Whisper a Warning Read online

  “It was fantastic. Unbelievable. I loved seeing this.”

  “I’m going to take Maybeth to the bus. Her mom will be waiting for her at the other end. You want a ride?’’

  She had felt quietly desperate on the ride to the bus. For the second time that day, she had mustered the courage to make a change in her life. “I, um, don’t have to rush anywhere, Maggie. Any chance you need help at the barn tomorrow?”

  Maggie smiled with understanding. “You on your own, Wilhemina?

  Wilhemina felt filled with shame. “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Well, pick up your shoulders and stand proud, then. Don’t do no good to hang around like a dog who’s been kicked. You’re a good worker, and you like kids. If you want to put some time in at the barn, that’s okay with me. I don’t pay much, but you could have a room at the farm, and give me a hand with the kids and the horses when you can. Then you could get a part-time job in town maybe.”

  They had made a deal.

  “Funny, I shouldn’t call you Blondie, but Wilhemina doesn’t suit you. People’s names usually fit.”

  “I hate my name.”

  “What would you call yourself?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe Willow. That sounds better.”

  “Sounds fine. Like a tall graceful tree. Now that suits. So call yourself Willow.”

  “Just like that? Change my name?”

  “Why not? A person has to like the things about themselves, that’s the most important thing. We have a responsibility to be the best we can be, and to do whatever it takes to get us there.”

  It had been her first lesson in personal empowerment, the first time she had felt that she could make positive changes in her life. She had felt like a burst of sunshine had descended upon her dark thoughts and fears and shame, pushing them away.

  Willow was born, and she had Maggie’s insight to thank for it.

  That had been almost nine years before. Then she had met Mr. Reynolds, and began to learn about real estate. But she had still spent time with Maggie and the horse barn and her special kids for part of every day.

  Glancing at the clock, she quickly set out two bowls of cat food, grabbed an apple from the round kitchen table in her cottage, and shut the cottage door behind her, as she jogged the short distance to the barn that was her second home.

  Chapter Four

  “You want to take in a movie, George?” Rockford put the question forth speculatively, though he could predict his sister’s response. She had just come home, had eaten a giant sandwich, and was scurrying around the kitchen.

  “I’ve got to go over to the church. Choir practice. You want to come?”

  He laughed. It was a standing joke between them. George was always trying to get him involved in life, and he was always resisting.

  “You ought to do something, though, other than sit around this place and watch commercials. Your brain is going to turn to mush. Go to the mall and watch people. Or go to the library.”

  She was gathering a large stack of sheet music, and putting on her coat at the same time. It always amazed him, how George would always do more than one thing at a time. “Saves time,” she always said.

  “Okay, okay, don’t lecture. Message received.”

  “You have to get involved in life, Rockford. Do some good for somebody. Like this girl I saw today.”

  “I saw a girl today, too, by the way. Gorgeous. A heart-stopper.”

  “I’m not talking about hormones, you animal. I’m talking about commitment. About passion. There was this girl at the bank, and she was fighting to get a loan approved for the people who have started the AIDS home. You know, the guys I have been working with through the hospital program.”

  “You’ll have to forgive me for forgetting. I have a little trouble keeping all your causes straight.”

  “That’s because you’re not paying attention. You’re focused on you, instead of the world.” He took the criticism because he knew it came from love. He also knew it was probably true, and had the grace to feel slightly uncomfortable.

  “So what about the girl. Does she live in the house?”

  “No, she’s the realtor who helped them qualify for the house. She just felt like they weren’t getting a fair shake, and she wanted to do something about it. It was beautiful, inspiring!”

  “So what did she do?”

  “She stood up on her chair and started spouting the Bill of Rights from the Constitution. A crusader for human rights. Really, it was quite inspirational.”

  George had managed to get her coat on, and partly buttoned, still holding the stack of music. Rockford stepped over, gently finishing her buttons, and then tapped her on the chin.

  “So they got the loan?”

  “Nope. They got turned down flat.”

  “So what’s the point? Where’s the inspiration in that?”

  “You still don’t get it, big brother. But I’m not going to give up on you. It’s the principle of the thing. You have to stand up for what you believe in, for what you want, even if you fail. It’s the principle of the thing.”

  Suddenly, Rockford was transported back to the moment in the restaurant with Peter, hearing his best friend in the world say the same words. “It’s the principle of the thing . . . . Don’t lose your integrity. . . .”

  His mouth felt dry, and his heart started to hammer. With his eyes closed, he could see Peter’s strong-willed face, clear as day.

  George put down the music and wrapped her arms around him. She had seen this reaction before.

  “Maybe you’ve got to take a positive step, Rockford. Instead of feeling guilty that Peter’s dead, maybe you could do something in his honor, something that he would be proud of.’’

  He pulled back and looked at George, feeling balanced again. “Why do I think you have a plan here?”

  She grinned. “I can see it now—The Peter A. Benson Endowment Fund. You have money to spare, Mr. Big Shot. You could start a fund to help worthy causes in Peter’s name. Just think of how much he would love that! You could start with the Ryerstown AIDS Home, Rockford. You could make a difference, and then people like that fantastic girl today might be able to make a dent in society.”

