Chapter 22

Saturday morning dawned bright and clear. I woke in the predawn hush and couldn’t remember where I was. In my dream, I’d been in a boardroom in Boston, the new Geo team on one side of the table, Vandever and the Lansing brass on the other. Tempers were high, and my heart was hammering in my throat.

Looking at Vandever I wanted to strangle him, wrap my hands around his neck and squeeze the pasty flesh. . . .

He turned to me and smiled—not his usual false, detached smile, but a real smile that reached all the way to his eyes. Blue eyes, like Grandma Rose’s. “I heard a whisper in the sycamores,” he said, but the voice wasn’t his; it was Grandma Rose’s. No one else in the room seemed to hear it. I blinked, and she was standing at the head of the table, smiling, her arms stretched out to me.

Jerking awake, I sat up in bed, looking around, trying to establish where I was and what was real. James stirred next to me, looping an arm over my waist, and everything came back, filling me with contentment. I wasn’t in a boardroom in Boston. I was at the farm with James and Dell.

My heart slowed its hurried rhythm, beating in a peaceful hush that matched the morning quiet. I was home. We were home.

Sliding from under James’s arm, I walked to the living room and checked on Dell lying on the couch, her dark hair cascading against the old quilt. I thought of the three of us visiting her grandmother at the hospital last night after we left Debuke House.

James and I had waited in the corridor while Dell went into her grandmother’s room. Through the glass, I watched her stand a few feet from the bed. Arms crossed, head tilted slightly sideways, she studied the network of wires and tubes. She didn’t speak, just stood staring at the hulking form in the bed, the face obscured by machines.

Finally, she turned and left the room, saying to us, “We should go. It’s late.” I took one last look at the form in the bed, wondering what Dell felt for her and what their life together had been like. Was there love? Cruelty? Neglect? Something in between? Would we ever know? The secrets were locked inside Dell, perhaps forever.

She didn’t want to talk about her grandmother’s condition as we left the hospital and drove home. She just stared out the window, resting her head against the seat, until she fell asleep. Watching her, I wondered how much damage the last few days had done, and how long it would take for her to come out of herself again, or if she ever would.

When we returned to the farm, we sat together on the sofa—Dell, James, and I, talking about the future. Making plans. Planning to be a family.

My eyes filled with tears as I thought about it now. Leaning down, I pulled the quilt over her sleeping form, and happiness welled up inside me, rising to my lips in a sob of pure emotion. Dell stirred beneath the covering, her brows drawing together, her full lips pursing at the sound.

Stifling the noise with my hand, I hurried to the bathroom to dress so I could go outside and clear my head. I didn’t want James or Dell to find me crying on our first morning together.

Slipping into my sweats, I reached into the vanity drawer for a tissue. The box was right where I expected it to be—in the second drawer, where Grandma Rose always kept it. Curlers and hairbrushes in the top drawer, tissues in the middle drawer, towels in the bottom drawer.

I smiled to myself, feeling her in the room like a benevolent spirit. I wish you were here, I thought. I wish you were here to see this.

The Kleenex clung to the yellowed cellophane, lifting the container out of the drawer. Finally, it pulled loose and landed on the floor, scattering stray hairpins and an envelope that had been stuck to the bottom of the box. Leaning close to the mirror, I dabbed my eyes before picking up the box and then the envelope. The paper felt surprisingly cool in my hand, and I stopped to look at it, reading the name written on the back. Karen, it said, and I touched the handwriting, Grandma Rose’s handwriting, running downhill, trembling slightly. Why would she leave something for me here, beneath the tissue box in the vanity drawer of the little house, where I might never find it?

Putting on my sweats and shoes, I slipped silently from the house, carrying the letter, testing the glue on the flap with one finger, opening it carefully. Grandma’s flowers were all around me as I walked along the path. The air was filled with fragrance, clear and pure, heavy with dew not yet scattered by the morning breeze. I imagined Grandma Rose on her knees by the trellis, pulling weeds and singing “Amazing Grace” in a high, off-key voice that crackled with age.

Smiling at the memory, I sat on the iron bench. Hearing her voice in my mind as I drew the letter out of the envelope, I touched the paper but didn’t unfold it. Just marveled at its existence.

A dim shadow fell across me and I glanced up, with the fleeting thought that Grandma Rose would be there, but it was Kate.

“You’re up early,” she said, and sat on the bench next to me.

“You too.” I scooted over to give her some room.

Smiling, Kate rubbed her eyes wearily. “Rose was up early, then back down. Teething again, I think.”

“Just in time for company.”

