Keeping Victoria's Secret by Melinda Peters

wouldn’t amount to much more than Uncle Charley’s
peanuts. If you have a problem with that, I’ll hit the road. I have
other places I can go and other places I can work. Do you
understand?” His menacing dark eyes glared at her.
    Vicky turned and looked at him directly.
Reaching up with one hand she brushed back a lock of hair that had
fallen across her forehead. “All right. That’s fine with me.” She
smiled at him and returned to her dusting.
    He stared at her, eager for an argument. “I
don’t think you understand me. I will not be an employee or some
flunky on this farm. For damn sure, I’m not going to come to you
with my hat in my hand every time I need to buy something or make a
decision.” He looked at her pretty auburn hair and down at her long
bare legs. Her features were small and delicate, nose perfectly
straight and lips parted revealing very white even teeth.
    “I understand perfectly. You do the work and
make the decisions; you buy or sell whatever, as you see fit, and
keep all the profits. I’ll pay the taxes and basic expenses. I just
want to live here, in Nanna’s house. What you’re asking is all
right with me.”
    Their eyes locked for a beat, before he
cleared his throat and spoke. “What? What’s all right?”
    “What you’re saying. I totally agree with
you. It’s not fair that you do all the work here and not fair that
you put in all those years while your uncle was taking
advantage.
    “Do you mean that, or are you messing with
me?”
    She got to her feet, brushed herself off, and
took a couple of steps toward him. “Yes, of course I mean it. I
wouldn’t joke around about something as important as this. I have
another suggestion. I’d like you to take responsibility for all the
farming. I know nothing about that stuff. You take care of
everything and keep the money. I don’t want it. All I ask is that
you let me do what I want with the house. It was my grandmother’s
home and I want to live here. I want to take care of it, in her
memory. You can have everything else, okay?”
    Mouth gaping, he was at a loss for words. He
blinked, swallowed, and stared at the beautiful girl before him.
Her auburn hair shone with golden highlights, and she wore no
jewelry, no makeup and needed none.
    He shook his head, and replied, his speech
halting, “Well then, I’m glad you see things my way.” Clumsily, he
reached for his fishing rod and left, shoes squishing with each
step.
    “Here, you forgot this.” Vicky picked up his
bag and as she did, the thick paperback volume slid out.
    He saw her surprise as she read the title,
The Complete Collection of Poems by William Butler Yeats, before he
angrily snatched it up and jammed it into the bag. “We’ll talk
tomorrow,” he growled over his shoulder.
    Jack strode quickly across the yard behind
the garage where he had a big Adirondack chair on the lawn. He
collapsed into it emotionally exhausted. What just happened?
Looking back at the house there was no sign of Victoria. She was
gone.
    The vision of Vicky with hair falling across
her shoulders, bare legs, and bewitching eyes haunted him. How did
she morph from that plain frump into something so beautiful? Were
the Irish Fairies playing tricks with his mind?
    An amusing thought occurred to him. Irish
mythology held that goddesses could transform themselves into some
plain ordinary creatures like fish or birds, and then back at will,
into ghostly beings of great beauty. Jack pulled the paperback from
his bag and found the page he wanted and began reading a favorite
poem. As he read, his clothes began to dry in the morning
breeze.
     
    The Song Of Wandering Aengus
    I WENT out to the hazel wood,
    Because a fire was in my head,
    And cut and peeled a hazel wand,
    And hooked a berry to a thread;
    And when white moths were on the wing,
    And moth-like stars were flickering out,
    I dropped the berry in a stream
    And caught a little silver trout.
    When I had laid it on the floor
    I went to blow the