Chasing
THE Wind
Chasing
THE Wind
PATRICIA H. RUSHFORD
Stories from Hope Haven is a trademark of Guideposts.
Copyright © 2010 by Guideposts. All rights reserved.
No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the written permission of the publisher. Inquiries should be addressed to Guideposts, ATTN: Rights & Permissions Department, 16 E. 34th St., New York, NY 10016.
The characters, events and medical situations in this book are fictional, and any resemblance to actual persons or occurrences is coincidental.
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Interior design by Lorie Pagnozzi
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10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
To my husband, Ron, and all the years and
tears and joy we’ve shared together.
The Best Medicine by Anne Marie Rodgers
Chasing the Wind by Patricia H. Rushford
Hope for Tomorrow by Patti Berg
Strength in Numbers by Charlotte Carter
A Simple Act of Kindness by Pam Hanson & Barbara Andrews
The Heart of the Matter by Leslie Gould
Well Wishes by Anne Marie Rodgers
Measure of Faith by Patricia H. Rushford
Cherished Memories by Patti Berg
Christmas Miracles by Charlotte Carter
The Healing Touch by Pam Hanson & Barbara Andrews
Lean on Me by Leslie Gould
Special Blessings by Anne Marie Rodgers
With Open Arms by Patricia H. Rushford
In This Together by Patti Berg
New Beginnings by Charlotte Carter
Acknowledgments
Thanks to my writer friends for their brainstorming help as well as their constant support. And thank you for the help and support of my fellow Guideposts authors and editors.
Chapter One
OUCH!”
Anabelle Scott glanced over at her friend and quilting buddy, Genna, who stuck her thumb in her mouth. “Are you okay?”
Genevieve Hamilton pulled her thumb out and examined it. “I’m fine. Just another pinprick.”
“I’m sorry.”
Genna reached into her sewing box for a bandage. “What’s a quilt without a little bloodstain?”
Anabelle chuckled and went back to pinning her three quilt layers—the top, batting and back—together. Once she’d finished the pinning, she would do a meandering freestyle stitch on her sewing machine to quilt the layers together. They were working in Anabelle’s upstairs studio on charity quilts with two other women: her eldest daughter, Ainslee, and Pricilla Nordberg, their friend and a longtime quilter.
The Deerford Quilting Guild, one of the best guilds in Illinois, donated hundreds of quilts yearly to various service organizations in Bureau County and to soldiers overseas. They had recently received a truckload of fabrics from one of the major fabric companies, many of them designed for children.
This weekend, the women were focusing their efforts on quilts for abused children. Anabelle loved working on the project. Not only did she adore kids, but she also did whatever she could to protect them.
The women had been at it all weekend, stopping only to eat, sleep and go to church. Their efforts had produced four completed quilts, six that needed more work, and forty pre-packed kits to distribute at the guild’s monthly meeting.
The kits contained enough material to make various sized quilts. Members of the quilt guild picked up the kits with a promise to return them within six months. Once they finished the top and back, Anabelle or one of the other women machine-sewed various patterns on the quilt. Some of the more traditional quilters sewed their patterns by hand.
Anabelle preferred stitching freehand on her Pfaff Creative Vision. She’d given up hand quilting several years before when she’d developed arthritic pain in her right hand and wrist.
Straightening, Anabelle rubbed her back. “Much as I hate to quit, I think we’d better call it a day.”
Genna looked up at the wall clock and sighed. “You’re right. I’d best head home. The good doctor will be wanting dinner soon.”
“You tell Drew he needs to be patient.”
“Ha. He doesn’t know the meaning of the word.” She sobered. “If he isn’t careful he just might become a patient.”
“What do you mean?” Anabelle frowned. “Is he sick?” Dr. Drew Hamilton worked at Hope Haven as a general surgeon. Anabelle had a special fondness for Doctor Drew. Not only did she like working with him, twelve years ago he’d saved her daughter Kirstie’s life. And for that she would be eternally grateful.
