The Wedding Quilt

Chapter Three

“Why did you invite him to our family dinner?” Danny asked Rosemary the next night. “You know this is our special time together.”

Rosemary stopped buttering bread long enough to give her older brother a stern look. At thirty, Danny was a younger version of her father in looks. Tall, brown-headed with deep brown eyes, he’d taken after the Brinson side of the family, while Rosemary looked exactly like her mother with her light chestnut locks and dark blue eyes.

Those blue eyes were now flashing fire at her stubborn brother. “Oh, please, Danny! The man is living in a trailer just down the street. When I saw him this afternoon, he said he was going home to eat a sandwich. I had to invite him, for manners’ sake if nothing else.”

Danny leaned back on the polished surface of an ancient cabinet, then picked up a fresh cucumber to nibble while he studied his sister. “You know how Dad feels about him.”

Rosemary wiped her hands on a blue dish towel, the echo of those very same words coming from her father not so long ago, ringing in her ears. “Oh, yes, we all know how Daddy feels about the steeplejack, about the church, about me. He tells me often enough.”

“Shh!” Danny rolled his eyes and held a finger to her mouth. “Want him to hear you?”

Loud sounds of baby chatter came from the den just off the kitchen. Rosemary had to smile. “I doubt he can hear anything over the shrills of your daughter. Emily takes after her mother—quite a chatterbox.”

“Who’re you calling a chatterbox?” Nancy Brinson said from the doorway, a mock-stern look on her pretty, round face.

“You, sweetheart,” Danny admitted readily, his own dark eyes twinkling. “Did you keep Dad occupied enough so that Rosemary could finish dinner?”

“I didn’t have to say a word,” Nancy said, tossing her ponytail over her shoulder. “Emily has him on the move.”

“She’s the only bright spot in his life these days,” Rosemary said, quelling the envy she felt for her precious little niece. Clayton had taken to the child from the very first, maybe because in her innocence, Emily couldn’t feel the tremendous pain they’d all endured since Eunice’s death. Clayton didn’t have to put up a front with her.

Nancy was pregnant when Rosemary’s mother died. The baby was born two months later.

“I sure wish Mom could see her,” Rosemary said to her brother.

“She does,” Danny reminded her, his expression darkening with sadness. “I’m sure she’s watching Emily from heaven, like a guardian angel.”

The room went silent, as if out of respect for their mother’s spirit. Nancy came to stand by her husband, one hand automatically going to his shoulder for a gentle, soothing pat. Rosemary turned away to busy herself with finishing dinner, the sight of the love and understanding between her brother and his wife too much to bear. She ached for that kind of bond; she wished for someone to pat her on the shoulder when she was feeling down. Oh, she had the love of all her friends and the congregation, but somehow, something was missing. That something was a husband and her own home. She wanted all the things Danny had—a home to call his own, a spouse who adored him, and a child. She’d come so very close to having her dreams. But, on a cold March night, that illusion had been shattered.

Maybe it wasn’t her time yet. Right now, her job was to take care of Clayton, and to try to help him through this rough time. She owed him that much at least, after what had happened. Meanwhile, she’d trust that God would guide her when the time was right for her to find a soul mate.

Nancy took the tray of bread away from Rosemary, startling her out of her frantic motions and punishing musings. “I’ll stick this in the oven,” her sister-in-law said, her hazel eyes compassionate. “How’s the roast coming along?”

Rosemary managed a convincing smile. “Ready. I’m going to slice it in just a minute.” Glancing at the clock, she added, “I told Kirk seven. He should be here any minute.”

Nancy looked out the back door, toward the church. “Does your father know you invited him?”

“No,” Rosemary said in a deliberate tone. “Dad isn’t speaking to me very much these days, not that that’s so unusual. But he’s even more angry with me for bringing the steeplejack here. Thinks it’s frivolous and unnecessary.”

Nancy’s smile was indulgent. “Well, you have to admit it’s a bit unusual. I mean, I’d never heard of a steeplejack until you called me all excited about something you’d seen on the Internet, of all places.”

Remembering how she’d sat in Reverend Clancy’s office, fascinated with his state-of-the-art computer system, Rosemary had to laugh out loud. “I got kinda carried away on-line, but hey, I found what I wanted. Which was, someone to do the job right.”

Nancy threw up her hands. “Whatever you say. You know more about this stuff than I ever will. And I don’t care to know. I have enough to occupy me.”

Meaning, little Emily. Rosemary again felt that pang of regret and remorse. Would she ever have children? Or would she have to be content with taking care of other people’s?

“Hey,” Danny said from his perch near the open back door, “your steeplejack is crossing the street. Better let Dad know he’s coming, or he’ll make another scene.”

