Chapter 12

Leota swept the small brick patio. It had been months since it had been done. The air was fall-brisk and made her bones ache, but she wanted the small area cleaned up before Annie arrived. It wouldn’t do to sit around like an old woman all the time and let Annie and her friends do everything.

Pausing, Leota straightened, admiring the work that had been done over the past month. The garden no longer looked unkempt and abandoned. The trees were pruned, bushes trimmed and shaped, vines thinned and tied to frames and trellises. And with one smile from Annie, that handsome young fellow who’d come with his sister had turned soil in the victory garden. He’d even mulched, then repaired the broken slats in the lattice.

Smiling to herself, Leota leaned on the broom, resting while she looked over the potted plants set here and there on the small patio and retaining wall. Some desperately needed repotting—another lesson for Annie, if the girl was so inclined.

“Grandma!” Annie came around the corner. “There you are. When you didn’t answer your doorbell, I figured you’d be out here.”

Leota felt warmth return to her bones as she looked at her granddaughter. Annie’s blue eyes shone with love, and her smile lit Leota’s heart. “You’re early.” Thank You, Lord. Oh, thank You.

“You don’t mind, do you?”

“Of course not.” Leota looked at what Annie had brought—a pipe with twisting metal curling out in various directions. “What on earth is that?” As soon as she said it, she worried she had hurt Annie’s feelings. What if it was an art project she had completed?

Annie laughed. “Whatever you’d like to think it is. Heat rays. Sound. It’s a metal sculpture. I bought it at a garage sale.”

Thank heavens. Someone’s white elephant, no doubt. “What are you going to do with it?”

Annie bit her lip. “Well, I thought it would look interesting in the garden. I have some rustproof spray paints—yellows, oranges, and reds. It’ll look like sun rays.”

Leota looked it over again, trying to rouse some enthusiasm. It was the ugliest thing she had ever seen.

“Oh, Grandma, I’m sorry. I should’ve asked first. I can take it home.”

Leota laughed. Well, why not put it in the yard? The garden was no longer just hers anyway. It was Annie’s as well. Why not let her play in it? “I think it has potential. You plant it in the middle of the lawn, if you want.” She’d been curious to see what Annie would do when given a free hand. If this was the first hint, Leota knew she was going to be in for quite a show.

Arba Wilson’s children were playing in their backyard. One paused to peer over the fence. “What’s that thing?”

“A garden sculpture,” Annie said happily. “Would you like to come over and help me set it up?”

Leota felt a flicker of irritation. She didn’t want to share Annie.

“Could I?” The little girl jumped off the fence and ran up the back steps. “Mama! Mama! The lady asked me over. No, not the old one, the . . .”

In less than two minutes, the little girl, her older sister, and her brother showed up in the backyard. Leota stood holding her broom and watching. After a few minutes, her irritation wore off. Their enthusiasm amused her. How long since she had had children in this yard? Wasn’t that why she had planted the garden in the first place? To draw her children out of the house?

Arba came down the steps and stood by the fence, watching while her children chattered away and helped Annie dig a hole and set the pipe in it. “How’re you, Mrs. Reinhardt?” Arba smiled at Leota pensively. The expression on Arba’s face made Leota wonder if the younger woman thought she might sprout horns and breathe fire and smoke.

“Still breathing.”

Arba seemed nonplussed. “Well, that’s good.”

Leota shivered. The cooling air had sunk into her arthritic joints. “I think I’ll go inside.”

“They aren’t bothering you, are they?”

“Who?”

“My children.”

“Land sakes, no. Not as long as they’re with Annie. They can come through the gate next time.”

“What gate?”

Leota walked closer and pointed. “Back there. Of course, you wouldn’t know. Can’t see it for all those overgrown privet bushes. Should’ve been cut back ages ago. My husband put the gate in twenty years ago. I had a good friend who lived in your house. She died back in ’64. Her children sold the place.”

“Has anyone else used the gate since your friend died?”

“No. The next family had a baby and spent most of the time in the house. The couple stayed to themselves. Never saw much of them. Heard ’em, though. They screamed at each other night and day. Even had the police over there once to keep them from killing each other. There’ve been a dozen families in and out of that house over the years, and most didn’t even bother keeping the place up any more than you do. I guess they figured since they were renting, it was the landlord’s responsibility, but he never bothered, either. That’s why your lawn is all weeds now and the rest of the garden looks the way it does.”

Arba’s smile had disappeared. “I work, Mrs. Reinhardt. I work very hard. By the time I get home I’m too tired to spend time weeding and cleaning up a yard.”

“An hour a day, and you’d feel the better for it. There’s something about working with the earth that pours the energy you used up in an office back into you.” Leota leaned on the broom for support and looked at Arba squarely. “At least, it did for me. I worked in an office for years. Took a bus and walked.” Her joints were beginning to ache more deeply. “And I know you work, Arba Wilson. Your children are always on their own, except on weekends.”

Arba’s shoulders stiffened. “If they’re bothering you, just tell me, Mrs. Reinhardt. I’ll make sure they don’t do so again.”

“Someone could bother them.”

Arba stilled, a worried look filling her face. “Has someone been bothering my children?”

“Not that I’ve noticed, and I’ve been watching them. They play very nicely by themselves, but they’re out front where anyone could see they’re not supervised. There are some bad elements around these days.”

Arba looked distressed. “I don’t have any choice, Mrs. Reinhardt. I wish I did. Every dime I make goes to rent, food, utilities, car expenses, and medical insurance. I don’t have anything left over.”

“Their father should help with expenses.”

“Their father!” Arba gave a hard laugh. “The court’s gotta find him first.”

“Did he run off?”

“He’s probably in L.A. Unless he’s in jail again. I’d rather scrape by like I am than have him back in our lives. We don’t need his kind of help, Mrs. Reinhardt. He put me in the hospital once and broke Nile’s arm because he got in front of the television while his father was watching some sorry football game.”

“Oh.” No wonder Arba had such strong feelings against the man. Who could blame her? “Got any relatives who could help you?”

“A sister on welfare. I don’t want my kids growing up thinking it’s all right to sit back and let the government take care of you.”

“Good for you. What about a babysitter?”

“Costs too much. I’d need financial assistance, and I don’t want to start down that road.”

“Then tell them to play in the backyard. They’ll be safer there.” Leota couldn’t take the cold anymore. “Or they could come over sometimes and watch my television. As long as it’s not that MTV.” She turned and started up the back steps. Each step was agony, her knees aching clear through the joints. She started to open the door and stopped. “By the way, what are their names?”

“Kenya, Tunisha, and Nile.”

“Well, for heaven’s sake, why on earth did you name them after African countries and a river in Egypt?”

“So they’d be proud of their heritage. That’s why.”

