ANNIE STARED AT the papers spread out in front of her. Preservation grants were available from different organizations, most outside of Kentucky, but none would be awarded until after the first of the year, and some not until spring. Just as Lindy anticipated: far too late for her grandmother’s timeline.
She leaned back and twisted and untwisted her hair as she thought. If the history center gave her a shred of indication on the house’s age, anything to shed light on its history, it was well worth a trip to Frankfort. Her phone vibrated on the wooden table and Jake’s name popped up on the screen.
“Are you awake?” Jake’s deep voice both soothed and excited her.
“I’ve had enough coffee to keep me up all night. Where are you?”
“Walking through the barn lot. I didn’t want the car to wake Beulah. Meet you out back.”
Jake was home, sooner than expected. Annie jumped up and took a quick peek in the bathroom mirror, then dabbed on some powder and lip-gloss. She grabbed a sweater hanging on a peg in the back room before going out.
Once her eyes adjusted to the dark, she saw his shadow, silhouetted against the stock barn’s security light, moving toward her.
A hug and a long kiss, and then he took her hand and led her around to the front porch.
“I missed you,” he said. They sat on the old porch swing and she leaned into him.
“How did it go?” she asked.
“The closing went well. I ended up going out for an early dinner with the guys, and I couldn’t see spending another night there on somebody’s couch when I could come home and see you.”
“Did you have a good time with your friends?”
“Yeah. They messed with me about leaving town for Green Acres and old MacDonald’s farm. I actually think they were a little envious. One of my friends pulled me aside and asked if I needed any help on the farm,” Jake laughed. “I told him it’d be a while before I can pay myself, much less him.”
She squeezed his hand, enjoying the sound of his voice and the warmth of his body next to hers.
“Did Camille’s dad come to the dinner?” she couldn’t help but ask. He had been a mentor to Jake and wanted his youngest daughter to marry Jake. When the relationship broke up over the summer, her father was understandably disappointed. Jake’s relationship with Camille’s father seemed to be the real casualty, since Camille had apparently moved on to a New York real estate executive.
“No, but he sent a note wishing me the best. It’s just as well.” He reached over and pulled a strand of hair away from her face.
“I wonder … What if we had not ended up here last summer?”
“I don’t know. I guess it was meant to be,” Jake said.
“Grandma says that all the time. I wonder about it. Are things meant to be despite human choice? Or, are they meant to be because of human choice?”
“Maybe it’s both,” Jake said. “I think entire theologies are formed around those questions.”
“So when did you know you wanted to come back and live here?” she asked.
“When Dad died,” Jake said, his voice just above a whisper.
The answer surprised Annie and she sat up straight and turned so she could face Jake. “Five years ago,” she said.
“It’s taken me a while,” Jake said.
“Why then?”
“Dad wanted me to come back to the farm after college. I’d had enough of dairy farming and I liked finance, so I took the banking job in Atlanta. The Cincinnati promotion came along after that. Everything was going my way until Dad got sick. I took a leave from work to help on the farm since the doctors said it wouldn’t be long. He was gone within a month,” Jake said.
Annie remembered she was taking flights from New York to Dallas and Chicago at that time. Knowing what it was like to lose a parent, she had reached out to Jake and they talked two or three times during his dad’s short illness. When her grandmother called with the news that Charlie Wilder had passed, she was sitting on the edge of a bed in an airport hotel in Dallas.
“After he died and I went back to Cincinnati; I was in a weird place. I felt guilty about not helping him more, not spending more time with him. It was like being haunted with all the things I should have done for him. There was no way to fix it and I hated myself for it. There was a girl I was dating at the time,” Jake’s voice trailed off. “I didn’t treat her very well.”
His blue eyes looked deep into hers, as if seeking her forgiveness for some past sin.
“I understand. Guilt mixed with grief can do terrible things to your mind,” she said. They were silent for a few moments before she gently said, “Then?”
“Camille’s dad helped me through it, meeting with me and encouraging me to take stock and decide where to go from there. Another guy from the bank lost his wife and went through something similar. Both of those guys helped me to see that you can’t change the past, but you can change direction. That’s when I realized I didn’t like what I was doing, even though it paid well. My idea of success changed. After reading books on sustainable farming, I decided I could farm in a different way than Dad. Build on what he started and take it another direction.”
Annie’s back rested comfortably on Jake’s chest and she thought about the couple of times she reached out to Jake after his father died. The long distance made her unable to hear what he was truly going through; when Jake said he was doing fine, she had believed him.
“What about you? When did you know you wanted to come home for good?” Jake asked her.
Annie smiled in the darkness.
“It was the day of the fight with Camille,” she said. “My attraction to you was getting harder to push down and the way she acted about knowing what was best for you made me want to put Camille in her place. When the gate slammed, Nutmeg spooked, and she fell off that horse, I suddenly got scared she was really hurt. It was so childish,” Annie laughed. “When I knew she was okay and she trounced off in her expensive boots, I felt victorious, as if I had defended my territory or something. There was more truth in that moment than I understood at the time. It was when I knew this place belonged to me and I belonged to it.”
