“Queenie?”
Grams explained how her quilts earned their name.
“You’re very talented, Grams. I can sew on a button, but that’s the extent of my abilities when it comes to a needle and thread.”
“I do make use of my machine,” Grams said with a chuckle. “Not all of it is hand-stitched. And I’m making one especially for you—a quilt, that is.”
“Really?” Meg felt honored.
“Well, of course. All my grandkids have one. I’m just hoping to learn more about you before I finish yours, like your hobbies and whatnot. That way the quilt will reflect your personality.”
“Oh.” Meg glanced at the now-rumpled quilt on the bed. “I’d say this one suits my personality. Crazy.” She laughed in an attempt to cover the emotional pain she’d harbored for so long.
“Nonsense.” Grams smiled and waved a hand at her. “And that ol’ quilt isn’t even one of my better ones. Just you wait, Meggie. The Queenie I create for you will be real special.”
“Thanks.” She was touched to the core. “I—I don’t know what to say.”
“Nothing to say.” Grams blew her a kiss and walked to the doorway. “Hurry up and change. I’ll be downstairs waiting for you.”
Meg nodded as she heard her grandmother’s footfalls on the creaky stairs.
Would she really make it here? This simple country living ran contrary to almost everything she’d ever known. But then, everything she’d ever known had taken her down paths that only left her feeling empty and hopeless.
Meg fought the confusion threatening to engulf her.
One day at a time, she reminded herself. The future looked a bit unsteady from her vantage point. After all, she was a city girl with a one-year contract at Fairview. Time alone would be the judge of whether the teaching position and small-town life would suit her.
Even so, the present definitely showed promise.
Chapter Three
Meg felt like a celebrity as Grams led her up and down the table-lined aisles of the Kentucky Depot Restaurant. The place, Meg learned, had been mentioned in such magazines as Southern Living, and its railroad theme made it both quaint and interesting. It was one of Grams’ favorite eateries, as the owners sold her quilts among their other handmade crafts. The food wasn’t bad, either. Meg had ordered the buffet and enjoyed sampling the grilled catfish, fried shrimp, turnip greens, deep-fried okra, and potato salad.
“Joanie, I want you to meet my granddaughter, Meggie.” Grams’ eyes sparked with pride. “She’s going to be the third-grade teacher at Fairview Academy this fall.”
“Well, hi, Meg, and welcome to Stanford.”
“Thanks.” Meg grinned at the blue-haired elderly woman with large, silver-framed glasses.
“This is my husband, Everett…”
Meg nodded politely as Joanie introduced him and the other couple seated at their table.
“I’m bad with names,” Meg stated lamely. She’d long-since given up trying to keep everyone straight. “It’ll take me awhile to remember. Please don’t be offended.”
“Oh, that’s all right.” Joanie smiled. “We don’t offend that easy. We’ll remind you.”
“Good.” Meg smiled her gratitude.
Grams tugged on Meg’s elbow and introduced her to yet more people.
At long last, they made it back to their table. Tom sipped his coffee and grinned when they returned.
“I think you hit everyone in here,” he told Grams. “And just in time. Dessert’s on the table.”
Meg stared at the slice of pecan pie a la mode and didn’t think she could digest one more bite of food.
“Oh, look! There’s Vance and little Cammy.” Grams set her hand on Meg’s forearm. “You absolutely must meet the Bayers. Cammy attends Fairview Academy.”
“Sure.” She glanced at Tom, who winked as if to say he appreciated her being a good sport.
Meg stood and followed her grandmother to a back table where a man and a wheelchair-bound little girl sat, eating their supper.
“Hello, Vance.” Grams smiled at him and then at the child. “Hi, Cammy. I’d like y’all to meet my granddaughter.” She pulled Meg in beside her. “This is Meghan Jorgenson, Meg for short. She’s the new teacher at Fairview.”
Vance stood and extended his right hand. “Good to meet you.”
“Same here.” Meg slipped her palm into his as her gaze took in the man’s short brown hair and neatly trimmed mustache and beard. He reminded her of country singer Tim McGraw. Moving downward, she couldn’t help noticing broad shoulders that shifted beneath the blue-green polo shirt he wore.
