A Family For Andi

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“Well, they have only one child, Evelyn, and she teaches second grade. And this is her husband, Frank, and their kids, Brock and Melody—aged six and four.”

The children were leaning like bookends against their seated parents—bright-eyed, dark-complexioned Melody, with an impish look on her face; blond Brock, more serious.

Andi indicated the children. “They’re beautiful. Are they as different as they look?”

Gram laughed. “If they came in right now, Brock would sit with us and carry on a grown-up conversation, while Melody, the whirlwind, would be checking out the kitchen, running up and down the stairs— and might very well be going through your things upstairs!”

“In that case, I’ll keep things locked.” She must do that, at least with her laptop. She didn’t need in-quisitive little hands revealing—or destroying—data!

Some pictures appeared to be recent shots and some, much older. Andi picked up one of a little boy, dressed in a striped T-shirt and blue jeans, who proudly held a disgruntled-looking calico cat. Although the boy looked to be only six or seven years old, his wide warm smile and sparkling eyes were unmistakable to Andi.

“Is that Keith?” she asked Gram, already knowing the answer. What a dear little boy he seemed. Her heart felt a rush of warmth at this precious glimpse into his childhood.

“Yes, Keith and one of his many pets. All the strays in town seemed to follow that boy home. Zack used to joke about opening a petting farm.” Gram laughed.

Gram took the picture from Andi and gazed down at the image with a loving expression. “Our Keith…I couldn’t love him more if he was my own blood.”

“What do you mean, ‘your own blood’?”

“Well, my son Zack isn’t Keith’s natural father. Keith’s father died when the child was less than a year old. It was maybe two years later when Zack married Shelby and legally adopted him.”

While Gram set the photograph back on the piano, Andi felt such a moment of sadness for Keith, having lost his biological father at such a tender age. Then a flush of excitement followed. She and Keith weren’t even distantly related. She need not feel any concern at all about her attraction to him.

Gram reached for another photo, showing a middleaged couple and a stunningly beautiful blonde. “This is Brad—Bradley Eugene McHenry—married to Paula, a lawyer. And their daughter, Vanessa. Her degree’s in computer science, but she works as secretary to the president of a computer technical support company.”

Hmmmmm, she thought. Gram didn’t mention Brad’s profession. But she hadn’t said what Frank did, either, so that’s probably not significant. “With that background, Vanessa’s probably invaluable to her boss.”

“She calls herself a—an executive secretary.”

“Is that here in Sylvan Falls?” There was no mention of such a business in her file.

Gram slowly, precisely, replaced the likeness. “In Dalton. She lives there now, so I don’t see much of her.”

Is that disapproval in her tone? Andi wondered. “You saw a great deal of her when she lived at home?”

“Not as much as I’d have liked.”

The phone rang, and Gram went to the kitchen. She was talking into what she later referred to as her “walk-around” as she returned. “…There’s a lady from Chicago spending the weekend here…No, waiting for her car to be fixed…Yes, everything’s fine here. How ‘bout you?…Keith stopped for a few minutes, and all seems well with him.…I’d love to, Karlyn, if you promise not to go to a lot of trouble… Great! See you in church. And thanks…”

Andi had returned to her rocker, and Gram laid the phone among the balls of yarn as she returned to the sofa. “That was Karlyn, Zack’s daughter.”

Zack? That must be what they call Isaac Mark Mc-Henry, Gram’s younger son who owns the garage—Keith’s dad.

“She lives on the other side of town, in one of those new houses. She’s a sweet girl—tough, though, thank goodness! That ex-husband of hers got another woman pregnant, one of Karlyn’s friends—or so she’d thought! Anyway, Karlyn divorced him and he married Danielle Catherman a month before their baby was born. At least Karlyn got the kids and the house and child support. And she teaches art in the elementary school.”

MaryJean’s such a willing source of information, Andi thought, that we wouldn’t have needed that investigator!

They watched one more comedy before Andi, using the arms of the chair to push herself up, said, “I’m bushed. I think I’ll soak in the tub, then go to bed.”

“I’ll bet you’re tired, especially with your leg…”

Neither Andi nor Gram had mentioned her injuries until now. “It’s better than it was, but does still bother me.”

Gram’s dark blue eyes showed concern. “What happened?”

“I—” Did she want to get into this? “—I mentioned my friend’s being killed in an accident. I was in the car with Jon when it happened, though I don’t remember much after the first few minutes. I…guess I knew he was dead, that there was nothing to do, yet I kept trying to free myself—to reach him.” The horror was still there. She lived it daily—and nightly.

