Starting Over in Wickham Falls
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Rochelle Alers
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Chapter One
Georgina Powell stared at her reflection in the full-length mirror, shocked and saddened at the same time with her transformation. The last time she’d taken special care with her appearance was for her high school prom. And that had been more than a decade ago. What, she asked herself, had she been doing for the past fourteen years? But she knew the answer; she hadn’t been living but just existing.
Her dream of enrolling in art school to become an illustrator had vanished completely with the unexpected death of her thirteen-year-old brother from meningitis. Her parents had been planning for Kevin to take over running the store once they retired, but their plans were transferred to her.
Kevin’s death changed their family’s dynamics. Her mother appeared emotionally unable to recover from losing a child; her father threw himself into running the business as if it was a startup instead of one that had been well established for generations. And it had taken Georgina a very long time to come to the realization that her brother, whom she’d nicknamed Shadow because he followed her around as if he feared she would disappear, was gone and wasn’t coming back.
Tonight signaled a change in Georgina’s life. Not only did she look different outwardly, but she’d also changed inwardly. The body-hugging black gown and matching four-inch, silk-covered stilettos had replaced the ubiquitous navy blue smock with Powell’s Department Store stitched over the back she wore over dark slacks. Her face with smoky shadows on her lids and a vibrant vermilion lip color, curly hair flat-ironed and tucked into a twist behind her ear completed her outward makeover. But it was her determination to move out of the house where she’d lived for the past thirty-two years that would alter her life.
Once her father downsized, and then eliminated the arts and crafts area of the store in order to expand the sporting goods section, it sparked an idea that had nagged at her for weeks. Georgina boxed up the stock and dropped it off at a storage facility with the intent of establishing her own business in the same town where she’d spent her entire life.
Picking up a black silk-lined cashmere shawl trimmed in faux fox, to ward off the chill of the mid-March night air, an envelope with the invitation and a beaded evening bag, Georgina walked out of the bedroom and down the back staircase to the garage located behind the two-story house. She managed to leave without encountering her mother. This was to become her first Wickham Falls Chamber of Commerce fund-raiser, an event that had been supported by both parents over the years, and then by only her father following Kevin’s passing.
Georgina was shocked one night when after closing, Bruce Powell informed her that he wouldn’t be attending and that she should take his place to represent the business. And when she’d asked her father why, his comeback was that it was time for her to prepare to take complete control of the department store once he retired. She’d wanted to tell him that she had no intention of managing the store because if she was going to assume that type of responsibility then it would be her own business enterprise.
She slipped behind the wheel of her late-model Nissan Rogue, an SUV she’d purchased to celebrate her thirty-second birthday. And at the beginning of the year, she’d made a New Year’s resolution to cross off at least three of the remaining nine notations on her to-do list. The first had been to trade in the Mini Cooper for the Rogue because she needed more room to transport the items needed to stock her new store.
Georgina started up the vehicle that still claimed a new-car smell and headed for the venue in Wickham Falls where the fund-raiser would be held for the first time. In the past the members of the Chamber had contracted with a hotel off the interstate to hold the annual event in one of their ballrooms.
A shiver of excitement rippled through Georgina when she thought about the plans she’d made for her future. She was aware that she had to work hard and probably make unforeseen sacrifices to realize her dream to become an independent business owner. But the knowledge that she would join a small number of women owning and operating their own businesses in Wickham Falls, West Virginia, was heady indeed.
Fifteen minutes later she maneuvered into a space between a Ram 1500 and a Ford F-150. You can take the boy out of the country, but you can’t take the country out of the boy, she mused. Whether attending the local sports bar or a semiformal affair, pickups were the preferred modes of transportation in the town where the population still hovered below five thousand.
Thankfully, the Gibsons, who owned the Wolf Den, when they erected a barn at the rear of the property for larger gatherings, had paved the parking lot. Georgina gathered her belongings off the passenger seat and alighted from the SUV.
A small crowd had gathered at the entrance to the barn and as she waited in line, she recognized several customers who patronized the department store. Powell’s, as the locals called it, had survived despite big-box stores going up in neighboring towns because the Falls’ town officials insisted if its citizenry lived local, then they should shop local. The town council had repeatedly voted down any developer’s bid to put up strip malls with fast food restaurants and variety shops because they would impact and threaten the viability of Wickham Falls’ mom-and-pop stores.
She finally made her way to the reception desk where the wives of several members were checking off names against ticket numbers. The woman glanced at her ticket, and then up at Georgina, her eyes widening in shock.
“Oh, my dear,” she whispered. “I almost didn’t recognize you, Georgina.”
