The woman’s cheerful demeanor irked Tara. “Thanks,” she muttered plunking Bella into her high chair.
“Want cake-cake!” Bella said, banging on the high chair tray.
“Oh, my darling,” Blanche cooed with a toothy grin. She went to the high chair and bent down to be eye level with Bella. “If you want pancakes, pancakes you shall have.”
“She’s fine with peanut butter toast,” Tara said, heading to the coffee machine.
“No, cake-cake!” Bella insisted, glaring at her mother.
Blanche watched her boss pour a huge cup of coffee, then add sugar and creamer. “It’s really no problem. I love to cook for the child. I really do.”
Tara leaned against the counter and took a long drag from her mug, savoring the scent and warmth of the brew. Bella and Blanche both looked at her expectantly, and she felt like a grinch. What was wrong with her? Surely, she could let the woman cook if she wanted to. It just pissed her off that her daughter’s diet was one more thing she no longer controlled since Blanche had come. “Okay, fine,” she sighed, dragging herself back to the table.
In the long run, did it matter if Bella’s bread was fried or toasted? No, it did not. Did it matter if she was no longer in charge of anything, and had a personal maid, cook, cleaning lady, and business manager? She should be happy that Blanche was doing such a wonderful job. So why wasn’t she?
But she knew the answer. It was because she was a control freak and handing the reins over to Blanche cut deep.
She took another long slurp of her coffee and watched Bella bounce in her chair with anticipation for the pancakes.
She had been able to spend much more time with the baby, and that was a good thing. She felt like she could read the child’s cues better now, instead of putting her off until they were both frustrated. They’d enjoyed bath time and playing outside in the dwindling afternoon sun. Soon it would be winter, and they could make snowmen and maybe even a fort. It had been years since she’d had time for such things. Bella would love that.
She’d also had time to work on collecting furniture and goods for the women’s shelter. It was nice to be involved with a project again -- one that made her think about design. Her creative juices were flowing, and that felt nice. It had been a while.
She sighed and took another long sip from her mug, watching Blanche across the top of her cup. The woman really was a wonder. Was there nothing that made her upset or frazzled?
Blanche glanced over her shoulder and did a double take when she realized Tara was watching her. “What would you like to eat, Tara?”
“Is there any fruit left in the fridge?” she asked. Then, once again, she was annoyed that she didn’t know the contents of her own fridge and felt as if she had to ask if she could eat something from it.
“I believe so,” Blanche said while expertly flipping a Micky Mouse shaped pancake. “Would you like me to get it for you?”
“No, I’ve got it.”
Blanche cut Tara off halfway to the fridge, pancake turner in hand. “Let me get it, dear.”
“Am I not allowed in my own fridge?” Tara snapped, shocking both herself and Blanche. The poor older woman backed up a step, her face ashen. So, there it was, the one thing that shook up Blanche. Being yelled at by her boss.
“I’m so sorry, dear,” the woman apologized. “I tend to be too enthusiastic.”
“No, please, I’m the one who’s sorry. My outburst was uncalled for.” Tara assured her.
“Oh, no, I’m fairly sure it was me,” Blanche replied. “Husband number four couldn’t stand the way I’d tromp in and take over everything. He really couldn’t.”
Tara felt like a first-class heel. “You’re doing amazing here. As a matter of fact, you’re better at running the Inn than I ever was.” The words had been spoken out loud now, making them true.
Blanche paled. “Oh, no, sweetheart, don’t ever think that.”
“It’s true” Tara sighed, pushing bed-head hair back from her face. “You’re always calm and happy, and the guests love you.”
Blanche went to the stove to get Bella’s pancake and slide it onto a plate, then met Tara’s eye. “But you have someone who needs your full attention right now.” She motioned toward the little girl in the highchair.
Tara turned to the baby. Bella reached out for her breakfast, her face lit up and eager. “Cake-cake!” she cried.
“The kid loves food almost as much as I do,” Tara chuckled, returning to the table and dropping into a chair. The issue with Blanche was not resolved, but the tension had been broken.
