Mrs. Zimmerman snickered, and Briley hid a smile as he wheeled the chair through the kitchen. When they reached the dining room, where a darkhaired woman also wearing a white cap with black ribbons was setting the table, Mrs. Zimmerman angled a grin at him. “No matter what Shelley told you, I’m not staying in here. Let’s go to the front room instead.” She took control of the chair, and Briley followed her into the large living room.
Two men—Mrs. Zimmerman’s son, Clete, and a man Briley hadn’t met yet—and a cluster of children were already in the room, the kids on the floor and the men on the sofa. The men both stood when Briley came in, and Clete strode over with his hand extended.
“Hello again, Mr. Forrester.”
“Just call me Briley.” He shook the man’s hand. Although Clete didn’t smile, he nodded and repeated Briley’s name. Clete struck Briley as the no-nonsense sort. The second man approached, and Briley shook his hand. “I don’t think we’ve met. I’m Briley Forrester.”
“I’m Harper Unruh, Shelley’s husband.”
Briley’s eyebrows shot up. He belonged to the bossy woman in the kitchen? Briley had expected someone who looked henpecked, but Harper stood with squared shoulders, and his handshake was firm.
Harper gestured to a pair of look-alike little girls playing with paper dolls in the corner. “Those are our girls, Ruby and Pearl.”
The little girls looked shyly in his direction, so he smiled and winked at them. They put their heads together and giggled. Briley grinned again. “Cute kids.”
“Thanks.” Harper gazed at the girls with fatherly pride.
The front door opened and a little boy burst into the room. With curly blond hair and big blue eyes, he fit in, appearance-wise, with the other children. He darted directly to their circle and plopped down, his jacket still in place. A petite woman and a tall man carrying a blanket-wrapped bundle entered behind the little boy. The woman paused at the wheelchair and placed a kiss on Mrs. Zimmerman’s cheek, then hurried into the kitchen calling, “I’m here! Sorry I’m late!” A flutter of female voices rose.
The man laid the bundle on the sofa and unwound the blanket, revealing a wriggling baby with fuzzy tufts of fine yellow hair. Briley stifled a soft snort—the Zimmerman gene was a strong one. Any fool could pick out the relatives just by looking at their hair color.
The newest arrival settled the baby in the crook of his elbow and joined the men. “Glad to see you aren’t all sitting around the table waiting on us. Sandra was worried we were keeping everyone from eating.”
“We only got home ourselves a few minutes ago.” Mrs. Zimmerman gestured toward Briley. “Derek, have you met Alexa’s long-term guest? This is Briley Forrester from—”
Derek stuck out his free hand. “From Chicago. The reporter, right?”
Briley nodded as he shook the man’s hand.
“I saw you in service this morning, but Isabella here was tuning up to demand her lunch, so Sandra hurried me out before I could greet you.” He grinned, and Briley could have sworn orneriness glinted in the man’s eyes. “Of course, I wouldn’t have been able to get through the crowd, anyway. You got swarmed.” He leaned in, and this time Briley recognized the twinkle for what it was—pure teasing. “You aren’t carrying one of those little tape recorders to capture our dinner conversation, are you?”
Briley patted his shirt pocket, where the voice recorder he always carried made a slight bulge. “I’ve got it, but it isn’t on. So you’re safe.” Derek pretended great relief, making Briley chuckle. Too bad Derek was Mennonite. And married with a couple of rugrats. He suspected the two of them could’ve ended up being friends if circumstances were different.
Derek moved to his son and tried to help the little boy out of his jacket. One-handed, it proved tricky, and Mrs. Zimmerman rolled closer to help. The other two men faced off, arms folded over their chests in serious poses, and began chatting about farmland available for rent in the county. Briley had nothing to add to the conversation, but he listened intently while pretending not to, hoping for something he could use in his article.
“Okay, everyone.” Alexa stepped into the wide doorway separating the dining room from the front room. “Lunch is ready. Come on in.”
With a collective whoop the children pounded past her and climbed into chairs. Mrs. Zimmerman shook her head. “Goodness sakes, you act as though you’re starving.” She rolled her wheelchair through the doorway and parked at the end of the table in the same spot she ate breakfast each morning. Briley waited until Derek, Harper, and Clete chose chairs before moving around to an empty seat.
