Dandelion Wishes

by Melinda Curtis

  “Not like this.” Granny Rose snapped back to the present and shook her finger at Will. “Not when the size of your changes threatens the traditions and values of this town. Just because we don’t have the world wide web doesn’t mean we don’t hear about the outside world. This is our home. You’ve shown us no respect.”

  Larry nodded in agreement.

  Agnes opened her mouth to say something, but hesitated. Mildred still looked lost. Their families had been the most recent to move away from Harmony Valley. According to Granny Rose, Agnes had taken her daughter’s leaving particularly hard.

  “This is exactly like what happened to Napa! Huge corporations built wineries. Old homes were torn down to make room for golf courses, day spas and luxury mansions.” Granny Rose stood, sending her folding chair crashing to the wood floor. She leaned on the table and swung her head around as she looked about the church with wild, feral eyes. “The devil was behind the loss of Napa! And now the devil’s sent this Beelzebub to destroy Harmony Valley, as well.”

  “Granny Rose!” Emma leaped to her feet. She pushed Will aside and charged up the altar stairs, cradling an arm across her grandmother’s shoulders.

  Everyone stopped talking, even Will, who seemed to have an answer to every issue raised, except when it came to accusations involving the devil.

  Granny Rose stared at Emma, slack jawed. Blinked. “What? I...”

  “It’s all right,” Emma said softly.

  The look Tracy gave Emma was pitying. The scrutiny from those in the pews was worse.

  This was all Will’s fault. He’d upset her grandmother with his too-much, too-soon vision of progress and his insensitive suggestion that they chop down the oak tree in the town square. Emma took Granny Rose by the arm and led her down the altar steps.

  There was something wrong with her grandmother.

  Was this how Rose would finish out her life? Prancing about in long johns and shouting about the devil?

  Emma felt sick.

  It couldn’t be dementia. It just couldn’t. There had to be some other explanation. Granny Rose had been clear as crystal today until Will’s presentation. Yes, Rose loved the theater and could be overly dramatic. But this was beyond drama.

  The one consolation was that Will didn’t have enough votes for approval to rezone his land. Mayor Larry clearly hated his architectural plans and Emma was taking Rose home before a motion or a vote could take place.

  Emma held Will’s gaze. “Now who’s looking before they leap? Who didn’t think through the repercussions?”

  “I’m sorry,” Will murmured as they passed him.

  Despite seeing the regret in his eyes, Emma couldn’t forgive him.

  In that moment, she understood Will’s bitterness regarding the car accident, the fear of loss, the uncertainty of a loved one’s future.

  She understood and witnessed firsthand the powerful obstacle those feelings created in the path of forgiveness.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  “THAT COULDN’T HAVE gone worse.” Will slid his laptop into his brown leather messenger bag, trying not to think about the bewildered look on Rose’s face when Emma had come to her rescue. His head pounded and he felt like the worst of bullies, even if what he was fighting for would benefit everyone in town, including Rose.

  Right after Emma and her grandmother left, Agnes had moved that they table the issue of rezoning the winery property until a special meeting the following Monday night. Mildred seconded. And Will’s hopes for approval today were crushed beneath the mayor’s gavel. The church had quickly emptied out.

  “Agreed.” Slade smoothed his tie beneath his tailored black suit jacket.

  “Look at the bright side.” Flynn zipped the soft-sided projector case closed. “We didn’t get rejected.”

  “We didn’t get approved,” Slade pointed out.

  “For the love of Mike,” Will’s father, Ben, said in a loud voice. “Why don’t you just say it? You were asked to start a small-town business to inject some life into this place and you turned it into a multimillion-dollar makeover to satisfy your egos. Your plans provoked Rose, who’s never been anything but kind to you boys, not to mention unease in the rest of the crowd. That’s not something to be proud of.”

  Flynn and Slade did the “your dad’s embarrassing me” shuffle, busying themselves with the already-closed projector case. Tracy stared out the window at the fast-approaching night.

