The Lavender Field

by Jeanette Baker

  Boats of every size dotted the water, their white sails billowing like inflated parachutes against the glittering sea. Brown pelicans perched on the pilings and seagulls hovered above commercial fishing boats, their sharp eyes fixed on crews swabbing down the decks.

  Whitney leaned back in her chair, removed her sunglasses and closed her eyes. The sun on her head and the crisp ocean air lulled her into a deep, euphoric calm. This was paradise. She wanted to drink wine and eat fish and buy flower-splashed sarongs and Hawaiian shirts in the small shops along the boardwalk. This would be a wonderful vacation spot for her parents, if Boone would leave his precious horses long enough.

  The young man with a white apron around his waist brought her order. Fish, chips and wine, overlooking the sea. Why had she never indulged herself like this before? Life was meant to be enjoyed.

  Gabriel’s excuse for coming home in the middle of the morning the next day was to find his favorite pair of riding gloves.

  His mother looked at him from under skeptical eyebrows. “You don’t have gloves in your tack room?”

  “Not these.” He waved the pair in front of her.

  “I see.” She sprinkled a pinch of cumin into her casserole. “You’re in time to help Whitney with her bag. She’s leaving now, or maybe you already knew that.”

  Gabriel felt a wave of heat rise from his chest and turned away. “I’ll see if she’s ready,” he said gruffly.

  Mercedes smiled at her son’s back. “You do that, mijito.”

  He climbed the stairs two at a time. The door to her room was open. He stuck his head inside. Her tote and purse were lying on the floor, but otherwise the room was empty. He heard voices coming from the part of the house that had been converted into Claire’s classroom and continued in the direction of the sound.

  Whitney was leaning over Claire’s shoulder, admiring a drawing. Mrs. Cook was erasing the white board.

  “Who’s this over here?” Whitney asked, pointing to the picture.

  “It’s my mom,” Claire confided. “She’s littler than everyone else because she isn’t here anymore.”

  “Why does that make her little?”

  “Because she’s disappearing. Every day she gets smaller and smaller.”

  “Is it because you think you’ll forget her?”

  “No,” the child said, her voice a perfect monotone. “I won’t forget her, but she isn’t a part of anything I do.”

  Last week, hearing those words from his child would have been like someone kicking Gabriel in the stomach with a heavy boot, but not today. From across the room, he saw a shadow pass over Whitney’s face. He cleared his throat.

  Claire looked up. A ghost of a smile crossed her lips. “Hi, Daddy.”

  “Hello, sweetheart. I thought I’d check and see if Whitney needed any help with her luggage.”

  “Thanks,” Whitney said. “I’ll take you up on that.” Quickly, she kissed Claire’s cheek. “Bye, now. It’s been wonderful getting to know you.” She waved at the teacher. “Goodbye, Mrs. Cook. Thanks for letting me interrupt.”

  “No problem. Have a good trip.”

  Gabriel followed Whitney down the stairs.

  “Let me say goodbye to your mother,” she said. “I’ll just be a minute.” She handed him her car keys. “Go ahead and put the bags in the trunk.”

  He was on the porch when he heard her call his name. Gabriel didn’t know Whitney Benedict well enough to have seen all her moods, but he knew fear when he heard it. Dropping the bags on the porch, he raced back through the house into the kitchen. His mother was on the floor. Her right ankle was twisted at an odd angle and her face was tight with pain. Whitney handed the phone to him. “I think you should call the paramedics. We can’t move her by ourselves. I’ll get an ice pack together.”

  Gabriel looked at his mother’s massive bulk, took the phone from Whitney and punched in the numbers 911. While he gave directions and answered questions, Whitney found the drawer with the Ziploc bags and filled one with ice. Carefully, she applied it to Mercedes’s swollen limb.

  “Are you in much pain?” she asked.

  Mercedes nodded, grimacing. “I don’t know how it happened. One minute I was standing and the next I was on the floor.”

  “These things happen,” Whitney said soothingly. “Everything will be fine.”

