The Long Road Home (30 page)

It took a heave from C.W. to scrape the door open against the built-up snow. When Nora stepped out, the brilliance of white reflected on white blinded her, forcing her to raise her gloved hand as a shield. Gradually she grew accustomed to the brightness, but she was unprepared for the sight that met her.

As far as she could see, oranges, yellows, and reds of peak foliage sparkled against a crisp white backdrop so deep that it distorted her perspective of space and distance. Like a Bosch painting, the scene held beautiful yet queer tableaux. Limbs
emerged from the snow, twisted and gnarled, yet tipped in glory. Majestic pine trees stood stooped and dwarfed by their white robes. Above her, in a brilliant blue sky, birds circled and called, no doubt as confused as she was by nature’s trick.

“Let’s get started,” C.W. said, taking her hand and making the first indentation in the deep snow. He turned to make sure she made the first step safely. His physical strength was needed now to carve out a rough path through the drifting snow to the Johnstons’. From deep in the woods they heard the distant sound of high bleating. To Nora, it was a pitiful wail. She clenched her jaw and quickened her pace.

At last they reached the pale green Johnston house at the bottom of the mountain. Enveloped in fresh snow and surrounded by tall pines, it looked like a Vermont postcard. Smoke curled from the chimney, and as they approached a dog barked. No one would guess, she thought, that within that domestic picture, grief and death dominated the scene.

“Perhaps life and death are companions,” she said, pausing at the front door. “The flip side, like black smoke and white snow. Good and evil.”

“Yin and yang,” he answered. “It’s all a matter of balance.”

“Remind me of that later today.”

“I’ll try to remember it myself. Listen, before you enter…” He put an arresting hand on the doorknob. “Today will be tough, you know. Whatever comes from all this, remember what you said earlier. We’re in this together.”

A nod was her reply. How could she forget?

She needed him the moment she entered the Johnston house. Few lights lit up the dim front room, making the faded wallpaper and worn furniture appear dingy. The family clustered in the kitchen, no one cooking, no one eating. The strained silence froze them into a staged grief.

“Here, let me help you get breakfast,” Nora said with mustered enthusiasm as she quickly shook off her coats and kicked away her boots. Tossing away her scarf, she reached out to grab the frying pan that hung uselessly in Esther’s hand. “Where’s May?”

“Tending Pa. She wants to do it herself.” Esther stepped close. “They gave Sarah a sedative; she’s pretty much out of it. May won’t take anything of course, especially not from a doctor. I’m concerned about her. She’s been sitting beside Pa all night.”

Nora cast a worried glance at the bedroom door, then to Sarah seated on the quilt-covered sofa. Sarah wore a black dinner dress, hardly suitable for the rigorous day ahead, and leaned against the arm Zach had protectively wrapped around her. Grace lay with her head in Sarah’s lap, and Timmy cuddled between his parents with his skinny arms tight around Zach’s neck.

Nora donned an apron and hustled up a breakfast of eggs, sausage, pancakes, and maple syrup. The smell of hot coffee and food revived the spirits in the room. Grace and Timmy tugged at Nora’s apron for a sausage while Zach and Esther began setting out plates and cups. As she cooked, Nora watched C.W. confer individually with members of the family. He was kind and gracious, leaving each of them with an encouraging smile. His gaze always returned to her, however, and when their eyes met, they were alone.

Esther kept busy and her comments were short. Nora knew she would mourn Seth for a long time but would, eventually, settle her grief.

But the older boys… Nora wondered how Seth’s death could affect two seemingly inseparable men so differently. Frank and Junior: the names rolled off the tongue as one. No longer did they stand side by side, jabbing and sharing remarks.
Frank stood tall by C.W. He was steady and mature in his replies, ready to oversee the day’s work. It was clear Frank would assume confident command of his family.

Junior, however, leaned against the far wall with his hands in his pockets, staring out the window. Nora walked to his side and handed him a cup of hot coffee. When he turned her way, his eyes were bloodshot and he reeked of booze.

By eight o’clock the near neighbors and friends began to arrive. The snow outside was deep and treacherous, not fit for travel. Katie Beth immediately went to Junior and sat by him, cajoling him to eat his breakfast. Everyone brought food and supplies.

May at last opened the door to Seth’s room. May’s cheeks seemed to hang in long folds from her cheekbones, making her eyes appear to protrude even farther under creped, drooping lids. Death was hard for May to bear. The final ailment that went far beyond her help.

“Come say your respects,” she announced gravely. Her voice was unusually low but could easily be heard over the hushed voices. “Then be about your work. He’d want the sheep tended to first.” May stepped aside and called over Sarah and the little ones to enter first.

