Time Is a River (21 page)

She wondered if the genes of the wild Scots ran strong in this offspring.

He thought for a moment, then added, “That’s not entirely true. The Smoky Mountains…they’re magical to me.” He leaned back in his chair and his voice took on the melodic quality of a southern storyteller.

“Wherever I roam, whether Tennessee, Georgia, or North Carolina, if I’m in southern Appalachia, I know I’m home. I have the MacDougal blood flowing in me and it’s the blood of a fly fisherman. My grandfather used to say our blood flows like the streams that course through the Smokies and it will always lead us to trout. I’m luckier than most. I don’t work in an office or in a city. I earn my living on the water.

“Spring to me means caddis and mayflies and stoneflies hatching as thick as the violets that grow wild on the shore. Summer is heading to the backcountry where even the highest mountain streams are warming and I’m alone, bare legged and teasing suspicious trout to the lure. Fall comes and the trout join the explosion of color in the mountains. Their red spots blend with the falling leaves that dapple the water. And winter…” He paused. “Winter is an introspective season. The landscape is as gray as the smoky mists and even though it’s bitter cold I like it because I’m alone—without the nine million kayakers and tubers and anglers who stir the best water in warmer weather. I bring a thermos of hot coffee, wait for the rays of sunlight to warm a few pools, and I’m rewarded with a flash of silver that I know is not ice but very much alive.

“So, I guess I do have a home. If I was married, it’d be to these mountains and the thousands of miles of trout streams that flow between her ridges.”

Mia listened, and between the syllables and cadence knew she was falling in love.

He reached over to put his hand over hers. “Have you ever gone night fishing?”

She looked at their joined hands. It seemed an inexpressibly intimate gesture. She shook her head. “No. How can you see your line in the dark?”

“You don’t. It’s different. Would you like to give it a try?”

“Very much.”

“All right, then. I’ll take you.”

T
he following morning Mia practically flew to town. Stuart was due to come by late morning to help with the walkway, and she had a list of items to scratch off her to-do list before he arrived. She arrived at Becky’s so early she had to wait five minutes before her daughter opened the door.

“What’s the special today?” Mia asked as she helped carry the large chalkboard out to the sidewalk.

“Pecan roll with caramel icing.”

“God help me,” Mia said with a soft grunt as they set down the heavy board. “Can you pack up a half dozen for me? And two loaves of honey wheat?” She slapped the chalk from her palms. “Is your mom in?”

“You know her. We can’t get her to stay home. She’s in back getting the post office opened up. It’s a bit warm in there. It’ll take time for the air conditioning to catch up with those ovens.”

“How’s she feeling today?”

Katherine looked in the shop window to see where her mother was. When she turned back her face was sober. “She’s better today but yesterday she had a hard time walking. The doctor says she’s losing more motor control in her legs and she’s started some twitching. I’m afraid the disease is progressing.”

Mia saw the fear in Katherine’s eyes. She moved forward to hug her and felt the girl’s two strong arms around her, holding tight, a signal that there was a lot of worry behind her all-too-ready smile.

“How long do you think she’ll keep working?” she asked when they pulled back.

“As long as she can. You know Mom. We hired on another baker and I’m working the front of the store. She’s finally accepted that with her legs she can’t man the bakery counter. The post office is easier for her because she can sit. She’ll hang on as long as she can. I can’t imagine her not being here. She’d miss the people.”

“She’d miss the gossip,” Mia teased.

“That, too.”

Mia was glad to see Katherine’s reluctant smile. “How’s your dad holding up?”

“Aw, he’s strong and he loves her. He tells her that every day. Everyone has been so supportive. Like Mama says, you gotta have hope.”

Through the front window Mia saw Becky opening the post office window. “There she is. I’ll go in and say hey.”

“I’ll bring you some coffee.”

As she walked into the bakery, it was with new humility that Mia realized she could count herself among the fortunate to have had breast cancer that was caught in the early stages. Everything was relative. She recalled those early days after diagnosis when she’d felt profound fear. Hope, she’d learned, was a gift.

She put her smile firmly in place before approaching Becky at the post office counter in the back of the shop.

“You’re here early,” Becky said.

“I don’t know how you can avoid not eating everything that comes out of the oven. The minute I walk in here and smell the goodies I’m ready to sign over my soul for a doughnut.”

“Discipline, my dear. Pure and utter discipline,” Becky replied archly. Then she stealthily pulled a plate out from under the counter to reveal a pecan roll. “Want one? They’re still warm.”

