“I don’t want my pumpkin squares,” Amanda said. “I’m kind of tired of pumpkin pie.”
“Me, too,” Kayla said.
“That’s okay,” Sierra assured them. “You don’t have to eat the pumpkin pie if you don’t want to. I’m kind of pumpkin-pied-out myself.” She knew she wasn’t the only one who had eaten a slice of cold pie that morning. Wesley had joined her, and so had their dad.
Granna Mae participated warmly, acknowledging when she was spoken to, but not always having an answer. Sierra could tell this was one of those times when Granna Mae’s mind was beginning to slip through the fragile fingers of reality and slide into a world of confusion.
“This cranberry nut bread is very good,” Sierra said to her. “Do you like it?”
Granna Mae smiled politely as if she had no idea who Sierra was or why she was talking to Granna Mae. She ate, which Sierra considered a good thing because when she had brought breakfast up to her grandmother that morning, she had only nibbled on the toast. Sierra now poured some English Breakfast blend through the strainer into Granna Mae’s cup.
“More sugar for you?” Sierra asked, looking for some kind of response, any kind of response.
“Can I do it?” Amanda asked. She turned to Granna Mae and said, “One lump or two?”
It was obvious the twins would long remember this experience, and Sierra almost felt glad she had come along to play “little girl” again.
“One, please,” Granna Mae responded to Amanda, stirring the tea in her cup with a fairly steady hand.
The girls grew restless before the older women did, and Sierra offered to take them to the hotel gift shop. They left Granna Mae with Mrs. Jensen and Tawni and off they went, Sierra in her rather un-tea-partyish outfit, and her twin cousins in their pretty party dresses, with starched bows in their hair. The girls each took one of Sierra’s hands and nearly skipped with joy at the special attention they were getting.
“When I grow up, I’m going to dress just like you,” Amanda said. “You’re cool, Sierra.”
“I want to be just like you, too,” Kayla agreed. “I want to go to Europe like you do all the time, too.”
“I don’t go all the time,” Sierra said.
“My mom said you did. She said you went twice this year because you’re a free spirit.”
“Kayla,” Amanda scolded, “you make it sound like a bad thing.”
“No, I don’t. Mom said she was a free spirit, too, before she married.”
“Aunt Emma said that?” Sierra asked as they entered the gift shop.
“Yes,” both girls answered in unison.
Sierra smiled. “You have a very cool mother, you know.”
Kayla shrugged. “I guess. But not as cool as you.”
Sierra and her little fan club began to poke around in the charming gift shop. One antique table was covered with a collection of teapots and other tea goodies from England. A red plaid tin of Scottish shortbread caught Sierra’s eye, and she was glad she had stuck a twenty-dollar bill in her boot. It served as her purse when she didn’t feel like carrying her backpack. She thought about buying some shortbread cookies to eat while she sipped a cup of tea and wrote her next letter to Paul.
She had finished the long letter with the even longer P.S., which she had added to several times, and had slapped two airmail stamps on it because it was so thick. Even now it sat in the mailbox waiting for the postal worker to pick it up.
“Look at these sewing kits,” Kayla said, lifting a needlepoint kit up to Sierra. It came from a basket at Sierra’s feet where dozens of small stitching kits were marked half off.
“That’s nice,” Sierra said, only glancing at the Scottish crest that said “MacIver” across the top of the package. “Do you like to embroider?”
“I do,” Kayla said. “Amanda doesn’t. But this is ugly. They should have flowers or something.”
Sierra glanced at the package again and saw what Kayla meant. The MacIver clan crest was a circle with a boar’s head in the middle. She made a face at Kayla and said, “Yikes! Who would want to embroider that?”
Returning her attention to the lovely china cups, cookie tins, and small silver teaspoons, Sierra noticed a tin of Scottish Breakfast tea. She knew that would be the perfect tea to go with her shortbread. Collecting her private tea-party fixings, Sierra shuffled toward the register. But then the MacIver crest floated through her thoughts, and she suddenly turned around.
