Betwixt Two Hearts (Crossroads Collection)

by Amanda Tru

  He watched her pull on her coat as she walked out the door. He wanted to say something, but not the wrong thing, so he said nothing.

  “Hey, Sis! How are things going up there in the frozen tundra?”

  “Hi, Soren.” Eleanor tapped the speaker button and handed the phone to Aunt Violet. “I’m putting you on speaker, because I’m driving. Is everyone okay there?” She couldn’t remember the last time she’d talked to Soren on the phone.

  “Everyone’s good. Missing you. When are you coming back to civilization?”

  “I’ll be there for the anniversary party! I’m looking forward to it.” That wasn’t what he meant, of course.

  “I called to let you know there’s a professional development workshop coming up on Saturday, in Minnetonka. I’m not sure of all the details, but you’ll be able to pick up some of the clock hours you need in mental illness, suicide prevention and positive behavioral intervention. I’ll email you the link. It’s sponsored by Westerfield, so you’d be able to meet some of the administration there.”

  Eleanor rolled her eyes. “Golly, Soren, that sounds like a lot of fun, but I don’t think I’ll be able to make it.”

  Aunt Violet snorted.

  “I’ll send you the link. I know you have a couple years before renewal, but it would be a good opportunity to make some connections.”

  “I’m going to be busy all day Saturday,” Eleanor said. “Soren, we just arrived at church, so I’m going to hang up now.”

  “Who’s with you?”

  “Aunt Violet. You’re on speaker phone. Say hello, Aunt Violet.” Eleanor grinned, wishing they had time for a nice long discussion of family history. It would serve him right.

  “Hello, Aunt Violet! How are you?”

  “I’m very good, Soren. How are you?”

  “Never better. I hope you ladies have a good Sunday. Eleanor, don’t forget the workshop. You can sign up at the door, but it’s best to register ahead of time.”

  “I’m not going, Soren.”

  “Just think about it, Ellie. Talk to you later. Bye!”

  Had Aunt Violet told the pastor what to say? A spurt of outrage subsided when she remembered that her aunt didn’t know about Betwixt. The whole message was obviously aimed specifically at her, though.

  She wasn’t arrogant—not proud, like the pastor said. She knew she didn’t always do the right thing, but she tried. She was an honest person, except for little white lies like telling Soren she wasn’t available on Saturday, or telling Brittany her new sweater was pretty. Or shading the truth on that matchmaking agency application, trying to game the algorithm. It had worked. She got exactly the kind of man she wanted.

  But the Lord weighs the heart. Not only had it been bad because it hurt David, it was wrong because God saw her heart and knew her intentions. She was so self-centered that she hadn’t considered how her actions would affect the man she was matched with…

  “A person may think their own ways are right, but the Lord weighs the heart.” The pastor leaned over the pulpit. “Let’s say you’ve done something. Something kind of bad… it doesn’t have to be terribly wicked. You failed to send your mother a birthday gift. On the day of her birthday, you only remember because you see it on Facebook!”

  A ripple of amusement stirred the congregation. He continued. “At this point, you should probably post a birthday greeting on Facebook, preferably one of those long messages about having the best mother in the world. That’s a good starting point. You can call her. You can call a florist and have flowers delivered. Probably, you’re coming up with some good excuses for the lack of a present. You had to work late and couldn’t get to the store. You’re low on cash. You didn’t know what she wanted. She always tells you not to get her anything, anyhow.

  “But where was your heart? You just plain forgot, maybe because you didn’t care enough to put it in your phone. Or, if you thought about it earlier in the week, it never became a priority. Maybe you were saving your money for a new television. Maybe you’re mad because she did something you didn’t like. God sees your heart. He weighs it. He knows the truth—and your mom probably does, too.”

  The pastor chuckled. “That’s a pretty silly analogy, but I think you can see what I mean. A person may think their own ways are right. Those excuses you came up with? They weren’t only for her. You were busy justifying your behavior. Coming up with rational reasons for your actions. But the Lord wasn’t interested in your excuses. He’s weighing your heart. Very few of us have pure hearts. The heart is deceitful and desperately wicked. Who can know it? God can. He knows your heart.

