“It doesn’t matter.”
“It does matter.”
“It was a long time ago.”
“I loved you, Carolyn.”
Loved. Past tense. Why talk about the past? Why bring it up at all? Chel told her once that just because you were family didn’t mean you got along. Her father hadn’t liked her. “You just live with it and move on,” Chel said. “Don’t waste energy trying to make them love you.”
Chel. Why was she thinking about Rachel Altman now? Why were her words ringing in Carolyn’s head after all these years? Twice in the last few hours.
Carolyn tried to close that door on the past, but memories kept flooding in. She remembered sitting in the tall grass, plucking petals from a daisy. She loves me; she loves me not; she loves me; she loves me not . . .
Oma loved her.
Mom and Dad loved Charlie.
Charlie. Oh, Charlie. The pain came up quick, squeezing her heart.
“What are you thinking about, Carolyn?”
“Charlie.” She spoke without thinking. Did the mention of her brother still bring Mom pain? “Sorry.”
Mom appeared calm, pensive. “What about Charlie?”
“He told me you got sick after I was born.”
“Not right away. I let myself get run-down. I knew better. I’d had TB before.”
“When?”
“Your father and I were courting. I thought you knew all this.”
“I guess I don’t know anything.”
“I spent months in Arroyo del Valle Sanatorium. I got better, but the disease is always there, hiding, waiting. When I got sick again after you were born, I thought I was going to die. Oma came so I could come home. Die at home, I thought. I didn’t want to leave your dad in debt. So Oma moved in and . . . took over everything.” She smiled sadly. “That may be what gave me the incentive to get well—watching Oma take over my family.”
The rain pounded harder, like fists on the roof. “Oma loved me, Mom.”
“Yes. And you loved her. Exclusively. You never came to me. You always went to Oma. That’s why I told her to go home.”
“So I wouldn’t have anyone?”
Mom looked crushed. “You were my little girl, not Oma’s.”
Carolyn’s fingers curled around the seat cushion. She remembered Dad shaking her and telling her to stop crying or else. “I felt so alone.”
“You had me.”
When had that ever been true? “No. I didn’t.”
“Yes, you did!”
Carolyn refused to let it pass this time. “We moved out to the new property! You and Dad worked all the time on the house and gardens.”
“Not all the time.”
“You told me to stay out from underfoot, to go off somewhere and play. I’d wait for Charlie, but when he got home from school, he always grabbed his bicycle and took off.”
“You were right there with me. You picked flowers. You made mud cookies. You flattened down a little private place in the mustard flowers where you played with your rag doll.”
That wasn’t the way Carolyn remembered it. She didn’t want to tell Mom what she did remember. “I think I’ll go to bed.” She got up.
“Carolyn. Please. Can’t we talk about this a little more? I didn’t know you—”
“I’ll see you in the morning.”
“It’ll be cold downstairs.” Mom tried to push herself out of the chair. “I haven’t opened the heating vent to the downstairs yet. It’ll take half an hour to warm up the apartment.”
“Save the energy. I’ll be under the covers anyway.”
Carolyn struggled into her jacket at the back door. She had to get out of the house, away from her mother, away from the past that shoved its way up like a demon coming from Hades.
The cold hit Carolyn in the face. Rain pelted her. She held the rail as she hurried downstairs. The screen door stuck. She yanked twice before it creaked open. She flicked the light switch and stood in the sitting room, heart pounding. A whoosh of cold air hit her. It warmed quickly. Mom had opened the vent. Wrapping her arms around herself, Carolyn turned her face into it.
She heard muted voices. Dawn must have awakened. Carolyn thought about going upstairs again, but that might put a damper on their conversation. Mom and Dawn had always been able to talk. Carolyn knew there was more to Dawn’s cross-country trip than she’d said. She didn’t look well at all. Maybe she’d tell her grandmother what she couldn’t tell her mother.
