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Permelia Cottage

By Carole Lehr Johnson

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Chapter 1

Louisiana, U.S.
March 2016

One decision can change everything. That was Susannah Wilkinson’s thought as the cool breeze touched her face. The sweet fragrance of gardenias lingered on the wind as she spoke with the young mother of a fifteen-year-old girl. The girl’s gaze focused downward, forehead wrinkled. Her mother stood her ground, a forefinger pointed toward the clinic as she emphasized why her daughter needed an abortion.
“You don’t have to make this decision right now.” Susannah pleaded, staring into the mother’s eyes. “Please take time to read over this literature before you decide.” Her gaze returned to the teenager then to her mother. “Once you do this, there’s no turning back. It’s life-changing.”
The mother shook her head and leaned away from Susannah. Her hazel eyes reflected uncertainty.
“I don’t … I … we think this is the time to do it—while she isn’t very far along. You see what I mean?”
Susannah sent up a silent prayer for wisdom. The woman stared at her, head tilted.
“I realize … but a child is a child no matter how far along your daughter is.” One lone tear fought for release, and she blinked to keep it at bay.
The woman raised her pale eyes to meet Susannah’s. “May I ask you a question?”
Susannah cleared her throat. “Certainly.”
The growing crowd near them pulled her attention for a moment. She refocused on the question.
“Why are you so concerned about abortion?”
A sharp pain shot through Susannah. She drew in a quick breath as she clenched her purse strap. “Because I had to make this decision once.”
The mother’s eyes widened, her lips parted in surprise as she brought one hand to her chest. She smoothed her daughter’s dark hair. A trembling smile softened her lips. “Well, perhaps we should talk a little more.”
Susannah moved closer and whispered, “May I pray with you?” The woman nodded. Susannah motioned to a bench several yards away, partially hidden behind a large oak tree.
Loud noise from the robust crowd reached them, but Susannah ignored it. Protesters shouted and blocked people from entering the clinic. They prayed, had a brief discussion and said their goodbyes.
Susannah walked the two blocks to her car to gather more material. She fumbled with her keys and almost dropped them on the pavement. When she clicked the lock, she swung the door open and slouched into the driver’s seat. With a ragged breath, her hands trembled as she ran them through her hair and then massaged her temples as sirens wailed in the distance.
The trauma of seeing someone come close to an abortion twisted her insides and tugged at her heart. Eyes closing, she collected her thoughts before she left the security of her vehicle. She walked back to the clinic as police cars arrived, lights flashing. Several people lingered on the sidewalk, and a white-haired woman stood to the side with her hands pressed to her face while tears darkened her purple blouse. A rock hurled through the air and struck a street light overhead raining shattered glass over the woman.
Susannah thrust past a few bystanders and reached out as the woman stumbled. Thick white smoke engulfed the surrounding area. She grabbed her arm and led her from the noxious cloud.
Once they escaped, Susannah coughed. “Are you okay, ma’am?” Susannah held her arm, and she winced at her touch. People pushed past them and scattered in all directions. She led her to a nearby bench and gently brushed small pieces of glass from her hair.
The woman gasped for air and clung to Susannah for support.
“May I see your arm?” The woman nodded. Susannah pushed up her sleeve and noted a large red spot, the precursor to a bruise. “I think you’ll be sore for a few days, but you should be fine.” She reassured her with a nod.
“Thank you, dearie.” Her aged eyes squeezed shut. “Those people who were arrested tried to keep girls from going into the clinic. Can you imagine? It was loud, and the voices so angry. You’d think folks would realize it’s easier to catch more flies with honey than vinegar?”
Had the circumstances been less dire, Susannah would’ve laughed at the analogy.
“Yes, ma’am, you’re right. I guess when we’re passionate about something we get carried away.”
“Honey, I suppose that’s true.” She shook her head, tears gleaming on her wrinkled cheeks.
#
Yes, one decision can change everything. Susannah Wilkinson rushed from the Timlee Clinic mêlée to the restaurant, certain she’d find Diann already there. Conversations hummed as she settled against the back of her chair and contemplated the events of the day.
As always, when stressful things happened, Susannah thought of her son—the one person she loved more than life itself. Their estrangement tore at her heart. She felt her lips curve as she remembered the early years when he would run to her with open arms and happy laughter. She swiped a tear from her cheek as their last painful meeting absorbed the good memories.
The gift was cradled in her arms as she entered his room. “Ryan, I have a going away present for you.” She held out the wrapped package tied with a blue ribbon. He snatched it from her and mumbled ‘thanks,’ before he tossed it into his suitcase.
