Ours for a Season

by Kim Vogel Sawyer

  Anthony nodded. “That sounds right.”

  “A fancy silver car’s parked between a couple of the trailers.” The young man’s eyes glimmered. “You figure Miss Spalding left it for us to use?”

  “I doubt it. It’s probably her car.”

  Lucas’s face fell. “Aw.”

  Myron punched him on the arm. “Your dad would have your hide if he found out you were driving a fancy car like that.”

  The younger man shrugged, grinning sheepishly.

  Anthony shot a smile at Marty. “So she beat us here. You’ll have your reunion soon.”

  16

  Eagle Creek, Kansas

  Marty

  Marty sat on the edge of the seat, her hands braced on the dash, while Anthony drove slowly up the dirt road leading to Eagle Creek. Ahead, two halves of a massive black iron gate stood open, as if inviting them to enter. As Lucas had said, inside the gate a flat, grassy area that appeared to have been recently mowed stretched to the left, and four trailers—one significantly longer than the other three—formed a neat row.

  Anthony pulled the truck and trailer to the edge of the road and parked on a narrow slice of grass across from the trailers. Before he shut off the ignition, Marty was opening her door and sliding out. Hot, humid air brought an immediate outbreak of perspiration. For a moment she stood beside the thick growth of bushes, willing her stiff limbs to move. When her legs were ready to cooperate, she rounded the front of the pickup. Across the street, the door to the largest trailer opened, and a reed-thin woman with short white-blond hair stepped out on the metal platform serving as a porch. Marty’s pulse gave a leap—Brooke!

  Marty started to cross the street, but Myron’s and Nate’s vehicles rolled past, blocking her passage. She waved away the dust that filled the air, coughing, and waited until the men parked in front of Anthony’s truck. Then she darted through the lingering dust cloud to the grass on the opposite side. Brooke descended the platform and met her halfway. Both women broke into laughter and embraced. They pulled back, smiled for several seconds into each other’s face, then laughed and hugged again.

  Brooke pulled loose and caught Marty’s hands. She swung them slightly and looked Marty up and down. “Look at you, still so proper and ladylike.”

  Marty gave Brooke’s white-and-pink-plaid blouse and white denim skirt an examination. “Where are your overalls?”

  Brooke laughed. She ran her fingers through her hair, shaping the streaky bangs into a soft poof above her arched eyebrows. “Oh, I got rid of those awful things years ago.” As Brooke lowered her hand, Marty noticed a small purplish bruise on its back. Apprehension immediately pricked.

  “Brooke, what—”

  Anthony, the other men, and Nate’s young wife ambled up. Anthony extended his hand to Brooke. “Miss Spalding, it’s nice to meet you.”

  Brooke put her hands on her hips and tipped her head. “What did you call me?”

  Anthony chuckled, ducking his chin for a moment. “Excuse me. Brooke.”

  She grinned. “That’s better.” She shook Anthony’s hand. “It’s great to meet Marty’s husband. And please introduce me to your crew.”

  Anthony introduced each of the workers, and Brooke shook their hands in turn. She took Charlotte Schrock’s hand last and cradled it between her palms. “I’m especially glad you were able to come. Marty will appreciate some help keeping these fellows fed, and I’d hate to be responsible for splitting up a pair of newlyweds.”

  Charlotte blushed. “Thank you. It’s nice to meet you.” When Brooke released her hand, Charlotte pressed close to Nate, the way Marty had always pressed close to Anthony in the early months of their marriage. Would they rediscover that closeness, now that they were away from Pine Hill?

  Brooke swiped her hand across her brow. “I’m sure you have things to unpack, but how about taking a few minutes to relax in the trailers after your long drive? The AC is running in each of them, and I imagine it’ll feel good, considering the temperature out here today.”

  The men looked expectantly at Anthony. He grimaced. “If it’s all right with you, after sitting so long, I’d rather walk around a little bit. How about we take a tour of the buildings and get an idea of what kind of work needs to be done? There’ll still be plenty of daylight left to unpack and get settled.”

