Back on Blossom Street

by Debbie Macomber

  He grimaced. “I knew people were being exploited. I didn’t feel I had much choice. However, I couldn’t tell anyone—like you. For everyone’s protection, this had to be completely covert.”

  “How did you finally get out? Did you escape?”

  “I couldn’t—they watched me day and night. I was in some kind of makeshift prison for two weeks. What a hellhole! I could even hear my guards arguing about the best way to kill me.”

  Colette was horrified at the thought. He would never have been seen or heard of again; she would never have known what had happened to him.

  “I think the reason they didn’t murder me right away,” he went on, “is that I’m a fairly well-known businessman, and there might be repercussions if I simply disappeared. Still… I knew I probably wouldn’t see you again. I expected to die, and just when I’d given up all hope, I was rescued by a coalition of American military and Chinese police.”

  Colette gave him a puzzled glance. She’d combed the newspapers for any information to do with China and hadn’t seen a single mention of the undercover operation. “There was nothing about it in the papers.”

  “There won’t be. The government wants to keep it quiet.”

  “For obvious reasons,” she murmured.

  Christian nodded.

  “What about the anonymous letter I wrote?”

  “I will say that letter stirred up a bit of interest,” Christian said with a grin. “If anything, though, it worked to my advantage. It deflected any suspicion the smugglers might have had—at least the ones in North America.” He gave her a solemn look, all traces of his smile gone. “I hated deceiving you, Colette, but I didn’t have a choice.”

  She’d hated deceiving him just as much; like Christian, she didn’t feel there was any option. She’d had to keep the baby a secret from him.

  They moved into the living room; when he chose the sofa, clearly expecting her to sit there, too, she sat in a spindly antique chair across from him.

  “Is anything wrong?” he asked.

  When she shook her head, he frowned. “Then why are you over there and not next to me?”

  “Because I have something important to tell you and I’m not sure how you’re going to react.”

  “Okay,” he said after a brief hesitation, “maybe you’d better tell me now.”

  She braced herself, struggling to come up with the right words. In the end she just told the truth, without explanation or embellishment. “I’m pregnant.”

  The color drained from his face. The longest minute of her life passed before he responded. “Is the baby Steve’s?”

  She shook her head again, then looked up and held his gaze. “The baby’s yours.”

  If she thought he was pale before, it didn’t compare to the shock that showed on his face now. “I…asked,” he reminded her. “After that night, I came to you and asked if you were pregnant, remember?”

  “I know. I lied. I’d found what I felt sure was damning evidence against you. I was afraid I couldn’t trust you. All I could think of was to get away.”

  He leaned forward and ran his fingers through his hair. “That explains so much.” Still holding her gaze, he said, “I love you, Colette. I want our baby. I understand why you kept this from me, but please say you believe me now.”

  “I do.”

  “How can I prove to you that I’ll be a good husband and father? Just tell me and I’ll do it.”

  An involuntary smile came then, because she’d never dared hope Christian would want their baby, let alone her. Only in the last month had she begun to feel there might be a chance for them.

  “What you found on my computer was only part of the reason you resigned, wasn’t it?”

  Not trusting herself to speak, she nodded.

  “The baby played a role in that decision, too.”

  Again she nodded.

  “Then you sold your house and moved because you didn’t want me to find you?”

  “Yes, but you did track me down,” she pointed out, “and for someone with your resources, that couldn’t have been too difficult.” She shrugged. “I wanted a fresh start, a new life for me and the baby.”

  “The baby—that’s why you came to see me the night before I left for China?”

  “That, and because I’d fallen in love with you.” Colette smiled. “It’s why your aunt was trying to be a matchmaker. But by then, I’d decided I had to tell you.”

  “Aunt Elizabeth knows?”

  “Three people know—my friend Alix, your aunt Elizabeth and now you. I admitted it to your great-aunt the first time we met.” She’d never intended to, but such were Elizabeth’s powers of persuasion… “All these months I’d kept this secret to myself. Not even my parents know. Then I met your aunt…and she figured it out.”

