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Grams drew her inside, blotting her tears with an unsteady hand, while her own trickled down her cheeks. “I’m so glad you’re here, Dree. So glad.”
The childhood nickname, given when two-years-younger Rachel couldn’t say her name, increased the sensation that she’d stepped into the past. She stood in the center hall that had seemed enormous to her once, with its high ceiling and wide plank floor. Barney, Grams’s sheltie, danced around them, welcoming her with little yips.
She bent to pet the dog, knowing Barney wouldn’t stop until she did. “I went to the hospital to see Rachel. They told me you’d already gone home. I should have called you….”
Grams shook her head, stopping her. “It’s fine. Cal phoned me while you were with Rachel.”
“He didn’t say.” Her tone was dry. Nice of him, but he might have mentioned he’d talked to Grams.
“He told me about the accident.” Grams’s arm, still strong and wiry despite her age, encircled Andrea’s waist. Piercing blue eyes, bone structure that kept her beautiful despite her wrinkles, a pair of dangling aqua earrings that matched the blouse she wore—Grams looked great for any age, let alone nearly seventy-five. “Two accidents in one night is two too many.”
That was a typical Grams comment, the tartness of her tone hiding the fear she must have felt.
“Well, fortunately the only damage was to the car.” She’d better change the subject, before Grams started to dwell on might-have-beens. She looked through the archway to the right, seeing paint cloths draped over everything in the front parlor. “I see you’re in the midst of redecorating.”
Grams’s blue eyes darkened with worry. “The opening is Memorial Day weekend, and now Rachel is laid up. I don’t know…” She stopped and shook her head. “Well, we’ll get through it somehow. Right now, let’s get you settled, so that both of us can catch a few hours sleep. Tomorrow will be here before you know it.”
“Where are you putting me?” She glanced up the graceful open staircase that led from the main hall to the second floor. “Is that all guest rooms now?”
Grams nodded. “The west side of the house is the inn. The east side is still ours.” She opened the door on the left of the hall. “Come along in. We have the back stairway and the rooms on this side, so that’ll give us our privacy. You’ll be surprised at how well this is working out.”
She doubted it, but she was too tired to pursue the subject now. Or to think straight, for that matter. And Grams must be exhausted, physically and emotionally. Still, she couldn’t help one question.
“What was she doing out there? Rachel, I mean. Why was she walking along Crossings Road alone after dark?”
“She was taking Barney for a run.” Grams’s voice choked a little. “She’s been doing that for me since she got here, especially now that things have been so upset. Usually there’s not much traffic.”
That made sense. Rachel could cut onto Crossings Road, perpendicular to the main route, without going into the village.
She trailed her grandmother through the large room that had been her grandfather’s library, now apparently being converted into an office-living room, and up the small, enclosed stairway. This was the oldest part of the house, built in 1725. The ceilings were lower here, accounting for lots of odd little jogs in how the two parts of the Unger mansion fit together.
Grams held on to the railing, as if she needed some help getting up the stairs, but her back was as straight as ever. The dog, who always slept on the rug beside her bed, padded along.
Her mind flickered back to Grams’s comment. “What do you mean, things have been upset? Has something gone wrong with your plans?”
She could have told them, had told them, that they were getting in over their heads with this idea of turning the place into an inn. Neither of them knew anything about running a bed-and-breakfast, and Grams was too old for this kind of stress.
“Just—just the usual things. Nothing for you to worry about.”
That sounded evasive. She’d push, but they were both too tired.
Her grandmother opened a door at the top of the stairs. “Here we are. I thought you’d want your old room.”
The ceiling sloped, and the rosebud wallpaper hadn’t changed in twenty years. Even her old rag doll, left behind when her mother had stormed out of the house with them, still sat in the rocking chair, and her white Bible lay on the bedside table. This had been her room until she was ten, until the cataclysm that split the family and sent them flying off in all directions, like water droplets from a tornado. She tossed her bags onto the white iron bed and felt like crying once more.
“Thanks, Grams.” Her voice was choked.
