The Year of Luminous Love (37 page)

“She’ll come around once you start to feed and ride her.”

“Maybe later.” Arie wasn’t sure when she’d be strong enough. She reached to scratch Caramel’s forehead, but the horse laid her ears back and moved toward the rear of the stall.

Jon issued a sharp command, and the horse came forward and allowed Arie to rub the soft muzzle. “She always liked you better than me,” Arie said with a sigh. “Thanks for taking care of her.”

Jon laid his hand across Arie’s hand now resting on Caramel’s head, stroking the forelock. “She’s just been around me more.”

“I think she’s just a one-person horse. Like Bonanza was.” Arie’s gaze drifted up to Jon’s. She saw kindness there, little else. “Will you come to Eric’s wedding with me on New Year’s Eve?” she asked softly. “I’m a hostage to their wedding party. And I’m honored,” she added quickly. “I don’t want to go alone, so I … I was just hoping you’d come with me.”

Jon looked taken aback. “I’m not much of a black-tie kind of guy.”

“Neither are Eric and his friends. A lot of the guests will wear jeans and sports coats to the ceremony, and the groomsmen will be in jeans just as soon as the formal pictures are over.” She wasn’t sure she could deal with Jon’s rejection, not at this juncture of her downhill life. “I’d really appreciate it. And I promise not to ask you for any more favors. Ever.”

His expression softened.

Just then, the barn door opened and Ciana came in, followed by a gust of wind. Her gaze bounced between Jon and Arie. She settled on Arie and broadcast a bright smile. “Hey! You wait long?”

Nervously, Arie backed away from the horse and Jon. It had taken time to get back in Ciana’s good graces in Italy after
Jon left, and Arie didn’t want to go through any awkwardness again. “Not long.”

“I buzzed to the store, grabbed up chocolate and chips and popcorn. And a movie too.” Ciana never even glanced at Jon.

“Which one?”

“
Gone with the Wind
, of course. Is there any better Southern chick flick on the planet?”

Arie laughed, although she was baffled as to why Ciana hadn’t so much as acknowledged Jon, who was standing patiently to the side of the stall. “Is Eden coming?”

“On her way. So how does Caramel look to you? Has our hired help kept her up to your liking?” Ciana recognized Jon’s presence but not in a nice way. Arie hoped there wasn’t trouble between them.

“Jon’s done a wonderful job. I may never regain her affection, though,” Arie said, baffled by Ciana’s rudeness.
Hired help. Get real!

“He’s a wonder, all right,” Ciana said coolly.

Jon stood steely and wordless.

“I’ve asked him to go with me to Eric’s wedding.”

Ciana flashed Jon an unreadable look. “You should go with Arie.”

“I am,” Jon said.

His sudden acceptance caught Arie off guard. Minutes before, she’d doubted he would have come. “Well, okay, then. Details to come.”

He nodded and began to retreat, but Ciana said, “Oh, and I have our Christmas tree in the back of my pickup. Bring it into the house and set it up in the front parlor and my friends and I will decorate it later tonight.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Jon said with a tip of his head.

Arie was shocked and puzzled by Ciana’s tone and
demeanor. Once outside, Arie took Ciana’s elbow as cold wind whipped fine pellets of stinging snow into their faces. “What was
that
all about? Did Jon do something to make you mad?”

“What?” Ciana asked innocently, hustling them into the house and out of the cold before answering. “I need the tree brought in.”

“You were
rude
to him.”

“Sorry,” she said, sounding only slightly remorseful while she brushed snow off herself. “My bad.”

“What’s going on between you two?”

Ciana shrugged. “He’s taken over my life. My jobs.”

“And he’s done them better?”

“Not better,” Ciana groused. “Neater. Maybe.”

Arie shook her head, not wanting to let it go. This wasn’t the Ciana she’d grown up with. “How can you possibly be jealous of somebody working hard to make your life easier? I don’t get it.”

Ciana sighed. “Neither do I.” She headed toward the kitchen.

Arie padded after her. “And aren’t you violating one of those Beauchamp rules Olivia was always telling you?”

