Finders Keepers (30 page)

And God the Father had welcomed him home.

Did that mean he was somehow supposed to forgive Grace? She had walked a path of sinfulness that brought a dire consequence—an unexpected child and an unwelcome choice. Maybe her red-coated visits to him, her gift of the little toy chick, even her bequest of the family mansion were his mother’s attempts to seek his forgiveness. But how could he forgive a dead woman? How could he forgive the pain she had caused?

He didn’t forgive,
Montgomery had said of the prodigal’s angry brother.
And you know what I think? I think he was the saddest one in the whole story.

Feeling as though a whirlwind was raging through his soul, Zachary strode through the empty house, his footfalls echoing in the silence. Stepping out the back door, he paused on the long porch and sucked down a breath of air. Here his mother had sat, fanning herself on long, hot summer afternoons. Zachary sank onto the steps that led to the expanse of back lawn and rubbed his eyes, wishing he could erase that image.

“Zachary?” Elizabeth stood at the foot of the porch steps. “Nick said he saw you come over here after church. And then I spotted you a minute ago when I was out on the swing. Do you want to come over for some apple cobbler?”

He studied her slender figure, outlined by the noon sun that glistened on her hair. She had taken down the bun, and her hair swung to her shoulders, thick and soft. Though she still wore the pink skirt, she had pulled the blouse loose from the waistband, and its hem brushed against her hips. She was barefoot.

“Will you sit down here with me, Elizabeth?”

Without asking for an explanation, she climbed the steps and settled beside him. Her skirt touched the tips of her toes as she crooked her legs and wrapped her arms around them. Closing her eyes, she rested her head on her knees. The sunshine kissed her cheek in the exact spot where Zachary wished he could place his own lips.

He didn’t want to be bitter. He didn’t want to end up as the saddest one in the story. God had forgiven him, so why couldn’t he forgive? Why couldn’t he let go of the pain?

“Elizabeth,” he said.

She opened her eyes and gazed at him.

He let out a breath of acceptance. “Will you please tell me everything you remember about my mother?”

“This was where she and I used to sit together on Saturday mornings,” Elizabeth began, pointing to the former location of the settee in the Chalmers House front parlor. She wished she could paint for Zachary a perfect word picture of Grace, but how could she ever recapture the quiet kindness of the woman she had known and loved?

“A Regency-era couch used to sit right here,” she explained. “It was upholstered in gold brocade, and Grace kept it covered with fringed pillows. She would sit and spread out her skirts as though she were a sort of Southern debutante. Her parents had brought her up to use elegant manners at all times, she told me. Whenever I dropped by to visit wearing shorts and a T-shirt, she was always gracious. But I could tell that, deep down, she was mortified at my appearance.”

With Zachary following, Elizabeth motioned to another part of the parlor. “Her tea trolley stood right here, oak with brass fittings, and Grace would ring a small silver bell to have the tea brought out. In a few minutes, old Eben Huff, her butler, would toddle out of the kitchen with a tray in his arms. Grace told me that Eben’s ancestors had been slaves but that her father had bought the whole family and set them free. Al Huff and his son, Bud, are descendants of that same family. I think Eben was a great-uncle, or something like that. He never married. He wasn’t much older than Grace, and they were great friends in spite of their different social roles. He died a few years before she did. After that, I’d bring the tea from the kitchen myself.”

“I guess Eben wasn’t a candidate for the role of my father,” Zachary observed with a slight chuckle.

Elizabeth shook her head. “No, and I can’t figure out who was. Grace never spoke fondly of any man other than her father and Eben. She just talked about her family and closest friends—and always with such devoted love. That’s how she and I spent our Saturday morning teatimes. Talking.”

She pointed across the room. “Gold candelabras stood on a side table over there, and a gold fire screen right here. Your mother loved to light candles and have Eben lay out a fire. I think she secretly enjoyed the fact that the house was a little drafty. It meant she could snuggle right up close to the hearth.”