“It’s all right.” Grams gave her another quick hug. “Let’s just have a quick prayer.” She clasped Andrea’s hands, and Andrea tried not to think about how long it had been since she’d prayed before tonight.
“Hold our Rachel in Your hands, Father.” Grams’s voice was husky. “We know You love her even more than we do. Please, touch her with Your healing hand. Amen.”
“Amen,” Andrea whispered. She was sure there were questions she should ask, but her mind didn’t seem to be working clearly.
“Night, Grams. Try and sleep.”
“Good night, Dree. I’m so glad you’re here.” Grams left the door ajar, her footsteps muffled on the hall carpet as she went to the room across the hall.
Andrea looked at her things piled on the bed, and it seemed a gargantuan effort to move them. She undressed slowly, settling in.
She took her shirt off and winced at the movement, turning to the wavy old mirror to see what damage she’d done. Bruises on her chest and shoulder were dark and ugly where the seat belt had cut in, and she had brush burns from the air bag. She was lucky that was the worst of it, but she shook a little at the reminder.
After pulling a sleep shirt over her head, she cleaned off the bed and turned back the covers. She’d see about her car in the morning. Call the office, explain that she wouldn’t be in for a few days. Her boss wouldn’t like that, not with the Waterburn project nearing completion. Well, she couldn’t make any decisions until she saw how Rachel was.
Frustration edged along her nerves as she crossed to the window to pull down the shade, not wanting to wake with the sun. This crazy scheme to turn the mansion into a bed-and-breakfast had been Rachel’s idea, no doubt. She hadn’t really settled to anything since culinary school, always moving from job to job.
Grams should have talked some sense into her, instead of going along with the idea. At this time in her life, Grams deserved a quiet, peaceful retirement. And Rachel should be finding a job that had some security to it.
Andrea didn’t like risky gambles. Maybe that was what made her such a good financial manager. Financial security came first, and then other things could line up behind it. If she’d learned anything from those chaotic years when her mother had dragged them around the country, constantly looking for something to make her happy, it was that.
She stood for a moment, peering out. From this window she looked over the roof of the sunroom, added on to the back of the house overlooking the gardens when Grams had come to the Unger mansion as a bride. There was the pond, a little gleam of light striking the water, and the gazebo. Other shadowy shapes were various outbuildings. Behind them loomed the massive bulk of the old barn that had predated even the house. Off to the right, toward the neighboring farm, was the “new” barn, dating to the 1920s.
It was dark now, with Cal presumably asleep in the tack room apartment. Well, he was another thing to worry about tomorrow. She lowered the shade with a decisive snap and went to crawl into bed.
Her eyes closed. She was tired, so tired. She’d sleep, and deal with all of it in the morning.
Something creaked overhead—once, then again. She stiffened, imagining a stealthy footstep in the connecting attics that stretched over the wings of the house. She strained to listen, clutching the sheet against her, but the sound wasn’t repeated.
Old houses make noises, she reminded herself. Particularly her grandmother’s, if her childhood memories were any indicator. She was overreacting. That faint, scratching sound was probably a mouse, safely distant from her. Tired muscles relaxed into the soft bed, and exhaustion swept over her.
She plummeted into sleep, as if she dived into a deep, deep pool.
Andrea stepped out onto the patio from the breakfast room, Barney nosing out behind her and then running off toward the pond, intent on his own pursuits. A positive call from the hospital had lifted a weight from her shoulders and she felt able to deal with other things. She paused to look around and take a deep breath of country air.
Not such pleasant country air, she quickly discovered. Eli Zook must be spreading manure on his acreage, which met the Unger property on two sides. How were the city tourists Rachel expected to have as guests going to like that? Maybe they’d be pleased at the smell of a genuine Amish farm.
They’d have to admire the view from the breakfast room. The flagstone patio had stood the years well, and now it was brightened by pots overflowing with pansies and ageratum. The wide flower bed dazzled with peonies and daylilies. She had knelt there next to Grams, learning to tell a weed from a flower.
Moving a little stiffly, thanks to her bruises, she stepped over the low patio wall and followed the flag-stone path that led back through the farther reaches of the garden, weaving around the pond and past the gazebo with its white Victorian gingerbread. When she glanced back at the house, morning sunlight turned the sandstone to mellow gold, making the whole building glow.
