Her Heart's Desire (Sunflower Series Book 1) (7 page)

“Yeah, you worried me,” Craig said so
quietly, she almost didn’t hear him.

Gentleman Jack ran up on the deck with a
stuffed toy pheasant in his mouth. He dropped it at Craig’s feet,
then plopped, and rested his head on the toy, as if he, too,
understood the sadness of the cloudy day, and also why neither of
them had come out with him to play.

“You have to help me clean.” Lia rose and
swatted at Craig’s shoulder trying to lighten the mood. “Do you
remember how to do that?”

“Hey! My cleaning lady only comes once a
month. I do it the rest of the time.”

“Well, then, Mr. Janitor Junior, you clean
the guest bathroom. I did the rest yesterday morning. I’ve got
biscuits to make and a ham to put in the oven. You can help by
setting the dining room table for the buffet.”

She turned on the CD player. Faith Hill kept
them company while they worked at their chores before going to
their rooms to change for the memorial service.

From her dresser, Lia picked up a framed
photograph of her parents taken on their last vacation. There were
days when the frame lay face down. She couldn’t bear to look at it.
Other days, she carried it from room to room, needing the comfort
of their smiling faces. She would’ve never made it through the year
had she not come back to the farm. Craig would have to get used to
the fact that she intended to stay. She had accepted his move a
half-day’s drive away. Now she wanted his moral support about her
decisions. She would get back to the business of living.

But only at the farm.

As if she, too, had been planted in the
spring with the crops, she’d put down new roots in familiar ground,
and then grown, just like the crops, from seeds to stalks. Her
grief had followed the seasons, gray in winter, lightened in the
spring, and brightened during the summer. Her paintings reflected
the changes in her, too. The family memories were gifts of joy
now.

“Amelia, you ready?”

“Almost. Meet you in the car.”

The breeze blew the clouds away while she
dressed. Climbing into Craig’s car, she breathed in the smell of
new leather. Craig was doing well for himself, for that she was
thankful.

She rode in silence next to her brother and
focused on the bright sky. Its cheeriness irritated her sadness
like an annoying loose tooth—even if you didn’t mess with it, you
still knew it was there.

She tried putting aside dreary thoughts to
experience the beautiful rays of white light illuminating the
countryside, images she’d love to capture with oils, but the
joyfulness of the scene was wasted, overshadowed by her dark
mood.

“I wonder if everyone will be there?” she
said, thankful Craig had chosen silence over the noise of the
radio.

“I’ve never known anyone to RSVP to a
memorial service, but everyone we invited responded to the invite
for the potluck afterward,” Craig said quietly.

Lia fidgeted with the cuff of her blouse. The
purple suede heels she had discovered in her mother’s locked room
in the barn added New Orleans pizzazz to the conservative black
skirt and white silk blouse. The purple in the flowered scarf
draping her neck matched the purple in the shoes. While her mother
lived, Lia would’ve never considered wearing them, too loud and too
attention-grabbing. Her mother would be thrilled to know she’d
moved past some of her too conservative ways, and while she would
never fill her mother’s figurative shoes, she appreciated her
mother’s colorful flamboyance more now than ever.

“After the first month or so, I stopped going
multiple times each week to visit them,” she said, breaking the
silence. “It got too cold. After that, I went only once a
week.”

“Wait. You’d said you visited their graves
only a couple of times all summer.”

Pressure built in her chest. Anxiety pinged
like quick-firing pistons. She licked her lips, stalling before
uttering the truth. In their younger years, Craig would’ve swatted
her for lying. “We went together for Mother’s Day and Father’s Day,
and that was the last time I stood graveside...”

“Spit it out, Amelia. We discussed your
obsessive need to haunt the cemetery.”

“Craig, you don’t understand,” she said
quietly. “I feel so guilty about shutting mother out when I left
for college. I was terrified I relied on her so much that I would
fail at school...or life, if I didn’t stand on my own. As a result
of my rejection of her, she left me a legacy of boxes. Each and
every one reminds me of her.”

“You’re wrong. She left you a legacy of
memories and an example of how to live an honest life, be a good
wife, and raise a happy family. Can’t you see that?”