“Not sick exactly.” Genna went on. “He’s been antsy lately and grumpy. I told him he needed to go in for a checkup, but you know doctors—”
“Make the worst patients.” Anabelle completed the sentence and added, “Next to nurses.” Being a nurse herself, she spoke from experience. “He looked fine when I saw him on Friday.”
Genna placed her hand on Anabelle’s arm. “Do me a favor and keep an eye on him tomorrow, okay? I’m probably just imagining things, but he’s got me worried.”
“I will. Maybe I can urge him to see someone.”
“Good luck with that.” Genna boxed up her sewing accessories and put them into her wheeled craft bag along with her sewing machine. “Want to meet again next Saturday?”
“Sounds good. I’d love to get a few more kits put together before the August meeting. And this coming weekend will be our last chance.”
“How about you Pricilla?” Anabelle looked her way.
“I’ll try. With school starting, I have my hands full.” Pricilla had six children, four still in school. She also had a six-month-old baby girl, who right this minute lay snuggled in Ainslee’s arms cooing and smiling at her.
Pricilla often brought the baby, which no one minded at all. Olivia rarely cried or demanded attention. But then with four women around, she probably had more attention than she wanted.
“Keep me in the loop.” Pricilla took the baby from Ainslee and set her in her carrier. “I’ll come when I can.” She picked up one of the kits and stuffed it in the diaper bag. “I might as well take one now in case I have a little downtime.”
“Good idea.” Genna grabbed a couple of the kits as well.
Pricilla and Genna gave and received hugs, said their good-byes and left.
“How about you, sweetheart?” Anabelle stepped up behind Ainslee, shifted aside her thick mane of mahogany hair, and massaged her slender shoulders. “Do you want to help us out again next week?” Ainslee had been unusually quiet that afternoon.
Ainslee squeezed her mother’s hand and continued cleaning up her sewing area. “I don’t know. Quilting is a lot harder than I thought. Maybe I should just stick to knitting.”
Anabelle laughed. “Knitting wasn’t all that easy at first either, remember? You’ll get the hang of it.”
“Maybe.” She heaved a great sigh that seemed to come from the soles of her feet.
“What’s going on?”
Ainslee stood up and gave her mother a hug. “I’m fine, Mother. I would like to learn more about quilting. It’s just that when I watch you, Genna and Pricilla doing it, I feel like such a dud.”
“We all started out as beginners.” Anabelle began straightening up the room. “Would you like to have dinner here with your dad and me? You could ca
ll Doug and have him join us.”
“Thanks, but not tonight. Doug is picking me up and then we’re meeting some friends at the new Thai restaurant.” She kissed Anabelle’s cheek. “See you later.”
“Are you leaving right now?”
“Not unless Doug’s here. I’m going to say good-bye to Pop.”
Anabelle watched the closing door and heaved a heavy sigh of her own. Even though her daughter was grown and married, she couldn’t help but be concerned. She felt certain some of Ainslee’s moodiness came with the monthly disappointment of not being pregnant.
Anabelle knew what it felt like to try for years to have a child. Her first one, Evan, hadn’t come along until she was thirty. Apparently Ainslee had inherited the same genetic makeup. Since Ainslee was only twenty-nine, maybe there was still hope. Anabelle would like nothing better than to have a grandchild. Watching Ainslee interact with Olivia today just about broke her heart.
With the quilters gone, the room seemed sad and forlorn—as though it already missed their creative energy. Anabelle smiled. “They’ll be back and so will I.” She picked up a basket of quilting kits and set it in the storeroom.
Quilting as much as she did, she was thankful for her studio. After Evan and Ainslee moved out, her husband surprised and delighted her by tearing down the wall between their two bedrooms and making one large room. Cameron had dubbed it Annie’s Studio and had made a wooden sign for the door.
