Elm Creek Quilts [10] The Quilter's Homecoming (27 page)

After so many years, if Rosa could not decide whether to marry John, perhaps that was a sign he was wrong for her. But there was nothing Isabel could do but hold her breath, pray for God’s protection, and wait for Rosa to reach her own conclusions.

Carlos had finished school and, with a recommendation from his sister, had obtained a job as a handyman at the Grand Union Hotel. He had his father’s friendly, cheerful disposition and had become an entertaining storyteller as well. As Isabel cooked in the kitchen or sewed in the evenings in her rocking chair, Carlos would have her alternately laughing and marveling over his tales of the people who came and went at the hotel. She hoped he embellished his stories liberally, because otherwise she was not sure she should allow her children to work there. A married, churchgoing businessman who met his sister-in-law in a private room every Monday at ten in the morning and checked out by noon. The card shark who passed through town in a whirlwind and left the wallets of some of the Arboles Valley’s most prominent citizens lighter when the dust settled. Strange phone calls Mrs. Diegel received on the last Friday of every month, sending Rosa out of the office as soon as the operator rang so not a word would be overheard by anyone.

Most of his tales were so shocking or amusing or both that it passed unnoticed when Lars Jorgensen, the eldest of the two sons, began appearing more frequently in them. Lars frequently came to the hotel to drink at the bar; Isabel already knew this disgraceful fact about him and dismissed his presence at the hotel as she dismissed the whole Jorgensen family. Then Carlos mentioned that he had heard raised voices in the citrus garden once, and when he had gone to see what was wrong, he found Lars and John Barclay in a shoving match. Then one afternoon in July he came home from work remarking that the Jorgensens’ apricot harvest must have gone well, because he had seen Lars carrying a basket of the fresh, ripe fruit into the hotel office. “Probably gave it to Mrs. Diegel to pay off his bar tab,” he joked.

Not ten minutes later, Rosa walked in smiling and carrying a basket of apricots.

Isabel went cold, but she forced herself to remain calm. “Where did you get those?”

Rosa glanced at the basket in her hands. “Mrs. Diegel gave them to me.” She set the basket down on the counter, too quickly. “She didn’t want them, so she gave them to me.”

It was a lie. Mrs. Diegel never gave away anything unless she received something in return. And she would never give an employee an entire basket of fruit that could be put to better use as dessert for the guests of the hotel.

Suddenly all the lies and deception since Rosa was a girl of fourteen made perfect sense.

It was that Jorgensen boy Rosa loved, not John Barclay. Lars Jorgensen, who stank of alcohol and whose grandfather had stolen the Rancho Triunfo from her own dear
abuelo
and
abuelita
.

“You will never see him again,” she said quietly.

Rosa looked back at her, eyes wide and startled. “Mami?”

“Marry John or don’t marry him, but you will never see Lars Jorgensen again. If you promise me this, I will not tell your father. I am thinking of him as much as you. You would break his heart if he knew.”

“He wouldn’t care,” Rosa choked out through her tears. “
You’re
the only one who cares. Papi doesn’t hate the Jorgensens; you do.”

“They have destroyed our family!”

“They haven’t! We’re here, aren’t we?”

“They stole our land. They killed my mother.”

“They
bought
our land. Cancer killed your mother. If you were not such a bitter old woman with nothing but hatred in your soul, you would see that. Then Lars and I could be happy.”

“Happy? With that drunk? If you think he would make you so happy, then why don’t you tell your father about him? He’ll be home soon. You tell him how you’ve been running out at night to meet with that Jorgensen boy and see how happy he is to hear the news. We’ll see whose side he takes—the deceitful daughter’s or the bitter old woman’s. We’ll see.”

Sobbing, Rosa fled to her room, overturning the basket of apricots. The fruit tumbled to the floor. Isabel scrambled after it, but it was too late; the fruit was bruised and soiled.

She did not care, except for the mess. She would never feed her family anything that grew in Jorgensen soil. It was poison to her, just as she had told Miguel so many years before. Everything that grew on Jorgensen land was poison to her, to her family, to her children.

