After he tossed some feed into Raven’s bin and ran fresh water into the metal horse tank, he walked slowly back to his apartment above the furniture shop. From his bedroom and kitchen windows he could see the white Riehl house, and he’d often enjoyed imagining where Loretta might be inside it at any given time and what she might be doing. He’d also dared to dream of sharing a room upstairs with her after they married—
Better stop that, he told himself as he walked away from the window. Loretta’s shut you down, and now you won’t be able to monitor Cornelius as you told the bishop you would, either. You’re two shades of stupid for thinking you had this situation all figured out.
Chapter Twenty-Two
As Rebecca set a foil pan of rhubarb crisp on the floor of her car, she was smiling, anticipating the expression on Wyatt’s handsome face when she surprised him with it. He’d been at his New York horse farm earlier this week, and he’d called her every night he was away, sounding eager to return to Willow Ridge to see her. They had established a comfortable pattern of allowing each other space to work and tend to business, and it suited her. Wyatt teased about getting her into bed without pushing her—and that suited her, too. One of these days, when they’d committed to each other, sharing their innermost secrets would be the right thing to do.
Rebecca set a chilled bottle of white wine on the seat alongside her laptop, started the car, and backed out of her driveway. The cloudless evening sky vibrated with the day’s last light and a heat that shimmered as it rose from the asphalt county highway. On this Friday night in September, it seemed right to celebrate the raising of Wyatt’s second huge barn, which was scheduled for the next day. She’d updated his new website and wanted to show him how it looked now that it was live, anticipating the heartfelt appreciation he always expressed for her work.
She entered Willow Ridge, waving at her sister Rhoda, who was watering the flower beds that surrounded the clinic building, where she lived in the upstairs level with Andy Leitner and their kids. As Rebecca reached the intersection, she caught the aroma of Josiah’s smokers, redolent with the seasoned beef and pork he was serving to the supper crowd. By the looks of the parking lot, the Grill N Skillet was packed.
Across the road from the café, Mamma and Ben were sitting in their porch swing with little Bethlehem. They waved cheerfully at her as well. She felt a little guilty for not stopping, but she was eager to catch up with Wyatt—and Mamma would understand about that. After her mother had met Wyatt and agreed to organize the break refreshments for his barn raisings, she’d invited him to dinner with Rebecca for the following Sunday so he could get better acquainted with the family. Mamma had also remarked to Rebecca that Wyatt was somewhat older than she’d expected, and in the next breath she stated that she and Rebecca’s father, Jesse, had been years apart, too—and that the years between her and Ben made no difference in the love they shared.
As Rebecca passed the mill and crossed the river bridge, Wyatt’s first barn rose into view. She drove past it nearly every day, yet its magnificence still amazed her. She slowed the car, carefully turned onto the packed dirt path that served as a road, and drove toward the luxurious trailer parked in the shade near the pond. When she saw lights through the windows, her heart beat faster.
Wyatt was home, and he would be so surprised that she was stopping by without calling—feeling comfortable enough with their relationship to just show up, as he’d done on occasion at her place. He’d teased her about being so formal, so now she was stepping outside the proverbial box and acting far more spontaneously.
Rebecca pulled up beside his Lexus and shut off the engine. She felt odd checking her makeup in the rearview mirror, yet she’d taken extra pains with it so Wyatt would see that she could rise above her hometown girl-next-door look to appear more sophisticated. She got out, smoothing the creases the safety belt had made in the paisley print top Wyatt always complimented. Taking a deep breath, she lifted the warm foil pan from the floor of her car and started for his door. The wine and the laptop could wait until she’d surprised him with a home-baked dessert.
A glance into the large front window stopped Rebecca before she stepped onto the deck. Wyatt was standing inside, a silhouette with a backdrop of lamplight. But he wasn’t alone.
Rebecca gripped the pan of dessert, trying to believe what she was seeing. The other silhouette was shorter and thinner than Wyatt, and when it turned its head, Rebecca saw a sleek, distinctive topknot she’d stared at many times online.
It’s that woman in the red dress—the Lexington socialite who’s hanging all over Wyatt in the photos I’ve seen.
