An Elm Creek Quilts Sampler (114 page)

SUBJECT:Re:Happy New Year!

About my earlier message … Don’t tell Vinnie, all right? Adam and
I have been seeing each other, but Robby is almost always with us so I’m not sure how serious this is. You know how I’ve been disappointed before, and I refuse to set myself up for another fall.

Megan stopped, read over her message, and hit the Delete key until most of the words had been erased, leaving only:

About my earlier message … Don’t tell Vinnie, all right?

She added, “Thanks” and sent the message off through cyberspace.

When Donna received it, she bit her lip and thanked heaven Vinnie didn’t have email and that the mail carrier had not yet arrived to pick up the letter waiting in Donna’s mailbox. Donna hurried outside to retrieve it, then returned to the computer, wondering if she should confess. There was no need, she decided. Megan had said not to tell Vinnie, not that she couldn’t tell
anyone.
And it wouldn’t be fair to tell Grace without also telling Julia.

January 8th

Dear Vinnie
,

Just a quick note for now—I promise I’ll send you a longer letter soon. Thank you for the pumpkin bread but please don’t send me any more sweets or I’ll burst the seams on my Sadie costumes. A pox on whoever invented the corset!

I have delightful news. I have it on very good authority (Donna) that Megan and Adam are seeing each other. Now, you have to promise me you’ll keep this to yourself. Donna told me not to tell you, but I remembered what you said about a grandmother’s right to know, and I couldn’t bear to keep you out of the loop. I hate it when people keep secrets from me. It makes me feel so unpopular.

I’m sending some California sunshine your way.

Your quilting buddy
,

Julia

PS: Remember, not a word to Donna! She’ll never forgive me, and you wouldn’t deprive me of my quilt tutor, would you?

Vinnie whooped with delight and danced around her living room, waving the letter over her head and cheering with such sustained enthusiasm that her next-door neighbor grew alarmed and called the Meadowbrook Village emergency line. Thus was Vinnie forced to spend a good hour of her afternoon having her vital signs checked and explaining to a concerned nursing staff that she had not lost her marbles, and if they didn’t mind terribly much, she had important quilting to get back to.

Donna was in her quilt room when the phone call came that changed her life.

“May I speak with Lindsay Jorgenson, please?” the woman asked.

Her voice was pleasant and professional, but Donna didn’t recognize it. A telemarketer, she decided. Everyone else knew to call Lindsay at school. “No, I’m sorry, she’s not here.”

“Is this her mother?”

“Yes. May I help you with something?”

“Oh, dear. I hope I didn’t get you out of bed.”

“I beg your pardon?” Donna asked, confused. “Who is this, please?”

“I’m Alicia Solomon, one of Lindsay’s professors. Last night Lindsay left a message on my answering machine about your illness.”

“My illness?”

“I hope it’s nothing serious. Lindsay sounded so upset on the phone that I was worried. Is there anything I can do?”

“N-no,” Donna stammered. “Actually I’m … feeling much better, thank you.”

“I’m relieved to hear that. When Lindsay said she had to go home to take care of you—well, the entire department was concerned. She’s quite a favorite around here.”

“Yes … well, thank you.”

“Please let her know she can make up the exam in my class whenever she comes back to campus. I’m sure her other professors will be willing to make arrangements for anything else she’s missed.”

“Oh, of course. I’ll let her know.”

“Thank you. Do you know when she might be returning? I’m also the faculty advisor of the drama society, and I’m wondering about the play. We just started this semester’s production. We should be able to manage without our director for a few days, but if she’ll be away longer—”

“She won’t,” Donna broke in, eager to get off the phone. “I’ll have her contact you, okay?”

“I’d appreciate that. Thanks very much,” the professor said. “It was nice chatting with you. I hope you’re feeling better soon.”

“Thank you. Me, too,” Donna said, and hung up. Her heart racing, she hurried downstairs where Becca was lying in front of the television doing her homework. “Becca, do you know if Lindsay cuts classes? Would she tell you if she did?”

