“You visiting a relative?” he asked, eying her up
and down.
She nodded. The last thing she needed was some
chatty, middle-aged man hitting on her.
“My wife. Shoplifting. Minimum security.”
Jess ignored him and kept reading.
“It gets lonely with her gone,” he continued.
Anger bubbled up in her chest. Damn it! She worked
hard, and this trip once a month was her only time off.
“Your boyfriend in the slammer?” he asked.
Her patience evaporated like water boiling on the
stove. Jess slammed the book shut and faced the insensitive clod.
“My mother. She’s in for murder. She killed my
father. They say murderous tendencies run in families,” she said, shooting him
the meanest glare she could muster.
The man paled, nodded once and pushed to his feet.
“I can see you don’t want to be disturbed,” he
muttered and headed for another seat. Jess smiled and opened her novel If
I Loved You. Totally absorbed by the
story, tears formed in her eyes as she identified with the trials the
characters endured.
Jess ate up love stories from the library by the
dozen. Romance books kept her believing that things could work out, that life
could get better—and happiness did exist. When the bus pulled up to the Pine Grove
stop, she scooted past the annoying man, down the steps, and ran for her car.
She stowed the book in the glove compartment until
her next visit and put the vehicle in gear.
The story stuck with her. What would she do if
she ever met a man like Chaz Duncan? Would she even recognize his good heart under
his arrogant attitude? With a short laugh, she figured she wouldn’t. Jess hated
egotistical men, men so in love with themselves they couldn’t see anyone else.
She’d only met one man who had cracked her hard
veneer. Chip Matthews won her heart in high school. He’d taken her virginity
then, too. But she didn’t care. He had provided respite from the anger,
fighting, and hostile atmosphere in her home. He’d been her refuge.
Pulling into the parking lot of Java the Hut, she turned off the car and
plucked a dollar bill from her purse. Inside, an iced coffee-to-go waited on
the counter. Marge, the waitress, looked up. Jess picked up the paper cup and
slid her buck across the shiny Formica. She shot a small smile at the older
woman and headed back to her vehicle.
Next stop, the old mansion on Route 113. She
turned on the radio and cranked up the volume to banish the reality of how many more trips she’d make to Fishkill over the next
fifteen years. Taking the winding road that hugged Cedar Lake refreshed her
spirits.
There it was, in all its glory. Way below
ramshackle, the 1825 four-story mansion stood with whatever pride it could
muster. All the windows were broken and there were bare spots on the roof, including
one large hole—providing entry for a variety of wildlife.
When she was only eighteen, Jess had stumbled on
the house and fallen in love. Minnie West, the old woman who owned it, had
invited her in for tea and cookies. Jess gained entry to every room by
volunteering to sweep and dust. Including bathrooms, there were forty rooms in
the mansion.
The third floor resembled a rabbit warren of tiny rooms
only big enough for a single bed and small dresser. Jess guessed those were the
servants’ quarters. At the end of the floor was the longest staircase she’d ever
seen. It went straight down from the top floor to the kitchen.
Minnie chatted about the history of the house and
how, years ago, she’d raised her nephew there. The older lady didn’t go on much
about him, and he never visited—at least not when Jess was around. As time went
on, Jess noticed the house sink further and further into disrepair. When she
asked Minnie about it, the woman had explained.
“Oh, I have money, but I spend it on saving animals.
A house is just a thing. Animals are alive. So many need help, you know. I do
what I can. I give to several shelters.”
While Jess agreed with the worthiness of the
cause, she doubted the wisdom of putting it ahead of upkeep for the old house.
Years passed, and Jess had less and less time for visits. Providing for her
brother and herself had become more than a full-time job. She and Minnie lost
touch.
After studying cooking in high school, Jess had
become a pretty fair baker. She eked out a meager living baking and selling her
pies to restaurants, shops, and hotels. She conjured up a dream of buying the
fixer-upper from Minnie for a song, repairing it, and running a bed and
breakfast.
One day while
spying on his big sister, Will had discovered her secret. He promised not to
tell anyone and vowed that he’d fix it. He told her that new paint, hammer,
nails, and a ton of elbow grease could restore the splendor of the mansion. Jess
believed every word.
From that day on, they had shared the secret. Jess sold her cakes and pies while Will did
odd jobs and a bit of carpentry when he
could get it. They worked toward making the dream come true.
When Minnie got too old to take care of the place,
she moved to an assisted living facility several counties away. Year after year,
Jess spied the weather-beaten for sale sign staked in the front lawn.
From time to time, a real estate agent brought someone
by, but they left quickly. The only one with a vision
for the decrepit house, Jess smiled every time a car carried away someone shaking
their head and wrinkling their nose.
A few pangs for the dotty old woman who had lived
in the mansion tweaked Jess’s heart. She’d waited patiently for the old woman
to put the building up for sale at a rock-bottom price.
Now thirty, with Will a sturdy twenty-five, she
figured they were ready to take on world’s biggest renovation and make her
dream come true. Even after such a long wait, Jess had never given up on her
dream. She simply baked her pies, did odd jobs for folks in town and kept house
for her and her brother. They put away a few bucks when they could and waited.
Today she circled around back, eying the snarled
weeds, wiry brambles, and tree stumps in the backyard. Jess planned where she’d
plant her garden. Fresh veggies and herbs would make her food better than
anyone’s for miles.
She found a patch of grass and lay down, staring
at the pitched roof and the top floor that, in its day, had cooks, butlers, and
maids filling its rooms. As she picked at a weed, she made a mental list of the
seeds and plants she’d buy when the place was hers.
The clouds cleared, and the sun shone down. Jess
believed in guardian angels. How else had she and Will survived without parents
these past twelve years?
She glanced around. Something wasn’t right. Jess
sat up. What was missing? The “for sale” sign had disappeared. She picked up
her phone and called her brother.
“Haven’t you heard? Old Minnie West finally kicked
the bucket,” he said.
Jess put down her phone. Did this mean that her
time to buy the place had come? If that was true, where was the sign?
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