Dress Me in Wildflowers

by Trish Milburn

  “You’ve got cancer?”

  Janie nodded.

  “And you’ve been going to chemo by yourself? Why hasn’t your mother been going with you?”

  “My parents don’t know.”

  “They don’t know? Why haven’t you told them?”

  Janie dabbed at her eyes. “I just haven’t been able to face that yet. My parents are stressful enough to be around. I just . . . just couldn’t do it yet. I’d hoped I’d get better and they’d never have to know.”

  “Hoped?”

  Janie inhaled a shaky breath. “It’s not going well.”

  Farrin walked across the room. “You have to tell your parents. You need someone to help you.” She pointed toward the twins’ room. “You’re going to need help with them. Do they even know?”

  “Yes. They’ve helped me a great deal.”

  Farrin sank onto the end of the bed. “Does anyone else know?”

  “No.”

  “Why haven’t you told someone, asked for help?”

  “Pride. Fear. It scares me more than you can know that I may not be here to watch my children grow up, that they might have to grow up in my parents’ home and go through what I did.”

  “Did your parents abuse you?”

  Janie shook her head. “Nothing physical. They were . . . demanding. I had to be perfect in every way. I bet you didn’t know I had no desire to be a cheerleader.”

  “But you were a cheerleader, the head one, for six years.”

  “Because that’s what popular girls are supposed to be. You have to dress in the right clothes, be involved in the right activities, be friends with the right girls, don’t associate with certain people.” Janie looked down.

  “But they wouldn’t want for anything if it came to that.”

  “No, nothing material. Only love.”

  “I’m sure your parents love you.”

  “Then they’ve never shown it. You know, while I was busy being a class A bitch to you, I was actually jealous of you.”

  “Of me? I find that hard to believe.”

  “I know you were embarrassed that your mom was a cook at school, but while you were looking down as you went through the lunch line, I saw her watching you. I could tell how much she loved you.”

  Farrin couldn’t listen anymore, had to get out of the apartment. She rose and headed for the door, then stopped. “Your life is not the only one that wasn’t what it seemed.”

  Without looking back, she walked out of the apartment, locking the door behind her.

  ****

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Farrin couldn’t sleep with Janie’s words rolling over and over in her head. Finally, she gave up and got in the shower. After dressing, she slipped into the kitchen to find Faye sitting there with a cup of coffee.

  “I must say you’re developing the habit of getting up before me in the morning.”

  “Did I wake you?”

  “Yes, but it was only ten minutes before I get up anyway. I don’t think the extra beauty sleep was going to help me.”

  “I’m sorry. I couldn’t sleep.”

  “I know. I heard you tossing and turning when I went to the bathroom last night. Something wrong?”

  If Janie’s parents didn’t know about her condition, no one else needed to either. Farrin shook her head. “Just too much on my mind.”

  “Um. Well, if you want to talk about it later, I’m here.”

  Farrin looked at the back of Faye’s gray head. There was no fooling the woman.

  The morning was crisp and frosty, and fog hung low over the valley, silently watching as the little town woke up. Still, Farrin chose to walk to the inn rather than drive. Something about the morning was more calming than an entire night of trying to force sleep.

  When she reached the inn, she let herself inside and wandered from room to room. Not for the first time, she wondered why she couldn’t have just let this place go and not worried about the city’s plans. All her purchase had done was shove her further in debt and entangle her more in the lives of the people in Oak Valley, particularly Janie Carlisle. She might have never known Janie had cancer, that she had a surprisingly sensitive side, that she quite possibly wasn’t the royal bitch she’d seemed all those years ago.

  Farrin sank onto the bottom step of the stairway leading to the second floor. What was she going to do? Her payroll consisted of a woman with cancer and two children. Guilt welled that they were doing her work for her, but then she couldn’t prevent them from continuing since she was their only source of income.

  Dear God, how was Janie paying for her medical bills now? Had she gotten some government assistance?

  Farrin surged to her feet and paced the hallway. She was halfway through one of these paces when the front door opened and Janie stood there with the twins. Farrin forced a smile for the kids’ sakes.

  “You all go on upstairs and work on those windows,” Janie said.

  As the children rushed up the stairs, Farrin stared at Janie. “Why are you out of bed?”

  “I have a job to do,” Janie said as she pulled off her coat and gloves and hung them on the coat tree next to the door.

  “Not when you’re sick.”

  “It’s cancer, Farrin. I’m not getting over it tomorrow.”

  “But—”

  Janie held up her hand. “Listen. I was having a weak moment last night. I don’t expect any special treatment. I’m fighting this, and I’ll fight it as long as I can draw breath. But I don’t plan to stay home and lay in bed, not when my kids are depending on me.”

  “But your parents . . . ”

  “I’ll tell them when I’m ready.”

  Farrin stood motionless and tried to ignore Janie’s labored breathing as she climbed the stairs. This just wasn’t right, but what could she do?

  Feeling more helpless than she had in years, Farrin walked into the dining room and sat down to her work, first some designing, then some calls about having the electricity checked throughout the inn and getting a new sign made for the outside. The picture of Drew and his family at Colonial Williamsburg had reminded her of the replica signs throughout the restored town, and she’d created a similar design for the inn.

