by Carol Voss
“But there have been so many excellent roses developed over the years.”
“Not any that have that coral-pink color and spicy scent. Plus it’s hardy enough for Wisconsin winters.”
“I would be proud if you choose to share the roses with the world, just as Salvatore would be proud.”
Maggie couldn’t help being excited about the idea. Selling the roses might also give Stella something to look forward to. She mulled over what she’d need to do to bring the rose to market. “We’ll apply for patents. And I’ll contact the American Nurserymen’s Association to find out how to go about entering the All-America competitions. Winning the competition is the surest way to announce a great rose to the world. And the Salvatore is a great one.” Realizing she was pushing Stella too fast, she slowed her pace.
Stella turned stiffly to peer up at her. “But you must not worry too much, dear. Worry is not good.”
Maggie nodded. Once she got Stella back home where she belonged, she’d stop worrying. Until then, worry and she seemed to be attached at the hip. Please help me put things in Your hands.
“Anthony brought spaghetti with marinara sauce for my lunch today.”
“That’s wonderful, Stella. He’s a very accomplished cook, don’t you think?”
“Yes, he is.” Stella sighed. “He’s a little heavy-handed with the garlic for my taste, though.”
Maggie closed her eyes for a second. Poor Tony. Stella had probably shared her observation with him. “But he was very thoughtful to bring Italian food for you.”
“Of course he was. He told me he built a fire in the wildflower meadow.” Stella glanced back at Maggie, concern in her expression. “He said he made you unhappy.”
Maggie’s blood pressure began rising just thinking about the beautiful flowers crumpling in the heat. But he’d told Stella? He must have been searching hard for things to talk about. “He destroyed part of the patch of blue false indigo. They were in full bloom.”
“Prairie plants are resilient as long as their deep roots are not damaged. Wait and watch. Perhaps we will see new shoots next spring.”
Stella was planning for next spring? That eased Maggie’s mind a bit. And she’d forgotten…she had good news she hadn’t shared yet, news that would make Stella happy. “Tony apologized for leaving the way he did. And God helped me forgive him.”
“Oh, my dear.” Stella reached up for Maggie to grasp her hand. “I’m so happy for you. ‘Forgiveness is to set a prisoner free, and to realize the prisoner was you.’”
Tears blurred Maggie’s vision. “Yes,” she whispered. “I can’t remember where that quote is from, can you?”
“Corrie ten Boom wrote it.”
“Oh, yes. The woman who forgave her captors after she was released from a Nazi prison camp.”
“Yes. And does this mean you are considering telling Anthony about the baby?”
Maggie’s heart ached. “I don’t think so.”
“You don’t believe he has a right to know?”
“He does have a right to know, but knowing will hurt him. And he can’t do anything to change the past. He’ll be here such a short time. I’m afraid he’ll wish he had never come back.”
“Are you afraid he’ll blame you for giving the baby away?”
Was she? “Maybe. And I’m afraid he’ll blame himself. Do you think I should tell him, Stella?”
“I do. But you must do what you believe is right, and trust Anthony to do what he must, as well.”
That’s what worried her. He’d always hated Noah’s Crossing because he’d wanted so much to be with his father. If she told him about the baby, he’d have one more reason to hate it here.
What could he do if he knew his leaving and staying away had cost him his child? Nothing.
Telling him would be just plain cruel.
Chapter Eight
Tony parked the Harley alongside Maggie’s Suburban in her greenhouse parking lot and headed for the door. On his way back from an important run to the store, he’d taken a quick tour of the housing development on Doc Tilbert’s farm and ridden away with a solution to Maggie and Nonna’s housing problem.
Making sure they’d be safe and comfortable and as worry-free as possible was the least he could do before he left Noah’s Crossing. He was fired up to tell Maggie about it. He reached for the door.
A slender brunette in jeans and a yellow blouse emerged. “Well, hello.”
He frowned, wondering if the woman was somebody he should recognize from the past.
The brunette gave him an appraising smile and stuck out her hand. “I’m Leah, Maggie’s friend, old college roommate and current accountant. You must be Tony.”
He shook her hand. “That’s me. Nice to meet you.”
“Same here.” She flashed him a friendly smile. “Maggie’s in the back.”
“Thanks.”
“Off to do an errand.” Leah turned and glided across the parking lot.
Nice. But she didn’t do a thing for him. She didn’t have brown eyes or copper hair, and she was definitely missing Maggie’s depth and don’t-mess-with-me attitude.
He closed the door, the smells of damp earth rich and fragrant. Humid air enveloping him, he peered down dim aisles between rows and rows of plants. “Hey, Maggie,” he yelled, his voice echoing loudly off the glass walls enclosing the giant structure.
Two seconds tops, she appeared at the other end of one of the long aisles, unsettled as a bird rousted from its nest. She wore blue-and-white-striped bib overalls cut off above her knees, a white T-shirt and bare feet. And he was much happier to see her than he had any right to be.
