Broken Things to Mend Read online

  Celia and Pearl nodded as Nancy spoke, even though it seemed like she was almost talking to herself. She shook her head, as if to pull her back to the present.

  “How long are you staying in town, Pearl?”

  “I don’t plan to stay too long. Just until I can be sure Celia is settled somewhere safe and proper.”

  Celia shook her head. “You don’t have to stay for me. I’ll figure something out,” she said, even as she thought about the ten dollars in her wallet.

  “Nonsense, young lady. You don’t think I’m going to bring you here and leave you homeless, do you?”

  “You didn’t bring me here. You’re not responsible to find me a place to live.”

  Pearl waved her off. “It doesn’t matter who brought you here. You, me, Silas or the Wizard of Oz, I don’t feel comfortable leaving you homeless.”

  “She should stay here with me,” Nancy said. “I’ve got a spare bedroom.”

  “I don’t have any money to pay for a room until after I find a job,” Celia said. It was an almost impossible situation. No money until she got a job. No job until she had time to look for one. No time because she needed to figure out where to live.

  “We can work something out.” Nancy held up her hand to stop all conversation while she thought for a minute. “I have a brilliant idea, if I do say so myself. I’m an old woman with more than an acre of garden. I decided last year would be my last since it wore me right out trying to take care of it, but I’ve got a lot of people who will miss my eggplant if I retire. You could help me with the garden and handle the farmers markets in exchange for a place to live and some of the money from the markets.”

  “I don’t know how to grow plants.” Celia wasn’t sure how much an acre was, but she knew one summer in the tiny plot of ground in Myra’s back yard hadn’t prepared her for this kind of gardening.

  “I’ll teach you. I’ve got a green enough thumb to share with you. I quite like the idea of passing on my know-how to someone new.”

  “I think that’s a wonderful idea,” Pearl said.

  It occurred to Celia that this conversation seemed somehow rehearsed and contrived. A part of her wanted to escape like Silas had and tell these two nosy women she wasn’t their responsibility, and she didn’t want their sympathy. The thought of being a charity case made her think of the Three Sisters, looking down on the little town. Charity. And Hope. She needed some hope. She needed to have faith that she was doing the right thing by coming here. And if she was being honest, she could use a little charity, too. If she had to accept some help from anyone, wouldn’t it be better to accept it from these two kind ladies?

  “Are you sure?” she asked, almost afraid Nancy would change her mind and realize she’d made a terrible mistake making the offer.

  “I’m sure. I think it will help us both out.”

  Pearl reached over and patted Celia’s arm. “And I can go home knowing you’re in good hands.”

  The two older women wore satisfied expressions and Celia couldn’t help but smile. “Let’s have another piece of pie,” Nancy said. “And then I’ll show you your room.”

  Only two cars were parked behind Home Sweet Home Bed and Breakfast—Jenny’s Subaru Outback and a black Mercedes with West Virginia plates. The silver Toyota Camry that belonged to Pearl was gone.

  Silas pulled around the block but still didn’t see it. Would she have left without saying goodbye?

  Silas shook his head at the thought. Pearl didn’t owe him a goodbye, especially after his rude behavior the day before. He hadn’t said a word to Pearl or the girl she’d taken under her wing. He’d said goodbye to Aunt Nancy and practically run from her house. So Pearl had known his parents. So what. That didn’t mean she had to track him down before she left town. She hardly knew him, after all.

  It had been a long day. Most days he didn’t mind the solitude of his job—preferred it, in fact—but today the quiet had felt tangible, and his thoughts had turned melancholy. If having Pearl around brought back the longing for his parents, it would be a good thing for her to leave. It had been a long time since he’d felt this emptiness, this hole in his life like something vital was missing.

  It didn’t take long to drive through Sisters to his house. He was disappointed to see Aunt Nancy’s car behind The Stitchin’ Station. He had hoped some dinner and a crime drama or two with his aunt would help lift his dark mood.

