Keeping Victoria's Secret (7 page)

“That would be wonderful. I really want to
know all I can about Nanna’s life.” After saying good-bye, she
closed the phone and focused on the computer screen once more to
read over what she’d just written. She enjoyed the morning sun
streaming into her new office as she rocked back in the worn oak
chair at the roll top desk. Had Nanna ever sat at this desk, in
this chair?

As her fingers once more went to her
keyboard, the cell phone rang again. This time it was her agent,
Marsha Chandler.

“Vicky, how’s life up in the Hudson
Valley?”

“Hello, Marsha.” She listened, juggling the
phone. “Very good. Thanks.”

“Listen, I know you’re busy, but I wanted to
know if you’ve received my email about the printing date of your
latest novel.”

She apologized explaining that she hadn’t yet
established internet service, and was still in the process of
moving, making a mental note to get that password from Jack
today.

“Well, just wanted to let you know, a few
days ago I shipped you a box of your latest, Rendezvous Romance. It
should be there soon.”

Rendezvous was her most exciting book so far.
A torrid tale of love set in the high Rockies during the 1830’s; it
fairly bristled with danger and excitement. It was full of steamy
sex and romance between handsome fur trappers and their beautiful
Indian maiden lovers.

“That’s good. Marsha, I promise. As soon as I
get things more settled I’ll be back in touch with you.”

They said their goodbyes, but when the cell
phone rang a third time, Vicky decided that she was through
working, at least for the moment. This time it was the man from the
furniture store delivering her new bed asking for directions to
Pippen’s Grove and the farm. Before leaving New Jersey, she’d
impulsively purchased an old-fashioned walnut sleigh bed. Though
she’d always wanted one, there hadn’t been room for a large bed in
her grandmother’s apartment. As she closed the phone, she heard
Doc’s car on the gravel drive.

Sighing, she saved the file she was working
on and closed the laptop. Her secret authorship of sexually
explicit romance novels under the name Tori Baxter was still known
only to her literary agent and she wanted to keep it that way.

Vicky met her friends at the door and ushered
the smiling couple into the kitchen. “I was just about to make some
fresh coffee in my new pot.” She grinned at them indicating the
coffee maker Doc had picked up in town for her. “Would you like a
cup? It’s all set up.”

“I’d love some coffee,” said Doc sighing as
he sat down at the kitchen table.

Uncovering a large plate, Elvira placed it on
the table. “I thought some of my double chocolate brownies would be
just the thing while we go through these keepsakes.”

Vicky took one and moaned in pleasure as she
bit into it. With her mouth full she said, “These brownies are
awesome Mrs. Sweeney.” She swallowed. “Absolutely delicious. So
nice of you to bring them.”

“Why thank you.” Elvira smiled at her. “I’m
glad you like them.” Then she reached for the shoebox that Doc had
carried in and opened it. Removing pictures and yellowed envelopes,
she shuffled through the old photos until finding the one she
wanted.

“Dear, this is a picture of your grandmother
and my mother taken in front of Victoria’s beautiful flower
garden”

Taking the photo, Vicky exclaimed, “That’s
Nanna, but she must have been only about sixteen, when it was
taken. I’ve never seen a picture of her that young.” Two smiling
girls stood dressed in their Sunday best, with the farmhouse and
garden in the background. There were no screens on the back porch
and the garden was full of blooms, but there was no mistaking the
house.

Elvira Sweeney was again sifting through her
stack of photos. “Oh yes, here we go. Victoria, did your
grandmother ever speak to you of her brother?”

“Yes, she told me that she had no sisters and
her only brother was killed during the Second World War.”

Elvira passed another picture to her. “This
is one of your grandmother and her brother, Alexander, in his
uniform. I gather it was taken just before he went overseas.”

She gazed at the picture of a young Victoria,
beside a handsome older boy looking very proud in his army
uniform.

Doc was busy reading several old letters and
documents while the women passed pictures back and forth.

“Mother told me that much of this was given
to her when your grandmother divorced Charley and was preparing to
leave Pippen’s Grove. I believe that she entrusted them to Mother
because there were things that Victoria simply couldn’t bear for
Charley to have. They corresponded for several years and some of
those letters are in here, but I don’t believe the two friends ever
saw one another again. By that time your grandmother’s parents had
passed on.”

