Chapter 24 — Secrets in Nell Rhodes’ Closet

Stephanie turned into the gravel driveway, feeling guilty for lying to Richard about where she was going. It had been a half-truth. She’d told him that her horse, Thunder, was being boarded at a stable in Berlin, and she wanted to go by and see him.

Richard had looked at her with narrow eyes, as if he knew she was lying, and said, “Make arrangements to bring Thunder home. You have a huge barn, and I can’t have you driving forty miles to see your horse whenever you get a whim. Why don’t you wait until tomorrow, and I’ll go with you?”

“Tomorrow, I’ll be busy,” she said. “I thought I would make a few jars of peach jam before the peaches that Mar-Jean brought go bad. I’d better go today. I’ll be home by dinner if you want to come by. I put an English pot roast in the oven.”

“No. I have an important meeting this evening. But I think we should get this settled about your horse. Are you going to tell the stables that you’re bringing Thunder home?” he pressed. “We’ll go get him next week.”

“Well, I can’t bring him home until I have help. It’s too much for me, especially in the fall when I’m back in college, with school work. They exercise him daily, groom him, and the stables are very reasonable.”

“What do you pay?” Richard asked. “When I was going through your canceled checks, there wasn’t anything written to a stable.”

“You went through my canceled checks?” Stephanie asked, surprised.

“Of course. I’m your guardian when your father is out of town. It’s my responsibility, at least until you’re twenty-one.”

“I paid in cash,” Stephanie lied, suddenly remembering that she had not paid Sawyer a dime for boarding Thunder. She reminded herself to take money out of the safe and pay him today.”

“Don’t be gone all day,” he said, his steel-blue eyes hinting of suspicion. “I’ll worry about you.”

She felt a twinge of guilt, but it would not stop her from going. She ran upstairs to a floor safe in her closet and took out a thousand dollars. She put it in an envelope for Sawyer. Her hands were trembling as she sealed the envelope. She grabbed a sweater and ran downstairs.

Becca met her at the back door in the mudroom, holding a big bag of bruised apples. “These are for Thunder. You’d best not be gone long,” she said, her lips tight. “I think Richard knows something is going on. He’s meaner than usual. I heard him on the phone, yelling.”

Stephanie knew Becca was warning her, but she had to go. “It’s probably just about work,” Stephanie said, brushing Becca off. “Keep an eye on the roast. I have it on a low temperature. It should be fine.”

Becca followed Stephanie to the car. She looked worried as if she didn’t want her to leave “Don’t go,” she said. “It will cause trouble if Richard finds out where you are. And what about Thomas? You should thank him for the desk. He made it himself.”

“I know, but I have to go, Becca. I’ll call Thomas later. I have a million things on my mind. This is important. Sawyer has been boarding Thunder since winter, and I haven’t paid him a red cent.” She told herself that she hadn’t lied to Becca. She had to see Thunder and pay Sawyer.”

On the drive there, she thought about Sawyer. She had butterflies when she arrived and saw him walking up from the barn. He looked fresh and clean wearing a white shirt, black suspenders, and dark trousers.

“You clean up nice,” she said, hugging him. He didn’t have his hat on, and his dark hair had grown out, making him look boyish.

“You do, too,” he said, his dark eyes scanning her. “I love the way you look in blue jeans. I see you brought apples for Thunder.”

“I did, and I was going to make cookies for you, but it was a last-minute thing…and…”

“It doesn’t matter,” he said, cutting her off. “I’m just glad you’re here.”

“The place looks great. You’ve built a new barn.” It looked freshly painted with red paint. “Did Thomas help you build the barn?”

“Yep. We had a barn raising, and I put a new bathroom in the house,” Sawyer said proudly. “My next project is a new kitchen. Fitz & Thomas will do the cupboards.”

Stephanie turned and looked back at the log house. “It looks big,” she said. “Have you added on?”

“Yes. I built a hobby room. I’m carving horses, and they’re bringing in good money.”

“How much?”

“Five thousand for each miniature horse. Marguerite set me up in a gallery in New York. I can’t believe I’m making this much money doing something I love. I send them three or four miniatures a month.”

