Going Home Read online

  Shy, she stared at the man who seemed so familiar to her.

  Kenton nudged Lettie.

  Minding her manners, Lettie held out her hand as she’d been taught. “Lettie Hawkins. I’ve come for a job.” A niggling feeling kept her eyes on him longer than necessary. When she could no longer stop herself, she blurted, “Aren’t you Rex Chandler, the movie star?”

  He smiled kindly. “Yes, I am. But I’ve changed professions.”

  Lettie held back a chuckle of delight. A friend’s mother had privately adored him.

  “Why don’t the two of you come into the kitchen,” said Rex. “Mrs. Morley will want to talk to Lettie, and I need to talk to you, Kenton.”

  As Lettie followed the men into the kitchen, a woman hurried toward them, crying, “Kenton! Kenton! You’re home at last!”

  Laughing, Kenton allowed the woman to hug him. “You’d think I’ve been gone a year, Mrs. Morley.”

  “You almost were,” she said, smiling and pinching his cheek. “And look at you! More handsome than ever.”

  Looking as if he couldn’t wait for her to focus her attention elsewhere, Kenton said, “Mrs. Morley, I’d like you to meet Lettie Hawkins. She’s here for a job.”

  Mrs. Morley’s gaze settled on Lettie. “So, you like to work?”

  “She likes to eat,” said Kenton, bringing a smile to Mrs. Morley’s full face.

  “By the looks of it, Lettie, you could use more food,” said Mrs. Morley. “Let’s you and I talk about what kind of jobs you could do around here. I’m short-handed at the moment.”

  Kenton and Rex left the kitchen.

  Mrs. Morley waved Lettie over to a desk in a small alcove in the kitchen. After lowering her considerable bulk into a chair, Mrs. Morley faced her. Her green eyes exuded kindness as she studied Lettie. Her gray-streaked brown hair was pulled back from her face and banded together in a ponytail, giving Lettie a good look at her pleasing features.

  “Have a seat, dear.”

  Lettie sat in the chair indicated for her and clutched her hands. After seeing the small inn and the beautiful countryside, she desperately wanted the job.

  “Where are you from, Lettie? And why in the world do you want to work here in the country? I’d think a pretty, young girl like you would want to be in a city having fun.”

  Lettie paused, unsure how to answer her. She’d thought she’d like living in the city, being free to do whatever she wanted. But after four months of doing just that, the excitement had worn off. She liked to know where she was going to sleep at night and when she’d next eat.

  “Maybe I’m just a country girl at heart,” she answered lamely. Her two best friends at home would scoff at her, but right now, that’s how she felt.

  “Well, that’s what you’ll be if you stay on. A lot of activity is taking place around here, what with people buying up turkey farms and the like, turning them into vineyards, but it is country. I hope it always will be.” She leaned forward. “Know anything about cooking? Cleaning?”

  “Yes,” said Lettie. “I used to do both in my foster home. I was the oldest of eight kids there.”

  “Eight? My land, that’s a lot of kids to take in,” said Mrs. Morley.

  “It’s a lot of money,” Lettie said, unable to hide her disgust. “That’s why they did it.”

  “I see,” said Mrs. Morley, studying her. “So how long have you been on your own?”

  “Four months,” she replied. “I was in San Francisco when I met Kenton.”

  “Such a good, young man. I’ve known him for a while now,” Mrs. Morley sighed with affection. “You’re lucky he found you. Why don’t we start in housekeeping, see how it goes, and then maybe you can give me a hand in the kitchen.”

  “Okay,” Lettie said, jumping to her feet. “Where should I put my things? I need to get them from the car.”

  Mrs. Morley gave her an approving look. “I like your eagerness. Let me show you to your room and then I’ll give you a tour.”

  The north half of the front of the house consisted of a large, paneled dining room she’d seen earlier. The long mahogany table that sat in the middle of the room held seats for twelve. A summer flower arrangement consisted of pink roses and pink hydrangeas interspersed with white daisies and sat in a cut-glass vase in the middle of the table. Along one wall, above a service counter, an open cupboard made of dark wood stored coffee mugs, extra wine goblets, and water glasses. A coffee maker and a burner holding a pot of hot water sat on the marble counter. A bowl of sugar, a pitcher of cream, and a dish of lemon slices were displayed nearby. At the other end of the counter, a large plate of homemade, chocolate-chip cookies invited guests to take one.

