Patchwork and Politics

by Christine Lynxwiler

  “Megan Marie! You open this door this instant.”

  Megan put her hand to her mouth. Her mother was here.

  Fifteen

  “Holt, what are you doing here? Why, you brought my papers in. Thank you so much.” Aunt Irene thumped in her big walking boot back over to the table and sat down in front of her still-steaming cup of coffee. “Come in and sit down. Tell me how the picnic went.”

  “The picnic was wonderful. Everyone loved Megan.”

  “Ah. . .runs in the family, huh?” Aunt Irene winked at him.

  “Yeah, Megan and I decided last night to allow God to guide us in our relationship. She agreed to stop standing in the way.”

  The elderly woman clapped her hands together. “Oh, Holt. That’s an answer to my prayers.”

  “Yeah, me too. Unfortunately, something happened this morning that complicates things.”

  A frown furrowed her brow. “What?”

  “Hold onto your chair, Aunt Irene.” He unfolded the newspaper in front of her. “It’s not very pleasant.”

  Her eyes widened as she saw the picture, but she scanned the words, reading the article in silence. When she finished she shook her head. “Poor Ivo.”

  “Poor Ivo?” Holt stared at her. Had she lost her mind? “Are you talking about this reporter?”

  “Yes, Dear, I am. I’ve been praying for him. I hoped he was doing better, but it looks like he’s still hurting dreadfully.”

  “Maybe you’d better explain.”

  “Ivo Pletka was the grandson of my closest neighbors. He and Barry Watson were best friends all through high school and college. It was actually through him that Barry met Megan. Megan was staying for awhile with her Granny Lola. Ivo and Barry were on a college break visiting Ivo’s grandparents. Ivo adored his grandfather, and the feeling was mutual.” He noticed Aunt Irene pronounced Ivo with a long E. Holt had read it as a long I. He thought it more fitting the way she said it because it sounded sort of like “evil.”

  “Anyway, once Barry set his cap for Megan, there was no stopping them. She was taken in by his smooth talk and handsome smile.” She looked thoughtful. “Most everyone around was, including Ivo’s grandparents.”

  “But not you?”

  “No, every time I was around him, I just had this powerful feeling of being in the same room with a deadly snake.”

  “So he and Ivo were two of a kind, huh?”

  She frowned again. “Not at all. Ivo was kind-hearted. He was just as awestruck as everyone else by his persuasive friend.”

  Holt tapped the paper. “So how did he get to this point?”

  Tears welled up in Aunt Irene’s eyes, and she surreptitiously brushed them away. “Ivo’s grandfather was a Czechoslovakian immigrant. He’d had a hard life, and he was thrilled at the idea of being part of something that would help people have fun. Barry easily persuaded him to invest his life savings into the theme park he planned.”

  “So Ivo blames Megan for his grandfather losing money? Probably took a chunk out of his inheritance, huh?”

  Aunt Irene reached over and patted his hand. She shook her head. “It wasn’t the money. Ivo lost something far more than that. Two months after Barry’s death, Mary Pletka had to put her husband in a nursing home. He’d totally lost his ability to take care of himself. He didn’t even recognize Ivo anymore. Some said it was Alzheimer’s. Others thought it was a stroke. But that boy knew in his heart that his grandfather’s condition was due to misplaced trust.”

  “If he was that close to them, why couldn’t he see that Megan had nothing to do with it?”

  “When guilt crowds in on you, you want to dole it out to others. Ivo was free with his blame. He’s estranged from his own grandmother. If he wasn’t, he’d know. . .”

  “Know what?”

  Aunt Irene looked up at him as if surprised that she’d said that. “Bless her heart. She cries for him every time I see her.”

  “If he wasn’t estranged from his grandmother, he’d know what?”

  Aunt Irene dipped a generous spoonful of sugar from the jar on the table and placed it in her coffee. “I’ve got four pups that need to be fed right away. Think you can handle it?”

  Exasperation coursed through him. “If I do, will you tell me what you were about to say?”