Rebecca forced herself to take a deep breath. Why on earth would that hifalutin, high-maintenance woman come to a tiny town like Willow Ridge? Had Wyatt actually been in Lexington, spending time with the woman in red, rather than in New York?
When the woman placed her arms around Wyatt’s neck and moved against him, Rebecca bit back a scream. She might be a hometown girl, but she knew what she was watching, and it was seduction. Apparently Wyatt wasn’t happy waiting for her, so he’d brought along a willing woman from the other world he inhabited.
Rebecca’s throat tightened, and she blinked back tears. She’d obviously misread and misinterpreted everything Wyatt had done and everything he’d said to her, thinking she meant something to him—believing he wanted to be only with her. Her first instinct was to slink back to her car and go home for a good cry, because compared to the wealthy, sophisticated peacock in Wyatt’s trailer, she was a little wren pecking at the dust. She would simply not answer his calls anymore, would keep herself busy with her graphic design business, as she had before—
“Phooey on that!” Rebecca muttered. Keeping the solid front door between herself and the pair inside Wyatt’s trailer, she stepped up onto the deck. Anger and frustration washed over her, and she pounded loudly on the door, ready to spit nails.
It took several moments for Wyatt to answer—time he’d most likely spent kissing his other guest before prying himself out of her embrace. When he opened the door and saw her, the startled surprise in his blue-gray eyes was that of a cornered animal.
“Rebecca! I wasn’t expecting—”
“Yeah, I wasn’t, either,” she blurted out. “I thought we were partners. Equals. This is for you, jerk.” Without a moment’s hesitation, she placed her hand under the flexible pan and pitched it at his face.
Wyatt’s stifled cry and the sight of rhubarb and crust splattering his head and silk shirt gave Rebecca a moment of vengeful triumph. She turned and ran to her car, however, too upset to stick around for an explanation. What could he possibly say to refute what she’d seen through the window? She raced away from the trailer and turned onto the county highway with squealing tires, so heartsick she could barely see.
By the time she’d reached the bridge and the mill, Rebecca realized she needed to slow down, to concentrate on driving safely, because Wyatt’s betrayal wasn’t worth having a wreck. She pulled into a parking space at the café, shaking badly and crying as she shifted the car out of gear. She leaned against the steering wheel to weep as only a brokenhearted woman could do.
A tap on the car window startled her. Nora and Luke were standing outside, appearing very concerned and gesturing for her to roll down the window. Rebecca sighed. The last thing she wanted was for word about her and Wyatt’s confrontation to race along the local grapevine.
The window was only down a couple of inches when Nora asked, “Rebecca, what’s wrong, sweetie? You look like you’ve lost your last friend.”
“Can we buy you some supper and talk it over?” Luke added as he peered in at her.
Rebecca shook her head. “This is something I’ve got to handle myself,” she insisted, sniffling loudly. “I’ll get over it.”
Nora pulled a facial tissue from her handbag and offered it to her. “We’ll be home after we eat our supper—in case you don’t feel like being alone.”
“Thanks. You two are the best
.” Rebecca blew her nose loudly and dabbed at her eyes. “Don’t let my crying jag keep you from taking your time to enjoy a nice meal. I’ll be fine. Really.”
“If there’s somebody who needs a talking-to on your behalf, let me know,” Luke said protectively. “I don’t take it lightly when somebody upsets a gut friend like you, Rebecca.”
His words warmed her heart, but she really just wanted the Hooleys to go into the café and leave her to her pity party. When they finally stepped inside, Rebecca backed out of the parking lot and drove slowly toward the county highway. She didn’t need anyone else stopping to inquire about her anguish . . . yet she didn’t feel like going home to an empty house, either. She wiped her eyes against her sleeve—and then, in the rearview mirror, she saw that she’d smeared her mascara and makeup so badly that her blotchy, tear-streaked face resembled a bad Halloween mask.
Laughing sadly at herself, Rebecca drove the short distance to Mamma and Ben’s house and pulled into their lane. Sometimes a girl really needed her mother.
