Loving Mr. Wright Page 3

"Mmm," Phoebe subsided in her chair, and the car was quiet for a while. Erica was concentrating on driving and Caleb was relieved that the grilling had stopped.

  "So how much land did she leave for you?" Phoebe piped up again, "are you going into farming or what?"

  "I am not sure yet." Caleb became tense once more.

  "How old are you anyway?" Phoebe asked him.

  Erica giggled. "You don’t have to answer, Caleb."

  "It's okay," Caleb sighed. It wouldn't matter if he told her anyway. His age was the one thing he could easily tell anybody who asked. "I am Thirty-Five."

  "Oh," Phoebe settled back down. "You are just as old as Erica."

  Erica snorted. "Thirty-five is not that old."

  She turned onto the road that led to Miss Reba's house and steadily drove up the hill. The road was not as bad as she had feared but it was not good either. They bumped and skidded to a stop in front of a washed out blue house that was a mixture of board and concrete.

  "It's dark," Erica turned to Caleb, "no electricity, no running water. Will you be fine here tonight?"

  "Oh yes," Caleb came out of the car and stretched. "It will be my castle, the first real place to call home in years. It seems luxurious to me."

  He looked at Erica seriously. "Thank you very much for the lift. I have no idea what I would do if you hadn’t come along."

  "Don’t worry about it," Erica said smiling. "The Lord always provides. By the way, since you are this close to Three Rivers Church you can stop by sometime."

  "Yes, I will. Thank you again." He turned and walked up the overgrown yard.

  Erica reversed the car and drove off.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  In the three weeks since she had last seen Caleb, Erica would think about him almost every day—how did he fare that night. The house had looked like a derelict dump and that had been in the dark; it must have been quite a sight in the day. She was tempted—several times—to go up there and see how he was doing, but she didn't want to seem too keen on him. He had already caught her looking at him intently. If she seemed too concerned now he would probably think she was desperate or something.

  She kept running through excuses in her head. Hi Caleb, I was just passing by. She would have to scratch that idea because Miss Reba had practically owned that side of the hill. It was acres and acres of land. There was no passing through to anywhere but more of her land.

  A few years, ago some medical professionals had gone up to the house where the old woman lived and forcibly removed her. She had been unable to take care of herself but did not want to leave her home. Her situation meant that she had to live closer to the hospital but it took two nurses and a doctor to convince Miss Reba of that.

  Erica paced around the house and thought of several excuses she could use to approach Caleb. She looked outside at the back garden and frowned. It was already overrun with weeds. Kelly had asked her, just yesterday, how the garden was doing and she had sarcastically said, "It was going to the weeds."

  It didn’t have to be that way, Erica's face lit up, the front was also in dire need of cutting and the shrubs needed a trimming. She needed a gardener, maybe someone who could come in at least twice per week—preferably on those days when she had the morning off.

  She almost skipped to her car in delight. Maybe her parents also wanted help with their garden; her mother had been mumbling that the regular gardener was showing up for work only when he wanted to. She knew several other people who would want a reliable gardener.

  She could help out Caleb with some serious work. She couldn’t forget how down he had looked that night, and how he had snidely said to Phoebe that he had no job and no money.

  What on earth could have happened to him in Kingston that he had come to St. Ann with only the shirt on his back? She wanted to find out and she wanted to find out from Caleb himself. She had given him three weeks. He never showed up at church so now she would have to take the initiative.

  She drove up to Miss Reba's Hill. She had no idea what the name of the place was. When she neared the house her heart raced with apprehension. Maybe she was reading too much into the one night she had seen the guy. Maybe he did not want her help and she had been reading the signals wrong.

  She parked in the yard and looked over at the house. She could hear knocking somewhere inside, and she heard the faint bleat of a goat in the back. Before she could second-guess herself anymore, she exited the car. Caleb came out of the house and stood on the veranda, shirtless, with a black bandana around his head and the black jeans she had seen him in the night of the musical; it was hanging low on his hips.

  She gulped. He was all kinds of sexy. His lean torso was well muscled and he had a slight bow in his leg. She could see that now. In the light of day she could also see that he was seriously good-looking. His eyes were dark brown and intense. He came to stand almost before her and she could see droplets of sweat all over his arms and brow.

  "Well…er…hello, Caleb." Erica was blushing. She knew her dratted ears were red.

  "Hello Erica." He gave her one of those crooked half smiles, which was not quite serious, and not quite a grin. His eyes were warm though. She slowly took a step toward him.

  "I was driving by and decided to stop." Oh no, she shoved her hands into her jeans and tried to remember that she had decided that that excuse was rubbish.

  He folded his arms about his chest and up went that eyebrow again.

  "No, that's not the excuse," Erica scratched her head. "The excuse was: I have a job."

  "Congrats," Caleb smiled.

  "No, I mean I have a job for you."

  Caleb cocked his head to one side. "That's interesting. I was thinking out loud just yesterday and saying I definitely needed a job to get this place working the way I want to work it."

  Erica exhaled. "That's a relief. I did not want to offer you a job and you look at me like a crazy person and say no thanks."

  Caleb nodded. "Where are my manners? Would you like to come in?"