Carolyn turned on the electric blanket before going into the bathroom. She brushed her teeth, then sat on the side of the bed, brushed and braided her hair. Changing quickly into her pajamas, she pulled on a pair of Mitch’s athletic socks and slipped quickly between the warming sheets. Shivering violently, she snuggled down deep into the covers, waiting for the warmth to soak in, while above her, Mom and Dawn went on talking.
Carolyn felt her throat close. Hadn’t it always been this way? How could it be any other way when her daughter had spent the first six years of her life completely dependent on Mom? Carolyn didn’t want to be bitter. She owed Mom gratitude for taking care of Dawn. If not her mother, it would have been some indifferent babysitter earning minimum wage in an overcrowded day care center.
Footsteps crossed the room above her—two pairs this time, one toward the master bedroom, the other toward the refurbished front bedroom. After that, she listened to the storm rattle the windows.
Closing her eyes, Carolyn listened to the surf and wind and rain. She dreamed she was a child again, walking in a forest of mustard flowers. Bees hummed around her, but she wasn’t frightened of them. She came to a barbed-wire fence and climbed through. Her dress caught and tore. She stood behind a white house watching a man in overalls walk among two rows of white boxes on wooden pedestals. He removed a lid, setting it aside, and then carefully and slowly lifted out a wooden frame filled in with honeycomb. Breaking off a piece, he turned and smiled at her. “Come on over, honeybee. I won’t hurt you.”
Carolyn awakened abruptly, heart pounding. It took a few minutes for the dream to recede. Shivering, she turned the electric blanket to ten and pulled the covers over her head.
54
Dawn awakened when the Black Forest cuckoo clock struck three. She curled onto her side, listening to the rain coming down like the cadence of a marching band. She and Granny had talked after Mom went to bed. Granny wanted to know about Jason, and she wondered what Dawn had done with her latest house. Dawn wanted to talk about Granny’s future. After some resistance, Granny gave in.
“You know your mother wanted me to move right after Papa died. It was just too soon to make any changes. And I’ve been fine here by myself.” She let out her breath. “At least until this past year.”
“What happened?”
“Last winter the power went out for five days. If your mom could’ve gotten out here, I would’ve started packing. As soon as the weather improved, your mom and Mitch went to all the trouble of putting in that generator. They had to hire a lawyer. Heaven knows how much they spent on the whole project. It wouldn’t have been much of a thank-you if I’d said ‘Oh, by the way, I’m ready to move now.’ And besides, it can be very nice out here most of the year.”
Dawn grinned. “And you always said Oma was stubborn.”
Granny put her head back. “I didn’t think I was being stubborn. But I guess that’s how it looked. Then after my fall a few months back, your mother brought up the idea again.”
“But you’re ready to move now. Aren’t you?”
“As ready as I’m ever going to be.” Granny glowered. “But I want a place of my own, not a room in some senior care facility.”
“You don’t want to live with anyone, Granny?”
“I don’t want to live with strangers.”
Dawn caught something in Granny’s tone that gave her hope. “What about moving in with Mom and Mitch?”
Granny gave a derisive laugh. “That’s not going to happen.”
“Why n
ot?”
“It just won’t, that’s all. And don’t go asking your mother about it. You’ll just put her in an awkward position.” Granny had changed the subject after that.
Sleepless, Dawn pulled the covers over her shoulders and snuggled down into the flannel sheets. Lord, they never really talk to each other, do they? They love each other, but they don’t see love is shared.
Dawn ran her hand over her belly. Her daughter would be arriving soon. She wanted it to be a time of joy, a chance to come together and celebrate. Dawn didn’t want them at odds with one another, seeing one another through past hurts. The stakes were too high for that now.
Love one another, You said, Lord. Help me show them how.
* * *
Hildie awakened early. The house creaked like a ship adrift in rough seas; the rain still pounded. She had a flashlight on her side table and pointed it at her clock. Six fifteen. Trip had always been first up and started the coffee. Oh, how she missed that man! Trip had been the only man she ever loved.
