by Lyn Cote
“I’m your family.”
“But you’re not my only family.” Thea explained patiently. Of course, the old woman beside her wouldn’t cede any ground.
“I’m the only family that matters.” Her grandmother began struggling with the catch on her chair again.
Grandmother Lowell’s words stung Thea. She recalled her father’s version of how Grandmother had intruded between them. But this show of infirmity touched Thea’s heart. To be powerless must grate on her grandmother every minute.
“I’ve been worried about you lately,” Thea said softly.
“You don’t have to worry about me. On the day I die, I’ll be sharper than you’ve ever been.”
The often-repeated insult didn’t touch Thea; she went on. “You’re spending time with Dick Crandon whom you can’t stand.”
Grandmother glared straight ahead.
Finally Thea brought up what had bothered her ever since the county board meeting. “You’re rude to your oldest friend—”
“Louella’s a fool—”
“She’s a sweet, lonely old woman who loves you very much.”
“Humph.”
“Peter and his camp are here to stay whether you like it or not I hope you haven’t done more than talk against him. But that’s between you and God, not me.”
Grandmother glowered.
Thea continued, “I’m sorry you didn’t let me bring Cynda on my visits. She’s so peppy and cheerful. I’ve begun to love her and I know I’ll miss her when she leaves in the fall.” The words were all too true.
No reply.
“Myra and Father visited last weekend. I talked to Dad.” Thea tried to lay a hand on her grandmother’s arm. “He told me—”
The old woman shrugged off Thea’s hand. “He poisoned you against me. That’s what this is all about. I warned your mother not to marry him.”
“He’s my dad,” Thea said firmly with a touch of pride.
Her grandmother stared at her. Resentment showed plainly on the old woman’s face. “You’re just like him—spineless.”
“I’ve been spineless, but that’s in the past.” Thea folded her hands in her lap. “My father is a kind, gentle man who loves me very much and I love him.”
“How sweet for the both of you.” Her grandmother sneered. “What would the two of you have done without me after your mother died?”
Thea sighed, recalling the memories the strawberry picking had uncovered—memories of being out in that place with her father once, long ago. “We probably would have managed somehow. And we probably would have stayed a lot closer to each other. I always wondered why my father loved me less after Mama died. Now I know his love hadn’t changed. It was you working to separate us.” All those years wasted in misunderstanding.
Her grandmother looked away briefly, then turned back with a malicious expression on her face. “You’ve lost your head over that Della. That’s what this is all about. You think I don’t know what you’ve been up to, but I hear all I need to know. You’re a fool, Thea. That man’s just making up to you because of the camp.”
Instead of angering Thea as intended, thinking of Peter ignited joy inside Thea, a cozy spark. “Maybe I have fallen for Peter. There’s no law against it.” These were brave words, but Peter had been open about wanting to get to know her. This alone made her happy.
Grandmother pursed her lips. All the deep wrinkles around her mouth made it look like the tightened opening of an old-fashioned drawstring purse.
Thea didn’t feel intimidated by her grandmother’s displeasure. Their connection had been weakened by the truth.
Silence fell. Thea studied her grandmother’s profile, hoping for some sign of softening or recognition of what had been said to her. There was nothing but indignant wrath.
Thea sighed. “I’ll take you back in now.”
The old woman scowled. “What has gotten into you today?”
Thea stood up. “I just wanted to play turnabout this once.”
“Turnabout?” The elderly woman snapped.
“Yes, how did you like my acting like you and your portraying my role?”
“Take me in.” The old woman’s words vibrated with anger.
“Very well. I’ll go back to being me now.” Thea released the lock and pushed her grandmother back to the care center. A red cardinal flew overhead calling to his mate. Grandmother’s displeasure now held no fear for Thea. She hadn’t expected reconciliation, just sweet release.
When she reached her grandmother’s room, Thea situated the chair exactly as it had been when she had arrived.
Grandmother Lowell glared up at her. “Don’t ever come here again.”