  That left Will to defend their proposal. “Dad, you don’t understand what we’re trying to do.”

  “Don’t patronize me like you do the rest of the town. I may belong to AARP, but I’m not stupid. I’m sure once you complete construction of this monstrosity and open for business it’ll make a nice article in one of those business magazines you’re so fond of reading. But by then the heart of this town will be destroyed.”

  Will took a deep breath. “Profits and ego had nothing to do with our plans.”

  “Loss is more like it,” Slade murmured, not at all helpfully.

  His father shook his head. “Tracy, let’s go home.”

  Tracy left without looking at Will.

  His head pounded harder.

  “He’ll come around,” Slade said.

  “And so will Tracy.” Flynn settled his baseball cap on his head.

  “He’s right. Everything was too big. And the mission style? What were we thinking?” Will massaged his temple. Programming impossible code was turning out to be more enjoyable than helping his hometown and providing a future for his sister.

  Flynn tugged his tie loose and slipped it into his jacket pocket. “So? What do we do? Scale back our plans?”

  “Yes.” Will shouldered his laptop bag. “Maybe we go back to the idea of restoring the barn for the main winery and the old farmhouse for the tasting room. We’ll need to let our supporters know about the changes and meet with the rest of the residents.”

  Slade looked grim. “And hope we don’t alienate anyone else.”

  “No sweat.” Flynn shrugged. “People love us.”

  “Most did. Until tonight,” Slade muttered.

  They talked about the situation all the way back to Flynn’s grandfather’s house.

  Edwin was watching Family Feud, but muted the program when he saw them. “Tell me why you have glum faces. I’ve had a few calls, but I want to hear it from you.” He lowered the footrest on his plaid recliner and sat up like the career military man he was, unswerving and ready for action. After they’d recapped the night’s events, he said, “No campaign was ever won without overcoming a few challenges.”

  “A few?” Will had to respect Edwin’s strategic acumen, even if he didn’t feel as optimistic. The old man attacked a goal much the same way Will approached a programming challenge—research, what-if scenarios and a plan for the steps needed to succeed.

  Weeks ago, Edwin had covered the kitchen table with an aerial map of Harmony Valley, highlighting the homes of residents that had committed to them in blue. Undecideds were in yellow. The opposition in orange.

  Rose’s house was very orange.

  “I’m worried about Rose. She was extremely upset.” As was Emma. Will bent over to read the skinny yellow sticky notes Edwin had added to the map while they’d been gone. Each one was planted on a house with a scheduled meeting date and time. Based on the number of houses flagged, Edwin wanted them to continue their door-knocking campaign to woo the town.

  The old soldier leaned heavily on his cane as he walked to the kitchen table, lowering himself carefully into a wooden captain’s chair. “I love this town and these people. But sometimes they get in their own way. Your businesses will be the shot in the arm this place needs. Progress never comes without a price.”

  Will frowned. “Meaning Rose and her composure?”

  “Yes. She and the t
own council have kept this place a sleepy haven for far too long. Tomorrow morning I’ll handle damage control calls to our allies, and you three continue your ambassador visits.” Edwin turned back to the map. “Now, pay attention to these yellow flags. Those are residents that aren’t for or against us. I’ll need you to convince those on the fence that the winery is a good thing. I’ve created a dossier on each yellow resident.” He handed Flynn a lined pad filled with indecipherable scribbles. “Please read them this time.”

  Will, Flynn and Slade exchanged glances.

  Edwin’s strategizing sometimes went too far. Will preferred reacting to people face-to-face, not playing to what Edwin considered their vulnerabilities. The men appreciated his help, but Will didn’t want to get carried away. Besides, guilt drummed insistently at his temples, flaring into regret every time he thought about the look on Rose’s face at the town council meeting. Despite Tracy being priority number one, Will would lose sleep over Rose’s reaction. “Is there anything we can do for Rose?”

