Love and War

by Peg Sutherland

  “Whatever you have to say to me can surely be said in the privacy of my room,” Clarence said, grinding to a halt right outside the activity door.

  Before Drew could respond, Sandy jumped up and said, “Drew, you’re certain—”

  Before he could reassure her, Mag looked up and said, “What are you up to, young man?”

  “If everybody will calm down, I’ll be glad to clear this up for both of you.” Drew walked over and put his arm around Sandy’s shoulders. “Rather, we’ll be glad to clear this up.”

  “Oh, dear.” That was Sandy, under her breath.

  A buzzing began from the women seated around the blue-and-red quilt. Clarence rapped his walking stick against the doorframe and said, “Quiet, everyone. Let’s hear what my grandson has on his mind.”

  Mag’s was the only voice that didn’t grow silent. “You needn’t come in here acting like you run the place, Clarence. And the same goes for you, young man.”

  “Gran—”

  “Now, Alexandra, I think you—”

  “Can we have a moment of silence, Mag, so that—”

  Drew decided there was only one thing that stood a real chance of silencing this crowd. Raising his voice so it could be heard over everyone else’s, he said, “Sandy and I are getting married.”

  The bickering went on another few seconds, then his announcement sank in. Clarence stared at them, almost losing his grip on his walking stick. Mag grew pale, her soft pink rouge standing out brightly against her white cheeks. The other women in the quilting circle couldn’t decide who to stare at, so their gazes whipped rapidly from one to the other of the foursome. Not a needle moved.

  “Now that I have your attention,” Drew said, smiling down at Sandy, who finally looked relieved and calm, “I’d like to assure you both that we love you, but we also love each other. And we’re hoping you’ll give us your blessing and be with us for our wedding on February fourteenth.”

  Mag gasped, as did Emma Finklebaum. Clarence sank into the nearest chair.

  “What did you say, young man?” Mag demanded, clutching the arm of her chair.

  Sandy slipped from Drew’s grip and took her grandmother’s hand. “We’re having a Valentine’s Day wedding, Gran. Please be happy for us.”

  “Oh, Lord,” Mag whispered, “not again.”

  Then she fainted dead away.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  RELIEF WASHED THROUGH Sandy when Mag roused from her faint and instantly went on the offensive.

  “You scoundrel,” she snapped, her voice only slightly weaker than usual. She pushed herself up from the activity-room couch and pointed a mauve-tipped nail at Clarence. “You just couldn’t stay out of this town and leave my family alone, could you?”

  Sandy and Drew exchanged glances. Somehow, their certainty that they were doing the right thing had convinced them that their grandparents would rejoice with them. That the reality of this moment would overshadow events that had happened so long ago.

  “I assure you,” Clarence said, “I had nothing to do with this unfortunate set of circumstances. On the contrary, you are no doubt the one who sent for your granddaughter the moment my grandson arrived in your quaint little village, as innocent as a lamb to the slaughter.”

  Face-to-face with their grandparents’ penchant for melodrama, Drew was trying hard not to laugh. And Sandy had to admit this feud between these two old people was beginning to seem a little extreme. After all these years, why couldn’t they both forgive and forget, especially since it appeared that both of them might bear some responsibility for the bitter break-up?

  Of one thing, however, Sandy was now absolutely, one-hundred percent certain: their problems had nothing to do with her relationship with Drew.

  “...Be trusted not to go chasing after every young female who passes?” Mag was saying, dragging herself off the couch to confront Clarence nose-to-nose.

  “Only if you can vouch for the fact that this young offspring of yours is after my grandson for some reason other than his professional status. Financial gain, isn’t that what your family looks for in a match, Mag?”

  “My granddaughter doesn’t need—”

  “Gran, please.” Sandy put her hand on her arm. “Please, let’s stop the fighting. All we want is for you to be happy for us. Can’t you do that?”

  She saw the uncertainty in Mag’s eyes as she looked from her to Drew, then back to Clarence. Finally, she gazed at Sandy again and said, “Don’t you see, Alexandra? It’s happening all over again.”

