House of the Forest Read online

  ISBN: 9781623095345

  Chapter One

  Laura Kingsley stood in the church foyer listening to her fiancé with growing unbelief.

  “I’m sorry, Laura, I just can’t get away right now. It’s an awkward time for me with having to take over the reins of the church in a couple of weeks.”

  She looked up at the tall, well-built man standing before her. “But Alan, she was the dearest person in the world to me. I hate going up there alone and facing that empty house.”

  “You know I’ll be praying for you in this time, darling.” His well-modulated pastoral tone was at odds with how he glanced at his watch from time to time. “God will go with you. It’s just not a convenient time for me to leave.

  She pulled away from him. “Since when do loved ones die at a convenient time?”

  “Laura, she was an old woman. You can do what you have to do in a few days and probably make it back here by Friday.”

  She stared at him, unable to process what she was hearing. Because she had no words, she turned and quickly walked away, something she had never done to him before.

  When she reached her apartment, she grabbed a tissue, pulled herself together and dialed a familiar number.

  “Mother? I just got a call from an attorney in Big Bear Lake. Aunt Estelle died”

  There was a pause. “Estelle’s dead? I didn’t know she was ill, but then we haven’t spoken much in the last few years.”

  Laura could hardly speak through her tears. “The attorney says I’ve been named as her executor. I have to go up there and settle the estate. Will you go with me?”

  Gloria Kingsley-Dalton-Finch sighed. “First of all, Laura, pull yourself together, I can hardly talk to you if you are going to weep like that.”

  Laura sniffed and wiped her nose again as her mother continued, “Darling, you know how I am about business details. They are so boring. I wouldn’t know what to do with Estelle’s run-down place. Just list it with a local realtor. I’m sure you’ll be fine, wrapping up all those tedious matters. Why don’t you take Alan? He’s a minister. Surely he’s dealt with things like this before.”

  Laura winced. Right. “He says he’s unable to get away.”

  “Really?” Her mother drew the word out, managing to put a great deal of meaning in it.

  Laura sighed. “I’ll take care of it. Do you want to know when the memorial service is?”

  “Darling, I don’t do funerals. I look terrible in black. Besides, Laura, you know we weren’t exactly on the best of terms. Wouldn’t it be a bit hypocritical for me to show up and act the bereaved sister?”

  Laura choked back the retort that came to mind at the moment. It wouldn’t help.

  “I’ll let you know anyway. I have to go.” She punched the end button cutting her mother off,, and let the hot tears of anger spill down her cheeks. “So much for my support group,” she muttered at the phone.

  Laura gripped the steering wheel until her knuckles were white. Lightning nearly danced in front of her small, white Camry as she wound her way up the mountain. On top of the lightning, the rolls of thunder seemed as though they were going to sweep the car off the road. She hated driving in the rain, it hit her windshield as if flung a giant bucket. Lord, help me get through this. Get me there safely.

  When she finally reached the Village of Big Bear Lake, she spotted a deli and grabbing her umbrella, hurried to the door. A cup of hot coffee and a sandwich sounded really good right now.

  She found herself third in line behind a young man who was built like a football player, with a trim waist and broad shoulders. He’d tossed the hood of his jacket back to reveal a head of dark, almost black hair. Shifting from one foot to another, he seemed impatient as an elderly man in front of him slowly ordered. He glanced around and she got slight jolt as a pair of cobalt blue eyes flicked over her briefly. His face would have been handsome except for the frown. He turned back to the counter as the elderly customer left.

  He finally paid for his order and brushed past Laura on his way out of the deli. The young high school girl at the counter looked after him and shook her head briefly before turning to Laura for her order.

  “Someone is having a bad day,” Laura commented.

  The girl shrugged. “That’s just Sam. He’s been through some stuff.” She didn’t elaborate.

  Laura debated about eating in the deli, but was anxious to get to her aunt’s house and be out of the storm. Juggling the deli sack and the umbrella, she made a dash for her car.

