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“Bird’s-eye maple, rare and special,” he went on, reaching out to take her hand. He held it so tightly it almost hurt, but she was glad to be of help. “No two trees of that are alike. See the oval-shaped eye pattern? It’s valued not just for furniture but for crafting guitars and other musical instruments. Bird’s-eye can occur in a variety of maples and you can ID it because of the kind of Coke-bottle shapes on the bark, see?” he said, pointing low where the base of the trunk still clung to the ground.
She bent down then stooped as he did. She felt her stocking run up the back of her leg, but she’d probably snagged it on something. And what did that matter next to the loss of this beautiful living being, one that Grant had loved?
“How valuable?” she asked, thinking what treasures might be buried in that mound a mere twenty feet away.
“Going price right now if I had it at the mill—which I never would have, not this one—about $70,000 per thousand-board feet.”
He sighed and sank onto the trunk as if it was the perfect seat out here. It seemed quite smooth-cut to Kate, but then, what did she know about it?
“Don’t snag your dress,” he said and pulled her to half lean, half sit against his knee. “Brad’s taking his time at the mill, but Jace should be back soon, unless he found a trail to follow. I—I just can’t leave here right now. This was our special tree.... The tree house and so many great memories right in this spot....”
Kate sensed he was going to say something more, maybe something about the mound. His eyes glazed with tears again, but he blinked them back. She figured he did not realize she’d already seen him cry. She wanted so much to hug him, to comfort him, but she put her arm around his shoulders as if to steady herself.
He might not believe it, but she really did feel his agony. She knew the impact on him must hurt the way it would if she could enter that mound and found it completely defaced and emptied. Thank God the brunt of the massive fallen tree had not crushed the top of the mound. She’d known other mounds to cave in, but the top of this one looked rounded and intact.
They stood as Jace came tramping back through the forest yet again.
“A pretty clean, fast job, Grant,” he called out as he approached them.
“A personal attack,” Grant said, “so I’m taking it that way.”
As the two men walked the site together again and darkness fell completely, Kate, despite her good dress, walked around the edge of the mound then sat down on the slant of ground. She tried to be careful but snagged the hem of her skirt on a spiny hawthorn branch of one of the several trees. It was hard to tell, but they looked diseased, dying, and that couldn’t have been caused by being crushed a few hours ago.
Grant had suggested she go back to the house and he’d soon drive her home, but, like him, she stayed in the darkness lit only by Deputy Miller’s moving flashlight beam. It threw strange shadows, seemed to leap and dance. She, too, was mourning, listening to the men’s footsteps shuffling past the wooden tombstone of the tree. But she was thinking of the footfalls of ancient, grieving men and women who perhaps had passed this way to bury their precious dead with sacrificial grave offerings in this dark mound.
It was a perfect day for a wedding, Kate thought. Surely nothing else could go wrong. Losing her temper at Bright Star Monson, her father’s appearance after all these years and then the theft of Grant’s tree had thrown a pall over her mood. Yet today the stunning setting with the waterfall and surrounding forest helped. But did each big, beautiful tree remind Grant of his loss?
The artist, Paul Kettering, and Brad Mason served as ushers, seating everyone before the wedding party walked out from the lodge. Brad, whom Kate had met last night when he finally returned home, resembled Grant but seemed much more edgy, even bitter. Todd McCollum, Gabe and Grant’s friend and the lumber-mill foreman, was also in the wedding party, partnering Char.
To a single violin playing “Wedding March,” Kate started down the grassy aisle behind the flower girl and Char and ahead of Tess and their father. Standing with the pastor, the men in the wedding party waited before the small altar with its cross and big bouquet of yellow calla lilies. Kate saw Gabe looked nervous; when she got close to the front of the four rows of portable chairs with white covers, Grant winked at her.
It was crazy to feel that wink and look from him down to her toes. He had stopped ranting about the loss of his tree and the insult or threat he felt was meant for him, but she knew he still harbored deep anger. Yet he was determined to help make the day special for Gabe and Tess.
Kate held her own single calla lily and Tess’s bouquet while she and Gabe recited the vows they had written and exchanged rings. The old words to honor and cherish were still there. Kate had just learned this morning from Tess that Grant had been married and divorced. What could have happened? Who would not want to stay married to Grant Mason?
Wait! she told herself. She didn’t really know the man, though Carson’s suggestion that she get close to Grant only in a businesslike, controlled way seemed crazy, maybe impossible. Getting closer to Grant...wouldn’t that be an all-or-nothing proposition? She saw him as so much more than just a way to get to that Adena mound on his property.
“I now pronounce you man and wife,” Pastor Snell said in a voice loud enough to be heard over the roar of the falls. “Family and friends, I have the honor of introducing to you Mr. and Mrs. Gabriel McCord.”
There was a big kiss by the bridal couple. Applause, tears and smiles, a quick procession from the front to the back, where the wedding party formed a reception line before the guests meandered toward the lodge where the wedding lunch would be held. Kate froze when Dad hugged her. She just couldn’t hug him back.
* * *
The lunch was lovely, with numerous champagne toasts. Grant gave a short speech in honor of the new couple, hoping they would always support each other through the best and worst in life. Dad gave a toast about loyalty and forgiving each other in hard times. Recalling how their mother had sobbed for days when he left, Kate stepped out for a breath of air on the wide, covered lodge porch, which wrapped around the log building on three sides.
The front section was deserted, but she heard men’s voices raised nearby, around the corner away from the waterfall. “I don’t care about a bunch of old boyhood oaths at this point!” one man said. “I swear I’m going to do it!”
“Keep your voice down. You’ll open up a whole can of worms if you try that. You’ll ruin everything. I can only loan you a little, but just shut up about that or else! Now let’s get back inside, or we’ll have Brad or Grant out here looking for us.”
“But Nadine’s going to need some long-term medical treatment. We knew we needed insurance, but we were both healthy, and we cut corners. But she’s been diagnosed with Parkinson’s disease, and that will mean a lot of bills.”
Kate knew that voice. It was the sculptor, Paul Kettering. That touch of Southern twang in the other voice sounded like Grant’s friend Todd. She didn’t want them to know she’d overheard them, so she moved down the front veranda and turned the corner so they wouldn’t see her.
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