He glanced at the pans of lasagna, bowls of green beans—whole, not cut up like he found in the cans he bought at the grocery store—and tossed salad, and baskets of crusty rolls crowding the center of the table. He almost licked his lips. Everything looked and smelled great.
The women filled the chairs between their husbands and children, leaving the lone chair at the head of the table open for Alexa. As she slid into the seat, she held her hands to those beside her. Everyone around the table joined hands, and Briley caught hold, too. Aunt Myrt always prayed before meals—he expected someone to give a blessing—but she’d always linked her hands beneath her chin to pray. Holding hands with one of Harper’s twins on his left and Mrs. Zimmerman on his right made his stomach feel funny. And he was pretty sure the feeling wasn’t the result of hunger.
Mrs. Zimmerman nodded at her son. “Clete, ask the blessing.”
Every head bowed and every pair of eyes closed, except Briley’s. While Clete prayed, Briley took a slow look around the table, examining the shining blond heads of the children, the men’s short-cropped haircuts, the mesh caps covering the women’s hair. Only one female head remained free of a cap—Alexa’s. He realized with a start that she was the only one of the Zimmerman females to sport dark rather than blond tresses. Somehow that strong Zimmerman gene must have skipped her. And why wasn’t she wearing a Mennonite-style dress and cap?
“Amen.” Clete finished, and everyone’s heads lifted in one wave.
They passed the food, and chatter filled the room—happy chatter, something alien to the majority of Briley’s mealtime experiences. He wished he could push the button on his recorder so he could listen to the sound again later, process it, isolate each voice, turn it into a story. By the time Alexa carried in the dessert—some sort of gooey, chocolaty, pudding-filled cake shaped like an inner tube and topped with drizzly icing, toasted coconut, and chopped walnuts—he’d relaxed enough to tease some with the kids, answer a few questions about life in Chicago, and ask a few questions about Arborville.
But he didn’t ask about Alexa’s dark hair or mode of dress even though curiosity burned in his chest. His reporter’s instinct told him the answer to those questions could very well lead to another story entirely. And he wasn’t quite ready to pursue it. Yet.
Alexa
Watching her family devour the mousse-filled double-chocolate cake made Alexa smile. Even Shelley, who often resisted dessert, ate her entire piece and complimented Alexa on its rich flavor and moist texture. Although her aunt had slowly warmed up to her over the past weeks, compliments were still rare, and she savored this one. She swallowed a giggle when Briley tamped the back of his fork’s tines against the crumbs to capture every tiny bit of his serving.
He popped the remaining crumbs in his mouth, sighed, and aimed a grin in Alexa’s direction. “Best cake I’ve ever eaten.” He swiped his mouth with his napkin, then patted his taut belly. “Worth the five-mile run it’ll take to work off the calories.”
Everyone, including Aunt Shelley, laughed. Their response warmed Alexa in ways she didn’t understand. She hugged herself, holding in the good feeling, while Briley pushed back his chair and rose.
“Thank you again for the dinner, the dessert, and the company. I enjoyed all three equally.”
Alexa remained quiet, but everyone else voiced various responses to Briley’s statement, assuring him they’d enjoyed vi
siting with him, thanking him for his kind words, reminding him he was always welcome at the table. Listening to those she’d claimed as her family draw Briley into their fold, she experienced a jolt of jumbled emotions that confused her even more than the warmth that had enveloped her only moments ago. She tamped the feelings down as firmly as Briley had tamped the cake crumbs as he spoke again.
“I made arrangements to join a certain little fisherman at the Heidebrechts’ pond, so I need to change my clothes and get going. Thank you again for a very pleasant dinner.” He strode around the table and disappeared through the little hallway that led to the kitchen. Moments later, the slam of the screen door announced his departure.
Alexa stared after him. The “little fisherman” he mentioned was certainly Danny Aldrich, the boy she’d mistakenly assumed was her younger half brother. Although Danny’s father, Paul Aldrich, wasn’t her biological father, they became good friends while renovating the summer kitchen, and she experienced a twinge of jealousy thinking about Briley growing close to the man and his son the way she’d grown close to them. Did the Aldriches have to accept Briley as readily as they’d accepted her?