She yawned, her words coming in a soft sigh. “Yeah, just in time for company. Everyone should be here by about eleven. Ben just called and said he may be a little late, but he’ll arrive by lunchtime, for sure.” She narrowed her eyes, giving me a frustrated look.

“Relax.” I shoulder butted her, wondering if I should bring up the issue of Dell. We’d come home so late last night that we hadn’t talked heart to heart. “It’s going to be a great day . . . just because we’re all here.”

Rescuing a white rose petal from the grass, Kate sat flattening it between her fingers, studying at the intricate spray of pink at the edges. “I’m glad, you know . . . about you and Dell and James. I know I said that last night, but I want you to know I really mean it. I know this is the right thing for her.” A tear slipped beneath her dark lashes and trailed down her cheek. “It’s strange the way things work out.” Sitting up, she wiped her face impatiently and forced a smile. “These are happy tears, I promise.”

I knew the tears were born from both joy and loss. “I love you,” I said, realizing how truly blessed we were to have each other. How could I have been so self-absorbed for so many years that I failed to realize what a gift my sister was?

“I love you, too,” Kate blubbered, and we shared a soppy sister hug.

I forgot about the letter in my hand until I reached up to wipe my eyes.

Kate motioned to it. “What’s that?”

I pointed to my name on the envelope. “It looks like a letter from Grandma Rose, but I found it in the vanity drawer, underneath the tissue box. Why would she put something there if she wanted me to have it?”

Tilting her chin to look at the handwriting, Kate shrugged. “There’s no telling, Karen. Toward the end, Grandma was doing some pretty strange things—forgetting where she put stuff and forgetting things she’d done, leaving her belongings in odd places. . . .” She trailed off, leaning on the arm of the bench and resting her chin on her hand. “But I’ll also tell you that during that time we had a special sort of . . . I don’t know . . . spiritual connection. That time together reminded her of so many things she had forgotten about her life. It caused her to think about what really mattered, after ninety years. She wrote about those things in the little journal I sent you, and she left the book lying around for me to find. I think it was her way of getting beyond all the pride and stubbornness and old resentments that kept us apart. I think she would have wanted you to read it, too.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t read it,” I said, turning the letter over and slipping my finger under the flap. “I just wasn’t ready. It wasn’t time yet.”

Kate nodded like she understood.

“It’s time now.” I breathed the words softly, opening the letter. Four pages, folded neatly around each other. Three from a yellow stationery pad that was crusty with age, and one smaller page in the center, white parchment with watercolor wildflowers along the edge.

I held it open with the small page on top. The writing quivered like Grandma’s hands, running downhill across the page.

A breeze stirred the garden around us, carrying the scent of roses as I read out loud.

Darling Karen,

I cannot say how I know you will find this letter. Sometimes I just know. You’ll come for the tissue box, perhaps while you are here for my funeral, or later when you come to help Kate finally clean out the little house. A memory or a hard moment will strike a tear in your eye, and you’ll come for the tissue box. You will find this letter and know I am here with you.

I feel that the end of my life is coming soon, and there are some things I have not been able to accomplish. I know you will be the one to complete these tasks for me. You are my strong one, my independent, practical girl, and you’ll find a way. You always do.

First, take care of my babies and Kate and my little Dell. When I look at her, I am ever reminded of you as a girl, and I know somehow that you and she will be special to each other. She hears the melody of the breeze and the music of the sycamores, just as you do.

Second, live a good life. Be happy, be content, be silent. Do not waste time. Time is a limited and precious gift. Live in a way that every moment matters. Capture every thought, every scent, every note of music, every glint of sunlight on the water, every chance to help another human soul. Do not yearn, but be content with what God gives you, with who He created you to be. Find your purpose in life. Use your gifts. Make a life with no place for fear and no room for regret.

You will find that the only thing that will really matter in your life is the love you have for other people and the love they have for you. Money, career, anything else in life is useless without love.

There will be times when you will think “What’s the use? I hate my life. Nothing is turning out the way I want it to be.”

I remember when Skip was a baby and I had to stay indoors with her while Grandpa and the hired help went out into the field to work. One day when they had gone back out after lunch, I went upstairs and stood by the window to see what field they were hoeing. I stood there and actually cried because I couldn’t be out there with them as I wanted to be.

Now I ask you—wasn’t that silly? How thankful I should have been to have a healthy baby, a nice home, and a husband who loved me!

Just the other day, I was driving home, and I somehow looked toward the old farmhouse. I must have stopped the car and sat there for a while, looking at the upstairs window, imagining myself standing there with my baby daughter in my arms. All at once, I realized that was sixty-five years ago, and all those good times were gone in the blinking of an eye, and I’m an old lady now.

