Cedar Creek Seasons (26 page)

The scene reminded her of her mama’s good conscience/bad conscience comparisons. She pushed to her feet. “Straighten up and fly right, huh?” She glanced heavenward. “Lord, I’ll choose forgiveness. I’m not letting old hurts ruin my short return to Cedarburg.”

Tugging her purse strap over her shoulder, she ambled down the street from one exhibit to another. Wind chimes tinkled in the breeze, paintings glistened in the sun, T-shirts hung on display, and everywhere lingered the scent of strawberries. She licked her lips. After lunch, she’d indulge in strawberry shortcake or chocolate-covered berries or—taste everything. She smiled. She’d ramp up her exercise routine when she got home to get rid of the calories. How often did the opportunity arise to sample all these delicacies?

The artist she’d met the day before caught her attention. His face came alive. She stepped near his booth.

“How did you do?”

“I placed.” He pointed to a ribbon affixed to the Rivoli Theatre painting. “No money, but I’m excited.”

Claire ran her finger across the top of the frame. “Quite a likeness.” She smiled. Certainly not her style. “I hope you find a worthy buyer.”

“Thank you.” He extended his arm in a flourish. “Feel free to browse. We have a nice selection.”

The last thing she needed in her home was another painting, but she felt obligated to look at some of the pictures for a few moments. When her new friend turned to an actual buyer, Claire slipped away.

She purchased a barbecue sandwich and a soda then found a table and chair. The first bite transported her back many years. Her dad created a wonderful pulled pork sandwich and used his own sauce. Claire dabbed her lips and chuckled. He’d guarded that concoction’s recipe, and only she and her brother had the list of ingredients. She smiled. Her brother had dubbed it “The Recipe” after the Baldwin sisters’ “tonic” on the TV show
The Waltons
. Little had those senior citizens known they’d been producing white lightning.

She tilted her head in thought. Maybe she should cook up a batch of barbecue sauce. Would make nice Christmas presents for her niece and nephew. She toyed with the label on the soda bottle. Christmas presents—a shaft of sadness pierced her heart. Every year she spoiled Melissa and Tony, the merry auntie with armloads of gifts. Substitute children since she had none of her own.

Claire shook her head. Melancholy thoughts weren’t welcome at the moment. She took another bite and chewed. No place mat on this table. She bit her lip and winced. “No Eli thoughts, either.”

She decided to people watch and eat. A harried mother with a sticky set of twins stuck in a double stroller stopped in front of her. The little girl began to wail as Mom scrubbed away strawberry something. Claire smiled at the other toddler. His lower lip stuck out and trembled, and then he joined his sister. Claire chuckled. Not funny for the mother, but certainly a show.

Across the way two teens set up a snare drum and a guitar and amp.

“Oh, time to move on.” Music blasting in her face wasn’t her idea of relaxation. She took her last bite and tossed away the trash and drink.

She turned to move away from the band.

A familiar voice called her name. She drew in a sharp breath and closed her eyes, feet frozen in place, a sinking feeling in her stomach.

Eli
.

C
laire.” Eli inched his hand out and touched her elbow, a tingle shooting up his arm. “May I speak with you for a moment?”

Claire jerked away as though burned. Her eyes flashed and her cheeks reddened. “I don’t think we have anything to say to one another, Mr. Mueller.” She whirled and rushed off through the throng of people.

“Wait, please.” Eli dodged through the crowd, his throat tightening. “Claire, just a second.” He sidestepped a child, but not before whipped cream plastered his jeans. He flicked at the glob, pulling away a sticky finger. When he glanced up, he’d lost sight of her.

“Claire?” He raised his voice, but it only added to the din. He clenched his teeth. Zigzagging, he directed his steps toward the Wagner Pottery exhibit. Melissa and her boyfriend were the only two in the booth.

“Excuse me.”

“Aunt Claire’s Eli.” Melissa raised a brow. “Nice to see you. Are you enjoying your festival?”

“Uh, yes.” Eli ran his hand down his face, the sticky finger creating a slimy trail. He frowned and swiped at his cheek with his shoulder.