  She turned onto a familiar street and into the gravel driveway of her aunt’s house and sat for a moment in the car. The wind continued to blow the rain in small gusts against the windows as she twisted the diamond ring on her left hand.

  The pale green clapboard house sat quietly, almost expectantly. The stenciled flowers on the eaves, once vibrant with color, were faded and worn. She’d never come to the house before when there wasn’t a light in the window, the soft glow a promise of the warmth that waited inside. The stenciled white Dutch door remained closed. There would be no welcoming figure in the doorway.

  Why hadn’t she come sooner? How long had it been, almost two years perhaps? She promised Aunt Estelle she would visit in the spring, but this was September, and Estelle DuPont was gone.

  A gentle tap on the window interrupted her reverie. A vaguely familiar figure with a bushy, gray beard peered at her, the rain dripping from his yellow slicker. She rolled the window down.

  “Laura? Don’t know if you remember me. I’m Pete Wilkins from across the street. Saw Matt Devers, your aunt’s attorney, at church. He said you’d be coming.”

  She relaxed and stuck her right hand out the window. “Oh, hello, Mr. Wilkins, it’s nice to see you again. It’s been a while.”

  He gave her hand a warm squeeze. “Yep, it has. I’ve been keepin’ an eye on the place for Esty. She’d want things looking nice when you came.”

  Esty? Had her aunt’s friends called her that? Laura couldn’t remember. “That was nice of you, Mr. Wilkins.”

  “Call me Pete--everyone else in the neighborhood does. Real sorry about Esty passin’ away, she’ll be missed by all of us.”

  “Thank you, Pete.”

  Seeing the rain was falling only lightly now, Laura quickly got out of the car and opened the trunk. Pete lifted the ice chest out. “Let me help. Just tell me where you want this.”

  She ducked under the portico over the front door, pulled a small notepad out of her purse and checked the number for the alarm code.

  “You can just put it in on the kitchen table, Pete.”

  She glanced around the mud room and then up at the familiar stained glass windows with their woodland scenes on either side of the stone fireplace. They were still intact, after all these years. She opened the wooden door that led into the living room and after removing her wet shoes, stepped gingerly onto the carpet. Everything was the same. The stuffed pheasant and deer head on the wall. The birdhouses her aunt collected sitting on crossbeams. She flipped on the light and the deer antler chandelier gleamed. The cross beams and even the fireplace were stenciled with leaves, a project her aunt had completed a few years before.

  She dropped her purse on the big overstuffed cream couch with its plethora of colorful pillows. Yes, everything was the same, almost.

  “Sure hate to track on your carpet.” Pete stood in the mud room holding the ice chest in both hands and looking down at the puddle at his feet on the stone floor.

  “Oh, Pete, I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking. Just set it there for now and I’ll empty it later.” She shivered suddenly and not only from the cold. Pete stuck his head through the doorway.

  “Yep, Ginny’s been here. Said she’d get the place ready
for you. You remember, next door?”

  “Oh yes. She and Aunt Estelle’s were good friends.”

  “She didn’t want you comin’ to a musty house.”

  Laura made a mental note to visit Ginny at her first opportunity to thank her.

  “I’ll be goin’ now, so you can get settled. I turned the water back on for you and there’s kindlin’ by the fireplace. If you need anything else you just holler, okay?”

  She shook his hand again. “Thank you so much, Pete. You’ve made my return a lot easier. Aunt Estelle was fortunate to have such nice neighbors.”

  “She was a good neighbor herself. Anytime someone in the neighborhood got sick or needed help, she’d be right there with a pot of soup or a plate of cookies. When we had my grandkids for a week and my wife took sick in the middle of the night and needed to go to the hospital, Esty came right over.”

  She pressed her lips together and nodded.

