Stay a Little Longer (11 page)

“Mother,” Rachel began gently. “Alice is…”

“Dead,” her mother finished for her, the first wetness appearing in her eyes even as a smile spread across her face. “I know
that,” she agreed. “I know that there are no new memories to be made, but each and every day that I spend here in this house,
I feel as if these older memories, these recollections of happy times, are with me, as if Alice were still with me.

“If we were to agree to sell this home, if I were to just accept all of the money that Zachary is offering and move, we could
take the memories with us, but no matter how badly we wished things wouldn’t change, they would never be the same. Wherever
we went, to whatever new home, we could never manage to bring Alice with us.”

Rachel knew that much of what her mother was saying made sense; there were days that she had spent walking around the boardinghouse,
remembering special times she and Alice had spent together. Not only was there the ever-present burden of Charlotte’s uncanny
resemblance to her mother, but there was also simply nowhere in the house to go without some memory, some glimpse of a much
happier time, coming back to her.

Still, Rachel wondered if by so desperately clinging to the past, they were denying themselves the opportunity to live. The
truth was that Alice was gone, and while her death had been so devastating for them all, there was nothing that could be done
to change it. While Rachel didn’t want to let go of her treasured memories of her sister either, choosing to wallow in their
past wouldn’t ever completely assuage that loss, nor completely erase the pain.

“Besides,” Eliza argued, “Zachary Tucker cannot be trusted.”

“I know that.”

“You don’t know the half of it,” her mother snapped, cutting her off. “For as long as I live, I’ll never forget what Mason
told me… about how his brother had ruined Archie Grace’s life.”

Momentarily confused, Rachel could only echo, “Archie Grace?”

Everyone in Carlson knew the sad story of the town’s blacksmith. Ten years earlier, heartbroken over the recent loss of his
wife to influenza and despondent over money troubles, he’d gone out to his workshop one summer night with a bottle of whiskey
and a length of rope and hanged himself. The whole town had turned out to pay their respects; there hadn’t been a dry eye
at his funeral.

“What did Zachary have to do with Mr. Grace?”

“While there was no denying that Archie was devastated by his wife’s death, the truth was that he was pulling himself together,”
Eliza explained slowly, her green eyes as flat and cold as a Minnesota plain in winter. “There were rumors that he’d come
into some money, something about an aunt back east who had always been fond of him, and that he would finally be able to pay
off some of his outstanding debts. The way that Mason explained it, Archie had been so wound up when he’d received the money,
he’d run off down to the bank around closing rather than wait until morning.”

“And Zachary was there?” Rachel asked.

“He was…”

A sickening feeling began to spread across Rachel’s gut; she had thought Archie Grace to be a nice man, always ready with
a cheery smile or laughter. The insinuation that Zachary had something to do with his death was repulsive, but she wanted
to know more, to learn the horrible truth.

“As a matter of fact,” Eliza continued, “Zachary was the only person there, just locking up for the night. Archie came upon
him on the front steps, a bit breathless from running over, and said that he wanted to make a deposit. Zachary told him that
he would take care of it, and so Archie just handed over the money… It was the last time he ever saw it.”

“Zachary took it?” Rachel blurted incredulously.

“Not according to him, but yes, he did.” Her mother sighed. “The next time Archie went to the bank, he found that there was
no record of any sizable deposit. Confused and growing angrier by the moment, he confronted Zachary, but the bastard acted
as if he had no idea what the poor man was talking about. Even when the matter was brought to Sherman’s attention, Zachary
clung to his lie, swearing on his late mother’s grave that he had never taken Archie’s money. Behind closed doors, he suggested
that maybe Archie had been drinking or was a bit confused.”

“But… but that’s not right,” Rachel protested. “Surely someone saw Mr. Grace giving Zachary the money!”

Eliza shook her head. “Remember, it was a late February night and Zachary had been alone at the bank. Besides, you know how
quickly the sun sets come winter. Since it was so cold and dark, not a soul was around to see him rob that poor man.”

“But who would have believed him?”