Annie felt Jake’s arm pull her closer into his chest.
“It was a rough two-hour drive to Cincinnati for me after that, but I’m glad you had that moment. It’s the day I broke it off with her.”
“I thought the opposite—sure I had pushed you together for good. When you left with her, I just knew you were going back to put a ring on her finger.”
“I needed perspective,” Jake said. “When I saw Camille so uncomfortable in a place so familiar and comfortable for me, it made me pause, and when I did, the whole thing unraveled.” Jake kissed her on top of the head.
Off in the far pond, the frogs croaked their evening lullaby. In only a few short weeks, they would be silent for the winter, making their melody tonight even more lonesome than usual.
“My perspective has certainly changed. Last spring I was pushing Grandma to sell the farm, and now I’m the one trying to persuade her to save the old stone house. It makes me sick to think of losing it.”
Jake pushed her off his chest and turned her to face him.
“Look, I just sold my house and have cash in the bank, why don’t I lend Beulah the money?”
She pulled back.
“No, she would never let you do that.”
“Then I’ll donate it,” he said.
“She will really never let you do that,” she laughed.
“Then I’ll help work on it when the time comes … I’m not bad with a hammer.”
“You’re already so busy with the farm,” Annie said.
“It’s what I want to do for the one I love,” he said, pulling her close again.
“What did you say?”
“I said, I love you,” he whispered in her ear.
She wrapped her arms around him and said the words softly back to Jake, her lips close to his ear, and feeling the rough stubble of his cheek on her face. They held each other for a long time. Over his shoulder, the harvest moon hung full and bold in the night sky. The man on the moon was plain to see and she imagined for a moment she saw him wink.
***
The morning light filtered through the kitchen window. Annie studied a grant application while sipping her coffee.
“Booger is out by the back step, so be careful when you go out,” Beulah said, coming into the living room with a broom in her hand. “I’d say it won’t be long before he goes to hibernating.”
“Do snakes hibernate? I thought only bears did that,” Annie said, looking up from the pile of papers in front of her. “I could’ve swept the porch for you,” she added.
“I need the exercise.”
Beulah carried the broom to the closet where they kept cleaning supplies. “He goes off every winter and finds a hole somewhere. I don’t know what it’s called, but he won’t come around again until spring. Ever since he showed up, I’ve hardly seen a mouse on the place. Booger does a much better job than the barn cats,” Beulah said and scanned the room. “Now where did I leave my coffee?”
“Personally, I prefer cats,” Annie said as she left the room. She found Beulah’s coffee cup in the kitchen and refilled both of their mugs.
“How you coming along?” Beulah asked.
Annie sat back down at the table.
“Right now, I’m narrowing down the grants we might apply for. Then, I need to do all the research so I can complete applications. Tom said there are tax credits, which help. Anyway, I’m working on pulling all this together so we can talk about it once I have all the facts.”
Beulah nodded, her expression stoic.
“Speaking of facts, I did get an estimate from the architectural salvage company,” she said. “Funny thing is, it came to Evelyn’s address but she brought it over to me.”
“How much was it?”
“Nearly as much as the insurance check,” Beulah said. “That makes a nice sum to bank for a rainy day.”
***
Jake was bent over the engine of a tractor when she found him in his barn lot.
“Hey you,” she said. He looked up and smiled when he saw her, then reached for a towel. “I was just thinking about you,” he said, wiping the grease off his hands.
“What were you thinking?” she asked, leaning against the John Deer tractor.
“Kind of a loaded question.”
“I’m listening,” she said, and took a step closer.
“I want to help with the house,” Jake said. “I could make a loan with low interest so she doesn’t feel like I’m giving her anything. Let’s talk to her and find out what she is comfortable with doing.”
“It may be a moot point,” Annie sighed. “Grandma got the architectural salvage estimate and it was nearly the same amount as the insurance company.”
Annie pulled a folded paper from her jeans pocket.
“Is that it?” Jake pointed to the paper.
“This is Jerry’s bid for the renovations,” she said, and handed him the paper.
Jake took it and unfolded the sheet, scanned it and looked up.
“This is reasonable. The insurance money will put it in the dry and the rest can be done a little at a time.”
“If I can convince Grandma. That darn Betty Gibson just made it a whole lot harder,” she said, and stuffed the bid in her back pocket. “I thought you were taking up hay?”
“Tractor’s down. Hopefully tomorrow if I can get it running and the rain holds off.”
“Seems like we’re both hoping for dry weather,” she said.
***
Annie drove Beulah’s Marquis an hour to Frankfort the following morning and found the stately Kentucky History Center in the middle of downtown. It was a relief to pull into a parking space rather than parallel park the “tank,” as she called Beulah’s car. She had hoped Lindy could come with her, but she was tied up with depositions. A lawyer would be handy, Annie thought, since I’m building a case to present to Grandma—sole judge and jury.
