by Irene Hannon
The woman chuckled. “Rebecca is always here,” she said, her eyes twinkling. “Would you like me to ask her to come out?”
“If you would. Tell her it’s Laura Taylor.”
“Mmm, this all sounds great!” Nick said, perusing the menu appreciatively. “And very imaginative.”
“Rebecca studied at the Culinary Institute of America and did internships with a couple of the best restaurants in St. Louis,” Laura told him, debating her own selection before finally settling on an unusual quiche.
Just as they finished placing their order, a slender, attractive woman appeared at the kitchen door. Her delicate facial structure and high cheekbones were accented by the simple but elegant French-twist style of her russet-colored hair. But her large, eloquent hazel eyes were her most striking feature. She scanned the room, and when her glance came to rest on Laura she smiled broadly and moved quickly in their direction.
Nick rose as she approached, and Laura stood up as well.
“Laura! It’s so good to see you!” Rebecca said, giving the other woman a hug.
“Thanks, Becka,” Laura said, reverting to her friend’s childhood nickname. “I’ve been meaning to come down, but what with trying to get the business established…” Her voice trailed off apologetically.
The other woman smiled ruefully. “Tell me about it.”
“Becka, this is Nick Sinclair. Nick, Rebecca Matthews.”
Nick smiled and held out his hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Rebecca.”
“Thanks. It’s mutual,” she said, returning his firm handshake. Then she turned to Laura. “I’m so glad you stopped in. May I join you for a minute?”
“Please,” Nick said, retrieving a chair from an empty table nearby.
“What brings you to St. Genevieve?” Rebecca asked as she sat down.
“We’re on our way to the Anderson Fourth of July reunion,” Laura replied.
“Oh, yes. I should have remembered,” Rebecca said with a smile. “Those gatherings are legendary in Jersey.”
“See,” Laura said, glancing at Nick with a smile. Then she turned her attention back to Rebecca. “So how is it going here? I’ve read about this place in the papers.”
“The publicity has definitely helped,” she admitted. “And it’s going well. Just a lot of hard work and long hours. It doesn’t leave much time for anything else. But it’s very gratifying to see the business grow.”
“I know what you mean,” Laura concurred.
“Brad tells me you’re doing well, too.”
“Brad’s her brother—my minister,” Laura informed Nick before responding to Rebecca. “Yes. I can’t complain. The Lord has been good to me. Hard work really does pay.”
“But too much work isn’t a good thing, either,” Nick interjected smoothly. “Remember that old saying about all work and no play.” He turned to Rebecca. “Laura is a hard sell, but I’m trying.”
Rebecca smiled at Nick. “Well, keep trying. I’ve known Laura all my life, and she’s always pushed herself too hard.”
“Look who’s talking,” Laura chided teasingly.
Rebecca grinned and gave a rueful shrug. “What can I say?”
“I’m sorry to interrupt, Rebecca.” The white-haired woman paused at their table, her voice apologetic. “But the repairman is here.”
“Thanks, Rose. I’ll be right there.” She turned back to Nick and Laura. “Sorry to run. Although I suspect that three’s a crowd anyway,” she said, smiling as a flush rose to Laura’s cheeks. She reached across and took her friend’s hand. “It was so good to see you,” she said warmly. “Stop by again, okay? And let me know in advance the next time. We do very romantic dinners here on Friday and Saturday nights,” she said, directing her remark to Nick.
“I’ll keep that in mind,” he promised, rising to pull out her chair.
“It was nice meeting you,” she said. “And take care, Laura. Don’t work too hard.”
“I’ll try not to. But remember your own advice,” she replied with a grin.
As Rebecca disappeared, Nick sat back down and turned to Laura with a smile. “She seems very nice.”
“She’s wonderful. Brad says she’s making quite a go of it here. But he worries about her being alone. And about how hard she works.”
“I feel that way about somebody myself,” Nick said quietly.
