Purling Road - the Complete Second Season: Episodes 1-10 (7 page)

***

Later that evening, Muzzy arrived in a flurry. She dropped her things by the door, stopped to scoop up the mail, checked the printing press, and then took a cup of coffee Peter was holding out as she passed.

“Can I talk to you?” he asked.

“Maybe later. I finally got that interview with the man who’s decided to run for sheriff. Seems like it’s been forever since we’ve had an elected one. The last two were just placed there amidst a crisis.”

“I thought you like William?” he asked.

“I do. He’s great and I hope he wins.”

She pulled her notebook from her bag and began flipping through pages. “This new guy, well, I think he’d do okay, but he’s got some bold ideas.”

“It’s really important that I talk to you,” Peter said, leaning against the wall. He shoved his hands in his pockets. “Really important.”

“Peter, I just don’t have the time. Did Maura drop off the Hettie Helps column?”

“It’s over there,” he said, pointing to the far corner of her desk. She sprang up and swiped.

“Perfect.”

“Muzzy—”

“No, Peter.”

“This isn’t about the kiss,” he said and watched her cheeks pink. “It’s about something else entirely, and I would really appreciate a bit of your time. Half hour at most.”

With a relenting nod, she ripped the end off of an envelope. “All right. Let me read the mail and get this interview typed up first.”

Her eyes flew over the handwritten letter, growing larger as the seconds passed.

“This has to be a mistake.”

“What’s wrong?” Peter asked, sitting across from her, propping his feet on the desk.

“The landlord is terminating my lease.” She looked up. “I have to be out in thirty days.”

“What?” Peter held his hand out. Reading it for himself, he sank deeper into his chair.

“This is my fault.”

“We don’t know that you’re the reason. Maybe he wants to sell or something. It is a good location.”

“You and I both know that’s not true.” Peter frowned, wondering if this wasn’t fate reinforcing his uncle’s words. Perhaps he should go.

“I’ll bet if you went to see your landlord and explained that I had gone and I wasn’t coming back, he’d probably change his mind.”

Muzzy glanced back at the letter. “Doubtful. Besides, where would you go?”

He had to suppress his smile at her concern.

“Don’t worry about me. What matters is your paper.” 

“I wonder who’ll rent to a defiant little rebel like me?” she said, dropping her head in her hand. “This week just keeps getting better and better.”

“Why don’t you let me take care of it? I’ll start looking for a new home for the Rockport Review.”

“Really?” she asked, looking up. “You’d do that?”

“Of course. I don’t care what you say, it’s part my fault that you’re being evicted. And, after all you’ve done for me, the least I can do is find a new place to park your press.”

“I would really appreciate that, Peter. Thank you.”

Very pleased with himself, he smiled. “You’re welcome.”

***

She thought Ethel was in a deep enough sleep that she could just run to the mailbox. It was what…three hundred feet? Four hundred at most. That’s when the anger boiled up again, making her fists clench and her face flush. Anger and frustration at being chained to this house and to that woman. When an action so small as going to check the mail had to be deliberated, one was truly trapped.

She glanced back. Ethel hadn’t moved from her chair. She looked up. The children were silent upstairs. She decided to do it. She would have loved a leisurely walk to enjoy the blue sky, the bright sun. But leisure was a luxury she couldn’t afford. She snapped open the front of the mailbox in a hurry. There was no mail, but there was a note, folded neatly next to a single red rose. She opened it and her breath caught.

“Is there any chance I can see you again? —J”

Episode Three

Unforgiven

A week had gone by and Jonathan, thankfully, hadn’t asked anything about the night she’d prefer to forget. Ava sat in the living room, and it was already growing warm. Amy slept quietly on the sofa next to her, and Jean had gone to Owen’s for the afternoon. There was work to do, always, but she decided to steal these quiet few moments for herself. If she’d learned anything from Arianna’s antics, it was without a bit of rest here and there, anyone was capable of being pushed to the edge—launching from the demands of domestic life into a state of intoxicated detachment. She fought a grin. She could never, in a million years, see herself doing that. But just to be sure, she rested anyway. Better safe than sorry.

She had a book in her hands, but she wasn’t reading the words. Something nagged. She adjusted her seat, her book and tried again. Worries without form or name tickled at her mind like flies at a picnic. She couldn’t swat them away fast enough to keep her concentration. There were general worries about money that were always there. However, with Jonathan’s fishing tours being successful right out of the gate, she shouldn’t worry too much about that. They’d survive as they always did. Arianna, while sad that her carousing was a one-time event, would settle down in time, and she and Caleb would come together again like they always did. If anything, she was surprised Arianna hadn’t turned up pregnant again. Claire and Aryl? Well, they seemed fine. Growing stronger, actually.

Maura and Ian? They seemed better than any of them the last time they spoke. Ian was happier than a clam working with Peter, and Maura found all sorts of ways to keep herself busy. Preparing for her grandniece was topping the list lately.