If I had it to do over again, I wouldn’t shed even a single tear, standing at that window. I would hug my beautiful child, look at my home around me and the fine crop in the fields, and thank God for his wonderful gifts to me.

You have so many gifts, my dear one. Use them all to the fullest, every moment. I will be smiling down from heaven.

There is one last thing I must ask you to do for me, my practical girl. Make amends with your sister. Do not harbor the little grudges of childhood. How I wish I could deliver this message to my own dear sisters: I am sorry. Just that. I was wrong. I held a grudge when I should have forgiven. I criticized when I should have loved. Most people need love much more than they need critics. Remember that, and you will live a good life.

 

I Love You,
Grandma Rose

Beside me, Kate stretched out a hand and touched the letter, her brown eyes wet with tears, glittering in the amber morning sunlight. “I wish she could be here to see the family coming today.”

“Me too,” I said, folding the letter and putting it back in the envelope as a breeze whispered through the sycamores. “I think she is here.”

Kate gazed into the treetops, standing up. “I think you’re right.” Her lips lifted into a slight smile. “Because I feel the need to get in there and bake apple pies. That has to be Grandma.”

Chuckling, I climbed to my feet. “Apple pies sound perfect. I’ll peel apples if you’ll do the crust.”

“Deal,” Kate agreed. We headed inside to bake apple pies—something we had never, ever done together.

“Do you actually know how to bake an apple pie from scratch?” I asked as we went in the door.

Kate giggled. “No. But we can try the recipe in Grandma’s box, and if that doesn’t work, we’ll toss the whole thing in the trash before anyone wakes up.”

“Sounds like a good plan.” Linking arms, we went in the door.

By the time everyone else woke up, we had apple pies with sloppily braided crusts baking in the oven. After breakfast, we tried a few more of Grandma’s recipes, while James and Dell took baby Rose out for a walk. The house began to smell just the way I remembered it—thick with an aroma of dough and cinnamon and the syrupy drips that burned onto the bottom of the oven. We were just starting a batch of Grandma’s banana-oatmeal cookies when Kate glanced at the clock and realized company would be arriving soon.

Joshua came wandering through the kitchen, looking for cookies, and refused to believe that there were no cookies yet, only raw dough. Hopping up and down, he moved along the edge of the counter, trying to catch glimpses into the various bowls and baking sheets, anywhere cookies might be.

“Josh, there are no cookies yet,” Kate insisted, putting a tray into the oven, as he reached for a cookie sheet hanging partway off the counter. “No! Josh! Those aren’t cookies, that’s”—the cookie sheet toppled, just as Kate finished with—“flour!” The room filled with a white cloud, and when it cleared Josh was standing with his hands behind his back, smiling impishly like Casper the Friendly Ghost.

“Ohhh, Josh,” Kate groaned, looking at the mess with an astonished, mortified, what-do-we-do-now expression.

Twisting his lips to one side, Josh rolled his eyes upward, flour clinging to his eyelashes. “It’s not cookies,” he observed. “It’s snow. Wotsa snow.”

Kate and I burst into a gale of laughter. We didn’t even hear the back door open until someone said, “Oh, my gosh, what happened?”

We turned around, and Jenilee was standing there with all of her family. Kate and I looked at each other and laughed harder.

“Come . . . on . . . in,” Kate coughed out.

“Jeni-wee!” Josh exclaimed, and ran across the kitchen to give her a big, white hug. He was still clinging to her legs when he noticed that there were children behind her—a boy and a girl not too much older than he—staring at him wide eyed.

Jenilee stepped aside and quickly made the introductions. “Joshua, this is my niece and nephew, Alex and Amber. You guys are cousins.”

Alex and Amber gave Joshua uncertain looks, clinging to the hands of their father, a tall, dark-haired man who had Jenilee’s broad smile, as he stepped forward to introduce himself. “I’m Drew Lane. This is my wife, Darla.” He motioned to an attractive woman with curly brown hair, who put her hand out to shake mine and Kate’s. Drew finished the introductions, motioning to a blond high school age kid. “And this is my little brother, Nate.”

Kate and I gaped at Nate. He looked like Joshua all grown up and without the flour coating.

Jenilee knew what we were thinking. “I told you he and Joshua look just alike,” she said, pulling a photo from her purse and handing it to Kate. “Look how much his baby pictures are like Joshua.”

All of us craned to see a small boy struggling to hold up a stringer of fish; then we looked at Joshua.

Shrugging, Nate said, “I’ve got a better tan,” with an impish grin that was exactly like Joshua’s.

