Thomas heard all the capital letters there, and he was impressed.
"We understand that not only have you purchased Thorpewold, you intend to restore it."
No sense in denying it. "Actually, yes. I have. And I do."
"As it was in the Middle Ages?"
He paused and considered his answer. He actually hadn't finalized his plans where the remodel was concerned. He needed a place to live, and he needed a challenge. But he'd purposefully left the specifics for when he'd reached England.
"Honestly," he said slowly, "I'm not quite sure. I don't intend to tear it down and start over, if that's what you're worried about."
"We worry about progress, young man."
"I'll probably try to restore it to as original a state as possible," he conceded. "With a few modern conveniences, if that won't incite riots."
She pursed her lips. "The castle is a national treasure, young man."
"Is it?" he mused. "Any decisive battles fought here? Any famous occupants? Any legendary trysts? I don't think so."
"It is the age of the structure that makes it important."
"I'll give you that, but I imagine Thorpewold was built for function, not beauty."
"Nevertheless—"
"I don't see a good reason not to make it habitable."
"There are many good reasons why not."
"I think we're at an impasse," he offered with as much of a smile as he could muster. He had no intention of not trying to live in the place he'd bought, so making it habitable was definitely in the cards. But he had to admit that, not having examined the castle at close range, he wasn't all that sure what would need to be done. "I am," he said finally, "going to make a home of it."
"We'll not give up so easily," she said, waving her napkin at him in challenge.
"I'm sure you won't," he said with a sigh.
"Then war it is!" she exclaimed, tossing her napkin down with a flourish. "Steel yourself for a long siege, young man. We're very good at this."
"I'm quite sure you are."
She walked to the door with a spine so stiff a two-by-four would have been impressed. She paused, then slowly looked back at him. She stared at him for several moments in silence, then spoke.
"Why did you buy it?" she asked.
Now if that wasn't a question for the annals. He didn't really want to answer with the truth, but if there was one thing he wasn't, it was a liar, so he took a deep breath. "Because I had to."
She looked at him for a moment or two longer, then turned and left the room. Thomas didn't even have time to mull over the answer that had come from deeper inside him than he would have liked before Mrs. Pruitt was bustling in, carrying a hearty breakfast.
"Heard them declaring war on ye," she said, setting down the plate in front of him. "Passing irritating, that lot."
"I'm sure they do some good," he offered.
"Hrmph," she said with a sniff. " 'Tis private property now, that keep. Ye do with it what ye like. 'Twould probably be better torn down, anyway."
"Really?" he asked, surprised. "Why?"
She chewed on her answer for a moment or two before she shook her head. "Just rumors, and likely better left unsaid. I daresay ye'll know more about the whole affair than I in the end."
He wasn't sure he liked the sound of that.
"And by the by," she said, clearing up a plate or two, "all yer woodworking things ye sent from the States are in the back shed. I cleaned ye out a right proper place out there. Campin' gear is there as well."
"Thank you."
"Ye aren't planning to sleep up there, are ye?" she asked sharply.
"If the weather holds, I might."
"I'll be plannin' on ye for supper each night. Just to make sure ye've survived the day."
He only smiled and dug into his eggs. He looked up as she made for the kitchen door.
"Mrs. Pruitt?"
"Aye?"
"Thanks for breakfast."
"Late as it is," she agreed. " 'Tis nothing, me lad."
"Are they staying long?"
"Them's as have it in for ye?" She snorted. "Aye. Indefinitely."
"I was afraid of that."
"I thought ye might be. Mind yer back, me lad."
He watched her go and wondered if he'd just gotten himself in for more than he'd bargained for.
Well, it wasn't as if he wasn't used to people being irritated by what he did. He'd acted on unpopular ideas before and survived the fallout. He'd also survived climbs in incredibly inhospitable environments and come away the victor. A few grumpy Brits weren't going to faze him. If the number of people he annoyed remained at three, he was going to be damned lucky.
Besides, he wasn't going to go home. He'd come to accomplish something, and accomplish it he would. He didn't have a thing to show for twelve years of work. He'd never left any permanent traces of his passing while climbing. His house in Maine was the first tangible thing he'd left behind in his life. He wasn't about to leave another indiscernible reminder of his passing if he could help it.
A half hour and a very full belly later, he was walking out the front door. He looked neither to the right nor the left, on the off chance he might see something he didn't want to. No sense in tempting fate, despite his earlier determination that his mother and sister were loony. His dad had always said Megan was the one with the overactive imagination. Maybe his dad had been neglectful in not applying the same label to him.
No, it was the past that was full of ghostly visions. Today he felt marvelous, and he was just certain his hallucinations were behind him.
He walked through the garden and down to the road, enjoying the lack of clouds in the sky and the crisp smell of a late-summer morning. The road was well paved, but definitely a one-laner. It was deserted, though, so he supposed driving wouldn't have been that big a stress. But the walking suited him, so he enjoyed the route