Cupboards and shelves lined one wall, and it was there she kept her fabrics. More bulky things like batting and supplies went into the roomy storage closet. She had a beautiful oak sewing cabinet plus an oversized table for sandwiching quilt layers. Last Christmas, Cameron and the kids had gone together and bought her a computerized longarm quilter, which allowed her to create king-and queen-sized quilts.
If things were a mess, she could close the door. And things often got messy as a nurse on call 24–7.
While she worked at putting things away and picking up loose threads, she prayed for Dr. Hamilton. “Lord, please keep that precious man safe and well.” Genna’s concern for her husband worried Anabelle. She knew her friend wouldn’t voice her concern if the situation weren’t serious. She also knew Dr. Hamilton’s propensity for forging ahead.
Anabelle turned down the air conditioner, a godsend with the humid and hot weather they’d been having. She closed the door to her studio and paused when she heard voices coming from Kirstie’s room. Or what used to be Kirstie’s room before her baby girl moved into her own apartment this summer. Anabelle had turned it into a guestroom, but a lot of Kirstie’s things remained. Most of her old toys and stuffed animals along with clothes she hadn’t needed for summer were stored in the closet or in the attic.
“We probably should get Pop to carry it down for us.” Ainslee’s voice drifted into the hallway.
“Don’t be silly, Ains.” That was definitely Kirstie.
Anabelle tapped on the door before pushing it open. “It’s just me.”
Kirstie and Ainslee held a supersized plastic bin between them. From what Anabelle could see through the plastic it held Kirstie’s winter clothes. Her daughter had that impish caught-with-her-hand-in-the-cookie-jar look.
Not that she was doing anything wrong. The guilt was a residual of Anabelle’s overprotectiveness. She had not wanted Kirstie to move out. Now Kirstie felt like she had to walk on eggshells. Anabelle knew perfectly well that Kirstie was hoping to have the container in her car and hidden from sight before her mother saw what was happening.
“Hello, Mother.” Kirstie gave her an oversized grin, set the container down, and gave Anabelle a hug. “What’s up?”
“I was going to ask you the same thing.”
“I’m picking up my fall and winter stuff. School starts soon, and I need to see what has to be pitched and what I need to buy.”
Ainslee waved a hand in her sister’s direction. “I told her she needs to scrap all of her old clothes and start fresh.”
“Yeah, like I can afford to do that.” Kirstie rolled her eyes. “I don’t have the mucho bucks like you and Doug have. Besides, I have student loans to pay off.”
Kirstie had gotten her BA and her teaching certificate mostly on grants and scholarships; but with tuition increases, they’d had to go with a loan the last two years. Anabelle regretted that. She’d hoped their savings would have covered all three children, but the economy had left them short.
“Come on, Ains.” Kirstie bent to pick up her end of the bin. “We can make it. No need to bother Pop. He’s still into the game.”
“Kirstie, you shouldn’t be…” Anabelle’s gaze took in her beautiful daughter’s wavy black hair and striking blue eyes, slender figure, white top and shorts, and her prosthetic leg.
“Mother, I’m fine.” She spoke with the confidence and authority one would use to speak to a student. Where Kirstie’s independence was concerned, Anabelle still had a lot to learn.
“I appreciate your wanting to do this yourself, sweetheart, but your leg…”
Kirstie’s right leg had been badly damaged in a biking accident, and Dr. Hamilton had been forced to amputate. In the beginning, Kirstie had made it a point to keep her leg covered, especially at school. Some classmates had been cruel at first, but over the years her daughter learned to ignore the teasing.
She had recently been fitted with a new top-of-the-line prosthesis with a curved foot that allowed her to have more movement—to run and participate in sports.
“My leg works just fine.” Kirstie bounced up and down to illustrate. “I can handle this.”
Anabelle held her breath. As much as she wanted to halt the demonstration, she wouldn’t. She’d promised to stop interfering. Sometimes, probably because she was a professional caregiver, the line between caring and being overbearing blurred.
“Kirstie’s right, Mother,” Ainlsee said. “You should have seen her run into the house and up the stairs.”
