“I’ll get you one, Lovey.” Off Granna Mae padded to fetch a drink of water.
Sierra waited and waited. The remedy began to taste fermented. Finally she couldn’t stand it any longer and forced herself to venture down the hall to the bathroom and get her own drink. Walking only made her head spin more. She barely made it back to her bed before her headache overpowered her.
A few minutes later her mom walked in with a glass of orange juice and a thermometer.
“Thanks,” Sierra said, eagerly sipping the orange juice. “Did Granna Mae tell you I asked for a cup of water?”
“No. Was she up here?”
“About ten minutes ago.”
“That’s odd. She’s been rather mixed up this morning. Did she know it was you?” Mom asked.
Sierra thought hard. “I’m pretty sure she called me Lovey. She gave me a glass of some green stuff to drink.”
“You didn’t drink it, did you?” Mom looked stunned.
“Yes.” Suddenly Sierra realized she couldn’t assume anything with her grandmother anymore. For all she knew, Granna Mae fed her plant food or the soaking solution for her dentures. “Wasn’t too smart, was it? I thought it was one of her vitamin or herbal drinks.”
“It very well may have been, but we can’t be sure about anything with her. Did you say she gave it to you about ten minutes ago?”
“About that.”
“Well, if it were poison you would know it by now.”
“Great,” Sierra said, placing the orange juice on her nightstand. Then, because she wasn’t too sick to play a joke on her mom, Sierra suddenly bulged out her eyes and clutched her throat. With a gasp and a wheeze, she closed her eyes and flopped lifeless on her pillow.
“Very funny,” Mom said. “I take it you’re feeling better.”
“Actually, I kind of am.”
“Must be the orange juice.”
“Or Granna Mae’s green gunk. Can we at least try to find out what it was? I can’t believe I drank it. I didn’t want to hurt her feelings.”
“Here,” Mom said, leaving the thermometer. “I’ll check on Granna Mae. Take your temperature and let me know what it is.”
It was only 99 degrees, a slight fever but not one that warranted a trip to the doctor. Sierra fell back asleep. This time it was deep, restorative, dreamless sleep.
Tuesday she had a hard time deciding if she should attend school or not. Mom had left the choice up to her. Sierra missed the days of grade school when her mom would stick the thermometer in Sierra’s mouth and then look at her watch, waiting for it to reveal its secret. She would pull it out and read a secret message inside the glass tube that only moms could read. If it bent to Sierra’s favor, Mom would say, “Stay in bed today.” If not, Mom would say, “I think you can make it.” The thermometer was as much of a mystery to Sierra in her childhood as the groundhog’s seeing his shadow. In her mind, the thermometer made the decision about school or no school. Not Sierra. Not her mom.
Now it was all up to Sierra. She was beginning to feel the realities of Tawni’s comments about having more responsibilities the older she became. She decided to go to school.
Sierra settled on jeans and a flannel shirt with her thick hunter’s jacket and new velvet hat. She drove herself to school so she could leave if she felt too sick.
As soon as she made a trip to her locker, Sierra waited in the hallway until she spotted the girls from the gym last Friday. She saw one of them and made eye contact. The girl immediately looked away and kept walking to her locker.
Sierra marched up to her and said, “Excuse me.” The girl looked timid. “I just want to apologize for the way I acted on Friday. I was a jerk, and you were right. I did act stuck-up last week. I’m really sorry. I hope we can start over.”
The girl looked surprised but relieved. She had silky brown hair parted down the middle and tucked behind each ear. She wore tiny pearl earrings and had thin eyebrows above green eyes. “Sure,” she said. “My name’s Vicki. Don’t worry about Friday. Marissa and I were out of line to talk about you behind your back. I’m sorry.”
“That’s okay,” Sierra said. “It was actually a God-thing because it made me realize what I was doing.”
“A God-thing,” Vicki repeated with a smile. “That’s good. Did you make that up?”
“No. I heard it from a friend I met in England.”