  “But what about your plane?”

  “I’ll catch the next one. That’s the least of our worries.”

  She looked around. “What about my house and the lavender harvest? How will Gabriel manage?”

  “Your daughters will help.”

  “No,” Mercedes moaned. “Luz and John left this morning for their anniversary cruise. Pilar can’t leave her work—she has no benefits—and how can Ramona come? She has two babies and a new job.”

  Gabriel hung up the phone. “Don’t worry, Ma. We’ll manage. It looks like you may have broken your ankle. People break bones. The kids and I will help.”

  His mother threw him a penetrating glare. “When will you help, mijito? In your spare time?”

  Clearly he was exasperated. “We’ll get through this. It isn’t Whitney’s problem.” He checked his watch. “You can still make your plane in plenty of time if you leave now. There’s really nothing more you can do here.”

  Whitney looked from Mercedes to her son and back again. The woman’s forehead was beaded with perspiration and Gabriel had that glazed look again, the one he had at the police station when they picked up Emma. She thought of Eric and Emma and Claire, and Mercedes’s lavender field and Ramona’s babies, needy as fledgling birds. She swallowed. How long had it been since she’d done something really selfless? Who would be hurt? Not her parents. They would be merely annoyed. Her firm might be inconvenienced, but the partners would make do. She had her computer. A few things would have to be postponed, but she could do everything she needed to right here. There wasn’t a single reason why she couldn’t stay for another week or so.

  She sat down beside Mercedes. “I think I might stay a few more days,” she said softly, “just to make sure you can manage. You’ve been so very good to me. I’d like to repay the favor.”

  Gabriel shook his head. “It’s out of the question. You have a job and a life that isn’t here. We’re not a charity case.”

  “Gabriel!” His mother’s eyes flashed pure fire. “Where are your manners? How dare you speak to this woman in such a way? She’s trying to help us. Are you so filled with false pride that you can’t recognize a good deed when it’s offered? I’m ashamed of you, mijito.”

  Tight-lipped, Gabriel stood. O make in me these civil wars to cease. “I’ll wait on the porch for the paramedics.”

  “You do that,” his mother said. She took Whitney’s hand. “I apologize for my son. He is not himself to say such things to you.”

  “No apology is necessary. He’s upset and you’re right about his pride. He won’t accept pity.”

  “You already know him well.”

  “I imagine everyone knows that about Gabriel.”

  Mercedes shifted and winced. “I don’t know how this happened,” she said again. “I’ve been walking around this kitchen for most of my life.”

  “Has it always been the same?” Whitney asked. She was trying to distract Mercedes from her pain, but she was curious as well.

  The woman nodded. “This is a California Historic Heritage property. My grandfather built it in 1876 for my grandmother. She came from Spain. The land grant was given to her family years before, when all of California was a Spanish colony. It was tremendous, over ten thousand acres, but that’s long since been sold off. I took Care of my father until he died forty years ago. Then Franz and I bought out my brothers. The kitchen has been upgraded, but otherwise not much has changed.”

  Whitney looked thoughtful. “I was curious about your last name. I wondered why Gabriel and your daughters use your name instead of your husband’s.”

  “The Spanish tradition is to include the mother’s nam
e,” Mercedes explained. “But that becomes cumbersome after a while. My husband was a man comfortable with himself. He knew who he was. While he never took my name, he insisted that the children carry on the Mendoza family tradition.”

  Whitney heard the sound of sirens. “I think your rescuers are here, Mercedes. You should be much more comfortable soon.”

  Claire appeared in the doorway. Mrs. Cook stood behind her. “What happened, Gran?”

  “Just a little spill, mijito,” her grandmother said. “I’ve sprained my ankle. Nothing serious. Come and kiss me.”

  Obediently, Claire walked to her grandmother’s splayed body and pecked her on the cheek.

  Mrs. Cook looked at her watch. “I’m not sure what to do, Mrs. Mendoza. I have another student in thirty minutes.”

  “Don’t worry, dear. Whitney has decided to stay. She’ll watch Claire.”

