Lacewood, p.16
Lacewood, page 16
“No one can take those away from you.”
Will’s voice came from right beside her again, so soft and gentle, it gave Katie pause. But he was right. Her grandmother was gone, but the memories were still with her, some of them as vivid and intense as if they’d happened yesterday. Her gaze drifted to the front porch, where they used to sit and shell buckets of beans from the garden. Sometimes they’d listen to bluegrass, and sometimes they would simply enjoy the songs of birds and the chorus of nature.
Katie knelt down and placed her hand flat on the grass, needing to feel it again. She pictured the innocent girl of twenty years earlier, skipping through this yard in her bare feet without a care in the world. So simple. So childlike. So naïve.
Standing again, she let her breath out slowly, releasing the years of pain and lack of closure. She’d found the old farmhouse—probably less than twenty miles from where she now called home. Relief washed through her that the place hadn’t been bulldozed or turned into a parking lot. Perhaps she could buy the property and preserve the space—if not the structures themselves.
Katie felt Will’s hand on her arm again and turned toward him.
“You don’t ever get over something like this,” he said. “You get through it.” He placed his hands on her shoulders studying her with tenderness and concern. “Understand?”
As she nodded, he pulled her against him, and whispered in her ear. “I bet she’s smiling right now. Happy you’re here.”
A single tear slipped down Katie’s cheek, yet her heart was grateful and full. No words could have meant more than those. She’d arrived at a place where she could look back on the memories and smile. She knew in her heart Grammy was at peace—and now maybe she could be, too.
Chapter 22
DAY CREPT IN SLOWLY, taking its time to transform the thousand hues of gray into shades of pink and rose. Standing on the front porch, leaning against one of the aged pillars, Katie hailed the transition of night into day with a mixture of awe and delight.
She couldn’t help but compare her own life to the miracle unfolding before her. New. Fresh. Blossoming with color and full of promise.
Lacewood was in the middle of a transformation too. The labyrinth of vines, multiflora rose and weeds in the front were gone, and the lawn had been seeded with wildflowers for now. Will had insisted on doing the work even though it wasn’t part of the agreement.
Content with watching the sun cast its bountiful rays over the landscape, Katie tried to analyze her feelings. It was a strange and new sensation to wake up each morning energized and joyful about the day. She’d spent most of her adult years merely facing life as an act of endurance, or drinking herself into a haze so she could sleep through it. For the first time in a long time she felt like she had a purpose.
Yet despite this newfound peace and serenity, something was missing. Day and night, something tugged at her, like voices she couldn’t quite hear.
Finishing her coffee, Katie decided to deliver the surprise she’d picked up for Will. She slipped into her work boots since the dew was still heavy, and took the shortcut through the garden. The area was clear of the worst of the jungle-like mess, but it still lay in rough disarray. Benches and statues, hidden for a century, were visible again, but many were broken or chipped from years of neglect.
Still, in this early light the garden hinted at beauty. Early rays cast a rosy hue onto the trees and reflected mystically off the bark. Birds flashed through the limbs like different-colored jewels, causing Katie to stop and enjoy the warmth of the sun as it licked up the morning dew.
Amazed by the sight of a bright yellow bird flickering in the foliage, Katie stepped off the path, and hurried to catch a glimpse of it again. She heard its high-pitched chirps up in the trees, but the growth was too thick to see.
The rough trail Katie found herself on suggested it was a popular route for deer, not one used by humans—at least recently. The long-forgotten byway was quiet, featuring a canopy of limbs above and a carpet of leaves below. Shards of light cut through the trees, turning the garden floor to manifold textures—dark and radiant, rock and ground.
The trail wound through a dense maze of trees before ending abruptly in a meadow. Katie paused, trying to get her bearings, and then spotted the old iron gate of the cemetery a few dozen yards away. The misty haze still lingered here, giving the centuries-old graveyard a ghostly, mystical appearance.
