The Foster Girls

by Lin Stepp

  “The fairytale guy?” he asked her. “The one who wrote those color books?”

  Her face lit up. “That’s the one.” She was surprised that Scott even knew who Andrew Lang was. Most people didn’t.

  “Lang was fond of naming his collection books after colors,” she told him, warming to her subject. “Like The Red Book of Heroes or The Blue Fairy Book. He published many fairytale book collections, thirteen with color names like the yellow, red, violet, and green fairy books ….” She trailed off and shrugged.

  “I can see you getting excited about something like that.” He smiled at her. “Are you doing some more of that kind of work while you’re here on your sabbatical?”

  “Sort of,” she answered, evasive once again, and turning to study the fence rail markings while she talked. “I’m really doing some work on several things while I’m here. Including project work for my editor. Editors have things they need you to work on sometimes for a publisher. Specific assignments, you know. This project was going to take a little more time than I could manage while teaching full-time. So I took some time off.”

  Vivian turned to find Scott studying her again. He made her nervous the way he was always watching her.

  “I need to get on to work now.” He looked at his watch. “I have a plumber coming over to the camp this morning to check out some problems we’ve had from the winter.”

  “Oh, of course,” Vivian replied lightly, trailing along behind him back toward the house, glad of a change of subject once again. “I’m sorry I took so much of your time this morning. But I appreciate you showing me around.”

  As they came closer to the house, Fritzi came frisking out to meet them.

  “Well, where have you been?” Vivian reached down to pet the little collie, who then circled around Scott’s legs until he properly acknowledged her, as well. They found the cat, Dearie, curled up asleep on one of the front porch rockers, but she didn’t do more than open an eye sleepily in welcome as they came up onto the farmhouse porch.

  “I appreciate the breakfast, too, Scott,” Vivian added politely, turning to hold out her hand as if to shake hands with him before they parted.

  “No problem.” Scott avoided taking the hand she offered.

  You know, Vivian,” he observed. “I’ve always had a gift for discerning truth from lies. It has come in handy in business and in working with the camp.” His eyes narrowed. “You’ll excuse me for being impolite, but you’re not a very artful liar. I don’t know what really brought you all the way from California to Tennessee but I know that it’s more than you’re telling me. People generally come to isolated places back in the mountains because they’re running away from something.”

  He paused, watching her a moment, a little frown creasing his brow. “You know I operate a children’s camp next door, Vivian, and I hope you’re running away from something honorable. I’d like you to give some serious thought to telling me what you’re really doing here in the mountains, especially before I have my summer campers and counselors coming in here. If it’s honorable and not illegal, you’ll find that I’ll keep it to myself and that your confidence is safe with me. I’m an up-front person, Vivian, and I don’t much care for lying as a character trait even for a good reason. It’s my belief that generally the truth is always the best story to tell.”

  Vivian felt the blood drain out of her face. She dropped the hand she had held out to Scott and backed away from him.

  “The offer to see the camp later on is still open.” He kept his gaze locked on hers. “Take care of the animals, Vivian. I think they’re likely to hang around at the farmhouse now that you’re here. This place feels more like home to them than mine.”

  He started away from the farmhouse, and then turned again as an afterthought. “There’s a small grocery store near here on the valley highway and a larger one on back toward Sevierville. If you’ll stop by the camp office, Nancy will give you a map of the area. It will help you in getting around. She also can tell you anything you need to know about the surrounding area. She grew up around Sevierville, and she’s a native.”

  He studied Vivian again with those thoughtful eyes.

  “I’ll see you,” he said at last, when she didn’t say anything at all in return to him. “You know where to find me.”

  Vivian stood rooted to the spot until he had walked around the farmhouse out of sight, and then she dropped herself down onto the porch step. She was shaking and seething at how outspoken Scott had been. But she knew she was scared, too.

