Nadine folded the letter she had just read and carefully slipped it into the envelope, as if any quick movement might jar and rearrange the disturbing words. She laid the envelope on her desk and ran her thumb along its sharp edge. As she weighed the information the letter held, her thoughts were intermingled questions and prayers.
She leaned back in her chair and drew her hands over her face. Is this it, Lord? she prayed. Are we finally going to find out the truth?
Nadine, along with her mother and sisters, had speculated on the mysterious circumstances surrounding her father Jake Laidlaw's death over six years before. It was midwinter and he had been working for Skyline Contractors as a tree faller. The only information his grieving widow and daughters had received was the official incident report the company had released, which stated that Jake had died because of his own carelessness.
But Nadine and her family knew better than anyone Jake's penchant for safety, the care with which he had performed his work. Although they didn't believe the company, they had never found out more.
Until now.
The anonymous letter gave out no specific information, but hinted at knowledge of the events surrounding her father's death.
From the day of the accident Nadine and her mother had been determined to find out the truth. Nadine's sisters, Sabrina and Leslie, had lost interest after a few years.
This letter was the first break Nadine had had in six years. Her only regret was that she wouldn't be able to share a breakthrough with her mother.
Six months ago after a protracted battle with Lou Gehrig's disease, Brenda Laidlaw had died. Her determined nature could not help her conquer her illness any more than it could help her find out what had really happened to her husband.
Nadine picked up the envelope and slipped it into her backpack. Her workday as editor of the Derwin Times was over.
She caught her suede bomber jacket off the coatrack against the wall and slipped it over her bulky knit sweater. Fall clothes, she thought, flipping her shoulder-length hair out of the collar and retying it into a ponytail. Last week she'd worn a T-shirt. And then the temperature had suddenly dropped.
She glanced with dismay at the bits of straw still clinging to her corduroy pants and picked the pieces off, dropping them in the overflowing trash can under her desk.
The afternoon had been spent out in farmers' fields taking harvest pictures. She had never been able to stay as neat and tidy as her sisters. Growing up, she was always the one with dirt on her elbows and rips in her jeans.
"Hey, Naddy, you still hanging around here?" Donna, her friend and the office manager of the weekly newspaper, stopped in the doorway, her arms full of computer printouts. Donna blew her copper-colored bangs out of her eyes and leaned tiredly in the doorway.
"Actually I'm heading home." Nadine smiled up at her friend. "What's with the papers? Some light evening reading?"
"Circulation records. Clint wants to bring some of the ex-subscribers back into the fold." Donna plopped the stack of papers on Nadine's desk, then dropped into one of the chairs across from Nadine's desk.
"You look tired yourself," Nadine said, noticing the faint shadows beneath Donna's usually bright green eyes.
"The big boss is a different kind of general manager than Dory ever was," said Donna with a sigh. "I just have to get up to speed, that's all."
"Excuse me, can I come in?" The deep voice coming from the doorway made Nadine and Donna both jump. Donna threw Nadine a look of dismay, and turned to face Clint Fletcher.
"I was just coming with the printouts, Clint."
"That's fine, Donna. I'm in no hurry." Clint stepped into the room, his presence suddenly dominating it. The collar of his crisp gray shirt was cinched by a burgundy tie, his thick brown hair was attractively tousled, his face, as usual, impassive. His hazel eyes were on Nadine. "I received this with my mail and mistakenly opened it. I wasn't aware it was addressed to you personally until I started reading it. I apologize."
Nadine took the envelope. "Thanks, Fletcher. I'm sure you were discreet," she said, unable to keep the flippant tone out of her voice. Clint always managed to keep her on edge, and sarcasm was her favorite defense.
Clint only nodded. "I was also wondering if I could see you in my office first thing tomorrow morning?"
"Another editorial mini-summit?" Nadine laughed nervously, uncomfortable with the somber tone of his voice.
"You might say that," he said, his tone cryptic, his expression still serious. "Just bring those papers to my office whenever it's convenient, Donna."
Ever since Clint had started, the usual routines at the paper had been rearranged, changed and turned end over end. Dory Strepchuk, the previous general manager, favored a looser editorial style and had pretty much let Nadine, as editor, make a lot of her own decisions.