“And then there was—nothing at all till I came to in the hospital. And learned he was gone…”

The stairs seemed longer than when she’d climbed them earlier, and as she plodded upward she asked herself why she was talking so much about that accident. Not only had she mentioned his death during the evening meal, but now again.

I must get hold of myself, she thought.

Mrs. McHenry had told her that the dresser along the outside wall was for her use, so she put underclothes, T-shirts, sweaters and shorts in the second drawer. Into the top one went several good pieces of costume jewelry, along with socks, belts and other small items.

She placed four top-of-the-book-list novels and her travel alarm on the bedside chest, and carried her flower-print pajamas and toiletries to the bathroom.

While water ran into the tub, Andi took off her clothes, then twisted her hair, fastening it up on top of her head. Holding onto the rim of the high tub, she stepped in and lay back against its comfortably sloped end. What luxury! Many changes had been made in modern plumbing, but nothing beat the big oldfashioned tubs!

She dried her hands on a fluffy white towel before picking up the National Geographic from the stand beside her. Finishing the first article, she went on to the second, after adding more hot water to the bath.

She was tempted to go on reading, but told herself that Gram might want to use the facilities. Reluctantly climbing out, she dried herself and got into the cotton PJs.

Perhaps hearing the bathroom door open, Mrs. Mc-Henry came into the hallway from the second room on the left. “What time will you be getting up in the morning, Annie?”

“I’m—not sure.”

“I was asking because of breakfast.”

“Oh.” She’d momentarily forgotten the second part of bed-and-breakfast. “Whatever suits you is fine with me.”

“Well, I always go to Sunday School and church.…”

“What time are they?”

“Sunday School at 9:30, church at 10:45.”

“Do you get dressed and ready before eating?”

“Usually. Almost always when folks are staying here.”

“So what time should I be downstairs?”

“Is 8:15 too early?”

There was hopefulness in her voice. “Sounds fine.”

Andi had started toward her room again when she heard Gram say, “I hope you won’t mind, but Keith often comes for Sunday breakfast, then we walk to church together.”

“That makes it nice for both of you.”

“Yes, it does. Especially since his fiancée broke off their engagement last fall—and went off with some fellow she’d known less than two months! Keith and Sandy used to go to church and everywhere together…You’re welcome to go with us,” Gram invited. “We have an excellent pastor.”

Andi had no intention of allowing herself to be coaxed, so was evasive. “We’ll see in the morning.” She stopped to look at titles on the spines of old volumes in the tall, glass-fronted bookcase next to her doorway, and Gram came to stand beside her. “Most of these were Mother’s, some her mother’s—and some my own additions.” Opening the doors, her hand caressed the books.

Recognizing only a few of the authors, Andi randomly pulled out one book, Daddy-Long-Legs. “These covers are attractive—like this one, with its vine-surrounded heart and still-red roses. Modern publishers could take lessons.”

She opened the book and read aloud. “By Jean Webster, With illustrations by the author and scenes from the photo-play, produced by the Mary Pickford Company starring Mary Pickford.” Curious, she turned the page and was not surprised to find its copyright date was 1912.

Several pages were coming loose, so she handled the fragile volume with care, appreciating that the black-and-white photos were as clear and sharp as when published. “May I borrow this tonight? I often read myself to sleep.” Always have to, actually, said an inner voice.

“Of course—that or anything. I read them when a girl, my kids did, then the grandkids. You might as well, too.”

It felt good to be included with the family of this friendly, outgoing woman. Andi sighed with contentment as she climbed into the high old rope-bed and leaned back on pillows propped against the headboard.

The book had large margins, so she supposed she’d finish the whole thing before falling asleep.

But she drifted off at page sixty-three.

Laughter, teasing, wind blowing her hair. The squealing of wheels making sharp turns, the exhilarating high of speed.

Excitement turning into concern.

Reaching out, Please, Jon, slow down.

Laughing reassurance that he’d never had an accident.

Child running into the road.

Scream of brakes. Grinding protest of car’s frame.

Massive tree.

Thunderous crash of metal. Of glass.

Folding back of metal, wrapping itself around Jon.

Around her.

Agony…!

Andi awoke, gasping for air, reaching for Jon—who was not there. Staring wide-eyed around the unfamiliar room, lighted only by moon-glow filtered through maple leaves.

Submerged in terror.

Oh, God! But she’d given up on God long ago—as He’d doubtless given up on her.

