Ruby Among Us

by Tina Ann Forkner

  I could tell that Kitty was pleased by his attention to her handiwork.

  “She did,” I said. “Each one really is a piece of art. Kitty makes them all by hand. We probably shouldn’t even be using this one.”

  Kitty waved away my concern. “Don’t be silly, Lucy. Quilts are made to be used.”

  “Uh-huh,” I said. “Sure. That’s why some of yours are hanging in the university art museum.”

  Max turned to Kitty. “I saw your latest exhibit at the university museum—beautiful!”

  I ignored my leaping heart at the memory of Max watching me play piano.

  “She even sells them. People can buy them in six different highbrow shops around the country.”

  “It’s just part of our bread and butter.” Kitty always downplayed her skill. She laughed. “When Lucy gets out of school and gets a job, maybe her old grandmother can stop stitching her fingers to the bone.”

  “You better not,” I said to her and then turned to Max. “Some of her quilts are traditional patterns like the Wedding Ring or this Blue Star, but many are signature tapestries.” I looked at Kitty. “They tell our stories.”

  After the slightest pause, Kitty smiled. “And some of them are for having a picnic on! Now enough about my quilts. I’m hungry. Help me across the road, please.”

  13

  Max seemed impressed by Kitty’s way of ordering people around, so I followed behind, grateful to observe, as he obediently offered his arm and escorted my grandmother across the street. I’d never seen her so enamored with anyone. I loved this new Kitty and wondered if this was how the young Kitty had been with Blake: funny, happy, talkative.

  At the park we sat beneath a towering oak, its branches sprawling far enough to shelter three different picnics. But I was glad ours was the only one in this corner of the park this day. Max helped me spread the quilt for the three of us to sit on.

  As Kitty and I enjoyed the shade, Max unpacked bottled waters, a cluster of grapes, several containers, and a loaf of bread wrapped in paper unmistakably from our favorite bakery.

  “Martha’s!”

  Max smiled. “You like Martha’s baking?”

  “And her coffee and tea. Hers is our favorite shop.” Kitty beamed. “And Martha is a friend of mine. Did she pack everything up for you too?”

  “No, Max’s deli did that,” he said with a chuckle.

  “A man who knows his way around even half the kitchen is a blessing in my opinion!” Kitty exclaimed. “There was a time when my Blake—” she stumbled over her words as I looked up. This was a new Kitty indeed. “My Blake…” she said quietly.

  We all sat in uncomfortable silence, and my heart dropped. I wasn’t sure what I should say or do. Kitty looked confused and embarrassed. I reached over and touched her hand. She softly brushed it away.

  Max and I exchanged understanding glances. He looked decisive as he took a deep breath. “Blake Birkirt?” he asked.

  My jaw couldn’t have dropped any further. I was horrified. Why would he just come out and ask about Blake?

  Quickly I reached over again and put my palm on top of her shaking hand; this time she let me squeeze it.

  I thought it might help to change the subject. “Kitty, are you hungry?”

  She turned her hand over, still shaking, and clasped mine. She finally looked straight at me, her eyes glistening. Then she raised her chin and adjusted her hat as if recovering from a fall.

  “Why yes, Maxwell. Mr. Birkirt was my husband.”

  I wanted to correct her. Blake is your husband, Kitty. But I was surprised she had acknowledged my grandfather at all.

  “I guess you’ve heard about him before since you’re Lucy’s friend.” I hoped silently that Kitty wouldn’t be angry I’d shared her business with someone who might as well be a stranger to her.

  “Yes ma’am.”

  “Well, you are correct. He was my husband, and he knew his way around the kitchen like you seem to. When I was pregnant with Ruby, he used to help me cook. A very romantic thing to do, you know, cooking together. A good time to talk, a time you can make one another feel cared for.”

  My jaw dropped again.

  “I’m sure it is.” Max leaned back on his haunches. He talked so easily about all of this. “I’ve never been married, so I don’t really know. What did you and your husband like to make?”

