Moonlight Dancer (4 page)

“Is there something I should know?”

Janelle grabbed her water bottle and took a drink. “I don’t feel comfortable talking about Jason’s personal life, but let’s just say that he’s learned to be cautious when it comes to women from the city.”

“Is that it? Is that all you’re going to tell me?”

“That’s it. If he wants you to know more, he’ll tell you.” She gave a wry smile. “But the way you two are carrying on, you may never speak again. Which is unfortunate, because he was asking about you this morning. You know, whether or not you’re involved with anyone.”

“Really? Then I take it he’s not married.” Charlie took a step closer. “What did you say?”

“I said that as far as I know, you’re not involved, but that if he wanted more details he’d have to ask you himself. And no, he’s definitely not married.”

Charlie couldn’t hold back a smile. “That’s interesting.”

Janelle rolled her eyes. “You guys better make up your minds. I don’t think I can take much more of this.” She grinned. “Now give me a couple more hours to work, and we’ll have some dinner and go down to The Trip. I usually put in an appearance on the weekends.”

“What should I wear?” Charlie did a mental inventory of the clothes in her trunk.

“Anything you like. The place is usually packed, especially in the summer. Some people dress up and some just come as they are.” She adjusted her goggles. “By the way, if you’re a reader, there are some books up in the attic.”

“Thanks, Janelle.” Charlie kissed her on the cheek then sputtered as she wiped away the dust.

“Go on, get out of here.” Janelle’s laugh was deep and throaty. “I’ll see you in a few hours.”

* * *

Charlie went back inside the silent farmhouse. The spacious, high-ceilinged rooms contrasted sharply with her condo back in Calgary. In a corner of the kitchen, Thomas lay curled in a high-backed rocking chair. He lifted his head and blinked, regarding her with eyes that were somewhere between green and gold. Then adjusting his position ever so slightly, he returned to the serious work of sleeping.

Hardwood flooring in the hall gleamed with the rich patina of age. The staircase leading to the second floor rose on broad steps, worn in the center from countless feet over the years. Standing at the foot of the stairs, Charlie was enveloped by the sense of family that permeated the house. She could almost see young children creeping silently downstairs on a Christmas morning, stepping carefully to avoid telltale creaks. As she walked up the stairs she trailed her fingers along the banister, and was assailed by an image of children sliding down the sturdy rail. The picture was so vivid she could hear the laughter and feel the warm embrace of loving parents as they waited at the bottom.

With a soft sigh she stopped on the landing. On the walls, black and white portraits stared down at her as though watching her every move. Ornate frames, several skillfully carved and adorned in gold leaf, held images of previous inhabitants of the rambling home. She moved down the hall, studying each face. In one carefully posed portrait, a stony faced man stood behind a seated woman, one hand resting possessively on her shoulder. Lace trim peeked out from the high neck of the woman’s dress, the only visible adornment. The woman’s eyes were cold and unfeeling. Charlie knew instinctively that this couple had not been among the loving voices she’d just imagined.

On the opposite wall, simply framed, a young woman posed alone. Her hair was parted in the middle and pulled back in a loose bun. Generous lips seemed about to smile, but there was heartache in woman’s dark eyes. She was hauntingly beautiful and Charlie shivered, hurrying to the end of the hallway toward the door leading to the attic.

She opened the door and looked up, daunted by the confining space. How badly did she want to check out the attic? She’d never been fond of enclosed spaces, her discomfort bordering on claustrophobia. But the attic called to her in a way she couldn’t explain. She took a deep breath and reached for the pull chain to turn on the light. Edgy and nervous at the prospect of the steep, narrow stairway, she didn’t stop to ask herself how she’d known the chain would be there. The low-wattage light bulb cast barely enough light, but something drew her on; some inexplicable knowledge that beyond the stairwell was a cozy haven where dreams were free to take flight.

The door at the top of the stairs opened easily and Charlie stepped into a space filled with muted, golden light. She closed the door behind her and leaned back against it, willing her pounding heart to slow as she took in her surroundings.

The attic was surprisingly large and ran the entire length of the house. On either end of the room, windows looked North and South. The glass could use a good scrub, but the accumulated dust and grime diffused the outside light, giving the illusion of fairy dust in the air. A shimmer of anticipation tiptoed down her spine.

‘Now you’re being ridiculous’ she told herself. ‘It’s only an old attic with piles of useless junk.’

But something had drawn her here, and she wasn’t about to turn around and go back downstairs. On second glance, she had to admit that the North end of the attic was a messy, hectic jumble. Ancient cardboard boxes disgorged dubious contents, creating the impression that this part of the attic had been a general dumping ground for broken and discarded items. At one time someone had tried to organize the chaos. Sports equipment had been tossed in one corner, a jumble of wooden skis and ski poles competing for space with tennis rackets in wooden frames. An ancient fabric golf bag leaned drunkenly against the outside wall, club heads sadly rusting. Several pairs of old-style roller skates sat forlornly in a row and Charlie wondered where anyone could possibly roller skate out here in the middle of farm country. A faded beach umbrella pointed toward a wicker baby carriage with one wheel missing. A dressmaker’s dummy overlooked a wind-up Victrola, perhaps waiting for the music to start.

Where the roof slanted away, a collection of fishing rods hung on nails pounded into the rafters. Charlie heard the line zing as it was cast out upon the still lake; saw the silver flash of the fish’s belly as it rose to take the lure. The sensation was startlingly real; she shivered and rubbed her arms, dragging herself back to the here and now.