  “Good old Aunt Betty.” It was Christian who smiled this time. “No wonder she demanded I marry you.” He straightened with a startled expression. “I’d want to marry you, with or without the baby. A child—our child—is a bonus I never anticipated.” He looked at her carefully. “You’re six months along?”

  “Five and a half. My due date’s September twenty-first.”

  “I thought…you know, that you might’ve put on a few pounds, but I never guessed this. I…”

  She sat beside him and reached for his hand, which she placed on her stomach. Their child responded as if on cue. The look of astonishment on Christian’s face made her giggle. And then he smiled with such unreserved love and pride and joy, it brought tears to her eyes.

  Holding her in his arms, he kissed her again and again, pausing only long enough to beg her to marry him.

  “Yes,” she told him, kissing him back. “Soon?” he asked. “Soon,” she promised.

  CHAPTER 38

  “Creating and processing exotic yarns has given new meaning to adding fiber to my diet.”

  —Kathy Haneke, Haneke Enterprises, Inc., yarn shop and fiber processing mill

  Lydia Goetz

  I’d hoped that after Brad and I confronted my sister, there’d be a marked change in Margaret’s attitude toward Danny Chesterfield. My niece had made such a poignant plea to her mother that I couldn’t see Margaret ignoring Julia’s feelings.

  Julia had impressed me with her insight, and what she’d said revealed wisdom far beyond her years. Julia knew she couldn’t heal until her mother let go of her hatred; she couldn’t move forward in her own life until Margaret did the same.

  Unfortunately, I hadn’t seen the change I’d hoped for in Margaret. This didn’t completely surprise me, since my sister is rarely effusive. I hardly ever know what she’s thinking, unless it’s negative. Then there’s never any doubt. The first day I opened for business was a good example of that. Margaret marched in and told me A Good Yarn was doomed to failure. After that cheery announcement, she promptly left.

  I’ll never forget her dire prediction (which of course didn’t come to pass). I also recall, just as vividly, the day I realized how much my sister loves me. A few months after I opened the yarn store, I had a cancer scare. Scare is a mild word to describe what I felt. Panic is more like it.

  I was in the hospital. Margaret, who hates hospitals, came to see me and dragged Brad in with her. In my hopelessness and despair, I’d broken up with Brad, but she simply would not believe I didn’t want to see him again. So she’d taken matters into her own hands. That was a love so clearly spelled out I couldn’t disregard it.

  If I were to look for a turning point in our relationship, I’d have to say that was it. She wept with me when I learned I was cancer-free. In some ways, I think she was more relieved than I was. You see, I’d already made my decision. If the cancer had returned for the third time, I was going to refuse treatment.

  It all seems rather melodramatic now. Thankfully, the decision was taken away from me and the truth of it is that I don’t really know if I would’ve followed through. To refuse treatment meant almost certain death. No matter what I said, a part of me, even durin
g the worst of the chemo, wanted to live. And now there’s no doubt at all about the decision I’d make if cancer ambushes me again.

  It was Tuesday, and I’d arrived at the shop early to pay bills and take care of some paperwork.

  A lot had been happening recently. First, there was Alix and Jordan’s wedding. Alix had looked lovely, so happy. But shortly before the ceremony, Pastor Turner, Jordan’s father, announced that his mother had died that morning. He’d told us she had her family there, gathered around her, and how she was ready for death. His prayer was moving and what might have been a tragedy became a celebration as Alix and Jordan exchanged their vows and honored a woman they both loved.

  Colette had mysteriously gone missing after the wedding, although I saw on the news that Christian Dempsey was back, and I suspected they were together. I caught a glimpse of her during the impromptu press conference at the airport on Monday. She was standing to the side and her eyes never left his face. I had to wonder if there was another wedding in the making.

