Confessions from the Quilting Circle - Maisey Yates Page 0,45
of underwear at my inn, then they lose them everywhere. And you would think they would start checking.”
“Well, I will be sure to check for my underwear beneath my bed before I go.”
Her face got hot and she took a bite of cake, resenting that he’d somehow managed to make her blush. She didn’t even know she could blush anymore.
“Good plan.”
“I told you that Olaf Hansen was an ancestor of mine,” he said.
“Yes. You did mention.”
“Well, this is all news to me. You see, my father had a falling-out with his father. And as a result, all my family history was basically lost. There is no one for me to ask. And I’m discovering that there’s this whole rich history to my family I didn’t know about. That when we came to this country, Oregon was where we landed. I’m fascinated by it. And maybe I’m trying to feel closer to those people that came before me because I’m getting older. Because my father dying kind of drew a line beneath my own mortality.”
“I can understand that,” Wendy said softly. “It’s a difficult thing, those family grudges. I was estranged from my own mother, and she died without us ever fixing it. I just tried to make our own history here. Because... My family history is filled with spite and judgment.”
“For all I know my father’s was the same. But I’m curious to know the history of my family.” He paused for a moment. “Sorry about your mother.”
“It was a choice I made,” she said. “A choice not to live beneath her judgment. We make the choices we have to. But it doesn’t mean they don’t have unintended consequences. Like you not knowing where you came from. And, of course, those things become more important... Now.”
“I find that I tend to wonder a lot more about where we came from. You know, I know where I’m going. We’re all going there. But... I don’t know, something about that makes me want to feel more anchored to the past.”
“I have some letters,” Wendy said. “Some letters and diary entries from Jenny Hansen. Did you know she was a mail-order bride?”
“Can’t say as I did.”
“We keep all the walls here pastel in her honor. The lavender parlor has been lavender for over one hundred years. We’ve freshened the paint up, but the color is the same. Jenny hated the gray Oregon weather, having come up from California to marry Olaf. She convinced the Coast Guard to allow her to paint it. And you know how hard it is to convince the government to do anything. She was something, was Jenny.”
“Well, that stubbornness certainly runs in my family,” he said.
“I have pictures.” She stood up and went to the small antique table that housed an old sewing machine and the stereoscope, with specially made photos of the lighthouse. She picked up the photo album, and took a seat next to John. “This, here,” she said, opening it up, “is a photo of Olaf and Jenny on their wedding day.”
She looked up at John, and was struck by the resemblance between him and his ancestor. Oh, they weren’t carbon copies, but there was something there that she could see. Similar lines and angles, and the way that he held himself.
In the photo, the man was wearing a dark jacket and hat, reminiscent of a naval uniform, and holding the hand of a woman in a white dress.
“‘Keeper Olaf Hansen,’” John said, reading, “‘and his bride Jenny. Nineteen hundred.’”
“That’s her. She was unhappy for a while. A long while. But from what I can gather of her diary...that changed.”
“What do you suppose changed?”
“I—I think they fell in love.”
“Well, that would be a nice story.”
“I can get you some pages from the diary if you’d like. A lot of it is down at the museum, but some of it we have here. You can go over them while you’re here. It’s your family. You have a right to the history.”
“I’d like that,” he said, looking at her, his blue eyes intent.
She suddenly wished it was that easy.
Just falling in love.
Sadly, in her life it never had been. Or for Anna and Rachel. And as simple as she made it sound when she spoke of Jenny, she knew that it hadn’t been for Jenny, either. It had been change and sacrifice and compromise.
All things that Wendy hadn’t had to do in a very long time.