“Lady, listen, I’m sure you mean well but—”
“As a matter of fact, I don’t mean him well. I couldn’t be happier that he’s behind bars. I also know I can’t allow my feelings toward this man to eat away at me any longer.” She pulled a package from her large purse and literally shoved it at the corrections officer.
“What’s this?” he asked suspiciously.
“It’s a prayer shawl,” Margaret explained. “I knit it myself. Give it to him and tell him…tell him,” Margaret said in a choked voice, “tell Mr. Chesterfield I’m trying very hard to forgive him for what he did to my daughter. I’m praying for him and I’m praying for me because it isn’t easy, you know?”
So that was it. This was why Margaret had wanted to see Danny Chesterfield. To give him the prayer shawl. I blinked back tears, moved by how far my sister had come. Difficult as it was for her, she’d taken Julia’s words to heart.
I put my arm around her.
The correction officer’s attitude changed instantly. “You don’t know, do you?”
Margaret wiped her eyes as if it were a crime to reveal emotion. She shook her head mutely.
“Danny Chesterfield was in a car accident,” he told us.
“That was reported in the paper,” I answered for Margaret.
“What wasn’t reported is that he’s paralyzed from the waist down.”
Margaret froze and stared up at the officer.
“He suffered a spinal cord injury. He’ll be in a wheelchair for the rest of his life.”
We left King County Jail soon afterward. Margaret seemed deep in thought as we walked to the parking lot and her car.
“I wouldn’t have wished that on him,” she said quietly.
“Of course you wouldn’t,” I told her.
Until recently I would not have believed that. Now I did.
CHAPTER 39
Alix Townsend Turner
Grandma Turner’s funeral was truly a beautiful event, Alix thought. She hadn’t known what to expect. Like so much else in life, she’d never experienced a real funeral. Even when her only brother died of an overdose, there’d been no one but her to mourn his passing. No one to pay for his burial, either, so it had fallen to the government. Her brother had been cremated and his ashes placed in a common grave without a marker. All Alix ever knew was the name of the cemetery where Tom’s ashes were kept.
Alix had assumed that at Sarah Turner’s funeral there’d be lots of sadness and tears. While that was true, and almost everyone wept, the mood was joyful, more like a celebration of a life well-lived, a woman well-loved.
Long before she died, Grandma Turner had made all her own burial arrangements, so the decisions hadn’t been left to her children. She’d given specific instructions on which songs to sing and what Scripture verses to read. The only thing she hadn’t indicated was which clothes she wanted to be buried in and that was decided by her two daughters-in-law.
Alix and Jordan had arrived back from Canada in time for the viewing, the night before the services. This was an unfamiliar ritual for Alix. In her heart she knew Jordan’s grandmother had been ready to die, ready for her heavenly reward. What she hadn’t expected was the rush of emotion as she approached the casket, hand in hand with her husband. Large floral arrangements surrounded it and when Alix looked down on this woman she’d come to love, she’d had to blink back sudden tears. Jordan’s family had chosen to bury their mother in a lovely blue dress. They’d tucked Alix’s prayer shawl around her shoulders.
Alix was moved by that.
Susan Turner came to stand next to her.
“Thank you,” Alix whispered, barely able to speak.
Jordan’s mother knew immediately why Alix was thanking her. “Sarah loved that shawl,” her mother-in-law said in a low voice, “but more importantly, she loved you. Just as I do.”
At the gathering in the fellowship hall after the funeral, Alix took care of the serving and cleaning up, thus allowing family members to visit with their guests.
Susan found her in the church kitchen, washing dishes. “Thank you for all your help, Alix,” she said.
Alix finished rinsing the last of the dishes and released the drain at the bottom of the sink. “I was happy to do what I could.”
Susan sighed, leaning against the counter. “Mom always knew.”
Alix turned and cast a quizzical glance at her mother-in-law as she dried her hands. “Knew what?”
