Love Finds You in Branson, Missouri

by Gwen Ford Faulkenberry

  But as Beecher looked out the window, he could see there were holes in his argument, the biggest one being that whenever he missed his family before, he could make plans to go home and see them, or have them come to where he was, and the feeling would be assuaged. Even the plan-making was a remedy that worked quickly to dispel the symptoms. He’d gotten his plane tickets and was going home for Ellie’s opening night. So why could he not return his attention to Munich at least till then?

  Maybe it was Vivienne. As he requested, she had really let things go this time. There had been no contact between them since the breakup. Through one of their mutual friends he had heard she was dating someone else—and she seemed really happy. While this was uncomfortable for Beecher’s pride, in his heart of hearts he was okay with it. Even glad. He knew there was no future together for them. No, if anything the breakup with Vivienne made him happier to be in Munich, across the ocean from where she was.

  So that left what? Audrey. The name popped into his head like a surprise visitor, someone you least expect in the least-expected moment. He didn’t know what to do with it. Audrey? Really?

  He re-read her latest e-mail.

  To Beech or not to Beech?

  That is the question, and my answer, obviously, is to Beech when I should be studying, or doing some other constructive activity with my time. But I find myself thinking of you, and wanting to write as you encouraged me, so here I sit with my laptop in the NYU law library looking for all the world like a responsible law student while really I am nothing of the sort. Unless our conversations might be counted as research. Which is, admittedly, a stretch (though at least you are an attorney).

  How’s it going?

  Thank you for the invitation to come for Oktoberfest. I have not talked to Ellie in a week, but I hope she’ll be free and we can both come, and you can treat us to the real German experience. (Have you talked to her?)

  I already promised Katherine I would work for Heinrichs Haus, like every year, during Weinfest. She is going to order dirndls for me and Ellie that we can wear over there as well. We can all go in our tracht! I’m excited, especially since you sent me the photo of you and your friends last year. I cannot believe even you dress up. I remember you stopped doing that for Hermann’s big festival in what—about the second grade? The last time you wore lederhosen Katherine bribed you with promises of a plastic sword. Do you remember that? I do, because when you got it you chased Ellie and me with it, threatening to cut off our heads. You were quite the little barbarian back then.

  Mom and Atticus came to visit me last weekend. Dad hates the city; we had to drag him around to anything non-historic, especially in the evenings. And he refuses to take the subway. Says it’s too dangerous. He got into conversations with every taxi driver we met, mostly immigrants, about our country. One Laotian man told us he arrived in NYC with five dollars in his pocket and went on to say, “America is a great country—you can make a great life here if you are willing to work.” I could not help but wonder if his life is truly great. How he survives driving taxis all day long…what kind of a job that must be. Can you imagine? What was his life like before? Was this what he dreamed of?

  We went to that restaurant I told you about (the one with the Southern food). Atticus loved it. Mom and I were beside ourselves because Alec Baldwin was eating there too. And later we passed Christopher Plummer on the street in the theater district. He’s so old now—white-haired and not anything like when he was Captain Von Trapp, Mom said—but it was unmistakably him.

  We went to see Beauty and the Beast on Broadway—us and a bunch of little girls dressed like princesses. Atticus was unmoved, but Mom and I—well, we might as well have been little girls ourselves. The costumes were amazing! There was the candlestick character, Lumiére, who could light up his own hands—and a woman dressed up as a dresser, complete with pull-out drawers! regardless of whether it’s a kids’ show, I do love that story, don’t you, Beecher? Such a beautiful message.

  Well, I just thought I’d write a note to say guten Tag, and here I have bored you with the minutiae of my life in New York. Write back and bore me with the minutiae from München, okay?

  A.

  A. Beecher grinned to himself as he studied her signature. She’d been doing that as long as he could remember, probably since she learned to write. He’d known her that long, knew her better than most people did, and she knew him. He loved her almost like a sister. As Ellie’s best friend, she was a permanent figure in his life. But there was nothing more than friendship between them, was there?

