Chapter 2

The next evening, Marc and Donna left Ralphie frowning at a stack of homework on the kitchen table, and arrived at the town hall just as the Oakville council meeting was about to begin. They took seats in the back row. Marc insisted on the aisle seat.

“You know I’m older.” Donna laughed, as she filed into the row first.

“If you wanted the seat, then you should have stood behind me.” Marc sat down next to her, leaning out into the walkway to scan the town council’s six members sitting at the front of the room. One of the men looked familiar, but he wasn’t sure why. Other people moved down the row, and Marc grunted in frustration as he leaned farther out to see around them.

Donna grabbed his arm and pulled him back into his seat. “Stop that! You’re acting like Ralphie did when he was six.”

“Sorry,” Marc said, resigning himself to the obstructed view.

“What’s so interesting?” Donna demanded. “And why’d we sit in this back row when there were three empty rows up front?”

“I don’t know any of these people,” Marc said. “This was Grammom’s neighborhood, not ours.”

“It’s been Ralphie’s and mine for the past three years,” Donna pointed out. “Since we moved here to keep an eye on her.”

“Why didn’t you clean up the house then?” Marc retorted.

“Do you know what it’s like moving things with a hoarder still on the premises? I’m lucky she let me clean the kitchen so we could eat.”

Marc considered that.

“Okay, that’s fair. I try to not watch those shows. They give me the heebie-jeebies.”

Donna chuckled. “Ralphie said the same thing. At least Grammom wasn’t a cat lover; we’d be up to our knees in cat shit for sure.”

They both laughed wryly.

People were sitting down, and Marc scanned the council. The man on the end still looked familiar, and it was bugging him. He turned to Donna.

“Do you know any of the council members? I mean, are any of them single? Maybe we could get you hitched.”

“Not me.” Donna shrugged him off. “After Cliff, like hell I’m getting hitched again. It’ll just be Ralphie and me until he kicks me out.”

“You sure? None of them are likely prospects?” Marc teased.

She shook her head. “Nope. But I’ve heard rumors about that one guy on the end.” Donna pointed at the blond man Marc had been trying to identify.

“Rumors? What kinds of rumors?”

“The kind that say he’s not my type,” Donna said.

“Oh.” Marc raised an eyebrow. “What’s his name? He looks familiar.”

“Familiar? But you just got here,” Donna said.

“I know, but I feel like I know him from somewhere. It’s going to drive me— Oh!” Marc placed his hand in the air and laughed in recognition.

“What the hell are you doing?” Donna tugged on his shirt. “Put your hand down!”

Marc lowered his hand. “Sorry. The light is in my eyes.” He grinned. “The guy I ran into yesterday was wearing a hat, but I think that’s him. He was in a backyard playing the violin, some old song I’ve never heard before. We startled each other.” He looked back at his sister. “So what’s his name?”

“Benjamin Adams. He’s the town historian.” Donna shook her head, but she was smiling too.

The town historian and a great violinist. Stop that! It’s too soon to be thinking of other men.

His smile faded. He sat forward, elbows on his knees, and listened as the people around them settled in their seats.

Donna jabbed him in the shoulder. “What’s with you?”

“What?”

“What happened just now?”

“Nothing happened,” Marc said, looking away.

Donna wasn’t buying it. “No, I saw you. You smiled, and then you were looking at Mr. Adams, and the smile was gone.”

He turned back to face her. “Because it’s too soon.” At her raised eyebrows, he added, “You know. Jed.”

“Jed died two years ago, Marc.” She placed a hand on his thigh.

“He chose raspberries,” Marc said, looking down at his hands.

“I know.” She took a deep breath. “Marc, Jed would want you to move on. Find someone else to make you happy, like he made you happy.”

“I know. But I still think it’s too soon.” He shrugged. “Besides, this historian doesn’t know me at all. We’re here about the house, not to get me hooked up.”

Donna let it go. “All right, then. Let’s just listen.”

A man with a buzz cut and Clark Kent glasses was banging a gavel. “Let’s bring this meeting to order!”

The murmuring quickly softened as the banging grew louder in the room. The nameplate in front of the man said Albert Upshaw.

Marc leaned over and whispered, “He’d be sexy if he didn’t have such an angry frown.”

Donna smacked Marc on the knee and motioned forward with her chin.

“We called this meeting to order because there are three families who have not yet filed the transfer paperwork.” Upshaw stood up, pressing his hands on the desk as he loudly continued. “Is there a reason? Do you not understand why not getting this paperwork in to us only makes the project take longer?”

