The Quilter's Legacy (12 page)

“I'm not homeless,” Andrew called after him. “My home's in Pennsylvania.”

“But, Dad …” Cathy hesitated. “That's Sylvia's home, isn't it? And you can't really call your RV a home.”

Bob added, “What Cathy means is—well, we know we've been through this before, but it can't hurt to try again. You know we'd be honored if you'd consider making our house your home.”

Cathy leaned over to Sylvia and confided, “We hoped you would help us convince him.”

Speechless, Sylvia could only raise her eyebrows at Cathy. Before she could fumble for a response, Kayla squealed, “You mean Grandpa's moving in?”

Cathy reached over to settle her down. “We have to discuss it first.”

“There's nothing to discuss,” said Andrew.

Bob returned to the table and rested his hands on his wife's shoulders, his handsome face creased in concern. “Dad, you know you can't stay on the road forever, and when that time comes, you'll want to be with family.”

“Sylvia's home is my home,” declared Andrew, missing Sylvia's warning look, “and she's going to be my family, too, as much as you are, so you can stop this nonsense about moving in. I love you very much, but I already have a home and I like it just fine.”

Bob and Cathy stared at him.

Sylvia sighed and gazed heavenward, wishing Diane were present to break the shocked silence with a witticism.

Andrew shifted in his seat and reached for his lemonade, but did not drink. “This wasn't how I planned to tell you.”

A slow smile of delight spread over Angela's face. “Grandpa, are you getting married?”

Andrew took Sylvia's hand, glanced at his son, and said, “Yes, sweetheart, we are.”

Angela and Kayla burst into cheers. They bolted from their chairs and showered Andrew with hugs and kisses. “Can I be a bridesmaid?” asked Kayla. “Please? My best friend was one in her mother's wedding, and she got to wear the prettiest dress.”

“Don't ask me. I'm not in charge of the bridesmaids. Ask the bride here.”

Kayla turned to Sylvia, hopeful. “Can I? Please? I'll do a good job.”

“I'm sure you would,” said Sylvia, wanting to add that she wasn't certain she was any more in charge of the bridesmaids than Andrew. Likely that role now belonged to Diane or one of the other Elm Creek Quilters. She wanted to assure the girls that they would play an important role in the ceremony, but at the moment she was more concerned about Bob and Cathy, who sat silent and immobile in their chairs.

“I suppose this comes as a bit of a surprise,” said Sylvia.

“Maybe a little,” Cathy managed to say.

Andrew's expression grew serious. “Thank you for your good wishes, girls,” he said to his granddaughters. “Sylvia and I know this is unexpected, but we also know you care about us and our happiness, and so even if this is unsettling, you're going to be happy for us.”

“It's not unsettling,” said Kayla.

Bob patted Cathy lightly on the shoulders until she also rose. “Congratulations, Dad,” said Bob, rounding the table to hug his father. As Cathy embraced Andrew in turn, Bob hugged Sylvia and lightly kissed her cheek. She thanked him, but as he drew back to allow Cathy to hug her, Sylvia thought she saw tears shining in his eyes. When Bob abruptly announced he was going inside for the steaks, Cathy stammered an excuse and hastened after him.

Sylvia smiled brightly at Andrew. “That went well.”

Andrew managed a rueful smile. “Now you know why I wanted to tell them in person.”

“Oh, my, yes. The look on your son's face when he heard the news is sure to become one of our fondest memories of our engagement.”

“I like the part where they ran into the house better,” said Angela. When Andrew and Sylvia looked at her, she added, “What? It's not like I don't know why they're freaking out.”

“They're not freaking out,” said Kayla, a trifle too forcefully, then asked, “Is everything going to be okay?”

“It will be,” said Sylvia, when Andrew said nothing. “Once everyone has a chance to get used to the idea.”

They all turned at the sound of the screen door sliding open. Cathy and Bob returned to the patio, their expressions somber, and the steaks nowhere to be seen. “Girls, will you please go to the kitchen and fix the salad?” asked Cathy. The girls nodded and hurried inside.

“Dad.” Bob sat down beside Andrew. “I'm sorry for my reaction. Really. I'm very happy for you. For both of you.”

“We should have known you two would have other plans,” added Cathy, with an apologetic smile for Sylvia. “You've grown so close over the years.”

“We also should have known you wouldn't want to move in with us,” said Bob. He forced a laugh. “In a way I'm glad. We won't have to give up the computer room.”

“But—” Cathy hesitated.

Andrew's eyebrows rose. “But?”

Cathy steeled herself with a deep breath. “This isn't easy to say—”

“Then maybe you should keep it to yourself.”

“Dad, have you really thought this thing through?” said Bob. “I mean, you and Sylvia are both in good health now, but what if she—if either of you—well, what if your circumstances change? Have you thought about what that will mean?”

Andrew looked from Bob to Cathy and back, his expression darkening. “Are you trying to say we're too old to get married?”

“No,” said Cathy. She and Bob avoided looking at Sylvia. “Of course you're not.”

Sylvia heard the inadvertent emphasis on the word “you're,” and stiffened.

“Our wedding vows will say ‘in sickness and in health,’ same as yours.” Abruptly Andrew rose. “We're going to make those vows, and keep them, the same as you. Whether you like it or not.”

He stormed into the house, closing the sliding door with a bang.

“I wish I could put your minds at ease,” said Sylvia. “Your father and I visit our doctors regularly and we're both fit as fiddles. I certainly wouldn't marry Andrew if I thought I would become a burden to him.”

