Her Daughter’s Dream

52

Hildemara picked up the phone and punched in Carolyn’s number. Her son-in-law answered. “Mitch, I don’t know if you’ve heard, but Dawn’s home. She’s staying with Georgia Steward.”

“I know. She called me at the office a little while ago. I’ll get Carolyn.” He put her on hold. His abruptness surprised her.

Hildie chewed her lip. She pulled out a chair at the kitchen nook table and sat staring out at the Russian River. It was running high, as it often did this time of year. Hildie hunched deeper into her terry-cloth bathrobe.

Winters had always been too long out here on the coast, but bearable as long as Trip had been with her. Then, even if the roads closed and phone and power lines went down, Hildie hadn’t been alone. She and Trip joked about “roughing it” without lights, heat, television, or stove, like it was a grand adventure.

The sense of adventure died with Trip. While Hildie was still reeling from Trip’s death, Carolyn suggested Hildie sell the house and move into town. It had seemed utterly insensitive. Give up the Jenner house? after all the work Trip had put into it? He’d spent five years-and more money than they’d paid for the place-improving it and bringing it up to his standards. Throwing it all away seemed disloyal. She said as much to Carolyn, and her daughter didn’t mention moving again until a few months ago, after Hildie had taken a fall.

This year, winter had become a black hole sucking Hildie down into a vortex of despair. The last time Carolyn came out “for a visit,” she broached the subject of moving again. Hildie told her no. When Carolyn tried to keep talking about it, Hildie ignored her and turned on the television. Carolyn didn’t say anything for a long time. Hildie felt guilty and uncomfortable with the silence, but she didn’t know any other way to get her point across. Sure, she was almost eighty-seven, but so what? She still had all her faculties. She didn’t need to be put away. “All right, Mom,” Carolyn said after fifteen minutes. “Have it your way.” She left two residential care facility brochures sitting like cemetery contracts on the coffee table.

Unease filled Hildemara. Had Carolyn called Dawn and enlisted her help in getting old Granny to give up her home and move? Why else would her granddaughter fly to California when she was eight months pregnant and then insist the three of them get together at Jenner and talk? Hildemara felt her anger boiling.

“Mom?” Carolyn sounded breathless. “Are you all right?”

“Why wouldn’t I be all right?”

“You never call unless something’s wrong.”

Was that true? When had she last called Carolyn? two weeks? a month? “Nothing is wrong. Not unless you said something to Dawn about trying to move me into an old folks’ home. She’s here.”

“At Jenner?” Carolyn sounded shocked.

“No. Not Jenner. In town. She’s staying with Georgia. She called a few minutes ago. She wants you to come to Jenner so the three of us can talk.”

“I don’t understand. Is it the baby?”

“She said she’s fine.”

“This isn’t about Jason, is it? If she’s with Georgia-”

“She sounded fine. She wouldn’t be fine if anything had happened to Jason. Just pack and get out here. Dawn said she wouldn’t come to Jenner until you arrive. I don’t know what that’s all about.” Hildie could hear Mitch saying something in the background.

“The roads are terrible, Mom. Mitch can come out and bring you back here. I could pick up Dawn.”

“Didn’t you hear what I said? We need to meet here, at Jenner.” Hildie knew she sounded angry and impatient, but she didn’t want Carolyn wasting any more time.

“It can’t always be the way you want it.”

Hildie hated that phrase. Mama used to say it. “It’s not my way. It’s Dawn’s way.”

Carolyn sighed. “I’ll be on the road in half an hour.”

“I’ll call Dawn and let her know.” Hildie hung up, flipped through her address book, and punched in Jason’s old number. Georgia answered and said Dawn was sleeping and could she take a message. “Tell Dawn her mom is on her way out here. Jason is all right, isn’t he?”

“Jason’s fine. He e-mailed Dawn yesterday.”

“Thank God.” Hildie felt some relief, but then had to ask, “And the baby?”

“Dawn is as big as a house. Hang on a second. She’s awake.” Hildie heard muffled voices, then Georgia again. “Dawn will head out to Jenner in an hour.”

“Tell her to be careful. The weather is mean.”

As soon as Hildie got off the telephone, she opened the wooden accordion doors into the small bedroom off the kitchen. She had bought a pretty blue and white Laura Ashley comforter and curtains in the hope Carolyn might come out and spend a weekend now and then. No such luck. Dawn could sleep in here and use the nice, new, plush pink towels and pretty seashell soaps. Carolyn could sleep downstairs. Hildie switched on the lamp before leaving the room. The glow could be seen outside through the lacy sheer curtains. She liked the house to look like a Thomas Kinkade painting.

She debated turning on the downstairs thermostat, then decided to wait until after Carolyn arrived. Propane was expensive, and the delivery truck had gotten stuck on a nearby ranch, delaying the refilling of her tank.

How could she be so tired after doing so little? She sat in her recliner and put her feet up. Oh, for heaven’s sake! She was still wearing her fuzzy slippers and bathrobe! Maybe she was entering her dotage.

Slamming the recliner, she headed for the bathroom and turned on the electric wall heater. She put on her shower cap and washed, rinsed, and stepped out of the tub in under five minutes. Toweling dry before the heater, she pulled on her white silk Cuddl Duds leggings, a long-sleeved T-shirt, and the red velour pantsuit Carolyn had given her for Christmas. She brushed tangles from her gray hair. Carolyn had treated her to a perm three months ago. Wash-and-wear hair, her friend Marsha called it. They’d been neighbors until Marsha’s daughter flew out, packed her up, and took her back to Colorado Springs. No old folks’ home for Marsha. Her daughter insisted she move in with her family. Hildie tossed the brush in the drawer and banged it shut.

Standing in the living room, Hildie looked at the Russian River flowing wide and muddy, swollen and treacherous, from heavy rains. Rain hit the window like pebbles tossed against the glass. Surf pounded in the distance. She hadn’t been to the beach since Trip’s heart condition worsened. “My wings are clipped,” he’d said. So were hers. She hadn’t wanted to leave him alone, and he’d been irritated by his limitations. No more fishing in the surf. No more volunteer work at the visitors’ center. No long walks up the hill for the panoramic view of the coastline.

Now, the closest Hildie came to the beach was the wide spot on the curve of Highway 1 where she parked her Buick Regal and used Trip’s binoculars to watch the sea lions on the other side of the river. Her big outing these days was walking down the hill to the post office in a trailer next door to the Jenner Gift Shop. And going to the Guerneville Safeway store every two weeks for groceries.

How long could she manage that steep walk? She didn’t like to go when the road was wet and slick. How long before she would have to give up driving?

It galled her that Carolyn was right. She was getting too old to live alone.

The last time she had seen Dr. Kirk, he’d told her she had a strong heart and she’d probably live to be a hundred. Considering how difficult it was for her to get around now, the prospect had been annoying.

She picked up the information Carolyn had left and looked at the glossy photos. If she moved into one of those facilities, would she see more or less of Carolyn? Since Trip had died, Carolyn had called once a week. Duty calls, right up there with the groceries Carolyn brought every two weeks, not that Hildie needed them. With professional attendants keeping watch, her daughter wouldn’t need to check on her.

What Hildie needed and wanted was a relationship with her daughter. After so many years, it was just wishing for the moon. She’d never known how to bridge the gap to Carolyn any more than she’d ever been able to make a bridge to Mama.

Depressed, Hildie tossed the brochures on the coffee table. So be it, Lord. If Carolyn wants to put me away, I’ll let her. Maybe it’d be the one thing she did that finally made her daughter happy.

Carolyn hung up the telephone and turned to Mitch. His gaze slid away from hers. He poured himself a cup of coffee. “I can take care of everything here, Carolyn. You don’t have to worry about anything.”

“Have you talked to Dawn?”

“Briefly.”

“What’s going on, Mitch?”

“She wants you to meet her out at Jenner.”

“Why?”

He set his cup down and took her in his arms. “She’s been away from home a long time, Carolyn. She wants time alone with the two women she loves most in the world.”

“Why now? Why out there?” Pushing away from him, she headed for the master bedroom. He said her name, dumped his coffee, and followed. She felt him watching her as she took her small duffel bag from the closet and threw it on the bed. When had Dawn arrived? today? yesterday? Why had she gone to Georgia instead of coming home? Was something wrong? Carolyn packed two tunic sweaters and two pairs of leggings that coordinated with her tiered skirt. Jenner would be cold. She added socks, cashmere scarves, and a flannel nightgown. What else did she need? She went into the bathroom for her toothbrush, toothpaste, brush, and deodorant, stuffing them into a cosmetics bag.

Mitch stood in the doorway, watching her. “You’d better take a raincoat and umbrella. It’s pouring.” He didn’t say anything else, and she worried even more. He looked grim, hands shoved in his pockets.

He took her duffel bag and walked her to the garage. “Take the Suburban.” She didn’t argue. She took the keys from the hook and tossed her coat and umbrella onto the passenger seat. Before she could slip in and get away, Mitch turned her around. “She loves you, you know.”

“I know, Mitch, but given a choice, she always goes to someone else.”

Mitch held her shoulders firmly, not letting her turn away. “Don’t make her choose, Carolyn. Love the two of them the way Jesus loves you.”

“I do.”

“Maybe you should stop stuffing your feelings. Talk to them.”

“What would that do, other than make things worse?”

“You won’t know unless you try.” Mitch gave her a tender, lopsided smile. “No kiss?” She went into his arms and held on tight. She burrowed her face against his chest until she had control of her emotions. “I love you, Carolyn. I wouldn’t let you go out there if I didn’t think it was important. Call me.”

“The phones might go out. You know how it is.”

“Stay put when you get to Jenner. Don’t come back until it’s over.” Mitch shut the door as she settled into the driver’s seat. He raised his hand as though in blessing.

Carolyn had been watching the news and knew not to take East Side Road. Wohler Bridge was underwater. She took the freeway south and headed west on River Road. Wind-whipped eucalyptus trees cast debris on the road, filling the air with their pungent scent. She slowed, driving cautiously through flooded areas. She drove between hills covered with oak and pine, wound through groves of towering redwoods, root-locked against wind and rising water. Madrones dressed in red bark and green leaves hugged steep hillsides draped with fern boas.

Carolyn pulled into the Safeway parking lot in Guerneville, threw on her raincoat, and ran for the front door. Mom probably hadn’t been able to get to the grocery store since the storm hit, and now she would have company for who knew how long. She quickly filled a cart with milk, vegetables, meat, and cookies. Shelves were emptying fast. “Everyone’s picking up supplies for the next storm.” The checker weighed broccoli and slid it across to the bagger. “Good thing, too. I hear another one is coming in this afternoon.”

On the road again, Carolyn slowed through low areas where runoff had collected. Mitch was right. The Jag never would have made it. The river raged to her left, swollen and boiling with debris. The houses along the bank were flooded. How long before the road was closed?

As she headed up Willig Drive, she had to stop and drag part of an old apple tree off the road. Drenched, she climbed back into the Suburban and drove the last hundred yards. The old redwood on the corner of Mom’s property had dropped piles of small branches. Carolyn pulled around its massive trunk and parked parallel to the house.

The gate was locked. Carolyn dumped her duffel bag and rang the bell, then returned to the car to unload the groceries. She set down the first three plastic bags and went back for the rest. Shivering, she rang the bell again. Maybe Georgia had dropped Dawn off already, and she and Mom were too busy talking to hear the bell.

The door slammed. “All right! I’m coming!” The latch clicked and the heavy gate swung open. Mom held an umbrella. She looked at the bags of groceries. “I didn’t tell you to bring anything.”

“I just picked up a few things on the way through Guerneville.”

“It looks like you shopped for a week!”

“Could we discuss this inside? I’m soaked and freezing.”

Her mother took two bags and headed for the back door, leaving Carolyn to bring everything else after she closed the gate and latched it. “Is Dawn here yet?”

“No.” Mom shook off the umbrella at the back door. “I don’t know what I’m going to do with all these groceries, Carolyn. I don’t have a big Deepfreeze like you do, you know.”

