How the Heart Runs

by Anne Marie Rodgers

  Out loud, Kate said, “Vegetable stew, brownies, and a few late flowers of the plain and simple garden variety.”

  “Zinnias,” the other woman said as she drew out the jelly jar full of blooms. “My grandmother used to grow these and snapdragons all along the sides of the front walk. They bring back very sweet memories.” She set down the flowers and picked up a jar of stew, examining its contents. “You made this?”

  Kate nodded. “Do you like vegetable stew?”

  “I love it,” Emmaline said fervently. “My grandmother used to make the most wonderful vegetable stew. It’ll seem almost as if I was a child again, sitting in this kitchen eating stew.”

  Kate held up a sketch pad she had tucked beneath one arm. “I also brought my idea for the iris panel to show you.”

  “Wonderful,” Emmaline said, enthusiasm coloring her voice. “I’m dying to see the beginning of your project. In fact, our conversation inspired me as well. I have something to show you too.”

  “Now you’ve got me curious,” Kate said.

  “And I wanted to thank you again for the ride home, as well as for the delicious meals.”

  “You’re welcome,” Kate said warmly. “If you don’t want to eat all of the stew right away, you easily can freeze some.”

  “Good idea. I also wanted to thank you for sending Renee Lambert over. She stopped in earlier today.”

  Kate blinked. Emmaline wanted to thank her? “Ah, you’re welcome,” she said cautiously. “I didn’t send her over. Renee came as part of our church’s Faith Freezer program.”

  “Yes, she explained that to me. Very thoughtful. She brought me several jars of her special spaghetti sauce, with a loaf of homemade bread. I’m going to have some of that for dinner tonight. Between the two of you, you’ve saved me the exertion of shopping for groceries for several days.” Emmaline continued to chatter. “Renee brought me a whole stack of books that she has already read. Did you know she belongs to a book discussion group? They meet at the library, and she asked me if I would be interested in attending. Isn’t that kind of her?”

  “Very.” Kate was somewhat amused that Emmaline seemed to regard Renee as a beneficent fairy godmother, but then she realized that probably was exactly how Renee imagined herself. Almost as soon as Kate had the uncharitable thought, she was sorry. Lord, forgive me, she thought. Help me appreciate Renee’s thoughtful gestures.

  “Would you be interested in attending with me?” Emmaline asked. “It might be a fun thing to do together.”

  Kate made a moue of regret. “I’m sure it would, but I have to decline. Since we moved here, I’ve said yes to almost everything coming down the pike. I’ve promised myself I won’t get involved with one more group, organization, or activity for a while. Being a pastor’s wife often feels like about three volunteer jobs rolled into one.” She grinned.

  Disappointment flashed across Emmaline’s face, then she shrugged. “Too bad. But I can certainly understand that.”

  “You should still do it,” Kate encouraged. “You might enjoy it, and it would be a great way to meet some new people.”

  “Perhaps...” Emmaline appeared unwilling to commit, although she had seemed excited about the book club only moments before. Her gaze lit on Kate’s sketch pad. “Let’s have a look at your work.”

  Kate pulled out the sketch pad and perched on the edge of the couch in Emmaline’s compact living room. She flipped past a couple of pages. “Here it is.”

  Emmaline sat down beside her and perused the sketch Kate showed her. “Gracious! It’s stunning, Kate. I don’t know much about stained glass, but this looks ambitious.”

  Kate grinned. “It may be. I’m determined to try it, although the finished product may not live up to the perfect piece in my imagination.”

  Emmaline snorted in amusement. “Every artist on the planet feels that way, I think.” She tapped the paper. “What’s this?”

  “A list of the colors I’m trying to find for all the parts of the pattern. I may have some in my own stash of glass, but I might have to order some.”

  “Did you design the pattern?”

  “Yes.” Kate went on to tell Emmaline the specifics of pattern drafting.

  Emmaline asked dozens of questions, which Kate answered in detail. Kate was flattered by Emmaline’s apparent interest. It was fun to talk about her craft with someone so enthusiastic.