  “Don’t chop down the town square’s oak tree?” Slade smiled slyly.

  “And forget that sexy hot spot you planned?” Flynn grinned.

  Will held up his hands in surrender. “Go back to the architectural drawing board?”

  “Forget architects, trees and hot spots. And forget Rose.” Edwin covered Rose’s house on the map with one hand. “Rose is an unbendable force. She’s a rock and we’re the stream that has to move around her.”

  The three friends exchanged silent looks that asked the same question: Was saving Harmony Valley worth upsetting the town’s emotional foundation?

  Will didn’t want to answer that question.

  * * *

  “THAT WAS AGNES.” Emma hung up her grandmother’s rotary phone.

  Agnes had explained to Emma that Rose had suffered several similar episodes at night since the winery project had first come before the town council four weeks ago.

  “Traitor.” Granny Rose paced the living room. Her gaze was as restless as her feet, bouncing about without a target. “Do you think Will blackmailed Agnes to get her support? How else could she look at his plans and not throw him out?”

  Emma didn’t want to think about Will. It’d been an hour since they left the meeting and her grandmother was still upset. Emma couldn’t blame her. The proposed makeover of Harmony Valley was totally wrong. And her grandmother’s uncharacteristic outburst meant all was not right with her health. Emma had to call the doctor in the morning and get Granny Rose evaluated. For the first time since she was a teenager, she regretted that there was no internet here. She’d feel better researching Rose’s symptoms on the web.

  If only she could discuss her condition with Tracy. So much hung on tomorrow morning—Granny Rose’s health, Emma and Tracy’s friendship. Emma wished she was as skilled at putting feelings into words as she was at visually expressing herself through art. It made her meeting with Tracy that much more daunting. What if she said something wrong?

  “Come sit down with me, Granny.”

  “I can’t sit still. We’re under siege.” The pacing continued. Granny Rose scrubbed at her face, turned and paced some more. “Devil take me. I should have known something was up. That computer nerd and his friends have been scurrying around town busier than fleas on a stray dog. And they’re always over at Edwin Blonkowski’s house.”

  Emma couldn’t remember if paranoia was a symptom of dementia. Regardless, in the state Granny Rose was in, she’d never agree to be tested for it. “Granny Rose, Mr. B. is Flynn’s grandfather. He raised Flynn. His house has the best porch on the river. Of course they’re going to hang out there.”

  Her grandmother stopped her pacing in front of Emma, her expression fenced in determined lines. “Edwin was military intelligence. Military intelligence, Emma. He’s masterminded campaigns and coordinated spies in at least three wars. The last time we packed a town council meeting was the recall election of 1982. He was behind the opposition that put Mayor Larry in office. I agreed with Edwin back then, but now...”

  Emma started to argue. Edwin Blonkowski was a big old teddy bear. He’d had an open-door policy with his grandkids and their friends. Emma had sat at his table and eaten cookies after baseball games while he explained old military maps to a group of ten-year-olds. She’d listened to his stories about various wars on his porch. He was... He’d been...brilliant. Maybe her grandmother was right to worry about Edwin.

  But that didn’t mean she was 100 percent healthy. Emma couldn’t overlook Agnes’s comments and Granny Rose’s behavior from the night before. But maybe things weren’t so dire; maybe she could be cautiously hopeful.

  Granny Rose resumed her pacing. “We’re under siege. Under siege and in danger. You should be careful who you talk to. There could be spies everywhere.”

  Unease danced on spider legs down Emma’s spine. She was definitely calling the doctor in the morning. And her mother. The long johns with a tutu. The breakdown at the town council meeting. The James Bond movie theme playing in her head.

  Her grandmother needed a distraction.

  Who was she kidding? Emma needed a distraction.

  She flipped through the records in Granny’s collection and put a disc on the record player. The orchestral strains of “Let Me Entertain You” from Gypsy filled the room. Granny Rose stopped her pacing, tilted her head and closed her eyes. The lines on her forehead smoothed. Her lips curled upward as she drew a breath and sang along.

