The Beekeeper's Daughter. Janice Carter
after the surgery.”
There was a slight pause. “I know that, dear. We made those arrangements last week. Remember?”
Annie cleared her throat. “Oh, right. Well, I also wanted to tell you that I got your letter and…the one from the adoption agency.”
“So quickly! I just mailed them the day before yesterday.”
The ball’s back in my court. “I was surprised. No, more than that. Well, maybe closer to shocked.”
“I thought you might be, dear.”
Annie closed her eyes, knowing Auntie Isobel wasn’t going to ask the question. “The letter was from a Sister Mary Beatty. She said that the…that is, my…uh, daughter wanted to make contact with me.”
When her aunt finally spoke, she sounded almost sad. “I thought that might be the reason for the letter. I couldn’t think why else they’d be writing after all these years.”
“The thing is…I don’t really know what to do.”
“Of course you don’t. How could you possibly? Take your time, Annie. There’s no rush, is there?”
“No, but I… It’s just that Dad will be home in two or three weeks and…”
Auntie Isobel’s voice was soft. “You haven’t told him, I’m assuming.”
Annie waited for the pounding at her temples to ease. “No. There never seemed to be a good time and then—frankly—I left it so long I couldn’t bring myself to do it.”
“I know you’re worried about his reaction, dear, but you’re an adult now. He won’t be disappointed in you.”
“I never thought he would be. But he might feel hurt that I never told him in the beginning. And now all this time has passed and—”
“Your father may come across like a gruff man, Annie, but we both know he’s not really.”
“Telling Dad is the least of my… I just don’t know what I want…. Do you remember this Sister Mary Beatty? Was she the one who was so nice to me?”
“I can’t recall, Annie.” She paused. “I suppose this has brought back all the memories.”
“In a huge overwhelming flood.”
“Would you like me to come for a visit?”
“No, that’s okay, Auntie Isobel. I’ll be coming your way soon.”
“Do you think your father will give in and stay with Shirley’s cousin?”
“Hard to say. You know Dad.”
“Are you managing without him?”
“I’ll be fine.”
“That’s good. So you’ll let me know when you’re coming? You might have a chance to pay a visit to the agency while you’re here.”
Annie felt as if time was squeezing her. Obviously she’d have to make a decision soon. “I guess so.”
“Just a suggestion, dear.” Her aunt must have picked up the tone in her voice. “Don’t feel pressured to decide before you’ve thought everything through very carefully. Otherwise, how’re things? Anything new in your life?”
Annie had a vision of Will Jennings waving goodbye from his camper van. “Not really,” she said. “Sorry, but I’ve got to run. I’ll talk to you in a couple of days.” When she hung up, Annie wasn’t certain if the call had helped or made her feel worse.
AS HE HEADED into Essex, Will scanned the paved road ahead for a sign indicating that campsite Annie had mentioned. When he spotted a small arrow-shaped sign, he let the van coast to a stop. Rest Haven Camp, a mere five miles away. Worth a look-see, he decided, and turned onto the gravel road. It was an unusual location for a campsite. How many tourists wandered this far off the highway?
Three miles in, he suddenly understood. Cresting a hill, Will jammed the brake and stared openmouthed at a jewel of a pond ringed by trees. It was the centerpiece of a stretch of green pasture at the bottom of the hill. The roof of a farmhouse reflected the setting sun. Beyond it, about half a mile to the north, were three shedlike constructions in a stand of trees and the wooden framework of a larger, rectangular building in progress. A dirt trail wound around the buildings out to the gravel road and the entire area was bordered by a split rail fence. The late-afternoon sun cast the scene in a rich gold that Will had seen only once before, in a book of paintings. He eased his foot off the brake and drove down the incline.
As he passed he saw that the farmhouse on his right was boarded up. The roof of the weathered gray barn behind the house had collapsed and the front yard was overgrown with tall weeds. Will gave the van more gas, anxious to check out the campground ahead. The sign fronting the entrance to Rest Haven was newer than the first one Will had seen from the highway. He turned onto the dirt lane. The van bumped and jostled along the potholed surface as Will drove toward the building with the Office sign.
He parked in front and climbed out. Except for the clamor of birds in the trees, the place was silent. There were no vehicles as far as Will could see and when he called out a hello, no response. Standing in the open clearing, Will made a slow circular turn and decided that the place either hadn’t opened yet, or the manager had been called away on urgent business. The office door was locked, as he’d suspected. Cupping his hands against the reflection, he peered through a window next to the door.
Squinting, he could just make out a telephone on an otherwise empty desk. Two or three chairs loomed in the shadows and he thought he saw the outline of a filing cabinet. If the place was open, it obviously wasn’t enjoying a busy season. He called out once more but when there was still no reply, he got back in the van and started up the engine.
Ten minutes later he was back on the highway leading into Essex. He had the money for a motel, but hated to spend it unnecessarily. What was there to keep him in Garden Valley? Annie’s face popped into his head as clearly as if he were still sitting across the kitchen table from her.
The small upturned nose with its sprinkle of golden freckles. Eyebrows arched quizzically at him above her large, tawny eyes. She was all golden light, he realized, like the painting he’d been reminded of moments ago, only drawn in clear, strong lines. There was nothing delicate or ephemeral about Annie Collins.
Face it, man. You don’t want to leave. His mind made up, he continued toward Essex. But long before the town limits, Will saw something he’d hoped not to for a long time. An inky black column of smoke spiraled up from a thicket of trees about a quarter of a mile ahead, on the left. Maybe a farmer was burning trash. As he drew nearer, Will saw a farmhouse and behind it, the burning roof of a barn.
He pulled over onto the gravel shoulder at the end of the driveway leading to the farmhouse. The fire was roaring unchecked, flames darting through the open barn doors and out the ground floor windows. Likely filled with hay, it was already a goner. Will couldn’t see anyone trying to douse the fire and unless help came quickly, the house was in danger too.
Sweat broke out on Will’s forehead and he felt suddenly nauseous. There wasn’t much he could do by himself. He had to get into the house and telephone for help. Surely there was at least a volunteer fire hall in town. If the valley wasn’t linked with a 911 system, he could probably raise an operator.
Still he sat, wasting precious seconds. What if he just kept on driving? No one would ever know he’d been there. Except, of course, he would. Will took a deep breath, jerked the door open and jumped down from the van.
CHAPTER FOUR
ADRENALINE GOT HIM to the side door of the farmhouse, pounding and shouting above the fire. But something else held him there, seconds longer. Fear. Sweeping up from deep in his gut, bursting out in beads of sweat. Turning from the locked door, Will looked at the barn.
Was it his imagination, or did he really hear