The Heart Menders

The Heart Menders

WINDMERE series – book twelve

Michelle Tschantré

Smashwords Edition

The Heart Menders

Copyright © 2018 Michelle Tschantré

All rights reserved.

Cover Design & Formatting by: Laura Shinn Designs

http://laurashinn.yolasite.com

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This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only.

This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this ebook with other people, please purchase an additional copy for each person. If you are reading this ebook without purchasing it and it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy.

Thank you for respecting the hard work of the author.

The Heart Menders is a work of fiction.

Though actual locations may be mentioned, they are used in a fictitious manner and the events and occurrences were invented in the mind and imagination of the author. Any resemblance of characters in this story to any person living or dead is strictly coincidental.

Dedicated to:

… the resilience of wounded hearts.

CONTENTS

Preface

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

About the Author

Preface

As the Windmere Series progresses from book 1, Laura’s Big Win, through book 11, On The Road to Love, the reader meets a varied cast of characters, most of them goodhearted and well meant, a few not so pleasant, and some who life’s lessons will surely change. Many of the characters one meets along the way have played parts in earlier releases, such as Score One for Angela, and Constructing Love. The common thread in the series is the place called WINDMERE, a former private estate, maybe with some magic included, but certainly with dynamic relationships as things evolve in subsequent books. The series is a community, wherein the reader can reside in a neighborly comfortable familiarity. Included are always enough plausible events and situations to avoid any testosterone loss during the reading process, guaranteed. Some of the individuals herein are developed from real life experiences, yet whose characteristics remain perhaps a bit undefined; it is up to the reader to make the decision on the true makeup of these characters.

Chapter One – Another Day

Hey, Zach; where you been? Mornings half shot already! Great place where someone could open a shop, Zach! You waiting on an engraved invitation? Help us out here, okay?

Every Monday morning, same ritual; Zach Fassino recognized it as the friendly repartee it was intended to be and didn’t take offense. The comments were true, sort of; it was a good place to open a shop, except that the shop already existed. The operating hours were posted for all to see, and the peanut gallery knew full well he was actually a bit early, as was usual. With the door open in they came bearing their items. Time to start the day as Zach addressed the group.

You guys, every Monday it’s like this. Don’t you have anything else to do on the weekends but find things to drive me nuts? Okay; what have we today, not that I really want to know? The first item was placed on the counter as Reid stated his case.

You know you love us, Zach. This is what keeps the doors open on this place. I found this for only fifty cents but it does still look pretty good. Only thing is, I put in new batteries and it still doesn’t work. Your turn.

Zach picked up the toy and took a look. Reid was right; it did look good, and Zach knew for a child who had little to nothing this would be a real treasure. He also knew the line of items these men brought into his shop every Monday morning, if he could get them working again, would end up at either the local thrift shop, perhaps at the homeless shelter, or at one of the area charities as a donation. While it was true those receiving the repaired items would issue a piece of paper showing the received value, said pieces of paper being valuable as write-off donations come income tax time, the cited value at times was at or often times significantly less than the expensed repair cost. Still, these men did what they did both for a form of recreation and as good works that warmed their hearts. It was also true there was some cost to what he did, batteries, maybe some parts and pieces if he could even find them, and his repair bench time; he would do what he could to hold the cost down and would fudge a bit on the billable hours where possible. His customers knew Zach would be fair and that he had a right, indeed a necessity, to earn a living. The shop had a steady clientele developed from years of service, many years racked up by previous owners, continuing when Zach had taken over the operation a few years ago. People in town knew when he bought out the former owner as that person retired and moved away, but only a very few knew why Zach had elected to return to this fairly small town, even if it was his boyhood home, to operate a small shop.

His early life was pretty ordinary for a medium to small town upbringing, the usual normal growing boy pranks, a little mischief here and there but no hard time served, in fact, no time served at all, and he was readily accepted into the nearby state college. With funding tight, even with an assortment of part time jobs during the school year, he elected to join the Army ROTC unit on campus as a means of making ends meet. The time requirement wasn’t all that much of a load and in fact he did enjoy the activity, especially those times the unit was called upon to field an honor guard for some reason. It was those times, often in the company of American Legion or other veteran honor guards, that Zach felt a pride in wearing the uniform and being a part of the group.

