Lover's Knot, page 4
“Would you find it so intriguing if this were your family home? Instead of the brownstone in Manhattan? Or the estate in Saratoga Springs?”
“I’d find it more intriguing. I like the history here.”
“To each his own.”
Again she ignored him. “When you look at all the mini-mansions going up in the D.C. suburbs, it’s hard to imagine anyone raising a family in a house as small as this one, isn’t it?”
“I imagine some people just added on.”
“I’d like to do that here, but I don’t want to destroy the integrity of the design.”
“Anyone else would raze this place.”
“That was my first thought. Don’t forget, I wanted to build a new house on the site.”
And he hadn’t wanted to. From the day three years ago when he had discovered he’d been left this land and cabin as an inheritance, Isaac had not wanted anything to do with it. Still, he was a practical man, and he had seen the investment potential at a time when the stock market was tanking. So he held on, knowing that by the time he retired, the property would be worth a great deal. He’d only grudgingly agreed to the minor renovations because a structure might make selling the property that much easier when the time came.
“Now I wish I’d gone along with you,” he said. “I’d feel better knowing you were living in a modern house.”
“Don’t worry. Once I found out there were logs under the siding, I never would have taken it down.”
They reached the steps up to the narrow porch that ran along the front of both structures and the bisecting dogtrot. He held out a hand. “Watch your step. Why hasn’t your carpenter built a railing?”
“He moved to Tennessee two weeks ago to live closer to his children.” Kendra took Isaac’s hand. Hers felt as light as air, and her skin was the color of eggshells. She was putting a good face on things, but she looked drained.
“You mean you don’t have anybody to finish putting this place in order?”
“I’ll find somebody now that I’m out here. I have resources.”
He tried and couldn’t imagine Kendra living in this place alone. “The railing’s just for starters. The ground needs to be graded or one day you’re going to take a spill. The boards on the porch look like they need to be replaced. The—”
“Have you noticed the view?”
He heard what she hadn’t said. Stop complaining and try to see what I do. I want you to understand why I’m here.
“There’s nothing wrong with the view. Move it closer to D.C. and we’d be millionaires.” Of course, his wife already was, but Isaac didn’t point that out. Kendra’s trust fund had never been one of their problems.
The clearing around the house was flat enough, although the property sloped gently at the back, and eventually, after a drop, ended at the North Fork of the Shenandoah River. There were several newly greening trees—oaks, he guessed—planted for shade, and what he recognized as a stand of sycamores. Woods were threatening to encroach on both sides, although it looked as if the good hardwoods had been taken several decades ago. Through the thick unfettered canopy he saw blooming dogwoods and the vestiges of redbuds.
The prevailing feeling here was of civilization being swallowed alive, of vines creeping toward the house to strangle it, of seedlings that would grow overnight into beanstalks crowned with maniacal giants. He glimpsed what looked like a marsh along the edge of the woods on one side. He imagined moccasins and rattlesnakes. The woods were probably full of bears.
He, who was dedicated to saving the world’s wild places.
“Come see it from inside,” Kendra said.
They were in the dogtrot now. At the other end he could see the river in the distance. Despite himself, he wondered if the man who had built this cabin had planned it this way. If he had wanted to look down on the sparkling Shenandoah each morning. Or perhaps his wife had insisted she wanted to see the river as she sat on the porch and snapped beans or did her weekly mending.
“It’ll look better when I’ve had a chance to shop.”
Kendra unlocked the door on her left. At least the lock was new and looked sturdy.
“I’m going to furnish it with antiques. But I’ve bought enough basics to make it livable.”
Isaac followed her inside. He could tell by the way her foot dragged, as well as by her pallor, that this trip had cost her a great deal. He felt a fresh twinge of anger.
“What do you think?” she asked.
The room felt dark and cramped. The ceiling was low, and although he didn’t need to, he felt as if he should crouch. Kendra pulled back cream-colored curtains as she went, and although there weren’t many windows, the light helped.
“I’ll need to wash the windows,” she said. “And apparently it’s not that hard to add them to these cabins, I might just do it when I find a good contractor. I don’t want a museum, I want a home.”
But not with him. Isaac heard that clearly. Kendra knew this would never feel like home to him or fit with plans he had for his life. But that no longer seemed to concern her.
“Come see the kitchen,” she said.
The kitchen was just the other end of the room. Dabney had done a good job of adding cabinets and a pantry. The sink, deep and rectangular, was an antique—he guessed it was one Kendra had found. A small round table sat in the corner for meals.
“Simple but efficient,” she said. “Do you like it?”
“Looks easy to use.”
“We got the cabinets out of an old house that was being torn down. They’re hickory. I love them. And the countertop is slate from an old school building south of here.”
He hadn’t known she was putting so much thought or energy into this project. Apparently there was a lot he hadn’t known.
“I’ll show you the other part.”
He stopped her before she could pass. “Don’t do this.”