“I’ve ordered a half dozen to go,” she said, then quickly added, “but don’t get up. Kath is already getting them for me.”

Becky delivered a skewered look. “Has Kath been talking to you?”

“About what? I only just arrived.”

“Mmm-hmm. Hey, I’m feeling fine. My leg’s acting up is all. Oh, you got something here in your box.”

“I do?” Mia asked with surprise. She’d secured a post office box for the summer. To date she’d only collected the
Gazette
and junk mail. “Hey, Lennie,” Becky called out. “Can you bring me the contents of box thirty-four?”

A thin, young man with his blond hair pulled neatly back in a ponytail, dressed in a white baker’s uniform, walked by to hand Becky a large, padded envelope.

“Thanks,” she called out. Then handing the envelope to Mia, she said, “Here you go. Looks important. I’m guessing it’s from your lawyer.”

Mia took the large, white envelope with the return address of Charles’s law firm.

“You don’t serve any hard liquor back there?” she asked.

“Nope. But I do have some rum cake.”

“I’ll take one—and hold the cake.”

“Aw, go on,” Becky said with a wave of her hand.

Mia walked to a small table and sat down, staring at the envelope.

Becky came around the counter, using crutches. Mia was sorry to see it. She sprang to her feet to pull out a chair for her and would have helped Becky sit except that Becky waved her off.

“What you got there?” she asked when she was seated.

“It’s from Charles. They’re my divorce papers.”

“Don’t you sign anything without a lawyer looking at it first.”

“Charles
is
a lawyer.”

“Yeah, but he’s also the guy who is drawing up the papers. You can’t trust him.”

Katherine came by with coffee for Mia and a glass of ice water for her mother. “Do you want your roll now?”

“No thanks. I’ll eat it later. I’m kind of in a hurry.” Mia put the envelope on the table and sipped her coffee.

Becky’s eyes were trained on the envelope. “Aren’t you going to open it?”

“Nope. I don’t want to think about this today,” she replied. “I’m too happy.”

Becky’s brows rose. “Oh? What’s got you so chipper?”

“I’m almost finished building my stone walkway at the cabin.”

Becky’s face fell. “Oh. Thrills.”

“And…Stuart MacDougal is coming over this afternoon to help me finish it.”

Now her eyes rounded. “Oh? Thrills!”

Mia laughed. “Becky, you’re an incurable romantic. You’ve seen too many movies.”

“I’ve seen your Mr. Stuart MacDougal. He tends to put me in a romantic mood.”

“He’s not
my
Stuart MacDougal.” Yet she couldn’t disagree he’d put her in a romantic mood. Since yesterday she found herself singing—in the shower, and while doing dishes, and along with music on the car radio. Suddenly the lyrics to songs had great meaning.

Mia told Becky the condensed version of how Stuart came by the day before, how they’d had lunch together, and how he was coming by later that afternoon to help her finish. She couldn’t have asked for a more appreciative audience. Becky leaned forward with her chin cupped in her palm, and her eyes widened in appropriate places of the story.

“After we finish work, I thought I might make him dinner. If he’ll stay, that is.”

“Oh, he’ll stay,” Becky said with feeling.

“I hope so,” Mia confessed in a soft voice. She wished she could be as confident as Becky was about Stuart’s feelings. “I’m going to Rodale’s after this to pick up some food. Just in case.”

They talked a few minutes with the fervor of young girls about what she might prepare for dinner. When Katherine came over to freshen Mia’s coffee, Becky told her daughter to pack up a rum cake to go.

“It’s my gift for dessert,” Becky said. “It’s a winner, I promise you. You just take your hand out of your purse. This cake is on the house, hear? It’s no use arguing. This is my shop and I’m still the boss here. All I want in return are the details. No holding back.”

Mia left Shaffer’s with a rum cake, pecan rolls, and loaves of bread. As she walked down Main Street she saw Clarence in the hardware store. On impulse, she stepped inside and waved at him.

“Just wanted to say the walkway is turning out beautifully. Thank you!”

Clarence hurried over. “Hey, glad it’s working out. Real glad. Next I’d recommend adding gravel to the side of the cabin where you park the cars. I’ll make you a good deal. Won’t put you back much.”

“I’ll think about that and let you know.”

He coughed, then said in a lower voice, “I was surprised to see Stuart MacDougal at the cabin yesterday when I delivered the stone.”

“Oh?” she replied. “I can’t imagine why. I told you, he’s helping me build the walkway.” She smiled sweetly and waved. “I’ve got to go. Just want to say thanks again!”

She escaped smoothly and walked quickly to Rodale’s.

