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“Sounds like a plan.” He pressed the button on his key fob to lock his truck and walked over to open the driver’s door on hers, standing back while she slid behind the wheel, then striding around to climb in beside her.
Carly started the truck, taking a moment to be grateful that Jay had cleaned it out earlier, making sure there was no mud on the seat and sweeping up most of the dried bits of grass and plant matter on the floor.
As they pulled onto the road and headed in the direction of Toncaville, Luke turned toward her and lifted his knee onto the seat. Settling back, he slipped a finger beneath the flap of the envelope and opened it carefully. He pulled out the letter, but before he unfolded it, he saw that there was bold writing on the outside of the last page.
“‘Dear Bonbon,’” he started, but was interrupted by a snicker from Carly.
“I never knew Wendolin called you Bonbon,” she said, sending him an amused glance.
Luke’s eyebrows drew together in a pained expression. “I begged her not to and she stopped for a long time, but she probably figured that since this was the last thing she would write to me, she could call me whatever she wanted.”
“No doubt.” She nodded toward the paper. “Go ahead.”
Luke returned to the letter. “‘Dear Bonbon, be sure you and Carly unpack the trunk together.’”
Carly took her eyes off the road for a second to stare at him. “That’s it?”
“That’s it.”
How much more complicated was this going to get? she wondered, but she said, “We should honor her last wishes. We can take care of it this evening.” She glanced at the dashboard clock, wondering if there was time to turn around and take Luke back to his truck. There wasn’t. “I have to make this delivery in Toncaville and I don’t want to be late because this is a new customer, so you’ll still have to come with me.”
“That fits right in with my plans,” he said, facing forward and stretching out his legs. “My uncle was making noises this morning about me helping him build an outdoor play set for Max. The kid’s not even a year old, can’t walk yet. How’s he going to climb the thing?”
“Knowing your knack for free styling on building projects, Tom was probably counting on you to come up with something.”
Luke grinned. “Like a baby elevator to take him to the top of the slide.” He thought about it for a second. “A little chair attached to a pulley would work. Have to have a safety harness and a crank that can be operated easily.”
“Now you’re talking.” Carly took a breath. This wasn’t so hard, and having him along, talking so easily like this, helped her quell her anxiety about the lateness of today’s deliveries. She spent so much time alone, working in her gardens or various refurbishing projects, it felt good to have someone else along—or at least that was what she was telling herself.
Luke gave her a sidelong glance. “So you remember how I like to improvise on building projects, huh?”
“Yes, I do.” She also recalled that when they were first married, they had talked about buying a house—a fixer-upper they could remodel the way they wanted it—or even building one themselves. A home where they could raise their child. Instead they had lived in a high-rise in Dallas, a sharp-angles-and-glass creation owned by his father’s corporation. It had been completely unsuited to Carly’s interests and nature, but she’d thought they wouldn’t be there very long. In fact, it was the only place they’d ever lived together.
Luke was looking out his window, watching the pine trees zip past. He was relaxed, at ease, his hand wrapped around the flip-down handle above the door, fingers drumming on the hard plastic. She needed to try to be the same.
She knew it was silly—a woman of thirty-two, who made a point of seeming happy and carefree, becoming twisted with anxiety about a late delivery. She had worked so long on her own, though, been responsible for every detail of her business, that she found it almost impossible to relax about any part of it. She knew she needed to be calmer, to take things easier.
She spotted a small, dark figure ahead and slammed on the brakes.
“Whoa.” Luke shot his hand out to steady himself against the dashboard. “What is it, Carly?”
She put the truck in Park, hit the hazard lights and vaulted from the cab—or would have if she hadn’t become tangled in her full skirt. With a sound of annoyance, she tugged it out of the way and jumped out.
“I’ll be right back,” she called over her shoulder as she slammed the door.
* * *
LUKE STEPPED OUT as Carly darted up the road. Several yards in front of the truck, she stooped to pick something up. When she turned, he saw it was a turtle. Holding it with a hand on each side of the shell, she hurried across the road and carefully set the reptile down in the bar ditch. She watched it for a minute, then nodded. She turned back to the truck but stopped suddenly when she saw that he was only a few feet behind her.
He pointed to the turtle, which was slowly climbing out of the ditch to make his way across the field.
“What was that all about?”
