Bygones (9 page)

When she’d first pulled into the yard and seen the light glowing from the kitchen window, her heart had leaped with hope that maybe—
maybe
—someone would be in the house waiting to greet her, to hug her, to welcome her back. But the locked door had let her know no one was around.

The disappointment of that moment stabbed like a knife. Hadn’t Sally told her not to expect too much? Yet underneath, an ever-sohesitant glimmer of hope resided, only to be snatched away by a locked back door. No, no one had been waiting.

Except God
.

Marie’s eyes popped open. What made her think that? “ ‘The heavens declare the glory of God.’ ” She whispered the words into the quiet room. A feeling of comfort followed. A feeling she little understood and was too tired to explore.

“Well, if You’re around, God,” she muttered with a touch of belligerence, “You might let me get some sleep. It’s been a long day, and I’ve got my work cut out for me tomorrow with cleaning this house and carting in the stuff Beth and I brought.”

How strange it felt to speak to God that way, the easy way Lisbeth had always spoken—out loud, without pretension. The way one would talk with a neighbor over the fence. Another constriction
grabbed her chest, making her breath come in little spurts. Squeezing her eyes shut, she pushed aside the emotions straining for release and willed herself to sleep.

“Mom?”

The soft voice brought Marie to full attention once more. A shadowy figure stood beside the bed, reminding Marie of the days when Beth was little and would wander in, awakened by a nightmare. “What’s wrong, honey?”

“I can’t sleep. I’m tired, but it’s so quiet here. It’s creeping me out.”

Marie understood. She scooted over. “Climb in. We’ll share tonight, huh?”

Beth slipped in and curled onto her side, facing her mother. “I heard you talking.”

Marie’s heart caught. “Oh?” She chuckled softly. “I guess I was planning out loud. Lots to do tomorrow.”

In the muted shadows cast by moonlight, Marie saw Beth nod. “Do you think I should go to the café tomorrow, or can it wait?”

“It can wait if you want to. It’s never open on Mondays.”

A long sigh came from Beth’s side of the bed. “I guess I should have asked questions before we came. But I was right—I wouldn’t have come if I’d had any idea. . . .”

“You know, it really isn’t that bad,” Marie’s voice snapped out more tartly than she’d intended. Why was she so defensive? Sommerfeld was no longer her home. Based on the fact that no one was here to greet them, her family was no longer hers, either. So why tell Beth it wasn’t bad?

More kindly, she added, “It’s only three months, honey. Think of it as. . .an adventure.” She smoothed Beth’s hair away from her face. “Who knows, maybe someday you’ll write a book about all this.”

Beth laughed, pressing her fists beneath her chin. “Who would believe it?”

“Truth is stranger than fiction.”

Another laugh. “Oh, yeah.”

Marie sighed. “Close your eyes, honey. Get some sleep.”

Beth’s eyes slipped closed. They lay in silence for several minutes before Beth’s voice came again. “Mom?”

“Yes?”

“Thanks for coming with me.”

Marie smiled and gave Beth’s hair another stroke. “You’re welcome.”

“I wouldn’t want to be doing this alone.”

“Well, no worries. You’re not alone.”

Although Beth finally drifted to sleep, Marie lay awake, gazing out the window at the starry sky, her words to her daughter echoing through her heart.
“No worries. You’re not alone.”

M
arie carried in a box of groceries and set it on the cluttered counter. Looking at the boxes already there, she realized she had been responsible for bringing in each one. Aggravation rose. Was Beth on her cell phone. . .
again
?

Hands on hips, she bellowed, “Beth!”

“In here.”

Marie followed the voice and found her daughter in the dining room, lying under the table, flat on her back. Bending forward and propping her hands on her knees, she peered at her. “What in the world are you doing?”

Beth’s ponytail lay across the floor in tangled disarray. “Checking out this table. It’s solid wood, Mom. I can’t even find any nails—just pegs. It’s amazing!”

Marie squatted down between two chairs to peek at the underside of the table. “Do you see a brand anywhere—symbols burned into the wood?”

Beth twisted her head, her gaze seeking. Her face lit up. “Yeah! Right there!” She pointed. “It looks like a
K
with an
O
at the bottom right-hand edge.” Looking at her mom, she wrinkled her brow. “What does that mean?”

“It means your great-grandfather and great-great-uncle constructed it.” Marie straightened and got out of the way as Beth scrambled from her hideaway. “My mother was an Ortmann. Her father joined forces with my father’s uncle to open a furniture-making shop.” Marie headed through the kitchen, Beth on her heels. “I would imagine if you went door to door around here, you’d find quite a few pieces with that brand.”

“When did they start their business?” Beth followed Marie outside to the trailer.

Marie handed a box to her daughter and scowled thoughtfully. “Hmm. Grandpa Ortmann was born in 1907, I believe, and he started the business in his early twenties. . .so maybe the late 1920s?” It felt good to share a bit of family history with Beth. She picked up a box and turned toward the house.

Beth plodded up the back porch stairs and through the utility porch door, which Marie had propped open. “Then that table would be more than seventy years old.” Beth’s tone turned calculating. “Definitely antique, and certainly unique. I need to do some exploring on the Internet to figure out its value.”