She didn’t move, and she didn’t look at him. “I thought we’d worked this out.”
“Look at you. You’re already exhausted.”
“Let me show you your grandmother’s garden. Or what’s left of it. I think she spent a lot of time there.”
He dropped his hands. “Fine. You can show me after I move everything else inside.”
He made four trips to the car. She hadn’t brought much. Casual clothes, her computer, a small television set, more things for the kitchen, her plants, sheets and towels. He guessed she hadn’t wanted to look as if she was moving away for good. As she felt stronger, she would probably return to the condo, perhaps while he was gone, and claim more of her things.
He looked up as he carried the next to the last load and found her standing beside the second wing.
“Elisa and Sam must have come inside. They made the bed and put fresh flowers beside it. I’ve got brand-new towels in the bathroom.”
He was glad the Kinkades would be nearby to watch over his wife.
“Come see, Isaac. Just a glance.”
Reluctantly, he followed her into the bedroom and saw a queen-size bed made up with fresh white sheets, and a sitting area with a comfortable love seat and a low round table.
“And the bathroom.” She moved slowly across the room and flung open the door of what he had guessed was a closet. The bathroom was small but clearly functional. The shower stall was just large enough to turn around in.
“Looks like you’ve got everything you need here.”
“Just about.”
He wondered what she meant by that. Everything except you? Everything except a divorce?
He went back to the car and returned with the final load. This one was filled with old quilts she had collected, including the ragged one his grandmother had left him, along with the land. He set this box just inside the bedroom door and glanced at his watch.
“I’d like to avoid rush hour in the city.”
“You could stay the night.”
He considered this. It would help her ease into life in the cabin. A good husband would stay. He did not feel like a good husband today.
“I have a meeting early in the morning. Do you want to show me the garden now?”
Silently she led him down the steps. He watched her carefully balance, and closed his eyes when she swayed at the bottom. He was an inch from throwing her in the car and heading back to the city.
She picked her way carefully along a path that needed mowing. “It’s over here.”
About thirty yards from the house, he saw an area that looked as if it might once have been neatly laid out in raised beds with paths in between. Of course, now it was so overgrown nothing remained except the barest of garden skeletons.
“There are some timbers along the edges. I’m sure there was a split-rail fence to keep out deer, or at least help. It’s huge, isn’t it? She must have raised all her food for the winter.”
“Maybe.”
She pointed west. “What’s left of an orchard is that way. I’m going to see if I can find an arborist to help me restore what I can.”
He put his hands on her shoulders and turned her to face him. “I don’t want to leave you here. If you need to get away, won’t you choose someplace else? Visit friends. Rent a house in a suburb. Spend a year in Europe?”
“I have to do this.”
They stared at each other. She didn’t look as brave as he knew she wanted to. There was ambivalence lurking behind her attempt at confidence.
If he could read her this clearly, he wondered, what did she see when she looked at him? Worry that he hadn’t done enough to persuade her? Fear for her safety? Or, worst of all, some splinter of relief that she was no longer his daily problem, that he could go about his life undisturbed, work the hours he was accustomed to, stop trying to transform her into the person she had been?
He dropped his hands. “I have a little time. I can make you something for dinner. Help you unpack.”
“I’ll be fine. I’ll take it slow. But everyday stuff is the best form of therapy.”
“And you feel well enough to do that everyday stuff?”
“I’m okay.”
He was emptied of protest. “Then I’ll leave you to it. If you’re sure.”
“I am.”
“Just remember, I’m only a phone call away, K.C.”
Her expression changed into something sadder. “You haven’t called me that in years.”
Ten years ago she had been introduced to him at a party as K. C. Dunkirk, her byline at a small suburban weekly. He hadn’t gotten around to calling her Kendra for a year. K.C. had slipped away sometime after they were married. A lot of things had slipped away.
“Maybe it’s because I don’t know who you are anymore,” he said.
She put her arms around his shoulders and pulled him close. “I love you, Isaac. Everything else is changing, but that never will.”
He kissed her; then he pulled her close. She felt as hollow-boned as a bird. He was afraid that the moment he released her she would take flight.
“I don’t know when I can come again,” he warned.
“I’ll be here when you do.”
When he was behind the steering wheel of his car, he looked up and saw that she was still standing where he had left her. He wondered if she would make it up the steps. He wondered when or if he would stop worrying.
* * *
She could always change her mind.
Kendra watched Isaac’s Prius disappearing into the woods and felt panic pulling her down for the third time.
“I don’t have to stay.” She closed her eyes and tried to imagine where she would go instead. Nowhere.
She took deep breaths and, minutes later, opened her eyes. The sun shone, and the air was alive with birdsong. Try as she might, she could not hear a single car. Isaac’s high-efficiency engine was silent at the low speed he would use on these roads. Besides, even if he’d been driving a diesel truck, Isaac was probably too far away to hear her call.
Isaac was gone.