“He’s not my steeplejack,” Rosemary said. Even so, her heart started racing and her palms grew damp. Danny was right. Why had she invited Kirk to supper?

Kirk strolled along wondering why he’d agreed to go to dinner at Rosemary Brinson’s house. After that fun lunch he’d shared with her father, he’d made a solemn vow to steer clear of Clayton Brinson. Yet here he was, wildflowers in hand, heading for the very spot where he’d been ridiculed and prodded just yesterday.

Had he only been here two days?

This place was so timeless, so quaint and eccentric, that it seemed as if he’d been here forever. Or maybe he’d dreamed about a place like this forever. Quite charming, this Alba Mountain and its eclectic group of inhabitants. Especially one blue-eyed inhabitant.

And that, he told himself with a shrug, was why he was willing to face down Clayton Brinson again. Kirk wanted badly to see Rosemary. Had to see her, in fact. Had to see her up close.

He’d certainly watched her from a distance all day today. Oh, he’d gone about his preliminary work and taken care of what needed to be done. He’d surveyed and measured and analyzed. He’d discussed hiring a local crew with Reverend Clancy—the good reverend was working on that right now. And he’d carefully considered how best to go about renovating and restoring the aging church and its beautiful, inspiring steeple.

All the while, he’d watched the day-care center across the way, hoping to get a glimpse of the angel who’d brought him here. Rosemary. Rosemary with the sweet-smelling, fire-tinged hair. Rosemary with the eyes so blue, they looked like midnight velvet. Rosemary with the guarded looks and the cloak of sorrow. Rosemary with the floral, flowing dresses and the tinkling, musical laughter.

He’d watched her with the children, laughing, singing and smiling. He’d watched her with the townspeople, talking, explaining and sharing. And he’d watched her with her father, hurting, obeying and hoping.

He was intrigued by her. Maybe Aunt Fitz was right. Maybe these mountains did make people long for things they’d never needed to think about before.

And maybe, just maybe, Kirk, old boy, you’re getting caught up in something you have no business being involved in.

He didn’t usually accept invitations so readily. Ordinarily, he worked from dawn to dusk, then slumped back to his trailer to grill a hamburger or a steak before falling into bed. Usually. Ordinarily. But then, there was nothing usual or ordinary about Rosemary Brinson. She was like an angel with a broken wing.

And he wanted to heal her.

Bad decision. Bad. Don’t do it, man. Turn around and go eat that sandwich you lied to her about. Turn around and forget that you saw her heading out the door, and you purposely made it a point that she see you. Turn around and forget how she smiled up at you and lifted those luminous eyes to you and said, “Come over tonight and meet my brother. You can stay for supper.”

Turn around, Kirk.

He knocked on the open door and waited, the sounds of domestication echoing through his wayfarer’s logic. A child’s laughter. Warm, home-cooked food. Fellowship. Rosemary.

He knocked, and waited, and wondered how he’d ever be able to distance himself from her so he could do his job and move on.

Then he looked up and saw Clayton Brinson’s furious expression, and decided it might not be too hard, after all. Not if her overbearing father had anything to do with it.

In order to protect Rosemary from her father’s wrath, Kirk decided he would have to force himself to stay away from her.

Somehow.

* * *

“Kirk, come on in,” Rosemary said, moving in front of Clayton in an almost protective stance to open the screen door. “Supper is just about ready. In fact, I was just telling Daddy that I’d invited you.”

Clayton’s scowl deepened. By way of greeting, he grunted then turned to head toward the formal dining room. “Hurry it up, girl. I’m hungry.”

Kirk followed Rosemary through the house to the kitchen. He looked around the small room, his gaze falling across the little group of people staring at him. “Hello,” he said to Nancy a moment before shoving the wildflowers into Rosemary’s hand.

She rewarded him with that little smile, then turned away, clearly flustered in a most becoming way, to put them in water.

“Hi, I’m Nancy Brinson, Rosemary’s sister-in-law,” Nancy said, taking matters into her own hands. “And this is my husband, Rosemary’s brother, Danny. Sorry we missed you at the celebration last night.” She patted little Emily on the head. “This one was teething and wasn’t up to socializing, so we stayed home to take turns walking the floor with her.”

Rosemary regained her composure enough to take one of Emily’s fat hands into her own so she could kiss it and squeeze it softly. “This is our Emily, ten months old and full of energy.”

Kirk nodded to Nancy, then shook Danny’s hand while the other man sized him up. “Nice to meet all of you.” He grinned and cooed at Emily.

Spellbound, the baby batted her long lashes and let out a squeal of delight.

“She never meets a stranger,” Danny said proudly. “Hey, want a glass of tea?”

“Sure,” Kirk said. “I’m learning to like it with ice. You know, my mother taught me to drink it hot.”