Rounding the small potting shed, she came face-to-face with the new barn. An apt expression, because she’d always thought the barn had more character than a lot of people. Lofty, white, a traditional bank barn with entries on two levels, it had the stone foundation and hip roof that characterized Pennsylvania Dutch barns. More properly Pennsylvania Swiss or German, her grandfather had always said, but the name stuck.
It hadn’t seen much use since her grandfather had stopped farming and leased the fields to the Zook family, but the stone foundation showed no sign of deterioration, and the wooden planks looked as if they had a fresh coat of white paint.
A small sign on the upper level door was the only indication that Cal Burke did business here. And how much business could he do, really? The only way into his shop was via the rutted lane that ran along a hedge of overgrown lilacs that bordered the house. She glanced toward the road. Yes, there was a tiny sign there, too, one that could hardly be read from a passing car. The man needed a few lessons in marketing.
She walked up the bank to the door and tapped lightly. Stepping inside, she inhaled the scent of wood shavings and hay. Music poured from a CD player that sat on a wooden bench. Cal apparently liked Mozart to work by. He bent over a pie safe, totally absorbed as he fitted a pierced tin insert to a door.
He obviously hadn’t heard her, so she glanced around, wanting to see any changes before she spoke to him. There weren’t many. In the center threshing floor he’d installed a workbench and tools, and the rest of the space was taken up with pieces of furniture in various stages of construction. The mows and lofts on either side already held hay and straw, probably stored there by Eli Zook.
She took a step forward, impressed in spite of herself by his work. They were simple oak pieces, for the most part, done in the classic style of Pennsylvania Dutch furniture. There was a three-drawer chest with graceful carving incised on the drawer fronts, a chest stenciled with typical tulips and hearts, a rocking chair with a curved back.
Cal did have a gift for this work, and he was certainly focused. Sun-bleached hair swung forward in his eyes, and he pushed it back with a sweep of one hand, all of his movements smooth and unhurried. He wore faded jeans and a blue plaid shirt, also faded, the sleeves rolled up to the elbows. A shaft of sunlight, beaming down from the open loft door, seemed to put him in a spotlight, picking out gold in his brown hair and glinting off tanned forearms.
She moved slightly just as the music stopped. The sole of her loafer rustled stray wood shavings, and he looked up. The pierced tin clattered to the floor, the sound loud in the sudden stillness.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to disturb you.”
“It’s all right.” He straightened, leaning against the pie safe, and watched her approach.
She hadn’t noticed his eyes last night. The light had been too dim, for the most part, and she’d been too upset. Now she saw that they were a light, warm brown, flecked with gold like his hair.
He waited until she stopped, a few feet from him, before he spoke again. “Any news from the hospital?”
“We called first thing. Rachel had a good night, and she’s awake and asking for us.” She couldn’t stop the smile that blossomed on the words.
“Thank God.” He smiled in return, strong lips curving, lines crinkling around his eyes, his whole face lighting. For an instant she couldn’t look away, and something seemed to shimmer between them, as light and insubstantial as the dust motes in the shaft of sunshine.
She turned to look at the furniture, feeling a need to evade his glance for a moment. She wouldn’t want him to think he had any effect on her.
“So this is your work.” She touched a drop leaf table. “Cherry, isn’t it?”
He nodded, moving next to her and stroking the wood as if it were a living thing. “I’ve been working mostly in oak and pine, but Emma Zook wanted a cherry table, and Eli had some good lengths of cherry that I could use.”
“It’s beautiful. Emma will be delighted, although if I remember Amish customs correctly, she won’t say so.”
A faint smile flickered in his eyes. “‘For use, not for pretty,’ she’ll say. Anything else might sound like pride.”
“That’s Emma, all right.” Nostalgia swept through her. Emma Zook had helped Grams in the house for years, and her sturdy figure, always clad in a long dress and apron, was present in Andrea’s earliest memories.