“Mom knew you’d be good for Jordan. I was the one with doubts, the one who questioned…. Well, you know that, but Alix, I was wrong.”
“Susan, please, it’s okay.” She wished Jordan’s mother would forget all that. Alix had.
“I know you’ve forgiven me, which also amazes me about you.” Susan seemed in awe of her, and that only embarrassed Alix further.
“Listen,” she said, “I’m no saint.”
“Yes, but…”
“What you need to remember,” Alix told her, “is that I realized if I was going to have a successful marriage, you and I had to come to a meeting of the minds. I didn’t want to put my husband in the middle and demand that he choose sides. Besides, I don’t have a mother of my own.” Alix hesitated. “Well, I do have a biological mother—I’m sure you remember her—but she’s no one I’d ever want as a role model.”
Susan nodded, then looked away. “The family would like to thank you.”
“For washing the dishes? No, really—”
“Not for that,” Susan said, interrupting her, “but for the way you handled everything the day of the wedding. You were the only one who thought of calling the sheriff’s office, for instance.”
Alix shrugged off the praise. “When you’ve dealt with the police as much as I have, it’s second nature to expect them in every situation.”
Susan laughed, and then Jordan came into the kitchen. “People are starting to leave, Mom.”
“Oh, thanks,” she said, hugged Alix and left.
Jordan was grinning from ear to ear.
“What’s so funny?” Alix wanted to know.
Jordan slid his arms around her waist. “You’re pretty incredible, Alix Turner.” He grinned again. “Pretty and incredible.”
“Yeah, right.”
“You think I’m joking?”
She had to admit she enjoyed listening to him sing her praises, deserved or not.
“I don’t know what you did to win over my mother, Alix, but she’s had a complete turnaround.” Jordan arched his brows. “Are you going to tell me how you did it?”
Wrapping her arms around him, Alix smiled. “It was easy. All I had to do was love her son.”
Jordan kissed her then, and it wasn’t the short, affectionate kisses they so often shared in public or when family members were nearby. Her husband kissed her the way he had on their wedding day, the kiss of a man utterly captivated by the woman he’d married.
Alix leaned her head against Jordan’s shoulder and looked out the kitchen door at the family gathered to honor the life of Sarah Turner. Many of them were people she barely knew, people she’d met once or twice before. Some of their names escaped her at the moment, and yet they were her family now. Not Jordan’s brother or his cousins and uncles and aunts. Their cousins, uncles and aunts.
For the first time in her adult life, Alix belonged.
CHAPTER 40
Colette Blake
Elizabeth Sasser invited Colette and Christian to dinner five days after his return from China. Since then, she and Christian had spent practically every minute together. He’d accompanied Colette to her ultrasound appointment and then to her doctor’s, where he listened to his child’s heartbeat. Already he was enthralled with the idea of becoming a father.
Colette was no longer working. Susannah had been sympathetic—and very excited for her. Chrissie, who was out of school now, would be filling in. Colette had offered to work out her two-week notice, but Susannah had said it wasn’t necessary.
Elizabeth had invite
d Christian’s father, Elliott, for dinner that same evening.
On Friday night, Elliott had arrived before Christian and Colette. The minute they pulled up outside the house, he stepped onto the porch to welcome them.
He smiled approvingly when Christian slipped his arm around Colette’s waist and guided her up the walkway.
“You’re looking considerably healthier,” Elliott commented. “And happier.”
“I am,” Christian assured his father.
“Are they here?” Elizabeth asked, poking her head out the front door. She smiled when she saw them on the porch, then frowned at Christian and shook her head. “You’re late.”
“Aunt Elizabeth, I am not late.”
“Dinner’s on the table,” she said as though to prove him wrong.
The dining room had been set with a lace tablecloth, plus the china and silverware from the display cabinet. Doris had already carried in the serving dishes. In the center of the table was a sirloin roast, new red potatoes and fresh asparagus. The rolls appeared to be homemade.
