Patchwork and Politics

by Christine Lynxwiler

  “Healing herbs? From a florist’s bouquet? You’re reaching.”

  “Would you believe they were on the clearance shelf, so I just grabbed them as an afterthought?”

  I might have if it weren’t for the color-coordinated cake. “That explains it then. You really like a bargain, don’t you? Guess I should be glad they didn’t have lunch meat on clearance, or I probably would have gotten a pound of that for my birthday.”

  “Actually. . .there was some liverwurst on sale. It was a tough call between the flowers and that.” He feigned a look of great concern. “Hope I made the right decision.”

  She playfully slugged him on the arm. “Definitely, and just to show you I mean it, how about I fix us some coffee to go with that cake?”

  “You’re a woman after my own heart,” Holt said, as they walked down the hall.

  Megan didn’t know what to say. She couldn’t exactly say, “No, not really. I’m trying to protect your heart from me.” So she just remained silent.

  While Megan went into make the coffee, Holt sat down in the living room.

  “Whose scrapbook?”

  “That’s mine.”

  “May I look at it?”

  “Sure.”

  Her hands trembled as she measured the coffee into the pot and poured the water in. The pictures in that book were like a photograph story of her life. It was as if she were baring her soul to him, and she wasn’t even in the same room.

  She heard Sarah, then Holt’s deep voice rumbled, but she couldn’t make out what they were saying. Sarah was probably filling in the narrative for the pictures. She’d made Megan tell her about each one earlier, and she had a very good memory.

  She stuck her head in the living room. “Holt, do you want sugar and cream?”

  Sarah and Holt both jumped, then laughed. They were wearing party hats and had noisemakers. After their chuckle, they began to blow the little horns as if it were midnight on New Year’s Eve. Sarah hurried over with a hat for Megan. Not wanting to disappoint her daughter, Megan bent down and allowed the four year old to put it carefully on her head. She smiled.

  Holt stood and winked at Sarah, who was practically jumping with excitement. “I’ll fix my own coffee. You just have a seat in here with Sarah.”

  Megan obediently sat down, and Holt made his way into the kitchen as if he was very much at home in the little house. She heard him opening drawers. “Do you need some help?”

  “No, no, I’ve got it. You just relax.”

  She nodded absently. Everything had happened so fast. She couldn’t believe she’d gone from spending her birthday alone with Sarah to having this elaborate party for three.

  “Sarah? I’m ready.” Holt’s voice called from the kitchen.

  “Okay,” Sarah answered and leaped to her feet. She scurried to the light switch and turned it off. “Ready!”

  Megan watched in disbelief as the kitchen door came open, and Holt walked out carrying her cake, ablaze with candles. “Happy Birthday to you. . .” Neither Holt nor Sarah were particularly on key, but Megan knew she’d never hear a sweeter rendition of that particular song as long as she lived.

  ❧

  Later, after Sarah was tucked into bed, Megan and Holt relaxed in the front porch rockers. As they looked up at the seemingly innumerable stars and the smell of honeysuckle filled the air, Megan sighed.

  “This has been the best birthday ever.”

  “Really?” Holt’s voice sounded doubtful. “I saw that scrapbook. I had some pretty tough competition.”

  Megan chuckled. “Yeah, you did. Granny Lola sure knew how to celebrate. These last three birthdays without her have been awful.” She paused, struggling for the right words, listening to the chirping crickets. “What you did today helped to erase those bad birthday memories and bring back the joy Granny put into celebrating. I’ll be forever grateful.”

  “Hmm. . .eternal gratitude? Surely a good politician could think of a way to turn that to his advantage?”

  She swallowed the lump in her throat, thankful for his way of lightening a heavy situation. “Hey, I fixed supper for you. What more did you want?”

  “Oh, I don’t know. Maybe a night out on the town sometime? Supper and a movie?” He cleared his throat, and she found his obvious nervousness—so out of place in this confident man—endearing. “Don’t get me wrong. I love the farm, but I just thought maybe Friday night you could get a sitter—”

  “No, I can’t.”