Clint, however, had made it quite clear that he wanted to be involved in the major editorial decisions of not only the Derwin Times, but also its sister papers, the Eastbar Echo and the Riverview Leader.
"I wonder if our esteemed boss knows that I have a name?" Nadine said after he left. "You get called a name," she said to Donna. "Wally has a name. He even called our ex-reporter Bradley Nichols by name. But somehow he studiously manages to avoid calling me anything."
Donna shrugged. "Doesn't help that you always call him Fletcher."
"He's been Fletcher to me for the past nine years. From the first day he went out with my older sister," Nadine groused, "to the last." She hefted her knapsack onto her back, still flustered by Clint's visit and the seriousness in his voice when he had spoken of their meeting tomorrow. "And what's with the clothes?" she huffed. "He never used to dress like that when he lived in Derwin before."
"He's not like you, wearing some of the same clothes he wore in grade twelve."
"My mother made me this sweater," protested Nadine, glancing down at the bulky cream sweater.
"And the pants?"
Nadine simply shrugged. She disliked shopping for clothes. Once in a while her sisters would come home and drag her off to a store. They would laugh together, trying on clothes and having fun coaxing each other to buy new things. Nadine would take her new outfits home, hang them in the closet and pull on her old faithful jeans or cords. Usually, she dressed up only for church.
"It wouldn't destroy your tough editor image to dress up once in a while yourself," continued Donna.
"Put on a skirt. Show off your legs."
"Give it a rest, Donna. I'll just stick with pants. Makes it easier for climbing up on tractors and fences, anyhow."
"And fending guys off..." Donna let the sentence trail off as she straightened the stack of papers on the desk.
"Been there, done that," Nadine replied, fishing in her pocket for her car keys.
"Four years ago, I might add. And I don't think your heart was ever in that relationship," Donna admonished her. "A boyfriend wouldn't really cramp your style, you know."
"Don't start," Nadine begged. "You sound just like my grandmother. I thought I had a few days' reprieve from her matchmaking. My sister Sabrina's not been feeling well since she had Megan. With any luck, Grandma will stay there and drive Sabrina crazy for at least a week."
"Is Grandma that bad?"
"Not really. I'd just prefer to live alone, I guess."
"I know your grandmother. She won't leave until you have a boyfriend or until you very firmly say, "Danielle Laidlaw, time for you to go back to Calgary." And since you won't do either, you're stuck with her." Donna settled in a chair across from Nadine, her legs stretched out in front of her. "So my advice to you is get a boyfriend."
Nadine rolled her eyes. "Sure. I'll just head down to the nearest 'guy' store and pick one up."
"Well, there's lots of eligible guys in Derwin."
"Besides the ones Grandma keeps dragging home?"
Donna winked. "Our dreamy boss, for one." Nadine skewered Donna with an angry gaze. "Give me a break."
Donna pursed her lips as she looked Nadine over. "I think you would make a good couple."
Nadine ignored the soft sting of Donna's words. She had grown up a dark brunette between two tall, slender blondes. She loved her sisters dearly, but while they loved going out, she preferred to stay home. But that Clint Fletcher, whom she had secretly admired from afar, had gone out with her older sister and flirted with the younger had been harder to deal with. "I'm not his type," she grumbled.
"You never give yourself enough credit." Donna studied her friend, her head tilted to one side.
"I like myself just fine. But I'm not his type. End of story."
"Okay, no Clint. But what are you going to do about Grandma?"
"I should just tell her to move out," Nadine said after a moment.
Donna laughed. "That sweet, tiny woman will just bat those blue eyes, smile at you and hand you a plate of cookies. And then she'll tell you that she's having yet another single, totally unsuitable man over for supper." Donna straightened. "I think the best way to get Grandma to go home is to make up a boyfriend who conveniently doesn't live in Derwin."
"Like I could pull that off," replied Nadine. "I don't have a good enough memory to lie."
"The Lord helps those who help themselves." Donna grinned at her friend.
"That's not even in the Bible."
"So I'm an office manager, not a theologian." Donna pushed herself to her feet, pulling the stack of papers off Nadine's desk. "I'd better get going. I promised my family real food for supper tonight. Want to join us?"
Excerpted from A Bride At Last And A Mother At Heart by Carolyne Aarsen Copyright © 2006 by Carolyne Aarsen. Excerpted by permission.
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