Mothers and Daughters: An Anthology

by Deborah Bedford

  Father and daughter shared a smile. It seemed an odd, nice time to be enjoying a memory.

  “Your mother was always finding ways to settle you down.”

  “You know what I was thinking about the other day?” Theia asked.

  Kate gave a grimace of distaste and pulled a pickle from inside the bun. “What?”

  “Something I haven’t thought about in a long time. Mama gave me hair ribbons once. She got them out of her sewing box and tied them in my braids on the first day of first grade.”

  “So?”

  “They were just for me. I was scared to ride the school bus and go in to meet my new teacher. And—” she grinned at her dad again “—she wanted me to stretch my wings and go through those things on my own. But she followed the bus in her car. I saw her in the parking lot! She waved at me and then drove off.”

  “Is that how come you followed me and Heidi in your car on the first day of school, too?”

  Theia nodded. “Yep.”

  Kate threw away the burger wrappings and shrugged into her sweatshirt. “I don’t see what hair ribbons have to do with anything.”

  “For a long time, I wore them whenever I was afraid. Larry Wells told me he was going to steal my lunch once, but I wore my ribbons, and I wouldn’t let him have it. Told him I was going to kick him where it counted if he stole my bologna sandwich.”

  Harry and Kate both spoke at the same time.

  “Mom!”

  “Theia!”

  “I wore them every Friday when I had spelling tests. I wore them in the third grade choir concert when I had to sing ‘Fifty-Nifty’ on stage by myself. I wore them on the day I had to give away all my kittens and on the day I had to get stitches in my chin. When I got too big to wear them in my hair, I wore them tied to my sneakers.

  Harry put his hat on his head and took his granddaughter’s arm. “We’d better get home and let you get some rest.”

  “I wonder where those ribbons went….” Theia settled back down in her pillows, feeling a hundred times better than she’d felt when Harry and Kate first arrived. “I’d like to find them. I’m sure they’re hidden away in a drawer somewhere. I haven’t seen them for years.”

  “We’ll help you look, Mom.” Kate waved as she ducked out the door. “I’d like to see them, too.”

  Chapter Four

  When the phone began ringing, Heidi raced through the kitchen, slipping on the linoleum in her socks, doing her best to beat her sister.

  “I don’t know why you’re in such a hurry to answer the phone.” Kate perched beside the sink, nonchalantly crisscrossing a new Delia’s ribbon shoelace into her Sketchers. “It’s just somebody else calling to see if Mom’s home from the hospital. Or else it’s for me.”

  “No, it’s for me.” Heidi rounded the kitchen counter and grabbed the receiver.

  “It isn’t for you. It’s never for you. If it isn’t about Mom, it’s for me. Everybody wants to talk about the car Grandpa Harkin’s giving me.”

  “Hello?” Heidi almost couldn’t answer, she was panting so hard. “McKinnis residence.”

  “I’d like to speak with Heidi McKinnis, please.”

  Heidi poked out her chin and grinned at her sister, a blatant gesture of victory. “This is Heidi.”

  “This is Julie Stevens from Dancers’ Workshop. Do you have a minute? I’d like to talk to you.”

  “I—I have a minute.” At the sound of such astonishment in Heidi’s voice, even Kate stopped to listen.

  “Good.” A hesitation. “Well, you see, it’s this. I’m making a change or two in the Nutcracker performance.”

  “Oh, I’m so sorry I missed practice last Saturday. My mom was in the hospital. I promise I’ll be there next week.”

  “I know all about that. Missing practice every once in a while is nothing to be concerned about. But I do want to talk to you about your role as an angel.”

  “You do?”

  “As you know, Heidi, the angels are an audience favorite. Gauzy wings, hoop skirts, the tiniest floating steps, the youngest most angelic girls we can find.”

  “My mom tells me that every year.”

  “I hope you don’t mind that I’m having to change things.”

  “Change things?” Heidi gripped the receiver. “What do you mean?”

  “I’d like to change your part, Heidi, if you don’t mind.”

  “I don’t mind.”

