Elm Creek Quilts [10] The Quilter's Homecoming (19 page)

When the men finished sowing the barley fields, Oscar split the crew between tending the fields and caring for the sheep. Lars taught Henry how to tend the animals, what commands to call to the border collies to get them to round up the flock, how to spot potential hazards and avoid them. On those days Henry came home at night giving off the thick smell of sweat and sheep. When Elizabeth peeled off his clothes and ordered him into the hot bath she had waiting for him, he sank into the tub and closed his eyes without a word.

Elizabeth chewed the inside of her lip as she watched him from the doorway. She had hoped for at least a thank-you or a kiss on the cheek. Putting aside her hurt feelings, she rolled up her sleeves, knelt beside the tub, and picked up a washcloth and a bar of soap. “You’re filthy,” she told him as she washed his shoulders and neck, working the knots out of his muscles. “And you stink, too.”

“Thanks,” he said dryly, sinking deeper into the tub, eyes closed.

Encouraged by the brief glimpse of his old humor, she rinsed the washcloth, soaped it up again, and moved on to his chest. He rested his head against the rim of the tub and breathed out a barely audible moan. Emboldened, she worked her way lower, down the firm washboard of his waist to his hips, to his thighs—

Suddenly Henry shot upright, grasping the sides of the tub. “What are you doing?”

Startled, Elizabeth fell back onto her heels. “I’m sorry—I—I was only trying to help—”

He reached for a towel, bolted from the tub, and wrapped the towel around his waist, all without looking at her. “I’m going to bed.”

Stung, Elizabeth watched him go. So this is it, she thought. This is married life. He had grown tired of her already.

They had spent their first few Sundays repairing the cabin and making it more comfortable. When there was nothing more toward that end they could do on their budget, Elizabeth resolved that they would enjoy their next day off. Whether they spent it relaxing on their own front porch or venturing out to explore the Arboles Valley, she didn’t care as long as they passed the day together. If only they could spend some time enjoying each other’s company instead of racing from one chore to the next, Henry would remember the hope and confidence that had brought them to California, and he would be affectionate again.

On Friday morning as they hurried to the Jorgensen home, Elizabeth proposed a picnic. “We could explore the Salto Canyon,” she said. “I’ll make us a lunch, and we can look for that waterfall Mary Katherine told us about.”

“I can’t,” said Henry. “I have to work.”

“But it’s Sunday.”

“The animals need to be tended on Sundays, too. Oscar offered to pay me extra if I’d take on the job, and you know I can’t afford to turn away work.” Henry spared her a glance. “But you should go. Ask Mary Katherine and the girls. They could show you the waterfall themselves and you wouldn’t have to search for it.”

“Maybe I’ll do that.” A spark of anger kindled within her. She didn’t care about the waterfall. The search was part of the fun. She wanted to be with her husband. But if he didn’t want her, she was not going to sit around the cabin every Sunday pining for him.

She gave him until lunchtime to reconsider, but when he seemed to have forgotten the invitation, she asked Mary Katherine if she and her daughters were free to go on a picnic Sunday afternoon. Mary Katherine suggested they go to Safari World instead. “It will be my treat,” she added. “I haven’t taken the girls in far too long.”

Elizabeth agreed, curious to meet Charlie the movie-star lion, who woke her at least two mornings out of every seven with a threatening roar that made a shiver run down her spine each time it jolted her awake. When she announced her plans to Henry, it was with a hint of defiance. If he did not want her company, there were others who welcomed it. But without a hint of jealousy or regret, he told her to have a good time and that he would see her at home for supper.

On Sunday, long after Henry had left for work with nothing more for his bride than a quick kiss on the cheek, Elizabeth met Mary Katherine, Annalise, and Margaret at the Jorgensens’ garage, where Mary Katherine was tolerantly accepting some last-minute instructions from Lars about how to handle the temperamental automobile. “I’m going to the post office tomorrow,” he said to Elizabeth, “if you have any letters you’d like me to send.”

Elizabeth thought of the letters to Sylvia and Aunt Eleanor she had struggled to write and could not bring herself to mail, full as they were of half-truths. “I have two I can finish tonight,” she replied. “I’ll bring them to breakfast tomorrow.”

“You’ll probably end up riding along to the post office,” said Mary Katherine after she had turned east onto the main road. “Or running the errand on your own. Mother Jorgensen doesn’t like Lars to go to the Barclays’ alone. He and John don’t get along. Do you know how to drive?”

“A little.” Back in Harrisburg, Gerald had allowed her to take the wheel of his roadster, but only on a little-used stretch of road on the outskirts of town or on the broad, cobblestone circular drive in front of his parents’ mansion. She had not thought of Gerald since Christmas, since Henry’s proposal. She wondered how he had reacted to the news of her marriage. Gerald probably would not have tired of her so soon, judging by how often he encouraged her to drive that roadster into the seclusion of the countryside. How she had enjoyed teasing him by pretending not to know why he wanted to drive so far from prying eyes, and then turning around and driving them back to the city without setting the parking brake even once.

Gerald had probably moved on to another girl by now, one of the Dumb Doras in fringed dresses who clung to his arm at the speaks, a girl who wouldn’t mind if he pulled over the roadster for a nip from a silver flask and a petting party.

“If you’ve driven only a little,” said Mary Katherine as she pulled over to the side of the road, “you need the practice more than I do.”

Elizabeth put up a show of protest but gladly took the wheel when Mary Katherine insisted they trade seats. Mary Katherine coached her through the unfamiliar controls, and soon they were jolting down the dirt road, Annalise and Margaret shrieking with delight in the backseat. They turned south where a road cut through the Jorgensen farm, passing newly sown fields and hills dotted with grazing sheep. Her attention on driving, Elizabeth caught only a glimpse of the high, rocky bluffs that marked the eastern edge of the valley and Jorgensen land. Before long, the southern road linked up with the road she and Henry had taken in Lars’s wagon little more than a month before.

