The Lavender Field

by Jeanette Baker

  Emma looked mutinous.

  Eric spoke up. “Gran usually invites people to the patio for appetizers if the weather’s nice, otherwise it’s tea in the living room in front of the fire.”

  Whitney folded her arms. “Well, which is it today, nice or not?” It had to be about seventy degrees, but Calfornians wore Ugg boots and wool long after the rest of the world had gratefully shed their winter clothes.

  “I’d say it’s a little cold,” he replied. “I’ll lay a fire in the fireplace while Emma talks to Dad on the phone. I’ll show you where everything is.”

  “I bought some pastries from the bakery in town. Will that be okay? I’m not much of a cook.”

  “Pastries sound great.” He nudged his sister. “Don’t they, Emma?”

  Emma turned on her heel. “I’m going to talk to Dad,” she said over her shoulder.

  Eric shook his head. “I apologize, Ms. Benedict. Emma’s been...different, lately.”

  “What’s going on? Is there something I should know?”

  “I’m not sure. I think she misses my mom. I could be wrong. She doesn’t say anything to me. We’re not exactly close. I don’t think anybody’s close to Emma.”

  Whitney saw a look of anguish flash across his expression. A look like that had no business showing up on the face of a sixteen-year-old boy.

  “If you’ll show me where I can find a teapot and cups, I’ll be eternally grateful,” she said gently.

  He pulled out that and more: serving plates, delicate silver spoons and knives, dessert forks, lacy white napkins and bone china. “This is what Gran normally uses for tea. If you think you can handle it from here, I’ll go over to the dressage center. It’s my day to help Juan.”

  It wasn’t the first time Eric had surprised her. He was giving her a whole new perspective on the word teenager. “Go ahead,” she urged him. “I’ll manage. I might even be able to recruit Emma.”

  He rolled his eyes. “Good luck. Even Gran can’t make her do what she doesn’t want to do.”

  Whitney laughed. “It doesn’t matter. I’ll be fine. Do whatever you need to do.”

  He grinned, obviously relieved. “Good luck. I’ll be back around six.”

  She heard his footsteps clatter on the stairs. Turning to the task at hand, she mentally organized the next hour. After filling the sugar bowl and creamer, she arranged the pastries on the smaller platter and began chopping strawberries, kiwi, grapes and bananas for a fruit salad. After the perishables had been refrigerated and the pastries covered, she started on dinner: broccoli, pan-roasted chicken, rice and a green salad, a simple meal that fit the dietary restrictions she’d read about on the Asberger’s syndrome Web page.

  It was satisfying cooking for a family. She’d never done it before. At home, Pryor was in complete control of the kitchen. Whitney had never made more than a snack for herself when her mother was around.

  She decided that the family would eat dinner in the dining room thirty minutes after the ladies were served their tea in the living room. The couch and chair near the fire were cozy and private.

  Humming to herself, Whitney called the girls from the bottom of the stairwell. “Claire and Emma, I need help setting the table.” After waiting for what she considered to be a reasonable amount of time with no response, she climbed the stairs. Emma’s bedroom door was closed. She knocked. “Emma, I need your help setting the table.”

  Still, no response. Whitney cracked the door and peeked in. Emma was lying on the bed. She wore earphones and her eyes were closed. The steady beat of a bass drum rattled the wood floors.

  “Hello,” Whitney shouted.

  Emma’s opened her eyes, looked at Whitney and closed them again.

  Whitney considered her options. Deciding against physical violence, she located the plug and pulled it.

  Emma sat up and tore the earphones off her head. “What do you think you’re doing?”

  “Please come downstairs and set the table,” Whitney said calmly.

  “I’m busy.”

  “So am I.”

  “No.”

  “Excuse me?” Whitney’s eyes flashed dangerously.

  “I said no. I’m not hungry and I’m not going to set the table.”

  “I see. Does that mean you won’t be joining us for dinner?”

  “That’s what it means.”

  “All right,” Whitney said. “Since you’re not eating, I won’t ask you to help clean up, but I still need your help with the table. You and Claire know where everything is. I don’t.”