1925

W
ith their savings exhausted, Elizabeth resolved to allow nothing to prevent her from searching for horses for Safari World on her next day off—assuming Lars would let her borrow his car. When Mary Katherine invited her to spend the next Sunday afternoon at Lake Sherwood with her and the girls, Elizabeth reluctantly made the excuse that she had letters to write and work to catch up on at home.

“You and that husband of yours,” exclaimed Mary Katherine. “Honestly. You two are a perfect pair. All you enjoy is work, work, work.”

“I didn’t say I enjoyed it,” Elizabeth said, smiling. But her amusement swiftly faded. Once, not very long ago, she had considered herself and Henry to be a perfect pair, too, if not for the reasons Mary Katherine stated. She was surprised anyone found them a perfect pair anymore. Elizabeth felt as if a chasm stretched between them, so wide and deep that it could not have existed without years of erosion and toil. But it was newly sprung up between them, and for that reason alone, Elizabeth clung to the hope that the distance was not unbridgeable.

If only she could figure out why Henry insisted upon standing alone on his side of the gulf, when all she wanted to do was stand beside him.

All week she tried to think of an excuse to borrow the car, but she could not. Finally, on Friday afternoon, she went to Lars and told him straight out that she had errands to run the next day. “Barclay doesn’t open the post office on Saturdays,” he told her.

“I’m not going to the post office.”

He regarded her with barely concealed amusement. “Before I let you drive off in my car, I’d like to know where you might be taking it.”

“Very well, if you insist, I have a business arrangement with Safari World and I need transportation to carry it out.”

“Becoming a lion tamer, are you?”

“And give up my glamorous life here? Not likely. May I borrow the car? Yes or no?”

“No.” Before she could protest, he added, “Oscar and my mother need it on Saturday, but I’ll hitch up Bonnie to the wagon for you if that will do.”

“In that case, I’d prefer to go on horseback.”

Lars seemed surprised that she knew how to ride, but he agreed. On Saturday, when Mrs. Jorgensen allowed her a few hours off after lunch, he saddled up a horse for her, although she had assured him she could do it herself. She rode off along country roads, exploring the southern half of the valley and taking note of the horses she spotted in corrals and pastures along the way. She found many suitable animals, but none as swift or as beautiful as Bergstrom Thoroughbreds. When she came across an especially fine animal, she would stop and inquire at the farmhouse to see if it was for sale. Most often the owners were not interested in parting with their horses; other times they were, but set a price far higher than she suspected the wranglers would be willing to pay. Still, she wrote down the relevant information for the most likely purchases and by the time she had to return to the farmhouse to help prepare supper, she had a modest list of horses comparable to those she had seen performing at Safari World.

On Sunday, she did not bother to ask Henry if he wanted to spend the day together. She could not bear for him to refuse her again, and for a change, she actually preferred to be on her own. Lars had a horse saddled and ready for her, so she set out for the northern half of the valley. Since fewer farms were scattered over a wider area, and the Salto Canyon took up much of the land, she hoped to finish searching the valley by late afternoon, allowing her just enough time to ride out to Safari World and report her findings to the wranglers before the end of the day.

She added two prospective horses from the northeastern part of the valley to her list, wondering how the wranglers had missed them, since they were fine animals and the owner eager to sell. Then she headed west, where the road passed by a mesa that stretched as flat as a tabletop for acres before dropping abruptly at the canyon’s edge.

In the distance, not far from a sudden descent so sharp that it looked as if a blade had cut into the earth, Elizabeth spotted a wagon and, nearby, two horses grazing. The wagon appeared empty, but in the golden-brown grasses between it and the canyon, several smaller figures moved. Curious, thinking that perhaps the wagon had thrown an axle and its passengers might be waiting for help, Elizabeth directed her horse off the road and across the mesa toward them. When she had closed the distance to a quarter mile, she recognized Rosa Barclay and her children.