Tarin and Gordon? They’d been distant since the wedding, but she supposed that could be explained with a honeymoon period—granted, the wedding was eight months ago. Gordon still wasn’t comfortable around the bunch of them, it seemed. Not entirely. Ava always read a bit of tenseness when he was around. Tarin did have that big house to take care of now, and since she had become pregnant within a month of getting married, her terrible morning sickness had kept her mostly out of sight. It was more of a looming feeling that, despite their plans to picnic and garden and tell stories by a backyard fire to pass the summer hours, it wouldn’t be a gentle one.

It was Saturday, a day for fishing tours and Jonathan always returned home early.

She smiled as he came through the door holding the mail.

“We got a letter from the orphanage.”

Ava could read the nervousness in his voice. If this distant relative, this aunt wanted to claim Eddie, she had every right to do so. She set her book aside and clasped her hands. Jonathan blew the hair that had fallen on his forehead and sat down. Ava cringed. She picked up the smell of fish from across the room. If it got into the fabric, she’d never get it out.

He tore open the letter, and his eyes flew across the lines. Halfway through the letter, he let out a breath.

“She doesn’t want him.” He looked up. “We can proceed with the adoption.”

Ava smiled ear to ear, jumped up, and crossed the room. She hugged him tight, to hell with the fish odor.

“I never thanked you for reconsidering.”

“All I had to do was see him,” Ava said against his shoulder. “You were right. He chose you, and who am I to stand in the way?”

“You did more than that. You opened your heart to the idea and to him.”

Ava pulled back. “When can we bring him home?”

“As soon as we can get there. I’ll talk to Aryl and see about wrapping things up early Monday or Tuesday.”

“And I’ll see if Maura will watch Amy and Jean. I’ll talk to Arianna, too. Maybe she can organize a small welcome home party for him.” They locked eyes grinning.

“We’d better get to work on Jean’s room and get it ready,” Jonathan said.

Amy had woken silently, pushed herself up and was staring at them, her wide eyes still tired, creases marking her pink cheek.

“Amy, sweetheart, you’re going to have a new brother,” Jonathan said, scooping her up. She didn’t understand him, of course, and simply blinked. Ava grabbed his hand and pulled him toward the stairs.

“Let’s go get started. Oh, this is so much easier than labor,” she said with a giggle.

***

Ethel shuffled into the kitchen, her gait uncertain. Samuel and Savrene paused eating. They watched her every move. She smiled at them, and only Samuel gave a timid smile back. She reached out and touched his arm.

Looking in Arianna’s general direction, she said, “I’m sorry.” Her voice was hoarse, her breathing labored.

Arianna turned from the sink. Ethel was dressed, albeit sloppily. Her blouse hung from her bony shoulders, and her hair was a mess.

Arianna couldn’t find it in her to accept.

What was she supposed to say,
it’s all right?
It wasn’t.

Was she supposed to say she forgave her? She didn’t.

She terrorized the house every other day with her fits, scaring the children and created more work for Arianna than she could handle. She just stared at her, wondering how long she’d remain lucid before forgetting who everyone was again and began throwing plates around the room. She dreaded the next time she had to wrestle her up the stairs.

“I know I’ve been bad,” Ethel said quietly, looking down.

“So, you’re aware of what you’re doing?” Arianna asked, feeling her temper rise.

“No,” Ethel said quickly. “I don’t understand what’s happening to me. But I hear you and Caleb talk. I know he’s building that little house for me because I can’t be here anymore.”

“It’s for the best. For everyone,” Arianna said.

Ethel’s face pinched, suddenly ready to cry. Her voice was childlike. “I’m scared to be alone. I don’t want to be with a stranger.”

Arianna closed her eyes. The last thing she needed was Ethel saying this to Caleb, crying that she was scared so he’d change his mind.

“Ethel, your fits scare these children. They’re afraid of you. Every time you do it, they run and hide. You screaming and thrashing and your madness ran Emily off, and I can’t keep up with all the things you break and the bedding you wet every night!”

“If I promise not to—”

“You can’t promise, Ethel!”

A little voice in Arianna’s heart told her to try and find a shred of kindness, a pinch of patience. She searched her soul and found neither.

“Caleb’s going to build that house, you’re going to move into it, and that’s all there is to it. I don’t want you here anymore.” Arianna returned to the sink, aggressively scrubbing potatoes.

Ethel nodded, slowly, then rose and shuffled out of the room.

***

“Can you come with me?” Peter asked.

“Where?” Muzzy asked, peeking up from her typewriter.

“It’s not too far away. Maybe a mile.”

“What’s maybe a mile?”

“The place I want to show you. Stop asking so many questions,” he teased.

She sighed. “Peter, I have a lot of work to do.” Her eyes dropped and her fingers started flying again.

“It won’t take long, and I promise you’ll want to see this.”

She agreed, reluctantly, and made him wait three more minutes until she finished her article.

