Someday Home (8 page)

I
truly can't stay here any longer.”

The face in the mirror looked ten years older than a year ago. Judith turned away and sank down in her chair, then stared around the room full of antiques and heirlooms. How quickly could she pack up and get her things in storage? A week? What would she take with her? Melody assured her that she was more than welcome to come with no restrictions as to length of time. Their phone conversation still made her smile and feel a warmth cuddle her heart.

“You can use us as a place to regroup and decide what you want to do with the rest of your life. You do understand that you are welcome forever?”

“Thank you, but we shall see. You know what they say about long-term guests and three-day-old fish.”

“Well, since you are family, not a guest, I guess that just doesn't apply here at all. Oh, and something special, there is a big quilting and needlework expo in Minneapolis in a couple of weeks. I already got my tickets and I'll get yours, too. I'm using a coupon I have for us to stay in a hotel right near the center. Half-price.”

“Leave it to you, the coupon queen.”

“Oh, and don't put your sewing machine into storage. I have a couple of projects for us. How long since you did any crocheting or…what else was it you used to do?”

“Mother and I did cross-stitch; well, she did more needlepoint, but we always did it together. I'm sure I have at least one unfinished project, and she was working on something just before she died, in spite of how weak she was. I put all that stuff in a box up in the closet. I'd almost forgotten I should pack some of the sewing room for me, too. Melody, you are good for me.”

“Glad to hear that. See you in a week? Ten days? The sooner the better.”

Judith picked up her notebook and stared around the room again. She'd go room by room and note what things to put in storage, what to pack, and what to leave. At the top of the list: pick up packing boxes. While she had been cataloguing the furnishings of the house, she'd sorted and given some things away, tossed others that were too worn and of no use any longer.

For the next two days she worked from whenever she woke, usually before dawn, until she dropped into bed at night. She made arrangements for a moving company to store the furniture she did own, packed her own boxes, and went up in the attic to find furniture to replace the things she was taking. The movers would put that in place also.

Again, Mr. Odegaard tried to talk her out of leaving, but after apologizing once, she just smiled and stood her ground.

“But what will we do for a caretaker? I thought for sure you would agree to stay.”

“I gave you my decision within the week like I said I would. We had not discussed any further than that.”
And it is no longer my problem.
Funny how she was divesting herself from the responsibilities of the Rutherford House.

She was ready the day the movers came, and by the time they left, while sparse in the sunroom and her bedroom, all the rooms were furnished. She put her overnight case and purse in her car; did another walk-through to make sure all was well; and after dropping the keys off to give to Mr. Odegaard, she drove by the house once more with a good-bye wave and headed out of town. “Good-bye Rutherford, good-bye old life.” Three o'clock, not bad.

Ten miles out of town she gave up, pulled into an empty parking lot, and let the tears roll. She cried for her mother, for what could have been with her father, for her love of the old house, for her dreams of living comfortably either there or elsewhere. But hardest of all to bear was the betrayal. Her father had lied to her. When the tears finally dried up, she leaned her head against the steering wheel. What a simplistic, trusting fool she had been.

Not only was her old life gone, she had no idea what she wanted for her new life. For the rest of her life.

She tipped the seat back to rest her burning eyes for a minute.
Oh, Lord, how am I going to get through all this? At least I have my mother as a good example.
Her mother had been a saint—first of all to put up with her husband and then to live in trust that in spite of all her pain and weakness, God had a plan. She kept reminding Judith how much God loved her.

But if God really loved her, why did He permit her father to treat her like he did? What kind of parent lied to his daughter after using her as nurse, caregiver, secretary, and whatever else his life needed. Chauffeur, at least after Robert left to go help his brother. She shouldn't have been surprised when he was furious with Robert for leaving. Deserting him, he had said. She sucked in a deep breath, the one thing that kept her from boiling at times. Another breath and she could feel her shoulders and the rest of her body relax.
I will get going again in just a moment.

A rap on her window jerked her out of a deep sleep. She turned to see a uniformed officer staring at her.

“Ma'am, are you all right?”

She nodded and pressed the button to roll down the window. Blinking, she nodded. “I'm fine, I guess I was more tired than I thought.” She caught a yawn. “Excuse me.”

“Perhaps you should get out of the car? You know, walk around.”

“I assure you, Officer, I've not been drinking.”

“Better safe than sorry. Fresh air will help you really wake up.” He waited for her to open the door and step outside.

She trapped another yawn but missed the one immediately after. Long shadows showed her she'd been sleeping for perhaps a couple of hours.

“Someone called in when they saw you not moving, afraid you'd suffered a heart attack or something.” All the while he talked, he observed her carefully. “You moving?”

“I am.” She did as he'd suggested and walked around the car. He was right; the fresh air was helping.

“Could I please see your driver's license? Standard procedure, you know.”

“Of course.”
Don't get upset. He's just following procedures, they have to do that.
She reached in the car to dig her wallet out of her purse and handed the license to him.

“Thank you. You know it's about to expire?”

“Really?”

“Didn't you get a notification?”

“Officer, as crazy as life has been since my father died…”

“You are Mr. Sebastian Rutherford's daughter? Of Rutherford House?” At her nod, he smiled. “My folks used to take us to Rutherford for the logging and lumber industry. I remember touring that house and being in awe that people really lived that way any longer.”

“Well, it is now a living history site, so you can take your children there and continue a tradition.”

“Really? That's good news.” He handed her back her license. “Good thing you stopped when you were tired, but a woman alone in a car…Well, even in Minnesota, that is no longer safe. A motel would be far wiser.”

“Thank you, Officer Benson, you have been most kind.” She got back in her car and put her license back in her billfold. He waited until she drove away, hand raised in a farewell wave.