“Welcome home, Kendra.” She started back to the porch, but once she was at the steps, she thought better of trying them. Instead she hiked herself to the edge and used her hands to move her left leg. The effort cost her every drop of strength she had left. She broke into a sweat, and for a moment she was afraid the subtle nausea she’d experienced all day was going to overwhelm her. She lay down carefully and gazed up at the porch roof.
Her physical therapist had told her that recovery was a fine balance between pushing herself and not pushing herself. Today she had landed heavily on the side of the first.
Kendra had spent very little time asking herself why the carjacking had happened to her. She didn’t believe in a universe that protected one person at the expense of another. She didn’t expect favoritism from God, but she had asked herself how she had let anger at Isaac lead her into that dark parking lot when she had been too sick to fend for herself.
The answer hadn’t pleased her. She had been angry at Isaac for a long time. Angry that he held no new aspirations for their marriage. Angry that the man who could sense every undercurrent at work had no idea she was unhappy. Or, worse, that he knew it and thought the unhappiness would simply pass without intervention.
The night she’d been shot, she had set out to prove something. By doing so, she had set in motion a chain of events that now had her staring up at a beadboard ceiling.
“Well, who’d have thought it?”
She liked the sound of her voice here. She was soft-spoken, easy to miss in a noisy newsroom, easy to ignore when the man she was speaking to had more important things on his mind. Here her voice seemed to fill the silence between the calls of cardinals and the chittering of chickadees. It sounded important, as if there was every reason to sit up and take notice. It sounded at home, as if it belonged with the rustling of treetops, the scurrying of squirrels.
“I will make myself happy here.” She liked the sound of this. She could almost believe it.
The panic was subsiding. The air was growing cooler. A breeze through the dogtrot played with her hair and cooled her cheeks. The nausea diminished. She wasn’t on a timetable. Sam and Elisa had made the bed. She had towels, food, water. She was okay. She could count nailheads or knots in the timber until sunset was a memory. She had nowhere to go and nothing to do. No one expected anything of her now.
She wondered how Isaac was feeling as he drove back toward D.C. Sad. She truly believed that would be part of it. He had closed his eyes to the problems between them for so long that all this had come as an unwelcome surprise. Angry. That too. Isaac wanted his world to be governed by rules and logic. Now he suspected mental foul play and didn’t know how to find the culprit.
Relieved.
Relief was the one that was an ache inside her. But she knew this was not something she imagined. This new wife, with the injured spine and the damaged organs, this wife who required waiting on and hand-holding, this wife who he apparently considered too fragile to make love to... This wife was someone he wasn’t certain how to cope with. Isaac would never refuse to try. But having taken that decision out of his hands, she was certain he was grateful.
She sighed. This, too, sounded natural here. She thought that perhaps Isaac’s grandmother had indulged in many such sighs on this porch. If it was true, Kendra was sorry.
* * *
In the late afternoon she slowly unpacked the boxes, noting all the things she hadn’t had room to bring. For this first trip to the cabin she had chosen only the most practical items, and others, like the quilts, that had sentimental value. She planned to ask Isaac to ship some of the small antique pieces she had defiantly collected to offset the institutional furniture that had come with their condo. The carpenter’s chest, the pie safe, the yellowware bowls she’d had no room to display in the condo’s galley kitchen. The moment she felt strong enough to drive, she would shop for more antiques in the Valley and fill the old cabin with them.
She wondered when that would be.
By six she knew she wasn’t going to have the energy to cook dinner. There was no microwave to heat frozen food. She had a narrow four-burner stove, a dorm-size refrigerator and no small appliances. She decided to buy a slow cooker as soon as she could, so in the mornings she could fashion a dinner for later, when energy was only a memory.
She settled on an apple and took it to the front porch. There was no furniture there, but she would remedy that, as well. As soon as she was able.
She was sitting on the edge, back against a pillar, when she heard a car approaching. The sky was still light, and she suspected friends, but her hands began to perspire despite the cool air of evening. She was completely alone here, and even if she called for help, it would take a long time to arrive.
With relief she noted that the old pickup that finally chugged its way up to the clearing held two women. The relief turned to pleasure when she recognized one. She got clumsily to her feet.
“Helen...” She looked at the steps and realized she wasn’t up to negotiating them to greet her closest neighbor.
Helen Henry swung her legs over the passenger seat of the truck and dusted off a printed sack of a dress. “I heard you were coming today. No reason to think that rascal of a preacher would get it wrong.”
A pretty young woman with a cloud of red-blond hair got out on the driver’s side and came around to help Helen. Kendra remembered that this was Cissy, who, along with her husband and baby daughter, lived with Helen. Kendra had met the girl briefly at the church where Sam Kinkade was the minister.
Helen, a woman in her eighties, was still vigorous, and she brushed aside Cissy’s attempts to help her down. “Day comes I can’t get myself out of this pickup, I’ll just lie down and die. I’m not down yet, am I?”
