Stopping by Woods - Part 2 (A Dark Shadows Story)

[sylvia_bond]

As he started up the truck and headed down the gravel lane towards the main road, she recalled the day that he had told her that he had no time for talk. She’d been standing in the doorway of the Old House, feeling chill from the cold that lingered even as the snow melted. Willie had not let her in, she recalled, but had been polite. And distant. Something had been wrong, but he’d refused to talk to her about it, and the warmth and friendship that had built up between them during their sojourn at the motel during a blizzard had frozen into nothingness.

 

Well, he’d been busy, and so had she, and she hadn’t seen much of him to miss it. Until now, in the confines of the truck that had once driven them to safety. The heater was on, he snapped it on, and she found herself staring at the back of his hand. Streaked with dirt, a thin scratch over the back of the knuckles. Back to the steering wheel it went, and as they drove along, she heard the same soft click click sound that had been the constant background to their drive to and from Bangor. It sounded like it was in the heater, something loose in the fan, but Willie never seemed to notice it. He didn’t notice it now. Or her either. If someone had told her months ago that she would feel despondent over the fact that Willie Loomis was ignoring her, she would have called them a lair. And something ruder as well.

 

As they passed the limits of the village, she saw the clock on the bank. It was 4:15.

 

“We’ll be in good time,” she said, letting her eyes dwell on the fan of clapboard houses, with their tidy lawns and black shutters.

 

“Huh?”

 

She looked at him. “The clock on the bank, it says 4:15.”

 

“Oh, yeah, okay.”

 

With a little shrug, she settled back in her coat. Willie’s truck was warm, with the smell of old foam rubber and the sharper one of rusted springs. He kept it clean, though. Tidy, always, no litter of old cups or paper wrapping from food eaten on the go. Though she knew he had to do it, had seen him in town one day, hustling out from the diner with food wrapped in paper. Watched him pull out of the parking lot and head down the street, one hand on the wheel, the other hand pushing the large end of a burger in his mouth. He hadn’t seen her, and Carolyn, standing next to her on the sidewalk, had never even seen him. Had only poked her, and demanded to know whether Vicki thought that Mother would object to scarlet red shoes to go with the lacy black dress Carolyn had just bought. Vicki couldn’t remember her answer, but she did know that the shoes had been bought and never worn. There was just no place to wear them in a village like Collinsport.

 

The wheels of the truck hupped over the bump in the parking lot as Willie pulled onto blacktop of the garage. She could see that her blue sedan was still up on jacks, and that no one was working on it. There were a few men milled around another car, and through the newly cleaned plate glass windows, she could see two men at the counter. One of them was on the phone.

 

“This doesn’t look good,” said Willie, surprising her with the edge to his voice.

 

“What is it?” she asked, though she thought she might already know the answer.

 

Willie parked the truck and she slid out, shutting the door behind her. She followed Willie into the office and stood next to him while they waited for someone to notice them. The air smelled like old tires, as it had before, but now with the bitter smell of strong soap that had been used once too many times but to no effect.

 

“Hey,” said Willie, his voice a snap cutting into the hum of the waiting room. For a moment silence, and then a man in a blue coverall came over to them.

 

“Can I help you?” he asked. His nametag said Vince.

 

“Yeah, Vince, I’ve come to check on the lady’s car.” With his hands on the edge of the counter, Willie tipped his fingers back to point at her. “Car for Miss Winters.”

 

“Oh, yeah,” said Vince. “Hang on, I’ll get the boss.”

 

He walked off, and she heard Willie mutter under his breath, “You better get the boss.”

 

She smiled to herself. He was so bold on her behalf, it seemed, though she had a feeling that for himself, he was not always so bold.

 

The manager came up to them, dressed in a button down white shirt with a nametag that said, Mr. Cooper, Manager. He looked like he was about to say, can I help you, but then changed his mind.

 

“You Loomis?” he asked, instead.

 

“Yes, and this is Miss Winters, and we’ve come about her car. It’s still up in the bay, though.”

 

“Yes,” said Mr. Cooper, “we tried to call, but—”

 

“But nothing. Is the car ready or not?”

 

“Look, Mr. Loomis, there was no phone, and—”

 

Willie interrupted him. “She works for the Collins family, you know them?”

