Elm Creek Quilts [10] The Quilter's Homecoming (24 page)

Though the house was larger than the cabin, it was small enough that Elizabeth would have found them just as quickly on her own. Miguel slept in a cradle next to his parents’ bed, while Ana tossed fitfully in a bed in the smallest of the bedrooms, which she likely shared with her sisters. Assured that they were fine for the moment, Elizabeth explored the house, listening for Rosa’s return. From the bright quilts on the children’s beds to the tidy kitchen and the front room decorated with religious illustrations, nothing hinted at the misery that had occurred—that
was
occurring—within those walls. It could have been any small adobe farmhouse in southern California.

Little more than ten minutes passed before Rosa and Lars returned. “The children?” Rosa asked breathlessly as she closed the door behind her.

“Sleeping,” Elizabeth assured her. Rosa managed a small smile of thanks. It did seem to Elizabeth that the bleak worry in her eyes had eased somewhat. Elizabeth found herself wishing she could come every day to offer the overwhelmed mother a brief respite, a few minutes to catch her breath, to play in the sun with Marta and Lupita.

“We’ll come back next week,” Lars promised, as if he had been reading her thoughts.

For an instant Rosa looked pleased, but then her mouth creased in worry. “John won’t like it.”

“Then he shouldn’t be postmaster,” said Elizabeth, feigning ignorance. “I can’t help it that my family expects me to write to them.”

“Oh, your letters,” said Rosa with a start. “I forgot. Several have come for you.”

“We have an errand at the Grand Union Hotel,” said Elizabeth, thinking of Rosa’s brother, “if you have any messages you’d like us to deliver.”

“No messages,” said Rosa. “But perhaps you would take them their mail.”

She disappeared into the kitchen and returned with two envelopes, which Elizabeth traded for the two she had brought along. Rosa also gave Lars several envelopes and a Sears Roebuck catalog tied into a bundle with twine for the Jorgensens, and a smaller bundle of letters for the hotel. They thanked her and left the house.

Outside, they spotted John Barclay approaching almost in a run. “What are you doing in my house?” he demanded, glaring at Lars.

“Picking up the mail,” he replied.

“You don’t need to go inside for that.”

“I invited them in,” said Rosa. “I needed time to sort the Jorgensens’ mail and I saw no reason to keep them waiting on the doorstep.”

John turned his glare upon Elizabeth. “Weren’t you afraid you might catch something?” His eyes shifted to his wife. “But why should she? I haven’t gotten sick, you haven’t gotten sick, Marta and Lupita haven’t. Why do you figure that is? Why the others, but not Marta and Lupita?”

“Some men would consider that a blessing,” said Lars.

“Maybe, maybe not. Maybe he’d start to wonder how this ‘blessing’ came to be. Maybe I’m getting wiser every day.” John strode toward his wife, who instinctively took a step back, her grip on the door tightening. “Maybe Rosa knows. Want to explain why Lupita hasn’t taken sick?”

“Have a care, John,” warned Lars.

“Don’t tell me how to speak to my wife,” John shot back. “This is my family, my house, and don’t you ever set foot inside it again.”

Rosa said, “John, please—”

“You shut your mouth.” John pushed Rosa ahead of him into the house and slammed the door. Lars hesitated for a moment as if considering whether to follow, but he turned away. After a moment, Elizabeth followed, and her gaze fell upon Marta and Lupita, who had watched the whole scene unfold from the shade of the orange tree.

“Take care of yourselves, girls,” Lars said to them as he helped Elizabeth into the passenger side of the car. Marta nodded, but Lupita just watched them go, wide-eyed.

“What a cruel, spiteful man,” Elizabeth said as Lars turned the car around and drove back to the main road. “As if Rosa isn’t suffering enough. Why does he add to her burden with his ridiculous questions? It’s almost as if he believes she’s responsible for her children’s illness.”

“He wouldn’t be the only one,” said Lars.

“That’s just the speculation of gossipy, small-minded people who ought to put their idle time to better use. You can’t listen to that.”

“I don’t.”

“There must be a doctor somewhere who can help the children.”

“Not one around here, not one they can afford.”

