Love and War

by Peg Sutherland

  “No, son, I don’t believe I will. I made a solemn vow to myself fifty years ago that I would not return to that archaic little town and I most assuredly do not intend to go back on my word at this late date.”

  Despite being in a hospital bed, Clarence had been as immaculately groomed as ever. His mostly white hair was slicked into place, his freshly shaved cheeks smooth and pink. He had then pointed the remote control at the TV clamped to the wall and turned the volume up loud enough to drown out opposition. It was Clarence Stirling’s favorite battle tactic.

  Drew had exchanged confused looks with Cynthia, who had three children of her own to manage, and his mother. He’d picked up the remote from the hospital bed and clicked the TV off. “When were you in Tyler, Grandpa?”

  “I told you. Fifty years ago. Now hand over that clicker.”

  “You never told me you visited Tyler.”

  “Well, there’s a simple explanation for that, of course. I never told you I visited Tyler because I never did visit there.”

  Betty Stirling leaned closer to her father-in-law. “But you just said—”

  “I am not senile, young lady. I know what I said. I never visited that godforsaken place, I was born and raised there. Now, could I trouble you to hand over the clicker, son?”

  And that was the last the old man would say on the subject. He had adamantly refused to discuss the reason for his having left town or for the bitterness that still laced his voice after all these years.

  Drew had hated taking advantage of the fact that his grandfather was still bedridden and thus unable to put up his usual spirited fight. But bringing Clarence Stirling to Tyler for the duration of his recovery and whatever therapy would be necessary to get him back on his feet was the only viable plan. One of Cynthia’s three children had muscular dystrophy and needed almost constant attention as it was. And Betty Stirling lived with her sister, Evelyn Marshack, as they had all those years ago when their children were growing up. Although with their sons’ help their financial circumstances were greatly improved, they still preferred living together to living alone. But Drew’s mother and his paternal grandfather had never gotten along, especially after Drew’s father died. Clarence thought he knew exactly how his grandchildren ought to be raised and Betty believed that was her job, so the relationship had been strained.

  So Drew knew he was the most logical choice to care for his grandfather, and Clarence would simply have to get a grip, as Drew’s precocious eleven-year-old niece like to remind them all from time to time.

  “I hope our facility meets with your satisfaction,” the slightly pompous Cecil Kellaway intoned as they completed the tour and walked back to his office.

  “Absolutely,” Drew said, sitting down to sign the final papers for Clarence’s admission next week, when he was expected to be released from the hospital in Chicago. “I just hope my grandfather will settle in here before too long.”

  Kellaway smiled. “Oh, I can assure you, Mr. Stirling, he’ll feel right at home at Worthington House.”

  Drew merely grunted as he scribbled his signature on the papers.

  * * *

  SANDY DROPPED A kiss on her grandmother’s cheek. “Guess I’ll run for now. I want to finish unpacking—I put it off all through the holidays—and there’s one more journal article on the dairy industry I want to read before I go in tomorrow.” She shivered. “New year, new job. It’s fitting.”

  Mag nodded. “You get a good night’s sleep. Your first day on the job is an important one. First impressions, you know. You’ll want to be rested.”

  Sandy studied herself in the mirror on the wall behind her grandmother. The truth was she was terrified. Moving back to her hometown, to the people who still remembered when she’d been on the pep squad in high school, was far more intimidating than taking on a big job for a bunch of strangers in Atlanta. She desperately needed to succeed here in Tyler, where everyone knew her and probably still thought of her as a kid.

  “I’m not sure,” she said, trying for a light tone. “Maybe circles under my eyes will add a few years, give me a more mature look.”

  Mag chuckled. “Or make you look hung over. You’ll do fine tomorrow. Now quit fretting.”

  “I’ll call tomorrow night and let you know how it went,” Sandy promised, pausing at the community-room door to wave one more time. But Mag had already raised the shade on the window, apparently once again caught up in watching the snow drifting down in the lowering dusk.

