The Year of Chasing Dreams (35 page)

Over the next few days, Jon acted less angry and short-tempered. He was moody, but also able to forgive himself over memory lapses. He gave up one of his crutches, too, and although he couldn’t yet ride because of the cast, he resumed many of his former chores. At first Ciana mucked the stalls, and he hobbled around and pitched in clean straw, but by week’s end, he was doing both. Once he was sure of his footing and balance, the second crutch was also discarded. He and Garret worked on the roadbed to the new stables, the one he and Ciana had been shaping when the storm hit. She named the road Tornado Alley, and Garret cut a sign, burned in the name, and hammered the board to a post at the road’s start.

Living in the trailer was cozy—almost too cozy. Angela was given the bedroom, Alice Faye took the cushion for a bed, and Ciana used a sleeping bag in the loft of the barn with Eden, forcing Garret into the bed of his camper truck. “Just
until Jon’s mother leaves,” she told Eden and Garret apologetically. “I mean, I can take the camper if you two want.”

“A few girlfriend sleepovers are fine,” Eden told her. “Garret and I’ll be squeezed into the camper together soon enough.

It’s okay.”

“No room in Jon’s bed?” Garret mused.

“It’s a cot, Aussie-man. Hardly room for him.” In truth, Jon was keeping his hands off her. He kissed her, continued to say he loved her, but she felt an invisible barrier between them. She knew she loved him, yet they were stalled, Jon by his doubts and memory losses, herself by the overwhelming tasks of working her fields, and shaping a plan for Bellmeade’s future.

“You going to rebuild the house anytime soon?” Alice Faye asked as she and Ciana were weeding the replanted garden together. “That trailer’s no home, you know, for you and Jon once you’re married. And speaking of that, when are you two getting married?”

Her mother’s words touched a nerve. She and Jon hadn’t discussed their wedding since the day he’d returned. She was beginning to wonder if they would marry, the doubts too painful to voice, even to Eden. “Not sure how to go about it just yet. What should I build?” She concentrated on her mother’s rebuilding question, purposely pushing aside the second. “What do you think? The same old Victorian? Something new and radical?”

“Radical? What’s that about? What’s wrong with one like we used to have?”

“Why build the same old thing?” She hedged because the details of rebuilding were overwhelming. How large a house? What should it be built of? How many rooms? And what about her mother? Would she want to remain at Bellmeade? She’d
talked of moving out once before. The questions churned in Ciana’s head endlessly, stymieing her into a standstill. “Costs money to rebuild,” she said.

Alice Faye straightened, blew out an exasperated breath. “You need a place to live, Ciana. Take the insurance money and build a house.”

“Insurance money?”

“Are you serious? Your grandfather, Charles, was an insurance salesman before he married Olivia. One thing we
got
is insurance! Go see Mr. Boatwright.” He was their attorney and handled the farm’s legal interests. Ciana recalled writing insurance premium checks—large checks that she had resented doling out money for in lean times. Suddenly those payments didn’t seem so odious. “I’ve never read the policies, Mom. I guess they’re gone with the tornado too.”

Her mother shook her head. “The company will give you a reprint of the policy. Mr. Boatwright will handle it.”

Just then, a dark green truck crunched up the driveway, and without the house to impede the view, Ciana saw clearly that Cecil Donaldson was in the driver’s seat. She dropped her hoe and hurried to meet him. Alice Faye waved but continued hoeing. “New truck?” Ciana asked the minute he climbed out.

“Got two. This is my Sunday truck,” he said with a grin. He looked as grizzled and weathered as ever. “Heard Jon’s out of the hospital.”

“He is. Working back at the stables with Garret.”

“Glad he’s all right.”

She waited for him to tell her why he’d come, because Cecil wasn’t the kind of man to just drop in for chitchat. “You lose anything in the storm?” she asked.

“No, but you did, and I’m not just talking about your house.”

“What else?”

His face broke into a grin. “Well, seems like Hastings is pulling out. Man’s lost a bundle with the storm and the mood’s changed in town. People who wanted to sell off their farms have changed their minds. Seems like the tornado helped Windemere to see there’s more to hold on to than to let go of.”

“I’d have thought they’d be all the more eager to sell.”

“Don’t seem like it. People’s roots go deep. Can’t just walk away. The legislature won’t okay the highway exit either. Seems like there’s too many other places for the money to go, so the exit lost its priority and its funding.” He took off his ball cap, smoothed his white hair.

Ciana realized that at any other time such news would have excited her. Now it meant little. “Well, thanks for the news, Cecil. But I never will sell … not then, not now.”

He glanced around, evaluating her progress. “Lot of work ahead for you.” He resettled his ball cap. “One other thing. You don’t have to worry ’bout them men coming round hassling you.”

“The ones you filled with buckshot?” She smiled wickedly. “You find out who they are?”

“Always suspected who they were. Just couldn’t catch ’em at it. Teddy Sawyer Junior has a big mouth.”

She recalled the day she’d confronted Junior in the general store while buying fencing materials. The creep had known the perps then but hadn’t said a word.

