Across the Winds of Time (15 page)

The server, a tiny faded blonde powerhouse who appeared to be in her late 50s, seemed friendly and outgoing. She knew Cynthia and Laura well.

“We’ve been coming here for years.” Cynthia explained. “It’s hard to live in a town without a restaurant. There used to be a nice little café next to the hardware store, but that closed down...oh, about fifty years ago, right, Laura?”

“Has it been that long? Seems like only yesterday.” Laura grimaced and shook her head.

“What happened to Lilium? Has it always been so...small?” I asked.

Laura dabbed at her mouth with a napkin before she spoke.

“Well, it was a lot busier around the early 1900s...or so our mother said. Very prosperous with farming and markets and church socials and hayrides and lots of fun. But that was before they moved the county seat to Logan and redefined the boundaries of the county. I think there was some hope the railroad would come through Lilium, but it was diverted somewhere else.”

Cynthia chimed in.

“No one wants to stay, of course. Most of the children tend to go away to the city as soon as they graduate from high school. Our own kids moved out. I have a daughter in Phoenix, and a son in San Antonio, and Laura’s kids are in Houston. There’s really nothing for us here now.”

“Oh, dear. Yes, I can see how a town could shrink like that,” I said.

“But look at you!” Cynthia offered with a beaming smile. “If more people like you leave the big cities and come to the small towns, they can thrive again. You said your computer work allows you to live anywhere, right?”

“Yes, look at me,” I murmured in bemusement. Tempted to roll my eyes at the irony of my life at the moment—half in love with a man who was either a ghost or a very odd character—I controlled my face, smiled and turned back to my food. A sudden visual image of Darius nibbling on nothing but fruit and oat bars took the taste right out of the meal.

We returned to Lilium in the early afternoon and made the grocery store our final stop. A tiny store in an older battleship gray painted wooden building, “Sally’s General Store” held most of the basics. I considered myself quite lucky to secure the Baker’s chocolate Darius had “ordered.” And I grinned from ear to ear when I saw freshly baked products. Apparently, “Sally” liked to bake. The owner came out from the back as we entered the store, sporting a white apron over her faded pink T-shirt and shapeless jeans.

“Well, hello, girls. And who’s this?”

Introducing yet another one of their school chums, Cynthia and Laura pulled me forward to meet the short, stocky, gray-haired woman.

“Sally, this is Molly. She’s bought our old house...you know, my parents’ house on County Road 2.”

“Really? Well, that’ll be a handful to fix up. It’s nice to meet you, Molly.” She introduced me to her middle-aged daughter, Cathy, explaining that the equally stocky woman with the mousey brown pageboy hairdo took care of the front of the store, stocked shelves and ran the cash register. Cathy bobbed her head shyly and retreated to stocking, shuffling loaves of bread from one shelf to another.

I smelled something familiar.

“Are you baking pumpkin pies?” I asked Sally with a bright smile.

“I sure am. I’ve got two coming out the oven right now. Do you want one?”

“Oh, yes, please.” I preened with pleasure. Darius had playfully ordered pumpkin pie, and I was actually going to be able to deliver! Not made with my own hands, but this would do in a pinch.

“I’ll go throw one in a box and bring it out front.” Sally bustled to the back while Cynthia, Laura and I scanned the shelves and tossed things into our respective red plastic baskets. Sally returned in short order and handed me a warm boxed pie.

“There you go. So, are you fixing the place up or are you planning on leveling it?”

I bit my tongue this time before I answered.

“No, no, I’m going to rehabilitate it. I couldn’t destroy something that beautiful. It has great bones. Just needs a little bit of makeup.”

“Rehabilitate it, huh? Hmmm... Who’s going to do the work? My daughter’s husband does some handy work.” She nodded in Cathy’s direction. Cathy’s hand stilled, and I knew she was listening, but she didn’t turn around to look at us.

“Hey, Laura, did you tell her about Cathy’s husband, Rick, you know, for the house? He could do the work,” Sally called out toward the back of the store.

Cynthia and Laura, examining a carton of eggs in the cooler, turned. I watched them exchange a glance. Laura strode toward us while Cynthia shuffled along.

“Well, I guess Molly already has a contractor lined up—a fellow out of Council Bluffs. I think she contracted with him right after she bought the house a few weeks ago.”

