Walnut Bottom Farm, Books 1 & 2 Read online

The giddy voices down the hall sounded familiar as Lexi made her way to the private room for the silly party. She hated these things but could always use a few more scented wax cakes to make a house smell like cookies or baking bread for a showing, and Calla was just so insistent. They sound awfully excited about candles, she thought as she opened the door. A bubbly and loud “Surprise!” was shouted by familiar faces, not in unison but with the same effect. She stood in the door with her mouth agape at the scene. The only candles there lit a room of lace and frills and twinkle-eyed women with mischievous grins. It looked as if a Victoria’s Secret store had exploded in the room. Panties and bras hung from the ceiling. There were racks of gowns and teddies and a couple privacy screens were set up to allow people to try them on for size, if anyone dared. Wine bottles on the table were even dressed in garter belts. Calla handed her a glass of chardonnay with a wink, wearing a pair of gaudy pink panties on her head that said ‘naughty girl’ in gold letters.

  “Indeed, you should be spanked,” Lexi said as she accepted the glass, returning the wink.

  A couple hours later Lexi and Calla, with a few of their closer friends that traveled several hours to be there, met Clayton and Bruce in the dining room. They sat down to a beautifully set table in front of the fireplace and enjoyed a terrific meal of prime rib. The men did an excellent job of making polite conversation considering neither could take their imaginations away from the ample gift bags the girls set down between them. The blue lace peeking out of the tissue paper in Lexi’s bag was no accident. She was a woman on a mission and now had more ammunition.

  As is customary, the topic of weather came up in conversation. “Really, snow tomorrow?”

  “Up to a foot,” Bruce confirmed.

  “I think I’ll go out and take some pictures then. I’d like to paint a snowy landscape of one old place outside of town, but, would like some photos to look at from the warmth of my studio. ” Calla said. “Will it be safe enough to drive around?” she asked Bruce.

  “The next day, maybe, if you take the Jeep. You shouldn’t go alone though, I’ll try to make time.” Bruce offered.

  “No need, I’ll go with her.” Lexi offered quickly, her wheels turning as soon as Calla said photos.

  “Then come over before the snow starts and spend the night. Grace and I are baking Christmas cookies and making salt dough ornaments for the craft bazar. There will be cocoa,” Calla coaxed.

  “Just listen to you two domesticated country girls,” Megan said. “If someone would have told me while we were in college that the two of you would be standing in a farmhouse kitchen, wearing aprons and baking cookies one day, I’d have peed my pants laughing. But then,” throwing glances at the men, “I can see country life has some fine perks. I’m a bit jealous. Hey, I thought you and the mother-in-law were like oil and water. Can’t resist raw cookie dough or are you getting along better with the old woman?” Megan had a knack for blurting out whatever was in her head.

  “Very much so, ever since…” Calla’s thought train derailed as she remembered the turning point in her relationship with Grace. Although it was not the primary reason, her sullen and sour attitude was discussed the first time Bruce had taken her over his knee. What Calla had not known was that Uncle Bud and Grace were, conveniently, a day too early for the estate auction he had taken her to that day. Although her husband had passed away, his lifelong friend kept a close watch over the family.

  Bud knew that Grace’s already spiteful attitude towards Calla would worsen after the incident the night before. Calla had run her car off the road driving home in a storm, after drinking too much following the end of her shift at the Inn. He knew Bruce would be taking Calla in hand and felt that would be all the punishment the young woman could bear. She didn’t need Grace there listening and judging her. Grace was literally bent over a barrel and reacquainted with the second purpose of a man’s belt that afternoon. Apparently it was an excellent position for listening well. She was much more receptive to what Bud had been nicely trying to point out for some time.

  “Ever since they realized they are more alike than different.” Bud’s voice chimed in as he approached the table, having seen Bruce’s truck outside and wanting to have a word with him.

  ‘That sheriff really is a knight in shining armor,’ Calla thought to herself, remembering him finding her sloshing her way up the road on foot that night. Although, she wasn’t exactly appreciative of him when he breathalyzed her on the front porch in front of Bruce, and even less so the next morning when she faced the music. Blushing at the memory, she glanced at Lexi. She and Clayton had not been dating long, but Clay felt he had no choice than to tan the hide of Calla’s partner in crime. Lexi had urged her to stay though she was supposed to go straight home due to the weather. And though Alexis had made it across town without incident, she could not deny that she should not have been behind the wheel herself.