  Sandy felt a momentary twinge of uneasiness when her grandmother said that. But she knew the rightness of what was in her heart. She had no intention of letting ancient history spoil it. She had thought long and hard about the unlikely set of circumstances that had brought her and Drew back to Tyler and she knew now that she’d been right all along—this wasn’t entirely an accident. It was meant to be. But not for the reasons Gran wanted to believe.

  “It’s not like that, Gran. Look at it this way. Maybe this marriage is meant to be, to finally heal the bitterness from all those years ago.”

  Mag shook her head. “You don’t know what you’re saying, girl.”

  “Yes, I do. We do.”

  “Do you have any idea why you settled on a Valentine’s Day wedding?”

  Sandy linked her arm through Drew’s. “I certainly do. Because it’s soon and we don’t want to live with months of gossip and speculation.”

  Drew smiled and added, “And because it’s romantic.”

  “Ha!” Mag glared at Clarence. “You want to tell them why they picked that date?”

  “The honor is yours, Mag.”

  Mag shook her head and reached behind her, groping for the arm of the couch. She sat again, still shaking her yellow curls, and said, “Because that’s the date we were supposed to be married.”

  Sandy felt her blood run cold at her grandmother’s words. “You—you don’t mean that.”

  “Tell her, Emma.”

  Emma Finklebaum, who looked as if she wished she were getting all this down in a reporter’s pad for future publication, smiled and said, “Oh, yes. She’s absolutely right. Everyone in Tyler was in a tizzy about the prospect of a Valentine’s Day wedding. And you know, I’ve heard the sale of Valentine cards has been below the national average in this town ever since.” She chuckled. “Yes, I’d say Cupid has not exactly been popular in Tyler.”

  * * *

  IN THE NEXT FEW DAYS, Sandy told everyone who would listen that the coincidence didn’t bother her one little bit.

  “Why, I might even wear the wedding dress Gran never got married in,” she said to Sheila Lawson when she went out to Timberlake Lodge to make arrangements for a small reception following the ceremony.

  Sheila gave her a funny look.

  “It’s a joke,” Sandy said. “A little humor.”

  Sheila laughed weakly. Sandy told herself it didn’t matter if no one else saw the humor in the situation, as long as she and Drew did.

  Reaction around town varied from disbelief to horror to wide-eyed fascination. Annabelle Scanlon, when Sandy dropped by the post office to mail out the few invitations, said, “You know, everybody in Tyler who was there that day still holds the belief that Valentine’s Day is bad luck for weddings. You sure you don’t want me to hold these for a day, give you time to reconsider?”

  “That’s superstition, Mrs. Scanlon. I want those invitations in the mail.”

  As she left the post office, Annabelle called out, “You buy a dress you can get some other use out of, you hear me?”

  Sandy knew, of course, that Tyler would talk of nothing else until the wedding was over. Some people—like Annabelle, and Marge at the diner—didn’t mind telling her straight to her face that she was playing around with destiny. Others kep
t their talk to themselves, and ultimately Sandy found that more distressing. It was disconcerting to walk down Main Street and see a conversation between two people break off abruptly as she approached. Finally, after that happened three times in forty-five minutes, Sandy marched right up to Rosemary Dusold and Pam Kelsey and said, “No, we aren’t worried that history is doomed to repeat itself. No, we don’t feel there’s any bad karma surrounding my relationship with Drew. Any other ques-tions?”

  The two women stared at her, speechless, for sixty seconds before breaking into slightly embarrassed but warmhearted laughter.

  Gran was the only person Sandy truly worried about. She went by Worthington House every afternoon after work. Mag was mostly silent for the first two days after the announcement. But as Sandy was leaving on the third day, her grandmother said, “I let Clarence Stirling ruin a big part of my life. The one thing I’m not going to do is let him ruin my relationship with my granddaughter.”

  Sandy threw her arms around her. “Oh, Gran, you don’t know how happy that makes me.”

