BEULAH WENT UPSTAIRS to bed, and for a long time Annie sat in the den, curled up on the faded polyester couch, and fingered loose frays from a cushion. The room was comfortable, in a well-worn and familial way, but there were no luxuries. The bulky television, used only for the evening news and the occasional basketball game, was built long before technology streamlined screen size. The braided rug in front of the fireplace was the same rug from her childhood. The oversized lamps on the veneer end tables provided the only light in the room. It was a room from the 1970s. Now that she thought about it, she could not remember one time when her grandmother bought something new for the house—except for her grandfather’s recliner.
Annie remembered the day when the recliner was delivered. After grunts and groans, two men finally wedged it into the living room. Once the paperwork was signed, her grandparents stood back and marveled at it. Each of them took a turn sitting in it, raising the leg rest, and leaning all the way back. Beulah gave her a stern look when she brought the leg rest down with a thump. “Be careful; it was expensive,” her grandmother had admonished.
It was only a few months ago when her life in New York City crashed and she moved home to Kentucky. Living with her grandmother was like falling back in time. The dated furniture, the quiet of the country, the deferred maintenance, all seemed to smother her at first. Her grandmother’s frugality agitated her, from the cheap coffee to the lack of connectivity to the outside world. There was no subscription to satellite or cable, and certainly no wireless Internet. But during the last several months at home, Annie had grown to appreciate her grandmother and her heritage. Nearly all of her grandparents’ savings preserved the farm that had been in their family for generations.
She understood her grandmother’s position on the old stone house. If only there were a solution to repair it and keep her grandmother happy on finances.
There was her own savings account, but despite Annie’s best efforts to search out a job in Somerville, there was nothing to be had. She would eventually need to buy a car, something she had not needed in the city. But here in the country, there was no way to have a job without one. Jake had fixed up her grandfather’s old farm truck, but it had already broken down on Annie twice. And if she had to look as far as Rutherford, or even Lexington for work, reliability was even more crucial.
She went to the kitchen and put on a kettle of water for tea. The insurance check and the restoration bids were still on the kitchen table. She laid the estimates on the harvest table side-by-side. There was the local contractor’s bid, another from a company out of Rutherford, and a third from a large construction company out of Lexington. Each bid was within a few hundred dollars of each other, and all well beyond the insurance check.
Each bid included demolition, roof, plaster, woodwork, plumbing, electrical, replacement windows, glass repair, HVAC, and fixtures.
So much to be done, Annie thought. Yet tearing down the house would be a regrettable decision.
After a cup of tea and staring endlessly at the papers, she stood and turned off the lights before making her way up to her bedroom. As she eased into the soft cotton folds underneath the worn and frayed quilt, an idea came. Tom Childress’ name was recently in the Somerville Record for attending a state historic preservation meeting. His daughter, Lindy, was Annie’s new friend. She would call them tomorrow and see if they could help.
***
Lindy Childress sat behind her desk in the law office where she practiced with her father. Her blonde hair fell around her pixie face as she leaned forward and tapped the desk with a pencil.
“So you see,” Annie said. “I thought since it is an old house, maybe there are some grants out there for historic sites at risk.”
“We need to talk to Dad. I know there are tax credits at the federal and state level. There might be some grants available, but there’ll be research to do, and lots of forms to complete. And far more than two weeks before you will know anything.”
“I don’t think Grandma wants to tear it down, but losing the income was discouraging, and then finding out the insurance payoff was so skimpy made it worse. She reduced the insurance after my grandfather died to cut expenses. After sitting there for two hundred years, she never dreamed about something happening,” Annie said.
“Let me see if Dad can come in for a minute. He had some clients, but they may be gone now.”
Annie admired Lindy’s office. It was in an old Victorian building with tall ceilings, wood floors, and a gas log fireplace she imagined her friend enjoyed in cooler weather. A red and gold Persian rug covered most of the floor, giving the room a cozy feel.
“Hello, Annie.” Tom Childress entered the room, glasses in his left hand and his right extended to her. Lindy followed and sat in her chair behind the desk while Tom folded his large frame in the chair next to her.
“How’s Beulah?” he asked.
“Remarkable,” Annie said. “You’d hardly know she had the knee operation just a few months ago.”
“Good,” he said. “And Jake is closing on his house this weekend, I believe?”