 

With a long dark pause, Mr. Cooper stared at Willie, his expression saying very clearly that Willie was reminding him of something he was quite aware, and that perhaps the memory wasn’t quite pleasant. Vicki never used the Collins’ name during any of her transactions in the village. It smacked of trading on power, and it left a bad taste in her mouth whenever she would go out with Carolyn, who, of course, couldn’t help doing it. Not so Willie. It seemed palatable enough to him.

 

“Mr. Collins ain’t gonna like it, her car not being ready.”

 

“I know that Mr. Loomis, but if you’ll just let me explain—”

 

“Better start talkin’,” said Willie.

 

“Willie,” she said, stepping up to the counter. Mr. Cooper seemed to notice her standing there for the first time. Breathed a sigh that relaxed his face a little.

 

“Hello, Miss Winters, we got a lot of work done on your car today, but the fan belt needed replacing and we didn’t have the one you needed in stock. That and the alternator. We’ve sent for them, from Bangor, and they should be here tomorrow. We’ll have your car done by noon tomorrow with no problem. Will that be okay?”

 

She nodded. “Of course.” Ignoring the hard edge in Willie’s eyes, concentrating on Mr. Cooper, remembering only too late that she had a doctor’s appointment the next day and how was she supposed to get there? She tugged on Willie’s sleeve. “We’ll be back tomorrow at noon,” she said, stepping away from the counter. Everyone within earshot breathed a sigh of relief, it seemed, and the momentary chill and silence burbled up again into a normal workday feeling.

 

She turned on her heel, not looking to see if Willie was coming, knowing that he would be, feeling him walking behind her, steps soundless on the linoleum, a hand reaching out to grab the door for her. She pulled herself into the cab, tucking her skirt and coat beneath her thighs as he shut the door and walked around to the other side. Getting in, he was silent, the bravado gone to be replaced by the grim line of his mouth.

 

His hands moved to put the key in the ignition and then stilled.

 

“He ain’t going to like it your car not being ready,” he said. Quiet, as if talking to himself.

 

“Well, that’s hardly your fault, Willie,” she replied. Waiting for him to start the car and head up the hill. When he didn’t, she reached over and patted him on the shoulder, jerking back when he snapped to face her. For a moment, nothing moved. Remnants of something dark and sharp flared in his eyes as he looked at her. Breathed in and out slowly. Then he swallowed. His shoulders sagged as he slumped in his seat.

 

“I got instructions, see,” he began, his hand coming up flat-palmed as if this would help her understand. “Instructions to bring your car back today. Not tomorrow.”

 

“Can’t you just explain it to him?” she asked, pulling her hair back over her shoulder as it slipped forward. “I’m sure he’ll understand.”

 

“He won’t,” said Willie, the stress in his voice rising to a pitch.

 

“But, Willie—”

 

“No, he ain’t gonna like it at all,” he said, his teeth clicking over the words.

 

Vicki took a deep breath, looking at him, at the tautness of his jaw, and how his lips had gone white. He must care about his job beyond all reason, and there was nothing she could do but try and help. And he never wanted her help, especially when it had to do with his job. Even when she’d wanted to help explain things to Barnabas about the blizzard and the car, he’d refused her. It was getting to be too much.

 

“Look,” she began, but noticed his chest was still heaving. “Look at me, Willie.”

A pause filled the stillness of the truck. He looked at her, but slowly. Tipping his head to move the hair out of his eyes, his two hands clenched in fists on his lap.

 

“I will explain it to him. This is the garage’s fault.”

 

“He won’t—”

 

“He will,” she replied. “I’ll make him understand. You won’t loose your job over this, I promise.”

 

To her surprise, he seemed to snicker under his breath. “My job,” she heard, low, as if he didn’t realize he was saying it.

 

“Just start the truck, Willie, and I promise you, I will talk to Mr. Collins until he understands.”

 

With one last, heated blue glance at her, Willie started the truck. Shifted it into gear, and pulled out of the driveway. She could see that he didn’t believe her, or maybe it was just the long shadows that were reaching over the trees as sunset came. Whatever the reason, his expression was dark, and his eyes, two voids in his face.

