How Sweet It Is Page 4
Clenching his jaw, he forced thoughts of Chris into the back of his mind before slipping the mobile phone from his pocket and checking for messages. No calls, but he did have a few texts. He answered each of them before opening his mail app. Nothing there that required his attention. Why would there be with Laffriot on hold? He drew a breath as he dropped the phone back into his pocket.
“Here you go.”
He glanced up as Holly stopped nearby.
She smiled as she set the large plate in front of him. “Anything else you need?”
He spared a quick glance at the food before shaking his head. “I think I’m set. Looks great.” He wasn’t lying. The fish did look amazing, as promised.
“Well, then. Enjoy.”
“I’m sure I will.”
More customers entered the restaurant. Holly gave Jed a nod, then strode toward the new arrivals while he turned his attention to his dinner.
Thursday, June 19, 1969
From the bedroom where Andrew lay flat on his back for the third day in a row, he heard his grandson, Grant Henning, talking to Helen, but he couldn’t make out their words. It frustrated him that he couldn’t simply rise and walk out to join the conversation. He felt like a condemned prisoner, stuck there in his bed.
The same day that Andrew’s back had gone out on him, Grant had arrived to mow the hay, eliminating any worry that it would fall victim to late spring rains. No surprise there. Grant loved this farm the same way Andrew did. The young man had studied agriculture in college—primarily horticulture and animal husbandry—and according to him, his current employment was only a stopgap. His goal was to own a farm of his own.
Andrew closed his eyes. At least one of them turned out to be like me.
As much as his children talked fondly about growing up on the farm, none of them had wanted to be farmers. They’d all chosen other paths as young adults. And of his and Helen’s eight grandchildren, only Grant—Ben’s oldest boy—wanted to be a farmer. The others were all living out their own dreams and aspirations. As it should be, Andrew knew. But he was glad that Grant loved the land and the animals like his grandfather.
It hadn’t always been that way. Andrew’s goal had been to become a successful businessman after graduating from the university. He’d wanted to live in the city and own a fancy car and buy his wife a large house. But then had come the crash, followed by the decade known as the Great Depression. Those years had changed everything. If he was honest, they’d probably saved him from himself. They’d put his feet firmly on God’s path, and he was thankful for it.
“Hey, Grandpa.”
Opening his eyes, Andrew turned his head on the pillow and looked toward the doorway.
Grant smiled at him. “How’re you feeling?”
“A little better, I think.” Not true, but it seemed the right thing to say.
“Well, don’t try to rush anything. Grandma’s worried you’ll get up too soon and make your back even worse.”
“I wouldn’t dare incur her wrath.” He chuckled, but stopped when the small action caused pain to shoot through him.
Grant crossed to the side of the bed and sat on the nearby chair. “I’ve rounded up help for the baling on Saturday. The weather’s supposed to stay dry into next week, so we’ll be good. Nothing for you to worry about.”
“Can’t tell you how much I appreciate the help, my boy.”
“I’d rather be doing this than anything else.”
“I know.”
Grant glanced toward the doorway and back again. “I was thinking, maybe I should come stay with you and Grandma for the summer. She says the doctor wants you to take it easy for quite a while. If I was here, I could do lots more than take care of this one cutting.”
“That’s a lot for you to add on top of your job. Not to mention getting ready for your wedding in the fall.”
“My work’s no big deal. Just a bit of extra driving each day there and back.” His grandson grinned. “As for the wedding, my mom and Charlotte’s mom have everything under control. My only job is to turn up when they tell me to.”
“Come to think of it, that’s the role of most grooms.” Andrew kept from laughing again, but only just.
“Then it’s settled. When I come on Saturday for the baling, I’ll bring all my stuff with me.”
Chapter 4
Photographs were spread across the coffee table on that Sunday afternoon, filling every square inch of the surface. Most of them were black and white but there were colored photos as well, beginning in about the 1960s, he guessed. One by one, Jed picked them up, studying the subjects, turning the photos over to see if any names or years or locations had been written on the back. When he discovered identities, he placed them in associated piles. Photographs still in question went in other piles.
Jed hadn’t expected the boxes of letters, journals, and photographs to be of any interest to him, but once he’d started poking through them—more out of boredom and the need for something to fill time—he’d found himself intrigued to know more about the family members he’d never met or had barely known. Of course, he had his own memories of his grandparents and host of cousins from his early childhood and other memories from the times his dad had brought them back for family reunions. Still, there was so much he didn’t know, and the glimpses he was getting from the past intrigued him.
He picked up a photo of Andrew and Helen Henning. Their wedding photograph. The paper had cracked over time, but their faces were clear. Young faces. Still in their early twenties, their lives stretching out before them, filled with hope. Andrew had been a recent college graduate at the time they’d married, and they’d moved into this basement apartment soon after the photograph had been taken.
Jed glanced up, trying to imagine the newlyweds in this small living room. Hard to believe that had been over ninety years ago. Imagine that. Ninety years ago, members of his own family had sat in this room. Perhaps in one of the nearby boxes he would find a photo or two taken here.