Curious now, Katie set Will’s surprise package on the ground and studied the gate. Twisted vines had woven their way through the bars, making the latch difficult to find. She tore away the worst of the neglected snarl, lifted a small handle, and pushed. Her breath hitched when it released, and her heart pounded when the rusty hinges yielded to the pressure. She stepped into the enclosure and experienced the sensation of stepping back in time. A few dozen tombstones rested throughout the desolate space, most of them tilting lazily, as if struggling to stay awake in the overgrown grass.
The place made her think about the fragility of life and the inevitability of death. Every tombstone stood as a marker to what was once a living being. Death had come to each as it comes to all...its approach unseen, at a time unknown.
Katie stood motionless in the mist as her gaze roamed the sacred place. An ancient sycamore stood in the back corner, its immense white limbs seeming to stand guard over the final resting place of the former residents of Lacewood.
Walking to the nearest granite marker, Katie leaned close to read the words. Beating sun and pounding rain had punished the stone for centuries, marring any sign of lettering. Lichens and moss had finished the job, mottling the markers with impressions of their own. She moved to the next and the next, before finding one she could read.
Isabella Wescott
Beloved daughter of Rebecca and Jonathan Wescott
Jan. 7, 1861 – March 10, 1929
“Isabella.” Katie said the name aloud, softly, so she wouldn’t interrupt the stillness surrounding her.
Katie put her hand on the cold granite slab, as if by doing so she could touch what was so long gone. Isabella’s mother died when she was a toddler, leaving a void Annie Logan would later fill. Finally Katie knew Jonathon’s first wife’s name. She glanced over her shoulder at the tombstones she had passed. Perhaps one of them was Rebecca’s, a young woman who was laid to rest in the midst of a war by a man who no doubt loved her intensely.
She could picture Colonel Wescott here. Strong. Noble. Doubled over in grief. When he buried his wife, he’d accepted the burden of providing for a young daughter while shouldering the obligations of his military duties. Katie shivered, though the sun had now burned through the mist and unfurled its soft golden beams across the stones.
Her gaze went back to the grave of Isabella. Nineteen twenty-nine. Grammy would have been alive then. Did they ever meet? Ever cross paths? Had Grammy’s life somehow intertwined with Isabella’s? Is that why I’m here?
Katie straightened back up and listened to the sweet strains of birds as they twittered and called from nearby trees. The lifting of the mist had uncovered a picturesque scene that flaunted abundant life and beauty—not death and sorrow. The simple granite tombstones, with their time-blurred inscriptions, stood as a stark reminder of loss, yet serenity lingered here. A peacefulness. A feeling of roots, of belonging...of home.
Katie walked to the center of the cemetery and scanned the different stones. Would she be able to find Colonel Wescott and Annie? Was William here? His daughter Sarah? Or did they lie forgotten in some lonesome graveyard far away?
I’ll mow the grass. And plant some flowers. Katie stood with her hands on her hips, visualizing daffodils and tulips lining the stone wall that ran along three sides of the rectangular plot. As she scanned the high green grass, a hawk soared close overhead, blocking out the sun for a moment and creating a winged shadow on the ground in front of her. Katie stood spellbound, holding her breath as the bird glided silently on a wind current above while its silhouette rippled on the ground below. Reaching the far end of the cemetery, the hawk suddenly dipped a wing and turned, disappearing behind a tree.
Katie took a moment to catch her breath. Magnificent. Stunning. What a beautiful sight!
If not for the angle of the sun—or that fact that she was staring at the spot where the hawk tipped its wing—Katie may have missed the marble statue concealed beneath a snarl of weeds and vines.
Running to the corner of the cemetery, Katie tore at the web of vegetation with her bare hands, ignoring the thorns slashing her fingers. Her heart plunged at the gut-wrenching sight she uncovered, yet she was thrilled to have found it.
The figurine, now covered with varying shades of green and brown, depicted a woman bowed down with her head in her hands, a heartrending image of anguish and despair. There were no names. No markings. No inscriptions...Save one she found by wiping away the moss. It read: Honor Abides Here.