  “Well, in that case, maybe there’s a kid’s movie playing. I love being with Sarah. We could all go together.”

  She was so glad this conversation was taking place in pitch dark, otherwise, her expression would definitely give her away. “I appreciate the offer, Holt. But I just don’t think it’s a good idea.” She knew she should just tell him why, but letting him go by means of noble sacrifice seemed infinitely preferable to losing him due to his disdain of her past.

  He abruptly stood. “Well, okay, then. Thanks for allowing me to share today, Megan.”

  She pushed to her feet as well. She couldn’t see his face, but she knew he was aggravated with her constant rebuffs. Her shoulders sagged. That was kind of the point, wasn’t it?

  “Thank you.” She cringed lest her husky voice betray her emotions, but he didn’t seem to notice.

  “Good night.” He reached for her hand, and against her better judgment, she took it. He pulled her nearer and dropped a light kiss on her forehead. Her legs trembled, and she thought her heart would beat right out of her chest.

  “Good night.” She stood and watched the shadowy figure of the best man she’d ever known fade into the inky blackness. Only when his truck motor started did she go inside to face a sleepless night.

  Eight

  It had been a month since Megan’s birthday. Holt had gotten into the habit of stopping by the farm on Tuesday and Thursday afternoons, doing a few odd jobs, and enjoying the sunset with the two Watson females. Often—as he had today—he brought Chinese food for supper. It was Megan’s favorite, and he was hoping that the old adage about the way to a man’s heart being through his stomach worked in reverse too.

  Little Sarah had warmed to him quickly, but Megan was another story. Their friendship had seemed to be on the verge of progressing to a new level the day of her birthday, but if anything, it had gone backwards from that day, as if a wall had been constructed between them.

  Until today, that is, Holt thought as his pickup bounced along the gravel road. Today, he was going to make a brave attempt at scaling the invisible wall and ask Megan to the family Fourth of July picnic.

  Holt’s brother, Cade, had married last December, and like all happy newlyweds, he felt sorry for anyone who didn’t have what he shared with his new wife, Annalisa. The couple was hosting the annual gathering at the Circle M, and Cade had called last night to remind Holt and be sure he was coming.

  No matter how hard his older brother tried, he couldn’t hide his concern that Holt might not be over his breakup with his old girlfriend. Nor could Cade conceal his joy when Holt had assured him that he’d be there with a guest.

  Now it was up to Holt to produce one.

  There was only one person he wanted to take to the picnic. Two, actually, counting Sarah. He’d asked Megan out before, but she’d always had a convenient excuse. She seemed so happy to be with him that he was beginning to wonder if she was afraid to leave her little house in the hills.

  He was convinced his dream to someday serve as governor was from God—a way for Him to use Holt for His good. What would the people of Arkansas think of a First Lady who refused to leave the farm? He pushed his discomfort aside. Surely God wouldn’t bring Megan into his life, only to make him choose between her and his career.

  ❧

  Megan forked another piece of Almond Fried Chicken. “You have to stop this,” she groaned. “I’ll be bigger than a house by the Fourth of July if you don’t.”

  “Aw, Meg, it’s not so bad. We always go for
a walk afterwards. You probably burn off all the extra calories.”

  “Huh! Remind me not to let you be my diet counselor.” She grinned at his hurt little boy look.

  “Speaking of the Fourth of July. . .”

  “Yeah?”

  “Do you have plans?”

  “Hmm. . .quilt?”

  “That doesn’t sound like very much fun.”

  “What are you going to do?” She hated to ask. She felt sure his celebration would involve large crowds, red, white, and blue banners, and speeches. She was equally sure he was about to ask her to attend. Then there would be no choice but to tell him the truth.

  “My folks have an annual family thing. The location rotates around from house to house, but the food’s always delicious and the company’s always good.”

  “Somehow, that’s not what I envisioned you doing on a patriotic holiday.”

  He nodded. “One year, I skipped it because I thought I had to attend a political rally. The only thing I could think about was my brothers eating all the barbecue without me. I flubbed my whole speech. After that, I decided I’d stick with the McFaddens on holidays and save the campaigning for the rest of the year.”