Seated on the grass, Rosa looked up quickly when Elizabeth’s horse whinnied a greeting. Just as quickly, Rosa turned her head away and tugged on the wide brim of her hat to partially conceal her face. Pretending she had not noticed the snub, Elizabeth called out, “Hello, Rosa. What brings you out this way?”

“I promised the children a picnic,” said Rosa, stroking Miguel’s dark, curly locks as he rested on her lap. Her voice was hesitant, but not chilly.

Encouraged, Elizabeth dismounted from her horse, who promptly lowered his neck and began grazing. “I think you found the perfect place for it.” She smiled as she went to join Rosa, watching Marta and Lupita play. Ana sat just outside the circle of her sisters’ play, laughing at their antics. She looked as if she had long ago accepted that she could not join in.

“The mesa offers the most beautiful view of the canyon and it is not too far from home.” Softly, Rosa added, “It is just far enough away for me to feel as if I am somewhere else.” Suddenly she smiled as if they shared a secret. “My husband believes my mother’s spirit haunts the mesa. He does not wish to see her, so he avoids it.”

Elizabeth tucked her skirt around her legs and sat down beside her. “Ana seems better today.”

“Yes, she is out of bed for now,” said Rosa. She hesitated before adding, “That is how the illness runs its course. They fall ill, then recover, then fall ill again, and recover, until one time they fall ill and do not recover.”

“Perhaps…perhaps Ana and Miguel are not doomed to that fate. Don’t lose hope.”

“They’re my children. I’ll never stop praying for a miracle. Not while there is breath in my body.”

Tentatively, Elizabeth said, “Forgive me for prying, but have you considered a doctor in a larger city, Los Angeles or San Francisco, perhaps?”

Rosa gazed down at her sleeping son. “We don’t have the money to travel so far, or the money to pay for such a skilled doctor.”

“Some doctors are willing to waive their fees in certain circumstances.”

Rosa shook her heard. “Even so, I doubt my husband would be willing to travel so far. He will not leave the farm. He has no hired hands to look after our place.”

How could any father, even John Barclay, not pursue any course that might save the lives of his children? “Why don’t you at least write to some other doctors and tell them about your children’s affliction? Maybe they’ve seen cases like this before. What if they could recommend a new treatment the doctors around here haven’t considered? If a doctor could figure out why some of your children fall ill and some do not—”

Sharply, Rosa turned to look at her—and that was when Elizabeth saw her bruised face, her swollen, cut lip, which she had tried to conceal with the wide-brimmed hat. “Rosa,” she gasped. “What happened to you?”

Rosa looked away and with her fingers tried to comb her dark brown hair over her bruised cheek. “It’s nothing. I tripped on a stone and fell against the wagon.”

“How many times?”

Rosa held perfectly still for a moment, but then her hand came to rest lightly upon Miguel’s head. “I told you, it’s nothing.”

“It never ceases to amaze me how the wives of cruel men are always so clumsy.”

“I know you’re trying to be kind, but this is not your concern. You don’t know how I have provoked him.”

Elizabeth began to rise. “If you aren’t going to defend yourself, perhaps your brother will.”

“Elizabeth, no.” Rosa seized her hand and pulled until Elizabeth had to sit back down or fall. “Don’t get Carlos involved in this. He would do nothing to help me even if he knew.”

Elizabeth immediately thought of Lars, but said nothing, suspecting that would only upset Rosa more. “Rosa, please. You can’t stay with a man who beats you.”

“He’s my husband and the father of my children. Where else would I go?”

“You and the children can stay with me and my husband.”

At that, Rosa smiled. “You’re very gracious, but I don’t think your husband would like to share that little cabin with five strangers.”

“Henry would be the first to insist you stay as long as you like. We have plenty of room. Our cabin is more spacious than it seems from the outside.”

Rosa shook her head, but she regarded Elizabeth kindly. “I have seen the inside of the cabin as well as the outside, and I know there isn’t room for seven.”

Surprised, Elizabeth said, “When did you ever visit the cabin?”

“Long ago. My great-grandparents built it. My mother was born there.”