  He drove down the lane south of his aunt’s house and around the stand of trees. What was Pearl’s car doing here? She opened her door, and by the time he had parked his Jeep, she was standing in the driveway.

  “How are you, Silas?” she greeted him.

  “Fine, thanks.”

  “Very good. I hoped I could speak with you for a minute. Before I leave town.”

  Something about not being forgotten warmed him.

  “Come in.”

  He led Pearl up the steps of the ranch house his parents had built before he was born. He turned on the light in the front room and motioned for her to sit down. The interior of the house was sparsely decorated, tidy and masculine.

  “This is very nice,” Pearl said.

  “I had to do s-some work after the last renters m-moved out. It was a m-mess.”

  “You did a good job.”

  “Thanks.”

  Pearl sat down on the edge of the leather sofa, her posture perfect, her hands folded in her lap. Silas sat in a straight-backed chair. “I’m leaving,” she said and Silas nodded. “I have things to attend to in California. It has been good to see you again. You’ve grown into a fine young man.”

  A smile lifted the corner of Silas’s mouth. Why was Pearl suddenly so formal?

  “Silas, I almost left without speaking to you, because what I need to say will most assuredly make you think of me as a doddering old fool, but I’m afraid if I don’t speak my mind, you will miss what is right before you.”

  Silas’s amusement changed to confusion then curiosity. “Say what’s on your m-mind,” he said.

  “There are changes coming and how you respond to them could very well determine your future happiness.” Silas waited for her to continue. “Don’t run away from something good, no matter how much trouble it might be. The future holds much promise if you step up and take it. Be the man you were meant to be.”

  She sounded like she was rattling off the fortunes from several cookies, and Silas had no idea what she was babbling about. He had stepped up. He had a good job and he looked after his aunt.

  Pearl’s expression softened and her eyes twinkled. “Good things will come to you when you step up to the plate.”

  The American euphemism delivered with Pearl’s accent almost made Silas laugh.

  “What changes are coming?” he asked.

  She shook her head. “You’ll know them when you see them.”

  Pearl stood, so Silas rose, as well. She reached up and patted his cheek. “Be happy, Silas, and don’t be afraid.”

  Silas walked her to the door. “B-be safe.”

  “I certainly will.”

  He watched as she slowly drove away. What was she talking about? Don’t run away from duty. Don’t be afraid. There are changes coming. Step up to the plate. He wanted to laugh off the words of the strange, old woman, but a warmth settled over him, and he felt certain Pearl knew something of the future.

  Three days had passed since Pearl had driven Celia to Nancy Toller’s house, spoken a few crazy words, and returned to California. Two cold, miserable days that had left two inches of snow on the ground. There could be no gardening in weather like this, so while Nancy worked at The Stitchin’ Station, Celia stayed at home, sewing her quilt block and trying to stay out of the way.

  Since Celia had no money to contribute to groceries, she ate as little as possible, only venturing into the kitchen when hunger drove her there. Then she would eat small portions of several things, hoping Nancy wouldn’t notice what was missing. It was a trick that had usually served her well in foster care.


  “Celia, could you come in here?” Nancy said when she returned from work.

  Celia had a sinking feeling in her stomach as she walked to the kitchen.

  “Is something wrong?” she asked.

  “Yes. If you’re going to live with me, you have to eat.”

  “I did eat.”

  “Not enough to sustain yourself.” She shook her head as she looked in the almost unchanged refrigerator and whispered under her breath. “Pearl was right.”

  Celia knew Nancy hadn’t meant for her to hear that, but with all the strange things Pearl had said before she left, she wanted to know what Nancy was talking about.

  “Right about what?”

  Nancy sighed and considered for a moment what she should say. “Pearl told me you would consider yourself a burden and that I’d have to insist that you behave like a normal person around here.”

  Celia lowered her eyes, not sure how to respond.

