Remember to Forget (33 page)

“I’ll help, Wren. I’ll be happy to help. We can make centerpieces for the tables and—” She looked around the lobby, and inspiration struck. “It’ll be too hot for a fire, but we could fill the fireplace with candles. Dozens of candles! That would make such a romantic setting.”

She turned to find Wren watching her with an odd smile. “What’s got Miss Meg cooking up romance, I wonder? It wouldn’t have anything to do with our resident carpenter, now would it?”

Maggie took in a sharp breath. “No. Oh, no. Not at all. I mean . . . Trevor’s nice and all, but, well, I barely know him. We barely know each other.”

Wren winked. “I knew Bart Johannsen for three whole weeks before I knew he was the one and only man for me. Sometimes you just know.”

Maggie wondered if Wren knew that Trevor had told her about Jack, and Wren’s youthful indiscretion. She didn’t feel right asking, but—as if Wren had read Maggie’s mind—she offered her story.

A shadow crossed her face. “Now don’t get me wrong. Bart and I didn’t rush to the altar. We took our time to really get to know each other. To make sure God had the same idea we did about our getting married. Once upon a time I didn’t check it out with God.”

She shook her head slowly. “No, that’s not exactly right. I knew what
God thought about it from the beginning. I . . . I just didn’t want to pay attention. Wanted to go my own way. I was too stubborn for my own good.”

She looked up at Maggie. “A lot of people got hurt because of my foolishness.”

Wren’s confession nudged at Maggie’s conscience. “Wren”—Maggie dropped her eyes, hoping she wouldn’t get Trevor in trouble. “Trevor told me a little. He didn’t think you’d mind. He said Jack . . . is your son.”

Wren nodded, averting her eyes. “He’s my son. But I didn’t get to be his mother. Not until he was already grown. I watched him grow up from afar, and you can’t know what a joy and anguish that was all at once. We were friends for a while. Until Amy—Trevor’s wife’s accident.”

The shadow upon her countenance deepened. “It was devastating for him. And I lost him—we all lost him—over it. It’s one of the sorrows of my life, Meg. It was bad enough Trevor losing Amy and Trev. Jack doesn’t seem to see that he’s only made Trevor’s grief worse. He’s become a selfish shell of a man. But of all people, I can’t judge a man for being selfish. It was the root of my own mistake. I’d give anything to undo it.”

“Wren! You don’t have a selfish bone in your body.”

“Oh, honey I do. We all do, truth be told. Only by God’s grace—” She shook her head. “I’ve grown, I’ve grown.” Wren seemed to be far away.

Maggie wanted to touch her, to offer some comfort. But she hesitated, not wishing to intrude on Wren’s private thoughts.

After a moment, Wren came to herself and put on her old, familiar smile. “And you, Meg. I apologize if I pushed a little—you know, with you and Trevor. I fancy myself a matchmaker sometimes.” She gave a musical chuckle. “That’s gotten me into a bit of trouble from time to time, but I’ve had a little success too. Don’t think I haven’t. In fact, you can talk to Kaye and Douglas DeVore about that.”

Maggie laughed, relieved to have Wren back to her cheerful self. “Really?”

Wren winked. “Those kids of theirs—I think there’s half a dozen of ’em now—they practically think of me as Grandma.”

Watching Wren, Maggie’s whole being was bathed in warmth. Knowing that this wonderful, kindhearted woman had made mistakes in her past—the same kinds of mistakes Maggie had made—yet managed to find such joy in life . . . it gave her hope.

And look how people loved Wren. It was enough to make Maggie believe she might someday unearth the same kind of grace Wren found.

Wren moved around the desk, the open calendar in hand. “Well, let’s go find Bart and see if we can sell him on your little idea.”

Maggie laughed. “Oh, it’s not little, Wren. I haven’t told you the half of it yet.”

Wren chuckled, and Maggie followed her up the stairs, feeling happier than she could ever remember.

Meg and Wren whirled around and glared at him like a couple of crabby schoolmarms.

Chapter Thirty-Five

T
revor balanced a knee against the ladder and nailed another section of molding into place where the wall met the ceiling. He worked to the background music of Wren and Meg chattering below him in the dining room. If their banter didn’t tickle him so much, it might have annoyed the life out of him. They cackled away like two keyed-up hens, and they’d been at it for almost a week—ever since Meg had come up with the idea for some kind of after-harvest celebration at the inn. A romantic getaway for couples.

“We could make little centerpieces for each table,” Meg was telling Wren. “Something simple, but maybe with little sprigs of wheat, to go with the harvest theme.”

Wren squealed her approval. “Oh, yes, Meg! Bart’s flower garden should have some good things blooming by then.
Daisies for sure and maybe some zinnias for color.” Wren sounded more excited than Trevor had heard her in a while. Meg was good for Bart and Wren.

She was good for him too. He couldn’t remember when he’d last enjoyed someone’s company the way he did Meg’s. He raked a dusty hand through his hair. Well, of course he could.
Amy.

But Meg made him feel alive again. Ready to go on with his life. He’d started waking up in the morning looking forward to the day and coming home at night to sleep like the proverbial log. He had watched her, day by day, move closer to the truth, closer to understanding God’s love for her. How he longed for her to finally take that step into the Father’s arms.

