A Wedding on Primrose Street (Life In Icicle Falls Book 7)

by Sheila Roberts

  Roberta sighed. If she hadn’t been so bitter, so unwilling to give love another chance, that could’ve been her. But after two bad experiences she’d given up.

  Ah, well. She’d still had a good life, a satisfying life. She’d made something of herself, something her mother should have been proud of. Sadly, her mother never got past her disappointment, valued her pride above her daughter’s feelings. Roberta had her faults as a mother, but at least she’d never done that.

  She’d done other things wrong instead, always pushing Daphne to do more, be more. Sadly, no one offered parenting classes back when she was raising Daphne. Roberta hadn’t had any help. She’d been completely on her own. And she’d stayed on her own, never hearing from her mother, never seeing her again until the end.

  2004

  Roberta’s old friend Nan had kept in touch over the years, mostly with Christmas cards and a few phone calls. One day she’d called to tell Roberta that her mother was dying. “I know you don’t care if you ever see her again,” Nan had said, “but she’s all alone in that place. It’s pathetic, really. I think she’s sorry she never mended fences with you.”

  She’d had her chance. Actually, she’d had more than one. Roberta’s grandmother had known where she was. Anytime her mother wanted to contact her, she could have. But she hadn’t. So let her die alone, choking on her pride.

  And what will you choke on someday? came the thought. Resentment? Bitterness? Roberta had tasted enough of those emotions over the years. She had to admit that now, at sixty, she’d lost her appetite for them.

  And so, on a mockingly beautiful spring day, she made the two-and-a-half-hour drive to Seattle. She didn’t tell Daphne she was coming or why. Daphne would’ve wanted to accompany her, to meet the woman she’d never known and offer Roberta her support. But Daphne still knew very little about her grandmother, and that was for the best. The woman had poisoned Roberta. She hadn’t been going to let that poison touch her daughter.

  The care facility smelled like a nasty combination of urine and disinfectant. A couple of ancients sat in wheelchairs at the side of the hallway, one a grizzled man who was muttering to himself, the other a woman with sparse gray hair and a caved-in chest, who held out a beseeching hand to Roberta. She had blue eyes and a button nose and in spite of the wrinkles Roberta could tell she’d been pretty in her younger days.

  She stopped and took the woman’s hand. “How are you?”

  “Have you seen my daughter?” the woman asked. “She’s supposed to come and see me. It’s my birthday.”

  How many of her own mother’s birthdays had Roberta missed? If this woman had been her mother, she wouldn’t have missed a single one. “I’m sure she’s coming,” she said in an effort to comfort the woman.

  The sweet face changed into a mask of anger. “She never comes.”

  The accusation and bitterness hit Roberta like a red-hot poker. “Maybe there’s a reason.” Maybe you’re like my mother, a selfish, judgmental shrew.

  Or maybe this woman was simply lonely and unhappy. Roberta softened her voice and gave the woman’s hand a squeeze. “I’m sure she’ll come,” she said again. Daughters did. Eventually. Even when their mothers didn’t ask for them.

  The woman on duty at the reception desk pointed her down the hall to a different wing. Room 27, which her mother was sharing with another patient, a woman in the throes of agony. Roberta could hear her groaning from outside the room. When she entered, she had to catch her breath at the sight of the shrunken form in the other bed. This slack-jawed, sleeping cadaver hooked up to a morphine drip couldn’t be her mother. Her mother had been plump, with carefully maintained brown curls and polished manners, always dressed to the nines.

  But this was how it ended if you lived long enough. You found yourself riding out your last days in a rickety shell of a body. This will be you someday. Except she’d have a daughter who’d come to visit her and comfort her. She’d have a daughter who cared.

  She could have been a daughter who cared. She should have tried harder to forge a new relationship with her mother, should have brought Daphne to see her. Guilt overrode the resentment as she pulled up a chair next to the bed and laid a hand on her mother’s arm.

  “Mother?”

  The cadaver slept on.

  Roberta tried again, gently tapping the arm, wrinkled and spotted with the bruises of age. “Mother?”

  The eyes opened and the head turned. The woman squinted at her as if trying to place her.

  “It’s me, Roberta.”

  “Roberta.” The sound came out faint and raspy. “What are you doing here?”

  “I came to see you.”

  “I’m dying.”

  “I heard.”

  The lips turned down at the corners. “Did you come to see if you’re in the will? There’s nothing left, you know.” The cadaver let out a tired breath and shut her eyes again.

  “I didn’t come for anything other than to see you and tell you I’m sorry.”

  The eyes stayed closed. “After all these years?”

  “I’m sorry you could never forgive me. I’m sorry we never had a relationship, that you never got to see your granddaughter grow up.”

  A tear leaked out of one eye. “It could have been different.”

  “Yes, it could have,” Roberta agreed.

  “If only you’d listened to me.”

  So the fault was all hers. Even now, on her deathbed, her mother would bear no blame for those many years of estrangement. “All I wanted was your love.”

  Another tear slipped out. “I always loved you. You...disappointed me so.”

  She had; there was no denying it. She took her mother’s limp hand and squeezed it. “I’m sorry.”