She avoided his eyes. “Aren’t you going to open it?”
Ryan released an impatient sigh, grabbed the package, and yanked the ribbon free. Slender fingers shook as he ripped the paper, releasing an object to slide across the tile floor, making no move to retrieve it. He thumbed through the leather-bound journal that bore his name in gold letters then he returned it to his bag.
Susannah stooped to rescue the discarded pocket cross. Creases formed in her palm as she gripped it with force. She held out her hand, palm up. Her voice broke. “Keep this is in your pocket and every time you see it, remember I’m praying for you.”
Silence met her words. His stony countenance grieved her heart. Time lingered as Susannah bit her tongue to stop the tears.
His blue eyes sparked. “I don’t need your religion!” He pivoted, shoulders rigid, and slung clothes onto the bed.
His hurtful words echoed in her mind. The coppery tang of blood was a reminder to release her injured tongue. She left the room on wooden legs, the cross clutched in her fist. The door slammed, rattling the pictures against the wall. One fell with a crash. When the silver-framed family portrait shattered, she picked it up with gentle movements, staring at the happy little boy that sat on her lap. Memories of that special day released the dam, and tears of regret flowed.
#
“Sue?” The quiet voice interrupted her thoughts.
Susannah’s gaze shifted from the tablecloth to her best friend’s face, her forehead creased.
“Are you okay?” Diann slid into the empty seat and touched Susannah’s shoulder.
“Sorry, I’m fine. Just lost in thought.” She forced the down-turned corners of her mouth up.
Diann glanced at her friend’s fisted hand. “What did you want to talk about?”
Susannah shrugged and twirled the stem of her water glass as she watched the lemon float in circles. “Well, I have news. But let me tell you what happened at the clinic a while ago.” She gave Diann a lengthy, informative narration of her encounter with the woman and her daughter, the crowd, and the elderly lady hit with the rock. She toyed with her glass, wiped the moisture from her palms onto her napkin, and repeated the process several times.
Diann drew in a deep breath, and let it out in a huff. “What’s wrong with you?”
Susannah tilted her chin. “Excuse me?”
“You’ve been rambling.”
Susannah’s shoulders slumped in defeat. “There is something I want to tell you—something you may not like.”
“So, spit it out. We’ve been friends far too long to play games.”
She leaned forward. “You’re right. I asked to meet for lunch so I could tell you my news.” She reached for her water glass to repeat the ritual.
“If you start that routine again, I’ll take your water away from you.” Diann’s guttural voice didn’t match the grin she wore.
“Okay, okay.” Susannah pushed her shoulders back and stared into Diann’s curious eyes. “You’ve always encouraged me to move on, follow my dreams. Now, I am.” Lifting the glass to her lips, she took a long sip, and blurted out, “I’m moving to England.”
Diann’s face paled. “What? I didn’t mean move, Sue. Move on. Let the past go. Have you lost your mind?”
“This dream has been with me for so long. I believe it’s the right thing to do. I’ve always wanted to live in an English cottage. Why not now?”
“What about your son? He’ll be having children in a few years … perhaps. You’ll want to be near your grandchildren, won’t you? I wouldn’t be able to handle not seeing my grandchildren for months on end.” Diann’s eyes glistened as she rummaged in her purse. Susannah retrieved a tissue from her own bag. Her hand shook as she accepted it. “Are you sure you’re not using this to run away from your estrangement with Ryan?”
Susannah averted her gaze and scanned the Victorian Tea Room, their favorite place to meet. Wood-trimmed chairs upholstered in eggplant chintz, tables with linen cloths, brass candlesticks, and fresh flowers in crystal vases. A Victorian sofa in rich brocade sat by a faux fireplace in a corner. Here, time froze. They loved this room because of its British flavor. Diann had to understand her dream.
“I suppose there may be truth in what you said about Ryan.” She pressed her lips together, her gaze scanned the creamy yellow walls, windows adorned with lace curtains bordered in heavy brocade panels. “But, with the money Aaron left me, I’ll be able to fly home anytime I choose. Besides, Ryan has his own life now and doesn’t need me around. He’s self-sufficient with a successful career.”
Diann crossed her arms. “Are you listening to yourself?” Tepid sarcasm laced her voice. She sniffled and reached for the tissue. “This is a big deal. You’ll be over four thousand miles away.”