She gave the elderly woman with stylishly salt-and-pepper coiffed hair a sweet smile. “There are occasions when we’re forced to clean up, Mrs. Bachmann.”
The woman, whose husband was the Chamber’s treasurer, nodded. “And I must say you clean up very well. I’m sorry your father can’t attend, but I’m glad you’re here to represent Powell’s. By the way, you’re at table number seven with others who will attend without a plus-one. You’ll find your place card there.”
“Thank you.”
She wanted to tell the woman that Bruce Powell was upset that he’d had to attend another social event without his wife, which led to rumors that he and Evelyn were having marital issues. There wasn’t an issue but that Evelyn Powell had become a social recluse. She was rarely seen in the store and had resigned from all the town’s civic organizations. Even after sixteen years, Evelyn still mourned the loss of her son. Georgina would occasionally remind her that she did have a daughter, but the older woman ignored her as if she hadn’t spoken.
She glanced around the barn that was reminiscent of a bygone era with strings of tiny white lights around the perimeter of the ceiling while gaslight-inspired chandeliers and hanging fixtures cast a warm, golden glow over round tables with seating for six. And in keeping with the theme of the time period of the early twentieth century, the glass, flatware and ornately carved mahogany bar added to the venue’s rustic ambiance. White-jacketed waitstaff circulated with trays of hors d’oeuvres and flutes of champagne. Georgina draped her shawl over the back of one of the chairs at table seven.
“Georgi Powell, long time no see.”
She turned to find Langston Cooper standing a few feet away, holding a glass with an amber liquid, the color an exact match for his eyes, grinning at her. The orbs in a light brown complexion reminded her of champagne diamonds. Her attention was drawn to the minute lines fanning out around the eyes of the man who wasn’t much older than she was. Langston had left Wickham Falls to attend college and had spent most of his career as a foreign journalist covering wars in Africa and the Middle East. She’d always thought of him as good-looking with his balanced features and a hint of a cleft in his strong chin, but there was something about Langston’s body language that communicated he was so tightly coiled that people had to walk on eggshells in his presence.
“I could say the same about you,” she countered, smiling. “Are you here as a member or as a reporter for the paper?”
Langston’s eyebrows lifted slightly. “Both. Well, as editor-in-chief of The Sentinel, I’m expected to attend this soiree. What I don’t remember is you coming last year.”
“That’s because this is my first year.”
To say he was surprised to see Georgina at the event did not match his shock in seeing her wearing something other than the smock that identified her as an employee of Powell’s Department Store. But then he had to remember she wasn’t an employee but the daughter of the owner. He knew staring was rude, yet he couldn’t pull his gaze away from her beautiful face with a subtle hint of makeup. However, it was the décolletage on the black halter gown that made it almost impossible for him not to stare at the soft swell of breasts each time she took a breath.
Mixed-race Georgina had inherited the best physical attributes from her Scotch-Irish father and African American mother. She’d concealed the faint sprinkling of freckles with makeup that was perfect for her light brown complexion. The brown curly hair with glints of copper were missing, and in its place was a sleek hairstyle that made her appear quite the sophisticate. When he’d returned to Wickham Falls the year before to purchase the failing periodical and encountered Georgina, the first thing he’d noticed was she no longer had the noticeable gap between her front teeth. He had always thought her pretty, but tonight she was stunning!
“Is there something I can get for you from the bar?”
She glanced at the waiters with the bubbly wine. “I’ll have champagne. Meanwhile, I’m going to see what they’re serving at the carving station, because if I’m going to drink, then I need to eat something.”
Langston pulled out the chair with her shawl. “Please sit and I’ll get you something to eat and your wine. How do you like your meat cooked?” He removed his suit jacket and placed it over the back of the chair next to hers.
She sat, smiling up at him. “Medium-well. Thank you, sir.”
He returned her smile. “You’re welcome, ma’am.”
Langston approached a waiter. Reaching into the pocket of his suit trousers, he took out a money clip and handed the man a bill. “Can you please leave a couple of flutes at table seven?”
The young man pocketed the money, nodding. “Of course. And thank you, sir.”
He wended his way through the crowd to the carving station, chiding himself for not telling Georgina that she looked incredible but did not want to come on too strong, because he didn’t know if she was involved with someone. Just because she’d come unescorted, it did not translate into her being unencumbered. After all, she was a beautiful woman and heir to a successful business that had survived for decades despite the Great Depression and several recessions to remain viable.
Langston expertly balanced plates along his arm, a skill he’d learned when waiting tables as a college student. When he’d asked the waiter to leave a couple of flutes at the table, he hadn’t meant a couple each for him and Georgina.
She pointed to the quartet of glasses. “He must have assumed we were thirsty,” she teased.
