by Janet Dailey
"Thanks anyway," Kurt shook his dark head regretfully, "but I'm afraid I'll have to pass. I'd better got back to work."
"Surely you can spare time for one cup," Ruth cajoled.
"No, I—"
"Ruth?" Elinore Powell's questioning voice came from the stairwell to the second floor. "Who's there?"
"It's Alanna and her young man." The answer was shouted back with a beaming smile on the couple. "She's come home a day early."
Alanna slid a sideways glance at Kurt, wondering if he minded being referred to as her young man. He caught the look and smiled at her gently, slipping an arm around her waist as if to reinforce the claim that they belonged together. A warm, pleasant feeling of being cared for stole over her. Soft contentment was etched in her expression as she turned to meet the petite woman gliding gracefully down the stairs.
Always fragile in appearance, Elinore Powell now looked even more delicate. Her heart had never been strong from childhood. Yet there was an aura of resiliency about her that led one to believe she could overcome anything, even ill health. There was a translucent quality to her complexion and an undiminished sparkle in her eyes. The silver gilt to her once blond hair added to her ephemeral loveliness.
"It's so good to have you home." Her mother's voice trembled with emotion as she embraced Alanna, a shimmer of happy tears in her ageless eyes. With innate grace, Elinore Powell turned to Kurt. "Were you an accomplice in Alanna's plot to surprise us?" she smiled.
"Yes," he nodded. "She phoned me."
"So you could meet her at the airport," Elinore concluded astutely. "I know it probably isn't necessary, but I want to thank you for meeting her and bringing her safely home." Alanna hesitated for an instant, feeling the flick of Kurt's gaze on her, but she didn't bother to correct her mother's impression that Kurt had met her at the airport as planned. "I heard Ruth mention coffee," her mother continued. "You will stay for a few minutes, won't you, Kurt?"
"I really must get back to the plant," he refused a second time. "We had some equipment problems this afternoon. It was good seeing you again, Mrs. Powell, and you too, Mrs. Ewell. Goodbye, Alanna." He bent his head and unself-consciously brushed a light kiss across her lips. "Seven?"
"I'll be ready," she promised.
With a polite nod at the two older women, he left. Alanna didn't try to conceal the glow of pride in her violet eyes. Kurt Matthews was a handsome, intelligent man. No girl could fail to feel proud if he was interested in her. Her look was noted by both women, who exchanged knowing glances.
"Why don't you bring that coffee into the living room, Ruth," Elinore Powell suggested. "I'm sure Alanna would like a cup after her flight. There's plenty of time to unpack later."
Alanna had no objections to the idea. In truth, she suddenly felt in need of a cup of coffee. So much had happened since the plane touched down that a cup of coffee seemed doubly inviting.
"Come on." Elinore Powell linked her arm with her daughter's and led her toward the living room. "You still haven't told me how you managed to leave a day early."
Settled on the traditionally styled sofa of yellow and green print, Alanna explained about the last-minute rescheduling of her final exams and discussed how she felt she had done in the various classes, laughing with her mother and Ruth over some of the peculiarities of her professors. Then she had plied them with questions about what had been happening at home and for news of some of her former school chums, especially Jessie, Ruth's daughter. She and Jessie had been the closest friends, but Jessie had married almost immediately after high school graduation and moved out of state.
Through letters and Ruth, they had still kept in touch.
Jessie had recently sent a group of snapshots of her and her family and Ruth quite proudly showed them to Alanna. "Hero's Jessie with little Amy. She's three months old there. Isn't she a little doll, with that button nose and dark hair?" Alanna agreed and was handed another photograph. "That's Mikey. He's growing so fast. Jessie said in her letter that he's a typical terrible two-year-old."
Grazing at the photographs, Alanna couldn't help thinking how very happy Jessie looked. There was a positive bloom about her cheeks, especially in the photograph where she was holding the baby and looking at her husband John. Alanna didn't know him very well, but he was a good-looking man in a solid sort of way.
