The Passing Bell Tolls for Thee

27 Christmas Eve

Late on the morning of December 24, April drove the Mercedes up the driveway to the Lodge at Oakton. Debra Burke sat in the front passenger seat, with Wyatt and his son in the back seat. Debra rattled on and on about London.

April listened indulgently; this was Debra's trip of a lifetime. "It was so wonderful seeing Buckingham Palace, but we didn't see the new King."

"I think they're all at Sandringham for Christmas, Mom," said April, "but the King gives a speech for Christmas. You can watch on TV."

"Wonderful, wonderful," Debra chatted on. April parked in front of the door and took out her phone to text Mrs. Bigwood they were here. Debra looked around Oakton, the handsome stone Lodge, the outbuildings, sheep in the pasture. "All this is your new home. Imagine, you've inherited a genuine English estate."

"Wiltshire sheep farm, Mom," April said, patiently, for the nth time. The years away from the domineering woman had matured her. "It won't be mine till the will is probated, and I qualify." She sent the text. "Let's go in, guys. Mrs. Bigwood will have lunch ready soon. I'll show you to your rooms, and help you unpack."

"You married Harvey and divorced him for some reason." Debra humffed. "Fortunately, this place will help you find another husband, even if he's not as good a catch. I never understood what Harvey saw in you."

"OK, Mom," April said. A gullible, lonely, young woman, she thought. "He's still a friend, though we're not in touch often. We saw him for lunch in London." She opened her car door and put her feet on the ground. She stretched. Her back ached a little. She was tired from London and a little surprised at how glad she was to be back at Oakton. Oakton's my home, she realized. I do want to live here.

"April, can I ride a horse?" Max asked.

"Umm. The only two horses here are too big for you. There's a livery stable the other side of Pelham. I can take you there one day after Christmas."

"Yes!" the boy said, fist pumping the air. April smiled. Max had spoken of the chickens and rabbits he and his father had on their property, until his mother got rid of them. Like his father, he loved the country.

Wyatt set two suitcases on the driveway beside her. "Max, get your backpack, please," he said.

The front door opened, and Mrs. Bigwood came out, followed by Bill. "Hello, Mrs. Waverly." Bill nodded. "Welcome home."

April introduced her family. Bill hefted a suitcase, and took two shopping bags from the trunk, gifts April purchased for her family. "Call me Bill; everyone does."

Debra was in the Yellow Bedroom down the hall from April's. April hadn't heard any disturbances since the first time, and she believed the animal or whatever had caused the noises, had left, or the exterminators had gotten rid of them. Wyatt and his son shared the fourth bedroom.

An hour later, they sat at the dining room table for lunch. Ben had returned and greeted the family. He sat at the head of the table, next to Debra, who was delighted to hear another English accent.

"The Christmas Eve service at St. Duncan is tonight at 6:30," April said. She took another serving of macaroni and cheese, a southern staple the housekeeper called macaroni cheese. The Burkes ate it with relish. Ben tolerated American-style food, but he was courteous and charming to her family, and Debra was happy. April thought he didn't want another argument, especially in front of her family. Ben had ulterior motives behind much of his behavior, and she was on guard.

"Bellringing will be at 6:30. It's a custom here in England, ringing bells. Three churches in Pelham still practice ringing peals: St. Duncan's, and the Catholic and Lutheran churches."

"I'm tired," Debra said. "I'd like to stay here."

"Sure," Debra said. "Wyatt, what about you? And Max?"

"I'll go," Wyatt said. "Sounds interesting. Max?"

"Ummm," the boy said, swallowing mac and cheese, and forking up more. "I like this English macaroni cheese. I kind of want to stay here. Mrs. Bigwood said she's going to bake cookies and make hot chocolate. We'll tell ghost stories. She's a druid, but the cookies will be chocolate chip."

"Fine with me," said April. "Wyatt and I'll be home about eight-thirty or nine o'clock. In time for cookies, hot chocolate and ghost stories."