Out in the Country (10 page)

“It’s good for him, to see this finally happening.”

“Yes.” Lynne nodded slowly. “Although I would have thought it would be a bit sad as well--this has been the Marshall family home for nearly a century, and a bed and breakfast isn’t quite the same.”

“True, but Graham and Adam had always had a dream to turn this place into a going concern. It’s wonderful that it finally might becoming a reality.”

“Might be,” Lynne agreed with a renewed flutter of worry. “I didn’t realise they’d talked about it quite so much,” she continued. “Graham said as much in the hospital the other day, but Adam never spoke of it to me.”

John shrugged. “It was a bit of a childhood thing, I suppose. Adam always joked his apprenticeship was with this house--he and Graham tackled most of the repairs. I think it was Adam who thought of turning it into a b&b, and Graham was so thrilled at the thought of a father and son business.”

Lynne stiffened in surprise, her eyes widening. “Did Graham expect Adam to return to Hardiwick, then?”

John shrugged again, and Lynne saw a hint of sorrow in his eyes. “What parent doesn’t want that?”

“I just never...” Lynne turned away, pouring herself another cup of coffee even though she’d already turned the pot off and the coffee was growing cold. “I never realised,” she finally said. “We hardly ever came up here, you know. Adam was always so busy.”

“He had a very successful career.”

“I suppose I never really considered the cost of it, though,” Lynne said quietly, “at least on Kathy and Graham.”

John rose from the table, coming to stand behind Lynne, one hand on her shoulder, his fingers warm through the fabric of her shirt. “Don’t mistake me. Kathy and Graham were also thrilled about Adam’s success. But to see it all coming full circle, and their grandchild returning here--that will bring them great joy now, in their golden years.”

“Yes...” Lynne turned around and John’s hand fell away. She tried to smile, but his closeness disturbed her, along with a wave of fresh worry. She hadn’t even spoke to Molly since she’d returned to the city, and she had no idea what her daughter really thought about this madcap plan...
if
this madcap plan even got off the ground. “We’ll see,” she finally said, “on Friday.”

Friday came sooner than Lynne expected or even wanted. She’d planned to return to New York for a few days, but with settling Graham back at home and filling out the required forms for the zoning appeal, she realised she couldn’t possibly make the drive and back. And, she was honest enough to admit, she didn’t even want to. The week was full of crisp, clear days, the air so sharp and clean and the sun so dazzling that she couldn’t bear the thought of returning to the endless traffic and heaving crowds of the city.

She did manage to ring Molly on Wednesday, and even though her daughter spoke cheerfully about a student’s new interest in poetry, Lynne thought she detected a certain weariness in her voice... or perhaps she was just reflecting her own fatigue onto her daughter. She certainly felt overwhelmed, even if Molly no longer did.

“Have you spoken to Jason?” she asked brightly, and was surprised by the telltale pause that ensued.

“Yes,” Molly finally said. “He might visit... soon.”

Lynne couldn’t help but feel discomfited. Jason and Molly had been a couple for most of their college careers, and she’d always liked and trusted the personable young man. “I’m sure he’s busy,” she said, hearing it as an excuse, and Molly replied, her voice just a little bit hard,

“Yes, and so am I.”

More things to worry about, Lynne thought as she hung up the phone. She felt like Atlas, the world balanced on her shoulders, and she wasn’t nearly strong enough to bear its weight.

The feeling didn’t go away as she entered the town hall on Friday evening. John had arranged for several rows of folding chairs, as well as a refreshment table with apple cider and doughnuts. At the front of the room there was a folding table and several chairs and with a sinking feeling Lynne realised that’s where she and Jess would sit.

“This feels like a trial,” she whispered to Jess, who smiled and squeezed her hand in reassurance.

“Well, at least there’s no judge.”

“Just a jury,” Lynne agreed, watching as several dozen townspeople filtered into the hall amidst a flurry of greetings. She recognised most of them as she scanned the crowd, from church or the café or just on the street. She was heartened to see them smiling and waving at her without any sense of disapproval or censure, and for the first time since Anne Jeffries had given her dire pronouncement, Lynne felt a true sense of hope. She caught John’s gaze across the room and felt herself flush when he winked.