Ruby bounced in her chair. “Momma, can we be excused?”
“May we be excused,” Shelley corrected.
Ruby repeated, “May we be excused?”
Grandmother tweaked one of Ruby’s blond braids. “Yes, you may. Take your sister and your cousins to the barn and play with Pepper. The poor old girl needs some attention.”
The crowd of children careened from the dining room, grabbed their jackets, and plowed out the front door en masse. At their departure Shelley began collecting the dirty dishes. She flicked a glance toward the kitchen hallway. “I have to say, he’s much more polite than I expected him to be.”
Sandra held her coffee cup beneath her chin. “You mean Mr. Forrester?” She took a sip. “Why wouldn’t he be?”
Shelley clapped crumb-laden saucers into a stack. “Some of the big-city people who visit Arborville appall me with their lack of manners. Mr. Forrester, however, was nothing like I expected. Frankly, I found him a breath of fresh air.”
Had Aunt Shelley ever spoken so kindly of Alexa? She didn’t think so. And why was Shelley clearing Alexa’s table? She stood and took over the task of plate gathering. “Sit, Aunt Shelley. I’ll take care of the cleanup.”
“Oh, but—”
“Just relax. My kitchen. My mess. I’ll clean it up.” She softened her words with a smile.
For several seconds Shelley stared at her with her brow puckered, and then she nodded. “All right, Alexa. I suppose it is your kitchen now, and you have your way of doing things.” She waved her hand as if granting permission. “Suit yourself.” But she grabbed the coffee carafe and refilled her cup and her husband’s cup before sitting down again.
Alexa circled the table and filled her hands with dishes. Between trips back and forth from the kitchen, she half listened to the conversations. The men had one, involving winter crops, and the women another, concerning ways to break Clete and Tanya’s little Julie of her thumb-sucking habit. Alexa could contribute nothing to either topic, so she finished clearing the table and loading the dishwasher without speaking a word.
When she entered the dining room with a soapy cloth to scrub the table, Sandra reached out and captured her hand. “Alexa, may I ask a favor?”
Her sour reflections of moments ago melted. People only asked favors of those they considered close enough to trust. Whatever Sandra needed, she’d do it. “Of course.”
“Mother said you put some really nice mattress pads—the memory kind?—on the beds upstairs.”
Alexa nodded. “That’s right.” She hadn’t been able to afford new mattresses for the guest beds, but the four-inch-thick foam pads made the old mattresses feel like new.
“Would you be willing to lend one to me for the next several weeks? That is, if you don’t have guests scheduled for the rooms.”
Such an odd request. Alexa released a little chuckle. “Do you want to find out if they’re comfortable or not?”
“No, I want to make my sleeper sofa more comfortable.” She let go of Alexa’s hand and turned toward the group at the table. “The sofa works well for a night or two, but to sleep on it for several weeks?” She cringed.
Clete bounced his fist against Derek’s shoulder. “Did my baby sister banish you to the basement?”
Derek laughed. “No, I’m not going to be sleeping down there. We have a guest coming.”
“Instead of taking one of Alexa’s nice mattress pads, why not have whoever is coming stay here at the B and B?” Grandmother frowned. “That’s why Alexa fixed up those rooms—for guests.”
Sandra made a face. “I don’t think this guest can afford to pay for a room, Mother. And …” She bit her lip, sending a quick apologetic look to Alexa. “It might be awkward if she stayed here.”
Clete’s wife, Tanya, leaned forward, her eyes sparking. “Who is it, Sandra?”
“Anna—Grace Braun.”
Silence descended like a wet wool blanket. Alexa was nearly smothered beneath its weight. “Why?” She didn’t realize she’d blurted the query until every face around the table jerked in her direction. Embarrassment seared her face, and she wished she could snatch the word back.
Sandra took Alexa’s hand again and squeezed, the touch filled with compassion. “She wants to help remodel the Meiers farmhouse.”
Alexa stepped away from her aunt’s light grasp. “Well, of course she wants to help. It’ll be her home, after all.” She moved to her spot and began swiping the cloth over the patch of table. She didn’t look, but she sensed everyone watching her.
