Wild Man Creek (Virgin River #14)(11)

Jillian looked down, and sure enough, saw a great big backyard almost completely taken up with the garden, along with a thick copse of trees that included a few tall pines, but also spruce, hemlock, maple and cedar. There were also lots of thick bushes and ferns. This long, thick copse of forest separated the backyard from another large meadow that could be easily transformed into a second huge garden, but there was no visible way to get to it except through the trees. There didn’t seem to be a path or road.

“How do you get back there?” Jill asked Jack, pointing. “To that big meadow behind the trees?”

“Drive all the way around,” he said. “Through town, past farms and vineyards. Hope gave up that second garden and let trees and brush grow over the access drive. Those trees are likely thirty years old and fully grown. I imagine she planned to sell that back meadow off, but either didn’t get around to it or had no takers.”

“This is amazing. This house should be an inn. Or maybe a commune. Or a house for a very large family. And one little old lady lived here all alone.”

“For fifty years,” Jack said. “Percival married himself a sixteen-year-old girl when he was near fifty. I bet he was hoping for a big family.”

“I wonder if they were in love,” Jillian idly commented as they headed downstairs.

“As far as I can tell they were together till he died, but no one knows much about them—at least about their personal lives. No one around here remembers Percival McCrea and there’s no question, he pretty well founded the town. He was the original landowner here and if he hadn’t left everything to his widow, and she hadn’t doled it out to friends and neighbors, there wouldn’t be a Virgin River.”

Something seemed odd about the house and Jillian wasn’t sure what it was until they arrived in the spacious kitchen. She noticed that not only were there no appliances, there weren’t any plumbing fixtures! She gasped suddenly and said, “You don’t leave the place unlocked because it’s so safe around here, but because there’s nothing in here to steal!”

Paul shrugged. “I didn’t want a door kicked in or window broken so someone could look around for something to steal. Unless they can figure out a way to get that claw-foot tub down the stairs, there isn’t anything to take. I guess they could steal the doorknobs, but that’s a real enterprising thief. I have a better front door with a leaded glass window stored in my garage for once the place is inhabited. Leaded glass is expensive. I have all the plumbing fixtures to install later. It is pretty safe around here, though. I mean, I never lock my door but Valenzuela, our town cop, says there’s the odd crime here and there and a person with a brain would just lock the damn door.”

Jillian just turned around and around in the great big kitchen while the guys talked. In addition to a lot of cupboard space and countertop, there was room for a double subzero fridge and an industrial-size stove top, two double ovens, a couple of dishwashers….

“And I love this,” Paul said, pulling open a couple of bottom drawers in the work island. “My idea. Extra refrigeration, probably useful for fresh produce or marinating meat. On the other side—warming trays.”

At the nonworking end of the kitchen was a very large dining area, large enough for a long table that would seat twelve. Over by the back door was a large brick hearth. The entire back wall was all windows that looked out onto the porch and the yard beyond. Below the windows were built-in drawers and cupboards. On one side of the dining area was a beautiful built-in desktop.

Continuing the tour, Paul said, “We’ve got one small bedroom here and we added a small bath, which was easy to do since we had access to the kitchen plumbing. I think this was set up to be the maid’s quarters. But near as we could tell, Hope lived in this small area of the kitchen for at least the last several years. It’s where she kept a big recliner, her filing cabinets, her TV and computer. Furnace works just fine, but I think she kept warm in front of the fire and, as we know, she chopped her own wood. If I owned the house, I’d trade that wood fireplace in for a gas—”

“Not me,” Jack said. “I like the smell of the wood. I like to chop wood.”

“Wood fires are hard on the chimney and interior walls, and sparks aren’t healthy in dry forests,” Paul argued.

Jillian barely heard them. She was looking out the window into the backyard. For about three hours yesterday she had been transported. She might’ve cried as she dug in the garden, but it had been the first time since leaving San Jose that she’d truly felt like herself. She was at home in that dirt! She could imagine living in the kitchen! It seemed like a great place to live with all those windows looking out onto the garden. She’d be happy sleeping in a recliner.

Her nana had spent many a night sleeping upright. She’d fall asleep with a book in her lap and sometimes she wouldn’t even bother going up to bed. Then of course there was Jillian’s mom—there were times Nana stayed downstairs all night because she needed tending.

I should remember my early years as traumatic, difficult, Jill thought. Why don’t I? Why doesn’t Kelly?

“Jillian, look,” Paul said. He put a hand on her shoulder and pointed out the window. Right at the tree line, a doe and fawn picked their way cautiously into the yard. “Whoa, that guy’s brand-new—he can hardly stand up!”