“I don’t see any of it as particularly courageous,” Daisy protested. “I try to roll with what life has given me. At times it isn’t easy. But I have my family and I have the motivation to keep going for Violet and Jazzi. If I’d been alone, maybe I wouldn’t have had that motivation.”
“You’re the type of woman who sees what she wants and goes and gets it,” Portia concluded. “Me?” She shrugged. “I didn’t want to be alone. I think I married and had a family to make up for the child I gave up.”
Daisy wasn’t sure what to say to that. So many questions floated through her mind. Didn’t Portia love her husband? Did she regret marriage and having more children?
She asked the one question she thought was appropriate. “So you regret giving up Jazzi for adoption?”
“I regret it personally for me. Yet I know it was the best thing to do for Jazzi. I was so young and had only my family’s disapproval and no funds to raise her. How could I have kept her? I’ve told Jazzi that. But deep down I know she believes if I had loved her enough I would have found a way. Maybe I believe that too. Just because something’s hard doesn’t mean you shouldn’t do it.”
Portia’s own comment led Daisy to the next question. “When are you going to tell your family about Jazzi?” After all, that was one of those hard things that had to be done, wasn’t it? Just how long could Portia keep this secret?
“I don’t know,” she admitted. “I’m afraid. I’m afraid Colton will see it all as a betrayal, that he won’t want to accept Jazzi, that I might have to give her up when I just found her.”
“Would you give her up again?” Daisy wanted to know.
Portia shook her head vehemently. “I don’t know. I hope not. But if I have to make a choice—”
“You don’t know what you’d choose,” Daisy said in a low voice, trying to understand Portia’s dilemma.
She took two teacups from the cupboard, one painted with violets, the other with hydrangeas. She set them on the island in front of her place and Portia’s. She was glad she had something to do as they both contemplated their conversation. Taking the infuser from the teapot, she set it in the sink and poured tea into both of their cups.
Finally she took her seat and looked at Portia. “You have to tell your husband and tell him soon.”
“I know,” Portia agreed.
“Secrets and lies only make a problem worse.”
“I know that, too,” Portia said.
Daisy reached for a brownie as Portia ate hers. Maybe chocolate and tea would help a little. But not very much.
* * *
All was quiet in the house. Vi had come in and gone upstairs after saying good night. She’d looked both sad and happy—happy she was dating Foster, but sad she would be leaving him. Daisy just hoped the idea of school and a future would be more important than a boyfriend.
The fold-out bed wasn’t the most comfortable, and Daisy knew it would probably be a while until she fell asleep. She’d laid her phone on the coffee table and now she picked it up. Eleven-thirty. Sometimes Tessa stayed up late painting. Now, however, she might be curled up in bed with the covers pulled up over her. It was hard to know.
But old habits died hard and Tessa was a late-night woman. She didn’t need as much sleep as Daisy did, at least not usually. If Daisy texted her, she’d disturb her if her friend had her phone on. So she might as well just try to call her.
Tessa picked up on the second ring.
“Had you turned in for the night?” Daisy asked.
“Are you kidding? Who can sleep? My mind is buzzing in so many directions, I can’t keep track of even one.”
“You’re painting?”
“Yes. At least with that, I can focus for a few minutes at a time.” She hesitated. “But I can’t work on my painting in progress.”
“One of your Morning Has Broken series?”
“You saw them when you were up here?”
“I did. They’re good.”
“If I work on that, it just reminds me of what happened. I imagine Reese’s body there at the covered bridge—” Her voice broke and she stopped.
“Don’t imagine it.”
“That’s what I do, Daisy. That’s how I paint. I imagine pictures in my mind and then I stroke them onto the canvas.”
“What are you working on?”
“I have a commission for a calico cat on a porch. But my heart’s not in it.”
“I’m going to suggest something and I don’t want you to freak out.”
“I’m done freaking out. I have to stay cool or Rappaport is going to think I did it.”
