The Pickle Boat House (22 page)

“That first night, I had every intention of helping you. But then I met Hector for dinner, and he convinced me that your research was working against the interests of HYA—and, by extension, against Hector and me. I agreed to befriend you with empty promises of helping you trace your family line. I know that was wrong,” she said, wringing her hands. “Every time you confided in me and I responded like a friend I felt guilty. The responses were genuine, but the underlying intent wasn’t. I’ve let my feelings for Hector color the kind of person I am: a false friend and a liar. Ryan was right last night: Hector isn’t good for me—and I haven’t been good for you.”

Van abruptly stood up, all her fear bubbling over into anger. “Get out. Now, before I do something I regret.”

“I understand,” said Peggy. “I knew you wouldn’t want me here when I told you the truth. I’m still packed, and someone’s coming to pick me up. I’ll just go get my bags and be out of your way.”

As Peggy headed up the stairs Van got her phone out of her purse. She hit speed dial for Ryan and walked out onto the deck to calm herself. “You were right, Ryan. She just spilled her guts.”

“I’m not surprised,” he said. “Keep her talking. I’m on my way.”

“Hurry. I just told her to get out.”

Ryan let loose with a string of profanity. “Van, why the hell … ! Run her down, for God’s sake! This might be our only peek at HYA’s hand.”

But Van was too late. Her stomach tightened as she caught a glimpse of Peggy’s ride disappearing down the street, leaving her alone with Ryan’s oaths still ringing in her ears. She had let her anger screw up everything. There was nothing to do now but wait for Ryan. His frustration and disappointment in her wouldn’t even come close to what she was already feeling. As she entered the kitchen her eye was immediately drawn to an envelope propped up against the vase in the center of the table. It was addressed “Van” in beautiful, strong script. With her heart thumping like a trip-hammer, Van sat down in the window seat and pulled out the carefully folded sheets of paper. The inner page, written in the same strong script, read:

Dear Van,

Again, I’m very sorry for the pain and betrayal you are feeling over my unforgivable behavior. Unfortunately, we don’t get redos in life, do we? I would if I could. Enclosed you will find copies of the research that I finished on the Harwell line. I’m sure you will be pleased to see the connection between you and the Harwells, although maybe not quite in the way that you were expecting.

I could find no evidence that Jeremiah Harwell had any direct descendants. From early court documents, it appears that Jeremiah’s wife, Abigail, gave birth to a son, William, after his death, but failed to establish in court that Jeremiah was the father. Whether this makes a statement about her social reputation in general, I do not know. Being unmarried with a child of questionable birth, she faced the scorn of the town and quickly married a man named Alexander Hill to limit the damage to her reputation. Who the actual father was remains unclear. Regardless, the child carried the last name Harwell. By court decree, he was not recognized as legitimate offspring of Jeremiah or entitled to inherit any of his estate. Thus ends the direct line of Jeremiah Harwell, without apparent issue. Citations are enclosed.

What is surprising is that your husband, Richard Hardy, is also of this Harwell line, through Jeremiah’s siblings. A younger sister, Bess Harwell, married Lemuel Hardy at the age of 14. She relocated with her husband to Northumberland County, Virginia, taking her brother, Coleman, with her. It is in her will that I found documentation that she inherited “worldly goods of her loving and goodly brother Jeremiah Harwell, late of Nevis, in the province of Maryland, to be conveyed, upon her death, to her brother Coleman Harwell,(alias Hardy), youngest brother to Jeremiah.” Young Coleman Harwell, being very young, takes the last name of his sister’s husband. Upon Bess’s death, he comes into his full inheritance under the last will and testament bequeathing Bess’s estate. Coleman Harwell Hardy’s line can be traced direct and intact from him and his wife, Elizabeth, of Virginia, down to your husband, Richard Hardy, also of Virginia. It appears that Richard may be the only living or dead direct descendant of these two individuals and would be the only descendant with a claim to any inheritable “goods or property,” should such exist. Again, all citations and copies are here, including copies of Bess Harwell Hardy’s will as well as the document establishing Lemuel Hardy as Coleman Harwell’s legal guardian.

