Keeping Victoria's Secret (5 page)

She'd always heard that small towns were like
this. Everyone seemed to know everyone else’s business in the blink
of an eye. She decided that Mr. Van Winkle was a little too
presumptuous. Staring back at the newcomer, she didn't answer.

Unfazed, he continued. “Well then, as I said,
I’ve got the cider mill up the road and I’d be interested in doing
business with your orchard. Always looking for good apples. Old
Charley Conner was difficult to do business with and his nephew,
Jack, he ain’t any better. Now I was thinking that you and me might
be able to strike a deal. Like I say, always looking for good
apples.” He leaned over a little too close for comfort and gave her
a conspiratorial grin.

She had the distinct impression he was
grinning at her chest, not her. Removing her glasses and setting
them down next to the computer, she rubbed her eyes. Her head had
begun to ache. This was too much happening too fast. First, there
was that ridiculous encounter with Jack Conner yesterday and now
this creature came along, weaseling his way in, to what? He wants
to do business? I can't deal with this. I'll have to talk to Mr.
Douglas and Jack before making any decisions about this sort of
thing. She drew away from his broad grinning face as he leaned in,
closer still. His features were heavy, dominated by jowly cheeks,
working their way south. He was heavy set and beginning to go to
fat.

Replacing her glasses, she answered curtly.
“I’ll think about that Mr. Van Winkle. I’ll have to talk with that
nephew, Jack. I know where to find you, and I will let you know if
I’m interested. Have a nice day.”

The broad grin melted slowly from his face
and he nodded. As the precariously balanced chair teetered
dangerously towards her, she struggled to move away. Then he
shifted back, letting the legs of the chair slam down onto the
floor. “Okay then, but I can offer you a better deal than what Jack
and that crazy uncle of his had going. If you want to turn a profit
here you’d be wise to deal with me.” At this, he rose, and strode
off angrily to his truck. Gravel flew as he pulled out onto the
road and drove off.

Sighing, she opened the laptop, trying to put
her train of thought back on its rails. Scrolling through the
paragraphs she’d just written, she began again. After a minute or
two, she found her stride and her fingers were flying over the
keyboard.

The clearing of a throat just a few feet away
from her caused her to start and freeze, her hands poised over the
computer. Looking to her right she saw Jack standing there to the
side of the porch. They were eyeball to eyeball only four or five
feet from one another. How long was he watching me?

He stared at her and nodded towards the
laptop. “Doing a little on-line shopping?”

One hand quickly shot out and she slammed
down the lid, once more irritated at this latest interruption. No
way was she going to let him get a glimpse of her work.

Something caused him to chuckle as he looked
with curiosity at the closed laptop.

“What are you laughing at?”

“Nothing, nothing at all I guess. What’s with
the laptop?”

“None of your business,” she snapped back,
her cheeks reddening.

“Okay.” Jack nodded. “You made your
point.”

“You startled me. What’s the best way to get
internet access out here, satellite? Is there cable or DSL
available?”

“Already got it. Nowadays you need access to
the internet for weather, your spraying regiment, and integrated
pest management records. It’s not like farming used to be in the
old days.”

She softened, regretting her outburst. “All
right. I’m sorry Jack, I didn’t mean to sound so snippy. If you
don’t mind, I will need to use it. I’ll be glad to pay for the
service. That should be my responsibility. If you wouldn’t mind
telling me what the password is and anything else I need to know
I’d appreciate it.”

Instead of answering her question, he asked
one of his own. “What did Van Winkle want? I saw him drive up a
while ago.”

“He wants to buy my apples for his cider
mill. I guess that would be, our apples. I told him I would think
about it. He says both you and Uncle Charley weren’t easy to do
business with, but I can’t imagine why he’d think that,” she said,
a sarcastic tone in her voice and a little smirk on her face.

“If you’re smart and take my advice, you’ll
have nothing to do with Van Winkle. He drives too hard a bargain
and any bargain struck, he may not keep.” Jack turned and walked
away towards the barn.

