Cedar Creek Seasons (21 page)

A splash of brightly colored purple-and-yellow petunias hung from a wire basket affixed to the streetlight beside her. Looking down the five-block historic district, she stared at the array of shops and ornate cream limestone buildings that had impressed her even when she was sixteen and new to Cedarburg. Across the way, Cedarburg Woolen Mill’s display of fabric caught her attention. A sign called children to watch a demonstration of spinning the following day. Claire wished she had the time to watch and explore the cute shops lining the street.

An artist settling in with his easel and paints on the corner nodded a hello. He motioned toward his canvas. “An entry for the Plein Air Painting Event. Wish me luck.” The Rivoli Theatre had been refurbished in black-and-white and neon, and his strokes of paint captured the essence of the building.

“Best of luck.”

“Thanks. “He wiped his brush on a rag. “Look forward to selling my pictures every year. But always anticipate winning the competition.”

Claire smiled. “I hope to see the finished product.”

Stepping around the gentleman, she strolled farther down the street. She looped a strand of hair behind her ear. “Yikes.” The ring on her finger caught in her hair. She stopped and gingerly released its hold. She bit her lower lip and stared at the ring. Three storefronts down was the jewelry store. Her heart caught in her throat, and she clenched her fist—the promise ring had been made in that very store. She eyed the sign out front. Different name now.

The broken prong stuck her finger again. Maybe the store had changed hands. “Could be, after all this time.” Claire slid her purse strap higher on her shoulder and crossed the street.

A bell tinkled when she shoved the door open. Nothing seemed different in the forty years since she’d last visited. Glass-fronted display cases, warped wooden floor, and a white tin ceiling.

“May I help you?” A stout salesclerk flashed a welcoming smile.

Claire edged closer, glancing at the lovely jewelry in the case. She plopped her purse on the counter and slid the ring from her finger.

“My ring has a broken prong. Would it be possible to have it repaired? I’m only in town through Monday, for the festival.”

“Claire?” The woman leaned forward and stared. “Claire Wagner?”

Claire hitched in a breath and gazed at the lady. “I’m Parsons now, but yes, that’s my maiden name. I’m sorry, do I know you?”

The clerk chuckled, her chin quivering, green eyes merry. “I was a year behind you, but we shared a homemaking class. I believe you burned the first piecrust we ever made.”

Claire laughed. “That’s a memory best forgotten.” She clasped the woman’s hand. “Marie Braun—or is it Marie …?”

Marie smiled. “It’s still Braun. And how about you—did your husband come with you?”

“Widowed.”

“Oh, I’m sorry.”

Thank you
seemed an awkward response. “It was a long time ago.”

Marie chattered, tales of her parents, their church, and a few close friends triggering warm thoughts for Claire. “And, you know, Eli works most mornings.”

A knot formed in Claire’s stomach. “Eli?”

“Eli Mueller.” Marie lifted the ring, light reflecting from the pyramid-shaped setting with the sapphire set high in the middle. “Didn’t he make this ring?” She fingered the slightly bent ivy-shaped prong.

Claire nodded, her mouth dry. He
was
here. She swiped hair from her cheeks. “I had no idea he’d returned to Cedarburg.”

“He did. Lived with his folks and farmed, but he’s continued as a silversmith. He’s highly regarded in the trade.” She sighed. “And the Strawberry Festival is a busy season for him.” Then she winked. “I’m sure he’ll make time for an old friend, though. Can’t leave this broken.”

“Oh no, no.” Claire reached for the ring, her fingers shaking. “This can be done some other time.”

“Nonsense.” Marie closed her hand, the ring in her palm. “Where are you staying?” She slid her pen and a notepad across the glass countertop.

“The Washington House. But I don’t want to impose, since he’s very busy.”

Marie dashed Claire’s name across a small brown envelope and tucked the ring inside, handing her a receipt. “This should be ready on Monday.” She turned and pointed to a bracelet beneath the glass. “That would complement your ring quite nicely.”

“I’m sure the lady only wants her ring repaired.”

