The Forever Stone (7 page)

“Hey, this is a great horned owl,” he said. “His ear tufts are way cool! Lockie, how’d you like to meet him some dark night?” The dog thumped his tail but looked unimpressed.

Madeleine opened the fifth trunk.

Jude glanced over. “More clothes?”

“Towels. With treasures wrapped inside, no doubt.” Madeleine unrolled a towel and found a wooden duck staring up at her. She held it out to Bria. “A model duck.”

Bria took the duck into her hands as if it were made of crystal.

Jude crossed the room in a single bound. “That’s a decoy.” He squatted down to look at it. “A black duck, Bria. Kind of like we make, except it’s scratched.”

His sister caressed the long, rounded back. “Nice. It has simple lines and is probably quite old.” She turned it over. “No signature.”

Jude was digging into the trunk. “Here’s another one. A merganser?”

“A red-breasted merganser,” Bria said. “See the tuft of feathers? Good work on the head—dark green, as it should be, and the white neck ring is neatly done. It’s weathered, but that’s okay.”

Madeleine studied the two of them. Bria, saying more than one sentence at a time? Where had they learned about decoys?

“Oho!” Jude lifted out a white-crested duck. “This has got to be a hooded merganser.”

“I’ve seen pictures of those,” Madeleine said. “So pretty!”

He looked back into the trunk. “Maybe there’s some more.” He unwrapped china dogs, boxes of costume jewelry, and a pink ceramic alligator, obviously hand-painted.

He held up the alligator, grinning. “You could do better than this, Bria.”

His sister frowned at him.

“Let’s put it all back,” Madeleine said. “I don’t think Aunt Lin is going to be interested in this stuff.”

Jude looked astonished. “But the decoys!”

“I’ll show her the decoys.” His enthusiasm piqued her curiosity. Perhaps they were valuable. “Are you hungry? Let’s get ourselves some lunch. I made applesauce, and there’s plenty of ham for sandwiches.”

While they ate, she thought about the decoys and Jude’s remark: ‘like we make.’

“So, who in your family makes decoys?” she asked him.

“We mostly work together.”

Bria said nothing, but Madeleine addressed a question to her. “Is that what you were painting yesterday?”

“Yes.” Jude sounded eager. “We’re getting a whole bunch ready for a . . . a
consignment
.” He said the word as if it were newly minted. “We’re going to earn a lot of money.”

So the two of them made decoys. Perhaps decoys were a valuable commodity around here. And older ones more so?

Bria put down her sandwich. “That’s what he said, anyway.”

“Who?”

Again it was Jude who answered. “Kent. He says he can recognize quality when he sees it.” His voice grew hopeful. “You never know.”

Bria gave him a warning frown and pushed her chair back from the table. “What would you like us to do this afternoon?”

“We’ll clean out a couple of closets, and then I’ve got a baking project. Want to help?”

Jude’s eyes took on a sparkle. “What’re we going to bake?”

“Our supper. And my aunt likes carrot cake.”

He jumped up from the table. “Can I see your recipes?”

Bria shook her head in mock despair. “He’s a crazy guy. I never heard of a kid who liked to cook so much.”

Jude struck a dignified pose. “Most of the great chefs are men. Someday I might have my own restaurant.”

Madeleine laughed at them both and found her recipes for Jude.

“Here’s one with coconut that looks good,” he said. “And cream cheese icing. Do we have cream cheese?”

“I think so. Bria, you choose what to make for supper.”

“No hot dogs, okay?” Jude said.

His sister gave him a look of reproof and bent over the cookbook.

Madeleine started Jude grating carrots while she set out the other ingredients. He mixed up the cake with ease and slid it into the oven, looking gratified.

He smiled to himself while he beat the cream cheese for icing, and from time to time, he dipped in a finger, which seemed to be his method of checking for consistency.

Madeleine watched him lick off his finger, thinking what an unusual child he was. No, not a child. Something in those dark eyes was older than you’d expect at fourteen.

Bria worked with her usual competence. For supper, she had decided on chicken baked with rice and green beans, and apart from a question or two, produced it by herself.

“You guys are pretty good,” Madeleine said while they were cleaning up. “Where did you learn to cook?”

Jude started to answer, and Bria interrupted. “He’s always liked to mess around in the kitchen.”

After supper, Jude looked longingly at the cake and Madeleine knew what he was thinking. “I’m sure Aunt Lin won’t care if we each have a piece,” she said. “It’s not for a party—it’s just for us. A cook should always test his work.” 

They left soon afterwards, apparently unconcerned about the darkening sky. She was turning back to the house when she realized that a green Bronco was halfway up the drive.

“I will not have this.” She said it aloud, her voice indignant, but deep inside, she had started to tremble. She should confront this man, tell him he was not welcome. She should say, ‘Don’t you come here when my aunt is gone.’

Right, that’s what she should do. She reached for her purse and jacket. As an afterthought, she snatched up her notebook.

Kent was getting out of his car when she stepped outside. The door locked behind her with a click.

He gave her a beckoning sort of smile, as if he thought she had come out to greet him. He hurried toward her, carrying a white plastic bag, and gestured at the woods. “Do those kids come over here much?”

What business was it of his? But all she said was, “Why?”

“They can be pests.” He looked smug. “I wouldn’t want them to become a nuisance.” He moved closer, taking up too much of her space, and lowered his voice. “Their mother lets them run wild. Of course, she’s a sad case, herself. You wouldn’t believe—”

She opened her mouth to interrupt, to tell him to go away and never come back, but found herself stepping around him, heading for her car. “I’m sorry,” she said over her shoulder. “I was just leaving.”

“But—” He lifted the white bag, looking forlorn. “I brought ice cream.”

