“No kidding about the up and down business. My ears actually popped on the way down. And I almost ran over a wild turkey.”
“Welcome to the foothills of the Appalachians.” Grams smiled. “I do so hope you’ll be happy here.”
“It can’t be worse than what I left behind. Trust me.”
“Oh, you poor thing.”
Meg stiffened. She didn’t want anyone’s pity. But in the next instant she set aside her defenses and returned her grandmother’s embrace. She’d lived with her guard up for so long she almost didn’t know how to react to genuine caring and affection. “Thanks. That’s exactly what I need.”
After receiving another firm hug, Meg pushed out a smile. Grams reminded her of a slimmer version of the Southern culinary expert Paula Dean, with perceptive yet gentle blue eyes, platinum hair, and wide, happy smile.
“Can I help you carry anything into the house?”
“Um—” Meg thought of everything she owned, crammed into her trunk and back seat. She didn’t feel like facing it all at the moment. “No, I’ll unload later.”
“You sure? Tom can help us.”
Tom! That’s his name! Meg grinned. “Let’s put it off awhile.” She spied the mugs on the picnic table. “I’d love a cup of coffee.”
“Well, we got that all right. C’mon over and set yourself down.” Wearing a broad smile, Grams clapped a solid, capable arm around Meg’s waist and led her into the backyard. “You remember Tom, don’t you?”
“Yep.” She smiled a greeting at the older man.
“Good to see you again, Meggie.” He inclined his head politely and puffed on his pipe.
Meg was reminded of an old cowboy as she took in the tanned complexion and the lines of time etched into Tom’s face. She imagined he’d make a fitting character in an old Western movie. All he needed was a dusty trail and a sunset behind him.
Grams placed her hands on her hips. “How do you like your coffee?”
“With a little cream and sugar.”
“Okay, then, I’ll be right back.”
Grams entered her white clapboard home while Meg ambled around the back yard to stretch her legs. The yard itself was well groomed, but the land surrounding it was overgrown with long grass, weeds, and wildflowers. When Meg was little, she recalled seeing cows grazing in what was then the pasture. There had been roosters, chickens, goats, and sundry other creatures on this farm, too.
Grams returned, coffee cup in hand, and Meg joined the older couple at the picnic table.
“Where are you from, Tom?” Meg had to admit that she hadn’t given the old guy much thought before today. He’d been her grandparents’ friend for as long as she could remember, but she’d had to manage so much drama in her life since she was a kid that she’d never bothered to get to know him.
“I’m from next door,” he said, misinterpreting her question.
“So, Kentucky born and raised?”
“Oh, no, no, no. I grew up in the Colorado-Wyoming area. A rancher and cowhand.”
Yep, he fit the part, all right. Meg smiled.
“Meggie spent a lot of her growing-up years in California,” Grams offered.
“Well, then, we’re practically family.” Tom sent her a wink, and Meg found him rather charming for a leathery ol’ cowboy.
“So how did you end up in Miracle, Kentucky?”
“That’s a long story, missy. You sure you want to hear it?”
“Of course she doesn’t.” Grams’ blue eyes twinkled with the jest. “You’ll bore us to tears and we’ve got work to do.” She leaned across the table towards Tom. “I want to help get Meggie unpacked and settled before we take her out to eat tonight.”
Tom nodded without a trace of insult evident on his grinning countenance.
“We’re going out to eat tonight?” Meg looked from Grams to Tom, then back to her grandmother again.
“Your gramma and I go out to eat ever’ Friday evening. It’s a regular habit with us.”
“We’re hoping you’ll join us tonight.” A wide smile split Grams’ tanned face. “Tom and I might be old folks, but we sure know how to have a good time.”
“And your coming along has nothing to do with Loretta wanting to show off her pretty granddaughter to all her friends, either,” Tom added with a mischievous grin.
“Oh, you hush.” Grams waved a hand at him.
Meg felt deeply flattered. “Well, sure, I’ll come along.”
Tom replied with a satisfied incline of his head and then puffed on his pipe.
“Come with me, hon.” Grams stood. “Let’s start unloading your car. As you can see, I’m anxious to get you settled in.”