“I'm sure your friends at Elm Creek Manor find that as comforting as we do,” said Cathy.

B
y the time supper was ready, Andrew's temper had cooled, but a tension hummed in the air around the picnic table as they ate. Cathy engaged Sylvia in polite conversation about Elm Creek Quilt Camp while the men ate with silent deliberation on opposite ends of the table, looking anywhere but at each other. The girls' eyes darted from one adult's face to the next, anxious. Sylvia felt sorry for them, so when the meal was finished, she began collecting the dishes and asked for their help. She ushered them inside to the kitchen, thinking to give Andrew an opportunity to talk to Bob alone. Within minutes, however, Andrew joined them in the kitchen, shaking his head, his eyes glinting with anger. His granddaughters pretended not to notice.

Together they tidied the kitchen and went into the living room to play cards. Bob and Cathy came in soon after, their expressions somber. Cathy made coffee and served dessert, and the family spent the rest of the evening playing games and chatting politely and cautiously on inoffensive topics. This seemed to relieve the girls but irritated Sylvia, who knew all too well what little good came of ignoring conflicts.

Later, Sylvia and Andrew bid their hosts good night and went to the guest room where Sylvia customarily slept. Andrew barely waited to close the door before dropping his facade of affability. “I thought they might have a problem, but not because of some ridiculous concerns about your health.” He sat down hard on the bed, a muscle working in his jaw. “I won't have it. I won't be patronized like that.”

“They love you. They worry.”

“They can show their concern some other way. We are not too old to get married. After all, John Glenn went into outer space at seventy-seven.”

“And after that, marriage would seem easy,” said Sylvia lightly. “Not that Bob would agree. I thought you said he would be the easy one.”

“My prediction stands.”

“Well, I can't say you didn't give me fair warning, but spare us the wrath of Amy. You do realize there's always the phone, or we could write.”

“I'm tempted, but then I'd have to explain why I told her brother in person but not her. No, when you have two kids, you have to keep things equal.” Andrew sighed and rose, pulling Sylvia gently to her feet. “You do know it's not you, right? They like you.”

“I realize that,” said Sylvia. “They just don't think I'm qualified for the position of stepmother.”

“None of this changes how I feel about marrying you. I still know I'm the luckiest man in the world.”

Sylvia gazed heavenward. “Oh, please, Andrew. Not the luckiest. Perhaps if you had caught me in my prime—”

He put a finger to her lips, then kissed her. “As far as I'm concerned, you
are
in your prime.”

After he left for the fold-out sofa in the computer room, Sylvia felt a sudden pang of homesickness, tempered only by the sight of the familiar Glorified Nine-Patch quilt on the bed. She had made it for Bob and Cathy after they had admired a similar quilt featured on an Elm Creek Quilts brochure. Cathy must have known how it would comfort her—and honor her quilt-making skill, since by tradition a family reserved for guests their best and most beautiful quilt.

Still, when she drew the quilt over herself in the darkened room, she wondered if she might not have preferred the sort of comfortably worn quilt one would give to a member of the family. And as she mulled over Andrew's parting words, she wondered what his son and daughter-in-law had said to make him feel he had to reassure Sylvia of his love.

She wondered which one of them most needed reassurance.

E
ven this far inland, night mists off the ocean flowed into the valleys, so dense that Sylvia could barely make out the fence from the patio door. When Kayla took her outside to pick an orange, Sylvia shivered in her thin cardigan and was glad to pluck a dew-covered fruit from the tree and hurry back inside. Later, at the breakfast table, she peeled the orange and reflected upon the canyon, which on a morning like this would be invisible until a passerby was nearly upon it. She thought of the first Europeans who had come to California, the Spanish missionaries and the farmers and ranchers who had followed, and wondered if any had come to a dangerous end mere yards from where she now sat, believing the landscape ahead of them to be as gentle and bountiful as that which they had already traversed, never suspecting the truth until they stumbled into it.

“Angela,” asked Sylvia as they cleared away the breakfast dishes. “Can you drive?”

“Not yet,” said Angela. “I can't get my learner's permit until next year.”

“Then if I drive, could you direct me to the Thousand Oaks library?”

“Can I come, too?” asked Kayla.

“Of course, dear.” She smiled brightly at Cathy. “Now all we need is a car. Would you mind lending me yours? I'm not as handy with the motor home as Andrew.”

The truth was she had only driven it once, and that was in the parking lot behind Elm Creek Manor.

“Of course,” Cathy stammered out, just as Andrew said, “I can drive you.”

“There's no need. The girls and I will play detective. You stay here and catch up with Bob and Cathy.” Quickly she sent Angela for the car keys and Kayla for her purse and the envelope of pictures Summer had sent, then herded the girls out the door before the others could stop them.

“That was close,” said Angela as she climbed into the front seat beside Sylvia.

Sylvia nodded and put on her glasses. “For a minute there, I thought they might figure out what I was up to.”

“Are we leaving them alone so they can fight?” asked Kayla.

“So they can talk,” corrected Sylvia, starting the car. “Just talk.”

The morning mists had burned off and traffic was light, so Sylvia felt quite comfortable behind the wheel, especially with two bright girls navigating for her. Twenty minutes later they arrived at the Thousand Oaks City Library. Sylvia had expected another Spanish-style stucco building, but the library was quite modern in design, with an exterior of white stone and dark tinted glass, and unusual jutting angles that reminded her of the Sydney Opera House. When she commented on the architecture, Angela said, “People either love it or hate it. I like it, but Mom says it looks like a stack of books that fell over.”