“All right.” Anabelle released a long sigh and moved out of the way. “But if you fall down the stairs and break your neck, don’t come running to me.”
“That’s a really dumb saying.” Kirstie threw her mother an I-love-you-anyway look.
“It’s a mom thing, smarty. I’ll have you know mothers have been saying that for generations.”
Both girls laughed. Anabelle, pretending to be hurt, followed them down the stairs.
Kirstie reached the landing and grinned back at her mother like a child who’d accomplished a major goal. “I told you I could make it.”
Anabelle grinned. “Yes, you did.” Pride almost overrode her concerns.
“Well, what do we have here?” Cameron Scott emerged from the den. “Were you girls planning on leaving without saying hello to your dear old dad?”
“Hi, Pop.” Kirstie reached up and gave him a one-armed hug “Of course not. We were just trying to get this thing to the car before Mother Dear caught us. I still think she has eyes in the back of her head.”
Anabelle chuckled. “It’s a radar, actually. Besides, I heard you two as I was coming out of the studio.”
Ainslee hugged her dad as well.
The doorbell rang the same time as it opened. “Wow, a welcome party for me?”
Ainslee turned from her father and embraced the man of her dreams and husband of seven years, Doug Giffen. The family had liked Doug from the moment they met him, when he’d come to pick up Ainslee for their first date. Doug was one of those steady, quiet men who stayed the course. He’d studied engineering and architecture and now had his own firm.
When everyone had hugged everyone else, Doug said, “Are you ready to go, honey? We have reservations in five minutes.”
“I am. Just as soon as I help Kirstie carry this bin to her car.”
“Here, let me take it.” Doug hefted it up on his shoulder and led the way. Anabelle watched all of this with bittersweet thoughts. Her children were all adults now—even her baby. She had definitely entered the empty-nest years so many o
f her friends talked about. Anabelle had sworn it wouldn’t affect her since she was involved in so many activities. Now she was beginning to understand what they meant.
Cameron slid an arm around her waist as if he were having similar thoughts. They walked out to the cars and waved to Doug and Ainslee as they drove off.
“See you later, guys.” Kirstie opened the door to her well-used Honda.
“Wait a second, Kirstie.” Anabelle took a step forward. “You’re not leaving already, are you? You just got here. Don’t you want to stay for dinner?”
“Sorry,” Kirstie waved and maneuvered herself into the car then closed the door and stuck her head out the window. “I have a date.”
Just like that she was gone, leaving her parents to wonder the age-old questions: who, what, where, when and why?
Cameron chuckled. “You want to follow her?” He seemed to be as curious as she was.
Anabelle sighed. “No. Kirstie already thinks I’m overprotective.” She leaned up against him. “She’s all grown up.”
“That she is, lass,” he said, using his pet name for her. “That she is.”
Chapter Two
FEELING A BIT FORLORN, ANABELLE HEADED back to the house and into the welcome coolness. Even those few minutes in the Illinois sun and humidity had heated her to the core. She walked through the tiled entry and into the kitchen/dining area, turning her attention toward making dinner for her one and only love. Forty-five years ago, she and Cameron had met in high school, fallen in love, and never looked back.
“Guess it’s just the two of us for dinner tonight.” Anabelle sighed.
“Ah, sure it is, me lovely lass. I cannot think of anyone I’d rather be with.” He used his mock Scottish burr when he wanted to elicit a smile from her, sounding every bit as Scottish as his Highland ancestors. “Mulligan stew, am I right? I’ve been smellin’ that ambrosia all afternoon.”
“You are.” She’d learned long ago that a Crock-Pot was a busy woman’s best friend. This morning she’d taken the lamb roast out of the freezer and placed it in the slow cooker with spices, veggies and broth. She appreciated knowing dinner would be on time and as delicious as if she’d spent the entire day in the kitchen. Teasing, she added, “What I’d like to know is why you don’t have the rest of dinner ready for me.” She leaned back against him.
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