Once Upon a Winter's Heart

by Melody Carlson

  Sliding down into the steaming water, she took in a slow deep breath. Yes, she sighed happily as she sunk lower into the fragrant water, this was just what the doctor ordered. She had just leaned back and closed her eyes when she heard the door opening. Grabbing the washcloth to hold over her front, she glared up to see Saundra coming in.

  “Sorry to interrupt your bath,” she said quickly. “But I forgot to brush my teeth.”

  “Mom.” Emma’s voice was laced with irritation and sounded as if she was fourteen again. In fact, that was how she felt.

  “It’ll only take me a minute. And for all I know you could be in here for hours.” Saundra turned on the tap at the sink. “Good grief, it’s damp in here. Why doesn’t your grandmother get a fan for this room? And a heater wouldn’t hurt either. Why doesn’t she do some modernizations?”

  “Because she’s old-fashioned,” Emma growled. “And this is an old-fashioned house.”

  “You don’t have to get mad.”

  “Sorry.” Emma took in a deep breath. “It’s just that I appreciate a little privacy, you know?”

  “Yes, yes. And don’t worry, I’m not looking.” Saundra giggled as she finished brushing her teeth, acting like this was all just a fun adventure. Finally, after she left, Emma knew the bath had been ruined, but out of pure stubbornness she forced herself to linger. Hopefully her mother would be asleep by the time she finished. But before long the water cooled off and she knew it was time to get out.

  As she dried and pulled on her pajamas she thought about how much her mother and sister were alike. Neither of them seemed to have a self-conscious or insecure bone in their bodies. And why should they? Both were gorgeous petite blue-eyed blondes, the kind of women that most men paused to admire, and the kind that some women felt threatened by. Not that Anne or Saundra had ever used their looks to lure men from their wives, but if they wanted to, it probably wouldn’t be difficult.

  However it wasn’t just their appearances that were alike. The way they thought and acted was very similar too. As a teenager Emma had secretly labeled what her mom and sister had as PS—princess syndrome. As an adult she suspected she hadn’t been too far off. Oh, it wasn’t that she didn’t love them both—she absolutely did. She just didn’t really understand them. She could always relate better to Nona and her old-fashioned Italian ways.

  Emma tiptoed back into the bedroom again. This time she was relieved to see that it was dark in there, and, not wanting to disturb her mother, she was not about to turn on a light. However, remembering how the girls always did a spider check before bedtime—the old house was somewhat inclined to arachnids, especially in the autumn—she was tempted to momentarily flick the switch and search the bed. Instead, she threw back the covers and swept her hand back and forth a few times. Hopefully that would scare anything away.

  “What are you doing over there?” Saundra asked in the darkness.

  “Sorry.” Emma slid into the chilly sheets. “Didn’t mean to disturb you.”

  “It’s okay. I can’t sleep anyway.”

  “Missing your Sleep Number bed?”

  “Hmmm…”

  “It’s not too late to change your mind, Mom. You could still go home and sleep in comfort and—”

  “I am not going home.”

  “Fine…whatever.” Emma pulled the covers up to her chin.

  “You don’t know what it’s like being stuck in a bad marriage, Emma.”

  “No…I don’t.” Emma sighed. “Did you guys ever consider marriage counseling?”

  Saundra made a sarcastic laugh. “Can you imagine your father listening to a marriage counselor?”

  Emma considered this. “Maybe.”

  “Well, I can’t.”

  There was a long silence and Emma was hoping that her mother was falling asleep, but then she spoke up again.

  “When I think about being alone in my old age…” Saundra said quietly. “Well, the truth is, it really frightens me. I don’t want to be old and alone, Emma.”

  “Then why don’t you work on improving your marriage?” Emma suggested.

  Saundra exhaled loudly.

  “I’m serious, Mom. You and Dad have been together all these years and, yeah, I know you’ve had your battles, but it seems like you’ve got a relationship that’s worth investing some energy into. With some work…I can imagine you both growing old together…happily.”