“Not me,” Danny said, grimacing. “I know it’s a tradition over where you come from, and up North. But, man, once I was on a business trip in Detroit and ordered tea, and they brought it to me hot and in a cup—”

Nancy interrupted, a teasing smile on her face, “And he was so embarrassed, instead of ordering iced tea, he sat right there and sipped it hot, as if he were at a tea party or something.”

Kirk laughed. “I bet you looked extremely dainty.”

“I tried,” Danny said, guiding Kirk into the dining room. “Have a seat.”

Nancy put the baby down in her nearby crib and helped Rosemary carry in the food and drink. Clayton sat stone-silent at the head of the table.

Kirk looked around the long room. It was a lovely setting for a meal, complete with lacy white curtains at the tall windows and a matching lace tablecloth on the spacious mahogany table. Everything gleamed in the rays of the overhanging light fixture, while the scent of something fresh-baked set out on a matching buffet lifted out on the gentle breeze teasing through the open windows.

Noticing the formal settings at the table, he said, “I hope you didn’t go to any extra trouble for me.”

Before Rosemary could answer, Danny said, “Oh, no. It’s a tradition in our house—having all the family together for a meal at least once a week. We usually do it on Sunday nights, but this week Emily was sick, so we put it off a couple of days.”

“And used to, your mother would be here,” Clayton said in a quiet voice, his stern look intact.

For just a minute, Kirk saw the raw pain and grief in the older man’s eyes, and regretted his bad feelings regarding Rosemary’s father. He didn’t really have any right to judge the man. He’d known grief when he’d lost his beloved grandfather. Still, losing a wife had to be different. And maybe he would never know that kind of loss.

Because you never stay in one spot long enough to get that close to someone.

He glanced up at Rosemary, who stood just inside the wide archway, her gaze searching her father’s face, her stance hesitant and unsure. The same pain he’d seen in Clayton’s eyes was now reflected in her own.

Danny looked over at his father, then back to Kirk, his expression going soft with memories. “Yeah, Mom went to a lot of trouble. Cooked all afternoon. We’d come back around for leftovers during the week…” His voice trailed off, then he shrugged.

Kirk watched Clayton for signs of eruption, and seeing none, said, “I’m sure you all miss her.”

“We do,” Rosemary said, sitting down across from Kirk, her gaze still on her father. Clayton stared firmly at his plate.

Kirk watched as she reached for both her father’s hand on one side and Danny’s on the other. “Let’s say grace.”

Danny automatically took his sister’s hand, then reached for his wife’s. Nancy in turn held out a hand to Kirk so they would form a circle. Not knowing what else to do, Kirk followed suit and held out a hand to Clayton. On her side of the table, Rosemary waited for her father to grasp both her hand and Kirk’s.

When Clayton refused to take either of their hands, Rosemary didn’t bat an eye. She closed her eyes, holding tight to Danny’s hand, and said a quick blessing, then let go of her brother’s hand to start passing food.

But Kirk didn’t miss the hurt, confused look haunting her eyes. She was trying very hard to stay steadfast in the storm of her father’s rejection. How could a man do that to his daughter? How could he treat her that way and not know he was being cruel?

Maybe Clayton did know exactly what he was doing, Kirk decided. Maybe he was being deliberate. But why?

“If you don’t mind me asking,” he began carefully, “how did your mother die?”

Rosemary looked over at her father, then to Danny, panic in her eyes.

Wishing he could take the question back, Kirk added, “If you’d rather not talk about it—”

“She died in a car accident,” Danny said quietly. “And, actually, we’d rather not talk about it.”

“I’m sorry,” Kirk replied, very aware of the undercurrent circling the table with the same fierce intensity with which Rosemary had just graced the meal.

“How’d work go today?” Rosemary said, her smile tight, her eyes shining.

Relieved that she’d given him an opportunity to take his foot out of his mouth, Kirk nodded. “Great. I talked to Reverend Clancy about hiring some of the locals to help with the sanctuary and the outside walls of the church. I’ll need an assistant to help hoist me up and to help me from time to time up on the steeple. But for the most part I do all the steeple work myself.”

“How did you ever become a steeplejack?” Danny asked between bites of biscuit with rice and gravy.

Kirk grinned. “I get that question a lot. Most people think I’m crazy, but actually, I’m a fourth-generation steeplejack. My mother’s grandfather back in Ireland was a steeplejack and he taught my grandfather and my uncle. When I came along, I tagged around behind my grandfather so much, he had no choice but to put me to work, much to my mother’s dismay. We traveled all over Ireland and England, repairing and renovating steeples and cathedrals, some of them stretching up a hundred and twenty-five feet.”

Rosemary went pale. “I can’t imagine being that high up. I can barely make it up Alba Mountain without getting dizzy.”

