No, I wouldn’t look for Liam. I had his daughter, George Bridger’s grandchild, in trust, and based on the present circumstances as I knew them, we’d go on just as we’d come thus far.
I crossed the ridge and walked onto Bridger land. There was an area of thick, shrubby growth near the forest’s edge, but I could pick my way along the narrow path, and then the area opened up into a dirt track with fields on either side. The corn was long gone and had been for some time. Blackberry thickets and sticker bushes were moving in.
The house was at the end of the dirt track and beyond the old fields. I kept moving forward, each step telling me that the house was still empty.
The porch had sagged a little more. Some of the boxes and other junk were gone from the porch, but otherwise, it looked as deserted as any house would look if it had been empty for so long and ill cared for before that.
She was too precious for this. And too precious for the vagaries of chance. She was safe and loved with us.
I turned away and began my trek back to the Hollow. So my original problem remained. What about when Ellen asked more pointedly about her father? Preparing now would ease us into that talk later.
When I returned to the house, Ellen was napping. I went back out to the shed and found Grand’s shovel.
At the far end of the cemetery, away from Grand and the rest, I dug up a few inches of dirt about the size and shape of an adult’s grave, then shoveled it back, trying to mound it a little. I made a cross and wrote William Smith on the crossbar, then hammered it down into the soil. With each shovel of dirt and each downswing of the mallet to set the marker, I put the final touch to our lies. By my acts, I bound the lies to us forever, to secure the blessing of the gift of this child for however long we could manage to keep her.
Those lies hung like chains. Chains of love or of deceit? Chains were chains. Eventually, they would grow heavy and difficult to keep hidden, regardless of why one first chose to wear them.
CHAPTER SIX
It was late August, and I’d just gotten lunch on the table. Gran had taken her seat, with a little help from me. Ellen, as always, sat next to her. The sandwich today was peanut butter and jelly because our sweet Ellen had decided on the menu, and Gran was delighted with her choice. As soon as I sat down, Gran said, “I need you to go to town, Hannah.”
“Sure.” I’d been working up the nerve to tell her I was going to have a frank conversation with Duncan Browne. There were things I needed to know. This might be an opportunity.
“In fact,” I said, “I need to pick up some clothing for Ellen. She’s growing like a weed.” I reached across and tickled her as I said, “Like a weed, but one with the prettiest, sweetest flowers.” She giggled. “We need some clothing and other things, too.”
“That’s fine. But for this trip, don’t take Ellen. I need you to go alone. I need for you to go see the man in town. I have a letter for him. It’s under my pillow on the bed.”
“Is something wrong?”
“Nothing’s wrong. Just reality.”
“Why don’t you come with me?”
She shook her head. “No, ma’am. I haven’t gone to town in more than twenty years, and I don’t miss it. I have everything I need right here, thank you.” She pressed her lips closed.
What Gran had said all these years was true. She was never going back into town. I hadn’t believed the decision was absolute. It was an unreasonable choice, in my opinion, but it was hers to make, and she was a strong-minded woman. But I tried anyway.
“Gran, surely it’s time to put old memories and fears aside and get out into the world again.”
She turned away, ignoring my protest. “It’s time for my nap. Settle Ellen down with me. We’ll do perfectly well until you get back. Don’t forget the letter, and he’ll arrange for you to get cash, too. As you said, we need some things.”
I put on a clean pair of jeans and a button-down blouse. This was about as dressy as I ever got now. My long hair was clean and pulled back into a clip. My shoes weren’t much, but I owned only a couple of pairs, so it was what it was. Gran had written Duncan Browne’s phone number on the envelope, but of course I’d been to his office before when I went looking for help to find George Bridger.
I pulled into the parking lot but sat in my car. This was too strange. My curiosity warred with sudden anxiety.
With my shoulder bag held tight against my body, I got out of Grand’s car and locked it, then paused to examine the dented front bumper. It was an old dent and looked like it was rusting. I was stalling. I was nervous. I wasn’t accustomed to being nervous, thus it unnerved me further. I blamed Gran for it. Her behavior. Sometimes she could be ornery. Sometimes odd. She was the most loving, but also the most stubborn, person I could ever imagine.
I pushed the door open and went inside.
Aggie smiled and greeted me by name. “Miss Cooper. Welcome back.”
“Yes, ma’am.” I nodded and tried to return her smile, but my jaw felt tight.
“Mr. Browne is expecting you. If you’ll have a seat, I’ll let him know you’re here.”
The waiting area wasn’t fancy but certainly respectable. Last time I hadn’t had to wait. Still, I couldn’t sit. I noted the carpet on the floor, the papered walls, a painting of tall snow-covered mountains and flowered fields hanging over a small loveseat-style sofa. Looked clean. Neat. Reasonable.
My anxiety began to abate a little, but when the office door opened, it ramped back up.
“Hello, Hannah. Nice to see you again.” He extended his hand, and we shook.
I held out the letter. “My grandmother sent this for you.”
“Certainly.” But he didn’t take it. “Would you like coffee? Or water?”
“Nothing for me.”
He turned to Aggie. “Would you bring me some coffee and a bottle of water for Miss Cooper?” He stepped back and motioned me to enter his office ahead of him.
I remembered his manner as being less formal than this. He seemed on edge. I stopped halfway through the doorway.
“Mr. Browne, is there a problem?” I held up the envelope again. “What’s going on?”
“You are very perceptive, Hannah, but don’t worry. This is mostly about business—your grandparents’ business and yours. Your grandmother and I have spoken on the phone. I imagine the letter relates to what she’s already asked me to discuss with you.” He accepted the envelope and put his hand on my arm. “Come into the office, and we’ll talk.”
Aggie was right behind us with his coffee and with water for me. She set them on the desk and left, closing the door behind her.
As before, I settled on the edge of the leather chair facing his desk, but I stayed, tense, with my purse on my lap and my arms wrapped around it. I could read body language and knew how my own posture looked, but I couldn’t help it. Maybe it was good for him to see I wasn’t a fool or someone to be fooled with, but rather someone who could think for herself and wasn’t likely to be taken advantage of.