Elderberry Croft: The Complete Collection

by Becky Doughty

  He’d taken to sleeping as far from her as he could so as not to bump her or touch her accidentally. He stopped asking if there was anything he could do for her after she threatened to slit her wrists if he ever asked her again. He obviously thought she might be serious, and Andrea wasn’t so sure she wouldn’t do it.

  Placental abruption, they’d called it. A sudden and usually undiscriminating killer. Pete Traylor, the nurse who wasn’t afraid to answer her questions, had explained to her that it was difficult to know exactly what led to the placenta pulling away from the wall of the uterus, causing hemorrhaging to the mother and inadequate oxygen to the baby. But the brochure he’d given her had listed contributing factors: older mothers, high blood pressure, carrying twins, trauma to the belly, and more, none of which applied to her. It was the last one on the list that grabbed her by the throat and wouldn’t let go.

  If a mother smokes tobacco or uses methamphetamines or cocaine, or drinks alcohol excessively.

  It didn’t matter that she’d been clean for more than four years. It didn’t matter that she made a point to avoid the smoking section in the break yard at work. It didn’t matter that Pete assured them her past drug and alcohol abuse had nothing to do with this tragedy.

  This was her just due. This was her punishment for all those years of hurting everyone who loved her; her parents, her big brother, her grandparents. She didn’t deserve a child of her own to love. She didn’t deserve George, either, but he was either too blind to know better, or too good a man to abandon her.

  Feeling hollow, she dragged herself out of bed to find something for her stomach acid to gnaw on. In the pantry, she discovered a can of ravioli near the back of the cupboard. The whir of the electric can opener seemed loud to her, like nails on a chalkboard, and she left the top of the can stuck to the magnet on the opener, dripping globs of tomato sauce on the counter. Too listless to open the silverware drawer, she grabbed a dirty fork from the sink and headed back to the bedroom. Cold, canned ravioli. A dinner fit for kings, queens, and the dregs of humanity.

  George, who hovered close by most afternoons once he got up, was nowhere to be found, and she went back to bed, not spending more than a few moments considering his absence. She awoke to a silent house just as the sun was slanting its last long rays through the narrow opening of the drapes, and for a few moments, a sense of panic settled in, but she tamped it down. He wouldn’t just leave without telling her. He was either asleep on the sofa again, or he’d stepped outside for some fresh air.

  She didn’t blame him. If the tables had been turned, she would have stepped outside days ago, and stayed out.

  She wished she could snap out of it, really, she did, if not for her own sake, for George’s. His brow was constantly furrowed, the lines becoming permanent evidence of his worry, and she knew he wasn’t sleeping well. She slept off and on all day and night, and tossed and turned in between, causing his sleep to be disturbed, too. She didn’t mean to, but when she tried not to move, without fail, her back began to itch in that terrible spot between her shoulder blades where she couldn’t reach to save her life, she’d get a cramp in her foot, or some other problem would arise that made shifting and jostling absolutely necessary.

  “George?” she called out, tentatively. When he didn’t respond, she stopped thinking about him, not having the energy to worry. But she was antsy, just lying in bed in the dark, and she couldn’t fall back to sleep.

  Sitting up on the edge of the bed, she had a sudden craving for something hot, maybe some tea from one of Willow’s gift baskets.

  She’d just started the water kettle when there was a knock at the door. She ignored it and dropped into one of the dining set chairs to wait for the kettle to whistle, but the knock came again, more insistent this time. Then the doorknob turned and the door opened.

  Andrea watched it, but didn’t get up. Maybe it was an intruder, an axe murderer, come to take her away. Maybe this was an answer to her prayers. She glanced down at the soiled clothes she wore; she’d dropped ravioli on her pink tank top earlier and the spot had crusted over. She’d stripped out of her sweats on her second day home when they’d gotten blood on them, and she sat there in a pair of George’s boxers she’d found lying on the floor in the bathroom. She hoped she’d get a change of clothes in heaven before meeting baby John—she didn’t want him to see her this way.

  Reaching up she touched her hair. A brush would be good, too. Was there a cleanup station right outside the pearly gates?