  ‘I guess a little city sass has been domesticated out of us,’ Calla thought without regret. Looking at the finely cut sculpture of a man sitting beside her in the glow of the fire, knowing the depth his love and the skill of those hands, at whatever task he put them to, she grew hot from head to groin with want, and thought, ‘That’s right, Megan, be jealous.’

  “I’m ready to call it a day and get into something more comfortable.” Calla stretched and batted her eyes exaggeratedly.

  As the girls giggled and said goodbye, Bud, Bruce and Clayton stepped outside to talk while they waited on the ladies.

  Chapter 2

  Mukluks and Lace

  All the next day, Calla had the feeling of being in a Norman Rockwell picture. She kissed Bruce at the door, handing him a mug of hot coffee to warm him while he cleared snow. Outside the window, giant snowflakes fell around the birdfeeders. Striking red cardinals, powdery blue nuthatches and bold little black and white chickadees zipped back and forth from nearby bushes. Dozens of round grey juncos dotted the snowy ground, cleaning up what the other birds tossed around.

  The three women looking out of the kitchen window did, in fact, have aprons on. They were patchwork with big pockets. Grace’s was nearly spotless while Calla and Lexi looked as if they’d rolled in flour. Even the silky black mane Alexis knotted on top of her head was dusted. Sprawled all around the kitchen were cooling racks and tins. If they baked a dozen, they baked a thousand cookies that day. Some were decorated with sprinkles or candy. Some were made of colored dough, twisted and shaped into candy canes. Some were cut from cookie cutters.

  Calla especially loved making the salt dough ornaments. Her favorite ones were the little cookie cutter angels she painted with iridescent white paint.

  “Leave it to Calla to paint cookies,” Lexi teased.

  “If those get mixed up with the cookies, someone will break a tooth!” Grace said. “I make those every year and donate some to the women’s shelter. They put together Christmas packages for women that stayed during the year and got out on their own. I string them and package them in little tins by the half dozen with a recipe card in case they would want to make some with their children. I never thought to paint them before. What a beautiful touch.”

  “Thank-you for showing us the art of baking cookies, Grace. My mom hated baking cookies. She said you had to stare at the oven the entire time because if they were in a minute too short or too long they would be underdone or burnt. She turned every cookie recipe into a pan cookie.” Lexi truly had a nice day and a much needed break from wedding plans.

  “Your mom makes lasagna to die for, though,” Calla pointed out. “She’s an Italian pasta goddess.”

  “And your mom could turn anything into a quiche,” Lexi replied.

  “I hate quiche. Why do you think I ate at your house as often as possible? Quiche and fruited Jello, almost every night. I was so glad when she went back to work and started buying TV dinners!” Calla confessed with laughter.

  The kitchen talk was interrupted when the back door flew open and Bruce stalked in with a flurry of
snow. He walked straight to the old phone on the wall.

  “Well, Bud, they struck again, out here. I didn’t get around to locking that stuff up like you said and sure enough it’s cleaned out. If there were any tracks, snow covered them and whoever it was didn’t leave a trace of a clue. What made me check was seeing the oat bin left open and my little pail missing. I think the person took some horse oats as well… Okay then… yea, I’ll let you know.”

  “What’s been taken?” Grace asked as he hung up.

  “Someone has been hitting local farms, and broke into the veterinary office, stealing animal tranquilizers, of all things. I keep a small supply in case one of them gets tangled in fencing or one of the meaner bulls or an injured horse needs to be looked at. It could keep me from being mauled. Who would want it and how would they know where to look? We have never had need for locks in Walnut Bottom… unbelievable.” Bruce went back outside without another word and returned to his work.

  Calla was packing her camera and tripod into a backpack while Lexi was carefully rolling lingerie and a big terrycloth robe into hers.

  “What’s that all about?” Calla asked her friend as she stood over her with arms folded and a disapproving look, already beginning to figure it out.

