Keeping Victoria's Secret (4 page)

She found the big country kitchen at the back
of the house. At once, she was impressed with the size of the room,
but appalled at the ancient outmoded fixtures. Countertops were
worn 1950 era red Formica with metal strip moldings. The scarred
cabinets had once been white, but now were a yellow-gray with worn
metal handles. Churning and rattling away in one corner was a
refrigerator of uncertain age. It was a light green and rounded at
the edges. Unlike newer models, the rounded corners screamed out
“antiquated”, but apparently, it was still operational.

Moving through downstairs rooms she opened
windows to the delightful morning air that smelled of fields and
trees without a hint of vehicle exhaust fumes. Wind rustled the
leaves of the big oaks that flanked the gravel drive that snaked
past the farmhouse and wound its way to the garage and barn out
back. She decided at once, that she was going to like living in her
grandmother’s house.

Returning to the kitchen, she hunted for a
coffee pot. More than anything, she craved a steaming hot cup of
strong coffee. It would be relaxing to sit on the porch with coffee
and watch the sunrise. There was, unfortunately no pot of any kind
in evidence. She wrenched open the refrigerator, its hinges giving
a squeal of protest, but there was nothing but a half stick of
butter and a few cans of beer.

Naturally, Jack wouldn’t leave me any food.
He probably took everything out to his apartment last night when he
was stomping in and out, moving his stuff. Now what? I’m starving!
I haven’t eaten since lunch yesterday, and I lost that in the
upstairs hall.

She began making her way around the room
methodically, looking in each cabinet and drawer as she went. She
found silverware and a drawer full of utensils, but when she found
the dishtowels, it made her laugh. What a sight Jack made trying to
“cover his ass” in front of all those people.

In a cabinet above the old soapstone sink,
she found a mid-century Proctor Silex Citation percolator. “Well,
that’s more like it.” Pleased, she took it down and began hunting
for coffee. Almost there, all I need is some coffee to go with my
percolator and water. A thorough search of the entire kitchen
turned up no coffee. Sighing with frustration, she leaned against
the counter and considered her next move. A teakettle sat on the
old gas range. Doc made tea yesterday, so there must be teabags
somewhere, but what I really want is coffee!

The crunch of wheels on the gravel drive
signaled the arrival of visitors. Vicky peeked through the window
and saw a dark sedan had pulled up to the house. Doc Sweeney was
climbing the porch steps laden with packages as a gray haired woman
emerged from the car’s passenger side and opening the trunk, lifted
out shopping bags. She rushed to the front door to greet the
Sweeneys.

“Good morning my dear and how are you feeling
today?” asked the doctor.

“Much better thanks, Dr. Sweeney.” She held
the door for them. “Thank you for everything yesterday. You were
very kind.”

“I hope you don’t mind, my wife wanted to
meet you. Elvira, this is Miss Victoria Buonadies.”

Vicky thought they looked alike, although
Mrs. Sweeney was a head shorter than her husband, she had a
pleasant smiling round face similar to his own. The doctor and his
wife both had the same shade of gray hair and wore similar wire
rimmed glasses.

“Call me Vicky,” she said greeting the
couple. “Please come in.”

“It’s nice to meet you Vicky. I do hope
you’re feeling better. I was here briefly yesterday, but with all
the excitement, I thought I’d just be in the way, so I went on
home.”

Elvira Sweeney made straight for the kitchen
where she set down her grocery bags on the counter. “John, just set
those things there,” she said gesturing to the counter. From this
cornucopia, she proceeded to draw an amazing number of interesting
items. “I felt certain that there wouldn’t be much in this house in
the way of food, so I hope you don’t mind my bringing a few things
over. John says you’re in no condition to go traipsing out to the
store, at least not yet.”

A loaf of homemade bread appeared, followed
by a coffee cake. There was a carton of eggs, a pound of butter,
and several mysterious packages wrapped in white butcher’s paper.
The doctor’s wife turned and flashed a big smile.

When a large thermos of coffee appeared, she
said, “Oh Mrs. Sweeney, this is totally awesome!”