She had reached the car. Inside, and safe. Not proud of herself, but safe. She started the engine and lowered the window. “Another time,” she called. “When Aunt Lin gets back.”

She threw him a wave, squeezed her car past his Bronco, and went on down the driveway, trying to focus her thoughts. Cold in here. Close the window. Turn on the headlights.

Would he follow her? Probably not.

Just an over-eager puppy. So why was she still trembling? And her neck had started to ache.

She rubbed at her neck and kept an eye on the rearview mirror while she thought about where to go. How about the library in Hammonton? Would it be open on a Saturday night?

Timothy would know.

She parked at one side of the store, hoping Kent wouldn’t see her car if he happened to drive past. The OPEN sign was gone, and the door was locked. Not surprising for a small town.

Through the glass she could see a dim light and someone moving around. He might still be in there. Bria said he didn’t mind opening up after hours. She knocked timidly, glancing at the dark street.

A voice answered, and Timothy limped over to unlock the door. She stepped quickly inside, knowing he would wonder, but she didn’t care.

“Hello again,” Timothy said. “Brr-rr! It’s cold out there. You in a hurry? Running away from the Jersey Devil?”

He chuckled and limped ahead of her into the store, finally stopping to lean against the counter. “It’s our local legend,” he said. “A mystical creature that’s half horse and half man. With wings. I almost forgot the wings. Some of our staunchest citizens claim to have seen it flying out of the swamps at night.”

His smile eased the tension clawing at her neck.

“I’m sorry to bother you,” she said, “I just wanted to find out—”

“No bother at all, Mrs. Burke.” 

“Please, call me Madeleine,” she said. “I wanted to go to the library at Hammonton. Will it still be open?”

Such a trivial question.

He looked regretful. “Not on a Saturday evening. Do you need some books?”

“I’ve got plenty to read, but I thought I’d get started on my research. Tonight would have been a convenient time.”

Too much explaining. And now she’d have to go back to the house, that dark house. Would Kent hang around, waiting for her?

Timothy studied her with his wise old eyes, and she had the feeling that he knew what had happened.

She should say, “Never mind. Another time,” sounding brave and careless, but she couldn’t manage it, not under his searching gaze.

A shrill burbling came from his office, and Timothy said, “I’m making tea. Won’t you please join me?”

She hesitated. Had Kent gone by now?  

“It’s very good tea. Earl Grey.” Timothy’s brown eyes looked hopeful.

“Thank you,” she said.

“Then I’ll just lock up my pretties.” He bent over the display case, and she looked to see what he was referring to. Beside the knives was a row of paperweights, each with a striking design captured in the glass.

“Fascinating, aren’t they?” he said. “I’ve seen some that are incredibly complex.”

All the paperweights were round, except the one with red roses, which was an egg-shaped oval, like hers.

He opened the cabinet door. “Would you like to take a closer look?”

She backed away. “Oh, no. I already have one that . . . that someone gave me.”

He nodded, locked the cabinet, and moved on down the counter. She followed, pausing when he stopped to lock another sliding door. He had model ducks at this end. No, she corrected herself, decoys. One was a mallard, she could tell that much.

He straightened, slowly. “That’s it for the night. Let’s have our tea.”

With the lamps lit, Timothy’s office looked inviting, more like a well-used living room than a work space. “Let’s be comfortable,” he said, and when he’d filled their mugs, he led her to the sofa and chairs at the far end. She sat cross-legged on the sofa, and he lowered himself into one of the chairs with a faint grimace.

He stirred his tea, dropped in another cube of sugar, and stirred again. “I never did properly welcome you,” he said. “What do you think of our pine barrens?”

“The woods around here? Different, but pretty. I sort of knew that because . . . because I’d heard about them.” She hurried on. “Have you lived here all your life?”

“No. Right after high school, I ran off. Had to see the world.”

“But you came back. When?”

“Only eight years ago—I’m practically a tourist.”

“Tell me why? And what you’ve been doing since?”

Timothy paused to think, and the doctor stepped silently through the door beside them. The old man glanced up. “There’s tea left, Nathan.”

He lifted the mug in his hand. “Thanks, I’ve got plenty.”

“Sit for a minute.” Timothy waved at the other chair. “She’s got me talking, and I’m not about to stop.” 

The doctor nodded at her as he put his mug on the table between them. If the writing were going well, he’d say so. They always did. But he leaned back against the thick green cushions and closed his eyes.

Timothy told her how he’d been injured while he was stationed in Alaska, had  remembered his growing-up years in the Barrens, and decided it might be a good place to heal.

He nodded in affirmation. “People think it’s just trees and sand, but there’s something here that never quite let go of me.”

None of his family was left so he’d started working at the store and ended up buying it from the ninety-year-old owner. With the help of electricity and indoor plumbing, he’d modernized it, expanded the business, and by God’s grace, it had prospered.

She sipped her tea, listening.
By God’s grace.
Odd that he didn’t take credit for what must have been a lot of hard work.

He paused, and she refilled their mugs from the tea pot. He dropped in two cubes of sugar, saying, “Have you decided on a baking course?”

“I found one that looks perfect, except for one requirement. I’m trying to work up the courage to ask you for another favor.”

He shrugged, his face inscrutable. “I’m a very busy man, as you can tell. We’ve already exchanged favors once this week. There might be a quota, you know.”

She tilted her head. This quiet person—such a tease? “Timothy?”

“Not the glacier look, please, anything but that.”

“But I didn’t . . .”

“Correct. That was a melt-the-glacier look. Yes, whatever you want.”

“Whatever? I didn’t think you were so reckless.”

“You should have seen me when I was flying my little red Super Cub.”