“Saving a life,” she answered breezily. “Come on.”
He paused and stared after her, but when it looked like she wasn’t going to offer any further explanation—or wait for him—he hurried after her, swinging into the truck as she started to roll.
Luke fastened his seat belt and was on the verge of asking about the turtle when she stopped again. This time, though, there were two turtles. When she said, “Help me,” he followed, snatching up one of the creatures at the moment a car zipped past, causing him to stumble back. Recovering his balance and giving the driver an annoyed look, he followed her to the bar ditch, but this time to the opposite side from where she’d carried the last one.
The turtle craned its head from one side to another as it opened and closed its mouth. Looking at Carly, Luke asked, “Are you on a one-woman turtle rescue crusade?”
“Yes, but they’re actually tortoises. The one you’re carrying is called a snapping turtle, but it’s a tortoise.”
He set it down hastily. “Can’t they get across the road by themselves? They seemed to be doing okay.”
“Did you see how fast that car was going?” she asked with an indignant wave of her hand. “These tortoises can’t move fast enough to get across the road before being hit by a maniac like that. Every year at this time it’s the same thing—tortoises are moving around, crossing the road, and many of them get run over. It makes me sick. I think some people deliberately aim for them.” She paused and stood, watching the two animals.
“What are you waiting for?”
“Making sure they’re heading away from the road, not back onto it.”
She stood with her hands on her hips, bending slightly to watch the rescues inch out of the ditch and into the field beside it. He suspected that if Carly had more time, and had been wearing something other than a skirt and dressy sandals, she would have climbed through the split-rail cedar fence and carried them much farther away from the asphalt.
That was one thing that hadn’t changed. Carly wanted to see things set right. Her friend Gemma had been the one who had rescued animals, but Carly had helped find them homes and then gone back to check to make sure the animals were well cared for.
He remembered how she would become enraged over some injustice she’d seen on the local news and talk about ways to solve the issue. He also never forgot how she’d turned heads when they were out together. Her striking looks drew other men’s attention like magnets swinging toward true north. He’d felt extremely proud and intensely jealous. His comeuppance had come with a vengeance when they’d split up and he’d been stopped cold any time he’d seen a tall, black-haired woman with a loose-hipped walk striding down the street. He’d almost followed a couple of them, thinking it was Carly, knowing he wouldn’t so much as say hello. Of course, it never had been her. Gemma and Lisa had swept her back home to Reston so she could recover and escape the misery he’d caused. Eventually he’d had to leave Dallas because the memories were so hard and his pining for her so sharp.
Looking at her now, gazing intently at two tortoises who didn’t know how to keep themselves safe, he experienced echoes of that hunger. When they’d met, she had been as clueless about self-protection as those tortoises. At twenty-one, he’d been cocky, chasing adventures and experiences, determined to get what he’d wanted, and as soon as he’d seen Carly, she was what he wanted.
It hadn’t been until years later, working on a construction project in Venezuela, that he’d finally acknowledged that his frenetic thirst for escapades had been nothing more than an attempt to outrun his grief over the unexpected death of his mother when he was eighteen. He’d done the same thing after the miscarriage of their child and the end of their short marriage.
The realization had come between one hammer blow on a nail head and the next. He’d collapsed onto the ground so suddenly and completely, a fellow carpenter had come running, thinking he’d been injured.
But instead he’d taken the first step toward dealing with his grief for his mom, his child, and for the way he’d screwed up with Carly.
Now he was back. They had both moved on with their lives, but he felt he owed her something. An apology? The ones he’d offered years ago had never really plumbed the depths of his regret. Reparations, which he knew she’d never accept? A child? Impossible. He couldn’t turn back time.
Finally satisfied with the reptiles’ progress, Carly waved him toward the truck, snapping him out of his solemn reverie.
“Let’s go,” she commanded. “I’ve got a delivery to make.”
Luke grinned as he shook his head. “Then maybe you’d better put the tortoise rescues on hold. We’re still about twenty minutes from Toncaville, aren’t we?”
She answered with a stern look that made him laugh even more as she started the truck and pulled onto the highway once again. “Well, maybe we won’t see any more.”
“Maybe.”
They stopped three more times, but Luke jumped out while she was still rolling and moved the endangered tortoise out of the way. By the time they reached the Toncaville city limits, they had their routine down to about two minutes per stop.
