Missing in Lavender: A Time Travel Romance (Lavender, Texas series Book 6)

by Barbara Bartholomew

  Well! They couldn’t have forgotten her birthday. Evan had congratulated her at breakfast this morning and Sylvie had mentioned it this afternoon. Instead of feeling sorry that her birthday was not being honored in this family that was very big on birthdays and other celebrations, Esther tried to figure out what was going on.

  She looked suspiciously around at the family: Grandpapa Forrest, white-haired and distinguished looking; Dr. Evan, beginning to go a little gray but handsome as ever, his loving gaze fixed on his wife; Cynthia, like Esther she didn’t seem to be losing the color in her brown hair, either that or she was dyeing it; and sprightly Sylvie, the spoiled darling of the whole family. She read nothing in any of their faces of a surprise about to be sprung.

  And, of course, if a party was planned, Betsy and her family would be here. Even Eddie and Zan, who lived in that other place, came as often as they could. And Dottie wouldn’t have gone home early from her work as housekeeper and cook at the Crockett Street house.

  Zan, looking harassed and tense, had gone into a huddle with Evan and Lynne Caldecott, no doubt divulging the latest news about their son, before the meal began and now the three of them had little to say.

  She listened to Cynthia talking about the new baby she’d delivered that day and Forrest detail plans for redoing the displays at the downtown store he still owned, though it was managed by others, and told herself she was glad—yes, really glad—that her family had finally listened to her demands that she really preferred to ignore her birthday. No more celebrations. No more surprise parties that weren’t really a surprise.

  After supper, Forrest suggested they take a walk since it was such a beautiful summer afternoon and since this was something they did two or three times a week, she agreed, and taking her bonnet to shade her from the declining sun, she stepped out on the wide front porch with him and they headed past the flower rich yards of their neighbors, heading downtown.

  Lavender’s downtown shops circled the city park where a band stand provided performances of the joint school-community band and the high school featured an auditorium large enough to seat the entire community. Esther frowned when she saw that the square swarmed with horses, buggies and wagons, all of them setting still or, in the case of the horses, tied in place.

  “Didn’t know anything was going on tonight,” she said, but before she could speculate further, Forrest led the way up to the front door of the school and as they stepped into the wide hallway that opened to the auditorium, people began to clap and cheer.

  Forrest grinned foolishly at her, looking years younger than his actual advanced age. “Happy Birthday, Esther.”

  Betsy Carr watched from the stage as her twins Ben and Emilee ran down the aisle to be the first to welcome Mrs. Myers, shrieking their welcome to the woman they thought of as an extra grandmother.

  Grandpapa Forrest led the guest of honor to her seat in the middle of the front row of the auditorium. The younger twin, Emilee got to sit in her lap, while Ben chose to honor his great-grandfather by edging into the seat between him and Mrs. Myers.

  Birthday greetings subsided as Betsy stepped forward to begin the official celebration. “Usually I begin with my stories,” she told her friends and neighbors, “but tonight my sister will start us off with a very special history.”

  The crowd applauded politely, though Betsy hoped Eddie didn’t realize that they were a little less enthusiastic about a history lesson than a storytelling session. Still a visit from Eddie and Alexander , her sister and brother-in-law who only came to Lavender now and then in the midst of their exciting lives, was always a big event. And for Mrs. Myers’ sake, tonight they would try to set aside their continuing worry about the missing Jerry Caldecott.

  The applause increased as Eddie, still rather reserved even after all her years of world travel, stepped forward. Smile, Betsy wanted to say, but her sister never smiled easily. Instead her eyes searched the audience until she saw her husband, seated near the back beside Betsy’s Caleb. Her gaze met Zan’s and she seemed to draw confidence.

  Even so her voice seemed to quaver slightly with her first words, gaining assurance as she went along.

  “This history is a little different from the ones I usually tell you,” she said. “It’s the story of someone we all love, particularly the members of our family. We are here tonight to honor the birthday of Esther Myers.”