“I had no idea.”

Rosa watched her daughters for a moment, and when she spoke again, her voice was far away. “It was a good home, once, before it fell into ruin. My mother lived there as a very young child with her parents and grandparents, after they sold the ranch and stayed on as hired hands. Her stories of her childhood there were full of happiness and longing, even though her family left when she was very young, even though our own home was just as happy and full of love as the cabin of her memories.”

“If you grew up surrounded by love,” said Elizabeth, “I don’t know how you can settle for anything less now.”

“I brought this fate upon myself,” replied Rosa. “Every choice I ever made led me to this place. Please don’t feel sorry for me. I have my children. I am not without love.”

Elizabeth did not know what to say. Rosa had her children, but for how long, unless she could get them the medical care they so urgently needed? And why on earth would John Barclay stand in the way? She would not expect compassion from any man who beat his wife, but even so, how could anyone be so coldhearted toward his own children?

“If there is anything I can do for you,” said Elizabeth, “if you ever need help or a place to go, my house is small, but the door is always open to you and your children.”

Rosa smiled and reached out for her hand. “Thank you. You are very kind, kinder than I deserve, considering how my husband treated you in your misfortune. I can see why Lars thinks so highly of you.”

“I don’t consider any woman responsible for her husband’s behavior.” Elizabeth stood and brushed off her skirt, surprised to find herself warmed by Lars’s approval. Suddenly she wondered how Rosa would know how Lars felt about her. When would he have told her? Elizabeth had accompanied him on every trip to the post office since she came to the Arboles Valley, and they had only left her sight that one time she had stayed in the adobe with Ana and Miguel. That must have been it, she supposed. She wondered what Lars would do if he could see Rosa now. He had loved her once, and he had treated her with compassion when no one else would. He would not stand by and let John hurt Rosa—but if Lars interfered, John might lash out at Rosa in revenge. If Rosa would not help herself, anyone else’s actions might only make matters worse.

Reluctant to leave Rosa before convincing her to seek help, Elizabeth nonetheless mounted her horse and rode off, wishing she could do more for her. Rosa was in her thoughts as she rode through the rest of the valley, skipping only the Barclay farm in her search for suitable horses. By midafternoon she had compiled a list of more than a dozen possibilities, none new to the valley, which convinced her that the wranglers must have been lazy, disinterested, or tightfisted in their own efforts or they would have found the same horses she had.

On her way south toward Safari World, she decided to stop by the Grand Union Hotel to see if Mrs. Diegel knew of any farmers with horses to sell that she had overlooked. She found the innkeeper in the kitchen, discussing the supper menu with the cook. “You’re too late to bid your friend good-bye,” said Mrs. Diegel. “She checked out this morning.”

Elizabeth waited for Mrs. Diegel to add that Mae had skipped out without paying her bill, and breathed a sigh of relief when she did not. “She’s not really a friend,” she felt compelled to explain. “I met her on the train and we parted ways in St. Louis. Her visit was…a surprise.”

“She left a far sight happier than when she arrived, I’ll say that much for her.” Mrs. Diegel broke off to correct the kitchen maid’s choice of serving platters, then took Elizabeth by the arm and led her to the parlor. Elizabeth had not intended to make a lengthy visit, so she explained her errand as they walked. Mrs. Diegel seemed surprised that Safari World had assigned her the task of finding performing horses, since usually Caroline Hanneman preferred to select them herself from a favorite horse breeder just north of Los Angeles. She scanned Elizabeth’s list, said that she couldn’t think of any other possibilities Elizabeth had missed, and commended her for striking out on her own in business.

“I’m just doing what’s necessary,” Elizabeth replied. “The sooner I earn enough money, the sooner I can buy back my quilts from you.”

Mrs. Diegel’s approving smile faded. “Well. As to that…” She gestured to an overstuffed armchair, but something in her tone fixed Elizabeth in place. “I’m still happy to sell you the Chimneys and Cornerstones quilt, but you’ll have to contact the new owner if you wish to purchase the Double Wedding Ring.”