  "Sure," Erica said walking behind his long strides. He indicated to a veranda chair and sat down. The chair was made of solid wood and was very wide. He sat across from her in a rocking chair.

  "You are my first visitor."

  "That's nice," Erica said. Her usual flippancy was lost in shyness. She had never been shy in her entire life, and that she was now was somewhat puzzling to her. She knew several handsome men, worked around them, had them in her family; had friends who were handsome so that wasn't it. What was it about Caleb?

  Caleb settled in his chair and was rocking slowly.

  "So, er... what were you doing? I heard knocking."

  Caleb grinned. "I've been rearranging the place, restoring old furniture. The knocking was me putting up a shelf in what used to be Aunt Reba's room."

  "So are you going to live here?"

  Caleb shrugged. "I have nowhere else to go."

  "Oh…" Erica contemplated asking him why and quizzing him about his past but she didn’t want to alienate him, she was as curious as ever though. What was a handsome, thirty-five-year-old man, doing in the bushes alone?

  She looked around her curiously. The place was pretty run down. The veranda had peeling blue paint and the floor was polished concrete that was cracked in some areas and even had what looked like small plants growing through them.

  "So what are your plans for the place?" Erica looked at Caleb again. He surely wasn't talkative. He silently waited for her to speak before he even commented—in the past that would have frustrated her. She liked outgoing men that she could have flowing conversations with. The strong silent mysterious man thing would drive her crazy and would eventually drive her away from potential relationships.

  Caleb scratched his face and said, "Please don't laugh but I have been thinking Aunt Reba had five acres of cocoa plants. Some of them stayed on the tree and dried up because there was nobody here to pick them. But I reaped quite a lot of cocoas in the last three days and there is a whole lot more. I was
thinking that maybe I could sell them to the factory in St. Mary. I heard that they take raw cocoa for a fair price, but later on I would like to process them myself and start a little specialty business selling chocolate or even chocolate bars. Well, that's a dream anyway… "

  Erica was speechless. A man who wanted to do chocolate, in any form, was her type of man. She had to physically stop herself from licking her lips. Her wayward tongue was drooling and her imagination was running wild.

  "It's a bad idea isn’t it?" Caleb asked. A dejected tone had crept into his voice.

  Erica perked up. "Are you crazy? It is the best idea I have ever heard. Do you know anything about the process?"

  "Yes, I worked on a small cocoa farm in Canada for a year. I know the whole process inside out. When I found out that Aunt Reba has five acres of mature trees, I couldn’t believe it. It seems as if she was planning to do something with it. Some of the trees are just flowering. It is going to be a huge job to clear out five acres though. They are over-grown with weeds."

  Erica nodded. "You will have to work out some form of business plan so that you can see where you want to go with this and how you can finance it every step of the way."

  Caleb nodded. "I was thinking of that." He went silent again, staring across the yard. "Do you want to help me with it?"

  Erica nodded vigorously. "I'll help you put it together. Sure, no problem."

  "So what was the job offer you had for me?"

  He had this way of staring at her directly in a very intent manner and Erica had to struggle to remember her thoughts.

  "Oh, I was thinking about what you said to Phoebe about having no money and no job. It never occurred to me to ask what you do."

  "I was a chef," he grinned, "in another life. As a matter of fact, the hotel I used to work with sent me on an intense one-year course and I have the title of Certified Master Pastry Chef."

  Erica gasped. "You can make pastry, heavenly delights that will make a girl’s mouth water?"

  "Yes, as a matter of fact I had just finished a course in Europe…" his voice trailed away and an angry flash appeared in his eyes.

  "What was the course about?" Erica asked, wanting him to forget whatever it was that had caused that vicious expression in his eyes.

  "I had finished my chocolate making studies. I guess you could call me a chocolatier."

  Erica was stunned, what were the odds that the man whom they had picked up at church was a specialist in the one addiction that she had problems shaking. "What a coincidence, I am a chocoholic."

  Caleb laughed. "You had a transfixed expression on your face when I said chocolate so I could guess it was something like that."

  "I guess it is no use offering you that job I was thinking of then."

  "No, please, what is it?" Caleb asked anxiously. "I am kind of on the verge of begging for food. Aunt Reba had planted some crops but the goats had free rein with the place and they have eaten down everything."

  "Well, I was thinking that you could do my yard at least twice per week. But now that I hear that you are certified in so many cooking courses, I could talk to the manager at the hotel where I work and…"

  "No, I can't work at any hotel."

  "But why? You have the certificates. You said you had worked at a hotel before."

  "I have worked at several hotels," Caleb stood up and leaned on the wall, "but I am not working for any established business in that capacity ever again."

  "But why?"

  "It's a long story," Caleb looked at her and then turned around again. "Maybe one day I'll tell you. So which days do you want me to work for you?"

  Erica looked at him long and hard. "If you can't work for any established business maybe I shouldn’t hire you."

  Caleb shrugged. "Aunt Reba has a couple of goats, I could sell a few of them in the meantime. I'll survive."

  Erica contemplated him some more and he withstood her scrutiny, not backing off from his stubborn stance. What could be so bad that a hotel would not want to hire him?

