Sunshine. Pat Warren
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for all but two years of their twenty-three-year marriage. The house that she would now occupy alone.
Janice Ingalls Eber gathered the collar of her winter coat closer about her throat and stared out at the icy center of Lake Waukoni. She’d awakened early and driven out here to one of the peaceful places she and Kurt had visited often. Only half an hour’s drive from Tyler, the small lake wasn’t nearly as popular as Wisconsin’s Lake Winnebago, which was one reason they’d liked coming here to fish, to picnic, to lie on the thick grass in the summertime.
In her mind’s eye, Janice could picture Kurt rowing away from shore, his strong, tan arms moving rhythmically, his dark eyes laughing at her because she’d insisted they wear life jackets. She’d always been the cautious, careful one, while Kurt had loved the excitement of challenges, physical and otherwise. As a young man, he’d raced cars, learned to fly single-engine planes and skied every chance he had. He’d had a restless energy that seemed to drive him to swim regularly, even late into the season, to jog daily and to compete fiercely in tennis matches with friends.
At forty-six, slim and wiry with not an ounce of spare flesh, Kurt Eber took care of himself and was the picture of health. Or so Janice had thought until five days ago when she’d received the call. Kurt had died of a massive coronary while playing handball.
The rising sun shimmered on the surface of the lake and would probably melt much of the accumulated snow on this unseasonably warm January day. The day she would be burying her husband. Despite the mild morning, Janice shivered and thrust her hands deep into her coat pockets.
Fragmented thoughts drifted through her dazed mind. The frantic phone call from Kurt’s office manager and handball opponent, Tom Sikes, urging her to rush to the hospital. Her best friend, Anna Kelsey, offering to drive, her solid presence keeping Janice from falling to pieces. Dr. George Phelps, an old friend and their family physician, holding her hands as he gravely told her that Kurt had been dead almost before he’d hit the floor. She should cling to that, George had said—that Kurt hadn’t suffered more than a moment’s swift pain.
Janice had wanted to lash out at him, to shriek a denial that surely he had to be wrong. Kurt couldn’t be gone so quickly, so unfairly. He wouldn’t leave her like that. He’d always been there for her. Always, since they’d met at the University of Wisconsin so long ago. Just after she’d finished her sophomore year, Kurt, newly graduated, had persuaded her to quit college and elope with him, to leave her father’s house and become his bride. Surely this had to be some cruel joke.
But it hadn’t been.
Hunching her slender shoulders against a sudden gust of wind that swirled powdery snow at her, Janice turned and walked slowly back to her station wagon. She’d best return, for her children would be wondering about her absence. She’d left a brief note on the kitchen counter explaining that she’d gone for a short drive, but they’d worry anyhow.
Kurt, Jr.—K.J. as he’d been affectionately labeled as a youngster—a junior at his father’s alma mater, undoubtedly would be pacing the kitchen and drinking black coffee as Kurt so often had. His sister, Stefanie, only two years older and believing herself to be much more mature, would be calmly making breakfast for everyone. In her disoriented state, Janice had insisted that her father as well as her sister and brother-in-law, Irene and Everett, stay at the house, and now she regretted the impulsive invitation. She dreaded being alone, yet she craved it, an odd dichotomy of emotions. Perhaps they would sense her mood and leave right after today’s funeral service.
Janice got behind the wheel and turned the key. After a few rumbles, the engine caught. She and Kurt had talked about going shopping next month for a new car for her. With a trembling sigh, she wondered if she would be able to make such a large purchase on her own. She’d never picked out furniture or anything major without him. Swallowing back a fresh rush of tears, Janice headed for home.
* * *
SHE WAS SHAKY, but holding up well, Anna Kelsey thought as she stood studying Janice Eber across the funeral bier. Her long auburn hair was coiled under a black felt hat and her wide gray eyes were hidden behind huge sunglasses. Anna’s heart went out to the slim, fragile woman who’d been her close friend for more than twenty years. It was difficult enough burying the very elderly; to bury a husband in the prime of life was a travesty, Anna believed.
Needing a moment’s reassurance, Anna slipped her hand into her husband’s, and felt his strong fingers tighten in response. The death of a friend was a stark reminder of everyone’s mortality, she thought. Of course, Johnny and Kurt had not really been friends, not the way she and Janice were.
With his thriving insurance business and his near-obsession with competitive sports, Kurt was quite different from Anna’s husband. Johnny was a foreman at Ingalls Farm and Machinery and preferred quieter activities such as fishing, camping and a game of touch football with their grown children and expanding family. With Anna’s help, Johnny also operated Kelsey Boardinghouse, while Kurt had owned a large Victorian-style home, driven a Mercedes and worn five-hundred-dollar suits. Quite a difference.
A chill wind blew across the snow-covered hillside cemetery where the large gathering of mourners stood by the grave. Anna had known the townspeople would come in droves, for Tyler was a friendly place to live, a supportive community. Though Janice Eber had never worked outside her home, through the years she’d volunteered at her kids’ school, the library and the hospital, and she was well liked.
She was a sweet woman, Anna thought, a good wife, caring mother and wonderful homemaker. Anna had never heard Janice raise her voice nor give a dissenting opinion. She simply didn’t like to make waves, which often annoyed Anna, who felt Janice ought to speak out more, be a little more assertive.
Anna watched the solemn-faced minister move to the head of the casket and begin reading the Twenty-third Psalm. Shifting her gaze, she felt Janice’s face turn even paler as her son gripped her hand on one side and her daughter gripped the other. Kurt had been from Boston, an only child whose parents had died some years back, so there were no Ebers to mourn his passing. But the Ingalls clan was well represented, flanking Janice on both sides under the dark green canopy.
The Ingalls family had been involved in the early settling of Tyler. Inventive and industrious, they were still the wealthiest folks in town. Janice’s father, Herbert, ran the company lab in Milwaukee and seemed friendly and down-to-earth to Anna. His wife had died years ago and Herbert had raised both Janice and Irene. No two people could be less alike than Janice and her sister, Anna thought as she watched Irene clutch her full-length mink coat more tightly around her ample bosom.
Then there was Janice’s uncle, Judson Ingalls, Tyler’s patriarchal figure at nearly eighty. Tall and dignified, he stood next to his widowed daughter, Alyssa Baron, and her three children. In truth, they were no longer children. The oldest, Dr. Jeffrey Baron, was thirty and already being mentioned as the next chief of staff at Tyler General Hospital.
Next was Amanda, a couple of years younger, sweet and unaffected and a practicing lawyer in Tyler. And the youngest, Liza, a fun-loving, spirited young woman, a decorator who’d recently married a somewhat reclusive fellow named Cliff Forrester. A striking family, attractive and intelligent and, with the possible exception of Liza, dignified in their bearing.
Had the Ingalls family, with their wealth and style, made Kurt into the man he’d become—a restless super-achiever and self-made businessman who’d never quite felt accepted despite his best efforts? Anna asked herself that question as she heard the minister winding down. Kurt had married Janice when she was very young, obviously wanted to exceed her family’s achievements, to make her proud of him. Anna wondered if Kurt ever knew that Janice would have loved him just as much if he’d been a used-car salesman.
Stepping back with Johnny, Anna stood among her own children, watching the many citizens of Tyler file past to say goodbye to Kurt and offer a word of comfort to Janice. She saw her two married daughters, Laura and Glenna, walk over with their husbands to talk with their cousins.
Looking up at her husband, Anna squeezed Johnny’s hand. “I think you should phone the office for an appointment,” she said quietly. “You haven’t