Stephanie smiled broadly. “Twenty thousand dollars a month is a lot of money. I’m proud of you, Sawyer. You amaze me.”

Sawyer smiled. “I’m making hay while the sun shines.”

She hugged him and linked her arm in his, excited to see his house and Thunder. Thunder was happy to see her. He swished his tail, neighed, and bumped her with his nose. She fed him apples.

“Want to ride?” Sawyer asked. “I can saddle him up.”

“I wish I could, but I can’t stay long. We should go to the cabin and I’ll look at the quilts. And I brought a thousand dollars for Thunder’s keep. It’s probably more, especially if you had vet bills.”

Sawyer looked puzzled. “You don’t owe me anything, Steph. Thomas has paid for Thunder’s keep from the very beginning. I’ve had a couple of vet bills for minor things, but the bills go directly to Thomas.”

Stephanie frowned. “I had no idea,” she said. She started to ask about Thomas and decided against it. She could see the garden and flowers in the back of the house and changed the subject. “The garden looks great. You’ve done so much. I’m so proud of you.”

“Yep,” he grinned. “I bought another old cabin over on Owl Creek Road that I’m fixing up. The barn is nicer than the house. I needed more pasture for my horses. I love the property.”

When Sawyer shut the door, she tensed. Being alone with Sawyer probably wasn’t a good idea. The attraction was too strong. “Well…” she said.

“I’ll pop us a beer, and we’ll go upstairs,” Sawyer said. “The quilts are just where my grandmother, Nell, left them. All stacked neatly on the shelf. There are dresses and aprons and hats. Take whatever you want. Granny would want you to have them.”

Sawyer went to the kitchen, and Stephanie looked around the cabin. It was as neat as a pin. She gazed around, thinking that the windows could use new curtains when a picture on the bureau caught her eye. The woman in the picture was beautiful, with long dark hair and dark eyes. She was smiling, but her eyes looked sad.

Sawyer came in and handed her a beer.

“Who is the woman in the picture, Sawyer? She’s beautiful.”

“My mother,” he said. “She died when I was six, and my grandmother raised me.”

“And your father?” Stephanie asked.

“Don’t know,” Sawyer replied with a hoarse voice.

Stephanie didn’t want to pry. She stared at the beautiful woman in the picture, her dark eyes haunting. “What was your mother’s name?”

“Susan,” Sawyer said, picking up the picture and gazing into her face.

“She’s beautiful,” Stephanie said softly.

Sawyer held out the beer. “Want a glass?”

“Better straight out of the bottle,” she answered, holding the tip of the bottle, leaning back, and letting it stream down her throat. “This is good,” she said, smiling. “Nothing like a cold beer on a hot, muggy day.”

“Got plenty in the icebox,” he said. “And more in the spring house. How long can you stay?”

“I’m good for an hour. I have a roast in the oven for dinner.”

“That’s not long, Steph. I’d hoped we’d have more time together.”

They went upstairs, and she felt a sense of reverence when she went into the closet as if she were in church. Everything was neat, and the quilts were stacked tidily. The cotton dresses hung on wire hangers all in a row. There was a sewing box on a shelf, and a bunch of letters held together by a ribbon. There were three shoe boxes and a pair of well-worn house slippers on the floor of the closet.

Sawyer reached up and carefully pulled down the quilts and placed them on the bed.

Stephanie’s eyes were bright as she ran her hand over the top of the quilt. “They’re beautiful. Look at the tiny stitches, so straight and even.”

“They’re yours,” Sawyer said, looking pleased that she liked the quilt. “Take whatever you want.”

Stephanie went to the next one and ran her hands over it gently. “This one looks a lot like the one my grandmother had in the mule chest. It’s called The Secret Drawer quilt. My grandmother’s quilt held a letter. Some hold recipes.” Stephanie said, smiling, as she searched eagerly for the secret drawer, and there it was—she pulled out an envelope. “It’s a letter, and it looks very old.” She handed it to Sawyer.

