A Mother's Love

by Charlotte Hubbard

  “Well, look who’s here! It’s our amazing Grace,” Martha Maude quipped as the little girl stopped in front of her. “We came back for our plastic bins today—but I also have a special job I want to do in the flower garden at the side of the building. Will you come with me, Gracie?”

  When Gracie gazed back at her, Rose nodded. “Jah, this girl needs a special job,” she teased. If she said no, Martha Maude and Anne would surely suspect something was amiss. She watched the two of them go out the front door, hand in hand and chattering as though they were old friends.

  Rose smiled shyly at Anne. What could she say that wouldn’t get her into trouble? She noticed the plastic bins stacked near the aquarium—probably where Sherrie always put them after she’d emptied them. “Looks like all your pretty pieces have found homes,” she remarked. “That’s a very thoughtful project, bringing lap robes and slippers and such.”

  Anne was gazing steadily at Rose as though quilted and crocheted pieces were the furthest things from her mind. “Last time we came here, I thought you looked very familiar,” she murmured. “Do I know you, Rose?”

  Rose thought she might pass out. If she didn’t answer Anne’s question truthfully, she would never get another opportunity to discuss their relationship. But if she did answer . . .

  “I’m sorry,” Anne murmured, shaking her head. “I get these silly notions about folks sometimes, thinking I know them from—”

  “Yes, you do know me,” Rose interrupted nervously, “but it’s been about thirty years since you saw me . . . after you weaned me at Lydia and Myron Fry’s house.”

  Anne’s mouth dropped open. She pressed her hands to her cheeks, leaning forward to gaze closely at Rose’s face. “Oh, my word, I—I . . .”

  Rose swallowed hard, tears filling her eyes when she saw the intense emotion on Anne’s pale, freckled face. When she reached out, Anne clasped her hand as though she might never let it go.

  “Rose! Oh, Rose,” she murmured. As she wiped her eyes, she quickly looked around the lobby. “When I saw your facial features—your eyebrows and your father’s hair color and complexion—the other day, I couldn’t help wondering if you might be my Rose. Oh, praise God! I—I never dared to hope I’d see you again,” she whispered. “But please understand, Martha Maude knows nothing about—”

  Rose glanced nervously toward the door. “I don’t want to cause you any trouble with your family,” she assured Anne. “But if we could find a time to talk—”

  “Jah, we must,” Anne agreed, searching Rose’s face as though to memorize every line and eyelash. “But it has to be when my Saul is at work and when little Gracie isn’t around and—oh, my! Now we have to act as though we don’t know each other,” she continued with a jittery laugh. “But it’s really you. My very own Rose from so long ago. Oh, how I’ve loved you, sweetheart. Every day of my life.”

  Rose blinked back her tears. Even though she’d yearned for this reunion, she hadn’t anticipated the intense range of emotions she felt in her soul—and saw on her mother’s face. “I read your letters right after Mamma passed—”

  “Jah, I saw her funeral announcement in the paper. I’m so sorry, Rose.”

  “—and I didn’t know what to think, but—oh, here comes Gracie,” she whispered.

  Anne squeezed her hand and released it. “Martha Maude won’t be far behind. Oh, my. We have to be very careful, daughter.”

  Rose had a feeling her birth mother was having the same frightening realizations Vernon and Matthias had warned her about, when Anne considered the consequences of her husband and his mother finding out about the baby she’d given up. Rose composed her face with a firm smile, leaning down with her hands on her knees to welcome her little girl.

  “Gracie, where’d you get these pretty tulips?” she asked brightly. “Look at all these colors—red and yellow and purple and pink! They’re like a rainbow in your hands.”

  “Me and Martha Maude picked ’em—for you, Mamma!” Gracie crowed as she thrust her bouquet at Rose. “There’s a whole buncha pretty flowers on the other side of the building. I’ll hafta take you there sometime!”

  “Oh, denki, sweet pea,” Rose murmured as she took the fresh, fragrant flowers. “What a thoughtful gift. We’ll put them in water right away so they’ll stay nice. And denki to you, Martha Maude,” she added as the older woman came through the lobby. “These tulips will really brighten up our apartment.”