Meg pushed to her feet and gave Tom a parting smile.
As she trailed her grandmother to the car, she felt a sense of calm drape over her. She reveled in hearing the sounds of summer: the birds twittering in the leafy treetops and the insects buzzing in the tall grasses beyond Grams’ neatly mowed yard. The azure sky seemed so close, Meg wanted to reach out and grab it. What a stark contrast to the smog and city noise she’d grown accustomed to, cars honking, people shouting.
In that moment, Meg dared to wonder if she could clamp on to this peace and make it her own.
Chapter Two
Meg entered her grandmother’s home with her duffel bag’s strap slung over her shoulder. Glancing around the sunny yellow kitchen, she wished she’d been able to spend more time here as a kid. When she had visited, it had always been during holidays, and this two-story country home with triangular twin dormers, gingerbread trim, and wrap-around porch was crammed with relatives whom Meg barely knew. Her visit two months ago had been the first time she’d been able to absorb the sights and sounds without distraction.
The clocks. Meg wasn’t sure whether she should grin or grimace as she made her way up the narrow, enclosed stairwell.
When she interviewed for the teaching position at the grade school last June, Meg had stayed overnight with Grams. She’d been mesmerized by the clock collection. There were small clocks, large clocks, bird-shaped clocks, flower-shaped clocks, cuckoo clocks, and even a “music in motion” clock that played Broadway tunes. There were clown-shaped clocks, wall clocks, and mantel clocks, many of which chimed, whistled, rang, and sang. Every hour, on the hour, a bizarre cacophony filled the house. During her last visit, Meg wondered if she’d get a decent night’s sleep with all the ticking and gonging going on. The next morning, however, Meg was surprised to discover she’d slept as hard as stone.
Of course, almost anything was better than that lumpy sofa in her apartment and the noise from the busy street below.
Make that her former apartment.
Meg walked into the bedroom that would be hers for the next ten months and set down her heavy duffel on the hardwood floor. Grams said this was the very room in which Meg’s dad had fallen asleep, night after night, as a boy. A wave of melancholy enveloped her, just as it had the last time she’d been here. She wished she knew her father better. He’d remarried long ago, and he and his wife, Donna, had two kids, Kelly and Ryan. Meg had never felt truly welcome in her dad’s home, and her half siblings had always seemed to regard her as an oddity. But as much as it hurt, Meg couldn’t blame them. Two weeks a year just hadn’t been enough time to really find out what made her father and his family tick.
Meg smiled at her private quip and glanced at the portrait clock on the bedside table. The framed picture, hinged to the clock, depicted all three Jorgenson boys. Meg lifted the cherry-wood keepsake for closer inspection. Dad, the oldest, must be a teenager in this picture, but he looked much the same as he did the last time Meg saw him: short, rust-colored hair, freckled face, a tall, brawny frame.
“I hope you’ll be comfortable up here.”
Meg set down the portrait clock and turned to face her grandmother. “I’m sure I’ll be fine.”
Grams lowered the square box she carried from Meg’s car to the floor and glanced at the picture of her sons. “I was jus
t thinking before you arrived how amazing it is that your grampa and I raised three boys in this house. These bedrooms seem barely large enough for one person, let alone three husky fellows. Why, your uncle John and aunt Carley have a house three times this size and only two children—and one of them’s in college!”
“I think life, in general, has gotten bigger.” A rueful grin tugged at the corners of Meg’s mouth. “But bigger isn’t better. I’ll bet Laura Ingalls Wilder got a better education in her one-room schoolhouse than most kids get in their giant, brick, public schools.” She sighed. “And please don’t get me wrong. I’m not blaming the teachers. Most are devoted to helping their students learn.”
Grams appeared to understand. “Sometimes big schools, like big cities—and big churches, too—lose that personal touch that’s so vital.”
Meg personally felt the public school system might be lacking more than the “personal touch,” but she figured it was wasted energy to dwell on the subject a moment longer.
“Maybe you’ll find living here and teaching at Fairview Academy more rewarding.”