“Kayla, did they have any other Scottish clan crests in that basket of needlepoint kits?”
Kayla nodded, and Sierra dove into the basket, a woman on a mission. If she could find Paul Mackenzie’s family crest, she would have her problem solved of what to buy him for Christmas. She could embroider the crest and frame it for him. Paul would love it. As long as it wasn’t something disgusting like a boar’s head.
seven
SIERRA FILED THROUGH THE BASKET of needlepoint kits, searching for “Mackenzie.” She found one at the back of the basket. Drawing it close, she studied the crest. It was a mountain with three pillars of flames rising from it. For a fleeting moment she thought it looked like the flaming sweet potatoes and marshmallows she had battled in the oven yesterday. The Latin words surrounding the mountain were “Lucero non uro.”
“I wonder what that means,” Sierra muttered as she triumphantly rose with the prize in her hand. She had enough money for the needlepoint, cookies, and tea, but her change back was only seven cents. “Good thing we don’t have any sales tax in Oregon,” she said to Kayla and Amanda. “Otherwise I would have had to borrow some money from you.”
“Why did you buy that? Are you going to sew it?” Amanda asked.
“Yes. It’s going to be a gift for someone who is very special to me. And this is that person’s last name.” She pulled the kit from the bag. “Mackenzie.” Sierra loved the way the name rolled off her tongue.
“What’s that supposed to be?” Amanda asked, pointing to the crest.
“A mountain on fire, I guess,” Sierra said. She gave Kayla and Amanda a big smile. “It’s a whole lot better than a pig’s head, don’t you think?”
They laughed. Sierra enjoyed her little cousins.
“Do you think the moms are ready to go yet?” she asked.
“Not our mom. She’s always the last one to leave anywhere. There’s always just one more person she wants to talk to,” Kayla said.
“That’s how it is with us free spirits,” Sierra replied. “We always have one more person we want to talk to.”
The only person Sierra wanted to talk to at the moment was Paul. She wished she could prepare a proper tea party for him with her shortbread and Scottish Breakfast tea. The thought stayed with her and formulated into a plan.
As the group of Jensen women scurried to the van through the rain-drenched streets, Sierra’s plan came together. For Christmas she could send Paul a tea party in a box. All he would have to do is open each of the little wrapped boxes in order, according to the number on them. First the tea, but not Scottish or British tea. She would buy some Oregon marionberry tea or maybe some Coffee People coffee beans, which were big in Oregon. She would write out instructions for him to start the coffee or tea while he opened the other gifts. Then he would unwrap the goodies. They should be from the Northwest. Maybe some smoked salmon or honey biscuits with blackberry jam.
The more Sierra mulled her plan over, the more excited she grew. This could be fun. She would include a long letter in the box, of course, and the finished clan crest—and what else? Maybe a picture of her. Yes! That would be perfect. A little window for Paul to look into her world and watch her face as he read her words.
“Are you even listening to me?” Tawni said, poking Sierra’s arm as they sat squeezed together in the back of the van.
“What did you say?”
“I asked what you bought in the gift shop.”
“Oh. I bought some tea and cookies.” For some reason she hesitated to tell Tawni about the Mackenzie
needlepoint. Would she think it was a silly idea? Jeremy was obviously a Mackenzie, too. Would Tawni wish she had gotten one for Jeremy? There was only this one Mackenzie kit in the store.
“Is that all?”
“Well, I also bought something you might think is dumb, so if you do, don’t say anything, okay?”
“Why would I say anything?”
“Just don’t, okay?”
“Okay.”
Sierra pulled the kit from the bag and showed it to her sister with no explanation.
“You’re going to sew that?”
“Sure. It can’t be too hard. Don’t you think it will make a great Christmas present for Paul?”
“You’re going to finish that by Christmas?”
“Yes,” Sierra said defensively. “It’s not very big.”
“Yes, but look at all those tiny stitches. Don’t they call that petit point? I’d never have the patience to attempt something like that.”
At least I don’t have to worry that Tawni will want to steal my gift idea, Sierra thought.