Theirs had been a whirlwind courtship and radiant was the only way to describe Jessie after three years of marriage. Alanna hoped that was the way it would be for her, too. She tried to visualize a picture of herself and Kurt. But before the image could form, Ruth was speaking again.
"Now that they have a healthy boy and girl, Jessie thinks the family will be complete with no more additions. Sam and Andrew each have four, but she has no intention of trying to keep up with her brothers," Ruth stated, referring to her sons. The mantel clock in the dining room Chimed. "Heavens!" Ruth exclaimed. "If we're going to eat dinner at a decent hour, I'd better get started."
"I'll help," Mrs. Powell offered, starting to rise from the sofa as Ruth straightened.
"You stay here and talk to Alanna," the woman admonished firmly. "You haven't seen her since Easter."
"If you need me, just call." Her mother didn't pursue her offer and Alanna was reminded of her shaky health.
As Ruth left the room, she turned her attention back to the photographs, but her thoughts were on her mother. It was still difficult to accept after all this time that her mother's activities were limited. She still exuded a vitality that belied her weakness. A sigh came from her mother, wistfully sad, drawing Alanna's gaze.
"Is something wrong, Mother?"
"Not really," she smiled. "I was just wondering how long it would be before I'll be able to show off pictures of my grandchildren. Or even if I'll be around to see them born."
"Oh, Mother, don't talk that way," Alanna murmured with a catch in her voice.
"I wasn't referring to an early demise," Elinore laughed, a bright melodious sound. "My dear, since you turned sixteen, there's been a string of male admirers knocking at our door and you haven't taken one of them seriously. Are you going to become one of these modern career women? Not that I don't think a woman should have a career, but selfishly I keep hoping that you might be able to include a husband and family in your life, too."
"I'm twenty-one. That practically makes me an old maid, doesn't it?" Alanna teased, relief flowing through her that her mother had maintained her optimistic grasp on the future.
"Seriously, Alanna," her mother smiled, "what about Kurt Matthews? Is he the one? Are you in love with him?"
A momentary stillness swept over her. She looked down at the pictures in her hand. "I think so," she nodded.
"Think so?" Disappointment and affection ran through the responding voice. "My dear, I doubt if it's love if you only think so. When you're in love with a man, he either makes you so impossibly angry that you can't think straight or he transports you to some heavenly plateau."
"Is that right?" There was an impish light in her eyes as she glanced at her mother. "Is that the way dad makes you feel?"
"After thirty years, he still has the power to exasperate me beyond endurance," Elinore Powell admitted laughingly. "But the heavenly plateau has become much more solid and lasting. I think it's something that exists only in the sweet romance of courtship. Which is just as well, because it isn't wise to go through life with your head in the clouds all the time."
Alanna smiled and nodded. Secretly she thought her mother's idea about love was a bit old-fashioned and sentimental. Love wasn't like that today, probably it never had been except in romantic dreams. Love wasn't something that happened. It was something that grew out of genuine affection and admiration into something more solid. But she didn't voice her opinion. There was no reason to debate the point.
Chapter Three
IT SEEMED TO ALANNA that her father was a bit preoccupied during dinner that evening. His eyes kept straying to his wife whenever he felt she was looking at him, a
nd there was a faintly troubled light in his eyes and a certain tension about his finely chiseled mouth. It seemed to accent the aging lines in his handsome, sensitive face. His hair was iron-gray, receding at the temples, yet still giving the impression, of being thickly full.
They were such a perfect couple, Alanna thought, not for the first time. They were so devoted to each other, each more concerned about the other's wants and needs than their own. Perhaps that was what was bothering her father now. She knew her mother's health was poor, but maybe he had detected something in her manner tonight that gave him cause to worry. He would be more apt to seer since Alanna had been away and wouldn't be able to discern any small change. She studied her mother circumspectly, trying to see her through her father's eyes, but she noticed nothing.
