Her Surprise Sister

by Marta Perry

  She wouldn’t be impressed if he told her that he still felt responsible for her, so he needed another good reason to stay. “It seems to me the truth lies somewhere in Belle Colby’s past, and she’s spent most of her adult life here. It only makes sense to do what I can in Grasslands and help you and Violet as well.”

  She looked at him speculatively. “Do you really mean that?”

  “Sure.” What was in her mind?

  “Fine, then I have a job for you.”

  “Hauling cartons of vegetables?” He was only half-kidding.

  “Violet and I are volunteering at the youth center her church runs tonight, since the scheduled people can’t make it. We need a male volunteer. That’s you.”

  She looked at him with a smug smile, obviously sure he’d try to get out of it.

  “Fine,” he said. “Just tell me where and when.”

  * * *

  Violet gave up her post at the door to another Teen Scene volunteer and walked back through the church social rooms. She felt as if she was always on the alert when the program was running. Opening the church to area teens two nights a week had been controversial, with some members of the congregation ready to pounce on any problem, no matter how slight, as a reason to shut down the program.

  All seemed to be running smoothly tonight, other than the last-minute replacement of volunteers when Ted and Judy Fisher got unexpected houseguests from out of town. Maddie was in the kitchen serving popcorn, hot dogs and lemonade to the kids, who always seemed to arrive hungry. Wearing jeans and a plaid shirt of Violet’s, her hair pulled back, she fit in surprisingly well. And if the kids were openly curious, it didn’t seem to bother her.

  Violet smiled at a noisy game of air hockey that was in progress and just missed being hit by an errant Ping-Pong ball from the ongoing, informal tournament. She liked seeing the kids being active, and the variety of activities available gave everyone a chance to shine.

  The door to the gym stood open, emitting the squeak of sneakers on the hardwood floor. She walked in and stood for a moment, watching. One side of the gym had a low balcony area, where it was possible to have tables and chairs. The door to the outside was also there, where a volunteer checked kids in and out.

  So this was where Landon had disappeared to. He dribbled down the court, moving with an almost effortless grace, and eluded a muscular guard. For an instant she thought he’d take the shot himself, but he passed off to an undersized kid who looked momentarily surprised and then sank the basket.

  Landon bent over, hands on his knees, breathing hard. In a moment, amidst a lot of good-natured kidding about his advanced age, he came off the court.

  “Not bad,” she said. “You almost kept up with them.”

  “Are you kidding?” He braced his hands on the low wall that separated the balcony from the gym floor. “They nearly ran me into the ground. Kids that age have more energy than they know what to do with.”

  Violet nodded, letting her gaze wander over the kids. It was a nice mix tonight, and…

  “Don’t let me bore you,” Landon commented.

  “I’m sorry.” She smiled ruefully. “Maybe I take things too seriously, but I always want to be sure everyone’s feeling accepted here.”

  Landon nodded. “I understand that. Kids are too ready to put up walls. They like to categorize each other—this one’s a nerd, that one’s a jock.”

  “And some other terms that are a lot more derogatory,” she added. “They can be mean, but I think when they are, it’s usually out of their own insecurity.”

  He studied her face. “Is that personal experience talking?”

  “Was I ever mean to anyone? Probably, although Mom came down pretty hard on that sort of talk.”

  “Were you ever picked on?” He tilted his head slightly, and the overhead light emphasized his strong, regular features.

  “Not picked on like the stories you hear now, especially with all the cyber-bullying going on. Grasslands is a small enough community that everyone knows everyone else, so it’s tough to get away with that sort of thing for long. Still, it’s harder to be a teenager now than it was even ten years ago.”

  “Maybe so.” He didn’t look convinced of that statement. “I remember some nasty stuff going on when I was a teen, though. Drinking, drugs.”

  “That’s why this program is so important,” Violet went on. “Not just to give the kids something to do, but to give them adults who care about them enough to volunteer their time.”

  Landon was frowning slightly, and she wondered why. Maybe, in the privileged life he’d had, he’d been immune to the problems other people took for granted.

