The Girl in the Window (8 page)

Truthfully, and Josh would never tell his own mother this, he’d never tasted spaghetti so good.

Everyone dug in with enthusiasm and there were several groans of pleasure at that first bite as they took their food out to the yard to eat, the kitchen being too small to contain so many big men.

Watching them dig in with enthusiasm and pleasure, sitting on her own back stoop, Beth didn’t think she’d ever been happier than seeing these people enjoy what she’d created.

Maybe it would be all right.

Gesturing with his fork between bites, Russ looked up and around at the house, squinted his faded brown eyes in consideration and against the bright sunlight and said, “House needs paintin’.”

He was a hard-faced older man not much given to smiling, tall and rangy, with hair tarnished from black to silver. By his accent and the way he spoke Beth knew he’d lived in the county all his life, but had probably never left it, as she had when she’d gone to school.

From her seat on the stoop, Beth glanced over her shoulder and up at the house.

“It does. I’ve been thinking about it. Know somebody?”

Such talk was the shorthand of small towns. She knew he did, or he wouldn’t have said anything, and it was likely to be him.

“I’ll do it,” he said, and glanced over at the younger man sitting across from him. “What about it, Will? You’re always whining about needing money. Want to give me a hand?”

Russ looked at the house again, clearly considering what it needed.

“It’ll take a few weekends,” he said, “to get it all done.”

It was obvious from his coloring and his hair that Will had some mixed blood in him. Native American, possibly some Mexican, with some African American mixed in. His face was broad and brown, he had thick bushy hair he wore long and kept tied back when he worked, or left loose when he wasn’t.

Will was a hard worker, Beth had seen that for herself, but she heard what was unsaid in Russ’s voice – the unspoken prejudice – and wanted to shake her head.

Still, it was between the two of them.

Clearly challenged, the other, younger man looked at Russ, and then at Beth.

Whatever it was Will saw in her eyes when he looked at her seemed to be enough.

He grinned and nodded.

“Yeah, all right,” he said.

Russ looked at her. “It’ll cost.”

“I’ve no doubt. I’ve got money,” Beth said, and shrugged a little, “an inheritance. It’s not much but it’ll carry me a little while and pay for this.”

Neither the house nor the money had been intended for her.

Her father simply couldn’t have said to a lawyer, ‘I don’t want it to go to my daughter.’

Word would have gotten out. It would have made them sound like bad parents.

Bad enough she’d been taken from them, although she’d heard they’d said different, that she’d been impossible to handle, a difficult child. That had made her heart hurt, but it wasn’t unexpected. Over time her mother would have convinced herself of it because the myth would have been better than the reality. It always had been for her.

“Good,” Russell said. “You pick out the colors, I pick the paint.” He nailed her with a hard glance. “I won’t buy cheap stuff, this’ll be good paint. Expensive, but worth it, last you twenty years or more. You doubt me, Josh there’ll back me up.”

For some reason rather than frightening her the whole conversation amused her, the give and take of it.

A country man, Russ was as honest as the day was long, Beth knew, so she restrained her smile out of respect for him. He was a good man, a hard man, but a good one. The kind of man who wouldn’t have laid a hand on his kids any more than they deserved, but would have hugged them just as often. If he said he would do a thing he would do it.

“All right,” she said.

“Just don’t make the paint pink. I can’t abide pink and I won’t paint it that color. Or purple,” Russ said, suddenly.

He reminded her of her father, yes, and yet he still it made her smile.

Russ was a lot like her father at heart, and yet not. He was kinder. Life hadn’t disappointed him as much.

Even so, who would paint a house purple?

Her heart lightened.

“No,” Beth said, “I was thinking green. A lighter green for the walls, a dark green for the shutters and a cream color for the window sills.”

Fresh, natural.

Russ nodded. “Good.”

Once again she fought a smile, seeing his thoughts in his eyes, his expression.

Those were good colors, practical colors, the kind of colors houses should be painted.

“We’ll start this weekend,” Russ said, with that challenging look at Will, who returned it calmly and nodded. “Sand off the old paint. Check the window frames and wood for rot. Paint on Sunday if there’s time.”

“I’ll provide meals,” Beth offered, “Breakfast, lunch and dinner, if you’re here for them.”

“Ma’am,” Will said, almost reverently, “I’d almost do it just for the food, if it’s as good as this.”

“Don’t be foolish, boy,” Russ said, sharply, and gave him a look. “We’ll take a good wage.”

This time Beth did smile. “Of course, and you’ll get one. You tell me what you want, I’ll pay it.”

You didn’t haggle over some things and work was one of them. An honest day’s work, an honest day’s wage.

“Each day,” Russ said, giving her a figure. “In cash.”

The smile twitched at her mouth again. Cash the IRS wouldn’t see and couldn’t tax. Times were tight.

She nodded. It was fair.

“What do you want us to do with the furniture?” Josh asked, from his seat on the lawn chair nearby.