  “Why didn’t you say that...years ago?”

  “Perhaps I was waiting to hear that you still loved me.”

  Her mother gave no indication of having heard. A breath seeped out and she turned her head away. “I’m tired.”

  So am I, thought Roberta. Yes, she’d disappointed her mother but her mother had hurt her deeply. What a sad mess. They should have had a relationship all these years. Her mother should’ve come to Icicle Falls to spend weekends and see Daphne performing in the Sunday-school Christmas pageant or watch her graduating from high school. She should’ve been there for Daphne’s wedding, should have held her great-granddaughter. Roberta should have come over to Seattle to take her out to lunch. So much they could have done, so much they’d missed. “I wish it could have been different between us,” she said.

  Too late for that now. The only thing it wasn’t too late for was forgiveness. Bitterness was exhausting, and she’d carried hers long enough. “You were never there for me, but I forgive you. I learned from your rejection. My daughter isn’t perfect and we’ve had our problems, but at least she knows I love her.”

  The eyes stayed shut and the mouth pressed together in a tight, thin line. Her mother obviously had no more to say.

  But that was okay. Neither did Roberta. This time the tears were hers. She couldn’t help crying for what they’d lost all those years, but she also felt like a woman who had just survived a deadly disease. The fever had finally broken. Now she could truly heal. “I’ll do whatever I can to make you comfortable.”

  “Thank you.” The words came out so faintly Roberta almost wondered if she’d imagined them.

  She gave her mother’s hand one final squeeze. “You’re welcome.”

  Before she left, she made arrangements to have her mother moved to a private room. She lasted another two weeks and then she was gone. Roberta saw to it that she was buried at Washelli right beside her father.

  “I hope you rest in peace,” she said to her mother when she stood at the graveside. She knew now that she could live in peace.

  * * *

&nbs
p; Roberta gave herself a mental shake. This was such a lovely day. She had no intention of wasting even a minute of it revisiting the past. Instead, she decided to enjoy the moment at hand and take a walk up Lost Bride Trail. She might not make it all the way to the falls, but the scenery would be beautiful and she could look for lady’s slippers. She’d bring her walking stick, a bottle of water (and an ibuprofen) and take her time.

  Half an hour later found her on a wooded mountain path, surrounded by evergreens and ferns, walking through dappled sunlight, taking in the earthy scent and breathing the fresh mountain air. It had been ages since she’d walked this trail. She really needed to get out more, have more fun.

  She eventually made it up to Lost Bride Falls. By the time she got there, she was definitely ready for a break. She sat down on a little wooden bench by the scenic outlook to rest her foot and enjoy the sight of water cascading over a rocky outcrop. What a history that waterfall had. She wondered what had happened to Rebecca Cane, Joshua Cane’s mail-order bride, who’d mysteriously disappeared so many generations ago. Had she run away with his younger brother, Gideon, or had Joshua truly killed the two of them in a fit of jealous rage, as so many people had speculated? The lurid story of the disappearing bride had, over the years, turned into something positive. Legend said that any woman who caught a glimpse of the ghost of the lost bride under the falls had a proposal of marriage waiting for her in the near future.

  Roberta had never seen the ghost.

  She took off her hiking shoe and rubbed her aching foot, then gulped down her painkiller. Even though it was a relatively easy hike, it was probably longer than she should have attempted. She’d go home, kick off her shoes and relax with her latest romance novel.

  She’d just put the shoe back on when two strangers came up the path. They were both good-looking men, lean and fit, wearing T-shirts, jeans and hiking boots and carrying water bottles. Roberta judged the younger one to be somewhere around Daphne’s age. The other was probably in his seventies, with white hair and plenty of lines to show he’d logged in some hours out in the sun. He resembled a younger version of Clint Eastwood. Roberta had always adored Clint Eastwood.

  The younger man said hello, then got busy taking pictures of the falls with a camera that looked very expensive. The older man smiled and said hello. “Nice day to be out,” he added.

  “Yes, it is,” Roberta said.

  He strolled over to where she sat. He was a tall man. Put him in a cowboy hat and poncho and give him a cigar and he could be Clint Eastwood. “Great view.”

  “You’d be hard put to find a better one anywhere.”

  “Do you live here?”

  It had been about a million years since a man had been interested, but Roberta hadn’t forgotten the signs. “I do,” she said and introduced herself.

  “My name’s Curtis White. This is my son Brian.”

  “Good to meet you,” Brian said and continued to take pictures.

  “Mind if I join you?” asked Curtis.

  “Not at all.” She scooted over to make room on the bench, and he sat down, causing a flutter in her chest.

  “We came up with some friends to do a little fishing and hiking.”

  “This is the place to do it.” Roberta couldn’t help herself; she had to check his left hand for a ring. Bare-naked. A bare-naked Clint Eastwood. Really, she scolded herself, at your age. Well, what was wrong with feeling the cold embers stir at her age? She wasn’t dead yet.

  But just because he wasn’t wearing a ring didn’t mean he wasn’t married...

  He was checking out her ring finger, too. “Have you lived here long?”

  “For years.”

