Bygones (4 page)

Marie laughed ruefully. “She won’t give in.” Even though Beth had never known her father, she had inherited many of Jep Quinn’s characteristics. The tendency to act first and think second was very much like him. But even after a lot of thought, Beth was unlikely to concede to Aunt Lisbeth’s requirement.

Marie didn’t know what to say. There had been a time when she and Henry had spoken freely with each other. But those days were long gone, buried under years of separation. Standing in his presence now was uncomfortable. And sad.

“I’ll mail you a copy of the will.” Henry’s low-toned voice carried a hint of regret.

“Thank you.” Marie finally met his gaze. His velvety eyes locked on hers, causing an unusual patter in her heart. “It was kind of you to make the long drive,” she blurted out. “I hope your family didn’t mind you taking the time off.”

Henry blinked twice, his sooty lashes momentarily shielding his eyes. Then he swallowed and picked up his hat, putting it on his head. “Lisbeth was my only family.” Without another word, he slipped out the door.

M
itch, it was the most aggravating thing!” Beth slammed her fist against her pillow. Clicking the hands-free button on her cell phone, she held the phone like a microphone and continued to vent her frustration. “Can you imagine the nerve of that guy? Standing in my living room, telling me I have to live in some tiny little backwoods town for three whole months just to claim an inheritance. It is so totally stupid!”

She jumped up from her bed and stomped back and forth across the small bedroom. “And Mom just stood there, saying nothing.” A pang of guilt struck. “I mean, I kind of understand. She got a shock, finding out her favorite relative died.” The ire rose again. “But still, she knows as well as I do that we aren’t welcome there. Why didn’t she just tell him to get out?”

From the other end of the line, Mitch’s husky chuckle sounded. “Maybe because your mama is a lady, and a lady doesn’t holler ‘Get out’ at a visitor?”

Flopping across the bed, Beth threw one arm over her head. She pictured Henry Braun standing uncertainly beside the couch while she aimed her mace can at him, and she laughed. “You should have seen the way he was dressed—straight out of
Little House on the Prairie
.”

“Oh, yeah?” Mitch’s voice held humor. “One of those bowl haircuts and a beard that hangs down to his chest?”

“No.” Beth twirled a strand of hair around her finger. “Real short, neat haircut. And no beard. Actually a pretty decent-looking man for an older guy, except for those clothes. They made him look so. . .backward.” She snorted. “Did he really think I’d go live with a whole town full of people like him? No, thanks!”

Mitch’s husky laughter sounded again.

She sighed. “I told him to figure out some way to sell the property and send me the money. But I doubt he’ll do it. Mom said if I don’t meet the condition, my
grandfather
”—she managed to make the title sound like a dirty word—“will get it all instead.”

“Is that what you want?”

Beth’s throat felt tight. “No! He shouldn’t get anything after what he did to Mom—sending her away in disgrace, like she’d done something terrible by marrying my dad and having me.”
What kind of a father disowns his child?
Beth wondered for the hundredth time.

“Listen. . .”

Beth’s fingers tightened on the phone as Mitch’s tone turned wheedling.

“Maybe you ought to back up and look at the big picture.”

“What do you mean. . .‘big picture’?”

“Now don’t get riled.”

“I’m not riled!”

Mitch’s laugh did nothing to soothe Beth’s jangled nerves. Sitting up, she growled into the phone, “I’m going to hang up.”

“No, Lissie, come on—listen to me.”

Beth crossed her leg and bounced her foot.

“That guy said you’d have to live in. . .what’s the name of the town?”

“Sommerfeld.” The word was forced between gritted teeth.

“Sommerfeld. But just for three months. You’d be out of there by Christmas. You’d have the money in hand to start our business right after the first of the year.”

“But, Mitch—”

“Besides, that town full of. . .what’s the religious group?”

Beth huffed. “Mennonites.”

“That town full of Mennonites has to be loaded with antiques. I mean, those people don’t buy new stuff very often. There’s bound to be tons of things you could pick up—probably for a song—to put in our boutique.”

Beth stood, her stomach fluttering. “You want me to
go
?”

“Like I said, it’s only three months. Drop in a bucket.” His chuckle sounded again. “I could live in an igloo in Antarctica for three months if it meant gaining a pocket full of cash and a storehouse of goods for our business.”

“Fine.” Beth grated out the word. “I’ll book you an igloo in Antarctica, and you can leave in the morning.”

Mitch’s full-throated laughter rang. “Oh, Lissie, you are too cute.”

Dropping back to the bed, Beth sighed. “I’m not trying to be. I really don’t want to go to that town.”

“Not even for the money?”

“No.”

“Not even for the antiques?”

“No.”

A slight pause. “Not even for us?”

His persuasive undercurrent melted a bit of Beth’s resolve. “Mitch. . .”

“Three months, Lissie. That’s not such a huge price to pay for our future, is it?”

Beth fell backward, bouncing the mattress. “You are so annoying.”

Another chuckle. “But lovable, right?”

Despite herself, Beth released a short giggle. “So. . .if I go, will you come, too?”