Meg’s hope was rekindled. “I know I will. Nothing could be worse than this last year. The majority of kids I worked with were rebellious hoodlums who didn’t want to learn. Most parents didn’t care. The teachers were powerless—” Meg bit off the rest of her sentence. “Sorry, Grams, I didn’t mean to drone on like that.”
“Hon, it’s all right. I sensed your frustration last spring when we talked about it on the phone.” Grams regarded Meg askance. “And speaking of last spring, what’s going on with that boyfriend of yours?”
“Dillon?” Meg wagged her head. “It’s completely over between us. I’m disappointed with the way things turned out, but I know I made the right decision to leave him.”
“Good for you.” A wry grin curved Grams’ pink lips. “You’re better than the likes of that boy. If he really loved you, he’d have married you.”
“Or at least been faithful and committed to our relationship.”
“Well, yes—”
A heavy sadness settled over Meg. “I wanted to forgive him, Grams, but he wasn’t sorry for hurting me so there was no guarantee it wouldn’t happen again. I guess I just want more than Dillon could offer.”
“Are you still hurt, hon?”
“A little, but I’m more relieved that I’m away from him and my former job. I’m glad to be out of that apartment, and—” She took a deep breath. “—and I’m glad to be here.”
“I’m glad, too.”
Meg regarded her grandmother and a swell of gratefulness rose inside. Last spring she’d told Grams about catching Dillon with that cheap trick he’d brought home from the coffee shop. At first Meg wondered if her grandmother would think badly of her for living with a guy when they weren’t married. She knew Grams was a deeply religious person. But to Meg’s surprise, her grandmother had lent a compassionate ear—and a sturdy shoulder on which Meg cried her heart out.
“Okay, where do y’all want this stuff?” Tom entered the room with two more boxes and several garments on hangers draped over the tops of them.
“Set them down anywhere. I’ll unpack later.” Meg smiled at the wrinkly faced man. She sensed he had a heart as wide as the Grand Canyon. “Thanks.”
“You betcha.” Tom lowered the cardboard boxes onto the polished floor with scarcely a thud.“I think that’s all of it.”
Meg stared at her belongings. “My entire life packed up into four boxes, a duffel bag, and about a dozen hangers.” She shook her head. “Pathetic to think this pile is all I have to show for my twenty-six years on this planet.”
“Oh, now, Meggie, you’re startin’ over here,” Grams said, a worried little frown creasing her forehead, but then a slow smile crept across her face. “Just think of how much room you’ll have in your closet for all the new things you’re going to buy.”
Meg had to smile also. “Always looking on the positive side. I need that. I need to turn around my thinking.”
“Then you’ve come to the right place.” Tom leaned against the white door frame and folded his arms.
“Yes, I believe I have.” Meg smiled at Tom, then at her grandmother. At that moment, she realized how desperately she needed their encouragement.
“Well, we’ll leave you to unpack,” Grams said. “Tom and I like to go to dinner about five, so that gives you all afternoon to get settled.”
“Okay.” Meg eyed the soft-looking double bed, thinking maybe a short nap was in her future. After months of sleeping on the couch, she was in a state of physical and emotional exhaustion.
Grams stepped forward and wrapped Meg in another maternal embrace.
Affection—Meg decided she could use a good dose of that, too.
“Daddy, I want macaroni and cheese for dinner.”
Cammy Bayer put her hands over the rubber-covered wheels of her chair and propelled herself out of the kitchen and down the bare floor of the hallway. She rolled past the portrait of her mother, hanging on the wall. Everybody said she looked like Mommy. Same wavy black hair and blue eyes. Cammy liked to stare at Mommy’s picture and remember things, like Mommy singing in the choir at church or reading a bedtime story. Sometimes, if Cammy closed her eyes really tight and tried really hard, she could still hear the sound of Mommy’s voice, telling her to come in from playing outside and wash up for supper. But it was getting harder and harder to remember.
Maneuvering her chair into the living room, Cammy halted several feet inside the doorway. Daddy sat on the sofa doing nothing. Just sitting there with his legs crossed so one ankle rested on the opposite knee. He looked sad, like he was trying to remember Mommy too, and Cammy wished she could say something to make him happy again.
“Daddy?”
“What?” His gaze slid over to her.