  “That’s fine for you,” Brooke said, slipping her arm around Marty’s waist, “but I’ve seen the buildings and I’d rather have time with this friend of mine. So you all go ahead. Marty and I will be inside if you need us.” Then she gave a jolt and shifted her gaze to Charlotte. “Do you want to come in with us, too?”

  Charlotte hunched her shoulders, making the black ribbons from her cap scrunch up. “I think I’d rather go explore.”

  Nate frowned down at her. “Are you sure? It’s awful hot and dusty.”

  She nodded. “I’ve been sitting for a long time, so I’d rather walk around. Besides”—her grin turned bashful—“I think Marty and Brooke would like to talk alone.”

  Such a kind, unselfish thing to say. Marty warmed to the younger woman.

  “All right, then.” Did relief underscore Brooke’s tone? “You all have fun exploring. Marty, let me show you your home away from home.” She looped her arm through Marty’s elbow and guided her to the trailer while the others set off up the street toward the old rock buildings. “Did you know you can buy fully furnished trailers? Sure makes it easy. I did upgrade the mattresses on all the beds—who wants to sleep on a slab of foam?—and bought a bigger table for your kitchen. I figured you’d like to get everyone around the table at once.”

  Inside the trailer, Brooke hugged Marty again. “It’s so good to see you. I can’t believe how little you’ve changed. Except for these. They used to be white, as I recall.” She lightly tugged one of the black ribbons trailing from Marty’s cap.

  Marty smoothed the ribbon across her bodice. “Black is for married ladies.” She shook her head, taking in Brooke’s short hair, impeccable makeup, and casual yet somehow classy outfit. “You’ve sure changed. A lot.”

  “For the better, I hope.”

  Marty met Brooke’s gaze. “You’re beautiful.”

  “Aw, thanks.” Brooke finger-combed her bangs again and shrugged. “I guess I don’t mind that I’ve changed. I was always such a ragamuffin, you know? I’ve worked really hard to be a lady and remove every trace of the trailer-trash kid I was.” She laughed and held her arms wide. “And here I am, sticking you in a trailer house for the next year and a half.”

  Marty sent a quick glance around the space. The mobile home was much smaller than her house, but everything from the light fixtures to the appliances to the furniture looked shiny, clean, and new. “There’s nothing trashy about this. Thanks for providing such a nice place for us.”

  “You’re welcome. It’s the least I could do.” Brooke crossed to the counter peninsula that separated the kitchen from the living room and leaned against it. Her eyes shimmered with unshed tears. “Marty, thanks for coming. It…it’s really good to see you again.” Her voice broke.

  Marty closed the distance between them and caught hold of Brooke’s hand. She turned it palm down and brushed her finger across the bruise and the nearly invisible scab in its center. “Does your happiness to see me have anything to do with this?”

  Brooke pulled her hand free and folded her arms across her chest. “We don’t have to talk about that right now.”

  Marty touched Brooke’s arm. “I’d like to. You said you had a doctor’s appointment this morning. That spot’s probably from a needle. An IV needle?”

  Brooke turned her face aside, but she nodded.

  “What are they testing for?”

  For several seconds Brooke didn’t answer. Her lips quivered and she blinked rapidly. Then she jerked her head and met Marty’s gaze. She lifted her chin and shrugged. “Mo
st of the testing’s already been done. They’ve confirmed I have cancer.”

  Her final word struck Marty like a blow from a fist. She staggered sideways two steps and collided with a tall barstool tucked under the peninsula. She gripped its black metal backrest and gaped at Brooke, speechless.

  Regret flooded Brooke’s features. “I shouldn’t have blurted it out that way. Come here.” She took hold of Marty’s elbow and guided her to the overstuffed tan love seat on the opposite side of the trailer. They sank down side by side, and Brooke loosely gripped Marty’s hands. “Before I say anything else, I need you to promise you won’t cry. Because if you do, I’ll probably join you—out of sympathy for you, you know—and wash off my makeup. I don’t want black rivulets of mascara running down my cheeks. Not at all attractive. So promise, no tears.”

  Marty bit the inside of her lower lip and forced a nod.

  A wobbly smile formed on Brooke’s face. “Remember I told you in my last letter that I’d been feeling kind of under the weather? Tired and achy?”

