Guarded Read online

  For the veterans of World War II

  Guarded

  by Angela Correll

  © Copyright 2015 Angela Correll

  ISBN 978-1-63393-136-7

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means – electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording, or any other – except for brief quotations in printed reviews, without the prior written permission of the author.

  This is a work of fiction. The characters are both actual and fictitious. With the exception of verified historical events and persons, all incidents, descriptions, dialogue and opinions expressed are the products of the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real.

  Published by

  210 60th Street

  Virginia Beach, VA 23451

  212-574-7939

  www.koehlerbooks.com

  CONTENTS

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Acknowledgments

  Author’s Note

  Discussion Questions

  Chapter One

  THE OLD STONE house looked solemn in the September afternoon. Even the birds were quiet, as if in respect for its suffering. Annie stared at charred stones, glassless windows, and a scorched chimney jutting into the blue sky, all evidence of the fiery injustice done only weeks ago.

  Glass in the fanlight window over the front door was gone, a casualty of the water pressure that night as men guided hoses to the fire in the upstairs room. There was no time then to think of collateral damage. The goal was to save the house.

  The door stood slightly ajar. Annie slipped inside, her running shoes crunching on pieces of glass, the stench of smoke still heavy in the air. They had left the house just as it was after the fire, not daring to move anything out until the insurance company had done its own investigation. Now it was disappointingly over, with no prize at the end of the waiting. The check her grandmother received was a fraction of the repair estimates.

  “Well, that’s that,” her grandmother had said.

  For all her love of heritage, home, and family, Annie knew Beulah was ultimately a frugal realist. To counter her own disappointment, Annie went for her daily run through the barn lot, following the farm lane to the stone house, as if the house might tell her how it could be saved.

  The downstairs rooms had damaged plaster and warped wood floors from the water. She went carefully up the stairs and looked into the room where Stella, the renter, had left a candle burning. The fire had leaped up a curtain near the chimney, burning a hole in the roof.

  Amidst the destruction, Annie closed her eyes and imagined the house as it was in her childhood, before her mother’s illness, before the house went into the hands of whoever needed shelter and offered cash by the month.

  Windows open, curtains dancing in the honeysuckle-scented breeze, and a vase of lavender on the bedside table. Clinking pans in the kitchen, the smell of savory cooking, a crackling fire in the great stone fireplace. In the summer, her mother tended to her small garden, or the patch of lavender just beyond the back door. In the winter, the rich brew of coffee warmed and comforted the adults sitting around the fire. Story after story fueled laughter, while Annie and her childhood friend Jake occupied themselves with a game or puzzle nearby.

  The house offered no answers and only fueled her discouragement. Outside in the fresh air, she plucked a green walnut off a tree and breathed in the scent that whispered summer is over. If the house was not repaired soon, the fall rains and winter wind would invite even more destruction.

  Annie set off on a run back to the house she shared with her grandmother, this time crossing the wooden bridge spanning Gibson’s Creek and then onto the tree-lined road bordering the branch. Once she reached May Hollow Road, she relaxed as the rhythmic thumping on macadam cleared her head. After a half mile, she turned right into her grandmother’s long and winding driveway just across from Betty and Joe Gibson’s small bungalow. The white plank fence lined the curving driveway, newly repaired and painted, the result of her hard work this summer after losing her job as a flight attendant.

  Betty Gibson’s faded pink Cadillac was parked in the driveway. Annie slowed her pace, not in a hurry to see their nosy neighbor, especially today. Betty had taken to stopping by a couple times a week since Annie had moved home. Betty’s smothering interest in her personal life had grown annoying. The screen door creaked when Annie opened it and the chatter of a female voice stopped as soon as she stepped into the mudroom just off the kitchen.

  “Is that you, Annie?” Betty called. “I was telling Beulah the zinnias are beautiful. If the frost holds off, they’ll be perfect for Scott and Mary Beth’s wedding.”

  Annie steeled herself, remembered her customer service training as a flight attendant, and smiled before entering the kitchen.

  Betty was sitting across from her grandmother at the farmhouse table, her curly blonde hair held back by two barrettes, her eyes wide with interest. They were both drinking iced tea, empty dessert plates in front of them.

  “I surely hope the weather is good,” Betty said. “Evelyn is about to work herself to death.”

  Annie busied herself with pouring a glass of iced sweet tea.

  “But I really don’t understand why Evelyn is goin’ to all this trouble. I mean, Scott and Mary Beth are no kin to her,” Betty said. “I know they met while taking Sunday dinner with you and Evelyn on your mission of mercy to the local single folks, but she’s acting like they are her own children. Here’s her own son, Jake, nearly about to marry Annie, and she won’t have nothing left over to give.”