“You want ’em proud the Africans were selling their own people to slave traders? Some heritages are best laid aside.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“You heard me clear enough. My husband went off to war and ended up in Germany where his folks came from. He carried that ugly baggage for the rest of his life. Would’ve been better for everyone if he’d moved on in his life instead.” The old impatience filled her. “When your children are over here on my place, I’m going to call them Carolina, Indiana, and Vermont! They’re free, same as the Israelites. And they’re Americans. You make them proud of it!” She slammed the screen door behind her.

“That grandma of yours is something,” Arba said to Annie. “I haven’t figured out what. Is she always like that?”

Annie held the pipe while the children filled in the hole around it. “I don’t think she meant to offend you.” It was the first time she had heard Grandma say anything about her grandfather that gave her some insight into him. She hoped she could encourage her to talk more.

“Oh, don’t you worry about it.” Arba laughed. “Old folks just get cantankerous sometimes.” She looked toward the house. “I like her.”

“So do I.” Annie barely got the words out around the sudden constriction in her throat. Was she crying? But why? And why this sense of impending doom?

The children finished pounding down the soil around the pipe. “Is it gonna hold, Annie?” Nile gazed up at her, wide-eyed.

“I think so.” She tested it with a gentle push, then a harder one. It held fast. She stood back, looking at the metal sculpture now secured in the flower garden. “Good work, you guys.” The children scrambled to their feet and stood back with her.

“Come on home now,” Arba said, stepping back from the fence. “Maybe we’ll see Anne and her granny in church Sunday.”

“Thanks for your help, you three,” Annie called after them. Smiling, she gave Arba a wave as she headed for her car. She took out a small overnight bag, two plastic bags of groceries, and a large covered birdcage. She came up the driveway and in the back door. Setting the cage on the kitchen table, she left her overnight case on the floor and put the groceries on the counter. She opened the refrigerator and put away cheese, eggs, hamburger, zucchini, mushrooms, red-jacket potatoes, and two quarts of milk. She left a loaf of bread, a package of bear claws, a tin of sweetened coffee, a small box with twenty bags of sampler teas, and a tin of cocoa on the counter and headed into the living room to check on her grandmother.

She was sitting in her easy chair, a knit afghan over her legs. She looked pale. “Are you all right, Grandma?”

“I’m fine. Just cold.”

Annie took one of her hands. It was icy. She rubbed it. “What do you say I fix you some hot chocolate?”

“That would be nice, but I don’t have any.”

“I brought some.” Annie hesitated when she saw her grandmother was shivering. “Why don’t I build a fire first?”

“I haven’t had a fire in years.”

“If you’d rather I didn’t . . .”

“Oh, no, I’d love it if you did. I always enjoyed a fire, but it got to be too much trouble setting it up and cleaning out the fireplace all the time. And I ran out of wood. The matches are there on the mantel behind your grandfather’s picture.”

Annie looked at the old picture. Her grandfather had been a very distinguished-looking man. “He must have had blue eyes.” They were so pale in the picture.

“The bluest I’d ever seen. And blond hair. Like gold.”

Striking a match, Annie drew aside the screen and lit the yellowing newspaper crumpled beneath cut branches and an old presto log. Everything was so dry, the fire caught quickly. “I don’t know anything about him. Mother never said much of anything about him.” When her grandmother didn’t say anything, Annie decided not to press. “I’ll put the water on.”

“I made some tuna salad this morning,” her grandma called to her. “If you’re hungry, it’s there on the top shelf of the refrigerator. Help yourself. There’s a can of chilled peaches, too.”

“Did Corban come by this week?”

“On Wednesday. I imagine he’ll show up tomorrow again. He figures he’ll get more information out of me when you’re around.”

Annie laughed. “He thought he was being subtle.”

“As a steamroller. Anyone with half a brain could see through that cock-and-bull story. If something happened to me, they’d be looking through my little telephone book under ‘in case of emergency’ numbers and calling your mother or your uncle. Or you. By the way, did you bring that parrot with you? The one you said had a nervous breakdown?”

“He’s in here.”

“Is he any better? Let’s have a look at him.”

“He’s eating again.” She took the cover off Barnaby’s cage and carried him into the living room. “I’m glad you said I could bring him over, Grandma. Susan’s totally freaked out about him. She’s convinced now that he’s eating that he’s punishing her with the silent treatment.”

“Oh, my, he’s a pretty thing.”

“He’s a rainbow lory.”

“Some birds are gregarious. Maybe he’d get better with a mate.”

“Raoul paid five hundred dollars for Barnaby, Grandma. At that price, I’m afraid he’s destined to be single.”

“Five hundred dollars for a bird! That’s more than I was ever paid in a month! What did this fellow do for a living? Sell dope?”

Annie laughed. “He’s a policeman.”

“Well, he should’ve gotten himself a German shepherd. Would’ve been cheaper and he could’ve taken him along on the job. Why don’t you put Barnaby on that table by the front window, to the left of the door? There’s plenty of light there. Maybe he’ll like that.”

Annie set the cage down carefully. Barnaby twitched once and remained still. “He used to pace back and forth on his perch and talk all the time. Raoul used to leave the television on day and night to keep Barnaby company.”

Her grandmother got up and turned the television on. “Any particular station?”

Annie grinned at the bird. “He doesn’t say.”

Her grandmother smiled and selected a PBS concert. “That might soothe his ruffled feathers.”

Annie went back into the kitchen. She had wondered how her grandmother would take to Barnaby, but she could hear her grandmother talking to him and smiled to herself. She hoped Grandma Leota would keep Barnaby when they offered him. Annie had read that pets added years to a person’s life, and she wanted her grandmother around for a long time to come. Who knew? Barnaby might be just what she needed.

She brought the mug of hot chocolate into the living room and set it beside Leota. The fire was crackling. “Are you warming up?”

“Yes, thank you. I shouldn’t’ve stayed outside so long. Work used to keep me warm enough, but standing around leaning on a broom doesn’t get the blood moving. Why don’t you go and paint that metal sculpture while I take a little nap.”

Grandmother Leota’s eyes drifted shut as she finished talking, and with a worried glance at her still-white face, Annie headed for the backyard.

When Annie finished, she stood back, admiring the effect. The red, orange, and yellow streamers of metal flowed out of the gray pipe like a starburst of color in the fall garden. Some of the leaves on the fruit trees were beginning to turn as well. A clematis was growing close by, and Annie curled several tendrils around the base of the pipe, thinking how pretty it would look if the vine grew to partially conceal the metal.