  Audrey, five-foot-two in high-heeled shoes, with her dark curly hair and coal-black eyes. Her skin was so white she looked like an old-fashioned china doll. Beecher had teased her mercilessly one time about a straw hat she wore to shade her face on a fishing trip. She took it off and got a sunburn. Turned red as a lobster. He had teased her about that too. Now he felt bad about both things. You are definitely going crazy, he told himself as he hit REPLY.

  Dear Audrey,

  I am glad you decided to Beech, even though you probably should be studying. Don’t ask me why, but as I read your e-mail I got a vision of the time we all went fishing at the pond and you wore that ridiculous hat. I teased you, and you took it off and got sunburned, and so I teased you more. Did I ever apologize for my unchivalrous behavior? I am truly sorry. I was a terrible arse in those days.

  Beauty and the Beast sounds lovely, at least for tender-hearted, idealistic people like you. It does have a good message, but like your dad, I suppose, I am unmoved by talking candlesticks. I’m afraid my tastes are more attuned to the realistic, or as Ellie would say, the dark and dreary side of the theater: Chekov, Eugene O’Neill, Arthur Miller, Tennessee Williams. I even like David Mamet, though his diction is admittedly far beyond foul. (You would never approve.)

  I am feeling homesick and I can’t imagine why, because I did something very cool over the weekend, and my life in Munich affords me all kinds of these opportunities. At any rate I went with a group of friends, Americans and Germans, by train to Amsterdam to see U2 in concert. They were amazing. The band Muse opened for them—Ellie knew who they were because of that blasted Twilight—and they were moderately good, but when U2 came on stage Muse was instantly forgotten. My friends and I sang along to all of the songs. We were the only ones in the stadium, it seems. Europeans are so funny about concerts. They sit like sticks in the mud rather than cutting loose and having fun. But on this occasion we showed the Euro-dorks who went with us how a rock concert is done. Do you still like U2?

  Speaking of concerts and cool opportunities, just last weekend I was in Paris and I went to see the Avett Brothers. Are you familiar with them? This was their first European tour. U2 they are not, but I like them, and I believe you would too. They’re from North Carolina, quite good musicians, intellectual and spiritual and honest like you.

  Will you be in Branson for Ellie’s opening night? I think she said you couldn’t come, but I can’t remember why. I have scheduled a trip home around it. Will be doing some work for Heinrichs Haus too. My flight goes through New York, so if you are going to be around, perhaps we could see each other briefly? Let me know.

  Affectionately,

  Beecher

  “Vat’s that silly look on your face?”

  Gretchen, his assistant, was always coming to the door at inappropriate times with things like important files.

  “Nothing that concerns you. Whatcha got?”

  She plopped down a manila folder that landed like a brick on his desk. “It’s a new document from dat pharmaceutical company. They vant you to vord it correctly for dem so der butts are covered.”

  “Well, that’s what I do best.”

  “Vant a cup of coffee?”

  “No thanks, Gretchen.”

  She smiled curiously at him and left the room.

  Beecher hit SEND and picked up the folder. Silly look? What silly look? Gretchen clearly didn’t know what she was talking about.

 
Chapter Sixteen

  Ellie’s excitement about the weekend bubbled over into all kinds of preparations around her condo. She made a trip to Home Depot, where she picked up some terra-cotta flower pots, a watering can, a few tools and potting soil, and then stopped at a local nursery where she chose a variety of healthy-looking plants. Dot kept her company in the side yard, chewing open a sack of potting soil and carrying off her gloves, while she combined green and purple sweet potato plants, ivy, geraniums, gerbera daisies, and decorative grasses in several arrangements for her front porch and balcony. When Ellie was satisfied that Katherine would be impressed, she moved on to groceries.

  Will had told her about a fun market where she stocked up on granola, organic milk, artisan cheeses, German chocolate, and French bread. Going back to the fruit stand she frequented regularly, she got everything she knew Opa would love—a half-bushel of white peaches, two watermelons, a cantaloupe, raspberries and blueberries, and ripe tomatoes. With those she planned to make marinara sauce to go with pasta for their Friday night meal.

