Sister's Choice (14 page)

“But I can buy a machine if you tell me what to look for. That’s no problem, and if I’m making baby quilts, I could just use our great-room table, couldn’t I? The girls might even like to help.”

“Oh, you won’t need a machine. I think we should work on them here, and you can use mine. That way I can teach you as you go.”

“That seems like a lot of work, Grace. Are you sure?”

“I tell you what. You’ll be working on quilts for the babies, but why don’t I make quilts for your girls,
with
your girls, while we’re at it? That way they won’t have hurt feelings. You can always make quilts for them, too, when they’re a little older.”

Jamie could just imagine how much her daughters would love that. “They’re very opinionated,” she warned.

“Children should be, you know. You’re raising them to know what they like and not be at all insecure about making it known. They’ll need those skills as they grow.”

Grace wandered over to the fabric shelves. “I have enough fabric here to start my own shop. I imagine Hannah and Alison will find things they like, and if not, we’ll visit a store. Children love to sew. Adults just don’t love to let them.”

Jamie sensed that the project excited her new friend. She had suspected Grace was lonely, and this reinforced the feeling. She was delighted that both of them were going to benefit from something that, on the surface, looked to be so one-sided.

“Do you have pictures of a Sister’s Choice quilt?” Jamie asked. “I’d love to see one.”

“Oh, even better. I have one on my bed. An old one. I’ll show you.”

Jamie followed her back to the other end of the hallway, past multiple doors and bedrooms. The house was larger than she’d thought from the outside.

Grace opened the door. This room was half the size of the sewing room, which seemed more the room to use as a master bedroom. There was an old walnut sleigh bed, a dresser of the same walnut and a mirror that needed to be resilvered. One wall sported a chest of drawers, but that was all the room could hold.

The quilt on the bed was lovely, but nothing like the ones that Grace made. This was composed of multiple sedate florals, in lavenders, blues and greens, with the occasional punch of red. The pattern formed an unusual star with a cross intersecting it. The blocks were connected by the same dark green corners, which, when linked, made smaller stars in between. The background was white, although it had mellowed to ivory.

“It’s charming,” Jamie said. “And completely unlike you. Is it an heirloom?”

Grace lifted the edge and held it up for Jamie to see. “Yes and no, but I made it. By hand. One of the few quilts I ever did that way.”

Jamie saw neat little stitches holding the quilt together. “When?”

“I finished it in 1943. This is what I did in the evenings after I put the children to bed. Ben was gone, of course, at war, like all the other men who had joined up or been drafted. Late at night this house was very quiet. The whole Valley seemed quiet during those years. Breaths held, prayers prayed silently.”

“I’m sure this was better than worrying.”

“No, at first the quilt was simply the way I dealt with my past and future. And I had a lot to deal with. But that’s a long story.”

Jamie sensed that Grace was asking if she wanted to hear it. Cash had told her that Grace had an interesting tale about life with his grandfather. Now her curiosity was piqued. Grace wasn’t a woman who talked endlessly about herself. She was a listener and a doer. Whatever she had to tell would surely be fascinating.

“I have time,” Jamie said. “I don’t have to pick up the girls for another hour. And this sounds like a story worth listening to.”

“You might be sorry you got me started.”

“I feel the need for another glass of lemonade. And another cinnamon roll.”

“All right. I might have time to begin. Even Sandra doesn’t know every bit of this, nor Cash, of course. But I think you, of all people, might like to hear it.”

Jamie was touched, and honored. “I would.”

“I’ll tell you a little over that lemonade.” Grace smoothed the quilt back over the sheets. “But really, we’re going to need to find something else you can drink. I’m beginning to pucker up, dear. You will, too, and it’s not a pretty look.”

“So bring on the apple juice.”

Grace fluffed a pillow. “Now those are words that warm my heart. But you may need to drink a lot, because this story is long and complicated. And like your own, it begins with a choice I made for my own sister. I was Grace Fedley in those days, and my sister was Anna. She was more than ten years older than me, so I understand all too well how powerful an older sister can be. Then, one day, everything I’d ever known about myself and my sister changed.”

