She shrugged. “I was doing my toenails, and the bottle spilled. I tried to blot it, but. . .”
Joanna stepped between them, fingering the stain. She shook her head. “I think you’d ruin the fabric if you used something strong enough to remove that stain. This quilt has to be at least forty years old.”
Beth groaned. “Oh, that means I won’t get a penny for it.”
Marie bit back the words that longed for release. This quilt was much more than a dollar sign to her. Why couldn’t Beth see the sentimental significance?
“Oh, well.” Beth rolled the quilt and tossed it aside. “I can always sell it as a ‘cutter.’ Someone may want to chop it up and make a teddy bear out of it or something.” She hefted the basket. “So, where are the car keys? I’m going to hunt up a Laundromat.”
Joanna spun, staring at Marie with an open mouth. “Laundry. . .on Sunday?” Then she clapped her hands to her cheeks and moaned. “Oh, I told myself I wouldn’t do that.” Clamping her hands together and tucking them against her ribcage, she drew a deep breath and smiled at Beth. “There’s one on West First in Newton. Just follow Highway 135 North. There’s a First Street exit off the highway, so you can’t miss it.”
“Is there a McDonald’s near there?”
Joanna laughed. “Aren’t there McDonald’s everywhere? Just follow the signs.”
Beth grinned. “Thanks!” Turning to Marie, she raised her eyebrows. “Keys?”
Marie pulled them from her pocket and handed them over. She forced herself to set aside her sorrow over the ruined quilt and focus on the issue at hand. “Do you have money?”
“Yep.” Beth headed for the door, her ponytail swinging. “See you later!”
At the slam of the door, Joanna removed her coat, hung it on the back of the chair, and sat down. “She’s a pretty girl, Marie.”
Did a hint of accusation linger in her tone? Marie picked up the quilt, folded it lovingly, and carried it to the table. After setting the quilt aside, she seated herself. “Yes, she is. She’s a challenge at times, but I can’t imagine my life without her.” She glanced at the quilt, reminding herself that Beth was infinitely more important than squares of fabric pieced together.
Joanna nodded. “I feel the same about my three. My oldest one, Kyra, has the fiery personality I see in your Beth. It’s too bad—” She jerked her face away, the black ribbon of her cap crumpling against her shoulder.
“Too bad they didn’t know each other growing up?” Marie finished her sister’s thought.
Joanna bit down on her lower lip and gazed outward for several seconds before facing Marie again. The hurt in her eyes was unmistakable. “I’ve missed you so much. Not a day has gone by that I haven’t thought of you, wondered how you were, wished I could talk to you. It’s been very hard.”
Marie tried to swallow the resentment Joanna’s gentle reprimand stirred, but a question found its way out. “Then where were you last week when I pulled into town? Do you know how hard it’s been to sit in this house every evening, knowing my family is out there but doesn’t care enough to come by?”
Joanna dipped her head. Marie stared at the spot where Joanna’s part disappeared beneath the nearly translucent mesh of the cap. Joanna sighed, her head still low. “I wanted to come. But how could I know if I’d be welcome?” Her chin shot up, and tears winked in her eyes. “Twenty years, Marie, and you never wrote or called. How is a person supposed to know what to do?”
Marie’s thoughts sniped, You never called or wrote to me, either. But she held the words back, aware they would do more harm than good. The silence lengthened.
Finally Joanna sighed. “I didn’t come here to start an argument. I just wanted to know how you are. To see you again. I—” Joanna lurched from the table and held out her arms.
Marie pushed to her feet and fell into her sister’s embrace. They hugged, laughing and crying at once, and Marie felt as though her heart might burst with happiness. Hurts melted away in the warmth of the hug, and when Joanna pulled loose to slip her elbow through Marie’s, Marie knew things would be all right between the two of them.
They walked to the front room and perched side by side on the couch. For the next three hours they caught up, sometimes giggling like young girls over remembered silly times, other times vying for who could tell the most outrageous story of parenting. When Marie’s stomach growled, it reminded her that lunchtime had come and gone. She pulled back, guilt striking.
“I’m keeping you from your family. They’re probably wondering where you are and when they’ll be fed.”