  The sight of her grandmother tugged at Sandy’s heart. If it weren’t for Gran—and for Gin; what had happened to her former boss had played a big part, too, Sandy had to admit—she might never have returned to Tyler. She’d been happy with her job at International Baking Corporation, and she had loved working for Ginny Luckawicz. But then Gin’s career had disintegrated in front of Sandy’s eyes, and she hadn’t felt comfortable staying on at a firm that could treat employees like that. So when Gran had decided to give up the house she’d always lived in, the tidy white frame with the wide porch and green shutters, she knew where she needed to be. Sandy and her grandmother had been inseparable, the little girl dogging the older woman’s every step. From Gran, Sandy had learned to repair leaking faucets and to make tea that was never bitter and to scrutinize the sales floor at Murphy’s Hardware and figure out exactly what wasn’t selling and why. For Gran had remained active in the store, even after Granddad died a dozen years ago.

  One thing Sandy would never forget was the way Mag communicated with her customers.

  “You’ve got to listen to them, girl,” Mag would repeat after a long talk with one of her regular patrons. “It’s what they want that matters.”

  Classic marketing wisdom, long before anyone had ever written a marketing textbook. Mag Murphy had been Sandy’s role model, her confidante and her staunchest supporter for as long as she could remember.

  Hearing that Gran was retiring to Worthington House had alarmed Sandy so much that she’d jumped at the opportunity when Britt Hansen Marshack called a month ago. If Gran wasn’t well, Sandy wanted to be nearby.

  Seeing a lot of her grandmother over the holidays just past had reassured her some. The elderly woman’s incongruous blond curls still danced softly as she spoke and she still wore jewelry that probably weighed as much as she did. Her bright blue eyes were lively and sharp. But it was her unflagging energy that really set Sandy’s mind at rest. She was still glad to be here, where she could keep an eye on her grandmother. Sandy’s heart swelled as she turned away.

  She walked slowly down the corridor of Worthington House. Funny, you could live near a place all your life and never set foot in it. To Sandy, the old Victorian had seemed as formidable and unapproachable as the others nearby, the Ingallses’ and the Phelpses’ mansions. But seeing Worthington House up close had been as reassuring as seeing Gran again. Sandy was content that her grandmother was in the right place, a place where she could keep up with old friends and share activities with new ones.

  Peering into smaller rooms off the main corridor, where various activities were going on, Sandy wondered if she might have overreacted, quitting an exciting job and leaving behind a comfortable life. But she was here now, and anxious or not, she was going to make the best of it, she thought as she ducked out of the aerobics room and into the softly lit activity room, lined with shelves of games and puzzles, even a table full of antique toys. A quilting frame had been pushed to one side.

  The seniors at Worthington House obviously weren’t into quiet activity this morning, for the room was empty. Sandy wandered in to check out the quilt, curious about the quilting circle Gran had talked about joining. While studying the red-and-blue pattern, she plucked a handful of jelly beans out of a glass decanter on a nearby table. With her other hand, she began cranking the handle on a brightly painted, old-fashioned jack-in-the-box on the table.

  “
I thought the candy and games were for residents only.”

  A silly-looking clown popped out of the box at the same moment the soft voice spoke, startling her out of her reverie. Clutching the toy, she whirled. A tall, slim man stood framed in the doorway, grinning at her.

  “And you definitely don’t look like a resident,” he continued. “No walking stick, no bifocals, no hearing aid.”

  Thinking she hadn’t seen a man with such a teasing gleam in his eyes for months, Sandy popped the last of her fistful of jelly beans into her mouth and simply took him in. He was dressed casually, in khakis and a crew-neck sweater in a rich shade of cranberry that played magically with his dark hair and pale, blue-gray eyes. Sandy realized as she stared that most of the men she’d seen since starting at International Baking were business types, somber in their dark suits, rushed and unsmiling in their intensity. Even the creative types in marketing had been more intent on focus groups and market share than on what fun could be had in the process.

