to keep the Willet Farm out of Van Winkles hands. Then,
if you have a few minutes to spare an old man, I’d like to tell you
the rest of my story. I don’t want to leave this world without
someone else knowing the whole truth. Your father knew it all, and
of course my Laura, but they’re both gone now.”

“Certainly Mr. Willet. As to your first
question, thanks to your involvement, I did find all that I needed
to stop Van Winkle from taking the farm. The documents you spoke of
were among my father’s papers, just not where I’d expected. It took
a good deal of searching to discover them. You’ll be glad to know
that Van Winkle’s lawyer has withdrawn the suit and Victoria will
retain ownership.

Now then, I do want to hear your story. Take
as much time as you like. It’s the least I can do for you after all
the help you've been.”

“I believe I mentioned to you that I was in
the Pacific during the war, 1943 and pretty near all of 1944. Then
when I returned, due to a case of mistaken identity, the army and
the world believed I was someone else, and that Alexander Willet
was dead.”

“I remember,” said Fred. “When I questioned
you, you wouldn’t explain further.”

Alexander nodded his gray head. “That’s
right.”

Fred glanced at the clock on the wall,
ticking its familiar cadence. There was nothing particularly
important he had to do that afternoon. “Excuse me for a moment, Mr.
Willet.” He rose and leaned through the door to the outer office.
“Dottie? Would you please clear my calendar for this afternoon?
Yes. Thank you.”

Returning to his office Fred asked, “Before
you begin, I wonder, would you tell your story to Victoria and
Jack? We could go out to the farm. I know they’d like to hear
it.”

The old man considered for a moment. Then he
smiled. “Yes, I’d like that. I owe many things to many people, but
most of them are gone. I can at least tell Victoria. You know, that
girl does look very like her grandmother.”

Jack made his way across the lawn, carrying a
basket of apples. Victoria saw him coming and left the office room
to open the door. He smiled and set the basket down.

“Thought you might like a few apples.”

“I might.” She reached up and touched his
cheek, then kissed him. “If the right man brought me some.”

“That would be me. I’m the right man for
you,” he said giving her a squeeze.

“I suppose you’ll expect an apple pie in
exchange?” she teased.

“Well…,” Then he demonstrated what he’d
really like.

For days now, Vicky had listened to the
voices of the itinerant pickers calling to one another in the
orchards and watched the trucks coming and going. Taking apples to
local farm markets, wineries and cider mills. She’d hardly seen
Jack at all. He’d been busy supervising the harvest operation.

They sat together with the apples on the
floor between them. Vicky leaned over and plucked up one of the
Golden Delicious. “These are beautiful Jack. They’re such a bright
yellow. The color is spectacular. Tell me again, what are all the
varieties we grow?”

“Those are the Golden and some Macintosh. The
other two are Cortland and Macoun. Just those four in these
orchards, but there’s easily a couple dozen others right in the
neighborhood.”

Victoria bit into the apple, munching
thoughtfully. “Oh, these are delicious,” she exclaimed.

“Why do you think they’re called Golden
Delicious,” said Jack grinning.

“Wise guy.” She took another apple and handed
it to him.

“Hmmm. Just like Adam and Eve. She gave him
the apple and everything went downhill from there, remember?”

“I think Adam was the stupid one, falling for
that old apple trick,” she said.

Jack took a bite of his apple and grinned at
her mischievously. “Adam and Eve didn’t wear any clothes. Why don’t
we go upstairs and play Adam and Eve?”

“Don’t you have to keep an eye on the apple
pickers?” With a coy smile in his direction, she raised a hand and
pushed her hair off her forehead.

“I think they’re okay for the moment. Come
on,” he said, pulling her to her feet. “Let’s go upstairs.”

She felt the familiar stirring when Jack held
her and she responded eagerly to his kisses. “Hurry Jack, let’s
go.”

He threw one last quick glance in the
direction of the orchards and took her hand, pulling her to the
stairs. At the bottom he deftly slipped one arm behind her legs and
scooped her up.

"Jack, stop it. What are you doing?"

"I'm going to carry you upstairs."

"Are you sure? You might pull your back out
or something. Be careful."

"I think I've done this before without
injuring myself," he said, and started up.

In another minute they were in one another's
arms in her king sized sleigh bed, their clothes scattered over the
floor. His hands roamed over her breasts, down her sleek sides, to
her hips and the top of her thighs. Victoria buried her fingers in
his dark curls, her mouth on his, tongue probing. He marveled at
how fast this urgency came upon them and how fast their need
accelerated. Victoria's legs parted and she locked her ankles at
the small of his back. Her lips never left his. She reached down
with one hand and guided him into herself. They rocked and bucked
together. He pulled his mouth from hers, gasping for air. They
climaxed as one, Victoria's groan building and culminating in a
scream of joy.

Afterwards they basked in the silence for
several minutes.

"Don't look now, but we have an audience,"
whispered Jack.

Victoria sat up with a start. "What?" She
followed his gaze to the doorway, where Romeo and Juliet sat side
by side. Their ears back, eyes wide they remained motionless like
two little sphinxes.

The sound of tires on the drive brought them
back to reality. “Are you expecting anyone? We’ve got visitors,”
said Jack.

“No,” Vicky moaned in frustration. "Hurry up
and get your clothes on." She began rummaging through the pile on
the floor.

Jack sighed. Barefoot, buttoning his shirt,
he went to a window. “Let me go see.” In a moment he came padding
back to the bedroom. “It’s Fred. He’s got someone with him. I think
it’s the old guy that scared Jonathan off with the shotgun.”

"You're Nanna’s brother?” A stunned Vicky
murmured to herself, “I wanted to know more about her life when she
was young, and now I will.”

Fred urged Alexander Willet to tell Victoria
and Jack about himself when they were all settled on the front
porch.

He looked over the hills covered in apple
trees; their branches pulled low with the weight of their ripening
fruit and began slowly.

“You would be very much interested I'm sure,
to hear my story. I’ve kept it all to myself for many years, there
being only two others who knew everything and they’re gone now.
This was my home, until I left for the army. That was in 1942 and I
was just eighteen. War, especially a war like that one, quickly
makes a grown man of a young boy. You know now, of course, that I
married Betsy before going overseas. Looking back on it, that was
the biggest mistake of my life. But for that, I believe I could
have returned to Pippen’s Grove.”

He took a sip of ice tea and gazed out at the
orchards. “All the years I’ve lived elsewhere, I never stopped
missing the apple trees. The blossoms were so pretty that spring of
1944, when I came home on leave and got a big surprise. I was told
my wife was carrying a child, though I’d been gone for about a
year. She’d been playing around behind my back, while I’d been in
the Pacific, fighting for my country. I was mad as hell and all
torn up over it. I never saw her again because her family had her
off with relatives in Vermont. They didn’t want the embarrassment.
Everyone knew that I’d been overseas.”