“I call this meeting to order,” Ted Dodd, the town’s alderman, banged an ancient looking gavel, and Lynne and Jess took their seats. “We’ve come to discuss a possible change in Hardiwick’s zoning laws, specific to the area of Elm Street...”

Lynne tried to look cheerful and attentive as Ted droned on about the process of appeals, but the legal terminology went right over her head. She and Jess exchanged rueful grins, and Lynne knew her friend was thinking the same thing:
just tell us yes or no.

“Now we’ll open the floor,” Ted said, “to anyone who has a view on this appeal.”

There was a general shifting and rustling throughout the room, and then a man with greying hair and a bushy beard raised his hand. He stood up, a bit self conscious in his checked shirt and dungarees. “Well, I think it’s a great idea. Hardiwick could use a bed and breakfast, and I can’t imagine that a couple of guests would create much traffic or anything for Elm Street residents. Besides, it would be wonderful to see that old place stay in the Marshall family.” He directed a shy smile towards Lynne, who smiled back, feeling suddenly, ridiculously close to tears. “We all miss Adam.”

“Hear, hear,” someone called from the back, and Lynne heard the murmurs of agreement ripple through the room.

“Why are we even here, Ted?” someone in the back of the room demanded good-naturedly, with typical Vermonter forthrightness. “No one gives a hoot about some old zoning laws--let her run the bed and breakfast, and be done with it! We can all head to the Mountain Café for a proper drink, no offense to whoever brought the cider.”

This was met with a round of chuckles and cheers, and Lynne felt a smile bloom across her face and in her soul. She met Jess’s gaze, who grinned back, and she felt her whole self lighten.

It was actually going to be okay...

“Excuse me.” A small, elderly woman with a knot of greying hair scraped back from her face stood, leaning heavily on a cane. Her face was wrinkled but her eyes were bright and shrewd, her mouth thinned in disapproval, and Lynne felt her spirits sink once more.

“I appreciate the willingness of our town to come to a meeting such a this,” she began, eyeing each person with beady determination, “but I do not think such concerns should be treated so lightly, or even discarded
as Mr Johnson suggests!”

Mr Johnson, the man in the back row, sighed wearily, and Ted Dodd looked resigned. “What would you like to say, Agnes?”

“I am not prepared to change the laws quite so readily,” Agnes announced with a certain imperiousness. “These laws were made many years ago to protect the residents of Elm Street and ensure their comfort, safety, and health...”

Lynne felt a buzzing in her ears as she listened to Agnes’s litany. She recognised the woman now; she was the Marshalls’ next-door neighbour. As she droned on, Lynne realised she was very much against living next to ‘a rowdy house with all manner of people coming and going.’

“It wouldn’t be rowdy,” Lynne spoke up when Agnes had paused long enough to take a breath. Her voice sounded small and desperate in the large room, and she forced herself to speak louder. “We’d only have four or five guest rooms, and the only meals we’d serve would be breakfast and afternoon tea--”

“People coming and going at all hours,” Agnes dismissed. “I, for one, do not want to spend my last years battling crowds just to get into my own home--”

“Your objections are duly noted,” Ted cut her off firmly. “Now we should take a vote.”

Lynne held her breath as Ted called for a raising of hands. “All in favour--” Everyone, Lynne saw, save one. When Ted called for a vote against, Agnes raised her hand with steely determination.

“I’m sorry, Agnes,” Ted said gently. “But with a majority vote--”

“That may be so,” Agnes cut him off, a glint of triumph in her eyes, “but as sole objector I have the liberty of registering my own appeal. And a law can’t be changed until
that
appeal has been resolved.”

This was met with silence, and Lynne turned anxiously to Ted who nodded in reluctant agreement. “That’s so. You can register your appeal at the county hall, and another hearing will be set.” He looked up at the crowd with a weary smile. “Now who wants to join me at the Mountain Café?”