“Are you the new third-grade teacher?” the girl in the wheelchair asked.
“This is my daughter, Cammy,” Vance interjected.
Meg smiled at the girl. “Third-grade teacher? Yep. That’d be me.”
Cammy gasped and a look of delight spread across her face. “Then I’ll be in your class! Are you a Mrs. Jorgenson or a Miss Jorgenson?”
“Miss.”
“Oh, good. That means I won’t get you mixed up with the real Mrs. Jorgenson.”
Grams laughed. “I’m the real one, all right.”
Meg grinned, but in spite of the easy banter, weighty questions flittered through her mind. She didn’t have much experience teaching physically challenged children like Cammy Bayer. But perhaps Fairview Academy had a special needs program, and Cammy would be in her class for only one or two subjects.
Regardless, Meg couldn’t help feeling flattered by the child’s wide-eyed, excited stare.
She hunkered down beside the wheelchair. “How old are you, Cammy?”
“Eight.”
Meg thought the girl’s bright blue eyes were a stark contrast to her short, curly ebony hair. “Do you have any brothers or sisters?”
“Nope. Just me.”
“Oh.”
More questions swirled around Meg’s head. Where was Cammy’s mom? Were her parents divorced? Who took care of her? What was the nature of her disability?
Meg shook off the possible scenarios and assumptions that flew at her like mosquitoes at dusk. A moment later, she detected that certain spark of intelligence in Cammy’s eyes that teachers yearn to see.
“I’ll bet you’re a good student.”
“Uh-huh.” The girl bobbed her head in a vigorous nod. “I got all As on my last report card.”
“Good for you.” Meg smiled. “What’s your favorite subject?”
“Umm…” Cammy pursed her pink mouth as she thought it over. “Reading—and recess!”
Meg chuckled, but she wondered what Cammy did during recess. How did she play, and was she accepted by the other kids? Perhaps there were other disabled children at the school. It would have been nice if Earl Sutterman, the principal, had mentioned the fact to Meg during their interview; she would have known how to better prepare for the upcoming school year.
“I like reading the best,” Cammy prattled on. “I read lots of books, ’specially in the summer.”
“What books have you read lately?”
“Hannah Montana books.” Cammy’s pale, heart-shaped face lit up. “And I read Cold Dark Waters and Wild Mountain Rescue—those two books are about the Chamberlain twins, Royce and Rebecca.”
Meg stood and looked across the table at Vance. “I’m not familiar with those titles.”
“Cammy gets some of her books through our church library,” he explained before taking a sip of what appeared to be cola.
“Oh, I see. Are they religious books, then?”
“Christian fiction.”
“Hmm.” Meg gave several small nods in reply. She supposed a religious genre was appropriate for girls Cammy’s age. Meg might not know where she herself stood with God—or if she even believed in God—but instilling moral values in kids today couldn’t hurt, that’s for sure. In fact, she wished some of her former students in Chicago would take up reading Christian fiction.
“I’ll bring you one of my books so you
can see it,” Cammy said.
“Please do. I’ll enjoy looking it over.” Meg gave the girl an encouraging grin. “And I’ll especially enjoy having you in my class this year.”
Cammy beamed.
A woman who appeared to be several years older than Meg suddenly appeared next to Vance. Meg watched as she set her hand on his shoulder. She supposed the woman was attractive enough, but in an outdated, country-western sort of way. Big hair in various shades of blonde hung to her shoulders. Her faded jeans were snug on her hips and seemed a mismatch for her conservative apricot blouse with embroidered trim.
“I thought you were going to call me when you got home from work today, Vance.”
“My apologies.” His expression changed to one of discomfort. “I decided Cammy and I needed some time together.”
“You might have said so instead of keeping me waitin’.” The irritation in the blonde’s tone was obvious. Then she cast a glance at Meg before turning to Grams. “Well, Mrs. Jorgenson, how’re you?”
“Just fine.” Grams hooked her hand around Meg’s elbow. “Nicole, I want to you meet my granddaughter. And, Meggie, this is Nicole Foster. She works at the PBK.”