  “Andrea.” It was Willow, another stupid twig basket balanced on her hip.

  “Go away.”

  The kettle whistled shrilly, and Willow crossed the room to turn it off. “I brought you some tea.”

  “You already gave me some tea.”

  “I know.” Andrea watched as her neighbor pulled two mugs from the basket and set a little strainer in the mouth of each one. “This is a special tea.” She opened a small linen bag and scooped a few spoonsful of dried leaves and berries into the strainers, then poured hot water over the loose tea, and covered each mug with their saucers. “Now we let it steep.”

  “I don’t want it.” Andrea pushed herself up from the table, her legs trembling at the effort. She did not feel like sharing a cup of tea with anyone, not even Willow Goodhope. “I’m going back to bed.”

  “No, you’re not.” Willow didn’t raise her voice, and her tone stayed warm and calm, but there was something firm and unyielding in it. Andrea glared at her for a moment, then turned to make her way down the hall.

  “Andrea, stop.” Willow’s voice rose just slightly, enough to make Andrea pause, and she reached out to put a hand on the wall so she could stay upright.

  “Go away, Willow. I don’t want company right now.” She didn’t turn around.

  “I know.”

  “And stop saying that. You don’t know everything. You don’t know me.” Before she could take another step, Willow was there, blocking the way.

  “You’re right in some ways, Andrea. I don’t know you very well. But I do know grief. It’s my constant companion, and I know it better than I know anything else right now.” She came near and put both hands on Andrea’s shoulders. “You need a shower, honey, and you need some fresh air.”

  “It’s dark and cold outside,” Andrea retorted. “And I’m too weak to go anywhere.”

  “I know—” Willow’s words broke off. “Sorry. Yes, it’s dark and cold outside, but I thought that would make it easier for you because you’d be less likely to run into anyone. And I have a fire in the fire pit at my place. And blankets.”

  “No.” The thought of going outside, of facing the world, even in the dark, was more than she could fathom. “No. Please leave me alone, Willow.”

  Chapter 5

  She wouldn’t take no for an answer, and Andrea didn’t have the strength to resist as Willow drew her into the bathroom and led her to the toilet, closing the lid so Andrea could sit. It was cold against the backs of her thighs, and she shivered slightly.

  “Don’t move. I’m going to get a chair.” She returned shortly with the chair Andrea had been sitting on and set it in the bathtub, directly under the showerhead.

  “That’s wood. You can’t get it wet.”

  “Sure you can. Where do you think wood came from? Trees, right? And trees love the rain.”

  Andrea scowled, too weak to argue with that kind of nonsense.

  After helping her out of her clothes and into the bathtub, Willow began to work her magic. She sang softly while she worked, a song Andrea didn’t recognize, but one that stirred her and soothed her at the same time. She felt all the tightness begin to leave her shoulders as Willow massaged shampoo into her scalp, making her tingle all over. By the time she was clean and dry and dressed in a pair of flannel pajamas from the bottom drawer of the bureau in the bedroom, Andrea did feel better, but she wasn’t about to admit it. Not yet, anyway.

  “Now let’s go have some tea while we wait for George.” Willow walked
behind her to the kitchen, bringing the waterlogged chair with her. “We’ll let this poor thing dry a little more so we can see if what kind of damage we’ve done.”

  “We?” Andrea wasn’t about to take responsibility for the chair. “I need to go back to bed. That wore me out.” She sank into a different chair while Willow warmed up their tea.

  “I’m sure it did. That was a lot of work. Now drink up.” Like a little girl, Andrea obeyed, sipping gingerly in case the tea was too hot. But it was perfect; perfectly sweetened with honey, a hint of floral, a tang of citrus, a burst of tart berries.

  “Ambrosia,” she whispered, a word from her past that she’d used to describe cocktails of another nature.

  “Mmm. Yes, it is. I make this with orange blossoms, and jasmine, elderberries, of course, rosemary, mint leaves, and green tea. It boosts your immunity, stimulates your circulatory system, soothes your spirit, and opens up your sinuses after a good cry.” Willow smiled gently at her, then they both turned as the front door opened.