  Mom was nicely settled in at the memory care facility and had made yet another major adjustment. Every day I marveled at the transformation in her since she’d started getting the kind of individual care she needed. In barely two weeks, she’d improved noticeably, joining in the center’s activities and having meals with the other residents.

  The door opened at ten and Margaret walked into the store. She slapped the morning paper on the corner of my desk, where I’d been sitting with my cup of tea and a stack of bills.

  “Did you read this?” she demanded.

  “Ah…” I’d glanced at the headlines but little else. “I scanned the front page. Why?”

  “Look in Section B.” Margaret handed it to me. Arms crossed, she stepped back and waited.

  It was all the routine local stuff—break-ins, accidents, police activities. Not wanting to admit I couldn’t find what she wanted me to read, I shrugged.

  Margaret rolled her eyes, then pointed to a small article at the bottom of the page.

  Two lines into the piece, I read the name Danny Chesterfield.

  “He was caught,” I said.

  “So it seems.” There was no disguising the glee in Margaret’s voice. “He pulled another carjacking, only this time there was a patrol car driving past. Danny Boy pushed the driver out of the way and took off. The cops chased him.”

  “He decided to make a run for it?” I asked.

  “And put several innocent bystanders at risk,” Margaret said. “Fortunately, no one, including the driver, was injured.”

  “But he didn’t get away, did he?”

  “No,” Margaret replied, hardly able to contain her delight, “and the one involved in an accident was none other than Mr. Chesterfield himself.”

  My attention returned to the article. Apparently Chesterfield swerved in order to avoid a head-on collision with a second police car, lost control of the vehicle and flipped over at least twice.

  “He won’t be released for lack of evidence this time,” Margaret said. “There’s no need to get someone to give him an alibi, either.”

  I nodded and continued reading. “It also says he’s in the hospital.”

  “Good. I hope he’s in a lot of pain.”

  “Margaret!”

  “Do you want me to lie?”

  “No, but a little compassion wouldn’t hurt.”

  “Compassion?” Margaret repeated. “I have as much compassion for him as he did for my daughter.”

  I refolded the newspaper and gave it back to my sister. I’d really hoped Margaret had listened to Julia, but evidently not.

  “Don’t look at me like that,” she muttered.

  “Like what?”

  “Like I’m a big disappointment to you.”

  “Oh, Margaret,” I said, growing tired of the discussion. “You aren’t a disappointment. I don’t have any love for Danny Chesterfield either, you know. He hurt Julia and his actions have affected our entire family. Even Mom’s sensed that something’s wrong.”

  “The article said he’s in serious but stable condition.”

  I’d read that, too. “He’ll live,” I muttered.

  “Better yet, he’s going to jail.”

  I had to agree; learning Danny Chesterfield would soon be incarcerated didn’t bother me any.

  “You know what Julia said when I told her?” Margaret asked. She didn’t wait for a response. “Julia said revenge wasn’t for us to exact. Danny Chesterfield will pay for his crimes. In our justice system or a higher one…”

  Once again, I felt there was much my sister could learn from her daughter.

  The subject of Danny Chesterfield wasn’t brought up even once as we charged through our day. Margaret turned over the Closed sign to read Open, flipped on all the lights and stopped to pet Whiskers, who’d taken his spot in the display window.

  No sooner had she unfastened the lock than our first customer arrived. I hadn’t finished with my paperwork, so Margaret waited on her.

  Even at the best of times Margaret isn’t a chatty person, but as the day wore on I noticed that she seemed quieter than usual. I knew our brief conversation that morning weighed on her mind. Frankly, it did on mine, too.

  John F. Kennedy is reported to have said that we can forgive our enemies but we shouldn’t forget their names. I wasn’t forgetting Danny Chesterfield anytime soon, but to the best of my ability I’d forgiven him. I don’t mean to sound like some spiritual giant who could magnanimously offer this man my pardon. For one thing, I had far less to forgive than my sister. Julia was my niece, not my daughter. This man had put Margaret and Matt through hell when he hurt Julia.

