Legacy

Legacy

Geri L. Bressler

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2012 Geri L. Bressler

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

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PROLOGUE

The pencil flowed over the rough surface of the paper, forming arcs and lines that gradually revealed a summer garden in bloom below the window. The gladioli were particularly difficult; the sweep and curl of the petals, and the complicated shading they created as they overlapped, required intense concentration.

Betsy leaned forward in the window seat to compare the blooms on her page to their real counterpart in the backyard. The gladioli still weren't right. She huffed out a sigh and bent to erase the top few flowers of the stalk, pushing her long brown hair behind her ear with one hand to move it out of her way. The insistent ring of the telephone registered vaguely as she worked to duplicate nature's wonder.

Betsy! The sudden intrusion of her mother's voice made her jump and the pencil leapt across the page in a bold stroke. She quickly stuffed the sketch pad behind the cushion and snatched up her calculus textbook. When the door to her room opened, Betsy met her mother's irritated look calmly.

Yes, Mother? The corner of the sketch pad was digging into her back; she shifted carefully, but it refused to move.

Dr. Branson just called. Your grandmother has fallen.

Betsy stood, letting the textbook slide out of her hands to the seat. Is she okay? What happened? Anxiety unfurled in her chest as memories of her father's sudden death two years earlier rose in her mind. He'd fallen, too, and three days later she'd been crying at his memorial.

I'm sure she's fine, her mother sighed and checked her watch. I need you to go to the hospital for me. I have a meeting with the developers for the shopping center that I simply can't miss.

Betsy's mouth opened and then closed again as her mother left, words of protest dying on her lips as her mother turned away. Questions tumbled uselessly in her mind. It would do no good to call her mother back and voice them. Katherine Marsh had run for mayor of their small North Carolina town when her father had died so unexpectedly, halfway through his first term. It was no surprise to anyone that she'd won, and since then her busy schedule hadn't allowed for questions.

Within moments Betsy had gathered a few books in a canvas bag, grabbed a jacket and her car keys, and hurried out to her car. Her sketch book and pencils were hidden at the bottom of the bag. It wasn't likely that her mother would come to the hospital unless she was called, but Betsy knew better than to leave evidence of her hobby in the open and invite another lecture on practicality.

Her mother thought she was going to major in business management, and she just needed to keep up that pretense for a few more weeks. Once she was at college, she'd be able to change her major to art history without her mother's interference.

Despite her concern, Betsy felt her spirits lift as she got into her car. It had been the last gift her father had given her, over the objections of her mother. The boxy little Chevette was a hideous green, and neither the heater nor the air conditioner worked properly, but Betsy had fallen in love with it. Her mother hadn't felt the fifteen-year-old car was appropriate for the mayor's daughter, but her father had bought it for her anyway.