  “Jake and I aren’t even engaged,” Annie said. “Evelyn will have lots of time to recover from this one.”

  “You know Evelyn loves a party,” Beulah said.

  “It’s a mighty big expense,” Betty said, with a disapproving shake of her head. “How much you expect she’s paying for all this?”

  “Scott and Mary Beth have good jobs. They’re paying for the wedding,” Annie said. “Evelyn’s hosting it.”

  “Well, I’m glad to hear it,” Betty said, leaning back in her chair. “I did wonder.”

  Annie felt like she had thrown a mouse to the cat.

  “Would you like a piece of Betty’s derby pie?” Beulah said, pointing to the pie on the counter.

  “Kentucky Nut Pie. You know all that trademark business,” Betty corrected, with a dismissive hand wave.

  “Sounds good,” she said, her opinion of Betty softening. The pie plate was still warm, and Annie’s mouth wat
ered as the knife cut through the pecans and soft chocolate morsels.

  “Speaking of you not being engaged,” Betty said. “It’s time enough with you and Jake, don’t you think? Why, you two have known each other since birth. When we gonna hear weddin’ bells around here?” Betty said, her head cocked to one side.

  The chocolate chips were still warm and melted in Annie’s mouth. She closed her eyes, enjoyed the sweetness, and ignored Betty’s question.

  “I showed Betty the estimates for fixing the old stone house,” Beulah said.

  “Higher than a cat’s back,” Betty said. “What do they think coming in with prices like that? Law have mercy! Joe and me were talking about it last night and he told me there’s a fella over in Rutherford who has a business selling salvage from old houses. He pays good money to take an old house apart. They take out all the good wood, the trim work, and the fireplace. Why, Joe said there’s no telling what he’ll pay for the stone house with all those old limestones to be reused. Just think about it, Beulah. You get the money from the insurance, little as it is, and then you get paid again to haul off all the pieces and parts. A bulldozer can take care of the rest and there you’ve got a nice place to build a new house, if Annie and Jake ever get married.”

  “That so?” Beulah said.

  “Don’t you like the idea, Annie? Your age group is all so interested in recycling and such. Repurpose; isn’t that what they call it today? I heard the word on The Today Show. You know, I used to love Matt Lauer; I could have sopped him up with a biscuit. I’ve gone off him lately. What do you think, Annie?”

  “About Matt Lauer?”

  “No, honey, about salvaging a house for recycling,” Betty said.

  “Houses should be used as houses whenever possible,” Annie said, and glanced at her grandmother.

  “Well, I better get supper started,” Betty said, and pushed back her chair. “Joe comes in at four-thirty hungry as a bear, and if I don’t have something on the table, he goes to paw at the refrigerator and mess up my organizations.”

  Beulah stood.

  “Don’t get up, I’ll see myself out,” Betty said. “See you tomorrow night, Beulah.”

  The screen door slammed behind her. Annie turned to her grandmother.

  “How do you stand her? She’s always digging for something.”

  Beulah laughed. “She doesn’t bother me. You have to understand, Betty was the Tobacco Festival queen for three years in a row when she was young. In fact, when Hollywood came ‘round years ago to film a Civil War feature, they picked her to be a stand-in. Life has never quite measured up since then, so she has to hunt down her own excitement.”

  “It’s no excuse,” Annie said. Though it did shed a glimmer of light on Betty’s personality, not to mention her buxom features and straight white teeth. “She makes tearing down the house look pretty attractive, but will you give me some time to see if there’s any other way we can save it?”

  Annie searched her grandmother’s face for softening, just like she had done when she was young. She saw nothing there to give her hope. In times past, Annie would have gone to her grandfather, knowing he would see her side, and then work on her grandmother in the way only he could. But Annie was an adult now, and there was no one else to do the work for her.

  “I’ve been doing some thinking lately,” Beulah said, her tone measured and calm. “You know I want to leave you this farm intact. It’s one hundred forty-three acres of well-watered land, what with Gibson’s Creek running through it and several springs. I’ve told you before it’s paid off. I have savings as well, but I’m getting older, and we don’t know what the future holds.”

  Her grandmother paused before going on. “The stone house gave me rental income and helped with my living expenses. Now, I’ve lost the income, and we’re looking at many thousands of dollars to fix the house. I can’t imagine how we could make up the difference between the insurance money and what they’re saying it will take to fix it. I hate the thought of losing that old house. It’s been in my family since the beginning. However, you need to understand that if I have to choose between saving the farm or the old house, I’ll choose the farm.”

  “I understand,” Annie nodded. “But Grandma, give me some time to try to find another solution. Please!”

  Beulah looked at her like a teacher looked at an errant student.

  “We have to do something before November. With the roof burned through in the one room upstairs, the fall rains will destroy what’s left to save,” she said.