  “Stereotyping,” Sandy said, shaking her head in mock disapproval. “Not a very nineties thing to do.”

  He helped himself to a fistful of jelly beans. “My error in judgment appalls even me. So, what are you, about sixty-nine, seventy? My grandfather arrives next week. He’ll be really pleased to meet you. He’s not crazy about the idea of coming here, but I think he’ll change his mind.”

  Sandy laughed and set down the jack-in-the-box. They walked toward the door together. “Does he like jelly beans?”

  The young man shook his head. “Can’t handle ‘em. Stick to his dentures. But I suppose you know all about that.”

  And he leaned over as they got to the front door and made a show of studying her teeth. “Remarkable. They look so natural.”

  He took a red down jacket from the hooks beside the front door and pulled a pair of gloves and a knit cap out of the pocket. He helped Sandy with her wool dress coat, the gesture of an old-fashioned gentleman. Sandy thought Gran would approve of both the courtliness and the sense of humor.

  “Your grandfather will like it here,” Sandy said as he opened the front door, exposing them to a burst of cold air and blowing snow.

  The man shook his head. “I hope you’re right. Grandpa doesn’t—”

  Before Sandy could find out exactly why he seemed uncertain his grandfather would like Worthington House, she heard a familiar voice and looked up to see Gran, hanging out the window of the community room and shaking her fist at them.

  “Keep your paws off that girl, you two-timing so-and-so, you!”

  CHAPTER TWO

  EMBARRASSMENT WASHED OVER Sandy as she stared at her grandmother, leaning out the window and bellowing at this total stranger. A total stranger who, minutes before, had had Sandy entertaining thoughts of flirtation and getting acquainted and relearning the fine art of simply having fun.

  With her dangling conch earrings—”Gives things a summery feel, don’t you think?”—artificial-blond curls and fake eyelashes almost as long as her fake nails, Gran seemed at her flaky best, the caricature of an aging woman who still doesn’t accept the fact that she’ll never again look like Betty Grable. She also looked determined to launch another verbal assault on the man with the laughing eyes, but then someone from inside the community room tugged her back in by her royal-blue sleeve and slammed the window on the snowy afternoon.

  The man turned laughing eyes on Sandy, raised one snow-dusted eyebrow questioningly. A corner of his mouth quirked, as if he could barely suppress his laughter. “And I thought Grandpa might find it a little dull at Worthington House. Looks as if I was wrong.”

  Despite her expensive college education, Sandy could figure out no way to sink into the sidewalk and disappear. She opened her mouth to deliver some clever rejoinder, but came up empty. She was grateful, at least, for the nip of damp wind on her cheeks, for it provided some excuse for her high color.

  “Your fairy godmother, I presume? Guardian angel? Grandmother protector?”

  “I, uh, I have to run.” Hands buried deep in the pockets of her coat, Sandy began to back away. She knew she was acting silly and defensive, like an adolescent caught parading as an adult. But she couldn’t seem to stop herself.

  The man took a step in her direction. “Look, what she said—I don’t know what she meant. I’m not—”

  “It doesn’t matter. I have to go.” She was off the curb now and turning away. She wasn’t sure why Gran’s outburst had embarrassed her so, but it had. Maybe because she’d become so leery of involvement, after watching from her front-row seat while her boss and mentor lost everything she’d worked for—career, security, even her reputation.

  Or maybe it was simpler than that. It could be Sandy felt flustered because the implication—that something was going on here besides a simple friendly encounter between two strangers—was closer to the truth than she wanted to admit.

  After all, she had just been thinking how good it felt to be in the company of someone so devilishly cute, someone who made her smile so easily. She had been thinking that she might find time in her new life for things she had purposely shut herself off from recently. Things like men. And this man, with his sparkling eyes, lithe build and casual manner, had seemed as good a place as any to begin.

  Which just showed how young and foolish she could be, letting herself get carried away by the first man to smile at her. And if Gran could see that, he could probably see it, too.