Carolyn’s frustration rose like a tide. She let it crest and recede as she put the laden bags on the counter. When would she learn her mother wanted nothing from her? “I’ll take care of it.” She wondered if her mother ate the home-cooked, packaged meals she brought out every two weeks. Probably not.

“Dawn will be in the blue room. Take your things downstairs.”

Carolyn hadn’t even been in the house two minutes and already felt unwelcome. “Okay.” She went back into the cold rain. It was warmer than the kitchen.

The apartment was as chilly as a meat locker. Carolyn’s breath puffed steam as she dumped her bag on the end of the queen-size bed with its chintz spread. At least it had an electric blanket. She could hear Mom tromping around upstairs in the kitchen, probably unloading the bags. Carolyn hurried upstairs. Mom looked annoyed. “Potatoes, carrots, turnips, rutabagas, celery, onions, canned tomatoes… Let me guess. You want to make stone soup.”

Carolyn nudged her aside and took out round steak. “It’s good for a cold, rainy day like this, don’t you think?”

“And a lot of work, but you go right ahead if that’s what you want. What does it matter that it’s my house and I might have other plans.”

“Did you?”

“That’s not the point. I was getting around to it.” Her mother sat at the kitchen nook table. “Go ahead.” She waved her hand and looked out the window. “I’m just a little out of sorts today.”

“What time did Dawn say she was coming?”

“She’ll be here any minute.”

Carolyn put the milk, eggs, bacon, and cheese into the refrigerator. “What’s this all about, Mom?” She rummaged in a drawer for a potato peeler and paring knife.

“I thought you knew.”

“Me?” Carolyn felt confused. “You called me.”

Her mother looked disgruntled. “Are you sure you haven’t said anything to her about pressuring me to move?”

“I’m not pressuring you. And no, I haven’t discussed it with Dawn.”

Carolyn let the silence settle as she rinsed potatoes and carrots. How long before her mother realized she couldn’t stay out here alone, miles from a grocery store and medical care? She’d lost power for five days last winter! Mitch had to fight with the Coastal Commission to put in a generator. Not that she’d ever thanked him.

Carolyn dumped peels into the coffee can under the sink. The meat browned in an iron skillet while she diced vegetables. Her mother hadn’t said a word in thirty minutes. Carolyn wanted to suggest her mother think about moving in with her and Mitch. They had plenty of room. Mom could have the never-used maid’s quarters. The apartment had a nice bedroom, private bathroom, sitting room, and kitchenette. Her mother wouldn’t even have to eat at the same table with them if she didn’t want to. But Carolyn knew better. Her mother would make some lame excuse about not wanting to be a burden. If May Flower Dawn wasn’t there, Mom had no interest in being there either.

Still, she needed to make amends. Carolyn sat at the nook table. “I never meant to hurt your feelings, Mom. I worry about you out here all by yourself.” She didn’t want to remind her of the fall that had left her limping for weeks.

Her mother looked like a little girl lost. “Do you?”

“Yes. Especially this time of the year. If this rain keeps up, the roads will close. What if something happened?”

“I haven’t fallen again.” Hildie looked toward the back door. “I hope Dawn gets here soon.”

Dawn. Mom’s only concern.

Carolyn let the hurt slide like water off a gull’s back and admonished herself for wishing Mom could make a little space in her heart for her. Life didn’t always work out the way you wished. At least she had Mitch and Christopher. “I forgot to call Mitch. My cell phone won’t work out here. Do you mind if I use your phone?”

“Go ahead.”

Carolyn lifted the receiver. Nothing. She checked the cord, just to be sure it hadn’t been unplugged accidentally. “Too late. The phone lines are down.”

“Here comes a car. Do you think it could be Dawn?” Mom headed for the door, flipping on the porch light before going out with her umbrella.

Carolyn shoved the chair back and followed. Mom had left her standing in the rain for five minutes, but now opened the gate and stood waiting with the umbrella as May Flower Dawn drove up the hill. Carolyn stood under the gate overhang as her daughter parked.

Mom didn’t wait for Dawn to get out of the car before going out and making sure she was protected from the rain. Carolyn could barely catch a glimpse of her daughter as she maneuvered herself out of the front seat. “Well, look at you!” Mom laughed. They hugged. They chattered.

Carolyn shivered, rain dripping down the back of her neck. Wrapping her arms around herself to ward off the chill, she waited for them to remember her.

Not surprisingly, it was Dawn who did. She stepped out of her grandmother’s embrace and came to Carolyn. “I’m so glad you came.”

“Why wouldn’t I?” Carolyn smiled, feeling teary at the sight of her daughter. “You’re looking in full bloom.” Dawn and Jason had waited a long time for this baby. It was a time for joy. When Dawn threw her arms around her, she gave a soft gasp.

Dawn held tight. “I’ve been dreaming about this for days.”

Carolyn lifted a tentative hand to her daughter’s back, disturbed by the embrace. It wasn’t their usual way. “Of coming home to Jenner?”

Dawn drew back and gave a wobbly smile. “Of having a few days alone with you and Granny. I…” She wiped rain from her face-or was she crying? “I’m just so happy!”

“Well, that’s good, honey, but you’re getting wet.” Carolyn’s mother looped her arm around Dawn and herded her through the gate. “Let’s get you inside where it’s warm.” She glanced over her shoulder. “Are you coming?”

Carolyn supposed that was as warm an invitation as she would get.

Dawn smelled something wonderful when she walked in the back door. “Stone soup!” She hadn’t had it in over a year.

Granny chuckled, hazel eyes bright with joy. “You’d better be hungry. Your mother made enough to feed an army.” She took Dawn’s bag. “You’re sleeping in the blue room, honey. I don’t want you having to go out in the rain, and those stairs can be awfully slick. We can’t have any accidents.” She set the bag inside the bedroom, then drew Dawn into the living room. “Why did you rent a car? Someone could have met you at the airport.” Granny sat in her recliner.

Dawn eased her body onto the faded blue sofa. “It’s not a rental. It’s my car.”

Mom sat in one of the swivel chairs near the fireplace. “You drove?”

“Yep.” Dawn tried to make light of it.

“All the way across country in winter?” Granny stared at her. “In your condition?”

Dawn felt the tears coming. “I wanted to come home.” She bowed her head and ran her hand over her swollen belly. “Don’t ask me why. I know it was crazy. I just packed and came.” She raised her head and smiled at her mom first, then Granny. “I want to have my baby here.”

Granny frowned. “In Jenner?”

Dawn giggled. “No, Granny. In California, in Healdsburg or Santa Rosa. I want to be close to family and friends.” She wasn’t ready to talk about everything, not five minutes after she’d arrived, maybe not tonight or tomorrow morning either. “I didn’t want to be alone.”

“Well, that makes perfect sense.” Granny leaned back, making herself comfortable. “When the baby is born, you can come out here and stay until Jason comes home. Then you can fly back to New Jersey to meet him.” Granny, taking over again. Mom didn’t argue. Dawn sensed the hurt she tried to hide and gave her an apologetic smile. “I hope you can get your money back for the airline tickets, Mom. It was important I be with both of you.”

“Well, of course, it is.” Granny nodded. “Your mom understands. This is where you belong.”

Granny meant with her, at Jenner. Dawn saw that’s the way her mother understood it, too, and spoke quietly. “I don’t want to be in between anymore.”

Granny frowned. “What do you mean ‘in between’?”

“Between you and Mom.” Dawn glanced from one to the other. “We three have a lot to talk about.”

Granny’s expression soured. “I should’ve known. Dawn drives all the way across country in the winter, and you say you don’t know a thing about it.” Granny glared at Mom. “I suppose you want me to believe you didn’t tell her you’ve been after me to sell and move.”

“I didn’t.”

“I don’t believe you!”

Mom hunched her shoulders and looked away, fixing her gaze somewhere outside the window. How many times had Dawn seen this happen before? Anytime an argument arose between her and Granny, Mom pulled inside herself like a turtle in its shell. The only one who had ever been able to coax her out was Mitch, and he kept Mom’s confidences.

“Mom didn’t say anything to me, Granny. This is the first I’ve heard of any discussion of you leaving Jenner.”

“You don’t have to pretend, Dawn.” Rain blasted the window, even as the storm in Granny’s eyes grew.

“Are you going to accuse me of lying, too?”

“It’s all right, Dawn. Don’t put yourself in the middle. I think I’ll see about dinner.” Mom got up slowly and went into the kitchen, closing the door behind herself.

Dawn hurt inside. This wasn’t the beginning she wanted. She looked at Granny sadly. “I wouldn’t lie to you and neither would Mom.” She held out her hand. Granny took it. “But now that you’ve brought it up, it might be time to think about moving.” She squeezed Granny’s hand before she let go and pushed herself up. She didn’t want Mom hiding in the kitchen.

“Just leave her alone.” Granny gave a weary sigh. “She’ll come back when she’s ready.”

“I need to use the bathroom.” Dawn rubbed the small of her back. “I hope you’ll apologize when she comes back.” God, You got me all the way across the country. Please get me through this, too!

When she came out of the bathroom, Mom sat at the kitchen nook table, face in her hands. Granny still sat in the corner recliner in the living room. Dawn felt the tears rise again; she hadn’t been here fifteen minutes and she was right back in the middle. Granny’s head lifted as Dawn stepped toward the living room. “Come on in and sit down, Dawn.”

“Why don’t you come in here, Granny? I’ll fix some tea.”

Granny glowered at both of them. “I don’t want to talk about moving.”

“Why not?”

“Look around.” Granny’s shoulders slumped. “And I’m not talking about the million-dollar view. I’m talking about-” she waved her hand like a white flag-“everything.”

Dawn understood. “I have to pare down every time Jason and I move, Granny. I pick what means the most and sell or give away the rest.”

“Well, it all means something to me, honey. There’s a story behind everything in this house. You know how much Papa loved this place. It was his last big project.” Granny’s eyes grew moist as she looked at Mom. “It might not mean anything to you, Carolyn, but Dawn understands.”

Mom didn’t even try to defend herself.

“I understand, Granny, but Papa wouldn’t want you living here alone.” She didn’t let Granny’s look of hurt silence her. “If you wait too long, someone else will have to make all the decisions-what to keep, what to throw away.”

Granny got up. “Well, that would be fine with me. When I’m dead, I won’t care anymore.” She dumped her tea in the sink. “Have it your way, Carolyn. If you’re that set on getting me out of this house, go on down to the garage and get started sorting.” She slammed her mug on the counter. “I’m going to turn on the TV and see how bad this storm is going to be.” Granny went into the living room.

Dawn sighed. “I’m sorry, Mom. I was trying to help.”

Mom shrugged. “It’s not your fault. It is overwhelming.”

Dawn smiled at her. “What was that you used to say? First things first.”

“One day at a time.”

“Granny loves you, Mom.”

Mom made a soft sound of doubt, got up, and put her mug carefully on the counter. “I think I’ll take advantage of the moment.” She took her jacket by the door and went out.

Dawn went into the living room. Granny tipped her recliner up and peered around her. “Your mother isn’t leaving, is she?”

“Would you care if she did?”

“Of course, I’d care.” She started to push herself up from the chair.

“It’s all right, Granny. She’s going to the garage.”

“Why?”

“You told her to get started, didn’t you?”

Granny sank back in her chair. “I didn’t mean now.” She frowned. “It’s freezing out there. It’ll be dark soon.”

“She’s not going anywhere, Granny. I think she just needs to be alone for a while.”

“She’s always preferred her own company.”

Dawn sat on the couch. Sonoma County was on the national news. “Another storm coming in tonight…” Aerial film crews showed the Russian River at flood level. The vineyards around Wohler Bridge were underwater. So were the ones near the Korbel Winery. The roads had closed. The river had risen high enough to close the Safeway in Guerneville.

53

Shivering, Carolyn stood in the garage, surveying the massive project ahead of her. Dad’s white Buick Regal still took up half the garage. Mom had forgotten to take the keys out of the ignition. Carolyn backed the car out of the garage and parked it behind Dawn’s car.