Claire jerked around and faced a broad-shouldered, silver-haired Eli Mueller. Her throat convulsed, rendering her speechless.

“Hello, Claire.” He held out a leathery hand and enveloped her fingers. “It’s nice to see you again.”

Frozen, Claire stared into his hazel eyes. Warmth crept up her neck and flooded her cheeks. “Eli.” She jerked her hand away as though burned and punched her fist against her stomach. “Hello, I—I … My ring …”

He stepped closer.

Claire’s tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth. Her lips tugged in a crooked smile. “It’s nice to see …” She glanced at Marie. “Thank you for your help.” She fumbled for the receipt. “I have to …” She nodded at Eli and rushed out the door. She circled the end of the block and leaned against a tree to catch her breath.
Eli Mueller
. Her heart pounded. She’d known he might be in Cedarburg, even in the store. She hadn’t thought seeing him would be so—painful. She squeezed her eyelids shut, willing memories away.

Pushing from the tree, she tugged at her shirt and straightened her back. Eli was the past. The long-ago past. She ran her hand through her hair. Too much caffeine and not enough breakfast. That’s what caused sixty-year-old heart palpitations. She’d find Melissa. It was time for lunch.

Eli watched Claire round the corner, her silver hair bouncing on her shoulders. On her, the silver seemed elegant. She looked good. Very good. He wanted to follow her, catch up, find out why she’d never—but what words would he use? He shrugged and walked behind the counter. “That was a surprise.”

Marie laughed. “Yes, it was.” Her eyes probed his face. “She looks lovely.”

He ignored the statement. Struggling to contain roiling emotions, he picked up the brown envelope with the words
Claire Parsons
.

“Widowed,” Marie said, as if reading his mind.

“This is to be repaired?” He slid the small silver band out. It pinged against the glass, and Eli cupped his hand around it. Claire’s promise ring. He had sculpted the trailing leaves around the band and centered sapphire.

His gift to her—before the magic they shared dissipated. She’d kept the ring?

Marie’s voice broke the stillness. “I have cookies in the back when you’re ready. And I think there’s coffee.” She laughed. “Might be some milk in the fridge. I know you like to dip chocolate chip cookies.”

Eli popped the ring into the envelope. “Maybe later.” When he could swallow. “I’ll get started on this. Won’t take long.”

Marie frowned. “You have two orders before hers.”

Eli noted the emphasis on the last word. “Yes, I do.” He started toward the workroom, his sanctuary. “As I said, this won’t take long.” Closing the workroom door, he drew the stool in front of his workbench. He sat and dropped his head into his hands. “Claire.” He whispered the name which had laced his dreams so many nights. Lovely Claire. How he’d longed to see her again. How many times he had wondered what happened. And here he sat, in a darkened room, a chicken.

He lifted his head. Chicken. His brother’s favorite label for Eli. Yet in this instance, Elroy had been so right about him. He’d let her go and never found another.

Claire Wagner was in Cedarburg. He itched to run after her.

C
laire watched Melissa wipe her forehead with a tissue, leaving tiny flecks of white alongside beads of perspiration. She bent forward inside the van and shoved a purple tote box with her shoulder toward the front seat. “This is the last of the pottery. I’m trying to organize so we can set up shop quickly in the morning.” She slid her palms down her jeans.

Claire reached over and thumbed away the remaining dots of tissue. Melissa leaned into her hand and smiled. “I’m ready to eat. How about I go get Brad and we meet at that café?” She pointed toward an outdoor seating area.

Claire cast a glance over her shoulder. “Chocolate Factory? Can’t go wrong there.” She eyed the totes and folding tables. “You sure we don’t need to arrange more?”

Melissa nodded. “I’m sure. Forage for food, Auntie.”

With a chuckle, Claire said, “I’ll snag us a table.” She wove her way through a throng of people toward the café. A hostess met her at the entrance of a patio set up for the festival and Claire held up three fingers. A waitress stepped forward and led her to a white table and chairs along the walkway then placed three menus on the table and raised a brow, her pencil and pad ready. “Something to drink?”