She put the cans of spray paint back into the plastic carrier, then set it on the floor just inside the back door. Grandma Leota was asleep, her recliner tipped back just enough to elevate her feet and not interfere with her view of the television set. The concert was over, and actors spoke with English accents. Annie guessed the program to be an Agatha Christie murder mystery. Barnaby was picking at the food in his bowl. He had become very neat since “the incident,” as Susan called it. If her grandmother liked Barnaby enough, Annie had decided she would take the stand from the trunk of her car and set it up so the cage top could be removed.

Annie carried her case into the spare bedroom. She hung up the dress she planned to wear to Sunday worship service, then took out her sketch pad and pencils. For the rest of the afternoon, she made studies in black and white. Serenaded by the droning white noise of the television, she drew her grandmother’s face as she slept in the big chair. She drew her veined and delicate hands. Later, she made quick sketches of the fireplace and mantel, Barnaby on the table by the window, the lamp on her grandmother’s side table with the doily, Bible, and reading glasses.

When her hand began to cramp, Annie set her sketchbook and pencils aside and went into the kitchen to start supper. She found a bowl in one cabinet and seasonings in another. She mixed a meat loaf. After washing her hands, she turned on the oven and searched through the lower cabinets for a baking dish. Pressing the meat loaf into it, she slid it into the oven. Washing two red-jacket potatoes, she put them in a pot of water and set them on the stove to be turned on later. She would slice and steam the zucchini while the potatoes were boiling.

The telephone rang. Annie stepped into the doorway as her grandmother answered. Turning away, she took two plates and silverware out and set the small kitchen table for two.

“Annie!” her grandmother called. “Would you mind if Corban came by for a while this evening?”

“Supper will be ready in an hour, Grandma. There’s plenty for one more.” She waited a moment and stepped into the doorway. “Did he say yes?”

“He’s on his way.”

Annie added one more setting to the table, two more potatoes to the pot, and went to join her grandmother in the living room. She sat cross-legged on the couch and set her sketch pad and box of pencils on the side table.

“I didn’t intend to sleep so long.” Her grandmother moved as though to work the kinks out of her shoulders and back. “I’m not much company for you.”

“I enjoy your company, Grandmother, awake or asleep.”

Leota lowered the chair so that her feet were on the floor again. She pushed herself up, stood for a moment, then began stepping from one foot to the other.

“Are you all right, Grandma?”

She marched slowly in place. “I’m at that age when I have to get the circulation going before I take any long treks.”

“Where are you going?”

“To the bathroom. Then to the bedroom for a sweater.”

“I can get your sweater for you.”

“I know you can, but I’ll get it. If I don’t move around a little bit, I’ll grow right into this chair and have to be buried in it.”

The thought made Annie shudder, and she pushed it away quickly. No point in getting morose. Grandma was going to be around for a long time.

Annie greeted Corban at the door when he arrived. “Good evening, Mrs. Reinhardt,” he said formally as he entered the living room.

“I think we’ve known each other long enough now that you can call me Leota,” she said from her chair. “Where’s your notepad?”

“I left it in the car.” His mouth tipped ruefully. “You seem to clam up when I have it in my hand.”

“How does your girlfriend feel about you spending your Friday evening over here with me and my beautiful granddaughter?”

“Grandma—”

“Ruth’s in the city with some of her friends.”

“Girls’ night out?”

“There’s a march tomorrow morning. A political demonstration. They’ll be in the front lines.” He didn’t look happy about it.

“Dinner’s ready, Grandma,” Annie said, hoping to save him from explaining further. Corban helped her grandmother from the recliner.

“You’re learning,” Leota said, smiling up at him. Annie saw he was put off by the compliment. So defensive. Lord, what can we do to soften his heart and help him relax enough to show himself? He’s like a box turtle, pulling in tight, waiting for the hammer to fall. Annie followed them into the kitchen. When they were seated together, Leota looked at him. “Would you like to do the honors?”

“Honors?”

“Pray.”

He blushed to the roots of his hair. “I don’t pray.”

“Don’t or won’t?”

“Religion’s never been a part of my life.”

“It hasn’t played a big part in mine, either. Faith, on the other hand, is everything.” Grandma held out her hands. Annie reached across the table to Corban so they joined hands in a circle. Corban looked decidedly uncomfortable but resigned. Grandma Leota lowered her head. Annie did likewise, closing her eyes.

“Father,” her grandmother said solemnly, “bless this food to our bodies’ use and bless the hands that have prepared it for us. And help us, Lord Jesus, to minister to this poor heathen boy. Amen.”

Annie pressed her lips together, trying not to laugh. Her gaze flickered to Corban, whose face was even redder.

“Thanks,” he said grimly.

“You’re welcome.” Her grandmother spoke without the least hint of humor. She offered him a bowl. “Squash?”

Rain pattered the roof as the three of them ate together. Grandma Leota paused and looked out at the backyard. “That thing looks good out there. It’ll be the only color until spring.”

Corban glanced over. His brows flickered. “Well, that’s certainly . . . different.”

Annie didn’t know whether that meant he liked it or not, but it didn’t worry her. “More meat loaf, Grandma?”

“No, thank you, dear. I don’t usually eat this much. I have to watch my girlish figure, you know.” She gazed out the rain-slicked window. “There are quite a few bare spots left for you to fill, Annie.” She smiled at Corban. “And you, too, if you’ve the imagination for it.”

“Fill with what?” he said.

“Whatever you have to offer.”

Corban looked out at the yard and back at them, obviously at a total loss.

“I was thinking about bowling balls,” Annie said.

“What are you talking about?” Corban sounded faintly frustrated.

“Bowling balls,” Annie repeated. “They come in all colors. I bought two a few weeks ago at a garage sale. One yellow, one marbled pink and red.”

“What for?”

She shrugged. “Oh, I don’t know. They were pretty and didn’t cost much.”

He gave a gruff laugh and speared a piece of potato. “Sounds like shifting junk from one place to another.”

“For heaven’s sake, Corban!” Grandma scowled at him. “Weren’t you ever a little boy?”

Annie sensed her grandmother was coming to her defense and was touched. “I’ve been thinking they might look interesting in the garden. Are you game?”

“You do whatever you want out there, honey. That garden is more yours than mine now.”

Alarmed, Annie put her hand over her grandmother’s. “It’ll never be mine, Grandma. That’s your garden. I won’t change anything if you don’t want—”

“Nonsense. Hush now, and listen. A garden is only yours as long as you seed, weed, cultivate, water, and prune. A garden needs lots of tender, loving care. You go out there and enjoy it. The Lord knows it’s been neglected too long. Just watching you work and put yourself into it gives me pleasure past describing. So you go ahead and bring the bowling balls and anything else you want.”

Annie bit her lip, feeling the ache grow. Was her grandmother giving up? She didn’t want to take over the garden. She wanted to come alongside her grandmother so they could enjoy it together. She had so much to learn. There were so many things her grandmother could teach her. Oh, Lord, give us time. Please give us time.