1941

G
race Fedley didn’t like the hulking farmhouse at Cashel Orchard, and she despised the steep road up the mountain to get there, a trip her father’s elderly Chevrolet stake bed truck was, in the best of weather, reluctant to complete. This evening, as January sleet silvered the new permanent wave in her chestnut hair, dislike turned to revulsion. One mile back, the truck was steaming by the roadside, and somewhere below that, her father was stumbling wearily down the mountain, hoping to find a neighbor to help get it started again. She had elected to continue by foot.

Now, as Grace trudged up the orchard drive, ice water from the melt-off river gushing along the roadside seeped through the soles of her shoes and bled up her stockings. Brambles reached out to grab and imprison her, and shrubs long denied pruning leered from above, spurred to a macabre dance by the winter wind.

She could have remained in the truck with her mother. But a message brought by a neighbor who housed the local telephone switchboard had claimed Anna needed Grace, and needed her immediately. She was to proceed to the orchard without further delay. And she was to bring the family Bible.

Now, as then, Grace wondered what reason her sister could have for this summons. Anna was pregnant with her second child, but if Anna was in early labor, Grace certainly had no skills to assist. Nor were she and Anna close. Grace was, in fact, one of the last people Anna would turn to in an emergency.

Halfway up the drive, two German shepherds appeared, snarling and snapping until—to her relief—they recognized her and trotted back to the house. She could see lights in the windows, and a stranger’s car parked at the side. Frowning, she summoned what speed she could, and in a minute she had climbed to the porch.

The fact that she couldn’t simply walk into her sister’s house was a sad commentary on their relationship. Instead, she shifted from foot to foot while she rapped on the door. When nobody came, she banged with the side of a fist, and finally, when that brought no results, she let herself in. What point was there in trying not to invite criticism, when nothing she did would please Anna anyway?

The entry hall was dreary, with wallpaper that had been old decades ago curling in strips at the ceiling. One lamp tried to fight off the January gloom but couldn’t succeed. She registered these things, but vaguely. The man at the top of the steps invited most of her attention.

“Well, you took your time getting here, didn’t you?”

Grace stared up at Ben Cashel and thought she probably liked him even less than usual. She had never liked Ben one iota more than she liked his gloomy house, the winding road that led to it or the woman he’d married. Anna might be her sister, but Grace couldn’t call forth one happy memory of Anna’s years as a Fedley. Her own life had improved immeasurably the day Anna married Ben and moved away. And now Grace believed that these two people, so perfectly suited to each other, should enjoy eternal and solitary companionship and not force anyone else to watch.

She reminded herself that soon, very soon, she would be so far away that Anna would never again be able to order her to appear again. She wasn’t even sure Anna would be able to find her.

“The truck broke down,” Grace said without apology. “Mama stayed inside, and Papa went to find help. I walked the last mile.”

Grace was not one to complain or argue. But when Ben’s expression didn’t change, she was goaded to do both. “Through the sleet, which you would notice, if you weren’t so busy passing judgment.”

Ben was a tall man, and he seemed taller now because of his position so far above her. A shock of brown hair hung over his forehead, and he was wearing overalls that faded against his tan skin. He had a handsome face—straight nose, high cheekbones, Rudolph Valentino lips—handsome enough that at first Grace had thought he could do a lot better for a helpmate than Anna. But that was before she’d gotten to know him. Before she discovered Ben was as somber, as hidebound, as judgmental, as her sister.

His voice was flat and emotionless. “Your sister is dying.”

For a moment Grace wasn’t sure she’d understood him.

Anna had been in top form on Christmas afternoon, the last time Grace had seen her. Grace had listened to criticism of everything, from the round-toed shoes she had purchased with her first paycheck at the rayon factory to the length of her hair. Grace had cuddled her sober two-year-old nephew on her lap, while his mother insisted she was teaching the boy things Anna would only have to discipline him for later. When Grace protested, Anna had turned to her husband. In silent agreement, Ben had whisked the disappointed Charlie off for a nap.

Anna had been cold. Anna had been critical. But Anna had been well.