  Martha Maude smiled. “Gracie was telling me that you’ll be staying here during the week,” she said with a nod. “We’ll have to have you girls over for supper sometime.”

  Rose smiled, knowing better than to look at her mother’s face. But what could she say, other than to act as though she appreciated Martha Maude’s idea?

  “Jah, let’s go, Mamma!” Gracie pleaded eagerly. “They got goats and chickens! And peas in their garden!”

  Rose couldn’t help laughing at her daughter’s endearing enthusiasm. “Did you tell Martha Maude that she likely won’t have any peas left if she lets you pick them and eat them for supper?”

  “We talked about that, jah,” Martha Maude replied with a chuckle. She glanced down the hallway. “I guess Sherrie’s not around? She usually comes out when she sees we’re here.”

  “She stepped out for a few errands. I’ll tell her you stopped by.” Rose found the nerve to smile at Anne then. “The folks who received your shawls and slippers really appreciated them. The residents look forward to your visits.”

  “Happy to make things for them,” Anne replied softly. “Some of them don’t have much in the way of family. We enjoy talking with whoever happens to be in the lobby, and—well, we go away feeling grateful that God has blessed us with a bountiful life.”

  “Amen to that,” Martha Maude put in. “We’ll get our bins and head on home now. What’s for supper, Gracie?”

  Gracie looked up at Rose with shining eyes. “I dunno! What’re we cookin’, Mamma?”

  “Creamed chicken—with celery, onion, carrots, and peas—over mashed potatoes,” Rose replied. “And peach cobbler for dessert. We’ll put this pretty bouquet of tulips on the sideboard so everyone can enjoy it before we take it to our apartment.”

  “That sounds tasty! Give everyone our best, and we’ll see you again,” Martha Maude said as she picked up the stacked bins. “Enjoy the rest of your day, girls.”

  Rose nodded, her heart welling up with emotions she couldn’t discuss. She watched Anne precede her mother-in-law so she could open the door for her—and after Martha Maude had gone outside, Anne turned in the doorway. The love light on her face sent goose bumps up Rose’s spine. All she could do was wiggle her fingers in a wave.

  Anne waved back. Then she followed Martha Maude.

  Rose blinked rapidly, because if Gracie saw she was crying, there would be no end to her curious questions. When they entered the kitchen, she challenged her little girl to find something they could use as a vase. The short red pitcher Gracie pointed to was the perfect size. After Rose ran water into it and arranged the tulips, she let her daughter carry the bouquet into the dining room.

  The afternoon passed quickly with supper preparations and a chat with Sherrie. After supper, Rose and Gracie took the walk they’d missed after lunch, circling the main square in town and spending some time at the park. As she pushed her ecstatic daughter higher and higher in a swing, Rose allowed herself a moment to consider today’s momentous event.

  My mother recognized me—and she was glad to see me again! Denki, Lord, for bringing us together again, and please, please guide us in the way You would have us go as we get reacquainted.

  When Rose and Gracie returned to their apartment, they spent a little more time hanging up their clothes and putting the toys on the shelves of the big closet. Gracie was so excited, it took two stories before she was ready to go to sleep. After her prayers, Rose turned out the lamp and went into the front room. When she could hear Gracie’s deep, even breathing coming from their bedroom, she took he
r mother’s letters from the zipped compartment of the suitcase.

  Reading the lines Anne had written so long ago was different this time, because Rose could hear the words in her mother’s voice. One paragraph seemed more meaningful now. More acceptable.

  I can’t tell you what a blessing it has been to stay with Lydia and Myron so I could nurse you—so Lydia and I could share the first incredible eight months of your life, dear daughter. You have no idea what a gift from God you are to both of us. It will sadden me greatly to leave you behind—I’ll have a huge hole where my heart has been—but I know you’ll have a secure, happy life with two generous, compassionate parents who already love you as though you are their own.

  Rose sighed, filled with gratitude. Yes, Lydia and Myron Fry had been loving, devoted parents any child would’ve been blessed to have—now she could set aside her resentment over the way Mamma had kept her true identity a secret. After Rose read the letters again, and gazed at the watercolor portrait her father had painted, she slipped the pages back into the suitcase.