“Tomorrow. Then he will be home for good,” she said, not even trying to contain the smile.
“I’ve enjoyed meeting with him. He’s a fine young man, and our community will be better for having him back here. And Evelyn?”
“Thrilled to have Jake back.”
“Good, good. Well, Lindy told me about your situation with the old stone house. It’s a common problem in the preservation world. How do we save our treasures and make them economically viable? I have some tax credit information for you to share with Beulah. There are papers to fill out and certain criteria, of course, but I believe she could get some help there. Who have you talked to about doing the work?”
Annie listed the contractors and the bid amounts.
“Uh huh,” Tom said and then wrote down some notes on a legal pad. “How are you at research?” he asked, looking at her over his reading glasses.
“I don’t know—I’ve never done any, other than college papers.”
“That house is rumored to have an interesting history, although I don’t think anybody has ever dug into it.”
“Really?”
“Oral history says it is the first stone house built in Kentucky. If you could prove it, that could mean special historic status and might qualify for a grant from a national organization.” Tom flipped over a sheet on the legal pad and continued writing.
“I’m listing several organizations here you should look into for grants. I’m also writing down the name of an elderly lady who is in Richwood Manor; her mind is sharp as a tack. You should go see her about the house. She knows everything about the county and might give you some ideas on where to look for the historical information. I’m also writing down the name and number …” Tom reached for his phone and scrolled through his contacts. “… of a guy who is the best at restorations. He’s also very reasonable and has low overhead since he works for himself. His name’s Jerry Baker. He’s from Rockcastle County, a true artist who loves his work. I think he will give you the best price. Maybe between that, whatever grants you might qualify for, and with the tax credits, you can convince Beulah to restore the place.”
Tom smiled and tore off a couple of sheets and handed them to her.
“I’d be glad to work on it,” Lindy said. “Especially the research; I love that side of things.”
“Let me know what you end up applying for. I have a few contacts at the national level. I’d be glad to make some phone calls if it would help.” Tom stood and looked at Lindy before leaving the room. “Still on for three o’clock?”
Lindy nodded. “We’re just going to lunch and I’ll be back in time to prepare.”
“I can’t thank you enough,” Annie said.
“If you can manage to save the old stone house, I’ll be thanking you,” he said.
***
Just two blocks down the street, a red and white striped awning marked the entrance to Bill’s Diner. She pushed open the plate glass and metal door, which jingled the bell above. Bill was in the back at the grill and threw up a spatula in greeting.
They slid into opposite vinyl-covered seat benches where checked curtains hung in the windows. Whenever she ate here, she always remembered her waitressing days at the diner during high school. Bill and Viola had given her a chance at her first job. It was hard to think of sweet Viola now in the throes of Alzheimer’s and Bill needing to sell his restaurant so he could stay home and take care of her. She had even considered asking Bill for a job, but she knew he was fully staffed at the moment. And with his plans to sell, it would be short term.
“Has Jake heard anything on the diner?” Lindy asked.
“Not yet. A chef is interested in doing a farm-to-table concept, but he hasn’t made a decision yet.”
“I hope it works out. It’d be a sad loss to the town if it shuts down.”
“Tea?” the waitress asked.
They both nodded. “Need a minute to order?”
“I’m ready. I’ll take the burger,” Lindy said.
“Same for me,” Annie said.
The waitress gathered the menus and left.
“So, Jake’s back for good after this weekend?” Lindy asked.
Annie nodded. “Now we finally get to see what it’s like to be around each other every day. He’s been back and forth to Cincinnati so much getting his house ready to sell and moving.”
“I’m so happy for you both,” Lindy said, and smiled. The diner doorbell jingled behind Annie and she saw Lindy’s smile freeze. She turned in her seat. In the doorway stood a man with skin tanned to a golden brown under a faded T-shirt stretched across his muscled chest and shoulders. Annie saw his long auburn hair was pulled back into a twist as the guy turned to shut the door. Ragged shorts and worn sandals: a Goodwill Adonis, she thought.
Annie turned back to Lindy and saw the frozen smile had thawed to wide eyes and mouth forming the word What?
“What’s wrong?” Annie asked.
“That’s Rob. My ex-boyfriend.”
“Are you okay?”
“I thought he was in New Zealand. Or at least he was, the last I heard,” Lindy said.
