Cupid’s Confederates

Chapter 3

Bett had been trying to convince herself for the past hour that the rain was only a drizzle. It wasn’t easy. Water was dripping from her matted lashes and dribbling down her neck, her hair was slicked to her scalp, and her T-shirt was wet even under the yellow slicker. It was eleven o’clock on the first morning of September, and nature couldn’t have chosen a nastier time to get touchy.

They had an order for field-run peaches that wouldn’t wait. Zach was at the market with their plums; rain meant nighttime spray duty, and their picking crew would have been delighted to walk out right now-except that no respectable Spanish-speaking gentleman would consider leaving the orchard as long as a woman was still willing to work her heart out in the pouring rain.

Bett brushed a wet hand through her sopping hair and crouched down again on the flatbed truck. Three field crates to go, and the order would be completed. Lupe’s eyes were shooting daggers at her. An hour before, Zach had told her to go home and dry off, that Lupe would handle the picking crew. But Bett hadn’t left, and Lupe clearly didn’t know quite what to do. Zach’s orders were usually more than reasonable; Zach’s wife wasn’t.

Bett acknowledged that she had a tiny stubborn streak, but quality control was the issue. “Field run” meant their buyer was prepared to take their fruit direct from the orchard. They received less money for their peaches that way, but they also didn’t have to go through the expense of sorting and packing and packaging. Which was fine, only Bett didn’t like anything leaving the farm with the Monroe label on it that was less than perfect if she could help it. These peaches were close, all forty-seven crates of them behind her.

The last three crates were finally heaved up to the truck bed, and Bett glanced up from her sorting task. “We done,” Lupe told her, and stabbed a forefinger in her direction. “You go tell Senor Monroe you been home awhile.”

“Yes, Lupe.” She silently and fervently thanked God for male chauvinists. The crew would surely have abandoned their task if there hadn’t been the issue of the men outlasting a lone woman in the rain. She felt a wave of affection for the workers. They looked so darned rough…but she’d been offered four additional raincoats in the past hour, which rather said it all. As their trucks rumbled off down the back road in quick succession, Bett stood up to walk over to the last three crates of peaches. On the far hill, she spotted a sudden flash of pink.

The flash quickly resolved itself into a shocking-pink Lincoln, four years old, with a U-Haul behind it that sagged dangerously close to the ground. The farm road was constructed for slow-moving tractors; the Lincoln seemed to be approaching at the speed of sound. Its brakes were slammed on just inches from the back of her truck, about the same time Bett vaulted down from the truck bed, her tennis shoes squishing on the slippery wet earth.

A pink-and-mauve polka-dotted umbrella emerged from the car first, then a blouse in a vivid print of pink, orange and chartreuse. Pink culottes were next, and, finally, a brand-new pair of pink tennis shoes-Elizabeth’s concession to farm life. Bett took one look at her mother and swallowed hard, before extending outstretched arms.

“Mom! We weren’t expecting you for another two days.”

“Oh, darling, I just couldn’t wait. I started to think about how hard you two kids work and how much I could help you. Brittany.” Elizabeth’s eyes glowed with tears. “I just felt better than I have in months, knowing you needed me. Without your father, I’ve just…” The glow threatened to become an instant deluge.

Swiftly and instinctively, Bett ducked under the umbrella and wrapped her arms around her mother. The scent of lavender surrounded her, as familiar as the oatmeal cookies she’d been fed as a child. Good food, good sleep, good love, Elizabeth used to say. A billion times? Bett found herself laughing as the rain pelted down on both of them.

Elizabeth pulled back first, surveying her daughter up and down. “Brittany, you are a total mess, and soaking wet.”

“And before you are, we’d better get you to the house. Everything will be fine, Mom, I promise you.”

“You’re so busy, you and Zach. I’m so terribly afraid I’m going to be in your way…”

“You’re not going to be in our way. We both want you here, very much. Now, just follow the truck in.”