  Mag patted her on the cheek. “I love you more than you can imagine until you have grandbabies of your own, Alexandra. I never expected any of my great-grandkids to have Stirling blood. But never mind. I’ll be there on Valentine’s Day, with bells on.”

  She probably meant it literally, Sandy speculated as she left Worthington House a few minutes later, her heart resting easier than it had in days. While she stood at the door, buttoning her coat and pulling on her gloves, Emma Finklebaum walked up and in a low voice said, “I wonder if I could have a moment of your time.”

  Sandy pocketed her glove. “Sure.”

  “I am, as you may recall, a journalist.” Emma looked at her expectantly and Sandy nodded. “I was also very much involved in chronicling the previous...situation.”

  Her good mood dissipating, Sandy nodded again.

  “What I am suggesting is...that is, I would very much like to negotiate for rights to your story.”

  Sandy wasn’t certain whether it was anger or anxiety that shot through her so sharply. “What?”

  Emma’s smile was soothing. “In my professional opinion, this story is quite marketable. And I would like your permission to write it. Now, there are a number of ways we could handle this. An as-told-to story, perhaps, if you prefer. Although—”

  Sandy shoved her fingers into her glove and grabbed the door handle. “Emma, I’m not interested in telling my story. There is no story to tell. I’m getting married. Period. It happens every day. This is not something the supermarket tabloids are going to be interested in.”

  “Oh, absolutely not!” Emma’s mouth grew round in horror. “Alexandra, I am a legitimate journalist and I wouldn’t dream of doing business with that kind of publication. I was thinking of a book, perhaps, with a serialization in one of the better women’s magazines.” She raised her right hand and fanned it in the air above their heads. “I have the title in mind already—History Repeats: the Saga of The Modern-Day Capulets and Montagues.” Emma paused and pursed her lips. “You don’t think people will have trouble recognizing the family names of Romeo and Juliet, do you?”

  Beginning to quiver with the strong emotions she didn’t want to inflict on this elderly woman, who no doubt meant no harm, Sandy opened the door and began backing out of Worthington House.

  “Emma, history is not repeating itself.”

  “But in case it should,” the woman called after her as Sandy hurried down the steps, “I just thought it would be easier if we negotiated now.”

  Sandy didn’t exactly run home, but she took the quickest route to her apartment and crossed the street midblock anytime she risked running into someone who might want to talk. When she finally locked herself in, she found herself face-to-face with the ivory-colored silk suit she had bought to be married in. She swallowed hard and ran the tips of her fingers over its soft, nubby surface. Tears began to gather in her eyes.

  Not that she was worried, she told herself, but she was glad she had taken Annabelle’s advice and bought something she could wear for some other occasion.

  * * *

  DREW TOLD HIMSELF he would feel better after he talked to Jake.

  “I swear, Sandy’s knuckles are getting whiter every day that passes,” he said to his cousin. “She’s getting such a case of cold feet, we’re going to have to stash her standing up in the refrigerator case at the outlet store.”

  “It’s normal,” Jake said. “Happens to everybody.”

  “Not me.”

  “No?”

  “No. If I’m having second thoughts it’s only because I can see she’s having second thoughts.”

  “Ah. So you are having second thoughts?”

  “Well, no. Not actual second thoughts. More like thoughts about the nature of second thoughts.” Was it just him, he wondered, or was he beginning to sound like a fool?

  “Maybe you should wait, maybe make sure you’re both one hundred percent ready.”

  “Wait? And give all this gossip a chance to work up a real head of steam? No way!” The thought of waiting terrified Drew much more than the thought of showing up in that church and... “You don’t think she’ll back out, do you? At the last minute or anything?”

  Ah, damn! He’d gone and let the wrong thing slip out. After swearing he wouldn’t allow the words to cross his lips.

  But Jake looked and sounded calm. “You think history’s going to repeat itself.”

  “No, no. Of course not.” Drew tried to swallow, but his mouth was so dry. “On the other hand, I’d just as soon know now.”