  “How many guests do you usually have?” Lettie asked.

  “We have six guest rooms, so we have as many as twelve people for the breakfast we serve. During the day, people come and go on their own, tasting wine at nearby vineyards or sightseeing. We offer a simple dinner to those not wishing to travel to restaurants at night.” A look of pride crossed Mrs. Morley’s face. “Sometimes my husband, Pat, grills out, or Rita Lopez cooks up Mexican food. Guests like these homestyle meals. In fact, we’re becoming known for them.”

  Lettie’s mouth watered. It all sounded so good.

  Mrs. Morley led her to a sideboard, opened its drawers, and gave her a smile. “Let’s see how well you polish silver.”

  Later, after being shown how, Lettie was working on the silverware when Kenton walked into the kitchen.

  “Well? Are you going to stay?” he asked.

  “Yes,” Lettie said with determination. The whole time she’d been cleaning the silver she’d been able to gaze at the rolling hills outside. This, she’d decided, is where she wanted to be. It felt right.

  CHAPTER TWO

  That night, Lettie lay in bed thinking how lucky she was to have met Kenton. Most of her life, luck had eluded her. Being here made up for it all. Her room on the ground floor behind the kitchen was the nicest one she’d ever had. And it was hers alone.

  The Morleys lived in a house down the hill. Kenton explained to her that if no guests requested dinner, Mrs. Morley left by five o’clock. On nights she cooked dinner, Mrs. Morley left after guests had been served their meal. Depending on the schedule, it would be up to Lettie to fill in where necessary, making sure guests had what they needed for a comfortable night.

  Lettie rolled over onto her side and pulled a blanket closer to her neck, reveling in the clean smell of the sheets, the warmth of the blanket. She’d taken a shower in her private bathroom and now rubbed the blanket’s softness against her skin feeling grateful to be given the chance for a job like this.

  ###

  At the sound of tapping, Lettie awoke with confusion. It took her a moment to realize someone was knocking at her door. She checked her bedside clock. Six thirty.

  Groaning, she got out of bed and went to answer it.

  She cracked open the door and faced Mrs. Morley. “What is it? It’s still dark outside.”

  “Time to get up. We’ve got fresh muffins to make. Hurry now. Our four guests are leaving this morning, and they need breakfast by eight.”

  “Be right there,” said Lettie, closing the door.

  After quickly dressing, she hurried into the kitchen to find Mrs. Morley measuring ingredients into a glass bowl. She looked up and smiled at Lettie.

  “Well, now ... Good morning!”

  Lettie bobbed her head. “Good morning.”

  “Why don’t you go about setting the table? We’ll need six placemats. Rex and Kenton will be joining the guests for breakfast.”

  At the surprised look Lettie gave her, Mrs. Morley continued, “It’s good for the guests to know their host. Brings in more business.”

  “I see,” said Lettie. She’d forgotten that the inn, small as it was, was a way to bring in money.

  In the dining room, she opened a wide drawer in the sideboard and counted out six wine-colored placemats and six matching napkins. She’d done eno
ugh waitressing to know what she needed.

  She placed the mats and napkins in front of the seats at one end of the long table, added the appropriate silverware, moved the flower arrangement closer, and stood back to admire her work.

  Mrs. Morley came up behind her. “Okay, now set juice glasses, water goblets, and coffee cups at each place. Salt and pepper shakers need to be in the middle of the table, along with the butter dish, which is in the kitchen.”

  Lettie hurried to the kitchen to get the butter and bumped into Kenton. “Sorry.”

  He grinned at her. “No problem. Later, when you’re finished your chores, I want to show you the vineyard.”

  “Really? I’d like that.” There was something about the land with its rows of growing vines that gave Lettie a sense of comfort. She knew it was crazy, but it was as if she’d been waiting all her life for the day she could be in this very place.

