Chapter Seven
Dan pushed his meal around the plate, too aggrieved to do more than pick at his mother’s excellent roast beef. He’d only accepted Pat’s dinner invitation because she’d started complaining that Herman was getting all their son’s “quality time” and Dan didn’t want her thinking he was taking sides. And how had she repaid his loyalty?
With a knife in the back. He stabbed a portion of beef. “Can you please quit telling people I’ve got post-traumatic stress disorder?” he said curtly. “I wasn’t even on patrol for f…flock’s sake.”
“It wasn’t people,” his mother corrected. “It was your best friend.”
“What were you two meeting for, anyway?”
Pat took her time finishing a mouthful of baby peas. “She’s worried about you…and your strange behavior over this wedding. So are your father and I.”
Herman raised his eyes from his roast potatoes, met Dan’s hard stare and dropped them again. “Let them sort it out,” he advised his wife.
“You mean do nothing and hope the problem will go away,” Pat returned. Silverware chinked against china as she put down her fork. “Danny, will you please tell your father you can manage August ewe vaccinations without his assistance? We’ll miss the whole northern summer at this rate.”
It was Dan’s turn to receive a hard-eyed stare from Herman. How the hell did he end up monkey in the middle again? “I’m staying out of your private life, Mom,” he reminded her, hacking through a dinner roll. “In fact, maybe you could take a lesson from that. And quit deflecting—I’m the injured party here.”
He pointed his knife accusingly at her as he continued. “You don’t want me to marry Jo so you engineered a get-together to sow more doubts in her mind. As if I don’t have enough to deal with already, without you adding new ones.”
Angry color flagged Pat’s cheeks. She leaned forward, her pearls swinging dangerously over the gravy boat. “If you must know, Jo organized the meeting to tell me she isn’t marrying you.”
Dan’s sense of ill use grew. “I’m guessing you two really bonded over that.”
“I have to say I liked her more than I ever have.” Pat picked up her cutlery. “She has no intention of taking advantage of your emotional fragility.”
“My what?” Okay, now he was really pissed. “I’ve spent the past five days trying to get that woman to take advantage of me. Now you’ve dropped me to square one with this psycho-babble bullsh—”
“Son,” Herman warned. Mouth trembling, Pat looked down at her plate.
“Mom, I’m sorry,” he said curtly. “I know you believe that stuff.” As an apology it sucked but right now it was the best he could manage.
“I only want you to be happy,” she said in a small choked voice.
“I know you do, but—”
“And self-help books can be transformational.” Dan hid his incredulity. “I gave Jo a wonderful book called Contented Dementia but she accidentally left it behind.”
Accidentally, my ass. “What a shame.”
“I’ll get it and you can drop it off in the morning when you’re trimming the hedge.” As soon as she left the dining room, Dan and Herman exchanged a look.
“You two better not be rolling your eyes in there,” Pat called. Returning with the book, she laid it by Dan’s plate. “It wouldn’t do you any harm to read it, either.”
How had they got off topic again? “Just promise you’ll keep your opinions on my so-called emotional fragility to yourself in future,” he said irritably. “And you’re supposed to be on my side.”
Pat snorted as she took her seat. “You can talk, Daniel Jansen. You said you’d stay a neutral party in my battle with your father over Italy and yet you’re constantly enabling him.”
“Enabling?” Dan looked to Herman for an explanation but his father’s expression was vacant. See no Pat, hear no Pat, speak no Pat. Honestly, these two were as bad as each other.
“Letting him spend all his time at the farm,” Pat explained. “How am I supposed to pry him out of the rut when you’re making it comfortable?”
Dan pushed his plate aside. “Is this about ewe vaccination? Just because I’m not pinning Dad down to a handover date, Mom, doesn’t mean I’m taking his side. We never talk about Italy.” Again he glanced at his father, who kept stolidly eating.
“Exactly,” Pat exclaimed. “You’re enabling his avoidance. If you’re not part of the solution, Dan, you’re part of the problem. At least I try to help you where I can.”
“Oh, for God’s sake.” He’d had enough. “Dad, make Mum happy and set a departure date. And forget about the farm’s calendar. I can always employ contractors if I need to.”
“In case you haven’t noticed,” said Herman, “I seem incapable of making your mother happy.”
Great, now he was in a shitty mood.
“Incapable?” Pat sniffed. “Unwilling more like.”
Herman threw down his napkin. “I had this town house built for you, didn’t I? Wait a minute…wasn’t that supposed to make you happy?”
