He had always prided himself on honesty, and every time he saw Candace Lancaster and thought of the horse he was hiding in the barn behind his house, he felt like a liar.
Wendell was a man of his word not just from his National Guard training; his own parents had raised him as such, long before his days in the military. He understood the value of a person’s trust. If Candace asked about the horse, he would tell her the truth, even if it meant losing his job or ending Julia’s secret visits to his house. There were good reasons he’d done what he’d done. But there was also good reason to face the consequences of your decisions. That was life.
He hadn’t been in the main utility barn for more than a few moments that morning when he heard his name called from outside. But it was not Candace. Geoffrey Banks stepped out of his car. Wendell hadn’t seen him since the meeting up at the house two weeks earlier.
“Good to see you again,” Geoffrey said, extending his hand. “Do you have a moment?”
“Of course. How can I help?”
“The surveyors have completed their work, and I wanted to go over the maps with you. Candace would like to identify them for prospective buyers.”
Inside the barn, Wendell invited Geoffrey over to a sweeping worktable. Geoffrey paused, looking up at all the tools hanging on pegboards, the equipment covered and stored in the corners. He ran his hand over the worktable surface before unrolling a large white survey map. “This space is better kept than my office.”
“Thank you. Alan took a lot of pride in taking care of things around here.”
Geoffrey scanned the barn interior appreciatively. “And you still do. So, here’s the update. The engineers have subdivided the estate into eleven different parcels. As such, Candace’s broker will be showing each of the separate lots to interested clients. But ultimately, she’d prefer to sell to one developer.”
Wendell scanned the map. The estate had indeed been divided. What Geoffrey did not know, and could never understand, was that the divisions on paper represented something entirely different to anyone who knew White Pines. Wendell knew the land intimately, as one vast parcel from forest edge to waterline. From the rise of the orchard hill to the dip of the wetlands. The only divisions he knew were natural: watercourses, elevations, rock formations. The tree line that jutted out against the horizon. The depression of swampland where beavers and egrets and old mother snappers made their habitats. Those were the divisions of the land that he worked with and worked around, respectfully. As his gaze left Geoffrey’s pointed finger and followed the topography and elevation markers, he recognized every nook and cranny of White Pines. It was the land he traversed by footstep and measured by stride. The only divisions were made by Mother Nature, by habitat and by season. He worked his tongue around his mouth in silence, taking it all in. Reluctantly, Wendell’s gaze followed Geoffrey’s hand tracing the subdivision. A gold signet ring flashed on his pinkie finger in the narrow band of sunlight slipping through the barn window, as unnatural and vulgar as the subdivision it traced.
Geoffrey stabbed a finger at the largest parcel in the northeastern corner of the map. “Over here, we have what will likely command the largest price. It’s got a great view, or so I’m told.”
“That’s the peach tree grove.”
“Is it? Well, it’s going to have to come down, for whoever buys it. Best view on the estate. Candace wants the buyer to have a three-hundred-sixty-degree sightline.”
“She wants it cut down?” Wendell’s stomach turned. “That orchard is almost a hundred years old. Her grandfather started it in the thirties.” In all his years on the estate, Wendell had worked hardest and longest on the peach orchard. Since he began, he’d already turned over and replanted half of it. Alan had loved not only the knotty crooked trees that defied orderly rows but also the fruit. The scent in August. The honeybees attracted by the peaches and the shady view beneath the branches. How many times had Wendell spied the family under those boughs, enjoying a picnic lunch? It was the stuff of children’s storybooks and old movies. And now they wanted to dig it up to build a structure that would likely jut out garishly against the natural backdrop, a stain against the bow of terrain and flush of fauna.
“That depends on who the buyer is.”
Wendell could picture it: an unimaginative boxy neighborhood, with alternating colors, vinyl-sided with faux chimneys and composite shutter. Attached two-car garages on each construction. Wendell stepped away from the worktable. “How does this change my management of the property?”
“Candace hired a broker. They’ve decided to attempt to attract a developer first.” Geoffrey pointed to several proposed driveway locations. “The broker feels it’s important that we visually mark the property divisions so potential buyers can envision the actual lots.”
“So they can imagine their yard. Where to put the trampoline or swimming pool,” Wendell muttered.
Geoffrey looked confused. “Right. Anyway, our idea is to add to the existing stakes laid by the surveyors. Candace would like it if you could walk the property lines and mark the proposed driveway entrances with different-colored tapes. The broker has lined up showings in the coming days.”