Laura flushed and glanced down, playing with the edge of her napkin. The conversation was getting too serious—and too personal. Fortunately the timely arrival of their food kept Nick from pursuing the topic, and when the waitress left Laura deliberately turned the conversation to lighter subject matter. He followed her lead, and by the time a delicious and decadently rich chocolate torte arrived, compliments of the house, she was starting to relax again. Maybe this weekend would turn out all right after all, she thought hopefully, as they left the restaurant and resumed their drive.
Conversation flowed easily during the remainder of the trip, and as they approached her hometown, Nick turned to her with a smile. “How about a rundown on the agenda and the cast of characters?” he said.
“Okay,” she agreed. “Let’s start with the agenda. Today and tomorrow will be pretty low-key. We’ll have dinner at Aunt Gladys’s tomorrow. That’s about the only real planned activity, but there will be lots of impromptu visiting going on. On the Fourth Mom has everyone over for a cookout, and then we play horseshoes or croquet and shoot off fireworks in the field after dark. Tuesday we can head back whenever we want. Now, as for the cast, there’ll be my brother, John, and his family. They live in town. And my brother, Dennis, who lives in Memphis, will be up for the weekend and staying at the house. Aunt Gladys and Uncle George have five kids, most of whom are married, and a lot of them will come back for the Fourth.” She paused and took a deep breath after her rapid-fire briefing. “Those are the main players, but you’ll find that a lot of other relatives show up, too,” she added.
“Sounds like quite a gathering. What about your dad, Laura? You didn’t mention him.”
Some of the brightness faded from her face and she turned to look out the window. “He died eleven years ago,” she said quietly.
“I’m sorry. You two were close, I take it.”
“Yes, very. I was the only girl in the family, and Dad spoiled me, I guess. He was a real special man, you know? Sometimes even now it’s hard to believe he’s gone. He died right after Fourth of July—one of the few I didn’t spend with the family,” she said, her voice edged with sadness and regret.
“How come you weren’t here? I got the impression this was a sacred ritual.”
“It is now. But I missed a few years when I was married.”
“Why?”
Laura shrugged, and Nick could feel her closing down. “Oh, you know how it is. Other things interfere.”
Like what? he wondered. But he knew better than to pursue a line of questioning that would alienate her and erase the lighthearted mood they’d established. So he changed the subject.
“You’ll need to guide me from here,” he said as he turned off the highway.
By the time he turned into the driveway leading to the modest white frame house on the outskirts of town, Laura’s earlier mood was restored and her eyes were shining in anticipation. The crunching gravel announced their arrival, and before he even set the brake the front screen door opened and an older, slightly stout woman in a faded apron appeared.
She turned and called something over her shoulder before hurrying down the steps and throwing her arms around Laura.
“Oh, honey, it’s so good to see you,” she said.
“It’s good to be home, Mom,” Laura answered, and Nick heard the catch in her voice. He gave them a minute to themselves before climbing out of the car.
Laura’s mother appeared instantly contrite. “Oh, goodness, I completely forgot about your young man.” She stepped back and smoothed her hair.
“Mom, he’s not my young man,” Laura corrected her, flushing. “I
told you about Nick last night on the phone.”
“Of course you did. I hope you’ll forgive me,” Laura’s mother said to Nick.
“I didn’t mind in the least,” he assured her.
Laura’s mother looked pleased. “Well, good. Now, I assume you’re Nick Sinclair,” she said, holding out her hand. “Welcome to Jersey. I’m Laura’s mother, Evelyn Anderson.”
Nick returned her firm handshake with a smile, doing a rapid assessment. The years had clearly taken their toll on Laura’s mother. Her face spoke of hard work, and the once-brown hair was now mostly gray. But her eyes sparkled and her smile was cheerful and warm. While life may have presented her with difficulties, Laura’s mother seemed to have met them squarely and then moved on. Much like Laura herself, Nick thought.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Anderson. And thank you for inviting me. It was very generous of you.”
“Not at all. We’re glad to have you,” she said. “Now let’s go in and get you both settled and then you can have some dinner. Laura, I’ve put Nick in John’s old room, if you’ll take him up. I’ve got a pie in the oven that’s just about done.”