Blanche came to the table. “Would mommy like to cut this for you, or should I?” she asked, showing Bella the happy face pancake.
“Awe, icky-mouse,” Bella cried happily, pointing to the pancake. “Wook mommy, icky-mouse.”
Tara smiled. “It is Micky Mouse!” she looked up at Blanche. “And I’d love to cut it,” she said, her mood calming. Maybe she and Blanche would be able to figure this out yet.
* * *
Winnie opened the back of her old station wagon and motioned toward the grocery bags. “Here, Bobby, just let me grab the eggs, and you can get the rest.” She retrieved the one bag she was afraid Bobby would drop or crush.
The young man pushed up his thick glasses and dug into carrying as many grocery bags as possible.
As Winnie hurried up the steps to unlock the back door, the flower shop truck pulled up behind her car, and Julia stepped out.
“Good morning,” Julia called, “Did I come at a bad time?”
Winnie held open the door for Bobby. “Not at all, come on in!”
Julia collected the last few bags from the back of the car and headed toward the house, meeting Winnie and Bobby at the back door. “I’ve got these,” she said to the boy. “I couldn’t close the door though.”
“Thank you, Bobby,” Winnie said. “If you’ll get the car door, that’s all I need.”
Bobby offered a nod in response. “Yes’m,” he said quietly, and then he was on his way.
“It looks like you’re planning to bake,” Julia commented as they looked through the grocery bags.
They sorted the baking goods, and Winnie opened the fridge to put away groceries that needed refrigeration, while Julia collected empty bags.
“I’m making pies for the homecoming reunion dinner.” Winnie said. “And I’m trying a new recipe for apple pie.”
“Oh?” Julia questioned, tucking the empty bags into the container under Winnie’s sink. “Everyone loves your apple pie, why the change?”
Winnie closed the fridge with a thunk. “I wanted to try something new. You’re the fifth person who’s all bent out of shape by that. Am I so set in my ways that I can’t try something new?”
Julia froze with the cupboard still open, her eyes wide in surprise at Winnie’s uncharacteristic comment. “Of course not, I just…” she didn’t know what to say. Winnie was set in her ways, and it was shocking that she’d change.
Winnie huffed and waved off her mood. “Oh, never mind. I’m just crabby. It’s not your fault. Let’s have some tea.” With that, she bustled around the kitchen, putting the kettle on to heat.
As was their way every time she came for tea, Julia retrieved the tea box.
I have some Chia tea, if you’d rather,” Winnie offered.
Julia looked shocked again.
Winnie chuckled. “Tara was whining about the lack of variety, so I dug that out.” Winnie explained.
“I see,” Julia answered, obviously not seeing at all.
Winnie dropped onto a stool and frowned down at the countertop. “Okay, you’re right. I’m a mess,” she admitted. “This whole reunion thing has me thrown.”
Julia got two teacups and saucers from the cupboard and settled onto a stool across from Winnie. She pushed a cup toward her friend. “Why? What has you so rattled?”
The old woman was silent for a moment. When she spoke, she made eye contact with Julia. “Have I ever told you ho
w proud of you I am for the way you handled yourself when you came to town?”
Completely caught off guard, Julia had no words. She’d been a wreck when she came to Smithville, and it had taken the love of Winnie and her other friends as well as her fiancé, Chad, to draw her out. Surely, Winnie knew that. And what did this have to do with the reunion?
“I mean it,” Winnie continued. “You had just gone through a horrible crisis and yet you worked in your garden and cared for your pets and remodeled your house.”
“Well, I—” Julia stuttered, “If you remember correctly, it wasn’t really by choice. You folks pretty much dragged me out to do things.” And it was true. That had been a horrible time for her. She’d only wanted to hide away in her broken-down house and never come out. Tara had been an insistent friend, seeing through Julia’s cold exterior, and Winnie was the grandmother she’d never had. The old woman had stood by her, held her hand, and got her talking. She’d never have recovered and become the person she was today without Tara and Winnie.
“No,” Winnie insisted with one knobby hand raised. “You made the decision to try, to come out and talk to folks. You didn’t act like I did.”