Now Grace protested. “Dying? She can’t be. She was fine Christmas day.”

“She is
not
fine now. Why would we have called you if she was? The baby came at noon, and Anna hasn’t stopped bleeding. It’s just a matter of time.”

He might have been reciting the story of an unfortunate mare or cow. He sounded tired, but not unduly upset. He sounded as if he just wanted this day to end.

Grace steadied herself with a hand on the newel post. “And the baby?”

“Another boy. Too small. I doubt he’ll make it, either.”

She wanted to tell him she was sorry, but something inside her rebelled. She
was
sorry. Desperately sorry. But Ben probably wouldn’t believe it, and even if he did, he certainly wouldn’t care.

“I saw a car,” she said instead.

“The doctor. He’s done what he can.”

“Where’s little Charlie?”

“A neighbor came and took him home for the night.”

Grace was glad Charlie wasn’t here, but she hoped they’d had enough sense to let him say goodbye to his mother. “I’m sorry about Mama. Anna will be wanting her.”

He shrugged. “No, for some reason it’s you she wants.”

Grace couldn’t understand this. “Now?”

“In a few minutes. Dry yourself. I’ll call you when it’s time.” Without another word, he left her standing there.

She went into the kitchen and found feedsack towels, and without even thinking, she began to do as he’d ordered, stripping off her coat and shoes, and doing what she could to sop up the moisture.

Grace felt numb. Numb from the cold. Numb from the news. Numb from Ben’s delivery of it. Her sister was dying, and although Grace truly was dismayed and sorry, she knew she didn’t feel everything she should. Anna might be her sister, but the two of them were so different that their shared origins were hard to believe.

Shared they were, though. Grace and Anna were the only two girls in a family of eight children. By the time Grace had finally made an appearance, her parents had been exhausted from child rearing. Perhaps the death of three young sons had made them reluctant to take a chance on loving another child, or perhaps the couple had just despaired that, so late in life, Grace’s mother, Mina, had conceived again. Whatever the cause, Grace received little supervision. The sunny disposition and high spirits she exhibited from infancy were left to blossom freely. Curbing natural inclinations was a job her parents no longer had the energy for.

While the other Fedley children toiled in Fedley fields and worked in the family sawmill, Grace was left to her own devices. Although neither her mother nor father thought much education was valuable for girls, she finished high school without obstacles, since school was a way to keep her busy and out of sight. As she matured, her frequent absences from home went largely unnoticed by anyone except her older sister. But Anna, who was still living at home,
did
notice, appointing herself Grace’s guardian, conscience and personal Simon Legree.

Although the somber, perpetually exhausted Fedleys were not an ideal family, were it not for Anna, Grace might have considered her childhood good enough. At school, at church and recently at her first real job, she discovered friends who, like her, had no use for the restrictions of rural life when the country was finally coming out of the Depression, and factories and offices were clamoring for help. She discovered laughter, dancing and parties, pretty clothes, radio shows and older boys who smelled of Brylcreem and Old Spice. Only Anna stood between her and total freedom, Anna who chastised and questioned her whenever she came home, Anna who locked the doors to keep Grace inside and her hands busy with mending or ironing.

Grace had counted the days until Anna married and left. Now, at seventeen and finally finished with school, Grace was counting the days until she could escape the Valley prison she was forced to call home. The world beckoned. She planned to accept that invitation.

Her parents didn’t know yet. The family farm and sawmill had been heavily mortgaged to pay Depression-driven debts, and now they were planning to sell to avoid foreclosure. As soon as they could, her father and mother would move to Delaware to live with their oldest son and his family. They expected Grace to continue her new job as a spinner at the rayon plant in Front Royal and find lodging with the family of one of her brothers, where she could help keep house or care for their children in addition to her factory hours.

But Grace had other plans.

On the trip up the mountain, she had told herself that whatever Anna intended for this evening, Grace’s own intention was to tell her sister goodbye once and for all.

Sadly, she hadn’t realized how true that would be.

At last tears filled her eyes. Anna was dying, and the two of them would never have an opportunity to solve the problems between them.

