“In your research of Southern homes, you’ve probably heard many stories about keepsakes the Confederates buried before the invaders came. I mentioned Oaklawn’s story to you last night. Supposedly a Cooper ancestor buried gold and silver in this orchard, but the cache was never found.”
“Not even after the war?”
“No,” Laurel said, and her eyes sparkled, temporarily replacing the pain Micah had noticed. “My father-in-law said that when he was a boy, he and his brother dug from one end of that field to the other and didn’t find any money. But the cultivation did give them a bumper crop of fruit for a few years.”
Micah gazed appreciatively at the grainfields and the lush pastureland along the river.
“Oaklawn isn’t as large as it was in the eighteenth century,” Laurel continued as they walked. “At one time, the Coopers owned a thousand acres, but they’ve had to sell parcels of land during hard times. The farm is only fifty acres now. Actually, I’m glad it’s no more than that, because I can’t even manage that much land. My neighbor, Pete Howe, rents the farmland, so I only care for the few acres around the house. I have a riding mower, so it isn’t difficult work, but it does keep me busy during the summer. Especially this year, when I want everything to look nice for the wedding.”
Although she’d hoped walking would take her mind off the mysterious phone call, it didn’t, and she lapsed into silence, trying to figure out who had called her. The singer’s voice didn’t sound familiar at all.
Micah walked slightly behind Laurel since the path was narrow, but he was aware of her downcast eyes. When she’d joined him for the walk, he’d noticed at once that she wasn’t the contented woman he’d talked with on the gallery the night before. Had something happened to disturb her, or did it take a while for her to get going in the morning?
“I’d appreciate hearing anything you know about Oaklawn,” Micah said. “I want to feature the history of the homes, as well as the architecture.”
Laurel wasn’t in the mood for visiting, but taking a deep breath and staring straight ahead as they walked, she said, “The Coopers moved here soon after the Revolutionary War. The place was a wilderness then. They lived in log cabins and had the usual troubles with the Native Americans that most settlers had. Eventually they prospered enough for Debbie’s great-great-grandfather to build the original brick house, but the Cooper wealth declined over the next century.”
When they passed a knoll where the family cemetery was located, Micah commented, “I suppose your husband is buried here.”
“No, he isn’t,” she said bluntly, because she didn’t like to think about Jason’s death.
Micah couldn’t imagine why his question had annoyed her. They were both silent as they walked downhill to the northern bank of the shallow river. A wide beach of sand and gravel had formed at a sharp bend in the stream. Overhanging trees provided a secluded area. A few ramshackle lawn chairs and a wooden bench had been placed several feet from the water. Laurel walked to one of the sturdier chairs and sat down.
“Do people go swimming or fishing here?”
“Mostly fishing,” Laurel said shortly, her eyes on the river.
Did his presence annoy her, or was she troubled about something else?
After a pause, she continued, “But there is a deep pool midway in the stream. The local boys go to the other side of the river, swing on the vines and drop into the pool. It’s a dangerous practice. One boy was seriously hurt here last summer, but they continue to swim.”
The gentle ripple of the water as it slid past them was quieting, and the peace of the place was soothing to Micah. After spending over a year in the jungle, the past three months in the States—mostly in cities—had frustrated him. The noise of traffic had grated on his nerves. Pleased to have this sojourn in a quiet place, Micah sat on the wooden bench facing upstream. In this position, he could watch Laurel without being obvious about it.
Her present attitude didn’t compare to her quick flash of anger yesterday, which had disappeared as quickly as it had come. Her eyes brooded today, and there was a petulant droop to her full lips.
Early sunlight peeked into the shaded glade, a fish flipped in the middle of the stream and birds gently began their morning songs.
Without looking at him, her eyes staring across the river, Laurel said, “Mr. Davidson, I should apologize to you again. I had an unpleasant experience last night, or I wouldn’t have been so short-tempered. Let me give you a reasonable answer to your question about my husband’s burial. It’s always been a sore subject to me, but you wouldn’t have known that.”
Chapter Three
Several minutes passed before Laurel continued, and to spare her embarrassment, Micah kept his eyes on the river. A small flock of ducks drifted lazily with the current. Occasionally, one of them would tilt forward into the river for a morning snack.
“Twenty years ago, Jason and a friend were sailing off the Atlantic coast of South America, and their boat capsized,” Laurel said quietly. “Their bodies were never recovered. He was an only child, and his parents never got over his death.”
He noticed that she didn’t mention her own sorrow. If she’d been a widow for so long, perhaps the pain was gone. But why hadn’t she remarried? Judging by his own immediate attraction to her, she must have had plenty of suitors.
As though she read his thoughts, Laurel said, “Debbie, who was only two at the time, was all his parents had left of Jason. As I mentioned last night, they insisted that I stay at Oaklawn and raise my child here. I was glad to stay, because I didn’t have any other place to go.”
Many questions rose in Micah’s mind. Why was her husband’s death a sore point? She spoke as if she resented him, but it wasn’t any of his business. Laurel would tell him what she wanted him to know.
“Although it’s been a labor of love to rear Debbie as a single parent, it hasn’t been easy for me. I’m ashamed to admit it, but I’ve always resented Jason taking that trip and getting killed when he should have stayed home and looked after his family. Debbie has missed a lot by not having a father.”
Micah silently thought that Debbie might have been better off without her father’s presence. Jason Cooper sounded like a selfish man.
“His parents hoped almost to the end that Jason was still alive. When they at last conceded that he was dead, they didn’t live long. My mother-in-law survived her husband by two months. They wanted me to preserve the house for Debbie. I’m trying to do what they asked me to.”
“It hasn’t been easy for you, I’m sure.”
She nodded sadly. “Besides the work, it’s a financial burden. As soon as Debbie is married, I intend to find a job, even though I have no marketable work skills. She’ll be moving to Colorado, so I’ll have lots of time on my hands. I’ve been looking into possible employment, but I don’t have many job skills. I’m considering taking a two-year business course at the college. But these decisions are on hold until Debbie is married.”
She stood up quickly. “And speaking of Debbie, we’re going into Knoxville this morning, so I have to go back to the house.”
“I have an appointment to look over a home in Nashville today, so I want to get started, too.”
They didn’t talk as they returned to the house, but Micah hummed in a monotone that grated on Laurel’s already distraught nerves. She tried to determine the tune, but if he had any particular song in mind, it was one she didn’t know.
“Thanks for walking with me. I like to be outdoors early in the morning,” he said, giving her a sideways glance.
“So do I. Take care while you’re traveling today,” she answered, and he favored her with a wide smile.
“Mom,