“I settled with Junior,” Cecil said, as if reading her mind. He leaned against the truck’s fender. “There were two of ’em, and they had a bit of bad luck with the storm. Seems as if they tried to outrun a tornado in that black truck of theirs. Can’t outrun a tornado. Tree came clear across the road in front of them and they hit it. Then another tree smashed into the
cab. Broke some of those boys’ bones. Put them both in the hospital. Ruined that fine truck of theirs too.”

“Oh no!” Ciana had wanted them caught and punished, not maimed. “Who are they? Who hired them?”

“Used to work for that Tony fella, the drug hustler.”

The news hit Ciana like cold water. “But why come after me?”

“Revenge. They had it pretty sweet with that man and all his badness. You took it away from them when you hustled Miss Eden out of the country. Made that Tony punk crazy. Made him take chances on the runners from Memphis … the ones who took him out.”

She went hot and cold all over. “I—I had no idea.”

“Course not. They were fixed on ruining you, burning you out if need be.” Cecil shook his head. “Them boys are dumb as a box of rocks. And once they recover, the law’s got a jail cell waiting for them. I just come by to let you know you’ll be safe now.”

A knot of emotion filled her throat. “Couldn’t have done it without you, Cecil. Thank you.” She stepped closer.

He waved her away. “Aw, go on now. You be happy, Miss Ciana. For Arie.” He climbed back into his truck, tipped his brim at her, and started the engine.

Ciana watched him drive away, memories of Arie, of their lifelong friendship, swirling in her head. “Miss you, girlfriend,” Ciana whispered, letting the words be carried off by the warm breeze.

That night, she told Eden the whole story when they were lying in their sleeping bags. She’d only told the others the part about the two men trying to escape the tornado and getting
hurt and it turning out they’d been the ones Cecil had loaded with buckshot. When her mother had asked if Hastings had put them up to it, Ciana had said definitely not, and that Cecil was positive of that much.

“Tony ruined a lot of people’s lives,” Eden said. “I’m really sorry you got caught up by him too.”

“Even if I had a do over, I’d make the same choices.” She heard Eden sniffle in the dark, added, “And how could you have met Garret if we hadn’t run off to Italy?”

“I guess good stuff can come out of bad stuff after all. I can’t imagine my life without Garret.”

The night settled around them. Ciana listened to the horses moving in their stalls below. She thought of all the people she loved. She thought of all the people who’d struggled hard to keep this land in the family, to bring it back after every disaster. The Civil War. The Great Depression. The deaths of her father and grandfather. It was up to her now, her and Jon. “Eden, will you do an Internet search for me?”

“Sure. What do you want me to do?” Ciana told her an idea that had been brewing in the back of her head. When Ciana finished talking, unable to conceal her surprise, Eden asked, “Are you certain that’s what you want to do?”

“Yes,” Ciana said softly. “Let me know what you find out. I’m going into town first off next week and would like to get started if everything checks out.”

“Whatever. If that’s what you want, I’ll get the information.”

“It’s what I want.”

Ciana drove slowly down Main Street, glancing from side to side, seeing progress in vanishing wreckage. The cleanup
was progressing, but rebuilding had a long way to go. A few streets over, she parked and went into Boatwright’s office. His old Victorian house, both office and home, had been spared by the storm. He greeted her warmly, filled her in on every bit of hearsay and gossip over hot coffee. He also gave her the information she needed for her next planned stop in the town. “Miz Olivia would be real pleased,” Boatwright said just before she left. “You’re young and smart and everything you need to be for the future of Windemere. I’ll help however I can.”

Ciana drove over a few more streets. The damage was heavier because the land was lower so there had been flooding. She parked, screwed up her courage, and went into the offices of Gerald Hastings. The reception area was empty and boxes were piled on tables. Silt from flooding lay caked on warped, wooden floors. She found Hastings in the room where he’d constructed his eye-catching model for Bellmeade Acres. Now the cardboard and balsa miniature buildings lay in soggy globs across a tabletop. The man was on his knees sorting through papers, turned when he heard her enter, recoiled in surprise when he saw who it was. His face darkened as he struggled to his feet. “Come to gloat, Miss Beauchamp?”

“No, sir. The storm was a disaster and everyone was affected. I’m sorry for your losses too.”

He dropped his attitude, slumped, looked weary. “Well, it’s over for me. I’m salvaging what I can and returning to Chicago.” He squared his shoulders. “Truth is, I like a lot of the people here. Nice town, and some real nice people.”

“I know we didn’t hit it off, Mr. Hastings. Under other circumstances, I’d have treated you better. But I couldn’t let go of my land. It’s been in my family for generations, and I’m a farmer. The land means everything to people like me.”

“I get that now. No one wants to sell anymore anyway.” He paused. “You need something, Miss Beauchamp?”

She wasn’t sure how to begin. She gathered her courage.

“Yes, Mr. Hastings, there is. I’ve come to ask you, to
pay
you, to rebuild my home.”

Hastings simply stared at her, unable to hide his shock. She let him take his time, unsure as to whether he’d erupt in anger, laugh hysterically, or just tell her to get the hell out. She thought him entitled for any of the above. “You’ve come to ask me to build you a new house?” he asked. “I thought you hated me.”