Meg twirled around, eying the room as if she were planning to remodel. “Could we get a few more tables? So we could have romantic little tables for two.”

“Good grief, child! How many people do you think we’re going to rope into this event?”

“I think you’re going to have to turn people away and plan for a second weekend.”

Wren let out a belly laugh. “Well, I doubt that, Miss Meg, but I sure like the way you think.” She went to the windows that overlooked Main Street. “We’ll get the curtains back up as soon as Trevor’s done in here, but it’s going to be dark outside when we have the dinner. I wonder what we could do with the windows?”

Trevor hollered down from his perch on the ladder, “You could put up Christmas lights.”

Meg and Wren whirled around and glared at him like a couple of crabby schoolmarms.

“You know, the little colored lights that twinkle.” He made a twinkling motion with his fingers. “Like you put on the Christmas tree?”

As if on cue, Wren and Meg exchanged identical looks—expressions
anyone else would have taken to be contempt—or worse. But he knew better and fought back a smile.

Wren propped her hands on her hips and bored holes in him with her eyes. “Listen, buster, you stick with the construction and let us girls handle the decorating.”

He reined in his laughter and offered a sharp salute. “Yes ma’am.”

Meg dissolved in giggles, and Wren chuckled along with her. They lowered their voices, whispering together.

He stopped hammering to catch Meg’s comment.

“You know . . .” She glanced his direction.

He pretended to be preoccupied with fitting a piece of molding flush with the ceiling.

“Don’t tell Trevor I said so”—Meg put her head close to Wren’s—“but the Christmas lights aren’t a half-bad idea.”

“Hey,” he shouted, feeling triumphant. “I heard that!”

More giggling. More whispering. He rolled his eyes—not that anyone noticed—and went back to work. These two were on a mission, and apparently he wasn’t invited.

M
aggie woke to a low rumble on Main Street outside her window. She squinted at the clock, rolled out of bed, and hurried to the window. A parade of mammoth machines—some type of monster tractor—rolled past, followed by several dump trucks and the usual weekday traffic of pickups bringing up the rear. Must be the harvest crews she’d heard so much talk about.

She dressed quickly and went out to the hall to see what was going on but stopped short of the lobby when she saw Bart and Wren, heads bent over the desk where Wren had been paying bills yesterday. They seemed oblivious to the commotion outside. At first Maggie thought
they were praying, and she back-pedaled quietly out of sight. But she listened to their low voices for a moment before she became aware they were discussing business matters.

Maybe Wren was still trying to win Bart over to the idea of the open house. Bart had listened politely when she and Wren talked to him about it last week, but Maggie could tell he wasn’t completely convinced.

She turned and started quietly back to her room, but her ears pricked when she heard her name. She stopped and paused in the hallway, just out of sight.

“It makes no difference to me, Wren.” Bart’s newspaper rattled as he unfolded it. “You’re the one who’s always wanting to do things by the book. I don’t know . . . does the IRS recognize the bartering system?”

Maggie listened to the tinkle of the spoon in Wren’s tea, a morning melody that had become as familiar to Maggie as the clock ticking on her nightstand.

“I don’t know, and I’d just as soon not find out.” Wren lowered her voice, and Maggie had to strain to hear her next words. “And don’t you go looking it up either, Mr. Encyclopedia. The IRS can say what they like, but if I want to have a sweet young woman as a guest in my home, I’ll have her, and I’ll have her for as long as I please.”

Wren meant her! Maggie was touched almost to tears.

“Suit yourself, Wren. She’s a sweet girl, and I have nothing against her staying here. I just don’t want you second-guessing yourself if you have to fudge a little when it comes time to do our taxes.”

“You know I obey the law to a T, but the government has no business telling me who I can or can’t have as a personal guest in my own home.”

Maggie could picture Wren, puffed up like a banty hen, hands on her hips, elbows flapping like wings.

“That may be,” Bart said, “but you may think otherwise if your suspicions are correct and this girl is on the run from the law. Or worse.”

Maggie stifled a gasp at that. Wren thought she was some kind of
criminal . . . and still was defending her right to have Maggie as a guest in her home? It didn’t make sense.

Maggie slunk back to the door of her room, deeply troubled at the thought that poor Wren might be losing sleep worrying that she was harboring a fugitive.

Maggie stood with her hand on the doorknob, feeling guilty that she’d overheard, and now feeling the need to hide out for a while. She’d have to come out to breakfast and act as if she hadn’t heard words that weren’t meant for her ears. More pretending. She pushed the door open.

Jasper meowed behind her and zipped into her room before she could close the door. Meg started to shoo him out but instead lifted the big tabby into her arms and snuggled against the softness of his fur. A wave of longing for her own cat overwhelmed her. She wondered if Kevin had gotten rid of Buttons by now. Maybe she could find a way for Jenn to get the cat out of the apartment.

No. Of course not.
She dismissed the idea as quickly as it had come. She wasn’t thinking straight. If Jennifer came to get the cat from Kevin, it would be a dead giveaway that she knew where Maggie was. She couldn’t risk it no matter how much she missed Buttons. Besides, she didn’t have enough money for her next meal, let alone to transport a cat all the way to Kansas. And where would she put him if she got him here? Jasper had the run of the inn, and Maggie was already pressing her luck with Wren and Bart. Especially now.