  “I’d think a town the size of Grasslands could afford to have a community center to provide this sort of outlet for the kids. A professional staff would be better equipped to handle problems.”

  “Than my group of well-meaning volunteers?” she asked, irritation edging her nerves. Who was he to come in and criticize their efforts?

  “Well, wouldn’t that be better?” he asked. “If a professional can do the job, why rely on untrained people who let you down at the last minute?”

  “This isn’t Fort Worth,” she reminded him, gritting her teeth in an effort to keep from saying something she’d regret. “Like it or not, this is the only game in town for these kids. If you don’t feel you want to participate, I’m sure we can manage without you.”

  She started to turn away, but he stopped her with a hand on her wrist. She tried to deny the wave of warmth that flooded through her.

  “I wasn’t denying the need you’re trying to meet, Violet.” His voice was low, with an intensity that startled her. “Believe it or not, I had plenty of grief of my own when I was their age. Maybe you’re right. I don’t know the situation here. If I’d had someone who cared enough—” He broke off, looking past her. “Is that girl crying?”

  Violet yanked her attention away from Landon to look in the direction he nodded. Sure enough, Tracey Benton was huddled in a corner, trying to keep her tears to herself. Slight and small, she bent over so that her long, dark hair swung in front of her face.

  “Tracey. I’ll see to her,” she said, pulling her hand away from Landon’s. “Thanks.”

  Maybe it was just as well that the interruption had occurred. She went quickly toward Tracey. She’d been getting way too wrapped up in Landon’s intensity. Still, she wished Landon had finished what he was saying.

  When Tracey saw her coming she tried to turn away, but Violet put her arm around the girl’s shoulders and led her toward the tiny room they used for an office. It wasn’t the first time she’d found tears streaking Tracey’s olive skin. Maybe tonight would be the time she finally broke through to the girl.

  Closing the door, she settled Tracey in the only comfortable chair and gave her a bottle of water and a handful of tissues. She pulled a folding chair up so that they were knee to knee.

  “It’s okay to cry,” she said, remembering when Maddie had said those words to her.

  “I’m okay.” Sniffling a little, Tracey moved as if to get up.

  Violet captured Tracey’s hands in both of hers. “Tracey, I said it was okay to cry. It’s also okay to talk to someone about what’s wrong.”

  Tracey didn’t speak. She freed one hand to brush a strand of glossy black hair behind her ear. Her gaze met Violet’s for a moment and then flicked away.

  Please, God, give me the right words. Let me help her.

  “I’m your friend, Tracey. I’ll listen to anything you have to say, and I won’t repeat it to anyone. I’ll help you any way I can.”

  But Tracey was pulling herself together, withdrawing once again. “I’m okay, Ms. Vi. Honest. I just…somebody said something that hurt my feelings. That’s all.”

  Before Violet could say anything else, Tracey jumped up and fled from the room.

  Violet watched her go with mixed feelings, mostly doubt. Tracey’s explanation might be true. The child of a Hispanic mother and an Anglo fathe
r, Tracey probably had more trouble finding her place in the difficult world of adolescence than a lot of kids.

  But she had a sense that Tracey was dealing with something more than the usual teasing.

  Rubbing her forehead, Violet followed her slowly, burdened down by the weight of her failure. Maybe Landon had it right. Maybe she was kidding herself, trying to do something that ought to be handled by a professional.

  Chapter Eight

  “Are you going to Amarillo today?” Maddie paused in carrying her breakfast dishes to the kitchen, glancing toward Violet with concern in her face. “You look tired. Maybe you ought to stay home.”

  Violet smiled, trying to look a bit perkier than she felt. “I’m fine. I just didn’t sleep well last night.”

  Maddie set the dishes back down on the table and slid into the ladder-back chair next to her. “Are you worrying about your…our mother?”

  “Not exactly. I mean, I keep trying to give that fear over to the Lord, but I suppose it’s always there in the back of my mind.”

