by Katie Powner
“You’re right.” Mitch’s neck muscles relaxed a little. “I’ll talk to him about it.”
“And talk to Marge about you getting out of here to do something fun once in a while.”
“I can’t ask her to watch my parents any more than she already is.”
Frank laughed. So hard he bent over at the waist and put his hands on his knees. “I meant take her with you, you idiot. Go out to dinner or something.”
Mitch felt his face flush.
“And I don’t mean at The Baked Potato.”
“I don’t know about that. I’m not . . .”
“What?” Frank stared him down, a twinkle in his eye. “Good-looking? Sane? Smart?”
Mitch looked at the floor. “Ready.”
“Look, man.” Frank put a hand on his shoulder. “No one’s ever ready.”
Mitch hung his head. That was definitely true. He hadn’t been ready when Caroline got sick. Hadn’t been ready to say good-bye. Hadn’t been ready for Bea to get married. Still wasn’t ready to become a grandpa.
“I’ll think about it.”
“You do that.” Frank clapped him on the back. “I better get going.”
He was about to leave the kitchen when Mitch raised a hand. “Frank.”
Frank stopped and spun around.
“I’m sorry.” Mitch rubbed the back of his neck. “For everything. I never should’ve shut you out. I didn’t know what to do.”
Frank gave him a little smile. “I’m just glad to have you back. I missed you.”
“Thanks.”
“But I’m not the only one.” Frank gestured with one arm in the general direction of the church building. “A lot of other people have been missing you, too.”
Mitch wanted to say something sharp about how they wouldn’t even notice if he drove off a cliff. Instead, he glanced at the schedule Marge had made, hanging on the fridge door, and couldn’t do it. “I’ll—”
“Yeah, yeah,” Frank interrupted. “You’ll think about it.”
He saluted and showed himself out of the house, saying a loud good-bye to Mitch’s parents on his way. Mitch never could’ve imagined so many people coming and going from his house. Caroline would’ve loved it.
He wiped his hands on his jeans and looked around the kitchen as his stomach grumbled. What he wouldn’t give right about now for one of Marge’s—
“Yoo-hoo.” The front door slammed shut, and Marge’s voice carried down the hall. “I brought dinner.”
One side of Mitch’s mouth lifted. Now that he was ready for.
FIFTY-TWO
As they took the Highway 288 exit and headed north, Bea leaned forward to watch the mountains fill the windshield. Even though she was becoming more familiar with the back side of the Bridgers, the dips and peaks and jagged edges here were like an old friend. Today her old friend was wrapped tightly in a sweater of snow and ice, winter’s merciless fingers pressing, pressing, pressing in, with the mountain refusing to yield.
“We’re lucky the roads weren’t too bad,” she said.
When Jeremy didn’t answer, she glanced over. The final lines of Tim McGraw’s “Don’t Take the Girl” played, and Jeremy wiped at his face.
Her eyebrows rose. “Are you crying?”
He sniffed. “No.”
A grin spread across her face. “Yes, you are.”
“It’s a powerful song, okay?” He dabbed at one eye. “Does the girl die?”
“The song doesn’t say.” Bea put a hand on his shoulder. “I like to think she makes it.”
“Me too.”
Red-and-silver tinsel hung from the light poles on Main Street in Moose Creek. The roads were covered in hard-packed ice, but they gave the new tires on the Toyota no trouble. Even when Jeremy flipped around to park the right way in front of the house.
As they walked to the door, Bea nudged Jeremy’s new leather belt with her elbow. “Looks good on you.”
His chest puffed out a little. “I’m surprised he didn’t misspell my name on purpose.”
She smiled and smacked his shoulder. “Oh, stop it.”
They reached the door, and Bea knocked as she opened it. “Anybody home?”
Jeremy followed her inside, and they looked around. No one appeared to greet them.
“Hello?”
Dad poked his head into the hall from the kitchen. “Oh, you’re here.”
“Everything okay? Where’s Grandma?”
“Yes, yes, of course.” Dad waved her over. “Sorry, your grandpa and I were just talking at the table. Grandma’s been in her room all morning. We’re trying to figure out what might convince her to come out.”
“She’s not doing well? Hi, Grandpa.”
Grandpa gave her a wink and lopsided grin.
Dad shook Jeremy’s hand. “She’s just been quiet today is all.”
“Oh.” Bea wasn’t sure what to make of her dad’s tone. Was he worried? He seemed distracted. “You still planning to run some errands while we’re here?”
When she’d told him over the phone they would be coming today, he’d mentioned he might take the opportunity to run out and take care of a few things.