  The creak of floorboards above her and the murmur of voices as Janie talked to the children distracted her. Despite her vain hope that she could remain somewhat detached from the situation, admiration welled inside her. Janie was going through so much alone with only two little nine-year-olds to partially confide in. Instead of going to her parents for help, she stubbornly insisted on making her own way.

  Determination and self-sufficiency were things Farrin understood, and if that’s what Janie wanted, that’s what Farrin would give her.

  She climbed the stairs. When she reached the room where Janie was working, she stopped herself from asking if she should be painting. “Can I talk to you for a minute?”

  Farrin saw Janie’s sigh rather than heard it. Janie placed the paintbrush on the plastic sheeting next to the paint bucket and turned to face her.

  “It’s about your photograph downstairs.”

  “Would you like me to move it?”

  “No, it’s perfect. I wondered if you have any other photos like that, the panoramics that really showcase the area?”

  Surprise flickered over Janie’s face. “Uh, yeah. Those and smaller prints, too.”

  “I want to buy several to hang in the rooms, and then I’d like to have you place some of them in the gift shop.”

  “Gift shop?”

  “Yeah, that was a bit of a brainstorm I had yesterday. We’re going to put a gift shop in the front room and feature locally made crafts.”

  “This isn’t—”

  “Because of your cancer? No. And I have more than half a dozen people that will testify that I began work on this yesterday. Drew, Faye, Opal Baker, all the craftsmen I called.”

  “I thought you were going to sell this place.”

  “I am.” Regret stabbed her at the t
hought of how it would feel to leave this place behind. “It’s just that the little touches and at least one small operating business inside the building will make it more attractive to buyers.”

  Janie stared at her from across the room. “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”

  “What?”

  “Bringing this place back, giving people hope?”

  That last part flustered Farrin. There was no greater purpose here than a good investment. Right?

  “It’s good business sense, that’s all.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes, really.” Why did she feel as if Janie could see things in her she couldn’t even identify herself?

  “Okay. It sounds like a great idea.”

  After telling Janie about the quilts the homemakers were making, the plans for the gift shop and nailing down the specifics of the photographs she wanted for each of the rooms, Farrin retreated downstairs away from Janie’s probing glare. She sank into one of the dining room chairs but didn’t even look down at the sketches spread in front of her. Instead, she stared out the window and silently cursed Janie’s accuracy.

  She was enjoying the work on the inn. The ideas for ways to make it profitable and benefit the community at the same time excited her more than her work on the Oscar dresses. She still enjoyed the latter, but it was the new and exciting that really got her energized.

  She lifted her feet into the seat of the chair when she imagined she felt that ivy curling around her ankles, rooting her more firmly to this building, this town, these people.

  ****

  “So, who’s the hunk who has you going back to Tennessee every chance you get, and why don’t you just bring him up here?” Justine asked as she plopped herself down in the chair across from Farrin’s desk.

  “There is no hunk.”

  “Uh huh. I bet you’re having hot, steamy, farmer sex.”

  Farrin tossed her pen down and stared at Justine. “What is it with you and the farmer fantasies?”

  “Hey, never met a farmer. But I have a very active imagination. What else would be taking you on these secret jaunts?”

  “They’re not secret.”

  “Who else knows where you’re going besides me?”

  Farrin didn’t answer. She glanced at her watch, then started shoving work into her tote.

  “Seriously, what are you doing?”

  “I’m catching up with old friends.”

  “Okay, I bought that the first two trips, but here we are at trip three.”

  “What, there’s a limit on how many times I can visit friends?”

  “No. But you’re so quiet about it.”

  “It’s called a private life.”

  Justine threw up her hands. “Fine, be that way.”

  The elevator at the end of the main room opened and in walked none other than Katrina Wellington. She strolled across the room, glancing at gowns in various stages of construction.

  Justine jumped to her feet to play guard dog, but it was too late. Katrina’s long and determined stride propelled her right into Farrin’s office. “You, my dear, are a hard person to catch.”

  “I’m very busy.”

  “I’ve noticed. So, what is this about you buying some old decrepit building in the backwoods of Tennessee?”

  How? Farrin kept her shock to herself. She ignored the look of surprise and questioning on Justine’s face.

  “An investment.”

  “An investment? From what I hear, the people in this speck of a town don’t have any money to invest.”

  “Last time I checked, I was the one with the business degree.”

  “Snappy. So, I’ve hit a sore spot.”

  “How do you stand yourself?” Justine asked with a very unbecoming snarl.

  Katrina didn’t even acknowledge Justine but kept watching Farrin.

  “Why are you here?” Farrin asked.

  “To get the scoop, of course. Audiences are always interested in a good rags-to-riches story.”

  “I’m not interested.”

  “Well, I can run it without your input, though it would be ever so much better if you’d agree to be interviewed. Maybe we could take a walk down memory lane, that little dirt road leading back to the trailer you called home as a girl.”