It was loaded on the trailer attached to his pickup, waiting in the drive beside the house, covered by a tarp.

“The antique shop in town said they’d take them.”

As they were the same vintage as the coat tree and probably bought by her father’s parents, the folks who owned the antique shop had been pleased to take them. No guarantee they were actually antiques, but they were good solid pieces, so they wouldn’t have reason to complain either way.

“Take what’s reasonable for labor and gas and all that out of what they give you,” Beth said.

She didn’t really care how much it was.

“We can bring the rest over when we come on Saturday,” Russ said, firmly, with a look to Josh, “if we don’t see you before then.”

She nodded.

As if it were a signal, all of them got up to carry their plates into the kitchen.

When Josh rinsed his off before he left it in the sink to drain, they all followed suit.

There was no dishwasher, there’d been no room for one in a kitchen of this age. She didn’t really need one, except for occasions such as this.

“We’d best get that furniture into town before the shop closes and then get back to work,” Josh said, by way of explanation.

Beth just stared at him, startled and aghast. “I’m sorry, I hadn’t meant to take you away from your work.”

“You didn’t,” he said, with a warning glance at the boys, and what he hoped was a reassuring smile at her. “It was a nice break.”

That was more or less true.

It would only take a little bit of time to unload and then they’d be back at work, well fed.

One thing was certain, the woman could definitely cook. None of that had been store-bought, that was for sure. As Will had said, it was almost worth it just for the cooking. Josh would still take money out of what the folks at the antique shop gave him because she’d expect that.

They filed out to the truck.

Beth watched the big vehicle pull away with something like consternation and an odd twinge of loneliness.

How had she wound up with this? Russ and Will coming over to paint the house, and then there’d be Josh in the morning.

She didn’t want to admit she was already anticipating seeing him again.

Except he wasn’t there.

The next morning she walked across the yards, but there was no sign of Josh.

Her steps slowed for a different reason this time.

In the paddock the horse stood uncertainly, too, watching her with his ears twitching.

Well, Josh had said ‘sometime’. That hadn’t necessarily meant this morning.

She was a little startled to find herself disappointed. And that disturbed her even more.

From the kitchen window Josh watched, torn, but Beth’s nervousness was clear.

If he went to her now her nervousness would just increase and they might lose all the strides she’d already made. As much as it killed him not to go to her, he knew it was for the best, for her, for the horse, even for him. Some part of him knew that if he screwed this up he’d regret it for the rest of his life.

He needed her to relax, to set a pattern. And to anticipate. The next few days would be tough. On all of them.

The horse charged away as Beth approached the fence but it was just for form, his heart clearly wasn’t in it. At the end of the charge, by the far side of the paddock, he stopped to watch her, his great dark head tilted to consider her.

In the back of her mind Beth waited for Josh, walking slowly but part of her was also focused on the horse.

He paced toward her instead of away but it was as if he were pulled in to two directions at once, an oddly sideways maneuver that looked strangely crablike.

She was there to greet him, the sheaf of fresh green grass on her open palm.

The horse looked at her, blew a soft breath across her hand, and then lipped the sheaf of grass from it.

Chewed. Waited. Eyed her.

Looking for his other treat.

Laughing, Beth reached into her pocket as the horse’s ears flicked forward. She smiled as she held the apple on her palm.

He crunched contentedly on the fruit, juice running from his mouth and let her stroke his nose a little.

Something inside her eased a little as he moved away. He paced, his strides opening up, moving easily, so gracefully. It felt as if something inside her loosened.

From the window of the house Josh watched as Beth stood on the rail and the horse paced around the paddock. The breeze blew steadily, so the pretty dress fluttered around her legs and played with her hair.

It was a beautiful misty early summer morning, the light gauzy as Beth walked across the yards. An air of peace held, even the birds seemed to chirp softly. Only the barest breath of breeze blew, ruffling the grass. It would be hot later, as it had been unseasonably hot most days lately, and humid. The horse almost seemed to emerge from the haze, a mirage appearing from the fog.

He made a play of dancing away from her as she neared, but she could almost sense an air of excitement about him, of anticipation.

Each morning she’d brought him a different treat, first a carrot, then a stalk of celery, then another apple. The carrot had surprised him at first. He had eyed it suspiciously before he lipped it from her palm delicately and bit down. Clearly surprised, his head had tossed a little, but it seemed he liked it.

Russ and Will were at work on her house. It was a little unsettling to have them there, so close. She’d been entirely too aware of them moving around outside, banging and scraping, invading that bubble of space she’d built around herself, but Russ had been a distant presence and Will a respectful one.

Each morning when she walked to the paddock she expected Josh to come join her, but he hadn’t and that had been all right, too. At the same time it wasn’t.

With a sigh, she accepted that she didn’t know how she felt about that. About him. She knew she liked him, enjoyed his company.

But she was frightened. He frightened her. The yearning she felt when she saw him terrified her. It drew her, too. She pushed all that back into her mental box, along with the memories they aroused, and shut it.