“He might think that whether you’re cool or not. Suspects who don’t react cause as much speculation as those who do. You have to watch that you don’t fly off the handle at him, but other than that, take Marshall’s advice.”
“I will,” Tessa said in a small voice that wasn’t like her at all. “What’s your suggestion?”
“You’ve done a few portraits.”
“I have. It’s not my forte, but I do okay.”
“Why don’t you try a portrait of Reese?”
Silence met Daisy at her suggestion. Daisy didn’t know if Tessa was offended or not.
Then her friend admitted, “I never thought of that.”
“I thought of it because after Ryan died, I created collages of the good times we’d had together. They’re hanging in my bedroom. There’s one in Jazzi’s room, and one in Violet’s room. Just the process of doing it helped me. Yes, I cried, and I remembered. But it was a way to wade through my grief and sense of loss. You have a gift, Tessa. Maybe if you use it to paint a portrait of Reese, that will help you forge through your loss.”
“I will think about it,” Tessa said. “I don’t know if I’m ready to do that yet.”
“If you’re not ready for a portrait, how about painting the outside of the gallery, or someplace the two of you went together? Just a thought.”
“I wish I’d hear something from Marshall. Or even Jonas. Jonas’s contact in the police department is reliable, isn’t he? Jonas could also learn something from the coroner. But I haven’t heard from him. Have you?”
“No, I haven’t.”
“Daisy, the two of you need to talk.”
“We did when we were in your attic. Remember?”
“I remember, but you weren’t up there long enough to have a decent discussion. I know you like him.”
“This isn’t about me liking him. He mentioned something about—” She stopped. Did she really want to share everything with Tessa?
“What did he say?”
Jonas hadn’t been specific. There wouldn’t be anything wrong with sharing this with Tessa. “He said he let a woman down before and he wouldn’t do it again.”
“What does that mean?”
“I don’t know. Too much responsibility, I guess, for me and Violet and Jazzi. Not that he’d have to take any. I’m fine on my own.”
“Yes, but if you were together he’d want to share some of that. He seems like that kind of man.”
“What he is is the kind of man who doesn’t want the responsibility.”
“You don’t know the whole story. Everybody has one.”
Daisy knew how true that was. Jonas knew her story. He knew that she and Ryan had married and she had Violet. But they’d wanted more children and she couldn’t have them. Their marriage had gone through a very rough patch, but then they’d decided to adopt Jazzi. She and Ryan had been so compatible in some ways . . . in most ways. Compatible and comfortable. After they had Jazzi to focus on, along with Violet, their marriage had gone on like any normal marriage. Daisy had wondered sometimes if marriage shouldn’t be more intense, more passionate. She’d loved Ryan with all her heart. But it hadn’t been a giddy kind of love. It had been sensible. But often she’d wondered if love was supposed to be sensible.
“I don’t think Jonas was finished talking to you,” Tessa offered. “I think you cut him off. I could tell from his attit
ude when he returned to the living room. And you rushed down here much too fast. I don’t think you gave him a chance to finish. So think about that when he calls or when you see him again.”
When Daisy didn’t respond, Tessa asked, “Daisy? Are you still there?”
“I’m here. We both have a lot to think about.”
“I still don’t know if Reese was cheating on me.”
“You can’t think about that, not until you know differently. Paint, Tessa. Pour your feelings out onto the canvas, even if you do it in an abstract.”
“I don’t do abstracts.”
Daisy had to smile a little at that. No, Tessa didn’t do abstracts. “You can always burn it,” she suggested.
“I’m wondering if I should burn my Morning Has Broken series. But I’ve put too much heart and soul into those paintings, and I won’t do it just because they might cast suspicion on me.”
“The police have no cause to ask for a search warrant.”
After a few beats of silence, Tessa sighed. “So Portia’s there with you?”
“She’s sleeping. She’s leaving in the morning before the snow moves in.”
“I’ll be at work in the morning,” Tessa said. “I need to work as much as I need to paint.”
“I’m worried about you.”
