A Town Called Valentine: A Valentine Valley Novel (4 page)

Mrs. Ludlow sighed. “A shame she sometimes had such terrible arguments with her daughter.” Then her eyes widened as if she suddenly remembered she was discussing Emily’s mother. “Oh dear.”

Emily smiled. “I know everything about my mother, Mrs. Ludlow, so you’re not offending me.” She wished she could change the subject, for thinking about her mother was something she seldom did. She didn’t want to imagine Delilah growing up in this town, worrying her own mother endlessly. However, had Delilah discovered her passion for a Wiccan lifestyle in Valentine Valley?

“We often wondered how she supported herself,” Mrs. Thalberg said quietly. “She left Valentine at such a young age.”

“But don’t you remember?” Mrs. Palmer said, waving both wrinkled hands. “Agatha told us that Dorothy started her own business. Imagine that!”

“She changed her name to Delilah,” Emily said, shaking her head.

“How exotic!” Mrs. Palmer exclaimed.

For the first time, Emily thought of her mother from someone else’s viewpoint, and knew that with little education, her mother had provided for her, and in an expensive city, no less. But that didn’t make up for the simpler things she’d lacked, a mother’s love, an interest in her life. There were no school paintings taped to the refrigerator at the Strong house, at least not after her dad died. He’d left his favorites up so long—the Hall of Fame, he’d called them—that they yellowed at the edges. Emily still had a vivid memory of her mother throwing them away, stone-faced, right after her father’s death.

“Nate wrote that your mother died, and you’ve come back to sell the family building,” Mrs. Thalberg said, watching her too closely. “How did she die? She was far too young.”

“A car accident,” Emily replied, feeling a twinge of regret. “It was very sudden, but she didn’t suffer.”

They offered condolences, then sat for a moment, nodding, their silence respectfully spiritual, as if they were kneeling in church.

“You lost her too soon,” Mrs. Thalberg said, “but it’s obvious she raised a fine girl.”

Sometimes Emily believed she raised herself, but she wouldn’t say that aloud. She’d been doing her own laundry by the time she was eight. At least it made her self-sufficient.

“We were sad that Dorothy—Delilah—didn’t return when she sold this house,” Mrs. Palmer said.

Emily stared at her. “Excuse me?”

“Ah, then you don’t remember visiting here at all?” Mrs. Thalberg chimed in. “This was Agatha’s home while she lived.”

“For some reason, I thought she lived above the store,” Emily said slowly.

“No, no, she rented out that apartment,” Mrs. Ludlow said, picking up the tale. “After she died, your mother arranged to sell this old house to the Thalbergs.”

“I always liked it,” Mrs. Thalberg said in a confidential tone. “Agatha and I were close neighbors, of course, and time and again I told her if she ever wanted to sell, she should come to us.”

Close neighbors? Emily thought, not remembering seeing any houses on the near side of the creek. “Oh, the ranch!” she said, smiling. “So that’s your family ranch behind us?”

“The Silver Creek Ranch,” she said with pride. “My husband’s grandfather came to Colorado when they were mining silver in the 1880s. Someone had to provide food for all those miners, so he started running cattle. When the silver went bust, it was the ranches and farms that kept this valley going.”

“And then Aspen became so popular,” Mrs. Ludlow said with a sigh. “Things changed around here. Lots of new people.”

“Things always change,” Mrs. Palmer said firmly. “We change or die.”

“But Renée, the price of land!” Mrs. Ludlow protested. “My granddaughter works in Aspen, and she can’t even afford to live there.”

“So she lives in Basalt, which is closer to us, Connie.” Mrs. Thalberg patted her friend’s arm. “And isn’t that a blessing?”

Mrs. Ludlow gave a slow smile and whispered to Emily, “Don’t tell my granddaughter that I agree with Rosemary about anything.”

Emily smiled, then turned to Mrs. Thalberg. “It was very kind of Nate to allow me to spend the night, but you ladies don’t know me, and I feel like I’m imposing.”