Shelves lined the walls. One section displayed canned vegetables and soups; jars of peanut butter, jelly, and jam; cans of tuna; and boxes of macaroni and cheese. Another rack of shelves held small appliances in their original boxes and enough Costco plastic-wrapped boxes of Kleenex, toilet paper, and paper towels to last a year. Carolyn set a kerosene lamp near the door. They might need it. Cabinets lined the back wall: one held shelves of vases in all shapes and sizes; another Korbel champagne, Johnnie Walker Scotch, bottles of Mondavi cabernet sauvignon, Wente Brothers zinfandel and chardonnay, all dusty. The devil prowls like a lion. After more than thirty years of sobriety, Carolyn felt the sharp urge to drown her sorrows.

She still attended AA meetings, but Cornerstone Christian Church filled another gap in her life. It had started with Pastor Daniel’s compassion the day Dad died. Then Georgia openly shared her life on the streets before God got ahold of her. Others with less-than-pristine pasts rejoiced over restored lives and made others, still struggling, welcome. Carolyn made friends, though she never let anyone as close as Chel, with whom she had shared all her secrets, even the one she had never told Mitch.

Why was she thinking about all that now?

Carolyn looked over Dad’s tools, mounted neatly above his worktable, all rusting in the sea air. She counted five boxes tucked in the rafters. She set up the ladder, pulled her tiered skirt up between her legs and tucked it into her leather belt, and climbed. Brushing away cobwebs, she brought them down one by one. She was warm by the time she lined the boxes on the cement floor. Mom had labeled each: Family Pictures, Clothing, Trip, China/FRAGILE, and Mama.

Carolyn pulled open the top flaps of the box marked Mama and drew out a hand-crocheted granny-square afghan. It reeked of damp and mold, holes eaten away by mice or rats. She folded it into the garbage can, annoyed that Oma’s labor of love had been stuffed in a box to rot. Next was a shoe box. Carolyn uttered a soft gasp when she found Oma’s leather journal on top of bundles of thin, folded airmail letters with Swiss stamps. She took out the journal and carefully opened it. A picture slipped out and fell on the floor: Oma sitting on a chair holding a baby, a little boy beside her, and a tall, blond, very handsome man in a dark suit standing behind them. He was holding a little brown-haired girl and had his other hand on Oma’s shoulder. Carolyn picked up the picture and turned it over. Winnipeg, 1919.

“Mom?” Dawn stood in the doorway, bundled in a down coat. “Please come back inside.”

“I was just going through a few boxes.” She tucked the picture back into Oma’s journal and glanced around. “It is going to be a big job.”

“Not one you can finish tonight. Granny fixed corn bread. The table is set for dinner. We can bring in a few boxes and go through them later, if you’d like.” She examined one of them. “Might be kind of fun.”

Carolyn put Oma’s journal on top of the shoe box and stacked them on the box labeled Family Pictures. May Flower Dawn lifted the box marked Trip. They carried the two boxes into the house and put them in the living room. “It’ll just take me a minute to get the others.” When she’d stacked the other boxes in the middle of the living room, she washed her hands in the kitchen sink before sitting down with May Flower Dawn and her mother, who gave the blessing.

Carolyn put her napkin on her lap. “I found Oma’s journal.”

“My inheritance.” Her mother snorted, scooping stone soup into bowls. “She gave Rikka a few pieces of jewelry. She’d already given Bernie her car. Cloe earns a stipend for handling the college trust Mama set up. I got her recipe book and a box of letters, written in German.” She set a bowl in front of Dawn and filled another for Carolyn.

Dawn took a spoonful of soup and smiled. “Yummy.” She glanced across at Carolyn. “It’s not just a collection of recipes, Granny. When we visited her, Oma gave it to me to read one night. She told me she only wrote important things that made a difference in her life: tips on how to keep a house, yes, and some recipes, but also quotes from people she met, important dates like when you were born and the circumstances, ranch schedules, a funny poem a boy wrote about Summer Bedlam, her thoughts on life. It’s wonderful. It defines her. I’d love to read it again.” She looked at Carolyn. “She sent me a journal after that visit. Remember?”

“You sent her a diploma.” Carolyn smiled, pleased to know that week had meant something to May Flower Dawn, that those few days in Merced had left her daughter with fond memories of Oma.

“The journal she sent me is leather and has my name engraved in gold. May Flower Dawn. I have it with me. I think of Oma every time I open it. I followed Oma’s lead. I didn’t write a lot of teenage nonsense in it. I wrote goals, favorite Scriptures, meaningful dates, places Jason and I have lived, dreams…” She smiled wistfully. “I wish I’d known Oma better. Oma’s journal meant more to her than jewelry, a car, or money, Granny. She gave you the best of herself.”

Carolyn’s mother looked surprised-and a little perplexed.

The lights flickered and went out, enclosing them in complete darkness. “Wow.” Dawn’s voice sounded louder in the inky wrapping. “I can’t see my hand in front of my face.”

Carolyn hated the darkness. “I forgot the kerosene lantern in the garage. Where’s a flashlight?”

“In one of the kitchen drawers, under the dish cabinets-middle I think-but the batteries are probably dead.”

Carolyn fumbled around in the darkness, opening drawers and feeling through contents.

“Just wait a minute, Carolyn. Or did you forget you and Mitch put in a generator? There it goes.” A distant whir sounded, and then noise.

Dawn laughed. “No muffler on that baby.”

The lights came on. Relieved, Carolyn returned to her seat. Her mother sat calmly, hands folded on the table. “I don’t think I ever thanked you, did I?”

“No. You didn’t. But then we didn’t ask your permission either.” If they couldn’t get her to move, they’d make sure she had heat and power. Four thousand dollars, not to mention the money spent on a lawyer who took over the fight with the Coastal Commission, and not one word of thanks until now.

After clearing and washing the dishes, Carolyn joined her daughter and mother in the living room. She hesitated on the threshold when she saw them on the couch, May Flower Dawn holding her granny’s hand on her abdomen. They spoke in whispers. Biting her lip, Carolyn stepped back. She felt like an intruder. Mom glanced up and frowned. “Why are you standing there? Come feel the baby moving.”

Carolyn treaded carefully around the stacked boxes and knelt in front of them. Dawn took her hand and placed it on her abdomen. Carolyn didn’t feel anything. Dawn sighed. “Little Miss must have fallen asleep again.” Carolyn rose and sat in the yellow swivel rocker.

Her mother pushed herself up and settled into her recliner. “This is nice, having the two of you here, together.”

Dawn grinned. “Three girls on a sleepover.” She winced in pain and shifted on the couch until she looked more comfortable. Carolyn remembered the final month of pregnancy when her babies had pressed against her rib cage and bore down on her pelvis. The last month was the hardest.

Dawn yawned. She looked so tired.

“Why don’t you go to bed, May Flower Dawn?”

“It’s only eight, Carolyn.”

“She looks exhausted, Mom.”

“I’m not ready for bed yet.” Dawn gave them both a tired smile. “I want to sit and visit.”

“You can lie down and visit.” Carolyn got up and lifted Dawn’s legs onto the couch. “Your ankles are swollen.” Dawn murmured a weary thank-you and said not to worry. Carolyn tucked a needlepoint pillow under her head and draped a soft, white knitted blanket over her. She brushed a wayward strand of blonde hair back from her daughter’s face. She was perspiring. “Do you have a fever?”

Dawn took her hand. “Relax, Mom. It’s a lot of work carrying around an extra thirty pounds.”

Carolyn took her seat and watched Dawn fall asleep. She snored softly. “I guess she is tired.” After a few minutes, she fidgeted in her chair. She felt night fold tight around them, the glass their only barrier against it. “I guess we could go through the boxes.”

“I don’t want to go through those boxes.” Her mother shook her head. “Not tonight. Besides, Dawn would probably get a kick out of it.” She rubbed her leg as though it ached. “You stood in the doorway just now. Why do you do that?”

“Do what?”

“Stand outside a door, peer around corners, listen in.”

Carolyn felt the words like a slap. “Like a sneaky little mouse, you mean. Like I’m planning to steal a bit of cheese?”

Mom looked shocked. “No.” She shook her head. “Like you don’t belong. Like you’re waiting for an invitation.”

“I was told to stay out.”

“Who told you that?”

Why not tell the truth? Mom never spared her feelings. “You did. You said you never wanted me anywhere near you.”

“That’s a lie!” Her eyes darkened in anger.

Carolyn pressed her lips together. She should have known better than to say anything.

“I suppose Oma told you that!”

Heat flooded Carolyn. “You always blame Oma for everything, but I remember you yelling right into my face, ‘Get out of here… Get away from me.’ Not Oma.”

“When did I ever do such a thing?”

“It’s the earliest memory I have.”

Mom’s expression changed, as though remembering. “When you brought me a bouquet of flowers…”

“Wildflowers. You didn’t want them.”

“You dropped them. They scattered all over the floor. I picked them up. Oma brought me a vase.”

Picked them up? Put them in a vase? “I never went into your room after that.”

Mom looked stricken. “I was sick, Carolyn. Don’t you remember how sick I was?”

Carolyn didn’t want to go back and visit that time. She wanted to close the trapdoor that had sprung open. She didn’t want to look down into the darkness and see what lay hidden there.

“I had tuberculosis. No one but Dad and Oma were allowed in my room, and they had to take precautions. Do you remember any of that?”

“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 not?”

“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.”

A nice dream. Carolyn cleared dishes. She scraped Dawn’s cold scrambled eggs into the garbage while imagining talking with her mother like that. When had there ever been a time when she hadn’t needed to be careful about every word she said?

Her mother set the pile of papers and box on the table. “Let’s see what we’ve got here.” While Carolyn washed dishes, her mother and Dawn sat at the table, going through papers. “Deed to the house, car and life insurance policies, Social Security cards, wedding and death certificates, living trust, burial arrangements, list of bank accounts…” She fanned the papers, pausing over one. “Oma’s naturalization papers. I forgot I had them. She was so proud when she passed the test.”

Mom set the certificate aside. “Oma said we were the real American citizens. Those born to it didn’t appreciate it. She made us all study as if we had to take the test too, to earn the right to call ourselves Americans. She thought that until Trip went to war and then Charlie…” She picked up an envelope yellowed by age. “The letter from Charlie’s commanding officer…” She held it for a moment and set it aside unopened.

Carolyn dried her hands and picked it up. While her mom opened the box filled with smaller boxes, Carolyn opened the letter and read.

… offer my heartfelt condolences on the death of your son… excellent young man… well-respected by everyone who served with him… could always count on him… brave… a pleasure to know him… will never forget…

Mom lifted out a black velvet box and snapped it open. “Papa gave me these pearls on our twenty-fifth wedding anniversary.” She took them out and handed them to Dawn.

“They’re beautiful.”

“You keep them.”

“I can’t, Granny. They should go to Mom.”

Carolyn folded the letter back into the yellowed envelope and put it on the table. “Granny wants you to have the pearls.”

“You and Mitch gave me pearls for my sixteenth birthday. Remember?”

Carolyn’s mother looked hurt. “I’m not slighting your mother, Dawn. Mitch gave her better pearls than these for Christmas two years ago and a bracelet and earrings to go with them.”

Dawn fingered the necklace. “They’re lovely.” Her eyes grew moist. “Save them for my daughter.”

Her mother closed the box and opened another. Unfolding a lace-trimmed embroidered handkerchief, she showed off a gold, pearl, and jade brooch. “I gave this to Oma on her eightieth birthday. You…” Her voice faltered. “You were gone. Anyway, Oma would want you to have it.”

Touched, Carolyn accepted the box. “I don’t remember ever seeing Oma wear this.”

“She didn’t. Not once. I doubt she ever took it out of the box.” Mom pointed. “That’s real, not cheap costume jewelry. I wanted to give her something special, something she would never buy for herself.”

Carolyn understood all too well. “Like the cashmere shawl I gave you for Christmas a few years ago? or the pendant I gave you for Mother’s Day?”