“Probably.”

“Well, please stop it. I want us to all have a good time together at the wedding.”

“We will.”

“That didn’t sound convincing.” Arie pushed Ciana playfully. “Don’t be so bossy.”

“As you wish.” Ciana curtsied. “Let’s start the hot chocolate so it’ll be ready when Eden gets here,” she said, shivering. “Weather’s a far cry from Italy, isn’t it?”

“A far cry,” Arie echoed.
A world of happiness away
.

“Ciana, put on your coat and let’s go. I don’t want to keep Mr. Hastings waiting.” Alice Faye stood in the doorway of Ciana’s room already bundled up for the drive into town.

Ciana looked up from the book she was reading. “I already told you, I don’t want to meet with Mr. Hastings.”

“Stop that. This meeting’s been set up since before Christmas. Gerald will be leaving tomorrow for Chicago, and I promised him the two of us would meet with him today.”

Ciana arched an eyebrow. “Gerald, is it? How nice that the two of you are on a first-name basis.”

Alice Faye smoldered. “I’ve seen the plans and drawings many times. Now it’s time for you to see them.”

“I don’t care about the plans. I’m not selling Bellmeade.”

Her mother marched to Ciana’s closet and whipped a red coat off a hanger. She tossed it to Ciana. “Put it on.”

Ciana exploded. “Stop treating me like a five-year-old child!”

“Well, stop acting like one. Get your coat on and come out to the car. I’ll be warming the engine. And put on some lipstick. Hurry. Alice Faye turned and Ciana listened to the clicking retreat of her boots until the door slammed.

Ciana fumed, but she picked up her coat. She had liked her mother better when she was drinking, when she had been compliant and more easily ignored. This sober version was bossy, busy, and intrusive. And although she’d pulled off a delicious and festive Christmas dinner, Ciana had been in a funk. Eden and Gwen had come to dine with them, and so had Essie and Bill Pickins. Gwen had been distracted, staring out windows and only speaking if spoken to. Ciana had seen the strain on Eden’s face. She and Ciana both knew Gwen was spiraling downward into depression. Ciana felt sorry for Eden, but there was nothing she could do.

Jon Mercer had been invited to the feast, but thankfully he’d gone to Arie’s house and the “feeding of the five thousand,” as Arie referred to her family’s Christmas dinner. Ciana’s case of the blues hung around, and now, three days before the wedding, making a visit to Gerald Hastings to hear about his plans to gut Bellmeade farmland and build a housing project was doing nothing to improve her mood.

Alice Faye parked the car in front of an old Victorian house that had been turned into office suites. A sign out front on the brown winter grass read
HASTINGS HAND DEVELOPING
,
CHICAGO
.

Inside, the house was divided into individual offices, all belonging to Hastings. Alice Faye announced herself and Ciana to the receptionist. Moments later, a casually dressed man stepped from an office, offering a smile and a handshake. “Alice Faye.” He turned to Ciana. “And you must be the daughter.”

“Ciana,” she said, with less than a smile for him.

Hastings was middle-aged, of medium height, trim and fit, with a thick head of salt-and-pepper hair and trendy rimless eyeglasses. “Good to meet you. Your mother said you were amazing, but I think she might have underplayed it.”

Ciana fought against rolling her eyes at his obvious attempt to flatter. “Mothers can be zealous.”

“How was your trip to Italy? Astounding place, huh?”

“Astounding,” Ciana confirmed, wishing she were anywhere else.

“Can I get the two of you something? Sodas, coffee, some hot apple cider?”

Ciana wanted nothing from this man.

“All right,” Hastings said, “let me cut to the chase and show you what my firm has in mind for your property.” He walked them across the hall and into a large room that held a massive table where a three-dimensional model had been constructed. “This is Bellmeade Estates, a rolling, rambling suburb of luxury homes, some set on acre lots, others on higher-density lots. Over here”—he pointed to a cluster of houses—“are garden homes, single level, for retirees and people who want to downsize. We’ll have bike trails, walking trails, riding trails, a stable, pastureland, and a golf course. This place will be built as green as possible, with two acres set aside for community farming. There’s nothing else like it in the country today.”