Bett kept an eye on her mother in the rearview mirror as they drove toward the farmyard. At fifty-four, Elizabeth still had a relatively unlined face, brown hair worn in a short mass of curls and a trim figure a little on the buxom side. Her smooth skin and doelike brown eyes reflected the life she had lived, that of a sheltered homemaker who wanted nothing more from life than to be a sheltered homemaker.

The circles under Elizabeth’s eyes made Bett ache for her mother. Elizabeth hadn’t known how to even begin coping when Chet died. After more than a year, she still didn’t. If the constant tears had finally eased a little, Elizabeth was still at sea over balancing checkbooks and caring for the yard, taxes, what to do with her time. The smallest decisions still overwhelmed her, not because she lacked ability or intelligence, but simply because she really didn’t want to change her lifestyle.

Nurturing was her specialty. Babies knew it; babies were capable of spotting Elizabeth in a crowded room and holding out their arms to be picked up. Bett couldn’t remember a time when her mother had ever raised her voice.

Bett had raised her own voice quite often in adolescence. She remembered that period of her life with utter misery. Elizabeth had so badly wanted a daughter created in exactly her own image. She had traditional values concerning home and hearth and women’s roles, all of which she’d tried desperately to ingrain in her daughter. It hadn’t worked. The failures began with her name. Early on her father had nicknamed her “Bett,” thank goodness. “Elizabeth” was intended to evoke the genteel grandeur of the Old World and a buxom lass with rosy cheeks who needlepointed and raised babies as her mother had. She hadn’t developed into anything remotely resembling “buxom,” didn’t sew and had yet to produce offspring. Her list of failures to fit the mold was ongoing. None of these “faults” was really so terrible; it was just that mothers and daughters were supposed to be close. Elizabeth and Bett weren’t, though they both tried very hard. Bett believed herself at fault, yet with all her efforts had never been able to bridge the distance between them.

At the moment, though, old memories weren’t in her mind. Protective feelings swamped her as she glanced once more in the rearview mirror before braking the truck in the farmyard. This time, Bett was determined she would come through for her mother. There would be no hurt feelings, no arguments, no impatience. Her mom needed help, and Bett had every intention of being there for her.

Still, her eyes settled uneasily on the U-Haul behind the Lincoln. How literally had Elizabeth taken Zach’s invitation to “stay as long as you like”?

The moment Bett opened the back door of her mother’s car, Sniper leaped into the car in a flurry of Persian fur, discovering her mother’s canary cage instantly as if he’d sensed the birds from half a mile away. “Behave yourself for once,” Bett hissed. The cat sprang to the top of the felt-covered cage, purring. Bett batted the animal down, and tried to work the cage out over a lopsided suitcase.

“Brittany?”

“Coming!” The canaries twittered; Sniper snaked out a paw and playfully clawed Bett’s wrist, then tried to leap on top of the cage again as Bett finally maneuvered it out of the car.

Elizabeth was waiting at the door to remove the wrap and coo at the two yellow birds. “I should have asked you if I could bring them. If you mind, darling-”

“Of course not.” Bett pushed her damp hair back from her forehead. “Tell me what you need to bring in immediately, Mom; the rest we’ll get after the rain stops.”

“I really think you should get out of those wet clothes first.”

Bett shook her head, smiling. “It’s warm-wet, not cold-wet. Really, it’s okay.”

“Well, as far as just the essentials go…”

The seven plants had to come in-they could catch cold in the rain. The base for the canary cage. Four suitcases. Elizabeth never traveled without her own reading lamp and pillow, nor the box of china that had been a wedding gift when she’d married Chet. Four shoeboxes full of coupons; Elizabeth planned to go shopping. Three afghans; it was no fun at all to work on just one at a time. Her rocker with the yellow velvet cushion. She always sat in that rocker before dinner. “You’re irritated with me, aren’t you, Brittany?” Elizabeth said hesitantly.

Panting and dripping, Bett dropped the next load of boxes on the floor. The couches were filled. “Of course not, Mom.”