Mom’s eyes widened. “They’re too special to use for every day.”

Carolyn searched her face. “I thought you didn’t like them.”

“Of course I like them. They’re the nicest gifts I’ve ever received.”

Dawn interrupted. “Maybe Oma felt the same way about the brooch, Granny.”

Mom shook her head. “I thought she’d love it, but she said I’d wasted my money.”

Seeing the sheen of tears in her mother’s eyes, Carolyn took the brooch out of the box. “This is exquisite, Mom. Maybe she was afraid to wear it.” She pinned the brooch to her sweater. “It’s beautiful. I’ll cherish it. Thank you.”

Eyes glistening, Mom gave her a wobbly smile. “You’re welcome.”

Dawn’s blue eyes shone. “Perfect.” She propped her chin in the heels of her hands. “This is exactly what I prayed for all across the country.”

“What?” Carolyn’s mother looked blank.

“That we three could just sit and talk about things that shaped our lives and our relationships.”

Carolyn had spent years sidestepping questions, pushing memories back, training herself to live in the present. Dredging up the past wasn’t her idea of an answer to prayer. She felt her mom’s glance and didn’t meet it.

Dawn rose. “Why don’t we go through the boxes from the garage?” She went into the living room, not waiting for them to follow. “They should be full of memorabilia.”

Carolyn’s mother studied her. “You don’t seem particularly enthused.”

Carolyn hadn’t moved from her seat. “Are you?”

Her mom pushed her chair back, but didn’t get up. “Maybe we should talk about the past, Carolyn. God knows, you’ve been weighed down by it for years. And so have I.”

Was that how she saw it? “There are some things I don’t want Dawn to know.”

“Do you think anything could change how much Dawn loves you?”

“What about you?”

“Me?” Her mom searched her face, comprehension seeping into her eyes. “I’m your mother.” She shook her head. “I wonder if we know one another at all.”

“Are you two coming?” Dawn called from the living room.

Dawn had already opened a box and pulled out a navy blue dress with white cuffs, faded red buttons, and a red belt. “Wow! This looks like old Hollywood, Granny.”

“Your great-aunt Cloe designed and made that for me when I went away to nursing school.”

“You’d get a small fortune for it on eBay now. Clotilde Waltert Renny first design…”

“Hardly the first.”

Carolyn opened the Pictures box and found all the pictures that had once hung inside the front door of the Paxtown home: Charlie in his football uniform, in his cap and gown, with his Army buddies; his Army portrait with the ribbons mounted below. A dozen pictures of Charlie, all framed beautifully. Not one of her. Carolyn rocked back on her heels.

“What’s wrong?” Carolyn’s mother looked from her to the box. “What did you find?”

“Pictures of Charlie.”

Dawn lowered an ashes-of-roses dressing gown. “Are you okay, Mom?”

The hurt rose, squeezing tight around her heart. “I’d better get the presto logs. Just in case the generator goes out.”

Dawn put the dressing gown aside and pulled over the box her mother had opened. “Pictures of Uncle Charlie.” She took out a high school graduation picture. “I remember these. They were on the wall in the Paxtown house.” Every picture was of Charlie, a few of Granny and Papa with him.

“Our memorial wall.”

Granny used to tell her stories about her uncle: how well he played football, baseball, basketball; how popular he had been, how handsome. Mitch had added to her uncle’s legend by telling stories about their teenage angst and antics, things Granny and Papa wouldn’t have known. “Did he and my mom get along?”

“More than got along, honey. She idolized him. They were polar opposites. He always watched out for her. Charlie was outgoing. Your mom was shy. He had lots of friends. She was a loner. Charlie was like my brother, Bernie. Everyone was so taken with him they never noticed his little sister.”

“Mitch told me he had a crush on Mom in high school. He wanted to ask her out, but never got up the nerve. That’s why he came back to Paxtown-to look her up.” Dawn set Uncle Charlie’s picture on the coffee table. “Did you ever meet Mom’s friend, Rachel Altman?”

Granny tilted her head. “So she told you about her.”

“A little.”

“Carolyn brought her home once, just before Charlie went to Vietnam. They were both still attending Berkeley at the time. Rachel came from wealth. She rented a house. That’s when things started to go downhill. They dropped out and disappeared. We didn’t hear from your mother for two years, and then one day, I came home and there she was sitting by the front door.”

Dawn sat on the couch and curled her legs up under her. “Were you angry with her?”

“Angry?”

“She was gone so long. It must have been awful for you and Papa.”

“You can’t even imagine how awful.” Granny sounded distressed. “Don’t ask her about those days. She was worrying just now in the kitchen, thinking it would make a difference in how you feel about her. She doesn’t want to talk about it. We tried a few times to open the subject, but learned to leave well enough alone.”

Dawn wasn’t convinced. “Maybe if she talks about it, it won’t haunt her so much.”

“She put it all behind her and moved on with her life.”

“I’d like to know who my father was.”

Dismayed, Granny shook her head. “Did you ever think she might not know? And asking would just make her feel worse about it.”

“I love her, Granny. No matter what she tells me, that’s not going to change.”

“So do I. That’s why I don’t ask.” Granny’s mouth worked, as though she fought tears. “Just leave things alone. I lost her once; I don’t want-”

The back door clicked open. Mom came in with a box of presto logs and set them beside the fireplace. She gave Dawn a questioning glance. “Is something wrong?”

Dawn shook her head and couldn’t think of what to say.

Mom looked at both of them and headed for the back door again.

Dawn struggled to her feet. Pain stabbed into her side. Sucking in her breath, she went outside and leaned over the rail above the stairs. “Mom, wait.”

Mom glanced at her, expression bleak.

“You don’t have to leave.”

Her mouth curved in disbelief. “You should go back inside and stay warm. You don’t want to catch cold. ” She went down the steps and disappeared around the corner.

55

Carolyn stepped inside the storage area under the garage and pulled the string attached to a swaying overhead light. She hefted another box of presto logs and set it near the door. She’d take it up in a little while. She wasn’t in any hurry to go back upstairs and walk into another private conversation.

She could use an AA meeting right now. She felt at home among others who had struggled with life. She felt Jesus’ presence there. He’d come to redeem sinners, hadn’t He? He’d raised her up from out of the mire and planted her feet on His sacred ground. Sometimes, she forgot the past entirely, until something or someone reminded her again.

Carolyn breathed in slowly and exhaled. She had other things to think about… and no time to feel sorry for herself.

Most of the stuff under the house would have to be hauled away, like the red vinyl and chrome kitchen stools from the Paxtown house. Why had Mom and Dad hung on to them all these years? The metal frames had rusted and the seats cracked. Dad’s fishing poles, net, creel, and box of flies hung on one wall, along with his brown chest-waders, two pairs of hiking boots, and an old backpack. An old AM/FM radio sat between stacks of National Geographics bound in bundles of twelve. Dad said they’d be worth something, someday. Water-damaged and worthless now, the whole collection would have to be lugged up to the road and taken to the dump. She wondered what Dad would say if he knew the entire collection was now available on CD-ROM.

Removing a canvas cover, Carolyn found a fertilizer spreader and push mower. The Jenner house didn’t have a lawn. She opened a coffinlike chest and stepped back from the stench of molding blankets and towels. Not even a rat or mouse would make a nest in there. She found Charlie’s old Lionel train, complete with engine, cars, caboose, tracks and railroad signs, station house and town buildings. Christopher would have enjoyed setting this up when he was a little boy. Had Dad forgotten about it or left it in storage because it hurt too much to be reminded of Charlie?

Another box held Charlie’s high school yearbooks. She sat in the red Adirondack chair she’d given Dad for his sixtieth birthday and opened the 1962 Amadon yearbook. Leafing through the pages, she found his senior picture, hair neat and short. She found Mitch’s picture. She loved his smile. She found other pictures of Charlie and Mitch: kneeling in the front row of the varsity football team, helmets on their knees; standing with other members of the basketball team; Charlie, head back as he laughed while hanging out on the senior lawn with friends. Friends had scrawled notes everywhere.

“I still miss you, Charlie,” Carolyn whispered and closed the book. Her brother had always had a contagious laugh. Had he lived, he’d be married with grown children and grandchildren by now.

She put her head back against the chair and closed her eyes. Her heart still ached. Being cooped up and feeling like a third wheel didn’t help. Mom and May Flower Dawn were close. That was good.

God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change.

She couldn’t undo the past. She couldn’t reclaim what had never belonged to her.

God, grant me the courage to change the things I can.

Maybe it was time to talk about the past… if she could do so with love. As much as she wanted to say it didn’t matter, it still had the power to torment her. She’d come out to the beach a hundred times and written her sins in the sand, watching them wash away. But the guilt and shame always came back to haunt her.

“God won’t take you where His love won’t protect you,” Boots had told her. “You lived through it. You’re a survivor. The past doesn’t have any power over you anymore.”

Only the power she gave it.

Boots knew about the circumstances of her pregnancy. Carolyn had told her about her life in Haight-Ashbury and Rachel Altman. She’d even confessed her relationship with Ash-sordid, abusive, heart- and soul-crushing. But she’d never told her about the beekeeper who lived next door and what she’d done with him.

God, grant me the wisdom… Your will, not mine be done.

Your will, Lord. Not Mom’s or mine or even May Flower Dawn’s.

Calm again, she stacked the yearbooks on top of the box of presto logs and headed back upstairs.

Mom sat in her recliner, reading a magazine. She glanced up as Carolyn came in the back door. “It must be freezing down there.”

“Cold and damp, but not too bad.” Dawn was asleep on the couch, the white afghan tucked around her. Carolyn set the box of presto logs on top of the other one and put the yearbooks on the coffee table. “She’s awfully pale.”

Mom put the magazine away. “She is, isn’t she? And so thin.”

“Did she tell you what made her drive across the country?”

“Just what she told us already. Pregnant women get strange urges. Maybe we’re like salmon. We want to return to the stream where we were born.”

“Then she should’ve headed for LA.” Carolyn saw Mom wince and wished she hadn’t said it. “I found Charlie’s high school yearbooks.”

Pain flickered across Mom’s face. “I haven’t looked at them in years. I won’t have any room for them when I move.”

When she moved, not if. “I’d like to keep them, if it’s all right with you.”

“Of course. You probably want some of the pictures in that box, too. I have my favorites hanging in the bedroom. I’ll take those with me.”

The lights flickered. Carolyn opened a box of presto logs. “I need to break a couple of these so we have kindling, and I’d better do it now before we lose power.” Mom told her where to find Dad’s hatchet and suggested taking one of the grocery bags under the sink to carry the pieces.

Carolyn chopped two logs into thick, pancake-size chunks; tucked a few old newspapers in the bag; and went back inside. Just as she closed the door behind herself, the lights went out and the heater shut down.

“Well, there it goes.” Mom sighed. “At least we still have some daylight, but the house is going to get cold. There won’t be heat downstairs. Why don’t you bring your things up? Dawn can sleep with me in my bed and you can have that room. We’ll keep the fire going and leave the bedroom doors ajar.”

Carolyn rearranged several boxes. “First things first, Mom. We’ve got fuel; now we need to figure out how to cook.”

“There’s a Coleman stove under Dad’s workbench.”

Carolyn went out to find it.

Dawn awakened to rain splattering the windows and a crackling fire. Granny sat quietly reading Oma’s journal. “Where’s Mom?” Dawn pushed herself up slowly, rubbing at her side.

“Out in the garage.” Granny put the journal aside.

It was growing darker by the minute. “How long have I been asleep?”

“A couple of hours. You must have needed it.” Granny studied her. “How do you feel now?”

“Groggy. Hungry.”

“Your mom is trying to find the Coleman stove. We’ll need it if we’re going to cook. The generator went off. I’m out of propane. No light, no heat, no stove.”

Dawn heard her mother come in the back door and move around in the kitchen before entering the living room. She sank wearily into the chair closest to the fire. “Finally found it under the garage. It was with Dad’s fishing poles.”

“Logical place for it.” Granny nodded. “Did you see a down sleeping bag?”