  Mrs. Myers sat in her seat, her oval face showing decided uneasiness. For the first time, Betsy wondered if this was a really good idea. Sylvie had seemed so sure. She said their housekeeper and second mother needed a boost. She was bored with retirement life and the sameness of everything.

  But now, seeing the dismay on that familiar face, she wondered if they hadn’t made a mistake.

  In the meantime Eddie’s light voice continued, the people in the back having to lean forward to hear her words. Betsy had urged her step-sister to speak as loudly as she could so the sound would carry throughout the big auditorium. But Eddie wasn’t much given to shouting.

  “Esther Fredericks was born in the town of Korn, which at that time was about fifty miles from our Lavender. A town settled by German emigrants, it had many of the virtues of those hard-working people with their neat houses, good farms, and large barns.” For the first time Eddie smiled straight into the face of the woman who had raised her after her mother left Lavender.

  “That’s probably why she grew up to become the world’s best cook, all that early training. She went to school in Korn and, of course, made the best grades in her class. When she graduated, she married her high school sweetheart, Herbert Myers, and they had two children, both daughters.”

  Betsy’s focused gaze drifted

  Betsy’s focused gaze drifted. Mrs. Myers had lost both her daughters, but she had three granddaughters and several great-grandchildren, all in the audience.

  Eddie’s voice dropped lower and she added, “It was after she was widowed when her girls were still young that Esther Myers moved her family to Lavender to work for our family. She has been a great blessing to all of us.” She smiled directly at the woman being honored. “Happy birthday from all of Lavender, Mrs. Myers.”

  With obvious thankfulness, Eddie turned and went back to her chair, joining in the applause that once again directed itself at Mrs. Myers.

  She stood, looking, Betsy thought with a start, more relieved than pleased. If she hadn’t known better, she would have thought that their dear old friend had been afraid of what her sister’s history would reveal. When she sat back down, she patted the hand of the young visitor as though she’d already accepted McKinley Alva as an extra granddaughter and wanted to make her comfortable among all these strangers.

  After the clapping and congratulations died away, Betsy rose to do her own part in the celebration. In a community, locked away in the early twentieth century while the rest of the world moved swiftly into what Eddie told her was a fearful future, that had little in the way of books or other entertainment not produced here in town, her role as Lavender’s storyteller was much appreciated.

  Now she told the story she’d made up especially for the occasion, a magical, grownup fairytale about a girl named Esther who had taken the town of Lavender by storm and ended up being twice elected mayor and winning several awards for being the school’s most active volunteer. It wasn’t the real story of Esther Myers’ life, but it was funny and unexpected and she soon had everybody laughing and hanging on to her every word.

  To her relief, Mrs. Myers seemed to be enjoying the tale as much as anyone. Whatever it was that had so alarmed her for those first few minutes had vanished.

  Chapter Seven

  After all the goodies brought by their neighbors, including Mrs. Myers’ favorite butter cream cake baked by her granddaughter Dottie, had been served and while the others lingered to chat, Eddie came up to her sister, drawing her into a corner where they could talk in privacy.

  “Sorry, Betsy,” the dark-haired woman apologized. Eddie, the daughter
of Evan Stephens, and Betsy, Cynthia Burden’s daughter, had become sisters after their parents married. Golden-haired extroverted Betsy and quiet, adventurous Eddie had little in common, but had become the best of friends. Now in their late twenties, they lived very different lives, but saw each other regularly when Betsy brought Eddie and her husband across for regular visits in Lavender.

  “Sorry about what?” Betsy asked, nibbling at a piece of homemade candy and at the same time checking to see that her youngsters were in good hands. They were with Mrs. Myers and their grandmother so couldn’t be safer so she focused total attention on Eddie.

  “Cutting the history short. I don’t know if you noticed, but it was making Mrs. Myers nervous hearing about her own past, so I presented the basics and moved on to your story.”