“This looks delicious,” Colette said as Christian drew out a chair for her.
He sat next to Colette and clasped her hand. It felt good to be linked to him, good and right.
After the blessing was given by Elliott, the serving dishes were passed around.
Elizabeth helped herself to a generous portion of roast beef, then set the plate down and glared at Christian. “Well? Are you going to keep me in suspense all night?” she demanded.
“Suspense about what?” Christian asked innocently. Beneath the table and out of view, he squeezed Colette’s hand.
“Are you going to marry the girl or not?”
Elliott seemed equally interested in his response.
“We’re talking about it.” Christian glanced at Colette. “In other words, we’re still negotiating.”
“Negotiating,” his aunt repeated scornfully. “Marriage is a commitment, not a contract to be negotiated.”
“What’s important, son,” Elliott began, sounding far calmer than his aunt, “is that you two love each other. And just seeing you together, I can tell that you do.”
“Of course he loves her,” Elizabeth said irritably. “And she loves him.”
“Then they’ll reach the decision to marry in their own good time,” Elliott assured the older woman.
Elizabeth picked up her fork. “Unfortunately, time is of the essence,” she muttered and dug into her beef.
“Now, Elizabeth, be patient,” Elliott cautioned. “You’re going to be around for a lot of years yet.”
Christian’s great-aunt looked somewhat condescendingly at Elliott Dempsey. “My age has nothing to do with this.”
“Dad,” Christian said. “Aunt Betty—”
“Don’t call me that!”
“Yes, dear,” he said, struggling to hide a smile. He turned to his father. “I do have some news for you.”
Elliott smiled expectantly.
“You’re going to become a grandfather in three months.”
Christian’s father leaped to his feet, rushing over to congratulate them. But Elizabeth was not appeased. “If you don’t marry this woman and give that baby your name, I swear to you right now, I’m cutting you out of my will.”
“Aunt Elizabeth,” Christian said, grinning. “That baby’s a little girl and her name is Elizabeth Catherine Dempsey.”
“I…I—” Elizabeth sputtered.
“We’re naming her after you,” Colette said, “and Christian’s mother.”
“You’re getting married? For the love of heaven, please tell me you’re getting married,” Elizabeth cried. “The sooner the better.”
Christian winked at Colette, but then his expression sobered. “Actually, no.”
“No?” Elizabeth bellowed loudly enough to bring Doris running in from the kitchen.
“Is everything all right?” the housekeeper asked anxiously.
Stricken, Elizabeth nodded. “Everything’s delicious, Doris, thank you. You can bring out dessert in a few minutes.”
“What’s for dessert?” Christian asked.
“Christian, don’t be cruel,” Colette said and held up her left hand, revealing the gold band on her ring finger. “Christian and I were married Thursday afternoon by my friend’s husband.”
“I certainly hope he’s a minister,” Elizabeth said under her breath.
“He is,” Colette told her. “We got the license first thing Monday morning and Jordan Turner married us as soon as the waiting period was over.”
“Thank God!”
“Then we phoned my parents and told them our news.”
“All of it?” Elizabeth asked.
“All of it,” Colette said. “They’re pleased for us, more than a little surprised about the baby, but delighted.” She paused. “Telling Derek’s parents was more difficult, but they wished us well.”
“A girl named after me,” Elizabeth repeated slowly, proudly. “It’s about time you did something right,” she said, reaching for her fork again. “Even if you didn’t invite me to the wedding.”
Elliott raised his wineglass to congratulate them. “Under the circumstances, Aunt Elizabeth, I think we can forgive the oversight.”
Colette turned to smile at her husband, the man she loved, the man whose child she carried. They’d decided to call her Beth, and when she brought her daughter home from the hospital, Colette would wrap her in the prayer shawl she’d knit with Lydia and her other friends.