“Days,” Wendel said. But it would take mere hours for the backhoes to come in and desecrate the peach trees. He imagined the wildlife habitats, undisturbed in their present state, being knocked down, dug out, filled in. He ran his hand roughly through his hair, shaking his head. “Alan would have hated this.”
Geoffrey glanced down at the map, then at Wendell. “I know. But Alan is no longer with us.” He looked truly sorry, and Wendell could hear the empathy in his tone, but it did not change the fate of White Pines or what he was asking Wendell to do. Geoffrey put a hand on Wendell’s shoulder. “So, are you on board?”
Through the barn window, Wendell caught the wild flash of greenery over the shoulder of Geoffrey’s suit jacket. “I’ll start today.”
For the rest of the day, he drove the Gator around the property, marking the proposed driveway entries for each lot on the map. Wendell was not an engineer or surveyor. What he felt like, standing back and looking up at the colored lines of tape fluttering against the fields, was an executioner.
Finished with his grim work for the day, he was locking up the lower barn door when he heard voices floating down from the house. He glanced up. Candace was talking to a woman in the driveway, but she was hidden from view behind the family car. No matter; he’d seen enough that day, and it was time to go home.
Wendell was about to climb into his truck when a VW Beetle rolled down the driveway and pulled up beside him.
“Ginny?”
She smiled ruefully. “Hey, Wendell. Just finishing for the day?”
Wendell nodded. “Long one. How about you? What brings you to White Pines?”
Ginny was dressed nicely, but she looked uncomfortable. “I had a meeting.”
Wendell glanced up at the house as it dawned on him. “A meeting.”
“Yes. Candace Lancaster just signed my parents’ agency to list White Pines.” Even as she shielded her eyes from the late sun, he saw the flicker of remorse. “I wanted to tell you the other night, but I never thought we’d get the listing. It just seemed pointless.”
Wendell’s mind rolled back to the dinner they’d shared on his porch, like old times. To the moment in the kitchen. And the next day, when she’d returned to help build the fence with Julia. “It seemed pointless to you?”
Ginny put the car in park and got out. “Please let me explain. Candace called the agency for an interview, but it didn’t go well. At all. I started to tell you that night at your place, but then you shared how upset the sale of White Pines made you. I didn’t want to upset you even more, especially since I never thought we’d land it.”
“Were you going to tell me now that you landed it?”
Her expression twisted. “Yes! Right after I told my parents. You have to understand, this is big news for them. Their agency has been floundering, and my dad had the heart attack. If we’re successful selling this place, it will change everything for them.” The conflict in her voice was genuine, but he was too caught off guard.
“It’s okay, Ginny. I get it.” There was no point in making her feel bad. But he didn’t want to hear anymore.
Ginny wouldn’t let it go. “Someone would’ve sold it, Wendell. This is so hard for me, knowing what this place means to you. But it means something so different for my family.”
“I said I get it.” It came out harsher than he’d meant, and he instantly regretted it. There was the familiar flash of hurt in her eyes. Just like all those years ago. Wendell stepped toward her. “Ginny, wait. I’m sorry.”
But she was already getting back in the car. “That makes two of us.” Before he could say anything else, she put the car in drive and was gone.
Wendell spun around to the barn. There was a bucket by the door filled with the tape he’d used to mark the fields, and he grabbed it now and slung it at the barn. It hit the wall with a crack and spun away to the ground, spilling its contents across the driveway. He glanced up at the house. Agreeing to stay on at White Pines had been the worst decision.
The dark mood stayed with him back at home, and when he turned his lights out late that night, he knew sleep would not come. He had been wrong to accept the job offer from Candace. Despite the bonus. He’d have been better off cutting his losses and taking a position on a contractor’s crew or in the hardware store to tide him over until he found a position like managing White Pines. Only he knew the truth: there was nothing else like it. But this was worse. Worse than leaving or letting go, worse than giving up the sanctuary-like peace of the estate and his work among the wild fields and animals. He’d have been better off working the counter at a fast-food joint; the constant din, smells, and influx of demanding customers sure to trigger his PTSD from Afghanistan. It was a terrifying thought for a man who fought every day to buffer himself from such episodes. But even that would have been better than systematically dismantling the place that had saved him.