  “I’m having trouble with the clowns this year. I didn’t cast as many for some reason, and for the choreography to come off the way I want it to, I’ve got to bring in another girl.”

  “Oh!”

  “Do you think you might be interested?”

  “I’m interested, all right! I love the clowns. That’s always been my favorite part, seeing everyone come out from under Mother Ginger’s skirt.”

  “Of course, this doesn’t give you long to learn the part. They’ve already been dancing it for several weeks. But I’ll bet you can pull it off.”

  “I can. I know I can.”

  “As part of the choreography, you’ll have to turn a cartwheel. Do you know how to turn a cartwheel?”

  For the first time during the conversation, Heidi faltered. “No. I don’t.”

  “Do you think you could learn? Is there someone who can teach you?”

  “My mother can show me how.”

  “That’s it, then. We’re all set. Rehearsal time is the same. Only you’ll be dancing in studio three instead of studio one.”

  “I’ll be there. I promise I’ll be there.”

  “Someone will measure you Saturday so we can fit you with a costume.”

  “Thank you. I’ll be a good clown. You’ll see.”

  “Perfect. We’ll see you on Saturday.”

  Kate knocked on Heidi’s door. Heidi’s door didn’t have any signs that said “Private Property.” It didn’t have any signs that read, “Do not knock. Do not enter.”

  When Heidi opened the door and saw her sister come to visit, she gestured with a wide-eyed expression. She might as well have been entertaining royalty.

  Kate parted the dangling, blue door beads and entered.

  “You can sit at my desk if you want.”

  “Thanks.”

  Kate sat down and turned around in the wooden chair, gripping the back. Above them both, glow-in-the-dark stars dotted the ceiling. A jumble of stuffed animals filled up an entire corner.

  “How many animals do you have, Heidi?”

  “Forty-three.”

  “You counted them?”

  “Yep. But those don’t count the ones that are in the garage.”

  A lull came. “I just wanted to tell you something.”

  “What?”

  “That I think your dancing’s really cool.”

  “Huh?”

  “I think it’s sweet that you’ve moved up and you’re dancing the part of a clown.”

  Heidi stared at her sister. “How come you say that?”

  “Well, I couldn’t get up and dance like that in front of everybody. I was thinking about it, going off to sleep last night, and I thought I should tell you. It’s bad enough dancing something that you know. But getting up in front of the town and dancing something that’s different, I think that’s really cool.”

  “Are you trying to scare me about this?”

  “No. I just wanted you to know how I felt.”

  “Well, thanks.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  Kate stared at the stars on the ceiling. “Do those glow all night long after you’ve turned out the lights?”

  “Not all night. They go dark about three or four in the morning.”

  “You lay here and watch them that long?”

  “No. But sometimes I wake up.”

  Kate scrubbed the toe of her Sketcher against the carpet. “I woke up last night. Do you ever wonder what it will be like when we grow up and get to be moms?”

  “Yeah.”

  “We’ll have kids.”
>
  “Yeah.”

  “I decided I’m going to keep a journal.”

  “You are?”

  “Yeah. I’m going to write down everything I think about being the mother of a teenager. And then when I’m the mother of somebody that’s as old as me, I can open up my journal and take my own advice.”

  “What if your own advice is wrong?”

  “I don’t know. Guess I’ll figure that out. I’ll pray about it the way Mom does. The way Grandma did.”

  “I think that will be fun, too.”

  “You know how you feel about dancing? All proud and everything? That’s the way I think I’ll feel about having kids and stuff.”

  “Do you think Mom feels that way about us?”

  Kate thought for a moment. “Yes, I think she does.”

  The Sunday before church, it snowed.

  A brisk tinge in the air came first and then the flakes, tiny flakes at sunrise, then larger ones, a confetti celebration outside the windows.

  Snow blanketed the grass and etched a scalloped edge along the picket fence. At the morning service, excitement from outside carried into the sanctuary. A vast jumble of coats, from ski parkas to furs, hung on pegs in the front vestibule. Snow boots lay in disarray, no two together the same. Folks shivered and laughed and tucked their gloves away, talking about the mountain, when the runs would open for skiing, if the new snow had brought elk down into the refuge out of the hills.

