Betwixt Two Hearts (Crossroads Collection)

by Amanda Tru

  “Don’t move. The ambulance is on the way.”

  “I’m fine! I’m freezing!”

  “The ambulance will be here in just a few minutes. You shouldn’t be moved until they get here, in case you have back or neck injuries.”

  “I don’t!” Eleanor kicked free of his restraint. “I’m not hurt.” She gasped as a drop of blood fell on the ice in front of her. She must have cut her head. A shudder of revulsion went through her at the flow of warmth on her forehead. She was bleeding, and she was freezing. “Pull me out!”

  “But…”

  “Now! Pull me out!”

  The stranger complied. He squatted in front of her, a silhouette against the white sky, as she rolled to a sitting position. She pushed her hair off her face and jumped up, horrified at the blood.

  “Sit down! I thought you said you weren’t injured!”

  “I’m not. I was just getting the keys.” Still clutching the ring, she wiped her hands on her wet jeans and turned toward the office. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw blood in her hair. Her head hurt. Her legs trembled.

  “Wait.” The man reached for her and she stepped away from him.

  “I can’t wait. I need to go inside and make some coffee.” Her voice rose on the last three words. She really was hysterical now.

  “You’re bleeding.” The man grasped her arm. “And… you’re Eleanor Nielson.”

  “Uncle Gary needs something hot to drink!”

  Even as she yelled at him—actually yelled—she was conscious of a new horror. She drew herself up as tall as possible, composed, in control. Calm. Authoritative. “No, I’m not.”

  His mouth curved in a smile. “Yes, you are. I have coffee in my car—a latte, with milk and sugar. Come on.” He took her elbow and led her to the table. “I’ll get the coffee.”

  “See, now, you’ll be much more comfortable here.” Violet’s voice was smug.

  She’d have no privacy, and she’d be spending all of her time with her elderly aunt, who seemed to have plenty of jobs lined up for the two of them to do together. Eleanor missed the cabin already.

  She dropped onto the bed and smiled at Violet. “It’s good of you to have me. I hope I can be helpful.” White lies and good manners. “I know you’ve been looking forward to living alone, so I’ll stay out of your way as much as possible. Let me know what I can do to help out with cooking and cleaning—or whatever you need. I’m sure I’ll have enough money saved by spring to get into a place of my own.”

  “There’s no hurry. Like I told you last time, I have some projects I need help with. You’ll be doing me a favor.”

  “Great.” Eleanor looked around the bedroom. “I’ll just get my clothes unpacked, and we can make some plans.”

  Aunt Violet sat down in the rocking chair. “I can talk while you work. I can even talk while I work, if you need a hand with that.”

  “No, thanks, I can do it. I don’t have much with me.” Resigned, she unzipped the smallest suitcase and opened the top dresser drawer. Lilac-printed paper lined the drawer, an unexpected and old-fashioned touch in this modernized house. “That’s pretty! And what a nice dresser. Is it a family heirloom?”

  Her aunt nodded. “It was mine, but I have a new one I like better. Your mother used this one, I think, right here in this very room. Maria put that paper in it for her, because she loved lilacs.”

  Eleanor paused. “My mother? This was her room?”

  “She shared it with Colleen, but the dresser was hers. Does she still like lilacs?”

  “I think so. We have some in the backyard. She used to cut branches and bring them inside.”

  Violet pointed through the window. “See those over there? She made your uncle Olof plant those. Kristina said apple trees would be more practical, but Kathy wanted lilacs, and she had Olof wrapped around her little finger. He got a dozen suckers from the neighbor and planted them right under Kristina’s nose.” Violet chuckled. “It was just about the only time anyone ever stood up to Kristina. Anyhow, your mom watered them every day all summer, even if it had rained overnight. Olof fertilized them when he did the garden. Oh, they adored each other.”

  Eleanor tried to imagine her mother as a little girl, hand-in-hand with a doting uncle. Impossible. Mom seldom talked about her family at all. She walked to the window. “Those are lilacs? They look more like trees.”

