Mending Her Heart

She followed him up the long curving arc of the stairs, curious to see what her grandmother had hatched with this guy. A little paint, probably, and some new light fixtures. It was unrealistic to hope he’d repaired the claw-footed cast-iron tub in the hallway bath. The porcelain had been chipped ever since she was a child…and those awful, sticking windows…

When she got to the top of the stairs, Catherine stopped dead in her tracks. Jaw gaping, she stared at the chaotic mess before her.

Two-by-fours lined one side of a hall partially blocked by a table saw. There was a black, gaping hole in the plaster at chest height, and that old monster of a claw-footed tub was sitting upside down in the hall like an upended turtle.

“Watch your step. It’s a little crowded in here right now. As soon as the tub restorers come to pick it up, we’ll be able to maneuver better. I needed it out so I could tear up the bathroom floor.”

She glanced, horrified, at the gaping hole in the hallway wall. “Tear it up? Haven’t you done enough damage already?”

“You have to make things worse to make them better,” he said cheerfully. “The wood is soft around the tub from a leak. I’m replumbing, too. Those pipes are showing their age. Remodeling and restoration are always a mess, but when the results are good, it’s worth it. Sometimes life works out that way, too, you know. You think you’re in a real mess and it turns out to be the best thing for you.”

“If that’s the case, ‘better’ should be right around the corner for me,” Catherine muttered. She couldn’t imagine things getting much worse. She pointed at the maw in the wall. “What on earth have you done there?”

He looked insulted that she’d had to ask. “I’m putting the dumbwaiter back where it belongs.”

“What dumbwaiter?”

“The one that was in the house originally and was likely removed before you were born. The pulleys are still in the wall. I’ve got the architects’ original blueprints and I’m restoring things to their previous condition.”

Catherine looked around, stunned. “This will take forever to put back together!”

“Abigail gave me as much time as I needed to finish this. I figure a couple years, at least. That’s how long the lease runs on the guesthouse, too. We planned it that way.”

Catherine sat down on an overturned bucket. A splash of cold reality hit her. What had Gram been thinking, committing to him and to this project for that long? She hadn’t been thinking about dying, that was for sure.

But things had changed radically. Catherine didn’t want to be the bad guy, that was the very thing she’d thought she’d left behind with her career as an attorney. But she didn’t need this monster of a house once she decided how to move on with her life. Unfortunately, if she decided not to keep the house, it meant that she would have to fire Will Tanner and break the lease on the guesthouse.

But for now it was a moot question. This place couldn’t be sold now anyway, not in this condition. Any potential buyer would run screaming in the other direction the way the house’s second floor looked. She gazed at the wreckage. Will needed to put this house back together ASAP. It had to be done before she could move on with her life. That meant the sooner the better.

Obviously Catherine and Abigail hadn’t discussed the house much at all, Will thought. And from the look of it, the house was much more Abigail’s passion than her granddaughter’s. Still, Catherine looked as if she’d been slapped with a paintbrush when she’d seen the hall. And she’d never even heard about the dumbwaiter. Maybe that was a conversation Abigail had saved for him. They’d certainly spent enough hours talking about the house and their other favorite topics—God, faith and salvation.

Abigail had been the one to introduce him to Christ. She’d said He was her best friend and would be his, too. Will was in need of a friend right then, with his sister dying, Charley wandering around like a lost waif and his own brother and sister-in-law questioning his ability to raise the boy.

Faith was what had ultimately gotten him through Annie’s passing. Better yet, before she died, Annie had accepted Christ as her Savior, as well. The peace of knowing that was enormous for Will. It hadn’t been easy, her dying, but at least he knew they’d meet again. And she’d be free of the addiction that had haunted her.

Until he’d met Abigail, he’d known little about Christianity except what he’d read on signs outside of churches. Now it was alive to him and it had breathed new life into his soul. He couldn’t believe the blessing sometimes. Will felt humbled and grateful every day for his heavenly inheritance—and for Abigail, who’d pointed him in the right direction.

Then he glanced at Catherine. She was looking small and vulnerable in the wide, high-ceilinged hall. From the moment he’d met her he’d felt a little off-kilter.

