Keeping Victoria's Secret (11 page)

“Morning, Jimmy, Victoria. How’s
everybody?”

“Just super, Jack. Vicky’s got the mail.” He
grinned at her. “You folks have a good day now. Vicky thanks again
for the cake. See you tomorrow.”

Jimmy accelerated for a few seconds, braked a
hundred yards down the road at the next box, and then he was off
again vanishing around the bend.

“Baking cakes for Jimmy?”

She looked at Jack, squinting in the sunshine
and smiled. “He’s such a nice guy always very pleasant and helpful.
I thought I’d do something nice for him.”

“Jimmy is a married man you know. Very
happily married I might add.”

Her smile faded and her tone became guarded.
The remark had stung, causing her to bristle in response. “So yeah,
I know that.” She turned and marched towards the porch, mail in
hand. Speaking over her shoulder she said, “Penny’s having a baby
soon and Jimmy told me she had a craving for lemon cake so I made
them one. Got a problem with that?” She rapidly blinked back tears.
Does he think I’d try to hit on Jimmy? What an idiot!

Jack followed her. Feeling a little foolish
he said, “I’m sorry. Guess that was kind of a stupid thing to say.
My experience has been, when a single woman shows up with pies,
cakes, and stuff it usually means she’s angling for something.”

Turning to him on the porch, she said, “Yes
of course. I’m sure legions of women must beat a path to your door
bearing gifts.”

Jack held up his hands. “I'm sorry. I was
totally out of line. Can we just call a truce? We’ll probably need
to be working together.”

“I know you’re right,” she sighed. “There’s
no reason we can’t manage to be civil to one another.”

“I’ve got a bad feeling about Van
Winkle.”

She looked up in surprise. “He just drove by
a few minutes ago. He stopped on the other side of the road and
just stared for a while. I have to tell you, it sent shivers up my
spine. The guy creeps me out." She looked down at her mail sorting
through junk, bank statement, and… “What's this?” She stared at an
envelope and then frowning slowly opened it. Removing a single
sheet, she read it over and dropped it on the table as though it
were a poisonous snake. “Oh my God,” she said softly sinking down
into the chair.

“What is it Victoria? Bad news?”

Dazed, she shook her head. “It’s Van Winkle.
A letter from his lawyer.”

Jack snatched up the letter and she made no
move to stop him. Quickly he read it, glaring at the page. When he
finished reading, he dropped it back onto the table by the
laptop.

“Looks like they’ve started proceedings.
There’s a lot of ‘lawyer speak’, but the gist is they claim
Jonathan is rightful heir and owner. We need to talk to Fred
Douglas right away. You have his number?”

Without a word, she dug her cell from a
pocket, scrolled through the address list, and punched the send
button when she reached Fred. She handed the phone to Jack.

“Want me to talk to him?” he asked.

She nodded, unable to speak. There was a knot
in her stomach.

Jack’s conversation with Fred was brief. He
closed the phone and handed it back. “He wants to see the letter.
I’m on my way to town and I’ll take it straight to his office. Fred
says he’ll want to meet with you soon, but it’s not necessary right
now. Want to come along anyhow?”

She shook her head. “No Jack, if you don’t
mind I’ll just hang out here a while. Guess I need to do some
thinking. Tell Fred to call if he needs to tell me anything.”

“Hey, we’ll work this out. Like I said the
other day, I intend to fight this thing and I want you to help me.
You’re the legal owner of this property, at least for now. Don’t
crumble on me and give up, okay?”

“All right, Jack. You know the last thing I
want is to lose my Nanna’s home. Go on and take the letter to
Fred.”

Jack actually jogged down to his truck and
floored the gas pedal as he turned into the road with squealing
tires laying rubber.

She sat staring across the road into the rows
of apple trees feeling the gentle breeze fan her face. Jack’s a bit
of a hot head, but just maybe it’s good to have a hot head in my
corner now.

While Jack was gone she sat, thinking about
Nanna and wondering what it was like when she lived here as a young
girl tending her flower gardens or baking apple pies in the autumn.
It's so peaceful here, it's a shame someone had to come along and
overturn the apple cart. She smiled to herself considering the
irony of that analogy.