At some point he fell into a fitful slumber, and for the first time in a long while, he was with Wesley. Not the Wesley who haunted him, from their last year together, serving in the Guard. But Wesley as a child. They were running, across the upper yard behind the farmhouse, where the horse was now living. Their mother’s garden was in its full glory beside the red shed, a tangle of tomato vine tinged with robust orbs of fruit. Tidy rows of frilly-leafed red lettuce. Trellises covered in green beans. Wesley was chasing him in some kind of game, and Wendell could feel his sturdy legs pumping beneath him, his heart pounding in his ears. His little brother was lithe and fast, and despite Wendell’s age and height advantage, running was Wesley’s claim to childhood neighborhood fame, not his. As Wendell rounded the corner of the garden and sprinted across the open yard, he could hear Wesley catching up. He ran faster, his legs straining. But then he stumbled, catching the toe of his sneaker in a divot in the grass, and he almost fell. He was done for. Wesley would surely have him now. But just as he turned, prepared to be face-to-face, Wesley closing the gap, his little brother was not there. The sound of his breath behind Wendell had faded, the pounding of heels in the grass distant. Wendell slowed to a walk and spun around. Wesley had fallen back, drifting as if a tide were pulling him away. He was running, arms pumping, but drifting backward. “Hey!” Wendell called out. “Where are you going?” But Wesley did not answer. He ran faster, despite his reverse direction, and then he tired, slowed, and simply stood. Wendell watched helplessly as his brother receded into the distance, a vision above the fields. Before he disappeared, he lifted one hand. Wendell screamed his name.
He was upright, his chest pounding. It had been a dream, he realized now, catching his breath. Wendell looked around the room, disoriented. A lazy breeze stirred the curtains; the night outside his window had gone quiet. He fell back against his pillow. There was a sound outside, a scratch across the porch floorboards. Wendell was wide awake, but his limbs would not work to let him cross the floor to his window to look. It was probably nothing. What followed was a low moan, unlike the first sound. It reminded him of his dream, but he was awake now; it didn’t make sense. When he heard it again, this time he got up.
The porch light flickered when he turned it on. Through the window, he saw a small figure curled up in one of the rocking chairs. He unlocked the door and tugged it open. A child in striped yellow pajamas was tucked into the chair, her knees pulled to her chest, thumb jammed in her bow-shaped mouth. It was Pippa. Wendell tiptoed outside and stood over her, watching her little chest rise and fall. The child was fast asleep. He looked left and right, across the porch. There was no sign of Julia.
Not wanting to disturb her, he knelt. How long had she been out here? He placed his palm against her back; to his relief she was warm, not chilled, despite the cool temperature. Wendell had never spent much time around children, especially small ones. They made him nervous. But something about Pippa’s sweet, sleepy expression got to him. A tendril of blond hair had fallen across her eyes, and he gently tucked it back behind her ear. It was so soft. At the touch of his fingertip, her eyelids began to flutter. Slowly, she turned her head in his direction. For a start, Wendell feared he’d scared her. But Pippa just stared back at him sleepily.
“Come on, Pip,” he said. “Let’s get you inside.”
Without warning, she lifted both arms and draped them around his neck. She was light as a feather, and she wrapped her legs around his waist. “Oh, okay.” Gently, he carried her inside.
But Pippa didn’t stir again. Almost immediately, she tucked her chin against his neck, her breath warm and heavy. He had barely made it into the living room with her in his arms when he felt her body grew heavy. She was already sound asleep.
Slowly, Wendell carried her to the kitchen and lifted the phone with his free hand. Without meaning to, he turned, and his nose brushed the back of her hair. He recognized the smell instantly. The scent of baby shampoo that his mother used on him and Wesley when they were small and took baths together. Wendell closed his eyes and dialed Candace.
As he waited for them to come, he sat with Pippa on his lap on the couch. The weight of her against his chest, and the smell of the baby shampoo, and something else—the sweet smell of a child—filled his senses. By the time Candace’s car rolled into the driveway, Wendell was sound asleep with Pippa still tucked against him. Upon hearing the slam of a car door, he started.
Pippa was sitting up in his lap, watching him intently. “Can I see Raddy?”
Wendell met Candace at the door, Julia in tow. Julia blew right past him. “She rode here all by herself?”
“She’s in the living room,” he said, but the screen door had already slapped shut behind her.
Candace remained on the porch. She looked completely out of character in a blue bathrobe and tennis shoes. “I don’t understand. What is she doing here?”
It was what he wanted to ask of her. Both girls coming the other night together was one thing. But Pippa venturing here alone in the dark was entirely different. “Did something happen at the house?” he asked.
Candace looked offended. “Of course not. They were sound asleep in their beds.”