“No, sorry. You, Grandmother, would never come. But I’m Thea. I’ll be back. I love you.” Though the old woman turned her face away, Thea kissed her grandmother’s dry cheek, then walked out. “Love your enemies” came to mind. I will, Lord. Confronting her bitter, controlling grandmother had hurt, but there was always hope Grandmother might change. Most importantly, now Thea was free to show support for Peter. What would be the best way?
On Saturday afternoon, knowing Peter liked her hair down, she’d left it unbound. Leaning close to the three-way vanity mirror, she studied her reflection. Cynda had told her a little eye makeup would help, but Thea told the mirror, “Everything else in my life has changed. I’d better leave my face the same.” She slipped on her blueand-green plaid sundress and walked into the kitchen.
With a pitiful expression, Molly lay on the kitchen floor. Sitting beside Molly, Tomcat looked up grumpily, too.
“Sorry, dear friends, but I don’t want you two next door at the open house. People only.”
Tomcat turned around, tail held high, and exited clearly in a miff. Molly moaned touchingly. Thea patted her dog’s head, then walked out the door shutting it firmly behind her.
On the other side of the fence, the open house was in full swing. The parking lot was filled with vehicles—many luxury sedans and expensive-looking sports cars—definitely from out of town. As Thea eased over the fence and strolled toward the camp cafeteria on the perfect June Saturday, the chatter of voices floated over the lawn.
Thea hadn’t seen Peter yet this weekend and felt disappointed. An inner voice taunted her, Did you think he’d stop by with roses every Friday night? Thea booted the unfriendly voice out of her mind.
Cynda had reported Peter had gotten in laté last night and had been busy since dawn helping get everything in shape for this afternoon. Of course, he hadn’t had time to drop by. Besides he knew she would attend the open house. Thea wondered what he would say to the proposal she’d come up with for the camp. A trace of a smile touched her lips.
Inside the cafeteria, people milled around the long trestle tables. The noise of so many voices irritated Thea, but her feeling of well-being helped her overcome this.
She scanned the crowd looking for Peter. But she heard his low, hearty laughter first. She smiled and turned to locate him. Wearing a navy blue linen sport jacket and chinos, and looking more handsome than any man should, he stood in the midst of a group of well-dressed strangers—men wearing suits and ladies in expensive-looking summer dresses.
She took one step, then paused. Perhaps he was with potential donors and would not want to be interrupted.
“Thea.” Pastor Carlson touched her elbow. “How nice to see you.”
Thea repeated the polite phrase back to him.
“I’d like you to meet Bishop Powell. This is our organist, Thea Glenheim.”
As Thea shook hands with the bishop, she detected Peter moving away from his group. He seemed to be heading for her.
“I heard your committee recommended a newer electronic organ for the church. How did you manage that, Thea?” the pastor asked.
Though her eyes wanted to continue tracking Peter’s progress toward her, Thea glanced to the pastor politely. “I was surprised how easy the decision was. It was just a matter of being practical.”
T
he bishop spoke up, “It’s too bad, really. I’ve seen your organ. A real period piece.”
“Its period is over.” Mrs. Magill loomed up on Thea’s other side.
Pastor Carlson and the bishop chuckled.
“Thea ran a good meeting,” Mrs. Magill said. “She didn’t waste time with a lot of blabbing. Just straight to the point.”
Peter neared Thea. She smiled in anticipation. Then a couple stopped him. The woman wore a white straw picture hat. Thea had never seen anything like it outside the covers of a fashion magazine.
Thea brought her mind back to the subject at hand. “I had trouble trying to find someone to do repairs,” Thea explained. “In the end that was what made our decision.”
“Two meetings were enough.” Mrs. Magill made a hand gesture like an umpire motioning, Safe.
Peter detached himself from the couple and headed right for Thea’s group. Pastor Carlson turned and intercepted Peter and introduced him to the bishop.
Thea thought she noted Peter looked sideways at her, but couldn’t be sure.
Cynda walked up, blocking Thea’s view. “Hey, Thea, did you try the punch? I made it.”
Thea shook her head and peered around Cynda, trying to gauge when it would be appropriate to join Peter and the clergymen. Under Thea’s dismayed gaze, Peter led the pastor and bishop over to another group of people.
“Punch? Thea?” Cynda waved her hand in front of Thea’s face.