By the time she’d gotten out of her car, Mamma was crossing the wide porch to greet her. Bethlehem, now eight months old and sporting a halo of light brown curls, rested against Mamma’s shoulder, peering curiously at Rebecca with a finger in her mouth.
When Mamma got a good look at Rebecca, she frowned. “What’s happened, honey-girl?” she asked softly. “Not five minutes ago you were driving by as though you had a date with—”
“Should’ve called before I surprised him with some fresh rhubarb crisp,” Rebecca muttered, shaking her head. “You might as well figure he’s not coming for dinner on Sunday. It’s over.”
Mamma’s expressive eyebrows rose. “I don’t like the sound of this—or the look of your poor face,” she added sympathetically. She turned to look at Ben. “Your little girl’s due for some dat time while my little girl and I go to the kitchen for some talk and lemonade.”
“I was hoping I’d get a turn with her,” Ben said cheerfully. “Bethlehem’s been telling me I need to practice on ‘You Are My Sunshine’ so I sing it just right for her.”
Gratitude welled up inside Rebecca as she stepped up onto the porch. With a quick wave for Ben, who was already humming the tune when he took the baby, she preceded Mamma into the house. Toys were scattered in the front room, and the aromas of fried chicken and fried potatoes lingered in the air. She was surprised to see the supper dishes still on the table—but they gave her something constructive to do as she told her tale of woe.
“Bennie and I like to sit on the porch for a bit of an evening,” Mamma said in explanation. She started scraping the plates, so Rebecca went to the sink to run dishwater. “I’m happy to get off my feet for a while after we eat, and it’s not as though the dirty dishes will run off when we’re not looking.”
“The good fairies don’t come and do them?” Rebecca teased. “When I was growing up with the Oliveris, that was the joke when I wanted to disappear after supper instead of helping.”
Mamma’s face softened with memories. “Rachel and Rhoda weren’t keen on washing dishes, either, truth be told,” she recalled, carrying the plates to the counter beside the sink. She set them down and slipped an arm around Rebecca. “Looks like you went to special trouble to look nice for Wyatt, but things didn’t go the way you expected.”
Rebecca sighed. “I’ll be back after I wash my face. I look like a wreck.”
When she stepped into the half bathroom down the hallway, she gazed sadly at her mascara-smeared face. “What a waste of makeup,” she murmured as she turned on the water. She wet the oldest washcloth she could find in the vanity and pumped hand soap on it—not the ideal thing for cleansing her face, but it would remove all traces of her cosmetics.
Too bad it can’t restore your soul and your hurt feelings, she thought as she closed her eyes and washed. After Rebecca dried her face, she spread some of Mamma’s basic hand cream on it and removed the last traces of mascara from around her eyes. Her reflection showed a face in its plain state, as clean and fresh as her mother’s—except that regret and worry didn’t rim Mamma’s eyes.
After she washed the makeup from the washcloth, Rebecca returned to the kitchen—and to her mother’s inquisitive gaze as she turned from the lemonade she was pouring.
“Now your natural beauty shines through, child,” Mamma said gently. “Care to tell me what happened?”
Rebecca swallowed half the glass of freshly-squeezed lemonade Mamma offered her. It amazed her how simple things like a clean face and a cold drink could restore her sense of perspective. “Mamma, I was taking a pan of rhubarb crisp to surprise Wyatt,” she began softly, “but the surprise was on me. He—he was in his trailer with another woman.”
Mamma frowned sadly as she reached for a tea towel. “Anyone we know?”
“I’ve seen her in pictures on his other websites. She lives in Lexington—runs in the same high-dollar horse circles Wyatt does.” Rebecca shrugged sadly and began to wash the dishes Mamma had set in the water to soak. “She’s blond and thin and rich and beautiful—”
“And you’re every bit the woman she is, because God made you that way, daughter,” Mamma interrupted kindly. “No need to put yourself down on account of whom you assume her to be.”
Rebecca’s lips twitched with a half-hearted smile. Mamma had a way of getting straight to the details that really mattered. “But I saw her put her arms around Wyatt,” she said in a thin voice. “I—I almost went back to the car with my tail between my legs, but I banged on the door instead. And when Wyatt looked startled to see me—looked guilty—I threw the pan of crisp in his face.”