Grandma Leota patted her hand. “Don’t look so distressed, Annie.” She gazed out the window once more. “It never belonged to me anyway. I had so many hopes and dreams while I was out there.” Her hand tightened slightly. “It’s lots of work. You don’t realize at first. You have to soften the soil with hoeing and fertilizing. Then you plant the seed and water and weed, all the while watching and hoping for growth. Then you have to protect the seedlings from vermin, and prune when things grow too fast and wild. Sometimes they get away from you altogether. Sometimes they die, and you don’t know why. But then others flourish, so that everyone can partake. That’s the whole point, don’t you see? Bearing fruit. Carrying the sweet aroma . . .”

Her eyes grew moist. “Those trees back there that you two worked on should bear fruit this year.” She let go of Annie’s hand. “If they don’t, cut them down.”

Annie’s heart ached. There it was again, the feeling that her grandmother was speaking less about what was outside the window and more about what had gone on inside the house. The tears pricked, hot and heavy. She felt Corban looking at her, perplexed. Did he feel nothing about what Grandma had just said? Or was it that he just didn’t understand? “Did Grandpa like gardening, too?”

Her grandmother blinked and looked down at her plate. “There wasn’t much of a garden when he went away to war. Mama and Papa Reinhardt started it, but everything Mama planted withered and died. After I came to live with them, the outside chores fell to me. And it seemed I had a knack for gardening. After a short while, it was no chore at all because I loved being out there in the open air and sunshine. Right from the beginning, that garden became my place. I worked all day, you see, and when I’d get home . . . well, the garden was a refuge where I could work out my sorrows and frustrations and have joy poured back into me.”

“Did Mother help you?”

“Sometimes Eleanor would come outside. I hoped she’d love it the way I did, but she never seemed to take to it. She became very close to your great-grandmother, you see, so she stayed inside most of the time. Eleanor was just a baby when I moved in here, and Mama Reinhardt took over rearing her and your uncle George when I went to work. Mama Reinhardt never approved.”

Corban pushed his plate aside and leaned forward on the table. “Approved of you, or of you working?”

“Both, I suppose. She didn’t understand. Those were hard times. Our country was at war against Japan and Germany. Papa and Mama Reinhardt were German immigrants, both with thick accents. It didn’t matter so much with Mama—she wouldn’t have worked outside the home anyway. But no one would hire Gottlieb Reinhardt. He was a professional man, an engineer, and it hurt his pride terribly to be looked upon with suspicion. He never talked about the discrimination. It’s not like today when everyone is shouting about being discriminated against, but it was a blow to his honor and integrity. He wasn’t angry; he was ashamed. Mama didn’t know about any of this until years later.”

“How could she not know, Grandma?”

“He was a very quiet man, honey. He didn’t whine or complain. Every morning he left the house and stayed away all day, dipping into savings when no paychecks were forthcoming. She thought he was going to work. For months he would look for a job, pounding the pavement, knocking on doors, offering his experience and knowledge. After a while, he gave up. He would go down to Dimond Park and sit on a bench and read.”

Annie saw the tears in her grandmother’s eyes.

“He was too proud to tell Mama Reinhardt no one wanted to hire a German. They were both naturalized citizens, not that it mattered. People were afraid and suspicious.” She smiled sadly. “I didn’t know until a few weeks ago that they had their citizenship. I found their papers with some old letters.”

“So you moved in with Great-Grandma and Grandpa to help them out financially?”

“Oh, I wasn’t so high-minded and altruistic as that. I needed help myself. Papa was worried they were going to lose the house. He wrote to Bernard about the situation, hoping his son could help him. Bernard wrote to me. I was barely making ends meet by myself, and Bernard thought this was an answer from heaven for all of us. He thought it would be a good way for me to get to know Mama better, too. And I would have someone to watch over George and Eleanor so that I could get a job and help out until Papa found something. There were plenty of jobs with so many men gone. Just none for Germans, you see. So I came to Papa and talked with him about it. Papa said to move in with them, and I did. I found employment that same week.”

“And that didn’t hurt his pride?” Corban looked skeptical.

“Papa knew I’d worked before marrying Bernard. In fact, I’d worked much of my life, just as most people did back then. He didn’t tell Mama the full situation, and it wasn’t my place to do so. Things were bad enough between Mama and me without my rubbing her nose in the fact that I was the one paying for the roof over her head. She had been against Bernard marrying me in the first place. I was trying to keep peace, not declare war. Mama Reinhardt didn’t know what was really going on until Bernard came home from the war. And by then, it was too late.”

“Too late?” Corban frowned. The words hung in the air.

“For the children. I’ve had a lot of years to think things over, and I know most of our troubles go back to that time.”

Annie felt her grandmother’s pain. She took her hand between her own.

Her grandmother looked at her sadly. “It was unfair, really. You have to see Mama Reinhardt’s side of it. All during those war years while I was working, Mama Reinhardt didn’t know I was turning the money over to Papa. She just thought I didn’t care about my children. She thought I was just looking for a way to pass George and Eleanor off on her so I could have a carefree, fun-filled life of my own while Bernard was off fighting the war. Papa never told her otherwise. He was too proud, I guess. Too hurt. Too ashamed. The damage was being done to the children more than anyone, and I didn’t fully understand. I was caught up in my own resentments and frustrations. Mama Reinhardt loved George and Eleanor in her own way, but she said things, hurtful things about me. And being so young, they believed everything.”

She sighed. “I look back now and see that all my actions seemed to make it look like I didn’t care about them. I did work all day—five, sometimes six, days a week. Then I’d go to church on Sunday. It wasn’t the denomination Mama and Papa had belonged to in Germany, so Mama would stand in the bedroom doorway and tell me I was going against everything Bernard would want.”

“Was that true?”

“Of course not, but it was what she thought and it made things difficult on the children. They were spending so much time with Mama, their loyalties were being pulled toward her. And I made it worse. I held my tongue most of the time and nursed my grievances against her. Thankfully, I had a good friend. Cosma. She was a dear. We worked together. Her husband was in the service, too. Sometimes she and I would volunteer at the USO. We’d serve coffee and cookies and dance with the soldiers.”

She shook her head. “I’ll never forget one night when Mama Reinhardt waited up for me. She called me names in German. I didn’t know what they meant, but I saw the look on her face and heard the tone of her voice.” She gave a soft, humorless laugh. “I lost my temper and called her an old battle-ax. She said she was going to tell her son everything about me when he got home, and then I would be out of her house. Papa was up from bed by then and got between us. I thought he’d tell her the situation then. I hoped and prayed he would.”

“But he didn’t,” Corban said, his eyes dark.