Joanna shook her head. “They know where I am, and Kyra and Kelly are plenty capable of putting a meal on the table.”
Marie grimaced. “Won’t Hugo fuss about you spending the afternoon away from home?”
“What are Sundays for except to visit?” Joanna’s gently lined eyes sparkled. “But if you offered me a sandwich, I wouldn’t decline it.”
They returned to the kitchen, where they made sandwiches and then sat at the table to eat. Marie felt a twinge of discomfort when Joanna prayed aloud, asking a blessing for the simple meal. It had been a long time since she’d offered grace before eating. But the easy conversation that followed erased the discomfort.
At nearly five o’clock Beth returned, the clothes folded neatly in the basket. Her face reflected surprise when she spotted Joanna. “You’re still here? I figured you’d be long gone by now.”
Joanna glanced at the red plastic wall clock and jerked. “Oh, my. It is growing late. I should go home.” She stood and reached for her jacket. Slipping her arms into the sleeves, she looked at Beth. “I’ll have to come back sometime and bring my daughters so we can all get acquainted. Your mother assures me she won’t be such a stranger from now on.”
Beth shot her mother a quick questioning look, but she recovered quickly and smiled at Joanna. “That would be great. How old are your daughters?”
“Kyra is nineteen and Kelly is thirteen.” She smirked. “I also have an eleven-year-old son, Hugo Jr. We call him Gomer. But he isn’t one for visiting. Too active.” Turning to Marie, she added, “I didn’t tell you—Kyra’s engagement to Claude Braun’s son Jacob was published today at the end of service. They plan a January wedding.”
Marie’s chest tightened. She and Beth would need to be gone before the wedding. As nonchurch members, they wouldn’t be welcome. Being in town, knowing the celebration was going on without them, would be too hard. She nodded. “I wish them well.”
Joanna paused, her gaze narrowing, as she examined Marie for a few thoughtful seconds. Then her face relaxed. “Well, I need to go.” She gave Marie a quick hug. “But I’ll be back, Kyra and Kelly in tow.” Pulling away, she cupped Marie’s cheek with her hand. “Soon?”
Marie swallowed the lump that formed in her throat. “Very soon.”
With another quick smile, Joanna slipped out the back door.
Beth put her hand on her hip. “Careful, Mom.”
Marie jerked her gaze to Beth. “What?”
Pointing at the doorway where Joanna had disappeared, she said, “They’re pulling you back. I can see it your eyes. This is temporary.” She drew out the word, exaggerating each syllable. “Remember?”
Marie nodded, forcing a light chuckle. “Of course I remember.” She scooped out the towels from the top of Beth’s basket. “I’ll go put these away,” she said, changing the subject, “and you take care of the rest.”
Beth gave her mother a wary look before turning toward the bedrooms. Marie headed for the hallway leading to the bathroom, but as she passed the kitchen window she paused, looking across the landscape behind the house. Aunt Lisbeth’s words echoed through her mind. “A wise person reaches toward the Son.” For a moment she wondered—was the pull Beth mentioned coming from her family, or from the One she once called Savior?
The telephone jangled on the corner of Henry’s desk. He wiped his mouth with a napkin, dropped it beside his plate, and crossed the floor. He lif
ted the receiver in the middle of the second ring. “Hello?”
“Henry, this is Joanna.”
“Don’t tell me you’re having trouble with the starter in your car again.”
Joanna’s light laugh sounded, bringing a pang of remembrance. The airy tremble at the end of her laugh sounded so much like Marie’s. After Marie had left, he’d considered pursuing Joanna. Fortunately, good sense had reigned. Who could ever replace Marie? His good friend Hugo Dick had asked for Joanna’s hand, and the two enjoyed a happy marriage. While he remained a bachelor.
“No, no, I’m not calling about my car. This is. . .personal.”
Henry straightened his shoulders.
“I finally went to see Marie.”
His heart began to thud.
“And I’m so glad I did. We spent the whole afternoon together and had a wonderful chat.”
Henry smiled. “That’s good. And she. . .welcomed you?”
