Tracie Peterson (4 page)

Thinking of her only daughter caused Mattie more pain than she cared to admit. She made her way to the casket, happy that everyone had preoccupied themselves with someone else. She needed a few moments alone.

The woman in the casket hardly resembled the lively teenager
Mattie had raised. Gently, Mattie touched her daughter’s cold hand.
Oh, Rachelle . . . my daughter.
Tears came to Mattie’s eyes and her previously squared, strong shoulders slumped forward in sorrow.

I failed you, my little one. I failed you. I wish I could somehow live life all over again and do things right. When your Daddy and little Robbie died in that car accident, I should have known the pain would be devastating to you. I should have found a better way to help you deal with your grief. Maybe if I had, you wouldn’t have run away. You wouldn’t have gone searching the world for a love that always existed for you at home.

Mattie regretted the past, holding a painful notion that somewhere along the way she had been an inadequate mother. When her beloved Edgar and son, Robbie, had died on an icy highway, Mattie had felt the bottom go out of her world. Left alone with a farm and a twelve-year-old daughter, Mattie had done the best job she could do. Sadly, it hadn’t been enough.

Rachelle had withdrawn inside herself, and Mattie had been too preoccupied with seeing to their finances and other needs to give her the attention she needed.
But I tried
, Mattie reasoned.
I tried to talk to you, Rachelle. I tried to make you realize the accident wasn’t your fault.
But Rachelle had always bore a guilt that Mattie knew would never be easily dissolved. Edgar had been on his way to pick up Rachelle from school when the car slid off the ice-covered road and over an embankment. The twelve-year-old had never been able to get past the idea that she had been the cause of her father’s death.

“I wanted so much more for you,” Mattie whispered. She knew that if anyone would have overheard her, they’d never have understood. Rachelle Barrister had everything money could buy. What more could Mattie have desired? But there was so much more.

“The cars are ready to take us to the cemetery,” Pastor Wallace said softly.

Mattie turned and smiled. “You did a wonderful job. I’m sure the graveside service will be just as lovely.”

“Probably a bit more crowded,” Harry said, coming to stand beside Mattie. “I think you did well to limit the church service.”

Mattie nodded. “Such madness. I suppose we can’t put it off.”

“I’ll be right beside you,” Harry promised.

Mattie looked up at the young man who had become like a son to her. They had needed each other, and with nothing more than a scenic lake and acres of farmland between them, it had been only natural for them to share their loneliness. Not only were their farms joined, their lives were joined as well. Harry had become just as important to Mattie as any of the girls.

Taking a deep breath, Mattie looked to Harry for direction. “I guess I’m ready.”

Harry jumped back as photographers snapped pictures and forced microphones in front of his face. Behind him, Mattie and the others were trying to emerge from the church, but the press was making it almost impossible. The death of world-renowned actress Rachelle Barrister was the type of affair the media craved, especially in light of the cause of her death, an overdose of sleeping pills. Accidental or on purpose, no one could be sure, but the actress had been en route to a remote location in Alaska where she was filming her latest movie. When the plane landed and her personal secretary, Mavis Lane, attempted to wake the sleeping actress, disaster unfolded and a world tragedy was born.

Turning, Harry took hold of Mattie’s arm. “This looks like it will be quite an ordeal,” he said, leaning close to her ear. “I’ll get you out of here the best way I can.”

“Sorry about this, Harry,” Mattie replied.

Harry pushed forward, hoping that Mattie’s granddaughters would have the good sense to follow at a close pace. “Look, they don’t want to talk to you, so just back off!” he declared to the press.

“Please, Mrs. Mitchell, could you just answer a few questions?”

“Mrs. Mitchell, can you tell us how you feel now that your daughter has died?”

“Will you be going to California to settle Ms. Barrister’s affairs?”

The questions were haphazardly called out as the photographers angled their cameras and snapped pictures as quickly as they could.
Harry maneuvered between two television reporters, pushing a little harder than he had to in order to get Mattie to the awaiting limosine.

“Mrs. Mitchell! Mrs. Mitchell!”

The cries were rather unsettling to Harry, who wasn’t accustomed to such rudeness. How could these people live with themselves? They were intruding on a private moment, a moment of mourning for a mother who had just lost her child. Didn’t they realize what they were doing to her—to the others?

He reached the funeral home limousine and opened the door. He practically had to shove Mattie inside as one particularly brave reporter reached out to take hold of her arm. When Mattie yelped painfully, Harry pushed the man away.

“Leave them alone!” he demanded.

Ashley and Brook were holding on to each other, while Connie was sandwiched between Deirdre and Erica. Harry pushed his way back through the reporters to help the girls to the limo.

“Get in,” he ordered, glancing only momentarily longer at Ashley than any of the others. He saw her look away rather quickly and wondered if it would always be that way between them.

Ashley and Brook quickly allowed Harry to help them up into the car. Deirdre was waylaid as a reporter stuck a microphone in her face, while Erica and Connie were pushed away from her in a sudden surge of the crowd. Harry quickly moved to Erica and Connie, helping them into the car as the reporters demanded answers from Deirdre.

“What’s your name? Which daughter are you?”

“Deirdre Woodward,” she replied, seeming almost mesmerized by the sudden onslaught.

“How has the death of your mother affected you?” another questioned.

Harry had forced his way back through the group at this point. “It’s made her camera shy,” he said sarcastically and pulled Deirdre close to him.

“Are you her husband?” a bearded man questioned before sticking
a camera inches away from Harry’s face. He snapped the picture, then waited for an answer.

Harry grimaced and struggled to half drag, half carry Deirdre to the limo. “Just a few more feet,” he told her.

