Sweet Expectations (29 page)

A cloud of impatience swirled around and I could hear the chant,
Find him, find him, find him
.

Annoyed, I swiped a lock of hair away from my eyes as if I could also brush away the restlessness. “Her first name was written inside the box and then I searched bakery records from 1940 onward. I found the name Jenna Davis. From there I traced a picture I found of her and two soldiers. And then I was given a letter Jenna had written that gave this address. I took a chance she still had family living here.”

The woman stood silent for a long moment. Her hands trembled slightly and she nibbled her bottom lip.

“Did you know Jenna?” I asked.

The woman looked at me, her sharp eyes now watery. “Yes, I knew Jenna.” She unlatched the screened door and pushed it open. “My name is Kate Simmons.”

“You're Jenna's sister.”

She swallowed, as if struggling with emotions. “Why don't you come in, and I'll fix you a lemonade.”

I smiled and glanced back at Gordon, very grateful he was there. I wasn't sure why, but I was suddenly unsure of this entire trip. I clearly had dug into a deep and painful wound this woman harbored. Understanding what it was like to carry such a wound, I took pity on her.

We followed her into the house, lighted by the sunlight streaming in through the large windows. Instead of being dark or dreary, the room had a bright, cheery feel. White lace curtains hung from clean windows and fresh daisies filled several mason jars and vases in the room. A soft beige color gave the walls a fresh look and there were dozens of framed black-and-white photos. A rose floral fabric covered a couple of wing chairs and an overstuffed couch. All old and well-worn but well cared for.

Along the hallway Gordon and I followed Kate, drawn deeper into the house by the soft, sweet smell of goodies baking in the oven. It reminded me of the maple cookies I'd baked this morning. Jenna's cookies.

Kate nodded toward a chrome kitchen table surrounded by six chairs, seats covered in red leather. In the center of the table sat a ceramic bowl filled with oranges and apples. “Have a seat.”

I hovered close to a chair but stood, too nervous to sit.

Kate opened a refrigerator that dated to the 1970s and reached for a pitcherful of lemonade. She glanced at my belly. “Go on, have a seat. You shouldn't be standing too much.”

I took a seat at the table but couldn't relax back into it. Carefully, I let my purse fall to the floor as I set the recipe box on the table. “Thanks.”

“Can I help you with that?” Gordon said.

She glanced toward him, surprised, as if she wasn't accustomed to help. I expected her to refuse but she said, “Thanks. That would be real nice.”

Gordon took the pitcher and carried it to the table. I glanced up at him, and he looked at me as if to say,
Speak.

“The lemonade looks great,” I said.

Gordon cocked an eyebrow.
Really? That's the best you've got?

I shrugged.

Kate retrieved three glasses from a whitewashed cabinet. Gordon took the glasses from her and filled them before replacing the lemonade in the refrigerator.

Kate carried a platter of cookies to the table. “Have a seat.”

Gordon pulled out a chair for her and when she sat, he took the chair beside me. I shouldn't have been nervous. I offered information to Kate. This wasn't like searching for my birth mother. The moments and seconds shouldn't have been loaded with emotion but every ticking second was charged with a nervous energy I didn't understand.

I held up my bakery box wrapped in yellow ribbon. “I baked cookies today, too. Maple cookies.”

Kate stared at the box but didn't reach for it. “I haven't baked them in years.”

I sipped, needing a task more than I needed refreshment. The lemonade blended sweet and tart. “I'm sorry to drop in on you like this.”

Instead of reaching for one of my cookies she opened the recipe box. Her thickly veined, bent fingers trembled a little when she fingered the first card.

I traced the rim of my glass as I watched her thumb through the cards. Carefully, I picked up one of her warm cookies. “When we found the recipe box we couldn't resist baking some of Jenna's recipes. These cookies are Jenna's maple cookies.”

“Jenna always had a knack for baking.” Her head cocked as she removed a card and studied it. “I haven't seen her handwriting in so long.”

“We had a mini–grand reopening yesterday and sold cookies like this. We sold out in an hour.”

Kate nodded. “That would have made Jenna happy. She liked to watch people eat what she baked.”

I searched the old woman's face for similarities to the pictures I had of Jenna. There seemed little resemblance except for the eyes. They were Jenna's eyes.

“The cookie recipe was our mother's. We grew up making these cookies every Saturday to have with Sunday dinner. Like I said, I've not baked them in years, but today I had a hankering for the sweet taste. I made them by memory and wasn't sure if I'd get them right.”

I took a bite. “They are perfect.”

She smiled and nodded. “How did you say you found this?”