Mamma’s eyes widened. “I hope he didn’t get cut on the glass—”
“It was in a disposable foil pan,” Rebecca explained. “Not that I wouldn’t have thrown it anyway, mad as I was.”
Mamma considered this as she dried a couple of plates. “It’s not our way to succumb to a fit of temper,” she reminded Rebecca with a wry smile. “Early on in my marriage to your father, however, he remarked that my piecrust wasn’t as tender and flaky as his mamm’s. After he said it a second time, I told him he could go to his mother’s to eat pie—and I threw the rest of that one at him before storming off to lock myself in the bedroom for a gut cry.”
Rebecca’s eyes widened. “From what I’ve seen since my return to Willow Ridge, I can’t imagine you ever losing your temper, Mamma,” she murmured.
Mamma chuckled. “Turns out I was carrying you three girls at the time and didn’t yet know it,” she explained. “My condition didn’t justify pitching a glass pie pan at Jesse, but I later chalked it up to roller-coaster hormones—and your dat didn’t say any more about my crust, either. A lesson well learned.”
Smiling, Rebecca scrubbed chicken grease from a platter. With her hands submerged in warm, soapy dishwater and the soothing sound of her mother’s voice in her ear, she felt herself relaxing, returning to a rational state of mind. “Why would anyone think your piecrust wasn’t wonderful?” she murmured. “You’ve surely baked a thousand pies in your lifetime.”
“Jah, that’s true. But I only threw one of them,” Mamma remarked. “Seeing cherry filling smeared all over Jesse’s face and shirt felt pretty satisfying—until I realized I was the one who’d be laundering that shirt and having to live with him, beholden to him for his forgiveness. It was a waste of perfectly gut pie, too.”
Rebecca nodded sadly. “Yeah, I put a lot of effort into that rhubarb crisp, and I didn’t even get a taste of it,” she murmured. “But what am I going to do? Wyatt’s been coming on to me ever since we met, saying he wants to be with me—wants to start fresh in Willow Ridge instead of raising or racing his high-dollar Thoroughbreds,” she added glumly. “But I know what I saw. She has her hooks in him, Mamma.”
Her mother thought for several moments, her face still and her brown-eyed gaze clear and patient. Rebecca could only hope that as she matured, she would acquire her mother’s quiet wisdom and her perpetual sense of
peace.
“Sometimes our eyes and ears fool us,” Mamma said softly. “We think we know what we see or hear, and yet we don’t usually realize what remains unseen and unsaid. Every person we meet has lived a life we have no idea about—or carries secret burdens that would make us shudder if we knew about them.”
Rebecca’s first impulse was to refute her mother’s statement—after all, Mamma hadn’t seen those two entwined silhouettes inside Wyatt’s trailer. But she bit back her retort, sensing the rest of the lesson was yet to come.
Mamma smiled at her, love shining on her face. “Sometimes the best tactic is to ask a man straight-out what’s going on,” she said. “If he squirms and dodges your question, you know he’s hiding something. But if he has a plausible explanation, he probably deserves the benefit of your doubt—and if he’s any sort of man at all, he’ll work hard to remove your doubt altogether before you even ask your question.”
Rebecca focused on scrubbing the skillet in which Mamma had fried chicken, scraping a stuck-on scrap with her thumbnail. “Wyatt’s older than I am, so I realize he has some history with other women that I don’t know about,” she said with a sigh. “How on earth am I supposed to ask him about that woman—especially if she’s still there?”
Mamma shrugged. “From what little I know of Wyatt, he’s a shrewd businessman with a gut reputation—which means he knows how to deal with people,” she said. “And I believe his intentions toward you are heartfelt and honest—he apologized to me for cutting three roses he took to you a while back, even though I’d never missed them.”
Rebecca smiled at the memory of how Wyatt had punctured his thumb on the thorn of one of Mamma’s beautiful roses.
“He told me he loved you, Rebecca,” Mamma continued in a sentimental tone. “Most men don’t go gushing to a young woman’s mother unless they’re sincere.”
He told me he loved you.
A Simple Wish Page 20