She found a piece of purple wrapping paper that would be good for making lotus petals. She cut, creased, rolled, and curled, and then she glued the petals together and added gold thread to make the hairy center. Finally, she chose a fancy gold bead from her art stash for the seedpod. And voilà! She had a splendid purple lotus.
She rubbed her eyes. She’d already made a rose and a tulip. Ama’s birthday cake was going to be square, and Rose wanted a flower for each side. Because of the names in the family—Lotus, Tulip, Iris, Rose—the fourth flower should be an iris, but Ama wouldn’t want her birthday cake to remind her. Ama never brought up Iris, and when someone asked about her, Ama answered without really saying anything.
Ama had told Maddy the other day the surprise lily was her favorite flower, and the family party tomorrow was a surprise. So Rose would make a lily instead of an iris.
Folding an origami lily with fancy inner folds had been her demonstration project in 4-H. She had folded so many practice lilies she could do it with her eyes closed—though she was afraid if she shut her eyes she would fall asleep. She dug through the stack to find crisp pink tissue paper, cut an eight-and-a-half-inch square, and began to fold. In no time, she had a beautiful lily Ama would love.
* * *
The next morning, after their chores and breakfast, Ama said, “I think I’ll work in the garden this morning.”
Something in her eyes told Rose the surprise party wasn’t really a surprise.
“The potatoes need to be hilled,” Ama said. “The tomatoes need to be staked. The whole garden needs weeding. And I’ll pick us peas for lunch.” She smiled at Rose. “I’ll probably be out there all morning.”
Rose couldn’t help the smile that broke out on her own face. “Okay,” she said. “I’ll be in here.”
Rose had found a splendid cake online—four layers tall, with frothy white icing, decorated with little silver balls called dragées, which Aunt Carol had ordered for Rose. The paper flowers around the cake on the pink pedestal platter from one of the Greats would make it even more regal.
Rose used two boxes of chocolate cake mix to make the four layers, so the actual cake part was easy. While the pans cooled on racks, she turned to the online frosting recipe.
She mixed sugar, water, syrup, and salt in a pan and brought it to a boil. But she didn’t understand what it meant to boil until the mixture will spin a long thread when a little is dropped from a spoon (hold the spoon high above the saucepan). She watched the mixture bubble.
She still had to separate the yolks from three eggs and beat the whites into soft peaks, which she had never done before.
She hadn’t expected things to take so long.
The syrup mixture was shrinking in the pan, bubbles breaking with pops and spatters. Hold the spoon high above the saucepan, the directions said.
Rose got the stepladder from the garage.
The mixture will spin a long thread when a little is dropped from a spoon.
She scooped a little into the spoon, climbed the ladder, and leaned over the stove. Sweat prickled her face as she tipped a tiny bit of the sticky amber liquid out of the spoon.
She jumped and threw the spoon when suddenly a person was standing right there in the doorway between the kitchen and the dining room. She had spikes of pink and orange hair fanned over a wide black headband and fake eyelashes so long and thick she reminded Rose of a llama. Rose knew who she was. She was tall like Lotus. She had Great-aunt Annie’s freckles. She was without a doubt an older version of the pictures of Rose’s mother in the albums. Alarm bells went off from somewhere in Rose’s memory of her mother. Her knees tried to turn to noodles, but she locked them.
They stared at each other.
Finally, her mother said, “Where’s Ma?” She picked up the tissue paper lily on the counter.
“Please put that down.” Rose’s voice shook.
Iris’s face turned red.
“It’s Ama’s favorite flower,” Rose said. “A surprise lily.”
Iris blinked, something flashing in her expression before she looked away. Carefully, she put the flower down. “Sorry.”
Then she asked why Rose was on a ladder.
“Because.” She shouldn’t be talking to her mother.
Iris stepped to the stove and peered into the pan. “What are you cooking?”
“Frosting.”
“Ma makes frosting with butter and milk and powdered sugar. She doesn’t cook it.”
“This is special. For her birthday.” The words moved tight and breathy through Rose’s pinched throat. Why didn’t she shut up?