“Not entirely, and I didn’t dare.”

“Why not? She deserved it.”

She shook her head slowly. “When you smash someone’s pride, Corban, you make an enemy, not a friend.”

He shrugged. “She was already your enemy.”

“Papa wasn’t. He was on my side. That might have been part of Mama’s animosity. He said he couldn’t tell her yet, but he would. I knew it was best to leave it to him and wait.”

“Did he tell her?” Annie’s heart ached for all her grandmother had endured.

“Eventually.” She pushed her plate away. Annie saw that her hands were trembling. “This is so difficult. You’re only hearing things from my side, and I can see you taking offense for me, but things are never so simple. You must try to understand and not hold anything against Mama Reinhardt.” She reached out to pat Annie’s hand. “She’s family, you know. Her blood runs in you, as well as mine. Think of it from her side. I was unlike anyone she knew. I was very independent. Very modern. Very American.” She smiled sadly. “She was against your grandfather marrying me because of that. She thought Bernard would be happier married to a girl more like those from their homeland.”

Leota laid her supper utensils on her plate. “I think when I moved into her house, she was convinced I would try to take over everything. So she fought me from the start. She didn’t want me cooking or cleaning or doing anything in the house. When I went off to work, that just verified what she thought about me. I didn’t understand her any more than she understood me. She had difficulty with English. In fact, she and Papa spoke German to one another most of the time. I just stayed out of her way as much as I could. It’s pretty hard to do in a small house, so I worked in the garden. I thought it would give them time alone together, and I hoped it would give me time alone with my children.”

“But it didn’t work out that way.” Annie knew her mother hated gardening more than anything else. And now she knew why. Mother had never understood that Grandma Leota was extending an invitation to her. She’d always referred to the garden as a place of labor rather than a labor of love.

“No, it didn’t work out that way. Things seldom happen the way we plan.”

“What happened when your husband came home from the war?” Corban said. “Did he get everything straightened out?”

“We had a whole new set of problems.” She held out her hand for his plate. “You’re finished?”

Annie saw how her grandmother’s expression changed subtly. Grandma Leota didn’t want to talk about Grandpa Bernard. The pain was all too clear in her eyes. Memories too painful for tears.

Corban must have seen it, too. “Yes,” he said slowly and handed her his empty plate. “Best meal I’ve had in a long time.”

Annie was thankful he didn’t press her grandmother with more questions. She smiled at him when he glanced at her.

Grandma Leota took his utensils and put them on her plate. Then she carefully slid his plate underneath her own. She held out her hand to Annie. Annie didn’t want her to stop talking about the past; she needed to know everything in order to understand her mother. “Were you ever able to make peace with Mama Reinhardt, Grandma?”

“Years later.” She sighed, her hands resting on the table. “It’s hard to explain. I think she knew it was my salary that saved the house, because Papa signed it over to Bernard as soon as he came home from the war. But it wasn’t until years later, when Papa was dying, that he told her everything.” Her eyes had grown moist. “That’s when she changed toward me.”

She blinked and was silent and still a moment. “I knew she was sorry. I understood her better by then, too. We reached an understanding. We loved one another as best we could. Toward the end, I think we both put the past completely behind us.” Taking a deep breath, she let it out and pushed her chair back from the table. “After all was said and done, she was the only company I had after your grandpa died.”

Annie felt the anguish of that quiet statement. Both women had been alone in the end. She knew the fullness of that, for her mother had wept bitter tears when Great-Grandma Reinhardt had died.

“I would’ve gone to see her if my mother hadn’t still been there. . . .”

Filled with pity and a sense of shame she couldn’t define, Annie rose. “I’ll do the dishes, Grandma.”

“You can put them in the sink for me, but I’ll wash them. I need to stand up for a while and do something.”

Annie relented. She knew it was her own nature to step in and try to take over the chores, but doing everything for her grandmother wasn’t merciful or kind. Grandma did need to get up and move around and do things for herself. More important, she needed to know she was useful. There would come a time when more care would be needed, but this wasn’t it. Not yet. Not now. Setting the plates and utensils in the sink, Annie stepped aside. “The dishes are all yours, my dear. Would you like me to dry?”

“No. We’ll leave them in the rack. It’s supposed to be healthier. Corban, why don’t you get another bundle of wood and stoke the fire. I’ll join you two in the living room when I’m finished.”

Annie understood. Her grandmother was asking for a few moments to be by herself. She glanced at Corban and saw he, too, understood. He rose and headed into the other room. Annie put her arm around her grandmother’s shoulder and kissed her cheek. “I love you, Grandma,” she said, embarrassed by the thickness in her voice. “I love you very much.”

Her grandmother looked up at her, her blue eyes full of tears. “I love you, too. And whatever your mama may have told you, I love her, too. Always have. Always will.”

Corban put cut branches on the fire. Annie was behind him, stroking the small parrot. “I didn’t know your grandmother had a bird.”

“Barnaby belongs to my roommate’s friend, but she’s hoping Grandma Leota will adopt him. And you’re hoping, too, aren’t you, Barnaby?” Turning her head, she smiled at Corban again. The sweetness of it caught him off guard. “Susan and I haven’t enough time to spend with Barnaby—” she stroked the parrot again—“and birds need company.”

Corban was disturbed by his reaction to Annie. Looking for a distraction, he picked up her sketch pad. “Is this yours?”

She glanced at him and her eyes flickered with embarrassment. “Yes,” she said simply and looked away again. He wondered if she was worried at what he might say. Surely she didn’t think him such an ogre that he would slam her work?

“Do you mind if I look them over?” He was determined to show her he could be kind.

“I suppose not. I was practicing.”

The first sketch surprised him. “These are very good, Anne.” He was amazed how good.

“You really think so?”

She looked so vulnerable. Did she really have so little self-esteem? He caught himself, remembering a similar look on Ruth’s face when they were first dating, though he hadn’t seen that look since she moved in with him. There were times when he wondered if Ruth had ever really been vulnerable or if it had all been a ruse. Even as the thought came, he felt guilty for it. Ruth had been trying harder lately, though he had sensed a hardening beneath the surface smiles. Was it his attraction to Anne-Lynn Gardner that made him see Ruth Coldwell in a different light and question her feelings for him?

What about his own motives and feelings? Did he dare scrutinize his own behavior? Mouth tight, he sat on the old sofa and flipped through more pages. “How long have you been studying?”

“I just started classes at the art institute, but I’ve always loved to draw.”

He studied one page. “Do you know what you’re going to do with it? As a livelihood, I mean?”

She straightened slowly, whispering to the bird before answering Corban. “Oh, I don’t know yet. Right now, I’m learning the fundamentals.”

“What’s your passion?”

“The Lord.”