“Okay.”
“Take your time unpacking. I didn’t know when everyone would be arriving so I just put on a big pot of chili. It’ll keep,” she told them.
Laura followed Nick around to the back of the car and reached for her bag when he raised the lid of the trunk.
“I’ll take care of it,” he said, moving more quickly than she and effortlessly hoisting the strap of the small overnight case to his shoulder.
“You don’t have to carry my luggage,” she protested.
“Neither of us packed very heavily,” he said with a crooked grin, holding up his duffel bag. “I think I can manage. You just lead the way and clear the path.”
“Okay,” she relented, walking ahead and opening the screen door. “Up the stairs, first door on your right,” she instructed.
Nick made his way to the second floor and pushed the indicated door open with his shoulder. The room was simply furnished, with a navy blue bedspread on the full-size bed, an easy chair and an oak chest and desk. Rag rugs covered the polished plank floors, and woven curtains hung at the window. As Nick set his bag on the floor, Laura spoke at his elbow.
“I hope this will be okay,” she said worriedly. She’d never really noticed before how plain the house was. It had always just been home to her—warm and inviting and welcoming. But to a stranger, it might appear old and worn. Not to mention hot. She noticed the beads of perspiration already forming on Nick’s forehead. “Mom doesn’t have air-conditioning,” she said apologetically. “All the upstairs rooms have ceiling fans, though, so it stays pretty cool at night. During the day we don’t spend a lot of time up here, anyway.” She paused. “I guess I should have warned you.”
“It wouldn’t have made me change my mind about coming,” he said with a smile.
“Are you sure the heat won’t bother you?” she asked skeptically. “I’m used to it—this is how I grew up, and even now, I don’t use my air all that much. But most people live in air-conditioning today. Especially in Missouri in July.”
“Laura.” He placed his hands on her shoulders. “I told you. This is fine. It’s a small price to pay for a long weekend with you. Now, where do you want this?” he asked, nodding toward her overnight case.
“I’m right next door.” She bent down to retrieve the bag, but he beat her to it. “Nick, it’s just down the hall,” she protested.
“Good. Then I won’t have far to walk.”
Laura shook her head. “You sure can be stubborn, do you know that?”
“Yep.”
“Okay. I give up. Besides, it’s too hot to argue.”
Nick followed her down the hall. He could have let her take her own bag. It wasn’t that heavy, and he’d seen evidence that she was stronger than she looked. No, his reasons were more selfish than chivalrous. He was curious about the room where Laura had spent her girlhood, and this might be his only chance to see it.
“You can just put it on the chair,” Laura said, entering the room before him.
Nick took his time, glancing around as he strolled over to the white wicker chair with a floral cushion, which sat in one corner. The room was painted pale blue, with a delicate floral wallpaper border, and decorated with white wicker furniture and crisp organdy curtains. The floral spread on the twin bed matched the chair cushion, and a large print by one of the French Impressionists hung on one wall.
“Very nice,” he said approvingly. “I particularly like this Matisse. Is it yours?”
“Yes.”
“I’m surprised you didn’t take it with you. It’s a very fine print.”
“Thanks. It was a high school graduation gift from Mom and Dad.”
“And you left it?”
Laura turned away. “My husband wasn’t a fan of impressionistic painting,” she said with a shrug. “Besides, it would have left a blank spot on the wall here. I figured I could enjoy it whenever we came to visit.”
“Which apparently wasn’t often.”
“Nick.” Her eyes flew to his, and there was a note of warning in her voice. “Leave it alone.”
He held up his hands. “Sorry.”
She looked at him steadily for a moment, and then turned away. “I’m going to change into some shorts and freshen up. I’ll meet you downstairs in about fifteen minutes for dinner, okay?”
“Sure.”