  “As opposed to at the altar?”

  So much for feeling better after talking to his cousin. “I think I’d better go pick up the rings.”

  “Besides,” Jake said as Drew walked out of his office, “I thought it was Uncle Clarence who didn’t show up at the altar. You’re not going to pull a disappearing act, are you?”

  Drew turned around and pointed a finger at Jake. “You repeat that anywhere else in this town and I’ll arrange a leveraged buyout of Yes! Yogurt.”

  Jake grinned. “You’re not a stockholder. There are no stockholders.”

  “I’m warning you, Jake.”

  “No, I’m warning you. If you do anything you shouldn’t, Britt’s going to disown you.”

  “I’m not backing out. I swear.” He turned to his cousin one more time. “Unless you’ve heard something I don’t know. You’re not trying to tell me something, are you?”

  “Go get the rings, Drew. You’re making yourself crazy.”

  Actually, it was Sandy who was making him crazy. Or was it all the other people in town who insisted on behaving exactly as Sandy had predicted? They were talking about this wedding as if it were the second coming of the jilting of the century. Or maybe it was just his grandfather who was making him crazy.

  “Have a plan B, son,” Clarence said one afternoon as they took their first walk around the block since Clarence started physical therapy.

  “I don’t need a plan B, Grandpa. Plan A is going very smoothly.”

  “For the wedding day, I mean. To be sure, Mag appeared the picture of the glowing bride-to-be, right up until the rehearsal party the night before. Not a hint of trouble. Jitters, of course. They all have jitters. Or so I thought. Don’t be taken by surprise, son.”

  Drew resisted the impulse to ask precisely how he might do that—not be taken by surprise if his bride decided not to show up at the altar. But he refused to consider the possibility, especially in the old man’s presence.

  “Drew, I want you to know that, no matter what happens, you remain my favorite grandson.”

  Drew grinned, his worries forgotten for the moment. “There’s not much reassurance in that, Grandpa.”

  Clarence looked offended. “No?”

&n
bsp; “I’m your only grandson.”

  Clarence chuckled. “Why, so you are.”

  When they got back to Clarence’s room, his grandfather grasped his arm and said, “You can count on me, son. I’ll be there. You want me to work on finding out whether she’s planning to go through with it before you walk into that church?”

  “It’s not necessary, Grandpa.”

  Clarence shook his head. “I thought not, either. I walked into it blindly. Don’t let that happen to you.”

  * * *

  THE QUESTION WAS on the lips of everyone in Tyler as the day drew near. Would history repeat itself?

  Liza Forrester thought it would. “I’m an incurable romantic,” she said to her sister-in-law Nora, “and what could be more romantic than continuing this curse into future generations? Why, we could have Murphys and Stirlings jilting one another right into the next millennium.”

  Pam Kelsey, when she stopped by the boardinghouse, announced to her mother-in-law, “What a lot of nonsense! The chances of that happening again are nil. It’s going to be a beautiful wedding.”

  Anna Kelsey taste-tested the pot of chili simmering on the stove, added a pinch of cumin and said, “That’s assuming we know what happened the first time. Have you talked to two people who can even agree on that?”

  Pam had to admit she hadn’t.

  Every penny of Renee Hansen’s allowance went for good-luck charms. The rabbit’s foot never left her pocket the week before the wedding. “Please, please, please,” she whispered every night before she went to sleep.

  Amanda Baron Trask, when pressed by brother Jeff to take a side in the debate, said, “The power of suggestion wins—that’s my prediction. With so many people in Tyler expecting one of them to back out, one or the other is bound to cave in.”

  And at the high school, Matt Hansen overheard one of the teachers entering the faculty lounge talking about a pool that was being run. “If she doesn’t back out, somebody’s going to win a jackpot come Valentine’s Day,” the man said.

  For a moment, Matt was so incensed that he made up his mind to tell his stepdad at the very first opportunity. But by the time Matt got home from school, his own problems had crept back into his head and filled up all the space there. He forgot all about Drew and Sandy.