The Way Home (41 page)

After a moment’s silence, she sniffed and rose from the chair where she’d been seated since Meg’s arrival half an hour before. Like a queen awaiting the arrival of her subjects. Or a spider awaiting the approach of a fly, Meg’s less charitable side suggested.

“I’m sure you’d like to clean up before supper,” Helen said. “I’ll show you to your room.”

Meg opened her mouth to say that she remembered where Ty’s room was but caught the words before they spilled out. It was probably not a good idea to remind her mother-in-law that this wasn’t her first stay in the McKendrick house. She followed the other woman upstairs, thinking longingly of a warm bath and a soft bed.

When they reached the upstairs hall, Helen stopped and turned to look at her. Meg was surprised to find that their eyes were on a level. Somehow she thought of Ty’s mother as being a much bigger woman.

“I hope you understand that I am not running a hotel,” Helen said, sliding the gloves off just a fraction to allow Meg a glimpse of the iron beneath.

“Of course not,” Meg said, shocked. “I certainly don’t expect you to wait on us. I’d appreciate it if you’d allow me to help with the cooking and the housework.”

“We’ll see.” Meg’s eagerness to help didn’t seem to mollify the older woman. “I’m very particular about how things are done,” she said icily.

“I understand.” But she didn’t really. It had been Meg’s observation that there was always more than enough work to go around. She’d have thought that her mother-in-law would welcome an extra pair of hands. But it was becoming clear that the only thing Helen McKendrick would welcome would be her disappearance from Ty’s life.

“The two of you will use the bathroom down the hall,” Helen was saying as she pushed open the door to Ty’s room. Meg followed her inside, feeling the familiar room embrace her. “Mr. McKendrick and I have a separate bath off our bedroom.” There was justifiable pride in the way she announced this incredible luxury.

“It’s a lovely house,” Meg said, offering a shy smile as she set her purse on the dresser and turned to look at her mother-in-law.

“I’ve worked to make it so.” Helen acknowledged the compliment with a regal tilt of her head.

Meg wondered vaguely if she should say something to fill the silence that followed. But the truth was, she was so tired she could barely remember her own name. Perhaps she swayed a little or maybe she looked as pale as she felt. Her mother-in-law’s eyes narrowed slightly.

“Tyler tells me you’re not carrying well,” she said, the first reference she’d made to the fact that Meg was carrying her grandchild.

“I’ve just been a little tired,” Meg said, forcing another smile. “Ty worries too much.”

“I have an extremely delicate constitution. But I managed to carry three children without causing any fuss.” There was blatant condemnation in the look she gave Meg.

Meg felt weak tears start to her eyes, but she forced them back. She knew instinctively that tears would only compound her sins in Helen McKendrick’s eyes.

“I’m sure, now that I’m home, I’ll start feeling better right away,” she offered.

“I certainly hope so. It would be a pity if Tyler were to have sacrificed his career for nothing.” Without giving Meg a chance to reply, she turned and left, closing the door behind her with the air of one closing out a bad odor.

Meg sank onto the edge of the bed, grateful for the support her knees were no longer willing to provide. Hot, angry tears burned her eyes and spilled over onto her cheeks. She didn’t need to be reminded of what Ty had given up to bring her home. Meg fully appreciated the irony of his mother’s reproach, considering the way she felt about her son’s career. But that didn’t change the underlying truth in her words. Ty had given up something he loved a great deal in order to bring her home to Iowa.

The sound of a masculine voice downstairs had her quickly wiping the traces of tears from her cheeks and straightening her shoulders. When Ty pushed open the bedroom door a moment later, she was standing next to the bed. She turned toward him with a smile.

“That was quick,” she said, though being left alone with her mother-in-law had made it seem like a week.

“The snow’s easing up.” Ty set down the suitcases he was carrying and stripped off his gloves. He cupped his hands in front of his mouth and blew on his fingers. “I’d forgotten how cold it could get. How are you?”