Chapter Three (#ulink_e029d814-429d-529e-b4a2-1330b69e68de)

The door was closed, so turning on the light wouldn’t waken Mrs. McHenry. That helped some, and Andi started those slow, deep breaths that the therapist had recommended.

Her panic gradually lessened and Andi got out of bed to walk around the room, barefoot, looking at pictures on the wall. She forced herself to examine minute details, to concentrate on realities, on the substance of her surroundings.

It might help to get a drink of water—but she stopped, hand on the knob, then leaned back against the door. This was a bed-and-breakfast, but would it make the owner nervous to have someone walk around in the middle of the night?

And it was the middle—2:28. With many hours yet to get through! But—and this was the good part— she’d slept several hours, without pills! She’d been trying so hard to get off all that medication.

She looked at the worn volume beside her bed. It wasn’t boring, but was not terribly exciting, either— not like the books she usually read. She’d brought novels by top mystery writers, hoping they’d lure her into a plot in which she could lose herself—yet it had been the old-fashioned Daddy-Long-Legs that accomplished that.

She carried the book to the dainty little ladies’ rocker which, low and comfortable, seemed perfect for this room, and read several more short chapters before moving back to bed. Her leg bothered her, so she rubbed that while continuing to find out more about the orphan girl who was given a college education by an anonymous benefactor, and thus thrust into an entirely different environment from that in the foundling home where she’d spent her life.

The viewpoint character’s reactions to people and events are delightful, Andi thought, and her little sketches add poignancy—but how little similarity there is between her college experiences and mine!

She turned pages until, at 3:17, she heard the blast of sirens and recalled Gram’s speaking of the volunteer fire company. Before long, emergency vehicles and equipment were rushing by on the previously quiet street.

Going to one of the windows, she saw ladder trucks, pumpers, an ambulance, and other equipment she had no names for, all with flashing lights. She hoped no one would get hurt and that the fire would be extinguished quickly.

Eventually she became drowsy, put the book aside, turned off the light…and slept.

Setting the alarm had seemed unnecessary when getting ready for bed, but she had to hurry to get downstairs by 8:13—three minutes before Keith came in the front door and sauntered through the hallway into the kitchen. He kissed Gram and greeted Andi, “Good morning. You look like you got a good rest.”

“So do you,” she responded. He’d been goodlooking in coveralls, but was downright gorgeous with the white, short-sleeved cotton shirt emphasizing the musculature of his tanned arms. And the lightweight, gray, sharply creased slacks made those legs look even longer.

“I’m afraid that’s another case of appearances being deceiving.” He grinned before turning to Gram. “I was on that fire call last night, out at Alf Harner’s place—the trailer he set up for his daughter, back of their house.”

Andi started to say that she’d seen the vehicles go by, but he continued. “Nobody hurt, thank God, but a lot of damage. I don’t know why Marjie was doing laundry at that time of night, but apparently lint in the gas dryer caught fire.”

They talked more about that before Gram asked about last evening’s date. Apparently amused, Keith glanced toward Andi, his brown eyes sparkling. “Everything went well, my dear grandmother. And how was your evening?”

Her response was just as breezy. “Very good. We watched TV and visited, and the time passed quickly.”

Andi felt a bit uncomfortable about having shared that with Gram, so she changed the subject. “Do you live in town?”

“Sure do—down the street a block.”

She didn’t think that she should ask about a family, but on this block the houses appeared to be too large and old for a single young man. She brought herself up short as she looked around the kitchen in this beautiful old home; some might think this too big for Gram, too, yet Andi couldn’t imagine her living in a two- or three-room apartment

“How are you coming with that staircase?” Gram asked.

“Slo-o-owly. Very slowly. But I am making progress, and that’s what’s important”

He’d been pouring orange juice as Gram turned the French toast in a heavy, cast-iron skillet. Instead of setting Andi’s glass on the table, he handed it to her. “What are you doing with your…staircase?” she asked.

“Long before I bought the house at auction two years ago, some idiot painted all the wood in the house white—even the hand-turned spindles on the banisters, which are as elaborate as those in this house. I checked and found that everything’s made of chestnut, if you can believe that!”

She was evidently supposed to be impressed. “I’m sorry, but I don’t understand why that’s special.”

He carried maple syrup to the table, and sat down. “I don’t know about Illinois, but one of the major deciduous trees in Pennsylvania used to be a very large one—the chestnut. Many houses and barns around here were built of its lumber, as was much of the furniture. But then a blight came along and wiped out the American chestnut—”