He set down small plates with thinly sliced roast beef and horseradish, pasta with a vodka sauce, prawns with an Asian-inspired dipping sauce, and filo tartlets filled with spicy cilantro shrimp. “I’m willing to bet we’ll need them because what I’ve selected for us definitely isn’t bland.”
Unfolding her napkin, Georgina spread it over her lap. “Spicy is good.”
Langston gave her a sidelong glance. “So you like it hot?”
She nodded. “I enjoy a little heat,” she admitted, spreading a smidgen of horseradish on the roast beef. “Do you cook?”
Her question caught him completely off guard. “I can. Why did you ask?”
Georgina shrugged bare shoulders. “Just curious.”
Langston waited for her to chew and swallow a mouthful of meat. “What else are you curious about?”
“How is the paper doing since you took over?”
He successfully concealed his disappointment because he’d expected her to ask him something more personal—perhaps why he had come without a date. “It’s taken a while, but we’ve managed to increase the circulation and advertising revenue.”
“There was a time before you bought the paper that we thought it was going to fold. We’ve always relied on The Sentinel to advertise the store’s daily and weekly specials.”
“Powell’s has advertised with the paper from its inaugural issue.”
“It’s the only way we can get the word out when we put items on sale.”
Langston speared a prawn, dipped it into the piquant sauce and popped it into his mouth. “Do you find it odd that the Gibsons would offer an eclectic menu for the cocktail hour when they’re known for barbecuing meat?”
The owners of the Wolf Den had established a reputation over several generations of serving the best grilled, barbecue and smoked meats in Johnson County. Longtime residents had whispered about the Gibsons keeping them supplied with illegal moonshine during Prohibition, and that revenue agents couldn’t offer anyone enough money to snitch on their supplier. What went on in Wickham Falls stayed in Wickham Falls, and it was the reason he’d come back to his hometown to start over rather than remain in Washington, DC.
“They are full of surprises,” Georgina said. “I suppose for catered affairs they like to change it up a bit.”
“I really like the change.”
“So do I,” she agreed. “If this place had been up when we had prom, then we probably wouldn’t have had to pay as much for our tickets or to contend with a power outage and a malfunctioning generator.”
“My parents told me about that fiasco when they came up to New York for my college graduation.”
“Some of the kids were talking about wrecking the place when we were told we weren’t getting a refund because the contract stated the owners weren’t responsible for power outages or acts of God.”
Langston shook his head. “I don’t believe that would’ve gone over well with their parents who would’ve had to pay for the damages.”
“My folks would have grounded me for life if that had happened.”
“Speaking of your folks, how’s your mother?”
Langston asking about Evelyn Powell was another reminder for Georgina to move out of her parents’ house. “She’s well.”
What she wanted to tell him was that her mother had elevated manipulation to an art form. She’d feigned not feeling well whenever Georgina mentioned going out because Evelyn feared she would meet someone and possibly have a future with him.
“Tell her I asked about her.”
“I will,” she promised. Evelyn always perked up when someone asked about her. “How are your parents enjoying their retirement in Key West?”
“What can I say, Georgina. Dad just bought a boat that sleeps four. He, Mom and another couple sail down to different islands in the Caribbean to fish and shop, while using the boat as their hotel. I did ask them why they bought a bungalow when they spend most of their time on the water, and they couldn’t give me an answer.”
“Don’t begrudge them, Langston. It sounds as if they’re having the time of their lives.”
He affected a half smile. “I suppose I’m a little jealous because they’re having so much fun.”
“Have you planned what you want to do once you retire?”
“No. I haven’t thought that far ahead.” He took a sip of champagne. “What about you, Georgi? Have you figured out your future?”
Langston shifted slightly to give her a direct stare, and Georgina sucked in an audible breath when she realized there was something in the way that he was looking at her, which made her feel slightly uncomfortable. Worldly and erudite, she wondered if he could see under the veneer of sophistication she’d affected for the fund-raiser to glimpse a girl in a woman’s body struggling to control her destiny.
“Yes, but first I have to find someplace to live.”
A frown appeared between his eyes. “Don’t you live with your parents?”
When she’d met with Sasha Manning, her best friend from high school, to discuss her future, the pastry chef who’d recently opened Sasha’s Sweet Shoppe on Main Street had advised her that in order to grasp a modicum of independence, she had to move out of her parents’ house.
“Yes. I’ve made the decision to move out and get my own place.”
“Where?”
“I’d prefer Wickham Falls, but if I can find something in Mineral Springs, I’ll take it.”
Langston gave her a you’ve got to be kidding me look when he said, “How can a girl who grew up in the Falls actually consider moving to the Springs? It just isn’t done.”