 

The air was dark around them by the time they pulled into the port-cochiere alongside the Old House. She wasn’t surprised that they’d come directly there, though she heard the rustle of Willie’s jacket as he turned to face her. Silent for a moment after he turned off the engine, the wind from the sea rising up to stroke the glass with damp fingers.

 

“You said you’d—” he began, and then stopped and she heard an almost silent swallow.

 

“I will,” she said, gathering up her purse, tightening her coat around her. “He’ll understand, you’ll see.”

 

Willie got out and circled the truck in the darkness, and she made herself wait for him to open the door. She was, of course, perfectly capable of opening her own door, but in the mood Willie seemed to be in, watching his own manners with a strictness far beyond reason, she had a feeling he would have insisted on it had she tried it. And being as tense as he was, she didn’t have the heart to upset him further.

 

“Thank you, Willie,” she said, slipping out of the truck to walk up the side steps and circle the broad, long porch to the front door. She had a feeling that this was front door business, never mind the fact that Barnabas had been quite distraught the one time he’d found she’d come in through the kitchen door.

 

Willie was right behind her, his steps hurried and short. His hand was on the handle of the door the second before hers, and she pulled her hand back. He pushed open the door and stood away, allowing her to pass ahead of him, into the dim, candlelit foyer, the tall shape of Barnabas’ coat on the coat rack giving evidence to the fact that he was home. The air of the Old House smelt of wax and damp and a slow stillness that never seemed to quicken with life, no matter how many people were under its roof. More candles stood on the half-moon table in the hall, flecked with shadows of the fire from the front room. Where Barnabas stood, as she circled around the pillar to stand right at the edge of the carpet. He’d not seen her yet, just as he turned, his eyes only saw Willie, and she glanced back, but could only see the shimmer of candlelight on the side of Willie’s face.

 

Then Barnabas’ expression lightened. “Miss Winters, what a lovely surprise.” He walked toward her, his hands reaching out to take hers, to draw her close to the fire. “Your car is in order, I trust? Here, let me take your coat, you look chilled.”

 

She let him take her coat off, and handed her purse to him as well. These he handed to Willie, who disappeared into the darkness of the foyer to hang them up, while Barnabas took her arm and led her to the red wingbacked chair that was closest to the fire.

 

“Brandy or sherry?” he asked, his face calm and smooth with the assumption that, surely, she’d be taking some refreshment.

 

“Sherry, I think,” she said, feeling the pulse of the flames soak into her. She’d not realized how cold the early evening had gotten, not until this moment, in this chair, while a gentleman in a dark suit and tie handed her a small glass of sherry with as much ceremony as he would have served a queen. She felt the smile form as she took a sip. Sure that it was excellent sherry, though she’d never tasted it before she’d come to Collinwood and had nothing to compare it with.

 

Barnabas sat across from her, with a glass of his own that he set on the little table beside him. The light of the flames along one side of his face made him seem mellow and welcoming. She had to work hard, for a moment, to remember her promise to Willie.

 

“So, do tell me about your car, Miss Winters. I know so little about them, but I trust Willie’s instincts on the matter entirely.”

 

She had to dip her head. He would doubt Willie’s instincts the moment she spoke; she had to be careful and preserve the job that Willie cared so much about.

 

“I trust him as well, Mr. Collins, as you know, he saved me quite a cold walk just last week.”

 

“Yes, I do recall…” His voice faded as his eyes darkened. So concerned he was that something might have happened to her, she could see it in his face.

 

“But the garage,” she began, bravely soldiering on, “I’m afraid they aren’t very organized, for you see—”

 

“Not organized?” His voice rose. “Whatever do you mean? Is your car not ready?”

 

Pausing, she looked at him fully, “Well, no, but Willie—”

 

“Willie!”

 

There was a sound in the hall and Willie was instantly there, white. Stiff, his jaw locked and his eyes on the floor. Hair falling over his forehead. And the pulse of his heartbeat, even in the shadows of the candlelight, she could see the quiver of his throat as he breathed, jaggedly, in and out.

 

“You will explain this instant why Miss Winter’s car is not ready,” said Barnabas

 

She watched Willie wipe an open palm along one thigh, slowly, could almost see his mind work to come up with an explanation. He opened his mouth. Took in a breath.