Nick returned to his room and strolled restlessly over to the window, jamming his hands in his pockets, a frown marring his brow as he stared out over the distant fields. There was so much about Laura that he wanted to know. Needed to know. But she just wouldn’t open up. What could possibly have happened to make her so gun-shy? He had no answers, but he did have three days ahead with Laura, in an environment where she seemed to feel safe. Maybe she would share some memories with him here. At least he could hope.
It didn’t take Laura long to change. She was used to having too much to do in too little time, and she’d learned not to waste a moment. She slipped a pair of comfortable khaki shorts over her slim hips, tucking in a teal blue, short-sleeved cotton blouse and cinching the waist with a hemp belt. As she sat down on the bed to tie her canvas shoes, her eye fell on the Matisse, and she paused to look at it. The painting had always soothed her, and right now her nerves needed all the soothing they could get. Slowly she looked around the room that had been home for eighteen years, letting her gaze linger here and there. Everything was the same. The same blue walls. The same crystal dish on the dresser. The same worn spot on the rug. Everything was the same. Everything except her. So much had happened in the years since she had left this house as a bride. There had been so many hopes, heartaches and regrets….
Suddenly Laura’s eyes grew misty. She wasn’t prone to self-pity, so the tears took her off guard. It wasn’t as if she had anything to complain about, she told herself. Yes, her life had turned out differently than she’d expected as a young bride. And some bad things had happened along the way. But the Lord had stood by her through the tough times, and her life now was very blessed. She had a successful business, a loving family, good friends and good health. The Lord always provided for her, even supplying a chauffeur for this weekend, she reminded herself.
Laura abruptly stood, brushing her tears aside. She wasn’t going to give in to melancholy. Looking back did no good. She’d learned a long time ago that living in the past was a waste of time and an emotional drain. Live today, plan for tomorrow and trust in the Lord—that was her motto now.
Laura let herself out of her room, closing the door quietly behind her, and walked down the hall, her rubber-soled shoes noiseless on the hardwood floor. Nick’s door was still closed, and her step faltered. Should she knock and let him know she was heading down? No, she could use a few minutes alone with the family.
Laura ran lightly down the steps and headed for the kitchen, sniffing appreciativel
y as she entered the bright, sunny room. John was sitting at the polished oak table unsuccessfully trying to convince eight-month-old Daniel to eat a spoon of strained peas, while Dana helped clear the remainder of three-year-old Susan’s dinner off the table.
“Aunt Laura!” Susan squealed, catapulting herself toward Laura, who bent and swept her up.
“My goodness, what a big girl you are now!” Laura exclaimed, hugging the little body close to her. Susan tolerated the embrace for a few seconds, and then squirmed to be set loose.
John gave her a harried smile. “Hi, Sis. We’ll clear out of here in just a minute so you can enjoy your dinner in peace.”
“Don’t rush on my account,” Laura said, sitting down at the table and cupping her chin in her palm. Daniel chose that moment to spit out a particularly unappealing bite, and Laura laughed. “I’m enjoying this.”
“You wouldn’t want to take over, would you?” John asked hopefully.
“Oh, no, you’re doing a masterful job. Hi, Dana. How’d you manage to get John to do the feeding chores?” she asked, turning toward her sister-in-law.
“Hi, Laura.” Dana was a natural white blonde, and she wore her hair short and curled softly around her attractive, animated face. “We made a deal before we had the second one that feeding, diapering and bathing chores would be divided. And I must say, John’s lived up to his side of the bargain really well.”
“Did I have a choice?” he asked good-naturedly.
“No.”
He shrugged and grinned. “Boy, has she gotten aggressive,” he said to Laura.
“No, dear brother, the word is assertive. And good for you, Dana,” Laura said with a smile.
“I should have figured you women would stick together,” he lamented.
“Oh, get out the violins,” Laura said, rolling her eyes.
John’s grin softened to a smile. “It’s good to see you, Laura.”
“It’s good to be home,” she replied quietly, reaching over briefly to touch his shoulder. “Is Dennis here yet?”
The screen door banged. “Anybody home?” a male voice bellowed.
John looked at Laura and grinned. “Speak of the devil. We’re in the kitchen,” he called.