  She switched off the lamp and sat in the quiet darkness, remembering Anne’s facial expressions and reactions as they’d talked this afternoon. It had felt like a holy moment, a mother and child reunion orchestrated by the Lord Himself. No matter what might happen in the future, Rose was deeply grateful for the brief time she and Anne had shared.

  How would they find a chance to be together again? She wondered if Anne ever went anywhere without Martha Maude . . . wondered how this reunion would play out, and what the consequences would be. Would it make a difference that Anne had sought Rose out, rather than Rose being the one to speak first?

  You know the answers, Lord. I’ll watch and wait for Your guidance. Bless Anne as she considers how we should proceed—bless us all with Your wisdom and patience. And denki, Lord, for the love that has surrounded me all my life . . . and for blessing me with two mothers. Two mothers to love me! What a gift.

  Chapter 23

  On Thursday afternoon, Rose was making a large batch of dough for cinnamon rolls when Sherrie’s voice came through the kitchen’s intercom. “You have a phone call, Rose,” the director said. “You can pick up the phone by the freezer and take it.”

  “Ah! Denki,” Rose replied, “but it’ll take me a moment to scrape the dough off my hands.”

  Who would be calling me? Rose grabbed a damp dishrag and quickly wiped off most of the flour and dough that was clinging to her fingers.

  “Maybe it’s Martha Maude callin’ to ask us over for supper,” Gracie speculated. She was drawing flowers on her chalkboard with her colored chalk, seated at her school desk next to the freezer.

  “Well, I guess we’ll find out,” Rose murmured as she reached for the receiver of the wall phone. “Jah, hello?”

  “And what did I catch you in the middle of doing?” Matthias asked with a chuckle. “Sherrie said you had to clean off your hands.”

  Rose felt almost giddy—Matthias had called her! “I’ve got a big batch of dough started for cinnamon rolls,” she replied. “Enough for tomorrow’s breakfast, and for Sherrie to warm up on Saturday morning as well.”

  “Ooh. That makes me wish I lived at the senior center—almost,” he teased. “I’ve wanted to come and see you, but Saul’s been showing me the ins and outs of his carriage shop the past few afternoons. The man keeps long hours,” Matthias added, “so I’ve not gotten home until nearly seven. I told him I had plans this evening, though, so if I could stop by after supper—”

  “Come and eat with us!” Rose blurted. “We’re having lasagna and salad and—and there’s always more than enough.”

  For a moment, all Rose heard was Matthias’s breathing. Had she said something out of line? Maybe she should’ve cleared this idea with Sherrie first, but—

  “Lasagna’s one of my favorites,” Matthias finally said, “and I know yours is probably the best lasagna I’ll ever put in my mouth . . . but does this mean all the folks living at the senior center will be watching us eat together? Is that all right with you, Rose?”

  Rose’s cheeks prickled with heat. She hadn’t thought about how Gladys, Flo, Zelma, and the other folks with whom she and Gracie usually ate might react to having a man her age, wearing Plain clothes, joining them.

  “Mamma, is that Matthias?” Gracie asked excitedly. “Tell him I want a picnic in the park so’s we can play! I’m tired of bein’ inside.”

  Rose laughed, and Matthias was chuckling as well. “I suppose you heard your orders from Queen Gracie,” she said. “Maybe a picnic would be a better idea, say, at six? I can bring the lasagna and some plates—everything we’ll need—and we’ll meet you at one of the picnic tables. Some of our residents might peer out the window at us, but at least they won’t ask embarrassing questions.”

  Matthias cleared his throat. “Does this mean you’re embarrassed to be seen with me, Rose?” he teased.

  “No! I—it’s just that they’ll assume you’re my boyfriend, or—”

  “Matthias is my boyfriend, Mamma!” Gracie called out toward the phone. “I helped make the lemon pie, so he’s gotta come taste it!”

  Matthias’s laughter tickled Rose’s ear. “How can I turn down an offer like that? Lasagna and lemon pie,” he said. “I’ll be there at six—and how about if I bring dishes and silverware so you don’t have to carry all that stuff down the street? And I’ve got lots of fresh salad greens from the Hartzlers’ garden, too.”