She tried to remember those moments of easy camaraderie with her father as she drove, to keep the memories of another trip to the hospital from surfacing. Her grandmother was a strong woman, she reminded herself. Strong enough to face off with her daughter the mayor when Katherine started pushing the elderly woman to move into a care facility several hours away. Remembering her grandmother's victory in that battle eased Betsy's anxiety as she pulled into the hospital parking lot.

~~~

Hours later, anxiety was twisting her stomach again as she watched Dr. Branson walk into the consultation room where she waited with her mother and sister.

Sharon had complained bitterly at being dragged away from a promising date, and she slouched in her chair with a sullen expression. Betsy had been surprised that their mother had forced the issue. Her sister was a year younger, tall, thin, beautiful, and popular. Everything their mother expected in a daughter. Everything Betsy was not.

Moira, her best friend, had once commented that Sharon was the elf of the family, while Betsy was the hobbit. She'd been reading through Tolkien's books at the time, and the comparison had been one that Betsy couldn't help but agree with.

Where Betsy was only a few inches over five feet tall, Sharon was just a couple of inches shy of six feet. Sharon's hair was a shimmering curtain of gold and auburn, while Betsy's hair was just brown and had a tendency to frizz in humid weather. Cheerleading kept Sharon fit and trim, but Betsy's body stubbornly clung to the extra twenty pounds it carried.

Moira had hurried to point out that, of the two of them, Betsy had the better eyes - a vivid and intense blue rather than the solid brown that Sharon had inherited from their father.

Katherine, girls, let me start by saying that your grandmother is going to be fine. Betsy sat back in her chair at the doctor's reassuring words. When Hannah fell, she broke her hip. Surgery has repaired that, but she's going to need to take it easy for a while. Betsy's mother nodded, and Dr. Branson continued. Now, we'll keep her in the hospital for a few days, but she'll recuperate best at home. She'll need someone to stay with her while she's healing, until she's steadier on her feet and we don't have to worry about fracturing the bone again.

When he hesitated and glanced at Betsy, the unspoken apology in his eyes warned her. The problem is, there's a waiting list for home care nurses. It's likely to be three or four months at least before we'll be able to find a nurse.

Betsy saw Sharon sit up as the implications of the doctor's words sank in. She could have reassured her sister, if she'd thought of it, but their mother spoke quickly to settle the matter.

Betsy can stay with her...just until other arrangements can be made.

But Mom, I'm leaving for college in a couple of weeks. We've already paid the tuition. Actually, the cost of tuition was minimal thanks to the scholarships she'd been awarded, but it was the only trump card she had.

So you'll start in the spring semester, or maybe just wait and start in the fall. Her mother paused and looked at Sharon speculatively. Yes, the fall might even be better. Then you and Sharon can go together.

Betsy and Sharon exchanged glances of matching dismay, and Betsy tried once more to salvage her plans of escape. But Mom...

Betsy! I have enough on my plate right now without arguing about this! The only other option is the care facility in Raleigh.

In the silence Betsy thought she could hear the heavy clang of a door closing on her plans and dreams. The care facility, the one her grandmother had adamantly refused to move into. She bowed her head as her mother played her own trump card. Both of them knew she wouldn't force her grandmother into a nursing home if a small delay of her own plans would prevent it.

Fine. Just until Grandma can get a home nurse, right?

Her mother sat back and allowed a satisfied smile to lift her lips. Absolutely. She studied her oldest daughter and offered a bit of praise, now that the issue was settled. We will all feel so much better knowing that you are there to help your grandmother. She patted Betsy's arm before rising to shake Dr. Branson's hand.

Betsy stayed in the chair and watched the doctor and her mother leave the conference room with a relieved Sharon close behind. If I didn't know any better, she thought to herself, I'd swear Mother found out I was planning on switching majors. She shook her head and stood to follow them into the hallway. Not even her mother was that manipulative.

***

CHAPTER ONE

Nothing was quite as pretty as a small town in North Carolina during the fall, Betsy was sure of it. Brilliant reds, oranges, and yellows decorated the trees lining main street like paint from a palette dropped by a careless artist. Some falls weren't this vivid; those were the years when the conditions weren't quite right, and the trees dressed themselves in muddy colors that made the dropping leaves more nuisance than inspiration. Fourteen years ago she could barely wait to get out of Marshall--she'd planned her exodus to college with the same passion other women planned their weddings--now, it was hard to imagine living anywhere else.

I really love fall, she murmured, and her fingers itched for a paintbrush as she stared through the shop's front window.

Yes, I know, Moira called from the counter. You've only mentioned it five or six times today! Do you think you might stop daydreaming about your next masterpiece and come help me? We've got trick-or-treaters due in thirty minutes and I haven't finished separating the candy yet.

Betsy turned away from the window and grinned at her best friend and owner of Petal Power, Marshall's only florist shop. Explain to me--again--why we're separating candy?