  When Pete left, she remained standing in the living room, listening to the steady ticking of the clock on the mantle. For a moment she wanted to hurry back to her car and run away from the burden that had been given her. The clock echoing in the silence of the house seemed like a rebuke for the time she’d stayed away, busy with school, a new job, and Alan.

  “Okay, Laura, you can do this.” She wandered absent-mindedly from room to room. Nothing had changed. On one wall was a wonderful pen and ink drawing of the house, given to her aunt as a birthday gift, years ago. Glancing around, the sameness of the house, each knick knack in its appointed place, gave her a sense of security as a child, but now, only reminders of the gentle person she’d loved so much, the one person who made a difference in the lonely years of her childhood.

  She poked her head in the bathroom off the kitchen and ran a hand over the rim of the claw-foot bathtub. How many times had Aunt Estelle prepared a bubble bath for her in that tub?

  The guest room was always the warmest room in the house and she began to feel the heat having turned the thermostat up to eighty-five to take the chill off the house. She remembered the weekend when she and her aunt had wall-papered the small room with a tiny rose print. It was Laura’s room whenever she came to visit. One had to pass through the kitchen, step down one step into the pantry, and one step more down into the guest room. Beyond that was the laundry room. The washer and dryer seemed newer than she remembered, but she was glad they appeared in good shape.

  Coming back through the living room, she noted the potbelly stove in the alcove. A brass dragon for adding moisture to the room sat on top along with a small hand lettered sign that said, “Do not use stove.” When had the old stove become unusable?

  She stopped and glanced into the storage room, where everything from blankets and pillows to light bulbs were in orderly boxes or stacked on a shelf. It didn’t smell musty and she was relieved she might not have to wash everything.

  She headed towards the master bedroom with its wooden beams and small paned windows. Lacy curtains hung on the windows and covered shades that were partially pulled down. A glass paned door led to a small porch. The free-standing electric fireplace was still there and Laura hoped it was working. The master bedroom didn’t get the warmth like the rest of the house. Reluctantly she faced her aunt’s bedroom. A lump formed in her throat as she gingerly opened the door and stepped into the room. Everything looked as it had when she’d been there last.

  Laura picked up a bottle of lavender cologne on her aunt’s dresser and slowly removed the stopper.

  Her hand paused in mid-air as she became aware of sounds on the other side of the house. Had Pete come back for something?

  She walked into the living room and listened. It was coming from the family room. She went back to the living room and opened a door by the fireplace, entering a narrow hallway she moved slowly down to another door that opened to the family room. There it was again.

  She opened the door to the family room. All was silent. Then the sound came again. She turned slowly towards the window and saw a branch from the pine tree outside slapping against the window, moved by gusts of wind.

  She shook her head. All right, Laura, get a grip on yourself. Then there was another sound, a tapping sound--another tree branch? No, it was coming from the front of the house. As she went back through the hall and living room, she realized someone was knocking on the front door.

  Chapter Two

  Sam Matheson felt the weariness of a long day as he unlocked the door of his house and tossed his truck keys on the hall table. He’d dealt with more problems the storm had caused than new jobs.

  He wandered into the kitchen and opened the freezer to see what there was for dinner. His father urged him to stay and eat with them as usual, but it was time to stop imposing on his parents. After working with his father all day in their electrical business, tonight he just wanted to be alone. His mother would sense his mood and he just couldn’t face her tender looks of solicitude.

  The valley was quiet, enjoying a short break from the storm and Sam’s spirits lifted a little as he stared out the window over the kitchen sink. He marveled at the magnificence hues of orange, pink and gold that painted the sky. Marcy used to love to watch the sunset. She had an eye for beautiful things. Her touch graced every room and the garden too. The old tightness gripped his chest. I miss you, baby, so much.

  “I should have sold this place. It doesn’t help to have a reminder of her everywhere I turn,” he muttered aloud as he walked slowly through the house out to the deck and looked up at the mountains.