“I know you are, and I thank you for it. You’re the only person in my life I can really depend upon. Good night, Daisy. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Daisy hoped Detective Rappaport already had a lead on whoever had killed Reese because she wanted her friend to be free of suspicion.
* * *
“Drive safely,” Daisy said to Vi as she hugged her on the gravel drive outside of the garage the next morning. The garage had once been a large equipment shed and had an unfinished second floor. It now matched the house in red siding with white and black trim. It could house two cars comfortably.
“I always drive safely,” Vi told her mom. “I made you that promise when you got me this car.”
The car was a blue Chevy Malibu. After Vi had decided to go to Lehigh to college, Daisy knew they wouldn’t want to depend on carpooling for her to get to and from. Fortunately, an elderly customer who came into the tea garden with her daughter revealed she was turning in her keys and the daughter was selling her car. The car was five years old but in wonderful condition and they’d gotten a tremendous bargain on it. It was one of the serendipitous events Daisy knew they had to take advantage of.
After Jazzi hugged her sister, and Portia also said good-bye, Daisy felt misty as Vi settled in the driver’s seat, started up the car, and drove down the lane that led to the rural road. Daisy watched her taillights as her daughter stopped at the end of the lane and then headed back to college.
Portia said to Daisy, “I imagine it’s always hard to see her leave.”
“Always,” Daisy confirmed with a look at Jazzi.
Jazzi said, “I thought I’d be glad when she went to college. You know, I could even use her room if I wanted to. But I miss her. Talking to Marjoram and Pepper just isn’t the same thing as talking to Vi.”
They all smiled at that as Jazzi meant them to.
“And now I have to be leaving too.” Portia picked up her traveling case that she’d set on the gravel.
Jazzi and Daisy walked her to her car. It was an expensive compact SUV with all the bells and whistles.
“This is such a sweet car,” Jazzi noted.
Portia nodded. “It is. It’s my husband’s. When he’s out of town, I use it.”
Daisy was thinking, And he doesn’t know how you’re using it ... or why.
Portia tossed her bag into the back seat of the vehicle and then she turned to Jazzi. “This has been a lovely visit.”
“When am I going to see you again?” Jazzi asked.
A troubled expression crossed Portia’s face. “I don’t know. It’s not always easy to get away.”
Daisy wanted to say, Without telling your husband where you’re going. But she didn’t.
Portia’s gaze met Daisy’s. “I have to figure things out.”
“You will call, though, right?” Jazzi sounded hopeful.
“Of course, I’ll call, maybe even Skype. I can download the app onto my phone. I’ll text you when it’s a good time.”
Daisy knew what that meant. Portia had to make sure no one else was around who would see her or hear her. That was no way to live.
As Daisy stood a little distance away, Jazzi and Portia hugged. She could see the bond that was forming between the two of them. Did she regret helping Jazzi find her birth mother? Only time would tell. She just hoped her daughter wouldn’t get hurt.
Chapter Six
Daisy was still thinking about Portia and Jazzi, as well as Vi and Foster, when she decided to take her lunch break by stopping at Quilts and Notions. The covered bridge where Reese was found was right near the border of the Fishers’ farm. She wanted to find out what Rachel had to say about it. Rachel didn’t gossip, but Daisy was sure she’d be concerned about what happened there and might need a listening ear.
When Daisy walked into Quilts and Notions, in spite of her serious errand, she had to smile. It was a cozy, bright shop with colorful quilts hanging from racks. Potholders fanned out on two other shelves along with placemats. There was also an area with bolts of cloth, threads, and buttons. A spinning corner rack held books on subjects from quilts to the historic nature of Lancaster County.
Rachel was pulling a bolt of material, yellow gingham, as Daisy walked in and the bell above the door jingled. The shopkeeper glanced over her shoulder. “Wilkom, Daisy.”
She carried the material to the cutting table and Daisy joined her there. “I came to see how you were faring after what happened,” Daisy said, unzipping her jacket.