  She gathered everything up again, and sped for the door, not even giving him time to talk. Warp speed, that was George.

  “’Bye,” she shouted over her shoulder as she went out the door. “Just think about it. I love you.”

  “I love you, too, Sister George,” he said softly, knowing that she wouldn’t hear him, because she was already gone, headed for her next cause.

  When the evening lesson at the barn had finished, Willow headed into town to the library.

  “We’ll have a new rider in the Physically Handicapped Teens class tomorrow night,” Maggie had told her. “She is severely epileptic, and is suffering from bouts of depression from the many limitations in her life.”

  Willow wanted to do some research about epilepsy before meeting the girl. With limited time before the library’s closing, she didn’t waste a minute, jumping into her car and pulling into the library lot quickly. The library was bustling. She knew the location of the medical research section because she had used it several times before. She browsed through several titles on the shelf.

  Rockford had taken George’s advice. Not feeling like dealing with the crowds and noise at the mall, he had gone to the library. After wandering around for a while, he had started thinking about the other things that George had said. Was he really that self-involved? The answer made him feel very uncomfortable. He needed to think that through, to make a change.

  George’s idea about the fund in Peter’s name was an intriguing one. She had hit the nail right on the proverbial head. Peter would have loved the idea. He found himself in the medical research section of the library, looking up information on AIDS.

  He was sitting at a table, reading a rather lengthy and wordy article in a medical journal, when he was distracted by a pair of legs. A long pair of legs, t
hey were not clearly visible, because the owner of the legs was standing on the other side of the tall bookshelf he was facing.

  The bookshelves were not totally filled; in almost every row there were empty spaces that served almost as windows, peeking through to the next aisle.

  The legs were wearing jeans, and the owner of said legs was moving slowly and gracefully along the aisle, moving in and out of view as she read the books on the shelf. He couldn’t see the face, just the legs. But that was enough. The legs were just too intriguing. For the second time that day, he felt alive. Curiosity overcame him, and he got up from his chair to investigate the cause of his reaction. She had left the aisle, so he began cautiously strolling around the library . . . looking for a pair of legs. Amazing but true.

  He found her. She was in the checkout line, holding a large book in one hand, a library card in the other. She was really tall, and gracefully thin, with short blond hair that was mussed and scattered. She wore jeans that hugged her long legs like a second skin, a pair of cowboy boots, and a large gray sweatshirt.

  She looked comfortable, unpretentious, adorable. She also looked familiar. Was this the golden girl of the morning? Was this the sophisticated, well-dressed woman who had roared away in a yellow sports car, taking his heart right along with her? Style-wise, she looked totally different. But he knew . . . this was his golden girl, and he wasn’t going to lose her again.

  He could hear his pulse hammering in his ears, amazed that the people standing in line couldn’t hear it in the quiet of the library. There were two people in back of her by the time he stepped into line, still holding his book on AIDS.

  There was a teenage boy in line in front of her. He had asked a question of the myopic-looking clerk who was sitting at the checkout desk.

  “Why are you bothering me, young man?” the clerk said in a nasty voice. “Can I help it if you can’t find the book you’re looking for? Don’t you know the Dewey Decimal system? Just look at the numbers. Any idiot can do it. Go!” He waved the boy away with an impatient gesture. “Go look yourself. I’ve got to take care of these books.” Rock-ford felt anger rising inside of him.

  He saw the boy hang his head, embarrassed and frustrated. He walked dejectedly to the aisle the man had pointed toward.

  Bang! Suddenly, there was a loud noise, and his attention was riveted once more to the desk, and the blond he had been following.

  She had taken the large volume she had been carrying, and had smacked it down on the desk with all her might. The crack resounded in the quiet library, and made everyone look her way.

  “Just who do you think you are, Buster?” she said in a loud voice to the clerk. “Talking to a kid like that? This is a library, for Pete’s sake. People come here for information, and you are supposed to provide it. Your salary is paid by taxpayers in this community, and that kid is a citizen here. You are out of line, buddy, and you ought to apologize and go help that kid.”

  “I have a job to do, young lady. My job is books. Books. You see these books here?” He gestured to the line of people who were waiting to check out books. “First I have to check out all these books. Then”—he gestured to the return desk by the door, which had piles of books on it—“I have to check all those back in, and put them back on the shelf. Books are my job. Not people.” He smirked at her.

  “You could have given that kid some quick advice instead of calling him names. It wouldn’t have taken you a split second. You’re a bully. I don’t like bullies.”

  She left the line then, following the direction the young boy had gone. Rockford slipped out of line and followed her, intrigued.

  “Hey,” she said softly to the young boy who was struggling to find the book he was looking for. “Can I help?” He looked at her with thankful eyes, his misery apparent.

  “I’m looking for this book on the Civil War. I’ve got a paper due tomorrow. I guess I really am an idiot. I can’t seem to find it.”

  Willow smiled, and ruffled his dark hair. “Sure you can.” She gave a few quick instructions, explaining the Dewey Decimal system, and how it worked. He listened attentively, then followed her directions. He found the book.

