Tilting at Windmills Read online

  “I had the same idea, sweetie,” he said. “I want to rebuild the windmill, too. But I don’t know how.”

  “I do—the plans!”

  “Then let’s find them.”

  The two of them—a team now—continued to search the many boxes, poring through mementos and photographs, culling the stacks of material, going deep into the attic until, at last, they’d found what they’d been searching for.

  “That’s the box!” Janey exclaimed.

  Brian removed the thick duct tape and took off the box top, exposing a treasure trove of items. What he wanted, Janey said, was at the bottom, and it took a few seconds for him to dig down, careful not to damage the other family mementos that filled the box.

  It was amazing to Brian that the Sullivans had kept so much of their family history. This included a lot of information about the windmill and, in particular, the architectural plans, which he found at the bottom of the box, rolled up and crinkled, the rubber band long since snapped. Brian took hold of them, scurried over to better light, and unraveled the plans so he could see them. A series of drawings and numbers, it might as well have been Greek to him.

  “Can we do it?” Janey asked, her mood brightening, a dramatic difference from only moments ago.

  Truthfully, he had no idea. “Yeah, we can.”

  “So, it’s a good plan?”

  “Yes, Janey, a brilliant plan.” And that’s when he had his own brilliant plan, or at least that’s how he saw it. There was no denying what needed to be done.

  “Janey, time to get dressed. You need to visit someone.”

  He knew it would be breaking the rules, but he didn’t care. At nearly eleven o’clock on that second morning after the accident, after Brian and Janey had together found the windmill’s plans, the two of them arrived in the parking lot of the hospital.

  “Wow, it’s big!” Janey exclaimed, dancing with anticipation.

  “You promised me, remember—”

  “—to stay quiet.”

  “If you want to see your mom, yeah.”

  He got her all the way to the fourth floor with no problem, then got her to the waiting area of the ICU, where he found Cynthia and Bradley, her husband, both looking severely exhausted from their tour of duty. When they saw Janey, though, they both perked up. Cynthia ran to embrace her.

  Brian checked in with Bradley.

  “How’s Annie?”

  “She’s back in her room, apparently out of danger. Dr. Savage told us time would tell.”

  “That’s all?” Brian asked. “Is Annie awake?”

  Cynthia shook her head.

  “Hence my secret weapon.”

  “They won’t let her in.”

  “Who says they have to see her?”

  A plan was hatched, with Cynthia and Bradley distracting the nursing staff while Brian quickly led Janey into her mother’s room, covering her mouth as he did so as a precautionary measure.

  “Momma!” Janey whispered as soon as the curtain was drawn.

  Annie was asleep, as she had been for two days now, not a promising sign, Brian knew, but he also knew that her body needed the rest. The tube was still attached, breathing for her, and he explained this as delicately as he could to Janey. Gently, Janey held her mother’s hand, squeezed it.

  “You rest, Momma, and I’ll come and visit and tell you about what Brian and me are doing. . . . Oh, Momma, it’s a wonderful surprise—”

  “Ssshh,” Brian said.

  She gave him a stern look. “I’m not gonna say what it is—that would spoil the surprise.”

  Admonished, Brian smiled.

  Janey was a strong child who’d weathered bad storms before and who had come shining through them like a burst of sunlight through a cloud. She had an amazing resilience that was easily transferred to those around her—Brian, Cynthia, Bradley, and, no doubt, Annie, too.

  Suddenly, there was a flicker of life from the bed, the twitch of an eyelash, and Janey’s eyes opened wide with anticipation. Brian held the little girl’s other hand, and suddenly the three of them were connected. A link of life. And then Annie was awake. The first sight she saw was her daughter.

  “Hi, Momma,” Janey simply said.

  Annie managed a slight smile, but it was enough to thrill Janey.

  “Momma, Brian’s here—he brought you a present. It’s one you have already, but he thought you’d like it here.”

  Brian stepped forward and withdrew from a plastic bag the windmill clock from her bedside at home.