  Kate had an idea during a short silence that fell after their long discussion. “If you’d like to try your hand at stained glass, you could come work with me someday.”

  “Really? I might just take you up on that.” Emmaline smiled. Then her eyes rounded. “Oh! I almost forgot.” Leaping to her feet, she dashed from the room.

  Kate stared after her, surprised by the spring in Emmaline’s step.

  In a moment, Emmaline returned.

  “You certainly appear to be feeling better,” Kate said, smiling.

  “I do feel quite well for short periods. If only it lasted.” Emmaline was carrying a huge sheet of paper torn from a drawing pad. It was rolled up, and as she began to unroll it over the coffee table, Kate saw that the image on it was covered with a piece of tissue paper, presumably to keep the drawing from smudging or being erased.

  Kate hoped Emmaline would elaborate on her health, but she only grabbed a ruby pedestal candy dish and anchored one corner of the paper. She used a TV Guide on the other corner. Then she pulled away the tissue paper and held the remaining corners in place with her hands.

  “What do you think?”

  Kate was speechless as she took in the sketch. Emmaline had used soft pencils or charcoal to draw a portrait of Kate.

  Chapter Six

  For a moment, Kate puzzled over the setting for the portrait Emmaline had just unveiled. Then she realized Emmaline had drawn her as she must have looked the day they first met in the Bristol. She recognized the cut of the brown suit she had worn, and the pattern in her scarf, even though it was all sketched in black and white. It was a three-quarter profile view of her upper body in which she was laughing at something, probably some silly observation Paul had made. The only jarring note was her expression. Kate could not recall having any reason to laugh during that frightening episode when Emmaline collapsed. Still, it was an excellent likeness.

  “You’ve really captured me, Emmaline.” Right down to the exact shape of my teardrop earrings, she thought.

  As badly as Emmaline must have been feeling that day, it was surprising that she could have paid such close attention to Kate. She could understand Emmaline being able to get a good likeness of her face—they had spent enough time together that week—but even the details of her clothes?

  “You must have a photographic memory,” she added.

  “Oh no, although I’ve often wished for one.” The other woman beamed. “So you like it?”

  “Like it? I love it.”

  “You may have it if you like.” She hesitated. “But you don’t have to—”

  “Of course, I’d like to have it,” Kate said. The odd sense of unease she had been feeling subsided as she sought to reassure her friend. “Wait until I show this to Paul! He’s going to love it. Thank you very much.”

  Emmaline’s smile appeared to falter for a moment as if she was upset, but then she recovered. “You’re welcome. Can you stay for a bit, Kate? I haven’t even offered you a drink, have I? How about some tea?”

  “Yes, please,” Kate said.

  What had Emmaline been thinking of just then? In her head, Kate replayed the conversation, but nothing came to mind that should have been upsetting.

  Kate looked around the living room with interest as Emmaline returned to the kitchen. Pie-crust side tables, lacy doilies, and stern upright chairs all shouted of an era past. In a concession to modernity, a modest entertainment center with a large television positioned in the middle compartment sat along one wall. A recliner sat across the room, and by the slight impression on the cushion, Kate could see it was Emmaline’s seat of ch
oice. Beside it on a table lay a manila folder with a sheaf of papers inside. It partially covered a laptop computer.

  “I don’t want to interrupt your work,” Kate called through the doorway. “Are you writing magazine articles?”

  “Yes.” Emmaline, too, raised her voice to carry. “The pay isn’t terrific, but I do enjoy working with words.”

  “I would love to read your articles,” Kate returned.

  There was a momentary silence. “Sorry,” Emmaline said finally, “but I’m in exactly the same boat with my writing as I am with my artwork. I didn’t bring along anything complete. If you like, I’ll e-mail you my current assignment when I’m done, and you can read it before it’s published.”

  “Oh, that’s okay. I can find some of your work on the Internet,” Kate said.

  Emmaline didn’t respond.

  Kate noticed that a basket of what looked like needlework had been set beside the chair. A piece of Aida cloth used in cross-stitching lay over one arm of the recliner.

