The Mulberry Tree

“I’m sorry, you’re going to think I’m crazy, but it’s just a feeling I have about it. I wouldn’t let any of the cleaning people near it. I know it’s silly of me, but . . . ” She trailed off with a shrug of her shoulders.

“Let’s have a look at it,” Matt said, then bent and began to pry up the plywood sheets. After he’d removed three of them, he stepped back. “Good instincts,” he said, his voice full of admiration. “Whoever put this floor in didn’t know diddly-squat about construction. They might as well have used Legos.”

Stepping closer to him, Bailey peered down into the cavity that he’d exposed and saw floor joists that were barely touching each other, unable to hold any weight.

“If anyone had walked on that, he”—he looked down at her—“or she would have fallen through to the floor below.” His voice lowered. “Do you always have premonitions like this one?”

“Not often,” she said. “But sometimes I . . . You’ll think I’m silly.”

“Not likely.”

“Sometimes I seem to know when things are right or not. It’s not like I know the future, but I know when something is what I should do. Maybe it’s what you said, ‘an instinct.’ ”

“Whatever it is, it’s a good one.” It was growing dark outside, and there were no lights in the attic.

Bailey started down the stairs, Matt behind her, but at the top of the stairs, he paused and looked at the room. He could almost see his computer and desk set against the wall. And over there, under the windows, would be his drafting table. If he built a little platform, he could raise his table so he could see out the windows; then he’d be able to see into that garden where she was growing all that food that she put into jars and onto plates. He could—

“Did you see something else wrong?” Bailey called up to him from the bottom of the stairs.

“No,” he answered, then turned and went down the stairs.

When they were once again in the living room, she didn’t ask him to sit down, didn’t offer him anything else to eat or drink, and didn’t sit down herself. It was obvious that she was ready for him to leave. After all, it was a little past nine o’clock now, and she probably had things she needed to do.

But then, so did Matt. He didn’t leave. Instead, he stood there and waited for her answer.

“All right,” she said as she moved toward the front door. “I’m ready to hire you. Could you give me a bid? I need to see what I can afford to do. I think I’m going to have a lot of other expenses, and—” Glancing toward the kitchen, she gave a little shrug.

Now’s your chance, Longacre, he said to himself. It’s now or never. “I have a proposition for you.”

Immediately she took a step back, and he regretted his choice of words.

“Business,” he said quickly, but she didn’t relax the set of her shoulders. “Look,” he said, “could we sit down and talk about this?”

He moved toward the couch, but she stood where she was, looking at him cautiously. He sat down, took a deep breath, then looked back up at her. “I need a place to stay, and you have extra bedrooms, so I thought maybe I could rent a room from you. I’d do the remodeling of this house on weekends and charge you only for materials.”

“I see,” she said, but she avoided his eyes. Slowly she walked around the couch and sat on a chair, as far as she could get from him without leaving the room. “So why do you want to move in here with me? Surely there must be other people in Calburn who have empty bedrooms.”

“Lots of them, but—” He gave her a crooked smile. “They can’t cook, and they have a houseful of kids to drive me crazy, and . . . Please don’t take offense at this, but there’s something I like about you, something peaceful and calm. You don’t look like the type of woman who gets hysterical easily.”

“No,” Bailey said slowly. “I can guarantee you that it takes a lot to make me hysterical.” She looked down at her hands for a moment. “Sooooo, what, uh, space would you take if you moved in here?”

“I’d t

ake the larger bedroom in the back, the one nearest that green bathroom,” he said quickly, “and I’d need to use part of the attic room for an office. I do book work on weekends.”

“You’d do book work in addition to freeing my porch?”

“Right. Porch and fireplace. And the kitchen. Kitchen, most definitely.”

“So what about food?” she asked.

“I think you should cook.”

“No, I mean, who pays for the food? You eat a lot. And what if you have guests? Who pays for the extra?”

“I have an account at the local grocery in Calburn, so if you buy there, I’ll pay the bill. Is that fair?”

“What if the food comes from my garden or roadside stands? And there’s the Cost Club.”