  “I thought it would be fun to get some glamorous, outdoor, sexy snow bunnyish pictures. No, portraits, for my husband-to-be, as a gift. Tasteful pictures of course. Something to show him what he has to look forward to. Something to make him reconsider his prohibition on sex before marriage, maybe… I’m sure we can find a pretty place for a photo shoot.”

  “You’ll freeze. Just text him a pic from the bathroom mirror.”

  “You know I don’t do bathroom pictures, and you are a very good photographer.”

  Calla stood there, contemplating the possibility. She did have her own photo printer so no one else would see them. Maybe it would be fun. What the heck. “Mukluks and lace. Let’s do it!” Calla stuffed her robe, some silk scarves and a couple sheer and skimpy numbers into her bag as well. “We won’t be young and perky forever. May as well get a picture or two of myself.”

  As they put their packs in the back seat Bruce walked over to see them off. “The tank is full so you won’t have to stop for gas. There are two emergency blankets, a snow shovel and kitty litter in the back in case you would get stuck someplace, which you shouldn’t. The roads are clear. You just have to watch for snowdrifts and be careful where you pull over. There could be a ditch under the snow in places where the berm looks flat. Whereabouts will you be driving and when should I expect you to be back?”

  “Mostly around the old Myer’s place. There is a red barn and a row of spruce trees there that will stand out beautifully in the snow. I guess we’ll be back in a couple hours. Certainly before dark.”

  “Sounds good. Just stay off the dirt roads, they’re not cleared, and out of the woods. Some trees are coming down under the weight of this snow and you two aren’t used to driving in it.”

  “Well, how does one get used to driving in it without driving in it?” Calla was getting annoyed with all the instructions. “It is a four wheel drive vehicle designed for off-road travel, with $800 snow tires.”

  “Why the argument, Calla, if you’re just going out to the Myer’s place? I can take you out four-wheeling tomorrow if that’s what you want to do.”

  “Never mind. Don’t worry.” With a quick kiss she hopped in and they took off down the lane.

  Calla took dozens and dozens of pictures at the abandoned farm. Everywhere she turned there was a new winter scene begging her attention. She excitedly pointed out the way the slate grey wood peeking out beneath chipped red paint matched the sky and how the snow clung to the roof and window ledges of the old brick house that was not being heated, which would cause the snow to melt.

  “I don’t really see a great place for our other pictures,” Lexi pouted.

  “Don’t worry. I have the perfect place in mind. You’ll see.”

  They got back in the jeep and drove back towards Walnut Bottom, turning off on a road that went around the lake. It wound through the woods up the side of the mountain and turned into a dirt road. Calla stopped; reconsidering as she stared up the tunnel of snow-laden trees over the dirt road, reduced to a path of packed snow.

  “Should we?”

  “I recall Bruce said something about woods and snow covered dirt roads.”

  “It looks like people have already driven on it. We’ll just follow their tracks. Only a mile or so on the right there is a trailhead and a short walk to Kingfisher Cave. If we don’t see fresh tracks we’ll have our photo shoot in front of a little waterfall, which should be draped with icicles. I bet it’s just breathtaking today. I’d like pictures of it either way.”

  It was. Thin fans of ice over the cave behind them looked like glass windows in an arctic castle. Columns of crystals and glazed caps of snow on the dark stones gave Calla a medieval impression. Boughs of mountain laurel bearing flowering white tufts of snow canopied the falls and stream. Coating everything was a shimmering layer of thin ice. The scene was astonishing. On blankets under the ledge of another massive stone face, the girls took turns shivering and changing, donning a robe and then running out to hang it on a branch and pose. Trying not to shiver, and attempting to look warm and comfortable in little wisps of satin and silk, was harder than they expected. Not slipping on the rocks was even trickier.

  Finally, Lexi admitted, “We couldn’t be any more foolish if we dove in. Let’s get back and hope you can digitally edit out the goose bumps.”

  In a shivering hurry they packed up and hiked back down to the jeep. The drive back to the main road proved much trickier. The sun was beginning to set and the tire ruts they drove up on were becoming iced over. It was a white-knuckle, fishtailing ride out to the pavement, where they simultaneously let out a huge sigh of relief.