“Yep, but it’s mildewed.”

“More stuff for the dump,” Granny muttered.

“I’ll use Dawn’s bedding, Mom.”

Granny took the flashlight and went into the master bedroom. She came back with a pile of clothes. She dropped a dark green sweatshirt and pants onto Mom’s lap and a navy blue set beside Dawn. “Dad’s. I meant to offer these things to Mitch and Christopher, but I kept forgetting. Take off those dirty pants, Carolyn, and put on the sweats. You must be frozen through.”

Mom laughed. “After all the trips in and out of the garage and up and down those stairs, I’m nice and toasty.”

“Well, you won’t be for long.”

Mom went to change. Dawn pulled on the extra layer. Papa’s sweatpants pooled around her feet. She laughed. At least they fit her waistline. “Don’t I look fetching?”

Granny chuckled. She went back into the bedroom and returned with thick pairs of Papa’s socks. She insisted on warming the stone soup. “It’s my house. I’m supposed to be the hostess.” They ate in the living room, Mom sitting cross-legged on the rug in front of the fireplace, Dawn and Granny in the two yellow swivel chairs on either side of her.

Dawn relished the closeness. This was a first-the three of them sitting and talking, like three buddies at a sleepover. “I’m glad the roads are closed and the power is off.”

Granny shook her head. “Being cut off from the world is the last thing a lady in your condition should want.”

“This is fun, don’t you think? The three of us sitting around the fire, enjoying one another’s company.” Deeper conversations could happen under these circumstances. She wouldn’t push yet. God, You do it. Strip away their resistance. Open their hearts. Get them talking.

Granny tucked her hands inside Papa’s old sweatshirt. “It’s why Papa and I moved out here. We hoped this would become a gathering place for the whole family. Maybe I should keep the place, for you and Jason and your children to enjoy.”

Mom looked at her with dismay. She set her empty bowl aside and pulled her legs up against her chest, gazing into the fire. Dawn didn’t have to guess what she was thinking, and she decided it was time to make a few things clear. “Jason intends to stay in the military, Granny. He could be transferred anywhere anytime.”

“Just a thought.” Granny sighed. “Things don’t always turn out the way we hope.”

“I noticed you were reading Oma’s journal again. Did she ever come up here, Granny?”

“She drove up once to see the place, stayed for two days, and went back to Merced. We invited her to live with us, but Mama said there wasn’t anything in Jenner that mattered to her.” She pinched lint off the sweatpants.

Dawn felt her hurt, but saw no reason for it. “I doubt she meant you and Papa didn’t matter, Granny.”

“Well, what else could she mean?”

Mom glanced at her. “Oma liked meeting people.”

“There are people here.”

“She liked exploring in her car.”

“She had to give it up soon after that.”

“And she wasn’t happy about it. She started taking walks around the neighborhood, then started riding the city bus. She said it took a while to feel comfortable riding around town with strangers, but she got to know the drivers and some of the regular passengers. She rode the bus to the community college and took classes there. She was enrolled in another American history course when she passed away.”

Granny leaned back, taking in that news. “I didn’t know that.” She sat quietly, contemplating what Mom had told her. “Oma always valued education. College for Bernie, trade school for Chloe, art classes for Rikka. She was disappointed when I chose nurses’ training.”

“Why?” Dawn curled her legs into the chair and pulled Papa’s sweatshirt over her knees.

“She thought I was training to be a servant. Oma wanted me to go to the University of California.”

Mom glanced up. “Her father made her quit school. Oma told me she would have loved to have gone to a university and I should take advantage of the opportunity.”

Granny gave a soft laugh. “She said she’d pay my way if I’d go to the school she had picked out for me. I enrolled in nurses’ training anyway. It was the first time I bucked her about anything.” Her smile turned sardonic. “It makes sense she set up that fund for girls wanting to go to college. And it never occurred to me that might be the reason Mama didn’t want to live up here.”

“Did Oma ever earn a degree?”

Granny shrugged. “I don’t know. She would’ve told you, Carolyn.”

Mom smiled. “Dawn gave her the only diploma she ever received. I think Oma just liked learning new things. She took art history once so she and Aunt Rikki would have things to talk about.”

“Did she ever take biology?” Granny asked.

“She took anatomy, physiology, and biology by correspondence course while living at the cottage. When she moved to Merced, she took chemistry. She said she could’ve used your help with that one.”

Granny frowned. “Why didn’t she ever tell me?”

“She tried. She invited you over for tea every day. You always had other things to do.”

Granny sat with her lips parted, a deep frown furrowing her brow. Dawn remembered that when Oma died, Granny had grieved deeply. Was it because things had been left unsettled between them?

Granny crossed her arms, hugging herself. “I’ve been reading her journal. I’d hoped it might share some of her feelings. But it’s just recipes, housekeeping information, boardinghouse rules, farm schedules-”

“You haven’t read all of it yet, Granny.”

“I’m sure it’s unrealistic to think she’d have written anything about me, when she could never be bothered to talk to me. Or to say she loved me. She never said that to me, not once in my entire life.”

Mom turned to her. “Maybe we have something in common.”

“Don’t you dare sit there and say Oma never told you she loved you. I heard her say it to you all the time! Every day when I was sick in bed, I’d hear her say it. ‘I love you, Carolyn. I love you. I love you.’” Granny’s voice broke.

“I didn’t mean Oma.” Mom turned her face toward the warmth of the fire.

Granny looked as though Mom had slapped her. Her eyes shone with tears as she stared at Mom.

Dawn wanted to weep for both of them. “Oma loved you, Granny.”

Granny hadn’t taken her eyes off Mom. “I’d like to believe she did, but she never said it. Not to me.”

“Not everyone knows how to say it, Granny. They show it. Did Oma tell anyone she loved them? Uncle Bernie? Aunt Chloe?”

“She never said it to anyone, not even my father.”

Mom frowned. “She loved him, didn’t she?”

“So much so, I worried she’d grieve herself to death after he died. She’d go out into the orchard and scream and pound the earth…” Her eyes filled. “I never understood her.”

“Oma wrote about love in her journal, Granny.” Dawn got up and retrieved the worn leather book from the side table. She turned pages. “Here. From 1 Corinthians 13. ‘Love is patient, love is kind and is not jealous; love does not brag and is not arrogant…’”

She turned more pages until she found what she was looking for near the end. “‘We try to do a little better than the previous generation and find out in the end we’ve made the same mistakes without intending. Instead of striving to love as God first loved us, we let past hurts and grievances rule. Ignorance is no excuse.’” She looked up. “It’s right here in her handwriting.”

Dawn sat down. “Oma told me she only wrote important thoughts in her journal, things that helped her in life.” She turned more pages. “Here’s more about love. ‘I know how Abraham felt when he placed Isaac on the altar. I know that pain. But what did Isaac feel lying there, bound, his father holding the knife? afraid? abandoned? expendable? Or did he, too, understand God would rescue him? God tested Abraham, and He showed Isaac what it meant to trust God. Will my Isaac ever understand that what I do, I do for love?’”

Dawn looked pointedly at Granny. “Who do you suppose Oma’s Isaac was?”

“Bernie or Papa. Perhaps. How would I know?”

Mom’s face filled with compassion. She met Dawn’s eyes, but spoke to Granny. “I think it was you, Mom.”

Granny closed her eyes and shook her head, as though the idea was too painful to consider. “We’ll never really know, will we?”

56

Carolyn lay awake on the couch after Mom and Dawn went to bed. She imagined them curled up together, sharing warmth under the covers. Why couldn’t she get warm? She got up and dragged the blankets with her as she sat closer to the fire. She kept thinking about what Oma had written about Abraham and Isaac. That kind of love seemed a mystery. She understood Jacob better. Like Jacob, she had worked to earn the one she loved-May Flower Dawn-and felt cheated in the end. She also identified with Leah, the least loved, always second best.

God caused all things to work together for the good for those who love Him, and she did. Would she have learned to center her life on Jesus if she’d gotten everything she wanted? She might have poured all of her love and hope onto her daughter. God had seen that that wouldn’t happen. Even Mitch, the love of her life, came in second to Jesus.

Why this sudden, deep, inexplicable desire to understand her mother, and have her understand as well? After all these years… Carolyn had learned, slowly, to let other people in. She opened the door of her heart to Mitch first, then allowed him free access to all her rooms. Christopher had never had to struggle with that.

She wondered if her mother had been knocking all these years, and she’d been too afraid to look through the peephole, let alone open the door. Oma once told her not to waste time on regrets, but to grasp opportunities. She remembered something else Oma had said, something that had made no sense to her at the time. “Your mother will take good care of May Flower Dawn. She never really had the chance to take care of you.”

Carolyn looked up when she saw a movement in the shadows. Mom came out in her thick bathrobe and fuzzy pink slippers. “Are you cold?”

Carolyn forced a smile. “I shouldn’t be. You should go back to bed. Keep warm.”

“Maybe you caught cold working out in the garage. I can get you another blanket out of the closet.”

“I’m fine, Mom. Really.”

Her mother eased herself into the yellow swivel chair. “I’ve been thinking…” She folded her hands in her lap. “It’s easier to talk about lesser sorrows, but we’re silent about the ones that break our hearts and change everything.”

Carolyn wanted to apologize. “Charlie.” Maybe she should’ve left that box of pictures in the garage. She should’ve left the yearbooks under the house.

“I wasn’t thinking about Charlie. I’ve been thinking about you, Carolyn.” She looked uncertain. “It was hard for me to turn you over to Oma. I don’t think you have any idea how much I love you. I do, you know. I always have.”

Carolyn couldn’t catch her breath. When she did, she put her head against her knees and cried.

Dawn awakened when Granny got out of bed. She didn’t move or speak as Granny quietly left the room. Dawn heard Granny speaking softly. Then Mom started to cry. Easing out from under the covers, Dawn wrapped Papa’s old robe around herself and approached the door.

Finally, Lord.

She pressed her fingers against her trembling lips.

Mom didn’t say anything.

God, please, help her speak. I don’t mean to be selfish, but I need them to work things out.

“Carolyn?” Granny spoke softly, tentatively. “Why are you crying?”

Dawn covered her face and prayed.

Carolyn turned her head and gave her mother a watery smile. “I didn’t think you even liked me.”

“Can you tell me why you thought that?”

Her mother looked so bleak, so concerned, Carolyn decided it was time to unlock the door and open it a little. “A lot of reasons.”

“You said I yelled at you to get out of my bedroom. Is that why?”

“Yes, but I understand that now.” It wasn’t what her mother had done as much as what she hadn’t. “You never allowed me to sit close to you. You never held me on your lap or kissed me.”

“I couldn’t, Carolyn. The TB.”

“You couldn’t wait to get your hands on May Flower Dawn, Mom. You held and kissed her all the time.”

“I wasn’t sick anymore then.”

Carolyn smiled sadly. “You weren’t sick when we moved to the property.”

Mom bowed her head. “Maybe it became a habit with us.” She raised her head. “I wanted to hold you, Carolyn, but by then you didn’t want anyone but Oma to hold you. I sent her home so I could win you back, but instead, you withdrew. You didn’t seem to want me; you didn’t seem to want friends. You never showed interest until you met Rachel Altman.”

Carolyn’s heart started to pound the way it did in AA meetings when she knew God was nudging her to share. She looked into the fire. She could remain silent and let Mom believe what she did, or she could risk everything and tell the truth. The tension inside her built until she thought her heart would explode if she didn’t say something. “I had one friend.”

“Who?”

She could say Suzie, the girl who moved away. Mom might remember her. “Dock.” His name came out before she thought better of it.

“Dock?”

Her mother didn’t even remember him. It seemed so strange she wouldn’t when Dock had dominated so much of Carolyn’s childhood. “Hickory, dickory, dock.” He didn’t chase mice up a clock. He offered cheese and crackers to a little girl, then drew her slowly into his lair.