  “Thanks, lady,” he said, though the hurt was still hovering in his eyes.

  “Willow. My name is Willow. What’s yours?”

  “Frank.”

  “Well, Frank, that bozo there just has a big abusive mouth. Don’t buy into it. You’re okay.”

  She looked thoughtful, still angry with the way the boy had been treated, and wishing there was a way to make a point. It came to her in a rush. “You want to get a little comical revenge?”

  Frank nodded, the first time a smile etched itself on his face.

  “Get out your library card, and follow me! The man loves books, we’ll give him books.”

  Rockford followed the two as they sped around the library, trying to see what they were doing. It didn’t make sense.

  Within a few minutes, each of them had a giant stack of books, all large and heavy, and all selected from different secions of the library.

  “Ten’s the limit,” Willow puffed under her load. “Put the one for your report on the top.”

  They moved to the checkout line and waited patiently. Several people who had been present during the incident with the clerk watched thoughtfully. Willow put her stack on the desk, and handed over her card.

  “You’re taking all these out?” He looked skeptical, but she didn’t say a word. He checked out each book. “Thank you,” she said in a loud voice. She stood to the side, waiting for her cohort. Rockford watched curiously, along with about a dozen other people who had watched the clerk in action.

  Frank was next in line. The clerk looked nervous. He checked out the giant stack of books carefully. When he was finished, Frank picked up his stack and followed Willow. She walked to the return desk, and plopped the entire pile onto the stacks waiting to be checked in, taking only her book on epilepsy off the top. Frank followed suit.

  “Hey, you two,” the clerk called out. “You can’t do that, check out all those books, and then turn them right back in.”

  “And why is that? Is there a rule about that?” Willow pulled herself up to her full height, standing regally by the door.

  The clerk bit his lip.

  “We’re speed readers, sir,” she said with a broad smile. “But don’t concern yourself with us. After all, you only want to be concerned with books. So here’s a few more books to be concerned with. Have fun putting them away. It’s not nice to bully people.”

  She stuck out her hand to Frank for a handshake, and the two headed for the door. “Feeling better, partner?” she said to the teenager.

  “Absolutely. You were awesome.”

  “You’re going to be pretty awesome yourself. You just had a lesson in personal empowerment, kiddo. Stand up for what you believe in. It’s the principle of the thing!”

  Rockford had stopped in his tracks, startled. The girl was outrageous; the girl was gorgeous. His golden girl had a heart of gold, too. The thought made him warm inside.

  He sneaked a peek at the checkout line as he left the library. Four more people were standing there holding a mountain of books, joining in the protest. He smiled. The library clerk would think twice before being rude again—that is, if he ever got all those books put away!

  He headed for his car, seeing the taillights of the yellow Miata speeding out the library lot. But he wasn’t worried. He’d find her. He had to. She had stolen his heart.

  Chapter Five

  Mr. and Mrs. Reynolds left on their celebration trip to Sweden and Scandinavia on Monday, a week later. The office threw a bon voyage party for them, complete with a liberal sprinkling of confetti to cheer them as they took off in an airport limousine.

  After the party, Willow was alone in the office, cleaning up the mess they’d made, and covering the phones. Mildred was out showing a property. They had hired a temporary worker to manage the telephones in Mr. Reynolds’s absence, but
the woman wouldn’t start until the next day.

  Willow was on one phone line, answering questions about a house that they had advertised for sale over the weekend, when the second line rang insistently. She put the first call on hold to pick up the line.

  “Reynolds Real Estate, Willow speaking. How can I help you?”

  “I got a property I want to put a bid in on. Can you help me with that?”

  “Sure. I’d love to. But can I call you right back? I have someone on the other line. Just give me your number. . . .”

  “Never mind. I’ll call back. ”Click.

  The connection was broken. The caller had hung up.

  Willow sighed. It wasn’t the first rude phone call she had ever received. She quickly clicked over to her original customer, and jumped back into her conversation about the advertised property. Setting up an afternoon appointment to show it, she took the necessary information from the potential buyer, and logged the time in her book, before hanging up.

  The phone rang again immediately.

  “I called before. I want to buy a property.”

  “Which property were you interested in, sir? Did you want to make an appointment to see it?”

  “No appointment. I just want to buy it. You talk to the owner, and set it up.” The man sounded very gruff.

  Willow felt the stirrings of apprehension.

  “Is the property listed with our office, sir? Or someone else’s?”

  “It’s not listed. I want you to make an offer to the owner, an enticement to get them to sell.”

  “I see. And your name is . . .”

  “Charley. Charley Morse.”

  “Well, Mr. Morse, how about coming in and meeting with me about the property in question. It’s not the usual way we do real estate business here, but I’m willing to hear you out and approach the owner. We could propose the price, and it could be presented along with your financial qualifications. . . .”

  “Listen, lady, I don’t intend to get involved in any penny-ante meetings with you or with anybody else. The property is on Old Silo Road; it’s a farm owned by a couple named Burdett. I’m offering half a million dollars, and I want the deal done quick. Cash. Pronto.”