Child of Mine (18 page)

Do not fear
,
she'd whisper to herself.
Only believe.

So she
was
eager for Ernie to return to work. She still had the weekends to check out leads, after all.
This
is war,
she reminded herself.
And in war, you do
what you have to.
Chet didn't need to know what Ernie did or how his tech friends found Kelly's prospects. After all,
she
didn't even know. What mattered was the final result.

Finding Emily.

M
arket day, held each Saturday morning, was one of Wooster's most beloved summer and autumn traditions. This year, it just happened to fall on Jack's birthday, the perfect forum for a celebration.

To Nattie, the weekly farmers' market was like a carnival overflowing with crafts and flowers, fruits and herbal tinctures, bee products and preserves. She loved whirling from booth to booth, sampling the handmade sweets and chatting with the vendors, who in turn fawned over Jack's bright-eyed, brown-haired girl. In fact, with birthdays and market day so high on Nattie's list of favorites, Jack was rather surprised she took Laura's refusal to join them in stride. Jack understood Laura's reasons. Laura had her own life and plenty of responsibilities at her cousin's home. Even without Laura, he was looking forward to spending the day with his number-one girl.

As Jack and Nattie wound their way hand in hand through the crowds, he noted that Nattie had remained remarkably mum about plans for his birthday. Since
mum
wasn't one of Nattie's stronger suits, something big had to be brewing. What his pint-sized daughter had in mind, though, was a complete mystery.

“Be still my heart!” Nattie exclaimed as they came upon a tempting display of chocolates. Truffles and toffee in creative pairings, topped with everything from sea salt to edible flowers, glowed like sculptures beneath glass domes. Nattie screwed up her face and put her hands together in a supplicating manner. “Please, please, please!”

Did she actually think he could refuse her? On his birthday, of all days? They bought a variety box from a cheerful college-aged entrepreneur who recognized a soul sister when she saw one. She permitted Nattie to sample more than any kid should be allowed to, bemused with the seriousness that Nattie brought to chocolate selection until she finally settled on her
ten
favorites.

“You need to stretch these out,” Jack cautioned Nattie, handing a twenty dollar bill to the student, who made change from a wooden box.

“One a day!” Nattie promised.

As if,
Jack thought, imagining all the potential hiding places in Nattie's room. He thanked the young woman and quickly ushered his daughter on to the next booth, featuring a colorful display of hand-crafted kaleidoscopes.

Around eleven-thirty, as they perused a table of organic peaches, apricots, and dragon fruit, they just happened to run into San, wearing a dress-length silk tunic, along with slim pants and strappy sandals.

“Imagine that,” Jack said, hugging his sister, “bumping into you.”

San's eyes twinkled. “What a coincidence.”

Nattie tugged at Jack's arm. “Don't ruin everything, Dad.”

The three of them made their way toward San's favorite handmade soaps and bath items, where she chatted with the vendor and placed a special bulk order for the lavender-hibiscus bubble bath. “It's never too early to think about Christmas gifts, you know,” she said, winking at her niece.

It was a few minutes before noon when Nattie handed Jack a vibrantly colored dunce cap, splashed with pink, purple, and
yellow polka dots. “You have to wear this now!” she announced with obvious glee.

Jack stared at the offending cone. “In public?”

“
Especially
in public.”

Jack put it on, threading the tight elastic band under his chin and modeling it for San and Nattie—not to mention the rest of the market crowd. “I look ridiculous.”

“Yes, you do,” Nattie said, grinning.

“No worse than any other day of the week,” San added with a playful punch.

Nattie was absolutely exuberant. “You're a goof!”

Jack laughed as San took his right arm and Nattie took his left, the three of them marching jauntily up the street, Jack fighting to keep his cone upright.

Leaving the local vendors to box up their goods until next week, they trotted right into his favorite Mexican restaurant, where the friendly Hispanic host, with his jet-black hair and sleek mustache, greeted them as though expecting them. Sure enough, a back booth had been decked out in extravagant birthday decorations, complete with streamers and balloons, and confetti strewn across the table. Lurking beneath were gift boxes wrapped in festive colors and bows.

Removing her sunglasses, San whispered in Jack's ear, “You didn't suspect a thing, did you?”

Nattie seized upon a kazoo and blew it at what she must have thought were appropriate moments until San commandeered the offending noise machine.

“Aww,” Nattie whined good-naturedly.

“Thank you,” Jack said with a grin at Nattie, who gave him a playful pout.

The waitress, wearing a burgundy apron and floral print dress, came to take their order. Poised with pen and pad in hand, she asked for Jack's order first, which struck him as strange—ladies first, after all—but then again it
was
his birthday, so he read his
choice from the menu: “Chicken Burritos. Extra hot,” he added, and the waitress bit her lip but wrote his order on her pad. That's when he noticed Nattie staring at him like a volcano ready to blow, her eyes widening by the second, her nose flaring as if she'd taken a whiff of green bean perfume.

“What's so funny?” he asked.

San elbowed him.
“Really?”

Nattie scrambled to her knees, placed both elbows on the table, her chin resting on her palms, and slid halfway across.
“Really,
Dad?”

“Nattie, honey, that's bad—” He looked up at the waitress to apologize for his family's lack of manners when it occurred to him that their waitress looked awfully familiar.

“Hi, Jack,” she said softly. “Happy birthday.”

His mouth dropped open.
Laura?

Nattie clapped her hands, now hopping up and down on the bench seat, chirping, “We gotcha good, Dad!”

Laura had gone fancy.

No,
he thought.
It can
't be her.