He glanced at her. There hadn’t been the least hesitation or embarrassment in her response. Had he heard her rightly? “I beg your pardon?” Was she some kind of religious zealot? She didn’t look the part.

She seemed to consider for a moment. She smiled and shrugged. “I want to paint things that will glorify God.”

“Landscapes? That sort of thing?”

“And metal sculptures I buy at garage sales. Or walls.” She laughed at herself. “Whatever. The Lord will let me know in His time.”

She wasn’t a ditz. She was just plain weird. Her face was lit up, her blue eyes shining as though lit from the inside. He thought she was the most beautiful girl he’d ever seen, including Ruth. Even if she was a little nuts.

He couldn’t help but smile. Unlike Ruth, who kept him off center all the time, this girl made him feel comfortable. And curious. “You weren’t kidding about the bowling balls, were you?”

“No, I wasn’t.” She laughed. “Visitors could imagine them to be dinosaur eggs, don’t you think?”

Her laughter wasn’t forced or flighty. It was full of warmth and spilling out of her—and it was contagious. He grinned. “I hadn’t thought of that. If I spot one at a garage sale, I’ll buy it for you. How’s that?”

“You go to garage sales?”

“Not often.”

She gave him a dubious look. “Ever? Come on, Corban. Be honest.”

She reminded him of her grandmother, nailing him on every white lie. “Okay. Once or twice. Out of curiosity. But I’ll start looking around. I promise. I mean, I didn’t realize people sold such valuable items as bowling balls. Anything else on your wish list? An old tennis racket, maybe? Some golf clubs?”

She grinned. “Well, let me think about it for a minute.” She sat on the other end of the sofa and crossed her legs Indian fashion. “Yes to the tennis racket and golf clubs. I have some ideas how I could use them. But I’m more interested in old wash buckets and watering cans, birdhouses, ceramic animals, pots, and big rocks . . . that sort of thing. How’s that for a start?”

“Do you think I’m a Rockefeller?”

“Bargain. Keep track. I’ll pay you back. Just don’t go whole hog.”

“I was kidding, Anne.” His mouth tipped. “Money’s no problem for me.”

She tilted her head slightly, looking at him with a strange expression. “I think it must be more of a problem than you realize.”

Frowning slightly, he looked away from her intense scrutiny. He flipped another page in her sketch pad and tapped the drawing. “This is really good, Anne.” The sketch of Leota Reinhardt’s hands was so real he could see the paper-thin quality of her skin, the veins, the wedding ring that had become part of her finger, the short nails. They were hands that had worked hard, yet held a quality of grace.

“I’m sorry if I was out of line.” The apology was quiet and utterly sincere.

He let out his breath and looked at her again. “Having money has its drawbacks.” He thought of Ruth again. It would be nice to know where he really stood with her. He never remembered her being so offensive and defensive before they started living together. Or was it when they started sleeping together that things began to change? He wasn’t sure anymore. He just knew something wasn’t right. Something dark was working beneath the surface, something deadly that was eating away at the relationship he had hoped to have with her.

He stared at Anne’s drawing and marveled at the detail.

Anne leaned over to look at what he was studying. “Her hands have always struck me as beautiful. Don’t you think so? There are so many women now who have soft hands with long, silk-wrap nails painted in pretty pinks and reds. But my grandma’s hands have such . . . character.”

She was right. He thought of Ruth and the time she spent on her hands and nails. And her hair, and her body . . . even her feet. She’d sit and sand her heels and rub in expensive lotions. Everything about Ruth was practiced, right down to the voice lessons. Ruth was a work in the making. The sound of the exercise video played in his head. He laughed under his breath as a thought came to him.

“What?” Anne glanced at his face, curious.

“I was just trying to imagine your grandmother doing a workout in front of the TV.”

Anne laughed. Oh, how she laughed. He loved the sound of it. He loved watching her face. She made him laugh, too. Oh, man, it felt good not to have to worry whether she would take offense at his mirth.

“What are you two cackling about?” Leota said from the doorway, a dish towel over her shoulder.

“I thought you were going to let the dishes air-dry, Grandma. You just wanted to be rid of us.”

“This old mare is not completely out to pasture.”

Corban grinned at the old woman, enjoying the moment. “Do you work out, Leota?”

“With barbells, you mean?” She gave him a droll look. “Not lately.”

Anne laughed harder. “Add barbells to the list, Corban. Wouldn’t they look great in the yard, Grandma? We could lean one upright against the fence and train a baby rose vine around it. Most people buy exercise equipment and let it gather dust in a corner anyway.”

“If you find some barbells, you can bring them over and plant them.” With that, Leota went back into the kitchen.

Corban turned another page in Anne’s sketchbook. “Where’d you get these designs?” He studied the intricate swirls and curls, the sort of patterns he imagined he could find in a Moorish palace.

“Oh, that’s just doodling.” She got up and headed for the kitchen.

Just doodling? Corban watched her, his gaze starting at the thick fall of long, curly, strawberry-blonde hair tied back at the nape of her neck and dropping down over her lithe form. She was thinner than Ruth, but definitely curved in all the right places. She dressed carelessly—a short-waisted pink sweater, worn blue jeans, and old tennis shoes. Ruth wore Levi’s, too, usually with a white T-shirt, black leather belt, and tan blazer with a gold pin on the lapel. She wouldn’t be caught dead in jeans with grass and dirt stains on the knees and a torn back pocket.

He turned the last few pages of the sketchbook, admiring Anne’s work, then set it aside as the two women joined him again. Leota settled herself. Gripping the arms of her chair, she pushed so that the chair tilted back and the footrest was raised. She looked tired and pensive. She caught him studying her, sighed, and closed her eyes. Did she think he was going to start an interview?

Anne sat on the sofa and took up her sketch pad. Corban hoped she would start drawing again so he could watch how she worked. Instead, she put it aside and focused on him. “How long have you been doing volunteer work?”

“Couple of months.” He glanced at Leota and saw she had one eye open and trained on him. “Okay. Okay. Your grandmother is my first assignment.”

“Corban has such altruism. He’s going to change the world for the better. Just ask him.”

He blushed. Leota was smiling at him. Resigned, he looked at Anne and confessed. “I needed a subject for a paper I’m writing. Your grandmother is it, much to her disgust.”

Leota chuckled. “In the beginning, that was true, but I’m beginning to enjoy your august presence.”

“Thanks a bunch.”

She closed her eye. “Doesn’t take much to get your dander up, does it?”

“Look who’s talking.”

“Good for you.” She folded her hands on her lap. “Don’t let me get away with anything.”

Corban decided to take up the challenge. “I’d like to hear more about your husband.” He saw the muscles of her face tense slightly. Or had it been a wince? “You said there was a whole new set of problems when he came home. What sort of problems did you mean? Delayed stress? Family? Job?”