  Kate walked over to the piece. It wasn’t finished yet, but enough of the pattern had been completed that Kate was able to see what it was: an elaborate bouquet of flowers in a basket adorned with the pink ribbon symbolic of the breast-cancer awareness campaign.

  A frisson of worry traveled up her back. Breast cancer! Was that what was wrong with Emmaline? Kate wasn’t sure how that would have occasioned Emmaline’s collapse in the restaurant, but she wasn’t a doctor. Maybe Emmaline was on some treatment regime that tripped up her system. Maybe she had had a mastectomy...

  Just then, Emmaline entered the room carrying a small tray with two steaming cups and a plate of brownies on it. She set it down on a small table in front of a love seat, then sat down and gestured toward a chair at a right angle to her. “Come sit down, Kate. I’ve made us some herbal tea, and I couldn’t resist your brownies.”

  Kate smiled as she crossed the room and took the seat her hostess had indicated. “That was the idea. So you’ve tasted them?”

  Emmaline smiled. “I must confess I had one while I was waiting for the water to get hot. Did you make these from scratch? They’re excellent. And they have walnuts in them. I adore walnuts.”

  “I do too and yes, I made them from scratch. I enjoy experimenting with different recipes.” Kate pointed at the unfinished piece on the arm of the recliner. “I was looking at your cross-stitch. It’s going to be beautiful.”

  “I designed the pattern myself,” Emmaline said.

  “Really? You’re multitalented,” Kate told her. “If there was an America’s Most Talented show, I’d nominate you.”

  Emmaline laughed. “Yes, I’m just so talented,” she said, pretending to bow to an invisible audience.

  “Has breast cancer touched your life?” There. That wasn’t too intrusive, was it? Kate felt as if she and Emmaline were forging a good friendship. Still, she hoped the way she formed her question was sensitive enough that Emmaline wouldn’t feel that Kate was invading her privacy.

  Emmaline dropped her gaze and looked away, out the window. “I believe most people in Pennsylvania could say that they know someone who’s been touched by the disease. It’s a state with a particularly high incidence of breast cancer.” Her fingers plucked at the fringe on a throw pillow.

  Oh, forget tact. “I’ve known several friends who have survived and done quite well. Do you have breast cancer, Emmaline?” Kate said softly.

  “What would give you that impression?” Emmaline sounded genuinely startled. She indicated the unfinished piece of needlework. “This is for an eBay auction I read about.”

  Kate realized that once again Emmaline had deflected the question without giving a straight answer. She started to pose a more frank question when she noticed Emmaline putting her hand against her chest, then rapidly patting it.

  “Are you all right?”

  Emmaline was breathing heavily. “I’m having a little chest pain,” she said. “Just give me a minute.”

  “Is there something you can take?” Kate glanced around the room in concern. When Emmaline didn’t answer, Kate said sharply, “Emmaline?”

  “Yes,” her friend gasped. “On the window ledge above the sink.”

  Kate rushed to the kitchen. Above the sink, as Emmaline had said, were several loose oval blue tablets. There were no markings on them, although they looked a lot like a common pain medication Kate sometimes took. But, of course, Kate knew that with the huge variety of medications in the world, there were a certain percentage of pills that were going to look similar. Kate filled a glass of water and hurried back to the living room.

  “How many of these do you take?” she asked.

  “One,” Emmaline murmured, accepting the glass and the medication from Kate. She took several sips of water after the pill. “Thank you,” she murmured.

  “You’re welcome.” Kate had heard Dr. McLaughlin’s words herself, indicating that Emmaline would be just fine, and yet she had just witnessed her friend in pain and distress. Could he have been mistaken? It seemed to Kate that Emmaline’s distress might have been related to the conversation they had been having. She remembered that panic attacks had been listed as a cause of chest pain on WebMD. But would a panic attack be averted so quickly by taking a pill?

  THURSDAY MORNING, Kate had a dentist’s appointment in Pine Ridge. Afterward, she intended to visit Stephanie Miller and several other people whom she knew were hospitalized at the present.