 

But Barnabas spoke first. “I instructed you to arrange it so that Miss Winters would not be inconvenienced by the necessary work, and yet here I find her without the use of her car. Would you care to explain that to me?”

 

Barnabas’ tone was stern and hard, and she supposed that this was what Willie had been afraid of. The disapproval of his boss, loss of his job, the—

 

“I took her to the garage, like you said, an’ told ‘em what do to the car. They said they’d have it done, an’ then—”

 

“And then the car is not finished, is that correct?” Barnabas stood up now, taking a pace forward, seeming to forget that she was sitting there, chilled as his form came between her and the heat of the fire. She looked up. He was angry, that much was certain. And Willie, about to speak, wanting to say something. She made herself stand up too.

 

“Willie,” said Barnabas, the warning in his tone.

 

“Mr. Collins,” she said.

 

“I—”began Willie.

 

“Barnabas,” she said, quite loud now.

 

Barnabas stopped. Turned his head to look at her, brows drawing together as if he were quite surprised that she were even in the room, let alone in the possession of the temerity to speak. It was not how she usually felt around him, and she had to pause for a second before she could think of what to say.

 

“It is not Willie’s fault,” she said, using the voice she used when trying to explain something to a drunk Roger Collins, when he would insist on giving his governess advice at ten minutes after midnight. “Willie gave the garage strict instructions about what was to be done, and what time it was to be done by. When we went by at five, they confessed that they had underestimated the parts they would need.”

“Parts?”

 

“An alternator and a fan belt, I believe. They did not have them in stock. Now. If the garage was unaware that they didn’t have those parts, how on earth do you expect Willie to know it?”

 

“I expect that he would take a shopkeeper in hand and make the man keep his promises.” He faced her now, glowering, and he seemed too disgruntled over her loss of a car for one more day for her to believe that he was angry with her. Having made a promise to a lady, he was honor bound to keep it. That was the problem.

 

She reached out her hand and placed it on Barnabas’ arm. Felt him relax beneath her touch. “Mr. Collins, I appreciate your concern on my behalf, but really, you can’t be angry with Willie. He took good care of me in that garage, but if the parts aren’t there, the parts aren’t there. The garage is newly opened, after all, and they can hardly be expected to have everything in order.” She tilted her head at him and smiled. “Can they?”

“A garage barely opened, Willie? What do you have to say about that?” Barnabas snapped out the question to his servant without taking his eyes off her.

 

There was a pause. “Best in town,” Willie said, finally. “That garage used ta be in Bangor, they moved here. The best, you said. They’re the best.”

 

She glanced at Willie. He was perfectly still, all in the light now, the flicker of flame glinting in his eyes. He was still scared, she could tell, but there was hope there now. Hope that she could help him. Well, he helped her, she would return the favor.

 

“Really, Mr. Collins, it’s beyond Willie’s control. And that garage, you could tell they were fixing it up nice, and all the men were working hard, I know they will take good care of my car.”

 

Finally she saw Barnabas’ shoulders loosen. “But how can I make it up to you? I promised you your car would be ready and it is not.”

 

“You can promise me that Willie won’t be held responsible for it,” she said, looking right at him.

 

A frown. Small. Pressed away by the charm of his smile. “Of course, my dear. Anything, anything at all. But what will you do without your car tomorrow?” He drew her to sit down again, sitting across from her, leaving Willie, still and silent, standing just outside the entryway to the front room.

 

“Tomorrow.” She had forgotten. A doctor’s appointment, made three months in advance, in Bangor. She’d have to take the train.

 

“You have somewhere to go,” he said, sounding certain he was right.

 

“Yes,” she admitted, letting herself sink back in the chair, though she was conscious of Willie standing there, watching, as if he knew the conversation wasn’t entirely finished. “I have a doctor’s appointment at 10 o’clock. Made a while ago, it’s a busy office.”

 

“A doctor? Are you ill?”

 

She looked at him and smiled. Ever concerned for her, he was leaning forward now, one hand about to extend. To hold her hand, she knew. To comfort her if she was frightened.