  “Hey.” It was George. He looked from Willow to Andrea and back at Willow again, his eyes guarded, but full of unasked questions.

  Willow turned to Andrea and reached over to place a hand on her forearm. Andrea could feel the warmth of her palm through her pajama sleeve. “Are you ready?”

  She didn’t respond one way or the other.

  “I’m going to be right beside you, Andy. I’ll carry you if you can’t manage the stairs. And Richard Davis is letting us borrow his wheelchair. It’s waiting for you below.”

  It was all so overwhelming to her, this evidence that people seemed to care for her. She’d been alone except for George for so long that she didn’t really know how to receive the attention, the nurturing, but the fact that she felt so helpless left her with no choice. “Okay,” she whispered, as George helped her into a soft hooded sweater, one of her favorites.

  At the bottom of the stairs sat the wheelchair, draped with a thick fleece blanket, ready to be wrapped around her.

  “Ivan is tending the fire,” George said to Willow as they made their way slowly, taking each step with care and precision. “He’s got quite a blaze going.”

  As they got her settled into the chair, Pru and her bear of a fiancé, Carney, came out of the downstairs apartment to say hello. “Oh sweetie-pie, I’m so glad to see you.” Pru placed both long-fingered hands on Andrea’s cheeks and leaned forward to kiss her forehead, Pru’s cleavage hovering precariously at the top of her leopard-print blouse. Carney laid a beefy hand on Andrea’s shoulder.

  “You’re a brave girl, Andrea. You inspire me.” The words might have sounded trite coming from anyone besides Carney, but she knew that he was fighting a medical battle of his own. He had a terrible incision down the length of his sternum, still healing from the emergency surgery he’d had to repair part of his heart last month.

  George and Willow wheeled her over the bridge, across the little stream that gurgled in welcome beneath them, and up onto the river rock patio at Willow’s Elderberry Croft. A fire blazed invitingly in the fire pit, just as George had promised, and the twinkle lights under the eaves winked in the breeze, the wind chimes dancing in time. There really was something magical about this place, ever since Willow moved in, and Andrea filled her lungs, breathing in deeply. She suddenly dreaded going back to her dark and putrid bedroom where she’d last felt baby John move inside her.

  Ivan helped position her wheelchair close enough to the fire to feel the warmth of it, then leaned down to kiss her on the cheek. “Sweet mama,” he murmured, and said goodbye, leaving her alone with George and Willow.

  Willow pulled up one of the plastic chairs and sat beside her, but George remained standing, holding his hands out to the fire. No one spoke for several minutes, and Andrea leaned her head back and peered up at the sky, looking for stars through the web of bare mulberry branches overhead. The trees had dropped their leaves early this year, and she couldn’t help but wonder if they were mourning with her.

  Finally, George turned around and knelt down in front of her. “Andy, I’m going to go clean things up at home a little, okay? Then I need to go to work. I’d—I’d like you to stay with Willow tonight while I’m gone. Will you do that?”

  Andrea turned slowly to look at Willow, afraid to hope they were serious. It was as though they’d heard her thoughts. Willow smiled and nodded.

  “I’d love for you to stay with me. I have a trundle bed all made up for you.”

  “I don’t want to be a bother.”

  “I’d rather you be a bother than a worry,” Willow quipped, patting Andrea’s knee through the layers of blankets. “We’d all sleep better knowing you’re not up there all by yourself at night.”

  She didn’t mince words, Andrea realized. “I’m sorry. I know everyone has been concerned about me. I just—I can’t—I don’t think I—”

  “It’s all right, Andrea. You don’t need to apologize. Let’s sit for now, okay? I’m glad you’re here. I could use the company, too.” The way Willow said those words made Andrea look more closely at her. There did seem to be shadows around the older girl’s eyes, but it could be from the flickering glow of the fire.

  “I’m going to say goodbye for the night, okay?” George leaned forward and kissed her on the nose. “I love you, Andy.” He swallowed hard, his voice dropping to a whisper. “I miss you.”

  Andrea nodded. “I love you, too. Thank you, George.” She wasn’t exactly sure what she was thanking him for, but her heart was full of gratitude for these people who were holding onto her. She didn’t know if it would be enough to save her, but for now, she felt like she’d been thrown a life preserver.