  “They still bloom pretty good in the spring, but they could probably use some pruning.” Violet said. “Maybe she’ll come out and see them. That would be nice. She’d probably enjoy seeing the annex, too. It was always a nice place, not old like the rest of the farmhouse, but it’s even better now that Carl fixed it up for me.”

  Aunt Violet missed her—a young niece she’d known since infancy. Why hadn’t Mom been out to see her? She should have been. Eleanor would invite her—would insist.

  “I had the impression she was really little when they moved into town. A preschooler.”

  “No, she was nine or ten, I think.” Violet shook her head. “Colleen was a chatterbox, but Kathy was quiet. She liked reading and being outside by herself or with Olof. The farm was better for her than town. I’m afraid she was teased in school and didn’t have a lot of friends.”

  Interesting. “She said she had a good teacher here, who inspired her to become a teacher herself.”

  “Oh, yes,” Violet said. “Maybel Furster. She was a fine woman.”

  “She died recently, didn’t she?” asked Eleanor. “Mom was upset.”

  “She did. Cancer. It was sad, but a beautiful Home-going. She’d picked out all her favorite songs. ‘Lots of singing,’ she said. We nearly took the roof right off the building with In Christ Alone.”

  Eleanor blinked. A beautiful Home-going? She’d never heard that expression. It must mean going to heaven. Going home?

  “She never had a husband or children, you know,” Violet continued. “She just poured herself into her students at school and the Sunday school students at church. She had hundreds of people at her funeral, and only good words spoken or thought of her.”

  “That’s lovely.” A lump blocked Eleanor’s throat. Was that why her mother felt so strongly about teaching, with a role model like that? How wonderful it would be, to have such an impact and reputation. “Did my mother have her as a Sunday school teacher, too?”

  “Most likely. We all went to that church until they moved to town. My grandfather helped build it. That’s what they did back then. They moved to America, built Lutheran churches and farmed. That church burned down about thirty years ago, and there weren’t enough young people to rebuild it, so the rest of us either moved to the Methodist church or the new Riverdale one.”

  “Your grandfather! That would be my…” Eleanor ticked off the generations on her fingers. “Great, great, great grandfather?”

  “Your second great-grandfather. I can show you on the family tree.”

  “I’d like that.” At least, she might. Something about the gleam in Aunt Violet’s eyes made her wary. “That’s sad about the church, to split up after all those years together.”

  “There weren’t many of us left. We still see each other.”

  Eleanor returned to her unpacking, eying Violet. The old woman had seen so much of this community, for so many years. More than almost anyone else in the area.

  “Is it hard to adjust to all the changes?”

  Her aunt shrugged. “Most of the time, change doesn’t just happen all at once. It’s gradual, and you don’t realize it’s changing until you look around and realize everything’s different. She looked out the window. “Change is normal. It’s usually fine, but sometimes it’s bad—or just sad.”

  Eleanor sat on the bed, ignoring the suitcase full of clothing. “What do you mean?”

  Violet twisted her fingers together in her lap before looking up at Eleanor. “When Maybel died, that was sad, but it wasn’t bad. And it wasn’t even a change. She was 95 years old and ready to move on. It’s not bad at all, and just sa
d for us. She’s doing fine.”

  “But some things are bad and sad, like when your church burned down. And wars.”

  “True enough.” Violet rocked forward and pushed against the arms of the chair to stand up. “Change just happens, Nellie. Life moves on, never stopping, and we change with it. In the end, we go Home to the only eternal and unchanging God. That’s really all that matters, in the end.”

  Eleanor watched her leave, wondering if she’d said something wrong. Their casual conversation had taken an odd turn. She pulled the plastic bag off the pile of clothes on hangers and started filling the closet. She’d not had opportunity to wear any of her good work clothes. Maybe she should just pack them away with everything else she had in storage. More things in storage, waiting for Eleanor to make up her mind. Would she discard them, use them, or leave them in storage—in limbo?

  She walked to the window and tried again to picture her mother as a little girl, determined to have lilacs of her own. Stubborn and determined. Yes, that fit. And it fit her, too. If she wasn’t stubborn and determined, she wouldn’t be here now.