At the South end of the attic, someone had created a peaceful corner. Under a dustsheet, she discovered an old high-backed wicker chair. One leg was broken and the chair was propped up by a few loose pieces of wood. Beside the chair, a small table held a lamp with a glass shade and a dusty book of poetry. Next to the book of poetry and free of the dust that coated everything else was the small lidless teapot that had been on the kitchen table last night, only then it had been filled with lavender. She picked it up to examine the delicately painted flowers under the glaze and was overcome with crushing sorrow. Her hands began to tremble and she hastily set the teapot back down. Shaken, she slumped into the chair and laid her head back against the cushions. For as long as she could remember she’d been able to sense people from the past, but she’d never come this close to sharing their emotions. What she’d felt just now had been profound anguish…as though her heart had been broken.

A few moments later the raw, jagged feelings faded away like a whisper on the wind. Had she imagined them? She looked around curiously but nothing had changed. Dust motes still danced in the air, suspended in a shaft of sunlight.

Below the window and up against the wall, a bookshelf displayed an excellent selection of classic titles. An old footstool sat before the bookshelf as though someone had been perusing the titles only moments before. Charlie noted several titles she’d always intended to read, but hadn’t. There would be time to correct that in the coming weeks. Smiling at the thought of discovering such a peaceful corner she turned her attention to two large, well-worn trunks.

She raised the lid of the closest trunk. A shallow tray divided into compartments held pillow cases and she removed one, holding it up to the light to admire the delicate embroidery. As she examined the other items she became aware that she was looking at an old-fashioned hope chest that had been lovingly prepared. The skill of the handiwork was exceptional. Underneath the tray were sheets, towels, and two quilts…everything a young woman would need to start housekeeping. She wondered if Janelle could fill her in on the history behind the remarkable find.

The second trunk held clothes and accessories. These, too, appeared to be new. Hats, gloves and shoes for changing seasons had been carefully wrapped in tissue. Dried lavender nestled in the corners of the tray, the fragrance delicately evocative.

Charlie lifted out the tray and her eyes widened as she discovered elegant clothes carefully folded. Long-sleeved blouses with soft bows at the neck, or with rows of delicate lace trim spoke of a time when femininity was judged differently. Beneath the blouses, long sweeping skirts lay folded on top of matching fitted jackets designed to reveal an hourglass figure. Finally, at the bottom of the trunk, two exquisite long dresses were revealed. One, a soft dove grey with lavender trim was deceptively elegant. The other, a rich plum colour, was equally beautiful. A strong presence filled the room and Charlie knew instinctively that the young women whose picture hung in the hallway had gathered the items in the trunks, and created this quiet refuge. She reached out to caress the fabric, hoping to pick up a sense of the woman’s joy as she prepared for the future. But there was no joy…only lingering sorrow and surprisingly enough, a faint glimmer of hope.

Lost in thought, she replaced the tray and closed the trunk. Everything that had happened here today was connected. The teapot, the trunks, the woman in the portrait; they were all linked, she just didn’t know how.

Lethargy crept up on her and with one last thoughtful look at the trunks she left the attic and went slowly downstairs to her bedroom. There, she curled up on the bed and drifted off to sleep thinking about the beautiful, haunted eyes in the picture on the landing.

* * *

“Hi, Wendy.” Jason found his sister in law alone in the summer kitchen, rolling pastry dough. “Where is everyone?”

“The house seems empty with Stu and Timmy away at camp, doesn’t it?” She flicked a small amount of flour over the pastry. “Brad has gone into town for some supplies and Annie is in her bedroom with her nose stuck in a book as usual.” She smiled at him. He and Brad were similar where it counted. They were both good, hard-working men. But where Brad had settled down early, Jason was still looking for that one woman. In the meantime, her kids smothered him with affection when he was around.

“Do you need any help?” Jason glanced at the bowl full of pared apples. They were liberally coated with sugar and cinnamon and his mouth watered in anticipation. He had his own home about a mile away, but after his relationship with Christine had fizzled out, he’d taken to having dinner with Brad and his family. “Could I make you a cup of tea?”

“That would be great. I’ll have these pies in the oven in a couple of minutes and we can go upstairs and sit on the back porch.” Wendy Fleming knew him well enough to know that he wanted to talk, but she also knew that he would get around to it when he was good and ready. She folded the pastry in half and slipped it into the pie plate without thinking. She’d been making pies since she was big enough to help her mother and these two were assembled and into the oven by the time Jason had the teapot and two mugs on the old serving tray that she’d had since the first day of her marriage. She hung her apron on a hook beside the oven and followed Jason upstairs, lifting her long hair from her neck to take advantage of the light afternoon breeze.

Jason spooned sugar into her mug, poured tea into both mugs and then set her mug down on the table between them. Hunched forward, elbows on his knees, he blew on the tea in the mug he held loosely between his hands.

“How’s everything over at Jan’s?” Wendy hadn’t had time to ask him last night, as the lively dinner conversation had centered on which calf to enter in the fall fair. “Did her niece arrive all right?”

Jason nodded without looking up. “Oh she arrived all right. Jan had to take a run down to Regina and she asked me to pick her up.”

So that was it; something about Jan’s niece was bothering him. She took a sip of tea. “What’s she like?”

Jason shook his head. “Don’t ask.”

“For heaven’s sake, Jason, spit it out. What’s bothering you?”

He didn’t answer right away, but swirled the tea in his cup, gathering his thoughts. “I don’t think she’s going to be any help at all to Janelle. She knows nothing about life on a farm.”