But it was. Laura handed her apron to their real waitress and settled into the seat beside Nattie, her light brown hair still parted down the middle, but bouncy with soft curls—just seeing her hair was a shock—and her face, unrecognizable with darkened eyelashes, rosy cheeks, and pink glossy lips.

San poked him again. “She cleaned up good, don't you think?”

Laura gave her a grimace, and San continued quickly, meeting Laura's eyes with a sincere smile. “You look beautiful, Laura.”

Jack cleared his throat but could only manage a nod.
She
left beautiful in the dust.

Laura blushed, clearly uncomfortable with the attention. “I think I went too far.” She proceeded to recount her steps—how, with San's help, she'd found the dress, spent two hours at the salon, and finished the outfit with a borrowed pair of San's shoes.

Surprised that San actually played a part in this transformation, Jack gave his sister's hand a quick squeeze but couldn't stop
staring at Laura. This was the woman who'd spent the past four years in his employ. He wouldn't have recognized her on the street. Actually, he
hadn't
recognized her.

But the new Laura presented a strange contradiction, as well. Her clothing put the spotlight on her, when normally there wasn't a part of Laura's manner that drew attention to herself; she was a behind-the-scenes type, providing support, never asking for validation, quietly indispensable. Despite her plainness, for Laura to walk out of a room was to feel a loss.

“Take a picture, Dad,” Nattie announced, slapping the table to get his attention. “It'll last longer.”

Jack felt sheepish, but Laura just laughed. “I think he's completely
ferhoodled
.”

During the remainder of the meal, they talked and laughed, while he tried to pretend Laura's new appearance hadn't thoroughly
“ferhoodled”
him.

“So how does it feel to wear English clothes?” San asked Laura.

Laura smiled. “Like a fish out of water.”

Or a
girl off the farm,
Jack thought, feeling suddenly guilty. Now that Laura was wearing modern clothes, he realized he'd always felt a little embarrassed of her Amish clothes, and his unconscious pride saddened him.

After their meal and the usual birthday pronouncements and gag cards, Jack opened San's gift, a designer tie, and Nattie's gift, a book of jokes. Laura handed him a humorous Peanuts card with Snoopy as the aviator, as was their custom on birthdays.

When they spilled out of the restaurant, San hugged him good-bye, leaving the three of them to walk down Liberty Street, looking for all the world like three Englishers wandering Wooster.

An hour later, it was time to drive Laura home so she could change back into her Amish garb before her cousins arrived, since Peter and Lomie might not be quite as supportive of her birthday surprise. Jack opened the passenger door and gestured regally. “You may be too fancy to sit in my old truck.”

Laura gave him the sweetest smile in return, and Jack hovered near, bracing her arm as she placed her foot on his running board and slid into the cab. He could tell she wasn't used to heels, the way she stepped gingerly, her hands poised in case she tripped, his capable housekeeper rendered delicate and vulnerable.

On the way to the Troyer farm, Nattie remained suspiciously gleeful and secretive. “You didn't get very many gifts this year, Dad,” she hinted.

Laura's amusement was evident, and when they turned into her long driveway, she said, “Do ya mind stopping here, Jack?”

Jack caught Nattie's mirth-filled expression. He pulled to a stop, and Laura seemed nervous as she reached down and pulled a small package out of her bag, then placed it on her lap with decorum, as if proud of what he was about to unwrap.

Beaming over at him, Nattie's hands were fidgeting. She could barely contain herself. “The best present for last!” she exclaimed. “It's mostly from Laura, but kinda from both of us.”

Jack smiled back at the two of them, curious now about this first-time gift from Nattie's nanny. Finally, Laura handed it to him, her expression suddenly apologetic and shy. “I hope you like it,” she said softly.

Jack took the package and removed the brown paper, revealing a framed document. Holding it up to the sunlight, Jack realized it was a letter, apparently written decades ago, wrinkled, faded, and yellowed but clear enough to catch the signature.
Wilbur Wright.

He blew out a breath. “Where did you find this?”

“Laura found it!” Nattie exclaimed.

“I remembered you didn't have his signature,” Laura said. “And . . . well . . . I couldn't afford the one you really wanted, but I called a number of reputable autograph stores, one in Aspen, Colorado—the one you told me about, where you took Natalie once.”

He stared at the letter, transfixed. “Laura, this must have cost—”

“Less than you think,” she answered, leaning over to point
at the signature and the date, 1911. “The letter references some lawsuit they were dealing with.”

He died in '12,
Jack thought, nodding. “Yeah, the patent wars.”

He read one phrase from the letter,
“At Kitty Hawk, we never would have
believed that perfecting controlled flight would only be the beginning
of our troubles. . . .”

Jack set it on his lap, nodding wistfully. “Some people think Wilbur died young because of the stress from defending their patent.”

He turned to her, and Laura met his eyes, emotion hovering there, but what, Jack wasn't sure. Nattie's gaze moved back and forth between them, like watching a Ping-Pong game.

Jack sighed. “You shouldn't have done this.”

“This'll fill the spot until you get what you really want,” Laura replied.

“I like this better,” he said, staring at the century-old letter. “The unexpected tragedy of their success.” He cleared his throat again, overwhelmed.

“You like it?”

Nattie squealed. “Hel-lo, I think so!”

“I love it,” he said.

Laura nodded, seemingly satisfied but self-conscious, too. She rustled through her packages, consolidating them, putting her purse on her lap. It was time to drive the remaining hundred yards or so.

Laura had never given him a birthday gift before—cards, yes, but never a gift. It had been a kind of unspoken rule between them.

Things are changing,
he thought.