  “Thought you’d like to see an old friend.”

  A minute later, he had the clock plugged in, and he set the time to nearly noon, so that in only three minutes the sails of the windmill would turn a dozen times.

  Janey giggled. Brian’s heart swelled. And Annie, a smile on her face, drifted back into a more peaceful slumber.

  Brian knew he’d done the right thing, bringing Janey here. The doctors could give Annie medicine, they could guess and speculate and hope, but there was one thing they couldn’t accomplish. There were regions of the heart even doctors couldn’t reach. Only little girls could find their way there.

  Janey. She was their hope; she was their future. She was Annie’s lifeline.

  From the corner of the room, Brian watched as Janey snuggled in close to her mother and fell asleep, too, probably the first real rest she’d had in days. The sight was natural; they nearly glowed with life.

  PART THREE

  MAY - JUNE

  SEVEN

  So you’re still there?”

  “I’m still here.”

  “How long’s it been?”

  “Uh . . . five weeks? Something like that.”

  “I thought it had been a while since I’d gotten a new postcard,” he said. “Getting restless?”

  “More like comfortable.”

  “Brian Duncan, farmer. Who would have thought it?”

  “John,” I said, my tone indicating I was getting tired of this banter, “I’m not a farmer. I just happen to be temporarily living in a small town that’s known for its farming—among other things. And note the key word there—temporarily. Someday, probably soon, I’ll be continuing my trip. I was thinking Maine might be nice for the late summer.”

  “Not back to the city?”

  “No, John; I’m not ready. I said six months and I’m sticking to it.”

  “Okay, okay—don’t get so defensive. I was just wondering.”

  It was late May, nearly Memorial Day, and I’d been in Linden Corners since the middle of April. During the past several weeks, the town’s gentle nature and pace continued to win more of my favor. Though I’d set no definite deadline for my departure, even I was surprised that I wasn’t yet ready to leave.

  I was still tending bar. In fact, George had upped my hours and my pay, and I had steadily learned the various tricks of the trade, which weren’t that difficult, as it turned out. There was little or no demand for mixed drinks, and no demand for exotic drinks, with most of the service coming directly from the beer tap. I had learned how to change a keg, which was the most strenuous aspect of the job. More often than not, I stood around, talking with the locals and soaking up the flavor of the town.

  It was coming up on four o’clock in the afternoon, opening time, and I had work to do. There were pretzels to be set out and a jukebox to start, so I had to wrap up this call with John Oliver. That would force him to get to the point of his call.

  “Look, John, I know you can sit around all day and chat, since this call is on your company’s bill, but me, I’ve got a bar to set up and customers who depend on me. And we don’t exactly have a cordless phone at the Corner, so I can’t walk and talk and work. So, better to spill it now. What’s up?”

  He hesitated, confirming my suspicion that he’d had a reason for calling.

  “John, just spit it out.”

  “You know, I hate being put in the middle. . . .”

  “John . . .”

  “Okay, all right.
Maddie wants to contact you.”

  I dropped the pint glass I’d been holding. It slipped right from my hand and fell to the hardwood floor and shattered into too many pieces to count. It wasn’t that I hadn’t thought about Maddie; I had. But the idea that she wanted to talk to me shocked me.

  “You drop something?” John asked.

  Yeah—my heart.

  “Just a glass. You took me by surprise is all.”

  “Sorry—but there didn’t seem any easy way to broach the subject,” he said. “She’s been pressuring me for a couple weeks now, and I kept putting her off, hoping it—she—would just go away.”

  “No such luck?”

  “Nothing to bet with, that’s for sure,” he said.

  I asked for more details. He’d run into Maddie in, of all places, Sequoia, the restaurant where I’d eaten with Maddie and Justin and the people from the Voltaire Health Group. The place that had spiked my oysters with a nasty case of hepatitis, which had led me on the road to a new life. Maddie had been there with some woman John didn’t recognize.

