Forever Wife (3 page)

They tossed their trash and washed up in the restroom, before settling on the swings behind the picnic tables.  “We need a plan, Liz.  We need to find a way
to stop the developer in his tracks.  What can we do?”

“Research,” Liz said, as the inspiration came to her.  “Do you have
Internet? Or do we have to go to the library?”

“You are too funny,” Tracy groaned.  “Of course I have
Internet.  It’s just cable, but that’s all you can get out here.  And it’s not the fastest, but it gets the job done.”

“Okay, then. We have to see what others have done in similar situations.  We have to find out who is buying the property, and what their plans are. If it really is some big resort, we may have a battle on our hands.”

“Why?”

“Because
some of locals may want it to go through.  It could mean new jobs, a boost to the economy.  We would have to prove that the casino would be harmful somehow, damage the ecology of the area.  Or we have to convince the locals that the casino is not in their best interests – increased crime, or something.  Eventually we can go door to door to get others interested in our cause, maybe stage a protest.  But for now, we have to research our options.”

Tracy grinned, giving Liz two thumbs up. “I knew I could count on you! Thanks, Liz.”

* * * * *

Vidar slung his overnight bag over a shoulder and departed the plane with an audible sigh.  He hated using the metallic cages, dependent upon mere mortals to transport him, but he’d found that it was often necessary in today’s world.  It would be too suspicious if he conducted business in the morning in Denver, and in the evening in Portsmouth of the same day.  Hiding his true nature became
more difficult even as it became increasingly more important.  

He maneuvered around the slower moving
pedestrians, wending his way to the car rental booth near baggage claim.  Again, in the old days he could have stirred a bit of magic to transport himself to any desired location.  Now, mortals expected him to arrive in the mundane conveyance – the automobile.  He requested a higher end option, as his long legs just didn’t fit into the compact contraptions.  Eventually he was behind the wheel of a Ford Explorer.  Not quite the comfort of a Cadillac, but far more practical for the rough mountain roads in this region. 

He had an overnight bag, his laptop and wheels – what he didn’t have was an exact location.
He had avoided Scrimshaw Lake for years and he would never set foot in Camp Birches again. Too many bittersweet memories were tied up there.  Yet, he couldn’t bear the thought of anyone else living there – touching the Shelburne’s things, maybe discarding them.  Bulldozing it had seemed like the right decision at the time… but although he had bulldozed the neighbor’s place, he had yet to allow anyone onto the Shelburne property. 

Mr. Holcombe was the current
wrench in the cog of progress.  He would start there. 

The years hadn’t been kind to Holcombe’s place and it had been in bad shape
back when he had first met the old man.  He chuckled as he recalled the occasion.  Elizabeth Shelburne had been quite the tomboy.  There weren’t any little girls to play with, as the Gates girl hadn’t moved to the area yet.  The passel of little boys she ran with had dared her to throw eggs at the Holcombe place, claiming that it was haunted by his ghost and that the barrage of eggs would drive away the evil spirit.  The boys had laid in a massive store of eggs – who knew how many kitchens they had raided to gather that many! 

His little Beth had quite the throwing arm.  She nailed the side of the house with a dozen eggs, and growing bolder as nothing happened,
drew closer and closer to her target.  She didn’t hear Edgar come up behind her from the woods.  He grabbed her by one of her pigtails and hauled her inside the cabin to call her folks.  The boys – rapscallions all – had fled from the scene of the crime.

Vidar was sorry that he hadn’t been the one to get that call.  Things would have gone far differently if he had.  Instead, the Shelburnes came to collect their somewhat repentant daughter.  They offered Edgar Holcombe money to repaint his home and grounded her for a week.  That was hardly a punishment, as her bedroom was jam packed with every toy a child could possibly want.  She was free to go about the house, eat meals with the family and watch her favorite television programs.