Vicky leaned back in her chair at the big
round oak table that dominated the kitchen. Before her was an empty
plate with a scattering of cake crumbs. She reached for her second
cup of Elvira’s delicious steaming coffee. “I can’t thank you
enough Mrs. Sweeney. This was so nice of you and Doc to come by and
bring all this.”

“It’s no trouble at all, dear. It’s the least
we can do for a new neighbor. It’ll be so nice to have a woman
living in this house once again. Poor Jack; it was a terrible thing
Charley did stringing him along that way for all those years. John
told me the whole story last night. That Charley Conner was just no
good from the start and that’s a fact.”

“I know. He must be so hurt and angry.”

Elvira became pensive and sipped her coffee.
She set the cup down and gazed through the window at the morning
sunshine playing over the trees. “You know dear, your grandmother
left Pippen’s Grove before my time, but my mother told me many
stories about her friend. She had fond memories of her and told me
she spent many happy hours in this house with young Victoria when
they were girls.” The older woman paused, as if she were trying to
remember something, staring into her empty cup as though the answer
might be found there.

Here was someone who could tell her more
about Nanna as a young woman. Vicky leaned forward, interested.

“Mother said she tried to talk Victoria out
of that marriage with Charley, but it was no use. There were
circumstances…that apparently Victoria revealed to my mother after
the marriage. Mother never divulged those things. I suppose she
felt they were best left buried. All of that generation is gone now
and it isn’t right to speak ill of the dead. My dear, that’s not
why I mentioned your grandmother, I wanted to let you know that I
have several photographs taken of my mother and your grandmother
together. Photos of this house back then as well. Your grandmother
had the loveliest flowerbeds around the house and a large cutting
garden in the back. Pity, it’s nothing but weeds now.”

“Mrs. Sweeney, I’d be thrilled to see those
pictures. Nanna never talked much about her life here in Pippen’s
Grove. I knew that she grew up here on a farm, but I had no idea
she still owned it.”

Doc Sweeney came in through the back letting
the screen door slam behind him. Going to the counter he cut
himself a generous wedge of coffee cake and came to sit with the
two women.

“Did you find Jack?” asked Elvira.

The doctor nodded, chewing thoughtfully. “I
did, and I can tell you his mood is unpleasant to say the least.
Poor Jack feels cheated and betrayed by everyone, even by Fred
Douglas and myself. He’s out there beyond the barn taking it out on
a pile of firewood, even though there’s no need for wood ‘til next
fall. I guess he’ll get over it in time. Fred will be out later
this afternoon with his proposal for an agreement between Jack and
Vicky. I believe I’ll come along as well, if you don’t object. I
have an idea Jack may take some persuading on the matter.”

Listening, she could hear the distant angry
chunk chunking of a persistent ax splitting wood. “I don’t mind at
all Dr. Sweeney. I want to get this mess settled as quickly as
possible, before my things are delivered from New Jersey at the end
of the week. There’s not much, just a little furniture, some books,
my clothes, and a few kitchen things.”

The doctor nodded again and pointed to the
ancient percolator that she'd found in the cabinet. “Why don’t you
throw that old thing out? I know from past experience that it
leaks. When I was here treating Charley, I tried to use it to make
some coffee. Charley was on his deathbed but refused to replace a
broken coffee pot. That’s the way he was, just plain ornery.”

She laughed. “The whole kitchen needs to be
replaced!”

Smiling, he told her, “If you give me a list,
we’ll pick up anything else you think you might need for the next
few days, and bring it by when I come this afternoon. I want you to
continue to rest and not venture out for another day or two.”

Overwhelmed with the kindness of these two
people, Vicky was glad they were her neighbors. She found pencil
and paper, putting coffee and drip pot at the top of the list.

Mother’s Friendship Crumb Cake From Elvira
Sweeny’s Kitchen

Makes 2 - 9” round cakes. One to keep, one to
give to a friend.

Crumb Topping

1 cup butter

1 cup sugar

2 cups flour

2 teaspoons cinnamon

2 teaspoons ground nutmeg

Stir together the dry ingredients in mixing
bowl. Slice butter into bowl and mix on medium-low until crumbs are
formed. Set aside.