“Just water for us at the moment.” Claire smiled.

The young lady returned with three yellow plastic tumblers of ice water. Claire relaxed and sipped as she watched passersby.

“Eli.” She sighed. Thick silver-white hair—she had once run her fingers through brown hair. He was still handsome. Time had been kind to him. Even though he’d not been kind to her. Her heart picked up a beat. “Cut it out, Claire. You’re not here to see him.” She set her glass on the place mat.

On Eli’s face.

With a yelp, she jerked the glass up. It slipped from her grasp and splashed water down her shirt, across her legs, and into her tennis shoes as it crashed to the ground.

Eli stared at her, his sweet smile—lips turned up more on the left than the right—piercing her heart. Claire used her napkin and dabbed water from his chin.

S
ILVER
L
INE
J
EWELRY’S
F
INEST
S
ILVERSMITH
, E
LI
M
UELLER
, W
ELCOMES
Y
OU TO THE
S
TRAWBERRY
F
ESTIVAL
.

The waitress hustled to the table. “Here’s an extra, ma’am.” She tossed a yellow napkin on the table and collected the tumbler from the ground. “I’ll be right back with more water.” Claire nodded. Her toes squished inside her tennis shoes. Finest silversmith. Her right thumb tucked inward and automatically touched her ring finger. Empty. As empty as her heart.

“Wow, I’m starving.” With a screech of iron against cement, Melissa tugged a chair from the table. “Brad’s on his way.”

“Here’s another glass of water, ma’am.” The waitress slid a green tumbler across Eli’s forehead.

Melissa leaned forward. “You’re all wet.” She glanced up at the waitress, an accusing frown crossing her face.

Claire flapped a hand at her niece. “Clumsy me. I dropped the glass.” She smiled at the young lady and mumbled her thanks.

“I’ll return for your order in a moment.” The girl scurried away.

Melissa dabbed at Claire’s pant leg with a napkin. “Do you need to change clothes?”

Claire wiggled her toes. “Not yet.” She set the menu in front of her, effectively blocking out Eli’s smile. Once again.

“What looks good?” Brad’s voice broke her reverie.

Claire stared at the menu. Nothing sounded appealing. “A club sandwich.” She pushed away from the table. “Would you order for me, Melissa? I’ll be right back.” She headed toward the ladies’ room and a moment of quiet.

Good grief. She’d been in town less than three hours and already the past bombarded her. She scrubbed her hands, grabbed a paper towel, and stared in the mirror. “Lord, I’m going to need help. My heart hurts.”

Tiny lines crinkled around her eyes, and her mouth looked like an upside-down parenthesis. She tipped it up. Better. Brushing hair from her face, she leaned closer. Did Eli see an old woman with gray hair?

“Claire,” she whispered. “You
are
an old woman with gray hair.” She wadded up the paper towel and tossed it into the trash. “Get a grip.”

She shoved the restroom door open, barely missing another patron, and wandered back to the table. Melissa and Brad were deep in conversation. A goofy grin spread across Brad’s face. He blushed when Claire reached for the back of her chair.

“Mrs. Parsons.” He stood and pulled out her chair then immediately turned his attention back to Melissa.

“Thank you.” She slid in her seat and gazed over her shoulder at the array of people, trying to ignore the young couple. She glanced toward Melissa. Another goofy grin. She sighed.
Young
love
. If they only knew what might happen now that they’d left Purdue. Hearts intertwined as college sweethearts so often drifted apart after graduation.

The waitress placed a sandwich and fruit plate over Eli’s advertisement and handed Brad a hamburger and Melissa a salad. Claire wiggled her fingers. “Shall we bless?”

Brad gripped her fingers on one side and Melissa held her other hand. “You pray, Aunt Claire.”

Claire offered a blessing and a silent plea of forgiveness for her attitude. She’d allowed old hurts to color their day. She chomped a pickle and determined to cheer up. The Strawberry Festival should signal fun, not gloom.

And she’d known from the get-go that raw memories might crop up. She’d prayed about this trip, and, Eli notwithstanding, she was glad she came.