Read Online A Dark and Stormy Night by Jeanne M. Dams - Free Book Online Page B

‘we need to get to work. Thank God the chainsaws don’t need electricity, and we’ve got plenty of gas.
    â€˜No, we don’t, Jim.’ It was Joyce’s disconsolate voice. ‘We’re nearly out. You were going to drive into the village today for that, and some nails and things. Remember?’
    â€˜Oh.’ Jim looked blank. ‘You’re right. Still, there’s some left. Maybe . . . well, who’s game to help me try to cut up some trees and build a bridge?’
    The men, and most of the women, rose in a body, but Alan had more to say. ‘Is there anyone here who has any medical experience?’ Well, at least it wasn’t ‘Is there a doctor in the house?’ but it still sounded ominous.
    Surprisingly, Laurence Upshawe spoke. ‘I am a doctor. Retired. How can I help?’
    I was sure I knew. Upshawe, a very likely suspect in the crime, was not the ideal person to examine the skeleton, but someone had to, and the sooner the better.
    Alan hesitated, though, and Joyce saw what he was thinking. She buried her head in her hands and began to sob.
    As Alan and Upshawe moved off, I went to Joyce. Whether she was mourning her beautiful house, or worrying about an old crime, or despairing over the now-compulsory continued presence of the Harrisons, she needed comfort.
    â€˜It’s all a bit much, isn’t it?’ I murmured. ‘One thing on top of another. Would you like a cup of tea?’ Good grief, I thought with exasperation. I’ve lived in England too long. A cup of tea, indeed. ‘Or some brandy?’
    â€˜I’m sorry,’ she said, sniffling and trying to control her sobs. ‘I’m just . . . it’s just . . .’
    â€˜I know. But at least you have lots of workers, and lots of company. I’ll bet the guys will get some kind of a bridge rigged in no time, even if it’s just a tree or two across the river. And then there’ll be professional help. It’ll be all right.’ I could hear the false brightness in my voice.
    â€˜My trees! My beautiful trees!’ she wailed. ‘And the gardens! They won’t be all right.’
    Lynn joined us and handed Joyce a glass of something amber that looked a lot more like brandy than tea. ‘Drink it,’ she said. ‘You’ll feel better. And no,’ she went on, ‘the old oaks won’t be all right. They’re gone forever. But not the young ones. Just think what an opportunity you have now to redo the gardens. You can plant all sorts of interesting trees and shrubs, plants you really love, and watch them take shape.’
    The outcome hung in the balance for a moment, and then Joyce took a sip of brandy, sniffed, and reached in her pocket for a tissue. ‘It’s true there were some changes I wanted to make. The rhododendrons are terribly overgrown. And I’ve never much liked white roses . . . but the trees! The landscaping was by Capability Brown, you know, and it was famous!’ Tears threatened again.
    I was nearly in tears myself. If I’d owned one of the famous gardens of England and seen it destroyed in a night, I would have been devastated. But Lynn is made of sterner stuff.
    â€˜Now, Joyce,’ she said bracingly. ‘That was two hundred and fifty years ago. Brown himself would have wanted to get rid of some of those trees. They were too tall. Out of proportion. The saplings are OK, a lot of them, and they’ll grow much better without the shade of the old ones. Stop fussing over what you can’t change and start planning what you can.’
    Joyce mopped up her eyes, blew her nose, and sipped some more. ‘You’re right. I’m in England now. Soldier on, keep a straight bat, and all that.’
    â€˜ And ,’ said Lynn practically, ‘as soon as the front drive and the bridge are negotiable, you can get your sister and brother-in-law out of your hair. I