An Elm Creek Quilts Sampler (58 page)

“But he couldn’t,” Kirsten choked out. “You don’t understand. He couldn’t marry her.”

“Why? Because she was a bar girl?” Judy snapped. “No, you’re the one who doesn’t understand. He used my mother and abandoned us. Then he scurried off here and found himself a new wife, a white wife, someone he wouldn’t be ashamed of at cocktail parties and neighborhood barbecues. That’s the man your father is.”

“No. No, you—you don’t understand.”

“I understand perfectly.” Suddenly, Judy couldn’t bear the sight of Kirsten, stricken and confused, struggling to speak, to make sense of the new information. She wanted to storm away from the table, to her hotel, to the next plane home. It would have been so easy, but something kept her in her seat, watching, listening, waiting to see what Kirsten would do next.

Suddenly, in a flash of insight, Judy realized that she was enjoying this. Seeing Robert cut down in Kirsten’s eyes filled her with grim satisfaction. Let no one—least of all the daughter he had loved instead of herself—think of Robert as a good man, as a loving father. Let Kirsten know him for what he truly was.

Kirsten sat in silence, staring at the table, her face flushed, her eyes shining with tears.

Suddenly Judy was flooded by shame. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t mean it.”

“No. You meant every word.” Kirsten took a deep breath. “But you don’t know the whole story.”

“You’re right. I don’t.” She thought of what Andrew had said, and reminded herself that Robert had been a young man when he knew her mother, a young man far from home in tumultuous times. Judy didn’t know his side of the story, and though she doubted he could say anything to win her sympathies, she had no right to take out her anger on Kirsten. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s all right,” Kirsten said, still not looking at her. She took another deep, shaky breath and fell silent.

They sat at the table without speaking until the server began clearing away their dishes. Then they paid the bill and left.

Judy wished she had not confronted Kirsten. She had ruined everything, just when they were getting along so well. Three times she tried to strike up a conversation as they walked back to the car, but Kirsten seemed unable to respond.

As they pulled out of the parking garage, Kirsten finally spoke. “Should I take you back to the hotel?”

Judy shot her a look. “I thought we were going to your apartment.”

“I thought … I thought maybe you wouldn’t want to anymore.”

Kirsten looked very young as she stared straight ahead, her eyes fixed on the busy street crowded with cars and bikes and darting pedestrians. Judy reminded herself that she was the elder sister. She had started the argument; it was up to her to put Kirsten at ease.

“I don’t want to go back to the hotel,” she said. “I didn’t come all this way to leave without meeting the rest of the family. We have to expect these kinds of bumps along the way. We can’t just give up the first time we run into difficulties.”

Kirsten said nothing for a long moment. “You’re right.” She glanced away from the road to give Judy a pleading look. “I want you to know that I never intended to hurt you. If I could do it over …” She shook her head and drove on.

They went to her apartment, a small, one-bedroom flat on the third floor of a seventy-year-old building across the street from one of the lakes. Long ago, the building had been a pump station; though it had been remodeled for housing, the large steel pumps remained in the lobby. Kirsten came out of her silence to tell Judy this history, and by the time they reached her place, much of her earlier animation had returned.

Kirsten offered Judy a seat in the living room, a cozy place with a comfortable sofa, brick walls, and a sloped ceiling. They spent the afternoon talking over cups of tea. Judy finally began to hear more about life in the Scharpelsen family—their house on Lake Mendota, the misadventures of the three kids, Kirsten’s mother’s slow and painful death from cancer. As the hours passed, Judy finally began to feel as if she was getting to know these strangers. Sometimes, Kirsten broke off in the middle of a story as if to collect her thoughts; other times, she seemed vague or unwilling to reveal too much. Judy couldn’t blame her. No wonder Kirsten was careful now, even tentative; neither one of them wanted to say anything that would spark more anger.

As evening approached, they went to the kitchen and prepared a large tossed salad using the produce they had purchased at the Farmers’ Market. Then it was time to go to their father’s house.

Judy’s throat felt as if it were constrained by a fist, clenching ever tighter as they drove west, then north through a thickly wooded neighborhood of large homes on small lots. Through the trees, Judy could see the sun glinting off water, and she realized they were driving along the lakeshore.

