Cross-Ties

by Bonnie Bryant

  “Uh, right,” Michael broke in, sounding confused. “Well, bye, Lisa.”

  “Bye.” Lisa took a deep breath as Michael hung up, trying to keep control of her temper.

  “Are you finished now?” Greta asked impatiently. “It is very important that I place my call soon.”

  “Yeah, I’m sure it is,” Lisa snapped, fed up with Greta’s attitude. “Pardon me for using the phone in my own dad’s house.” She punched the off button before Greta could respond.

  She felt a little guilty about snapping at her sister-in-law. Still, she asked for it, she told herself defensively as she wandered across the room and out into the hall. She scowled, remembering some of her exchanges with Greta over the past couple of days. She’s always acting like everything she has to do is so much more important than anything anyone else is doing. And like she knows just everything there is to know about things, like horses for instance.…

  Starting down the stairs, Lisa heard loud voices coming from two directions at once. To her left, she could hear Greta speaking rapidly in German—apparently she was on the phone in the kitchen. Judging by the voice coming from the direction of the living room, her father was busy lecturing Peter once again on impulsive choices and the heartache they invariably caused.

  Yow, Lisa thought, wincing on her brother’s behalf as her father said something about planning for the future and being rational. Dad’s really going after him now that Greta’s out of the room. What does he think that’s going to accomplish, anyway? Talk about not being rational! I mean, they’re already married. You’d think he could be at least a teeny bit supportive of that.

  Her heart went out to her brother. She knew exactly how he felt. He’d made his decision, he was living his life, and she was sure he didn’t appreciate having his father second-guess his choices.

  Well, I’m not going to do that to him, Lisa told herself, feeling another flash of guilt about her hasty words to Greta a few minutes earlier. I might not be crazy about Greta right now, but that doesn’t mean I can’t support Peter’s decision marry her. She rolled her eyes as her father made a loud comment about actions and consequences. And it sounds like I might be the only one who is supporting him right about now.

  She strode into the living room, planning to join in the discussion and show her brother that he wasn’t totally alone. She found her father and brother glaring at each other from opposite ends of the room. Peter was pacing in front of the small blue-tiled fireplace; Mr. Atwood was perched on the edge of the overstuffed sofa. Evelyn was sitting beside her husband, her hands clenched tightly in her lap, looking as though she wished she could sink into the cushions and disappear. Before Lisa could say a word to any of them, Peter looked over and saw her.

  “Lisa!” he cried, hurrying toward her. “There you are. Listen, I was talking to Greta just now—she needs to go check out a couple of horses this afternoon at a farm near here. I thought I’d ride over there with her—you know, keep her company. What do you say? Want to come with us?”

  Lisa hesitated for a second. She could still hear Greta chattering away loudly on the phone in the other room. Did she really want to spend the whole afternoon with her?

  Still, when she looked from her brother’s hopeful smile to her father’s disapproving frown, she knew what she had to say. “Sure,” she replied, trying to sound casual. “That sounds like fun.”

  “Great!” Peter looked relieved. He turned to Evelyn. “Hey, do you think you could keep an eye on the kids for us? They’re having so much fun here, I’d hate to drag them away now.”

  Lisa had almost forgotten about Greta’s kids. Glancing out the living room window, she saw that Dieter and Hanni were chasing each other around the small, neat backyard. Nearby, Lily was swinging contentedly in her automated baby swing as she watched the older kids play.

  Evelyn glanced at Mr. Atwood with a slight frown. “All right,” she said after a second. “I suppose I could do that. I can reschedule my hair appointment.”

  “Thanks.” Peter didn’t seem to notice his stepmother’s slightly disgruntled expression. He clapped his hands together and smiled at Lisa. “That will give the three of us plenty of time to chat.”

  “Great.” Lisa smiled weakly. She guessed Peter was hoping she and Greta would have a chance to bond over their common interest in horses.

  Of course, he’s also probably just hoping to escape for a while himself, she added, shooting a quick look at her father and stepmother. Her father was leaning back on the sofa, his arms crossed over his chest and a grumpy expression on his face. Evelyn was tugging distractedly at a lock of her short blond hair as she stared out the back window at the kids in the yard. And who can blame him for that?