“Yes,” Thea said automatically, “I’d like some punch.” As the host, Peter couldn’t spend the afternoon hovering around her. Still, she felt keen disappointment.
Cynda led her to the buffet table near the kitchen.
“Hello, Miss Glenheim.” Tom manned the punch bowl, filled with seafoam-green punch.
She smiled and asked for a cup. Under Cynda’s rapt gaze, Thea took a sip. “Mmm. Just right. What’s in it?”
Cynda said eagerly, “Ginger ale, lemonade and lime sherbet.”
From just a couple of feet away, Peter laughed again. Thea quivered with awareness of him despite the people separating them. She glanced toward him and found his gaze on her. He drew her like sunshine drew sunflowers. She took a step toward him.
Immediately, an older man moved between them blotting out her view of Peter. Cynda excused herself and went to help Irene in the kitchen.
Thea swallowed frustration. It isn’t his fault Peter hasn’t come to me. He has to act as the host. The camp comes first. This piece of logic didn’t prevent her mood from drooping another notch.
“Thea, dear.” Mrs. Chiverton joined her at the buffet table. “Did you see? I made your favorite almond cookies.”
“No, I didn’t.” Thea picked up one and tasted it. In spite of its buttery flavor, the cookie tasted like dust in her mouth. Being separated from Peter drained away her enjoyment. Would she ever get to speak to Peter and tell him her idea? “Mmm. As delicious as ever. I didn’t know you were helping—”
“Oh, yes.” Irene wearing a bright purple shirtwaist dress bustled out of the large camp kitchen. “Louella dropped by yesterday afternoon and offered to contribute these delectable cookies.”
Mrs. Chiverton beamed. “I hadn’t baked so many cookies in such a long time.”
“You should have called me,” Thea said still tracking Peter. “I would have helped you.”
“Irene,” Mrs. Chiverton said with a smile which lifted her face and showed how attractive she had once been. “Thea always used to bake cookies with me every Christmas. Then we’d wrap them up and take them to shut-ins.”
“Sounds like something the three of us should do this winter.” Irene swiftly straightened the white buffet tablecloth and dusted off cookie crumbs. “My children will all be arriving during the holidays, so I’m going to start baking the week before Thanksgiving.”
“Oh, how wonderful.” Mrs. Chiverton clapped her hands. “I’d love to help. You have grandchildren, don’t you, Irene?”
Irene nodded, then at Tom’s request hurried back into the kitchen for more punch.
“Thea.” Mrs. Chiverton crept closer. “I visited…I tried to visit your grandmother this morning. But she wouldn’t speak to me.”
“She probably heard about the organ decision or maybe it’s my fault.” Thea sighed. “I tried to let her know I had to make my own decisions about Peter….” Thea blushed at her slip. “I mean, the camp. I’m afraid Grandmother didn’t take it very well.”
Mrs. Chiverton laid a hand on Thea’s arm sympathetically. The older woman shook her head. “Do you think Dick might come today?”
Thea felt shock. “He wouldn’t show up here, would he?”
Mrs. Chiverton frowned. “I don’t know, but he was coming in to see your grandmother just as I was leaving. And he said, ‘See you later.’ But, Thea, I’m not going anywhere else today.”
“How would he know you’d be coming here?”
“Everyone’s here! Look around.”
Thea turned. She’d been so busy trying to get Peter’s attention, she’d not realized most of Lake Lowell was in evidence—Vickie, Nan and her whole tribe, and most of their church. If Mr. Crandon did come, he wouldn’t be pleased. Popular opinion appeared to have shifted to Peter.
“Well, look at that.” Mrs. Magill startled Thea from behind. “Dick just walked in.”
“Oh, dear,” Mrs. Chiverton shrilled.
Thea glanced around in time to see Sheriff Swenson and his brother, the county board chairman, converge on Dick just inside the door. After a moment’s conversation, Dick strutted away from them.
Undeterred, the sheriff trailed behind Crandon, not close enough to be provocative, Thea thought, but near enough to be a deterrent. Thea’s thoughts careened back and forth in her mind. Had Mr. Crandon come to cause a scene?