 

“No,” she said, not allowing herself to laugh. Not even a little bit. “It’s just a checkup. My annual checkup. And tomorrow’s the perfect day for it, Mr. Collins took Carolyn and David with him to Boston. I have the whole day off.”

 

“Why don’t you take Cousin Roger’s car, then?” he suggested. “I’m sure he won’t begrudge you the use of it, and I know Cousin Elizabeth never drives it.”

 

“I can’t drive a stick shift and that’s what the Jaguar has,” she said. “I only know how to drive an automatic.

 

For a second she watched him mull it over, and knew, a second before he said it, what the offer would be. “Then Willie shall drive you. Not in the truck, Bangor is too far for you to have to go in that conveyance without necessity. He shall drive you in the Jaguar. And bring you home in time to pick up your own vehicle.”

 

Another day spent with Willie Loomis. Last year she would have found the idea disgusting, even scary. Yet, now, she knew how it might be, with Willie always on the lookout for her safety and her comfort, always attentive, yet never ever bold. Easy to talk to, shy, mostly, until you got some coffee into him. Even then, still gentle, soft-spoken. At least away from the Old House. She probably wouldn’t be able to get two words out of him right about now.

 

“You will let me make it up to you, Miss Winters, in this way, otherwise I will feel I have used you ill. Willie shall drive you to your appointment, and I shall be satisfied that I have not inconvenienced you by my lack of knowledge about the local garages.”

 

She looked up. Past the fire and past Mr. Collins, who was lingering on her every word. Into the shadows and stillness of the hallway, where stood a young man who would rather cut off his own hand then feel that he had used her ill. Who was, as she knew, as polite and courteous, in his way, as Barnabas was.

 

“Will that be alright with you, Willie?” she asked. “I’d hate to trouble you again.”

 

A small pause with no one saying anything, Willie not moving a muscle, and she decided that now was the time to drive Barnabas’ promise home. “This will, of course, completely make up for the fact that my car is not ready today.” To Barnabas she spoke now, seeing as it was he who felt responsible, in the end. “As you will be freeing Willie up to take me to and from Bangor, you are inconveniencing yourself, you realize. And, as usual, doing far, far too much to make up for the fact that the garage,” she emphasized the word, “did not have my car done.”

 

The sweet, sweet man. Positively glowing that he could help her out in this way, to move events in her world that, however astray they might have gone, he had the power to fix. She smiled at him, and raised her glass of sherry. “Thank you, Mr. Collins, for always taking such good care of me. I don’t think I’ve ever ridden in a Jaguar before.”

 

“But of course,” he shrugged, as if dismissing his own generosity. “If this is something I can arrange for you, then it is time you had a chance to experience it.” He tipped his glass to her in return. Then, sharply, to the side, he said, “Willie, you may go. I will not need you any more this evening.”

 

Willie slipped away, into the darkness of the hall and she thought she heard his steps heading for the kitchen, where surely he would be preparing his dinner, much delayed by her.

 

“I can’t stay long, you realize,” she told him, sipping the sherry, feeling the small flames, comforting and slow, make their way down along her insides. “I didn’t get as much paperwork done as I should have, given David’s absence.”

 

He smiled. “Then after we drink our sherry, I shall walk you home. But tell me, what wickedness were you up to on such a glorious autumn day, Miss Winters?”

 

She could tell he was only teasing, tilting his head back, watching her remember. Soaking it up, as if he’d been long away from her, instead of having seen her just last night.

 

“I went for a walk,” she told him. “And the sky was a glorious blue.”

 

“Was it, my dear.” He was not asking, only confirming, as if her discovery was already known to him. Which it would have to be. But it was as if he were enjoying something of a secret between them. As if the sky being blue were known only to them.

 

“I had wanted Willie to take me for a walk when he drove me home, but he said he couldn’t stop.”

 

“Couldn’t stop?”

 

“Yes, there were these woods on the way home. Most of the trees had escaped the blizzard, and all those leaves, well, you know how it is.”

 

“Nothing like a New England autumn, is that it?” His voice pronounced this as if he’d discovered it for her. Pride, or something like it, shining in his eyes. “And Willie refused you this?”