The strings on Rachel’s kapp floated forward as she shook her head. “We can’t think about much else. What a terrible thing to happen.”
“Did the police come calling?”
Rachel’s brow furrowed. “They did, and you know what we think about that.”
The Amish didn’t like to involve the police. They settled grievances and problems on their own within their community. But this was different. Daisy suspected the Amish way of life could be somewhat foreign to Detective Rappaport. She just hoped he understood that the Amish believed in peaceful resistance and nonviolence. It was more than a philosophy for them—it was a way of life.
“A Detective Rappaport came and seemed so uncomfortable. I offered him a cup of tea and shoofly pie but he acted as if he’d never seen that kind of pie before.”
“Detective Rappaport is a very focused man,” Daisy explained, knowing it was true from her own experience with him.
“He asked us questions about where we were Thursday and Friday. Mostly Levi was on the farm tending to chores and I was here. In the evening, we were all together.”
“Did the detective seem satisfied with what you told him?”
“He did, but he said he might be back to ask more questions. It’s winter with snow and mud and ice on the ground. Even the kinner don’t go hiking across the field toward the covered bridge in this weather. Come spring, they’ll be sure to do that, but for now they stay closer to home or stick to the well-worn paths between farms.”
“It’s too cold to go hiking, that’s for sure,” Daisy agreed.
Rachel unfolded the bolt of cloth, ready to cut it. “Have you heard anything else about what happened to Mr. Masemer? I mean, how he came to be there?”
“No. But Jonas Groft talked to a contact at the police station. I got the feeling that whatever happened didn’t happen at the covered bridge.”
“You mean, he was killed elsewhere?”
“I don’t know. It was just something Jonas said about unusual circumstances that gave me that impression.”
Rachel stopped her work to ask, “How is Tessa?”
“I told her to take as much time off as she needs, but she insists on working.”
; Rachel nodded as if she understood. She studied the material before her for a few moments and Daisy knew her friend looked too serious to only be thinking about cutting the cloth. “What’s the matter?” she asked.
“One of my customers told me something this morning that might get back to the police.”
“What did you hear?”
“It’s about Tessa.”
“Truth or rumor?” Daisy asked.
“Do you know Colleen Wolf?”
A soccer mom with dark auburn hair came to mind. “Yes, I do. She often stops in at the tea garden.”
“Then you know she wouldn’t say something that wasn’t true.”
No, Colleen wouldn’t. She and Colleen had often had conversations about raising children and what they wanted for their future. She wasn’t the type to spread rumors. “What did she say?”
“I think this was on her mind and she didn’t know whether she should tell the police or not. She said she was at the gallery looking at the antique quilts last week when she overheard an argument between Mr. Masemer and Tessa that became quite loud. Apparently, Tessa stormed out. Colleen said she wasn’t the only one who overheard so even if she doesn’t tell Detective Rappaport, someone else might.”
That information was indeed worrisome. “I’ll talk to Tessa about it. Maybe she already told the detective about the argument.”
After speaking to Rachel a bit more about Quilt Lovers Weekend, Daisy left the shop and crossed the street. The gray sky had begun letting loose intermittent snowflakes. As she opened the door to the tea garden, she forgot about the snow. She was too worried about Tessa to consider snow accumulation.
At the counter, Aunt Iris nodded to her and then at the kitchen. Daisy knew that was her aunt’s way of saying that Tessa was baking. Good. They needed to have a talk.
Aunt Iris was adding up a customer’s order at the cash register. Mrs. Pallermo, who lived by herself about two blocks off the main street, smiled at Daisy and waved at the two containers of soup and the bag of baked goods on the counter. “This should keep me going for a couple of days. I won’t have to come out in this cold weather.”
“Mrs. Pallermo, I’d be glad to drop off some soup for you if you can’t get out.” An idea came to Daisy. Maybe they should think about a delivery service for their elderly clients. That might be something to talk to Foster about. He was good with new ideas.
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