“What’s the matter, Daddy? Is your shoulder sore from lifting stuff? I can give you a shoulder rub.”
“No, punkin, my shoulder is fine.” He expelled a long sigh, stood, and stretched out his tall frame. “I’m just tired.”
Cammy tipped her head and gave her dad a once-over. She loved and felt proud of her father. He was the most handsome man in all of Kentucky, tall and strong, with hair the color of walnuts. He had a mustache and a beard that didn’t cover his whole face, just grew around his mouth. His whiskers tickled her, too, whenever Daddy kissed her cheeks and neck.
But Daddy wasn’t playing today. Since coming home from his job this afternoon, he had taken a shower and put on clean clothes. Maybe company was coming. Cammy only hoped it wasn’t Mrs. Foster.
Cammy mimicked her dad’s sigh, deciding she, too, felt tired—but not like Daddy. Cammy felt tired from doing nothing all day. While he worked, she had to stay with Aunt Debbie, and it was boring, boring, boring! All Aunt Debbie liked to do was watch TV and play her music so loud that Cammy had to cover her ears. Cammy felt disappointed that she didn’t get to play outside today. Aunt Debbie said there was nothing a girl like Cammy could do outdoors, except she was wrong, wrong, wrong. Daddy sometimes took her to the park, the way he used to before the accident, and lifted her into one of the swings. That was fun, but Cammy supposed Aunt Debbie wasn’t as strong as Daddy. Besides, Aunt Debbie had Tyler, who was five years old and as bad as any boy could be. This afternoon he snuck into the garage and dumped out some old paint. Aunt Debbie yelled for a long time, and Cammy wished Daddy would hurry up and come to get her.
She felt only too glad that twice a week she went to camp, where she got to do all kinds of fun stuff. It was a camp for kids like her—kids with disabilities. Last week they went swimming in the lake and roasted marshmallows around a campfire. Cammy liked her counselor. Her name was Ruthanne.
“Since you’re tired, Daddy, I’ll make dinner tonight. I know how.”
“I know you do.” His mustache wiggled when he smiled. “But I’m thinking we should head over to the Depot Restaurant for supper tonight. What do you say? We’ll have a daddy and daughter date. Just y
ou and me.”
“Okay!” Cammy liked to go anywhere with Daddy, and since she’d been cooped up all day, she was ready for anything. “Is it payday today?”
“No, payday is next Friday.” Daddy’s smile grew wider. “But I think I can scrounge up a few bucks for dinner.”
“Yippee!” Cammy raised her hands like she’d seen some high school cheerleaders do whenever their team scored a touchdown.
Daddy stepped forward and knelt in front of her wheelchair. “Let’s get you ready and in the van. I’m starved.”
Cammy smiled. “Me, too.”
Meg awoke to Grams’ gentle shake and sweet-sounding voice. She’d slept so hard that she felt disoriented until she realized where she was.
Her new home in Kentucky.
“It’s four o’clock, Meggie.”
Her head in a fog, Meg felt like telling her grandmother to go eat with Tom and leave her here in bed, but she didn’t want to seem impolite.
“How long do you think you’ll need to get ready?”
Meg focused on Grams, noticing the lavender pantsuit she wore, and realized this wasn’t a shorts and T-shirt affair. “Um, forty-five minutes should do it.”
“Oh, then you’ve got plenty of time.”
Meg forced a smile as she climbed from under the colorful patchwork quilt. Even in the warm summer air, she’d felt chilled while she slept. She smiled, thinking that in addition to love and encouragement, she needed about a month’s worth of sleep.
She yawned. “Beautiful quilt, Grams. Looks like the handmade quilts the Amish sell in Ohio.” Meg wondered why she hadn’t noticed it back in June. Then again, she hadn’t exactly been in the best frame of mind during her last visit.
“I made it.” Two cherry-colored spots appeared on Grams’ face.
“You made this?” Widening her eyes, Meg ran her hand over the multicolored patches of various patterns, checks, prints, and florals. “It’s gorgeous.”
“Well, thanks. I call it a Crazy Queenie. I used all my scraps, you know? It’s a collage. Mishmash.”
Love Finds You in Miracle, Kentucky Page 2