20

ELLA SAT ALONE AT THE QUILT FRAME at her grandmother’s house, trying not to worry. Mom was supposed to be over soon to help. Ella threaded several needles, prepping for her mother to begin as soon as she arrived. But no amount of busywork could distract her from one simple fact: Gran was going downhill.

Sighing, Ella resumed her work. She’d been so sure Gran was getting better before they moved her to the nursing home. And no matter what they called it, that’s what it was. Now it seemed Sadie’s prophecy would be fulfilled. Gran wasn’t getting better. She spent more and more time in bed and attempted to speak less and less. Ella had tried to understand what Gran was feeling, but it was as though she’d pulled a curtain inside her mind. And Ella was afraid she couldn’t push it aside anymore.

Ella looked at the old-fashioned phone where it sat, receiver in the cradle, on an end table. She lifted the receiver, spun Aunt Sadie’s number on the dial, and waited. Her aunt answered on the third ring.

“Hello?”

“Hey Aunt Sadie, thought you might like an update on Gran. I’m kind of worried about her.”

Sadie exhaled long and slow. “She’s just being obstinate. Mother has a stubborn streak as wide as the Blue Ridge Mountains. Now, perhaps you would be interested in hearing how the search for my father is going.”

Ella tried not to roll her eyes, but since there was no one to see, she went ahead and did so. After several minutes of listening to Sadie, she cleared her throat.

“Why don’t you just ask Gran? She tried to tell you once; she’d probably be glad to give you information about your father.”

Sadie huffed. “I’ll not go begging for the truth now. And I’m not sure she could tell me even if she wanted to. It’s entirely possible her mind is slipping along with her voice and dexterity.”

Ella cringed. She didn’t think so, yet she couldn’t explain Gran’s deterioration beyond her sadness at being away from home. Every time she saw her grandmother, Ella reminded her that she could go home as soon as she achieved certain milestones. Speaking a complete sentence, walking across the room unaided—things like that. But Gran just turned away.

Ella finally got off the phone with Sadie as her mother breezed through the kitchen door. She kissed Ella on the crown of her head and settled in a chair opposite her.

“Who was that?”

“Just updating Aunt Sadie about Gran.”

Mom nodded, plucked a threaded needle from the pincushion, and set to work. While Ella continued to fashion her fanciest stitches, hoping Gran would approve when she came home and saw the work, Mom’s technique was purely practical.

“Do you think we’ll have this done in time for the wedding?” Mom reached behind the glasses perched on her nose to rub her eyes.

“I think so.” Ella turned toward the window, letting her gaze lose focus. “It’s going to be a lovely wedding. Not too big, not too fancy. Laura’s making her own bouquet, assuming the lilacs bloom on time, and we picked out bridesmaids dresses last week. They’re actually pretty, kind of a peach color. And Laura’s dress is just gorgeous.” She sighed, wondering if she’d ever get to wear a wedding dress.

Mom didn’t comment, just gave her a sympathetic look that made Ella feel, for once, that maybe someone understood her.

The following Tuesday, Ella sat staring out the kitchen window, a wild array of tweeds and wools scattered around her. Sylvia had challenged her to create a rustic art quilt inspired by the traditional log cabin patch, but she kept getting lost in the bleak February landscape outside. The sky raced with clouds, alternately sunny and overcast, creating a mad pattern of light and dark across the fields and forest. If only she could capture that, as it so perfectly described how she felt these days.

It was a relief when the phone rang, distracting her from gloomy thoughts.

“I have a clue,” Sadie crowed without preamble. “I hauled several boxes of papers from Henry’s attic home with me and I finally found something. It’s a letter Mother wrote to her own mother during the summer of 1948—around the time I must have been conceived.”

Ella idly sifted through her fabrics, trying to work up interest. Why couldn’t Sadie ask about Gran before launching into her news? “What does it say?” She’d try not to rain on Aunt Sadie’s parade.

“It would seem Mother spent the spring and much of the summer helping an aunt and uncle on her father’s side. Chuck and Imogene had a farm over at Brook Hill. Chuck broke his leg, and it sounds like poor Imogene was susceptible to migraines. Of course, they probably didn’t have any notion about something like that back then. Poor woman.”

Ella felt a spark of sympathy. Then she wondered why her grandmother had never mentioned Chuck and Imogene. It sounded like quite the adventure, helping family members run a farm for a summer. “I don’t think Gran’s ever mentioned them.”

“Exactly. Which makes me think that’s where it happened.”

Ella felt uneasy. Like she was reading someone else’s diary or poking around in their medicine cabinet. Maybe there was a reason Gran never talked about that summer. She stood and paced. “How about I ask Gran when I visit tomorrow. Maybe it’ll give her a spark to talk about old times.”

“No. I plan to track down this aunt and uncle and find out what they know about that summer and whether or not Mother had a beau.” Ella heard a quiver in her aunt’s voice. “This is the first solid lead I’ve had. Let’s not trouble Mother with it until I know more. I’m pretty sure Imogene was my grandfather’s sister, which makes her maiden name Long. I should be able to track her down with that.”

Ella sighed. “Okay. How can I help?”

“Poke around in Mother’s things—see if you can find any other correspondence with Imogene.”

Ella made some noncommittal noises and finally hung up. She had no intention of digging around in Gran’s personal papers. She stared at the phone. Sadie never did ask how Gran was doing.

Two days later, Ella picked up her buzzing cell where it lay on the crazy quilt while she worked. It was Aunt Sadie, who sounded breathless.

“I think I’ve found Imogene.”

Ella looked up from the quilt, feeling as though she were waking from a deep sleep. She sometimes got like that when she was absorbed in her work. She realized the room had dimmed, the sun nearly gone. It was time for supper and she hadn’t done a thing about it.