  She and Willow sat in peaceful quiet for so long that Andrea began to drift off.

  “My father lives close by,” Willow stated, as though picking up a conversation where they’d left off, but she spoke so gently it didn’t startle Andrea. She waited for Willow to continue.

  “He’s a bit of a lady’s man, my dad. For a long time, after Mom died, he wasn’t. He mourned her fiercely, Andrea. In fact, there were days—no, weeks and months—where I was almost afraid to leave him alone, not because I thought he’d do something stupid, but because I was afraid he wouldn’t do anything at all; like eat, drink, turn off the water or the burner.”

  Andrea didn’t look at Willow, but disappointment welled up in her a little. She hated it when people talked like they knew what she was going through, but really had no clue. The grief of losing a parent was nothing like that of losing a child.

  Willow didn’t respond for several moments, then what she said echoed Andrea’s thoughts. “Losing my mother was terrible for me, but it was nothing compared to what my father went through when she left us. He survived, though, whether he wanted to or not.” She paused briefly. “But he really didn’t start to live again until he moved away from the home they shared—we all shared—for so many years together. It was where Mom died.”

  Andrea flinched at the d-word, feeling its prick like a dagger in her heart. Was Willow suggesting she and George move away? This was the only home they’d ever known. Where would they go?

  Willow stood up and put more wood on the fire, stirring the coals with a long, forked branch, setting the flames to dancing again. She wore a quilted red plaid shirt, a man’s flannel work shirt, and her hair hung in a thick braid down her back. “I’m not saying you should move; don’t misunderstand me.”

  Could she read minds? Andrea drew the blanket closer around her body, suddenly aching for George’s arms, his warmth at her back, his chin resting on top of her head. Willow took her time with the fire, banking it well so that it would burn for a while. She didn’t speak again until she sat down.

  “I’d like to invite you to sleep here for a few nights, until you get your feet under you. You shouldn’t be alone, Andrea. Spend time alone; that’s one thing. But being alone is different.”

  “What about you? You’re alone here. And I hear you have a husband who would
like it to be different.” Andrea’s words weren’t kind, she knew, but for some reason, the other woman seemed to think it was okay to speak her mind, so Andrea was following suit.

  Willow sighed deeply; even over the sound of the water flowing nearby and the crackling fire, Andrea could hear it. “Everyone’s story is different, Andrea. Mine and Christian’s will play itself out, and we’ll find our feet again, too. But I’m far from being alone here, you know.” She reached over and brushed a strand of hair away from Andrea’s face. “I have you right now.”

  “Why are you here, Willow? Everyone wants to know.”

  “Why don’t they ask me then?”

  “I’m asking you now.” Her belligerence was a parlor trick from the old days, an act of self-preservation, but it seemed to be back with a vengeance.

  Chapter 6

  “Yes, you are.” Willow shifted in her chair so she was facing Andrea. “Well, I’ll tell you. I’m here because I needed to learn to live again. I wasn’t doing so well where I was. I needed this place, in particular, partly because this place needed me.” She pointed at the elderberry tree growing out over the stream. “That tree needed me. This little croft needed me. And I needed it.”

  She glanced around at the cottage she’d transformed, then she spread her arms wide, encompassing the whole park. “I’ve found purpose here with this new family God gave me: Kathy and her doggy kids, the Davises, especially Ivan, who needs to be needed as much as I do, Joe and Vivian, Shelly and Eddie—do you know they’re officially an item? Myra and Jack, too! Even Donny, God bless him, and Edith. What a trooper she is. Pru and Carney. I love those two. Pru is like a sister and a mother all rolled up in one amazing woman! And Al? Oh Andrea, as soon as I heard about his legal trouble, I knew I was right where I was supposed to be. I knew Christian—my husband—would want to help him, and that it was time for me to open up the lines of communication with him again.”

  Leaning back in her chair, she chuckled drily. “It hasn’t been easy, but it’s been right. All of this. And I’m starting to come to grips with what it means to let go of what I want and open my hands to what God wants to pour into them.”