“I realize that, but I have to do this. It’s my dream. When Aaron abandoned us, I thought I’d never hear from him again. To think he had a life insurance policy—and left it to me. The guilt must have eaten at him.” His face appeared in her mind’s eye, the face she first fell in love with, not the face of the man who screamed at her to do something her convictions could never allow.
“Well, it should have. I don’t understand what got into him.” She exhaled with a huff. “So, what exact plans have you made? I mean, are you going right away?”
“That’s part two of why I asked you to lunch today. I want to go soon and spend about a month to explore, research real estate, and sightsee. I’ll do preliminary research online first, as a starting point, but I …”
The server appeared with their order, bringing their conversation to a halt.
Between bites Diann stated matter-of-factly, “You don’t need my help to plan the details. You’re the travel writer, and I’ve never been to Britain.”
“This is the thing ...” Susannah grasped the napkin on her lap. “I need you to go with me.” Leaning back in her chair, she bit the inside of her cheek.
Diann’s fork suspended inches from her lips. “I … I’m not sure what to say. This is a surprise.”
“I hoped you’d say yes.”
“Wayne may not agree,” she said, though Susannah saw a glimmer of interest in her eyes. “I’ve never been away from him for that long. What about my kids and grandkids? An entire month without seeing them?” She rubbed the back of her neck with vigor.
“Stop right there, don’t try to convince yourself it’s a bad idea. You and I both know you’d love to go. I’m not asking you to leave tomorrow. We’ll plan this out.” She met Diann’s anxious gaze and waited.
Diann folded and refolded her napkin. “Deep down I’m thrilled at an adventure like this, but ...”
“Don’t decide now. Go home and discuss it with Wayne. Tell me soon, so I can make other arrangements if you can’t go.”
She tapped her fingertips at the base of her throat. “You would take someone else?”
“Perhaps.” Susannah smoothed the wrinkles out of the tablecloth.
Diann lifted her chin and pushed her shoulders back. “If you’re taking someone, it’s most certainly going to be me. I’ll convince Wayne.”
Susannah grinned and pulled a small package out of her bag and slid it across the table.
“What’s this?” Diann’s head tilted to one side, eyes narrowing.
“A thank you gift.”
Diann raised an eyebrow. “You knew I’d say yes?”
“That flash of determination in your eyes just confirmed how well I know you.”
When ripped away, the rose floral paper revealed a decorated box. Diann gently removed the lid to disclose a long gold chain with an ornate carved oval pendant, “Live like you mean it” engraved in the center.
#
England
May 2016
Susannah believed springtime in England was one of the most peaceful places on earth. The fresh, varied shades of green colored the English landscape as the small tour bus wound its way through the countryside. Each turn revealed rounded hills dotted with sheep, cows, horses, or fields laden with crops. The idyllic landscape captivated her. She possessed a sense of belonging.
Finances had prohibited extensive travel in the past, but her recent windfall had changed that. Was she mad? She was considering a move to rural England. Was this really a fact-finding mission, or maybe just to get it out of her system? She’d prayed. All seemed to fall into place. It could be a wasted trip with nothing priced within her means. At least she’d have a vacation with her dearest friend if it didn’t work out the way she envisioned.
The bus tires crunched on gravel as they stopped in the car park of a quaint little village called Neville. Susannah and Diann followed the group into a local pub. Marcy, their guide, stepped between them and linked arms. “Come on, dears, you sit with me.”
“Thank you, Marcy. That’s kind of you.” Susannah glanced over her head at Diann’s scowl that translated into her displeasure that her personal space was about to be invaded. She was aware of all of Diann’s idiosyncrasies—and vice versa.
Marcy guided them to a corner table with the view of a courtyard edged in ornamental grass around the perimeter. Flower beds teemed with the first stages of vibrant, colorful blooms. A low stone wall enclosed the garden and added the perfect touch.
Susannah’s steady gaze wandered over the profusion of color. Purple phlox encircled a granite birdbath. A perpetual stream of water spilled from a lion’s head fountain into a stone dish. She could get used to this.
Marcy’s perky voice broke through the fog. “Susannah, are you all right, dear?”
Diann responded. “Don’t mind her. She tends to wool-gather when she’s in her favorite place in the world.”
Susannah jumped in. “Sorry. I was admiring the garden.” She poked Diann in the ribs with her elbow. “And she’s right. I daydream a bit.”
“Well, the garden is lovely. Neville is my favorite stop on the tour.” Marcy’s smile broadened. “It’s a marvelous place.”
Susannah empathized with the admiration in Marcy’s eyes. Neville’s enchantment called to her almost spiritually.
