The Long Road Home (35 page)

Someday, she knew, she herself would be old and wizened, poised for leaving something behind. And she had just
seen what could happen if she built her life on money and power.

She left Agatha in the big, isolated house, mumbling curses at a portrait.

Her first stop was to the Blair Bank. She ran down the long corridor, straight past the row of secretaries, to the large desk before Charles Blair’s office. The stiff-backed Mrs. Baldwin didn’t make a move to stop her but merely waved her by. Nora swung wide the heavy wooden door and stormed into his office.

The man sitting behind the desk wasn’t C.W. This man was tall, but his body was slender, not broad like C.W.’s. His hair was dark and thin, and he wore tortoiseshell glasses over eyes that were a paler blue.

“Where is he?” she asked in a high voice.

Sidney Teller stood and indicated the chair with his hand.

“You must be Nora. I’ve heard quite a lot about you. Won’t you sit down?”

She shook her head. “Where is he?” she repeated.

Sidney held back a smile. “I wish I knew. He left the bank. For good this time. Before leaving he signed over controlling interest of the bank to me and to Cornelia, Stoneridge, the family estate. Gave it all away. Said he wanted to go live on some sheep farm.”

Nora’s heart leaped as she did. It beat as fast as her feet upon the corridor as she raced to the elevator. She punched the button and tapped her foot. “Hurry, hurry,” she pleaded. “I’m going home.”

The sun shone straight above her as she crossed the border into New York State. She passed toll booth after toll booth, tossing coins into metal bins and squealing tires when the light
flashed green. With her foot flat on the accelerator, she pushed past the outlines of cities and moved into long stretches of open highway. Buildings gave way to houses, which gave way to rolling hills and mountains. The color gray was pervasive: gray skies, gray trees, brown and gray earth. She had fallen in love among the bountiful colors of harvest. Now she had to learn if the colors of winter were the colors of rest, or of death.

Charles Walker Blair. The name rolled off her lips with a strange feel. Blair; one syllable that added so much. That changed so much. How Mike had hated him. And how she loved him.

He had to still love her, she prayed. Wasn’t he there, at their farm, waiting for her? She would make him forgive her, make him love her again. Once before she had fought for a loveless marriage. And though perhaps it was a losing battle, some things were worth fighting for. This time Nora knew, in every ounce of her body, that C.W. was the whole war.

Nora prayed and vowed as the sky turned dusky and she crossed the Vermont border. The highway changed to gentle roads that curved and dipped along farms, silos, herds of black-and-white cows, and quaint white houses with green shutters. She knew the markers: turn left at the green warehouse, turn right at the Poultney steepled church. Up past Ed’s syrup stand, then straight on to the marshy pond. Then, at last, it was a left turn onto the dirt-and-gravel road that bordered her farm. The window creaked as she rolled it down, allowing the crisp fall air to fill the stale compartment. It smelled of snow and pine. She could almost taste it.

She grew excited now, even as she slowed to a crawl on the bumpy road. As she drove past the lower barn she doubted whether C.W. would really be waiting for her. She told herself she had imagined the whole thing. Passing the pole barn, quiet now without the hungry ewes, she remembered the first
day she spent there with C.W.: his patience and her incredible naivete. How far she had come since then.

Nora turned onto the drive then, seeing the condition of the road, and slowed to a stop. Deep ditches had been dug by the storm and coursed along both sides of the road. The narrow strip remaining was humped and littered with patches of ice. Her heart rose to her throat and her stomach tightened into a knot. In the distance, Seth’s coon dogs began howling at the sound of her approach, their incessant wail drowning out the bucolic bleats of the remaining ewes.

The engine purred in gear as she stared at the road and chewed her lips. Already her fingers were cramped around the wheel. Like a déjà vu, the mountain symbolized her fears. They were mighty indeed. Yet forward was C.W. Beyond the icy patches, around the dangerous curves, lay her happiness. She gripped the steering wheel and shifted into low. Easy and calm, she told herself. Small steps.