Graduation brought about the need to start repayment of the ROTC support; Zach was commissioned and went active duty as a Second Lieutenant, quickly made his way up to First Lieutenant, and after the required number of years and some additional advanced infantry training wore the bars of Captain. He knew there were other Army activities, indeed had been recruited by some other units to change his preferred line of work, but he felt a oneness with the infantry troops he led, a part of that organism, and it was personally important to him that link be maintained. These days he thought back on that relationship now and then and the warm feeling of association with his men would return to help drive out the searing pain of memory. Again and again he would live out the day of that Afghani combat patrol, indeed every minute, nay, every second of that patrol, and again he would hear the screams of anguish, calls for help, staccato rattle of gunfire, and the burning pain he felt in his own body as the shrapnel entered, rattled around a bit, and tore out parts and pieces of his being. It seemed to take forever for the relief patrol and gunships to arrive and bail them out of the ambush; Zach was one of only three who survived from the original patrol. He was a man shaken to the core of his being; all the good work by the medical staff, both mental and physical, could not close the holes in his being. After months in the hospital and rehab unit, the Army said goodbye, put him on full disability, and discharged him with some stray pieces of things still residing in his body. He learned in time to not dive for cover at loud noise or seeing an unexpected flash. Independence Day fireworks he could stand to watch, but would realize at the end of the show he was drenched in his own sweat, shaking a bit, still in control but working toward the edge of losing his grip.

Back to the home town he went, greeted by well wishers, recruited by the several veterans groups to join their ranks, welcomed home by those who couldn’t see the slight limp was an outward sign of the internal wounds still trying to heal. He saw the for sale ad for the fix-it shop, followed up with a visit to the owners, after a while bought them out with a GI loan, and continued the business. His own father laughed at the event, saying his son was being repaid for all those times in his youth he had dismantled household items to see how they worked, but not necessarily reassembling them in the original form. There was a learning curve to be sure, but Zach enjoyed the process, the quiet time of healing his mind needed as he would delve into some hidden malady suffered upon an unfeeling piece of machinery. By practice, the shop was open for business mornings only, although the phone line would stay active; it was a one person activity and the closed door afternoons meant the owner could retire more to the back area of the shop to make the needed repairs, order out parts, those activities that generated revenue. He learned a lot by reading and sometimes rereading the manuals he treasured, as often as not calling for help to the manufacturer’s customer service hot line if nothing else was apparent. He didn’t see those incidents as failures, just a part of the learning curve. In time those calls would reap some rewards but for the moment he needed to check out the toys the Monday Morning Gang had deposited to his care. The three men spent much of their weekend time scouring yard and garage sales for deals, negotiating for the best possible price, and knowing if all else failed they could visit Zach to gain remediation for some otherwise insoluble issue. Sure, he knew the tax implications they might enjoy, but the end result…the happy face of a child receiving a recycled toy…that was the reality they all enjoyed feeling. Business was good, a challenge at times, but well within his abilities; his social life was not so good.

The injury to his mind, to his memories, lingered on and preyed on his outlook from time to time. It was true what he had experienced in combat took a toll on his physical being, but that toll was healing, slowly at best, but healing. His heart and mind.…that was a different story. The sunny fun loving prankster that had been Zach Fassino in high school and college was difficult to find these days. It was there, lurking behind the shadows of memory, but seldom emerged for more than a few minutes at a time. It wasn’t that he dwelt in doom and gloom all his days, just that the joy of interrelationships had been transferred more to his work. He did know a lot of people around town and now and then frequented local dining establishments; he wasn’t some reclusive cave dwelling loner, but the loss he had experienced in the field had walled off his more emotional part of being. In a sense he had loved the men with whom he had served, felt a responsibility for them, and while he knew full well he had not gotten them killed by his own error or his own misjudgment, they were dead or at least suffered irreparable injuries; that was the scar tissue surrounding his own heart and shielding it from ever again being so injured. No dates, although he was friends with several women he had known for a long time; they were interested in him but he needed more time for that part of him to resurface, to heal, repair itself and open itself to feelings again; it would take more time, perhaps forever.