Because some of the candy isn't appropriate for the little kids, and some of it isn't good for the kids wearing braces. This way nobody goes home with candy they can't eat. Her best friend glanced up from the huge bowl of candy and its three smaller satellites and caught the look on Betsy's face. It's not crazy, so stop looking at me like that!

Betsy's smile widened, and she reached for a handful of candy. Moira's black hair was streaked with bands of shocking blue, and she'd left it loose to fall to her waist in a straight line. It would be easy to assume the unique color was a nod to the holiday; in reality, the streaks were a constant in her friend's ever-changing appearance. The flowing black dress and tall pointed hat, however, were in honor of the holiday both of them loved.

I'm so lucky to have a stable, well-adjusted boss who values my contribution as an employee.

Moira grinned at her. You didn't tell me you'd gotten a new job! You will give notice, right? she joked.

Absolutely! How's ten years? Do you think that would be enough time for you to find a replacement for a thirty-two year old woman with a talent for pushing posies?

Her friend reached across the counter and slapped at the hand worrying at the wrapping on a peanut butter cup. Don't eat the trick-or-treat candy...I've got good stuff in the back for later. Moira's love for expensive chocolate was well-known. And don't sell yourself short, either. I keep telling you I could sell your paintings if you'd let me.

Betsy sighed and picked up another handful of candy.

I know, but you know my mother would have kittens. Grandma's just not doing that well, and I'm trying to keep the peace as much as I can. Her mind wandered to her last conversation with Dr. Branson. He wasn't pleased with the condition of her grandmother's heart, and he'd warned Betsy that her health couldn't tolerate any stress.

Hannah Erickson's mind was as sharp as it had always been, but her body was twisted by arthritis and weakened by a heart that was slowly, but surely, failing. Her deteriorating health had prompted the family to finally hire the home health care nurse that had been promised the summer she'd broken her hip, fourteen years ago. Hannah had tried to push Betsy to go to college at last, and had been surprised at her granddaughter's adamant refusal.

Betsy, you can't put caramel into the bowl for kids with braces! Moira's voice startled her and she looked down to discover that she had dropped several caramel pieces into the wrong bowl.

Oops! Don't want a replay of seventh grade! Betsy scooped the candy out and deposited it into the correct bowl.

Oh, that's good! Remind your boss, the woman who pays you, of the single most humiliating event of her teenage years! Moira tossed a tiny bag of chocolate candy at her.

Consider it payback for talking me into wearing this hideous costume! she shot back, gesturing at the nun's robe and wimple she wore.

Well, I think it works. You know, I'm evil and you're goodness and light!

I look like a penguin. A fat penguin. Betsy glanced into the mirror behind the counter and studied her reflection. A fat penguin with a really big head.

Moira tried to stifle a giggle behind her hand and failed. You do not look like a fat penguin with a big head--black is really slimming!

Great, so I'm just a penguin with a really big head. That's reassuring. The sarcasm in her voice would have come as a shock to her family, but her friend just shrugged it off.

Speaking of being a nice, healthy weight...is your sister planning on dressing up as a skeleton this year? It'd be a cheap costume, since she could just go naked.

Betsy imitated her mother's best lecturing voice, Dressing up for Halloween is all well and good for children, but it is not appropriate for the grown women.

Right, Moira ran a hand down a slim hip and flicked the full skirt of her costume. Good thing we're only half-grown then, right?

The two women burst into peals of laughter that were still ringing when the door opened, earning them an appreciative look from the tall man who walked in.

Ladies, ladies, he tsked and shook his head. You're doing that all wrong! It's Halloween...you're supposed to cackle!

Dell! Betsy turned and gave her brother-in-law a warm hug. What are you doing on Main Street on Halloween? Shouldn't you be at home getting ready for Sharon's big party?

Dell Stanly, graduate of Harvard medical school and respected doctor for the majority of their town's residents, blushed. Yeah, that's sort of why I'm here. He turned a look of abject pleading on Moira. I was supposed to order a centerpiece for the dining room table.

Moira cocked her head and raised her eyebrows. Let me guess. You forgot?

It's not my fault! She called me while I was on my rounds at the hospital and I didn't have anything to write on. I couldn't remember the name of the store in Raleigh she wanted me to order from...

And you didn't dare ask her, Moira finished.

Dell fell to one knee and raised clasped hands in mock supplication. Save me, please! You have the power, I am but a lowly worm...not worthy of your witchy benevolence!

Betsy grinned at him and nodded at Moira when she looked her way.

All right. I shall task my best minion to this thorny problem.

Dell rose and smoothed his shirt over the small paunch he was developing to go along with the thinning section of hair Betsy had spotted at the crown of his head.

I am forever in your dead...er...debt. He reached out to take Moira's hand and kiss it.

Just don't tell Sharon where you got it, Betsy warned him, well aware of her sister's opinion of her.

Dell frowned, but before he could comment Moira added, At least until everyone arrives. Then you have to tell everyone exactly where you got it and give them our website and phone number. That shall be your penance and our reward.

Dell smiled gratefully at Moira, Done and done!

Fine, be back here in about an hour to pick it up. She flipped a strand of electric blue hair over her shoulder and turned to