  He shouldn’t have been impatient with the young girl in the deli today. She was just a kid. And he’d almost run over the woman standing in line behind him. He paused, contemplating. She wasn’t bad-looking, but there was something familiar about her face, a little pinched, and her eyes looked like--like the ones that stared back from his mirror every morning. Eyes full of sadness.

  He went back in the house and opened the freezer, pulling out a TV dinner; meatloaf, mashed potatoes and corn. It was as good as anything. He put it in the microwave, turned the timer on and went to take a quick shower.

  Savoring the soothing warmth of the water, Sam stared at the walls of the shower. Where was he headed? He filled his days with work but the nights seemed endless. When would it end? When could he think of his wife and not hurt?

  He needed to pull himself together. He thought he was doing well, but today had been a bad day. Why was he so out of sorts? Then he knew. His father had mentioned Estelle Dupont’s memorial service. His parents planned to go and his father intimated they were expecting him to go also. He hadn’t set foot in a church since Marcy died. He ran a hand through his hair, knowing he should go for Mrs. DuPont’s sake. It was the right thing to do.

  He shut the shower off with a sudden angry twist, and glanced heavenward. “You turned a deaf ear to my prayers. I trusted You, hoped in You—for nothing.”

  He put on a clean pair of sweats and pushed his feet into a pair of size 12 moccasins that looked like they’d been around the world. A gift from Marcy their first Christmas together. They’d just moved into their new house and Sam felt as though his heart was bursting with happiness. Things just couldn’t get any better.

  Right. Then their world fell apart. Leukemia. The doctor said it was a lethal form with no known cure. Like a thief pouncing unexpectedly, it devastated their lives.

  He gripped his chest as the anguish welled up again. For two years they had a perfect marriage but by early spring, her brave struggle was over.

  He shook away the shadows and busied himself with lighting a fire. Collecting his dinner from the microwave and a beer from the fridge, he sat down on the sofa, eating slowly and staring into the flames. He knew he needed to let go of Marcy, to find someone to share his life, but the girls he dated all seemed to go the same way. Two dates and they were planning the wedding. He hadn’t met anyone he didn’t compare to Marcy.

  He slammed the plastic plate down on the coffee table and covered his face with h
is hands. The loneliness tore at his heart like a monster, bowing him down.

  “What kind of a God are you? She was my life. We grew up together. Why? How can you leave some rotten people in the world and take someone as sweet and fine as Marcy? She loved you and served you all her life. It doesn’t make any sense. If that’s the way you work, I don’t want any part of you. I can do without all those good promises you tantalize us with. They don’t mean a thing!”

  Sam chugged the beer down and drank another. The only way he could sleep, to keep the dreams at bay. He stared at the empty can and with a moan, crushed it in his hand.

  Sam

  He covered his ears. He didn’t want to hear that gentle voice that spoke to his heart. He wanted to nurse his anger and pain. It was all he had.

  Sam.

  He got up and turned on the sound system. The beat of the music pounded in his head. He switched over to the television and watched the news and finally an old war movie until he fell asleep.

  A small gust of wind swept through the open window ruffling the hair on his forehead. He didn’t hear the rain start up again.

  Chapter Three

  Laura opened the front door to a thin, wiry woman in her late seventies holding an umbrella. Her gray hair, cut in a pageboy, framed a pixie-like face with laugh lines at the corners of her blue eyes.

  “Mrs. Morgan, please come in. It’s nice to see you again.”

  “I just wanted to see if you were all right and needed anything. And please, call me Ginny, everyone else does.”

  Laura smiled at her. “Pete told me you cleaned the house. That was very nice of you.”

  Ginny leaned her dripping umbrella against the stone wall of the entry and as they stepped into the living room, glanced around with a satisfied smile. “I didn’t really have a lot to do. You know what a stickler your aunt was for a clean house.” She turned to Laura, “I’ll miss her, but it’s good she went quietly in her sleep. Her heart just gave out.”

  “Was she having heart problems?”