Someone to Watch Over Me. Roz Fox Denny

He was a master when it came to hiding his emotional deficiencies from everyone but his wife. Although Isabella found it hard to believe Julian’s parents didn’t have some inkling, too.

      She wiped her hands on her apron. “I have a lunch to cater. The Apple Growers’ Association meeting,” she added, preparing to go back to the kitchen.

      “Trini, would you mind bagging the ladies’ baked goods? I still have half a dozen sandwiches to make. Then the boxes will be ready for napkins, apples and cookies.”

      Trini ducked behind the counter. “I’ll finish here so they can be on their way. Then I’ll be right in to help you. Oh, Mama sent a messa—” She frowned. “Never mind. I’ll deal with this.” She telegraphed a warning to her sister that said don’t ask any details—or at least not while their aunt’s best friends were in the shop.

      “Thank you for shopping here,” Isabella remembered to say belatedly. “Nona, the suizos were fresh-baked this morning.” Isabella stopped to fill a bag with the currant buns she knew were a favorite of the Baroja family. As she handed it to Trini to ring up and then continued on into the kitchen, she wondered what her mother might want. If it was important, why hadn’t she phoned?

      She turned on the faucet to wash her hands and discovered they were shaking again. Some days she doubted she could hang on till the trial. It was difficult enough to read the garbage spouted by Julian’s lawyer. She shouldn’t have to deal with censure from family friends, as well. Thank goodness there were only a few in the community who suggested she fell short as a wife and mother. She couldn’t bear it if people she dealt with every day sympathized with Julian.

      Granted, they had a male-dominated culture. Which didn’t matter as a rule, because the men were good and decent. Men who loved and provided well for their families. According to stories handed down, Isabella knew it hadn’t been easy on the first wave of Basque immigrants. Few spoke anything but Euskera or Euskera blended with Spanish. They knew the land and the sea, and were fiercely independent. That meant they kept to themselves, so the townspeople often viewed them as antisocial.

      Summer Marsh’s great-grandparents and many of the Paiute horse-breeders who lived along the Malheur River were kind and understanding, or so the tales went. By the time Isabella and her siblings came along, they were accepted as equals. Each new generation seemed more comfortable working and socializing together than the last. But some older members of the Basque community still balked at the idea of intermarriage.

      Trini stormed through the café doors the way she stormed through life. “Aunt Carmen sicced those old busybodies on us today. I should never have told her about Gabe Poston.” She smacked the heel of her hand against her forehead several times. “You’d think I’d learn to watch my mouth. I just don’t understand why they can’t mind their own business.”

      Isabella deftly assembled the last sandwich on the board. After setting it in one of the white boxes, she opened a cupboard and took out a stack of paper napkins. “Wash, please. Then grab a tray of red apples from the pantry. I’ll bag the cookies. We can have this done in a jiffy.”

      “I wish I could be more like you, Bella. You never let a thing they say get to you.” Trini jammed her fanny pack into a deep drawer with Isabella’s purse, then scrubbed her hands.

      “They get to me, Trini. But arguing and giving them more fodder to complain about is a waste of energy. Energy I’ll need to get through Julian’s trial.”

      “Which reminds me. Mama took a call from the prosecutor.” Trini entered the walk-in pantry, leaving Isabella’s stomach in a knot as she waited for her sister to return with the apples and complete the message.

      “Why didn’t James phone me here?” Isabella asked the moment Trini reappeared. “He has this number, and I’ve been here all day.”

      Trini shook her head, making her short curls dance. “James Hayden doesn’t care about your case, Bella. I wish there was a way to fire him and get someone else. Mama and I are positive he didn’t have the guts to tell you he lost the appeal to keep the trial in Burns. It’s been moved to Bend because the judge doesn’t think people in this county can be impartial enough.”

      “What? When?” Isabella dropped the cookie she was holding. It broke into a million pieces when it hit the tile floor. “No!” she cried, feeling the thread that held her nerves together unraveling. “The drive alone prohibits the whole family from attending.”

      “I’m sorry, Bella.” Trini became instantly sympathetic. “Old Gutless said it was either Bend or LaGrande. He chose Bend because it’s a few miles closer.”

      “It’s still a long drive. I’m barely making ends meet and putting aside some money for my time away from the bakery as it is. This means I’ll have to stay in a motel. Trini, what am I going to do?”

      “You can let Papa help.”

      Isabella was already shaking her head. “I won’t have him and Mama dipping into their retirement savings. And please stop calling the state prosecutor gutless. He’s busy, that’s all.”

      “Sorry, I calls ’em as I sees ’em.”

      “I’ll list the house.” She’d tried before, but it hadn’t sold and the real estate agent had told her that was because of the stigma attached to it. “I’m never setting foot inside the place again, anyway. Do you think enough time has passed that the stigma will have disappeared?”

      “If it’s someone who blows in from out of town and knows nothing about the case. No one around here could ever forget what happened there, Bella.”

      She mumbled something indistinguishable as she knelt to wipe cookie crumbs off the floor.

      “Hey, maybe Gabe Poston fits the bill if Nona Baroja’s right and he’s checking out real estate.”

      “Don’t take Nona’s ramblings as gospel. Even if the man is house-hunting, why would he buy a place with four bedrooms?” Isabella’s voice wobbled as she recalled decorating two of those rooms for her kids. She’d used a ballerina theme for Antonia’s and had hand-drawn colorful trains on one of Ramon’s walls to match curtains and a bedspread she’d sewn.

      “Erase that. Every time I open my mouth I upset you, Bella. Here, the apples and napkins are done. I’ll help you pop in the cookies, and then I’ll take the boxes to the van. Don’t be in a rush to deliver them, okay? It’d do you good to get out in the fresh air. The lilac trees are beginning to bud. Roll down the van’s windows—the scent alone is bound to perk you up.”

      “Trini, you aren’t the reason I’m upset. Who moved out of my old bedroom and let me have it back when I slunk home to Mama and Papa? I’d gladly have made do with the smaller room. But I’m indebted to you for giving me the room with the corner window. I…hate feeling closed in.”

      “I know.” The younger girl gave her older sister a quick hug. “I did it for you, but for Mama, too. She never wanted Papa to remodel the house after you, Sylvia, Ruby and the boys got married and left. I was the one who badgered him to combine the bedrooms. So, it’s only fair that I sacrifice a view. Enough of this. While we stack these boxes, give me a rundown on what needs to be done for the rest of the day.”

      “I’m starting a wedding cake in the morning. And Audrey Olsen phoned to order an anniversary cake.” She listed the supplies she wanted Trini to buy. “I will take some time while I’m out,” she said afterward, “to take the flowers out to the cemetery.”

      “Do you want company?” Trini’s eyes glossed with tears. “I saw the pinwheels you tucked under the counter. You’re…uh…taking them out there, aren’t you?”

      Isabella got a firm grip on her emotions. Still, all she managed was a brief nod.

      Trini turned away and clamped her hands over the edge of the sink. “On second thought, Bella, I can’t go and watch you plant those pinwheels.” She whirled to face her, looking stricken. “I’d remember how the kids loved to race down our driveway