  “I might. . .and I might not. I’ll be talkin’ to the Lord about it whilst you’re feedin’.”

  Holt could see arguments would get him nowhere, so he hurried to perform the assigned task.

  Ten minutes later, he stomped the dirt off his feet on the welcome mat and hurried in. Aunt Irene sat where he left her, coffee cup still in front of her, but she was smiling. “You going to go see Ivo?”

  “Yes, Ma’am, I am. I have to stop him from persecuting Megan any further. If he doesn’t, I’ll take legal action.”

  She shook her head. “You won’t stop him with threats, Boy.”

  He took a deep breath. “What will stop him?”

  “The truth.”

  “And you have the truth?”

  She drained the last of her coffee. “Yes, just so happens, I do.”

  “Then how come you haven’t told Ivo?”

  “I’ve given my solemn promise.”

  Holt wanted to let it go, but he knew he had to ask. “Then why are you about to tell me?”

  “I never promised not to tell you. . .just him.”

  “Okay, I guess that makes sense. Was it Megan that you promised?”

  “Do you enjoy playing Twenty Questions? Or would it be okay if I just tell you the whole thing?”

  Holt had been staring at the table, trying to control his impatience, but her question brought his gaze quickly back to meet hers. Her blue eyes were faded, but a twinkle danced in them.

  He took a deep breath and, in spite of the churning in his stomach, smiled at her spunk. “Why don’t you just tell me?”

  ❧

  Megan threw the lock back and yanked the door open. Her mother stood, tears streaming down her face, with her arms held out. With a great gulping sob, Megan fell into her embrace. “Oh, Mama. I’m so glad you came.”

  “I should have come three years ago, Child. I knew you needed me then, and every time I’ve seen you since then I’ve blamed myself for not being here for you.”

  “I. . . ,” Megan shuddered and choked out the words. “I told you not to.”

  Her mother chuckled softly. “Don’t you know by now that a mother isn’t supposed to obey the daughter?”

  Megan didn’t answer but just relaxed against the woman whose arms she’d missed so badly. Even though she’d made sure Sarah spent time with her grandparents over the last three years, Megan had always had an excuse to keep from spending any time with them herself. Now, with the familiar smell of her mother’s perfume soothing her wounded soul, she couldn’t think why she’d behaved so stupidly.

  Finally, she broke the embrace. “Where’s Sarah?”

  “She’s out on the porch with your father.”

  “Daddy’s here too?” Megan had been sure her father would be happy to have his only daughter fade quietly from his life after the scandal she’d brought to him. As a corporate lawyer, image was everything.

  “Are you kidding? By the time I was dressed, he was in the car honking the horn. He’s the one who saw the paper first, and he immediately called the office and told them to cancel his appointments because he was going to see his daughter.”

  “Oh, Mama, I’m so glad you did. Let’s go sit down before my legs give out again, though.” It almost seemed too much to take in all at once.

  A few minutes later, Megan watched in amazement as her mother took charge and quickly made coffee and popped some cinnamon rolls in the oven. She hadn’t even thought of the fact that this was where her mother had been raised. No wonder she seemed at home in the kitchen. Megan hadn’t done any remodeling and Granny Lola hadn’t either as long as Megan could remember. “Has the house changed much since you lived here?”

  Me
gan’s mother gave her a wry grin. “Not a bit. I didn’t realize how much I missed this house, while I was giving my daughter ‘her space’ as my counselor called it.”

  “Oh, Mama. You had to get counseling because of me. I’m a terrible daughter.”

  “No, you’re not. I needed advice on how to handle the situation with you. I wanted to shake you for your foolish pride and hug you for your determination all at the same time. But the counselor and I both agreed—if I crowded you, I’d lose you.” She chuckled. “I didn’t call to ask him what he thought about us coming today. I just went with a mother’s instinct.”

  “It was right on target. I needed you.”

  “Are you ready to talk about the newspaper?”

  Megan nodded. Running from her parents hadn’t helped so far. “Will Dad mind getting it all secondhand? I’d rather Sarah not hear everything.”