“So, I’m guessing we’ll be doing the same thing on the way back home,” he said, watching her face.
“Absolutely.” She smiled at him. “Thanks, Luke. I’ve hardly ever had help with this before, except when Lisa or Gemma is riding with me. Mostly, my garden helpers will assist in the rescues, but if they’re afraid of being seen by their friends, they’ll laugh at me and wait while I finish running back and forth across the highway.”
“You’re welcome. Say, I haven’t had lunch yet. How about you?”
“No. I was going to grab something here in town.”
“Why don’t you let me buy you lunch?” he asked as she pulled into the parking lot at the back of the restaurant where she was delivering her produce. “This looks like a good place.”
“It is.” She hesitated as she stepped out and walked to the back of the truck, where he joined her.
He knew it wasn’t a good idea and he was sure she knew it, too. Riding in the truck, talking about the passing scenery, hustling tortoises out of danger, was one thing. Sitting in a restaurant, eating a meal, seemed too...intimate, even though they had certainly shared meals before, including last night’s barbecue. Besides, although it was three o’clock in the afternoon and there wouldn’t be many customers in the place, it might seem like they were a couple—then he wondered if she actually cared about that. She seemed so completely sure of herself now. Maybe she wasn’t affected by gossip.
She smiled at him. “The chef, Beth Orwin, makes the best grilled trout in southeastern Oklahoma.”
“And we already know that she buys the best produce around.” He pulled back the cool, damp cloth and picked up a bin full of lettuce and other vegetables. He looked down at the fat, red radishes, bright orange carrots and cream-colored parsnips. “These are beautiful, you know.”
To his surprise, her cheeks flushed and she hitched up one shoulder in a slight shrug. “I always think of them as jewels uncovered in the earth. Silly, I know.”
“Not at all.”
“I guess we should try some of my vegetables,” she admitted. “I mean, quality control and all that.”
“Yes, we should.”
They unloaded the truck, took care of the paperwork and then walked around to the front entrance.
Luke marveled at how things had changed in twenty-four hours. Yesterday at about this time, he had been nervously pulling onto her property, worrying that she wouldn’t talk to him. He wouldn’t have blamed her if that had been the case, but he had known she would accept what Wendolin had left her. He only had to remember to keep this light and casual. They would eat lunch, run any errands she needed to take care of, then go back to unpack the trunk. He wasn’t sure why his grandmother had wanted him to be involved with this, but he was determined to follow her instructions. He owed it to her, but he also owed it to Carly to stay away from her. He already knew how much he could hurt her.
Luke gave her a regretful glance. His heart sank because he knew he was about to do it again.
* * *
THIS WASN’T AS easy as she’d thought it would be. In fact, it was much harder. They had eaten a late lunch then talked to Beth, the chef and owner of the restaurant, who praised the vegetables and ordered more. Carly had decided to forget the stop at her favorite junk store. Her usual routine of digging through their ratty stock wasn’t something she wanted to do while Luke tagged along. Besides, she wasn’t dressed for it, which she hadn’t really considered when she’d put on this fancy skirt. So, after they ate, they had returned to Joslin Gardens, the drive interrupted by three more stops to rescue tortoises.
Carly was able to control her edginess by focusing on returning home. She and Luke took the empty vegetable bins into the shed where Sheena would rinse them before they were used again. Once they were inside the house, they washed their hands then went to the living room, where the trunk awaited them. Luke slipped the letter out of his pocket and laid it on an end table within easy reach.
The lid wasn’t hinged, but separated completely from the body of the trunk. Luke set it aside, then came to sit by Carly on the sofa. The first item they removed was wrapped in yellowed tissue paper that Carly peeled back carefully to reveal satin and lace, also yellowed with age.
Luke ran a hand over the smooth fabric. “Is this...?”
“Wendolin’s wedding dress, I’ll bet,” Carly said, lifting it out reverently to unfold it. “She gave us her wedding dress.”
“I had no idea she still had it. I’ve never seen it before. I’m her only grandchild, so I guess it makes sense it would come to me.” Luke’s eyes twinkled. “I don’t think it will fit me, though.”