Leota sat silent.

He was sorry he had said anything. What an idiot he was. He could feel her silence. She was so still, he wondered if she was gathering strength for a blast of temper. She was probably going to tell him to march himself right out of her home and not darken her doorstep again. But when she slowly opened her eyes, she looked at Annie, not him.

“Bernard Gottlieb Reinhardt had the tenderest heart of any man I ever knew. And that is why life became so difficult for him. He felt responsibility for things he had no control over.” A look of anguish filled her face. She closed her eyes again.

Why had she made such a point of her husband’s tenderness?

Corban looked at Anne and saw tears trickling down her cheeks. Did she know what her grandmother was talking about? He looked back at Leota and grimaced inwardly. He really was a jerk. He was beginning to hate the whole idea of doing a term paper and using Leota Reinhardt as part of his research.

Leota tipped the chair up so she was sitting with her back straight, hands on the armrests, feet flat on the floor. “I suppose it’s time,” she said softly. Corban sensed from her expression that she had made a decision and was now determined to go forward with it, no matter how much it hurt.

Oh, why couldn’t he have kept his mouth shut?

“The first time I saw Bernard, I was with a friend at one of the dance halls downtown. Bernard came in with several of his friends. He was the sort of young man that young ladies notice right away. Tall, handsome . . . he was blond and had beautiful blue eyes. He wasn’t three feet inside the door of that hall before he was surrounded by women. He paid them no attention.” She smiled. “I loved to dance, especially swing, and I never lacked for partners. Bernard just stood and watched me all evening.”

“He never asked you to dance, Grandma?”

She chuckled. “He didn’t know how, and he had too much dignity to want to learn in front of everyone.”

“So how did you meet him?”

“The band took a break. I was out of breath and hot from dancing. Bernard was standing near the refreshment table. The evening was more than half over, and all he had done was stand and watch me. He had a glass of punch in his hand and was sipping out of it. He smiled at me and lifted his glass. So I took the bull by the horns. I walked right up to him, said I was thirsty, and held out my hand. He blushed when he gave me his glass. I drained it, handed it back, and asked him for more.”

“Grandma!” Anne said, laughing. “I’d never have courage enough to do something like that!”

“Most ladies wouldn’t think to do such a thing. I was always one to go after what I wanted. Besides, I figured if I waited for him, I’d be old and gray before he said a word to me. There were rumors of war, and life didn’t seem so certain. Then again, maybe that was just my excuse for being so brazen. I didn’t want to miss the opportunity. I had never seen Bernard at the dance hall before. Seeing as he didn’t dance, I figured it was unlikely I’d ever see him there again. Nothing ventured, nothing gained, as they say. One look at your grandfather and I thought the risk of complete public humiliation was worth the chance he might ask me out.”

“Obviously, he did.”

“Oh, he did better than that. He asked me to marry him.”

“Right there in the dance hall? That night?”

“Well, later. In the rumble seat.”

Corban laughed. He couldn’t help himself. It was a side of Leota Reinhardt he would never have imagined in a million years. She turned her gaze upon him like a marksman ready to fire. He fought to regain control. “Sorry.” A rumble seat!

“Of course you are,” she said dryly. “I can guess what improper notions stampeded through your dirty little mind. Have you ever been in the rumble seat of a car?”

“No, ma’am.” His lips twitched.

“Obviously not. It’s a small space—a very small space—too small to carry on anything improper, I assure you. Especially when the car is in motion with the wind blowing in your face and the car bouncing over every bump in the road. And don’t give me that cheeky grin of yours.”

“Just getting even. Whose car was it?”

“One of Bernard’s friends’. Can’t remember his name, but he knew my friend and asked if we needed a ride home. The dance ended late, and we were waiting for the bus when they drove up. I wasn’t in that seat two seconds when Bernard put his arm around me, leaned down, and said someday he was going to marry me.”

“What’d you say, Grandma?”

“I said, ‘How about next Wednesday? It’s my day off.’ Of course, I thought he was joking. When he took me out the next evening, I realized he wasn’t.”

“It gives a new definition to whirlwind romance.” Corban grinned even more broadly. “One week.”

“Actually, it was almost a year, and most of that time was spent trying to change his mother’s opinion of me. You see, Bernard went home that first night. His folks had been worried and waiting up for him. He told them he had met the girl he was going to marry. By the time he spilled out the whole story, they were convinced I was . . . well, not the sort of girl anyone would want for their only son. A girl who danced with all the young men at a public hall and drank from a stranger’s glass and accepted a proposal in the back of a car.” She smiled sadly. “A Jezebel.”

She rubbed her thighs as though she ached. “I didn’t understand them, and they didn’t understand me. Until Bernard went away to war, we had very little to do with Mama and Papa. Bernard would visit them on Sunday afternoons after church. I fixed dinner for them a few times, but . . . well, Mama Reinhardt was a very good cook, and I was a new bride who had lived on tuna casseroles, corned beef and cabbage, and potatoes.” She smiled in amusement. “Mama Reinhardt was not impressed.”

Corban felt anger stirring inside him at the hurt Leota must have felt. “Sounds like an old bat to me.”

“I think that’s probably what you thought of me in the beginning.” Leota gave him a pointed look. “Wasn’t it?”

“Now that you mention it,” he conceded with a wry grin.

“Maybe you still do. Didn’t anyone ever teach you to respect your elders?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Now that’s one of the things I like about you, Corban. Your impertinence.” Leota’s eyes were twinkling, and Corban found himself liking her—really liking her—for the first time. She must have been something when she was young.

“So you didn’t have them over for dinner often,” he said, hoping to get her back on track.

“Once a month we suffered one another’s company. I liked Papa right from the beginning, but Mama would sit and watch and not say anything. When she did, she spoke German to Papa, and he would translate.”

“Didn’t she speak English?”

“Not very well. Language was another barrier between us. English isn’t any easier to learn than German, but over the years, we learned to talk to one another. More toward the end.”

“Did Mother learn to speak German?”

“Your mother and Uncle George spoke German at home until their father returned from the war. After that, German was never spoken in the house again.”

Annie’s eyes widened. “Not even by Papa and Mama Reinhardt?”

“Not in Bernard’s presence.”

Corban waited, knowing whatever Leota had to say wouldn’t come easily. He could see the tears welling in her eyes as she sat silent, gathering her thoughts. She blinked, her hands rubbing and rubbing at her thighs. She looked gray and old. Vulnerable. As though she were drowning in painful memories.