“Turn right here,” Mary Katherine instructed, almost too late for Elizabeth to make the turn. They headed west, away from the Norwegian Grade and toward the Grand Union Hotel. Elizabeth had a sudden vision of Mrs. Diegel setting the long redwood dining table with her Blue Willow wedding china and had to quickly make herself think of something else.

“Turn left, turn left,” Mary Katherine shrieked as they crossed through an intersection with a dirt road. Elizabeth yanked hard on the steering wheel and made the turn with a foot or two to spare. “Sorry,” Mary Katherine gasped, clutching her seat with one hand and her hat with the other. “I forget you don’t know the way. I didn’t mean to take us on such a wild ride.”

“What do you mean?” said Elizabeth innocently. “I always drive like this.”

She caught Mary Katherine’s eye and they laughed.

“We’re almost to Uncle Lars’s farm,” Annalise sang out.

Elizabeth threw Mary Katherine a questioning glance. “It used to be his farm,” Mary Katherine quickly explained. “He sold it long ago, years before I married Oscar. Now it’s—well, you’ll see in a moment.”

The car climbed to the top of a low rise, and as it rumbled downhill, Elizabeth saw rows and rows of newly dug foundations and houses spread out before them, some only half complete, sprouting up like a strange experimental crop between furrows of freshly paved, blacktop roads.

“Welcome to Meadowbrook Hills,” announced Mary Katherine as they approached.

Construction workers raised wooden frames for one-story dwellings as men in suits and ladies in smart dresses and heels wandered from one plot to another guided by real estate agents in loosened neckties. Bulldozers and hammers created such a din that Annalise and Margaret covered their ears, and the real estate agents were clearly shouting to be heard by the customers on the tour. The well-dressed couples carried themselves with so much carefree self-assurance that Elizabeth understood at once why Mrs. Jorgensen had suspected the Nelsons intended to be among them. No one would mistake them for prospective residents of a fashionable new neighborhood now.

“All this was Jorgensen land once,” said Mary Katherine. “Everything from Moorpark Road to that hill. In his will, Oscar’s father divided the farm and left one half to each of his sons.”

“And Lars sold his half to developers?” It made no sense. Why would he sell his own land only to become foreman of his brother’s farm?

“Oh, no. Mother Jorgensen wouldn’t let him in the house if he had. He sold to the Fraisers, but they went broke in the drought a few years ago. They sold the land to the developers.” Mary Katherine shook her head and sighed. “Lars tried to buy it back, but the developers beat his offer. When Mother Jorgensen found out what the new owners intended to do with those lovely, fertile fields, she vowed that she would never forgive them. Of course, I suppose the Fraisers don’t know how much Mother Jorgensen despises them, and if they did, they wouldn’t care. They moved out of the valley as soon as the sale was final.”

“It’s a shame Lars couldn’t buy back the farm after he changed his mind.” Elizabeth felt a deep pang of sympathy for Lars, who despite his taciturn reserve seemed to be a decent, respectable man. “I suppose the price had gone up since he sold to the Fraisers.”

“Oh, that money was long gone. He invested it poorly.” Inclining her head slightly toward the backseat with a look of warning, Mary Katherine extended her thumb and pinkie and made a tippling gesture her daughters could not see. “Prohibition was the best possible thing in the world for some people.”

“I see.” Elizabeth suddenly remembered the crate of empty liquor bottles she had discovered in the cabin and how disparagingly Lars had spoken of the man who drank away so many years there. She never would have guessed he was describing himself. She wanted to ask how Lars had come to such a bad pass, but she doubted Mary Katherine would reveal much in front of her daughters.

“All this happened long before I met Oscar,” Mary Katherine said. “By the time I came to the Arboles Valley, all that land belonged to the Fraisers.”

Surprised, Elizabeth said, “I assumed you were born and raised here, like the Jorgensens.”

“Doesn’t Mother Jorgensen
wish,
” said Mary Katherine with a laugh. “I’m a Reilly, one of the Oxnard Reillys. My father made his fortune in sugar. Perhaps you’ve heard of the Reilly sugar beet? My father developed the variety himself. It has the highest yield of sugar of any sugar beet ever grown.”

Mary Katherine regarded her so hopefully that Elizabeth hated to shake her head. “I’m sorry. I’m not familiar with the sugar industry.”

Disappointed, Mary Katherine shrugged. “Well, you’re new to this part of the country. Everyone from Oxnard to Los Angeles knows of the Reilly family, but of course that didn’t matter to Oscar’s mother. She nearly wept when he told her he intended to marry me. She wanted so badly for him to marry a local girl who knew the local ways. She’s never quite forgiven me for being an outsider and stealing her son’s affections.” She shifted to face the backseat. “I don’t think I need to tell you girls not to repeat that to anyone.”

“No, Mama,” said Annalise indignantly. Margaret shook her head emphatically.

“I probably shouldn’t speak so freely in front of them,” Mary Katherine remarked, turning back around to face front. “It’s just so difficult sometimes with so few other ladies around to chat with. My friends told me I was crazy to move out here to the country, but I was head over heels for Oscar and wouldn’t listen to reason. I still am, and I still don’t.” She laughed. “That’s one reason why I’m so glad you came to the valley. It puts my heart at ease to have a friend so near.”

Elizabeth smiled, pleased that Mary Katherine claimed her as a friend, but she could not help thinking of someone else who might have been grateful for Mary Katherine’s company. “Rosa Barclay isn’t far away.”

“I suppose not, but Rosa isn’t exactly someone a girl can drop in on for coffee and a chat, is she?”