“PBK?” Meg raised her brows, curious. “Is that like the KFC?” She had noticed the different franchises when she drove into town and figured Kentucky Fried Chicken had been one of them.
Vance chuckled.
Grams grinned.
“Peoples Bank of Kentucky.” Nicole brushed a few strands of hair off her forehead. She looked insulted.
“Oh, my bad.” Meg hadn’t meant any offense. “Obviously I have yet to learn my way around town.”
Grams wisely changed the subject. “Nicole’s got kids at Fairview Academy, too. How old, Nicole? I forget.”
“Seven and twelve.”
“Of course. I had them both in Sunday school.” Grams smiled. “Well-behaved children.”
“Thanks.”
“It’s nice to meet you,” Meg said at last.
“Likewise, I’m sure.”
Meg felt the chill in the other woman’s reply but didn’t take offense. She’d made the blunder, after all. Besides, Mom had warned her that small town folks were often wary of strangers. And why wouldn’t they be?
Nicole sent them each a brief smile before turning her attention back to Vance. “Hal has the kids this weekend. How ’bout I come over later?” She sat down and leaned against Vance’s arm. “I think the two of us need some time together. Cammy sees you every day.”
Meg got the hint; it was time to move on. But glimpsing the dejected look on Cammy’s face kept her fixed to the carpeted floor.
Did the girl feel like a third wheel? If so, Meg could relate. As a kid, she abhorred those evenings when Mom’s boyfriends came over. Meg always felt so inconvenienced, and perhaps a little envious, too.
Meg hunkered down beside Cammy once more. She longed to say something cheery. “I’ll be sure to plan fun things into our lessons this year, okay?”
The child’s countenance brightened just a little. “Okay.”
“Do you have a favorite game?”
Cammy nodded. “Clue Junior: The Case of the Missing Chocolate Cake. Daddy and I play that together sometimes.” She whipped a glance across the table at him, and Meg didn’t miss the scowl on Cammy’s face when her gaze settled on Nicole Foster.
“Well,” Grams said, “I think our a la mode has a la melted by now.”
Meg pushed to her feet and laughed. “I think you’re right.” She smiled at Cammy again. “See you later.”
“Bye, Miss Jorgenson.”
After a parting grin, Meg followed her grandmother back through the comfortably crowded restaurant. They sat down at their table just as Tom took the last bite of pie.
He’d eaten all three slices!
Cammy thought the stars looked sparkly tonight as Daddy drove home after dinner.
“Too bad we didn’t take your Sport Trac, Daddy.” It was a neato blue with black trim and looked half like a truck and half like a car. And it was fast, fast, fast! “I like riding shotgun.”
Daddy chuckled. “Maybe we’ll take the Trac next time we go out.”
“Okay.”
“Did you have fun tonight?”
“No.” Cammy pushed out her lower lip.
“Why not?”
“Cuz.” She had wanted to go home a long time ago, but Daddy decided to stay at the Depot Restaurant and talk with Mrs. Foster. Cammy hated the way that lady leaned against Daddy and laughed, as if the two of them had a secret. Telling secrets in front of someone was rude, and if Cammy tried to get a word in edgewise, Mrs. Foster interrupted. It happened all the time. “She’s not coming over later, is she?”
“What? Who are you talking about, Cammy?”
She saw Daddy glance at her through the mirror on the windshield.
“Mrs. Foster. She’s not coming over, is she?”
“Not tonight.”
“Good.”
Daddy didn’t say anything for a long while. Finally, he cleared his throat the way he always did when he had something important to say. “You know, Cammy, someday I’d like to remarry.”
“You mean—Mrs. Foster?!” Cammy shrieked. She jerked forward, causing her seat belt to tighten across her chest.
“Settle down. I’m not referring to Mrs. Foster, per se. I just mean—well, I might like to get married again, that’s all.”
“I know, Daddy.” They’d talked about this before. Aunt Debbie said Daddy needed a lady in his life, and even Grandma Liz talked about Daddy getting married again someday. Besides, Emma Jo Hogkins down the block had two mothers, her real one and the one her daddy just married. That one was called a stepmother, except Cammy couldn’t figure out why steps were involved.