  Eleanor gathered up her belongings as soon as the last song ended, smiling brightly at Aunt Violet. “I’m going to use the bathroom, and then I’ll bring the car around front.”

  “No hurry, Dear. I’m going to talk to Constance for a few minutes.”

  How could that pastor make assumptions about her motivations? He didn’t even know her. She shook her head, suddenly aware of the absurdity of her attitude. If anyone had told the pastor what to say, it must have been God. Had she thought her own way was right when she filled out that application? Yes, it made sense to her. Had her heart been pure? No. And God knew.

  But it was pretty hypocritical of the pastor to say doing the right thing was more acceptable than sacrifice just before he passed the offering plate.

  “How are you ladies doing?”

  Uncle Carl reminded her of his brother—cheerful, energetic, and kind. Eleanor wished she’d known them better, earlier in life. She liked it here.

  “We’re good,” Violet said. “I was just telling Constance that we’re not going to the nursing home today. Olof’s getting a lot of company today, and I didn’t sleep well last night. I’m going to treat myself to a Sunday afternoon nap.”

  “Good idea.” Carl turned to his wife. “Can I do that?”

  “Certainly, right after we get home from seeing Uncle Olof.”

  Carl turned to Eleanor. “Gary tells me you’re keeping the business afloat while he’s in there.”

  “I’m trying. He’s very patient with me.”

  “He says you’re doing great.” He clapped her on the shoulder and looked at his wife. “Every time I go there, he complains about Cheryl. He says she’s abusing him.”

  Constance chuckled. “Physical therapy is hard work. I’m glad she’s back. We should have her over for dinner one night soon.”

  “Larry!” David hurried across the parking lot. “Are you going to be at the Y for basketball this afternoon?”

  “I wasn’t planning on it. Did you need me?”

  “I’d be grateful if you’d come.” David said. “There’s a boy there… I’m a little worried about him, and I don’t have time to talk to him while I’m coaching. I was hoping you could come by and chat with him.”

  Larry shook his head. “I should just set up one of those booths like Lucy had in the Peanuts cartoons. ‘Psychiatric help. Five cents.’”

  “I’ve got five cents.” David made a show of digging in his pockets. “Maybe even a dollar. Most of those guys could use a listening ear. I thought the basketball would be a good outreach, and I’d be able to help the kids, maybe draw them in to some of the youth activities at church, but now I’m running the program and don’t even have time to talk to the boys.”

  Larry looked at his watch. “How could I resist that appeal? Sure, I’ll be there. But if you want to help them, get yourself some volunteers to help with the coaching, so you can have more one-on-one time with the kids.”

  “Thanks, Larry.” David hesitated. “You know, I haven’t seen Angela at work in the last few days. Do you know if she’s okay? I thought I’d ask you before asking Cal.”

  “You should ask Cal.”

  That was interesting. David nodded. It might mean that Angela had become a client, or Angela might be in trouble, or maybe Larry just didn’t want to gossip. Maybe he just didn’t know. David hoped she was okay.

  “Encore, encore!
”

  Eleanor grinned. It was a sing-along, not a performance. They just wanted to keep singing. She looked at Gary. “Do we do encores?

  “It’s up to you, kiddo.”

  She leafed through her songbook. “How about ‘Michael, Row Your Boat Ashore’ and then ‘Take Me Out to the Ballgame’? I know those pretty well.”

  “Sounds good. We’ll get everyone good and riled up before lunch.”

  Uncle Gary didn’t believe in paperless offices. Right now, his office was a tiny bedroom in a nursing home — a rehabilitation center. In addition to his tablet and laptop, he had a printer/fax machine, a portable scanner, and a wastebasket. A dry erase board leaned against the window, and a small file cabinet had replaced the original bedside table.

  “Did you bring me that phone book?”

  Eleanor pulled it from her bag. “I did, and the portfolio, too.”