  She’d chosen to come so far away from home so that no one would be likely to ask questions about why she was here. So that no one was likely to probe into her personal life. Betsy assured her that people wouldn’t question her story of taking a sabbatical from college teaching. “Professors do that all the time,” Betsy said.

  Now the first person Vivian had gotten to know was already questioning her story. And, blatantly, calling her a liar. He’d even used the word liar to her face. Vivian fumed at that. He had no right to be that forthright, or that accusatory. As if she was some common criminal that might hurt the children at his camp! Her pride burned at that thought, especially. What could she do? She didn’t know. She’d obviously have to think of something else to tell him. He was going to expect a further explanation. Vivian sighed deeply.

  “Lord, what am I going to tell him?” she asked in a silent prayer. “I don’t want everyone here to know about me. If I tell everyone all about myself, there will have been no point in coming here. And I need this time away.”

  Vivian sat quietly with her head in her hands hoping for an answer to her prayers. No answer came right away, but Vivian wasn’t overly discouraged. Something would come to her in time, she thought. It always did. God would help her know how to handle this.

  There just had to be a way to make this work out. Surely she didn’t miss it totally in coming to Tennessee at this time. It seemed so right when the idea had come to her. Besides, she wanted to search to see if she had any old family ties here. Her father had always talked about this area, and she knew he’d grown up here. Perhaps there were still some Delaneys around somewhere. This was another little piece of her mission in being here.

  She sighed again and got up resolutely. She’d been through worse. She’d get through this. She’d call Betsy and get her ideas on what to do. Betsy always had good advice.

  Her natural optimism began to return to her as she went into the farmhouse. She liked it here. Despite the problems with Scott, she loved the house and the area. It stirred her creative juices in a way she hadn’t expected. It was going to be a good place to write. Surely, she could work this thing out with Scott Jamison. And maybe she needed to work on her storyline about being here a little more carefully before she told it again. Evidently, it wasn’t very believable as it was.

  Chapter 7

  By late afternoon, Vivian had calmed down and settled in more comfortably at the farmhouse. She had unpacked the rest of her suitcases and boxes, set up her office in the upstairs sitting room, and gone over to the market on the highway to pick up some groceries. After her shopping trip, she also made some needed phone calls. She talked to Betsy, who had given her some sensible tips on how to handle this new situation with Scott Jamison, and, together, they worked out a better story to present to the locals who quizzed her about her background.

  Throughout the morning, Vivian fumed and worried over the situation with Scott. His harsh words often replayed through her mind, as did his acts of thoughtfulness and his obvious attraction to her. What a mess. Her feelings about him were totally confused and she had no idea what he really thought about her. Vivian liked to get things, and people, tidied up in her mind, but this situation was one that just wouldn’t sort itself out readily. By noon, she’d decided that some hard work was the best answer to get the whole Scott scenario out of her mind for a while.

  Now, at nearly three, she was sitting out on the front porch with her laptop, writing. The porch cu
rled all the way around the front section of the farmhouse, and there was a sturdy metal table toward one corner of the covered porch with several cushioned chairs that matched. This made a great outdoor office, and, besides, Vivian thought it was simply too pretty a day to work inside.

  A huge golden forsythia bloomed just below her table on the porch and Vivian could hear the bees humming around the blooms on the bushes. It was great background music and she found her thoughts were flying as she wrote.

  A car coming up the driveway interrupted her flow of thought, and soon two older women were getting out of a silver luxury sedan. Both waved cheerily.

  “You must be Vivian,” called the woman who had been driving. “I’m Stella Jamison with Jamison Realty - the realtor you’ve been communicating with, dear. And this is Mary Jamison.” She gestured to the other woman who was climbing out of the other side of the car.

  The women looked remarkably alike, both blond, still relatively slim for their years and almost the same height. Both had fresh, peachy ivory complexions in stark comparison to Vivian’s olive skin and outdoor tan.