There was a microphone stand in the middle of the aisle and a tall man walked to the center. “I don’t understand why the town council thought it was in the best interest of our town to raze our homes to build.”

“Crandall, how many times do we have to explain this to you?” Upshaw held up his hands. “It’s for our tourists.”

“But we get plenty of tourists,” Crandall stated.

“We need more—” Upshaw pounded his hand on the desk. “—if we are going to compete with the other battlefield towns.”

A woman on the council held up her hand, tilting her head, eventually standing up and speaking over Upshaw. “Councilman Upshaw, let’s get this meeting back under control. You don’t have to yell at them.”

Upshaw looked to his left. “Fine, Wendy. What information do we have on the holdouts?”

She frowned and looked at her papers. “Because the remaining residents have waited this long to submit the forms, they are no longer eligible for the buyout we were offering them.”

The brown-haired woman seated beside Wendy spoke up. “Shouldn’t we also mention that the Jamesons”—he pointed at Crandall— “have put forward an argument that their home and several others on their street should be considered historic sites due to the fact that their backyards and, in some cases their front yards, border the Pea Ridge Battlefield.”

“That’s not what this meeting is about, Lacey.” Upshaw looked back towards the man at the microphone. “Even if we were, Crandall, your house is on River Silt Road and those houses were built in the 1950’s.”

“Actually, Albert, that’s not correct.” The sexy man from the woods stood up and continued. “The neighborhood was built in the 1840s. In the 1950s, a large fire damaged four of the homes, and those were rebuilt in the 1950s. But the majority of the neighborhood homes date to before the Civil War, so the Jamesons’ claim may very well be valid.”

Upshaw just growled and said, “We’ll take that issue up at the next meeting, Benjamin. You’re out of order.” He didn’t bother to look at the man.

Marc turned to Donna. “We’ve got to talk to them. Our house is on that street.”

Donna nodded. “Yup. Upshaw’s not so sexy now, is he?”

Marc laughed.

The fifth person at the front of the room stood up and whispered something in Upshaw’s ear.

“What?” Albert snapped at him. “Carl, yes, go ahead.”

“The paperwork is simple, you put the owner’s names, attach the lien or mortgage you currently have and any additional property tax paperwork to the paper. Bring it to the town hall and I’ll notarize everything. Piece of cake. It’s that easy.” Carl smacked his hands together.

As Crandall walked back to his seat, another man stood up. “Piece of cake? Carl White, you treat this like I’m selling you my 1957 Edsel.” There was laughter. “This is the home I grew up in.” He pounded his leg with his balled-up fists.

“Mitch, it’s been decided.” Carl sat down and so did Mitch.

“We aren’t getting anywhere with this. Just fill out the damn paperwork, and let’s get this hotel built. It’ll bring in enough tourists to support our winter season.” Upshaw banged the gavel once more. “This meeting is closed for tonight.”

Chairs screeched across the floor as everyone rose and began to exit the building, Marc saw Upshaw leaving out a back door before anyone could catch up to him.

* * *

They walked to the car in silence.

As the Jamesons walked past them, Marc pulled Donna to a stop in front of them. He extended his hand to the tall man, and they shook.

“Hi. I’m Marc Shelby, Amanda Shelby’s grandson, and this is my sister, Donna. We’ve inherited her house.”

“I’m Angela Rae Jameson. This is my husband, Crandall. Pleased to meet you,” the tall woman said.

“Amanda was a charmer,” Crandall said as they walked towards a white Chevy truck. Donna and Marc followed them.

Donna chuckled. “Yes, and a hoarder.”

“That happens a lot in these old homes,” Angela Rae said. “They have so many rooms! I’ve had to put my foot down a time or two with Crandall.”

Crandall nodded his head. “Yep, I’m guilty as charged.”

A guy about Marc’s height with short brown hair walked past them. Angela Rae waved at him. “Hey, Mitch!”

Mitch turned toward them. He was reasonably handsome, but it was marred by the thundercloud sitting on his forehead. “Hey.”

“Where’s Aimee?” Angela Rae asked.

“She had to get home to the kids. Some of that garbage Albert said upset her.” He sighed. “You know how it is.”

Heads nodded around the group.

“He was an ass,” Marc said. “Is he always so rude?”

No one said anything, but heads continued to nod.

“Is she okay?” Donna asked.

Mitch’s shoulders rose in a noncommittal shrug. “I don’t know. I don’t think Aimee can stand much more of his insults and anger. Her brother up in Missouri has property, and we’re heading up to look at the land next weekend.”

“Oh, Mitch, I’m sorry to hear that. But you two do what you have to do,” Crandall said, shaking his head sadly.