A slight pause. “Yes. I think she was apprehensive at first, but so was I! We had a good time, though, and we plan to get together again soon so our girls can get acquainted.”
Henry imagined outspoken, wild-haired Beth in her denim pants and shirts three sizes too small next to Joanna’s sweet girls with their white caps and modest caped dresses. He shook his head. “I hope that goes well.”
His tone must have communicated his doubt, because Joanna laughed. “I suppose it will be interesting, but they’re cousins. They need to know each other.”
“I agree,” Henry said. “I’m glad you’re trying to work things out.” He paused, wondering if he should keep his next thought to himself, but finally decided to share. “I know Lisbeth would be pleased.”
A long sigh came from Joanna’s end of the line. “Every time the family was together, Lisbeth mentioned Marie and Beth. Her way, I think, of keeping them alive for us. Dad rarely let her give many details, but I found it comforting to know at least someone was keeping in touch with Marie.” Her voice caught. “Being with her today made me realize how much we’ve missed through this separation. I wish. . .”
Although Joanna let the sentence go unfinished, Henry read the final thought. “Me, too,” he said softly.
After a lengthy pause, Joanna’s light chuckle sounded. “Well, aren’t we a pair, throwing imaginary pennies in a wishing well.”
Henry forced a laugh in response.
“I’d better go. I just wanted you to know I followed your advice and went to see my sister. Thanks for pushing me.”
He smiled. “That’s what friends are for.”
“Good-bye, Henry.” The line went dead.
Henry hung up the phone and smiled at the receiver. His gaze rose to a framed needlepoint sampler, a gift from Lisbeth. He read the words aloud. “But now in Christ Jesus ye who sometimes were far off are made nigh by the blood of Christ.” He ran his finger along the top edge of the simple wood frame.
“Don’t worry, Lisbeth,” he said. “I’ll keep trying until we bring her home again.”
THIRTEEN
Marie examined the tumble of black lumps on the hard-packed ground next to the monstrous furnace. Over the two weeks of their stay in Lisbeth’s house, Marie had grown accustomed to shoveling fuel into the belly of the iron beast twice a day, but she hadn’t paid close attention to the dent its ravenous appetite had made in the supply.
The Kansas plains could be unpredictable during the winter months. If she didn’t replenish the coal supply soon, she and Beth might end up facing some cold days ahead. She hooked the coal hod on its nail and brushed her palms together. She wondered where she could get coal around here. She was certain things had changed tremendously since she’d left with Jep.
Ask Henry, her thoughts immediately prompted. That would be simple since he continued to come to the café for supper every evening. For a moment she allowed a smile to twitch at her lips. Although the conversations with Henry were always brief, both of them aware of Deborah’s watchful gaze and listening ear, she had come to enjoy sharing a few moments of chatter with him at the close of each day.
Despite her initial determination to keep a chasm between them, Henry was slowing building a bridge toward friendship. He wouldn’t mind if she asked how to get a supply of coal delivered. But she pushed the idea aside. No sense in relying on him any more than necessary. He was already keeping the books at the café and would oversee the distribution of property when the time came. She shouldn’t take advantage of his friendship. Besides, she acknowledged with a sigh, leaning on him too much might give him the wrong idea.
Might give her the wrong idea, too.
She trudged up the stairs and went to the kitchen sink to wash the remnants of coal dust from her hands. Outside the kitchen window, the sky looked bleak, the color of an old iron washtub. Rain might spoil Beth’s plans for the day. Last night, after she and Beth were in their pajamas and ready for bed, Mitch had arrived to assist Beth in her quest for boutique items. Marie’s scalp prickled as her mind replayed the image of her daughter throwing herself into her boyfriend’s arms, lifting her face for his kiss.
He slept on the sofa, having collapsed there about a half hour after his arrival. Marie blew out a breath of relief, recalling how Beth had asked for bedding to put together a sleeping spot in the living room for Mitch. Even though Marie hadn’t been faithful in church attendance since Beth was a little girl, she had raised her daughter to have morals. Sharing a bed with her boyfriend wasn’t something she was willing to do. “Thanks for Beth’s appropriate choice,” Marie murmured.