"Oh, Dorian," Ruth looked up from her plate, "I called the plumber. He'll be over tomorrow morning to see what's the matter with the pipes in the laundry room. I meant to tell you earlier and forgot."
Her father sighed heavily. "I'm beginning to think we should have all new plumbing installed. First it was the upstairs bathroom; then it was the kitchen. Now the laundry room." He shook his head. "There's only the downstairs bathroom left."
"The house is old," her mother pointed out. "You can't expect it to last forever."
"I'm beginning to think it's become a white elephant." He made a studious job out of slicing a mouth-size portion of roast beef on his plate. "I was golfing today with Bob Jackson—he's the one with the real estate firm," he added in explanation. "He was telling me that there's quite a demand for housing these days, especially homes located in our area. He seems to think it would fetch a handsome price if we put it on the market."
"You aren't thinking of selling, are you, Dorian?" Her mother laid her silverware on the table and stared at him in disbelief.
"We aren't getting any younger, Elinore," he said, not meeting her gaze. "With Alanna away at college most of the year, this house is really too big for our needs. The upkeep and expense of running it is getting out of hand—the plumbing, and we're going to need a new roof before winter. We could sell it and buy us a nice condominium with money left over to put in the bank. We wouldn't have to worry any more about heating empty rooms or shoveling snow, raking leaves, or mowing lawns. Let's be honest. This house is beginning to be a burden."
"Dorian Maxwell Powell, I don't want to hear another word!" her mother exclaimed.
"Would you sell it?" Alanna breathed, her throat constricting at the idea of strangers living in her home.
"He is not going to sell it!" Elinore stated emphatically.
"I never said I was," he placated. "I was only pointing out that it would be the practical thing to do."
"I don't care if it's practical or not," her mother retorted. She picked up her knife and fork again. "I don't see how you could even suggest such a thing. You were born in this house. It was built to your father's specifications down to the last detail. It would be like selling your heritage. How could you even consider such a thing?"
"Now, now Elinore, don't get so upset," he soothed with an apologetic smile. "I just thought that this big old house might be getting too much for you and Ruth to take care of and I didn't want…Well," he faltered, choosing his words with care, "if you wanted something smaller, I thought you might not say so because of the very reasons you mentioned."
"Oh, darling." Elinore bit her lip, touched by his gesture. "This is our home. It always has been and it always will be if I have any say about it."
"Of course you do," he smiled. "I guess it was foolish of me to bring it up."
"It certainly was," Elinore sniffed.
And Alanna smiled, marveling again at the selfless consideration her parents showed for each other. She glanced at her watch.
It was after six. She wouldn't have much time to get ready before Kurt arrived.
"I'm going to have to skip dessert if I want to be ready when Kurt gets here," she declared.
"But I've done your favorite," Ruth protested. "Fresh strawberries and baking powder biscuits with thick cream from the Johanson farm."
Alanna grimaced regretfully. "Save me some. I'll have it for breakfast in the morning."
"You shouldn't be eating dessert for breakfast," Ruth said in a disapproving tone.
"Why not? It isn't any different from having fresh fruit and toast," she teased.
Cleaning her plate, she asked to be excused and hurried to her room. By the time she had showered, applied fresh makeup, and changed, Kurt was already there. She could hear him in the living room talking to her mother as she came down the stairs. Her father stepped out of the library and paused when he saw her. His serious expression softened at the sight of her.
"You look lovely, Alanna." Dorian Powell walked to the foot of the stairs to meet her. His gaze ran over her, admiring the amethyst sparkle the lavender dress gave to her eyes. "Even if I am a bit prejudiced it's still the truth."
"Thank you, daddy." She kissed him lightly on the cheek and glanced toward the living room. "Has Kurt been waiting long?"
"No more than five minutes, but once he sees you he won't mind," he answered, smiling. "Tell me, are you serious about young Matthews? Should I be in there interrogating him like a future father-in-law?"
Twice in one day—first her mother and now her father! Alanna couldn't believe it. She laughed with a trace of bewilderment,
"You're as bad as mother," she declared. "You both seem intent on whisking me off to the altar. I have a year of college to finish yet."