Chapter Two – Counterpart

Uncle Al; what have you done to me? That was the lament Katherine Lambert voiced quietly to herself as she stood looking at the pile of things residing before her. True enough, she was the youngest of the remaining relatives in town, and it was also true enough Uncle Al had favored her quite a bit, even over his own children as she would eventually learn. On some level it did make sense that when he grew old and knew his time remaining was limited, he rewrote his will to make her executor, ensuring in his own mind things would be done to his liking. His own two children, older by some years than Katherine, had left town for college and never really returned other than infrequently with growing extended intervals between visits. It was also true both of them had bled the coffers significantly through their own misguided foibles, asking daddy to bail them out more than once. Katherine had left for college but returned to town and made her living as city librarian, such as it was, a decision made not wholly by her own choice. An auto accident had left her parents in need of care, maybe not continuous care but certainly hours each day. It fell to Katherine to deliver that care, or at least she was made to feel it to be her duty. Her parents could afford hired help but the hired help didn’t last very long before they walked out the door. The good news was that Katherine was very much unlike her somewhat shrewish and demanding mother. Maybe it was the auto accident and the lingering pain from the injuries, but Katherine also remembered life before the accident; her mother had a way of applying emotional pressure to get her way regardless of how others might see things. For the moment Katherine had escaped the range of her mother’s voice but was hearing echoes of Uncle Al telling her how much he believed in her and trusted in her; Uncle Al had not been 100% forthcoming, as she would eventually discover, but it was not particularly to her detriment.

The reading of the will in the presence of the named heirs was conducted by Ari Schoenroth, Uncle Al’s lawyer, two days after the interment services. Katherine was there along with her two cousins plus a few others who would receive bequests. After general introductions so everyone knew everyone else present, Ari started with the reading, quickly passing through the required legalese as he made his way to what they had come to hear. There was a list of specific bequests to local organizations, all duly noted for processing, then the meat of the writing.

As to the remainder of my estate and the varied assets thereof, I direct disposition of that to the offices of Katherine Lambert, my niece, said estate and assets to be liquidated and disbursed. Those proceeds are to be distributed as follows: subsequent to receipt of any payments owed and resolution of all expenses accrued owing to the liquidation effort including but not limited to legal fees, half of the net remaining value shall accrue to my niece Katherine Lambert and half to be divided equally between my two children herein named. My niece, should she so elect, may retain for her share any of the remaining assets in lieu of liquidation, at fair market value, including but not limited to the structures themselves, provided she makes good the other half of the value should her elected asset exceed the half value.

There were those few moments in the offices of Ari Schoenroth during the reading of the will of the late Alvin Lambert when the glares coming forth from the countenances of his two children and aimed at niece Katherine Lambert had the potential, like laser beams, to vaporize her. That would have been their preference in lieu of the specified sharing of the remaining estate, but they had no such power no matter how much they might have wished it to themselves. Ari wrapped up the meeting by reading for all present the poison pill clause he had included at the specific request of Alvin Lambert, that should any party officially contest the intents and purposes of the will, said party would be stricken from receiving any benefits from the estate, period. With the others gone their own way for the moment, Katherine remained behind in the lawyer’s office.

Mr. Schoenroth, I’m not sure I understand all that you just read and I don’t want to make any mistakes here. Did Uncle Al actually leave me half of his estate, I mean, you know, after expenses, things like that are all settled. That just doesn’t seem right, and I’m sure my two cousins don’t think it is right; they looked rather angry with me about that point of the reading. Am I off track here somehow?

No, you are not a bit off track. And please call me Ari if you don’t mind, a bit less formal; the two of us, if there are two sides to this, are on the same side. I don’t know all the ins and outs of what your family differences may be, and for the most part that is moot to this discussion. I did question rather strongly the inclusion of the so called poison pill clause, even the half and half distribution, but your uncle was adamant; I serve as his voice, not his decision maker, and to insure his decisions are carried out to the best of my ability. I agree your two cousins may not be happy with the outcome; I don’t want to talk out of school here, but your late uncle gave those two a lot of money over the years. When we were doing this writing, he told me he did that because they are his children and of necessity he had to support them even against his own better judgment, but that he was closer to you than the two of them combined. Anyway, that’s the will as he intended it to be. Now, as directed I will see to the disposition of the more liquid assets and deposit that money into the estate account while you see to the more physical asset disposition. Are we agreed?

They were agreed, and Katherine at the moment stood in the house surrounded by the more physical things, including the house itself. She had hired a highly recommended area realtor to handle the house sale, assured he was good at his profession and would obtain at least fair market value if not a bit more. For the moment she needed to continue vacating the house so it could be brought to market ready for new owners. It was in good repair considering the century of age it had experienced, and was rock solid in construction. But that didn’t relieve her of the need to empty the many rooms of their contents. Local charities had benefitted greatly not only in cash donations but in receiving well cared for good quality furniture for resale and many similar items for future usability. For the moment she had to consider all the varied appliances now residing in the kitchen area awaiting disposition. Some she was unsure of and reluctant to give away without knowing the operability; partly she wanted to avoid any future liability, trusting soul that she might be. Maybe she needed to talk to Ari one more time; she did realize the estate assets would pay for his time should she need his counsel and hit his speed dial number.