It was a moment before Hildie remembered him, but when she did, she went cold. “You don’t mean Lee Dockery, do you?” She could picture the beekeeper next door, his disturbing smile, the way he never looked her in the eye. He’d been polite, but something about him had made Hildie’s skin crawl. They’d told the children to steer clear of him.

She studied her daughter. Carolyn sat hunched, arms locked around her knees, face turned away. Was she trembling? “How did you meet him?”

“Charlie took me over to his house. Before you and Dad told us to stay away.”

Hildie pressed a hand against her stomach, trying to ignore the uneasy feelings stirring inside her. The man had mysteriously vanished around the same time Carolyn started having nightmares. Hildie had worried that there might be a connection, but Trip had assured her there couldn’t be. No. Please, God, no. “Did you go back to see him?

“Yes.”

“Often?”

“Yes.” Carolyn pulled her knees in tighter to her chest and kept her head down. “At first, I sat by the fence and just watched him take honeycombs from the hives. He’d talk to me. He told me all about his bees. He gave me pieces of honeycomb. It dripped all over me once, and I started crying because I thought Daddy would be mad and he’d give me another spanking. Dock said I could come inside his house and wash off. He let me take a bath while he washed my clothes. He told me how lonely he was all by himself.”

Hildie closed her eyes tightly. Oh, God, oh, God! Why couldn’t my little girl come to me?

“I went back the next day and the next. He’d give me crackers and honey…”

Hildie clenched her hands. Her daughter had always loved baths. Hildie remembered being so tired by the end of the day; she’d wash Carolyn quickly, efficiently, like a nurse with a patient. Just get the job done. “Don’t dawdle, Carolyn,” she’d say. “It’s time for bed.” Hildie had been so tired, afraid she would get sick again. She needed to get some rest.

“Dock put the lid down on the toilet and talked to me while I was in the tub. He’d tell me stories.” She closed her eyes tightly. “Later…”

The fire cracked. The rain drummed on the roof. A pulse beat in Hildie’s head.

“What happened later?”

“He washed me.”

Hildie fought rage and sorrow. What had she been doing that had been so important she hadn’t noticed her daughter missing? Was she tending the vegetable garden? planting walnut trees? hanging up laundry? Busy, always busy with something! There had always been something to do. Charlie had been off on his bike visiting friends. She’d assumed her quiet, timid little girl was close by, picking flowers, making mud pies, watching butterflies. How could she have been so blind?

“We played games.”

Hildie bit her lip. She and Trip had moved to the country so their children would be safe, so they’d have plenty of fresh air and sunshine. She felt sick with premonition, but had to know. “What sort of games, Carolyn?”

“Secret games, he called them. Touching games.” Carolyn spoke so softly.

Hildie gave a soft sob and pressed her hands over her mouth. Carolyn glanced up sharply, eyes wide. She looked down quickly, putting her arms over her head. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have told you. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” Her body shook.

When Carolyn tried to get up, Hildie reached out and pulled her back against her legs, pinning her there, arms wrapped around her. Sobbing, she rested her head on Carolyn’s until she could speak. “It’s not your fault, honey. It’s mine.” She felt a shudder go through Carolyn and held on tighter. “It’s my fault, sweetheart. I’m so sorry.”

Carolyn started to cry again, body relaxing, giving in. Hildie didn’t let go of her. She stroked her hair and kissed the top of her head. She hadn’t been there when her little girl needed her, and she might never be able to forgive herself for that. But she could try to comfort the woman in her arms now.

Carolyn wiped her face with her sleeve. “I knew I wasn’t supposed to go there, Mom, but he was nice to me. He held me and kissed me and said he loved me.” She gulped down a sob. “I was stupid. I was so stupid!”

“You weren’t stupid. You were a child.”

“He didn’t hurt me until the last time. And then there was blood, a lot of blood, and he cried. I was so scared. And he wouldn’t let me go until I promised… He said we’d both be in big trouble if I told anyone what we’d been playing. At first, he told me not to come back. Then he came to my window that night and said he loved me. He wanted me to be his little girl. He said he was going to look for a safe place for us. I’d know when he found it because he’d leave some honey at the front door. I don’t think I dreamed it all. It was so real.”

Horror filled Hildie. That man would have kidnapped Carolyn. She and Trip never would’ve found her. Oh, God, thank You. She hadn’t been looking out for her daughter. But God had.

“That’s why you crept into Charlie’s room and slept with him.”

“Yes, and when you told me to stop, I’d hide in my closet.” She shuddered and moved away slightly so they could face one another. “I heard you and Dad talking about Dock. I was afraid you’d figured out what I’d done and I would be in trouble. But you never did.”

Hildie wanted to reach out again and pull her daughter close. She wanted to brush her hair the way she had when Carolyn was a toddler. She ached for the time lost, hating the disease that had made her push her daughter away in the first place. She couldn’t bear the thought of her precious little girl living in fear, having nightmares about the monster next door, allowing only Oma inside the walls she built to protect herself. Had Mama known? Surely she would have said something!

Hildie’s arms ached to simply hold her. But it was important to keep talking, to get it all out in the open. “Lee Dockery was killed in an accident, Carolyn.”

“When?” Carolyn looked up at her, face pale and strained.

“A few weeks after your nightmares started. No one disappears without a reason. Dad knew something had happened to him. He went over to see if he’d had a heart attack or something. He went into the house and found everything in order.”

Hildie leaned forward, clasping her hands tensely, uncertain how her daughter would take what she had to tell her. “Lee Dockery’s place stood vacant until the bank repossessed the property and sold it at auction. A year after the new family moved in, a couple of boys found Lee Dockery’s truck in a ravine down in Niles Canyon. Apparently, he’d swerved off the road and gone over the edge where it wouldn’t have been seen from the road.”

“Was Dock in the car?”

What was left of him, after the animals had gotten to his body and time had stripped his flesh. “Yes, he was. So were his bees.” They’d built a hive inside the cab of his truck.

Carolyn let out a long breath and closed her eyes. Her face looked serene. “All those years, I thought he’d come and take me away.”

“He would have, Carolyn. God protected you.”

“I know.”

“Did Charlie know about Dock?”

“No.”

It hurt to ask, but she had to know. “Did you tell Oma?”

“No. The only person I ever told about Dock was Chel. And I was drunk at the time.”

Dawn winced at the growing pain. Gripping the edge of the dresser, she pulled herself up. It eased a little. She sat on the edge of the bed. She felt warm, but the chill made her breath visible. Her daughter kicked twice. Smiling, Dawn ran her hand over her belly. “Sorry I woke you up.” She took a pillow and put it at the end of the bed, then stretched out on her side so she could listen to Mom and Granny talk. She stroked her belly slowly, rhythmically. “They’re going to love you, sweetie.”

The sound of their voices filled her with hope for the future. “No tug-of-war this time.”

57

“Can we talk about what happened in Berkeley, Carolyn? Please.”

Carolyn braced her back against the other chair. Her mother hadn’t blamed her for what happened. She’d blamed Dock. Maybe it was time to get everything out in the open. Haight-Ashbury and all the rest.

“I wanted to end the war, Mom. I wanted to save Charlie. I didn’t care about school. It seemed pointless to attend classes when my brother was risking his life every minute of the day. So I quit and went on protest marches. When I wasn’t doing that, I drank to forget. All I could think about was trying to get Charlie out of Vietnam. And I failed. When Charlie died, I just lost it.”

“You were gone before you knew about Charlie.”

“No, I wasn’t.”

“Yes. You were. We called the day after the officers came to the house, and your phone was disconnected. We drove to Berkeley. Your neighbors said they hadn’t seen either of you in a while. The landlord was there. He said the place was trashed.”

“Oma called the day the soldiers came to the house. I knew what that meant. I remember screaming and Chel giving me something. The next thing I remember is Chel driving me across the Bay Bridge, Janis Joplin screaming on the radio, Chel screaming along with her.” She closed her eyes so she wouldn’t have to see Mom’s face when she said the rest. “I woke up in a strange house, in a strange bed, with a guy I’d never seen before. It got worse after that.”

Carolyn pressed the heels of her hands against her eyes. “I used to dream about Charlie all the time.” She gulped down tears. “I’d see him in a rice paddy. I’d see him burning in napalm. I’d see him-” She stopped, appalled, realizing what her words must be doing to her mother. She took her hands away. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t stop, honey.” Her mother spoke in a soft, choked voice. “Tell me the rest.”

“I stayed stoned and drunk, trying to deal with his death.”

“You looked so frail when you came home.”

Carolyn remembered all too well. She’d been starving slowly, living on garbage. And then a young vet gave her a chocolate bar and kept her warm. A young woman gave her hope and a ticket home. “I lived in Golden Gate Park for a while. I don’t remember how long. I had to get out of that house and away from Ash.”

“What house? And who is Ash?”

“We lived in a big house on Clement Street. He moved in while Chel and I were in New York, celebrating rock and roll at Woodstock.” She spoke wryly, then went on. “She was messed up on drugs. I didn’t know if she’d come out of it. Her mind cleared in Wyoming. When we got back, we found this beautiful stranger sitting in the living room. He used to wear white robes like Jesus and spoke in poetry. A fake guru, speaking bull, seducing everyone. Everyone was stoned all the time and sleeping with whoever. Chel was the one with the money. Ash took her over the minute she walked in the door, or he thought he did. Chel always knew what was what. She knew Ash for what he was long before I did. When she got tired of him, he turned to me. All I saw was the beautiful mask, not the devil behind it. I thought I loved him. Lee Dockery was a lot kinder.” She saw the anguish in her mother’s face. “I’m sorry, Mom. Maybe you don’t want to hear about this.”

“I need to know what happened to my daughter. Don’t you think it’s time?”

“I guess.” Carolyn rubbed her face.

“I always wondered, but I was afraid to ask. Did Chel live in the park with you?”

“No. She overdosed on heroin. A few weeks before, we went out for a long walk in the park. She gave me her father’s telephone number and said if anything happened to her, I was to call him. It scared me. I watched over her for days. The one day I didn’t…” Her voice broke.

“I’m so sorry, honey.”

“I found her sprawled across her bed. Ash was furious. He told me to lie if the paramedics asked for her name.”

“Why?”

“Why do you suppose? The money would keep being deposited as long as her father thought she was alive. When the ambulance came, I waited outside. Before they took her body away, I gave them her full name. I called her father. And then I just walked away. I didn’t look back. I didn’t care where I went or what happened to me after that.”

Carolyn raked her fingers into her hair and held her head. “I begged, Mom. I slept on benches and under bushes. I ate out of trash bins and slept in a few. I wanted to die, but I didn’t have the courage to drown myself in the ocean.” She gave a mocking laugh. “It was cold.” Sighing, she leaned back against the front of the swivel rocker. “One night I was sitting on the beach and thinking about how nice it would be to have it all over. And then I heard a guitar playing. I saw a young man wearing an Army jacket. I thought it was Charlie, at first.” Her eyes swam with tears. “Of course, it couldn’t be, but I followed him anyway. He’d made a camp in the park. He had a fire and an old sleeping bag. I was so hungry. He gave me a chocolate bar. He was a veteran. He hadn’t just bought the jacket from a surplus store; he’d served in Vietnam. I told him about Charlie. He told me about friends he’d lost in the war.”

She drew her knees up against her chest again, hugging them close. “He shared his sleeping bag. He kept me warm. I got up and wandered off. When I couldn’t find my way back, I slept on the grass. I woke up at dawn.” Tears came and spilled down her cheeks. “It was May, and little white flowers grew in the grass like stars had dropped from heaven. I felt someone touch me. He sat right there on the grass with me.”

“The young veteran?”

“No.” She shook her head, chewing her lip a moment before she had the courage to say it aloud. She never had before. “I know you won’t believe me. You’ll think I was drunk or stoned. But I hadn’t had anything since leaving Ash.” She couldn’t see Mom through her tears.

“I’ll believe anything you tell me, Carolyn.”