  “Wait!” he called, but she was already halfway across the street, snow melting in her hair. Why on earth hadn’t she worn a hat? Why on earth had she let herself get sucked into a schoolgirl fantasy in the time it took her to swallow a mouthful of jelly beans?

  He called out to her once again, but the wind and snow muffled his voice. She kept walking, grateful she had gotten away before he even asked her name. Chances were he would forget her long before they ran into each other again.

  * * *

  DREW STARED AT himself in the dresser mirror for ten full minutes the next morning, holding up for scrutiny the only tie he’d kept when he left Chicago.

  “To tie or not to tie,” he muttered to his reflection.

  He threw a grim smile at his reflection and wrapped the tie around his neck, pretending to choke himself with the strip of paisley silk as he went into the all-too-familiar motions that resulted in a neat four-in-hand knot.

  He studied the result. He was rusty.

  Hadn’t he left Chicago so he would no longer need a collection of silk ties in all the power colors? He almost changed his mind, then reminded himself that he had a very important statement to make in today’s meeting with the new director of marketing.

  After a second attempt that resulted in a passable knot, he went down to breakfast wearing a white shirt, his tweed sport coat and the lumpy necktie.

  Anna Kelsey, his landlady, raised an eyebrow over the orange juice. “A necktie this morning? Did I miss something? Is the Prince of Wales passing through Tyler?”

  Although still slender and attractive with her dark hair and gold-rimmed glasses, Anna Kelsey was nevertheless the motherly heart of Kelsey Boardinghouse. In fact, it was her soft-spoken warmth that had convinced Drew to take the room in the rambling Gunther Street home.

  He smiled, because Anna Kelsey could draw a smile no matter what his mood. “No. Just the new marketing director for Yes! Yogurt.”

  Anna nodded and filled his coffee cup. “Ah. The company’s really growing, then?”

  “Who would have thought you could make money selling anything made out of goat’s milk?” Glenna Kelsey McRoberts said as she took a seat across from Drew. “We all figured Britt was going a little batty, you know. A widow with four kids, growing desperate. That’s what we thought.” She laughed wryly, her dark hair gleaming as she shook her head. “And she probably was.”

  Anna gave
her daughter a fond look. Divorced, with two kids of her own, Glenna had been living at the Kelsey house throughout Drew’s stay. Jimmy and Megan, her young children, added a joyous, often boisterous element, and like all the other boarders, Drew was very fond of them. He was really glad Glenna had recently found such obvious happiness for herself, falling in love with Lee Nielsen, the arson investigator trying to find out what had really happened at Ingalls F and M. Lee was a lucky so-and-so, Drew thought, with a feeling of envy for his fellow emigrant from the city. But somebody else’s love life was none of his business, though many people in Tyler didn’t agree with him on that. That might be the only problem with small-town living.

  “I know what you mean,” he said with a grin. “I remember my first reaction to Jake’s announcement that he was marrying the queen of goat’s milk yogurt.”

  Anna laughed, too. Britt had created the yogurt—automatically creating an untapped market niche for her product—about four years ago when the fifth-generation family farm was failing, the bank threatening to foreclose, and one Jake Marshack was breathing down her neck for payments to his dairy-feed company. Britt had not only created a delicious and unique product, she had saved Lakeside Farm for herself and her four kids and won the heart of the heartless Jake Marshack as well.

  For the first several years, Britt had managed production and Jake, distribution. But as the company grew by leaps and bounds, they had realized they needed help and had turned to Jake’s cousin. With Drew’s help, they had built a full-scale manufacturing facility, with room to grow, and had established an efficient network for reaching markets around the country.

  Now things had grown so much they needed a full-time marketing director. At least, that was what Jake and Britt had decided.

  Drew supposed he should feel gratified. But the truth was he almost hated to see things change. Life in Tyler had been so uncomplicated. It was what had drawn him here, away from the rat race and the frustrations of city living. Now, who knew what would happen?