The Wedding Letters Page 3

  “Don’t you just love it?” Noah said, looking out his window.

  Rachel rested her left hand on his headrest and drew circles in the back of his thick hair.

  Noah enjoyed the city. He loved the Washington Nationals, despite their horrid record. He loved walking around Georgetown and eating in Adams Morgan. But there was something about the Shenandoah Valley, something about the air, the soil. There was a peace that rose from the earth through his feet and took over his soul every single time he returned home.

  Rachel looked concerned when Noah took the Strasburg exit for Route 11. “This isn’t right, is it?”

  “No, it’s the long way. But it gets us there just the same.”

  They drove south through downtown Strasburg and Noah eagerly pointed out landmarks.

  Rachel couldn’t decide what was more interesting, the scenery or Noah’s reaction to being home.

  They continued south and Noah gave a history of the Old Valley Pike road. They rolled through the tiny towns of Toms Brook and Maurertown. When they hit the northern end of Woodstock, Noah pulled into a shopping center parking lot. “See that? That was a Ben Franklin department store until just last year. My mother’s favorite place to buy little things for the Inn. Not many of the old five-and-dimes left.”

  “You sound like an old crusty retiree,” Rachel teased.

  “Ha-ha,” Noah answered with punched sarcasm.

  “Just two?”

  “Yes, and just for that, we’re going to the Woodstock Tower first.”

  “Excuse me?”

  Noah pulled out of the parking lot and turned toward the eastern mountain and the winding road that would lead them into the George Washington National Forest and, ultimately, to the tower the Cooper family knew very well.

  They walked the path from the gravel-covered parking pullout on the narrow road to the metal tower.

  “You’re going up there?” Rachel asked.

  “Correction. We.”

  With modest coaxing, Rachel followed Noah up the three flights of grated stairs and onto the platform that sat atop the mountain.

  “Gorgeous,” she said simply, admiring the stunning vistas on both sides.

  Noah shared some of his favorite memories from the tower and pointed out the more interesting landmarks across the horizon. “I come up here sometimes to draw or paint. There’s not a better place in the valley for that, there really isn’t.”

  Rachel was energized by Noah’s sincerity.

  “It’s such a quiet place to just reflect on life, to figure things out. I love being able to see valleys on both sides. There aren’t many places where you can look forward and backward with such clarity.”

  Rachel took a picture of each valley with her phone.

  “But even with this majestic view,” Noah said, pulling her into his arms. “There’s still nothing more beautiful than you.”

  “Wow. I am not the first girl you’ve brought here, am I, Noah Cooper?”

  “Have I mentioned how beautiful you are?”

  They hiked down to the truck and took the windy, switchback road to Route 11. Noah pointed out Dellinger’s Funeral Home and complimented them on how sensitively they’d handled his best friend’s passing in high school. He called out other area staples: the movie theater and the next-door office of a reclusive, oddball novelist, the county courthouse, which was the oldest continuously operating courthouse west of the Blue Ridge Mountains, and Lawyer’s Row, where Nathan Crescimanno, Rain’s only serious boyfriend before Malcolm, had had an office before the controversy around Noah’s grandparents’ death landed Nathan on probation and out of the valley.

  “Coming up on your left, you’ll see the Chamber of Com-merce office where a young Noah Cooper interned one summer for the perky, attractive executive director.”

  “Oh, really? Is she still attractive?”

  “Not at all. Perky? Yes. Attractive? No, why would you say that? No, definitely not, not in the least. She’s ghastly, in fact!”

  “Uh-huh.”

  They moved on and Noah dropped nostalgia about the historic Walton and Smoot Drugstore, Woodstock Café, and Joe’s Steakhouse. He spoke fondly of his dear family friend, Mrs. Lewia, who was still running the town museum with an iron fist and working to preserve the history and reputation of the town and the valley. He pointed at the Massanutten Military Academy and then a Cooper family favorite, Katie’s Custard. Each spot got a point and a nugget of information Noah found fascinating. Even if Rachel didn’t always agree, she played along just as he hoped she would.