CHAPTER 41
“Granny was knitting a lovely lacy sweater. She had a piece of paper with tick marks and numbers on it. ‘Where is your pattern?’ I asked. She replied, ‘A pattern? God gave you a brain, didn’t he?’ Granny was a thinking knitter. I wanted to be just like her.”
—René Wells, Granny and Me Designs
Lydia Goetz
I was pleased that Julia and Hailey were with Mom when I visited. She chatted on endlessly about her childhood, and the girls listened attentively. It was a relief to see my mother in such high spirits. She was showing signs of improvement, I thought.
After about thirty minutes, the girls left and it was just Mom and me.
“You’re looking so happy,” Mom said as I brushed her hair, getting her ready for an early dinner. The prayer shawl I’d knit was tucked around her shoulders. She wore it almost constantly these days and I found that gratifying. Of all the things I’d knit Mom through the years, this was the one I felt most strongly about because so many of those stitches held my hopes and prayers for her.
“Lydia?” she asked as I stroked the brush down the length of her hair.
“Yes, Mom?”
“Who were those nice young girls?”
I smiled, but it was a smile of sadness and resignation. “Those are Margaret’s daughters, Julia and Hailey.”
My mother sighed. “Oh, of course. What’s the matter with me that I can’t remember my own granddaughters?”
“Mom, don’t worry. Julia and Hailey know who you are and that’s what’s important.” The diagnosis was official now. Mom had Alzheimer’s. As the disease progressed, I knew there’d come a time when Mom no longer recognized me. I’d deal with it; I would have no choice. I’d remember her as the young wife in photographs from the ’60s and ’70s, as the mother who’d walked me to school and sewed my Halloween costumes, as the grief-stricken widow and the old woman she was now. And all the moments in between. My mother.
“Is Margaret coming?” Mom asked in a tentative voice.
“Soon.” My sister would come by sometime on Monday. We alternated visits, which helped. I was grateful for Margaret and the way taking care of Mom had strengthened the bond we shared as sisters.
“She’s going to be a star,” Mom told me.
I knew my mother was thinking about Margaret’s high-school days and her athletic success. I was the brains of the family, supposedly. I did take pride in the fact that I’d graduated with my high-school class despite missing almos
t my entire junior year while battling cancer.
After I finished brushing Mom’s hair, it was time for dinner. Each of the residents was brought down to the dining room by a staff member. I waited until Mom was gone, then locked her room and left.
Brad, Cody and Chase were waiting for me at Green Lake. The three-mile walk around the lake was a favorite exercise of mine. Brad and Cody loved it, too, and Chase was quivering with excitement as he and Cody set off on their run.
“How’s your mom doing?” Brad asked.
I thought about the question she’d asked me—who Julia and Hailey were—and shrugged. “She’s in good spirits.”
“I’m glad.”
Brad knew I’d agonized over the decision to move Mom yet again, and so soon after her last move. Until Margaret told me, I hadn’t been aware how long she’d been suffering from memory loss. But Dad had known and he’d been covering for her and I’d never suspected.
Brad and I started down the path, hands linked. He talked about one thing and another, and I responded at the appropriate times, but my mind was in a dozen different places.
I was thinking about Carol and her baby.
Colette, too.
It’d been a shock when she told me she was pregnant. And married! Needless to say, she’d moved out of the apartment and in with Christian. Which meant I’d be looking for a new tenant soon, and that was fine. Susannah was going to miss her, but it seemed Chrissie enjoyed working in the flower shop, and she’d be there all summer.
Mostly I’ve been thinking about Brad and me adopting. Perhaps a baby would be unrealistic for us, but there are older children in need of a home, in need of love. That thought had come to me during a conversation with Alix. The state had declared her parents unfit and she’d been eligible for adoption. Only she was too old, she’d said, for anyone to want her. An older child—this was a possibility Brad and I needed to explore.
“You’re very quiet,” my husband said.
“I’ve been thinking…about a lot of things.”
Back on Blossom Street Page 33