  “Oh, Emma, I’ve tried and tried. But most of the time it feels like I’m the only one putting any effort into it. Your father is so old-fashioned when it comes to marriage. He thinks everyone should be like Nona and Poppi were. The little woman cooks and cleans and sews and gardens…and the man does as he likes.”

  “That’s not true,” Emma argued. “Poppi always helped Nona with everything. He liked cooking and didn’t even mind cleaning. They worked together in the bookstore and they worked together at home.”

  “That’s not how your father tells it. According to him, Nona worked like a slave and Poppi just did as he pleased.”

  “I spent a lot of time here, Mom. As kids, Anne and I were over here a lot. We both saw Nona and Poppi working together. Poppi never treated Nona like she was his slave. Never.”

  “Yes. Well, I have to agree. I never saw Poppi treating Nona poorly either.” She sighed. “In fact, I often envied their relationship. I never understood why your father and I couldn’t have that.”

  Once again, Emma wanted to remind her mother that there were two sides to this coin, but she knew that would only invite an argument. And the truth was she was just too tired to fight. “I guess it’s like I told Lucy today. True love and romance is officially dead now. It will be buried tomorrow.”

  “Oh, Emma, that is so dismal.”

  “Dismal maybe…but I’m afraid it’s true. Poppi was the last of his kind.”

  Emma felt like she was having déjà vu as she climbed into the backseat of her mother’s spotlessly clean Cadillac the next morning. With Nona in front and Saundra behind the wheel, and the three of them dressed for the funeral, including hats and gloves to honor Poppi’s memory, Emma flashed back to when she was six and allowed to go with her mother and grandmother to Great Aunt Maria’s funeral in Seattle. Anne had been too young to make the trip and Emma had felt very grown-up to be included that day. Ironically, she felt very much like her immature six-year-old self again…yet at the same time she felt old…and matronly.

  The church was packed with well-wishers, and beautiful flower arrangements lined the altar. Everything about Poppi’s memorial service, from the music to the photographs that someone had enlarged and placed near the casket, seemed fitting. And it was touching to listen to the numerous people who shared their happy memories about how Roberto Burcelli—the man the whole town knew as Poppi—had influenced their lives. But the speech that most captured Emma’s attention came near the end of the service. She’d never seen this tall, handsome, dark-haired man before. He had on a well-tailored charcoal gray suit that Poppi would’ve approved of, but he looked slightly uneasy as he stepped up to the mic.

  “I realize that my history with Poppi isn’t as extensive as everyone else. I was only privileged to know him during the last three years,” he began. “But I will always think of him as a true mentor. The first day I met Poppi, he challenged me to read what he called ‘real literature.’ At first I suspected it was a ploy to keep his bookstore afloat.” He chuckled. “But as I got to know him better, I realized it was simply because he respected a good book as well as a good mind. Poppi taught me to appreciate both Hemingway and Dean Martin.” Everyone laughed at this because it was well known that Poppi loved Hemingway and believed Dean Martin was the best singer in the universe. “I will miss Poppi more than words can say, but I’m very thankful to have known him these last few years. He was a good man and we were blessed to have him.”

  Reverend Thomas wrapped the service up with Poppi’s favorite scripture, Psalm 23, and Belinda Myers sang “Ave Maria.” Then the reverend announc
ed that only close friends and family would be attending the burial service. And just like Nona wanted, the immediate family rode in the limousine that followed the hearse to the cemetery. Nona and Rob and Tristan sat on one seat and Emma and Saundra and Anne sat on the other. No one spoke…but as Nona quietly cried, the tears flowed freely for the rest of them too.

  The burial service was formal and old-fashioned—just the way Nona had planned it. And after the final words were spoken, Emma’s father stepped forward. “Thank you all for coming,” he told their family and friends. “We would be honored if you would join us in my home for a buffet dinner.” As Rob gave them directions, Emma and Saundra slipped away, catching a ride back to the church with Saundra’s assistant, Meredith.