“Like you did?”
The old woman nodded, forlorn. “When I faced tragedy, I locked myself away.”
Julia had heard that Winnie had been a recluse, but it was hard to believe. The Winnie she’d always known was vibrant and colorful and involved with everything and everyone in town.
“When everything fell apart, I came back here to my parent’s old house, and I hid myself away. I couldn’t face anyone, most of all myself.”
The kettle whined and Julia jumped up to get it. She watched the old woman with concern as she poured them each a cup, then returned the kettle to the stove. She had to wonder why Winnie was so upset about her past now, when it seemed eons ago. She’d never seen even a hint of this side of the woman.
“Maybe I was selfish,” Winnie lamented.
Julia unwound a tea bag and dropped it into her cup. “Oh, I seriously doubt that. You were crushed and brokenhearted. I can understand that.” And she really could. She’d suffered her own horrific loss, and since then she’d had much more sympathy for those suffering. And that was something she and Winnie shared, in her opinion anyway.
Winnie shook her head. “I was prideful, thinking I knew so much more than the town-folk here. Come to find out I didn’t know a single thing, and I couldn’t face myself.”
“I understand that too.”
Winnie looked up at her young friend, and a sad smile tilted one corner of her mouth. “I believe you do.”
“Would you like to talk about it?” Julia asked, meaning the words. She loved Winnie and would do anything to help her.
Winnie was silent for a long moment, then nodded. “Maybe I should.”
“What happened?” Julia asked, hoping to get Winnie started.
It took several moments for Winnie to collect her thoughts, and then she spoke. “Like you, I lost everyone I loved.”
Even though Julia knew some of the facts, the words still felt like a blow to the stomach. “What were their names?” She whispered, unable to find any other words.
Winnie dabbed at her eyes and sniffed. “My— Thomas, he was my husband. And my sweet little Charity. Not to mention my friends.” She shook her head. “That was such an intense time.”
Julia knew Winnie had lost her husband and daughter, although she’d never heard their names or of friends being lost. “I’d love to hear more about your family. And friends? Do you have photos? I’d love to see them.” She knew that it made people uncomfortable to speak of the dead. Poor Winnie probably needed to talk more than anything.
Winnie’s head came up, her eyes wide with surprise. “I— well— I do have photos. Up in the attic. But it’s been years.”
Julia stood. “Let’s go find them. It will be like a treasure hunt.”
Winnie wasn’t so sure, but Julia’s enthusiasm drew her to stand as well. “Oh, now, I don’t know—”
“How do we get up there?” Julia asked, unwilling to let the opportunity pass. No one in town, as far as she knew anyway, had ever seen a photo of Winnie’s husband or daughter.
“I’m sure it’s a cobweb-infested mess up there,” Winnie argued, shaking her head.
“I’m not scared, so come on,” Julia said, heading up the steps to the second floor.
“It will be musty,” Winnie contended, dragging her feet as she followed. She had packed her memories away in the that attic long ago and never opened it again.
When Winnie got to the top of the stairs, Julia stood in the hallway, with her neck kinked back. “Is this it?” she asked, pointing to a rectangle-shaped frame in the ceiling. “Do we need a ladder?”
Winnie stood frozen, her face a mask of uncertainty.
“Or can I just pull this and steps will—” Julia continued, tugging on the rope to open the hatch and let down the attic steps. Dust and debris fell around her, but undeterred, she wrenched the ladder into position. “Okay then,” she huffed, brushing her hands together. “You go first.”
Still, Winnie held back, so Julia gently took her arm and led her to the steps. The old woman’s eye met hers, imploring that they forget the whole idea, but Julia was insistent. Finally, Winnie took one step at a time and made her way up the stairs. At the top, she moved to one side, letting her eyes adjust to the darkness as Julia climbed up to stand beside her.
“Oh my,” Julia said, waving at a cobweb. “I wasn’t sure what to expect but—”
“But not this?” Winnie finished for her. The sloped-roof space didn’t hold much more than an old bedstead, a ratty metal cooler from the ’70s, and a stack of cardboard boxes.