Carolyn drew a shuddering breath and prayed she would. “I saw Jesus.” She let the memory fill her. “He said it was time to go home. I thought He meant I was going to die. I wasn’t afraid. When I sat up, He was gone.” She had sat for hours, praying He would come back and take her with Him. “A young woman came and set up a picnic for her two children. She called her little boy Charlie.” Her voice wavered.

Her mother put a hand over her mouth.

Carolyn kept going. “It was like watching me and Charlie play together. She invited me to sit with her; she offered me a sandwich. I was so hungry. We talked. I told her about Charlie; she told me about her husband. He was MIA in Vietnam. She called her kids and loaded all of us in a van and took me to the bus station. She bought my ticket home. Her name was Mary.”

Carolyn felt the weight lifting as she talked. “She gave me her telephone number and said if you didn’t want me, she’d come and get me. I lost the slip of paper on the way home. I’ve thanked God a thousand times for her over the years, Mom. When the planes landed at Travis Air Force Base in 1973, and all those POWs came off, I cried and prayed Mary’s husband stood among them. But I’ll never know for sure if he did.”

Mom wiped tears from her cheeks, but didn’t say anything. She didn’t seem shocked or disgusted. Carolyn wondered if she could keep going and decided it was worth the risk. “You asked me why I didn’t believe you loved me.When I came home, you and Dad were ashamed of me. I could see it in your faces. When you found out I was pregnant, that was the last straw.”

“No, Carolyn. It was a shock, that’s all.”

“You and Dad asked Rev. Elias to talk to me. He told me not to come back to church.”

“What?” Mom spoke weakly, eyes wide.

“He didn’t believe I was truly repentant. He said enough to convince me I wasn’t good enough to set foot inside any church. When I came home, Dad made a point of asking me if I’d taken everything Rev. Elias said to heart. I did. Then you and Dad told me you were sending me to Los Angeles to live with Boots. You couldn’t wait to be rid of me.”

“No. No!” Mom looked furious, tears streaming down her white cheeks. “We asked Rev. Elias to talk to you because we thought he’d give you wise counsel. For heaven’s sake, if we’d known what he said to you, we would’ve left the church! Why didn’t Oma tell me about this?”

“Oma didn’t know, Mom. I never told anyone.”

“Then she must have guessed, because she left the church right after you did.”

“I assumed you and Dad felt the same way he did.”

“Of course not! If your father had known, he would’ve raised holy hell. We sent you away to protect you, not get rid of you.” She took a handkerchief from her pocket and blew her nose. “I sent you to Boots. She was my best friend! I knew she’d love you and take good care of you.” Her mouth wobbled, tears still streaming. “I wouldn’t have entrusted you to anyone else.”

Carolyn wanted to believe her, but evidence stood in the way. “The day I walked into the house, I saw a wall of pictures, all of Charlie.”

“We wanted to honor his memory.”

“I looked around the house when you and Dad went to work. There wasn’t a single picture of me anywhere. Not one.”

Her mother clenched the crumpled, damp handkerchief in her lap and looked straight into her eyes. “I put them away a few months after you disappeared. We loved you, Carolyn. We agonized over you. The truth is we grieved more over you than Charlie. We knew what happened to him. He was killed in the line of duty. Don’t forget your father was a police officer. He worked in forensics. He dealt with homicides. He had nightmares when he came home from the war. He had worse ones when you disappeared. I put your pictures away because he died a little more inside every time he looked at one. I couldn’t bear to lose everyone I loved.”

Carolyn’s heart hurt. She pressed her hands against her chest, wanting to make it go away. She had spent so many years hiding the pain, not asking why things had been the way they were, afraid the answers might hurt even more.

Mom’s eyes warmed, and she gestured toward her bedroom. “I cherish your pictures. Your wedding portrait is on my dresser, your senior picture on my wall, where I can see both of them every night before I go to sleep. All the rest are in an album over there in the cabinet.” Her mouth trembled. “I love you. How could I not? You’re my own flesh and blood.”

Carolyn searched her mother’s face and saw raw pain. “How would I know? I haven’t stepped foot in your bedroom since I was three years old.” She never opened any cabinets except those in the kitchen. She gave a broken laugh. “Oh, Mom… we’ve both been so good at hiding what we feel.”

“I just told you I love you, Carolyn. Do you believe me?”

Carolyn looked into her eyes, eyes the same color as Oma’s. “Yes.” She felt all the tension drain from her body. She smiled. “And in case you don’t know it, I love you, too.”

Dawn was thankful Mom and Granny weren’t arguing anymore. She shifted her body, trying to get more comfortable. She could feel the pressure of tiny arms and legs stretching inside her. Taking two pillows and the comforter from the bed, she sat near the door. She covered herself with the comforter, scooted down, and tucked the pillows under her knees. The solid carpeted floor felt better than the soft bed.

Let the words keep flowing, Lord. Dawn knew others were praying for them, too. Georgia and the women of CCC, Pastor Daniel, Mitch, all the people who loved Mom and Granny. Her eyes grew heavy, but she forced herself to stay awake. It gave her joy and hope to hear them talking openly with one another. She probably shouldn’t be eavesdropping, but she had been praying for this for so long that she felt she had to hear it to believe it.

Her mom was talking again. “I used to be afraid to love anyone. Charlie died. Then Chel. Oma. Dad. I don’t even want to think about losing Mitch.”

“Your dad and I rooted for him.”

“Mitch told me he was going to marry me that first time he came over for dinner.”

“And not for your cooking, I’ll bet,” Granny teased.

Dawn’s mother laughed. “Thanks a lot.”

“We knew he had a crush on you when he was a boy. It was hard to miss when he came over all the time.”

“To see Charlie.”

“And you. It is frightening to lose someone you love. I loved your dad every bit as much as you love Mitch… and the way Mama must have loved Papa. We all die sometime. Someday you’ll lose me, too, you know.”

“Yes, but I’d rather not think about that.”

“At least we’ll be speaking to one another.”

Dawn put her hands over her face and tried not to cry. Some things might never be worked out. Granny might never believe Oma had loved her.

Granny spoke. “I’m sorry about Rev. Elias, Carolyn. God forgive him. And I’m sorry you didn’t understand why we sent you to Boots.”

“It was the best thing you could have done for me. She recognized a dry drunk when she saw one and took me to my first AA meeting. She had a band of friends who were full of hope and experience and didn’t mind sharing. They all thought I should give up my baby. Boots wanted me to keep May Flower Dawn and stay with her.”

“You’ll never know how happy Dad and I were when you decided to come home.”

“I didn’t know I could until you sent that car seat. And then Dad laid down all the rules, and you quit your job so you could take care of May Flower Dawn…”

“We wanted to help you get back on your feet.”

“I know.”

“I didn’t want you staying with Boots.”

Dawn heard the tension building in Granny’s voice, as though quick words could ward off something she didn’t want to hear. But Mom wasn’t going to let her get away with it this time. She spoke gently. “I loved Boots, but I didn’t want to depend on her. I’d lived off Chel for too long.”

“I wanted to help, Carolyn.”

“I know.”

“You wouldn’t have made it on your own.” Granny sounded defensive.

“Georgia did.”

“Because she didn’t have any choice. Her parents kicked her out. We wanted to help.”

“Yes. You helped yourself to May Flower Dawn.”

Dawn sat up and held her breath. She’d known for years she was the cause of much of their contention. She’d grown up in the middle. Granny had stepped in when needed, then held on. For a long time, Dawn had helped Granny win the tug-of-war. It wasn’t until she had sex downstairs with Jason that she understood how guilt and shame could imprison a person, keep her silent, keep her distant. Like Mom.

When Georgia held up the mirror before Dawn’s face, and Jason suggested they stop seeing one another, it had been her mother who came in and sat silently on the end of Dawn’s bed, empathizing with her pain. It had been Mom’s careful words that planted the seeds to let go and let God work, to follow the Lord and not her own deceitful heart and flesh. Mom had understood what Granny couldn’t.

And now, Dawn had come home to create a bridge between them, one built on truth and love. She needed them to mend their relationship. She prayed fervently they wouldn’t allow Satan to rebuild his stronghold. Please, God, not now. Not ever again.

“I’ll take the blame for everything else, Carolyn, but don’t you dare accuse me of stealing your daughter. That’s not fair!”

“You didn’t steal her.” Mom spoke tenderly. “I placed her in your arms.”

“I was helping!”

“Yes, but you didn’t leave room for me.”

“Of course I did!”

Dawn wept at Granny’s pain and defensive tone. God, help her see the truth!

“When? I came home aching to nurse her, and you’d already given her a bottle. You wouldn’t even let me hold her. You’d tell me she’d been fussy and you’d just put her down and I shouldn’t wake her. I worked on Saturdays. You took her to church every Sunday. I never had time with her.”

Granny cried, but insisted, “It wasn’t my fault Dawn bonded to me. I was the one with her all the time.”

“But I wanted to be. You even changed her name.”

“Because people thought she was named after the Pilgrims’ ship.”

“Because you and Dad thought it was a hippy name. Dawn told me. It wasn’t a suitable name for an Arundel.”

Granny blew her nose. “I suppose I did cut you out.”

“I saw how much you loved her, Mom. I was jealous, but I was grateful, too. You and Dad didn’t give me a handout. You gave me a hand up. When I finally got on my feet, I tried to win Dawn back. When I married Mitch and we moved to Alexander Valley, I thought I might have a chance.”

“And we followed you.” Granny sniffled. “I would’ve lived next door if Trip would’ve allowed it.”

“Dawn told me she hated me for making you cry, and I gave up. Dad reminded me you wanted to help. Looking back now, I think he saw how much we were both hurting.”

“My mother ‘helped,’ too,” Granny said bleakly, “and I never really forgave her. It still hurts. Can you forgive me?”

Dawn heard movement and turned so she could see into the living room. Mom knelt in front of Granny. “I forgave you a long time ago.”

Granny laid a hand against Mom’s cheek. “But it still hurts.”

“Yes, but maybe we’ll heal now. I saw as a child, but now I see through a woman’s eyes. I’m glad it was you and not some stranger in a day care center.”

Granny cupped Mom’s face and kissed her. “I’m glad it was Oma and not Mrs. Haversal.”

Dawn got up carefully. She braced herself against the dresser until the pain eased. Stooping cautiously, she gathered the pillows and comforter and put them back on the bed. She slipped beneath the covers and thanked God for answering her prayers.

She knew her biological father, though nameless, had been a kind, young vet suffering post-traumatic stress like her mother. She knew why Mom named her May Flower Dawn. And Mom and Granny were finally talking. Love would win this time.

58

Carolyn got up first, stoked the fire and added two presto logs, then went into the kitchen to start the Coleman and get some water boiling for coffee. She heard a loud, ominous crack from somewhere outside. The house shuddered. Another loud boom, and the house jumped on its foundations. The kitchen picture window cracked. Carolyn clambered away.

“What happened?” Her mother came rushing in, gray hair sticking out in all directions, her robe half-on. “What crashed?” She tied the sash around her waist and opened the back door.

“Wait! Mom, don’t go out there.” Carolyn pulled her back.

The redwood tree had fallen on the garage. Two-by-fours protruded in all directions. The deck tilted.

“My car!”

“I parked it on the road yesterday so I could sort things in the garage. It should be okay.”

“Oh. Good.” Her mother started to giggle. “We’re going to have a lot less to sort through now.”

Carolyn took her by the arm. “Let’s go sit in the living room.”

“Why? Because the kitchen seems to be tilting?”

“It’s not. Is it?” Carolyn’s insides quivered as her gaze darted around the room.

As they headed for the living room, her mother glanced out the door again. “At least we won’t have to worry about firewood. We have a mountain of it.”

Carolyn sat near the fire. “I can’t believe Dawn slept through that!”

Mom sat across from her. “Thank goodness that’s the only tree in front of the house.”

“As long as the house doesn’t slide down the hill.”

“Well, aren’t you the optimist.” Mom gave her a humorless smile. “Dad said this house is built on rock.”

“Did he mean granite… or Jesus?”