The door between the garage and the kitchen flew open and Ama stood there.
“Happy birthday, Ma.”
Surprise, anger, and worry clouded Ama’s face. The doorbell rang.
Rose scrambled off the ladder. “I’ll get it.” She stumbled as she passed her mother.
When she opened the door, Uncle Thomas held a Crock-Pot, Maddy waggled a gift bag, and Aunt Carol clutched a skinny loaf of bread as long as Rose’s arms.
“Is something burning?” Aunt Carol asked.
“The frosting,” Rose mumbled.
“Frosting is beastly.” Aunt Carol said things like beastly because she was from England. And she insisted Rose call her auhnt instead of ant because she was a human, not a bug. When Rose said auhnt she felt like she had to lift her chin so high she might step in something. Aunt Carol’s hair didn’t move. And she always wore lipstick, mascara, and nail polish.
Ama came into the living room looking dazed and awkward. When Iris followed, everybody gawked.
“Happy birthday, Tulip!” Aunt Carol finally said. “We’ve brought lunch. Hello, Iris.” Aunt Carol put down the Crock-Pot and kissed the air beside Iris’s cheek. “It’s been such a long time. Clara’s funeral?” She stepped back, studying Iris.
The smile that peeked through the llama mask warmed Iris’s face and the alarm bells blared in Rose’s head.
Then, acting as if Iris were only slightly unexpected, Aunt Carol motioned. “Come on, girls. Let’s put the finishing touches on that birthday cake.”
On the way to the kitchen, Rose brushed against Ama and leaned in for a hug. Ama’s arm slid around Rose as always, and she gave Rose a squeeze, but there was no heart in it. Rose wanted to kick something. This was Ama’s birthday, and Rose had worked hard to make it special. Her mother had picked the worst possible time to show up.
In the kitchen, at least Aunt Carol didn’t ask about the ladder, which Rose appreciated. Feeling like her feet were stuck in mud, she folded it and put it in the garage. When she came back, Aunt Carol was pouring the burnt sticky stuff down the drain.
She got butter out of the refrigerator. “Let’s just make a nice buttercream frosting, shall we?”
Rose opened her mouth to say that wasn’t fancy enough; then she shut it.
As Aunt Carol whipped up frosting she kept saying things like “Goodness! Four layers?”
“It’s a special occasion,” Rose said.
“Now it’s really special,” Maddy said, practically wagging her tail with interest. “With her here.” Leaning close, she whispered, “I told you my dad had seen her.”
Rose narrowed her eyes at Maddy. If Rose had known her mother was coming, she would have locked the door to keep Ama from being upset, especially today.
“Bugs could get caught in those lashes,” Maddy said, giggling. “But otherwise, you two look just alike.”
“We do not!”
Aunt Carol arched her eyebrows at them and asked Rose to please measure the vanilla.
When the frosting was creamy, Rose spread it. Little bits of cake broke off and had to be stuck back on, which took extra frosting. Plus, putting four layers on top of each other without everything leaning was nearly impossible.
“I want to hel
p!” Maddy kept saying, standing about an inch away, with her nose practically in the frosting.
Getting every last bit of chocolate cake covered so no brown patches showed called for yet more frosting, which Aunt Carol whipped up.
“And this is absolutely all,” Aunt Carol said, “because we’re out of confectioners’ sugar.”
“It’s huge,” Maddy said when the fourth layer was settled on top and spread with the last of the frosting.
Rose decided to skip the little silver balls after Maddy put one in her mouth and said it was hard as a rock and tasted like soap. Rose placed an origami flower on each side of the cake, and Aunt Carol took a picture before Rose carried the cake into the living room. It was so heavy her hands shook.
And there sat her mother, who Rose had actually forgotten about for a few minutes.
When Ama saw the cake, she shook her head. Did that mean she couldn’t believe Rose had made it all by herself? That it was too beautiful for words? Or did it mean Ama couldn’t think about it right now because Iris was here?
