Traces (11 page)

“You know it’s a matter of time. You’ll always come home to the one thing that has bound this family and Twin Oaks together for generations.”

“What do you mean?”

Meg leaned toward Meredith and pointed out the window, indicating an area to the right of the cemetery. “Have you forgotten the fairy tree?”

Meredith’s eyes widened, and she followed the direction of Meg’s finger, finally sighting the old hawthorn standing alone in the middle of the meadow. She’d forgotten all about it. Or perhaps ignored it on purpose. The fairy tree. Her grandmother loved the ancient hawthorn and the myths associated with it. Despite the fact they only truly existed in Ireland, Grandma insisted on protecting the little tree as though it were from their ancestors’ homeland. To her grandmother, the fairy tree symbolized the unity of the O’Connell family, across time and space, no matter what befell them. She claimed the tree alone protected the many generations of O’Connells.

Only it hadn’t protected Willy or their baby. Tears welled in Meredith’s eyes. She swiped them away. Of course, she and Willy never lived in Tennessee, either. Did proximity have anything to do with the legendary protection of the fairy tree? She stared at the hawthorn. In order to follow through with her plans, she’d have to go against the O’Connell family’s tradition of keeping the ancestral home and its property safe, like the Irish faithful protected the fairy tree to bring good fortune to the land and its owners. Roads had been relocated in Ireland because a fairy tree happened to grow in its path and the workers dared not harm it. Good men trying to provide for their families had died who had cut down a fairy tree. The tree’s one mission, according to Grandma O’Connell, was to keep Twin Oaks safe from all harm. That would include razing it by a family member. Wouldn’t it? What should she do?

“I wasn’t planning to cut down all the trees, Meg.” She stared out the window at the little tree, wishing it and her grandmother’s traditions away. No luck there, though. “In fact, I wasn’t planning to harm any of the trees and bushes.”

“Sure, and a good thing, it is.” Meg sat down beside her and grasped Meredith’s hands. “I can tell you’re having a difficult time returning here.”

Meredith leaned back in her chair, sliding her hands out of Meg’s. Her choices had seemed so easy from the comfort of her apartment balcony. “My plans were laid before I came.”

“So you’re having a time figuring out how to make them fit in with what your Grandma wanted. Right?”

Meredith fiddled with the salt shaker. “From what Max told me, Grandma wanted me to live here and keep this place as a home. To renovate it and maintain it the way she wanted. I can’t.”

“Why not?” Meg peered at her. “It’s a lovely house; it merely needs a bit of work to make it right.”

“Magnolia Grove, to start. This family home, to finish.”

“You don’t want a family home?” Meg angled her head, considering Meredith for a long moment. “Or you don’t want a family?”

“I had a family.” Meredith gazed at Meg, seeing her as though for the first time. The memory of talks with Meg as a younger woman, taking time to listen to a young girl’s childish heartache and disappointments, floated past her mind’s eye. Meg had always been willing to stop mid-task to squat down and hug a young girl. Her caring eyes radiated laugh lines across her weathered face. She was probably the only person in Meredith’s world who would truly understand. Meredith took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “But it was taken from me.”

Meg slowly nodded. “Your husband.”

Startled, Meredith narrowed her eyes and gazed at Meg. “How much do you know?”

“Your grandmother told me about Willy.” Meg grasped Meredith’s hands again, squeezing twice before releasing them. “I am so very sorry you had to go through such a horrific time in your life.”

“Nobody should have to endure that kind of grief.” Meredith stayed mum about the other life lost in the attack. Only she and her doctors knew about the needle-sharp loss, and she intended to keep it that way. “I loved him so much it hurts to breathe without him.”

Nodding still, Meg relaxed back in her chair. “When I think of the prospect of losing Sean, I imagine an immense black hole I’m falling into, and a huge knot forms in my throat so large I fear I’ll choke on it. I cannot fathom my Sean dying, of him not being with me. I am truly sorry for your Willy.”

“When I was young and built that silly dollhouse, I wanted nothing more than to have a large family to fill these rooms with laughter. Willy was the foundation of my dream coming true.” Meredith scanned the kitchen, letting her gaze touch on the familiar stove, the tiled table, and the landscape pictures on the walls. A small aerial photo of Twin Oaks caught her eye, patchwork fields surrounding the large brick-and-stone building. A house, though not a home any longer. “Now I can’t stomach the idea of living here without him.”