“Nonsense!” Mrs. Thalberg said with a grin. “This house is as much his as mine since my son owns it. And not know you? You’re Agatha’s granddaughter, and that’s good enough for me. Nate must think you’re special to bring you here.”

All three women leaned toward her, and Emily almost leaned back. “We only met briefly last night. I stopped for dinner, and then my car broke down. Nate took me to the building, but . . .” She trailed off, not knowing how to explain the condition in which she had found things.

Mrs. Palmer’s eyes narrowed. “That little restaurant closed without any notice. I never did trust those people. They didn’t make friends—”

“Which is very foolish for a restaurant needing customers,” Mrs. Ludlow interrupted. “And they would set trash outside their back door rather than take it right to the Dumpster. Unsightly.”

“Well, they weren’t nice people,” Emily said, “judging by the condition they left the building. I’ll have a lot of cleaning and repairing to do before I can sell it.”

“You don’t want to keep it for yourself?” Mrs. Thalberg asked, studying her. “Or rent it out again?”

“That’s too difficult from San Francisco. And I need to finish my degree, so the money will come in handy.”

All three ladies nodded.

Then Mrs. Thalberg’s eyes twinkled as she said, “Nate lives just down the road.”

Back to Nate again, Emily thought, forcing a smile even as she was trying to control a blush. If these sweet old ladies knew what she’d been doing with him on top of a pool table . . .

She excused herself to remove the banana bread from the oven. The top was overdone, but when she cut several steaming slices, it didn’t look too bad. She sat down and offered everyone some, then buttered herself a slice.

“Connie,” Mrs. Thalberg said to Mrs. Ludlow, “did you know Nate remodeled this house all by himself?”

“I did not,” Mrs. Ludlow exclaimed, blinking with feigned astonishment. “He’s very talented.”

As if Mrs. Thalberg would ever keep that a secret, Emily thought, biting her lip to hide a smile. She kept her gaze innocent and polite.

“And when you see that boy on a horse, you know God meant him to ride.”

Mrs. Palmer nodded solemnly. “He’s so devoted to the family ranch.”

And he gets drunk and tries to seduce strange women, then gets mad when he’s rejected,
Emily thought with a touch of sarcasm. She sighed, knowing she’d been “strange” enough to allow it. And not just allow, but participate with hungry enthusiasm.

“He renovated the cabin, too,” Mrs. Thalberg said, nodding. “It’s one of the original buildings on the ranch, and he made it so cozy.”

“And he takes such good care of us,” Mrs. Palmer intoned solemnly.

They might as well call him Saint Nate.

“But he doesn’t only work hard,” Mrs. Thalberg continued, oblivious to Emily’s discomfort. “He knows what it’s like to enjoy himself.”

Emily coughed on a piece of banana bread, and Mrs. Palmer whacked her on the back.

“He snowboards, of course—don’t all the young people?” Mrs. Thalberg beamed. “And he still rides a bike—up on that mountain that towers over our heads! Ever since high school, where he played so many sports, it’s like he’s a daredevil. Now it’s climbing rocks.” She shook her head, tsking.

“They do what makes them happy,” Mrs. Ludlow said with a sigh. “Look at my granddaughter—she drives a snowmobile too fast!”

The discussion degenerated into the dangerous mountain sports each of their grandchildren participated in, and Emily used their distraction to finish the dishes and find plastic containers for the food. She needed to escape the Nate festival, and she desperately wanted to see her building in broad daylight.

When at last the ladies noticed that she’d come to stand next to the table, Emily said, “Mrs. Thalberg, I’m going into Valentine today. Are there any errands I can run for you ladies? I don’t know what time I’ll be back . . .”

“I’ll drive you!” Mrs. Thalberg insisted, rising to her feet in her housecoat and slippers.

“No, ma’am, I truly need the exercise. And it’s not far, not even a mile.”

“Well, that’s true . . .” she said, still looking concerned.

“It’s a beautiful day, and I’ll enjoy being outside before being cooped up for the rest of the day.”

They still looked concerned when Emily emerged from the small apartment with her purse and a backpack with a few supplies.

“Promise you won’t work too hard.” Mrs. Thalberg offered her a bottle of water.