As children, they’d played with the Zook youngsters, so used to them that they never saw the Amish clothing or dialect as odd. She’d caught up a bit with Emma over breakfast. As she’d expected, all the children except Levi were married and parents by now. Levi—well, Levi would always be a child, no matter how old he was.
“The Amish have the right idea,” Cal said. “No reason why something can’t be both useful and beautiful.”
She traced the scalloped edge of the drop leaf. “This certainly qualifies.”
“Two compliments in as many minutes.” He drew back in mock surprise.
“I believe in giving credit where credit is due. You make lovely furniture. I just can’t help but wonder why you’re doing it in my grandmother’s barn.”
Where did you come from, and why are you here? That’s what she was really asking. How could this man have made such inroads into her family when she hadn’t even known about him?
He shrugged. “I came to this area to learn Amish furniture techniques. When I needed a place to set up shop, she had an empty barn. We came to an agreement.”
She’d like to ask what that agreement was, but he could answer that it wasn’t her business. Which it wasn’t, but anything that affected her grandmother and sister mattered to her, whether she’d been back recently or not.
“You’re not from around here,” she tried.
“No. I’m not.”
Most people liked talking about themselves. Cal Burke seemed to be the exception.
“You’re a little hard to find. How do you market your work?”
He shrugged again. “There are plenty of machine-made copies out there, but if people are asking around for good, handmade furniture done in the old Amish style, they’ll find me or one of the others who do it.”
“That’s no way to do business.” His marketing strategy, if that’s what it was, exasperated her so much that she couldn’t stop the words. “You have something people want, so make it easy to find you. You could probably double or triple your business if you did a little advertising.”
“I don’t want to double my business. There are only so many pieces I can make by hand in a month, and they sell okay. What am I going to do with more customers than I can satisfy?”
She blinked, looking at him. As far as she could tell, he was serious. “If you hired a few people to help you—”
“Then it wouldn’t be my furniture people were buying.”
“But you could make more money—”
He shook his head with an impatient movement that made the hair flop in his eyes again. “I make enough to get by, and I enjoy my work. Your corporate approach wouldn’t work for me.”
She stiffened. “If you mean I’m practical, I don’t consider that an insult. Although I suspect you meant it that way.”
“Just recognizing a difference in how we see things, that’s all.” His voice was mild, but his eyes had turned frosty. “If you came out here to tell me how to run my business, I thank you for your interest.”
“No.” She bit off the word. The world needed practical people like her. They kept the dreamers afloat. But she didn’t suppose it would do any good to tell him so. “My grandmother wants you to know that we’ll be going to the hospital shortly. She asks if you’ll keep an eye out for the painters and let them in.” Somehow it seemed important that he know the favor was for Grams, not her.
“I’d be glad to.”
“I thought she could call you, but she said you never answer your phone.”
“Really bugs you, doesn’t it?” His expression suggested internal laughter. “I don’t like to jump when the phone rings. If anybody wants me, they leave a message.”
She bit back another comment about his business methods. Or lack of them. Why should she care if the man frittered away his prospects for want of a few sensible steps?
“I see.” She kept her tone perfectly polite. “Thank you for taking care of the painters. My grandmother will appreciate it.”
She turned and walked away quickly, suspecting that if she looked back, she’d find an amused smile on his face.
“But I can’t. I really can’t.” Andrea looked from her grandmother to her sister. Both faces were turned toward hers, both expectant, waiting for an answer she couldn’t possibly give. “I’m extremely busy at work right now.”
“Surely your employer will give you the time off.” Grams was serenely confident. “Your family needs you.”
Rachel didn’t say anything. She just leaned back against the raised head of the hospital bed, her face almost as white as the pillow.
She’d tell herself they were ganging up on her, but that wasn’t true. They were depending on her, just as Rachel and baby sister Caroline had depended on her during those years when Mom had relocated the family from place to place, nursing her grudge against Grams and Grandfather and depriving her children of the only stable home they’d ever known.
Andrea was the oldest. She was the responsible one. She’d take care of it.
The trouble was, she was responsible to her job, as well, and there couldn’t possibly be a worse time for her to take off. Gordon Walker would not understand his right-hand woman requesting a leave to help her family. He hadn’t even taken time away from work when his wife was in labor with their twins.