Pat’s eyes flashed. “Don’t take that hard-done-by tone with me. You know it was only the first stage of our retirement plan. And what’s the point of this place anyway, if you’re hardly here?”
“Okay, you’re talking now,” Dan ventured cautiously. “Keeping the communication lines open…that’s good isn’t it, Mom?”
She ignored him in favor of glaring at his father. “Herman, if you don’t set a retirement date right now—” It was like watching two locomotives steaming toward a head-on a collision.
“Venus and Mars, Mom,” he reminded her. “You know men don’t respond well to ultimatums.”
“Well, Herman?” Pat said in her dangerous voice.
Dan swung his attention to his father. “Dad, make a concession.”
Instead Herman folded his arms and jutted out that stubborn Dutch chin. “Patricia, this isn’t the way forward.”
“As long as I’m moving, I don’t care anymore,” Pat cried. “I’m so sick of this standing still.”
“C’mon, Dad, you can do it. Cut the hot wire.” Defuse the goddamn bomb.
Instead his father broke the most basic rule of Understanding Women 101. He shrugged.
Dan dropped his head in his hands and waited for the detonation.
“I want a divorce,” snarled his mother.
* * *
Muffled thuds jarred Jo awake. Still half-asleep, she crawled out of bed and opened her bedroom door. “Nan?” Light spilled into the hall from the spare room. Her grandmother was up again. As she staggered down the hall, there was another, louder thud. “Nan!” Jo surged into the room, blinking against the light.
Rosemary wrestled with the catch of a large trunk, normally stored at the top of the wardrobe. “Help me open this.”
Her adrenaline now ebbing, Jo stifled a yawn. “It’s the middle of the night.” And the third late night in a row.
“Nonsense,” said Rosemary. “It’s only just got dark.”
Humoring her was the quickest way to bed. Jo freed the catch on the trunk.
“Are you looking for more jumble?” For many years Rosemary had run the church’s charity shop. As her memory faded, she’d begun filling plastic bags with her own clothes, then Jo’s, getting snippy when her granddaughter returned everything to the wardrobe. Finally Jo had the bright idea of keeping old clothes in a heap on the spare bed.
“Jumble…no. I’ll never give this away.” Nudging Jo aside, Nan opened the lid, tossing out old linen and lace tablecloths until, with a cry of triumph, she uncovered a flat bundle swathed in silver tissue paper. Carefully she unwrapped a dress, holding it against herself as she turned to the old-fashioned swing mirror.
“Oh, Nan, it’s beautiful.” The ivory gown had a fitting crossover bust and cascading skirt—smooth satin overlaid with filmy chiffon—and the waist panel sparkled with beads.
“Swarovski crystal. I sewed on every one by hand. Someone’s getting married.” Her brow wrinkled. “Is it me?”
With a sinking feeling, Jo recalled where she’d seen the dress before. Nan and Pops’s grainy black-and-white wedding photos. “No one’s getting married.”
Her grandmother struggled with the bodice’s zip. “I’d better try it on.”
Jo gestured to the mirror so Nan could see the difference between her own mature figure and the narrow-waisted gown. “It won’t fit anymore.”
Rosemary looked between herself and Jo, then her face cleared. “That’s right, I got it out for you.”
Of all the things for her to remember. “I’m not marrying Dan.”
Rosemary’s brows rose in surprise. “You’re marrying Daniel? Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because I’m not marrying him.”
Her grandmother looked confused. “All right, dear, no need to snap.”
“Sorry.” Jo rubbed her gritty eyes. “Can we please go to bed now?”
Nan stroked the silk fabric. “You know, I made this dress. Sewed every bead on by hand. Hours and hours it took. I’ll never forget Graham’s face when he saw me. We were a good team. He had the book sense and I had the common sense.”
“What a lovely story,” Jo said, though she’d heard it a thousand times. How Nan met Pops at a weekly dance where he’d been dragged by friends. How she’d fallen for the quiet intellectual struggling to set up the Chronicle. Pops wrote impassioned editorials and championed local causes; Nan found advertisers and made sure they paid on time.
“My goodness,” she added, “it’s two o’clock in the morning. Time to hit the sack.”
Ignoring Jo’s hint, Nan sat on the spare bed, absently picking up a straw hat that lay among the old clothes. “Do you know how I came to be in New Zealand?”
“You can tell me in the morning.”