“We were taking out a wall in the bakery and I found this wedged between the beams.”

I reached in my purse and pulled out the photos I had found. Gently, I slid them toward her. “I found these pictures of Jenna.”

Kate picked up the picture of Jenna, Walter, and Joey standing arm in arm smiling in front of the bakery. “She was so full of energy and life. She was two years older than me, and I followed her around everywhere. I cried fiercely when she left for the city.”

“Why did she leave?”

“She wanted to see the city. It was the fall of 1943. Daddy wanted her to get married but she'd have none of it. They fought something fierce. But he couldn't sway her. She was supposed to be gone six months. Daddy wouldn't speak her name after she left but I know he missed her. We all figured she'd come back within the year.”

By the fall of 1944 Jenna would have been noticeably pregnant. “She didn't come home, did she?”

“No. I wrote her in October of 1944 and told her I was getting married at Christmas. She wrote me back right away and told me about her young man.”

After seventy years, Kate still protected Jenna. “Did she tell you about the baby?”

Tears welled in Kate's eyes. “She did. Said she'd met Walter, and she'd received word he'd died in the Pacific. He wanted to marry her but never got the chance. She was afraid and alone.” She traced the line of Jenna's young and smiling face with gnarled fingers. I had the sense she'd cut through the years and had landed in the past. “I told Mama. She shook her head as if she'd known all along Jenna was in trouble. She told me not to tell Daddy. Said Jenna needed time to find a husband or a home for a baby he'd not want.”

A baby he didn't want. My throat tightened and for a moment I couldn't speak.

Gordon cleared his throat. “What did your mother do?”

Kate swiped a tear from her lined cheek. “I told Mama she had to tell him, and finally she did. He was furious. Said he didn't want to talk about Jenna ever again because she'd disgraced her family. Mama wasn't one to argue with Daddy, but she did that night. Said she'd send him to the barn to live before she turned her back on her girl.” A faint smile tugged at the edge of Kate's mouth. “I told my Billy what was happening and that I wanted to take the baby. No one needed to know where it came from. We could make up a story that hid the truth. And he agreed.” Tears again filled her eyes. “Lord, but I loved that man.”

The image of Jenna's headstone darkened my thoughts. “Did you and your mother go to Alexandria?”

“No. It was my Billy that went with me. We arrived after the New Year in January. Went to the bakery and they sent us to the hospital. Jenna had died the day before. And there was the baby lying in his crib, crying and sucking on his hand so hungry for his mama. Billy and I buried Jenna there in Alexandria. She'd told me she'd never leave the city until her Walter came back from the war, and seeing as he never came back, it seemed she should stay. We wrapped the baby in blankets and left the day she was buried.”

“There was a small mention of Jenna on the Death Notices page. The piece described Jenna's baby as ailing.”

Kate nodded. “He was sickly. Could barely stomach any milk. Billy and I didn't have any idea what we were supposed to do. We were so young and didn't know the first thing about being married, let alone being parents. Baby cried all the way home. We was at his parents' place spinning our tale of how we'd come to find the baby, the orphan of a married couple who'd passed. Billy's parents and grandmother were listening. Grandmother was old and bent and gray-haired. Like me now. I thought she was ancient, and I didn't think she could help that baby. But she sent my father-in-law out to the barn and told him to fetch some goat's milk. He did and she put it right in our one baby bottle. The boy suckled hard because he was so hungry. Minute he took his first taste, he settled right into Grandma Simmons's arms and ate his fill. After that day, he got stronger and stronger.”

“So the baby survived?”

“That he did. Grew into a fine man. A fine son. Turned out he was the only child the Lord gave Billy and me, but we couldn't have asked for better.”

“Where is he now?”

“Out in the fields. Walt oversees the orchards.”

“Walt. Walter. Who chose that name?”

“Jenna. She named him in the hospital before she died. It didn't seem right to change it.”

“She named him after his father, Walter.”

“Yes.”

From my purse, I pulled out the Bible Joey had given me as well as the letters. “These belonged to Walter. He had a friend who kept his Bible all these years.”

Kate's hand hovered over the Bible but she didn't touch it. “I always knew I'd never carried Walter inside me, but it wasn't more than a minute or two he was in my care that he was mine. Seeing all this now reminds me that I wasn't his mother.”

“Sounds like what you did for him is what any real mother would do. Don't ever doubt that.” Terry had brought me into the world, but Sheila McCrae was my mother.

Tears glistened. “Thank you for saying that.”

For a moment we sat in silence as she opened the Bible and studied the family tree scribbled on the first page.