  “We need to make sure that the catering crew has everything under control,” Saundra explained as Meredith dropped them off. “And you’ll pick up the cake at the bakery, right?”

  “I’m on it,” Meredith promised.

  “That was a nice service,” Emma said as she and her mom got back into the Cadillac. “I think Poppi would’ve liked it.”

  Saundra just nodded.

  “I liked what that man said,” Emma began carefully, “at the end of the service.”

  “What man?” Saundra glanced at Emma as she stopped for the intersection.

  “I don’t know his name. But he was the one who mentioned Hemingway and Dean Martin.”

  “Oh, that’s Lane Forester.”

  “It sounds like he was good friends with Poppi.”

  “Yes. They were very close. I’m sure that Poppi was hoping they were going to become family.”

  “Family?”

  “Anne,” Saundra declared as if this were obvious.

  “Anne?” Emma was lost.

  “Anne and Lane,” she said with exasperation. “Everyone thinks they make a lovely couple. Don’t you think so too?”

  “Oh…I didn’t know…I mean that Anne was involved with anyone.”

  “Well, she’s not actually involved. The divorce only became final last summer. I told her it wasn’t very dignified to jump into anything too quickly. Not with a young son.”

  “No…probably not.” For no rational reason Emma felt very dismayed and depressed to hear this news about her sister and this man. Or perhaps, she told herself, she was still grieving Poppi and her emotions were not to be trusted. Of course, that had to be it.

  As Saundra drove up the hill to her house, she seemed to have a death grip on the steering wheel and, as she turned into the long driveway, her expression looked extremely agitated.

  “Are you okay?” Emma asked as Saundra pulled the car into one end of the three-car garage.

  “Okay?” Saundra snapped as she removed her keys from the ignition and opened the door. “Do you think it’s okay that your father has not said a single word to me today?”

  “Well, I—”

  “Okay that he hasn’t even acknowledged that I’ve left him? Is that supposed to be okay?”

  “Hey, you’re the one who said he wouldn’t even notice you were gone, Mom.” Emma suppressed an amused smile. “Looks like you were right.”

  “I don’t want to be right.” Saundra slammed the car door loudly.

  “He knows you’re gone,” Emma reassured her as they went through the mudroom. “He’s just waiting until everything is wrapped up today.” She patted her mother’s back. “Really, don’t you think that’s the honorable and mature thing to do?”

  Saundra seemed to be considering this as she hung up her coat. “Yes, I suppose you’re right.” She opened the door to the big, recently remodeled kitchen. Everything looked noisy and busy as several young people wearing smart black-and-white uniforms scurried back and forth with various dishes and trays in hand.

  “Looks like they’ve got things under control,” Emma observed.

  “Looks can be deceiving.” Saundra handed Emma an elegant arrangement of irises and tulips. “Go put these flowers in the dining room for me. And then go make sure the bathrooms look decent. There’s no telling how your father left things this morning.” She lowered her voice, whispering in Emma’s ear. “He could be planning to sabotage me.”

  Emma gave her mother a skeptical look, but saved her response for later. Really, why would her dad sabotage a dinner that was in honor of his own beloved father? She took the bouquet into the dining room, but knowing how picky her mother could be she was unsure of where to set it. After trying it here and there, she finally chose the antique mahogany sideboard. She nestled it behind the shining stacks of dishes and silverware that awaited the guests. Then Emma took a moment to light the white taper candles as well. Shimmering in the silver candlestick holders, they gave the room an old-fashioned elegant feeling that Poppi would’ve liked…and Nona would appreciate.

  Her parents’ house was beautiful as usual. Dignified and traditional—pale maple floors throughout, a few well-placed antiques, raw silk drapes, Persian carpets, a cream-colored chenille sofa, and buttery leather chairs. All this with precise spots of elegant color here and there—a handmade vase or embroidered pillow or a piece of modern art. Just enough to infuse life and interest and texture. Pure perfection. And, of course, it had to be perfect because Saundra was an interior designer. She would rather curl up and die than abide in a ho-hum house.