  When Friday came, Ellie bought fresh flowers for the guest room, bar, and master bedroom. She got a bundle of sunflowers for the guest room, roses for the bar, and because she knew Katherine would sleep with her, peonies for the master bed and bath. They were Katherine’s favorite. She had Dot groomed, which Dot hated, and was dressed in a ruby-red V-neck dress, tiered with embroidered detail, and a pair of burlap-colored Tom’s shoes, when the doorbell rang. Gathering her hair up into a French twist, Ellie clipped it loosely as she descended the stairs.

  “Wow.” Will stepped inside the door in khaki shorts and a linen shirt the exact color of his eyes.

  “Wow yourself.” Ellie smiled at him, approving. He pulled her into his arms, kissing her on the lips, then nuzzling her cheek. His face was as smooth as satin, and he smelled like fresh rain.

  “You shaved.”

  “Katherine doesn’t sound like the five-o’clock shadow type.”

  Ellie laughed, shaking her head. “Nope.”

  “You’ve got your hair up.” He wound his finger through a wisp of her hair that had escaped the clip. “That could be very dangerous.” He kissed her neck, sending tiny electric impulses up and down her spine.

  Ellie arched her back, offering him her throat, and held him firmly around the shoulders. His taut muscles pulsed under her hands, and his lips felt like velvet on her throat, awakening every nerve ending in her body.

  “Remind me to wear it up more often,” she whispered into his ear.

  It was Will who finally pulled away. “You know, if you weren’t so darned good-looking, I could focus.”

  “Focus on what?” Ellie patted her hair, looking around for her clip, which had fallen out.

  “Well, helping you get ready for your guests. We want this meeting to be successful.”

  “You sound like a director.”

  He handed her the clip. “What can I do? Chop onions?” He smoothed a wayward brown tress back from her face. “Give me something to do with my hands besides mess up your hair.”

  Dot barked at their feet, dancing around impatiently as though she’d waited long enough for Will’s attention.

  Ellie wound her hair back into the clip. “Could you take Dot for a potty break? And then we’ll get started on the marinara. Katherine called earlier and I’d say they’re about thirty minutes out.”

  She climbed back up the stairs to the kitchen while Will and Dot took a trip to the side yard. She put on an apron, then preheated the oven and started on the bread. Taking out a bread knife, she cut the loaf of French bread lengthwise and placed it on a cookie sheet. Then she buttered it generously, sprinkled garlic powder and parmesan cheese over it, and placed it in the oven.

  “Something smells good.” Will and Dot reappeared at the top of the stairs.

  “That’s what Beecher calls ‘smashed bread.’” Ellie giggled, holding up a hot pink and green apron and shaking it at Will. “Here, come put this on.”

  Walking over to her, Will turned his back as she slipped it over his head and tied it behind his waist.

  “Perfect.” She patted the knot.

  “I wouldn’t wear this for just any girl, you know.”

  “I am very honored.” Ellie snickered. “But it does look nice on you, you know. Matches your eyes.”

  Will set to work washing the tomatoes Ellie bought at the fruit stand, and then cut them in halves, placing them in a deep baking dish he’d already lined with foil, as she instructed him. While Ellie put the finishing touches on her Italian cream cake, dousing it with cream cheese and pecan icing, Will drizzled extra virgin olive oil over the tomatoes. Next, he sprinkled them with basil, oregano, sea salt, pepper, and fresh garlic.

  “Now put this in the oven?”

  “Yep—the bottom oven. I’ve already got it preheated.”

  Ellie was boiling the water for pasta when the doorbell rang again. “I bet that’s them!” She dashed toward the stairs while Will pulled the apron over his head, stashing it in a drawer. Dot began to bark, joining in the excitement.

  “Mom! Opa!” Ellie gathered them both into her arms, practically pulling them through the door.

  Will stood back and watched as she hugged her mother and kissed Opa on both cheeks.