His gaze moved to a small end table where Andrew’s Bible rested. It contained a treasure-trove of underlined passages, brief thoughts, names, dates, even some prayers. Jed had only flipped through the book quickly, but he intended to return to it for a more thorough study. He suspected that between the photos and letters found in these boxes, plus that Bible, he would uncover a great deal about his extended family.
He looked at the wedding photo again. Chris bore a rather strong resemblance to their great-grandfather. The same dark hair, a bit scruffy around the collar. The same thick eyebrows. The same prominent nose. In the photo, Andrew had attempted a serious look, but the corners of his mouth had tipped up enough to reveal his happiness.
Jed tried to picture Chris looking happy. He couldn’t remember such a look in recent years. Not since childhood. In his mind he heard a particular squeal of joy that had been uniquely his kid brother’s. It could have pierced an eardrum. Then he remembered the years when Chris had tried to tag along with Jed and his friends. What a pest, but more often than not Jed had let him come.
What had changed that happy-go-lucky, fun-natured kid into a surly teenager and then a man with no ambition? He wished he knew. He wished he understood.
With a shake of his head, he returned to sorting photos and had been at it for about ten minutes when he heard a loud crash from overhead. He looked at the ceiling, wondering what his landlady had dropped. Had to be big and heavy, whatever it was. He lowered his gaze, but the silence from above seemed louder than the noise had been. What if Holly had fallen? Or what if something had fallen on her? Still hearing no movement, he couldn’t take it. He rose and headed out of the apartment.
The steps to the back door of the main house were a short distance from the apartment stairwell. He climbed them and knocked. The seconds seemed to drag by while he waited. He was about ready to try the knob and go in without invitation when the door opened before him. He felt relief, seeing Holly was unharmed.
“Jed?”
“I’ve got a bit of a mess, I’m afraid.” Leaving the door open, she turned and disappeared.
Jed hesitated a few moments, then followed her into the kitchen.
There was, indeed, a mess. Batter of some kind was splattered on the countertop and the cupboard doors beneath it. There was a thick pool of the mixture on the floor, an overturned stainless-steel bowl in the middle of it.
Holly walked to the counter to inspect a red mixer, also covered in batter. “It better not be broken.” Then, glancing over her shoulder at Jed, she said, “It got knocked onto the floor with everything else.”
He was about to say something—he didn’t know what—but a loud meow beat him to it. He turned his head in time to see a long-haired orange tabby cat serpentine its way through the legs of a bar stool.
“You are not my favorite at the moment.” Holly cast a glare in the feline’s direction.
Jed took a step into the room. “Can I help?”
She faced him. “Oh, I couldn’t ask you to—”
“No problem.” He pointed toward the paper towels at the far end of the counter. “Shall I start with those?” He didn’t wait for her answer. “What happened? The cat didn’t push the mixer off the counter, did he?”
“She. And no, Pumpkin didn’t push it off. She’s big but not that big.”
Paper towels in hand, he squatted opposite Holly and began wiping up the gooey mess before him.
“The fault was mine,” she continued, ending with, “But she started it.”
“Sorry. I’m a little confused.”
Holly stood and ran water over a cloth. After wringing it out, she knelt again, washing the floor with it. “Pumpkin isn’t allowed on the kitchen counters. I’d turned off the mixer when up she came, right where she knows she shouldn’t be. I reached to shoo her off, and somehow my arm got tangled with the cord, and when I pulled back, down the mixer and bowl went. It was so stupid of me.” She pushed hair from her face with the back of her wrist, looking as if she might cry.
“Why don’t you see if the mixer’s all right, and I’ll finish wiping things up.”
“You don’t have to—”
“No problem,” he answered a second time. “Besides, I’m already doing it.” He smiled, hoping it would make her do the same. It didn’t work.
Jed returned to wiping up the last of the batter with the paper towels, but he stopped again when he heard the sound of the mixer running, first low, then medium, then high. He looked up. Holly was smiling at last.
She must love that mixer.
“What was this going to be?” He stood and tossed the paper towels into the trash.
“A cake.”
“Somebody’s birthday?”
She shook her head. “No. Just trying out a new recipe.”
“At least the mixer’s okay.”
“A good thing. That one cost me a pretty penny. I bought it when I had plans to . . . do more baking.”
He ran water over his hands, washing them. After shutting off the water, he said, “You must enjoy it if you do it on your day off from the restaurant.”
“Oh, I don’t do the baking at Sweet Caroline’s. No time for it.” A shadow passed over her face as she handed him a towel.
* * *
Holly could have told Jed that she’d once fantasized about inventing some marvelous concoction that would become a perennial on restaurant menus everywhere. Later, she’d focused on creating wedding cakes that were works of art. She’d even envisioned herself on the cover of magazines. Chef Holly, the headlines of her imagination had proclaimed, and the whole world would have known who she was. She swallowed a sigh, determined to drive away such thoughts. They had no place in reality.
“Well . . .” Jed folded the hand towel and laid it on the counter. “I guess my work here is done.”