“You’ve been to England?” Vicki asked. Before Sierra could answer, Vicki was motioning to someone over Sierra’s shoulder. Marissa joined them, chewing on her lower lip as if she were in trouble.
“I want to apologize,” Sierra said again. “I was out of line Friday and I’m sorry I acted the way I did.”
“It’s okay,” Marissa said. “We were wrong for gossiping about you. I’m sorry, too.”
“I was hoping we could all start over.”
“Good idea,” said Marissa. She smiled but didn’t show her teeth. Marissa was shorter than Sierra. She had on a denim jacket and wore her medium-length, cinnamon-colored hair in a loose ponytail.
“Sierra was saying she’s been to England,” Vicki said.
Just then another girl walked up to them and said loudly, “I don’t believe it! This time you have to say you bought it at A Wrinkle in Time.”
Sierra turned to see the girl who had commented on Sierra’s outfit her first day. Today she had on the same black velvet hat as Sierra’s. Sierra laughed. “I did,” she said. “On Saturday. When did you buy yours?”
“Last Thursday,” the girl said. “By the way, if you want the notes from English yesterday, I have them with me. I noticed you weren’t there.”
“Thanks. I’m sorry; I don’t remember your name.”
“Amy,” the girl answered. She looked Italian, with thick black hair and dark, expressive eyes. The hat looked really cute on her. Sierra wondered if it looked that good on her.
“Amy, I want to apologize to you too, about acting so stuck-up last week. I’m trying to make a fresh start.”
“Then you’re at the right school because the people here are very good at forgiving.” She shot a sideways glance at Marissa and still smiling, said, “Most of the time.”
sixteen
“YOU WERE RIGHT,” Sierra said when she arrived home that afternoon. “I was wrong. I stand corrected. There, do you feel better?”
Mom was standing at the kitchen sink, scrubbing potatoes. “Let’s see, could it be you enjoyed school?”
Sierra poured herself some cranberry juice and sat on a stool by the kitchen counter. “I apologized to everyone I thought I’d been a brat to, and they treated me as if I were a totally different person.”
“Probably because you treated them like different people,” Mom suggested.
“My throat even feels better,” Sierra said.
“Sounds like a wonderful day for you all around.”
“How was your day?”
“Good. Granna Mae had a doctor’s appointment. I talked with him some after she left the room. He seems to think a lot of the disorientation last week was due to the move and changing things around in her house and in her bedroom. She might be doing a little better now that we’re all together in one place without any more major changes for a while.”
“That’s encouraging.”
“Oh, and a letter came for you today.” Mom motioned with her hand. “It’s on the front entry table.”
“Thanks. Do you want some help with dinner?”
“No, I’m fine, thanks. I might take you up on the offer after dinner.”
Sierra placed her emptied glass on the counter and went in search of her letter. She guessed it might be from one of her friends from Pineville. She was pleasantly surprised to see it was from Katie. Carrying the thick envelope into the library, Sierra curled up in her favorite chair and began to read.
Hey, Sierra!
How are you doing as you readjust to real life? My first week was hard. I don’t think I was much fun to be around. I’ve mellowed out
now that I’m back in the routine of school.
I went down to San Diego this weekend to see Doug and go to the God Lover’s Bible Study that meets at his apartment. Boy, the stories I could tell you about that place! I’ll save those for another time, like this summer when we get together.
Anyway, Doug gave me this letter to send on to you. A guy named Jeremy at the Bible study gave it to him and asked him to get it to you.
Sierra pulled the folded-up envelope out of Katie’s envelope and looked at the handwriting. All that was written across the front was “Sierra” in bold black letters. She wanted to rip it open, but read the rest of Katie’s letter for a clue.
I’m dying of curiosity, Sierra. You’ll have to write me immediately and tell me who wrote this mystery letter to you. I can’t help but think it’s from that Paul guy you wrote and told me about.
Well, stop wasting your time reading this nothing letter from me and read the mystery letter! Then write me and tell me all about it.