  “What, then? Landon?” Maddie gave her a shrewd look. “I saw him talking to you last night.”

  “Of course I wasn’t thinking about him,” she said, more sharply than she’d intended. “Landon’s not…well, anyway, I was thinking about one of the girls at Teen Scene last night. Tracey—pretty, about fourteen, with long, black hair?”

  Maddie shrugged. “That description could fit about half the girls there.”

  “I guess. Anyway, I’ve found her upset several times, but I haven’t been able to get her to open up to me. It happened again last night, and once again, she wouldn’t talk to me. It made me feel so useless. Maybe Landon’s right, and—” She stopped.

  “Landon, huh?” she smirked. “I might have known he’d have something to do with it. What did he say?”

  “Nothing that bad. He implied that professionals could do what we’re doing with the teenagers a lot better, and after my failure to get through to Tracey, I began to think that maybe it’s true.”

  “And maybe it’s not.” Maddie patted her hand. “Landon might just be prejudiced because he’s donated a lot of money to youth center programs over the years, all of them run by professionals. And he’s a businessman—his first instinct is always to call in the professionals. He’s not thinking about the fact that Grasslands isn’t Fort Worth.”

  Violet smiled, her spirits lifting at her twin’s support. “That’s just what I told him. I didn’t know about his charities, though, or I’d have been more careful what I said. I think that’s admirable.”

  Maddie clapped her hand over her mouth for an instant, making a face. “Don’t say anything, or he’ll know I told you. He keeps things like his charities secret, and the only reason I know is because he recruited Dad to help with some kids who needed surgery.”

  “I won’t say anything, but I don’t see why…” Often wealthy people made more of a show of their philanthropy.

  “It’s got something to do with his sister, I think,” Maddie said, her forehead wrinkling. “Jessica was his younger sister, and she died in an accident when she was a teenager. I imagine he does it in her memory.”

  “That’s so sad.” Violet had been wrong about him then, imagining a trouble-free, privileged life for him. She should have known better. Even in the best of circumstances, people didn’t get out of their teen years unscathed, and losing a sister was a terrible loss.

  “Jessica was about my age, but I didn’t know her since she went to a different school. I do know that Landon was never the same after she died.”

  “No, I guess he wouldn’t be.” She wouldn’t be, if she lost Jack or Maddie.

  Maddie stood, gathering up the dishes. “I’ll take these back to the kitchen. You never did answer my question. Why don’t you stay home today and get some rest?”

  “If I stayed home, I wouldn’t get any rest,” she said ruefully. “Saturday is always a busy day at the store, and I’d feel I had to go there if I don’t go to the hospital. Anyway, since I missed visiting Mom yesterday, I don’t want to miss today.”

  “Okay. I just need to change. How soon will you be ready?” Maddie glanced at her watch.

  “Say about an hour. I still have to check in with Ty and Ricardo, and there’s something I want to look for in the attic. Does that work for you?”

  “Fine by me.” Maddie vanished in the direction of the kitchen.

  Violet headed upstairs. Sometime in the night she’d tried to comfort herself with memories of the way things used to be. She’d thought of something that might be a comfort to her mom, if she could find it.

  When they were little, Belle used to snuggle Violet and Jack in a knitted throw she called the story shawl. They’d cuddle together on her bed or Jack’s, the shawl around them, while Belle told them bedtime stories. She could still feel the warmth of the shawl and the music of her mom’s voice lulling them to sleep.

  Belle wouldn’t have thrown away something that meant so much to them. The shawl was probably in a trunk in the attic, stored away with other mementos of their childhood.

  If she could find it, she’d take it to the hospital with her. Nobody knew what her mom was aware of. Maybe she’d find some comfort in that shawl. Violet had a feeling she would, anyway, even if Belle didn’t.

  Switching on the overhead bulb, she headed up the attic stairs and emerged at the top, glancing around to orient herself. Thanks to the overhead light fixture and the windows at either end, the attic was bright enough to search for something easily. And it was clean, of course. Lupita wouldn’t hear of any part of her domain not receiving a periodic cleaning, even one as little-used as the attic.