I scooted to the edge of my seat. “You said Walt's in the fields?”

She didn't look up and her voice sounded faraway. “Won't be home until dinner. I inherited my family land, and Billy got his family's land. Our son Walt manages both lands.”

Our son.
She said it with such pride and love. A part of me envied her. Her husband had taken in her sister's child and loved him as his own. It was a wish I had for my child and Gordon. But then Kate and Billy had both been Walt's adoptive parents. They'd been on equal footing. Gordon and I weren't on a level playing field when it came to my baby.

“I'd like to meet him,” I said. “Would that be possible?”

Kate shook her head and glanced away from the Bible. “I'd like to have a word with my boy alone first. There's a lot Billy and I didn't tell him over the years. A lot.”

Secrets. Did Walt know about Jenna? A shot of anger rose up in me as I sat there. I nodded toward the oven. “The cookies still in the oven smell done.”

“I suppose they do.” Kate rose, her hands trembling a bit more. She grabbed a dishtowel, opened the oven and pulled out the cookies that had been on the verge of burning. “I'll see you to the door.”

I wanted to meet Walt. I wanted to personally give him the Bible and tell him about all I'd found. I wanted to push. But I didn't. This was their family matter. And no matter what I wanted or what Jenna wanted, this was between Kate and her son.

I rose and laid my business card on the table. “He can find me here if he wants to know more.”

She didn't look at the card as she tucked it in her apron. “I'll tell him.”

Gordon placed his hand on the small of my back as if to say,
Let's go
. And so we left. I settled in the front seat of his truck, my chilled bones soaking in the warmth from the leather seats.

Out of the house and away from Kate and the Bible, a rush of doubts chased after me. I shook my head. “What if she doesn't tell him?”

He started the engine and put on his sunglasses. “I think she will.”

Fear niggled at me. Trust would never come easy to me. “She doesn't want to share him.”

“Daisy, she will tell him.”

“How do you know?”

“I just do.”

“I have an image of her throwing all of Walter's belongings in the trash.”

He shook his head. “It's clear she loves her son. She wouldn't hurt him like that.”

“She wouldn't be the first adoptive parent to lie to her child.”

“Your parents never lied to you.”

“I know.” But that didn't calm the fears. “What if he doesn't know he's adopted? What if the family kept his truth from him?”

He dropped his voice a notch. “You are borrowing trouble, Daisy.”

My head dropped back against the warm leather seat. “That's because I don't have enough trouble in my own life.”

He grinned as the truck rumbled along the driveway, a cloud of dust kicking up behind the back tires. “Give her time, Daisy. She's old. This was one hell of a shock.”

I closed my eyes. “I feel like I've failed Jenna.”

Chapter Twenty-two

Thursday

5 days after grand reopening

Income Lost: $1,000

T
he bakery was finding a new rhythm, Rachel thought, as she opened the back of the display cabinet and transferred freshly baked bread from a tray into the case. Jean Paul had baked his bread early this morning before he'd selected a loaf for himself, winked at her as she'd iced a cake, and left until his shift began again at midnight. The bakery had been officially open for five days and so far business was brisk and profits were on the rise. Daisy talked more and more about changing their business model, and the girls spent most of their days with their grandmother. Rachel could concede that life was on the upswing.

The bakery phone rang and she wiped icing from her hands as she snapped up the receiver and said, “Union Street Bakery.”

“Rachel. It's Simon.”

Warm energy flowed up her spine and she nestled closer to the phone. “Hi.”

“Just checking in. We're still on for Saturday at two
P.M.?
”

“Yes.” She'd been too busy to think about the date, but the sound of his voice churned nervous energy in her belly. “I'm looking forward to it.”

“Great.”

She cleared her throat. “If the weather is nice, I can make us a picnic lunch.”

“Sounds good.”

A silence settled and she scrambled for a question or statement that didn't pertain to the time, weather, or food. The words wouldn't gel and her panic grew as the saloon doors swooshed open. Daisy, carrying a tray of freshly iced cupcakes, moved to the display case, opened the glass, and began to line up the cupcakes in single file.

Rachel turned from Daisy back to the phone and said, “I've got to get back to work but I'll see you on Saturday.”

“Sure,” he said. “See you then.”

Rachel hung up the phone, relieved but disappointed she'd been so tongue-tied.

“You are frowning.” Daisy closed the display case and set the tray on the counter.

Rachel imagined Simon in his office blushing as he sat back in his executive chair. She glanced up at Daisy. “Simon was making arrangements for our date. He likes me.”

“So why the frown?”