“Hey! What about the internet?” she called
after him but received no reply. “This isn’t going to be easy,” she
muttered. I probably said the wrong thing and made him angry. Not
difficult to do, apparently. Opening the computer once more, she
tried to put her thoughts in order. Currently she was in the middle
of her seventh romantic thriller with the working title “Caribbean
Fire”.

As soon as she collected her thoughts and
found her rhythm, Mr. Douglas pulled into the drive beyond the
house, followed almost immediately by his friend, the doctor. With
a sigh, Vicky closed the computer once more. So much for the peace
and quiet of the country and working without interruption. As the
two older men approached the house, she slipped the laptop into its
case and looked up at the sinking sun in the clear blue sky and saw
that it was getting late.

“Good afternoon Victoria,” called Fred.

“Hello Mr. Douglas, Dr. Sweeny.”

“I picked up the things you needed,” said Doc
pulling bags from the back of his car.

“Thanks! Let me help you,” she said taking
some packages from him. “I’m feeling much better now, so you don’t
have to babysit me anymore.”

“I’ll just set these things inside and then
Fred and I’ll go find Jack so we can talk.”

Fred Douglas cleared his throat and looked at
the other three sitting at the kitchen table. Doc smiling, Vicky
anxious, Jack arms crossed grimly rocking on the back legs of his
chair. “Okay then,” he said laying out some legal papers. “Here’s
what I propose. It’s really quite simple. Victoria as the property
owner shall have responsibility for paying all the expenses, taxes,
utilities, maintenance, equipment, and supplies. In short, she pays
for everything, nothing whatsoever coming out of Jack’s pocket. Net
profits from all sales and proceeds from the farm’s output will be
divided with a sixty-forty split, the greater percentage going to
Victoria. That’s it in a nutshell without all the legal mumbo
jumbo. All that will be included in the documents that will be
ready to sign in a day or two. How does that sound?”

“I think that’s entirely fair. Sounds fine to
me.” Vicky turned to the doctor. “What do you think, Dr.
Sweeney?”

“Fred here is the lawyer. If he thinks it’s
fair and it’s okay with you, then I certainly don’t need to give my
opinion.” He turned to Jack, “What do you think?”

“So I have to go through her to make any
decisions.” They turned to look at Jack Conner who sat stone faced,
staring at a point in the center of the table.

She felt a palpable anger and hopelessness
emanating from him. Sympathetic tears filled her eyes.

“Jack?” the doctor tried once more.

He rose and walked to the back door and
looked around at each of them. “I’ll have to think about it.” The
hinges of the screen door squealed and the door banged shut after
him.

After a moment Doc spoke. “I guess there’s no
reason we should have expected this would be easy or simple. I’ll
go and try to talk to him. Every last one of that Conner clan
always was stubborn as a mule.”

“No! Wait.” She stood up, eyes shining and
faced them. “I don’t care what you do about the money. I can get
along without it. Let Jack take over the farm and all the profits
and expenses for as long as he likes. I just want my grandmother’s
house and the few things of hers still left here.” Turning, she ran
up to her room.

Fred turned to look at his friend. “Like you
said Doc, no reason we should expect this to be easy or simple.
What was that about getting these two together?”

Before dawn the next morning, Jack slung a
pack over his shoulder and ran down the steps from his apartment.
Hitting the light switch, he continued to the rear wall of the
garage where fishing rods were hung neatly above tackle boxes. He
slipped out the side door and guided by the beam of a flashlight;
he crossed between the plowed fields and climbed a narrow path into
the woods. Entering the cool dark passageway beneath the trees, he
could hear a rippling stream. Something rustled and skittered away
from him in the underbrush as he kept his steady pace through the
trees and down towards the water.

Reaching the stream, he stood on a flat rock
looking down into the black depths, playing the shaft of light over
the surface of the little brook. The silence was broken only by the
rustle of wind in the trees and passage of the stream. Moving along
the familiar path to his right, he stepped carefully from rock to
rock until he came to a level spot where the waters broadened into
a small pond. In this peaceful spot, he’d made himself a seat of
upended stones. Putting down his fishing tackle, he settled
himself, looking east where dawn was making its appearance.