  They pulled into the long driveway at Domus Jefferson a few minutes before 11:00 a.m. Rachel popped the sun visor back into place and gazed up the hill toward the Inn. “Wow. Gorgeous,” she said.

  “Yes,” Noah said, looking first at the Inn then pivoting toward her. “Gorgeous.”

  Chapter 5

  “There he is!” Rain had her arms open before Noah had shut the truck door behind him.

  Noah scampered around the Dodge to open the door for Rachel, but she was already stepping out by the time he got to her.

  “Come here,” Rain said, stepping off Domus Jefferson’s wide porch steps and onto the gravel driveway. She hugged him, kissed his cheek, then hugged him again.

  “Come on, Mom, it hasn’t been that long.”

  “Long enough,” she said. “Long enough.” Then she hugged him again for good measure. When she finally let him go, she kept her arms open and reached for Rachel. “And you must be the one.”

  “The one?” Rachel answered. She placed her hands lightly on Rain’s back and endured the hug.

  “The one he’s been talking so much about. The one he met in the . . . well, in the most unusual way. You’re Rachel, right?” Rain released the tight embrace and eased back but kept her hands on Rachel’s shoulders.

  “Then, yes, I’m the one.” She glanced toward Noah. “Unless there’s another Rachel he’s pegged with his truck lately.”

  Noah put his hand on his chin and looked up. “No, there have been other accidents, but not with any Rachels.”

  “Boys,” Rain said, looking back at Rachel. Then she hugged her again, quicker this time, and led her up the stairs. “I am so glad to meet you. Noah has never—and I mean never—talked about a young lady as highly as he’s talked about you.”

  “Uh-oh.” Rachel looked over her shoulder at Noah as they climbed the stairs.

  “All good,” Rain assured her. “It’s all been good.”

  Rain led them into the Inn, past the rustic rolltop registration desk, past the family photos on the wall, and into the large living room. “Sit anywhere, dear.”

  Rachel dropped into an oversized, black leather recliner.

  “Can I get you something to drink? Or a snack? It’s a long drive.”

  “I’m good for now, thank you.”

  Rain sat on the stone hearth, and when Noah appeared in the doorway, she slapped the slab next to her.

  Rachel breathed it in. The walls, heavy with years and memories, the country décor, the Civil War history, the knickknacks. “This is really a lovely home, Mrs. Cooper. I don’t think I’ve ever been in a bed-and-breakfast.”

  “No kidding?” Rain stood. “Would you like a tour?”

  Noah smiled as his mother took Rachel by the hand and led her through the door to the kitchen. “Have fun,” he said as the swinging door shut and the women disappeared. After a moment or two, he stood and stretched his arms above his head. “Is Dad around?” he said to no one.

  A moment later, giggles rolled from the kitchen and Noah smiled again. Then he walked out of the living room, down the hall, and through the front door. “Dad?”

  Seconds later, Malcolm appeared from the south side of the house. He wore jeans and the same leather jacket he’d owned for as long as Noah could remember.

  “Hey, old man,” Noah said as Malcolm walked up the steps.

  Malcolm reached out to shake his hand, but Noah pulled him into a bear hug. “Has M
om taught you nothing, Dad?”

  “I should know better,” Malcolm answered as they separated. Then he faked a punch to his son’s gut and pointed to one of the rockers on the porch. “Where’s the lady?”

  “Mine or yours?” Noah said.

  “Yours. And if your mother hears you say that, she’ll whack you.”

  “So would mine,” Noah said. “They’re taking the grand tour.”

  Malcolm nodded.

  In the comfortable, cool spring air, father and son caught up face-to-face for the first time in more than a month. They discussed Noah’s finals, his updated plans for the summer, and Malcolm’s recent run-in with one of the county commissioners.

  “So, you like this one.”

  Noah rocked his chair back a little higher. “What makes you say that?”

  “Oh, please, son.”

  “What?”

  “When’s the last time you brought a girl out here?”

  Noah thought for a moment. “Melissa Skinner.”

  “Who?”