Pain flickered briefly in his eyes. "Of course you do," he repeated, a chagrined smile touching his mouth. "Your mother and I are just naturally anxious to know that your future is secure, that there's someone around who will love you and look after you the way we do."
"I'm capable of looking after myself," Alanna reminded him gently.
"I know that, honey," her father nodded. "But I guess parents always think about their daughter getting married to some nice young man who'll be able to provide a good home for her. To me, Rolt's brother seems like an ideal prospect. He's pleasant and intelligent and I know Rolt will always look out for his interests."
And how! Alanna thought. It was on the tip of her tongue to tell her father exactly what kind of brother Kurt had. Look out for Kurt's interest, indeed! How much would her father admire Rolt if he found out that Rolt was planning to try to steal her away from his brother?
She swallowed back the words. It would only upset her father to have his confidence in Rolt shaken. He would start worrying about the plant and all the employees and their families who depended on it.
"I think Kurt can take care of himself without any help from his brother," she said instead,
"Probably he can," her father conceded, but in a doubtful tone that irritated Alanna. "Young Matthews could get ahead on his own, but he doesn't have the drive that Rolt does. After all, Rolt is—"
"—a giant. I know, daddy." She sighed. "The next thing I know you'll be advocating that I marry Rolt."
"Well…" An impish twinkle danced in his eyes. But Alanna failed to find it amusing and the light faded from his eyes. "When you do marry, I only want it to be to the man you want," he added.
"I know." A rueful smile curved the vulnerable line of her mouth. No matter what he said, she knew he simply wanted her to be happy. Parents just had odd ideas sometimes about what would make their children happy. "I'd better not keep Kurt waiting any longer," she declared, and gave her father a quick hug because she loved him. "Don't wait up for me."
He smiled as she moved toward the living room. Alanna thought his sensitive face looked sad and troubled behind the cheerful smile. Fleetingly she wondered why, then Kurt was rising to meet her and she didn't have time to contemplate the cause.
Several times during the rest of the week the impression returned. It wasn't anything Alanna could put her finger on, but the sensation that something was wrong wouldn't go away. It was like a dark cloud lurking near the sun, cas
ting a shadow without dimming the light.
Once, when her mother was napping and they were alone, Alanna had voiced her concern. They were sitting in the living room, her father staring off into space in a preoccupied fashion.
"What's wrong, dad?" she had asked.
"Hmm? What?" He had looked at her blankly, not catching the question.
"Is some thing wrong? You look as if you have some deep, dark problem weighing you down," Alanna had teased, making light of her serious question.
"Old age," he had sighed, his mouth quirking.
"Oh, you're not old," she had protested, but a quick mental calculation reminded her that he was nearly sixty.
"Sometimes I feel very old—and tired."
But he still hadn't answered her question and Alanna had probed further. "Is it mother? Are you worried about her?"
His light brows drew together in a line of hurt. "I can't help worrying about her, Alanna." He had reached out and clasped her hand. "I love her."
"I know, daddy." She had squeezed his hand affectionately. "So do I."
"It's hard to accept that life doesn't go the way we hope or even plan that it will." He had stared again into space. "Your mother and I had such plans for our retirement. There was so much I wanted to do for her and show her."
His voice had trailed off, but Alanna had finished the unspoken thought. Her mother's weak heart had ended these plans. Disappointment and regret now plagued her father.
"But she has you, daddy," Alanna had pointed out "And that's what she wants most of all."
"Yes," he had nodded absently, but the look in his eyes had said that he wanted to give her much more.
It troubled him that her health wouldn't permit the traveling and activities they had once planned. And Alanna guessed that he regretted not doing much of it earlier when her mother had been able to take part.
"There's no sense letting it upset you, dad," she had murmured.
He hadn't replied and Alanna had let the subject drop.
But it had eased her mind. She watched them now, her father hovering, her mother protesting, and couldn't help smiling.