  “Didn’t get a name either.”

  But Maddie had asked about me. He’s doing great, John had said, not wanting to reveal too much, and that had been that. Until two days passed and Maddie called him at work and asked for my phone number.

  My senses suddenly came to life as I thought about the city I’d left behind. I could smell the fast-paced energy of New York City, taste the high style (and price) of dining out. But I was also flooded with memories of Maddie’s sweet scent and silky touch, the alluring tilt of her head when she posed a question, the occasional slip of her Southern accent, the way she moved and spoke and breathed. All of these images came rushing back to me, nearly overwhelming me. Luckily my surroundings drew me back. Suddenly, all I saw were unwashed pint glasses and all I could smell was beer.

  “No,” I finally said. “I don’t want to see her or talk to her. John, things are going too well right now; I’m at peace. And I’m having fun. Hey, it’s the carefree life and it’s what I want right now. I’m not ready for another ride on the emotional roller coaster.”

  “Well, think about it.”

  “I have.”

  “Sleep on it,” he said.

  “John, you’re supposed to be my friend. Why do you sound as though you’ve pitched a tent inside her camp?”

  “I’m not taking sides, Brian, I just think . . . no, I’d better not . . .”

  “Say it,” I said strongly.

  “Brian, it’s time to come back to the real world. You’ve lived the fantasy, you’ve run away and found a new life, but it’s not yours. It’s someone else’s, like a summer share with strangers. But it’s over. Maddie was the best thing to ever happen to you, and she wants you back. She wants to talk about it.”

  “It? Does she know what ‘it’ is?”

  “Brian, just talk to her.”

  An emphatic “no” escaped my lips, and then I instructed him not to give Maddie any information regarding my whereabouts. Still, he pressed me further, as only a good friend can do, but I wasn’t going to stand for it. I told him I had to go.

  “Just answer me one thing,” John said. “Is there someone else in the picture?”

  “Is that you asking, John, or are you asking on Maddie’s behalf?” I asked, now totally and thoroughly pissed off. “Hey, John, check out the definition of loyalty, then call me back sometime.”

  And I slammed down the phone.

  The intrusion of New York City into my easy existence in Linden Corners was jarring, and I didn’t want to deal with it. So I turned on the jukebox, turned up the volume, and spent the next half hour burying myself in work. Then it was time to open. The regulars started arriving and I began pouring drinks. The music played and we talked and joked and enjoyed one another’s company. The hours passed and I forgot all about John’s phone call.

  George and Gerta were away this week, off visiting one of their daughters and her family, leaving me the run of the place. I’d managed to make friends with a number of the regulars, none of whom had any interest in the fact that I was some city slicker, and so the conversation leaned toward topics like the wife who complained about this and that, or the boyfriend-girlfriend troubles of the younger set, or the whining nature of kids today, which suited me fine. The one man who failed to join the conversation was Chuck Ackroyd, who hadn’t, from the moment we’d met, made a secret of his dislike for me. I had a sense he saw my presence as a threat to his friendship with George, and nothing I did could change his mind. Not even a free beer.

  “This one’s on me, Chuck,” I said, refilling his glass before he’d even asked. It was a gesture in the right direction—at least that’s how I saw it.

  “Aren’t you taking advantage of George’s good nature by giving away his product?”

  I was tempted then to make him pay for the beer; instead, I walked away and started a conversation with someone else.

  That was when the door opened, and someone I never expected to see inside Connors’ Corners entered. It was Annie Sullivan, looking freshly scrubbed and full of energy. She sidled up to the bar and flashed me a happy grin.

  “What’ll it be, stranger?” I asked.

  “Do you recommend the wine?”

  “Looking for a new paint thinner?” I joked.

  She laughed, and said, “In that case, how about a diet Coke?”

  Since our afternoon at the windmill, Annie and I had seen each other only a couple times in town, and once, I’d been invited over for dinner. And that was because Janey’d been mad that she had missed me that one day. But Annie had been busy since she had taken a part-time job at a nearby antique store three mornings a week.