“That may be, but a six-year-old doesn’t run away in the night for no reason.” He glanced over his shoulder, where Julia was rubbing Pippa’s back on the couch, and a wave of protectiveness rose within him.
Candace was not having it. “There is nothing wrong except for the fact that these girls are out of control.”
Julia joined them with Pippa, but she stayed on the inside of the doorway. “We want to stay here,” she announced.
Candace looked between the three of them, her eyes flickering. “Enough is enough, young ladies. Get in the car.” She strode across the porch and down the steps.
Wendell felt hesitation about sending them home, but it was best to let everyone sleep on it and circle back in the morning. “It’s late,” he told the girls. “What you need is to go home with your aunt and get some sleep.”
Pippa whimpered. “But I don’t want to.”
From the driveway, Candace flung the car door ajar. She screamed with such force, Wendell jumped. “Get in the goddamn car!”
Wendell had never seen her lose control, and to judge by the girls’ reactions, they had not, either.
Pippa started to cry. Wendell took her hand. “Come on, Pippa. I’ll walk you out.” He didn’t like being in the middle of this. But he didn’t want to stand aside and let things get any worse, either.
Julia bit her lip but did not budge. “Julia,” he said, turning to her. “Listen to your aunt for tonight. We can figure this out in the morning.”
“No. Pippa’s upset, and I’m not making her go. Let us stay.” Tears sprang to Julia’s eyes as she said it, and Wendell felt himself bend. It was all becoming too much.
“Julia, now is not the time to push things. I promise I’ll come by in the morning.”
But Julia had other ideas. “He has Radcliffe, you know!” she shouted across the porch.
Candace came to the bottom of the steps. “What did you just say?”
Wendell let his breath out. “Julia.”
“What? She might as well know everything.” She spun to face her aunt. “After you stole my horse, he went and bought Raddy back. He’s here in the barn. Go see for yourself.”
Wendell closed his eyes.
Julia was on a tear now. “And I’ve been coming to see him every day,” she went on. “You think you know everything, that you’re in charge. But you’re not.”
Wendell couldn’t even look at her. Julia didn’t realize it, but she had just cemented her aunt’s ire. He walked to the porch railing to face Candace.
“Is this true?” she sputtered.
He didn’t know which part of the story she meant, but he supposed it didn’t matter anymore. “Yes, ma’am. All of it.” He would not say he was sorry.
“What were you thinking?”
“I felt badly about the horse being sold. The kids had been through so much.”
Beside him, Julia crossed her arms as though she’d won the battle. But the war was Candace’s, Wendell already knew.
“Your judgment is baffling,” Candace said finally. She turned to Julia. “I’m leaving, with or without you.”
“Please?” Julia begged at his elbow. “Can we stay with you now?” But if she’d been expecting an ally, she did not have one.
“Julia, it’s time to go,” he said.
“I had to tell her. This way she’ll see that we have this under control. We don’t need her.”
Wendell shook his head. “Listen to your aunt.”
She would not budge. “Whose side are you on?”
“There are no sides, Julia.”
Candace got in the car and started it.
Julia glared at him, and Wendell could feel the heat of her disappointment. Then she took Pippa’s hand. As she stomped down the steps, she called back, “I thought you were different. Some hero you are!”
It was a blow effectively targeted and expertly delivered. He took it, dead on.
Candace rolled down the window. “Mr. Combs, we will talk in the morning.”
Wendell leaned against the railing. “I only bought the horse as a nod to Alan; he was my friend.” As the words came out, Wendell realized he meant them. He had never admitted it before, and yet when Alan had died, a friend was exactly what he’d lost.
Candace stared straight ahead as the girls clambered into the backseat in a flurry of disarray. “We’ll discuss this tomorrow morning. First thing.” He was going to be fired.
Wendell stood on the porch until the taillights rolled down the driveway and turned into the darkness. There would be no sleep for him tonight. He sank down in the rocker that he’d discovered Pippa curled up in.
Wendell was used to feeling numb. It was a state he’d spent years chasing. But tonight he felt too much. Sadness. Regret. Loss. He sat, rocking, until the first light came over the horizon. He thought of the girls, driving away in the backseat of the car, and wondered if he’d made a huge mistake. Of Ginny, driving away from him that afternoon. He thought of Dr. Westerberg, who had told him that he needed to let himself feel the good parts along with the bad. But what happened when everything good left?
When the sun made its slow climb over the hills, Wendell stood up. There, at the bottom of the porch steps, was a tiny pink bicycle with sparkly streamers on the handlebars. He went inside and shut the door behind him.