  “That would be easier,” Rose admitted.

  “And it makes me feel like I’m holding up my end of the date—and you won’t have to mess with the dirty dishes afterward,” he said. “This sounds like a really nice way to end the day. I’ll see you girls at six.”

  “Jah, we’ll be there. See you then.” As Rose hung up the phone, her heart was dancing. Matthias had called their picnic a date. Even though she wore black dresses, aprons, stockings, and shoes every day, a part of her felt alive again rather than isolated by her widowhood. Just knowing that a handsome man like Matthias Wagler wanted to spend time with her made her feel lighthearted. Almost attractive.

  “It’s gonna be fun tonight, Mamma. I just know it!” Gracie declared from her little school desk. “See my pretty flowers?”

  Rose smiled as she returned to her big bowl of dough. “You’re really good at drawing, Gracie,” she said as she assessed her daughter’s artwork. “I see daisies and tulips and sunflowers, jah?”

  Gracie nodded happily as she started drawing a large sun in the upper corner of her chalkboard. “They’re like the ones in Sherrie’s magazines. I’m gonna try drawin’ birds next.”

  Once again, Rose wondered if this artistic talent ran in Gracie’s blood, a gift from her grandfather, Joel Lapp. She’d seen her daughter gazing at the copies of Birds and Blooms from Sherrie’s office, but she’d had no idea Gracie would be able to draw flowers because she’d seen photographs of them in magazines. Her flowers weren’t perfect, but they were detailed and easily recognizable.

  Rose resumed her baking with renewed energy. The pans of lasagna and the lemon pies were already made and waiting in the refrigerator, but she needed to get the cinnamon rolls in the oven and make a big bowl of salad and—

  And you’ll get everything done in plenty of time to meet Matthias, she reminded herself when her thoughts began to whirl. Even if he has to wait for a few minutes, that’s part of the game, ain’t so?

  * * *

  When Matthias pulled his rig into the park a few minutes after six, he frowned. There wasn’t a soul in sight. The swings swayed in the breeze as though invisible kids were sitting in them, but he saw no sign of Gracie or her mother. He unhitched Daisy and put her on a long tether so she could graze on the fresh grass in the shade. He took the cardboard box out of the rig and set it on the nearest table. By the time he’d wiped the tabletop with an old towel and set three places, he heard a familiar little voice calling him.

  “Matthias! I thought we’d never get here,” Gracie cried ou
t as she ran across the grass.

  He caught the little girl when she launched herself at him. “Why’s that? Did something happen that took longer than you thought?”

  Gracie tugged playfully at his beard. “Mamma had to change her dress again,” she replied in an exasperated whisper. “She got flour on the first one, so she put on a different one and didn’t like it—so she put on her clean one for tomorrow. They’re all black, so I didn’t think it was such a big deal—”

  Matthias caught sight of Rose crossing the park then, and he tuned out Gracie’s chatter. Rose was carrying a canvas tote in one hand and had a pie pan in the crook of her other arm. She appeared calm and poised as she smiled at him, yet it tickled him that she’d wanted to look her very best after a day in the kitchen. Balancing Gracie on his hip, Matthias walked toward Rose with his hand out.

  “I could relieve you of that pie,” he suggested. “It’s gut to see you, Rose—and awfully nice of you to bring dinner.”

  Rose held fast to the pie plate. “Are you one of those guys who wants his pie first and then his meal?” she challenged playfully as she continued toward the table. “Seems to me we should eat the lasagna first, while it’s still hot. To everything there’s a season, jah?” she quipped. “A time for supper, and a time for dessert.”

  Something about the tilt of Rose’s head and the lilt in her voice made Matthias aware that he was head over heels . . . already a goner, when it came to his feelings about the woman, with the glossy auburn hair and arched eyebrows, who was taking a glass pan from her tote. Matthias tried not to be obvious about watching her lithe body and the way she moved so gracefully as she set the pie plate on the table a slight distance from the lasagna and his bowl of salad. She had a small foil-wrapped packet as well, but Matthias didn’t ask about it. He figured it was a little mystery they could talk about later—and he hoped it was something wonderful that Rose had brought especially for him. It was shaped like a couple of large cinnamon rolls....