  Mrs. Morley watched from a corner of the dining room as Lettie brought in food from the kitchen and served it to the guests and the Chandler men. She’d been given instructions to serve from the left and take away from the right. Her hands shook when she poured the first cup of coffee into a mug, but then she felt more at ease. And it was nice to overhear pleasant conversation from people who were far more interesting than the people back home.

  After breakfast, Mr. Morley appeared at the inn to help guests with their luggage. Left with cleanup duty, Lettie cleared the dishes from the dining room and carried the placemats and napkins to the laundry room.

  Mrs. Morley checked on her. “Okay, wipe down the table and then you can do the dishes. It being the middle of the week, we don’t have guests registered for tonight. After you clean the two guest rooms that were used and help straighten the public rooms, you may have some free time to explore. I’ll take care of the family’s private rooms. When we’re really busy, Paloma Sanchez, a young woman about your age, comes in to help us. She’s away with her kids right now visiting relatives in California for the summer and won’t be back until sometime this fall. Her husband is in the military and serving in Vietnam.

  “Oh? I hope he’ll be all right,” said Lettie.

  Mrs. Morley smiled at her. “Keep up the good work. It already feels as if you belong here.”

  Lettie’s heart warmed at the words. So, this is what it feels like to belong.

  After doing the dishes and then cleaning the guest rooms with Mrs. Morley’s approval, Lettie wandered into the library to make sure everything was tidy, and then went to the living room to fluff pillows.

  “Tomorrow,” Mrs. Morley announced, “we’ll give these rooms a proper cleaning. Go now and have some fun!”

  Lettie couldn’t remember ever having someone say that to her. Impulsively, she gave Mrs. Morley a quick hug and left the room before acting like a complete fool and crying.

  Outside, Lettie breathed in the warm June air and studied the trees around the inn. She wasn’t sure what kind they were, but their leaves formed mosaic shadows on the ground below. Some of the bushes near the foundation of the inn were in bloom lending color to the scene. Lettie’s breath caught as a golden butterfly rested on a plant momentarily and then fluttered away.

  Looking for Kenton, Lettie walked toward a barn in the distance. She couldn’t help humming as she crossed the grounds. Country living was suiting her just fine.

  She’d almost reached the barn when Kenton emerged with another young man.

  Kenton waved and called to her.

  Lettie lifted her hand and quickened her steps.

  “Free for a while?” Kenton asked.

  “Yes. Work is done for the day.”

  Her attention veered to the tall, young man standing beside him, and her breath left her in a rush. With his straight black hair, brown eyes, tanned skin, and strong features, he was the most handsome guy she’d ever seen.

  He studied her with an intensity that quickened her pulse. As he continued to gaze at her, emotions ran wild inside her. This person, whoever he was, had reached deep inside her to where she hid her innermost thoughts, making her feel so vulnerable she wanted to run away.

  As if he knew what she was thinking, the pleasant smile that crossed his face reassured her of his kindness.

  “Hey, you two! Stop staring at each other and say hello,” teased Kenton, turning to her. “This is Rafe Lopez. Rafe, this is Violet Hawkins from Ohio. You can call her Lettie. She’s the new girl at the house.”

  “And what do you do?” Lettie asked Rafe, curious to know as much as she could about him.

  “My father is the grape grower. I help him,” Rafe said.

  “In time, we’ll have a winemaker,” said Kenton. “But we’re not quite ready for that yet. C’mon, we’ll show you around.”

  As they walked into the barn, Lettie noticed the limp in Rafe’s left leg. “What happened to you?” Realizing it might seem rude, she felt heat creep into her cheeks.

  “Tractor accident a few years ago,” Rafe said smoothly.

  Kenton turned to her. “He’s been turned down for military service, though he can shoot the feathers off a hawk.”

  Rafe gave Kenton a playful push. “Says who?”

  “I’ve seen you shoot, and you’re good,” said Kenton. “The best.” He turned to her. “Rafe might be upset he can’t go to war, but I’m not. I’ve already lost one best friend.”

  They walked on.

  Kenton indicated the area around them with a wave of his arm. “My father studied organic farming. We’ve set up the vineyard to be sustainable, which means having a full circle of nature maintain it.” He pointed out a few stalls in the barn. “We even have some cows on the property so that fertilizer is available. We use only natural products for fertilization.”

