“Yes, but I’d rather not think about that.”
“At least we’ll be speaking to one another.”
Dawn put her hands over her face and tried not to cry. Some things might never be worked out. Granny might never believe Oma had loved her.
Granny spoke. “I’m sorry about Rev. Elias, Carolyn. God forgive him. And I’m sorry you didn’t understand why we sent you to Boots.”
“It was the best thing you could have done for me. She recognized a dry drunk when she saw one and took me to my first AA meeting. She had a band of friends who were full of hope and experience and didn’t mind sharing. They all thought I should give up my baby. Boots wanted me to keep May Flower Dawn and stay with her.”
“You’ll never know how happy Dad and I were when you decided to come home.”
“I didn’t know I could until you sent that car seat. And then Dad laid down all the rules, and you quit your job so you could take care of May Flower Dawn…”
“We wanted to help you get back on your feet.”
“I know.”
“I didn’t want you staying with Boots.”
Dawn heard the tension building in Granny’s voice, as though quick words could ward off something she didn’t want to hear. But Mom wasn’t going to let her get away with it this time. She spoke gently. “I loved Boots, but I didn’t want to depend on her. I’d lived off Chel for too long.”
“I wanted to help, Carolyn.”
“I know.”
“You wouldn’t have made it on your own.” Granny sounded defensive.
“Georgia did.”
“Because she didn’t have any choice. Her parents kicked her out. We wanted to help.”
“Yes. You helped yourself to May Flower Dawn.”
Dawn sat up and held her breath. She’d known for years she was the cause of much of their contention. She’d grown up in the middle. Granny had stepped in when needed, then held on. For a long time, Dawn had helped Granny win the tug-of-war. It wasn’t until she had sex downstairs with Jason that she understood how guilt and shame could imprison a person, keep her silent, keep her distant. Like Mom.
When Georgia held up the mirror before Dawn’s face, and Jason suggested they stop seeing one another, it had been her mother who came in and sat silently on the end of Dawn’s bed, empathizing with her pain. It had been Mom’s careful words that planted the seeds to let go and let God work, to follow the Lord and not her own deceitful heart and flesh. Mom had understood what Granny couldn’t.
And now, Dawn had come home to create a bridge between them, one built on truth and love. She needed them to mend their relationship. She prayed fervently they wouldn’t allow Satan to rebuild his stronghold. Please, God, not now. Not ever again.
“I’ll take the blame for everything else, Carolyn, but don’t you dare accuse me of stealing your daughter. That’s not fair!”
“You didn’t steal her.” Mom spoke tenderly. “I placed her in your arms.”
“I was helping!”
“Yes, but you didn’t leave room for me.”
“Of course I did!”
Dawn wept at Granny’s pain and defensive tone. God, help her see the truth!
“When? I came home aching to nurse her, and you’d already given her a bottle. You wouldn’t even let me hold her. You’d tell me she’d been fussy and you’d just put her down and I shouldn’t wake her. I worked on Saturdays. You took her to church every Sunday. I never had time with her.”
Granny cried, but insisted, “It wasn’t my fault Dawn bonded to me. I was the one with her all the time.”
“But I wanted to be. You even changed her name.”
“Because people thought she was named after the Pilgrims’ ship.”
“Because you and Dad thought it was a hippy name. Dawn told me. It wasn’t a suitable name for an Arundel.”
Granny blew her nose. “I suppose I did cut you out.”
“I saw how much you loved her, Mom. I was jealous, but I was grateful, too. You and Dad didn’t give me a handout. You gave me a hand up. When I finally got on my feet, I tried to win Dawn back. When I married Mitch and we moved to Alexander Valley, I thought I might have a chance.”
“And we followed you.” Granny sniffled. “I would’ve lived next door if Trip would’ve allowed it.”
“Dawn told me she hated me for making you cry, and I gave up. Dad reminded me you wanted to help. Looking back now, I think he saw how much we were both hurting.”
“My mother ‘helped,’ too,” Granny said bleakly, “and I never really forgave her. It still hurts. Can you forgive me?”
Dawn heard movement and turned so she could see into the living room. Mom knelt in front of Granny. “I forgave you a long time ago.”
Granny laid a hand against Mom’s cheek. “But it still hurts.”
“Yes, but maybe we’ll heal now. I saw as a child, but now I see through a woman’s eyes. I’m glad it was you and not some stranger in a day care center.”
Granny cupped Mom’s face and kissed her. “I’m glad it was Oma and not Mrs. Haversal.”
Dawn got up carefully. She braced herself against the dresser until the pain eased. Stooping cautiously, she gathered the pillows and comforter and put them back on the bed. She slipped beneath the covers and thanked God for answering her prayers.
She knew her biological father, though nameless, had been a kind, young vet suffering post-traumatic stress like her mother. She knew why Mom named her May Flower Dawn. And Mom and Granny were finally talking. Love would win this time.
58
Carolyn got up first, stoked the fire and added two presto logs, then went into the kitchen to start the Coleman and get some water boiling for coffee. She heard a loud, ominous crack from somewhere outside. The house shuddered. Another loud boom, and the house jumped on its foundations. The kitchen picture window cracked. Carolyn clambered away.
“What happened?” Her mother came rushing in, gray hair sticking out in all directions, her robe half-on. “What crashed?” She tied the sash around her waist and opened the back door.
“Wait! Mom, don’t go out there.” Carolyn pulled her back.
The redwood tree had fallen on the garage. Two-by-fours protruded in all directions. The deck tilted.
“My car!”
“I parked it on the road yesterday so I could sort things in the garage. It should be okay.”
“Oh. Good.” Her mother started to giggle. “We’re going to have a lot less to sort through now.”
Carolyn took her by the arm. “Let’s go sit in the living room.”
“Why? Because the kitchen seems to be tilting?”
“It’s not. Is it?” Carolyn’s insides quivered as her gaze darted around the room.
As they headed for the living room, her mother glanced out the door again. “At least we won’t have to worry about firewood. We have a mountain of it.”
Carolyn sat near the fire. “I can’t believe Dawn slept through that!”
Mom sat across from her. “Thank goodness that’s the only tree in front of the house.”
“As long as the house doesn’t slide down the hill.”
“Well, aren’t you the optimist.” Mom gave her a humorless smile. “Dad said this house is built on rock.”
“Did he mean granite… or Jesus?”
“Let’s hope he meant both.” They sat in companionable silence. “I wonder what all that redwood is worth,” Mom mused. “Maybe enough to pay for a new garage.” She shook her head. “I’ll tell you one thing. I’m more than ready to get out of here now.”
Carolyn chortled. “I would hope so.”
Dawn came out of the bedroom, bleary-eyed. “What’s all the noise?”
They told her while she made herself comfortable on the couch, the white afghan around her shoulders again. “Can we get out?”
“I don’t know.” Carolyn studied her. “Do we need to?”