Oh and one more thing. You asked about what I meant about being homesick for being a teen again. I’d give anything to be sixteen again. I was a dork so much of my time because I kept trying to be more independent. My parents kept putting a halt to that. They wouldn’t even let me be a counselor at summer camp for one measly week! I used to think their decisions to hold me back from doing all these wild, independent things were because they aren’t Christians and most of the things I wanted to do were with my Christian friends or with the church youth group. Now I think I understand that they just wanted me to take it slow and stay home as much as possible. I’m the youngest of three kids, and so I guess they wanted me to stay anchored a little longer.
I don’t know if that answers your question, but if you want some free advice, take each day as slowly as you can and enjoy it when you can find simple solutions to your day-to-day problems. Believe me, it only gets more complicated from here on out!
Hey, are you still reading this? Why? Open that letter!
I hold you in my heart,
Katie (Phil. 1:7)
Sierra carefully tore open the sealed back of the envelope. She had to admire Katie. If she had been the designated courier for a mystery letter, she couldn’t guarantee her curiosity wouldn’t keep her from trying to see who the letter was from.
Sierra pulled out one sheet of nice-quality paper. The writing was in bold, black ink and was a mixture of printing and cursive. It was signed “Paul.”
Feeling as if her heart were pounding fiercely in her already-tight throat, Sierra swiftly read the letter. Then she read it again, letting each word sink in.
Sierra,
You’ve ruined my entire life. Are you happy now? I couldn’t sleep for two days after I got back. Jet lag, I’m sure. Or was it the angels of torture you sent to harass me? Well, they did their job. I broke up with Jalene and walked away with my honor. Then I even went to church last Sunday for the first time in ten months. I imagine you’re smiling right now. Feeling quite proud of yourself, are you? Well, don’t give yourself any medals yet. I’m still on the fence. Only now my back is probably turned in the right direction. My mother thinks you’re an angel. I told her you’re only a little girl with a smart mouth. You don’t fly, do you?
Paul
At the very bottom, in small letters, was a post office box number. Sierra interpreted that as an invitation to respond, especially since he ended his letter with a question.
Sierra folded the letter in her lap and tried to slow down her rapid breathing.
He must have written this letter last week if he sent it to his brother in San Diego, and I received it before Sunday. So why didn’t he say anything about seeing me at the movies?
Then Sierra remembered that when Paul saw her, Wes had his arm around her. Paul obviously thought Wes was her boyfriend. She liked the idea of Paul thinking she was going out with a guy who was obviously older than she. She sat for a long time, lost in her thoughts.
When Mom called her to come for dinner, Sierra folded the letter, which she had now read at least fifteen times, and ran it up to her room. Tawni wasn’t there. Sierra tucked it under her pillow, and as she did, she remembered how one of the girls in England talked about writing letters to her future husband and keeping them in a shoe box under her bed. Maybe Sierra would do that too one of these days.
On her way to the door, she tripped over her piles of stuff on the floor and told herself she had to pick it up right after dinner.
All through the meal, Sierra’s imagination was floating somewhere above the table, weaving in and out of the antique chandelier from Denmark. She decided she would write Paul tonight, before she had time to change her mind. She would be witty and brief. Just enough of a note to let him know she could return the volley with ease.
There was a slight problem, though, she suddenly realized. She didn’t know his last name. He didn’t write it, and Katie didn’t mention what Jeremy’s last name was. Would the letter be delivered to a post office box without a last name? It was worth a try. His letter had reached her through Jeremy, Doug, and Katie. That was very resourceful of them.
“Can you help me with the dishes?” Mom asked Sierra just as she was about to flee to the sanctuary of her room.
“Okay,” she answered halfheartedly. As she loaded the dishwasher, she considered saying something to Mom about the letter. She almost expected Mom to ask about it. But she didn’t, and Sierra decided to keep the secret to herself for a while. Of course she would tell her mom and dad eventually. But not yet. The secret was too good to share with anyone just now. She thought she might even wait a day or two before writing back to Katie.