She stopped blotting and straightened, suddenly aware of a new possibility. Maybe forgiveness was the reason Anna had asked for her. Maybe Anna wanted to confess that she had always been jealous of her prettier little sister, of Grace’s relative freedom and lack of supervision, and that had colored their relationship. Anna might well ask Grace to forgive her, which of course Grace would do. Their past seemed childish now in the face of what was to come.

Even if Anna was too exhausted to voice any of these thoughts, Grace could tell her that she forgave her anyway. She would promise to look in on Charlie whenever she could. This would mean coming back to the Valley occasionally, but she could do that for Anna. They were, after all was said and done, sisters. That had to mean something.

She went back to the bottom of the stairs and waited to be called. She could hear people talking above her; then the midwife, a gap-toothed old woman Anna recognized from church, came down the stairs shaking her head.

“She fought good,” she said, admiration in her voice. “She’s a stubborn one, that sister of yours. She pushed that baby out with everything she had left in her. But it took all she had. Ain’t nothing left in her now. She won’t last long.”

“The baby?”

“He’s all wrapped up in his cradle. I saw to that. Gotta keep him warm. That’s the way of things. Might make it, might not. I’d expect the latter, I were you. Oughta have a box ready to put him in the ground. Sensible thing to have one done and ready, and a good hole dug. That last part’ll be hard, the ground’s so froze up.”

Grace wondered how the woman, whose name she couldn’t remember, could think ahead to mundane details like a coffin for the baby before the poor little thing had even passed on.

The midwife gave a humorless smile. “Don’t look so surprised, Missy. I bury ’bout one baby to every dozen or so I save. Nothing to be done about it. You ask that doctor. He’ll tell you I do the best I can, but your sister had no call to have another child. Doctor and I both told her so after the last baby came. But she paid us no mind. Now look what she’s gone and done.”

Grace hadn’t known this. Anger filled her. She wondered if Ben had forced himself on her sister, demanded she share his bed, even though the results could be fatal. She wasn’t clear on all the details, but she had heard from some of her friends that there were ways to prevent pregnancy, even when a bed was shared. She wondered if her sister had known any of them.

“Best milk to try for that baby would be goat milk, ’less you can find somebody to nurse him. I told Mr. Cashel such. When your sister’s gone, you remind him now. I think the Lindemuths down the mountain a piece have some goats, and they’ll likely sell or even give him the milk, he just asks.”

“I’ll remind him.” Grace put her hand on the old woman’s arm. “Did Anna mention me? She called and asked for me.”

“She didn’t mention nobody, but I know she sent a neighbor out on an errand jist as soon as the doctor told her she needed to get right with God.”

Grace tried to imagine how Anna felt. Her sister had never seemed excited about having another baby, but Anna never seemed excited about anything. Still, to be told that a child you might have wanted, at least in some part of your heart, was stealing your life away…? She felt another wave of sympathy for her sister and wished she could go upstairs to comfort her.

“Can I go up now?” she asked.

“The doctor’s finishing, though there’s nothing much to be done now. And she’s saying goodbye to that husband of hers.”

Grace looked up as more footsteps sounded and saw Dr. Flint, the white-haired gentleman who had brought her into the world, at the top of the stairs, adjusting the handle of his black bag. He came down and joined them.

“She’s asking for you,” he said. “Time to go up in a moment. Don’t upset her. Nothing you say will matter much to her, since her time is short, but you’ll remember whatever it is all the days of your life. Better to let things drop right here, before you see her.”

Grace realized the doctor must have heard that she and Anna had never been close, that there was, in fact, bad blood between them. “I don’t want to upset her. I just want to say goodbye.”

“Make sure that’s all you say, then.” He pulled the midwife to one side, and they conversed in hushed tones.

Grace wondered if she
should
tell Anna she forgave her. What if that was what the doctor was warning against? She tried to think of a way to phrase her last words to her sister. Should she tell Anna she loved her, even if Anna would know it wasn’t exactly true?
Did
she love her, simply because Anna was her sister? It seemed possible, but the question might take a lot more time to answer truthfully than she had.