Thinking over the events of the last two
days, he cast his line far into the water. “Damn Uncle Charley!”
His scheming has ruined my life. I should never have trusted the
old bastard! Now what can I do? That bitch just waltzed into my
life and stole my future.

For a while, he fished, but the fish must
have sensed the tension in his arms. Not a nibble. Nothing is going
right!

The sky was beginning to lighten. He took out
his thermos and poured scalding black coffee into the plastic cap.
The morning was cold for mid May and he cradled the cup in both
hands holding it close and letting the steam wash over his face.
The farm, Vicky what’s-her-name, Fred and Doc can all go to Hell!
Baiting his hook, he cast his line out again into the center of the
pond.

Fishing rod in one hand and coffee in the
other, he eased back into his seat among the rocks. He couldn’t
stop thinking about that girl, Victoria. I wish I’d never met her.
He mulled over all the irritating things she’d said and done and
then the vision of shapely legs and red panties would subtly worm
their way into his mind.

I suppose it’s not all her fault, but does
she have to be so smug and smart-ass about everything? Telling me
that Van Winkle wants to buy ‘her’ apples. All of a sudden, they’re
‘her’ apples! And another thing! She assumes that I don’t have
internet service on the farm. Does she think only city people use
computers and we’re all a bunch of dumb hicks up here?

Wakened by the sun, birds began flitting from
branch to branch above his head calling to one another. From the
fields of a neighboring farm, just past the pond, came the harsh
caw of crows and a rooster greeting the sunrise. Feeling a tug on
his line, he began to reel it in, but then felt a release of
pressure and his empty hook emerged.

Why doesn’t that woman just leave? She really
won the lottery, getting everything without working a day for it.
I’m not going to give up without a fight. I’m going to confront her
and demand my share. The more he thought about it, the more his
Irish temper neared the boiling point.

The piercing screech of the crows and rooster
kept demanding his attention. Remembering the book of poetry, he
pulled a thick paperback from his pack. There was enough light in
the sky to read by and he turned the well-thumbed pages of a volume
of the collected poems of W. B. Yeats.

As the sky lightened, he tried reading some
of his favorite poems. Rather than soothing or calming him, the
words left him cold and frustrated. He realized his thoughts kept
drifting back to his uncle and that girl who’d shown up from
nowhere. He couldn’t decide which of them he loathed the most.
Uncle Charley was dead and gone, depriving him of the satisfaction
of strangling him.

He snapped the book closed. Yeats was right.
The world is full of evil and evil people. Charley was a little
crazy but not stupid. That bastard knew this farm wasn’t his to
leave to anyone. He used me and there’s nothing I can do about it
now.

Sighing, he stood up, lifting his rod once
more. Might as well catch dinner. Expertly he cast his line
upstream into the rippling water and allowed his mind to
wander.

I’ll tell her the way it’s going to be. Anger
building in him, he rehearsed what he would say to Victoria.

There was a sharp tug on the line and
grinning with satisfaction, he firmly gripped his rod, jerking to
set the hook. This is a big one. Finally, things are going my way.
Moving closer to the bank, he stepped onto the smooth wet stones,
steadily reeling in his catch. At the last moment, just before the
fish broke the surface, the hook pulled free and flew into the air.
He swore as he lost his balance, overcompensated, and began to
slip. Loose stones beneath his feet gave way and he fell off the
bank and into the cold water of the pond. He found himself flat on
his back in the shallow water up to his neck, arms and legs
flailing.

“Shit!” He dragged himself out, shivering,
and cursing. In an ever-worsening black mood, he stormed off to
find Victoria.

Vicky rose early that morning from a fitful
sleep and made her way down to the kitchen. Sipping coffee freshly
made in her new coffee pot, she mentally thanked Doc Sweeney for
everything he and his wife had done.

She’d decided to have a serious talk with
Jack and tell him just what she’d told Doc and Fred the day before.
He could run everything, make all the decisions, and take
everything, all the profits, if she could just live in the house
and be left alone.