Nora and C.W. followed the family into the back bedroom, barely big enough for Seth’s double bed, a small bedside stand and lamp, a narrow walnut dresser, and a wooden chair. On every tabletop, candles burned beside freshly cut pine and yew branches. At the foot of the iron bed, May had placed two boulders from Seth’s sacred grove.

“Smells like Christmas,” whispered Grace. She was quickly shushed.

Everyone filed in and out quickly, only a few people pausing to touch Seth’s folded hands over a patchwork quilt. Esther laid a sprig of evergreen beside them. Frank bent down to kiss his
father. C.W.’s face was stony. Junior lurked at the door. Nora escaped the trapped air of the small dark room with barely a glance. She couldn’t reconcile seeing Seth lying in bed rather than working in the fields.

Frank and C.W. organized a work force of thirteen: eight men and five women. No matter that the neighbors had their own troubles at home, they always came to help a neighbor in need. Word was, John Henry’s place was hard hit, but he was here for Esther today.

“Thank you, gentlemen and ladies, for helping us today,” C.W. began. “We all recognize the respect you pay to Seth and his family. I’m sure he appreciates it. We all do.” He looked over to Nora and she nodded deeply.

He shifted his weight and stood straight. He seemed accustomed to command, and this was immediately sensed by the men and women in the room. Point by point, he ticked off the list of tasks that needed doing, organized work teams, and tallied up the supplies.

“We’ve got a major problem here,” he concluded. “Most of our flock is caught up in that field. Unless we can get them out soon, they’ll be unfit to breed. If we can get them out at all. The brush is thicker than a hornet’s nest. What can I say?” He shrugged. “It’s October. We didn’t foresee the magnitude of this storm. Nobody did.”

C.W. leaned against the table while his eyes swept the room. “The storm came, but it did not conquer. Let’s give it our best.”

The room echoed with calls of “We can do it!” “You bet!” “Let’s go!” Nora sensed the solidifying of spirit. They’d work for the sheep, for the farm, for Seth, and most of all, to prove man could emerge victorious over nature.

Armed with chain saws, grain buckets, and rope, the teams headed across the deep snow to the northern pasture. Nora
plowed through snow up to her knees before catching on to the trick of stepping in another’s footprints. The snow and leaves that had seemed so beautiful to her just hours before were now their greatest enemy. The sun was shining bright. Wet and heavy, the melting snow sent branches falling dangerously near.

Within minutes of reaching the pasture, the mountains rang with the buzz of multiple chain saws. The men manned the saw while the women worked alongside, pulling aside the severed limbs. Brittle branches scratched Nora’s face, leaving her skin raw to the biting wind. She lugged limbs twice her weight through the wet snow, and with each tug, more snow fell down her neck.

Everything was cold and wet. In her soggy gloves her fingers grew icy and in her boots her toes felt numb. Still, she kept to her task, never slowing, never complaining. Nora worked on C.W.’s team and shoulder to shoulder they kept the pace, working that much harder than the rest.

Hours of buzzing and pulling passed before they cleared a ragged path through to the pasture. A few ewes bolted out of the brush, ears up and eyes bulging in panic. The deep snow made it hard for them to run and easier for Nora and Esther to catch. Keeping the ewes herded with the grain bucket, Nora waited in the cold, stomping her feet, while C.W. took a crew into the area. Soon, a few more sheep straggled out behind C.W.’s banging grain bucket. He approached with a grim face.

“Where are the others?” she asked, giving voice to her worst fear.

“I can’t see them. It’s a sea of fallen branches and brush in there. It’ll take hours, maybe even days to get through.” He put his hands on his hips and clenched his jaw.

“Twelve sheep saved? We can’t quit. They’re in there!”

He snapped his gaze toward her. “Quit? Who talked about quitting? We’ll work till we drop.”

She recoiled and reached for his arm. “I know. I’m sorry.”

C.W. wrapped his arm around her, their thick coats padding his hug. “The snow is making us all irritable.”

“It’s okay. I understand.”

“Go on down and bring these ewes in. I’m going back in. Maybe a few more will hear the bucket and find their way out. No use everyone freezing up here. I’ll send the crew down for lunch.”

Nora turned her face up and he kissed her. Their lips were cold and parched, but the touch bolstered their spirits.

“Don’t be too long,” she called out. “I’ll keep the soup hot.”

“That’s not all I want you to keep hot.”

She almost smiled but her cheeks were too icy to move. His good nature was back; it would keep them all going.

“Come on, girls. We’ll be all right,” she crooned to the ewes. Then, giving the grain bucket a good shake, she led the lost dozen down the mountain.