They pulled into the driveway of a large, modern house on the lake. “This is it,” Kirsten said, turning off the engine.

Judy fumbled with the seat belt and got out of the car. She followed Kirsten through the garage to a door leading into the house. Kirsten opened it and led her into the kitchen.

Classical music was playing on the stereo, and cooking smells floated on the air—bread, barbecue sauce, roasted corn. Judy stood frozen in the doorway, the bouquet of flowers in her hands, until Kirsten motioned for her to come forward.

A woman on the other side of the kitchen counter had her back to them as she took glasses down from a cupboard. She had blond hair like Kirsten’s, only it was curly with a touch of gray.

Kirsten set the salad bowl on the counter. “Sharon?” she said. “There’s someone I’d like you to meet.”

Sharon turned—and as her eyes locked on Judy’s, her expression went from pleasant to shocked in the instant it took for Judy to realize that this woman was not only older than Kirsten, but also surely older than herself. That was impossible, unless—

“My God,” Sharon said. “I can’t believe you did this.”

“I had every right,” Kirsten said. “She’s our sister.”

“How could you, after everything I said? Don’t you care about Dad at all?”

“I care about Dad with all my heart. Don’t you get it? That’s why I had to do it.”

Judy looked from one sister to the other, stunned. “You didn’t know I was coming,” she said to Sharon.

Sharon pressed her lips into a hard line and shook her head.

Judy turned and headed for the door.

“No, wait.” Kirsten grabbed her arm. “Don’t leave.”

“I can’t stay, not under these circumstances.” Now she understood Kirsten’s evasiveness.

“Please, Judy. I know now it was wrong, but at the time it seemed like the only way. Please don’t go.”

“Yes, now that you’re here, why not stay?” Sharon yanked open a drawer and scooped up handfuls of silverware. “Why not ruin everything? Why not upset our father?”

“Stop it,” Kirsten said.

“How dare you tell me to do anything after this stunt?” Sharon slammed the knives and forks onto the counter, then fixed her gaze on Judy. “How dare you show up now? Don’t you realize how hard this will be for him?”

“I came because I was invited.”

Sharon barked out a laugh and resumed her work, yanking open cupboards and slamming them shut. Just then, two boys bounded into the kitchen. When they saw Judy, they stopped short and eyed her with interest.

“Hi,” said the eldest, a boy of around twelve. “Who are you?”

“She’s your Aunt Judy,” Kirsten said before Judy could reply.

The children’s eyes widened. “Really?” the younger one asked.

Kirsten nodded, but Sharon rushed forward and thrust the silverware into the children’s hands. “No, not really,” she said. “Go set the table.”

The elder boy shot Judy a look. “But Mom—”

“Now.” Sharon clasped each boy by the shoulder and steered them out of the room.

When she was gone, Judy turned to Kirsten. “I’m not staying. I can’t.”

“Meet Daniel and Dad first,” Kirsten begged. “Please. You came all this way.”

All this way, and for what? To learn that one sister had deceived her and that another hated her on sight. What was worse, she now understood why Robert had never married her mother. Kirsten was right; he couldn’t have. Sharon was older than Judy, and perhaps Daniel was as well. In an instant, Judy had gone from being the daughter of the wronged first wife to being the daughter of the other woman, and some-how that changed everything.

“Please,” Kirsten repeated, pleading.

Judy gulped air, dazed—but she nodded. Kirsten took her hand and led her down the hallway in the direction of the music. In a front room, a man who appeared near Judy’s age sat talking with another man several years older, their voices a low murmur beneath the sound of the stereo. On the other side of the room sat another man, worn and gray-haired. He stared out the window as if he were alone.

The first two broke off their conversation as Kirsten brought Judy into the room. “Daniel,” she said firmly to the younger man. “This is our sister, Judy.”

The color drained from the man’s face. “Uh—hi, hello,” he stammered, rising. He shook Judy’s hand, his mouth opening and closing as if he wanted to speak but had no idea what to say. Kirsten didn’t give him a chance to compose himself, but as she propelled Judy to the other side of the room, he found his voice. “Kirsten, don’t,” he said. “Dad’s not having a good day.”