“I’m fine,” Meg said, hoping her smile didn’t look as forced as it felt. “I wish you’d stop worrying about me.” She moved forward to help him off with his coat.

Ty caught her chin in his fingers when she started to turn away with the garment. His hand was cold against her skin, but the concern in his eyes warmed away the chill. He looked at her searchingly.

“It’s part of my job to worry about you,” he said in a light tone at odds with the intensity of his eyes.

“Well, it’s not necessary.”
A job? What that how he looked at being married to her?
“I’m just fine.”

“Did my mother … say anything?”

“Only that this was your home and that you were always welcome here.” She was careful not to use the same emphasis her mother-in-law had, not wanting Ty to know that it had been made clear that welcome did not include his wife.

“I know my mother can be … difficult, Meg. You don’t have to pretend she isn’t.”

“She was very kind,” she lied without hesitation. He looked doubtful. “I’m not as helpless as you think I am,” she protested. Her smiling exasperation covered a very real need for him to see her as something more than a responsibility.

“I don’t think you’re helpless. But you need a little extra care right now.” He brushed a kiss across her mouth, and Meg let herself relax into his arms. “We moved back here so you could rest and take care of yourself. I don’t want you to worry about anything. If you have any problems with my mother, I want you to tell me.”

“I’m fine, Ty.” Her fingers tightened around the fabric of his coat. “We didn’t have to move back here and you didn’t have to give up your flying.”

“We already talked about this,” he said, setting her from him and bending to pick up the suitcase.

With a sigh, she draped his coat across the back of a chair and went over the bed to begin unpacking while Ty went downstairs to bring up the rest of their things. Perhaps, once the baby was born, she could convince him to go back to flying. Though it made her shudder to think of risks he took, the last thing she wanted was for him to give it up because of her. In time, he’d surely come to hate her for it. But there’d be no changing his mind until the baby was bom.

It wouldn’t be so bad, Meg told herself. Spring was only a few weeks off and then summer would be just around the comer. Holding a stack of Ty’s clothing, she paused to look out the window. The snow had stopped falling but it left behind a landscape all done in gray and white, as if the cold had somehow drained the color from everything. But if she narrowed her eyes a little, she could see the deep green of grass, the pale, clear green of spring’s first leaves on the trees, the bright splashes of early flowers. A little more imagination and she could feel the warmth of the sun against her face, smell the heavy fragrance of the roses that bloomed along Edwina Vanderbilt’s front porch.

Her expression grew dreamy. She’d fallen in love with Ty last summer. Maybe this year the summer sun would work its magic on him.

“Supper’s almost ready,” Ty said as he carried in a suitcase and the arched wooden cabinet that held her sewing machine. Meg turned from the window still wrapped in the warmth of her dream.

“I’m almost ready.” She set the clothes down, her pleasant mood vanishing at the thought of having supper with her in-laws.

Her expression must have revealed more than she’d intended, because Ty came over and put his arm around her shoulders. And despite her determination to show him that she was not helpless, Meg couldn’t resist the temptation to lean against his strength.

“I know this isn’t the best arrangement, Meg, but it’s only for a little while, just until Jack and I can put the farmhouse in a livable condition.”

“I’m just a little nervous,” she said, forcing a smile. “I know your parents didn’t approve of you marrying me.”

“I’m a little too old to be asking their permission,” Ty said, his voice dry.

“I know, but — “

“No buts about it,” he said firmly. He dropped a kiss on the end of her nose. “Everything’s going to be fine.”

“Of course it is,” Meg said, wishing she believed it.

Ty started to lead her out the door and then hesitated. “You’ll tell me if you have any problems?” he asked, making it obvious that he didn’t believe his reassurance any more than she did.

“Of course,” she lied. The last thing she’d do was bring him any more problems.

“Good.” Meg hoped her smile looked more sincere than his. “We probably shouldn’t be late,” he said. “No sense starting off on the wrong foot.”