 

“Well, he had to, I’m sure.” She ducked her head, thinking for a moment about how shaken up he’d been at the suggestion, let alone having to say no. She decided to leave that part out, and tried to smooth things over. “I wanted to walk through that little valley you cross through after the bridge as you come up the hill out of town, you know the one?”

 

He nodded. Of course he knew. Must have passed over that bridge a hundred times or more.

 

“It is usually so windy by the river there, I’m sure Willie felt it would be too chilly for me. I hadn’t exactly worn my thickest coat.”

 

Something settled Barnabas’ shoulders, and he leaned back in his chair. “It was right, then, for Willie to refuse you. We cannot have the Collins family’s favorite governess catching a cold.”

 

As if to prove a point, a gust of wind whisked down the chimney, sending a small puff of smoke over the edges of the hearth.

 

“Listen to that,” she said, holding her hands in a circle around her sherry glass. “Winter comes so early to Maine.”

 

“Indeed,” he replied. Then, “I should see you safely home before the night settles in too hard.”

 

She tipped back the last of her sherry, feeling it reach with warm, velvet fingers into her stomach. When Roger Collins drank, he totted back a shot and then poured himself another before even seeming to taste the first one.. When Barnabas Collins drank, it was as if he were only enjoying the thought of the sherry. The amount in his glass looked hardly touched at all as she rose and placed her glass next to it.

 

“You spoil me,” she said, almost under her breath. Embarrassed as soon as she said it, not having meant to say it aloud. “I beg your pardon—”

 

“No need, my dear. You deserve spoiling.”

 

He rose beside her, taking her two hands in his. Standing close, his hands cool, his face coming towards hers as if he meant to kiss her. Which of course, he would not do, not Barnabas, he would never presume—Instead he brought both of her hands to his lips and kissed them. One soft, velvet kiss on the back of each hand, his breath lingering on her skin like a winter breeze, her shoulders catching on the shiver that raced up her back. Then he lifted his eyes to hers.

 

“Let me walk you home.”

 

Home was through the cold and the night and the woods and there was nothing she wanted more to do at that moment than to stay at his side, by the fire, under the slate roof of the Old House. But he was walking her to the foyer, lifting her coat down from the coat rack, sliding it on her arms, all the while his eyes on her, his dark flickering eyes, the shine of his hair in the candlelight, and just for a moment, her soul stood still.

 

I will stay, I will stay, I will stay.

 

But then his bootheel clicked on the stone floor, and he turned away to gather his own coat, and she found herself shaking. Dipped her head, and closed her eyes, just for a moment to take a breath.

 

“Shall we go, my dear?” asked Barnabas, pulling open the front door.

 

“Yes, yes, of course,” she replied, stepping out ahead of him across the threshold. The cold air woke her up at once, dousing all that remained of the sherry in her head. Barnabas took her hand to help her down the stairs, and then, instead of letting go, boldly linked her arm through his, and stepped onto the flagstone path that led from the driveway into the woods. It only went about fifty feet or so, as if someone had once started the project and then abandoned it for something better. She knew the second it ended as her feet hit the frozen ground.

 

“Cold and colder still,” said Barnabas in the icy dark. As if he were reciting something from story or a poem he had read.

 

“Right to the bone,” she said, to agree. Not that anything was making much sense at that moment. “And Mr. Collins,” she began. Waited for their pace to settle into a rhythm and tried again.

 

“Mr. Collins, I do want to thank you again for letting Willie help me. I know that he has a lot of work to do for you, and yet you—”

 

“Think nothing of it, my dear Miss Winters. Willie is as happy to assist you as I am to allow it.”

 

“But—”

 

“I will not hear of you having any concern over this matter.” His voice was stern, but as she glanced over at him, she saw only his affection. And the glitter in his dark eyes. But reflected from where? There was no moon.

 

“There is one thing, Miss Winters, that you could do for me.”

 

“If I can,” she said, “how can I help?”

 

“It is about Willie,” he began, and then stopped. Seemed to consider his words as they walked the path in the woods in the darkness, and then he began again. “While you are on your sojourn with him tomorrow, I think you should be aware that Willie considers himself one of your suitors.”