  “Thanks. Set the phone book over there by the catalogs and bring me the portfolio.”

  “You know, Uncle Gary, you never used half this stuff when you were in the office.” She picked up a pad of sticky notes. “I’ve never seen you use a sticky note. I don’t know why you wanted a calculator, either; you always use the one on your phone or computer.”

  He peered over his glasses at her. “You young people are so disrespectful. I might need it, and I can’t be calling you in the middle of the night to bring me a sticky note.”

  “In case you need a sticky note in the middle of the night?”

  “Be prepared.” He closed the portfolio and held it on his lap. “Would you be willing to take this out to a job site for me? The guy’s only going to be in town on Friday, and I want him to see these projects I’ve been doing with Ridgewell. You met David Reid in the hospital.”

  “He came to help us when you had your accident, remember? I’ve met him a few times, now.”

  “Really! He seems like a good guy. So, the man at the job site is John Frans. I’ll give him a call to tell him you’re coming.”

  Ten minutes later, Eleanor hitched her computer bag over her shoulder and accepted the portfolio from her uncle. “Do I need a hard hat at the job site?”

  “Yes, you do. I’ve got a few of them around. Maybe we should just order you one of your own.”

  She’d like a hard hat of her own. Pink would be silly; maybe a light blue.

  Gary spoke as she stopped in the doorway. “You’re doing a great job here, Ellie. If you’re still here by summer and want to stick it out, I’ve got a permanent place for you. It’s like this—mostly take-offs in the winter and office work in the summer, but if we start getting more of the Ridgewell projects, or things like that, we’ll be working with new materials and suppliers. More crew. It would pay a little more than what you’re getting now.” He grinned. “Nothing like you’d make as a teacher, and the benefits aren’t that good, but think about it. I’d be glad to have you.

  Eleanor hummed as she rounded the corner of the house and let herself into the annex, pretending she was the 10-year-old Kathy, returning to this big crowded house after school every day. Instead of Aunt Violet, Grandma would have been here, ready to greet her children with cookies and milk.

  Actually, Grandma was probably busy sewing when they got home, just like Aunt Violet was doing now. Eleanor found her in the quilting room, removing Karl’s quilt from the frame.

  “Is it all done?”

  Violet nodded without speaking. She folded the quilt and carried it across the hall to the sewing room. Eleanor hesitated. Did Violet want to be left alone, or did she want company. It would be better to have company when you wanted to be alone—after all, you could send people away—than to be alone when you wanted to have someone there with you.

  Her phone rang. Eleanor sighed. Having reached such a philosophical conclusion, she couldn’t send her mother to voice mail.

  “Hello, Mom!”

  “Hi, there. How are you? I haven’t talked to you in a while.”

  “Oh, busy. Gary’s still laid up. He’s supposed to be there for at least another four weeks, so we’re running everything from two locations. I’m glad he’s able to do his rehab in Milaca instead of St. Cloud.” Eleanor poured herself a glass of water and sniffed at the beef stew Aunt Violet had made for dinner. “The nursing home is between here and the office.”

  “That’s nice,” Kathy said. “I was calling to let you know that Westerfield is hosting a Professional Development workshop. It’s on Saturday, and it looks good. I thought we could go together.”

  “Soren told me about that. I’m not planning on going, Mom.”

  “You’re going to need the clock hours for re-licensure. This would be a good place to get some of them.”

  Eleanor sat and propped her elbows on the table. “Mom, I still have two years on my license. If I decide to renew it, I have plenty of time to get the credits I need.”

  “You don’t want to wait until the last minute,” her mother warned her. “Look it up online. I’ll send you the link.”

  “Are you sure we’re going to finish this in time?” Eleanor rose and stretched. It should have been a comfortable chair, but she sat with every muscle tensed, hunched ten inches from the sewing machine, not blinking as she sewed. “We haven’t finished a single block yet, and we only have three weeks left. I wish I had more time to work on it.” At the nursing home, Gary made lists and scheduled her day, and she was still busy at the office, keeping track of everything. One of his crew had quit, and the staff at the nursing home had flatly refused to let him do job interviews in their conference room.