In the days that followed, Meg came to the conclusion that there was no “right foot” when it came to her mother-in-law. At least not when it involved her son’s wife. Meg’s attempts to help with the cooking and cleaning were rebuffed without hesitation or courtesy. Helen made it clear that she didn’t trust Meg’s ability to do even so menial a task as dust the furniture.

The morning after she and Ty arrived, Meg washed the breakfast dishes, thinking to make it clear that she was more than willing to shoulder her share of the work. She dried them but didn’t put anything away since she didn’t know where things went and sensed that Helen wouldn’t want another woman going through her cupboards. She came downstairs an hour later to find her mother-in-law carefully rewashing each plate and cup.

“I’m very particular about how things are done,” Helen said, stretching her lips in a thin smile.

When Meg swept the floor, Helen swept it again. “I’m sure you just didn’t notice the dust in the comers,” she said with that same cold smile.

“I doubt you’re accustomed to handling delicate things,” Helen told her when Meg offered to help her hostess dust the cabinet full of knickknacks in the living room. “Some of these things are quite valuable,” she added, making it clear that Meg couldn’t be trusted to handle anything worth more than a dollar or two.

So each day went, with Meg’s every effort rebuffed. She accepted each implied criticism without comment, relinquished each task with a quiet apology, and retreated to the bedroom she shared with Ty where she stood in the center of the room with her fists clenched, trying to control her frustration and anger.

What did the woman want from her?

What Helen McKendrick wanted, of course, was a reaction. Tears or anger — either would have satisfied her. If Meg had lashed out, it would have proven to Helen’s own satisfaction that her son’s wife was the low-class product of white-trash parents that Helen knew her to be.

What she couldn’t know and wouldn’t have understood was that life had taught Meg that the best response to anger and hostility was passivity. When she was a child, the best way to avoid a beating from her father had been to be as nearly invisible as possible. Her instinctive dislike of her stepfather had only encouraged this natural tendency. Like a fawn’s camouflage, Meg used a calm facade to protect herself, unaware that she was only adding to her mother-in-law’s anger.

As the days passed and Meg failed to react to Helen’s veiled criticisms, the veiling grew thinner in direct proportion to the older woman’s growing frustration. Hints that someone of Meg’s background couldn’t be trusted to handle anything of value became open statements.

When Meg failed to point out that the dishes were already clean or the laundry adequately washed, the insincere smiles started to disappear and the blame was laid squarely at Meg’s feet. Or rather, at the feet of her poor upbringing. And always, Meg accepted the criticism without giving the smallest hint as to what she was really feeling.

It was almost two weeks before Helen finally found something that drew a reaction from her daughter-in-law.

“What are you doing?”

At the sound of Meg’s voice, Helen glanced over her shoulder. Meg stood in the bedroom doorway, still wrapped in the coat she’d worn as protection against the blustery weather while she was hanging the clothes on the line.

“The door was open and I happened to notice the bed,” Helen said, turning her back on Meg to continue fussing with the sheets. “Tyler always liked his bed made in a particular way. Of course, he’d never say anything to you about it, but — “

She broke off with a start of surprise as Meg suddenly appeared beside her and took the pillow she’d been fluffing from her hands.

“Thank you for your concern, but the least I can do is take care of our room.” Seeing the other woman in
her
room, touching the bed she shared with Ty, Meg felt a depth of anger she hadn’t known she was capable of. This was the one place she was able to escape to, the one place she didn’t have to listen to Helen McKendrick’s smooth voice telling her what a failure she was, how Ty’s life had been ruined when he married her.

“I know you try,” Helen said insincerely. “But coming from the kind of background you do, I’m sure it’s difficult — “

“I am capable of making a bed, Mrs. McKendrick.” Meg offered no apology for interrupting. Anger rose thick and hard in her throat. She forced it back, knowing that she couldn’t possibly win an open confrontation with this woman. “/ will take care of this room. You have more than enough to do taking care of the rest of the house.”