“Council Bluffs? Well, we like to use local help around here—to support the economy and all, but since you already made arrangements with this guy...” Sally pursed her lips as she looked at me with narrowed eyes.

I threw Laura a grateful glance, and dug myself in deeper.

“Yes, he’s a specialist in Victorian homes.” I beamed at my heretofore unsuspected creative imagination. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Laura turn a sharp glance in my direction.

“Oh, well. Rick’s pretty good with his tools, but he’s no specialist,” Sally huffed. Cathy resumed shelving.

“Well, there ya go,” Cynthia murmured in a smooth voice. She favored everyone with an innocent grin when all eyes turned on her—especially Sally.

“Okay, I’ve got everything I need,” Laura said hastily. “Are you ready?”

“Yes!” I stepped up quickly to the single register at the counter and laid out my groceries. Cathy made her way over to the register, gave me a small smile, but remained silent as she rang everything up. We were out of the door in no time at all with a farewell to Sally.

“That was close,” Cynthia murmured behind a giggle. “Rick would be the handyman we told you about who probably isn’t skilled enough to work on the house.”

“I didn’t know you’d hired a ‘specialist’ in Victorian homes. You didn’t mention that before.” Laura met my eyes in the rearview mirror with a dubious look. I had known this subject would come up again at the exact moment I elaborated unnecessarily in the store, and I tossed off a few airy words.

“Oh, yes, I found him on the Internet. That’s why he’s from Council Bluffs. I would have preferred someone more local, of course.” I took a breath. “Yes, apparently restoring Victorian homes is a real big thing right now. That’s what I’ve read. Uh huh...” I brought my babbling to a halt.

“Hmmm...” was Laura’s reply. It seemed likely she wasn’t buying my story.

“Well, that sounds very interesting,” sweet Cynthia said. “I can’t wait to meet him, dear. Will he be starting soon?”

“Oh...uh...Yes, soon. Yes,” I repeated, trying to sound more definite.

“Before we leave for Florida?”

“When is that?” I stalled.

“I thought we mentioned that at lunch. We’re going to hit the road—as they say—in about three weeks.”

“Three weeks! Really! Well, I’m not exactly sure when he’s starting. He has another project he’s working on. I’m not sure.”

“I hope we get to meet him,” Cynthia murmured.

I smiled faintly and grew silent. I hated lying to the kind women. Unable to sort through my lies, I found it easier to remain mute on the way back to the house.

I waved goodbye to them moments later, and waited on the porch with my two bags of groceries to ensure they pulled out of the driveway and disappeared down the road.

Then I turned and called.

“Darius!” The name that repeated itself over and over again in my mind like a broken record, albeit a beloved broken record. I picked up the bags, wrestled the knob and pushed open the door with my shoulders.

“Darius!” I called again, expecting to hear his footsteps. Silence filled the house. With a growing sense of unease that was never too far away, I dropped the groceries on the coffee table and dashed into the kitchen. It was empty. I pulled myself up the stairs, taking them two at a time, calling his name.

“Darius!” No answer.

Outside! He must be outside, I thought as I began to hyperventilate.

I tripped back down the stairs and ran through the living room back to the kitchen, noting with a panicked eye that the mugs had been washed and left on the counter. So, he had come back into the house.

Wrenching open the kitchen door which led to the side of the house , I pushed open the screen with a responding creak, poised on the top wooden step and called his name, heedless of any nearby listeners.

“Darius!”

Still nothing. Nothing but the sound of the wind in the oak trees that shaded the side yard.

I ran around to the back, stumbling several times on the vast expanse of overgrown grass. Several ramshackle and weathered wooden buildings—an old barn and some sort of shack—butted up against a seemingly endless field of green corn stalks which marked the edge of the property line. I cupped my hands and shouted with all my might.

“Darius! Darius!

I paused to listen for a response, my knees shaking as I tried to catch my breath. Panic robbed me of oxygen. There was no sound except the wind rustling the corn stalks.

I ran across the back yard and dived into the open door of the barn, shouting Darius’s name. He wasn’t in there. I ran next door to the shack and pulled at the door which hung precariously on one rusty old hinge. The hinge screeched ominously as I half supported the door and peered inside. The shack was, in fact, some sort of cabin, and consisted of one dusty empty room. I could barely see inside, so dirty were the windows at either end of the cabin. An old stovepipe stood in a corner.