If she wasn’t careful, she could sink into despair over her losses. She still missed her son, Charlie. She missed Carolyn, too, aching for what might have been. It was too late now. And she would never stop missing Mama—or wishing they had somehow made peace before the end. Dawn had been the light that pulled her up out of the darkness after Charlie was killed and Carolyn came home like a starving waif. Feeling needed, Hildie stepped in, wanting to help. Dawn had been God’s blessing.
Hildie pushed the covers off, tucked her feet into her fuzzy slippers, pulled on her robe, and went into the bathroom. When she finished her morning ablutions, she turned on the lamp in the living room and went into the kitchen to set up the coffeemaker, decaf.
A few minutes later, the back door opened. “I heard you get up.” Carolyn came in, hair in a French braid, and wearing another sweater over her long hippy skirt and leggings, blue this time, the exact shade of her eyes. Trip’s eyes.
Hildie apologized. She hadn’t meant to awaken anyone. In truth, she was glad of the company. “Did you sleep all right?”
“Okay.” She poured herself a cup of coffee.
“Do you realize how long it’s been since you stayed overnight out here?”
“Christmas, before Dad died.” Carolyn sat at the table.
“I want a house, Carolyn, not an apartment or a room.”
Carolyn raised her brows in surprise. “Like the one you and Dad built for Oma?”
Wouldn’t it be nice to have a little house on Carolyn and Mitch’s property? Close enough to be a part of their lives, but not so close she’d be in their way. A dream for her, probably a nightmare for Carolyn. She’d better set her daughter’s mind at ease. “There’s a nice trailer park in Windsor, seniors only, right around the corner from the church.” Why was Carolyn frowning like that?
“Well, we can look there if you like.”
“What’s wrong with that idea?”
“I just can’t see you in a trailer park, Mom.”
No doubt, she’d like it better if her mother were under lock and key with guardians to keep an eye on her. “We had wonderful trips in our trailer.”
“Yes. I guess we did.”
“You guess?”
“It was a travel trailer. Not something to live in.”
“Well, I’m not talking about moving into a travel trailer. I’m talking about one of those double-wides.”
“Okay. Don’t get upset.” Carolyn sipped her coffee. “Did Dawn tell you why she drove out here?”
“She told both of us.”
“Did she give you any other reason why she wanted to do something as foolish as drive cross-country in winter when she’s about to have a baby?”
“Being with family isn’t foolish, Carolyn. It’s a good enough reason, if you ask me.” She had thanked God countless times Carolyn came home when she did. They might never have known what happened to her otherwise, though at times she wondered if she knew much of anything about her daughter.
“I hope so.”
“I wouldn’t worry too much.” Carolyn had always been overly sensitive. “A girl usually wants her husband or mother around when her time comes.” A shadow flickered across her daughter’s face, and Hildie felt a twinge of remorse. She had sent Carolyn to Boots. Hildie had cried buckets over that decision, but she and Trip knew it was the only way to protect Carolyn from all the gossip. They’d both been depressed for ages after she left. They’d lost Charlie in Vietnam. They’d no sooner gotten their daughter back than they had to send her away. It had hurt even more believing she would give up their only grandchild for adoption.
When Boots told them Carolyn wanted to keep the baby, Hildie had been overjoyed. Boots said she’d love to have Carolyn live with her, but Hildie wanted her daughter back. She wanted to hold her grandchild. She told Trip she wanted to quit nursing and stay home. They didn’t need the money, and Carolyn would need help. They sat down and laid out a plan to help their daughter recover from the lost years in Haight-Ashbury. They wouldn’t ask questions. They’d leave the past behind them. And Carolyn had done so well. She’d finished college and excelled in the real estate office.
Hildie thought they’d go on as they were. It had been a shock when Carolyn said she wanted to move out. Hildie had seen something in her eyes. Her daughter couldn’t wait to get away from them. And, oh, the pain, when she had to give up Dawn.
“The sun’s coming up,” Carolyn said. “Not that we can see much of it through the clouds.”
“More rain through today and tomorrow.” Hildie sipped her lukewarm coffee. “I’m a little worried we’ll run out of propane. The truck is supposed to try again on Monday.”
