Page 84 of The Hermit on the Hill

"An intervention?" This had to be another prank. "I don't know what Cody and George have told you, but I am not an alcoholic or a drug addict."

Nora Reynolds stood. "Have you gotten over yourself and decided to stay in town and marry my daughter?"

"No."

"Then you need an intervention."

***

"I'll go first," an elderly woman with bobbed, black hair got to her feet before I could argue for all the reasons I didn't need an intervention. "My name is Li Mei Yu. I was a friend of your grandmother's, and I let you and your grandmother down when I didn't check on her when she was sick. She mentioned her illness to several people in town, and I asked our pastor to pray for her. I didn't do more because I—" She pressed a hand to her chest. "There is no excuse. I was wrong, Sam Oakley and your grandmother died. You and your sister suffered a great trauma, and I didn't check on either of you after she died. I will have to live with that choice for the rest of my life, but I want the chance to make it up to you anyway I can. I don't own a business in town and I don't have pull with many folks, but I have a grandchild of my own on the way, and I can promise you I will do everything in my power to make sure she is a friend to your son."

I stared at her, my chest tight, my eyes burning. "Why? Why didn't you check on her?"

Li Mei sighed. "The simplest answer is that she was the most capable woman I've ever met. She was a gifted healer, and she possessed the sight." She glanced around the room as though embarrassed to admit such a thing. "I truly believe she had the sight, and I thought nothing could hurt her. I figured she'd mix up a tea and be right as rain in a day or two." She started to sit back down, but stopped and stood. "That's not entirely true. My husband didn't abide me visiting your grandmother. He didn't believe in her powers and he thought she put ridiculous thoughts into my head. He viewed her as dangerous to our intention to raise kids who would succeed in a modern world."

She sat, and I stared, stunned. "I appreciate your offer, but you can't make your grand daughter befriend my boy. Stigmas aren't that easy to break."

"Maybe not." A middle-aged woman stood, her smile sympathetic. She wore a suit, her hair styled in long braids. "But I'm president of our local business association and I have spoken to every small business owner in town. I explained to them your reasons for inviting developers here, and I promised them you'd made sure those developers knew there would be no sale."

"My reasons?" I looked at Brittany.

My sister's cheeks flushed. "I may have gotten carried away at the town council meeting and told everyone about how Nana died. I told them it was my fault."

Tears streamed down her cheeks, and my own eyes stung. "No. You were just a baby. You couldn't have saved her."

"But I made you stay with me. You could have gone to town and gotten help."

"It was my fault," I said. "I should have known how bad she was, and I should have gone for help even when you asked me not to."

"It wasn't either of you kids' fault," said a gruff old man in overalls, his cheeks red like they were chapped from too long in the wind. George Gregory's father, Bart, if I remembered right. "It was my fault, and it was every person in this town's fault. Anyone who has any sense knows that, and they know why you did what you did, Son. It might take some folks time to come around, but we want you to stay. No one will cause you or your family any harm."

"You can't promise that." I crossed my arms over my chest, thumbs tapping my biceps. "And not causing us harm isn't the same as wanting us here or supporting us."

Cody Reynolds guffawed. "Stop with the drama, Sam. Every person in this room is on your side. You want a promise every person in this damn town will like you? That not a one of them will ever say a hard word to Jenna or your son? That's just underestimating the strength of my sister and of your son."

Next to Cody, Carrie slapped a hand on his thigh and frowned. "What Cody is trying to say is that you have family here, Sam. We'll all stand beside you, even if you and Jenna don't get back together. You're the father of our nephew and, until you prove you're as bad as you seem to believe everyone thinks you are, we'll stand up for you to everyone who says a bad word against you or Jenna or your son."

I blinked, an odd feeling forming in my chest. What the hell? It felt kind of good. Like I'd like to have these people on my side. Like I'd want to do the same if anyone threatened them, just because Jenna loved them.

"Does that include tarring and feathering me?"

George shrugged. "That all depends on you."

"Leave him alone," an elderly woman, her umber brown skin barely showing her age, said. "He was always a good boy. He's just more sensitive than the rest."

I scowled. "I'm not…" But something about the woman seemed familiar. "Mrs. Hunter?"

Her smile was every bit as kind and her brown eyes as sparkling as I remembered. "It's good to see you, Sam." She looked around at the group. "I taught him history right before they took him away to live with his aunt." She turned back to me. "I should have checked up on you, Sam. And I'm sorry about that. I don't think you're entirely right about the reason no one came to see your grandmother, though. Sure, there were people who judged her, pastors and such who said she was doing the devil's work, but just about everyone in this room and most people in town went to see her when they were ill or needed a charm for some trouble. I believe most folks didn't go to check on her because of what Li Mei said. Most of us, myself included, believed Rosie could face down the devil himself and walk away unscathed to bake another of her apple pies."

"Oh, my goodness," a red-cheeked woman with aquiline features said. "No one made apple pies like Rosie did."

"You mean no one else puts cheese in their apple pies?" an elderly man said. "I never did understand how cheese could taste good in a pie like that, but it sure did."

Unbidden, a memory came to me of eating Nana's warm apple pie at her dining room table. A taste so unique and warming. Only now did it make sense why no apple pie I'd eaten since had lived up to Nana's pie.

"Do you have the recipe, Sam?" another interventionist asked. The owner of the diner, maybe. "I'd love to put her apple pie on the menu. I'd call it Rosie's pie."

"You should call it healer's pie." If the local diner wanted to honor my grandmother's memory, they might as well honor all of it, the woman, the talented baker, and the miraculous healer. "Don't know if I can find the recipe, but if I do, I'll make you a copy."

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