  Kitty began to talk about different occasions in the kitchen with Blake as I busied myself unpacking the rest of the picnic basket. I found the conversation flow intriguing but disconcerting too. How could a stranger bring out so many details of Kitty’s past seemingly easier than I could? I listened to every word about my grandfather.

  I didn’t know if I’d ever figure out where my father was, but I now knew that I had a grandfather who was practically a neighbor in the Sonoma Valley. Hearing Kitty talk about him tugged at my heart, and I wondered if a part of her wanted to run to him as much as I did. Of course he could be dead, but I had a feeling that somehow Kitty would have known if he was.

  I pulled out containers filled with what looked like red potato salad, sliced vegetables, some kind of dip that must have been for the vegetables, and baked chicken that smelled like lemons and rosemary. I was surprised. It certainly appeared that Max was something of a gourmet cook.

  With Max’s spread and Kitty’s cookies, we would be eating like royalty. When I pulled out three blue floral porcelain plates tied together with red ribbon along with three sets of forks and cloth napkins also tied in ribbon, I decided that if Max was trying to impress Kitty, he’d outdone himself. It was exactly the kind of thing Kitty would have done if she were packing a picnic. Then the warmth in my stomach reminded me that Kitty might not be the one he was trying to impress.

  “So this blanket is a replica of the one you and Blake used to use for picnics?”

  I glanced down at the tiny stitches perfectly holding together blue stars in an array of hues and patterns that reminded me of the night sky. I remembered when Kitty had made the quilt a few years ago. She’d worked on it day and night, and even though it wasn’t nearly as intricate as many of her other quilts, she’d seemed very driven about not finishing until every stitch was perfect. Why hadn’t I seen before what Max so easily put together? This was just like the quilt Kitty had described in her memories of time with Blake—maybe even the quilt from when Ruby was conceived. I flushed with the reminder that Kitty had not been perfect and with the knowledge that she’d once been part of a grand love affair, one that had resulted in a very special marriage—interrupted by what I didn’t yet know.

  I ran my hand over the stars. How gifted Kitty was to recall the design so clearly. I longed to see the original and compare the two, but it must have been left at the Frances-DiCamillo estate. If only I could get Kitty to go back someday…

  “Oh!” I suddenly exclaimed with a mouthful of potato salad. My hand flew to my mouth. “This is divine! Kitty, you have to taste this!”

  I reached over and offered her a bite. Her face lit up. Kitty was an amazing cook herself, and I could tell she was surprised. The texture of the salad was wonderful. Just firm enough and the red skins soft enough that they didn’t interfere with the chewing.

  My stomach was doing some odd flip-flops. I wondered if Max would cook if he got married or if it was just a bachelor thing to impress us.

  “Delicious!” Kitty agreed. “Not only do you cook, but you cook so well! Where did you learn?”

  “Oh, I take a gourmet cooking class here and there, but living on my own I’ve had lots of time to practice.”

  “Rehearsal for the future,” Kitty said knowingly. “But don’t forget, if you win a girl over with this cooking, you’ll have to continue after you marry.”

  She winked. I knew she wasn’t referring to me, but my face reddened. I thought I might toss up the potato salad when he caught my eyes. I tried to look away, but it was impossible.

  Kitty came to my rescue. “Well, I’m hungry. What else do we have here?�
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  She passed us each a plate, and then Max seemed to remember that he was the host as he started to dish up our food and hand out the waters. It was so nice to be waited on. What a treat. We rarely, if ever, had been doted on so much, especially Kitty.

  I reached for my fork, glancing at Max. I could tell he wanted to say something. Then it hit me. He was a minister. He probably wanted to say a blessing. I looked over at Kitty, who was busy spreading her napkin across her lap. What would she think? Would she be upset? Max seemed to sense my unease. He closed his eyes for a fleeting moment, then picked up his fork. “Shall we eat?” He smiled warmly in my direction.

  A hazy memory surfaced in my mind, like the light filtering through our patio doors at sunrise: Ruby praying over a breakfast of eggs and toast. Ruby, barefoot, in a jade green robe, head bowed and clasping my hand. Ruby’s beautiful hair, each auburn wave falling forward as she turned and leaned toward me.