“Great, but you probably want to hear how Gran’s doing before you tell me your news.” Ella was a little surprised at her own boldness.

“Oh. Well. Certainly. How is she?”

Ella stood and stretched her back. “I think her dexterity is improving, but her speech continues to give her trouble. It’s like she’s given up on some level. It worries me.”

“If she’s given up, that’s proof the main problem is a lack of will on her part. Honestly, I think it’s stubbornness more than anything.”

“Maybe,” said Ella. “But I still think coming home would encourage her. We can have therapists come in and I’ll work with her every day. Seems like it’s worth a shot.”

There was silence on the other end of the line, and Ella thought maybe Aunt Sadie was really considering her suggestion. Then she realized she could hear Sadie pecking at her keyboard.

“Mother’s better off where she is. Now let me tell you what I’ve found.” More tapping. “Yes, this is almost certainly a census record for my father’s family including my great-aunt. The names are right, the location is right, and the ages are right. Now all I have to do is find the surname of the man she married. But first let’s see how old she’d be now.”

There was another pause and Ella was tempted to hang up. She could pretend she’d lost her cell signal.

“Right. She would have been thirty-four years old in the summer of 1948. So if she’s still alive, that would make her . . . ninety-four now.” Sadie paused. “It’s entirely possible that she’s still alive. The women in this family seem to live to a ripe old age.”

Ella opened the fridge and pulled out a container of her mom’s chili to warm up for dinner. Maybe she’d even make fresh corn bread to go with it and bring some to Gran. Surely she could tempt her poor appetite with corn bread and butter.

“It’s also entirely possible that she’s dead,” Ella said, grabbing buttermilk and an egg.

“Either way, I intend to find out. Even if she’s gone, she might have left behind letters or papers or something to point us in the right direction.”

Ella didn’t state the obvious, but instead oiled a cast-iron skillet and stuck it in the oven to heat. She’d add a dab of sugar to the corn bread, the way Gran liked it.

“I’m in the middle of making supper. Thought I’d make some corn bread and take it to Gran this evening.”

“I’m sure she’ll enjoy that. I’m going to see what more I can find online. I’ll need to research more of Imogene’s life, find out Chuck’s full name, if they had children, if they ever moved—that sort of thing.”

“What if you can’t find any more?” Ella measured her dry ingredients while trying to juggle her cell. Really, would it be wrong to just hang up?

“We’ll cross that bridge if we come to it. I’ll let you go now.”

Ella said goodbye thinking that asking Gran would be the easiest route to take, but then she’d been stubborn herself on more than one occasion. She guessed it was Aunt Sadie’s turn now.

Perla knew she was sulking, but couldn’t bring herself to stop. She supposed Hillside Acres was nice as such places went, and the people were kind, but she was too horrified at being there to be appreciative. There were so many . . . old people. And most of them were in much worse shape than she was. Perla kept to her room and her thoughts, preferring to revisit old memories rather than face up to the physical challenges of the present. If it weren’t for Ella, she might give up completely.

The aroma of fresh corn bread teased Perla as soon as Ella walked through the door. And the sight of it with fresh butter melting into the nooks and crannies, well, it almost convinced her to take a deep breath and resume the fight. She broke off a piece of the bread and popped it in her mouth the second Ella placed it on the despicable little table that extended over her bed. She wouldn’t eat the whole thing. She didn’t want to get Ella’s hopes up by eating well. After all, she was determined to suffer.

She reached for another bite, remembering how Imogene always made the best corn bread. At least she did when she was feeling well. Perla placed the warm buttery piece in her mouth and thought about the day Uncle Chuck got his cast off. He was tender-footing around the house and yard, eager to get back to work, but hesitant with his leg still unsteady.

“Lordy if I don’t feel like a newborn colt,” he said, rubbing his thigh. “Reckon it’ll come right?”

Perla wasn’t sure who he was asking, but since Imogene just sat with her hand over her eyes, she opted to answer, “Doctor says it will. Don’t suppose he’d tell you a story, would he?”

“Reckon not. Doc Albright has always done right by us.” He cast a worried look at his wife. “Although I shore do wish he could do something for Imogene’s sick headaches.”

Imogene shook her head and waved her husband off. “It’s not too bad today. Might be that powder he give me is helping.”

Perla looked at her aunt more closely, noticed the way her eyes pinched and her neck strained. Maybe she wasn’t just making a to-do. Maybe she did have troubles greater than any of them knew. Perla’s hand fell against her abdomen as though of its own will. Secrets. They all carried secrets. She glanced at Sonny where he leaned against the porch post. He was a married man, and she supposed no one else around these parts knew it except them. She kind of wished she didn’t know herself. Might be nice to drift along in a fool’s paradise imagining they might have a future together.

Imogene roused herself. “Perla, guess you’ll be able to head on home soon. You too, Sonny. If I know that husband of mine, he won’t take but a day or two to get back to his old self.”

Perla stiffened. She hadn’t thought about having to go home. If what she suspected was true, she wouldn’t be welcome there. Her father . . . well, it didn’t bear thinking about.

Sonny, on the other hand, brightened at the mention of going home. “Well now, I don’t want to leave you’uns shorthanded. Although it seems to me I might have some business to attend to back home.”

Perla glanced at him, and the look he gave her was so tender she thought she might burst into tears. She knew his business back home and it broke her heart. Which was her own fault. She never should have let her heart get involved.

“Guess I’d better make some supper to go with that corn bread you baked,” Perla said. She stood and moved toward the door.

Sonny caught her hand as she passed him. “Arthur.” He spoke so softly she didn’t think the other two could hear. “My given name’s Arthur.”

She squeezed his hand and fled to the kitchen before she made a bigger fool of herself than she already had.