Zachary poked his head into the empty fireplace and peered up the chimney. “Drafty is an understatement. The damper’s rusted through. And here’s a bad sign,” he said, lifting a small blue feather from the iron grate. “Birds must be nesting in the flue. There might even be a few bats up there.”

He walked to one of the long double-paned glass windows. When he touched the frame, it rattled. But when he tried to raise it, he discovered that it had been painted shut. Letting out a breath of frustration, Zachary knelt and put his ear to the floor near an outside wall.

“Termites,” he said. “They sound like a fizzing Coke. This floor won’t hold up long.”

He walked around for a moment, locating one squeaky board after another with his foot. With each creak, Elizabeth felt her heart sink. As his practiced eye roved upward to examine the ceiling, she noted for the first time a series of long cracks that had formed around the hanging light fixture. It was the only thing the auctioneer hadn’t sold, Elizabeth realized. The heavy chandelier hung with dusty crystals, those that weren’t missing. Most of the small, flame-shaped bulbs were gone, too.

“Inefficient heating system,” Zachary said, running his hand over the old radiator that had sung and hissed to Grace all winter. “These things put a lot of moisture into the air, which can be good. But most of the heat will rise up to those tall ceilings. Why they built twelve-foot ceilings in a region where the temperature can hover around zero, I’ll never understand. The floors probably stay ice cold.”

Elizabeth swallowed, recalling the way Grace had lamented her aching feet each winter. Her ankles hurt, she had complained, and her toes were numb. Not even the pair of woolly house shoes Elizabeth had given her one Christmas made much of a difference.

Zachary was peering into a wall switch that had lost its elegant porcelain cover to the auctioneer. “These wires are a fire hazard,” he said. “Look at the way they’re frayed. One spark and—”

“Did you want me to tell you about Grace?” Elizabeth said. “Or are you more interested in inspecting the house?”

His shoulders dropped, and he shook his head. “I’m sorry. I guess it’s a little hard for me to hear you talking about her. It’s easier to focus on reality.”

“Reality is that Grace was your mother.”

He studied the floor for a moment. “I’m trying to accept that.”

“Do you need more proof?”

“Maybe.”

“Why don’t you talk to Ruby McCann? From the things she hinted about at the church picnic, I have a feeling she knows a lot about Grace Chalmers’s past.”

“I considered calling her, but if she confirms the truth to me, she might decide she doesn’t have to keep her secret any longer. And before I can blink, the whole town will know.”

“Are you ashamed?”

He shrugged. “Obviously, my birth was considered a deep, dark, ugly secret. Maybe there’s a reason for that.”

“Zachary, Grace wasn’t married when she conceived you. Of course she felt ashamed. I’m sure her parents were horrified. But that doesn’t have anything to do with the man you are today.”

“Doesn’t it?” He lifted his head and eyed her.

“Not to me.”

He nodded. “It’s a new concept, though. I spent years trying to accept the fact that my parents had written me off when the house got too crowded. Now I find out I was illegitimate.”

“No one can choose the way he comes into this world, Zachary. Your mother’s sins don’t change who you are. You’re legitimately loved by God. Unconditionally forgiven. Completely accepted.”

As though this was almost too hard to hear, Zachary walked out of the parlor and into the foyer. “I’m going to keep this property,” he declared, turning to Elizabeth. His eyes blazed. “Phil Fox and the city of Ambleside aren’t going to get one particle of dust, not one splinter. Nothing. This place is mine.”

Without another word, he stalked outside. Elizabeth stared after him. What did he mean? Was he going to keep the mansion standing? Or did he just intend to salvage the property?

She hurried after him. He was already fiddling with his keys, and the moment she exited, he locked the front door. “Zachary, I hope you’re planning to save the house,” she said as he strode past her.

“It’s in lousy shape.” His voice was gruff.