The grief was palpable, the sense of loss strong. As she tried to move closer, Katie’s foot came in contact with something hard. Pulling a maze of long-dead grass off the object, she uncovered two small markers.
Katie dropped to her knees to read the inscriptions. After a little cleaning with her finger, the engraving became legible. These stones had apparently been added at a later date.
FATHER
Colonel Jonathan Wescott
Virginian. Soldier. Husband.
He gave justice to our enemies, and honor to our country.
Dec. 6, 1831 – April 7, 1865
MOTHER
Annie Logan Wescott joined her dearly beloved in eternity.
August 6, 1842 – May 30, 1900
Too well loved to ever be forgotten.
Katie bent her head, clasped her hands together, and said a short prayer. Then she touched each grave with her fingertips and made this solemn vow: You will never be forgotten.
As she stood and turned to leave, Katie noticed another small mound of vegetation nestled beneath the sweeping canopy of the sycamore. Fallen limbs and leaves, as well as a shrub of some sort, tried to obstruct her. But after a few tugs and pulls, she discovered a rusty wrought iron bench.
The hair on Katie’s arms stood on end as she lowered herself onto the bench. Annie sat here. Katie pictured her here, full of grief and despair. Even after the passage of more than a hundred years, the sorrow and anguish were tangible.
Time goes by, but it doesn’t go away.
Katie wondered if Annie would mind the intrusion and decided she would not. She would want Katie to see this place, experience the serenity of it. The heartache caused by Annie’s husband’s death was only a part of her story. She had found the strength to continue. She’d raised two children. Become a grandmother. And worked hard to keep her husband’s legacy alive.
Maybe Annie was part of the unseen force that brought Katie to Lacewood. Maybe she beckoned to Katie somehow from another dimension, wanting to share this magical place. Who knows? Perhaps this unseen force has been gathering momentum for years—or centuries—and lined up in an unforeseeable and inevitable way to bring me here and now.
Excited now to find Will and tell him what she found, Katie grabbed the package she left at the gate and hurried back to the trail. When Will’s cottage came into view, she stopped and sighed. His truck wasn’t there. As she considered leaving the surprise gift on the porch, she heard the thundering bass of grunge music emanating from the tractor barn.
Knowing Will wouldn’t leave the radio on while he was away—and especially not at that volume—she decided to investigate. The door was open and the lights were on, but Katie didn’t see anyone at first. Maybe Will stepped out for a few minutes and didn’t bother to turn everything off.
Katie was about to leave when a loud clank reverberated from beneath the tractor, followed by a long barrage of curse words—a few of which she’d never heard before.
“Hello?” Katie stood right inside the door, ready to run out if the need arose. Will would never swear so obscenely—even if he thought he was alone.
The clank of more tools being hastily dropped resounded, right before a man appeared from behind the tractor, wiping his hands on an oily rag. Colorful tattoos ran down both bulging forearms, and an American flag rippled on a well-formed bicep. A robust smile lit his face when he spotted Katie, creating a boyish dimple on each cheek.
“You must be Katie-Mac,” he said, walking over and wiping his hand one last time on his jeans before taking her hand and shaking it enthusiastically. “Will told me all about you.”
The fine lines around the man’s eyes spoke of lots of laughter or too much sun—she wasn’t sure which. His short-cropped hair and tattoos stamped him as a military man. “He did?”
“Well, he said you own the house now, and you’re letting him stay here.”
“I’m not exactly letting him stay.” Katie eyed the man. “He’s more than paying his way.”
“Well, he appreciates it, I can tell you. He needed this place.”
Katie was about to ask what he meant, but he moved to the other side of the building to turn down the radio. “I’m DJ, by the way,” he said over his shoulder. “An old friend of Will’s.”
“Is he around?”
“He ran to the hardware store to get a few things we’ll need to attach the brush hog to Rosie. He should be back any time now.”