Smiling, Rob spotted Lindy and glided over to the booth.
“Hey, Lin,” he said, sliding into the booth next to Lindy in one catlike motion, then leaned in to give her a gentle kiss on the cheek. He turned to Annie.
“Rob McElroy.” Annie took the extended hand and noticed callouses and a strong handshake.
He looked back at Lindy, who had yet to say a word to him, the longest stretch of silence she had ever witnessed from her friend.
“I stopped by your office and they sent me here,” he said.
“I thought you were in New Zealand?” Lindy said.
“I was, but I’m done and headed to El Cap. Got a little guiding job there for a while. Are you busy later? I thought we could hang out when you get off work.”
“That would be great,” she said, smiling now.
“Brilliant. I’ll pick you up. Maybe a little dinner in Lex?” he said, easing out of the booth. “Nice to meet you,” he said to Annie, and then was gone.
“He’s your ex?” she said. “He didn’t act like an ex.”
“He’s my weakness,” Lindy said. Her face glowed.
“Where or what is El Cap?” she asked, just as the waitress brought their plates.
“Rob’s a rock climber. El Capitan is a vertical rock formation in Yosemite National Park. He’s well known in that group. Climbing Magazine did a feature on him once.”
“That’s his job?”
“Sort of. Sometimes he gets guiding jobs and sometimes he gets sponsors to do a certain climb for events. It’s a simple lifestyle with lots of travel and adventure.”
“Which is why you are broken up.”
“I don’t hear from him for months and then he just shows up. This is even stranger because I didn’t think he would come back until spring.”
With a generous dollop of mustard on her burger she took a bite. Ah, perfect. “So he shows up and you hang out.”
She could see color rising in Lindy’s face. “Well, sort of,” she said. “It’s complicated.”
***
The back door of Evelyn Wilder’s brick Italianate was usually unlocked during the day, like many other houses on May Hollow Road. She called a hello and followed the responding voice of Jake’s mother into the kitchen where the scent of cinnamon hung heavy in the air. Evelyn, always elegant even in blue jeans and polo, twisted dough into buns at the kitchen counter. She turned and smiled.
“Annie, you came at just the right time.”
“Yum, Cinnamon rolls,” she said.
Evelyn laughed. “If you stick around for another thirty minutes, we can enjoy one of these on the back porch with some coffee. The sun should just be going down about then.”
“Sounds good. Sure you don’t mind if I use your computer?”
“Of course not. I told you, anytime. I have some coffee brewing if you’d like a cup while you work.”
The steaming mug was in her hand when she sat down in the small maid’s room just off the kitchen. While she waited for the computer to boot, she looked at Evelyn’s menagerie of photographs on the desk. One in particular caught her eye. It was of Annie and Jake, leaning against a white plank fence next to her grandmother’s house. The picture was taken when she had just arrived home after losing her job and Jake had just come home to sort out his future and choose between banking and farming. Annie had freshly broken up with her old boyfriend Stuart and Jake was dating Camille.
Camille, the daughter of Jake’s Cincinnati friend and mentor, was Jake’s intended until he brought her to the farm for a visit. Annie was grateful for the jealousy that had reared in her own heart, catching her off-guard, and making her realize Jake was much more than just a childhood friend. As bad as it was at the time, her feelings had forced a confrontation with Jake that led to his breaking off with Camille and their eventual honesty with each other.
When the computer was ready, Annie typed the names of the organizations Tom had given her into the search engine. When she found something interesting, she printed it out. One site led to another, and she lost herself in the search until Evelyn called to her from the kitchen. “Rolls are ready.”
“Coming,” she said, pulling together all the printed papers and putting them in her notebook.
Evelyn had served each of them a steaming roll with drizzled icing on top.
“I’ll bring these if you don’t mind to grab a couple of afghans off the couch and bring them outside,” Evelyn said. “It gets a little chilly now when the sun goes down.”
Annie fetched the colorful hand-knitted afghans from the living room couch and followed Evelyn out to the back porch.
“I may need to come back. So many things need to be printed out,” she said. “I’ll bring a ream of paper next time.”
Annie tore off a piece of the sweet bread and popped it in her mouth. Delicious.
“Anytime; and don’t worry about the paper. I hardly print anything off—maybe a recipe or two once in a blue moon. What are you working on?”