  What was she going to do? Uncle Gary needed her, as many hours as she could work while he was in the rehab center, but when summer came, they’d be pressing her to come back for the start of the new school year. They truly believed that would be the best thing for her. They thought it would make her happy, because it made them happy.

  But she wasn’t like them. She didn’t share their interests – their priorities. Teaching was a noble calling. Shaping young minds, inspiring them to learn and grow, being someone like Maybel Furston. Why didn’t it make her feel fulfilled?

  No, she thought. It wasn’t even a matter of fulfillment. She just didn’t like doing it. And that made her feel terrible. What kind of monster didn’t like helping children?

  Her parents would be horrified and convinced she needed a counselor. Or an exorcist.

  Still tall and erect, even in his wheelchair, Uncle Olof reached out to take her hand. “Hello.” He had a full head of thick white hair, and unruly eyebrows over blue-gray eyes that matched his chambray shirt. They were like hers, Eleanor realized. A little lighter, maybe, but similar.

  “This is Nellie, Olof. You’ve never met before, but she is Kathy’s daughter. One of Soren’s granddaughters.”

  His tentative, pleasant expression grew into a broad smile. “Nice to meet you, Nellie.”

  “It’s nice to meet you. I’m sorry we interrupted the football game.”

  “Vikings were losing. No point in watching that happen again.” He turned to Violet. “That nurse, the one with long hair, she says Gary’s coming here. He’s too young.”

  “Oh, it’s just for a few weeks, for rehab.” Violet said. “He slipped on the ice getting out of his truck. Somehow, he managed to dislocate his shoulder and also break the shoulder bone. His ankle’s pretty bad, all broken up inside. They did one surgery already, and he’ll need at least one more.” She sat down on one of the wing chairs. “He has to come here because of his hip. He fell on it pretty hard and did something to the joint. It’s not broken, but he can’t walk on it yet. It might need surgery too. Oh, and he has a concussion and was in the early stages of hypothermia when the ambulance got there.”

  “He fell on the ice and did all that? He must have looked like Dick Van Dyke, with all those falls he used to do, on TV.”

  Eleanor grinned. It probably had looked a bit like that. The aftermath hadn’t been so comical. “We’re going over there to see him in a little bit. I work for him, you know, and he’s making a list of everything I need to do while he’s gone.”

  “Make him give you a raise,” Olof said.

  “Good idea.” Eleanor sank onto the chair in front of him. “Aunt Violet’s been telling me about you. She showed me the lilac bushes you planted with my mother, Kathy. They’re so big now, like regular trees.”

  “Lilacs?” He looked at Violet. “What lilacs?”

  “The lilacs you planted with Kathy, Olof. Do you remember those? It was a long time ago.”

  “Oh, a long time ago.” He looked relieved. “I don’t remember that.”

  “I’m looking forward to seeing them in bloom.” Eleanor broke off when Violet shook her head.

  “Lilacs.” Olof nodded slowly. “A row of lilacs, right where Kristina wanted apple trees. Do you know…” He bent forward and lowered his voice. “I had to replant those things? She ran the mower over them. Accidentally, she said. Ha. Don’t tell Kathy, though.”

  “Okay.” Eleanor looked to Violet for guidance.

  “No, of course not.” Violet stood, pulling on her gloves. “How was your dinner tonight, Olof? Meatloaf, right? Was it any better than last time? I told them you didn’t want the onions in it.”

  He nodded. “It was better. Thanks for coming by.” He looked at Eleanor. “Thanks for coming.”

  “It was nice to meet you. I’m sure I’ll be back.”

  “Good, good.” He wheeled himself to the door, waving as they left.

  “I made him confused.” Eleanor glanced back to where he was still sitting, watching them through the glass doors He waved. She waved back.

  “He gets confused. He had a good spell before that, though. He knew who Gary was, and even Dick Van Dyke.” Violet sounded pleased.

  “He’s still waving.” Eleanor waved back. “Is he sad that we’re leaving?”

  “Maybe. Are you buckled up?”

  “Yes.” Eleanor gave a final wave and saw him wheel the chair away as Violet turned the car onto the street. “Does he get many visitors?”