Emily took it and smiled, already enjoying the company of these three women. “I won’t. And thank you again for welcoming me into your home. I promise to look into a room at the motel today, too.”

“No!” all three ladies said at once.

“We will not hear of it,” Mrs. Thalberg said firmly, in the tone of voice of a woman used to being in command.

Emily remembered that she’d probably been actively involved at the ranch for many years.

“We’re enjoying getting to know Agatha’s granddaughter,” Mrs. Ludlow added smoothly. “You cannot deny us that.”

“Every day is always the same.” Mrs. Palmer spread her hands.

Looking at the ladies, Emily doubted that. “Then I insist you allow me to pay rent.”

Mrs. Thalberg smiled in triumph. “We’ll think about it. Have a good day!”

With a wave, Emily went out the back door, shaking her head at how easily they’d maneuvered her. As she walked down the driveway to the gravel road, she glanced about worriedly, wondering if she could see Nate’s cabin—if he could see her. But wherever it was, it was well hidden. She relaxed, letting the scenery bring a moment’s peace. Silver Creek rushed along, muddy and turbulent, close to the height of its banks. This was springtime, and the runoff from the mountains must affect every river and stream. Across the creek, she could see the buildings of Valentine Valley, most only one or two stories tall. Between the creek and the town, a park ran along the banks, scattered with picnic pavilions, playgrounds, and a couple hundred yards down, a large white gazebo.

As Emily reached the bridge, the road she was on continued sloping up toward the mountain, and across the green rise were scattered the jutting gray headstones of a cemetery. She was tempted to go peek at the dates on the stones, then reminded herself that she had a purpose. After crossing the bridge, a couple blocks ahead of her she could see the tall stone building with a clock tower that must be city hall. With its back to the towering cliffs of the mountains, it presided over the town. When she reached it, she saw she was on Main Street, and turned down toward her building.

She walked past the storefronts butting against one another for several long blocks. A beautiful old theater marquee advertised a forties movie festival that weekend. Clapboard storefronts with bay windows on each side of front doors alternated with sandstone edifices with arches rainbowing over windows. Planters overflowing with spring flowers lined the sidewalks, and US flags hung from the antique light poles in a long line down the street. She passed a local history museum, a toy and gift shop, restaurants, and the Open Book, a corner bookstore that made her peer longingly in the windows. She could see the beautiful white steeple of a church rising from behind the Main Street buildings.

Villagers swept the sidewalks in front of their stores and greeted her, leaving her a little surprised. In San Francisco, no one looked at passersby, and now she felt on display, as if everyone knew her secrets. For all she knew, Nate Thalberg could have bragged to his buddies about the fun time he’d had at Tony’s Tavern. But no, that was too cynical of her, especially toward a man who’d given her a safe place to stay. Surely the businesspeople of Valentine Valley thought her just another tourist, and there were plenty of those, people taking pictures of the town hall framed by the Elk Mountains, or of the long row of flat-fronted stores painted various pastel colors. Young lovers—and those not so young—were everywhere, holding hands and looking about with delight. In a town named Valentine, she saw plenty of hearts and cupids and red accents.

Her own storefront restaurant was shuttered and dark, looking so forlorn between Wine Country and Monica’s Flowers and Gifts. It was still too early for them to be open, so she took a moment to admire the Hotel Colorado across the street, three stories with arched columns running the length of the block, like a grand old duchess, with sparkling glimpses of its youth. She tried to imagine all of this in the nineteenth century, when the wide dirt street would have been teeming with mule trains, and the hotel full of newly rich miners, come down from the mountains to enjoy themselves. Okay, so she’d done her research before driving up.

But she couldn’t delay any longer, regardless of the sunshine and the beautiful spring day. She had to face something ugly and deliberately ruined, and she reminded herself that this was not an omen of her future. It was like her marriage, something she could eventually put in the past as a bad memory. Taking out her keys, she tried the front door. The lock turned with a little effort, and she went inside, tripping almost immediately over a toppled table in the gloom. She opened one of the shutters partway, not wanting people to be able to see the disaster.