  Theia found her place along the pew and tried her best to concentrate on God.

  She couldn’t think about the church service at hand. She couldn’t think about the snow outside. Even though she’d laughed miraculously with her father’s singing, she could only think about breast cancer today. Her mind drifted. Worried. Wondered.

  Had the cancer spread to other parts of her body?

  If it hadn’t yet, would it still?

  As music began to fill the place of worship, Kate and Jaycee sidled into the seats beside them. “Where’s your sister?” Theia asked.

  “Oh, she’ll get here. She’s probably back in the Sunday school room helping the little kids clean up.”

  “She’s probably back in the Sunday school room trying to get extra candy from Mrs. Taggart. They played some game in there with chocolate chips.”

  One by one, the women sitting near Theia began to rub her on the shoulder or nod their heads at her or wish her well: We were worried about you. We’ve been praying. Are you okay? Is there anything we can do to help? We know how you must feel.

  She gave the same response, the same answers to each of them. Thank you for praying. No need to worry. Everything’s fine. You know how it is.

  Lord, please. I don’t want to be here. I shouldn’t have come to church today. It’s too soon. I’m not ready for this.

  Theia felt as if she were drowning in the deep, thrashing about, exhausted, trying to keep her head where she could breathe.

  Why did they all have to be so sympathetic? Why couldn’t they talk about something else? Why couldn’t they share their own problems or something fun that was going on?

  Why couldn’t they pretend that none of this was happening?

  Theia glanced down to see a little boy she’d taught in vacation Bible school at her knees. He threw his arms around her legs and hugged her. He gazed up at her with dark eyes so wide and pure, she wanted to cry out.

  “Hello, Landon.” Despite her missing oblique muscle, her tight tendons, she managed to lift him cautiously into her arms. It felt so odd, hugging him this way. Just holding a small child’s body against her wounded chest brought forth a sense of loss that overwhelmed her. She ached to be whole again. The little boy planted a wet kiss on her lips. “I love you,” he whispered.

  “I love you, too, Landon.” She couldn’t keep the tears from coming to her eyes.

  Lord, I’m the pastor’s wife. I’m a mother to two girls of my own. I can’t tell anybody that I’m afraid. I have no right.

  Everyone around her kept offering advice.

  “You ought to meet Jo Beth Mason. She’s a cancer survivor. She’s doing really well.”

  “I have a miracle book you can read. All about the herbal things you can do.”

  “We know you can do this, Theia.” This one was always said with a careful I-know-you-can-do-it smile.

  Landon’s mother came to take him away, and when the next person tapped her on the shoulder, she turned again, expecting another embrace.

  Instead she came face-to-face with Sue Masterson.

  Mrs. Masterson did not reach out in love and offer pleasantries. Instead, she pointed out the front window and jabbed her finger as she enunciated each word. “Do you have any idea what your daughter is doing?”

  She’d forgotten all about Heidi. Theia glanced about, expecting to find her daughter standing with some friend in the service. But Heidi wasn’t in the sanctuary. Mrs. Taggart, her Sunday school teacher, had already come into the room and had situated herself with her family. Theia gave a half-guilty shrug. “Well, no. I guess I don’t.”

  “You’d better go find out.” Sue planted her hands on her hips and gave a righteous toss of her hair. “She’s outside in the parking lot terrorizing little children with snowballs.”

  “Oh, that’s ridiculous.”

  Theia knew this about herself. Above all else she would fight for the honor of her family. She’d done the exact thing when she’d gone to speak with Julie Stevens about Heidi’s dancing. “I’ll bet those kids are all having fun in the snow.”

  In her velvet skirt. In the forty-dollar clogs I bought her from Broadway Toys-n-Togs.

  “You ought to see what she’s done to Dillon. He’s drenched from head to toe. I’m embarrassed to bring him into the service. Water is running from his hair. He’s out there crying.”