Despite the icy patches, gullies, and pits, Nora climbed the mountain road steady and sure. Her wheels hit a soft spot and spun, but she kept climbing up, up, past Mike’s Bench where she had at last made peace with her husband, past the stooped maple where she had had her accident, and beyond. The foliage was gone now, and the craggy limbs of the barren trees seemed to point the way. “Go on,” whispered the wind. Her dented Volvo wheezed and whined, but it limped to the top like an old dog finding its way home.

At last she saw the sharp angle of the slate roof, the broad smiling deck, and as always, she smiled back. But her smile froze as she perceived a figure on the desk. A single, tall figure, standing in his familiar stance: hands on hips.

Her own hands shook as she pulled up to the house, turned off the engine, and pulled up the brake. He did not rush down
the deck steps to the car, as he had the first time. He stood still, watching, waiting for her first move.

Nora sat in the car, staring back. He was there, just as she’d known he would be. He was there for her. With a deep breath she swung open the car door and stepped out upon the gravel. Her legs felt weak and shaky, whether from the long ride or her apprehension she didn’t know. She stood, hand on the car door, staring up at the figure. He remained standing high up on the second-story deck, looking down. The thought of backing off, of playing a game, never occurred to her. She had come too far, climbed too high, for false pride. This move was hers to make.

Nora slammed the car door shut. Step by step she climbed the stairs, under his watchful gaze. Step by step her confidence grew.

He was smiling now, and his eyes were filled with love. Her heart swelled and she thought she would die. He opened his arms to her and she ran into them, laughing, crying, calling his name. No words were needed, nor were they sought. She felt his arms around her, smelled the sweet scent of his skin, and then, oh, yes, his lips were again on hers.

She felt grounded by his kiss. The current flowed and sparked her to life. Nothing had ever felt so right. She never knew she could love so much.

“How did you know I’d come back?” she asked.

He cupped her face with his hand, his thumb wiping away a single tear. “There’s an old Chinese saying: If a horse is truly yours, do not chase after it, for it will return on its own accord.

“I knew you loved me, Nora. And I always trusted you. I just had to wait until you trusted yourself.”

“I trust us.”

He smiled and pressed her head to his shoulder. “That sounds right.”

They stood for a while, shivering in the cold wind as the sun lowered, neither daring to move and break the moment.

“You made it up all right. The road’s getting pretty bad.”

“Yeh-up,” she replied.

He gave her a squeeze. “You got my package?”

“You mean the Bag Balm?”

“Yes. And the deed?”

“Yes. I got them. It’s an interesting story. I met Agatha.”

He stopped stroking her hair.

“I see why you left New York.”

He laughed and kissed her head.

“I can’t accept the deed,” she said, leaning far back and looking him full in the face. “It wouldn’t be right.”

C.W. released her and reached into his jeans pocket. After a brief dig, he pulled out a ring, and taking her hand, he placed a large mine-cut diamond on her left finger.

“If you wear this,” he said, “I can’t see what the problem is.”

“Oma’s ring!” she cried, grasping her hand and staring at the treasured family heirloom. “How did you get this? When?”

“So many questions. And you know the answers. Let’s see,” he said, taking her hand. His lips turned into a smug grin. “It fits perfectly. Fate.”

“Destiny,” she replied, delighted.

His eyes glowed warm against the cold night air. Their talking ceased, the birds stopped their song, even the coon dogs ignored the early moon. Nora and C.W. stood, holding hands, in a deep mountain silence. Above them, night clouds moved over the mountain ridge, like a curtain closing the final act.

Nora lowered her shoulders, her lips parted, and her mind emptied to receive his words.

“Nora Koehler MacKenzie,” he said, speaking in his deliberate style, “I love you. And loving you has made me whole again. Will you marry me?”

Joy leaped to her throat and expressed itself in one word.

“Yes,” she replied, and buried her head against his chest.

He squeezed her so tight she could say no more.

“Come,” he said, taking her ringed hand and leading her indoors. “I’ve missed you.”