C.W. never did come down for lunch. May and Katie Beth served up pots of thick chicken soup. The Zwinger family brought casseroles and cheese sandwiches, and Naomi Thompson delivered hot coffee, cookies, and carrot cake. Nora carried a thermos of hot soup up the mountain to C.W. and wouldn’t budge until she watched him drink the whole thing.

Day turned to dusk, and the laborers’ shadows stretched long down the graying slope. Shoulders stooped as heavily as the pine boughs, the jokes had long since stopped, and fatigue etched deep lines upon their faces. It was time to quit. The neighbors exchanged handshakes, but victory was not theirs.
Only forty sheep had been rescued so far, and tomorrow the crew would dwindle back to the original five.

That night Nora and C.W. made love with a tenderness born of mutual respect. Side by side they had worked, glancing at each other over the scraggly brush and shoring up their conviction with a smile. Simple gestures became meaningful symbols of their union: his arm around her shoulder, her brush of snow from his hair. They were as intimate in the fields covered with layers of wool as they were in bed, lying naked in each other’s arms.

Mates in the field, mates in the bed; their forces merged into one.

SETH’S FUNERAL WAS QUICK and to the point. He would have approved. There was no church service, but a few words were spoken at the gravesite by the Reverend Wilcox. Despite the rain that would not let up, a large group gathered, ankle deep in mud, in the small Johnston family plot. The Johnston family had settled in these parts generations ago, and by virtue of many children and marriages, the family stretched for miles in these mountains. Neighbors, associates, and friends, dressed in their best suits and dresses, braved the gusting rain and leaves to stand in tribute to Seth atop the rolling hill overlooking Skeleton Tree Pond.

Squire had flown in from Florida. May flustered about him like a plump hen seeing to his needs. Squire was short and wiry, unlike Seth and May, but he had the same warm blue eyes and unassuming manners of his younger brother. He stood ready to support the family in any way he could, emotionally and financially.

Afterward, the mourners were invited for coffee and cake at
the Johnston house. Everyone talked in hushed tones and were courteous to Nora, many meeting her for the first time.

“I’d like to thank you for what you did for our Esther,” Squire said when Nora met him. The way he said it made Nora sure May had told him the full story. He meant it kindly, but Nora colored, muttering how she would like to have done more.

Frank stood stoically between Katie Beth and Junior, arms linked.

Sarah did her best to be helpful, but her eyes still held a look of bewilderment. Zach picked up her slack with the children and stood by her side.

May announced that she’d move back into the house to look after Frank and Junior, just for the winter. Come spring, she declared loud enough for Katie Beth to hear, she’d move out. May surprised everyone by saying how she might move down to Squire’s place in Florida, explaining how these northern winters were getting hard on her and her ailments. Despite Katie Beth’s protests, May was sure the last thing a new bride wanted was some maiden aunt living with them.

Esther disappeared somewhere in the mountains. John Henry stood by the window, looking out.

C.W. stood quietly in the background during the funeral. He never intruded and barely spoke a word. Nora approached him often, squeezing his hand, bringing him coffee. He assured her she needn’t bother with him and said appropriate phrases of encouragement. Yet his heart wasn’t in them. Nora decided she wouldn’t burden him with her own sorrow, or her desperate financial straits or even the lost sheep remaining in the mountains.

Seth used words sparingly in his lifetime, so it was fitting that a discreet marble headstone, engraved only with his name and the dates of his life, mark his grave. “Just let the grass
grow over me,” he’d said in life, but May had insisted on at least the small marble slab. Frank and Junior carried the two rocks from Seth’s bedroom to sit on either side of it.

C.W. stretched his long legs out before the wood stove and laced his hands across his stomach. What a weekend, he thought with exhaustion. But it, like the storm, had passed. In only four days, he had watched the fields of white snow change to acres of black mud—and the mud was worse. All of them were slipping as they continued their dangerous routine of chainsawing and pulling. Rubbing his back, he wondered if he had ever been so exhausted. Squash, tennis, football—all those sports paled next to logging.

His glance returned to Nora. She was back in her usual position of late, hunched over her desk scribbling and erasing, poring over various books, papers, and letters. She drank too much coffee and ate little food. She was losing weight, and she was losing her farm. Of all of them, this fight would be toughest for her.

The sharp ring of the telephone pierced their temporary peace. Both C.W. and Nora jumped up, for it was the first time in days the reconnected phone had rung.

“At least the phone’s back,” he said, grabbing the phone.

Nora leaned back in the swivel chair, her face open.