Katie’s eyes shifted over to the red machine, and then returned to DJ. His face was suffused with the same enraptured look Will’s was, as if Rosie was a goddess who would spring to life if they wished hard enough.
“So you’ve got this thing running? It seems so...old.”
“She’s not that old,” DJ said defensively.
“Oh, sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt her feelings.” Katie was joking, but DJ didn’t crack a smile.
“That’s okay.” He grabbed a rag out of his back pocket and rubbed on a piece of rust with a reverence usually reserved for polishing fine silver.
Exasperated, Katie squatted down and studied the undercarriage of the apparently well-endowed she-machine.
“What are you looking for?” DJ saw her interest and walked around to stand beside her.
“I’m trying to figure out how you guys know this is a girl.” She continued to investigate the underbelly, but didn’t notice any obvious parts that might explain the tractor’s gender.
DJ laughed out loud. “Ha. Ha. Funny. Will didn’t tell me you have a good sense of humor, too.”
Katie didn’t have the heart to tell him she didn’t have a sense of humor at all. She wanted to know how to tell the difference between a girl machine and a boy machine for future reference. As the conversation lagged, she regarded the workspace with a critical eye. “I see you’ve straightened things up a bit in here.”
“We’re getting there.” DJ raked his hand over his short-cropped hair. “I got all the tools organized over there.” He motioned with his head toward the row of cabinets that were now freshly painted and neatly labeled.
As opposed to the first time she’d seen the inside of this barn, everything was clean and orderly. The barn still smelled of fuel and oil and grease, but it was now the perfect man cave. She scanned the walls one more time. The only thing missing was a calendar of half-naked women hanging on the wall. Katie wondered if one might be hidden on the back of the closed cabinet doors.
“I’m sorry I missed Will.” Katie held out the box she carried down from the house. “I brought him a barn-warming gift.”
DJ’s gaze dropped to the box, and his face crinkled into a smile. “You women must all think alike.” He pointed out the shiny new coffee pot sitting on the counter. “Amy dropped that off yesterday. It’s been running nonstop ever since.”
Katie forced a smile and shoved aside a spasm of jealousy. “Well, I guess it won’t hurt to have a backup pot in case something goes wrong with the first one.” She thought her voice sounded a little high-pitched, probably because of the effort it took to sound cheerful.
“Sure. Sure. That’s really nice of you.” He took the package from Katie’s hands and placed it on the counter. “Plus, when some of the guys stop by, we might need two pots.”
“Some of the guys?” Katie questioned.
“Brothers from our service days,” he said, as if she knew their history. “This is a perfect place to relax, let off some steam.” He turned around and studied her. “You won’t mind, will you?”
“Of course not.”
“Everyone’s so happy Will got to come back to this place. His roots. You know? He deserves a place like this.” He paused a moment and stared blankly over Katie’s shoulder as if seeing something she couldn’t see. “And Amy’s a great cook, so she’ll take care of feeding everyone.”
Before Katie could even begin to come up with something positive to say, Will strode in carrying a burlap sack in one hand and a small box in the other. Whatever was in the sack must have been heavy—judging from the way a vein protruded on his bulging bicep. Grease and oil spotted his pants and covered a good bit of his white tee shirt. Not that she hadn’t noticed before, but today he exuded all manhood and muscle.
Will shot Katie a quick glance and then turned to DJ. “I take it you’ve met.”
“Yeah. She came bearing gifts.” DJ pointed to the box holding the coffee maker. Will didn’t respond or show any reaction to the second machine. He gave a short whistle, and Zeke came trotting in with his tongue hanging out, giving the impression he was smiling.
“I’ll put this one in the kitchen,” DJ said of the coffeepot.
“The kitchen?”
He motioned to the empty space with his thumb. “We’re getting a table that will go right here—and a small fridge for...the necessities.”
“Like beer?”
“Good idea.” DJ winked.
A loud clank interrupted the conversation as Will dug through a drawer and threw some tools onto the workbench.