Marie put her box on the kitchen table, staring at her daughter. “You’re planning to sell it?”

Beth gawked over the top of the box she held. “Well, yeah. I mean, that’s why I’m here, remember? To claim all this stuff, sell it, and open my antique shop.” With a light laugh, she added, “Duh!”

“Don’t get sassy.” Marie spun on her heel and headed outside again.

Beth trotted up beside her. “What are you getting so huffy about?”

Marie stopped and whirled on Beth. She opened her mouth, but nothing came out. Beth was right—what was she getting huffy about? The only reason they were here was to meet the condition of Aunt Lisbeth’s will, lay claim to everything, sell it for whatever Beth
could gain, and get out. Why was she feeling territorial? She sighed and touched Beth’s cheek.

“I’m sorry, honey. I didn’t sleep very well last night, and I’m tired and cranky. I didn’t mean to take it out on you.”

Beth’s smile returned. “That’s okay. I understand.” She moved to the end of the trailer, her ponytail swinging. “This afternoon, while I get my computer set up and figure out how to connect to the Internet, you can nap.” Then she spun around, her face set in a frown. “I just realized. . .no electricity and no phone line, so no way to connect.” She released a disgruntled
uh
. “This really stinks!”

Marie put her arm around her daughter’s shoulders and gave a squeeze. “There’s a phone line at the café and all the electricity you could need. We’ll rig it up over there, okay?”

“Whew!” Beth brightened again. “Thank goodness the café is halfway modernized.” Grabbing a box, she moved toward the house. “Speaking of the café, I’m hungry. Can we find something to eat?”

Marie followed Beth into the kitchen. “Let’s get some of this stuff put away so we have moving-around room, and we’ll have some cold cereal. We’ll have to do simple meals until I can remember how to operate Aunt Lisbeth’s stove.”

The sound of a knock made both women spin toward the utility porch. Marie’s heart leaped into her throat. They’d come! Her family was here! She raced through the utility porch to the back door to find Henry Braun in the open doorway. Her hopes plummeted once more.

“Henry.”

He took off his hat and offered a smile, apparently unaffected by her flat greeting. “Good morning, Marie. I see you’re hard at work.”

She took in his neat appearance—crisp twill trousers and dark blue shirt tucked in at the waist, clean-shaven chin, and hair combed smoothly into place. She ran a quivering hand over her tousled waves, aware of how disheveled she must look in faded jeans and an old
sweatshirt. As heat filled her face, she decided it was good it wasn’t her father at the door—he’d surely disown her a second time if he saw her like this.

A worried frown creased Henry’s forehead. “Are you all right?”

Ducking her head, she released a rueful chuckle. “I’m fine. I just. . .” Shaking her head, she pushed aside the jumble of emotions her disappointment had inspired, met his gaze, and forced a smile. “Come on in. I can’t offer you coffee or anything. . . .”

Henry remained in the doorway between the kitchen and utility porch. “That’s fine. I’ve had my breakfast.”

“Well, we haven’t,” Beth said, transferring cans of vegetables from a box to an upper cabinet. “And we won’t be able to eat decently until Mom figures out the stove.”

“It’s powered by propane.” Henry took a step into the room. “I’m sure there’s still some in the tank. Do you want me to get the stove started for you?”

“That would be great. . .if we have something here to cook.” Marie looked at Beth. “Have we brought in the ice chest?”

“I haven’t.”

Henry turned and headed for the back door. “I’ll bring it in.”

Marie hurried after him. “You don’t have to do that.”

He didn’t look back as he tromped down the porch stairs. His broad shoulders lifted in a brief shrug. “It’s not a problem. I came by to see if you needed anything. Carrying in an ice chest is a simple thing to do.”

Marie stood at the tail of the trailer while Henry ducked and stepped inside. He took hold of the ice chest and dragged it to the opening. Back outside, he stood upright and grinned at her. “That’s heavy. Did you put your refrigerator in there, too?”

Marie slapped a hand to her face. “Refrigerator! Is Aunt Lisbeth’s still—”

“In the basement,” Henry said. “And it operates on a generator, same as always.”

“Beth will love that. She’s so fond of the basement.” Marie grabbed one end of the ice chest and Henry took the other. She grunted as they lifted it.

They struggled up the stairs and into the house. Henry turned backward to get through the doorways. In the kitchen, his gaze bounced from the tabletop to the counter; both were scattered with boxes.

“Let’s just set it on the floor,” Marie suggested.

“Are you sure you don’t want it downstairs, by the refrigerator?”

Marie lowered her end. “I’m not carrying that heavy thing down the basement stairs. And neither are you. I’d rather make several trips.”

Henry released his end with a nod. “I can help you.”

They both straightened, their gazes connecting. Marie felt a blush building again and wished she felt less self-conscious. She wouldn’t feel comfortable until he left. “That’s all right. I’m sure you have things to do.”

She was right—Henry did have things to do. Albrecht’s tractor still didn’t sound quite right when he fired up the engine, and Henry’s fingers itched to fiddle with the carburetor until the engine purred. But, he reasoned, Mr. Albrecht could wait another day or so. Who else would help Marie?