  Here at home, she worked on the quilt under the gimlet eye of Aunt Violet and tried not to think about her wretched treatment of David.

  “We’ll finish it on Saturday,” Violet said, “so you’ll be busy all day Saturday. Hand me those scissors, will you please?”

  Busy all day Saturday. Eleanor handed the scissors to her aunt. Violet didn’t meet her eyes.

  “This old rayon doesn’t hold up very well. The armholes are already frayed.” Violet laid the pink dress across the cutting table.

  Was she really going to cut that up? Eleanor started to object and then fell silent. If Marlys didn’t want it, who would?

  “That was Molly’s wedding dress?”

  “Yes.” Violet’s terse response didn’t invite further comment. “You need to press those outward now.”

  Eleanor complied, watching her aunt while she waited for the iron to get hot. It would be natural for an elderly, unmarried woman to care about her extended family. Her nieces and nephews were the closest thing she had to children of her own. She’d even lived with them from the time they were born.

  “Marlys sent all sorts of things in that box,” Violet said. “Some of it must have come from her mother’s family. I think she was just downsizing and unloaded it all on me.”

  She was probably the only one who would take it. Eleanor walked over to the table. The limp fabric didn’t look like a wedding dress. If she hadn’t seen the photograph, she wouldn’t have been able to imagine it as a dress at all.

  “She must have been tiny.”

  Violet nodded. “She was, but she was a spitfire. She could hold her own with Axel. I always felt sorry for her students.”

  “She was a teacher?”

  “For nearly fifty years,” Violet said, “until they sold the feed mill and moved to Florida.”

  “Three years was enough for me. Was she a mentor for my mother, too, like Maybel Furster?”

  “Oh, no. Molly wasn’t a mentor to anyone, and she was especially strict with your mom and the others. Maria tried to get them reassigned, but there was only one classroom for each grade level. Of course, it was probably hard on Molly, to have her twelve-year-old nephews in her classroom, too.” A fond smile curved Violet’s lips. “Those boys were mischievous.”

  “Gary and Carl? I bet they were.”

  “And Scott,” Violet said. “Colleen could be a handful, too, but your mom was always well-behave
d. Is that your phone?”

  “It’s Laurie. She can leave a message.”

  Aunt Violet raised her brows. “You can take a break to talk to her, if you want to.”

  “I don’t. I know exactly what she’s calling for. The same thing Mom and Soren called about—a continuing education workshop there in the cities. I’m not going.”

  “I see. The iron should be hot now.”

  Eleanor obediently returned to the ironing board. “What else was in the box? Did you get the pictures?”

  “Yes, but I had most of them already. There were some letters and a notebook that belonged to Kristina, but I set those aside for now. Then she sent some other things that couldn’t have belonged to us: a packet of postcards, a little wooden box with cigarettes in it, a pocket watch and a locket with an old picture of a man and woman. No one I know. There were some other things, too, that might have been Axel’s after he moved to Florida.”

  “But you don’t think the postcards and cigarettes were? And the pocket watch?” Eleanor used the side of the iron to push open the triangles. The pink and gray fabrics were perfect for her mother.

  “No. They look older—from the 40’s, maybe, and I think the inscription on the pocket watch is German. The postcards have churches and towns that look German, too.”

  “Maybe they’re souvenirs of the war,” Eleanor said. “Soldiers brought home all sorts of stuff after both world wars, didn’t they?”

  “Not our soldiers.”

  Eleanor shut her eyes. That was probably the single most insensitive comment she’d made in her entire life.

  Violet went on before she could think of a way to apologize. “Axel was very prejudiced against Germans. He would have burned these things, not saved them.” She sighed. “The war was hard on Axel. He was just 13 when Hans and Karl died. His big brothers. All his life, he wouldn’t even be polite if he thought someone might be German. He wouldn’t shake their hand or wait on them at the feed mill. No, these things belonged to someone else.”