Fighting back tears and about to drop the platter, Rose put it on the sideboard. Then she and Maddy and Aunt Carol set the table for lunch. The day was nothing like it was supposed to be. It was supposed to be Ama and Rose. Uncle Thomas and Aunt Carol and Maddy. And Myrtle.
While they were eating, Aunt Carol chattered about their upcoming trip to England. They would stay with her sisters and let Maddy get to know her cousins. Iris was silent, staring at the sideboard full of pretty china from Grandma Clara’s day. The rug under the table that had always been there. The lamp in the corner that threw the light up on the ceiling instead of down on the floor. The framed photograph on the wall of Great-great-grandpa Franklin Lovell in overalls leaning on an axe handle, pieces of chopped wood at his feet. And another picture of him with his three brothers as young men standing in front of a wagon piled high with hay. Iris’s gaze rested a long time on the pair of framed hands-holding-flowers prints signed by Lotus Lovell.
When Iris was Rose’s age, she had sat in this very room at this very table, maybe in that very chair. Had everybody loved each other then? Had her mother been happy?
Rose felt dizzy, as if she’d looked at the smooth surface of the pond and seen things deeper than her own reflection. She felt a sinking feeling, which felt a little like sympathy.
“I like your nails, Iris,” Maddy said.
Iris glanced at her glossy black nails with tiny silver stars on each tip. “Thanks,” she said with that smile again that warmed her face.
Did Maddy really like them? Black fingernails were nasty. But a memory tugged at Rose of her mother with long silky hair and pink nails. And she’d smelled nice. There was something about that day Rose couldn’t remember. Sometimes it almost snuck back, but when she tried to whirl and grab it, it slipped away.
When Iris caught Rose watching her, Rose turned and kept her gaze fixed on Ama. Ama’s face was pale.
“Tulip,” Uncle Thomas was saying, “remember how Harriet Jane just turned up after Grandpa died? Just out of the blue?”
Ama looked at him, seeming for a second not to know what he was talking about. But then she nodded. “I was at the barn and saw this person coming toward me. I’d never seen her in my life, but I knew who it was.” Her cheeks colored and she shot Uncle Thomas a look. “It was my sister.”
Uncle Thomas nodded.
What had made Uncle Thomas think of Harriet Jane? Had he also noticed Iris staring at the bouquet prints? Or was it just Iris’s turning up out of the blue the way Harriet Jane had done?
“I was fifteen then,” Uncle Thomas said. “And mightily impressed. The Mystery Aunt returned. And remember how it cheered us up? We thought the farm was lost and we were going to have to find other vocations.” He smiled. “Which I did anyway, but then I was convinced I wanted to farm. And like a fairy godmother, Harriet Jane swished into the bank and paid off the debt. Remember how happy Grandma Clara was?”
Ama nodded, smiling for the first time.
“Of course, she was grieving Grandpa’s death,” Uncle Thomas said. “But she had her oldest child back, and the farm was safe.”
“And then she died,” Ama said quietly.
Rose knew Ama meant Harriet Jane had died. Grandma Clara had lived a long time after that.
“But not for a while,” Uncle Thomas said. “Remember how she’d speak Italian for us? And she showed us pictures of that little mountain town in Tuscany where she lived? Of her apartment above the linen shop on the town square. And her sculptures. And her friends.”
Ama nodded. “It was like she’d been on a different planet. All those grape and olive vineyards on those hillsides. The Biblical skies.”
They were quiet for a while. Forks tapped plates and Rose’s food tasted like cardboard. Normally, she loved stories about the old days and the Greats, but today, with her mother here, even those felt dangerous.
A while later, when Aunt Carol served the cake, Rose watched Ama take a bite.
“Delicious,” Uncle Thomas pronounced. “Did you make this, Rose?”
“Yes.”
Ama smiled, but she put down her fork. She didn’t like the cake.
Rose took a bite. It tasted very ordinary. Not special at all. The cake would have tasted excellent if her mother hadn’t showed up.
Aunt Carol was asking Iris about her job at the salon like Iris was her favorite niece. And Maddy was looking admiringly at Iris’s dangly earrings. Maddy was probably about to say she loved them.