“You need to accept the fact that one day there’ll probably be another woman in our house.” Daddy paused. “I think Mommy would want us both to be happy, and she’d want you to have a new mommy. Not to replace her. Not ever like that. Just someone to love and take care of you. The way she would have done if—”
Daddy sounded sad, and that made Cammy sad. “It’s okay, Daddy. I won’t mind a new mommy. Honest. As long as she’s not Mrs. Foster.” An idea hit. “Hey, what about Miss Jorgenson? She’s not married cuz she’s a ‘miss,’ and did you see her shoes, Daddy? They were red high heels with bows across the tops. And her dress—did you see it had strawberries on it?”
“No, I—I didn’t see her shoes. Listen, Cammy, we know nothing about Miss Jorgenson, so get any notions about her and me out of your head. Besides, we’re discussing Mrs. Foster right now.”
Cammy scrunched up her face and stuck out her tongue.
“I can see you, young lady, and that’s not nice. Now tell me why you don’t like her. You’ve been acting up every time I go out with her.”
“Mrs. Foster is rude.” Cammy folded her arms.
“Rude?”
“Yeah, she acts like I’m not even there. She doesn’t talk to me. She just…points at me cuz I’m different from her kids.”
“Punkin, I think Mrs. Foster is still adjusting to you being, well, in a wheelchair.” Daddy’s voice turned soft and gentle. “She’s not sure how to act around you because you’re not like most kids.” He smiled at her in the mirror. “You’re a lot smarter.”
Cammy smiled back. “I still don’t like her.”
“I know you don’t and I’ve been thinking about things all afternoon—about how you and Nicole can’t seem to be friends.”
“I tried, Daddy. It’s not my fault.”
“I know that, punkin, and I’m not blaming you. Not one bit. So don’t ever think it, okay?”
“Okay.”
Daddy let out a breath that made Cammy think he was even more tired now than before they went out to eat.
She stared at the back of his head, feeling a little bad now. “Do you like Mrs. Foster a lot?”
“Sure. What’s not to like? She’s pretty. She’s a Christia
n. She’s a mother, so she knows how to take care of children.”
“Except for children like me.”
Daddy didn’t answer.
“I bet Miss Jorgenson knows how to take care of kids like me.”
“We’re not talking about Miss Jorgenson, Cammy. We’re talking about Mrs. Foster.”
“Do you love her, Daddy? Mrs. Foster, I mean.”
He paused, like he had to think about it for a moment. Finally, he said, “No, I don’t love her.”
“Whew, that’s good.” Cammy’s shoulders sagged with relief. If he did, she thought she might have to be like the Chamberlain twins and run away. They tried to locate their grandparents so they didn’t have to live with their mean uncle anymore.
But Daddy wasn’t ever mean. Mrs. Foster, on the other hand—now, she was mean! Cammy could tell. Once she stared at Cammy really hard after Daddy said he had to drive her to camp and pick her up again so he couldn’t go to a party the bank was having. Mrs. Foster didn’t like that; she wanted Daddy to go to the party with her.
“Cammy, I don’t think I’ll ever really love another woman, not the way I loved Mommy. I guess that’s the real reason I don’t see myself with Nicole. It’s got nothing to do with you.”
What Daddy said somehow made her feel both happy and sad.
“I don’t want you to worry. I won’t even see Nicole anymore if it bothers you.”
“It bothers me.”
Daddy chuckled. “Did you have to think about that?”
“No.”
He laughed again.
Cammy frowned. She wasn’t sure what was so funny.
“Listen, Cammy, you’re my daughter and you’re the most important person in my life, next to God. I love you very much. I’ve prayed that you and Nicole would be friends, just like I’ve prayed that I’d fall in love with her. But it’s just not happening.”
“Good.”
“Cam-my—”
She heard the ring of warning in her father’s voice. “I don’t hate her, Daddy,” she quickly amended. “I know hating somebody is a sin. I just don’t like her very much.”
“I get the message.”
Cammy worked her lower lip between her teeth while thinking over everything her father said. “So Mrs. Foster isn’t going to be your girlfriend anymore?”
Love Finds You in Miracle, Kentucky Page 3