  Marty swallowed and nodded.

  “Well, it turns out I have ovarian cancer. Stage two, the doctor told me, which means it’s moved to places beyond my ovaries. This morning I saw the oncologist and had a full-body CT scan.” She coughed a harsh laugh. “Ever been sent by inches through a giant doughnut? It’s quite an experience.”

  Brooke’s flippant tone pierced Marty more deeply than wails would have. She was trying so hard to be brave, but inside she had to be frightened half to death. The way Marty was.

  “They want to make sure the cancer’s only here”—she ran her hand across her abdomen—“and not up here, too.” She touched her chest. Her fingers were trembling. She linked her hands as if in prayer and pressed them into her lap. “Once they know for sure, I’ll have the privilege of my very first surgery.” She made a horrible face. “It’ll probably leave a scar. No more bikinis for me.”

  Marty swallowed, licked her dry lips, and forced herself to speak evenly. “And after the surgery you’ll be…all right?”

  Brooke splayed her hands in front of her and seemed to admire her bold pink nail polish. “My doctor said I’ll need chemo. Maybe radiation, too. She said my chances for survival depend on frying every little cancer cell in my body.” She dropped her hands to her lap and rolled her eyes. “I think the worst part will be losing my hair. I’m pretty fond of my hair. I don’t think I could rock the bald look like Demi Moore or Sigourney Weaver.” She angled her head and squinted at Marty. “So…do you want to go wig shopping with me?”

  Marty recognized the ploy. Even when they were children, Brooke had chosen lighthearted topics to steer attention away from the serious issues in her life. But they weren’t children anymore, and Marty wouldn’t pretend a lackadaisical attitude she didn’t feel.

  She grabbed her friend’s hands. “It’s okay to say you’re scared. I won’t think any less of you.”

  Brooke went motionless. Her eyes bored into Marty’s with intensity. She sat so still and unmoving it seemed she’d turned to stone. Then her cinnamon-scented breath whooshed past Marty’s cheek, and her hands curled into fists within Marty’s grasp. “I’ve never been so frightened in my life.” Her tone was flat, unemotional, but the fear in her wide-eyed gaze raised a wave of sympathy that roared through Marty’s chest.

  Marty wrapped her arms around Brooke. She didn’t reciprocate, but she rested her cheek on Marty’s shoulder and accepted the embrace. Marty rubbed Brooke’s taut back. “I’ll do everything I can to help. Stay with you in the hospital. Take you to appointments. Take you wig shopping.”

  A half sob, half laugh briefly shuddered Brooke’s frame.

  Marty tightened her grip. “Whatever you need, I’ll do it. I’m here for you.”

  Brooke sniffed, her head still nestled on Marty’s shoulder. “I wanted you to be here for Anthony. To rebuild the happy marriage you once had. I didn’t want—” She sat up abruptly, dislodging Marty’s arms. “I’ll take your help because, quite frankly, I don’t know anyone else who would care enough to help. Sad, isn’t it? I’ve lived in the Kansas City area since I graduated from college. I have countless contacts—loan officers, contracting specialists, laborers—but I can’t name one single solitary person who would care enough to offer what you just did.”

  Marty worried she might regret asking, but she had to know. “Have you told your mother?” No matter how self-centered Jeralyn Spalding had been during Brooke’s growing-up years, surely she’d want to help her daughter navigate such difficult waters.

  Brooke waved her hand. “Why bother? I haven’t seen her in over four years. I went back to Newton for Christmas to surprise her, took her a commissioned stained-glass piece—a butterfly hovering next to a delphinium. Did you know the meaning of a delphinium is remembrance?”

  Marty shook her head.

  “Well, it is. I specifically chose that flower to let her know I’d been thinking about her. I hoped it might mean something to her.” Brooke snorted. Her expression turned cold. “She gave me something to remember. She threw the gift at me, accused me of thinking myself too good for her, said I only came back so I could show off. She told me to leave and never bother coming home again. I was more than happy to accommodate her. I have no intention of letting her know about this. The only thing she’d care about is if she’s listed as the beneficiary on my million-dollar life insurance policy.” She raised one eyebrow. “For the record, she is not.”