“Meredith, your husband would never have wanted you to live in the past. He’d want you to find the strength to move on. Such strength comes from your family, and of course, from the land, Twin Oaks.”

Meredith turned to look out the window at the gravestones visible through the wrought-iron fence surrounding the cemetery. Willy lay buried in a cemetery outside of Baltimore. She visited him frequently when she was home and not traveling on assignment, taking a single yellow rose to place on his grave. She couldn’t stay here when he waited for her in Maryland. The graves here held the bodies of people she did not know, would never know, in fact. But they were her family, so maybe she should spend some time learning who they were.

“Do you know who all is buried out there?” She waved toward the cemetery.

“O’Connells and others stretching back two hundred years.” Meg stared out the window for a long moment. “Those who have lived and loved Twin Oaks as much as you and your family.”

“It’s so interesting to contemplate the many lives of people who lived here and cherished each moment only to end up below the ground.” Meredith glanced at Meg and then stared out the window. “What does it all mean in the end?”

“I’m not sure I follow,” Meg said.

“We each do our best with what we have but never know if it’s the right thing.” She’d phoned the architecture appraiser, but he couldn’t fit her in until next week. When he showed up, followed by the heavy equipment operator, Meredith had no illusions that Meg would approve, any more than Grandma. She’d be letting her ancestors down, no doubt. “All the striving and trying and failing and trying again while we live, and then after we die…” A cloud shaded the sunshine, chilling her so she wrapped her arms around herself. “We disappear from sight except for a piece of stone aboveground. Do you suppose it matters, once you’ve passed, where your body lies in order to be happy?”

“No, it’s the soul that’s important, not the human form.” Meg folded her arms and considered Meredith. “Though perhaps where your body lies determines how your soul reacts to the act of dying. More importantly, the timing and manner in which a person dies probably affects how peacefully they rest. I do believe those who die before their time are restless souls looking for answers.”

“Restless? You believe in ghosts?” Meredith sighed, unfolded her arms, and fiddled with the salt shaker. Her Willy had died saving her life, an honorable death in his eyes. “Willy is buried in Baltimore. I know he’s happy there since he’s close to our home.”

“I and Sean have made plans to be buried in Lynchburg when our time comes.” Meg smiled wryly. “We’ve always enjoyed some Jack Daniels in the evening.”

Meredith grinned and thumped the shaker onto the table before linking her fingers together. “You’ve thought ahead, I see.”

“Do we really know what happens once we die?” Meg shivered and then laughed, the sound echoing in the room. “Ooh, someone must have walked across my grave. What maudlin talk for a pretty spring day.”

The bright sun was blocked as a large cloud drifted over the house. Meredith looked outside, aware the white gazebo shaded also, its black iron trim in stark relief among the surrounding trees. Her grandmother had loved to sit on one of the Adirondack chairs in the shade and tell Meredith and Paulette about the fairies and their many antics. Unlike the happy and carefree fairies of many tales, Irish fairies tended to play tricks and wreak vengeance for perceived wrongs. While Meredith never wanted to confront angry fairies, she had to admit their dealings made for entertaining stories. Sunlight splashed down on the gazebo and surrounding yard, highlighting the tulips and daffodils nestled around the exterior and along the sidewalks.

“Let’s take a walk up to the fairy tree and clear our heads. I haven’t thought about the little tree in decades.” Meredith stood and pushed in her chair before following Meg through the screened door. “This has to be a short jaunt, though. I’ve work to do.”

Being outside in the sunshine improved her spirits, a burden lifting from her shoulders. The house itself weighed upon her. She breathed in the sweet scent of the azaleas and the tang of the magnolias while the sun warmed her arms. They moseyed across the gravel driveway to the flagstone path. A low stone wall separated the wide drive from the shady yet welcoming formal garden.

“My Sean has spent most of his time tending to these plants,” Meg said, ambling along the large flat stones forming the winding path through the array of plants. “He loves working with the flowers, coaxing them to bloom and smell so sweet.”