“Are you okay?” Eyes like her aunt’s sapphire ones peered into his face.

Eli caught his breath. “Got a bit sticky on the walkway.”

“Here.” Melissa opened a small package and handed him a moistened wipe. “We’re finding these quite useful.”

“Thanks.” Eli scrubbed his face and fingers. “Actually, Melissa, I’m searching for your aunt.” He gave a jerky nod. “Saw her briefly on the street—”

Brad said, “She went to have a late lunch.” He reached forward, grabbed a canopy post, and leaned against it.

“Move, Brad!” Melissa’s command made Brad jump and release the post. All three watched it sway. As it steadied, they released a collective breath. She plopped her hands on her hips. “We’ve already avoided disaster once, thanks to Zake.”

Eli started. “Zake?”

Melissa smiled. “Your right-hand man. He kept Aunt Claire company.”

“So he said.” Eli tossed the wipe into a trash bin. “Guess I’ll continue my search. When you see her again, let her know I’m looking for her, please.”

“She’ll be back soon, since we have to close shop in—” Melissa tapped the face of her watch—“an hour and ten minutes.” She slipped a bowl into an empty place. “Rules say we have to clear out by six so they can open Washington Avenue.”

“Right.” A thrill of panic ran through Eli. “Are you going home immediately after?”

“No.” Melissa turned toward a customer.

Eli nodded to Brad and trudged toward the nearest coffee stand.

“Hey, Mueller.”

Eli groaned.
George?

The strawberry-stained Strawberry Festival T-shirt George sported now wore barbecue sauce spots. “I’ll buy you a cup.” He motioned for Eli to join him at the kiosk.

Eli bit his lip. Not wanting to be rude, he ordered a cooling smoothie and joined George at a table.

“Haven’t seen you in, what, two years?” George sipped the foam from the top of his drink, a tiny mustache of whipped cream coating his upper lip when he pulled the cup away.

“‘Bout that.” Eli twirled a straw.

“Have you spent time with our Claire?”

Eli gritted his teeth.
Our
Claire? “Not much.” The orange-flavored drink soothed his throat. Now if it would cool his temper.

“She looked good for an old broad.”

Not even an orange smoothie could smother the fury in Eli’s chest. He shoved his chair back and leaned forward. He propped his hands on either side of George’s coffee cup. “Schiller, I’ve spent forty years listening to your remarks about Claire Wagner, much of it trash talk. Your total disrespect—” Eli glared into the pudgy man’s widened eyes. “Her father told you forty years ago to leave her alone. Now I’m telling you. Leave. Her. Alone.” He straightened and spun away, thrusting his hands deeply into his pockets lest one of his fists connect with a bulbous nose.

Claire stepped from the inn onto the busy avenue. Time had slipped away. She needed to help Melissa and Brad close up shop. Turning left, she caught sight of George and Eli at the coffee shop. Ducking her head for fear they’d spot her, she waited for a cluster of people to pass.

“Schiller.”

Eli’s strident tone carried over the crowd noise. When she heard what he was saying, she clutched her throat, holding back a sob. After all these years, Eli still championed her.

Tears filled her eyes. She rubbed her forehead. A litany of what-ifs spun through her brain. What if her father had allowed them to marry? What if they’d had a family? What if—

Useless thoughts
. Kind Eli Mueller, blast from the past, and just that. The past. She didn’t want to see George, she didn’t want to acknowledge Eli’s thoughtfulness. Besides, to him she was the
wench
of Cedarburg. Her chest tightened. She craved the bed upstairs in the inn to hide away and process her mixed emotions.

But Wagner Pottery’s wares needed to be stored in the van.

Weaving along the thoroughfare, Claire replayed the scene. Not even Chet had spoken up for her like that in their brief marriage. She tugged her purse closer. No, he’d been too self-centered to pay attention to a young bride.

Claire sighted Melissa, copper ponytail with loose strands flying, hands waving directions. A smile tugged at Claire’s lips. She’d poured her life into her niece and nephew, and that had to be enough.

“Mrs. Parsons,” Brad called, “would you mind the store while I haul away the goods?” He held the handle of a dolly with four boxes stacked on it. “Melissa, show me how you want these packed.”