  “You should have thought of that before you volunteered to stay here.”

  Maintaining eye contact, Whitney walked across the room and sat down on the bed beside Emma. Keeping her voice steady and low, she spoke carefully. “I’m not asking you, Emma. I’m telling you to come downstairs and set the table. Your dad has had a tough day and your brother can’t do everything on his own. If you don’t have enough shame to treat your family better than you do, that’s your problem. I’m leaving soon. Your appalling manners and selfishness don’t matter to me in the least. But I will tell you this. Don’t underestimate me. I can be a very scary enemy. Consider this a threat. If you aren’t downstairs in three minutes, you’ll be very, very sorry.” With that she left the room. Claire stood at the top of the stairs looking down. Whitney held her breath. Slowly the child turned, saw Whitney and smiled. Breathing a sigh of relief, she reached for Claire’s hand and led her into the kitchen. “Can you find everything to set the table?” she asked.

  Claire nodded. “I always set the table.”

  “Good. What does Emma do?”

  “Whatever Gran tells her.”

  “Tonight she’s going to help you.” If she comes downstairs, Whitney thought to herself. She had absolutely no idea what to do if Emma called her bluff and stayed in her room. How did mothers do it? Whitney’s respect for Pryor rose several notches.

  “The plates we use are up there.” Claire pointed to a cupboard near the refrigerator.

  Whitney pulled out five plates and set them on the island. “What about glasses and salad plates?”

  “I’ll get those.” Claire pulled out a stepping stool, climbed on it and opened another cupboard. She picked out six glasses, one at a time, thought a minute and put one back.

  Whitney turned away. She would help if she was asked, but not until then. Busying herself with chopping the salad vegetables, she didn’t hear Emma slink into the room. Suddenly she was beside Claire, silently folding napkins and filling glasses with water. Deliberately, she avoided meeting Whitney’s eyes.

  “How was Mrs. Cook today, Claire?” she asked her sister.

  “Okay.”

  “What did she read to you?”

  “We started a new book. Island of the Blue Dolphins.”

  “That’s a good one. I’ll read you a chapter later.”

  “I’ll read a page and you read one,” Claire negotiated.

  “Sounds good.”

  Whitney set the water to boil for the tea. Maybe she was too hard on Emma. The girl had a heart after all, or maybe the whole family had a soft spot for Claire.

  The doorbell rang. Whitney wiped her hands on the dish towel and left the kitchen to answer the door. Expecting two women, she was surprised to see a uniformed officer of the county sheriff’s department. He held an envelope in his hand. She recognized it immediately. “May I help you?” she asked.

  “I’m here to see Gabriel Mendoza. Is he around?”

  “I’m afraid not.”

  “Do you happen to know where I might find him?”

  “Not at the moment.”

  “Are you aware of the penalty for lying to a police officer?”

  She stiffened. She’d heard the question a thousand times before, but this time it raised her hackles. “As a matter of fact, I am,” she said crisply. “I’m an attorney. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ll take your card and tell Gabriel that you stopped by. I’m sure he’ll call you as soon as possib
le.”

  “Do that.” He handed her his card. “I’ll be in touch.”

  Whitney closed the door and leaned against it. Who would be sending Gabriel a summons? Maybe someone had been injured at the dressage center. From the window she watched the squad car drive away.

  “Who was that?” Emma’s voice was near her ear.

  Whitney turned quickly. “A police officer.”

  The girl’s eyes widened. “What did he want?”

  “To see your dad.”

  Emma’s nervousness seemed out of the ordinary.

  “Is something wrong?” Whitney asked.

  “No,” Emma said quickly. “Other than the other night, nothing at all.”

  Whitney decided not to pursue it. Emma was not her responsibility.

  “The table’s set,” the girl said. “Is there anything else?”

  “Thanks. That’s it, I think, unless you want to take care of waiting for the Pattersons and helping with their luggage.”

  Emma shrugged. “Whatever. I’ll listen for the bell upstairs.”