  For the most part, the boxes and plastic bins were marked, thanks to Belle’s passion for organization. Some of the older trunks dated to her Uncle James’s parents’ time, and every once in a while her mom threatened to put everyone to work sorting them, looking for items that should be donated to the county historical society. So far, Violet and Jack had managed to evade that task, mainly because they were all too busy.

  Slipping around boxes marked Jack’s School Projects and Violet’s 4-H Awards, Violet came to the trunk she thought most likely. She knelt on the floor and lifted the curved lid, wondering if God minded a selfish prayer that she be able to find the shawl.

  The first few items were of more recent origin: a doll she’d won at the county fair one year, carefully wrapped in plastic; a colorful serape Jack had brought back from a trip to Mexico; two graduation caps, one white and one black. Traditionally the boys graduating from Grasslands wore black, while the girls wore white.

  She put them carefully aside, smiling at Jack’s probable reaction if he realized how many mementos of his youth were preserved up here. She lifted out a patchwork quilt and there, at last, was the shawl. Someone had wrapped it in a sheet, then in plastic, to protect it.

  Violet pulled the shawl free of the wrappings, eager to feel it in her hands again. The yarn was soft and worn, cushiony to the touch, and she seemed to see her own small hand clutching it tightly.

  Tears stung her eyes and she blinked them back. She shouldn’t wallow too much in the past in front of Maddie, reminding her again of all that she had missed with Belle. But she could give herself a few minutes to remember. She drew the shawl around her shoulders despite the heat, and felt the security it had always given her. She could use that sense of security right now.

  But Maddie would be waiting, and she still had things to do before they could leave for Amarillo. She leaned forward to put the other items back into the trunk and realized that there was still something in the bottom—a flat manila envelope, faded with age.

  Violet picked it up, her fingers telling her that it wasn’t empty before she’d even opened it. There was just one enclosure, and she drew the item out carefully, turning it over to look at it.

  Her heart seemed to stop for an instant, and she couldn’t catch her breath. The photo was old and faded, its surface cracked and marred
. But she could still make out the image. Belle—a much younger Belle—stood in front of a small house. She held an infant in her arms and had a toddler by the hand. It had to be her and Jack with Mom in that picture. But that wasn’t what reduced her to uncontrollable tears.

  A man stood next to Belle. She’d only seen Brian Wallace in photos, but his looks hadn’t changed that much with age. He, too, held an infant in his arms and a toddler by the hand.

  It was her family—her whole family, all together.

  * * *

  Landon went up the stairs at the Colby house quietly, his ears still burning from Maddie’s sharp words. She’d taken him to task for what he’d said the night before, telling him in no uncertain terms what she thought of him. She’d followed up her lecture by demanding that he apologize to Violet, saying he wouldn’t be welcome here if he didn’t make this right.

  If he hadn’t been the target, he might have enjoyed seeing Maddie assert herself so thoroughly. He’d always thought Maddie needed protection, but he’d begun to feel he was the one who needed protection from her.

  Well, he hadn’t intended his words to hurt Violet. That was the last thing he wanted to do. Apparently, from what Maddie had said, there’d been an incident with one of the teens, presumably the one he’d seen crying. Violet felt, probably thanks to what he’d said, that she should have been able to handle it better.

  He still thought the teen center should be in professional hands, but his words had been careless, criticizing when he hadn’t completely understood the situation. As Violet had said, this wasn’t Fort Worth, and they didn’t have the city’s resources.

  Maddie had told him he’d find Violet in the attic. The door to the stairway stood open, so he assumed Violet was still up there. He went up quietly, caught between guilt and annoyance that he had to apologize to her once again.

  It took only a quick glance to find Violet when he reached the top, and the sight rocked him back on his heels. She sat on the floor in front of an old trunk, looking down at something in her lap, and she was weeping, her slim shoulders shaking with the depth of her sobs.