  “If you’re sure—”

  “Very sure.”

  “I’ll collect my things.” The teacher squeezed Claire’s hand. “I’ll see you tomorrow, sweetie.”

  Claire nodded.

  Seconds later, six blue-clad medics filed into the kitchen and surrounded Mercedes. Maintaining an upbeat, casual flow of conversation, they asked questions, made notes, wrapped the woman’s foot in something cold and inflated, heaved her onto a gurney with her foot elevated and wheeled her out to the ambulance idling in the driveway.

  Gabriel leaned over and kissed his mother’s cheek. “I’ll see you there, Ma. Try not to worry.”

  “Who’s worrying?” she said. “Whitney will be here for Claire and the children and you’ll be with me. What more could I ask for? Don’t forget my purse.”

  Expressionless, he waited until the ambulance pulled out of the driveway before turning to Whitney, who was sitting on the porch step with Claire beside her. “You don’t have to stay here. We can’t depend on you like this.”

  “Nonsense,” Whitney said bracingly. “It’s a great excuse to extend my vacation.”

  “This won’t be a vacation, Whitney. I promise you that.”

  “What would you do if I left, Gabe?”

  “I’d take Claire with me.”

  “What about Emma and Eric? Are you going to leave them alone for however long it takes before you can bring your mother home? What about the people who have reservations here this week? Mercedes said she was expecting guests. You’re going to cook, change linen, answer the door and the phone and package lavender sachets while you’re running the dressage center?”

  “The lavender won’t be ready to harvest for a month or so. Besides, it isn’t any of your business,” he said tersely.

  “Be careful,” she teased him. “That’s hardly the attitude to take when someone is trying to be nice to you.”

  He turned his back and looked out over the hills.

  Whitney whispered something into Claire’s ear. The little girl walked over to her father and slipped her hand inside his. Some of the tension left his back.

  “Why is it so hard for you to accept favors?” Whitney asked.

  He shrugged. “I suppose because it means that at some point they need returning.”

  “Is that so bad?”

  He looked down at his daughter. “Run inside, sweetheart, and work on your homework. I need to talk to Whitney.”

  He waited until he heard Claire’s feet on the stairs. “We’re not friends, Whitney. Our relationship is about business. We both know that.”

  The words stung. She swallowed. “I’ve been here for nearly a week. Your mother refused to charge me for my room, or for the delicious food she’s plied me with. I like your sisters and, until a minute ago, I liked you, too. It’s perfectly reasonable for me to stay and help out for a few days. Unless—”

  “Unless what?”

  “Unless you think I have an ulterior motive.”

  “Of course not,” he exploded.

  “It occurred to me that you might think I was staying to put more pressure on you for your horses.”

  His laugh was completely without humor. “You don’t know what pressure is. I’ve got enough from my family. Compared to you, they’re masters of the art.”

  “But I’m a visible reminder.”

  “Look, it isn’t that.” He shook his head. “Never mind. Thank you. I accept your offer. You’re very generous.”

  She frowned. “What’s bothering you, Gabe? Surely you can’t be this upset over my staying longer unless I’ve done something to make you dislike me. Please tell me.”

  “You don’t get it, do you?” He sat beside her on the step, his face close to hers. She held her breath. “This week is hardly typical. Claire hasn’t acted up. She’s behaved normally for once, more so than she has in years. Emma, except for one incident, has been good as gold. We haven’t had paying guests. It’s been a quiet week, an exceptional week. You have no idea what you’re getting into. Normally, this place is bedlam. I fall into bed at night wondering if I can make it through another day.”

  Whitney looked away, allowed herself to draw breath, and looked back again. “Has it always been this way even before your wife left?”

  “I didn’t think about it,” he said shortly. “It was just the way things were. Kristen was under a lot of pressure. I didn’t know how much. I don’t blame her anymore. I wish she would have talked to me. That’s my only regret.”

  “What about your mother? I don’t get the impression that she’s as stretched as you are.”