  “What a great idea.”

  “I’m glad to hear you say that, because I want you and Sarah to come with me this year.”

  She opened her mouth, but the words wouldn’t come. Now was the time to tell him why they couldn’t ever be more than friends and why she definitely couldn’t go with him to the picnic. Instead, she shoved another bite of chicken in her mouth and gave a noncommittal shrug. The small bite seemed to grow bigger and bigger. When she finally swallowed, he was still looking at her, apparently waiting for an answer.

  She couldn’t help but be impressed with how much his family meant to him. Every time they were together, he managed to knock another chip off her preconceived image of a smooth politician. Maybe that was why she was finding it harder and harder to avoid growing close to him.

  “We can’t.”

  “Why?”

  “I can’t leave Aunt Irene alone that long.”

  “Your aunt lives with you?” Holt looked around the room as if expecting a previously unnoticed old lady to materialize in a corner.

  “No, and she’s not really my aunt. She was my grandmother’s nearest neighbor, and now she’s mine. I check on her every day.”

  “Is she sick?”

  “No,” Megan said, feeling defensive, “but she’s elderly, and I don’t want anything to happen to her.”

  “So she’s active?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then why can’t she come too? The more the merrier.” Holt sat back in his chair and fixed her with a level gaze.

  He wasn’t going to make this easy for her.

  Then again, she didn’t owe him anything. They’d had some nice times together, but she still had the right to say no to an invitation.

  “No, thanks. Maybe next time.” Why had she added that last? Next time he asked, if there was a next time, which she doubted after this, she’d have to tell him the real reason she couldn’t date him.

  He pushed abruptly to his feet. “I’d better be going.”

  Logically, she knew the best thing she could do would be to let him go, but her heart nudged her to stop him. She stood. “Without our walk? I can see those calories jumping for glee that they aren’t going to be burned tonight after all.”

  Her silliness elicited a small grin that quickly disappeared. Then he stared at her so long she wanted to avert her eyes. “Have it your way. Let’s walk.”

  ❧

  The two adults walked in silence, but Sarah kept up an imaginative chatter that filled in the conversational void. “Luuuuucy!!!” she called, then she glanced back at Megan and Holt. “Lucy’s run off again.” She stopped walking suddenly and fixed Holt with an inquisitive stare. “Do you know who Lucy is?”

  Megan bit back a grin. There was little doubt that Holt did know who Lucy was—although Sarah had a wide repertoire of imaginary playmates. He wouldn’t admit to his knowledge though, because they both loved to hear Sarah say “imaginary.”

  Holt shook his head.

  “She’s my ‘may-nay’ friend.”

  He nodded solemnly.

  When Sarah turned to skip on down the path in search of Lucy, Holt met Megan’s grin with one of his own. She hoped that meant he’d come to terms with her refusal of his invitation. Surely he realized friendship was all she had to offer.

  ❧

  Four days later, Megan guided the red laser light along the familiar quilting pattern. As she watched the simple strand of ivy take shape on the fabric, she wished she were doing a difficult pattern, instead. Then her mind wouldn’t have time to dwell on the fact that she hadn’t heard from Holt since Tuesday night.

  She realized now she’d been overly optimistic to assume that a shared grin over Sarah had signaled his acceptance of her decision. He had only said a few more words that night before leaving, and she’d noticed there had been no promise of future visits.

  She’d spent the past four days reminding herself she should be happy to have accomplished her goal of breaking things off with Holt. Her hermit-like attitude had won the battle for her without her even having to try. But her heart proclaimed it a hollow victory.

  The jangling of the phone startled her.

  Sarah ran into the room. “Mama, the phone is ringing.”

  Megan had to smile at the four yearold’s propensity for stating the obvious. She stopped the needle where it was and grabbed the cordless phone beside her.

  “Hello?”

  “Hi, Megan. It’s Holt.”

  Her heart thudded so loudly she was afraid he’d hear it over the line. “Hi.”

