Mending Her Heart. Judy Baer
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backed away when someone from the dining room called her name. “It’s great to see you again, Catherine. I’m so sorry about the circumstances. No pressure about my offer. I just wanted you to know that if time gets heavy on your hands, you have an option.”
“I appreciate the offer. I just…” She didn’t even get time to finish her sentence before another friend of Abigail took her arm and pulled her away.
When the last guest said goodbye, Catherine dropped into the nearest chair with a groan.
Emma patted her hand. “You’ve had enough for one day, dear. You’re white as a sheet. Why don’t you come back to my house tonight so you can get a good night’s sleep? I know you’d planned to stay at Hope House, but you can check out the place just as well in the morning.”
“I haven’t walked the grounds or been upstairs,” Catherine protested without much enthusiasm. “I really should…”
“Nothing will change overnight. It will all be here for you tomorrow.”
Suddenly, spending the night here felt like a very bad idea. Here at Hope House Catherine knew she would do nothing but think about what she’d lost, when all she really wanted was to fall into a deep, dreamless sleep.
“I’ll take you up on that, Emma.”
She knew she’d be asleep before her head hit the pillow.
Catherine awoke slowly, the light of the sun filtering through the thick lace curtains and across her bed. She lay on her back thinking of the remarkable ceiling in her own bedroom at Hope House, which had been decorated with plaster swirls that had been piped on like frosting on a wedding cake. She’d taken the house for granted as a child, but its remarkable features struck her now. Although Emma’s home was lovely, it was a pale comparison to Hope House. Catherine had been living in a fairy-tale house back then and hadn’t even noticed. It would be painful to go back there without Abigail, but it had to be done.
Her limbs felt heavy and it took her some time to roll to her side and put her feet on the pink-and-blue Aubusson rug on the floor beside the bed. Gently she raised and lowered her shoulders and moved her head from side to side. Once her blood was flowing, she stretched broadly and stood up. Her body felt as if it had been beaten as her tense muscles screamed in protest.
After a quick shower, Catherine grabbed clothing from her bag and padded downstairs barefoot to find Emma in the kitchen whipping up a batch of pancakes. Coffee was brewed and fresh-squeezed orange juice was already on the table.
“You have no idea how much I appreciate this, Emma.” Catherine poured herself some coffee. “I couldn’t bear the thought of sleeping in the big house alone last night.”
“It’s the least I can do, sweet girl. I hope you slept well.”
“Quite soundly. I suppose being exhausted from getting ready to move and then the tension of yesterday wore me out.”
“People always sleep better in Pleasant,” Emma said complacently. “No bright streetlights except a couple on Main Street and a street corner here and there, no traffic noise, no airplanes arriving and taking off, and all the gorgeous, mature trees—it’s like a cocoon, protected from the rest of the world.”
“I appreciate that, I…”
A knock on the door interrupted the conversation. Will Tanner strode in, dark hair still damp and curling from the shower, a night’s growth of beard shadowing his jawline. “Good morning, ladies. How are things today?” His gaze went directly to Catherine.
She looked as if she’d lost ten pounds overnight, he observed. Her cheeks were hollow and there were dark smudges beneath her eyes. She sat at the kitchen table in well-washed jeans that had seen better years and a simple white T-shirt. Her long blond hair was pulled back into a ponytail that made her look like a teenager. She’d tucked her feet beneath her and held a large coffee mug in her hands. She lifted it to her face to inhale the aroma and breathed deeply.
Will had never wanted to rescue someone from sadness so badly in his life. Except Charley, of course, but Charley was family. His sister Annie’s blood ran in his veins.
“Morning, Will. I thought you’d be by.” Emma held up a carafe. “Coffee?”
“Don’t mind if I do.” Maybe a jolt of caffeine would take the edge off his fuzziness. He’d dreamed all night of Abigail and the plans they’d had together.
In the dream he and Abigail sat at her kitchen table as they always did, discussing the house and the forever-growing list of restoration projects he was to tackle.
“Will,” she would say, “promise me that whatever happens, you’ll finish this house.” Her expression was intent. “Don’t get itchy feet. Please say that you’ll stay here until it’s done.”
“Abigail, there’s no reason for me to leave you. The house will be done. I promise. I’m not a quitter.”
“Refurbishing this house is my gift to the Stanhope family. I married my husband, Charles, as a very young woman and it changed everything about my life.” Abigail’s eyes would flash with resolve and she’d squeeze his hand so tightly that it almost hurt.
Then she’d stare straight into his eyes and say, “The Stanhopes were generous to a fault. They helped to mold me into who I am today. I will be forever grateful for the way they took me in as a true daughter. And they loved Hope House, as I grew to.”
He was ready to reassure her again that he wasn’t planning to go anywhere when he woke and realized that Abigail was gone. By dawn he knew with complete certainty what he had to do. She’d given him not only a job but a place to live—a cozy apartment in the guesthouse, a stable home for his nephew, Charley, and as a result, a renewed purpose for his life. If ever he was to claim Charley as his own son, a real home was imperative. The town was safe, idyllic and friendly, perfect for a growing child, and their place was small but comfortable—no matter what his sister-in-law thought. He was tired of continually locking horns with Sheila on the matter. He had to restore the house as Abigail had asked. It was imperative that he make a home for his little boy.
Then an unsettling thought occurred to him. What had Abigail told her granddaughter of her plans? Catherine owned the house now. She could sell it or turn it into a gift shop or any fool thing she wanted.
Still, even in death, Abigail was a force to be reckoned with. He would do what he’d promised her.
He looked up to see Emma and Catherine staring at him expectantly. How long had his mind drifted?
“Sorry. I didn’t sleep very well last night.” He looked at Catherine. “Did you?”
“I think it felt less like sleep and more like a coma,” she admitted. “I was already on my way to Pleasant for some badly needed R&R…” As she said it, she looked troubled.
There was more to this woman than met the eye, Will sensed. He hoped he’d get to know her well enough to learn what made her tick.
Catherine felt uncomfortable beneath Will’s intent gaze. “Tell me more about what you did for Gram,” she suggested.
“I’m doing a lot of carpentry work right now, as you probably already know. It was your grandmother’s dream that Hope House be preserved for posterity. I’ve been helping her restore the place.”
No, she didn’t know. Catherine couldn’t recall her grandmother saying that to her. Of course, Gram had traveled to Minneapolis for their visits and Hope House was rarely a topic of conversation.
Now she knew why he seemed so at ease in this house. There was a time when she felt she was Abigail’s primary confidant. Will had been here for Gram and she hadn’t. She’d trade it all for an hour with her now.
“I live in the guesthouse,” he added as if it were an afterthought.
Catherine blinked. Gram hadn’t mentioned that either.