The Secret of Stavewood (Stavewood Saga Book 4) (3 page)

Four

                
 
I
n the soft mist of the early morning light Louisa stepped from the tree-lined path into the vast yards of Stavewood. She could see the first rays of the rising sun reflected in each facet of the third floor windows, sparkling as if to welcome her home. She took a deep breath, admitting to herself how much she had missed it all. Suddenly she felt a lump in her throat and she fought back an unexpected tear. Home, she thought to herself. She was home. Louisa turned and looked back up the pathway, pausing a moment to see if Luc had followed her, or if he was watching from the path. He was not and so she turned back towards the house. She had the feeling that something had changed, not with Stavewood, but with her. She looked down at her hands clutching her luggage and her typewriter case and then strode towards the kitchen door with determination.

      The faceted porcelain knob on the back door turned easily. She knew it was never locked. She stepped into the kitchen and in the soft light she waited for her eyes to adjust. Her father was there, standing beside the stove filling his favorite mug. With his back to her, he stopped mid-pour and set down the big cup. He turned slowly and she watched a warm smile spread across his gentle face. His golden mane of hair was streaked with silver now, neatly combed back from his tanned face and he stood as strikingly tall and upright as ever.

      “You’re early, Louisa,” he said, his voice vibrating low and deep in the big room.

      “Good morning, Daddy.” Louisa chuckled and set down her cases onto the polished wooden floor and ran to him.

       Timothy Elgerson’s strong arms encircled her and he pulled her to his chest. He wasn’t certain but he thought for a moment he felt her sob, silently as though it was something she didn’t want to share with him. Louisa was his only daughter and the child that most knew his mind. They were very much alike and shared the same, strong willed temperament. He understood without discussion how and why she oftentimes hid her deepest emotions.

      “You knew I would be early, didn’t you?” Louisa laughed self-consciously into her father’s broad shoulder. He smelled to her of soft soap and newly cut pine, his freshly laundered shirt soft against her cheek. When he responded to her the vibration of his deep voice was soothing and familiar.

      “Of course,” he laughed low.

      Louisa looked up into her father’s eyes and saw the lines in his face as it crinkled into a knowing smile. “I sure could use a cup of that coffee,” she said.

      He held her before him briefly and studied her face. She was a woman now and he saw it there in her eyes.

      He retrieved a cup from the cabinet and filled it for her and she sat across from him at the long table. The surface had worn to a smooth patina over the years.

      Louisa sipped the dark, rich brew. She had realized long ago that no one, not even Birget or her mother, made coffee quite as rich and strong as her father did. It was as if she tasted it before it reached her lips. She had long suspected the real reason he was up early was to make his own coffee the way he liked it.

    “There’s a fellow out roaming the woods. He says his name is Almquist,” she said.

      “The map fellow, yes. Nice kid. He’s doing some work for the government. Land preservation study of some sort.” He looked at her sidelong. “Did he catch your eye?”

      Louisa could not help but notice the mischievous twinkle in her father’s expression. “Don’t even think about it,” Louisa laughed. “He’s not my type.”

      “Mark said you wrote that you had a fellow in New York. Something serious?”

      Louisa considered her father’s question. “His name is Talbot Sunderland. He’s no timber man, that’s for sure. He’s good to me. He’s distinguished, I suppose, and British. Mama would like him.” She wanted to avoid any misunderstanding that she was serious about Talbot until she was completely certain about her feelings herself. Louisa looked down at her watch thoughtfully. The gift was such a sweet reminder.

      Timothy recognized that she had dodged the question and decided that serious was not the case. “I suppose he didn’t travel with you.” He rose and refilled both mugs.

       “No. He’s staying in New York to start a publishing company. He’ll be putting out my next book. I want to write something different, Daddy. I want to break away from the mysteries and write about Mama.” Louisa leaned back in the pressed back chair. The thick calico-covered cushion was a welcome comfort after spending the night in the train berth.

      “Ah,” her father rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “I know you’ve talked about doing that since you were a little kid. Will you write it here?”