  “I’m sorry I didn’t make it Thursday. I got tied up in Little Rock and just got home.”

  “Don’t they have phones in Little Rock?” As soon as the words were out, she wished them back. He didn’t have to call. They hadn’t had a date.

  “Yes, Meg,” he responded with the teasing tone she was coming to know so well, “they have phones in Little Rock.” She could see his grin as clearly as if he were standing in front of her. “I forgot to take your number with me. You—being such a social person—may not realize this, but it’s unlisted.”

  “Oh.” Her face grew hot.

  “I thought you might want to go out to lunch with me after church tomorrow.” He paused, but before she could speak, he continued. “You and Sarah. And, of course, Aunt Irene.”

  Megan wracked her brain for an excuse. It had been on the tip of her tongue to tell him that Aunt Irene ate Sunday lunch with them, but he’d apparently already thought of that. “What time do you get out of church?”

  “We get out at twelve, but I thought I might go with you. Since I’ve moved, the church you go to is much closer than the one I grew up in, and I’ve been wanting to visit there anyway. Plus, that way we’d be ready to go eat when it was over.”

  “Where would we eat?” If quilting ever failed, she could become a reporter, she thought. She had at least two of the five Ws down pat.

  “Well, The Fish House is what I had in mind, but not everyone likes fish. . .”

  “I love it. It used to be my favorite place to eat around here, but I haven’t been there in years.” That had sounded suspiciously like she was accepting.

  “What about Sarah? Will it be okay with her?”

  Sarah had never eaten in a restaurant. It probably wouldn’t matter what they were serving, she’d be thrilled. But Megan wasn’t about to pass on that ammunition to Mr. “you need to get out more” McFadden.

  “Sure, she loves fish.”

  “Is that a yes?”

  She hesitated. The relief of hearing his voice again was still coursing through her. It was only lunch. “Yes, Holt, that’s a yes.”

  “Great. I’ll see you then.”

  Megan hung up and walked back to her quilting machine. It was amazing how much lighter her heart fel
t. She sewed for a few minutes in total peace. Then the voice of reason prevailed. What would happen when he found out about her past?

  ❧

  Father, I need your help. I don’t know what to do. You already know my feelings for Megan are growing daily. She can’t let go of the past, though, and because of that, I’m confused about the future. And even if I do get her to come back out into the world, I’m afraid I’ll let her down. Holt cleared his throat and gritted his teeth. If I can’t be strong enough to stand by her no matter what happens, then don’t let her care for me as I do her. If it’s not Your will for me to be with Megan, please make it plain to me. Your will be done. In Jesus’ name, amen.

  Holt stood and picked up his Bible. He had offered Megan a ride to church, but since the building was between his house and hers, she’d insisted on driving. He wondered if she’d take her own vehicle to the restaurant as well.

  As he drove the short distance, he thought about the prayer he’d just prayed. He’d long ago learned the importance of wanting God’s will over his own, but lately, with Marshall’s pressure, he sometimes wondered how far he would go to help God along with His plans for Holt’s career. And now, asking for God’s will in his relationship with Megan had been more difficult than he’d imagined.

  Nine

  Megan couldn’t believe God’s timing. Holt sat on one side of her and Aunt Irene on the other as the Bible Class teacher read aloud from chapter five of Matthew. “You are the light of the world. A city on a hill cannot be hidden. Neither do people light a light a lamp and put it under a bowl. Instead they put it on its stand, and it gives light to everyone in the house. In the same way, let your light shine before men, that they may see your good deeds and praise your Father in heaven.”

  Aunt Irene nodded vigorously, and Megan knew her neighbor was thinking of all the times she had quoted that verse to Megan concerning her hiding. Holt looked at the older woman then caught Megan’s eye and nodded slightly. Though he hadn’t quoted scripture to her, at least twice that Megan could remember he’d referred to this very passage in reference to her hermit-hood, as he jokingly called it.

  Was she guilty of hiding her light? Maybe. But then again, maybe she felt she would do more damage as a Christian example by going out in public and reminding people of the past.