Wildflowers (5 page)

L
eah didn’t say a word as Genevieve went through the long lists and showed Leah the pictures she had cut from various magazines. When they reached the last page, Genevieve cast a shy glance at Leah. “Well, what do you think?”

“I think you’re a genius.” Leah’s apple-round cheeks turned pink as she spoke. “All of these ideas are really good. I love the one about designing a separate meeting room in the corner that’s partially closed off.”

“Do you think that would work? I’ve been in restaurants before that have quiet spaces like that. I thought it might draw in people for meetings or to have a semiprivate place to celebrate a birthday.”

Leah’s eyes lit up. “That would definitely attract a younger crowd. Do you remember the other day when Paul
was here from church? He was trying to have a meeting with Gordon and Teri, but it was so noisy for them at the middle table that they asked to be moved to the corner table as soon as it opened up.”

“That’s where I was thinking the semiprivate room should be set up.”

“I also like your idea of finding ways to get more children and families to come to the café,” Leah said. “You know how much that would change this place? Instead of just being a place to eat, the Wildflower Café would become a gathering place for friends.”

Genevieve loved the sound of Leah’s words.
A gathering place for friends
. A rush of hope spilled into her spirit. Something inside her said,
Yes, that’s what has been missing. You need to provide a gathering place for friends
.

For a moment, Genevieve felt as if a stream of sunlight had burst into her heart. The thought came that she should open her heart’s windows, hang a welcome sign over her heart’s front door, and invite all her friends to gather there.

Where did that thought come from? We’re talking about the café not my life
. Genevieve quickly pulled back her feelings. Her heart wasn’t open for visitors of any kind. But the café would be. It would take on a new image and draw new customers, and that would provide the necessary revenue to stay open.

“All we need now are some more creative donations like Ida’s flowers,” Genevieve said, returning to the practical aspects of the moment.

Leah hopped down from the stool and headed for the
dining area to check on the last two customers. “I have a feeling the Lord will provide.”

Genevieve couldn’t help but wonder if Leah already was thinking of ways to use her connections around town to help the Lord provide. When Genevieve first had moved to Glenbrooke, she had heard from her friend Alissa that Leah was called “the Glenbrooke Zorro” because for years she quietly gave to people who were in need. As a matter of fact, because of Leah’s generosity a number of new utensils were being used in the café’s kitchen. Leah had claimed they were wedding gift duplicates and that, by donating them to the Wildflower kitchen, she could use them everyday, whereas at home they would sit in a drawer.

“We should check the storage shed again,” Leah suggested. “We might find a few more treasures in all that stuff.”

Genevieve decided she would have a look as soon as she finished unloading the dishwasher, which was her final task for the day. Before she stacked the last plate, her two daughters, Mallory and Anna, entered the café.

“I thought you two were going home after school,” Genevieve said.

“You told us we could come here any time we wanted,” Mallory sputtered. At ten years old, she was the one who always came up with the quickest responses. Anna was more shy and reserved, like Genevieve.

“Of course you can come here. Any time. I love having you with me. I’m almost finished so we can all go home in a few minutes.”

“Don’t you have anything more to do here?” Mallory’s
cocoa brown eyes took on the same look Steven’s eyes had whenever he couldn’t find his favorite pair of reading glasses.

“Not really,” Genevieve said.

“You don’t have anything else to paint?” Anna asked.

“No.”

“Because we can help,” Anna said. “If you want us to. I mean, with painting or something fun like that.”

Genevieve’s pulse beat a little faster. Aside from asking to lick the bowl after she made brownies for catering events, this was the first time her serious middle daughter had expressed interest in being involved in what Genevieve did.

“You know what?” Genevieve smiled at Anna. “I’m glad you asked. I should have suggested you paint the flowerboxes the other night. You love that sort of thing. The key to the shed is on the hook by the back door. You’re welcome to go out there and see what you can find. Anything that looks worth saving or painting is available to you. Your creative touches will help make the café special.”

“Me, too?” Mallory asked.

Genevieve caught a look of older sister disapproval on Anna’s face. “No, I have another project for you in here,” Genevieve told Mallory.