Grandmother cleared her throat. “Sandra, did she—Anna—Grace, I mean—mention … Does she know?”
Alexa understood the meaning behind the question. Her hand slowed as she waited for Sandra to answer.
“I don’t think so.”
Her breath—a breath she hadn’t even realized she was holding—eased out. She didn’t want Anna—Grace to know she was the real Zimmerman daughter, granddaughter, and niece. If Anna—Grace didn’t know, somehow Alexa could continue to pretend she wasn’t a replacement for the baby given up for adoption nearly twenty years ago.
“It will be awfully hard to be natural around her.” Tanya sighed, shaking her head. “I almost wish Suzy hadn’t told us who Anna—Grace is.”
“Don’t be melodramatic.” Grandmother’s tone became tart. “Being aware of Anna—Grace’s biological parentage doesn’t change the fact she is Andrew and Olivia’s daughter in the eyes of the law. You’ve always known she was adopted, and you’ve never treated her differently than anyone else in the family. That doesn’t have to change.”
“But it has changed, Mother.” Shelley’s tone matched Grandmother’s. “Sandra’s choice of words fits. It’s awkward. How can we not be uncomfortable around her, knowing she’s our niece rather than our cousin?”
Grandmother frowned and didn’t answer.
Harper slipped his arm around his wife’s shoulders. “I’ll tell you how. We remind ourselves that none of this is Anna—Grace’s fault. She didn’t ask to be given up for adoption, and she didn’t ask to be adopted by her mother’s cousin. If we treat her differently now, after previously being at ease around her, she’ll feel like she’s being punished for some unknown wrong.”
Alexa’s knees felt weak. She eased into her chair and held the wadded, damp rag in her lap. She didn’t even care about the wet patch forming on her skirt. Why hadn’t Harper expressed such words of support when Shelley was holding herself aloof from Alexa? She hadn’t asked to be raised by a single, unwed mother, yet in many ways she’d been ostracized because of it. Why were Anna—Grace’s feelings so much more important than hers had been?
“Harper is right.” Derek leaned forward and rested his linked hands on the tabletop. “We have to look at this from a legal standpoint. Anna—Grace became your cousin when the Brauns adopted her. She’s
still your cousin.”
Shelley snorted. “From a legal standpoint, he says. As if we only have brains and no hearts!” She folded her arms over her chest and scowled. “Well, let me remind you, Derek, it wasn’t your sister who gave birth to an illegitimate child and kept it secret for nineteen years. I’m still struggling with—”
Harper’s frown and quick shake of his head silenced whatever else Shelley planned to say, but Alexa suspected she knew anyway. Shelley might have relaxed around her, but underneath she still viewed Alexa as an outsider. She always would.
Sandra turned toward Alexa. Empathy glowed in her blue eyes. Eyes as sky blue as all the Zimmermans, including Anna—Grace. “If you’d rather not lend me the mattress pad, it’s all right. I’ll just put some big pieces of cardboard between the frame’s bars and the mattress to give it some support.”
Alexa wouldn’t say no. Family looked out for each other, and she wouldn’t want to sleep on a lumpy mattress with bars poking into her back. She couldn’t subject Anna—Grace to such discomfort no matter how jealous she was of the girl who really belonged in this family. She opened her mouth, fully intending to assure Sandra it was fine for her to borrow one of the pads, but something else spilled out.
“Why not just have Anna—Grace stay out here?”
Sandra’s jaw dropped open. Shelley and Tanya both stared at Alexa as if she’d suddenly morphed into an alien creature.
Clete’s eyebrows descended. “Are you sure, Alexa? If she stays until the house is finished, she could be here well past Thanksgiving. That’s a lot of potential income to give up.” His eyes said, “Here’s your out. You can take it if you want to.”
Alexa clenched her fist around the dishrag. “No. Really. I don’t have anyone scheduled for the next several weeks so it isn’t as if I’ll be giving up income to let her have a room. No offense, Sandra and Derek, but she’d be more comfortable here than she would be in your basement. Plus if she’s here, she’ll be close enough to the Meiers farmstead to walk over on nice days if she wants to.”
When Grace Sings Page 11