“Thanks. I’m hoping it’ll help, but I grew up in this house, and I don’t want Upshaw to get his mitts on my property.” Mitch opened the driver’s side door of the rust-covered car next to the Jamesons’ Chevy, slid into the front seat, and slammed the door. Mitch leaned out the window. “I just don’t know how much longer I can take this, you know?”

“I know, Mitch. I know.” Crandall unlocked his door and then reached across the seat to unlock the door for his wife.

Mitch waved at someone coming up behind them. “Hey, Ben.”

Marc turned around to see the violinist. He walked past Marc and Donna with a nod, then squatted in front of Mitch’s open window. “Got a minute?”

“Sure.” Marc and Donna turned back to the Jamesons to give the two men privacy, but Marc kept glancing over his shoulder while Donna and Angela Rae chatted.

After a few minutes, Benjamin patted Mitch on the shoulder and stood up. “I understand. See the two of you before you leave?”

“Sure,” Mitch said. “Give me a call and we’ll set it up.”

“Good man,” Benjamin said. As Mitch drove off, he turned to the Chevy to pat Crandall on the shoulder too. “Will you be able to make the bonfire next Saturday?”

“I’ve got it on my calendar,” Crandall grinned. “I’m planning on it. I’ve got a new uniform I’ve been working on to show you guys.”

“Great! Bring hot dogs. I think that’s what’s listed for your name,” Benjamin said.

“Sure thing, Benjamin.” Crandall started the engine. “Come on, Angela Rae.”

Donna rattled off her cell number, and Angela Rae got into the truck. She waved as they drove out of the lot.

Benjamin turned to leave, and Marc seized the moment. “Hey, Mr. Adams?”

He turned back. “That’s me. Call me Benjamin, please. What’s up?” Then he cocked his head to the side. “Wait a minute. You’re the guy watching me play yesterday evening.”

Marc shook his head and chuckled. “Yeah, that was me.” He held out a hand. “Marc Shelby. And this is my sister, Donna.”

Benjamin shook hands with both of them. “Nice to meet you.”

“You too,” Marc said. “I’m surprised you remember me.”

Benjamin laughed. “Not many people get lost in the woods, and few with such a shock of red hair.”

“Thanks,” Marc said sheepishly. “I didn’t intend to get lost in the woods. I’d parked at my Grammom’s house, stood in the backyard, and started to remember my old childhood haunts. I didn’t realize they’d built houses on that side of the property.”

“Yeah,” Benjamin said. “My parents bought it about fifteen years ago as a summer home, and when they died, I took it over. I’ve lived there since I moved to Oakville.”

“Interesting,” Marc said. “Why isn’t your home up for redistricting?”

“Marc!” Donna slapped him on the shoulder.

“It’s okay.” Benjamin grinned. “The access road they want is more convenient from your row of homes. Albert says the highway can just filter in from there—practically putting the exit to dump out into the parking lot.” He made an imaginary entranceway in the sky.

“Oh,” Marc said. A flash of anger moved through him at the thought of his home becoming a parking lot or an access road. “Well, are there any ways the holdouts can save their property?”

“We’ve looked at everything,” Ben said. “The only way left is to get your property named a historical landmark. Crandall and I have been talking about that. But I’ve researched this for all the homes on that road. The only thing I’ve found is that Angela Rae’s granddad invented a hand soap, but it’s not enough historical significance to count.”

Marc sagged against a car. “Well, not that we’ll find anything of significance, but what would count?”

A light sparkled in Benjamin’s eyes. “You’ve asked the right guy.”

Marc raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”

“I love doing research about the Civil War,” Benjamin said. “Take the Elkhorn Tavern, for instance. When they discovered that it was the place where the plans were drawn up for the battle in the woods behind your homes, that was enough. The men who fought that battle stayed in the Elkhorn. That took a lot of work to document, but it’s in tons of records and letters.”

“So if we found out that they stayed in Grammom’s house…?” Marc suggested.

“Anything relating to the Civil War would be the best,” Benjamin said. “That’s the main source of history around here.” He smiled, but the smile didn’t stick. “But I’ll be honest: if you can’t find that kind of documentation, your best bet might be to just file your paperwork and save all your family memories.”

“I see,” Marc said. “Thanks for the suggestions.”

“Sorry I couldn’t help more,” Benjamin said. He tried to smile as he walked away. “It was great meeting you folks.”

Marc nodded as he and Donna headed to his Jeep. He looked back over his shoulder as he unlocked the door, but Benjamin had already disappeared into the dark at the other end of the parking lot.

Great meeting you, too.