“Historic preservation grants for the old stone house. Did Grandma tell you about the dismal insurance check?” The two widows talked every evening on the phone and Annie was sure Evelyn was informed.
“Oh yes, disappointing. Have you talked with Tom Childress? He’s awfully good at anything involving history.”
“As a matter of fact, I talked with him today. He suggested I go see a lady in Richwood Manor who knows a lot about local history. And he gave me some organizations to contact. I don’t know if she told you, but Betty Gibson is pushing a salvage company that will pay for the architectural pieces,” Annie said, rolling her eyes. “I know Betty means well, but sometimes I wish she would stick to her own business.”
Evelyn laughed. “There’s a reason we are told to ‘love your neighbor.’”
Annie sighed. “I only have a couple of weeks to come up with some sort of plan. I understand where Grandma is coming from, but it’s not much time.”
“Don’t worry. If you can meet her halfway, I am willing to bet she will do what she can.” Evelyn took a sip of coffee. “Any luck finding a job?”
“None. My friend Janice is coming to visit the first week of October, so at this point I might wait to expand my search to Rutherford and Lexington until after she leaves.”
“Tell me about her,” Evelyn said.
“Janice is like the sister I never had, yet we’re so different. She’s 100 percent New Yorker, and a full-blooded Italian on top of it. My first day on the job out of training, I was assigned to work a flight with her, and I was so nervous I spilled coffee on a passenger. The man yelled at me and complained to the crew chief. I cried in the galley, and then Janice yelled at me for crying.”
Annie pulled the afghan tighter around her.
“I guess she felt bad later and she asked me to come home with her for dinner. After being in New York for a few months and not knowing anybody, it was so nice to be with a family. After dinner, she apologized, but she told me I needed to toughen up if I was going to survive the city.” Annie smiled at the memory. “Janice was right, and I did toughen up. We’ve been best friends ever since.”
“Those kind acts when you are vulnerable mean so much,” Evelyn said. “Beulah took me under her wing when I was a young bride and new to the farm. I remember that first summer I had a pile of green beans on the table and a canner on the stove and no idea what to do in between. Beulah stopped by to check on me, and when she saw the mess I had she took over and helped me with my first batch of green beans. My mother taught me all about etiquette and how to set a table, but we didn’t know anything about farm life.”
“Janice wants to experience nature,” Annie said. “Her mother-in-law is living with her so it’s been a little stressful lately. She mentioned learning to can. What’s in season now?”
“There are persimmon trees around the graveyard. We have some pawpaws in the back of our farm. Both ripen about then so you could make jam,” Evelyn said. “Are her kids coming?”
“No, but it’s why she’s free. Her sister invited them to spend the week with her because they have a short break at school.”
Annie held the coffee mug in both hands and breathed in the rich aroma, enjoying the comfortable silence between them. “How’s the wedding coming along?” she asked.
“Mary Beth was trying to keep it simple since it’s a second wedding for her. But, it’s Scott’s first and he has a big family in Alabama, so the guest list is already up to a hundred. The church will have a reception for them after they return from the honeymoon, which smoothed over a few ruffled feathers with not inviting all the church members out here for the wedding and reception.”
“I told Jake I would help him organize his house for the wedding guests from Alabama,” Annie said.
“Thank goodness. I was worried about him ever getting those boxes put away before the wedding. For all his good qualities, he can live in a barn stall and feel like he’s staying at the Ritz.” Evelyn laughed. “He’s just like Charlie. Could care less about tracking in mud or keeping things neat. I have to confess, I was somewhat relieved when he decided to stay in the servant’s cottage.”
Annie smiled, thinking about the difference in Jake and her old boyfriend Stuart, the compulsive neat freak.
“It’s getting late, and I want to digest all this grant information so I better go home.” Annie stood and gathered up the dirty dishes.
“Annie, what do you think about a dinner party next weekend to celebrate Jake’s official return to Somerville? I was thinking around twelve people. Scott, Mary Beth, Woody, Lindy, Betty and Joe, Tom Childress—I’ll see if he wants to bring a date—and the four of us.”
“I’ll be glad to help,” Annie said.
“I think I can manage it. Saturday night?” Evelyn asked.
“Looking forward to it,” Annie said, and walked out the back door.