“I'm not good with conversation, especially with him. All I know are kids and baking and I just can't imagine those topics interest him.”

“Conversation will come in time. And all the talking doesn't rest with you.” Daisy's knowing grin sent a fresh wave of nervous energy racing through Rachel's body. “How do you feel about him?”

Rachel moistened her lips and wondered how different his kisses would be from Jean Paul's. “I like him. But beyond that it's hard to say.” She frowned. “I could read every one of Mike's moods and expressions. With Simon I'm starting from scratch.”

“And Jean Paul?”

Color warmed her face. “We have reached an accord. I leave his breads alone and he leaves my baked goods alone.”

“I'm not talking about the working relationship. I'm talking about whatever it is that snaps and crackles when you two are close.”

She nibbled her lip, remembering the kiss. “He's very exciting.”

“Which means?”

She laughed. “It means I don't know where I stand with either one of them. Who's to say I'm not just a passing amusement for both.”

“I wouldn't say that.”

“I'm not so sure.”

Daisy waved away her concern. “If you were trapped on a desert island with one or the other, which would it be? And don't think or analyze. Just give me your gut reaction.”

“Jean Paul.” She blurted the name out before she could censor her thoughts. She lowered her voice a notch. “The sex and food would be amazing and I could talk shop with him when the conversation lagged.”

“Is it is because Jean Paul reminds you of Mike?”

She glanced at her ring finger and the groove where the gold band had rested for thirteen years. “He's not like Mike. Not at all. He's a free spirit. Simon is stability. He plans like me. Between the two of them I have the best of Mike.” Excitement and fear collided. “I don't know where I'll end up or with whom, but I can accept that I'm not married any more. I'm single. And I'm not as afraid as I was a year ago.”

“That's a good thing.”

“It's very good.”

Daisy pressed her hand into her back. “You can date both men, because we aren't on a desert island and you do have choices.”

A sly smile curved the edges of Rachel's lips. Images of Simon and Jean Paul marched in and out of her thoughts. For the first time in her life, she had the chance to explore, to take the unknown road, and just the thought made her heart beat faster.

* * *

Listening to Rachel talk about her budding love life had made me very aware that my love life had fallen apart.

I'd not seen Gordon since Sunday and that bothered me. I understood I couldn't rightfully claim him and the baby. I'd had to choose. And I had. My kid came first. But that didn't stop me from missing Gordon. Missing his touch. His smell. During the renovation the crazy pace had been enough to push him from my mind. But now that we'd returned to our normal dull roar there was too much time in the day to let my mind go to him.

The front bells rang and I glanced up hoping it was Gordon, all the while admonishing myself for wanting to see him. And, of course, it was not Gordon. It was an older gentleman, nicely dressed in khakis and a polo shirt. His white hair brushed back accentuated a deeply tanned and lined face.

“Welcome to the Union Street Bakery.”

He nodded. “Thanks.” He glanced at the display case, a bit lost like most new customers who were trying to scan the array of goodies.

“So what do you have a taste for?”

A frown furrowed his head. “In all honesty, I didn't come to buy baked goods.” He lifted his eyes and a curious, doleful gaze met mine. “I'm here to see Daisy.”

When people came looking for me by name my suspicions tend to rise. Surprises. Never good. “You found her.”

He studied my face as if trying to read my thoughts. Just then the doors jingled and a young woman entered the shop.

Blond hair framed an oval face and large, expressive eyes. Her bobbed hair grazed a strong jaw and she wore jeans and a purple T-shirt. But as I stared at her I could have easily imagined her in a calf-length skirt, bobby socks, or saddle oxfords. There was no mistaking her connection to this place. She was Jenna.

“Granddad,” she said. “I found a parking spot, two spaces from here.”

“Great, Del. Great.”

The man looked at me. “My name is Walter. Walter Simmons. This is my granddaughter Del Johnson. My mom told me you visited.”

Realization dawning, I studied his face for traces of Jenna's eyes and smile. “Kate is your mother.”

“That's right. And Del's great-grandmother.”

I wasn't sure Kate would tell Walter about my visit. “How's she doing? I'm afraid I might have upset her the other day.”

“You did,” Del said.

I thought about the sweet old woman who'd baked Jenna's cookies. “I'm sorry. That was not my intention.”

Walter drew in a deep breath and glanced around the bakery. “Mom told me her sister lived in Alexandria but she never said what she did while she lived here.”

“You mean Jenna?” I chose my words carefully, not sure what Kate had told her son or great-granddaughter. I didn't want to trip over any family secrets.