“Sherman had no choice.” Eliza shrugged. “When he demanded the truth of his son, Zachary sat there and lied to his face every
bit as slick as rainwater running off a duck’s back. You also have to recall that Archie had been going through a tough time
and he’d been known to tie on one or two at the tavern. What with those two things working against him, poor Sherman had no
option but to accept Zachary’s take on the event.”

“And then…” Rachel began but couldn’t finish.

“And then Archie took himself out to his workshop and hung himself,” Eliza explained with a heavy heart. “There weren’t many
folks that knew what had happened at the bank. Sherman made sure that tongues didn’t wag, so most all of Carlson figured that
Archie couldn’t take the loneliness any longer and saw only one way out of it.”

“But Mason told you the truth?” Rachel asked.

“He did.”

“He believed what Archie had said? That his own brother was a liar?”

“I’m sure that he’s always known that Zachary was no good,” Eliza sneered. “Living with him for all of those years had to
have taught him something, but I think even Mason was surprised by the depths of Zachary’s deception of Archie Grace. When
he told Alice, she was so horrified that she burst into tears and, to the best of my knowledge, never spoke to her brother-in-law
ever again. I doubt that Mason would have blamed her.”

Rachel shivered at the thought of Zachary stealing Archie Grace’s money. There was little doubt that he was a greedy, overbearing
man who treasured the pursuit of money over nearly everything else, but the man her mother had just described was nothing
short of evil. Still, she knew there was little that would’ve led her to believe that Zachary had been misunderstood. That
Mason hadn’t swallowed his own brother’s story was particularly damning.

How can I believe a word he said about the boardinghouse?

“Would you place Charlotte’s future in the hands of such a man?”

Her mother’s question struck Rachel mute. When Zachary had first made the offer to follow up on his father’s pledge to provide
for Charlotte, she had had reservations, but wanted to do what was best for the girl. Now, in the face of the accusations
made against the man, she wished to keep her niece as far away from him as possible.

“He told you that he’d provide for Charlotte, didn’t he?” Eliza asked.

“Yes… yes, he did.”

Her mother nodded solemnly, moving back toward the window and peering onto the street below. “Zachary Tucker does not give
a damn about that child… never has,” she finally said, her voice low with a barely restrained anger. “All she is to him is
a reminder of a brother he couldn’t stand. If she were in trouble, he would be the last person I would ever turn to for help,
and that’s God’s honest truth!”

“But what about the money his father promised?” Rachel prodded. “He said that if we sold the boardinghouse to the lumber company,
he’d ensure she got what was rightfully hers.”

“That money is gone forever, child.”

“But what about—”

“Just put it right out of your head!” Eliza snapped, her voice as raw as any open wound. “That bastard wants you to have hope,
to believe it was somehow possible, but you’d have as much luck getting that money as you would snatching the sun from the
sky! I want us to stay in our home and reject what Zachary is offering as much for Charlotte as I do for you or myself. I
need her to grow up in this house surrounded by childhood memories.”

For the first time in the many years Eliza had insisted on Charlotte’s visits to her mother’s tombstone, Rachel recognized
that she and her mother did not have as many differences as she had imagined. While she wished that Eliza would leave her
room from time to time, she could clearly see why her mother never wanted to sell the boardinghouse. For all that she had
lost, this was where her family was, and that family was centered around her granddaughter.

Though she still hated being responsible for so many of the chores needed to keep the boardinghouse running, Rachel felt a
slight flush of shame begin coloring her cheeks. In the face of all they had lost by Mason’s death, what still remained after
all the years was the strength of family. Her mother, Charlotte, herself, and even her uncle Otis all depended on one another
to make ends meet. Though Zachary’s offer was tempting, it would be dangerous to accept it; heeding the cautionary tale of
Archie Grace was the wise thing to do. Besides, her mother was right; memories of her sister lingered in the old house. Maybe
she should explain that to Charlotte.

“I want her to be happy,” Rachel said simply.

“So do I,” Eliza agreed. “We each have our own ways of going about it, but in the end, we both want the same thing for her.”

Listening to her mother, Rachel knew that never would she sell the boardinghouse to Zachary Tucker, even if he were to increase
his offer to ten times his original price.