“I don’t think it’s right to show up after years and years and expect people to just pass the potatoes,” Rose blurted, interrupting Aunt Carol.
Ama’s eyes flicked to Rose and she started to say something.
“What potatoes?” Maddy said.
“Honey, I think Rose meant…,” Aunt Carol began.
“May I be excused?” Rose didn’t wait for an answer.
She’d hardly eaten, but she felt like her lunch might come up. She ran outside and threw herself into the porch swing. Myrtle, who could open the screen door, came out and sat at her feet until Rose patted the space beside her and Myrtle leapt into the swing and onto Rose’s lap.
When Maddy came out, she sat down and they rocked back and forth. After a while, Maddy said quietly, “Is she anything like you expected?”
Rose shook her head.
“Oh well,” Maddy said. “I bought a French manicure kit with babysitting money. Let’s do our nails.”
She jumped out of the swing and ran to the car to get the manicure kit.
“Come on,” she said. “Let’s go to your room.”
As they went up the stairs, voices were still coming from the dining room. But in Rose’s room, Iris was sitting on Rose’s bed.
“I’ve not been up here in years,” she said. “This was my bed.” She traced the delicate metal headboard of birds and flowers with her fingers. “You painted it white.”
“No, I didn’t. It’s always been white.”
“It was green when it was mine.” Iris scratched off a flake of paint with one of her shiny black nails. “See? Green underneath.”
Rose scowled. She hadn’t given Iris permission to come in and sit on her bed and scratch off paint. “Well, I didn’t paint it.”
“I guess Ma did. It’s pretty this way.”
Before she turned to look out the window, she smiled at Rose as if maybe they could be friends. But Iris was a grown-up and Rose was a kid. And Iris was her mother, even though Rose could never think of her like that. And Rose couldn’t think of Iris as someone like Aunt Carol because she just couldn’t, because Iris was her mother. But not really.
The sun, which had been behind clouds, suddenly slid out and the room brightened. The shadow boxes caught the light.
Iris crossed the room to look. “Did you make these?” She sou
nded truly interested.
“Yes.”
Iris studied the shadow boxes. “They’re good.” She pointed to the one in the middle. “That’s Ma. And you. And the dog. And the cows. You got the sky just right,” she said. “When I was growing up here, I loved the sky. The sky in Kentucky is nothing like this one. Actually, the sky in town is nothing like this one.”
“And look at these,” Maddy said, going to Rose’s bulletin board. “Blue ribbon, blue ribbon, blue ribbon.”
Iris looked.
Then her eyes riveted on the bottom shelf of the glass-fronted bookcase. “Those are my dolls.” She sounded surprised. “Ma kept them.” She went to the bookcase and sat cross-legged on the floor. She raised the glass door and slid it back. She picked the dolls up, one by one, turning them, running her fingers over them. Rose couldn’t see Iris’s face.
Maddy was looking at Rose as if to say This is pretty weird, and Rose felt embarrassed. She turned and left the room, motioning to Maddy to follow her.
They went downstairs. “We can do the manicures on the porch,” Rose said. She still felt mad at Iris for turning up and ruining Ama’s surprise party. And she’d be glad when her mother was gone. But the way Iris held and touched the dolls was sad.
“Why do you think she’s come back after all this time?” Maddy asked as she spread out her manicure stuff on the porch floor. “Do you suppose she’s come for you?”
Rose rolled her eyes and said, “No,” like it was the stupidest idea in the world. “Does she look like she could be my mother? She’s so young. Besides, Ama adopted me years ago.”
“You’re adopted?” Maddy looked astonished.
“Well, yeah. Didn’t you know that?”
Maddy shook her head. “I thought Aunt Tulip was just your grandmother.”
“She is. My grandmother who legally adopted me when I was four years old.”
Maddy sighed. “My life is so boring.”
Maddy gave Rose a French manicure; then she wanted Rose to give her one. Myrtle came out to see what they were doing but didn’t like the smell and went back inside. Rose wondered if Iris was still upstairs. She wondered what Ama was doing.
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