Out back, she snapped her goggles on. “You’re pulling me away from work. This better be good.”

He smiled. “It is. Follow me.”

He set off on his bike with a tear, a hard lean to the left turning out of the alley into the street. Muzzy had no trouble keeping up. Besides the fact Peter was very easy on the eyes, an excellent cook, good company, and a God almighty good kisser, Muzzy liked the fact that he adored motorbikes and knew how to ride as well as she did. It also helped that despite the fact that her reputation was becoming more scandalous by the day, he helped immensely with keeping her bike tuned and running smoothly. Provided it didn’t hurt sales anymore, it was a good trade in her eyes. He even helped her with a small repair to her printing press the previous evening, a repair she could not have afforded to hire out. She followed him away from downtown into the residential area of Pigeon Cove. He stopped on the side of the road.

“Well, here it is,” he said, grinning madly.

“Here what is?” she asked, throwing her leg and standing. She was looking at a broken down, white, clapboard house. The black shingles on the roof flapped in the wind. One of the windows was busted out.

“You are looking at the new home of the Rockport Review,” he said, grinning madly. “If you’ll have it.”

“Wh-what?” She tried to decide if he was joking, couldn’t, and went back to staring at the house.

“I know it’s not much to look at now. But I’ll fix the window and the roof. We can paint and cut this grass jungle. It will be nice.”

Muzzy’s mouth was agape, not sure what to say.

“Listen. Your paper needs a home. And since you and I live with the paper, I thought I’d find a place that served everyone’s needs. There’s plenty of space here.”

“I’d say. This place is gigantic!”

“So, you like it?”

“How did you…who are you renting from?”

“One of the fish buyers, Mr. Whittley. I got to talking to him and found out he had this old place just sitting here, vacant. He agreed to let us…I mean, the paper, move in, and he’s even given a break on the first couple of months’ rent in exchange for the repairs.”

It wasn’t an ideal location so far from downtown. But it wasn’t exactly isolated, either.
In fact
, she thought as she looked around,
I make a lot of deliveries in this neighborhood. It might shave a few minutes off of my morning
. She started walking, trying to imagine it clean and freshly painted. The stones of the cobbled path needed to be reset. She could see peeling wallpaper beyond the broken window. The porch was missing two boards. It had potential. With Peter’s help, this was possible. But wait. How was this possible
with
Peter in the first place?

“What about all the scandalous talk? I’m sure he’s heard it. Isn’t he concerned?”

“Well,” Peter shoved his hands in his pockets and avoided her eyes. “The thing is…he has heard, but he’s not overly concerned because…”

Muzzy leaned forward. “Because?”

“Because I told him a little lie.”

She folded her arms, her expression demanded to know what that little lie consisted of.

He hesitated and stumbled, and she took a few steps closer.

“Ahem. Peter?”

“I sort of told him we were engaged,” he said, physically cringing.

“You what?” Muzzy’s hands flew from across her chest, out to the sides. “Why would you tell him that?”

“Well, because he had heard! I didn’t want to lose the opportunity, and it just flew out of my mouth before I even realized what I was saying.”

She stared at him. “I can’t believe this.”

“Muzzy, the important thing is that the paper is able to stay alive. Have you found anywhere remotely suitable?”

She dropped her eyes. “No.”

“You need this house, and frankly, you needed that lie. Word will get around, and people will be more likely to leave you alone. It’s modern and unconventional in their eyes, but it’s a step in the right direction.”

She mulled that over for a moment. “I suppose you might be right.”

“Forget what I had to say to secure this place. There’s an opportunity standing right in front of you, and I think you should take it.” He searched her face, hoping she’d read more into his words. Then he looked over the house. “If you don’t, I’m going to have a hell of a time keeping up on it by myself.”

“You’ve already rented it?” she asked.

“Yes. I’ve already paid the first month, so either I have a home or we—and the Rockport Review, have a home. If you like it, I can start working on it today.”

She peeked into one of the windows before turning to him. “I like it.”

“I have more good news,” Peter said, leaning against the crooked porch post. “I think I found a contributing writer for you.”

Now Muzzy’s eyes flew open. “Go on.”

“Well, the same man who owns this house has a daughter, in her twenties. She likes to write. She’s crippled and still lives with him. She spends her days reading and writing, and Mr. Whittley asked if you might take a look at some of her stories and see if she’s good enough to write articles for you—and maybe publish one as a serial.”

Muzzy was buzzing with excitement, but she had one concern. Her usual concern. “I can’t…”

“Pay her, I know. Mr. Whittley knows, too. He seems to think that subscriptions will rise, and you will be able to hire her eventually, especially with a serial being published. He knows a lot of people. And his daughter is involved with every book club in the county.”

With the prospect of a writer joining the team and a diamond in the rough home for her paper, Muzzy felt giddy. “Peter, I think I might name you hero of the year,” she said with a lopsided grin.