      “No. I’m only here to do the research. Then I’ll go back to New York to write the book. I don’t plan to stay very long, Daddy.” Louisa could see the obvious disappointment on her father’s face, yet she knew he would understand completely.

      “Then you gather what you need. I’ll help you in any way I can and we’ll enjoy your visit.”

      “Thank you, Daddy.” Louisa touched her father’s big hand on the wooden table top. She studied his strong fingers as they lay there casually. His hands had aged, she noticed. Her father was growing older and she considered that, should she return home less frequently, she would see him only a limited number of times. Louisa realized she was a bit disappointed herself.

      She heard a soft creak on the back kitchen stairs that led to the upper floors and turned to see Birget stepping down carefully, her chubby hand gripping the darkly stained doorjamb. The old cook looked up and her face burst into a smile of recognition. “Oh heavens!” Birget exclaimed. “There she is!”

      Louisa rose and opened her arms to greet her. They hugged warmly and Louisa took her elbow and helped her across the room. She looked up at her father from over Birget’s shoulder with a discreet, questioning expression. It had only been two years since Louisa had been home but it was clear that Birget was walking now with considerable difficulty.

      Her father nodded to Louisa confidentially. “Good morning, Birget. Where’s your new assistant this morning?” he asked.

      “Oh, I knew that Loo would be trying to sneak in early before anyone was up. I knew you would get her first, but then I wanted her to myself. So I told Liv not to come down until I called her.” She smiled at Louisa with genuine love in her eyes.

      Louisa watched Birget pull a heavy skillet from beneath the stove. When she went to help her, Timothy caught her eye and shook his head.  

      Birget set the skillet on the big cast iron stove and toddled to the table, her arms encircling a large bowl filled with newly harvested potatoes, smooth and scrubbed in the big vessel. She began to cut them efficiently into small chunks, all the while smiling at Louisa affectionately.

      “So,” Birget began. “Your brother said you had yourself a man. I don’t suppose he’s packed in your suitcase. You know, you can’t be waiting forever to find a good one. Soon enough, child, you’ll be looking like me and they get hard to trap then.”

      Timothy’s hearty laugh filled the room. He knew his long-time cook was not one to mince her words. Birget had been there when he had built the estate, much of it with his own hands. She had been there the day he had brought home his beautiful maid-order-bride. She was their cook when Mark was born and every one of his sons and Louisa as well.

      Louisa gasped in mock insult. “I’m perfectly capable of trapping any man I want, thank you, Birget. I just haven’t found the one I want just yet.”

      Timothy now knew the answer to his question. Whoever Talbot Sunderland was, Louisa was not defining him as the right one. He looked at Birget’s round and weathered face and knew she had caught the subtle message as well.

      “So, where is he?” Birget continued her interrogation.

      “He’s still in New York. Maybe the next time I visit he’ll come with me. I came here to work, not discuss my love life.” Louisa scowled and smoothed her skirt self-consciously.

      “Well,” Birget huffed, her generous bust round beneath her white apron. “I’m telling the good lord not to be coming and getting me until I see you walking down the aisle with a decent man.”

      Louisa was hit hard by the woman’s words. It had always been a long running joke that she had managed to stay single for so long. She had felt that, should she ever want a man in her life, it would be easy. But it never was. Most of the men she met were self-centered and lazy, although they all seemed to have lofty ideas. Talbot was ambitious, yes, but he had energy as well. He could stay up rubbing elbows with New York City’s elite until all hours of the morning. He would sleep in, yes, but once he was on his feet he was driven and motivated. Talbot would go places, she was sure. She tried to imagine what would be happening right now, here in the kitchen of Stavewood, had she brought him home with her.

      “Loo!” Rebecca burst through the kitchen door, dressed impeccably in a dark, wide woolen skirt and ruffled blouse and ran to her daughter.

      Louisa held her mother close. She could not help but notice how delicate and petite she felt in her arms. She stepped back and looked into her eyes and saw her as she never really had before. Louisa felt something more than the connection between mother and daughter. Now Louisa saw her mother as a woman like herself. She too was growing older, though she was as beautiful as ever, her complexion smooth and fair. Yet, Louisa saw that her mother was beginning to mature.