  “He’s crying? Because he got a little wet?”

  “He’s crying because your daughter shoveled snow down his pants.”

  Oh, dear. For the first time since her father had sung ‘Purple People Eater,’ Theia found something comical. She felt like doubled-over, stitches-in-her-side, bellyache laughter. Glorious. Splendid. But Sue Masterson had to go and spoil it all. “For heaven’s sake, Theia. Your kids are the preacher’s kids. They’re supposed to act better than everyone else, aren’t they?”

  I can’t do this, Lord. I cannot do this.

  Without telling Joe where she was headed, she laid her Bible in the chair and ducked out. She hurried to the front vestibule to find her coat. There she found poor Dillon Masterson, his hair plastered flat to his head and a dark patch of wet spreading down to the knee of his cargo pants.

  BELOVED.

  A Savior’s calling, in the midst of a mother’s mile-a-minute day. Theia had come to the end of herself. But she kept going anyway, not heeding the gentle summons in her spirit. She tilted her head at Dillon. “You okay?”

  He nodded.

  “So Heidi did this to you?”

  He nodded again.

  She rumpled his wet hair with her one operable arm. At least some good had come of his snowball fight. His face was cleaner than she’d seen it in weeks. “You go on in there with your mother.”

  “But I’m wet.”

  “The Lord doesn’t care if you’re wet. Only mothers care about something like that.” She gave him a little pat-shove in the proper direction.

  Theia found a troupe of fifth graders outside, acting like they owned the world, bellowing and running and smearing each other with snowballs. She got there just in time to see Heidi get walloped in the head.

  Heidi wasted no time in retaliating. She scooped up snow, packed it hard between her hands, and let it fly. “Take that, you slimeball!”

  The sphere hit its target, Trey Martin’s backside, and exploded into icy particles. “Heidi Louise McKinnis!” Theia shouted. “You come here this instant!”

  Amazing how silence could fall on a group of fifth graders. “Hi, Mom.”

  “You want to tell me what’s g
oing on out here?”

  “Snowball fights. We’re killing each other.”

  “Do you think this is the proper place to be, out in the parking lot calling your classmates ‘slimeball’ while there’s a worship service going on inside?”

  “But it’s snowing.”

  “I know, and if I were ten years old, I’d feel the same way. But I’m not. I’m your mother. And Dillon Masterson is inside with a major problem.”

  “Am I in trouble?”

  “That depends.”

  “On what?”

  “Do you think you owe Dillon an apology?”

  “No.”

  Theia stood in the snow, waiting, using the silent, stern approach, hoping her daughter would recant. But Heidi did no such thing.

  “You won’t apologize?”

  “No.”

  “You’d better examine your heart, young lady.”

  “You should have heard what he said at school on Friday, Mom. He told Miss Vickers that the only reason I got moved up from angel to clown is because you’ve got cancer, and everybody found out, and they got worried if they didn’t let me dance some other part this year that you’d never get to see it.”

  The force of Dillon’s words almost knocked Theia to her knees. She felt like she’d been booted in the gut.

  “I told him you were going to see me dance plenty. I told him he was stupid.”

  “Well, good for you. That’s exactly what you needed to say.”

  “Dillon says I dance like a chicken.”

  “That is a cruel thing to say.” The words pushed Theia to the brink. Her words blazed with passion. “Listen to me. You are a beautiful dancer. A wonderful dancer. You dance like a princess.” Oh, how she wanted to say more. Oh, how she wanted to tell Heidi that she’d gotten the part because Julie Stevens must have noticed how she’d improved, or how she’d learned new steps, or how hard she’d tried. Theia cupped her daughter’s cheeks inside her own two cold hands. “Do you hear me? Don’t you ever let anybody tell you that you can’t do something you want to do.”

  I can’t do this, Father. I can’t tell her Dillon’s wrong about me. What if this is the last time I see Heidi dance?

  Heidi grinned, her face innocent and open. “Mom, I know he isn’t right. Don’t you listen to Dillon, either. That’s why I shoved snow down his pants.”