Bluebells on the Hill

By Barbara McMahon

Copyright 2011 by Barbara McMahon

Smashwords Edition

All Rights Reserved

No part of this book may be used or
reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission from
the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in
critical articles or reviews.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters,
places and incidents are products of the author's imagination and
are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales,
organizations or persons living

or dead is entirely coincidental.

For Barbara, Candice, Carol, Diana

Kate and Lynn

You ladies rock!

CHAPTER ONE

Amanda Smith alighted from the bus, shocked
as the heat of the day engulfed her. She’d been traveling in
comfort for hours, even verging on being too cool, as the bus had
sped its way eastward from the coast. Aware of the brightness of
the cloudless day through the tinted windows, but not the heat,
she’d given no thought to the temperature until she plunged into
it. The hot noonday sun shone down with searing rays, the lack of
breeze ensuring that the heat hung close to the earth. A far cry
from the Pacific coast she’d left earlier this morning.

Looking around, however, she smiled, almost
giddy with delight to finally be here.

Twice before she’d passed through Timber,
California. Now she was here for a long visit, to look into the
possibilities of settling here on a semi-permanent basis. As much
as her job would permit.

The small main street shimmered beneath the
relentless sun, heat waves distorting the shop fronts and
reflecting non-existent puddles on the asphalt road. Slowly she
walked along the side of the bus, awaiting the driver who would
unload her suitcases. Unload hers alone, it appeared, as no one
else had disembarked. Once done, he’d drive on.

The depot for Timber consisted of a small
wooden attachment to the gas station: one window for tickets, a
wooden bench serving as the waiting area. What did a person do in
the rain? she wondered idly as she waited for her luggage.

'I'll have your things in a jiffy, miss.' The
bus driver joined her on the hot pavement. With a quick jerk, he
opened the side panel, revealing the capacious luggage compartment.
Reaching among the bags, he unerringly pulled out her large, plaid,
soft-sided suitcase, and the battered guitar case.

'These all, right, miss?'

'Yes, thanks.' Amanda took them from him.

Slamming down the compartment door, he
sketched a small salute and returned to the bus. Amanda turned and
approached the ticket window. She’d passed through this small
mountain town before, across the narrow bridge on the approach to
Timber—a concrete structure spanning the Mokelumne River,
connecting Timber with the western part of the state. This time,
though, she was not passing through. She was stopping. Staying for
a while.

Her blonde hair absorbing the heat, Amanda
felt the full strength of the sun beating through to her scalp.
Perspiration beaded on her forehead, ran between her breasts. She
took a deep breath. It didn't help; the air was hot, still.

Dropping her suitcase and case near the
wooden building, she turned to watch the bus as it lumbered down
the street and began its climb as the highway wound upwards,
heading north, to greater heights.

For a town named Timber, the most notable
aspect of the trees was the lack of them. True, at the city limits,
the Sierra forest began, but within sight there were few trees,
none of great size or age. Her eyes followed the bus until it
rounded the bend and was lost from view. She dropped her gaze
closer.

The town was small. This she had known, but
the actual sight of it from the ground only emphasized it. From the
furthermost building to the bus depot where she was standing didn’t
cover two city blocks in length, if that. She could see the entire
town from her vantage point.

Of course, that was what she was seeking. A
small community, as different from the cities she had been working
in as she could find. This place was perfect. Few cars, no garish
neon signs, and only a couple of buildings taller than a single
story. Smiling involuntarily, Amanda felt a warm welcoming flow
through her, a strong feeling of nostalgia, of deja vu, and of
homecoming.

The fronts to the various stores and shops
were irregular and without pattern. Two were two- storied, others
low, still others with a high facade masking their small status.
Red was a popular color; she counted five stores painted red. White
was predominant, with beige, blue and yellow also in evidence.
There was even a brick building to her left, an unusual sight in
the Sierra Nevada.

'Can I help you?'

She turned to find a small, wizened man at
the ticket window gravely studying her.

'Is there somewhere I can leave my luggage
for a while?' she asked, indicating the pieces lying by her
feet.

'Sure, put them on the bench. I'll keep an
eye on them for you. They'll be okay there.'

Frowning with hesitation, she looked at the
bench, out of direct view from his window. Then she glanced down
the sleepy street. The few people in sight on the pavements chatted
easily with one another, calling out friendly greetings, nodding as
they passed. No one was interested in her or her luggage.

She turned back. 'Thank you, I won't be too
long.' Pushing the heavy suitcase against the building, she rested
the guitar case against it. With a smile, she turned back to the
ticket agent.

'I'll watch 'em, miss, don't you fret.' He
looked like somebody's grandfather.

She nodded, hitching her shoulder bag up
higher. Again she surveyed the town, this time seeking a specific
place, slowly moving to an establishment which caught her eye.

'Gold Country Properties', the sign hanging
before the large window proclaimed. It was faded, weathered,
hanging from rusty chains, stationary in the hot sun. A dozen or so
photos were taped to the window, each a picture of a house, or an
expanse of land, presumably for sale.

She pushed on the glass door; it opened
inward and she immediately felt the blessed coolness. There were
only two people in the office: a gray-haired man seated behind a
desk in the rear of the large room, and an equally gray-haired
woman seated opposite him. While there were three other desks in
the office, with evidence of occupation, computers, phones, maps,
open survey books, their owners were absent. Perhaps showing
property.

Amanda wasn't sure the couple in the rear had
heard her and she waited patiently for them to finish. The older
woman was speaking; she had a loud, whiny voice.