The neatly arranged flowers and blooming bushes reached for the spring sunshine. Tall trees stretched out to provide intervals of dense shade. She didn’t know much about plants, not like Willy had. He’d have been exclaiming over a rare flower or special shrub. A shudder of grief washed through her. Willy would have loved this place. His knowledge of landscape architecture would have sprung to the fore as he looked at each little green being and commented upon its uses and benefits. How the dying of the blossoms fertilized the future growth of the plant, the circle of life within the plant kingdom.

“Willy loved horticulture,” Meredith said, pacing beside Meg. “He and Sean would have gotten along fine.”

“I’m sure they would’ve.” Meg nodded and strolled on down the path. She tossed a smile over her shoulder. “My Sean adores his plants.”

They walked in silence for a few minutes, drinking in the surrounding sights and scents. Meredith considered asking Sean to design the garden park she envisioned replacing the imposing house. She nearly queried Meg as to whether he’d be interested, only Meredith wasn’t yet ready to share her shocking vision. They emerged out the back side of the garden, through a low, wood gate leading to an immense grassy meadow. Wildflowers dotted the field. She could identify wild daisies and Queen Anne’s lace among the pinks, whites, yellows, and purples sprinkled before her. They paused to appreciate the view. She shaded her eyes with a hand and scanned the field, noting the trees along the fence line in the distance. The fairy tree stood defiantly in the middle of the expanse.

“Your Grandma loved to come out here,” Meg said, “until her legs wouldn’t carry her this far.”

Did Meg have to mention her grandmother at that exact moment? The stories surrounding the counterfeit fairy tree had been a part of Meredith’s childhood as much as Humpty Dumpty and Ichabod Crane. Myths and legends that her grandmother loved to tell her. Way back when Meredith was a kid and bedtime stories were still important. Staying with Grandma for the summer months meant she and her sister heard many wonderful tales of adventure, ghosts, and myths about Ireland.

Meredith had let the memories of those stories fade as she grew older and more distant to this little piece of the world. Until this moment she had not considered them, not for a second. She’d moved away and moved on, reaching for her future and relinquishing the past. Only to be dragged back to the very roots she’d tried to dig up and throw away, like some Irishman bent on removing a fairy tree only to find himself and his family cursed by the angry fairies.

Willy’s love of horticulture had spurred her decision to turn the old building into a park filled with living plants. Had her own ancestral ties to the land also informed the choice? Sitting on her postage-stamp balcony, she’d stared out over the Inner Harbor, envisioning not the Chesapeake but a flower-lined path winding through a park-like setting. Memorial signs would indicate specific bushes or trees planted in memory of a loved one. Benches would be tucked into shady nooks where visitors could rest and enjoy the serenity of the park. The fairy tree would remain safe in its meadow, set apart from the formal garden paths.

“Did Grandma come here often?” Meredith walked into the field, avoiding the tiny wildflowers as best she could. She liked the way they graced the vista with their specks of color.

“Weekly at least.” Meg paced beside her. “Until a few months before she died.”

“Do you think she knew something was wrong?” Meredith asked. “I knew a lady once whose personality drastically changed in the weeks before she died, as though her body tried to relay the reality of her disease. Did Grandma act different in any way?”

“Not really. She did change her will about nine months before she died.” Meg shook her head. “She didn’t say anything about not feeling right, if so.”

“Max said she died without warning, sitting in her favorite chair.” White petals lay scattered about the tree trunk like pearls escaped from a necklace. “I hope it was painless as well.”

“She looked like she’d dozed off, so I hope she felt nothing.”

Meredith picked up a satiny petal and rubbed it between her fingers and then let it drift back to Earth. “Did you find her?”

Meg’s eyes grew misty as she considered Meredith. “Yes.”

“I’m glad it was you who did.” Meredith inexplicably wanted to hug Meg but hesitated. She wasn’t a hugger and hadn’t been for years. So why did she want to hug this woman? She resisted the urge as long as she could. Compelled by something she didn’t understand, she drew the older woman into her arms and gave her a brief squeeze. Meg’s lips curved into a half smile as she moved away.

Meredith crossed her arms, feeling foolish mixed with a new sense of calm. That hug hadn’t been solely for Meg’s benefit, apparently. Maybe hugs were underappreciated. At least by her.