Mr. Schoenroth, Katherine Lambert. I need a bit of advice and since you said the two of us are on the same side, here I am. I’m in Uncle Al’s house at the moment, the kitchen specifically; I want to make sure everything works right so there aren’t any of those ‘gotcha’ moments later on when it goes on the market. I’ve never seen one of these built in gadgets that can do all sorts of things depending on what attachment is used; I don’t even know how to turn it on. Do you know anyone who might help me out here?

Good to know things are moving along toward the sale. To tell the truth, as soon as I no longer need to deal with the two cousins the better my life will be, but please do not quote me on that! To answer your question, you might call Zach Fassino at his fix-it shop. He is one of the most knowledgeable persons in that area I can think of and I think he actually makes house calls, unlike many professionals these days. I’ll get his number for you.

Ari relayed the number; Katherine took the next step toward resolution, placing her call for help.

Chapter Three – First Meeting

In the repair shop area toward the back of the building, Zach had his headset on as he dismantled one of the toys that afternoon. The voice activated headset was not an inexpensive gadget but it did serve him well often times, especially when he had both hands busy doing something when the phone sounded off.

Mr. FixIt. This is Zach; how can I help you today?

This is Katherine Lambert. Mr. Schoenroth recommended I call you for help. I’m executor for my late Uncle Alvin Lamberts estate. The house is going up for sale and Mr. Shaker, the realtor handling the sale, suggested I do a first walk-through to see what needs to be remediated. He will do a final of course as he is the professional here. Anyway, I’m in the kitchen at the moment looking at this thing built into the counter. I’ve been here a lot of times in the past but don’t ever remember seeing it being used for anything. It looks like this. Katherine gave him a general description plus brand name on the device and what little additional data she could gather.

Zach knew the answer. Not many of those around but I’m familiar with the brand name and uses. I think the reason there are so few installed is that they were an expensive item to purchase and put in place as compared to similar items. I will say they are great machines, do a world of things, and are powerful enough to handle most anything. So, how can I help you?

I was told you make house calls. I need to know this thing works for sure, and if you will come here I would also ask that you look at the central vacuum system, make sure it works right, and maybe check out the other appliances. I don’t want to sound like I have no knowledge of these things but I think a professional opinion would be good. Can that happen…..please?

I can make that happen. I know Randy Shaker, at least a bit anyway, and know he will do the best deal for you. That’s why he wants you to go first, handle the obvious stuff, then he comes in with a professional eye and does a fine tooth comb sort of review; it’s easier and less time consuming for a busy realtor if the big and obvious items are already handled. Anyway, this shop is open to the public mornings only; the afternoons are reserved for shop time, or maybe house calls. What sort of time frame do you have in mind?

Katherine paused, unsure if she was about to be very unrealistic in her request. I’m a bit hesitant to ask, but would this afternoon be too soon? I know that’s kind of short notice; this whole scenario was sort of dropped on me very unexpectedly and time is already running. She was fully prepared for the forthcoming rejection, a recognized waste of energy on her part in the end, but she felt some unexplainable tilt toward keeping the conversation open.

Sure, no problem. I need about an hour to finish what I have on the repair test bench at the moment, then I can come over. Will that work for you…and by the way, where is the house? That would be a useful bit of information to have on hand. Somehow, Zach found himself actually enjoying this conversation even though it did rain destruction on his previously planned afternoon schedule. He would admit to himself later the house call held more interest than the bench work at the moment.

Three PM, give or take a few minutes either side, and Zach first entered the home of the late Uncle Al, meeting Katherine Lambert as he did so. It took a minute or two as they walked to the kitchen but the recognition started to form in each of them as old memories of high school days bubbled to the surface. Katherine voiced her mind first.

I think I sort of remember you from high school; I never did follow sports much but were you on that state champion football team everyone was so excited about? That keeps coming to mind for some reason. I don’t mean to put the win down by any means; it’s just….I need to be quiet before I dig the hole any deeper.

Zach laughed softly at her comment. No offense taken. I was on that team, starting wide receiver, but that was a few years back and a lot has happened since then. Do I recall you were on the Scholastic Bowl team? I know that was way above my own academic skill set for sure.