“Well, if you wouldn’t mind just bringing in the presents, then. Brittany, you’re already so very wet, but I could hardly come without presents, now could I? It’s not every son-in-law who would be willing to put up with his wife’s mother for any period of time. I don’t want him to think I don’t appreciate it; you know I love Zach.”

Bett soon discovered that Elizabeth loved Zach worth a purple tie, three issues of Penthouse, a bottle of Johnny Walker, one package of fresh-frozen crab from Alaska, a tie clasp adorned with brass golf balls and four dress shirts in various pastels. “You think he won’t wear the powder-pink?” Elizabeth fretted.

“He’ll love it,” Bett lied without a qualm. Zach would wear a pink shirt when mainland China became a democracy-sort of a better-not-hold-your-breath kind of proposition. But Elizabeth was so pathetically eager to please… “Anything else we need this minute?”

“Just a few things,” Elizabeth beamed delightedly as Bett brought in the last stack of boxes. “You can open them all later, Brittany, but just peek at that first one.”

Bett dutifully opened the first box. A bright green blouse with zigzaggy stripes and ruffles. She stared blankly.

“I thought it would make you look a little bustier, darling, no offense-you do like it?”

“It’s lovely.” Bett tried to sound enthusiastic.

“You don’t like it.” Elizabeth sounded hurt.

“Honestly, Mom, I love it.” Bett swept back her hair again, swallowing a sigh. She tugged off the sopping yellow slicker. “Let’s get you a cup of tea, now, shall we?” Quickly, she whisked the cat away from the birds again, nervously aware that her mother’s critical eye was sweeping over the house. “Mom, since we weren’t expecting you for another couple of days-”

“You think I’ve never seen a little dirt in my life?” Elizabeth naturally migrated toward the kitchen, Bett following. “This way I have something to do right off the bat. If I’d come later you’d have had the house spotless, now wouldn’t you have?”

“Um, yes.” If one didn’t look in corners-which Elizabeth always did. “Mom, since you are early, I wasn’t really sure which room you’d rather stay in. I know you usually stay in the spare room for a weekend, but for a longer stay I think you’d really be more comfortable on the main floor. Zach’s study has a couch that opens into a really comfortable bed; there’s a good closet, and it would be quieter for you…” And more private for everyone, though Bett would never have said it.

“Brittany. I wouldn’t take Zach’s study in a thousand years.” Elizabeth bent down to reach under the sink. “You just go get out of those wet clothes, honey. I’ll be fine. Don’t you worry about me for a minute!”

“Mom. What are you doing?”

Elizabeth chuckled as she pulled out wastebasket, scouring powder, cleanser and spare grocery bags from under the sink. “I might as well start by giving this floor a little lick and a promise. Won’t take me a minute. Where’s your toothbrush for the corners? I could have sworn I gave you a dozen last year.”

Bett mentally counted to ten, skipping half the numbers. Not that she was in any way getting upset. She was going to start out by getting Elizabeth happily settled in and relaxed if it killed her. “Look, you just got here,” Bett said cheerfully. “Couldn’t we sit down for a minute? You’ve had such a long ride-”

“Brittany, I am happy. Although…” Elizabeth’s lips pursed as she surveyed the kitchen. “I don’t know that I can move the refrigerator alone. You know, your father always fitted our appliances with casters. I used to have terrible dreams about germs that multiplied-”

“Mom.”

“-under stoves and refrigerators. Nightmares. These invading armies of germs marching, marching, marching, threatening an entire family of little children…” She poured steaming tap water into a pail, then paused to frown at her daughter’s choice of cleanser. “…babies. They could have died from those germs. I poured bleach on them in the dream. Gallons of it.” She smiled blissfully at Bett. “I love a dirty floor. Yours is filthy, Brittany. I’m going to have such a good time here. Thank goodness Zach is different from your father, though; Chet would have had a fit if I kept a floor like this. Have you given up those wretched bees yet, sweetheart?”

“No,” Bett said helplessly. Her mother had been here all of fifteen minutes and already she felt undermined. Guilty for the state of the house, for her inadequate figure, for her kitchen floor. And in disgrace because of the bees.