Elizabeth fell silent as they drove on to the Grand Union Hotel, wishing she could do something to help Rosa. She thought of her own family’s doctor back in Harrisburg and Dr. August Granger in the Elm Creek Valley, who was reputed to be a brilliant physician. His care had seen Aunt Eleanor through many struggles with her weak heart, and by all accounts he had seen the entire valley through the influenza pandemic of 1918 almost single-handedly, assisted only by volunteers and his aged father, a retired doctor.

She would write to Dr. Granger and seek his advice. Perhaps he could recommend a treatment or knew of a skilled doctor in southern California who would waive his fees for a family in need.

When they pulled up to the hotel, Carlos stepped out from the garage to see who had arrived. At the sight of Lars, his face turned to stone. He greeted Elizabeth stiffly, his watchful gaze fixed on Lars until he turned and disappeared back into the garage. Elizabeth glanced questioningly at Lars, but he ignored her curiosity and told her he would wait outside.

She found Mrs. Diegel behind the front desk in the lobby, writing in a ledger. “Well, hello there, Elizabeth,” she said. “What can I do for you? Have you come to trade?”

“You know I don’t have anything left to trade,” said Elizabeth, without acrimony. She placed the bundle of letters on the desk. “Lars and I stopped by the post office and brought you your mail. I’ve also come to ask a favor.”

Mrs. Diegel peered across the room and out the window, where Lars stood by the automobile. “The post office and then here,” she remarked offhandedly. “One might almost think he was on the sauce again, the way he insists upon putting himself in the way of the two men in the valley who most despise him.”

“You knew about his drinking?” said Elizabeth.

Mrs. Diegel paged through the envelopes. “Everyone knew about his drinking. It was hard to miss.”

“Why would Carlos and John despise Lars?”

Mrs. Diegel looked up sharply. “You caught me gossiping. You should know better than to listen to an old woman rambling on wherever her mind wanders.”

“Please tell me. Why would they hate him? He seems like a good man.”

“He is, now. Perhaps he was then, too, in his way, despite the drinking, or Rosa never would have loved him.”

“Rosa loved Lars?” exclaimed Elizabeth.

Exasperated, Mrs. Diegel held up her hands to quiet her. “Must you shout?”

“I’m sorry. I’m—just surprised.” Astounded was more like it. “How do you know?”

“Rosa worked for me for a few years after high school, until she married. Lars and John both used to call on her here, to bring her flowers, take her to lunch, pass the time—you know how young men carry on. Rosa preferred Lars, or so it seemed to me, but she was fond of John, too, or she would have told him to leave her alone. She was straightforward like that back then.”

“If Rosa loved Lars, then why did she marry a man like John Barclay?”

“I’ve often wondered that myself.” Mrs. Diegel sighed, thoughtful. “I suppose because she couldn’t marry Lars and she had to marry someone, or she thought she did. I’ve done just fine many years without a husband, but not all women believe it’s possible.”

“Why couldn’t she marry Lars? Because of his drinking?”

“That was part of it. She hated his drinking and begged him to quit. If he showed up here drunk she sent him right back out that door. But more important, her parents wouldn’t allow her to marry a Jorgensen. You’re a newcomer, so you wouldn’t know anything about their feud. The Jorgensen farm used to belong to the Rodriguez family. A distant ancestor was awarded the land grant back when the Spanish still owned most of California. When Rosa and Carlos’s great-grandparents went bankrupt after a two-year drought, they sold the farm to Hannah Jorgensen’s grandfather for pennies on the dollar. The Rodriguez family has never forgiven the Jorgensens for taking advantage of them when they were in desperate need, for profiting from their misfortune.” Mrs. Diegel shrugged. “It happens all the time. It’s just sensible business to buy as cheaply as you can.”

“Not if it’s unfair,” said Elizabeth. “It’s unethical to offer less than the land is worth if the person has no choice but to accept or starve.”

Mrs. Diegel smiled at her fondly. “And that, my dear, is why you will never be a businesswoman. But the Rodriguezes agree with you, not me. Allow a Rodriguez girl to marry a Jorgensen boy? Absolutely unthinkable.”