      Louisa was not a child anymore, Rebecca thought. Something in her face had changed. She was certain it had to be a man. Had she been with someone? Was Louisa finally in love?

      “I’m so glad you’re here! I thought Mark was meeting you later this morning. What a wonderful surprise that you’ve come so early!” Rebecca said.            She looked over her daughter’s shoulder for a gentleman. “Are you alone?”

      Louisa rolled her eyes and just shook her head.

      Timothy’s bellowing laugh filled the big kitchen.

Five

     
L
ouisa touched the soft, merino wool that hung in twisted skeins on the drying rack in Rebecca’s sewing room. She knew from her mother’s letters that the Elgersons now raised sheep at Stavewood and her mother had spun her own yarn for the first time that spring. Her mother always had a project on her knitting needles, a dress on the form or a new bolt of fabric covering the length of her long cutting table. Oftentimes her beautiful creations were for her, her only daughter.

      “Are you sure you don’t mind staying in here for your visit?” Rebecca stood in the center of the room looking up into her daughter’s face. “With Birget in your old room the only other choices are the third floor guest rooms. I originally thought you could stay at the cottage like you usually do. I hadn’t counted on Katie having her baby there so soon.”

      “No, Mama. It’s perfect, really. I love this room. It’s so bright and serene. I’d prefer it to my old room anyway.” Louisa set her satchel on the floor and the typewriter case onto the table and looked around. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to use the big cutting table.”

      The room was paneled in a soft blond wood, and the high ceilings, heavy doors and wide windows were finished with fine crown molding. A massive wooden rocker sat beside the single bed which was piled high with ruffled white sheets and down comforters. “Like the princess’s room in the tower,” Louisa thought. It was perfect and romantic and comfortable and it was home. A fire had been lit in the little fireplace and the crackling wood perfumed the room with its scent.

      Rebecca smiled, relieved. “It’s so good you’re home. I have missed you terribly.”

      Louisa sat silently for a moment as she watched her mother putting pin cushions and measuring tapes into neatly arranged baskets. She remembered standing on the squat, tufted stool in the center of the room while her mother knelt at her ankles, pinning the hem of a new dress or a ruffled petticoat. She could see her there in her brightly colored gown, her dark hair pulled away from her face in a tumble of curls. That was long ago, when she was the princess of Stavewood and the daughter of the largest mill owner in the state. But one day Louisa had decided it was not all she ever wanted to be. Her family lived in a cocoon of happiness and, although it was fine for them, she wanted to feel, to hurt, to know reality. She outgrew the desire to write fairy tales and instead turned to true stories about the real life dramas in the world. She began writing mysteries, often meeting with the local police investigators, detectives and morticians to learn about murder and crime in the city.

      “Mama,” Louisa sat down on the bed. “I have always wanted to write your story and now it’s time. I remember a lot of the stories you told me, and Daddy has told me stories as well and so has Birget and Mark. But there’s more. There are things I wonder about and details I was never told.”

      “I’ll tell you whatever you want to know.” Rebecca sat down on the bed beside her and took her hand gently.

      “This man you’re seeing, you’re getting serious aren’t you?”

      Louisa looked down at her mother’s delicate hands against her own. “Yes, I think so.”

      “Has he asked you to marry him, or are you…?” Rebecca blushed again.

      “Lovers?” Louisa said. “No, neither. But I think he might propose before too long. He gave me this beautiful watch.” She held up her wrist and her mother admired the piece, commenting on how perfectly it suited her.

      “I think he’s quite ready but I’m not one hundred percent sure yet.” Louisa looked up into her mother’s eyes. “All my life I heard about how you and Daddy were so perfect for one another and that everyone around you knew you belonged together from the beginning. How did you know it was really love and not just a crush or infatuation?”

      Rebecca looked off, her mind traveling back to the early days, when she and Timothy were learning that, despite all of the challenges they faced, they were completely in love.

      She cleared her throat, bit her lip, and looked back at her daughter.

