Free Keeping Victoria's Secret by Melinda Peters Page B

asking me about the apple
crop and I told him he’d have to talk to you, Jack. He told me that
soon the apple orchards wouldn’t be your decision and maybe neither
of us would have the farm. I can’t remember precisely, but it was
something along those lines. Don’t you understand? He must know
he’s the heir, or at least he has a suspicion?”
    Jack got up and began to pace, a dangerous
gleam in his eye, looking very like the pirate captain of her
imagination. “If that son-of-a-bitch comes around here trying to
steal this place out from under us, I’ll stick my boot so far up
his butt; he’ll taste shoe polish. Pardon me, Mrs. Sweeney.”
    Elvira grinned at him, amused. “That’s quite
all right Jack. I can understand how you’d be a bit upset. I
noticed that you said, ‘If he tries to steal this place out from
under us’.”
    Jack glanced at her and shrugging he took
another brownie from the diminishing pile on the plate.
    Vicky was wringing her hands. “How can you be
hungry at a time like this?”
    “Mrs. Sweeney makes a damn good brownie.
Can’t resist,” he mumbled with his mouth full.
    Fred began sorting all the documents and
letters again, separating them from the old photographs. “Tell you
what. Vicky, you hold onto these pictures for now. I’ll take all
these letters and papers and go through them carefully. See if I
can’t discover any additional information. There are a few facts
that we still don’t know for sure. Elvira, do you have any more
letters or anything from Vicky’s grandmother?”
    “Perhaps,” the doctor's wife said
thoughtfully.
    A loud knocking came from the front door. All
five of them glanced around the table with raised brows.
    “What now?” Still a little shaky Vicky got to
her feet.
    “I’ll see who that is.” Fred gestured for her
to sit and went to the door.
    The others waited around the table listening
to the murmured voices out on the front porch.
    Fred returned accompanied by a silver haired
elderly man, clutching a battered felt hat in his hands. Though
neat and clean, his clothes were a couple of decades out of date.
“This fellow says he wants to see Jack Conner,” Fred announced.
    Everyone stared at the newcomer as Doc got up
and pulled out a chair for him.
    “Thank you.” The old man sat down smiling at
them.
    Jack, still scowling said, “Well, you found
me. I’m Conner. Who are you and what do you want.”
    The codger smiled and declared, “Oh my. Land
sakes alive. Are those brownies?”
    Elvira pushed the plate a little closer and a
weathered hand reached out and scooped up two of them.
    He took a bite, closed his eyes in delight,
and mumbled with his mouth full, “I haven’t tasted anything
homemade like these in years. Not since my wife passed on.”
    They all watched curiously.
    Jack sat back and crossed his arms on his
chest. “Okay, one more time. Who are you and what do you want? At
the moment I’m a little short of patience.”
    The old man’s pale blue eyes twinkled. “Why,
I’m Rip Van Winkle.”
    They all stared, incredulous at the old man
who munched on his brownies with small sounds of appreciation.
    After a minute or so Jack spoke up again.
“Not funny. Another day maybe I’d play along with you, but not
today. Who are you really?”
    “You’re Jack Conner, Charley Conner’s
nephew?”
    Jack nodded. “My uncle passed away
recently.”
    “Yes I know. Turning to Fred, the man said,
“You must be Joe Douglas’s boy.”
    “That was my father’s name, yes,” said Fred
slowly.
    The old man’s gaze settled finally on
Vicky.
    “And who are you, young lady?”
    “My name is Victoria,” she answered,
unwilling to give this stranger any information.
    He studied her face for a long moment before
speaking, a note of sadness creeping into his voice. “Yes, yes I
see. Well then. My name is Willet, and if I’m not mistaken, this is
my farm.”
     
     

Chapter 9
     
    Rain beat down steadily on the canvas above
her as