A funny look passed over Dad’s face. “Yes. If that’s all right with you.”
“Of course.”
Grandpa frowned. “I don’t need a babysitter.”
“I know.” Dad appeared flustered. “But I don’t like leaving you alone for too long.”
Dad’s explanation did nothing to alleviate Grandpa’s frown. “How long are your errands gonna take?”
“Uh . . .”
Bea tried to keep her voice upbeat. “It’s fine, Grandpa. This just means we’ll be able to talk about him while he’s gone.” She turned to her dad. “Where will you be going?”
Dad scratched the top of his head. “Well . . .”
The door opened and shut.
“Yoo-hoo! Ready to go?”
Dad’s face reddened.
Bea smirked. “I see. Well, I’m sure we’ll all be just fine while you’re on your date.”
“Keep your voice down.” Dad’s face was horror-stricken. “It’s not a date.”
“You know what your mother would say.” Grandpa’s frown threatened to flip upside down. “If it looks like a duck, and walks like a duck . . .”
“Cut it out.” Dad pleaded with his eyes as Marge joined them in the kitchen. “Bea, why don’t you go down and see your grandma. See if you can talk her into coming out for lunch.”
Ha. She could take a hint.
“Hi, Marge.” She smiled at their neighbor and glanced at Jeremy, who indicated he would stay in the kitchen. “All right. See you later, Dad.”
She gave Marge a small wave and excused herself. Dad would have some explaining to do when he got back, but right now she would focus on her grandma. That’s why she was here.
Bea walked slowly down the hall, admiring the family photos that hung all along the wall. Suddenly, a tiny twinge from somewhere beneath her belly button stopped her. Her eyes widened. She put her hands on her stomach. “Is that you, little one?”
She stilled and breathed gently, hoping to feel it again. The app on her phone had told her she might start to feel her baby move soon, but nothing else happened as she waited. Her mind must be playing tricks on her.
When she reached the bedroom door, she paused. Even though it had been weeks since she moved out and her grandparents moved in, it was still strange that the room that had been her parents’ her whole life was someone else’s now. Nothing could stay the same forever. She was learning that was okay. Sometimes it was even good, because it forced people to consider things they never would’ve otherwise. Like going back to school to become a social worker.
The bedroom door stood open about an inch, and she tapped on it. “Grandma?” She strained to listen but heard no response. “It’s Bea.” She tapped again. “Beatrice.”
The bed creaked. Bea waited. A wizened face appeared in the crack. Bea expected her gr
andma to say, “Don’t just stand there, come in, come in,” but instead, she just pulled the door open and stepped back.
Bea forced a smile and entered, struck anew by how different the room looked now. Mom and Dad’s wedding photos were gone. Bright yellow curtains were tied back on the picture window, and Grandma’s rocking chair from the porch at the ranch was positioned there so she could look outside.
“It’s good to see you, Grandma.”
Grandma tilted her head, then let her eyes drop to Bea’s midsection. Bea placed a hand there and flushed. Though she was almost to the twenty-week mark, her baby bump was still barely noticeable. Could Grandma see it? Something flashed in her eyes, then was gone.
While Bea watched, unsure what to do, Grandma carefully lowered herself into the rocking chair and stared out the window. Bea let out a long breath. She thought she’d been prepared for this. Dad had warned her that Grandma’s good days were getting fewer and farther between. Yet seeing it for herself was like having an elbow injury you could almost forget about if you didn’t keep bumping it into things.
She sat on the plaid love seat along the wall near Grandma’s rocker. It was the color of wild roses and amber sunsets. She watched Grandma rock back and forth, white spots appearing on the knuckles of her hands as she gripped the arms of her chair.
“Do you want to go to the kitchen for some lunch?” Bea asked.
Grandma rocked. Bea stuck her hands under her legs to keep from fidgeting.
“It’s almost Christmas,” Bea tried again. “Uncle Ken’s coming to visit, remember?”
Nothing. Bea studied her closely. It wasn’t that she seemed sad necessarily. People with dementia often suffered from depression, but Grandma was just . . . somewhere else.
“I know you’re in there,” Bea whispered.
Her heart felt the sting of loss—there’d been a lot of that the last few years—but she didn’t sink into it. Wishing couldn’t change what she had or didn’t have. Grandma had taught her that. So she didn’t wish her mother were here. Didn’t wish Grandma would speak to her. Recognize her. She just sat and tried to be thankful Grandma seemed content.