Kirk gave her a warm look. “Afraid of heights, huh?”

“She sure is,” Danny said. “I used to climb up to the belfry at the church all the time when we were little. But she’d get halfway up those old stone steps and turn around and crawl back down.”

“I never made it to the top,” Rosemary said, “and I don’t care who called me chicken.” She glared at her brother. “The view from the mountain’s good enough for me. I don’t need to be on top of that narrow tower to see what I need to see.”

Kirk laughed at her stubborn tone, then gave her a hopeful, challenging look. “We might have to change all of that. The view from up there is something else. It’s a shame you’ve never seen it.”

Danny patted his sister on the shoulder. “Hey, man, if you can get her up there, you really will be the miracle worker Reverend Clancy says you are.”

Everyone laughed at that remark. Everyone except Clayton. He ate his food in silence, motioning to Rosemary when he wanted refills or seconds.

Kirk, determined to win the man over in some form, turned to him at last. “Mr. Brinson, since you’ve been a member of the church most of your life, I could use your advice. Would you be willing to supervise some of the men on the ground level?”

Clayton’s head came up and his eyes fixed on Kirk with a sharp intensity. “No, I would not. I’m not interested in the least. Absolutely not.”

Kirk glanced at Rosemary. She looked uncomfortable, but he thought maybe if he could get Clayton involved, it would take some of the heat off her. “I just thought, since you’re retired now—”

“You thought wrong,” Clayton said, scraping his chair back with a clatter. “Rosemary, bring my cobbler and coffee to the den.”

“All right.” She rose to do her father’s bidding, her eyes centered on Kirk. “I’m sorry,” she whispered as she rushed by.

She sure did apologize a lot, when it really wasn’t necessary.

“Me, too.” He looked over at Danny. “I didn’t mean to upset him.”

“It’s okay,” Danny said. “But you have to understand something about my dad. He hasn’t been back to church since the day of Mom’s funeral. He’s turned his back on the world and on God. He can’t understand why God would do this to him, after he tried to be faithful and loyal to the church all his life.”

Kirk leaned forward, his voice low. “I don’t mean to sound insensitive, but hasn’t your father missed the point entirely?”

Nancy sighed and leaned in, too. “Yes, he has. But Reverend Clancy says it takes longer for some people than others. We’re supposed to be patient and go about loving him no matter how he treats us.”

Kirk ran a hand through his tousled locks. “I feel for all of you, but especially for Rosemary. And I think it’d be best if I go on back to my little trailer.”

“Don’t,” Rosemary said from the kitchen door. “I mean, you haven’t had your dessert yet.” On a shaky voice, she added, “Now, my blackberry cobbler isn’t as good as my mother’s was, and granted, these aren’t fresh blackberries, but Aunt Fitz herself helped me can them last year and, well…” Her voice trailed off as she brought a hand to her mouth. “Excuse me.”

She turned and rushed back out of the room, out of the house. The kitchen door banged after her.

Danny rose out of his chair. “Maybe I should go see about her.”

Nancy put a hand on his arm. “No, honey. Let’s you and I get these dishes cleaned up.” She looked at Kirk.

He was already standing. “I’ll go to her,” he said, meeting Nancy’s gaze head-on. “I enjoyed the meal. Sorry if I dampened the evening.”

Danny shook his head, his eyes dull with resignation. “Don’t worry, buddy. This isn’t the first time something like this has happened.”

Well, it would be the last for him, Kirk decided as he stepped out into the cool spring night. The scent of a thousand budding blossoms hit him full force, the tranquillity of the peaceful evening clashing with the turmoil he’d just set off inside that house. Searching the darkness, he spotted Rosemary on the bench inside the church grounds, sitting where she sat every day watching the children.

He wanted to rush to her, but instead, he took his time, wondering what he’d say once he got there. Kirk wasn’t used to offering words of wisdom or comfort. He usually dealt in small talk, or technical discussions. Every now and then, he’d get in a heavy philosophical discussion with someone he met, usually involving religion. But for the most part, he steered clear of offering up his opinion on a continuous basis. People didn’t like to have their values questioned, and he wasn’t one for questioning God’s ways.

His mother had taught him simply to accept the daily miracles of life. Kirk firmly believed in God’s grace, but he wore his own faith in an unobtrusive fashion, preferring to live and let live. Because he did move around so much, he’d learned to mind his own business.

Yet, his mother, Edana, a wise woman with strong religious convictions, had warned him many times about his nonchalant attitude. “One day, my fine son, you’ll come across a situation that will demand more than you’re willing to give. You’ll learn all about being tested. Then, my lad, you’ll start taking life much more seriously. And maybe then, pray God, you’ll stop roaming the earth and settle down.”