  A while later, with warm dry feet and steaming bowls of beef stew, they pored over Calla’s laptop, making fun of each other’s impressions of a sexy lingerie model. They had narrowed it down to a couple pictures that weren’t hilariously ridiculous and began zooming and cropping for the best print.

  “Zoom in there… not on my butt, behind me… look! There’s a face!”

  “Alexis, you’re seeing things… Oh! I see it too. Look, you can see a white silhouette behind the water. It looks like a ghost!”

  “A person would have to be dead to walk through that freezing cold water!”

  “He could have come out and killed us, Calla.”

  “I think it’s a woman. It’s hard to tell in that white cloak, but the face looks like a woman, a very gaunt, half-starved woman.”

  “She probably thought we were nuts!”

  “Sure, Lex, the woman behind the water thinks we’re crazy. Maybe so, but why would someone be hiding in a cave in the woods?”

  “Who said she’s hiding? Maybe she goes there for the beauty and solitude, and to watch crazy ladies gallivant in their underwear. You realize you can’t tell anyone about seeing her unless you want to risk a trip over Bruce’s knee? In fact, how we will even be able to give the guys these pictures without explaining how we took them?”

  “I doubt Clayton will show Bruce the picture of you. I’ll just hold on to mine for a special occasion. Maybe a birthday gift. By then, maybe he won’t remember we shouldn’t have been there.”

  “You better hope you’re right.”

  “I didn’t say what birthday. He’ll appreciate it more in fifty years anyway.” Calla laughed hysterically at herself.

  “Good idea. And what about that strange lady? I hope she’s okay.”

  The two friends peered into the screen a while longer, as if an explanation would come to them.

  Chapter 3

  Courage of Conviction

  The Holiday Bazaar was swarming with patrons. Everyone found something they wanted; wool scarves and hats, quilts, cookies, ornaments, Christmas stockings of every imaginable design, hand carved nativit
ies, model trains, hand sewn dolls and rocking horses, homemade soaps and candles, purses and jewelry. Even the men could find things of interest. A leather vendor had a huge selection of gloves, coats, vests, boots, moccasins, belts, hats, wallets, horse tack, and anything else one may make of leather. Then there was the food, all manner of tempting delectables, from baked goods to beef jerky.

  Calla’s painting attracted a steady stream of silent bidders, which would have excited her more except that amid the jingle bells and carols, she and Lexi heard whispers about a woman lurking about people’s homes at night. A few claimed seeing a ghostly cloaked figure slipping into the shadows when they woke to strange noises. There was talk of raided root cellars and missing horse blankets, mostly small loses, more mysterious than anything. The only serious event was a break-in at the pharmacy. Someone got away with all sorts of narcotics, a jar of pickles and feminine products. She heard a man joking about some poor guy that must have a wife with the worst PMS. Calla knew she should tell Bud what she and Alexis had seen in photo taken at the falls. She just couldn’t figure out how. Her decision to remain silent was made easier when she saw Bruce and Clayton admiring the belts.

  “So did he like his picture?” Calla asked her friend.

  “Didn’t give it to him yet. I don’t know if I should put it in a greeting card or lay it on his nightstand or what. Any suggestions?”

  Calla thought a bit then asked, “Does he still play that guitar lately?”

  “You mean ‘Ruby’? Yea, he plays her every night. Never thought I’d be jealous of a guitar.”

  “Slip it in his guitar case. Maybe then he’ll reconsider his plaything. Either way, I don’t think you’ll be riding that cowboy until your wedding night.”

  “That’s a great idea! You clever little darling. Even if he doesn’t give in I’m having fun teasing him. I tease myself just as badly, but it’s worth it. You should see him tense up when I stand close and ever so gently, and innocently brush my breast against his arm, or lay my head on his lap when we watch a movie. He nearly goes to pieces. In fact, he won’t even sit on the couch with me anymore lately. Last night we met at the tavern for dinner. I wore my long black dress with the slit nearly to the hip and sat with my leg peeking out just so. He tried to get me to wear his jacket on my lap, so I ‘wouldn’t be cold.’ ”