Georgina laughed, the sound carrying easily to a nearby table as several people turned to stare at her and Langston. The rivalry between the two towns had begun years ago during a high school football game when several players from Mineral Springs were charged with unnecessary roughness. The incident ended a player from the Falls the opportunity to take advantage of an athletic scholarship when his leg was so severely injured that he would never be able to compete again. Students from the Falls who dated people in the Springs were socially ostracized. It had become the modern-day version of the Hatfields and McCoys, with students in neighboring towns rather than families as archrivals.
“I know that, Langston, but I don’t have a choice if I can’t find something here in the Falls.” Mineral Springs was larger, more populated, and there were several properties that were available for rent or purchase.
“Do you want to rent or buy?” he asked.
“It doesn’t matter.” Georgina had saved enough money for a sizable down payment on a house that would suit her tastes, but she was also willing to rent until she found a property where she hoped to spend the rest of her life. “You run a newspaper, so you must know just about everything that happens in Wickham Falls.”
Langston affected a sly grin. “There are things I’m aware of and would rather not know. Have you checked with Viviana Remington? Correction. She’s now Viviana Wainwright, and her husband is the developer who’s building the new single-family homes on the Remington property. I would suggest you check with her before talking to a real-estate agent.”
“Thanks for the tip. I’ll let you know if I find something.”
Georgina knew Viviana Remington was a direct descendant of the infamous Wolfe family who’d owned most of the coal mines in the county and were reviled for how they’d made their fortune taking advantage of their workers. And they preferred closing the mines rather than upgrade to meet the government’s safety regulations. She was grateful to be seated at the table with Langston, because he’d given her the lead she needed to find somewhere to live before she sought out Miss Reilly, the local real estate agent.
He leaned close enough for their shoulders to touch. “I need a favor from you.”
She went completely still. The last man who’d asked her for a favor needed fifteen thousand dollars to cover his gambling debts. He’d been siphoning money from the sale of cars at his father’s used-car dealership to gamble, and when the accountant called to say he was coming to go over the books in order to file the corporate tax return, he panicked. Although they’d dated for almost eight months and Georgina thought she was in love with him, she ended their relationship and blocked his phone number.
She’d wanted to believe he was different because he worked for his father who had one of the most successful used-car dealerships in Beckley, but it was apparent he was no different from the men in the Falls who equated her to dollar signs. Boys in high school vied for her attention not because they’d thought her pretty, smart, or even talented, but because she was now sole heir to a business that had earned the reputation as the longest-running family-owned business in the town’s history.
Georgina swallowed to relieve the constriction in her throat. “What do you want?”
Langston placed his hand over her fisted one. “Why do you make it sound as if I’m asking you to give up your firstborn?”
“That would be easy, because I don’t have any children.”
He angled his head. “Do you want children?”
His question gave her pause. It had been too many years since she had been involved with a man to even consider marriage and children. “I suppose I’d like one or two somewhere down the road.”
Langston chuckled. “Just how long is that road, Georgi?”
She smiled. It was the second time he’d called her by the nickname kids in the Falls gave her to distinguish between her and another girl named Georgiana. “I really don’t know, because I have a few requisites before I can even consider motherhood.”
“Does finding a husband figure in your requisites?”
“That helps, but it’s not mandatory.”
“So,” he drawled, “it wouldn’t bother you to be an unwed mother?”
She scrunched up her nose. “I prefer the term single mother. If I decide to adopt a baby and not marry, I would be a single, not an unwed, mother.”
Langston inclined his head. “Point taken.”
“Now that we’ve settled that,” she said after a pregnant pause, “what favor do you want from me?”
He leaned even closer, his nose brushing her ear. “Save a dance for me.”
Georgina was shocked and relieved that all he wanted was a dance. The invitation indicated there would be music and dancing. “What if I save you two?”
Langston chuckled. “If I’d known you were that generous, then I would’ve asked for three or maybe even four.”
“Don’t push it, Langston.”
He held up both hands. “Okay. Two it is.”
Georgina didn’t know Langston well, had had very little interaction with him in the past, yet she wanted to think of him as a friend. And she’d had very few close friends in the Falls other than Sasha Manning. She and Sasha had shared many of the same classes and confided in each other as to what they wanted once they graduated school. And now that Sasha had returned to town as a former contestant in a televised bakeoff, and the ex-wife of an A-list country singer, she’d sought her out to solicit her advice as to the steps she should take to realize her dream to become an independent businesswoman that did not include the department store.
Pushing back her chair, she rose to her feet, Langston rising with her. “Please excuse me, but Sasha just walked in and I need to talk to her.”
