Chapter 8:

Gracie’s
Memories

“Through the Lord’s mercies we are not consumed, because His compassions fail not. They are new every morning; Great is Your faithfulness.”

Lamentations 3:22–23 (NKJV)

The back porch was added to the house in 1922, along with two sets of stairs that had rotted and been replaced several times now over the years. Until then, a pile of three large sandstone rocks gave direct access to the back door, but with much effort. For convenience, one set of steps led down to the well and gave easier access for retrieving a bucket of water for the kitchen. However, they became obsolete in the thirties when a bright red water pump was installed at the sink itself by Thomas Barton’s dad.

In the fifties, Thomas Barton installed running water in the house for his wife Grace, making the pump an antique, left there all these years for a quaint reminder of a more laborious bygone-era. At times, it was still used to fill a large pot of water for the wood stove for various and sundry reasons.

The second set of stairs at the end of the long porch led straight up from the back path. Gracie climbed them with her arms full, being careful not to slip on the icy steps. A sign by the back door read:

WELCOME
THE BEST FOOD AROUND

Gracie turned the old white ceramic doorknob, came into the kitchen, and sat her load from the cellar house on the counter beside the sink.

“That J.T.,” she said with a chuckle, remembering that he’d painted the sign and hung it there in the late spring of 1997 when Dinky was about six weeks old.

“I’m gonna start rentin’ out rooms, Grammy,” she remembered J.T. saying, “’cause your house is better than a Bed and Breakfast. We’d make a fortune. People’d come from hundreds of miles around to get one of these apple muffins,” he teased his elderly grandmother.

“J.T., you silly thing.” Grammy’s eyes twinkled as she laughed. “And you could provide entertainment, you clown. What would we call the place?” she asked while peeling apples at the kitchen table with the same paring knife she’d used for the last thirty years.

“We’ll call it Apple Muffin Cottage. What else?” Pop interjected as he shuffled through the kitchen door that morning. He grinned and winked at Grammy, knowing how proud she was of her prizewinning muffins, which were famous for years all over Farmwell Valley. “That’s what everybody calls it anyway—all your customers—all the time. ‘Let’s call up Apple Muffin Cottage and order us some of those good muffins.’”

The memory of that day made Gracie smile. She was glad for the sign by the back door that jogged her memory. She missed the grandparents that had raised her and her sister and two brothers. In ways, it was like they were still here. They were so much a part of her she knew exactly what they would say.

“Now, Gracie,” Grammy would have said, “get that wet jacket off and come get ya a cup of coffee and sit down and talk to me.”

I’d love to, Grammy.

“Missy,” Pop always called her, “don’t you worry about those kids because they’re going to be just fine.”

I know, Pop.

But it wasn’t that way with her dad or Maggie. She had forgotten them long ago. Just parts of them lingered with her there in Apple Muffin Cottage. She remembered being five years old on a hot August day and asking her mother to show her the diamonds in the snow again someday like she had done the Christmas before when the moon shone on the white fields and made them sparkle. Maggie promised she would before kissing her on top of the head and leaving out the front door, never to return. Gracie watched her walk off the front porch, crunch through the dry grass in the yard past the grape arbor, walk through the gate, then turn left onto the old dirt road.

Without thinking, she reached for the familiar purple box on the kitchen table beside her laptop. She opened it carefully, knowing it contained the miniature tea set that was her mother’s. Gracie herself had played with it many times as a child. Even in the dark of night, she could always picture the pink roses and blue and purple pansies hand painted on the delicate china—each piece trimmed in gold with royal blue handles.

Lovingly, she touched the name written on the inside of the lid in large childlike scrawl as if she were touching the face of her mother and wondering, once again, like she had done for the last thirty-two years, if she were alive or dead.

“Why don’t we look for her, Grammy?” Gracie asked her grandmother many times through the years.

Grammy’s reply would always be the same. “Best to leave it to the good Lord.”

Suddenly, in her mind, she was able to see the outline of her mother with the summer sun shining brilliantly behind her, giving her an aura resembling that of an angelic being in a white cotton dress. Gracie remembered her often this way, but she had lost the memory of her mother’s face long ago. Try as she might, she couldn’t retrieve it.

“Let’s have our tea party picnic here under the apple trees,” she could still hear her mother say with a thick Irish accent. “We have a lot to celebrate. Grammy, show us your blue ribbon you won at the fair yesterday for your apple muffins.”