  Emma was pleased to see that her dad was not attempting to sabotage his father’s memorial dinner. The bathrooms were impeccable. The hand towels looked fresh, and even the toilet paper rolls were full and neatly folded into a triangle—just like a four-star hotel. Emma even checked the large downstairs master suite where her mother sometimes invited guests to toss their coats. The bed was neatly made and everything in its proper place. Her dad might be ignoring his wife, but he was definitely not slacking today.

  When she emerged from the bedroom, family and friends were just starting to arrive. Emma took the time to greet them personally, taking coats and things to her parents’ room, trying to make everyone feel welcome and at home. And it was pleasant to see people she hadn’t spoken with in years, catching up, meeting new spouses and children, hearing their latest news. She kept her personal responses short and calculated, simply stating she was taking a break in her career and sticking around to help her grandmother. Being jobless and homeless at thirty-two felt a bit like failure, and the less they knew about her, the safer she felt.

  Emma flitted around, going from guest to guest and helping whenever her mother asked, while also keeping a close eye on Nona, who seemed to be nicely insulated by a couple of older women who were also widows. As Emma refilled the punch bowl, she noticed the man who had captured her attention earlier coming into the house. He was immediately met and greeted by Anne, handing his overcoat to her with a comfortable sort of familiarity. After that, it seemed that Anne was reluctant to let the handsome man out of her sight. She took him around, introducing him to some family members. However, she did not take the time to introduce him to Emma. Trying not to feel snubbed, although this oversight did seem odd, especially if Anne was planning on making him part of the family like their mother had insinuated, Emma decided to take a break from all the noise and chatter by going into the sunroom on the other end of the house.

  “Hey, Tristan,” Emma said as she discovered her nephew sitting in the sunroom with a slightly forlorn expression. “What’re you doing in here all by yourself?”

  “Just thinking…” His young brow furrowed as if something was deeply troubling him.

  “About Poppi?”

  Tristan nodded with moist-looking dark eyes.

  “You miss him?”

  He nodded again.

  “Me too.” She sat down in the wicker chair next to him, wondering what she might say to make him feel better. “But you do know you’ll see him again someday, don’t you?”

  “Yeah…I know.” He looked down at his hands in his lap.

  “And you know that he’s still here with us, don’t you?”

  Tristan looked up with
a curious expression. “You mean like a ghost?”

  She smiled. “Not really like that.” She reached for his hand, holding it up in the light. “See your hands, Tristan, they remind me of Poppi.”

  He stared at his hands. “Really?”

  “Yeah. You have those same long fingers.” Now she pointed at his face. “And you have the same coloring as Poppi too. Same deep brown eyes and chestnut hair.”

  Tristan frowned. “But Poppi’s hair was white.”

  “I mean when he was young like you are, Tristan.” She pointed to her own hair. “His hair was a lot like mine—curly too.” She pointed back at him. “And like yours…when he was a young man.”

  “Oh…” He nodded like he understood now.

  “So looking at you is kind of like seeing Poppi too. I can see him in you.” She smiled. “And that is pretty cool.”

  Tristan’s lips curled into a smile. “Yeah. That is pretty cool.” Now they tried to think of even more ways they were both like Poppi—everything from loving books and nature walks and Nona’s raviolis to feeling shy and socially awkward at times. And Emma realized that her young nephew, who would turn ten in April, really did seem to have some of his great-grandfather’s finest qualities…and it was wonderfully reassuring.

  Chapter 4

  Emma and Tristan were laughing over the time Poppi had surprised Nona by taking her to the airport with the intention of swooping her off to Hawaii for their fiftieth anniversary, only to discover that Nona would have no part in it. “She was scared to death of flying and airplanes,” Emma explained. “Fortunately, Poppi had trip insurance. They went on an ocean cruise instead.”