Remember When

husband's arms. 'Oh, darling, you shouldn't have let me do this!' she moaned. 'Everyone will think I've ruined your beautiful home with homemade j-junk. Your friends are world travelers accustomed to five-star restaurants, formal balls, and priceless antiques, and I'm putting on a—a fancy backyard barbeque for them.' Tears dripped from her eyes as she clung to him, her wet face pressed to his chest. 'They're going to think you married the Beverly Hillbillies!'

Robert stroked her back and smiled over her shoulder. He, too, had taken a tour of his house and grounds that day, looking at everything through the eyes of an outsider. What he saw filled him with pride and anticipation. He truly felt that Mary and her parents had brought a whole new meaning to the term 'homemade.' They had redefined and elevated it to a creative act that personalized the impersonal and transformed commonplace things into items of remarkable beauty and significance. He was convinced his guests were discerning enough to recognize and value the uniqueness and beauty of Mary's efforts. He thought they were going to be amazed by her as well as everything she had done. 'You're going to dazzle them, Mary girl,' he whispered. 'You'll see.'

Robert was right.

The guests raved about the delicious food, the decorations, the flowers, the gardens, the house, and, most particularly, the unaffected graciousness of the hostess. The same acquaintances who had expressed amused shock months ago when they discovered Robert had plowed up part of his lawn for a vegetable garden tasted the vegetables it had produced and asked to have a look at it. As a result, Henry spent several hours proudly giving moonlight tours of the garden. As he guided them along the neat rows of organically grown vegetables, his enthusiasm was so contagious that before the night was over, several of the men had announced their desire to have vegetable gardens of their own.

Marge Crumbaker, the society gossip columnist for the Houston Post who covered the party, summarized the reactions of the guests in her next column.

As she presided over this lovely party and looked after her guests, Mrs. Robert Foster III (the former Mary Britton of Long Valley) displayed a graciousness, a hospitality, and an attention to her guests that will surely make her one of Houston's leading hostesses. Also present at the festivities were Mrs. Foster's parents, Mr. and Mrs. Henry Britton, who were kind enough to escort many fascinated guests and would-be gardeners and handymen (if we only had the time!) through the new garden, greenhouse, and workshop that Bob Foster has erected on the grounds of his River Oaks mansion...

Now, a year later, Diana thought of all that as Glenna continued her litany of complaints about the upcoming party. To keep from getting angry, she reminded herself that Glenna didn't really dislike her stepmother or grandparents; Glenna simply disliked being replaced as head of 'domestic affairs.' As far as Diana was concerned, life was wonderful, so filled with people and activities, with love and laughter.

'I'm the last one to point a finger at a person's upbringing,' Glenna confided, 'but if Mrs. Foster had been from a nice high-society family, instead of from some rinky-dink little town, then she'd know how rich people are supposed to do things. Last year, when your daddy told me he was bringing her parents here to live in the guesthouse, I figured things couldn't get any worse. Next thing I knew, your new grandpa was digging himself a vegetable patch and a compost heap, right in our backyard; then he turned the garage into a—a toolshed and a greenhouse! And before I could catch a breath, your new grandma was diggin' up the grass for an herb garden and making clay pots with her own hands. It's a miracle that gossip-column lady—Marge somebody —didn't call us hicks in her column after she came here for the first party.'

'Glenna, that's completely unfair, and you know it,' Diana said, pausing to put down her schoolbooks. 'Everybody who meets Mom or Gram or Gramps thinks they're wonderful and special, and they are! Why, we're getting famous in Houston for what Mom calls 'Getting Back to Basics.' That's why Southern Living magazine is coming to photograph our party tomorrow night.'

'It'll be a miracle if they don't make us look ridiculous!'

'They don't think we're ridiculous,' Diana said as she shoved open the back door. 'Southern Living saw those pictures of our last party that were in the Houston Chronicle, and the magazine wants to do a story about the way we do things.'

Recalling what her father had said about the need to be patient and understanding with Glenna, Diana smiled at her. She knew that she and her father were about all the family Glenna had. 'Daddy and I know it's harder for you with four extra people to look after, especially when they're busy with their hobbies and things. We worry about you being overworked, and that's why he wants you to hire someone to help you.'

Much of the ire drained from Glenna's face at this proof she was appreciated. 'I don't need help. I've managed well enough on my own to take care of this family, haven't I?'

Diana patted her arm fondly as she walked outside, her mind on finding Corey. 'You were like a mother to me for years. Daddy and I could never have gotten along without you before, and we couldn't now.' The last part of that wasn't entirely true, but Diana felt the small fib was excusable because it brought an instant look of relief and pleasure to Glenna's dour face.

Diana stood beneath the upper balcony, looking for a sign of Corey amidst the chaos and temporary helpers hired for the party preparations.

Originally, the three-acre backyard had been spacious but unremarkable, with a large swimming pool in the middle, a guesthouse at the rear, tennis courts on the left, and a six-car garage on the right that was attached to the main house by a porte cochere. Diana had played out there for as long as she could remember, and it had always felt a little lonely and barren to her, just as the big rambling house had. Now all that had changed.

Despite her pleasure in the changes to her home and her family, Diana felt a little worried at the current state of affairs in the backyard. With little, more than a day before the crew from Southern Living was due to arrive, nothing was ready. Tables and chairs were scattered everywhere, along with umbrellas on the ground, waiting to be put up; her grandfather was on a ladder, trying to finish a gazebo by tomorrow night; her grandmother was arguing with two gardeners about the best way to clip the magnolia branches that were going to be used in the centerpieces; and her mother was reading from a list to two maids who'd been hired for the week.

Diana was still looking for Corey when her father emerged from the garage with his briefcase in hand and his suit coat over his arm. 'Hi, Daddy,' she said, leaning up and giving him a kiss. 'You're home early.'

He put his arm around her shoulders, his gaze taking in the elaborate confusion. 'I thought I'd come see how the troops are doing. How are things at school?'

'Okay. I got elected class president today.'

His arm tightened in an affectionate squeeze. 'That's great. Now, don't forget all the ways you were going to make things better.' His eyes smiled down at her, then shifted to his wife and his mother-in-law, who'd seen him and were heading his way with warm smiles and purposeful strides. 'Well, Madame President, something tells me I'm about to be put to work,' he teased. 'I'm surprised you and Corey haven't been enlisted.'

'Our job is to 'stay out from underfoot,' ' she recited. 'I came home to get Corey because Barb Hayward invited us over to ride today.'

'I think Corey is in her bathroom,' their mother offered, 'developing some film.'

'Oh, I think she'll want to go over to the Haywards',' Diana said, already turning and heading into the house. Actually, she was positive Corey would want to go, not to ride horses, but to see Spencer Addison, who was supposed to be at the Haywards' stable that afternoon.

Corey's bedroom was directly across the hall from Diana's. Both rooms were identical in size and layout, with private bathrooms, separate dressing rooms, and large closets. Beyond that, the bedrooms were as radically different as the personalities and interests of the two girls who inhabited them.

At sixteen, Diana was petite, poised, and charmingly feminine. She was still a straight-A student and an avid reader, with a propensity for neatness, a talent for organization, and a tendency to be a little reserved with strangers.

Her bedroom was furnished in French antiques, including a graceful painted armoire and a canopy bed upholstered in yellow chintz. Against the opposite wall was a French writing desk, where she did her homework. There was not a paper or pen out of place.

Diana went into her room, put her books down on the desk, and went into her closet. She took off her red cotton sweater, folded it neatly, and placed it on an empty shelf amid dozens of other identically folded sweaters