“Yes.” He pulled an envelope from his breast pocket and from that removed photos. My photos. The ones that I'd given Kate. “I found this on her kitchen table. I'd never seen them before.”

“We only found them. I thought it should be returned to her family.” Wiping my hands, I came around the counter. “According to her employee file she worked here between 1943 and 1944. She made a name for herself while she was here.”

Del grinned. “There's no missing the resemblance. I look like her.”

“Yes, you do,” I said.

“The family doesn't talk about her much,” Walt said.

Sadness coated each of the words. “I'm sorry to hear that. I heard she was a vibrant woman.”

“You heard?” Del said.

“There's a man in a nursing home not far from here. His name is Joey. He knew Jenna.”

Walt's gaze sharpened. “He knew my aunt.”

“He also knew her fiancé, Walter. Joey and Walter served together during World War Two. Joey was one of the last people to see Walter alive.”

“How did you find Joey?” Walt said.

I hated dancing around a truth that was so much a part of this man's history. I wanted to say clearly and directly, “We are talking about you birth parents.” But I didn't. I'd dropped enough grenades for the week.

For the next fifteen minutes I talked about how we'd found Jenna's recipe box during our renovation and detailed my winding route to Winchester. “I could introduce you to Joey if you'd like.”

Walter listened, his face stoic and stern. I wasn't sure how much of this he wanted to hear and half expected him to thank me for my time and leave. But he surprised me when he said, “I'd like to meet Joey.”

My heart skipped a beat. “I would suggest sooner than later. He's ninety-seven.”

Walt cleared his throat. “Today would work for me.”

“Sure. Does now work?”

“Yes,” he said.

“Let me grab a box of maple cookies for him.” I moved around the counter, my growing belly leading the way. “The recipe was Jenna's, and it's a hit with our customers.”

“I thought I recognized them. My mother used to bake them when I was a kid. They are my favorite.”

I wrapped one in paper and handed it to him. “Compliments of the Union Street Bakery.”

He took a bite and for a moment I sensed he was transported somewhere. “Why did you do this?”

“Do what?”

“Find me.”

I edged closer to the facts. “I'm adopted. I found my birth mother this spring, and I've had no luck finding my birth father. If someone had information about him it would have been nice if they'd tried to find me and tell me about him.”

Walt glanced at the cookie. “Mom and Dad never told me I was adopted.” For a long moment a heavy silence hung between us. “I found out from a relative at a family reunion when I was fifteen. It slipped out. I pretended not to hear, but it made so much sense. My parents loved me and I loved them, but there was a missing piece.”

“A critical piece to a puzzle.”

“Maybe. I never said a word to my folks, but I did do a little digging. I learned of her older sister, Jenna. Mom didn't talk about her much, but when I learned she died the day after I was born, it wasn't hard to wonder. You know she's buried here in Alexandria.”

“I do. I've been to the grave. They wrote about her in the local paper when she passed. You know Walter Jacob is also buried near her.”

“I did not.”

“I'd be happy to show you his place.”

He stared at the cookie and then took another bite as if he needed another second or two to process. “I also saw the article you left with Mom.”

“Your mom told you all this?” In Kate, I sensed a woman who'd guarded a secret for nearly seventy years and to think she'd release it so easily didn't jive.

“No. Not a word. But I guess you could say she told me in her own way. She left your package out on the kitchen table. It was there when Del and I came in from the orchards. She's my farm manager.”

Del grinned. “The apple heir.”

It would have been easy enough for Kate to hide the recipe box and the photos or destroy them, but she left them out.

“She wanted you to find it.”

“Maybe. She won't go as far as to talk, but I give her credit for trying.”

So much emotion. Love, sadness, loss, and more love. Adoption brought with it a complicated blend of feelings. “Let's go see Joey.”

“I'd like that.”

And so I made excuses to Rachel, grabbed my purse, and drove to Woodbridge, Jenna's cookies on the seat beside me. Del and Walt followed in their car.

It was after three when we arrived and I greeted the receptionist with a smile and a box of cookies. She accepted them and nodded for me to go back.

When Walt hesitated, Del nudged him forward. “We've got to do this, Granddad.”

He cleared his throat. “Right.”

I knocked on Joey's door and when I heard a gruff
what
I pushed it open. “Joey, it's Daisy.”

He sat up a little straighter and actually smiled. “What are you doing back? Afraid I might die on you?”

I grinned. “I actually have a couple of visitors for you.”

His eyes narrowed. “I ain't one for visitors.”

His gruffness had grown endearing and didn't deter me in the least. “Well, you might like these two visitors.”