  “That’s only two months from now,” Annie said.

  “The salvage company will need time to get everything out before the rains start if you don’t find a solution. Let’s see where you are in two weeks. Then we’ll make a decision.”

  “But Grandma, two weeks …” Annie said.

  “Two weeks,” Beulah said firmly.

  Chapter Two

  BEULAH WENT UPSTAIRS to bed, and for a long time Annie sat in the den, curled up on the faded polyester couch, and fingered loose frays from a cushion. The room was comfortable, in a well-worn and familial way, but there were no luxuries. The bulky television, used only for the evening news and the occasional basketball game, was built long before technology streamlined screen size. The braided rug in front of the fireplace was the same rug from her childhood. The oversized lamps on the veneer end tables provided the only light in the room. It was a room from the 1970s. Now that she thought about it, she could not remember one time when her grandmother bought something new for the house—except for her grandfather’s recliner.

  Annie remembered the day when the recliner was delivered. After grunts and groans, two men finally wedged it into the living room. Once the paperwork was signed, her grandparents stood back and marveled at it. Each of them took a turn sitting in it, raising the leg rest, and leaning all the way back. Beulah gave her a stern look when she brought the leg rest down with a thump. “Be careful; it was expensive,” her grandmother had admonished.

  It was only a few months ago when her life in New York City crashed and she moved home to Kentucky. Living with her grandmother was like falling back in time. The dated furniture, the quiet of the country, the deferred maintenance, all seemed to smother her at first. Her grandmother’s frugality agitated her, from the cheap coffee to the lack of connectivity to the outside world. There was no subscription to satellite or cable, and certainly no wireless Internet. But during the last several months at home, Annie had grown to appreciate her grandmother and her heritage. Nearly all of her grandparents’ savings preserved the farm that had been in their family for generations.

  She understood her grandmother’s position on the old stone house. If only there were a solution to repair it and keep her grandmother happy on finances.

  There was her own savings account, but despite Annie’s best efforts to search out a job in Somerville, there was nothing to be had. She would eventually need to buy a car, something she had not needed in the city. But here in the country, there was no way to have a job without one. Jake had fixed up her grandfather’s old farm truck, but it had already broken down on Annie twice. And if she had to look as far as Rutherford, or even Lexington for work, reliability was even more crucial.

  She went to the kitchen and put on a kettle of water for tea. The insurance check and the restoration bids were still on the kitchen table. She laid the estimates on the harvest table side-by-side. There was the local contractor’s bid, another from a company out of Rutherford, and a third from a large construction company out of Lexington. Each bid was within a few hundred dollars of each other, and all well beyond the insurance check.

  Each bid included demolition, roof, plaster, woodwork, plumbing, electrical, replacement windows, glass repair, HVAC, and fixtures.

  So much to be done, Annie thought. Yet tearing down the house would be a regrettable decision.

  After a cup of tea and staring endlessly at the papers, she stood and turned off the lights before making her way up to
her bedroom. As she eased into the soft cotton folds underneath the worn and frayed quilt, an idea came. Tom Childress’ name was recently in the Somerville Record for attending a state historic preservation meeting. His daughter, Lindy, was Annie’s new friend. She would call them tomorrow and see if they could help.

  ***

  Lindy Childress sat behind her desk in the law office where she practiced with her father. Her blonde hair fell around her pixie face as she leaned forward and tapped the desk with a pencil.

  “So you see,” Annie said. “I thought since it is an old house, maybe there are some grants out there for historic sites at risk.”

  “We need to talk to Dad. I know there are tax credits at the federal and state level. There might be some grants available, but there’ll be research to do, and lots of forms to complete. And far more than two weeks before you will know anything.”

  “I don’t think Grandma wants to tear it down, but losing the income was discouraging, and then finding out the insurance payoff was so skimpy made it worse. She reduced the insurance after my grandfather died to cut expenses. After sitting there for two hundred years, she never dreamed about something happening,” Annie said.

  “Let me see if Dad can come in for a minute. He had some clients, but they may be gone now.”

  Annie admired Lindy’s office. It was in an old Victorian building with tall ceilings, wood floors, and a gas log fireplace she imagined her friend enjoyed in cooler weather. A red and gold Persian rug covered most of the floor, giving the room a cozy feel.

  “Hello, Annie.” Tom Childress entered the room, glasses in his left hand and his right extended to her. Lindy followed and sat in her chair behind the desk while Tom folded his large frame in the chair next to her.

  “How’s Beulah?” he asked.

  “Remarkable,” Annie said. “You’d hardly know she had the knee operation just a few months ago.”

  “Good,” he said. “And Jake is closing on his house this weekend, I believe?”

  “Tomorrow. Then he will be home for good,” she said, not even trying to contain the smile.