The Wedding Quilt

“Yes.” She nodded. “Sometimes they stay, sometimes they leave. But they’re always welcome.”

Kirk eyed the little copse of trees settled at the foot of a rounded upward-sloping hillside. Tall swaying pines and fat, mushrooming oaks made a canopy over the area. It was an inviting spot, complete with a rustic picnic table and just-budding daylilies. It would do nicely for his stay here.

Rosemary watched his expression as he took in his surroundings. Then she touched his arm. “That’s my house, over there. C’mon, I’ll fix you that sandwich I promised.”

Kirk looked up at the whitewashed wooden house standing down the street from the church. He studied the house as they approached. It had that certain charm he associated with the South—long wraparound porches, a swing hanging from rusty chains, two cane-back rocking chairs, lush ferns sprouting from aged clay pots, geraniums in twin white planters—and shuttered, closed windows.

“It’s a beautiful place, Rosemary.”

“Yes, it is,” she had to agree. “Or at least, it once was.”

She saw him eyeing the shuttered, dark windows, and she knew exactly what he was thinking.

Why would such a lovely, sunny, open home be closed up and so sad-looking?

She wasn’t ready to tell him why.

She didn’t have to. As they stepped up onto the porch, the front door burst open, and her father’s angry voice told Kirk Lawrence everything he needed to know.

“Where have you been? It’s almost twelve-thirty. A man could starve to death waiting on you, Rosemary. How many times have I told you—I like to eat my lunch at twelve o’clock! Your mother always had it ready right at twelve noon. Now get in here and get me some food.”

Shocked at the harsh tone the man had used, Kirk stood with one foot on a step and one on the stone walkway. Maybe now wasn’t the time to get to know his new employer.

Humiliated, Rosemary turned to Kirk. “I’m sorry.”

“You go on. I can wait,” he said, not wanting to intrude. “I’m really not that hungry.”

“No, no,” she said on a firm but quiet voice. “I promised you a sandwich, and I intend to deliver on that promise. Just let me take care of my father first.”

Kirk stepped up onto the porch, his gaze on the woman moving hurriedly before him. He had the feeling that Rosemary Brinson always delivered on her promises, whether she wanted to or not.

Why else would she go into that house and face her father’s wrath with such profound determination?

Chapter Two (#ulink_ab670383-c3dc-547f-bdf2-331e79f5dc27)

Kirk watched as Rosemary made ham sandwiches with the efficiency of someone who took care of things with automatic precision. She went about her job with quiet dignity, slicing tomatoes to fall into a pretty pattern on an oval platter, then adding lettuce and pickles to finish off her creation. Then she lifted fat, white slices of bread out of a nearby bin and arranged them on another plate, along with the pink country-cured ham she’d already neatly sliced.

“It’s ready,” she announced to her father who sat across from Kirk nursing a tall glass of iced tea. “Do you want anything else with your sandwich—chips or some sliced cucumbers maybe?”

The man she had introduced as Clayton Brinson didn’t immediately answer his waiting daughter. Instead, he frowned while he pieced together a sandwich on his plate. Then he looked up with harsh, deep-set eyes. “Your mother never slapped a sandwich together. She always had fresh cooked vegetables on the table.”

“Mother didn’t work outside the home either, Daddy,” she reminded him patiently. “I do what I can, but you’re right. Tonight at supper, I’ll make sure you have your vegetables.”

Clayton’s look softened to a slight scowl. “Well, some dessert would be nice, too. A peach pie, maybe.”

Rosemary sat down with an abrupt swirl of her skirt, then handed Kirk the fixings for his own sandwich. “I’m sorry, Daddy, but I haven’t had time to do anything with those canned peaches Joe Mason brought us yesterday. I’ll try to get to it later this evening.”

“They’ll rot before you get to ‘em,” Clayton proclaimed before clamping his teeth down on his sandwich.

Rosemary looked down at her plate, then in a surprising move, clasped her hands together and said a quick blessing.

Kirk saw the look of disgust on her father’s stern face, and said his own silent prayer. He didn’t want to slap this man he’d just met, but it was very tempting.

But Rosemary didn’t seem to need his help in defending herself. She fixed her own meal, then looked over at her father with compassionate, if not somewhat impatient, eyes. “I’ll make you a pie, Daddy. I promise. You know I wouldn’t let those peaches go to waste. I love peaches.” Turning to Kirk, she gave him a quick smile. “Georgia peaches, just like Georgia tomatoes, are the best in the world, Kirk.”

“Then I’ll look forward to that pie myself,” he replied, glad that she’d smoothed over the awkward rudeness her father didn’t try to hide. Kirk chewed a big hunk of sandwich, then nodded. “The tomatoes are very good.”

