Iris suggested, “We’d better order.” She picked up her menu. “If we don’t soon signal our waitress, Sarah Jane will just think we’re here to gab.”
That was why they were here, Daisy thought, wasn’t it?
After they ordered lunch—baked chicken pot pie all around, with sides of applesauce and coleslaw—Daisy, Iris, and her mom discussed Thanksgiving.
“Cammie’s not sure what time she’ll arrive,” Rose told them. “Unless she takes off work the day before. I don’t know if she’ll do that. She’s working extra hard on her company’s business promotion.”
“Do you want me to push the time from five to six on Thanksgiving?” Daisy asked.
“That might be a good idea. Make sure you notify everyone. We wouldn’t want to have guests coming early.”
As far as Daisy was concerned, their guests could arrive whenever they wanted. They could join her in the kitchen, chat, or just relax. But she didn’t contradict her mother.
Daisy had just dipped her fork into the creamy coleslaw when her mother asked, “Have you convinced Vi to go to the hospital to have her baby instead of having a midwife?”
“She’s determined, Mom. She wanted Willa to be her midwife and she wants me to be her doula.”
“Doula,” her mom scoffed. “The nurses at the hospital are paid to gather up bloody sheets and do housekeeping.”
Daisy had volunteered for the job of doula. Midwives in the area often had women work with them, women who took care of the mom while the midwife took care of the baby. Daisy had volunteered to do it. Vi was her daughter. She’d taken care of her during any and every illness she’d ever had. Not that this was an illness. But she knew Vi would need a caring hand and she could provide it, along with good nourishment and a sympathetic ear.
Her mom went on, “Maybe you haven’t tried hard enough to change her mind.”
Iris’s back straightened and she pushed her dishes slightly away from her. “Daisy has raised Vi and Jazzi to make their own life choices. She stands back and lets them work through them. It seems to me that’s the better way to handle children.”
Rose’s lips pursed. She clasped her hands in front of her tightly, and she looked hurt.
Daisy realized the three of them hadn’t progressed at all.
* * *
After Daisy and her aunt closed the tea garden for the day, Daisy drove straight home. Foster had a late class, and she’d asked Vi to come over and join her and Jazzi for a good wholesome meal. She knew Vi certainly didn’t feel like cooking these days.
After Daisy parked in the detached garage that housed two vehicles under Vi’s and Foster’s apartment, she walked up the path to the house. She stared up at the multi-paned window that had once been a hay hatch, and her gaze rose higher to a smaller window that let light into the attic space.
A shadow passed the hayloft window. That was Jazzi’s room. The second floor had been divided into two bedrooms with a bath that had been perfect for her daughters.
The barn home with its red siding, repointed stone base, and white-trimmed windows and dormers was a comfortable home. The door was unlocked and the alarm system off. Daisy walked into her living room and heard Vi and Jazzi upstairs. Vi had moved from her old room to her new apartment over the garage, but she’d left a few belongings here. Daisy could picture a banner from Lehigh that hung over her sleek walnut desk. The drapes and spread were hues of green which were perfect for a guest room if Daisy needed it for that.
As Daisy laid her coat over the deacon’s bench under one of the living room windows, she heard a meow come from the open stairway to the rear of the living room. She flipped on the wagon-wheel chandelier and she could see Pepper scampering down the stairs. Pepper, a black and white tuxedo cat, ran to her, sat before her, and meowed. It was the best kind of hello.
Daisy picked her up and nuzzled her nose in the ruff around Pepper’s neck. “Have you been helping Jazzi and Vi with whatever they’re doing?” she asked conversationally. She always talked to her cats as if they were humans.
Pepper rubbed her nose against Daisy’s cheek and meowed again.
“I’m so glad you were. Do you want to go back upstairs and join them again?” Since Pepper didn’t wiggle in her arms, she took that as a yes. Pepper was the cuddlier of the two cats that Daisy and her girls had adopted. Marjoram, a dark tortie with a split-colored face, couldn’t abide being held for long.
Daisy glanced toward the floor-to-ceiling stone fireplace, a focal point on the east wall. The dining table and chairs, which she’d refinished herself, stood nearby. There was no light on in the kitchen. She passed through the living room, where the furniture was upholstered in green, blue, and cream. The braided blue and rust rugs, crafted by a local Amish woman, were soft under her feet.
Flipping off her shoes, she left them at the foot of the stairs. As she looked toward the upstairs, Marjoram also came to say hello and stood on one of the upper steps. One side of her face was mottled like a tortoise shell in tan, brown, and black. But the other side was completely dark brown. Colors from orange to cream spotted her back and flanks, and her chest was a creamy tan and rust, the colors also split down the center.
Again she heard Jazzi’s and Violet’s voices. Vi’s was lower than Jazzi’s.
“What are they doing?”