“Come see what came in yesterday!” Flossie called out to her when she walked into Rodale’s. She led her to a large basket in the front of the store and held forth her arms. The sweet scent of peaches enveloped Mia before she reached them.

“The best of the season. They are goooood,” Flossie said with a roll of her eyes. She reached in the basket and pulled out a ripe peach and handed it to Mia. “Try one.”

The fruit was warm in her hand. She bit into the soft lushness and almost swooned.

Flossie laughed with pleasure. “If I don’t stop eating them there won’t be none to sell. But they are good, aren’t they?”

“I’m starving, so my judgment may be askew, but I do believe that’s the best peach I’ve ever had in my life.”

Flossie laughed, nodding her head with approval. “I wait all year for them and when they get here I feast. I make peach pie, peach jelly, peach chutney, peach salsa, and canned peaches to last the year. Be sure to get enough to bake yourself a pie. There’s nothing better. You still could use a little meat on those bones. A man likes a woman who has something to hold on to, you know? Do you need a good recipe? ’Cause I’ve got one my mama gave me and it’s the best there is. You go on and do your shopping and I’ll write it out for you.”

As Mia filled the bag with peaches she thought how nice it would be to bake a pie again. She used to love to bake, but while she was working, it always seemed she never had the time. She added more peaches in her bag, realizing that time was the one thing she did have now. Life was too short to squander. This was her time to do the things she loved but had put off. Fishing, painting, gardening…why not baking?

Flossie returned and handed her the recipe. “I put my phone number on that, too. It occurred to me that you might not have anyone to call if you need help. You ought not to be so far away without someone to come out if you need.” She smoothed her apron, then asked, “So how are things going up there at Watkins Cove?”

“Splendidly. No ghosts to report.”

“My kids will be sorry to hear that. You’re singlehandedly debunking one of the great ghost stories of our town. Speaking of which, I’ve been reading those articles about Kate Watkins. The whole town’s talking about them.”

“In a positive way, I hope?”

“Oh, sure. Thing is, though, folks are getting curious. About Kate, you know? Makes us think we really don’t know much about her after all. She was famous once upon a time but most of us only know about the murder. Becky tells me you and Nada are doing some research about her.”

Mia wondered if this was a misplaced sense of proprietorship the town had for a favored daughter. Or a morbid curiosity over the town’s equivalent of a car wreck—everyone wanted to gawk.

“Some. We don’t have much yet.”

“Well, see, that’s what I wanted to talk to you about. My mama knew Theo as well as anyone. Better, most likely. Theo being Kate’s daughter and all, she might have a story to share about Kate, too.”

“Do you think she’d talk to me?”

Flossie’s cheeks flattened as a smile lit up her face. “My mama will be right pleased that you’ll stop by. She likes to meet new people and she’s been curious about you ever since she heard the old Watkins cabin was opened up. Why not come for dinner sometime next week? Tell you what, say yes and I’ll bake an extra peach pie for you to take home with you.”

Mia laughed. “In that case, yes!”

By the time Mia returned to the cabin her car was filled with bags. No sooner did she park than she spotted the red Jeep coming from the road, stirring up dust as Stuart turned off for the cabin. He parked beside her sedan.

“Perfect timing,” he said as he climbed from the Jeep. “Looks like you need help carting all these into the house.”

“Are you always so chivalrous?”

“It’s a genetic trait in MacDougal men. We carry it on the Y chromosome.” He bent to pick up two bags and hoisted them into his arms like they were balls of cotton. “Aren’t the men in Charleston gentlemen? I’d always heard it was the city of manners.”

“It is,” she replied, closing the car door with her hip. “And they are. Most of them. I’ve always thought having someone carry your bags was a matter of timing. My luck has been that I manage to pull into the driveway with a car full of groceries when Charles is gone.”

“Charles, is that his name?”

She jolted at the sound of her husband’s name on Stuart’s lips. “Yes.” She hoisted the bags in her arms, then led the way to the cabin, sidestepping the dug-out, exposed walkway as neatly as the topic of her husband. Inside, she unpacked the groceries and put on a pot of fresh coffee while he put the peaches into the wood bowl. She could smell their sweet aroma fill the air.

“Try one,” Mia said, handing him a ripe peach. She took one for herself. “I’ve eaten one already but they’re so good I just can’t resist.” She bit into hers. Juice spurted down her lips and her tongue darted to catch the trail.

Stuart’s eyes tracked the movement and she felt an exchange of kinetic explosions. She swallowed hard and reached up to wipe her mouth with the back of her hand.