With an energetic snap of the dial, Sierra turned on the dishwasher and dried her hands.
“You seem to be feeling better,” Mom said.
“I guess I am,” Sierra said before hurrying up the stairs. She shut her bedroom door and pulled out the letter. She read it one more time. Then two more times. Now she was ready to write back.
But on what? She didn’t own any nice paper. Maybe Tawni did. Sierra looked through the desk and didn’t find anything she wanted to use.
Then, slipping the letter back under her pillow, Sierra went down the hall to Granna Mae’s room and knocked softly on the door.
“Come in.” Granna Mae was watching a rerun of The Waltons her favorite TV show.
“I wondered if you had a piece of stationery I could borrow.”
Fortunately, the commercial came on just then. Granna Mae slowly slid off her bed and shuffled to the old desk in the corner of her room.
“I didn’t mean for you to get up,” Sierra said. “I could have gotten it.”
“No, no, Lovey! I have different stationery for different letters. Is this to a boy or girl?”
“A guy,” Sierra said, feeling a little funny admitting it for the first time.
“I have just the thing.” Granna Mae pawed through a whole drawer of random single sheets that must have taken her a lifetime to collect. Letterhead stationery from hotels that weren’t even in business any longer came out of the desk, as did pink sheets and aqua-colored sheets. Then she pulled out one piece that was the color of wheat. In the bottom right corner in faint calligraphy letters was written “Zephaniah 3:17.”
“This is the very last stationery I used to write to my Paul every day.” She handed it to Sierra. “Will this work for you, Lovey?”
The coincidence rattled Sierra a bit. Did Granna Mae somehow know she was writing to a Paul, too? “Sure. Yes, thank you. It’s perfect. Good night.”
She scooted down the hall to her room and closed the door. Sierra stood for a moment with her back against the door, feeling her heart pound.
“You are so real,” she breathed into the empty room. “Sometimes, God, You boggle my imagination! Is this a sacred piece of stationery or what?”
Sierra didn’t have to look up the verse at the bottom. She knew it was the one Granna Mae had made her repeat the night she tucked her in, think
ing Sierra was Emma. For a flicker of a moment Sierra wondered if maybe Granna Mae wasn’t smarter than all of them put together. What if she were only faking this memory lapse thing to make them all move in with her and to give her opportunities to get all her points across without being held responsible? No, that couldn’t be.
Stretching out on the bed, Sierra held her pen poised over the paper and carefully began to write. She couldn’t make any mistakes. This guy had no idea how highly she valued handwritten letters over e-mails. She wanted to make sure her response to Paul came out clear and neat at the same time.
Paul,
Aren’t you the clever one, sending messages through your big brother! Big brothers can come in handy sometimes. Like last Friday when my big brother took me to the movies. The funny thing was, I thought I saw someone that looked just like you. I probably should have said something. One always expects little girls with big mouths to say something, doesn’t one?
Oh, and about your life. It doesn’t sound demolished to me. Of course, it’s hard to tell yet. You must get a great view up there on that fence. Maybe a few splinters?
Please tell your mother she’s a saint for putting up with your garbage these past—what was it? Ten months? And yes, I do fly. We did meet at an airport, didn’t we?
Sierra
She carefully addressed the envelope, folded the letter, and placed it inside. Before she sealed it, Sierra had one last thought. Across from the verse she printed her street address in tiny letters the same way Paul had left his box number.
She thought of how much had changed in her life in the past few weeks. She had been to Great Britain and back all by herself; she had her faith stretched during the outreach in Northern Ireland; made some wonderful friends; met Paul; settled in a new, old house with a grandmother who was changing right before her eyes; started a new school; and, after letting God break down her stubborn resistance, decided she liked Royal and the people there. Sierra felt as if her emotions and her life were beginning to even out.
Sierra Jensen Collection, Vol 1 Page 12