That made me feel a little better. They would take food to anyone who’d had a tree crash through their house. Not just an unemployed freeloader shacking up in her late grandmother’s home.
Nancy pulled the top off the final container, and the tantalizing scent of cinnamon rolls mingled with the coffee. We heated a few in the microwave and settled down on the barstools with our coffee.
“So how’s that quilt coming along?”
I grinned over the top of my floral-print coffee mug. “I finished.”
“Already?”
“Yep. Worked most of the night. It’s nothing fancy. No intricate patterns or anything, but I’m happy with it.”
Nancy pulled her iPhone from the pocket of her starched blue pants. Her fingers tapped out a quick message before she put it back. Obviously, Nancy didn’t share Ida’s unfamiliarity with technology. But she was also a good twenty years younger.
“That’s fabulous, kiddo. I’m proud of you.” She smiled warmly. “Can’t wait to see it.”
Her praise tingled down my spine. We finished our breakfast, and then, while Nancy waited in the kitchen, I retrieved my prize from the hall closet.
Hopefully, my accomplishment still looked as good after a few hours of sleep. I cradled the thick fabric to my chest and strode back into the kitchen. I paused in the doorway, suddenly self-conscious. I’d done my best, but what if I’d still fallen short?
“Let’s see it!” Nancy clasped her hands and scrambled off the barstool. She wiggled her fingers at me.
I handed over my quilt. “I just did squares.”
She shook out the folds, and the length dropped to the floor. “Oh, it’s lovely.” Nancy draped it over the breakfast table and stepped back, placing a hand to her lips.
I shifted my weight while her eyes glided over all the little pieces of fabric.
“Reggie’s fatigues?”
I nodded.
“And your father’s band shirt.” Her voice held wistfulness. She laughed. “Oh, I remember when he went thorough that rock phase.” She pointed at the Harley logo. “And when he got that bike…” Her voice trailed off.
My heart skipped. “What do you know?”
She drew a quick breath and waved a hand. “Ida hated that thing.” She pointed at the turquoise. “Is that Ida’s favorite shirt?”
I wrapped my arms around my waist. “Is that okay?”
Her gentle eyes found mine. “Ida would rather see it on your quilt than sitting in the closet. Or handed off to charity.”
Breath fled my nostrils, and a small smile wiggled on my lips. “She said to take memories and stitch them together, so I tried to find things that would remind me of her.”
Nancy wrapped her arm around me, her rose-scented perfume clinging to my shirt. “That’s exactly what she wanted. She’d be so pleased.”
The doorbell rang.
I frowned. Who could that be?
Nancy scuttled to the door as if she lived there. I followed and waited in the middle of the foyer. She swung open the door, revealing her son.
Hair neatly combed and dressed in yet another plaid cotton button-down with the sleeves rolled to his elbows, Ryan greeted his mother with a kiss on her cheek. His eyes traveled over the top of her head and snagged mine.
“I brought you something.” He lifted an envelope. “Mom said you were finished.”
I plucked the letter from his hand while Nancy closed the door behind him and told him to come get a cinnamon roll with her while I read my letter.
When they’d disappeared into the kitchen, I popped the seal and slid out two sheets of paper. Same blocky font. I glanced at the typewriter I’d placed on the narrow table on the opposite side of the entry space and imagined her fingers pecking at the keys.
My dear Casey,
If I know Ryan, and I do, since I watched that boy grow up, he gave you a letter before you finished the quilt.
I sucked a breath. If I was the kind of person to believe in ghosts, I might think she lingered around and watched what happened around here.
Don’t be surprised. I planned for that, too. I made a note that if at any point during the quilt-making process you got overly discouraged, he had my permission to give you an extra letter to encourage you along. Of course, I couldn’t know the circumstances. If you finished first, then you got that letter and this one at the same time. Both are important.
I should have known. Ryan hadn’t technically broken any of Ida’s rules after all.
I bet your quilt is beautiful. I hope you incorporated things that mean something to you. Now that you are finished, it’s time I give you the next little piece of our journey. By this point, I’m sure you’ve gone through the sewing machine drawers. But you may have missed something. Look in the drawer on the right side, bottom. In there, you’ll find a small envelope on the back wall of the drawer.
No way. How had I missed that?
After setting the letter on the top of the stored sewing machine, I pulled out the bottom drawer. It was deep. I slid it all the way forward and pushed the box of implements, old buttons, and various other objects out of the way. A small, square envelope had been stuck in the crack of the drawer, keeping it tucked tightly against the back. I gently wiggled the envelope out and opened it.
The same script handwriting I’d seen on the old letter tucked under the typewriter.
Son,
Is it true? You’ve enlisted? I fear for you, so young and going to war. I pray you will reconsider. Even so, I know you will serve your country well, if you are determined to go. Know that you will always have my most fervent prayers.
Mother
This had to be the same mother and son from the other letter. The one who’d sent her children away. Why had Ida kept this in the back of the sewing machine? What did it mean? I replaced the aged paper in the envelope and picked up Ida’s letter.
During the depression, a man owed your great-grandfather money. The man came to the back door one morning during breakfast. Rufus opened the door, his four-year-old son behind him. Rufus had pressed the man for the money he owed. They argued. The man drew a gun and shot him. Reggie was standing right next to him.
My throat went dry.
Times were very hard during the depression, and a widow couldn’t take care of four children on her own. She had an infant and was pregnant when she lost her husband. In order to make sure her oldest three didn’t starve, she had to send them to the Methodist Home for Boys. Your grandfather spent most of his childhood there. Two days after his seventeenth birthday, he joined the Army Air Corps. He’d go on to be a paratrooper and later a mechanic. During the Vietnam War, they would recover crashed planes in the jungle. Your grandfather’s job was to put the planes back together so the soldiers could get home.
Why am I telling you all of this? One, because your grandfather was an incredible man, and I think you should know his story. But also because I want you to see Pamela’s story. It tore her heart to send her boys away to the children’s home. Sometimes, a parent does what they think is best for their child. Even if it doesn’t seem that way to the child. And even if it tears a mother’s heart to shreds.
That gives you another piece of our family history. Your grandfather didn’t live with his parents for most of his life. Other people raised him, but that didn’t diminish his family ties. The separation didn’t cripple him. He accomplished a great many things, married a woman he adored, and had a family of his own. He loved us well. In many ways I wish this weren’t a legacy you had to repeat, but having lived on the other end of Reggie’s story, I know that you possess the same strength as your grandfather. You are not defined by your past. You are defined by God and the choices you make.