  “Listen to me, Celia. I’m a kind person, but I’ve never invited a stranger to live in my home before, and if I didn’t feel we could help each other out equally, I wouldn’t have done it now either. But if I’m to keep up a garden this year, which I’d very much like to do, I can’t do it alone. So you don’t need to worry that you’re taking advantage of me. You’re not. The agreement was that you would work hard for me and I would provide a place for you to live and food for you to eat. If you’re not going to eat, the deal will have to be off.”

  Celia could hear a smile in Nancy’s voice and she looked up, relieved. “But there’s no gardening to be done right now.”

  “There will be plenty, so eat up so when you’re putting in long days, you won’t resent me.”

  Celia smiled back. “Thank you.”

  Nancy took some noodles out of the cupboard. “Does spaghetti sound good?”

  “Yes. Can I help?”

  Together Nancy and Celia made spaghetti and salad. Celia ate two full plates.

  “You got enough firewood?” Silas asked, as he came through the front door. He stopped, his stunned eyes on Celia, who sat

  at a jigsaw puzzle at the card table set up in the corner of the living room. Cold air blew into the room as he stood there.

  “Get in here and close the door or no amount of firewood will help me,” Nancy said.

  Silas closed the door and looked back and forth between Celia and Nancy, waiting for an explanation.

  “I think you’ve already met, but in case you haven’t, let me introduce you to my new boarder,” Nancy said. “This is Celia.”

  “What?”

  “She has moved in. I’ve given her the room that used to be yours.”

  Celia looked uncomfortable and wouldn’t look at him.

  Nancy continued, ignoring the awkwardness that filled the room. “I need help with the garden this summer, and Celia needed a place to stay. Two problems solved.”

  “B-but you said you weren’t doing a garden this year.”

  “I changed my mind.”

  “I told you last year that I’d help you. You didn’t need to...”

  “You have a job. Now so does Celia.”

  After a long, uncomfortable silence, Silas nodded. He was surprised. Except for him, Aunt Nancy had lived alone all her adult life, so welcoming in a stray girl was unexpected. But she was stubborn and would do what she wanted. Still, a seed of concern planted itself in his mind, and he hoped Celia really was just a girl in a bind and not a con artist. Or worse.

  “Do you need me to b-b— get you any firewood?” He was embarrassed at his obvious change of words, but it was something he did instinctively when he got caught on a sound. There was almost always another way to say something—a way that wouldn’t get him stuck on bs and ps and ms—if he took the time to think it through. He didn’t look over to see if Celia had noticed.

  “We could use a load or two. Why don’t you bring some in and I’ll warm you up some dinner.”

  No one spoke a short time later as Silas ate his spaghetti and they watched a talent show on television. Celia barely looked their direction as she worked on the puzzle, and it might have been easy to forget she was even there, except that he was unsettled by her presence and suddenly aware of how pretty she was, and he didn’t want to stutter in front of her.

  When the show ended, Nancy took his plate. “You should go help Celia with that puzzle. I’d like to get that table out of the way.”

  Silas smiled. He knew this tactic. His aunt would lobby for his help on a puzzle, saying the puzzle was making her crazy, or that she wanted to put the table away, or that she was bored with it, only to have a new puzzle started on the same table the next time Silas stopped by.

  The last time he had seen Celia, he had rudely left in a hurry. He didn’t want to be rude again, so he pulled a chair up to the table and picked up the box lid to examine the picture—a folk artist’s painting of Montreal. He wanted to say something, to crack a joke or ease the tension he felt between them, but he had never been good at cracking jokes. His stuttering always caused him to mess up the timing and instead of laughing, he could see that others were uncomfortable, or worse, that they pitied him. So he sat quietly, acquainting himself with the picture and the pieces until he picked up one that had the head of a dog and found the piece that showed the body and put them together.