      “At first I was a little afraid of him. I thought he was remarkable and compelling, but a bit frightening too. The first day I was here at Stavewood there was a party that night. He didn’t know I was the mail-order-bride he’d been expecting and I didn’t know he was the man I had come to meet. Even so, he’d given me clothes and a place to stay and I was overwhelmed by his kindness.” Her throat tightened and she pulled a handkerchief from her pocket. “But then I walked down the big staircase and he looked up at me as if I was perfect. I felt rare and precious in his eyes and I was everything I wanted to be as a woman. I knew right then that all I ever wanted was to be in his arms and at his side. That didn’t happen right away, though I wished terribly at the time that it had. No, we had to learn about one another, to find our way together. We had to trust.”

      Louisa took a deep breath and looked at her watch imagining Talbot’s piercing blue eyes. He was devoted to her and she wanted terribly to feel the same. She needed to know her feelings for him were more than an infatuation or her fear of never finding love at all.

      Rebecca continued. “Knowing my life would always be empty without him didn’t make it any easier though. Octavia, who always hoped to marry your father, was at the party telling everyone they were engaged. I didn’t know any better. Then later, she told me that someone had sent for a picture bride because they had lost a bet. My whole life had turned upside down. I believed I had traveled halfway around the world for nothing. The night we finally got it straightened out I threw propriety right out the window and before we were wed I lay with him.” Rebecca sighed at her admission.

      “Mama!” Louisa gasped. “You? And Daddy?”

      Rebecca blushed deeply. “I never could say no to him. Especially not that morning when he asked me be his wife. I was afraid, but without him I was not complete. He wanted to marry right away, that very day. So we did and I have never regretted it a moment since.”

      Louisa got to her feet and walked to the window.

      “Talbot is good to me, Mama. He is attentive and always telling me how wonderful I am. When I look into his eyes I have no doubts but other times I’m not sure how I feel. I just wish I knew. I’ve waited a long time for the right man and now I’m afraid I’m being too guarded. I worry that I’ll end up a spinster. I don’t want that. I want what you and Daddy have, what Emma and Roland and Mark and Colleen have found. I wish I knew if it was Talbot.”

      “You came home without him. Why?” Rebecca asked.

      “To write, to clear my head. I want to write your story and maybe then I’ll find my own heart.”

      “But you didn’t bring him here to be with you while you look for that.”

      “I know,” Louisa said, her voice a soft sigh.

      “Well.” Rebecca touched her hand. “If he’s the one you’ll miss him and that will tell you something. You have to open your heart and let it find love, no matter what. You’ll know.”

      Louisa took a deep breath and realized that the aroma of a hearty Stavewood breakfast had filled the air.

     “Let’s go eat,” Rebecca said. “I just want to put a few things away first and get them out of your way.”

      Louisa helped her mother move bolts of fabric to the closet shelves and arranged them neatly. She noticed a knob in the panel at the back of the closet.

      “Mama, what is behind this panel? I always wondered.”

      “It’s an access shaft for the pipes that run from the basement to the top floor. Your father was certain one of you would fall down there one day and he put in that panel. You couldn’t reach that knob when you were little.” Rebecca laughed lightly. “I think we are ready for breakfast now.”

      “Do we still have any of that Brazilian tea I used to like so much?” Louisa asked.

      “There may be some in the cellar.” Rebecca reached up and touched her daughter’s cheek. “We’ll talk more later on, alright? I’ll tell you anything you would like to know. Don’t you know that your happiness has always been the most important thing?”

      “I know, Mama. Thank you.”

      Louisa checked the pantry first where the smaller canisters were generally stored. The larder was filled as generously as she recalled from her childhood but there was no Brazilian tea. She lit a lamp and ventured down into the cellar. She passed racks where her father kept fine wines and brandies and turned a corner.  Against the wall to her left were shelves of tools where jars of nails, screws and other supplies were kept. There was a large red paint can and an opened old tin filled with screwdrivers. On a shelf to her right she found the can of Brazilian tea. No matter what you were seeking at Stavewood you were likely to find it. She felt a draft and looked up the narrow pipe access that ran up to the upper floors of the house. With the closet door in the sewing room closed the top of the shaft disappeared into the darkness.