  “Lucky you,” he said. “I’ve always thought it would be nice to retire over here somewhere, have a cabin, fish every day. Never got around to it.”

  “It’s not too late.”

  He smiled. The man had a great smile. “You know, you’re right.”

  They chatted for a few more minutes, long enough for him to confirm that she was single and find out she was in the business of providing brides and grooms with a place to get married. She learned that he was a retired banker and had been a widower for five years. And he was in town until Monday.

  “Would you like to have dinner with me tonight?” he asked.

  “Oh, I couldn’t. You’re up here with your son.”

  “And his brother. They won’t miss me.”

  “You can say that again,” teased the son.

  “Well...”

  “I hear there’s a restaurant that offers traditional German food. I haven’t had schnitzel since I was stationed in Germany. Do you like schnitzel, Roberta?”

  “I do, as a matter of fact.”

  “Well, then, let’s make it a date.”

  Roberta suspected Daphne would have plans for the evening, so why not? They agreed to meet at Schwangau at six. Then, with his son finished taking pictures, the two men said goodbye and made their way back down the trail. Roberta watched them go and wondered what silliness had prompted her to accept a date at this age. Clint Eastwood, that was what.

  “Silly woman,” she muttered and rose to her feet. Her back was stiff from sitting, and she paused to stretch and take in the view one last time before starting back. The waterfall was a gorgeous, roaring thing, with rainbows dancing in its waters and in that little cave behind the falls... What was that? She saw the figure for only a few seconds. It looked vaguely like a woman in a long gown.

  The lost bride!

  She blinked and looked again. Of course there was nothing. “Honestly, Roberta, you really are a silly, old woman.”

  By the time she was halfway down the trail she was limping and chiding herself for walking so far. Then she remembered Curtis White and decided her hike had been worth the pain. But she could hardly wait to get home, pop another pill and put her foot up.

  When she got to the house Daphne was back. “I thought you’d be out with Hank,” Roberta said.

  “No. I came back looking for you. Where’d you go?”

  “I went for a hike.”

  “It hasn’t been that long since you had the surgery,” Daphne protested. “And you said your foot hurt.”

  “I thought exercising it would do me good. Anyway, the doctor said I could walk on it now.”

  “A little. Not a hike. Where’d you go?”

  “Up Lost Bride Trail.”

  “Oh, Mother,” Daphne said, her voice a mixture of disgust and worry.

  “I’m fine,” Roberta assured her and went to the kitchen, trying not to limp noticeably. She got some water and washed down a pain pill.

  “I can tell,” Daphne said. “Let me get you some ice.”

  Roberta hobbled to the back parlor and sat on the couch. Daphne was right behind her, carrying a gallon freezer bag filled with ice and wrapped in a towel. She helped Roberta prop up her foot, then laid the ice on it, over the towel. “You’re a good daughter,” Roberta told her. She was beautiful, both inside and out, and Roberta was glad she’d come home.

  “Thank you,” Daphne murmured.

  “Now, tell me how you managed to get away from Hank. You know he’s not going to give up until you go out with him.” Whether that was a good or a bad thing remained to be seen.

  “I told him I’m not rushing into anything.”

  “Very wise. I have a feeling he’ll wait.”

  Daphne shrugged. “I do, too. He’s taking me to Zelda’s for dinner. We’re just going out as friends,” she hurried to add.

  Roberta wished she’d had the good sense to find a male friend to do things with. Maybe she had that afternoon.

  “Do you mind? I know we talked about spending the day together.”

  “I don’t mind at all,” Roberta replied. “I have plans for ton
ight myself.”

  “You do?”

  “I’m going to dinner at Schwangau.”

  “Oh? With who?”

  “A very nice man I met while I was taking my walk. He’s up here with his sons.”

  Daphne looked incredulous. “You met a man?”

  Roberta scowled. “Old people do make friends, you know.”

  “I know. It’s just that, well, I’m surprised. All these years, you never dated.”

  She had, for a brief time when Daphne was little, only a casual date or two with a couple of the locals. And then that disastrous affair...

  1967

  Nobody knew about it. He was a salesman from Seattle. He’d stopped at the diner, soon to become Pancake Haus, for a coffee on his way home from Coulee City and they’d struck up a conversation. Conversation had led to dinner, and afterward Roberta had given him a kiss and her phone number. How fortunate that she’d popped in for a bite on her lunch hour that day!

  The next month he came back and rented a small cabin and Roberta got a babysitter. He took her to dinner, to a different restaurant this time, one in nearby Wenatchee, and then back to the cabin, and suddenly her dull life began to sparkle. Love at last!

  A month later he was in town again. Janice Lind took Daphne for the night so Roberta could supposedly have a getaway with a girlfriend, and Roberta returned to the secluded cabin.

  On Sunday morning she made him bacon and eggs. He reached across the small wooden dining table and said, “It’s been a wonderful weekend.”

  She thought so, too, and went to take his hand. That was when she spotted it, the barely discernible band of white on his left-hand ring finger. Surely she should have noticed that before. “You’re married.”

  Guilt flashed across his face and she pulled her hand away. He tried to cover it with an earnest look. “I am, but it’s over.”

  “Until you go home to Seattle?”