  “Not at all. That’s what we planned on the way here. He’d play with Sarah, while I talked to you. So, let’s start with Senator McFadden. What does he mean to you?”

  “I’m in love with him.” Her mother started to smile, but it died on her lips when hot tears splashed down Megan’s face. “But it’ll never work. The newspaper is proof of that.”

  “Oh, Megan. Are you sure you’re not doing again what you did with me? Pushing him away because of pride?”

  “You knew that was the reason, huh?” Megan cast a sideways glance at her mom. “You’re pretty smart.”

  “Yeah, well, I admit the counselor helped me figure that one out.”

  “Anyway, the answer is no. That’s not what I’m doing with him. Holt is a Christian, Mama, and he believes that God has led him into a political career. He dreams of being governor of Arkansas someday and doing great things for God.”

  Her mother covered her mouth. Megan saw tears fill her eyes.

  Megan nodded. “I see that you know I’m not just making a mountain out of a molehill. A relationship with me would be death to his career. I can’t let that happen.”

  “Oh, Meggie. . .that’s not for you to decide alone. I know it seems hopeless, but that’s got to be partly his decision.”

  Megan shook her head emphatically. “No. He would give up his career for me, then he’d never be happy and even worse, he’d be going against what he believes God has in mind for him.” She pushed her hair back from her face. “If I really love him—and I do—I can’t let him do that.”

  “Well, you can’t force someone to see things your way. Even your own daughter. So I won’t try to argue with you. I’ll just be here to support you.” Her mother reached over to take her hand. “Of course that doesn’t mean that I’m giving up on you finding happiness with Holt, if it’s God’s will.”

  Megan just shook her head. “And people wonder where I get my stubbornness.”

  Sixteen

  Aunt Irene smiled at Holt. “You want a cup of coffee to drink while I’m talkin’?”

  “No, Ma’am,” Holt clenched his hands and unclenched them. “Just go ahead and talk.”

  She shook her head. “Anybody ever tell you that you were impatient?”

  Holt looked at the ceiling, then back at her. “I might have heard that once or twice.”

  “I bet you have.”

  “Aunt Irene, please.” The pleading in his voice must have gotten through because she finally began.

  “When Megan’s husband died, she was mighty sorrowful. She had to deal with grief and betrayal all at once, plus there were all the investors to handle. It seemed more than she could bear. Her granny had been dead about six months when this all happened, or you can be sure that’s where Megan would have run to. Instead, she showed up here. I like to think it was because she knew she could trust me, but I know it was partly ’cause I was one of the few in these parts that had refused to invest in Barry Watson’s pipe dream. So she could face me.”

  Holt nodded. He could see Megan’s pride keeping her from seeking help from anyone who had lost money in her husband’s deal.

  “We sat right here at this table, while little Sarah played on the floor, and we prayed and talked and prayed some more. After awhile, she asked me for a tablet and a pencil, and I got her one out of the drawer there.” She nodded toward the kitchen drawer.

  “She began to make a list. Every asset she had went down on that paper, along with the money she thought it was worth. She and Barry had a nice house in Jonesboro. They each had a late model car. One smart thing Barry had done—they were all paid for. As soon as she wrote down the house and the cars, she started listing her personal property—her jewelry and knickknacks and such. Then came the furniture. Finally, when she could think of nothing else to list, she stopped and totaled it all up.”

  Holt’s gaze was glued to the old woman’s expressive face. In spite of her simple speech, the word picture she painted was so vivid that he could almost see Megan seated at the table beside him, working feverishly on her list of assets. His heart ached for her all over again.

  Aunt Irene’s voice broke through his thoughts. “She tore off another page and pulled some papers out of her purse. She began to make another list. This one was people’s names. All of the investors. Out beside their names was the amount of money they’d invested.”

  She shook her head. “She must have sat here for hours trying to balance those two lists. But even taking Barry’s life insurance policy off the top, it couldn’t be done. I’ll never forget what she said. ‘I have to pay the rest of it back, Aunt Irene. Somehow, God will help me find a way.’ I asked her where she would live, and she offered me a pale smile. ‘You don’t mind a new neighbor, do you?’ she asked. I told her nothing would make me happier.”