After they all enjoyed a variety of scones, sandwiches, and two pots of tea, Susannah walked outside with the group and breathed in the fresh air as they followed the stone path to the car park. Susannah closed her eyes and inhaled the sharp smell of mown grass.
She took out her camera. “You two go on ahead. I want to take a few more pictures of the pub.”
A split path led to the side of the brownstone building. She admired the thatched roof and leaded windows and took a few pictures. Beside the courtyard garden, an elderly gentleman leaned against the gate watching her. On impulse, she strolled over. “Good afternoon. It’s a beautiful day, isn’t it?”
He removed the pipe from his mouth, beamed and replied in a strong British accent, “That it is … that it is. How’re you today?” He wasn’t a tall man, lean and sturdily-built.
“Fine, thank you.” She scanned the garden’s color. “It’s so delightful.”
“It’s been my favorite spot in Neville since I was a lad.”
“So, you’ve lived here a while?” Susannah admired his thick gray waves.
“Yes, ma’am. All my life. This pub—" He used his pipe to point at the building. “—was built many years before I was born, and I’m ninety-seven next week.”
“You don’t look it.” Susannah took in his straight back.
“Thank you. Don’t act it either.” His blue eyes twinkled with mischief. “At least everyone around here says. I still tend my gardn’ and the one here at the pub.”
“You do a fantastic job. I admired it throughout our afternoon tea. Would it be all right if I took a few pictures inside the garden?”
“That’d be no problem at all.” He held the gate open to allow her to step across the stone threshold.
“By the by, the name’s Hodge.” He tipped his hat.
“Nice to meet you. I’m Susannah.” She snapped a close-up of the fountain, and stood back to appreciate it.
“Caught your fancy?” He had stepped from the gate to stand beside her. “It’s original.”
“How old is this place?”
“My family built it in 1702.” He straightened, shoulders back.
Susannah rose from photographing a cluster of white phlox, surprised. “It’s yours?”
“Yes, tried to keep it as it was, except for modern plumbin’. The entire lot looks as it did over 300 years ago.”
It touched Susannah to imagine the love and devotion of one family to keep a historic place like this for so long. She said as much.
Hodge’s grey eyes sparkled with pride. “Most don’t appreciate it, but I can tell you regard commitment. I may be an old sentimental fool, but it seems your interest is more than a tour stop.”
“That’s perceptive of you. I love history, especially Britain’s. My family came from here, and they passed little of the information down. I have an aunt who traced our genealogy, and I value it, but I want to learn about my ancestors on a more personal level—by visiting where they lived.” She held his gaze. “And how you must be proud of the devotion of your family to this place. You’re a part of it, and I long to be a part of where my ancestors lived.”
“I can understand that.” Hodge grew silent for a few moments. With a croak in his voice, he continued, “Susannah, you’re a special lady. I’d love to share our history with you, but you must be gettin’ on that bus.” He pointed with his pipe. “May I have your address? I’ll be glad to send you every spot of information on my place. And Neville.”
On impulse, Susannah gave him a gentle hug. “Hodge, thank you … I mean that with sincerity. You’re so kind.” She pulled a business card from her purse and gave it to him. He glanced at it, and with gnarled fingers tucked it into the pocket of his tweed vest.
“You best be gettin’ on that bus before it leaves.”
Susannah started toward the bus and turned back. “Hodge, say cheese.”
He gave her a broad grin and waved as she snapped the picture.
#
A few days later, after the tour wound through other villages with their castles, cottages, pubs, and gardens, Susannah and Diann returned to Neville. They settled into the Horden Inn. Susannah perched on the edge of her bed and scanned a brochure about the village.
“It says Neville also has tea shops, two churches, and a castle.”
“Oh, I can hear your brain-wheels turning.” Diann placed her shirts in a dresser drawer. “The obsession must be fed.” She raised her eyebrows in mock surprise.
Susannah tossed a pillow at her, then rummaged through her bag for the realtor listings. “I like this village. There were a couple of cottages I found here in my research. This place spoke far more than any of the others. And it is one of the villages where some of my ancestors lived.”
“Hey, you may be related to Hodge.” Diann winked.
“Could be. I need to ask him more about his family.”
Diann sighed and paused her unpacking. “Why don’t we go for a walk? It doesn’t get dark till late, and I’m restless. We may see some cottages from your list.”
“You’re always restless—got more energy than your four-year-old grandson.”
“Ha … I wish. Grab your purse, and let’s take it outside, sister!”
