Lakeside Sweetheart. Lenora Worth
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recovered from her first stroke. She had another massive one about a month ago and died. Buried in Alabama beside the one man she truly loved.” Miss Fanny’s shrug was eloquent. “Maybe because he left her a ton of money. She never talked much about the men in her life, but Richard was very special to her.”
Suddenly, Rory understood a lot of things. “So Vanessa came back to...settle things?”
“That’s an understatement,” Miss Fanny replied. “The girl inherited the house and probably some money and other property, too. But I’m thinking she won’t want to live here. She’ll probably sell out and leave again.” Miss Fanny leaned close. “Vanessa loved her mother’s last husband, Richard Tucker. He was like a true father to her after so many other men, but Vanessa and Cora did not see eye-to-eye about anything. Too many bad memories.”
Rory thought about the woman he’d first noticed in church last Sunday. Afraid and unsure and wound as tight as fishing line on a reel. Yeah, he could see a lot of settling things needed to occur.
And he had to ask. “Why does Vanessa dislike preachers, Miss Fanny?”
Miss Fanny got up and adjusted her hat. “I’ll give you one guess.”
Rory closed his eyes and lowered his head. “Which husband was it?”
“Number three,” Miss Fanny said without missing a beat. “Vanessa was around thirteen or fourteen, I think, when her mother married a minister from Atlanta. They moved here since she already had this house. He served a church out on the highway for a couple of years. Neither his assignment nor the marriage lasted. But while he was here, he tried to reform Vanessa but in the worst sort of way.”
Giving Rory a pointed glance, she started pushing her walker toward the street, Rory following while he kept his gaze on the house. “Her mother sided with the preacher, of course.”
The rich fritters Rory had woofed down now felt like lead inside his stomach. He had to wonder what Vanessa had been through, how much she’d suffered. He didn’t ask. Miss Fanny probably knew, but he wouldn’t ask her to tell him.
Vanessa would have to be the one to do that.
If she ever trusted him enough to tell him anything.
“Let me walk you to your door,” he told Miss Fanny. He needed to think this through. He checked the driveway next door to see if Vanessa’s little blue car was parked there.
“She’s not there,” Miss Fanny said, already reading his mind. “I think she went to the lawyer’s office to take care of some business. Probably the reading of the will.” The older woman turned when they reached her front porch steps. “But she’s planning a big estate sale sometime soon. She’ll need help...sorting through all that clutter.” She shrugged. “And since you’re also planning a rummage sale at the church...”
Rory nodded. “I’ll be glad to help.”
Miss Fanny nodded, her work here done.
“Thank you for the corn fritters,” Rory said after he’d made sure she was safe back inside her house. “Go take your afternoon nap.”
Miss Fanny waved him away and shut the door.
Rory hurried back down the steps, but he stopped on the sidewalk and glanced over at the long, sprawling house to the left of Miss Fanny’s place.
He hadn’t said this to Miss Fanny, but Rory had often thought he’d like to buy the old Craftsman cottage and fix it up.
But now, he also had the added challenge of trying to help repair the woman who’d come to town to sell this house. He’d have to pray hard on how to manage that without scaring Vanessa away for good. And he’d have to pray hard for her to forgive the minister who’d obviously damaged her for life.
* * *
“What did you say?”
Vanessa stared at the studious gray-haired lawyer sitting across from her in the elegant conference room situated in an old Georgian-style building across town.
Charles Barton leaned up and studied Vanessa’s face, his bifocal glasses low on his hawk-like nose. “I said you have inherited the bulk of Richard Tucker’s estate. Mind you, after your mother’s care and expenses over the last few years, a fourth of it is gone. But you have the Millbrook Lake cottage and you have the holdings in Alabama, namely a house in Birmingham and several commercial rental properties in that area.”
Vanessa sat staring at the man across from her, unable to comprehend what he was telling her. Finally, she swallowed and spoke. “I knew Richard left my mother comfortable, and I was grateful that she had constant, around-the-clock care at the nursing facility, but I had no idea about something such as this happening.”
When Mr. Barton had stated the exact amount of the inheritance, Vanessa had almost fallen out of her chair. Growing up, she’d often dreamed of that kind of money. Now, she was content with her shop in New Orleans and the online boutique full of eclectic clothes and artisan wares from hundreds of vendors. She wasn’t rich by any means, but she made a good living, selling quirky items to quirky people. Vanessa’s Vintage had taken off in the last year or so. The boutique in New Orleans had become popular with both locals and tourists, and the online store kept up a steady business.
“You are now a wealthy young woman,” the lawyer stated. “Of course, we’ll deal with probate and a few other minor details, but all in all, since Richard had no other close relatives, this should be an easy transition.”
“I’d planned to clean up the cottage and sell it,” Vanessa admitted, still numb. “I thought that was the only thing I needed to worry about.”
“You can decide what to sell off and what to keep once this sets in,” Mr. Barton said. “After a death, I always tell my clients who are left to take over estates not to make any rash decisions. Give it some time. You’re still working through a lot of emotions.”
The older man’s soft-spoken advice calmed Vanessa. “You’re right. I have a lot to do back at the cottage. Getting the place cleaned up and renovated to sell will give me time to decide where I go from here.”
“Do you think you’ll want to keep the mansion in Birmingham?” he asked.
Vanessa thought about the stately Tudor-style house sitting up on a remote bluff. “It’s a beautiful house, but I never actually lived there. I visited a few times, but I can’t see me living in that big, old house.”
Mr. Barton’s assistant began gathering files and folders. He stood, too, and waited for Vanessa to do the same. “Take your time. The money and holdings won’t be going anywhere and there are trustworthy people in place to take care of things.”
Vanessa thanked the lawyer and left, thinking she wouldn’t be going anywhere for a while either. She now had a lot more to take care of than she’d ever imagined.
But for now, she’d focus on the cottage.
She drove around the lake and circled back toward Lake Street, where all the quaint Victorian houses sat next to the few Cape Cod homes and the other one-story Craftsman cottages that were scattered throughout. The view across the water was breathtaking and beautiful.
Until she spotted her house.
The cottage looked sad and lonely, neglected.
That mirrored how she’d felt most of her life. This house held a strong pull over her, one that she needed to resist and one she’d managed to avoid up until now.
Ironic that now she had the security and wealth she’d always craved but she didn’t have anyone to share it with.
Her mother had finally found her fairy tale with Richard Tucker, but it hadn’t lasted. He’d died a year after Vanessa left to go to college.
Vanessa had never wanted a fairy tale. She’d only wanted a family. They’d had that with Richard. He’d been kind and gracious and so patient with her mother’s