“I’m really sorry you got sucked into helping with the cleanup.”
“Hey. Stop apologizing. I heard a noise and came to make sure you were all right.”
Holly wasn’t too keen on the idea of this man—any man—rushing to her rescue. Better that she look out for herself. Jed seemed nice enough, but she didn’t know him. Couldn’t know him. A man’s true nature could be disguised well and for a long time. Nathan had taught her that. Better to be wary. Casual friendships might be okay, but she wasn’t about to let anyone get too close.
Jed tipped his head to one side. “If it’ll make you feel better, I’ll take a slice or two of that cake when you get it made.” He grinned. “Well, not that cake. I’d prefer one that hasn’t been mopped off your floor.”
Despite herself, she had to smile at his joke. “Deal.”
“Okay. I’ll hold you to it.” He moved toward the back door but came to an abrupt halt when Pumpkin jumped into his path. The feline promptly rubbed against his legs, her purr reverberating in the room.
The sound surprised Holly. Pumpkin didn’t warm to strangers. Especially not men. The cat had never liked Nathan. That should have been Holly’s first clue. “She likes you.”
“You think?” He glanced over his shoulder as the cat continued to rub back and forth against him.
Going to his rescue, she picked up Pumpkin, cradling the cat close to her chest.
“I didn’t want to step on her,” he said, as if an explanation was needed.
“Or trip over her.”
“Yes, that too.”
“You’re safe now.”
“Appreciate it.” He touched his forehead, as if tipping a hat. “See you later.”
Holly waited to set the cat on the floor until the back door had swung closed behind Jed. “Stay out of trouble, you.”
Pumpkin meowed, then strolled toward the living room with obvious superiority.
Laughing softly, Holly turned toward the sink again. She took another dishcloth from a drawer and washed away the last remains of her mixing disaster from the cabinets and floor. When she was done with that, she cleaned the mixer, bowl, and countertop. Once everything was back in order, she considered a second attempt at cake making, but the desire had left her. Perhaps she would spend the rest of her Sunday afternoon on the sofa with something cool to drink and a good book. Reading was a favorite pastime, but usually the only free time she had to pursue it was bedtime. And then she was so tired that she had to turn out the light after only a few minutes, no matter how great the book was.
Her phone rang, intruding on her thoughts. When she picked it up, she smiled, seeing her younger sister’s photo on the screen. “Hi, Trix,” she answered.
“Hey, Holly. What are you up to?”
“Nothing much. How about you?”
“Same.”
Holly settled onto the sofa, preparing for a nice long visit. She’d always been close to her younger sister. More like best friends than relatives.
Her sister cleared her throat. “Well, that isn’t entirely true. I have been up to something. Something I need to tell you.”
“What?”
“I’m afraid it might upset you.”
“Why would it upset me?” What-ifs sprang to mind, and her gut tightened.
Silence followed for what seemed a long while before Trixie answered, “Brett proposed last night.”
Holly sucked in a breath of air. She didn’t want the news to make her feel sorry for herself, and yet that was the first emotion to shoot through her. She pushed it away as fast as she could. “Proposed. That’s wonderful. Brett’s a great guy. When do you plan to get married?”
“In June.”
“In June?” Holly straightened away from the back of the sofa. “This June? Two months is hardly enough time to plan a wedding.”
Trixie laughed airily. “You know I always wanted a June
wedding. And I’m not waiting another whole year.”
Holly and Trixie’s older sister, Beth, had been married twelve years and had made the two of them aunts three times over. Now Trixie, not even two years out of college, was getting married too. As for Holly . . .
She closed her eyes against the memories. She’d fought through the rejection. The depression. The feelings of being lost and alone. The feelings of hopelessness. And yet they still tried to claw their way back at times.
“Holly, I want you to make our wedding cake. Is that too much to ask?”
“Me?”
“Who else? You are the absolute best pastry chef in the world. Your cakes are gorgeous.”
“I’m a little out of practice.”
“No, you aren’t. I mean, if you don’t want to, I’ll understand. Really I will. But if you could . . .”
How could she refuse? Her specialty had always been wedding cakes, and she loved her sister. How could she not want to do this, even if it was a reminder of her own disappointment?
“Before you answer,” Trixie continued, “you should know that I also want you to be my maid of honor. Can you do both? Please tell me you can do both.”
She swallowed hard and answered, “Of course I can do both.”
“Perfect! Absolutely perfect!” After drawing a breath, Trixie launched into a quick rundown of everything she hoped to have happen. First on her list was to find the perfect venue for the wedding. Their mom wanted it to be in their church in the Stanford family’s hometown of Thunder Creek. But Trixie had her heart set on an outdoor ceremony, preferably with mountains as a backdrop. “We’ve thought about McCall or Garden Valley, but that’s asking guests to drive a long way and probably have to rent rooms to spend the night before they could go home again. I’m hoping we can find something in Boise or Eagle maybe.”
They talked for another fifteen or twenty minutes before Trixie announced that her fiancé had arrived at the house. “Gotta go. We’ll talk again soon. Love you.”