Kirsten spun around to look at him. “Good day?” she echoed. “How long has it been since his last good day? You know as well as I do that they won’t be getting any better.” She continued on, taking Judy with her. Her pace slowed as they approached the old man, who didn’t look up.

“Dad?” Kirsten said softly, kneeling down and placing a hand on his knee.

A muscle tightened and relaxed in the man’s cheek, but his gaze never left the window.

Kirsten leaned to the side, interrupting his line of sight. “Dad? There’s someone here to see you.”

He blinked at Kirsten, who smiled and motioned to Judy. By instinct, Judy knelt beside Kirsten and tried to hand him the bouquet of flowers. He would not take it, so she placed it on his lap instead. Slowly his gaze traveled from Kirsten to the flowers to Judy, his brow furrowing in confusion. The muscles in his face worked as if he were struggling to focus on her features, fighting to recognize her.

Then he spoke. “Tuyet?”

A wave of grief, of pain, washed over her as the old man groped for her hand.

“No, Dad,” Kirsten said gently. “This is Judy, Tuyet’s daughter. Your daughter.”

Judy saw at once that the old man didn’t understand, if he even heard the words. She gave him her hand and clasped her other around them both. She felt the man’s bones through his skin, which felt as dry and thin as paper.

“Tuyet,” the man repeated.

Judy wanted to weep. Unable to speak, she squeezed the man’s hand and got to her feet. Blinded by sudden tears, she hurried out of the room, back to the kitchen. She heard Kirsten call after her, but she couldn’t stop. She raced out of the house, down the driveway, along the winding, wooded street until she reached the main road. She kept walking until she managed to hail a cab, which she took back to the hotel.

There were two messages waiting for her, one from Steve and one from Kirsten. She called Steve, but reached the answering machine. “It was a nightmare,” she said. “I never should have come.” Then she told him she’d see him tomorrow and not to call back, because she was taking the phone off the hook, in case Kirsten tried to reach her.

It was too early for sleep, but she pulled the heavy drapes shut until the room was dark, put on her pajamas, and crawled into bed. There she lay, thinking of how her world had shifted. She felt that she ought to be weeping, but the tears wouldn’t fall.

Sleep came hours later.

She did not remember her dreams the next morning, but she woke feeling heavy and sore and as weary as if she had not shut her eyes all night. She had planned to spend the day with the Scharpelsens; since that was out of the question, she called the airline and arranged to be transferred to an earlier flight. After gathering her belongings, she checked out of the hotel and called a cab from the lobby.

When she went outside to wait, she saw Kirsten’s car parked right out front. Kirsten was leaning against the passenger-side door, but she straightened at the sight of Judy. “Hi,” she said.

Judy composed herself. “Hi.”

“I figured you might leave early.”

“I didn’t see any point in staying.”

Kirsten nodded in acceptance and opened the car door. “I’ll take you to the airport.”

“I already called a cab.”

As if she hadn’t heard, Kirsten went to the back of the car and opened the trunk. She didn’t look at Judy as she picked up the garment bag and put it inside. Judy sighed and got in the car.

They drove in silence past the wooded neighborhood of her father’s house, through the downtown, and across the isthmus. Kirsten didn’t speak until they pulled up beside the airport terminal.

“I’m so sorry,” she said. “I never meant for things to turn out like this.”

“I know.” Judy unfastened her seat belt and got out of the car.

Kirsten did the same, and came around the back to unlock the trunk. “Will I ever hear from you again?”

“I don’t know.” Judy grabbed her garment bag and put it on the sidewalk.

“Can I write to you?”

Judy shrugged.

“If I do, will you write back?”

Her voice was so forlorn that Judy relented. “Of course I will.” The relief on Kirsten’s face was so intense that Judy decided in an instant that this would not be the last time they saw each other. They were sisters. Even if the other Scharpelsens wished she would disappear forever, she and Kirsten could still be friends.

They embraced and promised to talk soon. Judy picked up her bags and entered the airport alone.

Sharon was waiting at the gate.

Judy approached, set down her bags, and eyed her unflinchingly, waiting for her to speak.

Sharon gave her a shaky smile. “I thought you would be here,” she said. “It was the earliest flight. I figured you couldn’t get out of here soon enough.”

Judy didn’t quite know how to respond to that, so she said nothing.