  “Good.” Whitney smiled. “I’ll finish dinner and set out everything for tea if you think you can handle it alone.”

  “Gran usually sets out the stuff and invites them down. If they show up, she brings a pot of tea. That’s all there is to it.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind.”

  Emma rolled her eyes. “Like I said before, it’s not exactly rocket science.”

  Whitney looked around. “Where’s Claire?”

  “Upstairs. I’m going to help her with her times tables.”

  “That’s very nice of you.”

  “Who else does she have?” Emma replied scathingly. “No Dad, no Mom, no Gran, no Eric.” She ticked them off on her fingers, then looked at Whitney. “I guess I forgot about you, didn’t I?”

  “That’s not really fair, is it, Emma?” Whitney asked gently, ignoring the reference to her. “Accidents happen.”

  “I know that. And they usually happen to us.”

  Whitney turned back to the kitchen. She wondered what Pryor would make of this worldly teenager with her sullen disposition and her scornful perspective of the world. Maybe it would make her rethink her position on grandchildren. Now, if she could just get the food on the table all at the same time, while it was still reasonably warm, she would consider her first day in charge a success.

  Gabriel arrived at the same time as the Patterson ladies. He carried in their luggage, answered their questions, smiled politely and disappeared into his room. Emma, true to her word and dressed more conservatively than usual in a jeans skirt and sweater, showed them to the living room and poured tea.

  Eric stuck his head into the kitchen. “Do you need anything or can I clean up before dinner?”

  “Go ahead,” replied Whitney. “I’ll dish everything up in fifteen minutes.”

  Somehow it all fell into place. Whitney, with Claire’s help, carried the food to the table and all the Mendozas, Emma included, slid into their seats at approximately six o’clock.

  “This is great,” said Eric. He reached for the chicken. “What is it?”

  “Pan-roasted chicken breasts with mushrooms. It’s a staple of my mother’s, her impossible-to-mess-up recipe.”

  “I don’t how to thank you, Whitney,” Gabriel said. “You’ve made everything much easier.”

  The glow she felt in her cheeks disappeared with Emma’s snort. She ignored her. “Thank you,” she replied, “but it’s the least I can do. Your mother’s been very gracious to me.”

  “She wants to marry Dad off and you’re here,” Emma said under her breath.

  Gabriel’s eyes narrowed. “Is there something you want to say, Emma?”

  Emma pushed the food around on her plate. “A cop came by today.”

  Gabriel finished chewing. His voice was deliberately calm. “Any particular reason?”

  Emma shrugged. “Not that I know of. Ask her.” She jerked a thumb at Whitney. “She’s the one who talked to him.”

  “Is that so?” He glanced at Whitney. “I’m sure if it was important, she would tell me.”

  Whitney dabbed at the corners of her mouth with her napkin. “Actually, I have no idea what he wanted, other than to talk to you. When I told him you weren’t here, he said he’d come back.”

  Gabriel nodded. “It doesn’t sound like there’s anything we can do about it now, so I’m for enjoying this delicious meal.” He looked around the table. “Eat up, everybody, and be grateful. If Gran can’t cook for a while, and when Whitney goes home, you’ll be stuck with my cooking.”

  Collectively, all three children groaned. Gabe grinned. “I guess that means you’re hired, Whitney.”

  She laughed. “I’m flattered.”

  Later, after the older children had gone upstairs and Gabe had tucked Claire into bed, he came back down to the kitchen to help Whitney with the last of the dishes. “Tell me about our visitor,” he said.

  Whitney hung up the towel and turned to him. “He had a summons.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Absolutely. He had the attitude and the envelope.”

  “Damn. I didn’t think she’d do it.”

  Whitney tilted her head. “Are you in trouble, Gabe?”

  “You might say that. It’s Lynne, my mother-in-law. She wants to take the two older kids away from me.”

  “Why?”

  “It’s not personal. Lynne has nothing against me. My guess is she’s feeling guilty since Kristen deserted us. She’s stepping up to the plate because Eric and Emma aren’t mine. She’s trying to do the right thing.”