  At that moment, the loud torrent of German from the other room suddenly stopped. A few seconds later Greta hurried into the room, a strange expression on her face.

  “Peter,” she said. “There is a call for you on the second line. I have ended my call.”

  “Oh, you didn’t have to do that, darling,” Peter said with a smile. “But who is it?”

  Greta said something in German. Peter’s smile quickly faded, and his face went pale.

  “What is it?” Lisa asked. “Who’s on the phone?”

  Peter gulped nervously, hardly glancing at her as he hurried toward the kitchen. “It’s Mom.”

  EIGHT

  “I think this is it.” Stevie pointed to a gravel driveway leading to the right off the quiet country highway. She glanced at the handwritten directions Deborah had given her to follow. “Number twenty-seven. Yep.”

  “Okay.” Deborah spun the wheel of her blue hatchback and pulled up the drive to a small parking area beside a white frame farmhouse. “Here we are. Let’s get this over with.”

  Stevie shot her a bemused look. “Nice attitude, Ms. Dedicated Reporter,” she said. “Where’s your sense of adventure? For all we know, this could be the article that wins you the Pulitzer Prize.”

  “Yeah, right.” Deborah rolled her eyes, but she also cracked a smile.

  The two of them climbed out of the car. As Deborah fetched her pad and tape recorder from the backseat, Stevie stretched and took a look around. Several horses were grazing in a good-sized pasture to one side of the house. Nearby was a large old barn. The green paint was peeling off its sides, but otherwise it appeared to be in good repair.

  “Nice place,” Stevie commented. “I wouldn’t mind retiring here myself.”

  Deborah chuckled. “Hey, wait a minute. You aren’t allowed to start talking about retiring until you actually have a job.”

  “You think being in high school isn’t a job?” Stevie joked. She waited while Deborah closed the car door; then the two of them headed for the uneven brick walk leading to the front porch.

  Before they could reach the door, it swung open, revealing a stout, grandmotherly woman with gray hair pulled back in a messy bun. Her broad, apple-checked face wore a cheerful smile, and her small, light blue eyes twinkled with pleasure.

  “Welcome!” the woman cried heartily, wiping her plump hands on the gingham apron that was tied over her khaki slacks and white blouse. “You must be the reporters. Hello! I’m Mrs. Monroe.”

  “Hello,” Deborah replied. “I’m Deborah Hale. This is Stevie Lake, my intern.”

  Stevie smiled and gave a little wave. Wow, she thought. Check out Grandma Moses. Did she just step out of central casting or what? She’s such a cliché it’s almost scary.

  She instantly felt a little guilty for the uncharitable thought, especially when Mrs. Monroe invited them inside for tea and homemade cookies. After all, what was wrong with being a perfect grandma type?

  Mrs. Monroe shooed the two visitors into the front parlor, which was furnished with dusty antiques and lots of brocade. Stevie glanced around. “Nice house,” she said politely.

  “Oh, thank you, dear!” Mrs. Monroe exclaimed, rushing over and patting Stevie on the shoulder. “It’s so nice of you to say so! Now, just sit down and mak
e yourselves comfy. I’ll be back in a jiff with our refreshments.”

  As the woman bustled off toward the back of the house, Stevie looked at Deborah, who was taking a seat on the edge of a red velvet Victorian sofa. “Wow,” she said, keeping her voice low so that their hostess wouldn’t hear. “Quite a place, huh?”

  “I’m sorry I made you come along, Stevie,” Deborah returned in the same low tone. “I don’t think this is going to be a very interesting interview. I’ll try to keep it as short as possible, okay?”

  “You didn’t make me come,” Stevie insisted. “I wanted to come. And don’t worry—I’m sure the interview will go fine. You’re a star reporter, remember? You can make anything seem interesting.”

