The Year of Chasing Dreams by Lurlene McDaniel
“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.”
“Not you, just the idea of selling off Bellmeade. I couldn’t do it and you didn’t understand my reasons.”
“But why ask me of all people to build your house?”
She was ready for this question, had given it some thought. “This whole town needs rebuilding. Contractors will pour in, many of them less than honest. I … I’ve been checking you out and you have an excellent reputation. Just like you told me you had that day you came to visit after my accident.”
“You thought I was trying to hustle you, take advantage of you.”
She nodded. “Now I realize you were only attempting to defend your reputation by insisting you had no part of the accident. You were doing an honorable thing. Not everyone acts honorably, Mr. Hastings.”
He blew out a lungful of air, shook his head. “I build communities, not houses.”
“And Windemere is a community in need of rebuilding. If you start with Bellmeade, it will be a stamp of approval for others to ask you.” She mentally crossed her fingers, hoping she was telling him the truth, for she had no idea if others would follow in her stead. “Here’s what I can promise you. I know everyone in these parts, and can get you together with excellent craftsmen—woodworkers, cabinet makers, construction workers—hard workers, all of them.”
“You mean when they’re not cutting hay?”
She winced with his dig, but offered a rueful smile. “Not all of us do farm labor. Some actually own stores and businesses. We’re teachers and homemakers and ranchers. In summer we play softball, and hold a rodeo at the fairgrounds that tourists from all over come to see. We love our sweet tea and biscuits, our families and our country. We are not Chicago. But we have good lives here in the sticks.”
Hastings looked contrite. “Miss
“And I have the money for a shovel. Bellmeade was once the jewel of this part of Tennessee. I want it to be so once more.” He crossed his arms, studied her. She plunged ahead. “I want you to manage every phase, from drawing up the plans to painting the front porch, so you are at liberty to be creative. I want a different house from the one from the past. I’m thinking maybe something with clusters of units attached to the main house, so it can be multigenerational. So that families can grow up and grow old in the family home like they once did in America, before roads and jobs scattered them to the four corners. Show me your best ideas. I will consider all of them.”
Her voice was thick with fervor, and she felt as if she was channeling her grandmother. Whatever fear she’d had about making her case to him had vanished, replaced by determination. She also knew she’d snagged his interest. “I only ask for quality. The former house stood for well over a hundred years. This one should stand for at least a hundred more.”
An amused smile played across his face. “You are an enigma, Miss Beauchamp. May I ask you an impertinent question?”
She nodded.
“How old are you?”
“I’ll be twenty-one this summer.”
His forehead furrowed, and he gave her an I don’t believe I’m about to tell you this look. “I’ll think about your offer.”
She smiled and every nerve and muscle in her body relaxed. “That would be fine. I have a crop to harvest and my wedding to plan. I can be patient.” The meeting was at an end. She thought about what Olivia or her father might do in the moment, then stepped forward and held out her hand. Hastings stared down at it, slowly straightened, held out his, and they shook firmly. “Thank you,” she said, and started toward the door.
“Not sure I’ll ever understand you Southern women,” he said.
At the doorway, she turned and, offering another smile, said, “Understanding is not nearly as important as acceptance of us.”
She went to her truck, got in, grabbed the steering wheel, and rested her forehead against the backs of her hands. She took deep shuddering breaths and waited until her breathing and heartbeat were under control before driving away.
“We’re having a party this Saturday night.” Alice Faye’s announcement at the breakfast table the next morning startled everyone.
“A party?” Ciana exclaimed. “Why?”
“Because the new road to the stable’s in place, because the new chicken coop is full of new chickens, because Angela’s going back to Texas on Monday”—Angela nodded to confirm—“and because we’ve worked like dogs for weeks and it’s time to celebrate. I’ve invited Arie’s folks, Eric and Abbie, Cecil, Mr. Boatwright and his wife, and anyone else I can think of before Saturday.”
Garret’s eyes lit up. “We’re having a barbie?”
“And all the fixins’, plus pie, cake, and watermelon, and fresh-churned ice cream.”
“And beer?”
“And sweet tea too,” Alice Faye said.
“All right!”
Saturday midday, Jon and Garret dug a fire pit for roasting meat, while inside the trailer the air hung heavy with the smells of tangy sauces, baked beans, buttery pie crusts, and chocolate cake. Ciana and Eden set up borrowed tables on the lawn. They draped twinkly lights on everything standing upright and set groupings of candles on every flat surface. By nightfall, the lawn looked like a fairy land, guests were spread out on chairs and blankets under the lights and stars, and ribs and burgers were sputtering on a fire.
Garret hooked up his and Eden’s iPods to portable speakers. Abbie’s baby, Aaron, was set into a portable baby swing beside one table, and Soldier was assigned to keep watch so that Abbie and Eric could eat and mingle. And when the fireflies began coming out, the music went slow and soft with the sound from plaintive guitars. People clustered into groups to talk about the storm, to lament those lost, celebrate new beginnings, and share their stories.