  “I get here nearly every day, but it’s going to be harder now that I’m not in town anymore. Carl and Constance go, and they usually bring little Sarah. She plays checkers with him. Gary’s there at least once a week, and your uncle Scott and his wife come when they can. They’re up in Bemidji, and she’s not in good health.” She sighed. “It’s hard.”

  “Well, Uncle Gary will be there every day, now! That will make Uncle Olof happy, won’t it?”

  “On his good days, yes. They can watch football games. They’re all reruns, but Olof doesn’t care. A game is a game. Baseball in the summer and football in the winter.”

  “What about his bad days?” Eleanor asked.

  “Well, your uncle Gary will probably stay out of his way on those days, or just pretend to be a stranger.”

  “Pretend to be a stranger?” Shocked, Eleanor stared at Violet. “You mean, just act like they’ve never met? Wouldn’t it be better to help Olof remember? Give him reference points, like you did today, when you said I was Kathy’s daughter and one of Soren’s granddaughters.”

  “He was having a good day today,” Violet said, “and I started by telling him you’d never met before, so he wasn’t afraid that he should already know you. We used to try to make him remember things. He’d be all worried about getting home, and we’d remind him that he lives here now, or he’d say he had to go help Papa in the barn, and we’d remind him that Papa passed away forty years ago.”

  She stopped at a traffic light and fell silent. Eleanor waited, hoping she’d continue. What would it be like, to be responsible for Soren or Robert or Zack in that situation?

  “We tried. Then one day, a little girl—a CNA who couldn’t have been more than five feet tall—came up and tugged on my elbow. I followed her into the hallway and got a lecture on how to treat people with Alzheimer’s. She even printed up a list of guidelines for me.”

  Someone dared to lecture Aunt Violet? Eleanor hid a grin. “What did it say?”

  “First of all, you don’t insist they’re wrong. They’re anxious and afraid all the time, and it only distresses them when you confuse them more. If they do get upset, you distract them.”

  “Like you did when you asked about the meatloaf!” Eleanor said. “It seemed to work.”

  “If I hadn’t distracted him, he would have worked himself up about the lilacs. And the biggest thing is that you don’t tell them people are dead
,” Violet snapped. “How would you feel if you were upset and worried about your father, fully convinced he was looking for you, and someone kept insisting he was dead?”

  “Oh. Yeah. But… it seems kind of like lying.”

  “So, lie,” Violet said wearily. “Olof isn’t going to get better. He doesn’t need to be corrected. He needs to be loved and taken care of. I would have done it at home if I could, but he kept wandering off or doing dangerous things at home. This is a good place, and he’s fine.”

  The argument, too distant for the words to be discernible, was obviously heated. Was that Uncle Gary? Easy-going, kind Uncle Gary? Eleanor cast a glance at Violet. The older woman rolled her eyes.

  “Oh, for goodness sake. Men are such babies when they’re sick.”

  But Uncle Gary wasn’t sick. Eleanor followed the voices, walking faster than her aunt, and reached the room in time to hear the sweet coaxing voice, full of laughter, say “Oh, yes, you are. Come on, I’ll give you another gown to cover your backside. You know how it is when you fall and break your hip. You have to get up and walk again, right away.”

  “It’s not broken.” He broke off at the sight of Eleanor. “If I’d known she was here, I’d have gone to a different hospital.”

  “Oh, Cheryl!” Aunt Violet pushed past Eleanor to embrace the therapist, who hugged her more tightly than seemed advisable with a frail, elderly woman. Violet didn’t seem to mind. She drew back and patted the woman’s cheek. “It’s so good to see you again.”

  “You always did take her side,” Gary muttered.

  “Oh, stop.” Cheryl held out her hand—to hold, not shake. “You must be Eleanor. I know your mom—knew her when she lived here, anyhow. How is she?”

  “She’s good.” Did everyone here know her mother? This woman must be the same age, but she seemed more youthful, with a mop of blond, corkscrew curls and sparkling blue eyes.

  “I’m Cheryl Anderson.” She ignored the patient’s rude snort. “Not a blood relative, but one in spirit.”

  “Not in law.”

  Gary must be in pain. Eleanor moved closer to the bed. “How are you?”