A much younger Grammy shyly held up a blue ribbon. Maggie applauded her mother-in-law’s triumph. A taller, more square-shouldered Pop, sitting in a lawn chair, stood up, bowed, and tipped his black hat at his wife as if she were the queen of England. It was a prized possession given to him when he was a boy by a circus ringmaster for helping water the elephants during a stop at Hope Springs Station.

It must have been late summer of 1968. J.T. wasn’t born yet. Michael, Gracie’s other brother, was only two that summer, and Viney was about six months old, lying in an old wicker laundry basket on a pillow. Gracie herself was just four, but she remembered how happy they all were that beautiful day. Since then, she had never seen a sky as blue or clouds so white and fluffy.

“And the best news of all,” Grammy said excitedly to the little ones seated on a table cloth on the ground in the orchard, “is that your daddy will be home in October and gets to stay for Thanksgiving this year.” Her round face was shining with joy, and a brilliant, broad smile showed off pearly white teeth and deep, dimpled cheeks. Everybody, except Viney, of course, cheered and clapped their hands.

Her dad must have come home in October that year because J.T. was born the next summer. She didn’t remember seeing him for the last time before he left for Vietnam, but she remembered how good he smelled and how strong his hands were when he picked her up and kissed her cheek. A sure feeling of love and security swept over her, and she remembered how much her dad loved her.

“Some good memories,” Gracie said out loud. She’d have to let the kids have a tea party soon. It was a shame that the Regal Brookshire had not been used for so long now. Grammy had put it away in the trunk upstairs for safekeeping, where Victoria found it. Gracie touched each piece tenderly, knowing that her mother’s small hands had played with them when she was a child in Ireland. As she turned the box over, she realized again that Grammy had taped a yellow post-it note to the bottom on which she had written “Timeless Treasures—Dublin.” It was a timeless treasure.

Gracie got lost in thought, standing in the dim morning light of the kitchen.

“Maggie Sue O’Riley,” she said out loud before she replaced the lid on the box and scooted it out of the way, “where are you?”

How could you have left us, Maggie? The question was always on her mind. At times, feelings of rejection and abandonment haunted her.

Grammy’s kitchen, now hers, was always so inviting. Today, it was a warm retreat from the cold November weather. Callie Ann, wearing her new flea collar, thought so too as she curled up on a braided rug in front of the old wood stove.

The familiar copper tea kettle whistled and jolted Gracie out of her daydream. She grabbed a tea bag from a small canister atop a shelf next to the kitchen window. All she needed now was a cup and saucer from Grammy’s cupboard and an apple muffin from the warming drawer. She was going to spread it thick with real butter and enjoy it with her Darjeeling tea. She had to remember it was her cupboard now, her cups and saucers, her Apple Muffin Cottage. She was adjusting to it slowly, but for now, Gracie wanted to sit down and savor this quiet, early morning moment before the day took a hectic turn, as it usually did.

“Dear Lord, thank You for this food. Bless it and give me strength for the day,” she prayed with her head bowed and hands folded over her breakfast. “Please continue to bless my children and me. Help us to bear good fruit for You. In Christ’s name, I pray. Amen.” It had been difficult for her to pray the last few years at her table in the city, in her apartment, but somehow, now that she was here, praying seemed to come a little easier at Grammy’s kitchen table.

Although it was Tuesday and a school day, the kids were still asleep (she thought). Dinky wouldn’t start kindergarten until next fall, and she was home-schooling Elizabeth this year in order to ease her through the transition. Her beautiful but somewhat haughty young daughter didn’t mind, and neither should the unsuspecting souls at Hope Springs Elementary School if they knew what was good for them. She was hoping that Elizabeth could be humbled a bit by Spirit Creek Farm life before mixing much with other Farmwell Valley children and before starting middle school next fall.

Elizabeth had assumed more of an adult role after the death of her father, Gracie’s husband, Ben. She took charge at home while Gracie was working. It was an act of control that made it hard to keep babysitters. Over the years, her little girl had become a caretaker. She cleaned house and learned how to cook at an early age and helped mother Dinky. Gracie had done the same thing in her childhood after her dad’s plane went down in Vietnam and Maggie ran away. Being the oldest, she felt responsible for the younger children and tried to fill a void.