“Well, have fun,” Tawni said flatly. “If you don’t finish it before Christmas, you could always send him a framed picture of yourself.”
“I was thinking of doing that, too,” Sierra said. She wondered if her mom had told Tawni that Paul had sent her a picture for her birthday.
“That’s what I’m giving Jeremy. I have some good shots from one of the photographers, and I thought I’d have several framed while I’m here. I’ll give Jeremy the best one and send one to Mom and Dad.”
Sierra considered Tawni’s giving away professional model shots different from her own idea of taking a picture in the backyard. She wanted to send a little window to Paul, not plaster a billboard across his room.
She noticed the writing on the back of the stitchery kit and held it close to read the fine print. “Listen to this,” she said, reading aloud to Tawni. “ ‘The Mackenzie clan claims to be descended from Colin, progenitor of the Earl of Ross. He died in 1278 and was succeeded by his son Kenneth.’ ”
“In 1278?” Tawni questioned.
“That’s what it says.”
“How amazing that anyone could trace his history back that far. Or at least people whom he knows he is descended from.” Tawni let out a noticeable sigh.
Sierra decided to let it go. Every now and then Tawni would become depressed over being adopted and not knowing where she came from genetically. A few months ago, Tawni had tracked down her birth mother and had written her a letter. Tawni hadn’t heard anything back. Even though Tawni had said she felt the important point was that she had written the letter, Sierra could tell at this moment that Tawni felt discouraged. Sierra decided to plunge ahead and read the rest of the Mackenzie history.
“The clan crest is a mountain inflamed with the motto ‘Lucero non uro,’ which is translated, ‘I shine, not burn.’ Mackenzie also uses the crest badge of a stag’s head and the motto ‘Cuidich ’n righ,’ which is translated, ‘Help the king.’ The Gaelic name is ‘MacCoinnich.’ ”
“Sierra,” Tawni snapped, “I get the point. Mackenzie is a Scottish name. All right. Why are you obsessing over this?”
“I’m not. I just thought you would be interested in the history of Jeremy’s family.”
“That’s only on his father’s side,” Tawni said. “He’s part whatever his mother is, you know. And so is Paul. There’s such a dilution of nationalities over the years that nobody can really say they’re completely French or Scottish or whatever.”
Tawni’s words were so sharp that Sierra decided to slip the needlepoint kit back into the bag and change the subject. All she could figure was that if Tawni couldn’t identify her birth heritage, then no one else should be able to.
But Tawni’s lack of support didn’t diminish Sierra’s enthusiasm in starting on the project as soon as they reached home. She went up to Granna Mae’s room, where her grandmother was lying down. Sierra curled up in the chair by the window, and as the raindrops pattered against the pane, she quietly hummed and began her project. She had never done anything like this before. But she could read directions, and she could thread a needle. Everything was included in the kit. How hard could this be?
The next day, Saturday, at work, Sierra pulled out her needlepoint during her afternoon break. She was determined to get a lot done because the night before she had been persuaded by her parents to participate in the hour-long good-bye to their holiday guests, and after that the massive cleanup began. She didn’t crawl into bed until after eleven, but at least it was in her own bed, and her room was the cleanest it had been in months, thanks to Tawni’s diligent assistance.
Sierra worked at Mama Bear’s Bakery, known for its cinnamon rolls. When the weather was cold and rainy, as it had been lately, Mama Bear’s was packed with customers seeking comfort in a steaming cup of espresso and a warm, gooey cinnamon roll. Since the place was filled with customers this Saturday, Sierra’s break was shorter than usual. The owner, Mrs. Kraus, frantically asked Sierra to bring more coffee beans out of the storage room. The needlepoint project was stuffed into her backpack.
Sierra didn’t pull it out again until that night. Removing herself from the rest of the family, she hid in her room, trying to line up the tiny stitches. On the way home from work, she had bought a new frame to get the right size glass to replace the broken glass in Paul’s picture. She also had bought some wrapping paper and a roll of film. If the rain cleared tomorrow after church, Sierra planned to find someone to take pictures of her.