Someone began knocking and Vicky excused
herself and went to answer the front door. It was Mr. Douglas. Fred
followed her back into the kitchen to join the group. Pouring
coffee for everyone, she felt grateful for these good neighbors. As
they nibbled Elvira's brownies, the three older people reminisced
about the past.

The rumble of a truck on the drive brought
her once again to the door. Movers from Jersey had arrived with a
van full of her things and right behind it the furniture delivery
truck bringing her new bed.

Hurrying back to the kitchen, she explained,
“My furniture and things have just arrived so I’ll have to direct
the moving men. It won’t take long.”

Smiling to herself, she stepped onto the
porch. Everything’s falling into place. I’m finding so many of the
missing pieces to Nanna’s life. Things are more or less settled
with Jack and here are all my books and things.

Outside, men were climbing down from both
trucks looking about them. She waved, running down the steps and
across the yard. “You’re in the right place. I’ll tell you where to
put everything.”

Idling truck engines were turned off and
doors flung open. Movers and deliverymen milled about catching a
quick cigarette and evaluating what needed to come from their
trucks. They discussed the best way, in their professional
opinions, to get everything into the house.

The U. S. Mail jeep pulled up on the road
next to the farm’s rural box and the mailman, Jimmy Smith leaned
out and waved. “Morning Miss Buonadies. Got a package for you and
it sure isn’t going to fit in the box.” Jimmy climbed out and came
around to Vicky, his arms full. “Got this box from New York and
here’s your mail and a stack for Jack Conner too.”

“Thanks Jimmy, How are you?”

“I’m just great. Another beautiful day. Look
at all those apple blossoms. They’ll be gone soon though. They come
quick and they go quick.”

“They’re awesome Jimmy, absolutely beautiful.
I’ll give Jack his mail.” She saw that the box was from her agent
and must be the copies of Rendezvous Romance. She reached for it,
but he held onto it, pulling her around as he headed toward the
porch.

“Why don’t I take this up for you, it’s
awfully heavy.” Ignoring her outstretched arms, he continued around
her and headed for the steps. “Looks like you’re moving in Miss
Buonadies. So you’re with us permanent here in Pippen’s Grove?”

Turning to follow him, she didn’t have a
chance to answer as the delivery men were at her elbow,
interrupting.

“Hey lady, where’s this bed here going? It’s
real big, you sure it’ll fit up them stairs?”

“Please take it upstairs and assemble it in
my bedroom,” she said.

“Hey lady?”

She turned to the next questioner. Now it was
one of the moving men, his arms filled with boxes.

“Lady, you want them boxes labeled kitchen,
in the kitchen and you want them boxes labeled bedroom in the
bedroom upstairs, but where you want them boxes labeled
miscellaneous?”

She tried desperately to remember what she
might have packed in the “miscellaneous” boxes but drew a
blank.

“Lady!” It was the furniture deliveryman
again. “You got like four bedrooms up there, which one gets the
bed? And I don’t know if this thing will fit up them stairs. Did
you measure?”

Turning back to the two men waiting, holding
the sleigh headboard between them she said, “Please assemble the
bed in the room upstairs at the rear of the house, the one that has
no bed in it.” Her head began to spin. She turned back to the
moving men that were still standing there. “Oh just stack those
labeled miscellaneous in the dining room.”

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a
dirty, battered, pickup truck slow and then pull off onto the
shoulder just beyond the driveway. The driver’s side door opened
and Jonathan Van Winkle stepped down and came toward her. He
grinned slyly and touched the visor of his ball cap.

“I really, really don’t have time to deal
with this guy,” she murmured. She turned, looking for Jimmy and the
mail.

Van Winkle called out to her, “If you got a
minute Miss, how do you say your name, Bundies? You’ve got to make
a decision about this year’s apple crop.”

“It’s Buonadies, Mr. Van Winkle, and no, I
don’t have a minute. Obviously I’m busy, and in any case, if it’s
apples you want to talk about, you need to see Mr. Conner.”

“Hel-lo? Hey lady.” It was the movers again,
pulling a rocking chair from their truck. “Where you want us to put
this?”

Van Winkle was persistent, still wearing that
creepy smile of his. His voice tinged with malice he said, “Apples
and everything else here might not be Conner’s decision no longer.
In future it’s maybe not yours neither. Could just be this place
don’t belong to you or him. I’m just sayin’….”