After a few quiet minutes, Bea leaned over to look outside, too. To see what Grandma was seeing. The Bridger Mountains crowded the window, somehow still startling in their immensity and closeness even after twenty-one years of looking at them. Did Grandma miss her old house? Did she wonder what had happened to her? Did she recognize the mountains even when her brain held no memory of Bea’s face?
Another twinge, the tiniest of movements deep in her core, caused Bea to sit up straighter. There was no mistaking it this time. Warmth flooded her chest and spread.
She was going to be a mom.
“Once upon a time, there was a man named Miner McGee,” Bea said.
Grandma stopped rocking. Bea licked her lips. She hadn’t meant to do it, but the story came tumbling out.
“He’d spent his life traveling the country, searching for treasure, but never struck it rich. And that’s what he wanted more than anything. To strike it rich. Eventually, his travels brought him to Moose Creek on the first day of winter. The same day the town was buzzing with a fantastical rumor.”
Bea would never be able to tell the story like Grandma, but she couldn’t help giving extra emphasis to Grandma’s favorite word. Grandma still wouldn’t look at her, but Bea swore she leaned a little closer.
“The rumor told of the enormous Big Sky Diamond hidden away on the mountain,” Bea continued. “Miner McGee couldn’t believe his ears. He’d waited his whole life to find a treasure like that. So he stocked up on supplies, strapped on his headlamp, and headed up the mountain.”
The hair on Bea’s arms stood up. Grandma was looking now. Peering intently into Bea’s face.
“Miner McGee went up the mountain just as the worst blizzard Moose Creek had ever seen swept over the land. The wind blew, the snow fell, and the roads became impassable. When the sky finally cleared after three days, the people of Moose Creek gathered to decide whether to send a search party up the mountain for Miner McGee’s body right then and there or wait until the thaw.”
Grandma covered her mouth with her hand and waited.
Bea’s heart swelled. Her voice rose. “As the townspeople talked, the sun sank low in the sky, and someone shouted, ‘Look!’ Everyone looked, and there on the mountain was Miner McGee’s headlamp, shining bright for all to see as he searched for the diamond.”
A small gasp from Grandma caught Bea’s attention, and she lowered her voice. “Ever since that day, if you look over at the mountain when the sun sinks low in the sky, you will see his lamp click on.”
Grandma’s eyes widened. Bea held her breath. Memories swirled around them like the blizzard in the story.
“What if he never finds it?” Grandma asked, her voice a lone tumbleweed scraping along a dirt road.
“He will.” Bea rested a hand on her stomach and smiled. “He’ll never give up.”
Acknowledgments
Thank you to everyone at Bethany House—and I do mean everyone—for all your hard work behind the scenes. From the people managing the mail and the book orders to the people in charge of design (shout out to Susan Zucker for the beautiful cover!) and marketing and schedules, I appreciate you all very much. I’m particularly grateful for my editors Dave Long and Luke Hinrichs, who diligently strive to keep me from embarrassing myself, and Kate Deppe, whose attention to detail helps me sleep better at night.
Many thanks to Sarah Carson, Janice Parker, Kerry Johnson, Emily Conrad, and Mary Freeman, who were gracious enough to offer feedback on early versions of the story. Your input and enthusiasm were invaluable to me during the awkward early drafts. I don’t know where I’d be without you.
Thank you to Grandma Julie for pointing out the light on the mountain when I was a kid and telling me the story of the old miner and his lamp. I’ve carried that story around with me for many years, and I’m glad I finally had the chance to tell it myself. I wish you were here to see this.
To everyone watching a loved one suffer from dementia, I hope you have a Light in your life that gives you hope. It is such a hard road.
To everyone kind enough to give my first book, The Sowing Season, a chance, I can’t thank you enough. Your support has been amazing.
A special thanks to Baby B for bringing so much joy to my life, and a special no thanks to the dumpster fire that was 2020 for doing everything you could to keep this book from ever being completed.
A big, mushy I love you to my family—especially my husband, Andy; my kids; and my mom—for all your support and help and all-around awesomeness. You guys are the best.
About the Author
Katie Powner, author of The Sowing Season, grew up on a dairy farm in the Pacific Northwest but has called Montana home for almost twenty years. She is a biological, adoptive, and foster mom who loves Jesus, red shoes, and candy. In addition to writing contemporary fiction, Katie blogs about family in all its many forms and advocates for more families to open their homes to children in need. To learn more, visit her website at www.katiepowner.com.
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Table of Contents
Cover
Half Title Page
Books by Katie Powner
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Acknowledgments
About the Author
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Back Cover