“What’s the matter? Did something happen with Stella?” Her eyes wide with alarm, she rubbed at her dirt-covered hands with a towel.
“I took her lunch. Things seemed okay, but her taste buds were off. She told me there was too much garlic in my marinara sauce. What’s with that? She could never get enough garlic.”
Maggie threw her hands in the air in one of her trademark gestures. “Is that why you’re yelling as if the sky is falling?”
“Your accountant said you were working in the back.”
“You met Leah?”
“Yup.”
“She’s been wanting to meet you.” She dropped the dirt-smeared towel on a bench. “So you stopped for a grand tour of my new greenhouse?”
He glanced around, anxious to tell her about his idea, but he guessed it would keep long enough for a quick tour. “Uh, sure, I’d love to see your greenhouse.”
“Do you have an hour to spare?”
An hour? What could take an hour to look at in a greenhouse?
She rolled her eyes. “Don’t look so horrified. For you, a ten-minute tour.”
He gave her an apologetic grin. What could he say? Plants and greenhouses weren’t usually among his favorite things. But she, no doubt, knew that.
She proved to be a woman of her word. Ten minutes later, she’d impressed him with her state-of-the-art misting system, her timed, artificial lights designed to compensate for Wisconsin’s long winters, her potting benches and her jungle of plants. She’d spouted off their Latin names as if they were old friends.
Not that he could remember a single one. But he got a real kick out of the pride in her manner. No question, she loved what she did. She was as animated as a kid showing off, and her enthusiasm was contagious. Problem was, he’d had to remind himself a couple times not to reach out and grasp her hand. What was up with that?
“That’s it for the greenhouse,” Maggie announced. “The rest of my forty acres is planted in perennials and shrubs and ornamental trees. Except for the woods.”
He hoped she didn’t plan to give him a tour of her entire forty
acres. But if she did, she did. And he’d probably enjoy every minute.
She led him into a cramped back room crowded with supplies stacked around two desks. “This is my office.” She thumped her hand on one of the desks and pointed to the other. “That’s Leah’s. We run a no-frills operation.”
“I can see that.” He had as much room in his makeshift offices on building sites. But finally, he could tell her why he’d stopped in. “I took a tour of Doc’s old farm this morning.”
“Oh? Did you recognize the terrain in spite of the houses covering it now?”
“For the most part. I missed a few of my favorite trees, though.”
She nodded in understanding. “So you’re visiting your past haunts? Do you want to see the tree house?”
He met her eyes. “The tree house?”
“Or not.” Flushing, she dropped her gaze as if rethinking her offer.
He rubbed the back of his neck. He was curious about the tree house, but… “Uh, sure…why not?”
She squinted up at him? “Yeah?”
He nodded.
Turning, she padded ahead of him, stopping near the door to slip into a pair of beat-up clogs before she led the way outside, locked the door and stomped across the gravel parking lot ahead of him.
The house where she and her parents had lived stood nearby, looking the same as it had when they were kids. “Do you rent out your house?”
She shook her head.
“What do you use it for, then?”
“Nothing. It’s empty.”
“If you don’t want to rent it out, why don’t you convert it into offices with a conference room and employee break room?”
“Very resourceful.”
“Thanks.” But her tone told him he’d better not hold his breath for that to happen. He followed her into the woods. There, the tree house stood on its four stilts, half-hidden in the giant leaves of the spreading bur oak branch that supported it.
Its weathered boards contrasted with the newness of the wooden ladder leaning against the tree limb outside the door. Other than looking a whole lot smaller, the place appeared exactly as he remembered it. A dull ache tightened his throat.
Maggie stepped out of her clogs and climbed the ladder. She pushed open the door and disappeared inside. By the time he’d removed his boots and wedged himself through the door, she sat on the floor, legs folded in front of her, near the shiny, open window. The sun glinted off her copper hair like a halo.
Despite the open window, the air was hot and stuffy with the scent of old wood and pine cleaner. The tiny abode was cobweb-free, the plank floor swept clean. Apparently, she still came here.
He folded himself to the floor across from her. The tightness in his throat worked its way to his chest as memories flooded him of the last time he’d been here with her. They’d been so young, so innocent, so much in love. With a mental shake of his head, he forced his mind to focus on less conflicted memories.
Like Maggie chattering about her teachers and classmates. Maggie listening to his latest crisis with Nonna or disappointment with his father. Maggie surprising him with little gifts to make up for his father failing to acknowledge his birthdays. Considerate, encouraging, caring Maggie. She was still that Maggie…only much, much more. “The place looks the same.”
“You expected changes?”
Grinning, he stretched his long legs out in front of him, his socks almost brushing her knees. “We had a lot of good times growing up.”
A smile warmed her face. “It’s really nice to know I’m not the only one who remembers.”
He was glad he’d mentioned it. Making her smile felt great.
She turned, rummaged in the wood crate under the window and held a worn dog collar out to him.
“Kip’s collar,” Tony said.