  Deborah smiled weakly at the compliment, but before she could say anything more, Mrs. Monroe returned bearing an ornate silver tray laden with treats. After a flurry of activity—pouring tea, passing the sugar and cream, insisting that the guests help themselves to homemade cookies and lemon squares—Mrs. Monroe sat back in a creaky upholstered armchair with a contented sigh. “Now then,” she said. “Shall we get acquainted?”

  “Er, of course.” Deborah glanced at the notepad on her lap. “Um, let’s see. How did you first become involved with these retirees?”

  “Oh, I just love all horses,” the woman gushed. “I suppose it all started way back when I was a girl in Tennessee. You see, my grandfather had a small farm, and I loved spending time there. Oh, I spent many happy hours just lying on the grass beneath the apple trees, reading or whispering secrets to my older sister, Mabel.…”

  What does any of this have to do with horses? Stevie wondered as Mrs. Monroe went on and on about life on the farm and then swerved off into a long, involved tale of the time her grandfather’s tabby barn cat had nine kittens in the middle of a thunderstorm. The answer to Stevie’s question didn’t become apparent for a good five minutes, when the woman finally mentioned that her grandfather had bought the two sisters a pony.

  “Mabel soon became more interested in going to dances and parties with boys than in visiting the farm and riding Breezy with me. But that dear old pony was my faithful companion for many a year.” Mrs. Monroe let out a nostalgic sigh, clasping her hands in front of her. “I still miss the old rascal.”

  Stevie sneaked a glance at her watch. I can’t believe we’ve only been sitting here for twenty minutes, she thought. It feels more like twenty years.

  “Hmmm, I see.” Deborah was looking a bit desperate as she checked her notes again. “Er, but perhaps we should talk about the horses you have staying here now.”

  “I have an even better idea,” Stevie broke in. Despite her earlier assurances to Deborah, she was starting to feel as though she would go crazy if she had to sit in that dusty, dim room for one more minute. “Why don’t we head out to the barn and take a look at the horses while we talk?”

  Deborah looked relieved. “That’s a great idea, Stevie,” she said. She started to rise from her seat, glancing at Mrs. Monroe. “Shall we?”

  Mrs. Monroe looked startled at the suggestion. “Oh, I don’t know, girls,” she said uncertainly. “Do you really want to go out there? It’s much more comfortable in here, and there’s plenty of tea left.…” She waved one plump hand at the teapot on the coffee table.

  “Oh, but my story is really about the horses,” Deborah said politely. “I do think I ought to take at least a quick look at them, don’t you?” She gave the older woman a winning smile and held up her notebook. “Please, couldn’t we see them, if it’s not too much trouble?”

  “Well, all right then.” Mrs. Monroe set her teacup back on the tray and got to her feet. “Out we go.”

  Stevie swallowed a sigh of relief. Shooting a look at Deborah, she saw that the reporter looked just as happy as she was to be escaping from the stuffy sitting room.

  Okay, this is the last time I assume an investigative reporter’s life is all adventure and excitement, she thought as she followed the two women back into the hall. Because compared to this interview, even school seems exciting!

  As she carefully dug rocks and pieces of broken glass and scraps of metal out of the small open center of the park, Carole found her gaze wandering frequently to the street to the west. So far there was no sign of Zani or any of her young friends, or of the old man the kids had called Gramps.

  Or of Ben.

  Why did he have to kiss me in the first place? Carole wondered, feeling the now familiar wave of confusion, anger, and embarrassment wash over her as she remembered that brief, unforgettable moment in the thicket at the showgrounds. Why did he have to mess up everything between us?

  She bit her lip as she jabbed her small hand spade into the ground in front of her. Maybe she was the one who was to blame. After all, she couldn’t quite recall exactly whose face had started moving closer, or whose lips had brushed the other’s first.…

  Feeling her face flush as she thought about it, Carole tossed a chunk of stone into the bucket at her side and frowned. Why does my life have to be so complicated, anyway? she wondered. I mean, my friends don’t have these problems. Stevie meets Phil at horse camp, and bam! it’s love at first sight, and they stay together forever. Lisa and Alex trade a special glance across the dinner table one night, and bam! they’re totally gaga and start finishing each other’s sentences. Why can’t it just happen that way for me? Why am I the one who somehow ends up kissing a guy who turns around the very same afternoon and acts like he’s never even met me?