 

“Willie? But he—” It was impossible. Since their trip to Bangor and their blizzard-enforced stay at a motel there, he’d barely spoken two words to her without necessity. When he’d seen her in town, or at the Great House, his only communication had been a nod or even just a glance. Never more than that. And when she’d gone to the Old House to say hello, he’d turned her away very coldly. How could that possibly be equated with courtship?

 

“I know it’s hard to believe, but Willie can have a very pliable heart where women are concerned. And since your extended visit with him during that blizzard, well, I’m under the impression that he not only considers himself your suitor but also your protector.”

 

 

“I hardly think—”

 

The trees thickened around them, some bare branched, others thick with evergreen, dusted with frost and smelling damp and cold. She felt Barnabas’ hand tighten on her arm. “Surely you do not doubt me, Miss Winters, for who knows Willie Loomis better than I?”

 

She could hardly think he meant it, yet, it appeared that he believed what he was saying. Expected her to believe it too. Without question or discussion.

 

“What do you want me to do about it?” she asked.

 

They were nearing the Great House, which rose above them as they climbed the path that cut through the hedge and the lawn. Mrs. Stoddard forever despaired of feet cutting through the sod, and had dismissed Roger’s suggestion to lay it down with flagstone and make it a proper path of it. No, Mrs. Stoddard had claimed, that would ruin the curve of grass across the slope of the hill. Was ruined anyway, Roger usually retaliated. An old, old argument that stumbled around behind Barnabas Collins’ strange request.

 

He almost laughed at her. She could hear it in his voice. “Oh, nothing devious, I assure you. I just wanted you to be aware, and wary, and, if he should make his advances, you should, of course, turn him away, and let me know about it. Behavior like that is not to be encouraged.”

 

Turning away any advance of Willie’s was something she would have done in any case, but the request from such a gentleman, to assume she would have done anything else, was irksome.

 

The bright, burning lights over the front door lit the small port-cochiere as they stood there. “Will you come in?” she asked, out of politeness, even as a small part of her steamed.

 

“No, my dear,” he said, letting her hands go, finally, with a pat. “I must get back. Paperwork awaits me, as well.”

 

She nodded and smiled and slipped her hands into her pockets, in case he wanted to kiss them again. It was one thing to be courted by such a kind and intelligent man. It was another thing to be told that she could not accept another man’s advances. Why, knowing how she felt about Willie, as he surely did, would he even be worried that she would reciprocate? And why would he even imagine that Willie was interested in her in that way?

 

Victoria gave him a wave as she walked into the foyer of the Great House and closed the door behind her. The house was silent, as it usually was, with lights blazing that did nothing to tame the dark, and a fire lit in the Front Room that no one was enjoying. She had never yet seen a bill or heard anyone discussing the expense, though perhaps she never would. The Collins family, moneyed or no, was not one to talk about what they considered their private business. And to them, it seemed, money was very private.

 

She made herself a sandwich in the kitchen, using chicken salad leftover from the day before, and then cleaned up after herself. The quietness of the house as she walked up the stairs to her room was almost deafening. A house like Collinwood, she always had thought, should be filled with people. Family, come to visit, some to stay, and conversation over cups of tea, or coffee, as the Collins’ preferred. It should not be as still as a windless night or as silent as the same. It always seemed to her that the soul of the house had run off years before, slunk off in the night for want of care. A good dinner party would have set everything to rights, or at least set the house on the right road, but it was not to be. Elizabeth and Roger both did not like guests, David tormented every delivery boy to knock at the door, and Carolyn was simply unwilling to wait within the stone walls long enough to let her brightness sink in.

 

And that was the way it was. Nothing to be done, not by her. Not in this lifetime.

 

Barnabas Collins was no different, in a way. For all his early talk about starting his own shipyard, she’d yet to see any place in town with his name on it. He had plenty of money, from the amounts he was sinking into the Old House, that much was obvious. There was mention of business opportunities he was taking advantage of, high stakes on the stock markets, exchange of antiques, importing foreign goods. No one seemed to know for sure, besides which, it was entirely improper for a young lady, especially one employed by his family, to inquire after a man’s business prospects. Even though she had wanted for ages to ask him how he kept it all straight. He had no bookkeeper, Roger had told her once, no secretary, no accountant. Just Willie, working his fingers to the proverbial bone and as loyal to Barnabas as a hound dog.