The cool early evening air was invigorating. Susannah pulled her light jacket closed and inhaled a familiar scent that she couldn’t place. “I’m not sure what that aroma is, but I like it.”
“That’s another thing—your nose is too sensitive. What’s that all about?” Diann gave her friend a tight-lipped grin.
“Sense of smell can trigger memories powerfully. Maybe it’s an ancestral pull to this place.”
“I never thought of it that way, but I suppose it’s true. If I smell biscuits baking, I always think of my grandmother. She made the most wonderful biscuits.” Diann tilted her head back and closed her eyes. “I can almost see and smell them right now. Browned to perfection, fluffy circles of joy.”
Susannah’s delighted laugh brought Diann back from her past.
“Such a nice memory.” She chuckled as they walked on in companionable silence.
As they strolled along the main street, Susannah studied the brochure. That internal tug toward Neville wrenched at her again. The market cross remained at the square’s center as it had since the 13th century. At the end of the street, St. Gregory’s Church beckoned, parts of it dating back to 1085. A defensive fortified tower, built in 1330, rose above the lower stone structure. Late afternoon sun glinted off the grey edifice that cast it in an amber-hue. It stood proud as it had once protected the village from marauding Scots, the eight ancient bells waited to warn citizens. Susannah could very nearly hear the past sounds of this history-filled village.
They stopped in front of the enclosed churchyard, its gravestones tilted sorrowfully, etchings worn away by time and weather.
“I don’t want to walk in there right before dark,” Diann’s voice wavered.
“What? Are you serious? You’re not afraid, are you?” Susannah teased.
“Of course not. I’m not fond of cemeteries at any time of day … or night.” Diann drew a deep breath. “It’s so sad to see all those lives gone, not knowing where they ended up.” She shoved her hands deep into her pockets and stepped away from the cemetery.
Susannah drew her gaze from her friend, entranced by the antiquity of the stones. “I wonder if any of my ancestors are buried here? It’s too bad that most of the engravings have worn off on the oldest stones.” Her voice was solemn. She traced the top of the churchyard’s closed gate with an outstretched finger. The yellow facade of the museum across the street darkened in evening shadow. “Hate that the museum is closed.”
“Yes, sad.” Diann gave her a gentle shove.
Susannah realized her friend’s sense of morbidity. She picked up her pace, leaving Diann to follow.
“Hey, where are you off to? I thought we would explore.” She added, “Except the cemetery, of course.”
“We are.” She held up a map. Susannah pointed to the street they were on. “If we go this way and turn right by the pharmacy, and down a short way and take another right, there’s a cottage for sale. I couldn’t tell much from the photos. But you never know …” Her voice trailed off as she studied the map.
Diann reached for the map, and Susannah released it. They stopped at the corner and spotted The Wynd posted on the building across the street. “We’re on the right track,” Diann gave a wave. “We turn here.”
Susannah simpered. “Aye, aye, Captain.”
After a short walk, they reached a paved one-lane road. A house’s exterior wall curved to follow the turn. It was a medley of older grey stones at the base and newer red bricks stacked to the roof. A few feet further, a white gate led to an alley of sorts. The sign on the gate read— Beware of the Ferrets. Diann and Susannah glanced at one another and burst out laughing.
A sandstone wall topped with moss lined the left side of the road, and on the other side were trees. Beyond a deep curve, the cottage stood to their left. A white-washed gate hung loosely on its hinges.
“Hmm ... it’s seen better days.” Diann stood with fists on her hips, lips pursed.
Susannah squeezed between the gate and wall and slipped on a moss-covered stone. She grasped Diann’s shoulder for support.
“I’m not sure this is what you were looking for, Sue. It’s dilapidated.”
They gaped at the shabby thatched cottage. The panes stared, dark and lifeless. Plaster crumbled amidst dark green ivy that clawed its way to the roof. What was left of the garden held more weeds than flowers. A few struggling blooms peaked out like small bright insects climbing barren stalks.
Diann hung back for a moment, and moved to the front window and peered through the dirt-encrusted glass. “The inside doesn’t appear bad, but it could use a coat of paint. I wonder if the structure is solid.”
“It doesn’t matter.” Susannah stood rooted to the spot and absorbed the derelict sight.
“Yes, I suppose you’re right. It’s too dilapidated to consider.”
“I mean, it doesn’t matter.” Susannah pulled the realtor listing from her pocket, glanced at the cottage, and envisioned it as it could be. The tug inside her tightened, and joy swelled. “This is where I belong.”
 

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