  Marty wanted to encourage Brooke to reconsider letting her mother know, but the fury in Brooke’s eyes told her now wasn’t the time. She swallowed and took Brooke’s hand again. It felt icy. She gently rubbed it between her palms. “When will you know if the cancer has spread to…” She glanced at Brooke’s chest.

  “Early next week. Once they have that information, the oncologist will schedule surgery.” A weak smile lifted the corners of Brooke’s pink-stained lips. “I’m glad I have a reliable team of workers on board. I probably won’t be in any condition to crack the whip over them. I’ll leave that to your Anthony.”

  Your Anthony…Why did the phrase make Marty want to cry? Maybe because there wasn’t anyone Brooke could call hers. “He’s very reliable, and he’ll do everything he can to help you in your battle.”

  “I know he will, but I still—” Brooke clamped her lips tight.

  Marty gave her hand a squeeze. “I still…what?”

  Brooke sighed, wafting the scent of cinnamon again. “I wish I didn’t have to depend on him to take charge. I’ve always been in the midst of every project, you know? I’ve had great help. No way I could revitalize the buildings all by myself. But I’m always very involved, arranging deliveries of materials and organizing the schedules. More than once I’ve even plopped on a hard hat and grabbed a hammer or paintbrush.”

  Marty tried to envision Brooke in a hard hat. The image wouldn’t jell.

  “If he takes all my responsibilities, he won’t be as available to you. I’m sorry about that. It isn’t what I intended.”

  “I know. But you know what?” Marty chose her words carefully, aware of Brooke’s fragile emotional state despite the strength she was exhibiting. “Anthony would say the cancer didn’t take God by surprise. That our being here right now serves a purpose other than rebuilding the town.” She heard herself, heard the certainty in her tone, but underneath she wondered if she was feeding her friend a lie. She hoped Brooke didn’t suspect her doubt. “Anthony always says we make our plans but God directs our steps and when we follow where He leads, things fall into place.” She held her breath for a moment, struggling to believe. “So don’t worry about Anthony and me. Think about getting well. All right?”

  17

  Anthony

  Nate nudged Anthony on the arm. “The trucks and trailer still need to be unloaded. Should we carry stuff in now?”

  Anthony barely glanced at th
e younger man. Each of the old buildings on Eagle Creek’s main street had a certain charm, but the decorative stone headers above the arched windows on the second story of the limestone building that had once served as Eagle Creek’s bank and community center intrigued him the most. The rosettes and raised swirls weren’t from a poured concrete form but were hand-carved into the slabs of limestone. How had the carver made them all identical?

  The others waited, shifting in place. Nate cleared his throat. “Anthony?”

  Anthony nodded, not taking his gaze from the rosettes. “Yeah. Yeah, we should.”

  “You coming, too?”

  “I’ll be there in a minute or so. I’m trying to…” He squinted against the sun, wishing he could climb the wall and examine the decorations more closely.

  Nate waved his arm. “C’mon, gang. Let’s start unpacking.” Charlotte, Todd, Myron, and Lucas ambled off with Nate, arguing good-naturedly about which mobile home they’d claim—a silly argument since the three set aside for the team were exactly the same in size and appearance.

  Alone now, Anthony shuffled backward until he reached the middle of the wide street. From this angle, he counted a dozen places where the carvings were chipped and crumbling. A result of time and erosion? Maybe from vandals throwing stones at the windows. The windows were all new, probably done at Brooke’s instruction, but even with shiny glass panes, the misshapen carvings made the building look scruffy. It deserved to look majestic. The way it’d looked in 1872, when artisans finished applying their chisels and hammers.

  Hands on his hips, he contemplated his choices. He could either carefully chisel away the remaining parts of the carvings, giving the window casings a smooth front, or he could fill in the missing pieces and restore them to their original appearance. He preferred to restore rather than remove. He’d repaired chipped plaster moldings in the past, but he’d never worked with stone. Before he went to bed, he’d do some research on the computer—if Brooke had established an internet connection out here—and find out what kind of materials were needed for stone repair.