Roused from her reverie by the sound of tires
on the gravel driveway, she looked up expecting to see Jack
returning. Instead, she realized with a feeling of dread in the pit
of her stomach, that it was Van Winkle’s truck. She watched as he
slowly got out and made his way to the porch, a lecherous grin on
his plump face.

“Morning there. Uh. Is it Victoria? That
right, Miss Victoria Bundies?”

She didn't bother correcting him. He mounted
the steps and as he had on his first arrival, pulled one of the
wicker chairs around and sat uninvited and much too close. She drew
back and froze, fear gripping her as Van Winkle stared at her
malevolently. He reached over and plucked the empty envelope from
the table, examined the return address before snickering and
dropping it again. “Seems like you’ve got a letter from Albany.
Looks like a letter from a lawyer now, don’t it?”

Fred would probably advise me to reveal
nothing. “I haven’t anything to say to you. Have a nice day and you
can leave the property, please.” This was all she could manage
under the circumstances.

The porcine Van Winkle sat for a moment
leaning back, filling the wicker entirely. “Well now that’s not
very neighborly. And just when I’ve come to make a deal with you.
How’d you like a way to stay here in your grandma’s house?” He
paused for effect, and then continued. “I expect you and that
knucklehead Conner have a real friendly arrangement, you being the
owner of this place, and him being the muscle you might say. Jack
Conner has to go, but I can help you out, if you’re willing. Now
I’m gonna be the owner and you can keep things real nice for
me.

She shrank away from the smell of his sweat
as he leaned even closer.

“You’re taking good care of Jack living in
his house while he takes care of the barn, the planting, and such.
How’s about this? You can take care me, just like you take care of
him. I’ll do the farming work. You do some cooking, maybe you could
kind of be the housekeeper, take care of whatever I need.” At this,
he nodded towards the house, indicating her place in the
arrangement. He paused, leering at her.

She felt helpless. God only knew what this
cretin had in mind. At a loss for words, she knew how a mouse feels
when it’s waiting for the cat to pounce.

Van Winkle opened his mouth again to speak,
but was cut short.

“I believe, Mr. Van Winkle that you are
trespassing. You’ve been harassing this nice young lady and I
suggest you be on your way.”

She recognized that voice. They both turned
to see the silver haired man leaning on the porch railing. It was
the elderly man that had visited her last week, claiming to be a
Willet relative. How did he materialize so quietly?

“I don’t know who you are old man, but why
don’t you shuffle off. This lady and I are talking business.”

The elderly man shook his head. “Where I come
from….” His voice trailed off and he gazed around at the
surrounding woods and fields. “Where I come from a gentleman
doesn’t talk to a young lady like you’ve been doing. I’ll ask you
once more to just go on your way and leave her be.”

The smile dropped from Van Winkle’s face.
Angrily he barked, “Who the hell are you?”

Sighing, the man sadly shook his head. Slowly
a shotgun barrel rose into view and rested across the railing, the
stock nestled into the older man’s shoulder.

“Van Winkle, I’m your worst nightmare!” the
man said, leveling the gun at Jonathan’s head.

For such a chubby man, he moved quickly. Van
Winkle stood up so fast that the wicker chair he was sitting in
toppled backwards. Taking a couple of quick steps back, he lifted
his hands palms out saying, “Now wait just a minute, you
can’t….”

“Go on. Keep heading back to that truck
there. Get in and get on down the road. Go on now,” said the gray
haired man confidently.

Van Winkle took a couple more steps back,
still protesting and before he realized what was happening, ran out
of porch. He stepped off into mid air, lost his footing, and did a
complicated little dance down the front steps losing his balance,
regaining it and finally ending up on the lawn. He scurried for the
truck, got in, and started it up. Pulling slowly into the road he
stopped and looked back at the old man.

To her horror, the man raised the shotgun
towards Van Winkle’s truck and in quick succession fired both
barrels neatly above the cab. Two thunderous booms echoed off the
walls of the house.

She screeched in surprise pushing her chair
back to the clapboard wall. She heard the truck quickly accelerate
and burn rubber as it took the bend in the road just as Jack had
done earlier.

From the old man came a high-pitched cackle.
“Guess we settled his hash, now didn’t we?” He leaned the gun
against the rail and said, “This was in the garage, so I borrowed
it from Jack. Please tell him I used a couple of his shells. Under
the circumstances, I don’t think he’ll mind.” He smiled, looking
pleased with himself.