I wouldn’t be so gauche as to presume at this time what your relationship with Richard would be—whether amicable or not. The best advice I can give you is to have Richard’s Y-DNA tested. Should a showdown with HYA ever occur, you can request exhumation of Jeremiah Harwell’s body from St John’s churchyard for the purpose of testing his Y-DNA. A match between the two Y-DNA samples would bolster the claim of your husband’s descendancy and right to inheritance.

I have some things to sort out in my life, in particular with Hector. When I have settled these matters, I will contact Ryan, if he will ever talk to me again. I can tell by the way you look at Ryan and talk about him that there is something deep and special about your relationship with him. It’s the same way Hector and I have looked at each other—that is, until now. If I find a chance to rectify any of the damage I have done, I’ll be in touch.

All my best, Van,

Peggy

Van’s flesh began to crawl. Richard was Jeremiah Harwell’s legitimate heir? Selling Nevis to HYA would be the perfect retaliation for her leaving him. Would she ever be able to sever their connection?

The slam of the front door broke her reverie. Her lecture had arrived. She shoved the letter back into the envelope.

“Where is she?”

“Ryan, she’s gone. I’m sorry. I tried to catch her. She was working against Nevis, researching Jeremiah Harwell’s heirs. She used all the information that I gave her to complete her own charts, and I think she forwarded it all to HYA. She left me a letter and copies of all her charts. Here, read it.” She shoved the envelope at Ryan.

“No, I believe you.”

“You really need to read all of it.”

Ryan sat down next to her and started reading. Van watched as a brief smile slowly crossed his face. She wondered whether it was the passage where Peggy talked about how Van looked at Ryan. It brought a smile to her, too.

“Son of a bitch,” he muttered. “How many other places has Hector poked his nose into? But,” he said, looking down at the paper again, “this is good, right? As Richard’s son, we can have my Y-DNA tested and not even involve Richard!” He looked at Van, and the smile slid off his face. “Why are you frowning?”

“You may be Richard’s son in spirit, but in case you’ve forgotten, your Y-chromosome DNA is one hundred percent Ryan Thomas, not James Hardy. It isn’t any good to us at all unless we dig the old you up, and I’m certainly not going to do that!” Van shuddered at the thought of disturbing her son’s grave. Even the idea of exhuming Jeremiah Harwell was too revolting to think about.

Ryan rolled his eyes. “Come on, it’s more cut-and-dried than that. It’s not like you’re really digging me up. It’s just a body; I’m still here.” He smiled again. “So you really do believe I’m your son? That’s good,” he said, nodding. “I never really expected
this
level of validation from you.” He dropped the letter on the window seat and put his arm around her.

“As for Richard,” she said, “I don’t want him involved any more than he has to be. I don’t want to uncover a vindictive side to him. I’m terrified that HYA may have already contacted him.” She paused. “And that brings up something else I’ve been meaning to discuss with you. If you feel so strongly that you are Richard’s and my son, how should we break the news to Richard that you’re … well, whatever you want to call what you are: reincarnated, reborn, redeposited, remade.” She laughed at the absurdity of it. “We need to decide the best way to tell him.”

“Oh, no, you can’t tell him any of this,” said Ryan, rising to his feet. “He can’t ever know. I have absolutely no memory of him, although that picture of him in your living room was trying to pull some memory out of me.”

“Are you out of your
mind
?” she said. “How fair is that?”

“No, you can’t tell him,” he insisted. “Someday, by chance, maybe our paths will cross. And when they do, if I remember him, then I may decide to acknowledge our relationship.”

“But how could you let him go on hurting and thinking you’re gone? Maybe
he
needs the validation to move on.”

“This is what it is, and I don’t think it’s mine to question.”

“But that seems so cruel. And if you never connect?”

“If not, then we’ll pass like ships in the night.”

“And that doesn’t bother you?” Van asked.

“I can’t help the way I feel or the way I react. But, Van,” he said carefully, as if trying to choose the right words, “you have to figure out what you want from me. You seem to be jealous of my working relationship with Peggy, yet you want me to reach out to Richard to create a father-son relationship. You need to make up your mind. You’re starting to make me a little crazy! Are your feelings for a son or a lover?”