“I realize that, but …”

She slowed, realizing that he was headed for her own porch.
Dear God, this man is so confusing!
Elizabeth lifted her head to a patch of brilliant blue sky framed with green oak leaves.
Please give me your words and not my own. I don’t know how to talk to him. I don’t know what he needs. I care about him, Father … no, I love Zachary … but he frustrates me so much!

“Are you coming?” he called. “I need to get into your store.”

Shaking herself from her prayer, Elizabeth ran across the grass. “Zachary, it’s Sunday. You know I don’t do business on Sundays.”

“I want my family Bible.”

Breathless, she stepped up onto the porch. “It’s right there on that little table where I—”

The table beside the wooden swing was empty. Confused, she searched the other furniture on the porch—a pair of old wicker chairs, a bamboo cart, a small table. Certain she had been reading the Bible as she sat on the swing only the day before, Elizabeth frowned.

“Maybe I put it back on the counter in the shop,” she said. “I’d been keeping it there earlier, so maybe out of habit—”

“Mommy, are we going to eat the gobbler?” Nick asked, coming out onto the porch. “Oh hey, Zachary! Did you come over to our house to have dessert with us? Mommy made a gobbler out of apples. Gobblers are my favorite food of all.”

Zachary smiled. “More than hot dogs and bean burritos?”

Nick pondered this. “But I don’t like pizza,” he said solemnly. “Not at all.”

“Nick, sweetheart,” Elizabeth said, touching his cheek to help him focus on her face. “Have you seen that old Bible I used to keep out here on the porch?”

The boy’s face flushed instantly with guilt. “That old Bible?”

“Grace’s Bible. The one you took to the park in your backpack.”

He began to breathe heavily. “You like to read it on the porch, don’t you, Mommy?”

“Yes, I do, but now it’s not here.”

“I think that sometimes you keep that Bible on the counter inside the shop.”

“Did you put it there, Nick?”

“I’m not sure … but I think I … maybe I did … or maybe not.”

“Nick, good grief, you ought to know if you moved the Bible. I’ve told you not to touch it anymore. It’s very old and fragile.”

Irritated, she walked through her living room and down the hall to the door that connected her apartment to Finders Keepers. She could hear two pairs of feet behind her, one firm and masculine, the other practically dancing with nervousness.

She switched on an old beaded lamp and made her way through the familiar clutter of antique cupboards, trunks, and rocking chairs. It didn’t take long to recognize the smooth, polished surface of the old glass counter. She could see nothing on it but her cash register.

“Nick?”

“Could I go to Magunnery’s house?” he asked breathlessly. “We could play in her tepee, and I won’t even mind if I don’t get to eat the gobbler. Not at all.”

“Nick.” Elizabeth put her hands on her hips. “Where is Grace’s Bible?”

“Oh, bother,” he whispered.

“What did you do with it?”

“Well, I thought that … I thought … I didn’t mean to …”

“Didn’t mean to what?”

“To … to …”

Elizabeth knew from experience that this could go on for hours. The more nervous Nick became, the less he was able to speak clearly. She supposed the abuse he had received in the Romanian orphanage had terrified him to such a depth that any confession of wrongdoing was all but impossible.

“Did you move the Bible?” she asked as gently as possible.

“I think I did,” he said in an almost inaudible voice. “But maybe not. No, I don’t think so. But I might have.”

“Is the Bible in the shop?”

His green eyes flicked around the room. “Umm … ummm …”

“Did you hide the Bible?”

“No.” He shook his head violently, clearly thankful that this truth could be told. “No, Mommy, I didn’t hide it.”

“Nick,” Zachary said, crouching down to face the boy at eye level. “I was hoping to take the Bible home with me to my apartment. Do you know where it is?”

Nick gulped audibly. “It’s not here.”

“And so … where is it?”

Another gulp preceded a guttural moan. “I didn’t mean to.”

“Whatever you did is OK,” Zachary said. “Just tell me where you put the Bible.”

Nick wrung his hands, glanced at his mother, swallowed three times, and finally mouthed a whispered sentence. “I gave it away.”