Vidar would have put her over his knee right at the scene of the crime. Then he would have equipped her with a bucket of soapy water and a rag, and insisted that she scrub all trace of the egg from the weathered siding.  It would have taken her the better part of a week to complete and he was sure that combined with the well-deserved spanking, it would have taught her respect for the property of others. 

He shook his head.  Sadly, she was not his responsibility any more.  Although he was her godfather, she was no longer a child when her parents
had passed away.  She did not need or want him around.

The miles fled by while he’d reminisced about the past.  All too soon, Vidar parked in the gravel clearing behind Holcombe’s camp.  With a wry grin, he realized he could still see the stains on the siding from those eggs.  He didn’t know what Holcombe had spent th
e money on that the Shelburnes had given him, but it hadn’t been on paint or siding. 

“No need to get out of that fancy car, mister,” cackled an old voice. 

Vidar looked up into the wrinkled face of the wizened old man.  He ran a quick mental calculation – Holcombe had appeared to be in his sixties back in the 1980’s when Vidar had first started coming to the lake.  He’d be in his nineties now.  Vidar straightened, humbled.  “Hello, Edgar,” he began.  “Do you remember me?”

Edgar nodded, the action making him nearly lose his balance that he only maintained with the aid of
the hand-carved cane at his side.  “I know what you are,” he said menacingly.

Vidar didn’t move, clenching his fists as an ice-cold sense of dread ran down his spine.

“You’re a vulture.  You hang around decent folk, ready to pounce on their corpses the minute life knocks ’em down.  You were their friend, you weasel, you!  And you stole that cabin right out from under
’
em.  About near killed ’em, it did.”

“Sir, you are speaking on something you know nothing about,” Vidar said coolly.  “I assume you’re talking about the Shelburne’s Camp Birches.  I had no idea he was doing so poorly financially.  But when I saw that he was about to lose his beloved camp, I bought it from him and
allowed him to live there for the rest of his life.  I would have done anything for that man – I loved him like a father.  But he was proud and would not take my help.”

“And you think I ain’t got pride!”  The old man straightened and shook his cane at Vidar.  “I ain’t selling to you, and that’s that!”

Vidar climbed the stairs and joined the old man on his porch.  He opened the door, gesturing for Holcombe to precede him inside.  “Let’s talk about this over a cup of coffee, shall we? Let me tell you what my plans are for the lake, and then if you still do not want to work with me, I will leave you in peace.”

Holcombe seemed to sparkle beneath his crabby, weathered visage. Vidar realized that it wasn’t pride or money that made him hold out against the development of Scrimshaw Lake, but loneliness.  The old man had not one relative left in the world.  Yes, he had often talked about moving south and living in a retirement village, but that was no longer possible.  In his mind, he was
simply too old to leave the only home he had ever known. 

Vidar did not really need the old man’s property to build the elaborate casino.  He only wanted it so he could bulldoze it. It was ugly. It was the first thing people would see when they gazed out the window of his fancy resort.  They would see the clear, pristine water of the lake, the thick birches surrounding the water and often reflected upon its surface. They would see the rolling White Mountains of New Hampshire, and they would see old Holcombe’s tarpaper shack. 

Vidar had an idea.  “We only wanted your property, sir, to take advantage of a government-subsidized improvement grant.  We wanted to fix up your place, give it a facelift. New siding, new roof, maybe new wiring.  Then we could turn around and sell it,” he lied, trying to entice the old man to his way of thinking.

“Improvement grant,” Edgar mumbled, but his piercing blue eyes betrayed his assumed lack of interest.  “Well, dag nabbit.  If you can get a
grant to fix up this old place, maybe I ought to apply for the same money.”

“Why, Edgar, that’s perfect,” Vidar gushed, as though the old man had thought it up all on his own.  Vidar brought out official-looking papers that were completely bogus, and with a little more
sweet-talking, convinced him to sign on the dotted line.  Vidar hated people who preyed upon the elderly, hated it when they tried to swindle them out of their meager savings.  But Vidar wasn’t doing that.  He was going to fix up the old man’s home and not charge him a cent, yet he’d saved the man his dignity by letting him think that the money was coming from the government, paid for by the very tax money he’d paid in over the years. 