  Vivian closed out her computer program as they came up on the porch to join her. This was Scott’s mother, she thought nervously, pasting a welcoming smile on her face and wondering how this meeting would go.

  “Spring is certainly here,” commented Stella, looking around and smiling. “And the old place is starting to bloom out already.”

  “Yes, I really need to get over here to get a start from a few of Gramma Jamison’s plants before too long,” Mary added. “You know the volunteers are always popping up this time of year. It’s a good time to transplant before things get too big.”

  Stella put a white box down on the table as she sat down. “We went up to Auntie Em’s for lunch before we came, dear. And we brought some drinks and one of Em’s homemade desserts over here to share with you.”

  Mary giggled like a girl. “You’ll just die and go to heaven over Em’s triple layer carrot cake. Stella and I got a whole cake so you could keep the rest.” She opened the box. “I’m going in the house to get us a knife and some glasses for these colas. We got diet soda to compensate for all the calories in the cake, dear, so we can all say we’re watching our figures.” She laughed merrily at her own little joke over this, and Vivian started to wonder if these two women weren’t both just a little light-minded.

  “Scott told me about what happened last night when you came,” Stella said to her candidly after Mary had left. “That must have been terribly frightening for you, dear. I’m so sorry you had to meet our family that way. Men are so terribly impulsive sometimes. Especially the Jamison men. I hope you’re not dreadfully bitter toward us for all of this. And I hope that boy of mine came over here this morning and offered you an apology, too. He certainly owed you one.”

  Vivian found it hard to know which of her comments she should reply to first.

  “Scott did come by with his regrets,” she answered at last, as Stella settled comfortably into a chair at the table. “He was also thoughtful enough to bring breakfast and to help me find the coffeepot, which went a long way toward helping me get over the night before.”

  Stella laughed. “I can hardly function before my coffee in the morning.”

  Mary came back with a knife, several small plates, and three glasses of ice on a small tray. “Don’t you just love all this blue Delftware in Gramma Jamison’s house?” She set out three china plates, all in patterned blue floral prints. “Really, Stella, we needed someone to stay here at the house just to keep the Delftware safe.” She laughed heartily at her own little joke again.

  “It’s a beautiful collection,” Vivian commented, relieved that the conversation was going so well. Obviously, Scott had not confided his suspicions about her character and honesty to his mother.

  Mary sat down in a chair beside Stella’s. “Gramma Jamison just adored Delft and any blueware, and she collected it for years.”

  “Mary,” Stella interrupted. “Vivian told me that Scott did get over here to apologize to her this morning.”

  “Well, good.” Mary nodded, obviously pleased to learn that. “That whole episode must have been dreadful for you, Vivian. Especially with Scott and Hershel wielding guns around. I don’t know why men always think they have to get guns involved in everything. They’re just such violent creatures sometimes, don’t you think?”

  The two women chatted on together while cutting the cake and pouring out the diet sodas.

  “You know, you two look a lot alike,” Vivian finally put in.

  Stella smiled. “Oh, honey, we’re sisters. Didn’t Scott tell you?”

  “No.” Vivian shook her head. “I think he just mentioned that you were married to brothers.”

  “Well, that, too.” Stella looked thoughtful. “There were four of those Jamison boys and all of them so good looking. I met Franklin when I took a job in his real estate office. Lord, that place was a mess when I first came. Franklin had just gotten the business off the ground and he’d been doing most of the office work himself and hiring temps when he needed any day help at the office. I organized that place from top to bottom the first week and then I organized myself right into his life.” She said the last with a tinkling laugh. “Lord, he was a tall and handsome man. Still is. And I think the Jamison men age so well, don’t you agree, Mary?”

  Mary nodded.

  “I met Leo at Stella and Franklin’s wedding,” Mary told Vivian, picking up the tale. “It took me a year of finagling before I finally got him to ask me out. And the rest is history. Leo and I have two children, a boy and a girl, and Stella and Franklin have three boys.”