But the rain continued. Mr. Jensen took everyone out for lunch after the service. Sierra was starving, having eaten only a slice of pumpkin pie for breakfast as they ran out the door for church. Gavin and Wesley had done the same thing. The family was down to only one pumpkin pie.
Sierra ate her lunch quickly and then sat there, wishing she could get back to her needlepoint. She decided she needed to always carry it with her. That way she could work on it at times like this, while everyone else sat around the table talking. Actually, she found it pleasant to be back to just the immediate family of her mom and dad, Wes, Tawni, Sierra, Gavin, Dillon, and Granna Mae. A crowd still, but a comfortable, familiar crowd.
Mrs. Jensen was saying something about the family’s going skiing during Christmas vacation or maybe during a long weekend in January.
“If we went in January, we could go to Tahoe,” Sierra suggested. “That way we would have a free place to stay with Tawni in Reno.”
“In Reno?” her mom said. “Why would Tawni be in Reno?”
All eyes went to Tawni, who was giving Sierra a furious, icy stare. Sierra suddenly remembered that Tawni had said she was waiting to tell her parents about her plans.
Sierra pursed her lips together and reached her hand across the table to touch her sister’s arm. “I’m sorry. I forgot.”
Tawni still looked mad.
“You heard from Lina?” Mrs. Jensen said slowly to Tawni.
Then it all became clear to Sierra. Tawni’s birth mother, Lina Rasmussen, lived in Reno. She was a professor at the university. That was all Tawni knew about her.
“No,” Tawni said quietly, drawing in a deep breath through her flared nostrils.
Mr. Jensen leaned in, next to his wife. His skin began to wrinkle between his eyebrows. “Do you want to talk about this, honey?”
Tawni looked away for a moment and then turned back, taking them all in with her composed gaze. She almost seemed to have switched to a different face, one that was ready for the camera.
“There’s not much to talk about,” Tawni said. “I’ve applied to go to school in January at the University of Nevada, Reno. I haven’t been accepted yet, so I wasn’t going to say anything until it was official.”
“This is a surprise,” her dad said. “I’d feel more comfortable with these kinds of big decisions if you would talk to your mother and me first.”
“There wasn’t anything to talk about.”
“Don’t do that,??
? Wesley said, jumping in with his bigbrother voice. “Don’t pull away, Tawni. We all know you’re going through this thing about your birth mom, and we’ve supported your searching for her and contacting her. But if you haven’t heard from her and you’re thinking of just showing up on her doorstep, or worse, enrolling in one of her classes, I think that’s a pretty big deal, and you should talk with us about it.”
Tawni looked shocked. “Is that what you think? You think I’m going to UNR to stalk Lina or something? I’m going because they have the kinds of courses I’m interested in. I can’t believe you guys are all against me on this.”
The tension was thick around the table, and Sierra felt it was her fault.
Then the waitress appeared with a smile and said, “Did anyone leave room for pumpkin pie?”
“No!” they all answered in sharp unison.
eight
SIERRA FELT MISERABLE. She knew Tawni had been invited to have Thanksgiving with Jeremy’s family in San Diego, but she had chosen to come to Portland because all the family was gathering and her parents had paid for her flight home. Sierra wondered now if her sister wished she had gone to Jeremy’s instead, or at least had coaxed Jeremy to come home with her and support her in this Reno decision.
After lunch, Tawni had to catch her flight back to San Diego. The whole family was in the van when they dropped Tawni off at Portland International Airport. Tawni politely and sweetly said good-bye to each of them with the expected hug. But a chill was in the air instead of the warmth with which Tawni had greeted them a few days before.
“I’m sorry,” Sierra whispered again as they hugged. “Please forgive me.” Sierra had tried to remember if Tawni had specifically told Sierra not to say anything or if it had only been implied. It didn’t matter. Tawni was mad. It would take a while for her to melt.
“I forgive you.” Tawni said the words, but they stung as much as if she had said, “You’re such a brat.” Their relationship hadn’t been this awful for years.