“He’s buried in Stella’s backyard. He missed you when you left. He loved you, you know.”
Tony picked at a splinter in the rough plank floor. Kip had been his go-to guy, his comforter when he’d had nobody else. “I considered taking him with me, but I figured he’d have a better life here. Good choice, as it turned out. But I deserted him, too. I didn’t deserve his love either.”
“I don’t know that anybody really deserves love, do you? I mean…I think love just is.”
He raised his gaze to her face. He saw no hint of doubt in her rich brown eyes. She knew what love was. It shone bright and whole from the depths of her being. “Nonna wrote that you got engaged to a guy you met in college. What happened?”
A little frown clouded her eyes. “He graduated and got a great job in New York. I was just going into my sophomore year in college, and I wasn’t interested in moving. That’s what happened.”
“Did you love him?” he asked tensely, realizing her answer was very important for some reason.
She nibbled her bottom lip. “I think I was more lonely than in love. Have you ever been in love, Tony?”
“Once.”
“Then you know it’s not an exact science. What happened?”
“You know what happened, Maggie. I left town.”
She stared at him as if trying to digest his words. “You loved me?”
How could she not know? “You had to know that.”
“But I told you I loved you and you said nothing.”
“Would saying the words have made a difference?”
“Yes. Hearing them would have taken away some of my doubts after you left. It makes a huge difference knowing that even now.”
He struggled to understand. His feelings had been so intense that it never occurred to him that she wasn’t sure he loved her. “Then I’m glad I finally told you.”
“So am I.”
Not a clue what else to say, he desperately wanted to get back to something he knew, like buildings. But bringing up his housing idea right now seemed like a bad idea.
He shifted uncomfortably, his eyes resting on an assembly of yellowing playbills tacked to the wall, the scrawled signatures on them still visible. Backed by elaborate stage sets from different operas, youthful faces of tenors and sopranos smiled at him. He could make out his father’s name, Joseph S. Stefano—principal violin, in tiny block letters near the bottom. “I can’t believe you kept those posters.”
Maggie’s eyes widened. She was, undoubtedly, recognizing his complete change of subject. “We used to hold official hanging ceremonies after you showed the posters to your friends at school. Remember?”
“We toasted with ginger ale.” He laughed, remembering their child’s play, but the memory was bittersweet. “I showed up at one of his gigs after I left Noah’s Crossing. I had the crazy idea that I wanted to play my trumpet for him. He seemed embarrassed to see me. I don’t think anybody knew he even had a son. I left the next day.”
“You deserved a better father,” she said simply.
Somehow he felt better hearing her say that.
“At least you were lucky to have Stella.”
“I should have made it easier for her.” He shook his head.
“You were just a kid.”
“An ungrateful kid. I doubt you were ever ungrateful.”
She frowned. “I accepted my wonderful parents and home as if it was my due. How ungrateful was that?”
“Sounds like security to me. Secure kids are the ones who can afford to take their parents for granted. Your parents were pretty cool.”
“Yes, they were.”
“They seemed to get me, for some reason.”
“Of course they got you.” She studied him. “Where did you learn that thing about secure kids?”
“Does it make sense?”
“Amazingly.”
“I have my moments.”
>
She bit her lip, a curl falling over one eye.
He wanted to reach over and smooth it back for her, but he resisted the urge.
“After my parents died and—” She shook her head. “After my parents died, it was like I was living an awful nightmare I couldn’t wake up from. When Stella brought me home with her, I went through the motions of living, but I didn’t feel anything. Stella said I was afraid to feel.”
He squinted at her. “It must have been awful, Maggie. How did the accident happen?”
“The roads were icy. They were on their way to see me—” She shook her head, eyes glued to the floor.
“Where were you?”
“Uh…” She pressed her hand to her throat. “I…I was staying with my mom’s aunt Bea in Eau Claire.”
“Over the weekend?”
She glanced up, then back at the floor. “Actually, I stayed with her my sophomore year.”
“Why?”
“Uh…to help her live in her home a little while longer.”
“I’m surprised your parents agreed to that in the middle of a school year.”
“I attended classes…” She closed her eyes as if struggling to sort things out in her mind.
“It’s okay, Maggie. You don’t have to talk about that awful time.”
She squeezed her eyes shut.
He gave her time to deal with her emotions. After all, the day her parents died was the worst day of her life.
“I didn’t say goodbye,” she whispered, tears spilling down her cheeks.
He lurched to sit beside her. He wrapped his arm around her, feeling clumsy and totally at a loss to know what to do.
She laid her head on his shoulder.
He gently stroked her hair, searching for words that might help her. “Saying goodbye wouldn’t have changed anything.”
“But I’d tell them I loved them. I’d hug them one last time.”
He tipped her chin up and looked into her tear-filled eyes. “They knew you loved them. Everybody who saw you guys together knew. Just by the way you treated each other.” He brushed away her tears, her skin unbelievably soft to his rough fingers. He didn’t know what else he could say.