Inside, she was directed to a locker, where she was instructed to leave her satchel, purse and jacket.
“You should keep your wallet if you are planning to make copies,” she was told by the attendant. With the key on a band around her wrist, she took her wallet and followed the attendant to another door. The attendant swiped a card, the door clicked, and she was granted access to a large carpeted room.
The high security made her especially curious about what she might find in the inner sanctum. There were anterooms with microreaders of one sort or another. Copy machines, large tables and chairs for studying documents, reference books, and map drawers. An information desk was in the center of the room, and she walked over to it.
“Hi, excuse me,” she said. The pale-skinned young woman at the desk looked up and smiled.
“I’m looking for letters written by Joseph Crouch around the late 1700s.”
“Do you have a particular year in mind? Unfortunately, the letters are not indexed by topic. They’re in chronological order, so it helps a bit since they span more than twenty years. They’re all on microfilm, let me show you how to find the rolls.”
The young woman demonstrated how to find a microfilm number, and then a cabinet to find the actual film. Then there was how to load the film, move it around, and copy anything of interest. It took a few minutes of practice but soon Annie found a rhythm for the work. After thirty minutes, Annie realized she could not read everything. Instead, she simply made copies to take home for later.
After a short break when Annie ran out for a quick lunch, she was back in the darkened room, making copies of letter after letter until closing time.
With a stuffed satchel, she was surprised at how exhausted she felt driving home, despite the entire day sitting down in a dark room. Before going home, she wanted to make one more stop on the way.
***
This time, Vesta was in her room. The door was open, but she knocked and waited.
“Come in,” a loud, clear voice answered.
Vesta was sitting in a chair, the Bible spread over her lap, illuminated by a floor lamp next to the chair. The old woman smiled and waved her hand to an empty chair.
“I hoped I would see you again,” Vesta said.
“I promised I’d come back.”
“People use words they don’t mean. I’m glad you are not one of those people,” Vesta said, looking at Annie over her reading glasses. “How can I help you?”
“I went to the History Center today and copied all of the letters. But there’s so much more. I’d no idea how much information is stored there.”
“Wonderful, isn’t it?” she said. “Did you go into the stacks? To be surrounded by all those lovely old rare books is so peaceful.”
Annie looked around Vesta’s room where books lined tall and short bookshelves and some were even stacked on the floor.
“Most of my time was at the microfilm reader.”
“May I see some of the copies?”
“Sure.” Annie pulled a two-inch-thick stack of papers out of her satchel. Vesta put her glasses on and paged through the top pages.
“Yes, this will be a good start. Mind if I keep a few to read?”
“Fine, as many as you like,” Annie said.
Vesta glowed, as if she had given her a piece of jewelry.
“I would love to keep the whole stack, but my eyes aren’t strong enough anymore. I’ll take what I can manage. If I should find anything, is there a number where I can reach you?”
She wrote her grandmother’s landline and her own cell number on a piece of paper and handed it to Vesta.
“I appreciate the help. Can I ask you something else? The last time I was here, you mentioned an oral tradition. It’s why you believe the stone house to be first in Kentucky. How do you know the story?”
Vesta smiled and took off her glasses.
“It was a story told in my own family. And there was much talk about it being the first one of its kind west of the Cumberland Gap.”
“Your family passed this story down? Why?”
“They helped build it,” Vesta said, an amused look on her face.
“They were slaves?”
“Of course. The Douglases owned them—not your family. The Mays came from Scotland and brought with them the skill of laying stone. But they needed help digging out limestone. It was hard work, as you can imagine, and while the May family paid for the labor, the money went to the Douglases since they owned my people.”
Annie was silent for a moment, taking in the magnitude of Vesta’s words.
“I’m sure it’s fairly insignificant to say this now, but I am sorry.”
Vesta’s eyes were soft under raised eyebrows.
“Words of reconciliation are never insignificant.”
***
Beulah was in the living room watching the nightly news when Annie got home. Her grandmother reached for the remote and turned off the television as Annie plopped down on her grandfather’s recliner.
“I didn’t know what happened to you,” Beulah said. “Are you hungry?”
“Did you know the Mays were Scottish?”
“My father told me. I think we’re a mix of other things through our different lines.”
She told her grandmother about gathering the information in Frankfort and the visit with Vesta.
“The Givens are an old Somerville family. I suppose we are all more intertwined than we realize.”
“I would love for you to go with me sometime to see her,” Annie said, gathering up her bag.
Beulah nodded. “I’ll take her some vegetable soup. Have you had supper?”
“I’ll find something while I put on coffee, the real stuff, not decaf. I’ve a lot of work ahead tonight.”
“Don’t wear yourself out over all this. You need your rest,” Beulah called out.
Rest was not on her mind now. The visit with Vesta had motivated her to find answers. While rich coffee brewed, she began the task of reading handwritten letters from the late 1700s.