She froze. That thought seemed awfully close to a. . .prayer. Had she really prayed? She shook her head. No, probably not a true prayer, more an inward statement of relieved gratitude. But it had felt like a prayer. A shiver shook her frame, spurring her to action.
“Breakfast.” She tried not to bang things too loudly as she got out a cookie sheet and a knife to slice bread. Humming, she buttered the front and back of each slice. Just as she’d grown to prefer the flavor of percolated coffee, toast made from home-baked bread purchased from the grocer and browned under the broiler before being slathered with Joanna’s peach preserves had become her favorite breakfast. Even though Beth continued to grouse about the lack of conveniences, Marie didn’t mind the additional steps.
In fact, when she was home again, she planned to put the toaster away and continue to use the broiler. She also intended to keep Aunt Lisbeth’s red-speckled percolator separate from the sale items. It was going back to sit on her electric stove and be put to use there.
She opened the oven door to check the bread, smiling as the aroma met her nostrils. The slices were browned to perfection. Just as she pulled the cookie sheet from the oven, Mitch appeared in the kitchen doorway.
“Morning, Marie.” Bare-chested, his hair on end, Mitch stretched his mouth in a wide yawn and scratched his toned stomach with both hands. It had been two decades since a male had stood in her kitchen in the morning, sleep-rumpled and relaxed, and Marie found herself blushing profusely at the rush of memories his arrival conjured.
Aware of her gaping robe, which exposed her pink polka-dot flannel pajamas, she turned her back to him, dropped the cookie sheet on the counter, and quickly tied the belt on her robe. Once she was covered more modestly, she faced him. “Good morning, Mitch. Did you sleep well?”
“Pretty well, but that sofa’s as hard as a concrete slab.” He placed his hands against his lower spine and leaned backward, flexing his shoulders.
Marie turned toward the counter and unscrewed the lid on the jar of preserves. She scooped out a spoonful and plopped it on a piece of toast. “That sofa’s been around for a while. I’m sure it’s stuffed with sawdust. I’m sorry it wasn’t more comfortable.”
A low chuckle rumbled, and he cleared his throat. “It’s okay. When a person’s tired enough, he can sleep just about anywhere.” The shuffle of his feet let her know he’d moved farther into the kitchen. His face appeared over her shoulder. “Wow, that toast smells g
ood.”
Without looking at him, Marie offered a suggestion. “Go wash the sleep out of your eyes, put on a shirt, then sit down and have some. I made plenty.”
His chuckle came again, and the amused undercurrent made Marie’s face grow hot. “Thanks.” He ambled around the corner toward the bathroom.
Abandoning the toast, Marie dashed to her bedroom and slipped into a pair of jeans and a button-up oxford blouse. Glancing at her glowing face in the small mirror above the dresser, she wondered if he realized the effect he’d had on her. She snorted. Of course he did! What else was that chuckle about?
Well, it wasn’t him specifically that had her so rattled. She was wise enough to recognize that. It was just having a male, in such a state of dishevelment, so near. Not since Jep’s death had a man spent the night under her roof. It could have been anyone standing out there, and she would have experienced the same embarrassed discomfort.
Worry struck. If his presence was this rattling for her, how might Beth respond?
She set her jaw as she lifted her hairbrush and ran it forcefully through her errant curls. If he planned to stick around, he would need to find a hotel in one of the larger towns nearby. Having him in the house day and night might prove to be too tempting for both of the young people. She would mention that to Beth as soon as she woke up.
As she placed the hairbrush back on the dresser, she heard a knock at the back door, followed by Mitch’s call: “I’ll get it.”
She trotted around the corner in time to see Mitch, still shirtless, swing the back door open. Henry stood on the porch.
Henry took a step back when a half-dressed young man opened the door to Lisbeth’s utility porch. A flurry of movement behind the man captured his attention, and he peered over the muscular shoulder to see Marie hurrying down the hallway.
She pushed in front of the man. “I’ve got it, Mitch. Go finish dressing.”
The man grinned, scratching his whiskered chin. “Okay, Marie.” He lifted his hand in an indolent wave and ambled down the hall, disappearing into the bathroom.
Bygones Page 11