“Hello?” C.W. asked, mugging curiosity to Nora.

“Charles, is that you?”

His face dropped as he swiftly turned his back to Nora. He could feel her gaze upon his back and his muscles stiffened.

“Hello, Charles?” the voice repeated.

C.W. hesitated, debating whether to answer the familiar voice or hang up. “Yes,” he responded after a painful interval. He was almost whispering and he cupped the receiver tightly near his mouth.

‘It’s Cornelia. I’m sorry to call. You said I could in case of an emergency. This is an emergency.”

The tightening of his muscles progressed from his back to his neck. “Go on.”

“At today’s board meeting, Agatha presented her ‘discovery’ of the numerous bank loans that defaulted. She’s calling for an in-house investigation. Your signature has been exposed and your head is on the block. I’ve heard rumblings about asking for your resignation. Agatha’s licking her chops.”

C.W. ground his teeth. Damn Agatha. She must have a sixth sense for an opponent’s moment of vulnerability.

“Have the loans been traced?” he asked, looking over his shoulder. Nora’s eyes were still on him and she was chewing the end of her pencil. He looked away, avoiding eye contact.

“Traced back to MacKenzie? Not yet. But it’s only a matter of time. This in-house investigation will leak outside in a matter of days. Once it does, everyone will know. New York is a small town that way. Sidney has done his best to keep it quiet, but Agatha is determined.”

C.W. cursed under his breath. Nora’s auction was this week.

“You should know. Sidney is your staunchest defender. He is calling foul play and initiating his own in-house investigation. The two of them are head-to-head on this one. And right now, I’d bet on Agatha. Sidney’s going to take the fall with you. He isn’t giving any sign of abandoning your ship to save himself.”

C.W.’s chest swelled at the clear signs of loyalty in his ranks, and in his family. Despite the mess he was in, he greeted his brother-in-law’s support with relief and pride. This was going to be a tough fight: for him, for Sidney, and for Cornelia. He knew what he had to do. God willing, it would be enough.

“Charles, the situation is bleak. The bank is losing confidence in you. They’ll turn to Agatha and you know she’ll push for your resignation. You must get back here. Now.”

The situation was more bleak than Cornelia realized. The plan he’d been setting up hinged upon locating proof of Agatha’s duplicity. He didn’t have it—and time was running out. The ledger connected him to MacKenzie; he wouldn’t be able to prove his innocence. Who’d believe his word? MacKenzie’s suicide acted as a finger pointed his way, and his alcoholic binge would only be interpreted as guilt. He’d be forced to relinquish control to Agatha.

And worse, Nora would learn who he was and what he supposedly did. She’d think him a liar and a cheat—she’d never forgive him. A veil of dismay dropped over him. This one worry, more than any bank problem, more than any strenuous labor, caused his shoulders to droop.

“I’m on my way,” he said with resolution. Then hung up the phone.

“Who was that?” Nora asked, turning a suspicious glance his way.

C.W. leaned over, hands on the kitchen counter, eyes down. What was he going to say? He, Charles Walker Blair, the master planner, was totally stumped. Would she believe it if he said, “Wrong number?” He snorted and shook his head slowly, realizing that with each moment of his silence, Nora’s anxiety increased.

“Someone I know,” he replied evenly, straightening and turning a gaze to meet hers head on.

He challenged her with his eyes to ask another question—dared her to. Nora clenched her jaw, as though to keep the question in. He saw her eyes flash and the muscle twitch in her jaw.

“Oh,” she said pointedly, then swung around and furiously began to erase a column of numbers.

C.W. crossed the room to place his hands upon her shoulders.

Nora tensed at his touch.

He dropped his hands.

Nora sighed and tossed the pencil on the table. “I don’t have it in me to fight you. I’m too busy fighting banks and Mother Nature. If you feel the need to keep secrets, go ahead. I’ll give you the time you need.”

“Don’t you think you should stop and get some rest?” he asked, rubbing her neck once again.

“There’s no rest for the wicked,” she said, tilting the back of her neck.

“Why do you say that?”

“I’m being punished for something, but I can’t figure out what.” She groaned. “Too many sheep are lost. It’s all there in black and white. Or should I say red and white? The dream is over.”

His fingers dropped away. Nora had put to words his greatest fear. “What do you want me to say?”

She rubbed her eyes. “Oh, what I want to hear. That you’ll make it all better. That I won’t lose the farm. That you have some new scheme.”

She heard C.W. sigh and turned in her chair to see him standing, hands on hips, staring into the fire.