  “So she sold the house and all of her stuff and paid the investors what she could?” The thought of Megan going through that alone sent a physical pain through his stomach.

  “Yep.”

  “But after her assets, including the life insurance policy, were depleted, there was nothing else she could do about that debt, right? And that’s what keeps her hiding out? Pride?”

  “Ah, we’re back to playing quiz games, I see. Want me to just nod, or should I yell out ‘hot’ when you get close to the truth or ‘cold’ when you’re farther away?”

  In spite of his impatience, Holt couldn’t bite back a grin. The elderly lady’s dry wit had an edge that endeared her to him. “No, Ma’am, you just go ahead, and I’ll try my best to keep quiet until you finish.”

  “All right, then.” Aunt Irene tilted her coffee mug up and drained it. “Now where was I? Oh, yes, I remember. I went with Megan and Sarah down to Lola’s house that day. You should have seen Megan’s tired eyes light up when they saw that great big quilting machine. ‘There it sits,’ she said. ‘The answer to my prayers.’ And she was right.”

  Again the elderly lady swiped at tears. “Thankfully, Barry hadn’t gotten as far in his scheme as he could have, so when he died there were only about twenty investors. Megan was able to pay off most of the smaller ones completely with their share of the life insurance policy and the sale of her assets. By the time everything was gone, she’d whittled the list of people who were still owed down to ten names.”

  Holt thought of Megan. She’d handled a horrible situation with grace and courage. Most people would have bowed under the load.

  “She went into Batesville and took the money she’d gotten from selling her wedding ring. ‘Seed money,’ she called it. She bought two big rolls of quilt batting and all kinds of fabric. She put out flyers all over town.”

  He’d never thought of Megan as enterprising. But it sounded like she was. Then he remembered her sparsely furnished house and the fact that she wore the same clothes often and Sarah did too.

  “It didn’t really pay off for her, did it? She must barely make enough for her and Sarah to live.”

  Aunt Irene snorted. Holt realized he’d asked another question, and he held up his hands. “Forget I asked that. Just go on, please.” She nodded.

  “Y
es, it wasn’t long before all Lola’s old customers as well as plenty of new ones were calling. She’s stayed so busy quilting ever since, there’s been little time for anything else. ’Til you came around, that is. Then she started making time.”

  Holt bit his lip to keep the questions from coming out.

  “As soon as she took in money on her first quilt top, she took those ten names on that list and set up ten promissory notes, of sorts. Payments ranged from small to fairly large. That was three years ago.”

  Holt let the full meaning of what she was saying sink into his brain. “She’s paying back all the investors.”

  “Well, congratulations, Holt! You win the game. That’s exactly right. And Ivo Pletka would know that too, if he would talk to his grandma. But the boy’s too stubborn. His grandfather had been in bad health for a long time, but his grandma had tried to protect Ivo by not telling him. Now, he won’t believe her. He’d rather blame Barry, and since Barry’s gone, in his eyes that leaves Megan to blame.”

  Holt put his head in his hands. He was going to confront the reporter that he’d so grudgingly prayed for this morning, but it wasn’t going to be the confrontation he’d expected. Instead, it looked like he was going to hit Ivo Pletka with the most powerful weapon of all. The truth.

  An incredible thought flashed through his mind. Why would Pletka choose now to renew his persecution of Megan? Someone was behind this smear campaign. Someone who had already promised him he’d be sorry.

  ❧

  Megan wrapped her hands around the glass of iced tea. Her father sat next to her in the rocker, and her mother had taken Sarah in to make doll clothes.

  “I’ve really messed things up for us, haven’t I, Daddy?”

  “Yes, Meg, you have.”

  Megan knew it was true, but her heart froze in her chest at his words. Her mother had seemed so sure that he was not upset with her.

  “I’m sorry for not seeing Barry for what he really was.”