“Darius,” I whispered hoarsely. No answer. It seemed clear he wasn’t in there.

He was gone. Gone.

I turned away, at a loss for what to do or where to look. Despair overwhelmed me, and I dragged myself back to the porch at the side of the house to sink down onto the steps. I buried my face in my hands to fight back my sobs.
I shouldn’t have left the house. I shouldn’t have left. He’d still be here if I hadn’t left.

“Please don’t let him disappear,” I whispered. “Oh, please don’t leave me, Darius!” Surely if I repeated the words enough times, he would come back to me. “Please stay with me, Darius. Please,” I begged in a ragged breath.

“Molly, my love, what is wrong? What has happened?”

I jerked my head up to see Darius striding toward me from across the yard near the tree line. I gasped and rose on shaking legs to reach for him through blurry eyes.

Darius reached me as I almost fell off the step, and in one fluid motion, scooped me into his arms. He lowered himself to the bottom step, holding me in his lap like a child while I sobbed against his jacket. He pressed his face against the top of my head.

“What has happened, my love? Tell me what is wrong,” he murmured in a husky voice.

“I thought you were gone,” I clutched his coat and wailed, nowhere near calming down.

“No, no, my sweet.” Darius’s embrace tightened, and I pressed against him. “I am sorry. I just went for a walk...to the cemetery actually. I did not mean to alarm you.”

I stiffened and lifted my chin to look at him, simultaneously giving his lapel a fierce tug.

“The cemetery!” I choked out tearfully. “Haven’t you been there long enough? Don’t do that to me again! At least, leave me a note next time. I can’t tell you what I thought...” I wiped at my face and hiccupped.

“Forgive me, Molly. I did not think...” He paused and leaned in to kiss my forehead. “You love me, Molly. You still love me.”

I pulled myself upright in his lap, unwilling to leave the place I wanted to be most in the world—encircled in his arms, and equally unwilling to allow myself to become any more enamored of him than I already was. The events of the previous few minutes had proved a point. He could disappear at any time, and I didn’t think I could bear to live with the pain.

With every ounce of willpower I had, I pulled myself from his arms and struggled to stand upright on the steps. My wobbly legs misbehaved and failed to give me support. I gave up and plopped back down on the step beside him.

I sighed heavily.

“I don’t know how I feel about you, Darius. I really don’t. And even if I did, I don’t think I’d admit it. I don’t want to lose myself...anymore than I already have.” I bit my lower lip, knowing I’d already given away too much. “All I know is that when I came back, and couldn’t find you...” I muttered and refused to look at him, instead choosing to stare at the oak trees lining the side of the property.

“Forgive me, Molly. Truly. I did not know I would be missed.”

“Well, you were,” I responded gruffly. “I worry about it.” That’s it. That’s all I was giving him.

“I am grateful to hear it,” Darius replied. “I worry about you as well. It cannot be easy living with a ghost.” I heard the hint of laughter in his voice, but I refused to join the frivolity. The near loss—as my wayward heart understood it—was still too raw. My throat was too tight, my chest still constricted.

“It’s not funny.”

Darius acquiesced and dutifully sobered. “I am sorry I frightened you, my love. How was your day?”

“Good, thanks.” I smacked a hand to my forehead and jumped up. “Oh, shoot! I have to put the groceries in the refrigerator.”

“Shall I help?” Darius stood. He bent down to brush the dust from the wooden step off his pant leg, and I shook my head as I watched him.

“We need to get you some clothes. No chance you can just conjure up something to wear, is there?” I pulled open the screen door and stepped inside the kitchen.

Darius laughed as he followed me in. “I do not think so. I have never tried. How should I proceed?”

I retrieved the bags from the living room and shrugged with a half smile, though I was still unwilling to meet his gaze. The intensity of my desperation to see him once again shocked me, and I wasn’t sure I trusted myself at the moment—or any time he was around.

“I don’t know. Sit down and imagine a new set of clothing, something comfortable. Some tennis shoes?”

“Tennis shoes?” Darius peeked into the sacks of groceries and began to pull things out and examine them with interest.