And that is just fine with me!

C
HARLOTTE RAN
through the tall grass along the shore of Lake Carlson, happy to be out of school. If she’d had to spend five more minutes
at her desk reciting times tables in arithmetic class, she would have been tempted to run screaming from the room! It was
so boring that it was all she could do not to fall asleep. The only thing worse than waiting for the end of the day was thinking
about having to go back tomorrow.

While the other kids laughed and played together, Charlotte stood in the background by herself. Always surrounded by adults,
she was shy around other children. She had no real friends because she used her sassy mouth to cover up that shyness.

The big black dog ran along beside her, panting, his tongue lolling out his mouth. Bounding from one clump of wild grass to
another, Jasper seemed not to have a care in the world save having fun, a feeling that Charlotte shared. In particular, she
cared little about the burrs and thorns that kept snagging her blouse and skirt, even tugging at her long blonde braids, although
she knew she would receive a tongue-lashing from her grandmother as soon as she got home.

I’m not gonna worry ’bout that today!

Pushing any thoughts of her grandmother’s nagging out of her head, Charlotte set about enjoying what was left of the day.
The autumn sun provided some degree of warmth, even as a cool breeze rustled the few brown and burnt-orange leaves that still
clung to their branches. Only a scattering of fluffy clouds marred an otherwise clear blue sky. In short, with winter only
a couple months away, this day was one to savor.

Suddenly, a rabbit darted from its hiding place and bounded out ahead of them. Jasper was off like a shot, a flurry of barking
and churning legs, darting deeper into the woods in pursuit. Charlotte came to a quick stop, her chest heaving from both running
and laughter. “Go get ’im, Jasper!” she yelled as the dog’s barking faded into the distance, leaving her alone among the trees.

Being alone in the woods was not frightening to Charlotte; she loved exploring. Out among the thickened knots of trees and
bushes around the lake was particularly inviting. Here, she and Jasper could do as they pleased. She laughed out loud thinking
of prissy Ethel Phelps who never ran and played at all for fear of getting her fancy dresses dirty. Here, Charlotte could
do exactly what she wanted without having to worry about being constantly fussed over by her grandmother, as if she were as
fragile as an egg.

Charlotte knew that her grandmother loved her, in her own way. But all of her constant worrying was too much!
Make sure you take your mittens because otherwise you’ll catch cold! Don’t run down the stairs… what do you want to do? Fall
and hurt yourself? You shouldn’t go out today… it’s supposed to rain and Lord knows you’ll catch your death of cold!
Her grandmother’s hand-wringing knew no end! She’d made it her life’s goal to make sure her granddaughter didn’t have any
fun at all. Even as Charlotte disobeyed day after day after day, the worrying kept on. After a while, it just sort of went
in one ear and out the other.

And then there was Aunt Rachel…

Every year it was the same thing; Rachel dragged her out to the cemetery to visit her mother’s grave. Usually she went, mumbled
a few things, and everyone was happy, but this year had been different. She and Jasper had been dragged away from their playing,
she had been miserable; she really wasn’t sure why she hadn’t run away right then and there. The long walk to the cemetery
felt as if it took hours. Even after they arrived, she had been unable to understand the point of it all.
Why do I have to try to get to know my mother? Can she really even be my mother if I don’t remember her face or the sound
of her voice?

A pair of butterflies danced in front of Charlotte’s face, grabbing her attention away from thoughts of her long-dead mother.
Monarchs, their beating wings speckled a bright orange, fluttered by. The sight of them was surprising; butterflies were usually
long gone by such a late autumn date. As they made their way away from the lake, Charlotte followed, jumping up to try to
catch them, laughing because they managed to stay just out of her grasp.

This is better than school any old day!

Following along behind the dancing butterflies, Charlotte moved from along the lakeshore deeper into the forest. She weaved
between tall oaks and elms, stumbled down a gentle depression, and fought her way through a wild rosebush, all to keep the
beautiful butterflies in sight. Finally, the tangle of underbrush opened out before her and she entered into a clearing well
shaded by the overhang of branches from the surrounding trees.