“And we’ll have it all done before Zach comes in to dinner. He’ll be pleased. Brittany, it is not necessary for you to help. Honestly, I am perfectly happy-”

“I know you are, Mom.” Only Bett couldn’t very well stand there and stare down at her mother, who was on her hands and knees. If Elizabeth wouldn’t get up, Bett was obviously going down. On hands and knees, the two women faced each other, both smiling. Elizabeth’s smile was delighted. “You know, we’re going to have such a good time together!”

“Yes,” Bett agreed. There was a semi due in for the peaches. The workers were expecting their paychecks. She was freezing cold and her yellow shirt was sticking to her. They were going to have to spray tonight because of the rain, and it would take hours to unpack the rest of Elizabeth’s U-Haul.

At another level, Bett felt a rush of warmth flood her at Elizabeth’s smile. Those smiles had been all too rare this past year. Okay, Mom, Bett thought fleetingly. I am not going to feel irritated. We are going to be calm together. And I am darned well going to keep you happy or die trying. She picked up the scrub brush.

Zach strode impatiently toward the house. The entire day was a bitch. Six hours of spraying coming up, not his favorite chore. He hadn’t liked leaving Bett with a crew in the rain, and in the meantime the semi had just arrived, with Caruso’s Mercedes trailing it. Their buyer always had an hour to spare for showing off pictures of his grandchildren. By spending time, Caruso seemed to feel he was “cultivating” one of his favorite growers. The only cultivating Zach had time for during the harvest season was in a field, and he still had miles to go this day. Bett usually handled Caruso, but Zach had seen the pink Lincoln in the yard, the one Chet had paid God knows how much to have custom painted some years back.

A warm, wet muzzle snuggled into Zach’s palm; he paused long enough to stroke the oversized, mangy beast to whom it belonged. “Baby” was one of Bett’s orphans. The thin line of Zach’s mouth softened. He crouched down on his haunches. “So where’ve you been, you old cuss? Bett’s been worried.”

The dog moaned at the sound of Bett’s name. Zach chuckled, stroking the bristly fur under the animal’s chin one last time. Bett had her bees. The cat. A fawn she’d managed to charm into the backyard last winter. She’d trained a covey of pheasants to come to the back door to be fed on snowy days. And the pigeons that made a disastrous mess on the barn roof were “homers”-which meant they were supposed to go home. Instead, they had a cooing fit whenever Bett set foot outside.

His wife was fey. Baby, the mangy mutt, was just a part-time visitor who’d limped up to the door one day with a trap caught on one paw. The dog somewhat resembled a Great Dane, but with a hound’s sagging jaws and a setter’s sweeping tail. He checked in regularly with Bett, just wouldn’t stay. Zach wondered fleetingly how Bett had ever thought herself happy as a city girl. His love for wild creatures matched hers, but he didn’t have her special gift with them.

Just an appreciation for it. He stroked the dog’s head one last time. “She’ll be out,” he promised, and made for the house.

Chaos greeted him at the door. Boxes and grocery bags and suitcases were piled every which way; the two canaries were chittering with fright. Sniper, who never came inside, was perched on top of the cage, interestedly batting his paw between the gold bars. Used to coolness and silence when he walked into the house, Zach swallowed a sigh of exasperation and made his way along a hazardous path toward the kitchen.

His nose wrinkled instantly at the smell of ammonia; after that jarring note came another. There was a feminine screech the moment his booted foot hit the floor; for some unknown reason the refrigerator was in the middle of the room; and before he had a chance to draw a breath, his mother-in-law was hurling herself at him.

He not only accepted the quick hug, he returned it; but he didn’t have much chance to greet her.

“I wanted so much for us to have it done before you came in!” Elizabeth said unhappily. “Zach, I’m so glad to see you! I’ve brought you a few things-listen, you just sit down. I’ll get you some iced tea. In the living room, there’s no walking on the kitchen floor just yet. Not that you can’t if you want to,” she added hastily. “It’s just that-”

“You’re looking great, Liz,” he interjected as soon as she stopped to draw breath. His exasperation faded a little. He really was pleased to see the animated enthusiasm on his mother-in-law’s face, and he would undoubtedly find the patience to listen to her steady stream of chatter once he got his business taken care of. Elizabeth was just-Elizabeth.