“Mountain out of a molehill,” Mrs. Magill muttered.
Mrs. Chiverton frowned. “I know Dick is hurting over losing his son, but how do we stop him—”
“From making a fool out of himself?” Mrs. Magill finished.
Or worse, Thea thought.
Had Peter seen Mr. Crandon come in? Would the older man make a scene? Thea scanned the gathering for Peter. There he is.
“Pardon me, ladies,” Thea murmured and walked toward Peter, ignoring the fact he wasn’t alone. Her confidence waned when she studied the middle-aged man and young woman Peter spoke with. The woman’s mint-green linen dress made Thea’s simple sundress look bargain basement. Thea stopped a few feet from Peter, hoping to attract his attention, but unwilling to force him to notice her.
Peter was discussing commodity shares with the man. As she listened vaguely, she kept track of Mr. Crandon’s movements about the room. The portly Mr. Crandon greeted everyone as though this were his open house. But Thea noted he didn’t linger long with anyone and his smile became more and more artificial. She noticed that while the sheriff stuck to Mr. Crandon, the county board chairman gravitated toward Peter. Qualms trembled through her. Should I call Peter’s attention to his enemy or just let Peter handle matters?
“Well, Della,” Mr. Crandon said in a bluff, cheerful voice. “You’ve attracted quite a crowd today. Free cookies and punch are quite a draw.”
Peter paused in his conversation and smiled. “Glad to see you came.”
“I came to talk to people about signing my petition.”
“Petition?” the man Peter had been talking to asked.
Peter said, “Mr. Crandon, have you met Judge George Hansen of the Circuit Court and his daughter?”
“No, I haven’t.” Mr. Crandon shook hands with the judge and his daughter. “But he can tell you if my petition succeeds, you’ll be selling this land and moving on.”
The county board chairman spoke up quietly, “Why don’t you admit Althea Lowell is the only one left on your side now?”
Crandon scowled. “I’ll win in the end.”
Peter smiled. “That’s in God’s hands, don’t you think?”
“Humph. That’s what I�
�d expect you to say, Della, but I’m not giving up.” The older man stalked away.
Peter turned and touched her hand. “I’m glad you came.”
Thea longed to talk to Peter, but now worry trapped her words. She wanted to tell him about her grandmother, Mr. Crandon’s mental state, but instead she squeezed his hand. The sheriff tapped Peter’s shoulder. As Peter turned away from her once more, her spirits hit bottom with a hollow thud.
Beside her, Aldo asked, “Thea, would you be sure to let Molly loose tomorrow night? Because of a lastminute mix-up, I have to go with Peter to bring the kids up Monday. The sheriff will patrol more often. But I’d like to have a good watchdog around the camp, too. And please don’t mention anything about this to anyone.”
“Of course not.”
Aldo smiled wryly and patted her arm. “I know we can trust you. I just don’t want to send out an invitation for our friendly neighborhood vandal to stop by tomorrow night.”
Thea watched Peter across the tables which separated them. So near, yet far.
Chapter Twelve
Dejected, Thea walked out of the camp cafeteria. Afternoon shadows cast from the trees stretched across the lawn. The last hour of the open house had been agony. Peter had come close to her again several times, lifting her spirits each time, only to plummet when he was halted, turned or pulled away.
She tried to rationalize that Peter was the host and had many contributors to entertain. It didn’t help, though, that so many of them were young, goodlooking, very chic women. Feeling frumpy and outclassed, Thea headed toward home. Her plan to help the camp probably wasn’t any great brainstorm. Staying any longer, just to be disappointed, would destroy the last scraps of her self-confidence.
As she approached the low rail-fence, Thea thought of her grandmother’s unkind words about Peter and herself. She brushed them aside. Peter isn’t conning me.
But the open house made her realize Peter belonged to a world that she knew nothing about and into which she would never fit. A world of designer hats and dresses, judges, BMWs and Mercedes. Not her world at all.
“Thea! Thea! Wake up! It’s Molly!”
Morning sunshine seeping into her closed eyes, Thea felt herself being shaken and heard Cynda’s choked voice. At the mention of Molly, Thea’s eyes opened and she sat up.