“What? Are you making cookies?”

“Yes. Cookies are the dessert of the day for tomorrow. You can help me with them now, and that will save me some time in the morning.”

“Can I wear an apron?” Mallory reached for one of the aprons on the hook by the sink.

“Of course. Here, let me tie that for you.”

An hour and a half later, Genevieve and the girls climbed into the van. They each had a warm, white chocolate chip macadamia nut cookie. An old rusted bicycle was crammed in the van’s back along with three old, wooden picture frames and a box of soiled linens. Anna also had found a chair with an unusual, thin metal frame. The chair didn’t fit in the van along with the bike so they left it under a tree beside the storage shed.

“Can I paint the frames any way I want?” Anna asked.

“Yes, of course.”

“Do you promise you’ll use them at the café no matter how I decorate them?”

“Yes, I promise.” Genevieve had no problem making such a promise because Anna was artistic. She first showed her ability when she was around eight. But it wasn’t through coloring or drawing; it was when she wrapped Christmas gifts. She had a knack for selecting unlikely materials and putting them together to make beautiful packages.

Genevieve decided that turning the frames over to Anna without giving her direction would be a good thing for Anna. It would be a good thing for their mother-daughter relationship. No matter how the frames turned out, Genevieve could find a use for them and a way to praise Anna.

Before Anna went to bed that night, she presented Genevieve with her first finished frame. Anna had painted the frame white with tiny blue and yellow flowers weaving up the sides. The look was fresh and appealing. Across the
bottom she had written with flowing letters: “Consider the lilies of the field.”

“It’s very pretty,” Genevieve said. “Where did you find the little quote at the bottom?”

“From the Bible. Matthew 6. I tried to find other Bible verses on flowers, but there weren’t very many. I’ll paint the other two frames tomorrow because I want to finish my postcards for literature now. They aren’t due until next week, but I don’t want to have any homework over the weekend.”

“Postcards?”

“We had to take our favorite lines from the short stories we’ve been reading and make postcards.”

“That sounds like a creative way to do a book report,” Genevieve said. “I’d like to see what you came up with.”

“I’ve finished two.” Anna brushed her fine, blond hair off her forehead. She shyly pulled two postcards from her backpack and showed them to Genevieve.

The first one had a bright yellow border around it with a simple blue bottle in the right corner. In the center was printed, “I could have sat down on the spot and cried heartily, if I had not learned the wisdom of bottling up one’s tears for leisure moments.”

Genevieve chuckled. “Who wrote that?”

“Louisa May Alcott. See? It says so on the back. And this other one is also hers.”

Genevieve read the second postcard, which was ornately decorated with Victorian-style Valentine hearts. “These faulty hearts of ours cannot turn perfect in a night; but need
frost and fire, wind and rain, to ripen and make them ready for the great harvest-home.”

“You have a wonderful talent, Anna. These are darling postcards.”

Anna seemed to soak up Genevieve’s praise. She flitted over to the refrigerator as graceful as a butterfly. Pouring herself a glass of orange juice, she said, “Mom, do you save up all your tears?”

“Save up my tears? Oh, you mean like in your quote?”

Anna nodded. “Do you ever save up your tears for a leisure moment?”

“I don’t think so.”

“I never see you cry.” Anna tilted her head. “At least I don’t remember seeing you cry for a really long time.”

Genevieve shrugged. “I suppose I don’t have much to cry about. That’s a good thing, isn’t it?”

Anna didn’t respond. Genevieve picked up a sponge and automatically wiped off the kitchen counters.

“Mom?” Anna lowered herself to a kitchen stool, as if preparing for a long answer. “Do you love Dad?”

“Of course I love him,” Genevieve said quickly. “We’ve been married for twenty-six years. Why do you ask such a question?”

Anna’s tenderness and intense perception seemed to increase the older she became. Genevieve wondered if Anna had discerned the aloofness that had been growing between Genevieve and Steven over the last few years.

“I just wondered.” Anna stayed put, as Genevieve cleaned around her. “Mom, would you and Dad ever divorce?”

“No, we’re committed to each other.”

“Do you know Tanya in my class?”