  Toward the end of the afternoon, Margaret approached me. I’d returned to my office to complete some orders. “Can you come with me after work?” she asked.

  I assumed she wanted the two of us to visit Mom. “Of course.”

  Margaret nodded and offered me a smile that wasn’t quite a smile. “Thank you.”

  I almost asked, “For what?” Margaret was thanking me? That was a rare occurrence.

  “You were talking about going to visit Mom, weren’t you?” I pressed, suddenly unsure.

  Margaret shook her head. “No, actually I was thinking of going to the hospital.”

  Sometimes I can be a little slow, but for the life of me I couldn’t recall who we knew in the hospital. My confusion must have shown on my face because Margaret walked over to my desk, picked up the folded newspaper and waved it in front of me.

  “You want to visit Danny Chesterfield?” I asked, so astonished I could barely get the words out.

  “You aren’t going to change your mind, are you?”

  My immediate reaction was to do exactly that. I had absolutely no desire to see Danny Chesterfield. He probably had no desire to see Margaret and me, either.

  “What possible good will that do?” I asked.

  “Are you coming or not?” she demanded. “A simple yes or no will do.”

  “Ah…”

  “Fine, suit yourself,” she snapped, walking quickly as if she couldn’t get away from me fast enough.

  I took a couple of minutes to consider before I followed her. “I’ll go,” I said in as neutral a voice as I could manage.

  “Don’t do me any favors.”

  “I’m not,” I told her, although this definitely felt like one.

  While Margaret was busy helping a customer, I called Brad on his cell phone and told him I’d be home a bit later than usual and why.

  “You’re doing what?” he said when I’d explained Margaret’s request. “Do you really think this is a wise idea?”

  “Which? Margaret visiting Danny Chesterfield or me going with her?”

  “Both!”

  “I don’t know,” I answered honestly.

  For a moment I thought Brad was going to try to dissuade me, but he didn’t. I was grateful for that because I wasn’t sure what I would’ve done if he’d asked me not to go.

  After Margaret
and I closed up shop for the day, we decided to leave my vehicle in the parking area. Margaret could drive, since it seemed pointless to take two cars, especially during rush-hour traffic.

  The first place we went was the information desk at Harborview, the hospital where, according to the paper, Chesterfield had been taken. The clerk there checked her computer. “Daniel Chesterfield was brought in two days ago by an emergency medical vehicle and released to local authorities this morning.”

  Margaret nodded.

  I didn’t have a clue what that could mean. “In other words, he’s in jail now?” Apparently his injuries weren’t significant enough to keep him hospitalized.

  “He’s in the King County Medical Facility at the jail,” the woman said.

  “Oh…”

  “Thank you,” Margaret said, and together we hurried out of the hospital.

  “Well, that’s that,” I said, glad of the reprieve. I didn’t understand why Margaret wanted to visit this criminal in the first place.

  “We’re going to the King County Jail,” Margaret announced when we got back in the car.

  I’d hoped she’d drop this and should have known better. “They won’t let us see him,” I said. “Why are we doing this, anyway?”

  My sister ignored me. She was on a mission, which did not include informing me of her reasons. And little things like steel bars and gun-toting guards weren’t about to slow her down.

  Finding a parking spot and getting into the facility wasn’t a task for the weak-willed. I was astonished by all the regulations we had to observe just to talk to an official.

  When we finally met with a corrections officer, Margaret got straight to the point. “Can I see Daniel Chesterfield?” she asked.

  He looked at her as if she’d requested an audience with the Pope. “No.” He didn’t elaborate. “It’s way past visiting hours,” he said with more than a hint of sarcasm. “In case you ladies didn’t realize it, this is a correctional facility. Otherwise known as a jail. Mr. Chesterfield has been indicted on a class one felony charge.”

  “I’m glad to hear it.” Margaret didn’t spare any pity for Danny Chesterfield. “Could you give him something for me, then?”