  “And here I thought you just got stage fright,” Betsy teased, bringing a flush to Eddie’s face. She did indeed find it hard to face an audience, but knowing the need for Lavender to learn about its history, still persisted in taking her part in these presentations. Gifted with a remarkable memory, she could read or hear something once and recite the full account for the benefit of her hearers.

  “No, Betsy, that wasn’t it . . .”

  “I know,” Betsy soothed. “I saw it too. She was getting itchy as though afraid of what you were going to say next. But what could have happened in her past that she was afraid you were going to tell?”

  Eddie shrugged. “I guess we’re all embarrassed by some of our memories. I know I am.”

  “You mean like the time you tripped over Joey Peterson’s feet at school and spilled ink all over the teacher?”

  From then on the conversation turned to their mutual childhood, full of pranks and mischief when they’d been the bane of Mrs. Myers who was determined to bring them up to be a credit to their families

  After all who could imagine their beloved Mrs. Myers as having anything in the past that she would seriously want to hide.

  Esther Myers was practically grandmother to the whole community, witness the attendance tonight for her birthday celebration.

  It wasn’t until they were gathering to go home that Betsy thought to ask, “But what did you find that could have upset Mrs. Myers? Did she forget to return her library books or get a ticket for jay-walking?”

  Eddie didn’t smile at the intended humor. “Nothing like that.”

  Betsy frowned. “You mean nothing trivial?” She gave her sister a little push. “Come on, Eddie, you’re being deliberately provocative. You know our Mrs. Myers never did anything in her life to cause talk.”

  She didn’t get a chance to pursue the topic further because just then Emilee, exhausted by the long and exciting evening and way past her usual bedtime, chose that moment for a total, leg-kicking, screaming meltdown and Betsy had no choice but to focus all her attention on helping her husband get the children out to their buggy and headed for their farm home just out of town.

  Esther lay awake a long time that night, caught up in memories of days long dismissed from active thought. Most of the time it seemed to her that her life before Lavender had happened to someone else, a young woman with two children and a husband, with parents and sisters and cousins, with whom she could sympathize, but no longer think of as herself.

  How black and white her ideas had been. How sure of herself she’d been. Well, that was all gone now and she’d lived a different life since then with her daughters and their daughters and now the great-grandbabies. And the Stephens whom she loved as her own had given her a great big wonderful family to replace the ones she’d been forced to leave behind. God forgive her, she’d had no choice, not for her own sake or for Ruth and Laura, her babies who had both been so young when she’d yanked them away from home and kin.

  Thank goodness they’d been too young to remember.

  Finally, exhausted and in a rare black mood after feeling her brain whirl around in her head until it was a wonder it didn’t rattle, she reached to her bedside table for the gift Eddie had brought across from that other time for her.

  Esther had a weakness for the mystery books that Eddie brought as an occasional treat for members of the family. She especially enjoyed the ones written by that English lady, Agatha Christie.

  Eddie said she was real popular and Esther liked her stories of grand houses and people who lived a life so different than the one she knew in Lavender.

  She supposed that was the way it was in that world where her young friends, Warne and Violet, had gone to live. She hoped so. It seemed like a nice enough place.

  She finally went to sleep to dream, not of her own past, but of Mrs. Christie’s characters in Murder in the Vicarage. She’d quickly brushed past the copyright date in the front of the book which clearly indicated that the book had been published years after her own lifetime, and became involved with the character of Miss Jane Marple, a lady who reminded her in some ways of herself.

  Miss Marple would never have allowed herself to be left to live out her life in a rocking chair. She was too interested in everything that was going on around her.

  Sometime in the night, Esther, wakened to the sound of soft weeping and got up, thinking that Sylvie across the hall must be having a nightmare.