  Then she turned directly to him. “Mom, Opa, this is Will Howard.”

  Katherine stuck out her hand. The incline of her head was almost regal as she said politely, “It’s so nice to meet you, Will.”

  “You too, ma’am.” Will shook her hand first, and then Opa’s.

  Opa’s eyes crinkled around the edges as he studied Will. “So you are Ellie’s famous director.”

  “Infamous, I’m afraid.”

  The timbre of Opa’s laugh was warm and deep. He clapped Will on the shoulder.

  “But you are the truly famous Opa.” Will looked from Opa to Katherine. “Ellie has told me so much about you both. I’m glad you could come to Branson this weekend.”

  Dot barked, jumping up on Katherine’s leg, and Ellie introduced her as well.

  “Well, aren’t you just precious,” Katherine cooed as she patted the dog’s head

  with a manicured hand.

  Dot looked at her with satisfaction, as though she concurred.

  Ellie and Katherine ascended the stairs first, Katherine nodding her approval of Ellie’s placement of the glass bowl for her keys.

  “Your flowers outside are beautiful, Sunshine,” Opa commented, as he and Will brought up the rear. “Everything looks so much cozier with you here than when I visited with the Realtor.”

  “Thank you, Opa. I’ve got more you’ll have to see on the balcony.”

  When they got to the top of the stairs, Will made his way over to the kitchen. “Why don’t I put in the pasta while you give them the fifty-cent tour?”

  * * * * *

  After Ellie had shown her mother and grandfather around the condo, she seated them at the infinity table. She had set it beforehand with the elegant white dishes Katherine selected and Opa had bought for the place. Will served their salads while Ellie took the bread out of the oven, turned it over, and pressed it down. Then she returned it to the oven for just another few minutes.

  Taking the baking dish out of the oven, Ellie used a fork to pop the skins off of the tomato halves. Then she used a potato masher to crush the roasted tomatoes and mix them with the herbs and spices, releasing an irresistible aroma. Throwing a piece of fettuccine against the tile backdrop to her stove, the way Zia Paola had shown her, Ellie determined the pasta was al dente. She dished heaping piles of it onto the white plates and crowned them with marinara. These she set in front of Katherine and Opa while Will cut the “smashed bread” in slices and deposited a plateful on the table.

  “This looks wonderful, honey.”

  “Aren’t you two going to join us?” Opa looked concerned.

  Will answered his question by holding out a seat for Ellie. She sat down, and he took the seat next to her. />
  Ellie reached out her hand to hold his. “Would you mind blessing the food?”

  “Sure.”

  Katherine and Opa joined hands too as Will began.

  “Thank You, Lord, for this day and for the safe trip You gave Katherine and Philip. We are grateful for the joy of their company. Please bless our conversation and this time we have together; let it be something that brings honor to You. We thank You for the meal Ellie has prepared, and ask that You would nourish our bodies with it, just as You nourish our spirits with Your presence here. In Jesus’ name, amen.”

  Ellie thought she saw Katherine wipe a tear. This was such a rare occurrence that it made her want to cry too.

  The dinner—and the meeting, to coin Will’s phrase—were both wildly successful. Katherine was a little bit more quiet than usual, and contemplative, but Opa put everyone at ease. He and Will took turns asking get-to-know-you questions. By the time dessert was served, they were laughing together like old friends.

  “Why don’t I clean up the kitchen and you guys just relax?” Will started to gather the dishes after everyone had finished the Italian cream cake.

  “No—I’ll help.” Ellie rose too, then offered, “Mom and Opa, the balcony is breezy in the evenings. Go on out there and sit, and I’ll bring you some coffee.”

  When she had served them their decaf, she rejoined Will and began to load the dishwasher. He handed her a dish he had rinsed, and she squeezed his hand. “Thank you, for everything you’ve done tonight.”

  “I haven’t done much. You’re the amazing cook.”

  “You helped me with everything. But most of all, thank you for being so kind to my family.”