He refused the offer of iced tea three times, listened to the story of her drive from Milwaukee, stood obediently in the doorway, gathered after several hurt looks that he was supposed to comment on the floor and did so dutifully, and finally got a word in. “Where’s Bett?”

Elizabeth motioned vaguely toward the refrigerator. “But you’re sure I can’t get you some coffee, then?” she asked worriedly. “Zach, you work so hard; you must need a little refreshment…”

He shook his head, took a step toward the freestanding refrigerator and stopped at the expression of horror on Elizabeth’s face. He stepped back, pushing off one boot and then the other. He ventured in, past the pail and rag, around the corner of the refrigerator. If he hadn’t spotted the crown of yellow hair, he would have kept on going. As it was, he paused in shock and leaned over the counter.

Bett was trapped between the back of the refrigerator and the wall. She looked up at him from on her hands and knees, a toothbrush in one hand.

“What the Sam Hill are you doing?” he mouthed.

“Hi,” she mouthed back. She was damp, hot, frustrated and irritable…but the bewildered look on Zach’s face almost made her chuckle. She made motions to show what she was doing-the toothbrush, the small bowl of pasty-looking cleanser and water, and the corner-and shot him a mischievous grin. “Zach, you know I always clean behind the refrigerator once a week,” she said aloud.

“Hmm,” he commented noncommittally, and reached down as she reached up for a quick kiss. “Caruso’s out there. He claims he told you he wanted twenty more bushels.”

She grinned again. “He always says that when the produce is good. It usually means he’s irritated that he didn’t order more because he knows he can sell it. You told him you always wanted that Mercedes of his?”

Zach looked blank. “No.”

“And the grandchildren, Zach. He talks about the grandsons, but it’s the granddaughter who’s the apple of his eye. And after that, you mention that Joe Cranston offered you a quarter more per bushel than he did.”

Zach heaved a sigh. “Two bits, who the hell is Joe Cranston?”

Bett shook her head sadly. “Sweetheart,” she said with exasperation, “Joe Cranston is a figment of my imagination, of course. I swear, Zach, you’re incurably honest.”

And Bett, Zach thought idly, was incurably winsome. Her rainwashed hair had dried in a flyaway halo; her small frame was tucked quite comfortably into that tiny square; and the blue eyes staring up at him were clearly inviting. “Come out of there and say that,” he suggested threateningly.

“You two,” Elizabeth said affectionately. Zach straightened up, only to see his mother-in-law swabbing at his footprints with a rag. Guiltily, he backed up, and by the time he reached the doorway, Elizabeth was handing him his boots.

“I want to talk to you before you go back to work,” she whispered as they walked toward the front door. “Zach, I…I’m very grateful you were willing to ask me here. I want to tell that I’ll be very, very careful not to get in your way. I want you and Brittany to just go on and do things exactly as you always do…”

Elizabeth was on the eccentric side; she could also be a sweetheart. Zach gave her a hug, reassured her, made a token stab at guessing the hour he would be in for dinner and escaped outside. He found himself thankful gulping in a lungful of fresh air. He hated the smell of ammonia.

The incongruous picture of Bett cleaning behind the refrigerator brought a wry grin for a minute…but the grin faded. He’d already urged Bett to do whatever she had to do to make her mother’s transition to the house easier, and to forget about the farm. In his mind, though, he had anticipated a break for Bett, and had hoped that Elizabeth might take on some of the household jobs that exhausted his wife at the end of an already tiring workday. Liz loved housework, and she wanted to be needed. Inviting her had seemed an honest exchange of needs.

Let them be, Zach thought absently. After all, Elizabeth had only been there an hour. If he felt a sudden trace of uneasiness, it was merely because he was already feeling tired and exasperated. Caruso was waiting.