Ciana didn’t find that comforting. She looked over the model and grudgingly admitted that the project was impressive. She thought of the dollhouse her father had made for her when she’d been five. Larger than the table model in front of her, it was built to scale and completely detailed. Once her father and grandfather had died in the plane crash, she hadn’t been able to look at it, so Olivia had put it up in the attic for safekeeping.

“Model building is a hobby of mine,” Hastings said proudly.

“It’s nice,” Ciana said. She could admire the work if she separated it emotionally from its purpose.

“Of course, we’ll be doing a lot of excavating at first. We’ll lay in underground utilities, sewers, streets, streetlights, so it’ll take a while before we actually start homes. We’ll build it in phases. On this table”—he walked Ciana and Alice Faye across the room—“are the plans for phase one: Bellmeade Acres.” He flipped pages of giant architectural drawings of an overall view, then to views of model houses. “The homes will have every amenity of modern life, but as you can see, the facades will look Victorian. Sort of a return to yesteryear with the future in mind. In homage to your beautiful home.”

So the man had actually come to their house. It rubbed Ciana the wrong way that her mother had ever invited him.

“Impressive,” Alice Faye said. “Don’t you think so, Ciana?”

“Why our farmland?” Ciana asked, irritated by her mother’s obvious prodding.

“Not just your land. We’ll also be buying out a few of the smaller farms that adjoin your property. And these parcels were selected because you’re all closest to the interstate. I have to go before a few committees to get permission for a new off-ramp, but once we clear that hurdle, we can break ground on Bellmeade Estates.”

Ciana knew the farms he spoke of. The owners were elderly and had no heirs either able or willing to take on the hard life of farming. “Have the others agreed to sell?”

“Several have.” He smiled, as if to put her at ease.

“Mr. Hastings, perhaps you know that I don’t want to sell Bellmeade.”

“Yes, your mother’s told me. I’m hoping to change your
mind. Bellmeade Estates is not some haphazard, poorly imagined place. It’s designed to attract high-income people from the Nashville area—government officials, entertainers, educators, doctors, lawyers—as well as retirees and young professionals with families.”

“It was designed to be farmland by my ancestors. Good farmland, surrounded by other good farmland, some of the best in the state.”

“And we want to keep that tradition. That’s why we’re setting aside community garden acreage.”

Ciana wanted to bolt out of the office. It must have shown on her face, because her mother interceded by saying, “Gerald, today is only Ciana’s first time seeing your vision. I don’t think it’s necessary to pin down an answer right now. Do you?”

Hastings’s expression, bordering on irritation with Ciana’s balkiness, relaxed. “Certainly not. Perhaps when I return in January, we can meet again over lunch and discuss your misgivings at length.” He reached into a nearby desk and fished out a folder, which he extended to Alice Faye. “In the meantime, look over this information. If this is going to happen, I’ll need some positive feedback by early spring.

“Miss Beauchamp,” he said as Ciana started toward the door, “I’m offering a great deal of money to you and your mother. You’ll walk away millionaires. The project is immensely expensive, but it will open up this entire end of the county to growth and business, move this area out of an agrarian past and into a progressive future. Open your mind to the possibilities.”

She left without another word.

In the car driving home, Alice Faye said, “Stop sulking. Talk to me.”

“I’m not sulking. The project is impressive.”

“I’m glad you see it as such.” Alice Faye sounded surprised. “Tell me what you’re thinking.”

“I’m thinking I’m not ready to sell our land.”

“You’re going to college next month. I can’t run the place alone. Let me rephrase: I don’t want to run the place.”

Ciana’s college fund from Olivia was almost gone, spent in Italy. The villa’s owner had returned the final month’s rent once he heard how Arie had become ill. Thankfully, Enzo’s two hirelings had returned the house to pristine condition after the girls had scrambled to leave. The refund plus what was still in the bank might pay for a year at Vandy, and only if she commuted. The schedule would be grueling and leave her little time for resurrecting the farm.