“That’s not fair of me,” she said with an apologetic tone. “I’m sorry. I don’t expect you or anyone else to rescue me.” Reaching out, she took his hand and kissed his palm. “You’ve taught me to rely on myself. And I am. But damn it all…” Nora muttered, reaching for a handful of papers.

“I’ve been trying to be clever. I keep going through these old letters and papers of Mike’s. I don’t know what I’m after
exactly, but I have a hunch there’s something here I’m missing. With all his deals, I keep hoping for some hidden asset.”

C.W.’s head swung sharply around. “Those are old papers and letters of Mike’s?” He kept the urgency from his voice. Stepping closer, he peered over her shoulder. “What’s in them?”

“Some are personal—his journal, letters and such. He described various deals, loans… It gets pretty complex.” Nora sighed and dropped her handful of papers on the desktop.

“Deals and loans? Anything curious or interesting.”

“Mike keeps referring to someone named Agatha.”

C.W. lost all caution and swooped down to stare at the littered desk.

“Where?” he demanded, forcing back his rising excitement.

Nora lazily shuffled the papers. “Here,” she said, handing him a memo, “and here, and those over there. I wonder who she is.”

C.W. didn’t answer. He studied the memos, his eyes narrowing as he scanned the information. A faint blush spread along his ears as he pored over the memos. When he bent to search through the letters, his fingers began to shake. He couldn’t believe it. It was all here: deals, loans, illegal banking activities—all in cahoots with Agatha Blair. He had the proof he needed! And it was better than he had hoped. He had to hold himself from laughing out loud.

C.W. pounded his fist in his cupped hand like a baseball pitcher about to throw the winning pitch. Nora recognized that glint of triumph and slowly straightened in her seat.

“What’s going on here?”

He paced the floor, still rubbing his hands. Lady luck had at last surfaced; the final piece was in place. All he needed to do now was get to New York and start the game.

“C.W.?” Nora’s voice was more insistent.

He stopped his pacing and stood before her, searching for the words to reassure her. No matter what excuse he came up with, it wouldn’t suffice. At this point, he had to open the window to truth. Running his hand through his hair, C.W. walked to her and squeezed her shoulder.

She raised her beautiful eyes to his; small worry lines pinched at their corners.

“I think I have a way to ease your difficulties at the bank.”

Nora stiffened in surprise.

C.W. swung around another chair to face hers and clasped his palms together, leaning forward on his knees. “Some of Mike’s bank activities were clearly illegal.”

“Good God, what’s next?”

“A lot, if this is uncovered. He dealt with one bank in particular, one person in that bank. And these—” he grabbed a handful of papers “—are the proof.”

“It has to be the Blair Bank,” she exclaimed. “And Charles Blair…I knew he was connected with this! Is this Agatha connected with Blair? If so, let’s go after them.”

C.W. lowered her back into her seat with a gentle pressure from his hand. “Slow down. This is extremely delicate. It could all backfire, and with Mike’s implication, the authorities could seize all your personal assets. That would include this farm.”

He saw confusion then alarm register on Nora’s features and he inched his chair closer till their knees touched. “I’ve told you before that I’m working on this farm while I sort out my life. I’m not a farmer or a hired hand.”

“That much I figured out.”

“I thought as much.” He patted her knee. “I worked at a bank. Yes.” He nodded. “I knew of your husband—who didn’t?
I left New York and I never wanted to return. But I will. I must. I know people in the business and have connections.”

“But how will any of this help me?”

“Silence is a precious commodity, Nora. You owe the Blair Bank tons of bucks. These papers can buy plenty. Could save you this farm.”

Dawning slowly reflected in her eyes. “Silence is golden.”

“Exactly. I’ll need to bring these papers to the right people and negotiate for you. Trust me, Nora. This is my bailiwick, I know what I’m doing.”

“I should come with you. It’s my problem.”

“No. You’re too vulnerable, and frankly, I’d do better alone. Will you let me take these papers?”

Nora could not quite believe what he was asking. Take Mike’s personal papers to his New York connections? She always suspected that C.W. was educated, sophisticated. But a New York banker—with connections?

“Lord, Mr. Walker. You certainly know how to drop a few bombs. This is a lot to swallow all at once.”

“I know. It’s not by choice, but time is of the essence here.”

“Was that one of your ‘connections’ on the phone?”

“Yes, it was.”

“I see.” Part of her was glad he admitted that much. “You really think you can do this…without my help? After all, I
am
Mrs. MacKenzie. Mike’s name still opens doors.”

Slams them, more likely, he thought. “I’m quite sure.”

Nora looked at her hands. Mr. Walker, the banker, wanted her to hand over the only protection she had: Mike’s papers. By doing that she gave him custody of her future.