  Emma sank onto the couch, watching as her grandmother reclaimed her equilibrium. A wave of sadness enveloped her in a cold embrace.

  Tomorrow loomed with questions and answers Emma dreaded hearing from Granny Rose’s doctor.

  And she was finally going to discover if she and Tracy were still friends.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  “WHAT A BEAUTIFUL day,” Granny Rose said cheerfully the next morning, pouring Emma a cup of coffee. She wore white slacks, a crimson button-down cotton shirt and snowy Princess Leia braids over each ear. The agitation and paranoia of the night before were gone. “Our garden club is going to the San Francisco Botanical Garden. Although there might be a shower or two here today, the weather in the city will be spectacular.”

  “No!” The word burst out of Emma with a heave that sent her stomach pitching in panic. She’d tossed and turned all night waiting until morning came. “I need you here while I make phone calls.” To her mother and the doctor. “And what about the winery initiative? Are you giving up the fight?”

  “I’m not taking a day off. I’m picking my battles and my battlefield.” Granny Rose set Emma’s coffee cup on the table and then sat down opposite her, so calm and unlike the restless, suspicious woman from the night before. “Besides, Will’s not getting my vote. I made that very clear last night.”

  “He won’t back down.”

  Granny Rose laughed. “Will can’t get anything approved without three votes. It’s a stalemate. Larry and me versus Agnes and Mildred.”

  “What if Larry caves in?”

  “He won’t.”

  “What if he does?”

  “Mildred is practically blind. She couldn’t see how wrong Will’s ideas were. She’s in charge of the Spring Festival. Where will she hold it if the town square becomes the size of her carport? Besides, Agnes and Mildred are going into the city with me today.” Granny Rose came over to hug Emma, bringing the scent of rose water with her. “Who knows? I could sway them back to no growth. It’s a long car ride. What are you doing after you visit with Tracy? Something creative I hope.” She pulled out a coloring book from beneath a stack of mail on the table and pushed it toward Emma. Her grandmother had scattered the books around the house, believing the simplest creative exercise fed deeper artistic expression.

  With a sigh, Emma dutifully flipped through the coloring book, recognizing some of the pag
es she’d meticulously filled in when she was younger. Much, much younger.

  When she held the coloring book, Emma didn’t feel the same trepidation she did when she held a paintbrush. A small victory over fear, but a victory nonetheless. Suddenly, she was reluctant to let the book go. She could feel a crayon or pencil inside the newsprint pages and was struck with the urge to color something.

  “Don’t look like it’s the end of the world. That dear girl will forgive you. I know it. Now, I hope you make time for your muse.” Granny Rose took one of Emma’s hands in hers. “I look forward to seeing what you’ve done when I get back. It’s been too long since the world has experienced an Emma Willoughby work of art.”

  The world would have to wait a lot longer.

  Someone honked in the driveway.

  “That’ll be Agnes.” Granny gathered her purse and camera. “I’ll be back in time to make dinner. Toodles!”

  After finishing her coffee, Emma took out the bike. But instead of heading for Parish Hill, where she might encounter Will, she rode out East Street and crisscrossed town. She needed some exercise before making her calls. And she hoped the ride would calm her nerves before she went to see Tracy.

  Emma pedaled past abandoned homes with knee-high weeds in front, past tidy vineyards and green pastures filled with plump sheep, past charming little houses with flowers blooming around garden gnomes and plaster fairies. The houses in Harmony Valley were a hodgepodge of eras and styles—Victorian, arts-and-crafts bungalows, cottages and the more recent one-story ranch-style home. But none of them looked like a corporate California mission.

  If Will had his way, the character of the town would change into something sterile and soulless. If Will had his way, Emma’s well of inspiration would be poisoned, and she and Tracy would never rekindle their friendship.