Two things had happened. First, Wendell received a phone call from an attorney named Jamie Aldeen, followed shortly thereafter by one from Roberta. His presence at an emergency hearing in the petition for emancipation of Julia Lancaster had been requested.
The second thing that occurred was that for-sale signs went up at White Pines. He’d had time to reason with himself, and he was glad that the work had gone to Ginny and her parents. They were good people. But even though it may have been irrational and more than a little bit unfair, it stung as a betrayal. Ginny should’ve told him she was trying to land Candace as a client. As he drove past the Feldman Agency sign at the mouth of the driveway, he tried not to grit his teeth. Since Julia had blown the whistle on all of them, it was time to face Candace.
As promised, Candace waited for him outside the barn.
“This may surprise you, but I don’t want to discuss anything about the horse,” she said, approaching the truck before he’d even had a chance to shut the door. She seemed rushed.
“All right.” This was a big surprise, and a relief, but Wendell needed to clear the air. “If I may, there’s a clarification I need to make.”
Candace lifted her chin.
“I’m not sorry for buying Radcliffe. It still strikes me as the right thing to do. But I am very sorry for the apparent confusion and hurt this whole situation has caused the girls. I know you have your hands full, as you said.”
This seemed to satisfy her. “I could have fired you, you know.”
Wendell swallowed. “You still could.”
“I don’t have time. And I sense you know that.” She indicated to the trucks parked along the edge of the field that he had not noticed until now. “The surveyors and engineers are back on-site today, finalizing some line changes. And I already have showings with two developers. That said, I propose we move on.”
So she was going to forgive him. Sort of. Wendell wasn’t sure if he was relieved or not. There was an even more complicating factor. “I received a call from Julia’s lawyer. And a hearing notice from the court.”
“As have I.” Candace looked worn, and Wendell actually felt bad for her. It wasn’t her fault that Alan and Anne were gone. She was not a mother and clearly had no feeling for White Pines. “It’s my understanding the girls have brought this about without any input or suggestion by you. Is that true?”
“That has always been the truth,” Wendell said firmly. “From the beginning, I told Julia that this was not an idea I supported, and I had no place being involved.” He paused. “But to stay truthful, I also have to admit that whether I like it or not, I am involved now. And if there is something I can do to help, without interfering, I am trying to stay open to that.”
“Are you able to continue to work here on the property?”
“I am,” Wendell said. It would be hard, but he couldn’t leave now.
“All right, then. I propose we move forward as our contract stipulates. As for the children, I have no choice but to let this playout. It is a tremendous distraction and expense, and I am not happy about it. But I have faith a judge will dismiss this out of hand, and that some sense of order will be restored. Julia is just going to have to accept that.”
Wendell wasn’t so sure, but he did not say this. For now, he still had a job. And there was a lot to do.
All morning he tried to keep his mind on his work as he carried the trimmers up to the ornamental trees by the main house. From the distance came the sound of voices every now and then. Candace was walking the property with a team of surveyors. It was impossible to make out what they were saying, and for that he was thankful.
The night before, Wendell had caved. Against his better judgment, he’d parked himself in his father’s old study and pulled the chair up to the mahogany desk to check the broker’s listing. “Pristine Connecticut properties in the hills of Litchfield County. Unique opportunity to design your own country haven. Just one hour northwest of the city!” Wendell had shut down his computer, staring at the blank screen a long time after it went dark. It was happening faster than he’d thought.
Now, at work on a row of edges along the main driveway, he had full view as the group made their way down the grassy hillside. As per Candace’s instructions, he’d meticulously mowed the fields down to lawn height. “Easier for buyers to walk,” she’d said. Usually, Alan let those fields grow tall in summer, mowing a single narrow path through the wavy grasses to the orchard but leaving the rest in its natural state. Twice each season, he’d invited the local dairy farmer from Happy Acres Farm to come hay those fields, free of cost. Wendell liked that natural balance struck: between town and property, from wild clover to domestic herd feed. This year there would be no haying for the dairy farm. He wondered idly where they’d source their feed for the year and what it would cost them.
Wendell looked up as the surveyors drew closer. There was a group of four, in casual attire and work boots, carrying equipment. Behind them, Candace walked with a well-dressed man and woman, deep in conversation. Wendell identified the woman immediately: it was Ginny. Even at that distance, he recognized her graceful figure and the way she moved her hands through the air when she talked with zeal. Seeing her walk down the grassy paths he’d mowed was a fresh hurt. Despite the heat, Ginny looked crisp in tailored white pants and a sleeveless coral top. She was speaking to the man in their trio. Like him, Ginny was here to work.
Wendell imagined the pitch she was making, the words spilling from her lips like a cool stream through the sun-drenched field: “lakefront property,” “private enclave,” “natural environs.” As they approached, the man tipped his head toward her, seemingly hanging on to Ginny’s words. Wendell watched as she directed his gaze east then west, surveying the view. After further discussion, they shook hands and Candace and Ginny departed to the house, leaving the man to see himself out.
Hoping to avoid interaction, Wendell returned his attention to trimming the base of the hedge, but it was too late.
Wendell looked up from his work to see a pair of driving moccasins in some kind of reptilian leather.
“Say, there. You work here?” the man shouted over the noise.
Wendell cut the trimmer’s power. “Affirmative.”
The guy slid his sunglasses up onto his head. “Nice place. How long have you worked here?”
Wendell did not like crouching at this guy’s feet. He stood, swiping at the dirt on his knees. At full height, he looked him directly in the eye. “Can I help you?” he said instead.
The guy had a toothy smile. He extended a tanned hand. “Scooter Dunham. Prospective developer.”
Wendell knew about Scooter Dunham. For every parcel ofopen space Alan and Anne had purchased for the town land preservation trust over the years, Dunham Corporation was often the opposing bidder. They turned wild land into residential developments. Alan had hated the Dunhams. But Alan had been polite. Wendell shook his hand.