Carolyn got up. “‘Through waves and clouds and storms, He gently clears the way.’ Let’s hope the roads are open on Monday.” She took the carafe from the coffeemaker. “Would you like your coffee warmed up?”
“One cup is about all I can handle these days.”
Carolyn replenished her own. “Didn’t Dad buy presto logs?”
“They’re under the garage.”
“I’ll bring some up, just in case.” She sat again. “I should take a look at what’s under there anyway.”
“Why don’t you wear a pair of my pants so you don’t ruin your nice skirt? Take a look in my closet.” While Carolyn went to see about the pants, Hildie took out eggs and bacon. Carolyn came into the kitchen wearing a pair of red polyester slacks that hit midcalf. What a difference four inches in height could make. Hildie laughed. “High-water pants.”
“Clam-diggers.” Carolyn laughed with her.
Dawn opened the accordion door. Hair mussed, bleary-eyed, and pale, she wore a pair of white athletic socks and Trip’s old navy blue terry-cloth bathrobe. Her blue eyes still looked shadowed with exhaustion. Carolyn greeted her before getting her jacket and going out the door.
“Where are you going, Mom? Aren’t you having breakfast with us?”
“I’m going to check under the garage, bring up some presto logs for a fire.”
Hildie turned bacon in the frying pan. “Forget the presto logs for now, Carolyn. Just open the safe downstairs and bring up whatever’s inside.” She told her the combination. “If I’m going to be downsizing, a good place to start is some of the jewelry I’ve been keeping locked up and never wear.”
Carolyn went out into the rain. Dawn eased into a chair, rested her elbow on the window, and looked out at the glutted Russian River.
Hildie studied her granddaughter. It was such a pleasure having Dawn under her roof again. “It is a beautiful view, even in flood season, isn’t it, honey?”
Silent, Dawn rubbed her back in an abstracted manner.
“You okay, honey?” In the morning light, Hildie noticed even more clearly the signs that something was wrong. Other than her swollen abdomen, the girl was skin and bones. Was she just worried, anxious about Jason and the baby they’d both hoped and prayed for, for so long?
“Hmmm? Oh.” Dawn smiled,
still distracted. “Just tired.”
“Thinking about Jason?”
“I think about Jason all the time, Granny. I miss him so much, especially now. But God is using him where he is. Two guys in his unit have become Christians.”
“You picked a good man, Dawn.”
“I won’t be able to e-mail him until I get back to town. He’ll be worried. I should’ve thought of that.”
“Georgia will let him know you’re fine.”
“Jason didn’t know I was coming home.”
Hildie found that information disturbing. “I should’ve come into town instead of having you drive all the way out here. We could have been warm as toast in Alexander Valley. And you could’ve kept in touch with your husband.”
“I wanted to be out here.”
“At least someone besides me loves the place.”
“I didn’t want any interruptions.”
Troubled, Hildie looked at her, but before she could ask what was going on, Carolyn came back in the door with a stack of papers and a box covered with flowery contact paper. “Set it over there on the counter, Carolyn. We’ll go through everything after breakfast.”
* * *
Carolyn watched May Flower Dawn pick at her food. Her blue eyes didn’t have any sparkle, and her cheeks were pale. “Didn’t you sleep at all last night, Dawn?”
“I couldn’t shut off my mind.”
Her mother offered more toast. “She’s been thinking about Jason.”
“Not surprising.” Carolyn took a piece and buttered it. “The whole church is praying for him. So are we.” Carolyn noticed Dawn grimace. “Are you having contractions?”
Dawn rubbed her sides. “She’s running out of room in there.”
Carolyn folded her hands and watched her daughter closely. “You’re sure the baby is a girl?”
“She would’ve had a sonogram, Carolyn. Of course, she knows.”
“I knew long before that, Granny. I had a dream about her. She was running and playing along the edge of the surf at Goat Rock Beach.” She smiled at Carolyn. “And you and Granny were sitting together on the sand, talking like good friends.”