  “How’s the antique business?” I asked.

  “It’s nice getting back to work after . . . well, too long, you know. But it’s not going to last—only until summer comes and Janey’s home again with me.”

  “Speaking of Janey, where is she that you can come and hang out in a bar—and on a school night?”

  “Cynthia’s watching her. I had a couple quick errands to run.”

  “Is stopping at the local tavern one of those errands?”

  “Well, I came to see you.”

  “Me?”

  “On Janey’s behalf. I come bearing an invitation—to a picnic. Memorial Day is coming up, as you’re no doubt aware, and the town has an annual picnic, and it’s lots of fun, and—oh my, I’m starting to sound like Janey, talking like this. But, heck, if a child’s enthusiasm rubs off on you, consider it a blessing in a cynical world. So, what do you say? Cynthia and her husband, Bradley, will be joining us, and Janey wanted you to be there, because, as she says, ‘He’s nice.’ ”

  “How about you?”

  “Yes, I agree with Janey. You’re nice.”

  “No. I mean, are you inviting me to the picnic as well?”

  Even in the dim light of the bar, I could see her blush, not the red flush of embarrassment, just a faint hint of nervousness. Annie tried to laugh it off.

  “It’s not a date, Brian Duncan, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

  “Good. Then I’d be happy to join all of you,” I said, surprising her with my response. “And thank you. There are signs about the picnic all over town and I was wondering what I’d do with myself. The idea of being the one stranger in a town full of friends was daunting to say the least.”

  “Consider yourself a stranger no more. Heck, you’ve got the run of George Connors’ tavern—the first non-Connor to do so ever, far as I know.” She drank deeply from her diet Coke, setting the glass down when she’d finished. “Well, I’ve got to run; there are still a couple more errands on my list. But we’ll see you—Monday, about noon? Come to the farmhouse—Janey wants us all to arrive together.”

  I promised I’d be there, and then Annie was out the door as fast as she’d come in, leaving me oddly thrilled by her presence, comforted by her invitation. If John’s call had caused me to question my motives for l
ingering in Linden Corners, I was now reassured that the decision to stay in the land of the windmill was a good one.

  I picked up Annie’s empty glass from the bar, and Chuck Ackroyd wandered over. He looked as though there was something on his mind.

  “If I were you, I’d avoid that woman, Annie Sullivan.”

  “Oh?”

  “Couldn’t help but overhear that little invitation to the picnic,” he said.

  “Not that it’s any of your business, but since you’ve made it so, out with it. What’s your problem with Annie Sullivan?”

  “She’s trouble, is all.”

  “And from what I see, you should know from trouble, Chuck.”

  His face scrunched up, like he hadn’t fully understood my meaning, that he’d just been insulted. He slapped three bucks down on the bar and told me that that should cover the cost of his beer.

  “Used to like this place,” he said. “Can’t say I feel the same now.”

  And with that, Chuck Ackroyd left.

  He couldn’t dampen my mood, though, not with the Memorial Day picnic to look forward to, and the chance to spend it in the company of such good people as Annie and Janey Sullivan.

  Linden Corners was the picture of the classic American village, all decked out for one of the nation’s most patriotic holidays. It was a remembrance of the dead and also a celebration of the unofficial start of summer. And no one could have asked for a nicer day, with temperatures in the seventies and a sun riding high in a sky painted with a few white clouds that held no threat of rain.

  It was eleven o’clock on that Memorial Day Monday, and as I drove through town, I saw that the gazebo in the park was awash in red, white, and blue, and a banner stretched across Main Street from the bank to the fire station, welcoming Columbia County residents and visitors alike to the twenty-fourth annual Linden Corners Memorial Day celebration. Later that afternoon there would be a parade and a town-sponsored barbecue held at the fire station, and there would be sports and activities for children and adults alike. And all the families would gather on the town green.