Cake Batter

1 cup butter, softened

1 8 ounce package cream cheese, softened

3 cups sugar

6 large eggs, room temperature

1 tablespoon vanilla extract

3 cups all-purpose flour

1/8 teaspoon salt

Grease, flour, and line two, nine-inch cake
pans with parchment paper. Beat the butter and cream cheese on
medium speed for 2 minutes or until creamy. Gradually add sugar,
beating five minutes. Add eggs, one at a time, beating just until
yellow disappears. Add vanilla mixing well. Combine flour and salt.
Gradually add to butter mixture, beating at low speed just until
blended after each addition. Pour batter into two prepared 9-inch
cake pans. Cover batter with crumb topping. Bake at 325F for 45 -
50 minutes or until toothpick slides out cleanly. Cool, turn out
and wrap well.

Lifted from the storm-drenched deck,
Gwendolyn’s thoughts were confused as she felt herself carried away
in strong masculine arms, water streaming from her skirts.
Triumphant shouts from the pirates and the cries of their
unfortunate prisoners filled her ears, as she fought to remain
conscious. The sound of her captor’s boots on the ship’s
companionway echoed in her head as he carried her safely into the
quiet darkness below. Suddenly icy fingers of fear gripped her
heart as she became aware of the hard steel of his manhood pressing
against her thigh. Was the handsome buccaneer with the flashing
dark eyes her savior, or was he only whisking her off to ravage her
privately, thus not to be shared with the rest of his fellows?

From “Caribbean Fire” by Tori Baxter.

After waving good-bye to Doc and Elvira,
Vicky walked out to where she’d parked her car the day before and
popped the trunk with her remote. Today would be the perfect day to
get caught up on her work. The weather was nice and the quiet
solitude soothing. She retrieved a small suitcase and laptop
computer. The suitcase she lugged upstairs to what she now thought
of as her bedroom. Before she was too settled, she intended to look
over the other rooms and decide which had the nicest view, avoiding
the one she knew Jack had just vacated.

On the porch, she removed her computer from
its case and laid it on a small wooden table she’d found against
the wall. There were four lovely oversized wicker chairs she’d
discovered were quite comfortable. Opening the laptop, she booted
up and checked her battery life. She’d have to see about getting
internet service out here right away. Opening the file that she’d
last worked on a few days before, she began to read. Reaching the
end, she sat back thinking and let herself be carried away by the
story line. Sitting up abruptly, she began to type, totally
absorbed in her writing.

Like an unexpected gunshot, the slamming door
startled her and broke her concentration. Looking up, she saw a
stranger standing beside a dusty Ford pickup truck she hadn’t even
heard pull into the drive. He smiled up at her and touched the bill
of his cap.

“Morning to you, Miss. Fine day isn’t it?”
Without waiting for an answer, he continued. “Name is Jonathan Van
Winkle. I guess you’d say I’m a neighbor like, but I’m also a
customer. I have the cider mill down the road towards town. Mind if
I come up and join you there?”

”No, I suppose I don’t mind, Mr. Van Winkle,”
she said coolly, closing the lid on her laptop. There was nothing
she hated more than people peeking over her shoulder, trying to
read her writing.

He mounted the porch steps and reaching over,
pulled one of the large chairs close to hers, and sat, making
himself at home. Obviously, in no hurry, he relaxed gazing out over
the fields and orchards. “Yes, it is one mighty fine day. Good
weather we’ve been having. I’m afraid I didn’t catch your
name.”

The man seemed to take up more than his share
of the space on the porch. “That’s because I haven’t told you yet
Mr. Van Winkle. I am Victoria Buonadies.” She grinned mischievously
and unable to stop herself asked, “Any relation to Rip? After all,
we are in the Hudson Valley.”

“Yeah, I get that a lot,” he muttered, his
expression becoming sullen. “Rip Van Winkle wasn’t a real person
though. My people have lived here in the Hudson Valley for over two
hundred years. You’re new here aren’t you?” He leaned in closer as
he spoke.

“I am. I just arrived yesterday. You managed
to find me very quickly,” she said, not really wanting to give this
stranger any more information.

“Well now, you’ll be the lady that inherited
this farm and the orchards. It used to be the Willet place. Story
‘round town is the granddaughter of Victoria Willet is now the
owner. I guess you’d be her; that right?”