  Before she could figure out any answers to that, she heard someone calling her name. She didn’t recognize the voice at first, but when she glanced over her shoulder, she saw Lionel, the friendly, earnest young man with the glasses, and his wife—what was her name again? Nadine?—walking toward her, hand in hand.

  “Uh, hi,” Carole said, wondering what they wanted. She wasn’t exactly in the mood for small talk with her fellow volunteers. “What’s up?”

  Nadine shrugged and smiled. “We just finished watering the new shrubs, so we thought we’d come see if you needed any help over here.”

  Carole forced a smile in return. “Thanks,” she said. “Um, but I think I’ve got it covered.”

  Lionel surveyed Carole’s little patch of ground. “You’re doing great, Carole,” he said. “But we’ll get it done a lot faster if the three of us work together. What do you say?”

  What could she say? “Okay,” Carole replied weakly. “Thanks.”

  Lionel and Nadine knelt and set to work on either side of Carole, chatting about the progress they were making at the park. Carole did her best to nod in all the right spots, but she was only half listening. The other half of her mind was still occupied with her own life. At the moment, it seemed to be in as much disarray as the park had been when they’d first arrived on Saturday.

  After a few minutes, Carole suddenly noticed that Lionel was gazing at her, and she realized that he must have asked her a question she hadn’t even heard. She gulped.

  “Carole?” Nadine blinked at her, her round eyes concerned. “Are you all right?”

  “Um, s-sorry,” Carole stammered. “I guess I was kind of distracted there for a second. Uh, actually the stuff you were just saying reminded me of those kids who were hanging around here yesterday. Have you seen them today?”

  “No,” Nadine said softly. “But I noticed them yesterday, too.” She traded an unreadable look with her husband.

  Carole wasn’t sure what that was all about. She felt a little uncomfortable as Nadine and Lionel continued to gaze at each other for a long, silent moment.

  Suddenly noticing that Carole was watching them, Lionel smiled wanly. “Sorry. Guess we’re the ones who are distracted now. It’s just that talking or thinking about kids—well, it’s kind of a sensitive subject for us, I guess.”

  “That’s right,” Nadine said softly. “You see, when Lionel and I got married, we both wanted a big family. I’d always dreamed about having six kids—”

  “Until I convinced
her we should try for ten,” Lionel joked halfheartedly. He shrugged, glancing down at the rusty metal can he’d just dug out of the dirt. “Anyway, we figured we should get started right away. So when Nadine found out she was pregnant just a few months after our wedding, we were both thrilled. We called everyone we knew, we bought out the local toy store, the works.”

  Carole couldn’t help feeling a little impatient. She really wasn’t in the mood for hearing her co-volunteers’ life story. The next thing she knew, they would probably start pulling out baby pictures and kindergarten scribbles to show her.

  But Nadine didn’t even seem to remember that Carole was there. She was staring off into space. “Those were the happiest few weeks of my life,” she said softly.

  Weeks? Carole thought in confusion, wondering if she’d missed something again.

  “We lost the baby before we were four months along,” Lionel told Carole, reaching out to put a comforting arm around his wife’s shoulder. “Miscarriage. Weird word, isn’t it?”

  “We tried again, of course.” Nadine blinked hard a few times, her eyes still faraway and sad. “But a year passed, and then another, and still.… Well, we went to a specialist after a while, trying to figure out what was wrong. She told us there was practically no chance we’d ever have kids. So did the next doctor we went to. And the one after that. So finally we decided that maybe they were right and we’d just have to accept it.”

  Lionel nodded and gave Carole a small smile. “Sorry, I guess this isn’t really a very cheerful story, is it?” he said. “But now you see why we care so much about Hometown Hope. It’s the thing that really helped us get back on track. When we started volunteering, we realized that our own problems were really pretty minor compared to what a lot of other people go through every day. We really are lucky in most ways: We have our health, our jobs, our families and friends, and most of all each other. It helps us keep things in perspective when we feel sad about the way certain things have turned out.”