  “Whose turn?” she had asked.

  “Yours.”

  “Okay. Close your eyes. And don’t peek! Father, thank you for this lovely day, for my beautiful Lucy, and for your Son.”

  “Amen,” we both said.

  We raised our heads at the same time to look out the window.

  “The sun is up now.”

  Ruby chuckled. “Yes, that sun is up and ready for you to come out and play.”

  Kitty’s laugh shook me from the memory. I tried to figure out what she and Max were laughing about, but remembering Ruby’s prayer had transported me somewhere.

  “What is it, Lucy?” Kitty noticed my lostness.

  “Oh, nothing.” I glanced up and was horrified when Max reached over and brushed his fingers across my cheek.

  A few stray tears had rolled down my face.

  Kitty was digging out one of her embroidered handkerchiefs. I pressed it to my cheeks and then stared at the cloth in dismay. I always hated soiling Kitty’s handkerchiefs. I never understood why she preferred them over tissue. They were much too pretty to mess up, but burying my face in one was better than looking at Kitty and Max.

  “I’m so sorry. I…”

  “What?” Kitty implored.

  I felt my cheeks flush. How embarrassing.

  Max’s eyes locked with mine when I looked up, and I knew he understood.

  “Really, Kitty. It’s nothing. I just remembered something, is all.”

  “Wonderful, dear!” Kitty again came to my rescue, actually holding her hands in the air. “You remembered something!” She laughed. If anyone understood the power of a diversion, it was Kitty.

  The growing sensation, which began the day I first heard about La Rosaleda, was drifting through me and slowly filling some of the empty place Ruby had left. And there was another new warmth in my chest created by Max’s presence this afternoon.

  I looked over at Kitty, now laughing with Max about something he’d said. I was happy that she seemed to be having so much fun long after finishing lunch.

  “So tell me,” Kitty asked Max. “What else do you do? You’re too old to be a full-time college student.”

  He dropped his jaw in mock insult. “What are you saying?” he asked innocently.

  I laughed, recalling my similar conversation with him the week before. Kitty and I could be so alike sometimes.

  “I work with teens.”

  “Wonderful! What kind of work do you do with them?”

  Oh no, I thought. Here it comes. Kitty will be ready to toss him out, gourmet picnic and all.

  “I’m a youth minister. So I mostly take teens on cool trips—hiking, rock concerts, that kind of thing.”

  Kitty was quiet a moment to give the idea a chance to roll around in her head. I gave Max a reassuring look when he glanced nervously my way. After she made us squirm for several minutes, she said quietly, “I can picture you working with kids. I bet they love you.”

  I watched as he exhaled in relief, and my heart began to slow its thundering beat.

  “They only like me because I can play the guitar, and that makes me cool.”

  “Really?” Kitty exclaimed.

  “Well, the first time I went to college, I earned a degree in music.”

  I watched as Kitty’s eyes glowed. I braced for her announcement.

  “Lucy plays the violin and the piano—beautifully, I might add.”

  Max’s face lit up. I have to admit I was embarrassed.

  “I’ve heard her play piano at the museum. She’s amazing. I didn’t know about her gifts with the violin.”

  I smiled at his wink.

  “I have a band. Nothing too serious, but we do play several instruments. I can also play the piano and the saxophone, but we have other people in the band who handle those instruments, as well as bass and drums.”

  Interested, I asked, “Who sings?”

  He spread his hands out before him. “Me.”

  Kitty clapped her hands, and I thought I might be hallucinating. Who was this jolly person who had taken over my grandmother’s body?

  “So,” I challenged him. “Sing something.”

  “Is that a dare?”

  “Of course not,” Kitty said protectively. “It’s an invitation!” She grinned at me.

  “Well…” Max grew modest. “I usually don’t sing in the middle of the park—”

  “Nobody will notice,” I joked even as another family spread their blanket under a tree near ours and a couple of kids threw a ball back and forth close by. “Please?” I asked.

  Kitty kept smiling, but she was too dignified to beg.