Becca looked up from her Spanish textbook, eyebrows raised. “You’re kidding, right? Lindsay, cutting classes? Teacher’s pet Lindsay?” Then she must have detected the alarm in her mother’s expression, for suddenly her manner changed. “What’s wrong? Who was that on the phone?”

“One of her professors.”

Becca looked uneasy, but she said, “College isn’t like high school. Everyone skips a class now and then. Lindsay told me so.”

“But Lindsay skipped an exam.” Sick at heart, Donna went to the kitchen to phone her. Becca jumped up from the floor and followed. “I think she’s also skipped rehearsals. She told her professor she had to come home because I’m ill.”

“Lindsay wouldn’t miss a test unless she was sick,” Becca said. “And that’s a perfectly good excuse, so she wouldn’t lie about it.”

That was exactly what Donna thought. Her hands trembling, she dialed Lindsay’s number. The phone rang four times before the answering machine picked up. They had changed the outgoing message; instead of Lindsay’s voice, Brandon spoke in her ear, cordial yet somehow cool. “Honey, this is Mom,” Donna said after the beep. “Please call me back as soon as you get this message.” She hung up and glanced at the clock. Five minutes after four.

“Mom?” Becca asked in a small voice. “Is something wrong?”

“I don’t know, sweetheart.” She picked up the phone again and dialed Paul’s cell phone number. He had told her that morning he planned to be out of the office all day, inspecting a site for an insurance claim. The phone rang only once before a recorded message announced that he was out of range. “I’m sure everything’s okay,” Donna assured her visibly stricken younger daughter, wishing she felt as confident as she sounded. “Lindsay must have decided to play hooky today.”

“Lindsay doesn’t play hooky.”

Donna checked the clock, hesitated, and dialed Lindsay’s number a second time, only to reach the answering machine again. Donna left another message, then hung up the phone. She wished she could talk to Paul; she wished she knew what to do. She wished the university wasn’t so far away.

Donna grabbed her purse off the counter. “I’m driving down there to check on her.”

“Don’t go by yourself. Wait for Dad.”

“He won’t be home for two hours.”

“Then let me come with you.”

Donna was about to refuse, but when she saw the urgency in her daughter’s eyes, she nodded. Donna scribbled a hasty note to Paul as Becca grabbed their coats; within five minutes, they were on the road to the Twin Cities.

The mid-January afternoon was overcast and bitterly cold, but the freeways had been cleared since the last snowfall, and only a few icy flurries blew in the wind. Never had Donna traveled from Silver Pines to the university so quickly, nor with such fear and trepidation. When they pulled into the parking lot of Lindsay’s apartment building nearly an hour later, Becca pointed and said, “There’s her car. I don’t see Brandon’s.”

Nodding, Donna parked nearby. They hurried up the sidewalk, where Donna looked up at the third floor and saw a light on in one of Lindsay’s windows. Becca reached the front entrance first and pressed the buzzer for her sister’s apartment. A moment later, the speaker beside the door crackled with Lindsay’s voice, barely audible as she asked who was there.

“It’s us, honey,” Donna said into the intercom. “Mom and Becca.” She glanced up and saw a shadow move toward the living room curtains, then away.

“What are you doing here?”

“Professor Solomon called for you at home. You weren’t answering your phone, so we came to see if anything was the matter.”

Silence.

Donna buzzed again. “Honey, are you still there? Will you let us in?”

“You shouldn’t have come.”

Before Donna could reply, Becca put her face close to the intercom and said, “Lindsay, would you let us in, please?”

There was another silence, and then, like a sob, came Lindsay’s voice. “All right.” The door buzzed and clicked. Becca seized the handle and yanked it open, then raced ahead of her mother upstairs, taking the steps two at a time.

Donna reached Lindsay’s front door just as Becca finished knocking. Donna heard a bolt slide back, and then the door opened a crack, enough to glimpse part of Lindsay’s face but nothing of the room within.