“I don’t think so.”

“She’s moving next week because her parents are divorcing. She and her mom are going to live in Idaho with her aunt. Tanya doesn’t like Idaho. She doesn’t like her aunt or her cousins, either.”

“Are you afraid that’s what might happen to you someday?” Genevieve tried to make her voice sound sure and comforting.

“I just think that divorce happens to people you don’t expect it to happen to.”

“That’s true.” Genevieve tossed the sponge into the sink and gave Anna what she hoped was an encouraging smile. “I don’t think that will ever happen with your father and me.”

“Are you sure?”

Genevieve ignored the uncertain feelings that were dashing about inside her. “Yes, I’m sure.”

“Even if Dad decided to live with another woman the way Tanya’s dad did?”

Genevieve’s pulse pounded in her ears. “Anna, I don’t know what happened with Tanya and her family, but that’s her family, not ours. Your father and I have been through a lot over the years, and we’re still together. We plan to stay together for the rest of our lives.”

“That’s what I hoped you would say.” Anna finished the last of her orange juice. “I don’t want to move again, and I really don’t ever want to have to decide between living with you or Dad. I want us always to be together.”

“That’s what we want, too.”

After Anna went to bed, Genevieve lowered herself into her mother’s antique rocking chair by the window. The shades were up, and the world beyond her cozy corner was illuminated with moonlight, the blessing of a clear night. No streetlights were near the backyard to compete with the shimmering moon. She loved the solitude that surrounded their Glenbrooke home.

With a sigh, Genevieve thought about Anna’s questions. She wondered where Steven was right now. Was he flying over the Pacific Ocean? Or was he about to land a plane on a runway somewhere across the world where the sun had not yet set?

He’s been a wonderful father to the girls. And he loves me. I know he loves me. The problem with our marriage is me. I’m the one who has grown cold
.

An image of her mother came to mind. Most evenings while Genevieve was growing up, her mother sat in this same rocking chair with her glasses balanced on the bridge of her nose. She was always working on something. If she wasn’t knitting a cap for the little shop in Zurich where she sold her handmade wares, she was crocheting a baby blanket. Genevieve still had the baby blankets her mother had made for each of Genevieve’s daughters. Those three blankets and a blue-and-red ski sweater from when Genevieve was eight years old were the only bits of her mother’s handiwork she still had.

When Genevieve’s parents had passed away, her relationship with both of them was strong and close, even
though it hadn’t always been that way. Her father was nearly fifty when she was born, and her mother was forty-two. Genevieve was their only child, and she had grown up hearing often that she was “the nicest surprise” they ever had.

It occurred to Genevieve that she had never doubted her parent’s love and admiration for her even though the words “I love you” were rarely spoken. She didn’t remember ever asking her parents if they were considering a divorce even though their marriage never displayed much evidence that they loved each other. They were simply together all the time. Their demeanor was courteous, and their conversations were brief and cordial.

Genevieve stared out the window at the moonlight on the lawn. The backyard needed so much work. The rain had caused the weeds to sprout with zeal. Clearly no one had put much time into the backyard for years before Steven and Genevieve had moved in. When they bought the house, she thought she would enjoy creating a special garden, as she had in Pasadena. But then the catering business became too demanding, and she found it easier to ignore the massive amount of work the yard needed.

She thought about her father and how he had praised her Pasadena garden the two times he had visited the family in California. The garden was in its earliest stages when he had plucked a tall Shasta daisy and twirled it between his long fingers. If he had been wearing a suit at that moment, Genevieve was certain he would have tucked the daisy into his lapel buttonhole and worn it all day.

In most of her memories of him, Genevieve’s father wore
a dark suit. He had worked for a bank in Zurich for almost forty years. He spoke three languages fluently and insisted that English be spoken in the home.

She remembered the way her papa walked her to school every morning, drilling her on English verbs as her short legs hurried to keep up with his vigorous stride. He would deposit her at the front gate of her school with a courteous half-bow and a phrase in German that loosely translated meant, “Make something of your life that will shine brightly.” Then, without looking back, he would turn on his heels to catch the tram to the downtown financial district.