I was on that team, and like you say, a starting player. Do I remember something about you from the newspaper, maybe something about being injured? I’m sorry; maybe I shouldn’t bring that up at all. We’re not here to discuss history.

You might remember something, then added as they walked into the well appointed kitchen but, for the moment, is this critter the item you called me to see?

It was indeed the item, a counter top built-in appliance power unit capable of mixing, stirring, grinding, sharpening, all sorts of amazing things with the provided attachments, including in the assorted attachments a pair of what looked like misshapen paddles that somehow could be connected. Zach knew. Wow, dough hooks; haven’t seen any of those recently. They’re used for kneading bread dough, working the air into it. The knob here is the off/on and speed control and using the array of assorted attachments Zach went through what the machine could do. It was, to say the least, an impressive display; and then he quoted the installed price he had looked up for someone recently. It was her turn to be impressed.

I guess Uncle Al really loved my aunt Irene if he bought this for her. I don’t remember her all that well but I do remember her baking bread for family events, some of the best tasting bread I’ve even eaten, and if we were here for something, she would bring it to the table right out of the oven. Doesn’t get any better than that. This sort of explains how that happened.

Zach agreed, as the two set off to see the central vacuum system, another expensive amenity with which Uncle Al indulged his late wife. An hour later the two finished up their walk around the house, observing things and testing electrical outlets for proper operation as they went. It was something that could easily have been done by one or the other, hardly needing two people for the task, yet somehow the activity served to keep the contact going, a gentle link of some sort neither person recognized or to which they would have admitted had they recognized the occurrence. As she took notes along the way at one point Katherine commented she had taken time off from her job for this task, that she still lived in her parent’s house, and that an intercom system in that house, which should have been a time and step saver, worked as neither. And then her phone sounded off and Zach learned another side of the woman before him.

Yes, mother; I’m in Uncle Al’s house…no…I took the afternoon off to work on this a bit. I really need to get this done….yes, just as soon as I can.…I know, I know, and I’ll hurry home just as soon as I’m finished here. Would it be okay if I just picked up something at the deli for tonight….no, I understand; I’ll be there soon as I can…bye. Realizing he was waiting to continue their conversation, she explained. I guess you figured out that was my mother. I’m sorry to have to cut this off for now but she doesn’t give me much choice. I know you may not be aware of it but my parents were in a car wreck several years ago. As a result, both of them have mobility issues and some other problems; they could probably live more comfortably in a building constructed for that purpose but prefer to stay in their own home, where I am a part time care giver…I’m sorry; you don’t need to hear all this. You said there was a problem with the central vac; what needs to be done?

Not much really. I sensed more than felt the suction wasn’t very good at a couple of the connections; could be a blockage but short of disassembly there isn’t much other way to discern the issue. I did see it has some removable joints at the risers; that would make it somewhat more accessible, but again, I don’t know that it’s under-performing all that much. Your call; where do we go from here, or are we done?

I really need to go home at the moment, but could you come back maybe tomorrow and look at the system? I guess there doesn’t have to be that much of a hurry but I would like to keep moving on the disposition.

Sure, tomorrow say two PM so we have some time if it does turn out to have a problem. And, I think you should plan on staying here with me in case I need to rod it out or something like that. These seemingly simple things have a way of burning time; corollary of Murphy’s Law I guess.

Two PM it is. Sorry but I really need to run. See you here tomorrow? I don’t know what ‘rod it out’ means but I’ll help if I can.

She was gone as soon as the door was pulled shut, virtually leaving him standing there in her wake. He did sense the imperative nature from her earlier phone conversation and decided to satisfy his own tiny pin prick of curiosity by running a net search on her last name; that would turn up next of kin for the recently departed Uncle Al, which in turn led him to her parent’s names and their auto accident. He read the account of the accident, such as it was, and somehow felt it wasn’t all that big of a deal. On the converse, maybe their injuries were much like his own, not readily visible to the casual observer but significant nonetheless. He did recall Katherine seemed….he couldn’t define what he sensed but did believe there was more than what he could quite make out. He told himself that it didn’t matter and it really wasn’t any of his business anyway, yet there remained some fragile connection with her being, something that he sensed but could not easily discern. He was right about the feeling but his understanding would be painfully slow to develop over the days ahead. It was also quite true Zach Fassino had no idea there were days ahead, at least not past tomorrow when he would see her again.

Katherine didn’t speed much on her way home, the home she grew up in and to which she had returned after college graduation, but neither did she dawdle; that just