Of course, he and his wife were now divorced, and he saw his daughters once a month if he was lucky.
She tried again. “I’m in the middle of a very important project, and I’m on a deadline. I couldn’t take time off now. It wouldn’t be fair to the company.”
It wasn’t fair to her, either. Maybe that thought was unworthy, but she couldn’t help it. The promotion her boss had been dangling in front of her for the past year would be hers when this project was completed. Her position with the company, her stable, secure life, would be assured.
“Can’t someone else take over for you?” Grams’s brow furrowed. “We’ve already accepted reservations for our opening weekend. All the rooms are booked. We can’t turn those people away now.”
Grams’s sense of hospitality was obviously offended at the thought, even though these would be paying guests. Andrea could see it in her eyes. An Unger didn’t let people down.
I’m a Hampton, too. She thought bleakly of her father. They’re pretty good at letting people down.
Rachel tried to push herself up on the bed a little, wincing, and Andrea hurried to help her.
“Take it easy. I don’t think you should try to do that on your own. Those casts must weigh a ton.”
“If they don’t, they feel like it.” Rachel moved her head restlessly on the pillow.
Looking into Rachel’s eyes was like looking in a mirror. Green eyes, cat’s eyes. All three Hampton girls had them, even though otherwise they didn’t look at all alike.
She was the cool, conservative blonde. That was how people saw her, and she didn’t find anything wrong with that. It fit with who she wanted to be.
Rachel, two years younger, was the warm one, with her heart-shaped face and her sunny-brown hair. She had the gift of making friends and collecting strays everywhere she went. Sweet, generous, she was the family peacemaker, always the buffer.
And they’d needed a buffer, she and Caroline. Her youngest sister had been born an exotic orchid in a family of daisies. She certainly looked the part. In her, the green eyes sparkled and shot fire. Her hair, a rich, deep red, had been worn in a mass of curls to below her shoulders the last time Andrea had seen her. Currently, as far as she knew, Caroline was making pottery in Taos. Or maybe it was turquoise jewelry in Santa Fe. Andrea couldn’t keep up.
“I could come home in a wheelchair. We could get some extra help and I could supervise.” But the tears that shone in Rachel’s eyes belied the brave words, and she thumped one hand against the side rail of the bed, making the IV clatter.
“Honey, don’t.” Andrea caught the restless hand, her heart twisting. “It’ll be all right.”
But how would it be all right? How could she be true to herself and yet not let them down?
Rachel clung to her, much as she had when Mom had taken them away from Grams and Grandfather so many years ago. “You mean you’ll do it?”
“We’ll find some way of handling the situation. I promise.”
Rachel gave a little sigh, relaxing a bit, though worry still puckered her brows.
“Good,” Grams said. “I knew we could count on you.”
She’d told her boss she couldn’t be back until Monday, though she’d continue working while she was here. She was only a phone call or an e-mail away, after all. By then, she’d somehow convince Grams and Rachel that with Rachel laid up for who knows how long, starting a bed-and-breakfast didn’t make sense.
A glance at Rachel’s face assured her that now was not the time to mention that. Rachel was far too fragile.
She’d discuss it with Grams later. Giving up the inn was the best thing for everyone, especially Rachel. Once she was healed, she could get another restaurant job in a minute with her skills, and if she needed help to get through until then, Andrea or Grams would certainly provide that.
Right now she had to do something to wipe that strained expression from Rachel’s eyes. “Did you hear about my adventure getting here last night? Rescued from a ditch by your handsome tenant. Hope you don’t mind my using your car while mine’s in the body shop.”
“Grams told me Cal brought you to the hospital. He is a hunk, isn’t he?” Some of the tension eased out of the pale face. “So, you interested, big sis?”
“I wouldn’t want to tread on your territory.” She smiled. “We made a deal a long time ago, remember? No boyfriend poaching.”
“Sad to say, Cal doesn’t see me as anything but little-sister material.” She wrinkled her nose. “I have to admit, when I first met him, I thought there might be something, but the chemistry just isn’t there.”