As Gracie worked and her health worsened, she saw her daughter take on more and more responsibility until she knew things had to change for all their sakes. They had to get away from Brotherton. The school there had become a cruel place for Elizabeth, primarily because of Gwen.

The new routine seemed to be working really well for all of them on Spirit Creek Farm since they’d moved there in late summer. She and Elizabeth both were more relaxed, but still, she would like to see a softer heart in her daughter and better fruit.

“Show me a young widowed woman under a lot of stress with children and a career, who is an overachiever anyway, and I’ll show you a woman with fibromyalgia. And you’ve just lost your grandparents, for heaven’s sake! Girl, you are not invincible. You are actually very fragile. How much more can you take?” Dr. Barnes knew what was wrong when she started having odd aches and pains and strange fatigue she couldn’t explain.

“I delivered you, and I’ve known you all your life, kiddo. You’re at a breaking point, I hate to say. You need to make some lifestyle changes before you’re forced to,” he warned her sternly. “You need fresh air, lots of sleep, sunshine, and time with your children.”

Gracie remembered saying to him, “I have kids to raise, Doc, and how I’m going to do that without a job? Although, I do have Ben’s life insurance money I was holding on to and my 401k.”

“And you have Apple Muffin Cottage.”

“Okay, Doc, you win.” She had mixed emotions about giving up her career as a computer specialist but looked forward to being a full-time mom to Elizabeth and Dinky.

So, she traded in her BMW for a four-wheel drive Jeep. Now, every time they crossed Spirit Creek, she’d yell, “Hey, kids, we’re crossing the creek! Hold up your feet!” just like Pop used to do, and they obliged her every time, pretending like they were keeping their feet dry. What once seemed impossible was now a reality. They’d moved out of their apartment and were living in their own house, Apple Muffin Cottage, back on the farm, healing, breathing, praying, and enjoying the little things. Maybe now she could even put Maggie to rest.

She could hear Grammy’s voice in her mind saying to her once more, “Enjoy the little things in life ’cause the big things may never come along.”

While she continued to sip her tea and finish her muffin, she enjoyed a few minutes of relaxation, wistfully gazing past the red and white curtains through the old window that framed her rolling hills and meadows, now white with new snow. A feeling of complete contentment came over her, along with a sense of really being at home, and the weight of the world was off her shoulders.

“Thank You, Lord,” she whispered.

“Um. These muffins are really good,” she remarked to a sleeping Callie Ann after tasting another bite. “I’ll have to remember to compliment Elizabeth. Grammy sure taught her well.”

The prayer and the warm, delicious breakfast hit the spot. She’d be ready for the day’s challenges after she made a quick store list for J.T. Callie Ann began to stir, stood up, stretched, then laid back down, curling up in a tight ball. Her place by the stove was just too warm and cozy to leave.

“I know how you feel, girl,” Gracie chuckled, “I know just how you feel.”

She made the dial-up connection on her laptop and checked her email.

No new messages.

Gracie opened the purple box and looked at her mother’s name again inside the lid, put her fingers on the laptop keys, and pulled up a search engine. Stealthily, on a whim, she quickly typed in Maggie Sue O’Riley, held her breath, and hit the enter button.

“Oh, dear Lord, You have got to be kidding me!” Gracie gasped as she read what had appeared on her screen but what she really hadn’t expected:

TIMELESS TREASURES

Maggie Sue O’Riley, Appraiser of Fine China—New York, New York, previously Dublin, Ireland

I buy and sell, give online valuations, sell on consignment, give helpful tips on how to care for your fine china and porcelain…

“Oh, it couldn’t be!” Gracie continued to read, her heart pounding. It couldn’t be her Maggie. It just couldn’t. How had Grammy known about Timeless Treasures in Dublin?

Gracie clicked on the website. There was a place for posting questions. There was also an email address listed. She copied it; she would bypass the web page where postings were visible to everyone. In the body of an email, she wrote:

I am interested in the value of an antique miniature Regal Brookshire tea set circa 1950. Can you help me?

Mrs. B. D. LeMaster

She quickly hit the send button before losing her nerve. Surely, this couldn’t be her mother. After all, her name would be Maggie Sue Barton. Why would she be using her maiden name? But Grammy somehow knew about Timeless Treasures. How and why?

She wouldn’t mention this to the others right now, especially not to Viney.