'... but not to Mac. I'm absolutely adamant
about that, Martin. Not to Mac!'

'Be reasonable, Cora.' The man was patient,
as one who had been over this before. 'No one else will take it. If
you’re leaving, why do you care who gets it? Take what money you
can get and go on along to Phoenix. Julie'll be so glad to have you
close. Forget us here.'

'No, Martin, not to Mac.' She was firm. 'How
do you know no one else will take it? Advertise and find out.'

'Cora, if I advertise, I have to sell it to
whoever offers the best price. It's the law. I cannot refuse to
accept an offer just because it comes from someone you don't
like.'

'Then don't advertise,' she muttered.

'Then nobody will know it’s available and
you'll never get it sold.' He leaned back in his chair. 'It's not
worth much anyway. The house is old and small, away from town, no
near neighbors, few amenities, surrounded by trees and precious
little else. You'll be hard pressed to find anyone who wants a
place like that Cora, be realistic.'

'I might be interested,' Amanda spoke up.

The woman swiveled round to see who had
spoken. The man leaned sideways in his chair to see around Cora.
They saw the young woman by the door. She was tall, thin. Skinny,
almost, the man thought. Her dark hair was drawn back in a single
plait down her back. Large tinted glasses hid her expression like a
mask.

'Who are you?' the woman named Cora
asked.

'My name is Mandy Smith.' The young woman
walked back.

'Not from around here, are you, miss?' the
man asked, his tone more cordial than Cora's. She could be, her
faded jeans, scuffed boots and cotton shirt the same attire
everyone wore nowadays. Everybody young, that was.

'No, but I'm interested in settling here. I
came in to find a place.'

He looked at her for a moment, rubbing his
chin, obviously phrasing his words carefully. 'The, uh, place in
question is for sale, not for rent.'

'Yes, so I gathered from your conversation. I
would like to see it. I might be interested .’

'It's out of town a few miles,' he said.

'With no near neighbors and lots of trees,'
she repeated.

'Yes, that's right, girl,' the old woman
said. 'It's a mite run down, needs a little work, but it's real
pleasant to sit out on the porch and hear the breeze rustle through
the trees in the evening.' She turned back to the man. 'Take her
up, Martin. Let her see what it's like.'

'There's nobody here, Cora, to answer the
phone. I can't just leave.'

'I'll answer them, if they ring. Just till
Dottie comes back. Go on, Martin. Miss Smith might want it.'

'It's for sale,' Martin said again, as if
explaining an important fact to a child.

'Don't let my clothes mislead you,' Amanda
said gently. 'If I like it, I can afford it.'

'Go on, Martin,' Cora urged.

'Okay, Okay.' He rose, picked up his hat from
the nearby rack and came around his desk. 'Okay, young lady, we'll
go see it. Mind the phone, Cora.'

Amanda preceded him from the office, pausing
on the pavement. 'I don't have a car.'

'No problem, we'll go in mine. This way.'
Martin led the way up the street a few yards. Opening the door of a
dusty dark blue SUV, he motioned her in.

'I'm Martin Roberts, I own the realty firm.'
He nodded back to the office as he climbed into the vehicle. 'Sales
are picking up a little, now that summer's started. My other people
are out showing property. Mostly to weekenders,' he tacked on as an
afterthought.

He started the engine.

Martin Roberts didn't talk as they drove
through Timber. No hard sales pitch here, Amanda thought, amused.
Not that she wanted one; she was content to gaze out the window,
watching for landmarks and enjoying the scenery as they left the
town’s buildings behind and sped along the highway that cut through
the forest, following the route the bus had taken only a short time
before.

Immediately the air felt cooler, the
difference between the hot town and the cooler highway due to the
lofty trees enclosing the asphalt strip, sheltering it, shading it,
as it slashed its way up the mountain.

It was only a few minutes before Martin
slowed to turn into a dirt and gravel side-road. Not so far out of
town. Too far to walk, obviously, but less than five minutes by
car.

'This leads to Cora's place. She only has a
small house and an acre or so of land. All the rest here belongs to
Mac. His land completely encircles Cora's. This road’s an easement.
No problem getting to and from the highway. Got electricity and
city water and sewer.'

Amanda listened to his description, his
explanations, smiling at the 'city water' phrase. Well, to each his
own. If the folks of Timber considered Timber a city, why not? It
certainly was not like the cities she was familiar with, but no
matter.

Amanda wondered again why Cora was so adamant
about refusing to sell to this Mac. It would make sense to sell to
him, to enable the land to become part of the property which
surrounded it. To have a ready, willing buyer, rather than depend
upon chance. Maybe this property wouldn't be for her after all.
Maybe Mac would still get it.

'Why won't Cora sell it to Mac?' she asked
aloud.

'Old family feud. Cora wants to go to Arizona
to be near her daughter. Needs to sell this place, but because of
something that happened years ago, she refuses to sell it to Mac.
Too bad, it's the logical thing.'

There were tall Ponderosa pines, Douglas firs
and California cedars growing on both sides of the road. A mature
madrone whose branches spread across the drive shelter the opening
to a pretty, gently sloping, grassy meadow on the left. Ahead, a
smaller, rutted track branched off to the right. Martin turned on
to it and stopped.

The house was more like a mountain cabin, old
and tired. A chunk was missing from part of the roof near the left
edge. The front was faded and shabby. Its large wooden deck gave
the place its only attractive feature, yet it, too, needed
repair.