Out of the blue, Clayton spoke directly to Kirk for the first time. “Seems a waste to me—bringing you in special to fix that old steeple. Let the thing crumble, is what I say. A waste of time and money.”

Rosemary shot Kirk an apologetic look. “Actually, Dad was on the board that voted to renovate the church, but that was a couple of years ago. Now…Dad doesn’t support any of our church activities, especially the ones I’m involved in.”

Clayton threw his sandwich down. “And we both know why, don’t we, girl?”

Rosemary’s hiss of breath was the only indication that her father’s sharp words had gotten to her. She remained perfectly calm, keeping her attention on her plate as she toyed with a slice of tomato to hide the apparent shame her father seemed determined to heap upon her.

Wanting to shield her from any further tirades, Kirk looked across at her father. “Mr. Brinson, your church is one of the finest historic buildings I’ve seen, and I’ve seen a lot of churches and cathedrals both here in America and all across Europe. The people who built your sanctuary did it the right way, it’s as solid now as it was the day it was finished. You don’t see that kind of craftsmanship much anymore. I’ve studied the layout from the pictures your daughter sent me, and I’m amazed.each joint and bent is intricately crafted with mortise and tenon joined together without the benefit of nails.” He paused, then looked thoughtful. “It’s almost as if the church was built on spirit and determination alone. And I intend to make sure that spirit is sound and intact.”

Clayton glared across at the stranger sitting at his table, then huffed a snort. “Foolishness, pure foolishness, to waste over forty thousand dollars on a face-lift for the church. If it was built to last, then leave it alone!”

“Daddy!” Embarrassed, Rosemary touched her father on the arm in warning. “Can we talk about something else?”

“I’m through talking,” Clayton replied, then standing, he yanked up his plate and drink. “I’m going to watch television.” With that, he stomped out of the room, leaving an awkward silence in his wake.

Kirk realized two things, sitting there at that round little oak table in Rosemary’s clean kitchen. One, he was more determined than ever to get his job done and done right, just to prove her father wrong. He was like that; he’d always risen to a challenge, and winning this man over would be a big one. And two, he did not like this man’s hateful, hostile attitude toward his lovely, angel-faced daughter. In fact, with just a little encouragement, he would gladly be willing to do something about changing it.

Right now, however, the only thing he could do was try to make Rosemary’s beautiful smile return to her pale, drawn face. “Was it something I said?”

She did smile, but it was a self-deprecating tug instead of a real smile, and he didn’t miss the raw pain hidden beneath the effort.

“No, it was something I did.” Sending him a pleading look, she added, “He wasn’t always this bad. It’s just…we lost my mother over a year ago, and he’s still not over her death. I do apologize for the way he’s treated you.”

“I’m sorry…about your mother, and I understand,” he said, but really, he didn’t understand. Losing a loved one was always painful as he well remembered when he’d lost his grandfather a few years ago, but this anguish seemed to run much deeper than normal grief. Most families turned to each other in times of grief and loss. Rosemary’s father obviously hadn’t come to terms with losing his wife, but why was he taking it out on his daughter? Kirk had to wonder what had happened between these two to make one so sad and noble, and the other so bitter and harsh.

But, Kirk reminded himself too late, you can’t get involved in whatever is brewing between them. Just do your work, man, then leave.

When he looked up, Rosemary was watching him with those beautiful blue eyes, her gaze searching for both retribution and condemnation. He gave her neither—her father was doing enough of that. Because Kirk didn’t know what was going on, he smiled at her in an effort to comfort her. And somehow he knew, this time it was going to be different. This time, he just might have to get involved.

“Why didn’t you simply explain things to him?” Melissa asked Rosemary later after she’d told her friend about the whole episode with her father.

They were sitting on a wooden bench out on the playground, watching the children as they scooted and swayed over the various climbing gyms and swings. Nearby, a tulip tree heralded spring with its bright orange and green flowers. The afternoon lifted out before them with a crisp, welcoming breeze that belied the turmoil boiling in Rosemary’s heart.

“I can’t get him involved in all that,” Rosemary said, shaking her head. “He came here to work on the church, not its floundering members.”

“Except your father hasn’t set foot in this place in over a year,” Melissa reminded her in a sympathetic voice. “How can you stand it, Rosemary?”

“Living with him, you mean?” Rosemary sat back on the hand-carved bench, then sighed long and hard. “I still love him. And I know he’s still grieving. I keep thinking one day I’ll wake up and he’ll be the father I always knew and loved…before all of this happened. One day…”

Her voice trailed off as she looked up at the towering steeple a few yards away. Amazed, she grabbed Melissa’s arm, then held her breath. “Look!”