“It looks like my grandmother’s handwriting,” he said. “I’m almost afraid to open it.”

“Open it,” Stephanie said, smiling. “It’s a treasure. I would do anything to have a letter from my grandmother, written in her handwriting.”

Stephanie could see he was overwhelmed with emotion as he stared at the letter in disbelief. “Do you want me to read it to you?”

“It might be best.” He handed her the letter, yellowed with age, and she opened it carefully and read:

Dear Sawyer, Your mother didn’t want me to write this letter. But my time on earth is growing short, and I think you need to know who your father is. You might be shocked to find that he isn’t a Mennonite. And you must not think badly about him because he never knew about you. He’s married. And your mother didn’t want him to know.

Your father is a wealthy man of great importance. Your mother was his housekeeper. His name is Judge Daniel Stratford, the man you hate and fear more than anyone in your life. I couldn’t tell you when you were going through all the trouble with the law. He gave your mother ten thousand dollars, and she never spent a dime. That’s how I came up with the money to pay the fines that he imposed. There’s nine thousand dollars taped under the floorboard in the closet. She asked me to give it to you when you were older to give you a good start in life. You can do what you want, son, but a boy needs to know who his father is.

Your mother told me he’s a good man. She loved him. She never felt like you were a mistake. She always said you were the best thing that ever happened to her. I’d never seen her so happy as she was when you were born. You’ve been a blessing to me. You’ve worked hard since you were six years old, chopping wood, and mending fences, hunting in the dead of winter—bringing in enough food for both the neighbors and me. I have no doubt you will succeed in life.

I will love you eternally.

Granny Stephanie hid her shock. The man who had saved her life at the exorcism had been her brother. The tears she had been holding back began to stream down her face. When her eyes met Sawyers, his hands were covering his eyes., and his face was wet. She felt an overwhelming need to comfort him.

“Come here,” she said, reaching her arms out to him. Sawyer fell into her arms, and Stephanie rocked him as if he were a child and ran her hands down his back to soothe him. It seemed natural when they fell back onto the bed, intertwined in each other’s arms.

She felt his tears on her neck. “It’s all right, Sawyer,” she murmured. “I’m glad your grandmother wrote the letter. It’s true, a man needs to know who his father is, even if it isn’t who he wanted him to be. It will take some getting used to, but I’m okay with it.”

He spoke in a choked voice. “I wish I’d never found the letter. I don’t want to offend you, Stephanie, but I don’t relish the idea of being Judge’s son. It scares the hell out of me. And I sure don’t want to be your brother. I’m an accused murderer. I don’t want to bring shame to you, Steph.”

“It’s a good thing, Sawyer. We’ll take the letter to Daddy. He’s always wanted a son. And I know he’ll be fair. You’re a Stratford, and you deserve what is rightfully yours.”

“It’s not about the money, Steph. I don’t want anything from him. I’ve earned my way, and I’m proud to have brought myself up by my own bootstraps. I think it’s best I burn the letter. My mother didn’t want Judge to know, and I feel the same. I’m a Mennonite. It would never work.”

“Don’t be silly,” Stephanie said, her expression intense. “You’re a good man, Sawyer, and we have to tell him.”

Her words were met with silence. It was getting late. She knew she had to go, but she didn’t trust Sawyer with the letter. She was determined to show it to her father.

“I know you’re in shock,” Stephanie said. “We’ll talk again after you give it a chance to sink in.” She hugged him good-bye, but he didn’t hug her back.

He sighed and put his hand over his forehead. “You should go. I want to be alone. I’m going to need some time to digest this.”

She got up, grabbed the quilt, then snatched up the letter off the table and tucked it between the folds of the quilt. “I’ll call you later; she said as she dashed away—down the steps and out the door.

She held back the tears until she got to the end of the drive, and then she cried a river of tears, barely able to see the road. She had to show the letter to her father, but first, she had to deal with Richard, who was probably furious because she was late. Life had been before Richard when all she had to fear was the wrath of her father. Richard had been suspicious when she left, and now that she was late, she would have to make up another lie.

God, how she hated lies.