“Mama’s loyalties were put to the test when Bernard joined the army,” she said finally. “She and Papa both had brothers and sisters with families still in Germany. I remember both of them saying what a madman Hitler was. They would read the daily newspapers and grieve over every word that was said about Germany. Some editorials called them ‘bloody Huns.’ The Reinhardts had been receiving letters ever since leaving Europe, and the later ones were filled with glowing praise for the Führer. Of course, Mama and Papa wrote right back with the truth. Then the letters stopped coming.”

She leaned back, her hands still. “I was with Bernard when he told them he had enlisted. Mama Reinhardt wept. I’d never heard crying like that before. Wailing like her heart was being torn from her. Papa told Bernard if the war turned in America’s favor and he ended up in Germany, to try to find and save whatever kin he could.”

She fell silent then. Corban bit his lip, giving her the chance to begin again. When she stayed silent, though, he couldn’t hold back the question. “Did he make it into Germany?”

“Yes.”

So much pain in a single word. Corban had never realized it was possible to communicate so much in one word. Annie sat still and silent, eyes flooded with tears, seeming to feel her grandmother’s suffering as though it were her own.

“Bernard made it to the town where Mama and Papa Reinhardt had lived. The unit he was with destroyed it.” She blinked, not looking at either of them. “He awakened one night after a recurring nightmare. He told me the men had gone mad, he among them. They killed everyone they saw. They wanted to wipe that town off the face of the earth.”

Corban couldn’t believe he’d heard right. He leaned forward. “Why?”

She looked at him bleakly. “Just before they came to the town, they had freed a concentration camp. Bernard said the smell was beyond describing, dead bodies stacked up like cordwood. The town was close by, close enough to have known what was happening, close enough to have been supplying the soldiers there. Bernard never got over what he saw and what he did about it.” She closed her eyes. She was trembling.

Annie started to weep. She left the couch, knelt at her grandmother’s feet, and put her head in her lap. Leota stroked her hair slowly. “Your grandfather said when the rage in him died, all that was left was shame. Shame for what he had done, but more shame for the blood that ran in his veins.”

“Did Mama and Papa Reinhardt ever know?” Annie said tearfully.

“Bernard never spoke a word about it to anyone but me, and he only spoke to me about it one time, when it poured out of him against his will. It was like a cancer eating him up inside. Oh, his parents both knew something horrible had happened in Germany, something so terrible their son could never speak of the war. Perhaps if he had talked about it, he wouldn’t have suffered so.”

Corban couldn’t imagine what the man must have felt. “How—how did he cope with what happened?”

“He came home, went back to work, and tried to get on with his life. Papa signed the house over to him, and he and Bernard built the apartment behind the garage. Mama moved in grudgingly, feeling I had stolen her house from her. She was filled to overflowing with resentment. She blamed Bernard’s depression on me, saying in no uncertain terms that a good wife would be able to bring her husband out of it. She just didn’t understand. And neither did I at that time.”

She sighed. “Our squabbling must have made things worse on your grandpa. And your mother and George were afraid of their father. They didn’t remember him, of course, since they were so young when he went away. After he returned, Bernard was given to bursts of anger in the beginning. He was a fine craftsman, but he’d work for a while, then lose his temper and get fired. He lost one job after another the first five years he was home. After word spread, he couldn’t get full-time work. That just made him feel worse because then it had to be me working to pay the bills. He’d lapse into long silences. He always did such wonderful work. He built the lattice in the backyard. And he did those cabinets in the kitchen and that built-in china hutch back there. Beautiful work, but all he could get were odd jobs.”

Eyes moist, Leota went on quietly. “In the evenings he would sit in front of the television and drink until he fell asleep.”

“Oh, Grandma,” Annie murmured, holding her grandmother’s hand between her own and rubbing it gently as though to bring warmth into it.

“He was a good man, but broken up inside.” Leota’s mouth trembled. “And I never knew how to put him back together.” Her lips curved in a humorless smile. “Like Humpty-Dumpty. Shattered.”

Corban didn’t know what to say or do to ease her suffering. The long silence made him uncomfortable, pointing out his ineptitude. The silence of ten minutes was unbearable to him. How had she borne the silence of years, especially knowing the cause of it?

“It’s not just Germans,” Leota said as though he had spoken aloud. “That’s the thing of it. I tried to tell Bernard that, but he’d never listen. Look what the Japanese did to the Chinese during the rape of Nanking and to anyone who ever fell into their hands during the war. Look at what the white man has done to Native Americans. Look what the Africans do to one another. We have the holy wars in the Middle East, jihad against us, the genocide in Southeast Asia, and the Soviets splintering and aiming warheads every which way. Here in our own country right now, you feel the tide turning against Christians. They’re being maligned and blamed for all kinds of things. No. There’s nothing new under the sun. I remember thinking back in the sixties, when the Watts riots were going on, that what happened in Germany could happen here. And then the AIDS epidemic hit. It’d be so easy for the tide to turn against those who’re poor and sick.”

She shook her head. “No, it’s not Germans. It’s mankind. It’s our own sin nature growing and taking control and ravaging the world. But Bernard would never listen. He would never accept God’s grace and mercy. He knew there wasn’t a way on this earth to undo what he’d done, and he wasn’t willing to let God wash it all away with the blood of Christ. Not until the very end. So he suffered. And he made everyone around him suffer right along with him.”

Annie shook her head, her expression filled with a sorrow that pierced Corban’s gut. When she spoke, her voice was choked with tears. “I don’t think Mother knows any of this, Grandma.”

“You’re right. She doesn’t. She and George were too young to understand what was going on. They believed what they were told. I always thought to keep to myself what I knew until I died. But lately . . .” She looked at Corban, her eyes clear and bright, pensive. “Sometimes you have to tell the truth, no matter how hard it is. Even when it doesn’t change anything. People seem to make the same mistakes over and over again.”

Corban felt a heaviness in the pit of his stomach. Leota Reinhardt was trying to teach him something, and for the life of him he wasn’t sure what it was.

“It helps me understand Mother a little better, Grandma. There’s so much she doesn’t know. Maybe if she did . . .”

“She has to want to know, sweetheart. The soil has to be softened before planting. Watering has to be done before a seed takes root.” She touched Annie’s cheek tenderly. “My, how an old woman rambles on when she has such a kind audience. Now, how about some of that herbal tea?”

Annie rose, leaned down to kiss her grandmother’s cheek, and went into the kitchen.

Leota looked straight at Corban then, challenging him in some way. He sensed that she was trying to make him see past himself. What is it, old woman? he wanted to cry out. Say it straight out. Tell me! I want to know. I want to see. I want to understand.

She smiled, an irritating little smile that told him she wasn’t going to make things easy for him.

All she said was, “I have hope for you, Corban Solsek.” She waited another moment; then she rose stiffly from her chair, turned the television on to a game show, sat again, and leaned her head back. With that, she closed her eyes and said not another word for the rest of the evening.