  “The drama major.”

  Malcolm squinted his eyes. “Oh, yeah. I liked that one.”

  Noah laughed. “Want her number?”

  The two men could hear more girlish giggling from inside the house as Rain and Rachel climbed the stairs to the second floor.

  “Who else . . .” Malcolm said to himself as the rocking resumed. “Oh, yeah, Kayla. The blonde. Remember her? Wasn’t she the one with a sister who you also went with?”

  Noah threw his head back. “Dad, seriously, no one has said went with since like the 1800s.”

  Malcolm stopped rocking and stared at his son, eyes focused and narrow. “Boy, don’t make me do something I’ll regret.” He tried to sound gruff and intimidating, but he started to smile before he could finish his threat.

  “Yes, Dad, I went with her sister, too. Cami. But she never came out here. Cami was too much a city girl for this place.”

  Malcolm nodded toward the Inn. “Isn’t she a little bit city, too?”

  “Yeah, she’s all about the city, no doubt about it. But she’s way more layered than that. She doesn’t fit any of the molds like a lot of the girls I’ve liked at Mason. She’s been around the world and seen some cool stuff. She always looks comfortable wherever she is, you know? Like she belongs wherever she lands. A local in any town.”

  Malcolm’s eyes were wide and his unibrow even more uni than normal. “‘A local in any town’?”

  “What?” Noah asked.

  “You’re in deep, boy.”

  Noah looked away and scanned the tree line to the south.

  “You are in something deep. Deep, deep, deep.”

  “I like her, Dad.”

  Malcolm began drumming on the armrests of his rocker with his thick thumbs. Without realizing it, Noah began doing the same. “Does she feel the same?” Malcolm asked.

  “I think so. I mean, she’s here.”

  Malcolm nodded. “True enough.”

  They continued rocking back and forth, the only noise coming from the porch’s well-worn floorboards. The two Coopers enjoyed the morning’s transition to afternoon and the sun’s ascent into the soft blue sky.

  “Dad?”

  “Yeah.”

  “When did you know?”

  “Know what?”

  “About Mom. That she was the one.”

  Malcolm stopped rocking and stretched back in his chair, extending his feet and crossing his arms. “I guess I just knew.”

  “But when? When did you first look at her and say, She’s the one.”

  Malcolm closed his eyes. “When I first looked at her.”

  “The first time you saw her?”

  “Exactly.”

  Once again Noah relived the moment his truck met the tire of Rachel’s mountain bike. Though weeks had passed, there on the porch, breathing in the crisp valley air, over a hundred miles away from the accident site, he could still see her sprawled across the sidewalk. He saw her backpack twisted and her hair exposed from the back of her helmet. The potentially tragic accident, particularly when Rachel retold the story, had become so slapstick that even the memory of a red raspberry on her face made Noah smile.

  “You’re in deep,” Malcolm said again, and Noah realized his father had stood and descended the porch steps to the driveway.

  Noah shrugged.

  “Come walk with me.”

  Noah followed his father to the Inn’s workshop, a small stand-alone building Malcolm had built shortly after taking over the Inn after his parents passed away. Malcolm picked up a long, freshly stained plank of wood from a table saw, removed a wrench and a cordless drill from the wall hooks, and fished several pieces of hardware from a jar.

  Malcolm led them out of the workshop and around the back of the Inn to the swing that Jack and Laurel had enjoyed thousands of times during their years at Domus Jefferson. It was the same swing Malcolm and Rain had sat on together after his return from Brazil.

  “Grab that end, would you, please?”

  Noah secured one end of the swing as Malcolm struggled to loosen an orange rusted bolt. Once the bolt was free, they switched places and Malcolm worked the other side. Together they removed the fat ropes from the front and back of each side and set the swing on the ground.

  “Been meaning to do this for a long time,” Malcolm said. Using his drill, he removed a broken plank from the middle of the swing’s seat and carefully slid the replacement into its place.

  “Not quite the same color, Dad. Do you care?”

  “It will be.” Malcolm winked at his son.

  “How long?”