Jess walked down Elm Street, the leaves crunching under her feet, and found herself regretting the fact that she and Lynne would be returning to the city tomorrow.

“There’s no point moving on with things here,” Lynne said gloomily, “until this wretched appeal is resolved.”

“Surely one person can’t hold things up forever?” Jess asked, and Lynne shrugged.

“Little towns like Hardiwick are a law unto themselves, and from what I gather Agnes Dillon is quite a force of character.”

“So she seems.” Yet Jess found she couldn’t worry too much about Agnes, or even about anything. She felt the worries and cares of the last few months slipping away from her everyday she spent in Hardiwick, felt new life and hope reborn in her and she was determined not to lose it, Agnes Dillon or not.

She slipped her hand into her pocket and felt the slip of paper she’d left there--Mark Sheehan’s phone number. She hadn’t called him, hadn’t even exchanged a private word with him in three days, although he’d smiled and nodded at her in the street. She wanted to call; she was honest enough to admit that. Yet she also knew she wasn’t ready, even for something as simple as a phone call.

“You’re the Scot, aren’t you?”

Jess skidded to a halt a house away from the Marshalls’. Agnes Dillon was sitting in a rocker on her front porch, wrapped in a hand-crocheted afghan. She frowned disapprovingly at Jess, who smiled back.

“Actually, Lynne and I are both Scottish,” she said, taking a step closer to Agnes’ porch steps. “She’s just been here longer, so she’s lost her accent.”

“So she has,” Agnes sniffed. “I never would have known it.”

“Do you have Scottish ancestry?” Jess asked and Agnes drew herself up.

“I most certainly do, on both sides. My father was from Dumfries but my mother was a Highlander.”

“How lovely,” Jess said. “And were you born there?”

“No.” Agnes hesitated before admitting grudgingly, “actually, I’ve never been. But I go to the Highland Games up near Essex every year.”

“I see.”

“I suppose you’re one of those faithless Campbells?” she added belligerently, and Jess choked down a surprised laugh.

“Actually I’m not, and I imagine you’re referring to Glen Coe?”

“Massacre, it was.”

“It was unfortunate,” Jess agreed, “but very few of the soldiers involved were Campbells, in actuality--”

“Led by Robert Campbell,” Agnes interjected. “Of Glenylon. I know my history--”

“Yes, you do,” Jess agreed. She was certainly willing to drop the subject; she had no desire to argue over a conflict that was nearly three hundred years old.

“So what clan are you from, then?”

“My last name is MacCready--” but Jess didn’t get any farther for Agnes’s whole countenance had changed, and she emitted something close to a squeal.

“But that’s my mother’s maiden name! You don’t hail from Inverness, do you?”

“Edinburgh, actually,” Jess said in apology, but Agnes simply shrugged.

“A MacCready... there are only six of us in all of Vermont, you know! You’ll have to come to the Games... they’re held in just a few weeks.”

“That would be lovely,” Jess said diplomatically, and was rewarded when Agnes smiled with something close to smugness and said,

“A MacCready next door... well, who knows if I’ll get around to filing that appeal after all.”

Molly stood at the top of the escalators in Penn Station, watching a steady stream of travellers emerge from The Downeaster, the 10:15 train from Boston. She was looking for Jason’s sandy, tousled head with both trepidation and excitement, and the mix of emotions both annoyed and alarmed her.

And then she saw him, a beat-up duffle bag slung over one shoulder, smiling tiredly as he caught sight of her at the top of the stairs.

“Moll!” His arms enveloped her in a bear hug, and his jacket smelled of wood smoke and leaves, reminding her strangely of Vermont. He pulled away, kissing her lightly as he smiled into her eyes. “I’ve missed you.”

“I’ve missed you, too,” Molly said, and knew it was the truth. Being in Jason’s arms felt both foreign and familiar, yet she was grateful for his easy warmth and comfort. “Are you starving?” she asked. “I know how terrible the food on trains is. We can stop at a diner, or just a grab a cab back home--my mother’s been in Vermont, but I’m expecting her back late tonight.”