how to stop her without hurting her feelings or confusing her more. If Poppa hadn’t called for help, they’d be doing dishes still. How did Gertrude manage? Why couldn’t she?
The helpless feeling in her chest swelled. What happened to Nanna? What made her forget what she had done so that she did it over and over again? Why did her grandmother’s mind slip from the present to the past and back again? She wanted so much to help her, but how did you help a woman who forgot you? Who confused the child she had raised from a toddler with others?
She removed her apron, scooped some rose-scented oatmeal-and-beeswax cream from the small crock on the shelf over the washstand and rubbed it into her hands. If only she could tell when her grandmother was going to slip into the past, she might be able to prepare herself and do something to stop it...if one could.
The ache in her heart grew. She smoothed back her hair and scanned the kitchen to be sure all had been put to rights for Gertrude’s return in the morning, then dimmed the lamp and walked out into the hall. If Nanna had remembered about Cole’s suit coat and repaired that tear...
She sighed and grasped hold of the thought of Cole. She wished he would simply go away, but at least he was a distraction from her concern over her grandmother, the anger she felt toward him a welcome respite from the lost, hollow feeling that had settled in her heart since she’d come home.
Twilight showed outside the entrance hall window, and she hurried her steps. Cole would soon return to carry her grandfather to bed. Why had he not come for supper? It had been odd not having him sitting at the table sharing their meal. Though she was thankful. It was only that she had become used to him sitting across from her.
There was something too...accepting about his relationship with her grandparents. They treated him as they would a son. And what was truly disturbing was that she was responsible. If she had been here where she belonged when her grandfather had his seizure, none of this would have happened. Cole would not have set foot in this house. And he certainly would not be caring for her grandfather. Although, to be honest, he did an excellent job of it.
She stopped outside the sitting-room door, took a deep breath, squared her shoulders and stepped into the room. Oh, Nanna... Tears filmed her eyes, blurring the large stitches of crimson yarn her grandmother was using to sew the two sides of Cole’s sleeve together.
“Sa...die...”
“Yes, Poppa?” She looked at her grandfather sitting helpless in his chair and clamped her lips together to hold back a cry of anger and frustration at her inability to help these two people she loved so dearly.
“Checkers. Bring...table.”
Her heart sank. She didn’t want to disappoint him, but she had no time to play a game of checkers now. She had to somehow get Cole’s coat from Nanna and remove those stitches before he returned. She blinked her eyes and cleared her throat. “Poppa, I—”
He shook his head. “I play...Rachel.” His gaze darted to Cole’s coat in his wife’s hands then came back to lock on hers, his message clear.
She read the love and care for her grandmother in his brown eyes, and the awful loneliness inside her eased. He might be limited physically, but he was still her poppa—and he had just given her the answer to her dilemma. She curved her lips into a trembling smile. “A perfectly lovely idea, Poppa. I’ll be right back.”
She hurried across the entrance hall to the library, lifted the small game table from its place in the corner and carried it back to set in front of his chair.
He reached for her hand, pulled her close and placed his mouth by her ear. “Distract...doesn’t hurt...her.”
The warm breath of his whisper tickled her cheek. She swallowed hard and gave him a quick hug. “Thank you, Poppa. I didn’t know what to do. I’ll remember.” She straightened and stepped back.
He pulled the drawer in the table open and began placing the red and black wood disks on the inlaid game board. Memories of him teaching her to play the game caught at her throat. A deep breath steadied her and she moved a Windsor chair into place on the other side.
“Rachel. Come...play.”
Her grandmother glanced up and shook her head. “Sadie will play with you, Manning. I’m mending Cole’s coat.”
“No. Want...you to...play.”
Her grandfather waved her away. She stepped to the chair she’d occupied earlier and picked up her book.
“Let you...go...first.”
Her grandmother laughed, laid Cole’s coat on the settee, walked over to the game table and seated herself. “That is so very gallant of you, Manning. But we both know it will make no difference. You always win.”
She watched her grandmother reach to slide a checker forward and moved quietly toward the settee. Her grandfather lifted his head and looked at her. She made sewing motions and pointed in the direction of the back porch. Grabbing Cole’s coat with the threaded needle stuck in its sleeve, she snatched a skein of black embroidery wool and a pair of scissors from her grandmother’s basket and hurried out the door.
* * *
Cole stopped and stared through the tree trunks at the glowing lamp on the Townsends’ porch. His pulse jumped at recognition of the slender figure seated in its circle of light.
He frowned at the unwanted reaction, lifted his lamp high to give Sadie ample warning of his coming and walked out of the woods and up the garden path, stopping at the bottom of the steps. “Good evening.”
She nodded, then glanced toward the kitchen door beside her, no doubt wishing she could flee his presence. Why didn’t she? For that matter, as fearful as she was, why was she sitting outside at night? He climbed the steps, set his lamp on the railing and leaned his shoulder against the post as a signal that he would come no closer. “It’s a hot night.”
“Yes.”
She looked at him but avoided meeting his gaze, as always. The tension, the wariness in her reached him from halfway down the porch. Clearly she wanted him to leave. His obstinacy rose. “Being so still with no breeze brings out the fireflies.”
“I hadn’t noticed. I’m busy.”
A pointed hint. But for some reason she wasn’t running away from him, and he intended to take advantage of it. Perhaps some time spent talking together would prove to her she had nothing to fear. “I used to run around and catch fireflies when I was a kid. I tried to see how many I could capture in one night. I guess everyone—” Something fluttered at the corner of his vision. A bat flew under the porch roof and swooped toward the lamplight on the table.
Sadie squealed and jerked to her feet. Her chair crashed over and something clanked against the floor.
He leaped forward and waved his arms through the air, driving the bat toward the railing. It swooped low between the porch posts and disappeared into the night. A smile tugged at the corners of his lips at the sight of Sadie pressed back against the house wall with a blanket over her head and shoulders. “You can come out, now. The bat is gone.”
“Are you sure? I hate bats!”
His smile widened to a grin at her muffled words. “I’m sure.” He set her chair aright and scooped