  “That depends on Mother Nature. But in time, they’ll fit. They’ll start to look alike. They always do.”

  Malcolm secured the new plank into the swing with screws in new holes. When it was snug in the seat, they rehung the swing one rope, one clamp, one bolt at a time. When it was secure, Malcolm gave it a shove into the air. “Perfect.”

  Before the swing had come to a stop, Rain and Rachel appeared through the back door, stepped off the stairs, and spotted Malcolm and Noah.

  “Noah,” his mother called. “Lunch here or out?”

  “Here is fine,” he yelled back.

  Rain said something to Rachel, squeezed her arm, and walked back into the Inn alone. When Malcolm saw Rachel sauntering their way, he gathered his tools from the ground, winked at Noah, and vanished back to his workshop.

  Noah slid onto the swing and kept his feet grounded long enough for Rachel to join him. Then he pushed off and sent them into motion.

  “How was it?” Noah asked.

  “Pretty amazing. I had no idea what a place like this really was.”

  “Really?”

  “Well, yeah. My sort-of-stepdad had money when my mother was with him, and he was used to five-star hotels and resorts.”

  “B&Bs get pretty good ratings, too, you know.”

  Rachel slapped his thigh. “I didn’t mean anything like that. I just meant that he was used to room service, a restaurant, a bar—all those luxuries.” She looked back to the Inn. “But this place is lovely, really lovely.”

  Noah reached over and took her hand. “You don’t talk much about your family. What’s a sort-of-stepdad?”

  “He and Mom never got married, but he took really good care of us. We were basically a family, just not officially. I call him my stepdad anyway.”

  “Do you see him often?”

  Rachel took a few beats to recall his most recent visit to DC and their short meeting over Thai food in Alexandria. “What’s often?” she asked.

  “You tell me.”

  “He and my mom aren’t together anymore.”

  “Oh. Is it recent?”

  “What’s recent?” she asked with a sparkle. “Just kidding. They separated when I graduated from high school and left home.”

  “Oh.”

  Rachel shrugged. “It’s complicated. He found us in a bad place and took us in. He became like a dad to me an
d really helped us. Still does.”

  It hadn’t taken long for Noah to learn when it was best to switch topics, even when his boyish curiosity thirsted for more. “Play a game?” he asked.

  “Sure.”

  “I tell you one thing, just one, that you don’t know about me. Then you follow. If I say something you already knew, I have to go again and say two things. Same for you.”

  “Hmm. This sounds dangerous,” Rachel said.

  “I’ll start.” Noah pushed them into motion again and the swing creaked a bit on the tired branch above. “My middle name is Joseph.”

  “OK. I don’t have a middle name,” Rachel replied.

  “I knew that.” Noah smiled and pointed at her. “You owe me two.”

  “Why do I think getting hit by your truck again would be more fun?” When Noah didn’t let her off the hook, she continued. “I’ve been to twenty-eight countries.”

  “Wow. Twenty-eight? I knew you traveled, but twenty-eight? That’s impressive.”

  Rachel made a how-about-that face.

  “You have to say—”

  “One more—I know,” she stopped him. “Patience, patience.” Rachel looked around the yard as if searching for something of interest. “I broke a toe playing horseshoes when I was a kid. My dad—my real dad—threw one the wrong direction and it landed on my foot. Broke two toes, actually.”

  “Ouch. OK, me again. Let’s see. Hmm. My grandparents, the ones who bought this place and moved my dad here from Charlottesville, they wrote letters. Actually Grandpa Jack did the writing. He wrote Grandma a letter every Wednesday of their entire marriage.”

  “Really?” Rachel said, her mouth dropping open slightly.

  “Yep, they called them the Wednesday Letters. Lots of secrets in them. Lots of adventures. Crazy, huh?”

  “I’ll say.”

  “Top that,” Noah taunted.

  Rachel thought for a minute. “My mom and my real dad split up when I was seven. I haven’t seen him since.”

  “That doesn’t count, I knew they’d split up, you told me that once.”

  “But did you know how old I was?”