  When she tiptoed to the other bedroom to push the door open a crack, she found that it was the other girl sobbing in her sleep, and moving quietly past Sylvie’s bed, went to rest a work-roughened hand against Mac’s ruffled hair. “It’s all right, honey,” she whispered, much as she would have to her granddaughter, and was pleased to see that, without wakening, the girl seemed to relax and sink into deeper sleep. Jerry had told her that the poor mite had grown up in a children’s home without family of her own. Well she would see to it that she began to realize she had family now even if it was just a useless old grandma.

  Somewhat comforted as always by looking after a young someone, Esther slept and rose in the morning refreshed, ready to join the family for breakfast with plans firming in her mind.

  Forrest Stephens, patriarch of the family, looked around with considerable satisfaction at this larger than usual gathering of his family. His son and daughter-in-law, Evan and Cynthia, had declared today an official holiday and would be available for emergencies only in their roles as the town’s leading physicians, but thanks to their training of a couple of younger men, no longer the only doctors in Lavender.

  Now Evan was in a serious discussion with his young grandson, Ben, while both waited for their plates of the pancakes Dottie was already serving with Sylvie’s help at the other end of the table. His wife, trying to listen to everyone at once, cut up the first pancake served to his twin and, thanks to the vagaries of their birth, younger sister, round-faced, dimpled Emilee, who looked so much like her mother.

  Betsy and Caleb, who had got up before dawn to tend the animals on their farm and drive in to join the others, sparred verbally with Eddie and Zan like contentious brothers and sisters, an enjoyment that would only be too brief, considering that urgent affairs demanded the two visitors must leave Lavender late this afternoon.

  Eddie had refused to allow her husband to leave without her and Zan, as always, found it so hard to get by without her that he’d given in after a tempestuous argument and her agreement that she would do everything possible to keep herself safe.

  Quiet little Mac had pleaded to be allowed to accompany them, but Zan had been snappish with her and Eddie told her they’d do much better at recovering Jerry if they didn’t have to worry about her as well.

  It was a rare family gathering and Forrest determined to enjoy every minute of it, though now and then he cast a worried glance at Esther, his long-time friend and employee, who seemed preoccupied with her own thoughts as she bade her granddaughter good morning, accepted a kiss from the demonstrative Sylvie who wished her a happy day after her birthday, and seated herself in the chair saved for her between her other two girls, Betsy and Eddie.

  Eddie greeted her with what seemed a reassuring smile, but Betsy grinned mis
chievously at her. “After last night, she’ll never go back to being her modest, unassuming self,” she told the others. “I present the infamous Mrs. Esther Myers.”

  Esther did not seem an iota disturbed and Forrest wondered if he’d imagined what he’d thought was uneasiness he’d seen in her last night. He of all of them here, knew something of the background of her life in Korn before she came to Lavender. He glanced at Eddie with some concern. Thought perhaps Eddie in her research and her ability to visit that old hometown of Esther’s had learned more than her foster grandmother would have wanted her to know.

  But Esther didn’t seem worried this morning and that was what counted.

  “I have plans,” Mrs. Myers might have meant to address herself only to Betsy and Eddie, but the whole table full of family was suddenly listening. “It came to me while I was reading that book you gave me for my birthday, Eddie. I’m going to become a detective like Miss Jane Marple.”

  Forrest choked on his bite of pancake. When he’d swallowed, taken a gulp of his coffee, and was able to speak again, he said, “But Esther, we don’t have murders in Lavender. The worst that happens is having a few kids mix it up on Saturday night and the constables are able to take care of that.”

  “Since Warne left, nothing has been the same. We have crime, Forrest, and Harlan Crombacher and Dean Harless are hardly up to that kind of policing.”

  “Yeah, Grandpapa,” Sylvie interjected, plopping another pancake on his plate. “You should appoint Mama Myers as the town’s official Jane Marble.”

  “Not Marble, dear,” Esther corrected. “Marple. But, Forrest, I really think the title should be investigator. And I don’t expect we will be talking about murder, not here in Lavender, but there are serious crimes that need looking into on occasion. Sometimes it is better for the truth to be brought out, rather than lying buried while the lives of those involved are torn apart by gossip and supposition.”