Lia snorted. “I do hold the memories dear.
But I’m an artist, and I want to farm. My decision to stay doesn’t
diminish mother’s dream for me.” She raised her voice, “It’s part
of why I love it here. But you’re unable to see that about me!”
Clearing her throat, she composed herself. “I’m as capable of
running the farm as I am painting, well, almost. As for the wife
business, at this rate, I’ll be an old maid forever. I can’t manage
anything beyond a second date.”

“There are suitable men in the city,” Craig
grumbled.

“That doesn’t do me any good here, now does
it?”

“We’re almost there. Let’s not fight.” Craig
reached over and squeezed her forearm.

For a few minutes, her heightened anxiety
subsided to a slow churn. Her brother had taken her mind off the
purpose for his visit—to give grief a final rest.

Lia crossed her legs, bouncing her foot while
she twisted her mother’s engagement ring on the middle finger of
her right hand. Mother had never declared her wishes. Did she want
the ring to go to Craig for his someday-bride? Craig had decided
she should keep the one-carat ring their father had given their
mother. If he ever married, his bride would wear a modern new
setting. Something to go with his new image, she suspected.

Having a family, a husband and children,
without her mother to share in the joy colored the future with a
shadow of gray. Today’s memorial service was an important event. A
marker of the passing of time. A year of grieving had come to an
end. The rawness of her loss had healed, but a small scab remained.
She fully expected it to scar. She picked at it mentally.
Emotionally, it needed more healing time. Why had she taken her
parents for granted?

Rumblings from a truck behind them drew her
attention. A horn beeped.

“Who could be so rude?” she demanded. Craig
shrugged, but his mouth moved into a lopsided grin. She flipped
down the visor and adjusted the mirror.

Lia’s hand went to her throat. Her chest
tightened. Her eyes darted to the mirror again and locked on
Lucas’s smile. He waved. Heat rose in her cheeks while tingles
traveled to her toes. Thinking of Lucas was like straddling
barbwire. Either way she moved, it hurt.

A year ago, he’d kissed her. In the moment of
that kiss, life wrapped her in a cocoon. She kissed him back. She’d
waited for so long for that kiss. Her heart sang with joy, ecstatic
as if she’d found a pot of gold in a cornfield after a tornado.

Only then to have Lucas snatch it away.

For the entire the last year, she’d waited
for a repeat performance. It never came. The boy she’d fallen in
love with had grown into a man, and neither boy nor man wanted her.
The strain between them made them barely friends. “Of course, it’s
Lucas Dwyer.”

Unrequited love was not the glorious thing
poets made it out to be. Over-romanticized drivel. Lucas would
never know how often she painted and watched for his truck to pass
on the road. The sunroom with its walls of windows provided an
exceptional view of the few vehicles coming and going.

Each week, then each month, since Lucas last
kissed her, her hope dwindled. Just once, she wished he’d stop by
the farm to see about her. Really see her, not check up on the
crop, or do something for her brother.

Where had the passion and tenderness he’d
given in her most desperate hour disappeared to? His reputation
didn’t include irresponsible behavior. In fact, his actions were
usually the complete opposite. He considered every decision he made
before he acted. But in her case, had he just overreacted to her
tears? Pondering, she refused to accept any conclusion, at least
not a satisfying one. The only good thing after that kiss—she’d
poured her heart into her painting.

She sighed. Wouldn’t Lucas be surprised if he
knew she’d dreamed of him?

“I hope he doesn’t pass us. Your new car will
be covered with dust,” Lia said.

Craig glanced in her direction. She smiled
saccharine-sweet. “After all, this isn’t St. Louis. You’ll have to
drive all the way to town for a carwash.”

“I’m not worried about the car. I am
wondering about you, though. Amelia, what’s up with you and Lucas?
You’ve been down on him from the moment I got home. He’s family.
The only way we, meaning you and I, could be closer to him is
if...”

“If what?” she demanded.

“Nothing.” Craig shook his head. “Let’s not
fight. I’m sure the anxiety of the service is weighing on both of
us.”

Rising apprehension bit at her nerves. Her
shoulder muscles tightened. If a distraction didn’t happen fast,
she’d lose what remaining composure she possessed. This time, Lucas
wouldn’t be there to comfort her in the middle of a breakdown.