We laughed again, and an old woman elbowed her way from the back of the crowd, pulling an elderly man behind her. She had Grandma Rose’s hawkish nose. “I guess nobody’s going to introduce us.” Grabbing my hand, she pumped it like she was trying to draw water from a well. “I’m your grandmother’s cousin Eudora Gibson . . . I mean Jaans. This is my husband, June.” She gave him an adoring look. “We’re newlyweds.”

June smiled, slightly embarrassed, then shook our hands good-naturedly and said, “Pleased to meet you.”

Once the introductions were over, Kate surveyed the flour-covered kitchen. “I’m sorry about the mess. We just had a . . . little . . . culinary disaster. I guess we could go sit on the porch and visit. We’re still waiting for everyone else to get here, and for my husband, Ben, to return from St. Louis.”

Mrs. Jaans swept into the kitchen with a determined stride that rivaled Grandma Rose’s. “Oh, hon, I think before we do anything, we better clean this place up.”

Our first act as a family was to rescue the kitchen. By the time James and Dell came back with Rose, things were pretty much back to normal, which was a good thing, because as soon as Mrs. Jaans saw the baby, she wasn’t interested in cleaning the kitchen anymore. She sat in one of the chairs playing patty-cake with Rose, while Kate, Darla, Jenilee, and I finished baking the cookies and fixing lunch, just in time for the arrival of my father’s sister, Aunt Jeane, and her husband, Uncle Robert.

“Well, your father should be here any minute. He stayed with us in St. Louis last night, but he wanted to drive his own car here today,” Aunt Jeane said, whisking a hand through her short gray hair as she moved efficiently into the kitchen.

Uncle Robert trailed behind her, carrying a platter of deviled eggs. “Get ready, Kate,” he warned, smiling. “Your dad stopped off for supplies for another one of his junior science experiments. Something involving a wading pool, a hula hoop, glycerin, and dish soap. It’ll probably be a little messy.”

“Oh, that’s all right,” Kate said, then quickly made the introductions. Afterward, Aunt Jeane sent Uncle Robert outside to put the eggs on the picnic table. He passed my father in the doorway, and Kate ran through the introductions again as my father came in.

Once the greetings were over, we stood in uncomfortable silence. I waited for Dad to bring up the Lansing business in front of everyone. I didn’t doubt that Kate had prepped him on all of that, and it would be like him to start a discussion right there in front of everyone. No doubt he couldn’t wait to analyze the events and my possible culpability in the company’s demise, and to point out all the ways that I hadn’t quite lived up to perfect. He’d have things to say about my new plans for my life. He would want to expound on all the reasons why moving to Missouri and taking a twenty-six-thousand-dollar-a-year job was insanity.

I bolstered my defenses when he turned to me. A pulse pounded in my throat, like I was a kid again, standing there with my less-than-stellar report card. “Hi, Dad,” I heard myself say flatly.

“Karen.” His face gave no indication of his feelings. He raised his arm slightly, then put it back down, as if he were uncertain whether to hug me or shake my hand.

I wanted to reach across the space between us, but I couldn’t. He moved again, as if he felt the same.

He cleared his throat. “I hear you and James have some big changes in the works.”

“Yes. We do.” Here it comes, I thought. The lecture. Right here in front of everyone . . .

He drew in a breath, and for the first time I could ever remember, stopped and really looked at me.

“We’re ready for something new,” I said, losing the awareness of anyone in the room but my father and me. “I guess we’re just at that point in life where the old things don’t satisfy anymore.”

His lips fluttered slightly, a hint of some emotion, perhaps a bit of a smile.

Outside, there was the sound of the empty wading pool hitting the sidewalk and Joshua hollering, “Gam-paw! Gam-paw! I gonna get the water hose now. . . .”

Dad laughed, seeming relieved to have the tension broken. “Guess that’s my cue.” Turning away, he paused to pat me on the shoulder, then added quietly, “Your grandma Rose would be pleased.”

I watched him walk out the door and take command of the water hose, filling the blue plastic wading pool, then adding soap and glycerin, while the kids, including Dell, squatted around the edge, chattering with anticipation. Stirring the concoction with a rake handle, he puffed bubbles into the air, laughing as the kids ran to chase them. He wasn’t the stiff, serious, ramrod-straight man I remembered. He looked like somebody’s grandpa—gray-haired, wrinkled, slightly stooped, and out of fashion in his khaki pants and plaid shirt, completely smitten by the laughter of a younger generation, not the least bit worried about decorum, the house rules, or whether he got his clothes wet.

It occurred to me that he wasn’t the man I remembered. Just as life and the passage of time had rewritten me, they had rewritten him. Things could be different now, if only I would let them.