Vicky frowned at him. She had no idea what he
could be talking about, but his tone sent a shiver of fear down her
spine.

Turning her back on Van Winkle, she resumed
her supervision of the movers.

Meanwhile, Ben Cohen, proudly driving his new
Cadillac sedan, drove sedately on his return from town. He had just
come from the car wash and the Caddy was sparkling clean.

Mentally reviewing his wife’s shopping list,
he hoped he hadn’t forgotten anything. As he neared the old Willet
place, he saw what looked like a bit of excitement. As he drew
closer, he slowed down to see several vehicles in the drive and on
the side of the road. When he was nearly even with the farmhouse,
he saw the mail delivery jeep and several people standing about in
the yard. Curious, he craned his neck further to the right peering
through the passenger side window.

Unfortunately for him, seventeen-year-old
Sandy Spencer was coming towards him on the other side of the road
in her little Ford Focus. She was on her cell phone discussing
plans for the upcoming weekend with her boyfriend. Later, she would
admit that her full attention was not on the road ahead and as her
mind swerved in one direction, the Focus swerved in the other.

At the last possible moment, he and Sandy saw
one another, and both turned sharply to their right to avoid a
head-on collision.

Vicky, Jimmy Smith, Jonathan Van Winkle, and
all the moving men turned at the sound of two sets of screeching
tires as the cars braked. Sandy’s fishtailing ride ended with a
metallic “crump” as she connected head-on with a telephone pole.
The Cadillac landed with a similar “crump” as its hood kissed the
side of the Van Winkle pickup.

Everyone stared open-mouthed. Jimmy was first
to come to his senses. He pulled out his cell and called the
nine-one-one dispatcher. He verified that both drivers were
emerging from their vehicles looking dazed but unhurt. Closing the
phone, he announced that the police were on their way.

Jonathan Van Winkle suddenly came to life
when he realized his truck had been hit. He ran across the yard
yelling at a stunned Ben Cohen who looked at him vacantly.

“Who are you?” asked Ben.

“That’s my truck you old fool!” sputtered Van
Winkle.

At a slow and steady ten miles per hour,
Henry Voorhees drove his tractor pulling a four-wheeled farm cart
piled high with bales of hay. Behind him, a patient parade of a
half-dozen motorists followed along at the same pace. Henry braked
and halted when he reached the accident scene. Peering ahead at the
Cadillac T-boned against the truck, its rear-end skewed out into
the road, the mail truck parked behind that and then the little car
up against the pole, half on and half off the road at an angle, he
was unsure if he could get by safely. It wouldn’t be easy to
maneuver around the mess. He got down off the tractor and held his
hands out in front of him to signal the cars behind, smiling
apologetically. Behind the tractor, cars stopped and disgorged
their curious occupants. Making the best of a bad situation, they
congregated and got acquainted in the middle of the road.

The wailing police sirens brought Fred, Doc,
and Elvira from the house. The doctor went immediately to the young
girl who was leaning against her car, crying hysterically. The
cops, now out of their cruiser, were trying to calm her and assess
the damages. One of them asked Doc Sweeny to check Mr. Cohen out,
and he hurried with them across the road. Apparently, no one was
hurt. Mrs. Sweeney joined Vicky and Jimmy Smith wondering what had
happened. In a matter of minutes, the quiet country road had taken
on a carnival atmosphere.

Jack, drawn by the sound of sirens, came from
the field behind the barn where he was planting sweet corn.
Rounding the corner of the house, he took in the sight of the crowd
along the road and filling the yard. To his right stretching down
the road was a line of parked cars behind a tractor and cart with a
full load of hay. The road was filled with people milling about
talking and gesturing towards an apparent accident. It looked like
a caddy was nose in against the side of Van Winkle’s truck down by
the road. Van Winkle was arguing and yelling at some older guy,
both of them wearing ball caps and angry expressions. Across the
road, two cops were out of their patrol car, trying to console a
young girl in obvious distress. Apparently, it was her vehicle
crumpled against a telephone pole. Doc’s car and Fred’s car were in
the drive and two trucks were pulled in behind. The trucks were
opened in the back with ramps set up against the bumpers. Several
strange men were standing on the lawn looking out at the hubbub in
the road and the lawn itself was littered with stacks of boxes and
odd bits of furniture. And there, in the middle of everything, was
Victoria having a discussion with Jimmy and Elvira.