  The moment her dental checkup ended, she drove over to the hospital and parked in the visitor lot outside the single-story brick building. Entering, she began to walk toward the surgical wing where Stephanie’s room was, but she was stopped by a voice calling her name.

  “Mrs. Hanlon?”

  Kate turned.

  “Hi there, I’m Sue Velden. Good to see you. I bought one of your stained-glass panels, remember?”

  Kate did remember. Sue Velden was an oncologist and had paid what Kate considered an extraordinary sum of money for the piece. Admittedly, it had been one of Kate’s best, but she never would have dared to assign it the value Steve Smith of Smith Street Gifts had, where her work was on display.

  She took the hand Sue extended. “It’s nice to see you. I hope you’re enjoying your piece.”

  “I adore it!” Sue bubbled with enthusiasm. “In fact, I’ve been considering asking if you would create a companion piece. I checked at Smith Street Gifts to see if you had done something similar, but I didn’t see anything.”

  Kate shook her head. “No, that was the only piece of that type. What do you have in mind for a second piece?”

  “I’d leave the design up to you, but the color combination is striking and works so well in my home that I’d like more of it.”

  Kate grinned. “And I’d like to sell you more of it.”

  Both women chuckled.

  “Terrific.” The doctor wrote a number on the back of a prescription form. “Here’s my home number. Why don’t you give me a call later, and we can discuss particulars.”

  “All right.” Kate took the paper and placed it in her handbag, then shook Sue Velden’s hand before the doctor hurried off. Kate hadn’t begun to walk again when her name was called a second time.

  “Hello, Kate.” Lucy Sullivan waved as she walked toward Kate. Lucy was a widow in Renee’s bridge club. They had met socially on several occasions and exchanged pleasantries, and Kate had felt a warm connection with the tiny, silver-haired woman, although they never had a chance to get to know one another better.

  “Hello. It’s nice to see you. How are you?” Kate asked.

  “I’m fine. How are you?” Lucy glanced down the hall at the oncologist walking away and then back at Kate.

  Kate smiled. “Quite well, thanks. Are you visiting someone?”

  Lucy shook her head. “I volunteer in the gift shop.” She glanced at her watch. “And I must run. I have to work there until four.”

  After saying farewell, Kate, too, went on her way. First, she visi
ted Stephanie Miller, who was glad to see her and asked a million questions about Kate’s time babysitting her children. The doctor was still being cautious about an exact date for her release from the hospital, but he had told her the very earliest would be the following Monday. More than a week in the hospital sounded like a lot to Kate. That much inactivity would drive her absolutely mad.

  After leaving Stephanie’s room, Kate moved on to another room, where an elderly parishioner from one of the nursing homes was recovering from a bout of pneumonia. And finally, she visited with a woman she had met some months ago at the diner. The woman had broken a leg in a fall off a ladder while putting up curtains. She had had surgery the previous day and was already walking. She told Kate she expected to be released the following day.

  Modern medicine was miraculous, Kate thought. She could remember when a broken leg meant a great deal of time in the hospital.

  She was so wrapped up in thought that Dr. McLaughlin nearly walked right past her before she realized it.

  “Dr. McLaughlin!” Kate spun as his face registered.

  The doctor slowed his steps and turned. When he saw who had called his name, he gave her a friendly nod. “Hello, Kate. How are you?”

  “Just fine, thank you,” Kate responded. “I was hoping to run into you, actually.”

  “Oh?” Instantly, a wary look came into the physician’s eyes.

  “I don’t mean to pry, truly,” Kate said. “And I know you said she would be fine, but Ms. Ashford had another episode of her illness yesterday, and—”

  “She what?” The words practically exploded from the doctor.

  Kate was so startled, she actually took a step back.

  For the first time since Emmaline had made her claims about Dr. McLaughlin, Kate wondered if there was some truth to them. For as long as Kate had known the doctor, she had never seen him so volatile. She rushed on. “It’s just that Ms. Ashford is completely alone in Copper Mill, and I feel responsible for her. I’m afraid she may not ask for help if she needs it. Isn’t there anything you can tell me about how I might assist her?”