“Maybe … I just don’t know anymore,” Van admitted.

“You don’t believe me, or you don’t know how to treat me?”

“Don’t know how to treat you. I’m having a hard time relating to you as my son. I’m not saying you’re not. Heaven knows, you have information that only my son would know. It’s easiest just to think of you as the man I have met and fallen in love with. Deep down inside, don’t you have any misgivings about this whole crazy scenario being true?”

Ryan sat back down on the cushion next to her. “Every day, bit by bit, I remember more, and there is no doubt in my mind,” he said, looking her squarely in the eyes. “But, I don’t think I need to discuss it with Richard or anyone else right now. In that way, I’m gone from your lives. I don’t know why, but I’ve been brought back here for a purpose. I think I may have something in my life to finish. And it doesn’t necessarily involve Richard. It’s difficult for me, but I’m going to live with all my heart and all my strength, as free from Ryan’s past successes, mistakes, loves, and losses as I can. I’m not saying I have this all figured out—God knows I don’t. One minute I’m James, totally in control, and the memories just flow. But it’s an illusion. My life has been out of control since I woke up in that hospital room. Still, every day I try to shake free, and every day I feel him fading away a little more. One day it’s going to be just me in here.”

“I don’t understand,” she said, “and I can’t imagine the turmoil you must be going through. Just don’t lose faith in me, even when I make it difficult for you. Okay? I’m still struggling here, too.”

“Oh, I know. Van, I want to protect you here in Nevis. But we could leave this all behind. I could show you the world. We could go anywhere you want to go. We can see it all. I have the means to give that to you.”

Van shook her head. “No. I love it here, and this is where I want to stay. And if it takes everything I have to protect it from HYA, then that’s what I am willing to do.”

“HYA has already started to buy up your neighbors’ houses: the Jeffries, the Spencers, the Morgans, and others. They’ll either continue buying up all the houses around you or they’ll be able to document—legitimately or otherwise—an owner other than your family, from whom they can buy all this land. This is not over by a long shot.”

Van nodded and reached over and took Ryan’s hand in hers. “Jean and I have mobilized some of the movers and shakers in town,” Van said, “but it’s not nearly enough. I can’t believe Nevis is going to make the same mistake twice. It’s the overfishing story all over again. They didn’t learn a thing. Selling their houses for much more than they’re worth—it’s good in the short term, but in the long run, Nevis won’t be able to pay the price. The town, our heritage—all lost, ruined, gone forever. Some of them just don’t get it.”

“We’ll handle this,” said Ryan, kissing the tip of her nose. “HYA is not going to steamroll us. We’re not going to lose Nevis to those bastards—not if it’s the last thing I do. I promise you. And I’m not mad at you for running Peggy off. I know what you thought. I saw it in your face. I just hated to see this opportunity slip away. But there are people outside of HYA that may be able to help us. I’m going to use my contacts and everything I know to beat these people.” He checked his watch. “I need to go, but I’ll call you tomorrow.”

Van followed him to the door as they parted once more. “Won’t you stay?”

“That would depend.”

“On … ?”

“Whether I’d be sleeping on the couch again.”

Van laughed and glanced up the stairs behind her. “Actually, I think you’ve made it to the second floor.”

“Is that anything like second base?” Ryan asked.

“Perhaps. The only way you can find that out is to stay.”

He laughed. “Okay, I’ll stay, but I have to warn you, I was very good at stealing home.”

Van laughed. “We shall see.” She drew him inside and closed the door.

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
MORNING LIGHT

Van opened her eyes to the beautiful sight of Ryan, with his arm draped across her and his face resting against her bare shoulder. She resisted the urge to lean over and kiss him. There was no barrier between them. After last night, she just felt contentment. As she looked at his face she desperately wanted to run her hands along the planes of it, stroke the beard stubble along his jaw, and kiss his beautiful, perfect lips. Her eyes followed his form, now hidden in a swath of sheet, down to where his hand rested in sleep. She loved his hands, their warmth and strength when they held hers. They were hands that fit together perfectly. She returned her gaze to his face.

“Oh, you’re awake,” she said, startled to find him looking at her with serious, thoughtful green eyes.

“A bird,” he said.