  He took a big nervous breath, exhaled loudly, then sent a low, sultry hum into the tree branches. His singing was even lower than his speaking tone, but it was a soloist’s voice.

  I nearly fainted when Kitty joined in, harmonizing with him perfectly to the tune of “Amazing Grace.”

  14

  Kitty…?” We sat out on the porch a few mornings later, and I was hesitant. “Did you once have faith?” Since hearing Kitty sing the song in the park, I’d become convinced that Kitty had once had some kind of faith. I realized it wasn’t simply the words of the song after all but the ease with which she sang them. And skill.

  Surprised, Kitty looked away and sighed with a kind of resignation. We sat in silence for a while.

  “Once.”

  I absorbed her confession. “What happened?”

  “Oh, I don’t know.” I could tell she really didn’t. Her secrets seemed to be collapsing around her. “I either left it behind or it left me behind. I can’t tell.”

  “Do you resent people who have faith?” I was afraid of her answer, but I had to know how she felt about Max.

  “I guess I have in the past,” she admitted. “There have been several times in my life when I’ve wanted to seek refuge in faith only to end up being judged by people of faith. I seemed to keep running into the overzealous types, so I just started staying away.”

  “I don’t think Max and Susannah seem zealous,” I suggested.

  “No.” Kitty shook her head sadly as the chimes hanging around our back garden clinked in the slight breeze. She seemed carried away on that breeze for a moment. “I remember once when I walked into a church in the center of San Francisco. I’m not sure what denomination it was, but when I confessed my troubles and asked for help, the preacher offered to comfort me in a way very unbefitting a spiritual leader.”

  I gasped. “You’re kidding!”

  “No.” She looked deep into me, trying to convince even me, and I could see the fear she’d kept hidden with this revelation. “I’m not. So the next time I tried looking for help, I went straight to the women in the church. I guess I should have gone to them first, but one would expect a preacher to have higher standards.”

  “Did the women help you?”

  “No. They were too busy taking care of their husbands and children. In all fairness, I guess they tried a little bit, but they didn’t know what it was like to raise a child on one’s own. I told them I was a widow,
but one Sunday morning Ruby announced to a group of ladies in the church kitchen that I took her away from her daddy. I was mortified at the looks of pity they gave to Ruby and the disgust on some of their faces when they looked at me.” She laughed halfheartedly. “I suppose lying to them didn’t give me a good start.”

  “That had to be embarrassing.”

  “It was. I was ashamed. There was this one lady who actually lectured me. ‘It’s shameful, utterly shameful,’ she said and stormed out of the kitchen, dragging her little girl, Ruby’s new friend, behind her.”

  My heart ached for Ruby. I guessed she must not have had many friends when she was little, just like me.

  “But there was also another lady. I guess she was just about my age. She’d been very nice and accepting. This woman, Carrie Bingham, really was a widow, and she would save a seat for me at church on Sunday mornings. I’ve always felt bad for not going back. I wonder how many Sundays she continued to save a seat for me?”

  I smiled. “I think Susannah is kind of like Carrie Bingham.”

  “I thought she was married. Is she a widow?”

  “No, oh no. But she reaches out like that—it’s like she glows with her faith. She’s just as normal as everyone else except she has this attitude of hopefulness and peace I can never understand.”

  Kitty considered this, brows knitted.

  I told Kitty the adoption story of Susannah’s daughter, Maria.

  “She’s had hard times.” Kitty seemed to have new respect for my friend, whom she’d not yet met.

  I cocked my head. “I guess I hadn’t thought of it like that. She seems, well, almost perfect to me.”

  “Dear, nobody is perfect. Peel back the layers of any person, and you’ll find pain and suffering well-hidden in their soul. It might be low self-confidence for one and cancer for another. It’s all relative.”

  I nodded. “So my mom was a Christian? Is that what you meant when you said she was God crazy?”

  The guilty look on Kitty’s face surprised me. I could tell she was measuring her words carefully. “She was. And I hated it. I almost despised the way she was always praying for everyone. She would tell me, ‘I’m praying for you, Mom.’” Kitty paused. “It just rubbed me wrong.”