A snort blasted. “Yeah, I can imagine how well I’d fit in there. As inconspicuous as a snake in a jar of jelly beans.”

Beth giggled, thinking of Mitch’s hair that curled over his collar in the back and stuck up in gelled spikes on top of his head. Not even one of those flat-brimmed black hats would make him blend in with the Mennonites if they all dressed like Henry Braun.

“But,” Mitch continued, “I think you should take your mom.”

Beth released a low whistle. “No way. Mom will never set foot in Sommerfeld again.” Flat on her back, she stared at the ceiling, remembering the pain in her mother’s eyes when she explained to eight-year-old Beth why she had no grandparents to visit at Christmastime like her friends had.

“But it would give you some company.” The persuasive tone returned. “And surely she knows how to run a café after all the years she’s spent working in restaurants. A working café would bring in more money than one that’s sat empty for a while. She’d help you out, wouldn’t she?”

“I couldn’t ask her to!” Beth rolled onto her stomach and propped herself up with her elbows. “She hasn’t seen her family since I was two weeks old. That’s more than twenty years. Imagine how hard it would be for her to go back.”

“Aw, let bygones be bygones.” Mitch’s flippant tone raised Beth’s ire. “For the chance at maybe thirty thousand smackers, she can set aside her differences.”

Beth set her jaw, allowing her lack of response to communicate her displeasure at his uncaring attitude. After a long pause, Mitch’s voice came again, more subdued.

“Lissie?”

“Yeah?”

“At least ask her. There’s not much mothers won’t do for their kids.”

Beth knew that. Mom had given up her entire life for her—sometimes working two jobs to be sure they had a decent place to live and the extras like braces and gymnastics lessons and a vacation every summer. Beth hadn’t had to pay a penny for college—Mom had squirreled away enough money over the years to cover the cost of her associate degree in interior design. If Beth asked, Mom would go. But was it fair to ask?

“You gonna think about it?”

Mitch’s voice jarred Beth back to the present. “Yeah.” She drew in a long breath and let it out slowly. “I’ll think about it.”

“Good girl.”

The approving tone sent a shiver down Beth’s spine. He seemed to be counting the money already. “No guarantees, Mitch,” she reminded him.

His chuckle, which was becoming annoying, rumbled one more time. “You know, Lissie, I think I know your mama better than you do. ’Bye, babe.”

Beth stared at the blank screen on the cell phone for a long time before flipping it closed. She sat up, placed the phone on the whitewashed nightstand, and replayed Mitch’s arguments. Maybe he was right. Three months wasn’t that much, considering the payoff.

Beth looked around her simple bedroom with its secondhand furniture. Mom had always given her the best she could afford, even if it meant doing without something herself. How many of the clothes in her mother’s closet came from Goodwill? Even though she was on her feet all day, she never bought the expensive, cushy shoes but chose discount stores so she could do more for her daughter. Mom gave and gave and gave. Maybe it was time for Beth to give back.

If Beth went to Sommerfeld and met the condition of the will, she’d be in a position to pay her mom back. Take her shopping and let her pick out an outfit that didn’t come from the clearance rack. Or maybe take her on a vacation. Mom had told her how Dad promised to show her the United States from shore to shore, but she’d gotten pregnant and couldn’t travel. And then, of course, he’d died.

Even though Beth had never met her father, she still missed him. Mom had tried so hard all her life to be both mother and father. . .to keep Beth from feeling as though her life was incomplete. She’d done a great job, but there was that constant spot in her heart where a father’s love should have been.

Beth rose and moved to her dresser, picking up the framed snapshot of her parents, taken when Mom was about halfway through her pregnancy. Dad stood behind her, his chin on her shoulder, his hands cupping the gentle mound of her belly. A lump filled Beth’s throat. Her daddy would have loved her. She just knew it. And he would never have cast her aside, the way Mom’s dad had done.

She set the picture down, her lips pursed, forehead creased. That old man should not get the money meant for her.

“Well,” she mumbled, turning toward the bedroom door and sucking in a big breath, “the only way to find out what Mom thinks about all this is to ask her.” She headed for her mother’s bedroom.

Henry pulled into the first gas station he encountered when he entered Kimball, Nebraska. Dusk had fallen, and the air had a nip in it as it whipped around the pumps and pushed at his hat. The odor of gasoline filled his nostrils, reminding him of the smell that surrounded the truck stop where Marie spent her days.

She was still pretty, he acknowledged, as he forced the nozzle into the opening of the fuel tank and clicked the handle. The modern
clothing and short hairstyle hadn’t been to his taste, but her blue eyes still had their sparkle, and the cleft in her chin was as appealing as it had always been.

As a young man, courting Marie, he’d wanted to kiss that little cleft, but bashfulness had held him back. Looking at her today, he’d had the same impulse. His stomach clenched. Who would have thought a man of his age would harbor such a boyish whim? It was best to put those thoughts aside. Marie had made her choice. She made it twenty-three years ago when she climbed into Jep Quinn’s semi and rolled down the highway without waving good-bye.