So do I continue on to Melody's or take his advice?
She stopped at the next fast-food place, got some coffee and back on the road. Her cell rang.

“Where are you?” Melody sounded concerned.

“I…well, I hit a crying jag and then fell asleep until an officer tapped on my window.”

“Do you want us to come get you?”

“Don't be silly, I'll be fine. Got some coffee; I should be there in an hour, depending on traffic.”

“Anselm and I can leave right now.”

“Melody, I'm fine.” At least she would be when she mopped the tears that bombarded her at the thought that right now someone cared enough to come get her. “Seriously, I think it was a reaction to the crying; after all, I did leave a whole life behind.”

“You're not a crier.”

“I guess I am now. I might stop and get something to eat, too, so don't worry.”

“Call me.”

“Yes, ma'am.” Judith hung up as her cousin giggled. Between the coffee and the conversation, she drove the remainder of the way without any other incidents, other than slow-and-go traffic, which should have been over by this time. No wonder Melody was worried.

Before she even parked in their driveway, Melody and Anselm both came out the door.

“I was this far from calling you again.” She held her fingers half an inch apart, then threw her arms around Judith.

“I'm sorry, I should have called you again, but I hate to talk on the phone and drive, especially when you see so many red lights in front of you.” Oh, how good it felt to be greeted like this. While Melody and Anselm had come early for her father's funeral and stayed a couple of days after, since then she'd come to realize the friends she used to have in Rutherford had drifted away through the years as more and more of her time was absorbed by her parents, but mostly her father. He did not share well.

“I heard there had been an accident earlier.” Anselm hugged her next. “Leave your car for now, Melody has supper all ready. We can unload later. We're just glad you're here and safe.”

Judith leaned back in and grabbed her purse. Now she was glad she'd not stopped for even a snack, let alone supper. Melody was an excellent cook, something she'd never had to learn to be. Ever since the cook left, she'd been eating ready-made food from the grocery store or a restaurant. She could make sandwiches and salads, which were mostly her favorite foods anyway. Since a caretaker would be living in the house, she'd left the kitchen and all the supplies. She had emptied the refrigerator and given the perishables away.

“You want to wash up while I get the food on the table?” Melody said.

“I do, thank you.”

The guest bathroom, like the entire house and Melody herself, welcomed guests with comfort and peace. The walls wore textured layers of various peaches over a creamy base. Peach-and-cream towels, even peach soap with a bud vase holding a Peace rosebud and a bit of baby's breath. Judith picked up the vase and inhaled her mother's rose garden. Thanks to her mother's love of gardening, Judith had followed in her footsteps. Cut flowers, the results of her choices even though she'd had a gardener to do the hard work, graced each room in Rutherford House. She'd planned on a greenhouse so she could cut flowers during snowstorms if she desired, but when her mother died, the joy went with her.

Why was it today so many of her thoughts returned to times with her mother?

“You sit there.” Melody pointed to the chair where a box wrapped in bright floral paper of pinks and purples and tied with a sparkly ribbon took up much of the plate.

“Melody, I should be the one bringing you gifts.” Judith smiled at Anselm, who waited to pull out her chair. “Thank you.” How many years had it been that someone other than a servant seated her at a table? She was usually the one seating people.

“I saw this and I thought of you.” Melody's grin reminded Judith of when they were girls and loved to surprise each other and their families with gifts.

Anselm seated his wife and patted her shoulder as he moved to his own chair. “You know Melody. Nothing pleases her more than someone liking the present she found for them.”

“I know. Can I open it?”

“Of course. But it is really no big deal.”

Judith slid the ribbon off and didn't bother to try to save the paper. After all, her father was not here to chide her for wasting something. From inside the box she lifted a purple coffee mug with fireworks on one side and the words
Freedom at Last
on the other.

“Highly appropriate.” She thought she was smiling at Melody, but when she had to sniff and Melody was blinking, Judith sucked in a deep breath. “Whew, that was close.”

“Right. No tears at supper.” She lifted the lid on a casserole and the fragrance of mac and cheese made Judith smile. Melody met her with a wide grin and lifting eyebrows. “I know. Tonight we have comfort food.” She pointed to the individual salad molds of green Jell-O, carrots, and mayonnaise, one of the things Melody's mother used to make for their tea parties. Three little girls playing tea party, including Macy, Melody's younger sister, only with real food.

“And she has pulled out all the stops.” Anselm started to push back his chair, then paused. “Let's have grace first and I'll bring in the rest of the feast.” He held out both hands, and after a gentle squeeze, he started “Come, Lord Jesus…”

The two women chimed in with the childhood prayer they had all grown up with. At the amen, he smiled at Judith. “We are glad to welcome you here, too; only as far as we're concerned, you are not a guest, but a beloved sister.”

That did it. Judith watched his retreating back through a liquid veil. Blinking failed to stop or even slow the flow.

“It's okay, Jude, we just want you to understand that for us, family means we stick together.”

Jude, Judy, names never used in her father's presence. Her mind took off for a moment. He used to call her something, a nickname when she was little, before all of life changed in Rutherford. What was it? Or perhaps she made it up.
No!

“What is it?” Melody's voice came soft and easy on the ear.

“Do you remember my father calling me a name not Judith?”

“When we were little?”

“Yes.” Her mind kept digging for it, but the more it dug, the further off the memory floated, tantalizing but leaving. As her mother always said, think on something else and it will return eventually. “Homemade rolls!” One sniff and who cared about a stupid name?

“She said comfort food.” Anselm set a basket with a cross-stitched linen towelette folded over the rolls.

“That's the one I made for you.” Her eyes widened as she smiled at her cousin.

“Of course. I treasure it. And your mother's needlepoint is on the rocker in the living room.”