She certainly wasn’t Abigail. She was considerably more reserved, almost cool, and didn’t seem nearly as impressed as he’d hoped with the work they’d done. Some sort of affirmation would be nice—or was it reassurance he wanted? Now that Charley had come to live with him, he was determined to provide the child with the home he’d been missing. Will wanted nothing more than to put down roots for a few years in the guesthouse. This sad but beautiful woman held the reins now. Could he trust her to do the right thing? He didn’t want to believe she’d stand in his way or suggest he leave the guest cottage… Surely not!

“I also tore out part of the wall in this bedroom,” he said, more to fill the silence than anything.

Catherine poked her nose into the wrecked and dusty space. “Why on earth would you tear out the wall of my bedroom?” The furniture was covered with tarps.

“Originally this was the master bedroom.” Will stepped into the room and began gesticulating with his hands. “Back in those days, however, the master suite was often made up of two adjoining rooms with a door or even a dressing room between them. The larger of the two rooms was where the woman of the house slept and her husband slept next door in the smaller room.”

“No kidding? I didn’t know that.”

“We checked some diaries Abigail found and we think that was the arrangement Obadiah and his wife had. Abigail wants…wanted…me to put the door back in so it is like the suite it was.”

He scowled a little, which did nothing to harm his looks. “I don’t know why people thought that was such a good idea. What’s the use of being married if you live in separate spaces? That’s an idea I’m glad we improved on.”

Catherine left Will and hurried downstairs to gather her thoughts. The house, the mess, Abigail’s wishes and her own confusion made her head spin. At the bottom of the steps she nearly tripped over a small army of soldiers assembled on the hand-tied silk foyer rug.

“Be careful, lady,” a small voice piped. “You’re knocking down the rebel army!”

She avoided as many of the rebels as she could but came down hard on a miniature cannon, twisting her ankle. To catch herself, Catherine reached for the nearest thing available, a free-standing coatrack where one of Gram’s straw hats hung. It and Catherine both teetered for a moment before falling into an ungainly pile right on top of the entire defending militia.

Miniature sabers and rifles poked into Catherine like needles, and as she rolled away to escape them, she managed only to embed herself on the rebel camp. Some of these soldiers were metal instead of plastic, and she felt as if she were rolling around on a bed of prickly jacks, the kind she’d played with as a child. “Ouch!”

“Kaboom!” Charley roared happily. “And a meteorite from Planet Zeus landed on them all, crushing the rebellion and killing a whole bunch of dinosaurs besides. Double kaboom!”

Then a small face with brown eyes, rosy cheeks and a fringe of dark hair appeared over her. “Are you okay, lady? You made a great meteorite.” The cherubic-looking little boy frowned. “But I think you broke the rifles off a bunch of my men.”

Then he brightened. “They need to go to the…the….” He looked quizzically at Catherine.

“The infirmary?” she suggested, struggling to keep a straight face. This was one cute, huggable kid.

“Yeah, that’s it. The in-fur-mary.” He scooped up a handful of the injured and swept them into a basket. Making a passable sound as an ambulance siren, he raced out of the room.

Catherine turned to the sound of pounding footsteps on the stairs and soon it was Will’s concerned face that peered down at her. “Are you hurt?”

“Not so much that I have to go to the in-fur-mary,” she said, struggling to her feet.

Will reached out a hand to help her but turned his head toward the back of the house. “Charley, you get in here and apologize to Ms. Stanhope right now!”

Silence.

“If you don’t, these toy soldiers are going MIA, now,” Will ordered in a passable chief commander’s voice.

A squeak in the floor was the only sound of movement. Catherine got to her feet, wiped off a couple plastic soldiers that had imbedded themselves in the folds of her shirt, and waited.

Charley’s tousled head peeked around the corner of the dining-room door. His cheeks were flushed and his eyes danced despite the inevitable scolding that was about to come.

Catherine fought her urge to smile.

Will seemed to have no such trouble. He was fuming. “Please come over here and apologize. I told you not to set up camp where you’d be in the way.”

“I didn’t think anyone would mind now that Gram isn’t here,” the child said, looking repentant.

Gram? There he was again, referring to Abigail as his grandmother.

Charley scuffed the soles of his battered tennis shoes on the highly polished floor. “I’m sorry, lady. I didn’t mean to trip you. I’ll pick ’em up and take them outside.”

Will put his hand on the boy’s shoulder. “Charley, did you know that Ms. Stanhope owns this house now?”

The child’s eyes grew wide. “Gram gave it to you? You’re lucky…”