“I suppose I was expecting trunks and a dress-form dummy, like in the movies.”
Winnie chuckled. “Well, I know Tara was up here a few times. She must have kept it in order.”
“Are your things in the boxes?” Julia asked.
Winnie brushed off the cooler and dropped to sit down, feeling very tired.
Julia didn’t wait for a response, or even permission, she simply took it upon herself to lift down the top box and take it over to Winnie. Crouching next to the box, she opened it.
Right in the top was a photo album, which made Winnie wonder if perhaps Tara had snooped through the contents at some point. Julia carefully lifted out the book and put it in Winnie’s lap. The old woman placed her hand on the cover, thinking of the last time she’d seen it, so many years ago. Finally, she opened the cover. The first page held a large black and white photo of Thomas and her on their wedding day. They hadn’t had a big church wedding, just a quiet ceremony at the courthouse. The photo showed them on the courthouse steps; Thomas, with his long, wavy hair, nearly shoulder length, wearing a tunic style suit, and Winnie in a very short, white sheath dress, with a wreath of flowers in her long, straight hair.
“Oh, you’re both so handsome!” Julia gushed. “Look at your clothes!”
Unable to take her eyes off the photo, Winnie’s breath caught in her throat. It wasn’t that she’d forgotten what Thomas looked like … well, maybe she had, but mostly it was the feelings the photo evoked that left her breathless. The twinkle in Thomas’s eye, the tilt of his head, it all came back and her heart swelled with longing for the man. Tears sprang into her eyes, and she dabbed at them with her knuckle.
“When was this?” Julia asked, tilting the photo for a better view in the dim light.
“1968,” Winnie choked, her voice cracking. Lovingly, she stroked the photo, wishing she could somehow reach back in time to that day.
Julia sat on the floor and put her hand on Winnie’s knee, giving the old woman time to take in the long-lost memory. The girl’s face held sympathy and love for the old woman … and maybe even a bit of her own loss and pain.
“When you’re finishing looking, let’s take that out and frame it so you can hang it up downstairs.”
Winnie could o
nly nod, feeling bad that she hadn’t had the photo downstairs all along. Slowly, almost prayerfully, she lifted the stiff page to turn to the next. This part of the book was stuffed with small, square, white rimmed photos of the young couple at various locations, standing and squinting into the sun.
“Our honeymoon,” Winnie whispered reverently. Then, as if she could wait no longer, she shuffled through the pages. Finally, she stopped, and a moan slipped past her lips. There on her lap, in a yellowed photo, lay a tiny baby, wearing a pink dress and bonnet. Winnie touched the photo, openly sobbing as she released a lifetime of grief.
Chapter Eighteen
Tara sat Bella in the sandbox and handed her a toy shovel.
“I dig!” Bella said as she scooped sand up, only to flip it directly into Tara’s face.
Spitting and wiping her face, Tara straightened. “Yes, you are, baby. I’ll be right over here on the bench, okay?” But the toddler ignored her, content to flip sand in all directions.
Tara sat next to Winnie on the bench, still spitting sand.
“She’s getting the hang of that shovel, isn’t she,” Winnie commented with a grin.
“Oh yeah,” Tara scoffed.
The two women sat quietly, enjoying the playing toddler and the pleasant fall evening in the park. A breeze shuffled the trees, causing a shower of red and orange leaves to shift and flutter around them.
“What a lovely evening,” Winnie said, her voice wistful.
“It is,” Tara agreed. “I’m glad it finally cooled down a little. It seems like we could hardly enjoy summer, it was so hot this year.”
“It really was.”
Bella gave up digging and tossed the shovel. She buried both hands deep in the sand and gleefully threw sand into the wind, getting a face full in return. She laughed, evidently enjoying the sand shower. She blinked, then wiped dirt onto her shirt, looked at her hands, and wiped them on her shirt again.
“She’ll need a good bath tonight,” Tara muttered, watching her child’s clothing turn from pink to dirty brown. “I may not be able to save the outfit.”
Hometown Series Box Set Page 138