  “Isn’t it your daughter that lives in the starter house and works with Scott’s camp?” Vivian asked conversationally.

  “Yes, that’s my Nancy.” Mary’s pleasant face clouded. “She married a handsome scoundrel that we all took to at the start, before we realized he had no sense of commitment toward a marriage. It was really hurtful for Nancy, but she is doing better now.”

  Stella reached out to pat Mary’s hand. “I’m always hoping there will be someone else nice for her out there. Nancy deserves another chance at happiness.”

  “You don’t have to be married to be happy,” Vivian offered, and then realized from the faces of Stella and Mary that she had not said quite the right thing.

  “Well.” Mary raised her eyebrows. “Careers are nice, dear, and I know the young girls really like those today. But a career doesn’t keep you warm at night.” She laughed at her own joke again and Stella joined her.

  “We don’t mean to tease you.” Stella sent Vivian an appealing smile. “But we’ve been very happy with our Jamison men. And women of our generation were more interested in home and family, I suppose. Family always came first before career then.”

  “But you’ve always worked, too,” Vivian reminded Stella, seeing a bit of a contradiction in her words. “Scott said you have always worked in the realty office with Franklin.”

  “Well, yes, I suppose I have.” Stella seemed surprised at the idea of her job at Franklin’s agency being thought of as a career.

  “Have you worked also?” Vivian asked Mary.

  Stella answered for her. “Mary will say no, dear, but she’s a caterer. It’s always Mary that we get to do all the showers, wedding planning, and special events around here. She’s just wonderful with it.”

  “But I seldom do it for money,” Mary argued. “So you couldn’t really call it a career. I just so enjoy planning and arranging things that I always find myself involved somehow whenever something is happening. Also it gives me the most marvelous excuse to shop and spend someone else’s money.” She laughed merrily again at her own humor and Stella laughed along with her.

  These two are a case, Vivian thought to herself in amusement.

  “Now, dear, you’ll have to tell us all about yourself.” Stella leaned forward, ready for a good gossip. “All we know is that you’re here on a sabbatical from your teac
hing to write some sort of book and that you work with Betsy Picardi. Franklin and I are so fond of Betsy.”

  She turned to Mary and added, “Betsy Picardi and her family have stayed several times at our rental cabins up in the mountains and Betsy is just the most delightful person.”

  Vivian took a breath. She planned to do better with her story this time.

  “I’m fond of Betsy, too,” she said, plunging in. “And, actually, what you know about me already is just about all that there is to know that’s of any importance. I was raised by two professors, and it seemed logical that I became one, too. I was an adopted child. I lost my own mother when I was nine, and I lost my father even earlier. He was in the military and was killed abroad.”

  “Oh, how tragic for you, dear.” Stella shook her head sympathetically.

  “Yes, but I was lucky.” Vivian smiled. “Dorothy and Roger Owen took me into their home after my mother died.”

  She’d made up that last name for Dorothy and Roger simply on the spur of the moment. Being creative was certainly a useful gift at times.

  “Dorothy and Roger couldn’t have any children of their own,” she continued. “And they gave me a good life. Delaney is actually my family name, though, and I like to use it now. Vivian Leigh Delaney. I was hoping in part to try to find some of my relatives by coming to Tennessee for this sabbatical year. I can remember mother always telling me my father’s people were from around here. But I never met any of them. After my mother died, no one knew of any names here to contact. My mother didn’t have any family left I could go to. So I went to the Owens.”

  “Delaney, Delaney.” Stella repeated the name out loud thoughtfully while she was thinking. “There’s something familiar about that name, dear, but I can’t remember any particular contacts just now. Can you, Mary?”

  “No, not right off,” answered Mary. “But we’ll ask around for you, Vivian. It’s always good to track down your roots and know your people.”

  Stella and Mary began to talk about family then and about genealogical ties they had to this family or that in the valley.