Finally they reached the car, where reporters were still trying to get answers to their questions from the others. Harry had reached the limit of his patience. He pushed two men and one woman aside and shoved Deirdre into the backseat. Closing the door, he turned and said, “No more!”

Heading to the front passenger side, Harry got in amid protests from the media people.
They’re vultures and they want to feed on our bones
, he thought.

“Are you still sure you want to go to the cemetery?” he called back to the women.

“I think we have to,” Mattie replied. “We’ll just have to stick together. Is everyone all right?”

“Fine,” they answered in unison.

“What about you, Deirdre?” Mattie asked.

“I’m okay, Grammy. Harry got me out of there in the nick of time. Maybe they could make a movie of this madness. You know, one of those really awful made-for-TV movies,” Deirdre suggested with a laugh. “I thought for sure I’d be eaten alive back there. You make a great hero, Harry.”

Harry turned around, a slight grin on his face. His expression faltered as he surveyed the women. They looked so frightened and shaken that he wanted nothing more than to insist they head back to the farm.

“If I have to play that scene too many more times,” he finally said, “I’m not sure I’ll be nearly so civil. I might turn into the bad guy without any trouble at all.”

Ashley looked at him, her eyes full of expression. “You could never be the bad guy, Harry.”

Her words pierced his heart. He wasn’t still in love with her, but in her way, Harry knew she was taking responsibility for the way she’d
left him—nearly at the altar. They’d never talked about it. Not once in ten years. Harry had never demanded an explanation and Ashley had never offered one. He figured at first that she’d called off their engagement because she was afraid to commit, but when she’d married the soon-to-be doctor from Denver only a few months later, Harry couldn’t help but feel he deserved a few answers. But he went on waiting and wanting those answers and, for a time, wanting Ashley as well.

He felt a bit of relief in the fact that he could now look at Ashley and feel nothing more than he felt for any of the other Mitchell girls. Oh, his memories were perhaps more bittersweet, but at least he didn’t feel as though his heart might break at the mere sight of her. That was especially important now that he was engaged to Sarah Hooper and planning to get married in the fall.

He turned back around and said nothing. There really was nothing to say. Everyone in the car knew that Ashley’s words held a double meaning. There was no sense in making an issue of it. Perhaps it was her way of settling the past once and for all.

Chapter 4

The graveside service proved to be the three-ring circus that everyone feared, but after the hoopla faded and the last “amen” was offered, there was, in Deirdre Woodward’s mind, little left to do but return to the comfort of the farm.

Of course, the media had it figured otherwise, but the local law enforcement was good to offer help and soon the family returned to their various vehicles at the church. Deirdre had driven to Council Grove from Kansas City, taking Erica with her and picking up Connie in Topeka. The three sisters probably had more in common with each other than with Ashley and Brook, but Deirdre had always figured that to be due to the twin bond shared by their elder sisters.

She and Erica shared a similar bond. They had always been close as youngsters, and when Deirdre had married and moved to Kansas City, Erica soon followed. It seemed only natural, and it fit well with Erica’s desire to play flute in a large philharmonic orchestra.

Deirdre had been happy for Erica’s company, especially when Dave had to stay late at the office. Dave Woodward worked as a successful law partner with one of Kansas City’s more prestigious firms. Being a junior partner, his job often kept him downtown well into the evening, but he had promised Deirdre the sacrifice would be worth it in the long run. Deirdre hoped so. It seemed they never had a moment for each other and lately Dave had been awfully preoccupied with one particular case.

“Have you ever in your life seen such a mess?” Erica questioned as she climbed into the front seat. Connie had opted to ride with Harry and Mattie, and that left just Erica to make the trip back to
the farm with Deirdre.

“Rachelle would have loved it,” Deirdre replied, starting the car.

“No doubt.” Erica looked out the window at the open country-side. “I suppose there will be a big dinner.”

“Yes, Gram told me the ladies of the church were at the house preparing it while we were at the funeral,” Deirdre admitted. She turned off the highway onto a gravel road and followed the dust left by Harry’s pickup truck.

“Everything’s really greened up nicely,” Deirdre said as she gazed off to her left.

“I remember springtime down here. You could smell it almost before you could see it,” Erica said, closing her eyes. “I remember the smells almost more than anything else.”

Deirdre laughed. “Sometimes those smells weren’t too good, but I know what you mean. Nothing—absolutely nothing—smells like freshly turned dirt.”

“I guess they’ll never take the farm girl out of us,” Erica replied, opening her eyes. “Sometimes I feel like such a hick for liking the simple things. Sean’s family has money and they find my laid-back country tastes to be quaint, but certainly not anything worth boasting about.”

Deirdre knew exactly what Erica meant. She found herself in a constant battle over fashionable taste and reminiscent charms. Dave didn’t seem to mind her love of Grammy’s quilts, but he drew the line at having country knickknacks around the house. He preferred a kind of Art Deco modernistic design for the living room, dining room, and kitchen—the areas where visitors were sure to venture.

Looking back at the landscape around them, Deirdre felt her heart ache with a kind of longing. She hadn’t expected to miss the prairie or the smells or the colors. There arose in her soul a sense of searching, a needful desire to go back home. Funny, in all her previous visits, she’d never felt it quite so strongly. Perhaps it was Rachelle’s death or maybe it was the conflict and strife in her own life, but whatever it was, Deirdre felt as though she couldn’t get to the
farm fast enough. Somehow she knew the farm and Grammy would help fill the empty places in her heart.

She smiled at the memory of spending day after day in the garden with Grammy. Grammy had taught the girls to plant vegetable gardens and to harvest fruit from the various trees and bushes in the area. Canning lessons came after that, as well as sewing, knitting, crocheting, and embroidery. Gram had a desire for all her girls to be self-sufficient.