“Even after so many years?”

“Resentment has a long memory.”

“That explains why Rosa couldn’t marry Lars, but not why she settled for John.”

“It probably didn’t seem like settling at the time. He might not look like much to a girl your age today, but back then, he was considered one of the more handsome young men in the valley—and he owned his own farm. He was someone Rosa’s family accepted, and he had always admired Rosa. John and Lars had vied for her affection since they were boys in school.” A troubled frown briefly clouded Mrs. Diegel’s expression. “Although Lars was the one Rosa truly loved, I believe she was still fond of John. They might have had a happy life, had tragedy not turned John so bitter.”

Perhaps, but Rosa never could have imagined what would befall her in the years to come. She had chosen a path when she chose her husband, as all brides did. It had probably seemed as smooth and as sunny as any she could have walked along. But no young wife knows what sort of man her husband will become. She only knows what he is at the moment she marries him and trusts that he will not fail her, that his love will always be true, no matter what hardships they encounter.

“That’s all in the past,” said Mrs. Diegel. “Rosa married John and that was the end of it. You said you had a favor to ask me?”

Her question brought an abrupt end to Elizabeth’s reverie. “Yes. I wanted to know if I could use your phone. I’ll pay the charges, of course.”

Mrs. Diegel’s eyebrows rose. “Is the Jorgensens’ phone out?”

“No, but I wanted some privacy.”

“And you didn’t want to ask Hannah’s permission.” Mrs. Diegel gestured toward her office, through an open doorway behind the desk. “Help yourself. Don’t worry about the charges. You brought me my mail and spared Carlos a drive today. I suppose I owe you a favor in return.”

Elizabeth thanked her, with misgivings. It had not occurred to her that by bringing Mrs. Diegel her mail, she would cost the isolated Rosa a visit from her brother. Even though the siblings were apparently estranged, Rosa probably would have been glad to see him, and perhaps the sight of his nieces and nephew would eventually soften his heart.

Suddenly Elizabeth was struck by a puzzling question: Why should Rosa and Carlos be estranged? Hadn’t Rosa followed her family’s wishes and married the man they approved of, even though she loved his rival more?

Elizabeth pondered this as she dialed the operator and read Grover Higgins’s number off the business card, but she quickly set her curiosity aside when the operator connected her with the office of Golden Reel Productions. “Go ahead,” a man barked into the phone before she had prepared herself.

“Mr. Higgins? Grover Higgins?”

“Speaking. Who’s this?”

“I’m Elizabeth Nelson. We met at Venice Beach a couple of months ago. You gave me your card and encouraged me to call you if I was interested in appearing in one of your films.”

“I did, did I? Venice Beach…Hold on, I think I remember. Are you that redhead?”

“No, I’m a blonde.” Confidence wavering, Elizabeth added, “You said that girls only half as pretty as I am become stars in Hollywood every day.”

He chuckled. “I say that to a lot of dolls. You’re going to have to remind me.”

“We met at a dance marathon,” said Elizabeth. “At first you mis-took me for the actress from
Thief of Baghdad.
You said you had several scripts on your desk that I would be ideal for.”

“Say, I remember you now. You’re that wholesome-looking girl from Ohio, the one with the pushy husband.”

“Pennsylvania,” said Elizabeth. “But otherwise, that’s me.”

“And now you’ve decided you want to be a star after all.”

“Yes, please. I would. Is the offer still open?”

“Maybe it is and maybe it isn’t. How’s your husband feel about this?”

Elizabeth took a quick breath and instinctively glanced over her shoulder as if she expected to find Henry there, arms folded over his chest, glaring at her. “Like you said that day, I’m a girl who makes her own decisions.”

“I’m glad to hear it. Well, when are you coming to Hollywood? I could set up a screen test. Not this week, maybe next week.” She heard his chair creak and papers rustle. “We could have dinner, maybe go dancing. I can get us into the most exclusive speakeasies in Los Angeles. A looker like you would fit right in. Are you a drinking girl?”

“Not really. Actually, I was rather hoping that you might be coming my way. I live in the Arboles Valley now and I understand that—”