“My friend Mary had a brother here.” Putting on the hat, Nan settled against the headboard, placing the wedding dress across her knees like a blanket. “I met her when I was a land girl—farming in the Women’s Land Army—during the war. You can’t imagine—”
“Nan,” Jo interrupted. “You don’t want to crush that beautiful wedding dress. Shall I put it away?”
Rosemary looked at the gown in surprise. “Now, why did I get this out? Oh, yes, someone’s getting married.” She thrust it toward Jo. “Try it on.”
“Only if we go straight to bed afterward.”
“Whatever you want,” Nan said reasonably.
Turning away, Jo shrugged off her nightgown and pulled the dress on over her underwear. Even swaying with fatigue, she handled the delicate fabric gently. Her grandmother swung into professional gear, coming over to smooth the short lace sleeves and straighten the folds across the bodice.
Rosemary struggled with the zip—they gave her trouble now—but Jo knew not to rush her and eventually the zipper slid up her spine. As Nan’s hands brushed along her bare skin, Jo shivered.
“Your hands are freezing.” Picking up a blanket, she draped it around her grandmother’s shoulders.
“Yes, yes, never mind that.” Clutching the blanket, Nan stepped away for a better view. “I knew it would suit you,” she said with satisfaction.
Jo faced the mirror and felt her throat tighten. The slim-fitting dress folded beautifully over the bustline in a V that hinted at cleavage. Lacy sleeves added a touch of whimsy and the skirt flowed over her hips in a waterfall of satin and silk that contrasted with the nipped waistline and glittering crystals. Tears pricked her eyes. Rosemary’s face fell. “Is something wrong?”
“No, it’s just so beautiful.”
“I sewed on every bead by hand.”
“Really? You are so clever.” She hugged the old lady, dislodging her hat. Nan straightened it.
“Of course, Jo, we’ll have to do something about your hair.”
Over Nan’s shoulder, Jo took another look in the mirror and laughed. Her curls corkscrewed in all directions, dark circles gave her a panda look and her pallor would have suited the bride of Frankenstein. “Maybe we should get some beauty sleep?”
“Good idea.” Freeing herself from the hug, Rosemary left the bedroom with a little wave. “Sleep tight.”
“Um, can you unzip me first?”
“Happy to help.” Her grandmother re-entered the room and started fumbling with the zip. “It seems to be a little stuck.” Jo was jerked backward.
“Be careful of the dress.”
For a few more minutes Nan struggled. “I don’t think…for heaven’s sake…what’s wrong with it?” Another jerk. She was getting upset.
“You know what?” Jo stepped away. “I might keep this on a bit longer.”
“Yes, I think that’s best,” Rosemary said, relieved. “I don’t want to tear it.”
Jo tucked her grandmother’s arm in hers. “Let’s get you to bed.”
“I am very tired,” she confided.
“Well, you work so hard.”
“I like to be busy. And tomorrow I’m making jam. The raspberries are in season.” Jo made no comment. Outside the window, autumn rain lashed the pane.
In Nan’s bedroom, Jo pulled back the blankets on the bed and her grandmother lay down with a sigh. Jo removed her shoes but Nan balked at the hat. “A lady likes to look her best.”
“Very true.” The silk of the wedding dress rustled as Jo bent to tuck her in and kiss her cheek.
Nan smiled. “Snug as a bug in a rug.”
She’d said that every night through Jo’s childhood. They held each other’s gaze in a rare moment of communication, then Rosemary snuggled into the pillow.
“I love you, Nan,” Jo whispered.
“Goodnight, Lizzie.”
After a moment of shock, Jo went to her bedroom.
Bending and twisting, she struggled to unzip the dress. It didn’t budge. Looking over her shoulder in the mirror she saw that the chiffon overlay had snagged. This joke was getting funnier and funnier.
Resisting the urge to tear and rip she told her reflection not to panic. “Polly’s pulling extra duty tomorrow. She’ll get it off.”
Jo lay down on her single bed, smoothing out the skirt before she pulled up the covers. Normally she slept curled on her right side. Fortunately, she was too damned miserable to quibble about things like comfort.
Her mother, Lizzie Swann, had been an only child, wild and impetuous. She’d run off with a married man when she was nineteen. Two years later she’d come home from Australia with a baby daughter.
Jo had no recollection of her mother, who’d died when she was two, but Nan and Pops’s love had more than filled the gap. The Swarovski crystals pressed into her skin and she turned on her side.
Goodnight, Lizzie.
It was the first time Nan had confused who she was.
The first time in her life she’d felt like an orphan.