  Aunt Nancy didn’t return for a long time. They heard her loading the dishwasher, then several minutes of silence, and finally, they heard her talking on the phone. All the while, Silas and Celia worked on the puzzle, neither of them speaking. Every minute that passed without words felt like a strand of twine being added to a rope, growing stronger and stronger and harder to cut through, until it seemed they had both been muzzled and were unable to speak.

  Silas’s discomfort reminded him of a ninth grade oral report on the Watergate break-in. He never referred to it as a break-in, just called it a scandal, because he thought it would be easier to say since he more easily got hung up on letters that started with his lips together. He could still remember the first line. He had planned to say “The Nixon Whitehouse was destroyed by the Watergate scandal,” but it was the smallest word in the sentence that had killed him. He had stood in front of the class and started, “The Nixon Whitehouse was destroyed b-b-b—”

  His lips had pursed tightly. That was the worst part of his stutter. It was like every muscle in his face pushed his lips together and it was difficult to pry them apart. He had felt his face get hot. Two girls giggled from the right side of the room and Silas knew without looking at them that they were laughing at him. The report should have taken two or three minutes. It took fourteen.

  “Making any progress?” Aunt Nancy interrupted Silas’s unpleasant memory.

  “A little,” Celia said. Her voice was as pretty as she was, quiet and sweet.

  “Let me grab a chair and I’ll help you,” Nancy said.

  “No.” Silas stood up so quickly, he nearly knocked his chair over. Celia stopped working on the puzzle and both women looked up at him. “Here,” he said moving around behind the chair. Aunt Nancy sat down. “I need to go.”

  He noticed Aunt Nancy’s baffled expression, but he didn’t dare look at Celia.

  “Thanks for the wood,” Aunt Nancy said as he closed the door behind him.

  Hours later, unable to fall asleep, he listened to Winston snoring in the corner. Why was he always running when Celia was around?

  He was almost asleep when he remembered Pearl’s words. “Don’t run away when something good is in front of you.”

  He drifted off before he could decide if Celia was a good thing or not.

  “We have two new quilters with us tonight. Jane, could you tell us who your guest is?” Everyone laughed and Celia decided Jane’s guest probably didn’t need an introduction.

  A slim brunette stood and pulled the woman next to her to her feet. “This is my daughter, Francis. She’s visiting from Eugene.”

  Several women said hello and expressed their
delight that Francis was back.

  “And this is Celia.” Nancy held both hands out toward Celia as if she were presenting the group with a gift. “Celia is living with me for the summer and helping me with my garden.”

  “Does she know what she’s gotten herself into?” an older woman asked from the corner.

  “Now Cathy, don’t be trying to scare her off. If she leaves, I won’t have a garden this year and you’ll be missing my eggplant.”

  “Where are you from?” asked a voice to her right.

  “I’m from Illinois.”

  “My sister lives there,” said another woman. “Were you anywhere near Champaign?”

  “Not really.” Celia didn’t want to talk about where in Illinois she was from. She didn’t even want to think about Chicago and the people she had left. Nancy noticed her noncommittal answer and directed the conversation away from Celia.

  “We’d better get started, or we won’t get this square finished tonight. Lisa, would you mind working over here with Celia so Jane and Francis can use the same machine? We don’t want to interrupt their mother/daughter time.”

  Lisa moved to the table and sewing machine they would share. Lisa was pretty in the way of many young mothers who have become softer and rounder after having children. Celia thought she was close to her own age until she mentioned her three children at home.

  “My husband signed me up for this class so I could get out of the house and talk to some grownups,” she said as they experimented with different color patterns for their block. “He didn’t have to tell me twice.”

  “Were you raised here?” Celia asked.

  “I grew up in Medford. That’s south of here. James—that’s my husband—he’s from here.” She switched a blue strip of fabric with a yellow one. “I love it here though. Feels like home to me. What made you come to Sisters? Are you related to Nancy or something?”

  “No, I met her after I got here. I thought it sounded like a nice place.” She didn’t tell her about the tear, or about how much her mother had loved Oregon, or about the night that had driven her out of Chicago.