“Please,” Lindsay said, her voice oddly muffled. “Please go away before Brandon gets back.”

At those words, a surge of rage filled Donna and she shoved the door open. Lindsay quickly turned her back and began to walk away, but Donna took her by the shoulders and spun her around. Behind her, Becca gasped.

Lindsay’s lower lip was split and swollen, her right eye a mass of fresh bruises.

“Dear God,” Donna breathed.

“I’m okay.” Lindsay tried to turn away, and her hand trembled as she lifted it to brush her bangs over her face. “I’m okay.”

“You most certainly are not,” Donna snapped with pain and angry grief. “Did Brandon do this to you?”

Lindsay froze, then suddenly she dropped her guard. She nodded and sank into a chair, burying her swollen face in her hands.

“Becca, lock the door,” Donna ordered. She marched into the bedroom and searched until she found Lindsay’s steamer trunk and suitcases. Flinging open the closet, she put Lindsay’s clothing, hangers and all, into the first bag, then started with the chest of drawers. Anger, blinding and white-hot, propelled her through the room.
This is not happening
, she thought as she snatched up Lindsay’s belongings.
Not to my daughter.

“I have her books,” Becca said, clutching Lindsay’s backpack. She was crying.

Donna snapped the first suitcase shut and gave Becca her car keys. “Put this in the car,” she said. “Hurry back.” Becca did as she was told, wearing the backpack and lugging the suitcase with both hands.

“Mom, don’t,” Lindsay begged. “Please.”

“If there’s anything you want from the other room, you’d better get it,” Donna said, fighting to choke back her sobs. “I don’t know what’s yours and what’s his.”

“I can’t leave.”

“You can and you will. Today. Now.”

“I can’t do this to him.”

“You can’t do this to
him?
” Donna whirled to face her. “Did I raise you to be a punching bag? It won’t get any better, Lindsay. If it’s like this now, it won’t get any better once you’re married.”

Lindsay’s voice broke. “He loves me.”

“This is not love,” Donna said. “You know that.” She had to. “You know this is not love. Where did you learn that Brandon—that
anyone
can hit you? Did your father ever lay a hand on me? Did we ever hit you?”

Lindsay shook her head, tears streaming down her lovely face, made ugly by Brandon’s fists. “I don’t …” She gulped air. “I don’t … know what he’ll do … if he comes home and finds me gone—”

“He won’t do anything. He’ll never get close enough to you to do anything.” Donna went to her and held her tightly. “You have to get out of this now. It will never be any easier.”

Lindsay clung to her, weeping. Donna sat down on the bed and held her, murmuring to her and rocking her back and forth—but her heart leaped into her throat when the front door slammed. Lindsay stiffened. “It’s only me,” Becca called, and Lindsay went limp in her mother’s arms again.

“Come on.” Donna pulled Lindsay to her feet and gestured toward the trunk, which Lindsay began to fill with her possessions, first dazedly, and then with gradually increasing haste. Lindsay carried the second suitcase out to the car, then returned to help her mother with the trunk. As they were maneuvering it down the staircase, Becca remembered the computer. While Donna started the car, shivering with cold and apprehension, her daughters raced back upstairs. It seemed forever until they hurried back out to the car again, Lindsay carrying the computer, Becca, the monitor.

“We had to leave the printer,” Becca gasped, breathless from exertion as she climbed into the back seat.

“Forget it,” Donna said. Urgency had stolen over her as the afternoon sky turned to dusk, and she expected to see the headlights of Brandon’s car as he tore around the corner, at any moment. As frightened as she was, she knew Brandon was fortunate she had not seen him that night. She wanted to leave before he returned; she wanted to stay and tear his heart out as he had torn hers. She was no hen pecking haplessly after her chicks; she was a mother bear, her blood raging hot with fierce love, her overwhelming instinct to lay her teeth and claws into anything that dared hurt her cubs.