  “I mean no disrespect—I love her very much—but my mother is nuts,” he said forcefully. “She eats and drinks more than her share. That’s how she gets through her days. Now that I think of it, maybe she always did. She’s not exactly your typical type-A personality.”

  Whitney laughed. “I guess not.”

  “The bottom line is, this won’t be easy for you. Other than a few lapses, you’ve basically been uninvolved. That’s going to change.”

  “Gabe, I said I’d stay for a week, not six months. You’re making too much of this.”

  “I’m trying to warn you. You’re obviously a decent woman, warm and kind and generous. I know you want to do the right thing, but in this case, you’re a babe in the woods. You don’t know what it’s going to take out of you.”

  She considered telling him about Wiley Cane and what nine months of him had taken out of her, but she decided against it. It wasn’t the right time. This wasn’t about her. “I’m fairly intelligent, a college graduate, efficient, logical and I can cook,” she said instead. “It won’t be tamales and enchiladas, but fried chicken, catfish, hush puppies, chicken-fried steak and grits won’t go over too badly. It’s comfort food and meant to be cooked in large amounts. If worst comes to worst, I’ll send for my mother. She makes the best pecan and sweet-potato pies anyone has ever tasted.”

  He stood and reached down to pull her up with him. “All right, Whitney. I can see there’s no changing your mind. Consider yourself warned. I’m usually somewhere at the center during the day and in my office at night. Drop by anytime you want to complain. I’ll understand, believe me. Feel free to ask if you need anything. There’s an open account at the local market for food. I’ll authorize you to charge on it. Otherwise, you’re on your own. My mother has her own system. I have no idea what it is. No one will be offended if you want to try something different. God knows I’m grateful to you. I don’t think I’ve said that, have I?”

  “Not yet.”

  Again he grinned. Ten years faded from his face, and once again, Whitney’s breath caught.

  “Consider it said. I’m very grateful you’re doing this for us.”

  Slowly, so he wouldn’t notice, she inhaled. “You’re welcome.”

  “If you don’t mind keeping Claire with you, I’ll be on my way to the hospital. All the phone numbers you’ll need, including my cell, are posted in the kitchen next to the refrigerator. I’ll call when I get a chance.”

  “Don’t worry about a thing.”

  He looked as if
he would have liked to say something else, but decided against it. Whitney watched him walk to his truck, wave once and drive away. Only then did she pick up her bags and turn back to the house.

  Thirteen

  After carrying her luggage back to the room she had recently vacated, Whitney made her way down to the kitchen. Claire sat at the table drinking a glass of milk.

  “Well,” Whitney said bracingly. “What should we do now?”

  Claire didn’t respond. She kept her eyes downcast.

  “Is there anything I can help you with? Homework, maybe?”

  Still no response. Whitney suppressed a wave of panic. Would Claire choose this time to slip into one of her spells? She desperately wanted her computer and its world of information available at the touch of her fingertips. Could she leave the little girl alone? She made an instant decision.

  “I’ll be right back,” she said, and ran up the stairs to her room. Grabbing her computer bag, she dashed back to the kitchen. Claire hadn’t moved.

  “Thank goodness I didn’t leave this at home,” she said conversationally, not expecting an answer. “I had no idea I’d be staying this long.” Quickly, she plugged in the computer and touched the power button. Immediately, the familiar Windows icon glowed from the screen. She located her browser and had just finished typing in the word autism when the phone rang. Whitney picked up the receiver. “Hello?”

  An unfamiliar voice asked for Mercedes Mendoza.

  “She’s not available right now. This is Whitney Benedict. May I help you?”

  “I’m Amy Patterson. My mother and I have reservations for two nights,” the voice said. “I thought I’d let you know we’ll be there about six o’clock.”

  Whitney’s heart sank. “Thank you for calling.” A thought occurred to her. “Do you have any food preferences?”

  “I think I mentioned that my mother is elderly. She has trouble with anything spicy. But other than that...”

  “Great,” Whitney replied. “We’ll expect you at six. I hope you enjoy your stay here.”