  She shook her head in exasperation. She had begun to realize that it was when he seemed most nonchalant that he really needed the help, and something about him was tugging at her heartstrings.

  "Okay, all right. Are Tuesdays and Thursdays okay for you?"

  "Sure." He grinned at her. His tensed shoulders relaxed a little. "I will need directions to where you live."

  Erica nodded. "Don’t worry about tools. There are a whole host of gadgets in the tool shed." She got up reluctantly and headed to the car.

  Caleb watched her retreating to her car and said barely loud enough for her to hear, "Thank you Erica."

  Erica turned around smiling brightly, "My pleasure."

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Caleb slumped in the chair that Erica had been sitting in after she drove out of the yard. He felt a relief so intense that she had been to see him that his fingers were shaking. She was a lovely person and she was interested in his well-being. He couldn’t remember anyone ever caring about him enough to drive into remote hills because they wanted to know if he was all right, and that was just from one meeting.

  He had grown up rough and unloved, by a father who thought he was an unfortunate accident. His teenage mother had left him at his father's doorstep and disappeared. He had boxed about in his late teens, flitting from one job to another until he realized that he loved to cook. He had taken a job as a dishwasher at a restaurant at night and gone to school to get the relevant cooking certificates by day.

  He had slept in the back room of his father's rundown house in Portmore and plotted ways in which he could escape. The opportunity had come when he went to Canada on the farm-working program. He had been fortunate enough to be placed on a cocoa farm. From harvesting the cocoa fruit to roasting the seeds and making chocolate, he had been especially fascinated with making chocolate desserts.

  He diligently saved all his money and when he came back to Jamaica he went to school to become a certified chef. Eventually he got a job with a large hotel chain in Kingston and made it to pastry chef.

  He had gotten himself a car, bought a small house in St. Catherine and married Julia. At the time he thought that they were kindred spirits. They basically had the same dismal history. Julia had a six-year old daughter whom he had considered his child, even though she wasn’t—then everything changed.

  He closed his eyes. He had asked God, when he was in prison, to take away his bitterness about the whole thing, but some days, like now, when he considered that he did not even have two dimes to rub together and that his reputation was in shreds and he had a prison record, it was hard for bitterness not to rise up in him like an unhealed wound.

  He groaned under the onslaught of it. He was tired to ask God, why him. It was pointless and he felt somewhat ungrateful, at least he had been released from prison and though he was sorry that his aunt had died. At least she had the foresight to leave him her land in a will. Otherwise, he would have been let out from prison with nowhere to go and nobody to go to.

  He looked at the watch he found in Aunt Reba's drawer; it seemed masculine enough so he had put it on. It was ten o'clock, time for him to head down the road. He was going to sell two of Aunt Reba's goats to a farmer who had eagerly asked him if he could buy them.

  He had been expecting to only find three goats and a cow when he got here but instead he had found almost two-dozen goats and no cow in sight. The goats were healthy; they had been living on the land unattended, quite content to eat the abundant grass that could be found on the acreage.

  When he sold the two goats he would have enough money to buy himself some clothes so that he could go to church and maybe into town without being self-conscious.

  His black pants and jeans were looking ragged after three weeks of him constantly wearing them, and quite frankly, he was tired of eating just mangoes and cocoa fruit. He reasoned that if he could make enough from the goat sales he could buy some seeds and plant some cash crops like tomatoes and corn.


  He got up and headed inside the spacious five-room house. When he had gotten here, in the night three weeks ago, he hadn't taken stock of his surroundings, he had just headed for what looked like a bedroom and laid down in his clothes.

  He had cried himself to sleep that night feeling lonely and disappointed at his life so far. He had grown up tough and rarely gave in to self-pity but that first night made him feel vulnerable and alone. He liked to think of his crying that night as cleansing tears. He had gone to bed exhausted and woke up to see that in the light of day the interior of the house was not as bad as he had thought it was from the outside.

  There was a large living/dining room, a bedroom, and a bathroom with one of those old toilets that had a pull-chain at the top of a tank that was mounted to the wall to flush it.

  He had been pleasantly surprised to find that he had running water and was relieved in the morning to see that there was a very large tank some ways from the house situated on an even higher elevation than the house. The water pressure was heavy and he found, out after investigating, that the tank was full. Aunt Reba had had the foresight to mesh the whole thing and cover it, so the water was clean.

  The kitchen was a room that was obviously well lived in when Aunt Reba was alive. He could still smell a faint garlic aroma in there.

  He had felt as if he had time traveled into the eighties when he saw that the fridge was kerosene oil operated and that his aunt still had rum-preserved fruit in the pantry. He also found pickled peppers in a jar and a large jar with noni fruit, rotting in its own juice.

  He had also found a linen closet filled with sheets, towels and curtains that Aunt Reba had stored, some of them still having the tags on—he couldn't find any male clothes though, even after searching the house from top to bottom.

  He had proceeded to air out the place and wash the dusty curtains hanging at the windows. He also cleaned the wooden floors with polish that he found in Aunt Reba's collection of household cleaners; by the fifth day, the interior smelled lived in and clean.