Melissa swirled toward her aunt, a grin on her face. “I’m a zillionaire!” She laughed. “I did sell a lot of stuff. Can’t wait to tell you all about it.”

“Can’t wait to hear.” Claire plopped her purse on the remaining table. “What do you need me to do?”

“Stand here and look beautiful in case someone wants the last of the display.” Melissa giggled. “Be right back.” She tugged a tote from under a table and followed Brad toward the Washington House parking lot.

Claire watched the weary-worn festival stragglers. Musicians carried their instruments down the street, barbecue pits were loaded onto trailers, sticky, grumpy children hung on to their parents. The takedown happened in a hurry. A police presence seemed to make sure Washington Avenue would be in service at six o’clock.

A box of bubble wrap sat at Claire’s feet, so she began to wrap the few remaining pieces and store them.

“Do you have a moment, Claire?”

Claire’s back stiffened, and she turned slowly to face Eli. Her heart leaped to her throat, and she struggled to speak. “I’m busy at the moment.”

“This won’t take long.” Eli fixed her with a level stare and muscles worked in his jaw.

“Well, I—”

“Please.”

Claire bristled. “Why would you want to speak to a wench?”

“What?” Eli’s eyebrows rose. “What are you talking about?”

“The text.” Claire turned toward the table and grabbed for a vase and bubble wrap.

Eli stepped inside the kiosk and into her line of vision. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. Zake told me you were upset. I only wanted to welcome you home.”

“The daisies did that, Mr. Mueller,” Claire whispered. “Thank you.”

Eli touched her arm. “The text?”

Claire eyed his gnarled fingers. So much time had passed.

“Do you need to see it to remember what you wrote?” She set the covered vase inside a tote and slid her cell phone from her pocket. Flipping it open, she scrolled to Eli’s text. “Read.”

Eli’s large hand engulfed her small phone. His eyes scanned the words. A red flush crept up his cheeks and his lips twisted in a crooked smile. “Claire. I can explain.”

She wrapped a bowl, her eyes darting to his face and back to the bowl.

He held out his hands. “Do you see these thumbs? Imagine them punching tiny letters on a screen.” He pulled out his phone. “This cell phone has autocorrect. It assumes you aren’t spelling a word correctly and, boom, the phone decides what you meant.” He bent over, peering into her eyes. “It should’ve read, ‘Welcome to Cedarburg. Glad you are here.’” A chuckle escaped his lips. “This is one for the history books. I truly apologize.”

Claire’s lips twitched. “Seriously?” She set the bowl inside the tote.

“Truce?” Eli said. “Have dinner with me and we can talk.”

Claire studied his face. Ruddy, wrinkles on his brow, silver hair, hazel eyes. “Dinner? Well, I—”

“Aunt Claire!” Melissa shouted. “Come quickly. We need to get Brad to a doctor.”

M
elissa tugged Claire along the driveway. “I’m not sure when it started, but he’s a mess. I don’t know what to do.” A whine tinged her words. “You know I’m not good with sick—”

Claire squeezed her niece’s fingers. They rounded the Washington House and dashed to the parking spot, Eli fast on their heels. Brad leaned against the back of the van, one arm clutching his middle and the other rubbing his eyes. He looked up and Claire gasped.

Swollen eyes—and a smattering of hives peppered his face. “Allergic reaction!” He wheezed.

Eli stepped forward. “Do you carry an EpiPen?”

Brad shook his head.

“Then we need to get you to the doctor.” Eli tugged keys from his pocket and turned to Claire. “I’ll take you. Be right back.” He dashed down the street.

Brad moaned. “I hate doctors.”

Claire murmured words of comfort.

Eli’s blue Honda appeared, and he motioned for Brad to get in. “Aunt Claire …” Melissa’s tear-stained face told it all. She tipped her head. “Please come?”

With a nod, Claire climbed in the backseat. She noted the pristine condition of the older car. Eli’s penchant for tidiness hadn’t changed.

“What set off this reaction?” Eli turned left.

“Strawberries.” Brad said. “Ask Melissa.”