Carly rolled her eyes at him, refolded the dress and set it aside. Beneath it were textiles, finely woven tablecloths and napkins, some embroidered in bright colors, one set with exquisitely detailed cutwork embroidery.
“These are beautiful. Perfect, in fact,” Carly said. “Family heirlooms.”
“And they’re all yours, Carly. I would never use them.” He glanced around her living room then gestured toward the embroidered cloth covering an old table that had been one of her thrift-store discoveries. “And it’s obvious you would.”
“Thank you. I’ll treasure them.”
Carly found many other packets of letters and she was wildly curious to know what they said, but she couldn’t read German and they weren’t from her family, so she knew they weren’t her business. Instead, she reached for a cardboard tube about fourteen inches long. It was very heavy and had a cloth stuffed tightly into each end.
“I wonder what this is.”
“One way to find out,” Luke said, tugging the fabric at one end and pushing it at the other. “Here, hold on to the tube.”
As instructed, she gripped the tube with both hands while he worked to free the wrapped object. By wiggling and twisting it, he managed to pull it out. He handed it to Carly, who placed it on the sofa between them and began unwrapping the layers.
“This is silk,” she said at one point, rubbing the red, white and black cloth between her fingers.
“This is a flag,” Luke added, pointing out the grommets where it would be attached to a flagpole.
When Carly pulled away the last fold of silk, they discovered there was yet another layer of cotton batting, which they also lifted off.
“Oh, my goodness,” Carly breathed, staring at the bronze statue they had revealed. “It’s a little girl. Isn’t she beautiful?”
The figure was twelve inches high and depicted a child of about seven years old. One hand was held up in front of her face and a butterfly rested lightly on her palm. The wonder and delight on the little girl’s face was a joy to see.
Carly examined the base and bottom to locate the artist’s name but couldn’t read the faint markings. “Whoever did this was a master craftsman. The attention to detail is amazing. You can even see her eyelashes and the lunules on her fingernails. See?” She pointed out the half-moon shapes at the base of each nail. “And the hands are perfectly done, the mark of a talented artist.” She ran the tip of her calloused finger over the delicate hands. “Is it Wendolin as a little girl?”
Luke shrugged. “I think so, but I’m not sure. I have a few pictures of Omi when she was little, but they’re not very clear. Whoever the family photographer was, he felt obligated to stand at the top of the most distant hill to get everyone in the picture, so there are no close-ups of anyone’s face.” He held up the fabric that had been wrapped around the statue. “This is definitely a flag, pre–World War II German. I wonder why this was used.”
“Maybe they kept the flag because they were giving up their country but not their nationality. Seriously, Wendolin never talked to you about this?”
“Very little. I remember her saying she wasn’t brave, but I never knew what she meant by that.”
They both looked at the statue again and Carly ran her hand over the flag. “It’s possible, too, that if the statue is valuable, someone wanted to make sure it was wrapped in natural fabrics rather than synthetics...” She paused. “Although, now that I think about it, the 1930s weren’t exactly rife with nylon and, of course, polyester wasn’t created until 1941.”
Luke grinned and raised his eyebrows at her. “I wouldn’t know and I have to wonder how you do.”
She shrugged. “I must have read it somewhere and it stuck in my head.”
Carly ran her fingers over the figure, imagining they were touching soft hair, the fabric of a skirt, the gloss of shiny dress shoes. Although the little girl looked happy, enthralled by the tiny scrap of nature that had lit upon her fingers, the tableau made Carly sad. She glanced up and said as much to Luke.
“Why sad?” Luke asked.
“I’m not sure, except that it’s a moment frozen in time and...and Wendolin moved on from this beautiful moment and never recaptured it. Maybe it’s not so much sadness I’m feeling as it is melancholy or nostalgia.”
Luke frowned as he gave the statue a considering look. “Wait a minute, I do remember this. When I was small, it sat on a table in Omi’s living room. I wanted to play with it, but, of course, she didn’t want me to break it, so she must have put it away then never got it out again, at least, not where I could see it.”
Carly cradled it in her hands then looked up with tears spilling from her eyes. “I can’t accept this, Luke. It’s a family heirloom.”
“She wanted you to have it.”
Carly went to find a tissue and took several minutes to compose herself. When she returned to the living room, Luke had replaced everything in the trunk and put the lid on. The statue stood in the middle, a happy little girl, frozen in time.
