tiny living room. Wonder how much replacement windows
would cost for this place? Those sills are rotting and it’s so drafty . . .
Just as she was about to drift off, the
phone rang, yanking her back from dreamland.
“Hello?” She tempered her irritation. Few
things annoyed Tate more than being jarred awake by a ringing phone.
“Miss Marlowe? This is Carla Geoffrey.”
“Carla? Oh, Carla, yes, of course. What’s
up?” Tate planted her feet on the floor.
“I found something!”
“What? Tell me!”
“I couldn’t stop
thinking about how to find Leland Howard. It occurred to me he might be
mentioned in places other than the clippings file since he was a well-known
craftsman. So I searched some more, and I found a reference to him. He made a
mantelpiece for the Princess Hotel during its renovation back in the 1950s.”
“That’s great, Carla! I wonder if they know
anything about him over there?”
“Maybe, but the place has changed hands
several times through the years. It’s worth a try, anyway.”
“Okay. I’m heading over there tomorrow. If I
find anything, you’ll be the first to know!”
FIFTEEN
1939
“I swear, Leland, you need to stop piddling
around and get some real work done today,” Ellie complained. Her search for
Leland ended just where she expected, in the old log cabin at the back of their
property. Once the home she knew and hated as a newlywed, it now housed
Leland’s workshop.
Leland nodded and
continued carving a delicate pattern into the piece of birdseye maple in his
hands. “I will, Ellie, I will. Just want to get this finished first.”
“What you’ve got to do,
Leland Howard, is get to work on that job Mr. Bloomfield gave you. You know
we’ve got bills to pay and groceries to buy, and the boy has been asking for a
bicycle for his birthday.” Ellie heard the hardness in her own voice and felt
the familiar twinge of sadness in her stomach.
She surveyed her husband as he sat in his
rickety chair, turning the piece of wood lovingly in his hands. She had made
her bed long ago, and she would lie in it for the rest of her life. She never
questioned that. But sometimes he could be so stubborn, so difficult. She
swallowed back her anger, turned on her heel and walked back to the house.
When she felt frustrated with Leland, Ellie
often calmed herself by recounting all the reasons he made a good husband. His
kindness. His dependability. His gentleness, loyalty, calmness,
level-headedness, even his stubbornness . . .
Ellie continued to tick
off Leland’s admirable qualities as she went about her work in the kitchen. She
had plenty to count, and they clearly outweighed the negatives, such as his
occasional episodes of stubbornness, his lack of ambition and the fact that he
loved her—probably his worst fault by far because Ellie’s feelings for her
husband fell far short of the intensity of his love for her, and that left her
feeling guilty and resentful.
Ellie loved her husband, of course. But, she
did not love him with the devotion Leland showered upon her. She had never felt
passion for him, never had the sense her life would be incomplete without him.
Once long ago she hoped for that kind of love, but Ellie learned at too young
an age just how fragile hope is. One wrong move and her dreams had slipped away
irretrievably. Everything from that moment on led her to this life, a safe and
secure life with a devoted husband, a rambunctious son and not a single
passionate dream for her own future.
Leland
secretly longed to hear Ellie’s voice tinged with the sweetness he remembered
from their brief courtship. She most often spoke with a hard edginess these
days, and her exasperation had cut through his reverie. Leland enjoyed nothing
better in the world than moments just like this one, sitting in the sun and
working on one of his own projects. Yes, paying work demanded attention, and
plenty of it waited, but right now he wished he could just finish this
would cost for this place? Those sills are rotting and it’s so drafty . . .
Just as she was about to drift off, the
phone rang, yanking her back from dreamland.
“Hello?” She tempered her irritation. Few
things annoyed Tate more than being jarred awake by a ringing phone.
“Miss Marlowe? This is Carla Geoffrey.”
“Carla? Oh, Carla, yes, of course. What’s
up?” Tate planted her feet on the floor.
“I found something!”
“What? Tell me!”
“I couldn’t stop
thinking about how to find Leland Howard. It occurred to me he might be
mentioned in places other than the clippings file since he was a well-known
craftsman. So I searched some more, and I found a reference to him. He made a
mantelpiece for the Princess Hotel during its renovation back in the 1950s.”
“That’s great, Carla! I wonder if they know
anything about him over there?”
“Maybe, but the place has changed hands
several times through the years. It’s worth a try, anyway.”
“Okay. I’m heading over there tomorrow. If I
find anything, you’ll be the first to know!”
FIFTEEN
1939
“I swear, Leland, you need to stop piddling
around and get some real work done today,” Ellie complained. Her search for
Leland ended just where she expected, in the old log cabin at the back of their
property. Once the home she knew and hated as a newlywed, it now housed
Leland’s workshop.
Leland nodded and
continued carving a delicate pattern into the piece of birdseye maple in his
hands. “I will, Ellie, I will. Just want to get this finished first.”
“What you’ve got to do,
Leland Howard, is get to work on that job Mr. Bloomfield gave you. You know
we’ve got bills to pay and groceries to buy, and the boy has been asking for a
bicycle for his birthday.” Ellie heard the hardness in her own voice and felt
the familiar twinge of sadness in her stomach.
She surveyed her husband as he sat in his
rickety chair, turning the piece of wood lovingly in his hands. She had made
her bed long ago, and she would lie in it for the rest of her life. She never
questioned that. But sometimes he could be so stubborn, so difficult. She
swallowed back her anger, turned on her heel and walked back to the house.
When she felt frustrated with Leland, Ellie
often calmed herself by recounting all the reasons he made a good husband. His
kindness. His dependability. His gentleness, loyalty, calmness,
level-headedness, even his stubbornness . . .
Ellie continued to tick
off Leland’s admirable qualities as she went about her work in the kitchen. She
had plenty to count, and they clearly outweighed the negatives, such as his
occasional episodes of stubbornness, his lack of ambition and the fact that he
loved her—probably his worst fault by far because Ellie’s feelings for her
husband fell far short of the intensity of his love for her, and that left her
feeling guilty and resentful.
Ellie loved her husband, of course. But, she
did not love him with the devotion Leland showered upon her. She had never felt
passion for him, never had the sense her life would be incomplete without him.
Once long ago she hoped for that kind of love, but Ellie learned at too young
an age just how fragile hope is. One wrong move and her dreams had slipped away
irretrievably. Everything from that moment on led her to this life, a safe and
secure life with a devoted husband, a rambunctious son and not a single
passionate dream for her own future.
Leland
secretly longed to hear Ellie’s voice tinged with the sweetness he remembered
from their brief courtship. She most often spoke with a hard edginess these
days, and her exasperation had cut through his reverie. Leland enjoyed nothing
better in the world than moments just like this one, sitting in the sun and
working on one of his own projects. Yes, paying work demanded attention, and
plenty of it waited, but right now he wished he could just finish this
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