She was stunned, one hand over her pounding
heart and the other over her mouth as she tried not to scream. This
old guy was crazy! “Mr. uh, Willet, or whoever you are. You just
can’t go threatening people with guns. It’s illegal, I think. That
Van Winkle character is probably going to press charges or
something.”

Grinning, the man climbed up the steps onto
the porch, righted the chair and sat down. “Don’t you worry about
that, Sweetheart. They can’t put a dead man in jail.”

What next? I wonder what that crazy old man
means, but I don’t want to ask.

“I always wanted to do that Clint Eastwood
thing. You know, ‘Go ahead. Make my day.’ Can’t think of anybody
better to try it on, then Van Winkle.” He laughed again. “See the
way he danced right off the porch?”

“I guess I should thank you,” she said. “He
really made me very uncomfortable. I don’t think he’s a very nice
man. You’re a Willet cousin? Did you used to live near here?”

The wizened old head nodded but he didn’t
answer. His gaze moved over the trees as though admiring them. Then
he said, “Blossoms are all gone. They’re only here for a short
while. That’s about right.” He turned to look at her. “You remind
me so much of your grandmother.”

She leaned towards him asking eagerly, “Did
you know her?”

“Oh yes, I lived here abouts in Pippen’s
Grove, way back when she was young. When we were all young. That
was a good long time ago though. All that’s a story, I suppose, for
another day.”

His gaze swept over the trees once more where
the shimmering new growth of light green replaced the pink blooms
of a few days before. He sighed deeply and told her, “Victoria, you
do resemble your grandmother. She was quite the looker in her
youth.”

Then the old man rose quickly as though he’d
made a decision. He opened his mouth to speak, shut it again and
then regarded her with those pale blue eyes. Finally, the wrinkled
face split into a grin. “Well then, I have to be off. Won’t take
more of your time, but glad I could be of some service. You try and
have a good day, Victoria.”

He rose quickly and took up the shotgun.
“Don’t you worry. Life is too short to be worrying about things you
have no control over. I’ll return this to where I found it in the
garage.”

As quickly as he’d come, he was gone. Leaving
her sitting on the porch wondering about him. What came to her mind
was the old Lone Ranger television series. At the end of each
episode, the Lone Ranger and Tonto rode off into the sunset with a
receding “Hi, Ho Silver, Away!” The folks he’d just helped out of a
jam, would always ask, “Who was that masked man?”

1 1/2 cups butter, room temperature

1 (8 ounce) packages cream cheese, room
temperature

3 cups sugar

6 large eggs, room temperature

1 tablespoon vanilla extract

1 tablespoon finely grated lemon rind

3 cups sifted all-purpose flour

1/8 teaspoon salt

Preheat oven to 300°F. Use an electric mixer
to mix both butter and cream cheese until creamy. Gradually add
sugar and beat for 5 minutes, then add eggs one at a time, allowing
each to incorporate before adding more. Stir in vanilla. Sift flour
and salt and add gradually to the mixer, beating slowly until
blended. Remove from mixer and stir carefully up from the bottom to
make sure it's blended. Do not over mix. Pour batter into a well
greased and floured tube cake pan. Bake cake at 300 for an hour and
45 minutes, or until a toothpick can be removed cleanly. Place pan
on a wire rack and cool for 15 minutes, then remove the cake from
the pan and complete cooling on the wire rack.

Stir together 2 tablespoons fresh lemon juice
and some powdered sugar and glaze cake.

There was someone else in the tent. She’d
awoken with the distinct feeling that she was no longer alone. The
narrow space between stacked trunks and crates where she lay filled
with the overpowering smells of rum and sweat. Rising cautiously
from the pallet, her eyes searched in the dim light, struggling to
see. She could sense the evil presence before she saw the
danger.

She shrieked as a hand grabbed her roughly,
pulling her to her feet so that she found herself face to face with
the leering pirate. Clutching her silken wrap, she shrank away from
him in fear. Futilely she twisted in his grasp struggling to free
herself, but as she did so, the silk poured from her trembling
hands threatening to leave her naked and defenseless in his
grasp.