  “I’m sure you’re going to do whatever you please, but you’ll do it without me.” Farrin sat down and picked up her pencil. She sat back, ignoring Katrina’s presence, and flipped through her sketchpad while trying to prevent her heart from breaking her ribs. Someone had called Katrina, someone in Oak Valley. Why the hell had she gone back? Why had she forgotten what those people had done to her before?

  “You know how to reach me if you change your mind. But I should have plenty of willing sources even if you don’t. I’m sure a little cash would be welcome in Oak Valley.” Katrina turned and retraced her steps across the main room, pausing to finger a nearly complete wedding gown.

  “Don’t touch anything,” Farrin said, not caring that she was adding fuel to Katrina’s determination to lay her life bare for all the world to see.

  When Katrina stepped into the elevator and the doors closed, Justine rounded on Farrin. “You are going to sue her skinny ass, right?”

  “For what?”

  “Libel.”

  “You can’t sue for libel if it’s true.”

  “Even—”

  “Everything.” Farrin tossed the sketchpad down and pressed her fingers against the throbbing in her temples. “It’s all true. I grew up poor white trash, and I bought a 19th century inn once owned by my grandparents to prevent the city from dozing it down. I’m fixing it up so it’ll get a better selling price.”

  “That’s what you’ve been doing?”

  “Yes. I do have a couple of friends there, and I have been visiting them, but I’ve mainly been working on the inn.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “That’s a different part of me there. I wanted to keep my two lives separate.”

  “You think someone would hold how you grew up against you?”

  “Maybe. Do you think the First Lady would have allowed her daughter’s dress to be designed by me if she knew I grew up in a drafty trailer with no phone and eating out-of-date food when the money ran low at the end of the month?”

  Justine started to say something, probably an automatic rebuttal, but then thought better of it. Her gaze traveled to the clock on the wall. “You’d better hurry or you’ll miss your flight.”

  “I’m not going.”

  “If you don’t, she wins.”

  “You’re a psychologist now?” Farrin couldn’t help the snippy tone in her voice. She wanted to scream at the world for letting the past invade even the totally separate life she’d made for herself.

  “I don’t need a doctorate to know that if you avoid the situation, she’ll make more of it.”

  “So, I’m supposed to go down there knowing that someone sold me out.”

  “And they’re probably not expecting to see you again. Imagine how it will burn them up when you stride into town proud and successful and daring them to take you on.”

  Farrin sat for a few seconds, absorbing the words. “I have to admit I like that image.”

  “Yeah, paybacks are hell.”

  Farrin stood and rounded her desk. “That they are.” She strode toward the elevator.

  “Hey, Farrin.”

  She stopped and turned at the serious tone in Justine’s voice. “Yes?”

  “It doesn’t bother me at all. Makes you human like the rest of us.”

  Farrin thought about those words all the way to the airport and then once she was in the air. She’d like to be able to embrace her past and not be bothered by it, by what people thought about it when they found out. When they found out everything. She was a strong woman, but was she that strong?

  ****

  The cold wind slapped against Farrin as she hurried toward the inn, but even so the new sign hanging above the door stopp
ed her. Her heart lifted at the sight, the curling ivy around the edges and the script proclaiming the rejuvenation of the Ivy Springs Inn.

  But even the newly minted sign and the building’s facelift didn’t keep her outside in the chapping wind for long. She rushed in the front door on a frigid gust and stood shivering in the hallway for several seconds before pulling off her coat and gloves. She rubbed her numbed hands together as she stepped into the new gift shop. In two weeks’ time, Janie had transformed the small sitting room.

  “We’ve already had people in here Christmas shopping,” Janie said from the doorway leading into the dining room at the opposite end of the gift shop. “They did a story in the paper about the opening.”

  “It looks great.” She ran her hand across delicate lace doilies and homemade rag dolls. “There’s a lot more merchandise than I thought there would be.”

  “Once the story ran, craftsmen literally came out of the hills. I had to put some of the bigger items like the garden ornaments and one homemade cradle out in the hallway.”

  Farrin came to the end of the room where a collection of Janie’s photographs occupied easels in one corner. “They’re beautiful.”

  “Thanks.”

  Farrin scanned the shots of fields of wildflowers, the stunning pink display of rhododendron at Catawba Park, morning mist on the surface of the Holston River.

  “You’re very talented.”

  When Janie didn’t say anything, Farrin turned to look at her. Fatigue had darkened circles under her eyes, and her complexion was a few shades paler than two weeks ago. “Is something wrong?”

  She shook her head. “Nothing. I . . . I’m sorry if I upset you that night in my apartment.”

  Farrin turned fully toward Janie. “I’m not going to lie to you. What you did prom night hurt me, it hurt a lot. That and all the other times you made snide remarks. I hated you, imagined all kinds of ways to get back at you and make you suffer. I held onto those feelings for a long time, and they surfaced again when I came back. But it was hard to hold a grudge when I saw you with your kids, how well you’ve been raising them, how you’ve changed even though I didn’t want to believe it. Then, when I found out you were sick, it was impossible to hate you anymore. No matter how many times I’d wanted you to suffer, I wouldn’t wish cancer on anyone.”