  “There’s a lot to learn about putting together a vineyard,” said Rafe. “Bet you don’t know why most vineyards plant their rows running north and south here in the Willamette Valley.”

  Intrigued by his enthusiasm, she shook her head.

  “It’s to take advantage of the sunlight equally on both sides of the grapes,” Kenton said.

  “That makes sense,” she conceded, glancing from one man to the other.

  “And there’s no irrigation required for the vines. Know why?” said Kenton.

  Aware it was a rhetorical question, she waited for him to continue. “The soil consists of marine sedimentary deposits and volcanic rock. It’s light in color because of the clay and the naturally crushed volcanic rock. Grapes don’t do well in poorly drained soils. That’s why the hills around the valley are good for grape growing. The pulverized rock doesn’t hold water but allows drainage.”

  Lettie followed the guys outside to where a row of grape vines had been planted. She scooped up a handful of the soil, studied it, and rubbed her fingers through it. It seemed odd to talk of volcanic soil. She’d never given it much thought. Dirt was dirt.

  Kenton said, “I’ve done some research, and within the vicinity of Portland alone, close to fifty volcanoes erupted more than half a million years ago. Cool, huh?”

  She laughed. “Very cool.”

  “Okay, enough ‘wine school’ for today,” said Rafe. “Let’s try some California wine.” He turned to Lettie. “Red or white?”

  Lettie gazed at him wide-eyed. “I ... I ... don’t know.”

  “Okay, we’ll start with a light chardonnay,” said Rafe. “We keep a stash of wine at the cabin for tasting and analyzing.”

  Behind the barn and nestled among a clump of trees, a wooden structure peered out at her. Clapboard siding painted red matched the color of the red-brick chimney rising above the roof line at one side.

  “Who lives here?” Lettie asked.

  “I do sometimes. And when we have a full-grown harvest, a few of us will bunk in here,” said Rafe. Lettie thought of the westerns she’d seen on television and wondered what the inside of this bunk house would look like.

  When she followed the men inside, the scent of burned wood greeted her. She gazed
at the two maple bunk beds that lined a windowless wall opposite the fireplace. Their colorful blankets brightened the beige and brown of the braided rug placed nearby. In front of the fireplace, two comfortable-looking, green-plaid chairs sat angled at either end of a couch. The surface of the couch must have been a soft brown leather in earlier days. Now, cracks in the leather showed its age.

  At the back of the cabin, the door to the bathroom stood open. Golden pine cabinets lined the back wall on either side of an old electric stove and a refrigerator covered with handwritten notes stuck to the front of it.

  A worn maple table sat in the middle of the kitchen area, surrounded by four matching chairs.

  “Not bad, huh?” Kenton said.

  “Nice,” said Lettie, impressed. The interior had a homey feel.

  Kenton checked his watch. “We have a couple of hours before we’re expected at the main house for dinner.” He turned to Rafe. “Let’s open that bottle of chardonnay and introduce Lettie to one of the reasons winemaking is so important.”

  Rafe laughed and saluted Kenton. “Aye, aye, sir.”

  Kenton turned to Lettie. “In this state, you’re legal for wine at eighteen.”

  He pulled a bottle out of the refrigerator and uncorked it. Taking three glasses out of the cupboard, he turned to Lettie. “This is a good way to start. Chardonnay can be smooth with a hint of fruit and depending on how long it ages in oak barrels, it can be called buttery.”

  Rafe poured a little wine into the three glasses and handed one each to Lettie and Kenton.

  Lettie watched as Rafe and Kenton swirled the wine in their glasses, sniffed it, held the glass up to look through the wine, and then took a sip.

  “Nice legs on this one,” said Kenton. “See how the wine forms lines and seems to cling briefly to the glass in sheets on the inside of the glass?”

  “Good nose,” added Rafe.

  After swallowing, they looked at each other and grinned.

  “Nice,” said Kenton. “Not too oaky, with a touch of fruit.”

  “Some pineapple, perhaps?” added Rafe.

  Lettie stared at the liquid in her glass. Pineapple? Were they crazy?