“Why, I don’t know what you mean, big
brother.” Lia winked an eye repeatedly while bobbling her head and
shrugging one shoulder.

“Great! Comic relief. Keep that up,” Craig
chuckled. “Dress up like a Zombie. You’ll be a hit at
Halloween.”

Lia went still. “You know we don’t get
trick-or-treaters out here.”

“Just several more reasons to be in the city.
Trick-or-treat in your neighborhood. Halloween parties at school
and in the West Bottoms.”

“Drop it, Craig. You gave me a full calendar
year. I won’t fail. There’s a good crop waiting for harvest. I’ve
got enough boxes to help pay the bills. And, I’ve got some income
from my art work. I’m not going back.”

Craig heaved out a deep sigh. “You’re
stubborn, just like Dad. Everything might work out this year, but
what about next year, and the year after? Amelia, I’m begging you,
go back to the city and paint. Become a famous artist. Become the
toast of the town. Become teacher of the year, but don’t ruin your
life waiting on corn.”

“When we get to the cemetery, don’t you dare
let on that we’ve been fighting,” she snapped. “Not in front of
everyone. Mom and Dad would be so embarrassed. It would break Mom’s
heart.”

“Amelia, you’re breaking mine.”

Chapter 6

Craig scanned the crowd. More than a dozen
people had gathered for the very private graveside memorial. Their
support provided an anchor in his life. Appreciation radiated
through him, reaching into the black Kansas dirt and nurturing the
connection to his family roots. Each person took turns sharing a
lighthearted memory of his parents. To his surprise, Amelia hadn’t
cried, though when she lifted the sunglasses from her face, her
expression of sad resignation ripped his heart like an axe slamming
into a tree. She used to smile freely, radiate with a joy
contagious to all around her. When would a full smile replace her
weak one?

When it was Lucas’s turn to speak, he looked
around at the people gathered in the circle. “They were second
parents to me. Treated me like a son. Mrs. Britton sent me packages
when I was in Afghanistan. Their passing has left empty spaces in
my life. However, they would expect all of us to soldier on with
chins up and shoulders back.”

Everyone nodded.

“Mrs. Britton taught me to dance,” Megan
said. “You know, the tango and the box-step.” She demonstrated the
dance steps, swaying her hips. “Through her, I found confidence to
be myself.”

“She brought her New Orleans
joie de
vivre
to the plains,” Helen said. “It took us a while to
understand the southern in her. She was sweet like bread pudding
and spicy like gumbo. Craig and Amelia”—Helen pointed across the
circle at them—“your mother loved your father so much she moved up
here to live her life. Your parents were role models for our
community.”

“Thank you, Helen, for your kind words.”
Craig replied. He understood better what his mother had given up to
love and marry his father. She devoted her life to all of them, but
she always remained a bit of a fish out of water in Kansas...same
for him. As much as he loved his childhood memories, his sister,
and his friends, St. Louis was more exciting than Harvest, Kansas
had ever been. Farming would be last on the list of jobs he ever
wanted. His father never understood that about him, but his mother
had.

After all the guests had spoken, his sister
took a half step forward into the circle. “Thank you for coming
today. It means a lot to me to keep the memory of my parents alive.
For as long as I’m able to stay on the farm”—Amelia glanced over
her shoulder at him—“I will host a Twelfth Night celebration every
year. Mother had her quirky ways, but I wouldn’t trade her for
another. Dad understood me best, though I’m not sure why. He always
encouraged my painting. I hope to make my parents proud and put
Harvest on the map someday. Thank you again for sharing this circle
with Craig and me today.”

Murmurs of agreement drifted around the ring
as Amelia stepped back.

Craig walked into the middle of the circle
and stood between the headstones of his parents. “I’m grateful you
came,” he told the group. “It’s nice to see familiar faces. I
appreciate your support, be it from respect for our parents or
support of us. Thanks for looking after my sister—even if she’s
stubborn like a mule’s backside.” Everyone but Amelia chuckled in
response. “You know how much my father loved barbecue. His trophies
remain on the shelves in the sunroom. Mother refused to display
them on the mantle. So, let’s go celebrate life. As Dad always
said, ‘The secret to good barbecue is sauce—it covers up all
mistakes.’ We’re serving ’cue—pig and cow—and we’ll wash it down
with brew.”