“Let’s hope he meant both.” They sat in companionable silence. “I wonder what all that redwood is worth,” Mom mused. “Maybe enough to pay for a new garage.” She shook her head. “I’ll tell you one thing. I’m more than ready to get out of here now.”

Carolyn chortled. “I would hope so.”

Dawn came out of the bedroom, bleary-eyed. “What’s all the noise?”

They told her while she made herself comfortable on the couch, the white afghan around her shoulders again. “Can we get out?”

“I don’t know.” Carolyn studied her. “Do we need to?”

Dawn smiled. “No.”

Carolyn brushed aside a niggling worry. “I’m going to take a look around, anyway.”

The gate was stuck, but she managed to shove it open after several tries. The unearthed roots of the redwood tree stood seven to eight feet high, and they had pulled up most of the road. A steady flow of rainwater raced down the hill, undercutting the cracked macadam. She went back inside. “I have four-wheel drive. We can drive up the hill and around.”

“No, we can’t,” her mother informed her. “That road has been closed for the last week. There’s a big crack down the middle of it.”

“We’re nice and cozy and all together,” Dawn said, perfectly calm. “Let’s not worry about it. Let’s just talk.”

“Granny and I talked most of the night.”

“I know. I’m afraid I was eavesdropping. I heard everything.”

Heat spilled into Carolyn’s cheeks. What “everything” did she mean?

Dawn hugged the blanket closer. “The young veteran who played the guitar was my father, wasn’t he?”

So her daughter had heard everything. Carolyn desperately wanted Dawn to understand. “Biologically. But I never thought of him as your father. To me, you were always a gift from God.”

Dawn smiled. “I know, Mom. That’s why you named me May Flower Dawn.”

“Oh!” Carolyn’s mother spoke with sudden comprehension. “You said it was May and the flowers were blooming in the grass, and the Lord appeared to you at dawn.” Mom’s eyes grew moist. “No wonder you were so hurt when I changed it.” Her mouth softened. “You couldn’t have chosen a better name, Carolyn.”

Dawn grinned. “You could’ve called me Epiphany.”

Carolyn laughed as the tension dissolved. “I almost did.”

Mom spoke slowly, in wonder, eyes glowing. “May… Flower… Dawn.”

After a breakfast of cereal, they went through the other boxes. Dawn felt odd and edgy. She wanted things settled. Now. She didn’t have time to wait anymore.

“Now that you don’t have a garage, Granny, are you going to park your car in front of an American bungalow in Santa Rosa or a pretty Tuscany villa in Windsor?” She had something else in mind, but her mom would have to bring it up.

“Windsor’s closer to Alexander Valley.”

Dawn looked pointedly at her mother and raised her brows.

Dawn’s mother frowned slightly and sat back on her heels. Then she turned to Granny. “Do you want to live with me and Mitch?”

Granny gaped. “Well, I didn’t think you’d want me too close.”

“We have maid’s quarters we’ve never used. There’s a living room, bedroom with full bath, and a little kitchen.”

Granny just stared at her.

“You don’t have to live with us. I just thought maybe you’d think about it. I wanted to ask you after Dad died, but you wouldn’t even discuss it. You insisted you wanted your independence.”

“Then it’s your own fault for believing every stupid thing I say!” Granny burst into tears. But she was smiling. “And I thought Marsha had all the luck!”

Mom said they could remove the furnishings, and Granny could bring whatever she wanted, within reason. “Not that old faded couch, please. Let’s get a new one.”

Dawn felt everything recede in a gray cloud of pain and pressure. Then silence.

“Dawn?” Mom spoke. She and Granny were both staring at her. “What’s wrong?”

“I wanted to wait-” Something popped inside her, like a balloon. She gasped as she felt a pool of warm slickness spreading beneath her. “Oh!” Drawing in her breath sharply, she struggled to lift herself off the couch. The moisture went down her legs, soaking through Papa’s old sweats and spilling onto his thick socks. “Oh, no!”

Carolyn tried not to panic while she helped Dawn lie down in the bedroom.

Her mother stood close, speaking with authority. There was an eighty-six-year-old nurse in the house, and she’d just gone on duty. “Raise up, honey. Okay. Carolyn? Get the wastebasket.” She peeled off Dawn’s sodden sweats and panties and dumped them into the can.

Dawn wept. “I’m so sorry, Granny. I ruined your couch.”

“Didn’t you just hear your mother say it was ready for the junkyard? She wasn’t going to let me keep it.”

“Your nice sheets…”

“Oh, hush!”

Carolyn wanted to scream. A couch? Sheets? They had other things to worry about! The baby was coming early. The telephone didn’t work. The roads were closed. A giant redwood had just upchucked its massive root system all over the road and turned the garage into a pile of giant splinters!

“Another contraction?” Carolyn’s mother picked up her wristwatch and checked Dawn’s pulse.

Dawn groaned low and spoke through clenched teeth. “I thought first babies took a long time…”

“Not always. Take a big breath and blow it out. Rest as much as you can, honey.”

In less than a minute, another contraction came. Dawn looked at Carolyn. “Mom. You brought the Suburban.”

“Yes, but Granny said we can’t drive out of here.”

“No.” Dawn panted. “But you have GPS and OnStar, don’t you?”

“Yes!” Carolyn rushed out. Rummaging through her purse, she found her keys and ran for the door.

Hildie wiped Dawn’s forehead. The poor girl was burning up. Though it had been decades since Hildie had assisted at a childbirth, she could still recognize a serious situation when she saw it. “Is there anything else I should know about your condition, sweetheart? You haven’t looked well ever since you arrived. Do you want to tell me what’s going on?”

Dawn met her eyes briefly, then glanced away. “Hodgkin’s lymphoma. It’s why I came home. Well, partly why.” Dawn grabbed her hand. “Don’t you dare cry. Not now. And don’t say anything to Mom. Please, Granny. I was going to talk to both of you at the same time, but I wanted you two to work things out first.” Another contraction came, harder than the last. “God won’t take this baby. He won’t.”

Hildie stroked Dawn’s hair back and told her to ride on top of the pain, like a surfer on a wave. “When did you find out?”

Dawn panted, beads of perspiration on her face. “October. The doctor wanted me to start chemo.” Tears streamed from her eyes into her hair. “They told me they could limit the dose to protect the baby, but I just couldn’t take that chance. Not after waiting so long for her.”

“Why didn’t you tell us? Your mom and Mitch would have flown out to be with you-or to bring you back here. We could have helped you.”

The back door opened. “Don’t tell her! Please. Not yet. Let me-”

“Shhh.” Hildie wiped her cheeks quickly. “Don’t worry. Concentrate on having your daughter.”

Carolyn came back into the bedroom. “I got through. They’re calling it in.” She came around the bed and took Dawn’s hand. “How’re you doing?”

Dawn gave her a tremulous smile. “Fine, Mom.”

“There’s a rescue helicopter at Santa Rosa Memorial, but it’s going to take a while.” Carolyn squeezed Dawn’s hand. “It stopped raining a few minutes ago. God’s clearing the way. They’ll have to land on the road down by the Jenner Inn and hike up.”

Another contraction had Dawn crying out and pushing down. Hildie put her hand on Dawn’s abdomen again, timing the contraction. “What about the tree? Can they get by it?”

“I wish I had a chain saw!” Carolyn didn’t take her eyes off Dawn.

Trip had bought one, but Hildie wasn’t about to tell Carolyn where to find it. She didn’t even want to think about the damage her daughter could do to herself with one of those things. “Bring the Coleman stove into the bathroom. Get a big pot, fill it with water, and get it boiling. There should be string in one of the kitchen drawers, and bring my sharp paring knife. And tongs.”

Dawn giggled. “Granny sounds like my nursing instructor at San Luis Obispo. Bossy!”

“Thank God!” Smiling, Carolyn rushed out again. She set everything up. “I put some of your new towels on a kitchen chair in front of the fire. They’ll be warm enough for the baby.”

“Not too close, I hope,” Granny muttered. “The last thing we need right now is a fire.”

They all laughed a little wildly.

Five minutes later, they knew the baby wasn’t going to wait for the helicopter.

“Wash your hands carefully, Carolyn, but hurry up about it.” Hildie knew she didn’t have the physical strength to finish the job. Dawn’s body shook through transition. Her granddaughter had no break now, one contraction rolling right over into another, crushing her with pain.

Now that she knew it wasn’t just childbirth racking Dawn’s frail body, Hildie had to will herself not to weep. All her knowledge and training kicked into overdrive, but her legs had begun to ache so much she could barely stand. “I need that vanity chair, Carolyn.”

Carolyn set it where she pointed.

“Stand there. You’re going to deliver your granddaughter.”

“What?”

“I’m going to tell you what to do. Don’t argue or say you can’t. You can.”

Carolyn obeyed. Hildie put her hand on Dawn’s arm and talked them both through it. She told Dawn to let nature take its course. “Don’t hold back. Push!” She gave Carolyn instructions and watched her do exactly as told. Dawn’s daughter broke into the world, red-faced and screaming.

Carolyn laughed joyously. “She’s beautiful, Dawn. She’s perfect, just like you were.”

“Put the baby on Dawn’s abdomen. Tie the cord, Carolyn. That’s it. You can cut it now. I’ll get the towels.”

The womp-womp of a helicopter went over the house.

Hildie took the warm towels draped over the chair in front of the fireplace and brought them back to her girls. “Early bird or not, her lungs are in great condition.” Dawn and Carolyn laughed in relief. Carolyn wrapped the baby and placed her in Dawn’s arms.

Dawn drew the soft toweling down and gazed into her daughter’s face. Smiling, she kissed her. “Your name is Faith.” She looked up at her mother and sorrow mingled with joy. “Sit here close to me, Mom. You, too, Granny. I have to tell you something.”

Hildie already knew. When Dawn finished, Carolyn was white. “No.” Hildie reached for her hand and held it tightly, her own heart breaking.

“I didn’t want it to be true either, Mom. But we can’t hide from the truth. You and Granny will need to work together. Jason’s life isn’t his own. You’ll be Faith’s guardian, Mom. Granny, you’re going to help her. So will Georgia. God is going to give back all the years the locusts ate, Mom.”

“May Flower Dawn.” Carolyn crumbled, head against Dawn’s side.

Dawn put her hand on her mother’s head as though offering a blessing. “You’re stronger than anyone I know. Keep Faith, Mom.” She smiled at Hildie. “Promise me you’ll share.”

When the paramedics arrived, they worked quickly, efficiently. They said they had room for only one more in the helicopter. Hildie almost said she’d go, but stopped herself. “You go.” She cupped Carolyn’s face. “You’re her mother.”

“Mitch and I will come out and get you as soon as we can.”

Hildie kissed Dawn and the baby. “I’ll see you both soon.” She tucked a strand of golden hair away from Dawn’s cheek. “You hold on to faith, honey. Don’t you dare give up.”

When they left, Hildie went back inside. She sat in her recliner and cried. Then she prayed. She kept praying until dusk came. She forgot to stoke the fire, and it went out. She took the blanket off the couch and bundled up in it. She had weathered other winters without fire or light. She could weather this one. The darkness fit her despair.

She awakened to someone calling her name. She saw a flash of light. The back door opened, and the beam caught and blinded her. “Who…?”

“Sorry it took so long to get out here, Hildie.” Mitch. “I had to come around through Sebastopol and Bodega. The river’s gone down enough to come across from Bridgehaven.”

Her son-in-law had come to her rescue. God had already sent him to rescue her daughter years ago.

“You want to pack a few things?”

“I think I should, don’t you?” She was still in her pajamas.

Mitch helped her around the tree roots and buckled road. He’d driven the Jaguar. It roared to life. He told her Dawn and the baby were both doing well. The baby weighed almost six pounds. Hildie asked him if he knew the reason May Flower Dawn had driven across country in the dead of winter.

“Yes. I know. The only one who doesn’t know yet is Jason, and I’ve got a few friends in high places moving heaven and earth to get him home.”

Hildie didn’t learn until later how many had been praying for the restorative miracle that had taken place at Jenner-and went on praying Dawn wouldn’t be called home. Not yet.