  “How do the kids feel about it?”

  “Eric wants to stay. No one ever knows what Emma wants.”

  “How far will the woman go?”

  “About as far as she has to, I guess.” Gabe ran his hand through his hair. “She’s got great timing. I’ll say that for her. I sure didn’t need this right now.”

  Personally Whitney agreed with him. She didn’t remind him of the obvious: the proceeds from the sale of his horses would more than pay for the best family law attorney in Ventura County.

  Fifteen

  “Knock, knock.” Ramona, holding one baby on her hip and another by the hand, poked her head inside the back door of the kitchen. “Is anyone home?”

  Whitney laughed. “Where else would I be at eight o’clock in the morning? The kids just left for school, Mrs. Cook is with Claire and there are two women upstairs who asked to have breakfast served at 9:00 a.m. sharp.”

  Ramona looked at the cluttered counter. “My goodness. What are you attempting to make?”

  “I thought about scrambled eggs, some bacon, toast and fruit.”

  Ramona shook her head. “There’s an easier way.” She handed Whitney the baby in her arm and picked up the other one. “Wait a minute and I’ll get the playpen from the car. I know it’s not politically correct nowadays to cage your children, but sometimes, difficult circumstances require extreme measures. I’ll be right back.”

  After she’d gone, Whitney stared into the chubby little face close to her own. The baby stared back, his eyes round and curious. Tentatively, she smiled. The toddler smiled, too. “Hi,” she said.

  “Hi,” he parroted.

  A wave of pleasure surged through her. “What a cutie pie you are. What’s your name?”

  “That’s a little beyond him,” Ramona said from behind her. She clutched her son around the middle with one arm and with the other dragged the folded playpen behind her. “I’ll set this up and then help you with breakfast and any other meals you need.”

  “Thank goodness,” Whitney said feelingly.

  Ramona deposited the baby on the floor, opened the playpen, threw some toys inside and stabilized the frame. Then she set both boys inside. “That should take care of them for a while.”

  “I really appreciate this,” said Whitney.

  Ramona glanced at her. “I should be thanking you. This is my family. What you’r
e doing for us is probably the most generous act I’ve heard of in a long time. It’s the least I can do.”

  Whitney smiled. “Frankly, I’m enjoying it. It’s a completely different kind of challenge than I’m used to.” She changed the subject. “What’s wrong with bacon and eggs?”

  “The timing is too important. People have to be ready and waiting and everything has to be hot at the same time. I’d go for strata, croissants, coffee cake, sausage and fruit. Ma has chafing dishes for the strata and sausage. Everything else can be set right on the table ahead of time along with the juice. Don’t forget dry cereal, the milk pitcher and coffee.”

  Whitney hesitated. “I’m not sure about strata. I’ve never made one before.”

  Ramona grinned, suddenly looking very like Gabriel. “That’s where I come in. Chef’s school comes in handy. Let’s see what you’ve got in the refrigerator.” She opened the door and pulled out cheese, eggs, green onions, peppers, fresh herbs and ham. “So far, so good. See if there’s any focaccia bread in the pantry. If not, just pull out some chewy sourdough. That works just as well.”

  Sooner than Whitney expected, the strata was in the oven, the fruit chopped and arranged, sausage sizzling in a skillet and Ramona was sifting ingredients for the coffee cake.

  “You’re amazing,” Whitney said. “It’s beautiful and elegant. I could never have come up with anything like this.”

  Ramona stirred the wet ingredients into a well in the flour mixture. “You’re a lawyer, not a cook.” She poured the batter into a greased pan, tapped it on the counter and stuck it into the preheated convection oven.

  “Where’s Gabriel?”

  “At the dressage center. He didn’t go in at all yesterday.”

  “Has he told you what he’s going to do about Lynne?”

  Whitney kept her eyes on the counter she was wiping down. “Lynne?”

  “The children’s other grandmother.”

  “No.”

  Ramona sighed. “It’s a shame, really. Lynne has no idea what she’s getting into. I almost wish she would take the kids. They’d be right back here within a month.”