In the light of the fire Ciana watched Jon relax, was grateful to her mother for suggesting the party. She took his hand, said, “Walk with me.” He had mastered walking in the cast by now, but she took her time, in no hurry to get where she wanted to go. She stopped inside the flattened ground where the house had once stood, and told him about her meeting with Hastings. “I want your input for the rebuild. What would you like in a new house?”
“You,” he said, kissing her. “Naked.”
Delighted, she laughed and draped her arms over his shoulders. This was the warm, sexy Jon she’d fallen in love with, before the storm had waylaid their plans. “So you still want to get married?”
“Not until this cast comes off.”
“When’s that?”
“I was going to surprise you. Garret and I are driving Mom to the airport, then heading to my doc’s office and his cast-removal saw.”
“So I should find us a preacher?”
“Hold off. Have to get the muscle strong again.” He pulled her closer. “Want to be a hundred percent when I take you to bed.”
She kissed him, remembering the nights they’d almost made love, when he’d made her blood run hot and set her skin on fire. She whispered, “Dance with me, cowboy. Like the first time.”
He took her in his arms, nuzzled her neck. “You going to stay awake?”
“Wide awake.” He chuckled, and she laid her cheek in the crook of his neck. “You smell like charcoal and wood fire.”
“And you smell like heaven.”
They clung to each other, swaying and talking under the stars until the silence behind them told them that their guests had gone home. The sounds of cleanup did not move them apart either, and at some point the others drifted off to bed. Garret left the music playing, and nature let the stars burn more brightly than Ciana had ever seen them shine. Jon had returned to her.
Ciana woke to the sound of Jon whistling in the barn below. She’d overslept. Even Eden was up. She raked her fingers through her hair, reveling in the afterglow from the night before, of how she and Jon had kissed and touched, and longed for a place where they might have lain down together, thigh-high cast and all. She stretched lazily, finally rose, and dressed. She came down the ladder, only to be captured by Jon’s arms from behind.
“Breakfast bell rang thirty minutes ago.”
“I have connections with the cook. She’ll feed me,” Ciana said with a laugh, and, turning, kissed Jon languidly.
“Go, before I jump your body.”
She blew him a kiss and ducked away. “I must ask your mother how she raised such a sex-crazed guy before she goes!”
“Me!” he yelped. “You’re the one who kept me up half the night.”
“Get used to it!” She darted out the door.
In the trailer, while Angela was in the bedroom packing, Ciana wolfed down leftover biscuits and gravy. “Happy, are we?” Alice Faye asked, plopping another biscuit on Ciana’s plate.
“Very happy. Get the calendar. I’m looking for a wedding date.”
Just then Angela emerged from the bedroom. “Did I hear the word ‘wedding’?”
“It was mentioned,” Alice Faye said.
Angela was all smiles. “Come on, soon to be daughter-in-law. Take a stroll with me. I need to stretch my legs before I sit on an airplane for hours.”
Outside, Angela tucked her arm through Ciana’s, and Soldier fell in beside them. “I know you’ve been concerned about Jon’s moodiness.”
“I think we got over that hurdle last night. He was his old self again.”
“That’s because we found Isabella’s ring.”
“I thought it was lost.”
“He thought he’d lost it and it was breaking his heart. At first he thought he’d left it in the bedroom at the house. Then he recalled putting it someplace else but couldn’t remember where. That short-term memory business really had him torn up.”
The pieces of the puzzle fell into place for Ciana. That was why he’d seemed
Angela patted Ciana’s shoulder. “That’s what I told him. I said, ‘Son, that girl will marry you if you put a cigar band on her finger.’ ” Ciana laughed, and Angela leaned closer. “But good news. We found it in some old trunk up in the loft.”
Ciana stopped. Olivia’s trunk. The quilts, diaries, and memorabilia. She’d all but forgotten the trunk since before the storm.
Angela said, “I guess he tucked it in there for safekeeping, but the concussion erased the memory. He was so happy when we dug it out.”
Mystery solved. “Me too. I’m sorry that you’ll have to come all the way back for the wedding, but Jon refuses to limp down the aisle.” The warm sunlight sharpened the edges of shadows cast by the barn.
“Don’t care.”
“Well, this way you can give me a guest list. Jon was no help. And I need your advice on inviting his father. Jon … He didn’t sound in favor of it. But it doesn’t seem right to me not to ask him.”
Angela sighed. “I understand. The stroke has not dealt kindly with Wade Soder. He’s a bitter man.”
Time slowed then ground to a halt. And Ciana’s world turned upside down.
“Excuse me … What did you say?”
Angela puckered her brow. “I—I’m not sure. Did I upset you?”
“You called him Wade Soder.”
Ciana suddenly felt rooted to the ground, unable to move. In the distance a horse whinnied.
“Oh that!” Angela sounded relieved. “I see how you can be confused. Soder was my married name. Mercer is my family name. I took it back after the divorce, and Jon said he wanted to take it too. He and his dad never did get along. Wade was hard on the boy. When Jon was little we used to fight about how he treated our son.” Angela crossed her arms. “The only thing they had in common were horses. Wade was good with animals, not so much with people. Even after we were divorced, Jon tried to connect with his dad. Spent a summer working with Wade here in Windemere when he was seventeen, but it was a bust.”