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Ruby loved Pear Blossom, but she’d also felt like it was really important for her to go out in the world and see what else existed.
It waseasyfor her to be in Pear Blossom. People here loved her.
It had been a fascinating experience to go to a place where that wasn’t automatically the case. Of course, she hadn’t stayed in one place very long. After going to the University of Washington, she had gotten involved in different study abroad programs, and she had moved between them as often as she could. Studying in Italy, France, Spain, coming to the States briefly for her graduation ceremony in May, and then going back overseas to spend a few months in England, finishing up some elective study programs.
But then, she’d found that instructive too. Being in a constant state of meeting new people. And for a while, the sheer differentness of it all had fed her in a way that had quieted that restlessness. She had been learning. Learning and experiencing and...
Well, part of her had wondered if her first job needed to be away from home. To continue her education.
But then six months ago her sister’s husband had died.
And Dana’s offer of a job in Pear Blosson after she finished her degree had suddenly seemed like fate. Because Ruby had to come and try to make things better for Lydia.
Marianne and Dahlia were worried about Lydia, who had retreated into herself and had barely shed a single tear.
She’s acting just like our parents. No fuss, no muss. No crying over spilled milk or dead husbands.
Clearly miserable, in other words.
And Ruby knew she wasneeded.
One thing about being saved, about being spared from death, was thecertaintyyou were spared for a reason.
Ruby had been saved by her sisters. And if they ever needed her...
Well, she would be here.
Fixing Lydia, fixing all of this, maybe it was what she was meant to do.
And all of the melancholy that she had felt a moment before faded. Lifted like a weight taken off of her shoulders. And she started to walk a little bit faster, letting the momentum carry her down the hill toward the farm.
She branched off of the main road, moving down the narrow, bumpy drive that led up to the white farmhouse her father continually repainted to keep it in the best shape possible. One of the many things she had learned from her father.
That taking care of the things that took care of you, that held your family, that held history, was important, and a point of pride.
The McKees had never been a rich family, but her childhood had been stable. Wonderful. Her parents had helped her do the work to get scholarships to go to college. Because they wouldn’t have been able to pay for the entirety of it on their own.
Ruby had gotten good grades. She’d volunteered at the historical society exhaustively, from the time she was thirteen years old all the way up until she graduated. Her relevant community service and the essays that she’d written about it were exemplary. And she could only credit the influence of her mother for that.
Andie McKee was meticulous, loving and strict all at once.
Ruby picked up the pace then, letting her suitcase sway as she ran, holding on to her dress and keeping her boots from getting tangled up in the long hem as she ran up the pitted driveway to the front porch.
She stopped at the bottom step, breathing hard. Then she walked up and knocked on the door. It was early, but she knew her parents were awake. Likely had been for a while. They might be in their sixties, but you didn’t retire from farm life.
The front door opened, and her mom stopped, still wiping her hands on her apron. “Ruby,” she said, throwing her arms out and pulling her in for a hug.
She pushed Ruby back, examining her, and Ruby did some examining of her own. The last time she’d been home had been six months ago, for Mac’s funeral, and then she’d seen her parents, Dahlia and Marianne at her graduation five months ago. And of course, her mother looked much the same. But there was something about all the spaces between visits that made her start to picture her mom as she’d been when Ruby had been a kid.
She never pictured her with all these lines on her face, with her hair more gray than light brown. She seemed smaller somehow, as if each passing year had taken something from her.
But when she looked at her mother’s eyes, she didn’t get that sense. Because the joy in her eyes shone as brightly as it ever had.
“Why didn’t you tell us you were coming so early?”
“I changed my flight last night,” Ruby said, wandering into the small, well-worn kitchen. It was clean, meticulously so, and it was in almost unbelievably good working order. The appliances were not new, neither were the cabinets, neither was the floor or the counter. But her father kept everything in such a well-maintained state, that it was as if she had walked back in time, into the kitchen as it had been in the 1950s.
Her father had never liked modern appliances, preferring the original wood-burning stove and an old-fashioned furnace. Air-conditioning had been a foreign concept in Ruby’s life until she had started going and visiting friends’ houses. The one concession he’d made was getting a more modernized refrigerator.