They finished their coffee and parted as though they were best friends.  If only all of Vidar’s business dealings could run as smoothly.

It was barely dusk on a Friday afternoon.  Vidar did not have to be anywhere until Monday morning.  He did not want to see the luxurious log cabin he owned, formerly the Shelburne’s summer residence.  He absolutely did not want to go there… but somehow the rental car took him there anyway. 

He was not going to get out of the car.  Well, maybe he would.  The cabin called to him, drew him as though it were under a spell.  Something didn’t feel right… the hair on the back of his neck prickled with a sense of dread that he had learned long ago to respect. 

He was no longer a warrior.  He had given up his centuries-long duty fighting to protect his people, and in so doing, earned the name “oath breaker”.  But the cunning and skill he had learned in battle alerted him now.  He pulled his rental car around to park behind the boathouse, concealing it.  Then cautiously, he checked on the hematite he had set at the four corners outside the cabin.  They were still there, undisturbed.  They had been placed there with a powerful protection spell – whoever had invaded his home had done no damage yet.

Vidar swallowed, struggling to loosen the tightness in his throat, as he broke an
other oath he had made barely two years ago, at Mr. Shelburne’s graveside memorial service.  He walked inside the cabin.

“Thanks, Tracy,” Liz said, as she climbed from her friend’s small car.  “Let’s get together again on Sunday, after we’ve both had a chance to study our options.”

“I’m sorry we didn’t get to the grocery store,” Tracy admitted.  “Are you sure you don’t want me to take you out now?”

Liz shook her head.  Tracy had bought her breakfast. There was no way she was going to let her buy a month’s worth of groceries.  She wasn’t sure what she was going to live on, but pride kept her from confiding in her childhood friend.  “Later,” she called. 

Tracy turned her car around and pulled out of the rutted driveway, honking a friendly rhythm as she left. 

Liz sank down, sitting on the front step as she gazed out across the lake.  What was she doing here?  How could she help Tracy launch a “Save the Lake” campaign?  She couldn’t even save herself.  She needed food.  She needed a job.  She needed a reason to live. 

Life was precious, every minute of it
, but she knew she was still suffering from depression.  Partly from losing her parents so suddenly and within months of each other.  Partly from the horrible accident, which still gave her nightmares.  Then there was the terrible financial burden from her injuries.  When she couldn’t work, she couldn’t pay her bills.  The bank called her loan, and she lost everything.   

Well
, she wasn’t going to solve the problems of the universe while sitting on the front steps feeling sorry for herself.  She needed a hot shower and then she would consider her options.  She opened the door, ready to lunge up the stairs, except for the large, brooding figure blocking her way, his arms folded across his chest. Liz screamed, right before she fainted.

Vidar lunged, catching her before her head could hit the ground.  He had anticipated anger, hurt,
or pain, but never fear.  Had it been so long that she no longer even recognized him?  He shook his head, irritated with himself.  He hadn’t changed, and that was the problem.  While living with the Shelburnes he had tried to age himself gradually, tinting the hair at his temples gray and adding a little bulk to his chest as often happened to young men between their late twenties and mid-thirties.  It was just an illusion, of course and one he had dropped after that fateful day when Elizabeth told him she never wanted to see him again. 

She felt light as a feather as he scooped her into his arms.  Too light.  She was not eating well, not taking care of hers
elf.  He felt his teeth clench and his palm itch.  This one had been overindulged and under-disciplined her entire life.  What he wouldn’t do to fix that for her now!

He glanced in the mirror in the hallway
, pausing long enough to lighten his hair at the temples again.  With another hasty illusion, he added a hint of crow’s feet wrinkles in the corners of his eyes and a scowl line between his eyebrows.  Already he could feel the girl reviving, so that would have to do for now.  He carried her into the living room and sat on the sofa, still holding her.