 

She got to her room and locked the door behind her, as she had been doing since Maggie Evans had disappeared. Then she checked the locks on the window. Not that it would make much difference, from what she had gleaned in town, the monster who had stolen Maggie had been able to bend the bars on the hospital windows. Her paltry locks and bolts would be like tissue to the monster. Still, it felt better to try than to not.

 

She dressed in her favorite flannel nightgown, washed her face and brushed her teeth. Then sat down on the edge of her bed and brushed her hair. At the Foundling Home sitting on beds was forbidden. You slept on them or made them up or stripped them. You could never sit on them, such wear and tear was discouraged, the cost of a new mattress thrown at them as the reason why. To do this now, with all the lights in her room blazing, seemed sinful and luxurious. She could have sat in the wingbacked chair in front of the fireplace, but without a fire there, it seemed lonely, like a walk in bad weather.

 

This thought turned her mind to Willie Loomis. He’d refused her request for a walk, and after refusing her assistance with Barnabas Collins so many times in the past, had finally accepted her help in explaining the situation.

 

He’s like me. He’d prefer to do things on his own.

 

Independent for all his loyalty to Barnabas. She could respect that, even if she would never consider him as a suitor. What puzzled her was why Barnabas would. It was really laughable, and had Barnabas been around during Willie’s early days at Collinwood, he would find out how much so. A terror, Willie had been. A holy terror, like a schoolyard bully gone unchecked for ever and ever. You had to walk through the schoolyard, you couldn’t avoid him. And when he caught you? It was always worse than you thought it could be. She would never forget him breathing on her, stroking her hair. Looking at her with that crazy intensity. Shimmering with wanting her, letting his desire be known.

 

She’d never pitied him in those days, not even after he’d become sick. He’d gone on and on about being remorseful and had even seemed to feel bad about having been, as he put it, such a louse. She had almost believed that he’d deserved whatever illness he’d contracted. If anyone did, he did.

 

In the end, it had been Barnabas Collins who had changed him. The story was still being told in the village, in the grocery store, at the post office. If ever Willie Loomis happened to drive or walk by, the talk would start up, and refrains of remember when, and can you believe it would echo around her. She had thought the story would grow old, but it seemed to increase in energy as the months went by. She made a point now, of not lingering in the village when that sort of talk began.

 

Because, even if the story was true, which it was, the fact that he had really and truly turned over a new leaf never seemed to matter. It was of no consequence that Willie Loomis was not only trusted with the Collins family millions, all of Barnabas Collins’ entire estate, he was also trusted to pick up the eldest heir from the airport. Not to mention rescue the family governess. Maybe they didn’t know. Maybe they wouldn’t care, even if they did know. Either way, she wasn’t going to be the one to tell them. The Collins family liked to keep its secrets, and how Willie Loomis got his wings clipped by the cousin from England was one of them.

 

Putting her hairbrush away, she pulled back the covers and got into the bed, sighing with relief as she let the blankets settle over her. Giggling with a sleepy sigh over the thought of Willie Loomis being her protector and suitor.

 

Imagine that.

 

But of course, it was true. In a way. Since the days of Barnabas’ coming, he’d been nothing but careful with her. All his actions, his words, she was treated like Dresden china in his hands. Not that he ever touched her, never even so much as the edge of his shirt came near her. He was all careful distance and manners. Exactly what she would have wished for in the early days. This, which had given way to an expectation of a more friendly relationship with him, like she would have with a school chum. Or a working peer. For they both worked, steady jobs without much income. He was really the only person she associated with who worked. Everyone else seemed to be soaking up the Collins fortune with nary a thought. And Willie, now working for the richest of them all, was almost as aloof as his boss.

 

Until the day he’d rescued her. And a rescue it had been. She a damsel in distress, and Willie in his white truck, like a knight of old. Through a snowstorm he’d come and saved her from a missing oil pan bolt, and hang what his original errand had been. Something for Barnabas, she recalled, that dresser he’d had to pick up. His concern for it had gone into the blinding snow. He’d waited with her, waited for her, said kind and comforting things about Burke, and he’d taken care of the car, the situation, and her, all the way up to the door of her room at the Bangor Motel.

Stopping by Woods - Part 3