Susan laughed. “Of course not. But I’ll bet you could pick and choose from the entries. Just the right ones to let readers catch a glimpse of her life. The rest of the book could be of your favorite photographs she took. You could include some of her more famous ones and then some of the more obscure.”
“Interesting thought.”
“It’s more than interesting. It’s a good idea. A really good idea. You should do it.”
“Okay. Okay. I promise to think about it. I’ve got a lot of journals to read before I’ll know if there’s anything I could do with them.”
“You be sure you do think about it. Hey, listen. I’ve got to run. Ned’s calling me.”
“Okay. Talk to you later.”
“Later,” Susan echoed. Then the connection was gone.
Allison’s coffee had grown cold while she talked to her friend. She carried the mug into the kitchen and put it in the microwave for thirty seconds.
Publish a book about her aunt? It was a rather outlandish idea. Allison wasn’t a writer by any stretch of the imagination. Although she had to admit, reading Aunt Emma’s journals had given her the desire to keep one of her own. Maybe now would be a good time to make that first entry.
She went into the bedroom, retrieved her Bible along with some highlighters, a pen, and a spiral-bound journal she’d recently purchased, and carried everything to the kitchen table.
But where to begin?
She took a sip of coffee from her mug, opened the journal, and began to write.
Just who is Allison Marie Knight Kavanagh?
It’s embarrassing to reach the age of 45 and not have a quick and easy answer to the question. As a child, I was the beloved daughter and pesky little sister. In my twenties and thirties I was a wife and mother.
But somewhere along the way, I think I lost track of me.
No, not somewhere. It happened when I tried to become Tony’s savior instead of his wife. I wasn’t very good at that. I tried to be his rock. Wasn’t good at that either. When did I start believing that was the role God wanted me to play in our marriage? When did I become so desperate to hold all the tattered pieces together instead of learning to trust, instead of leaning into Jesus?
A good Christian isn’t supposed to get divorced. That’s what people say. That’s what I’ve always believed. And yet here I am. Divorced. Maybe I’m not a good Christian.
Even as she wrote the last sentences, she knew they were wrong. Not that she wasn’t supposed to live in obedience to God, but that she was supposed to live under grace rather than by her works. The gospel itself wasn’t complicated, but sometimes being a disciple of Christ was. Following rules, she’d found, was—or seemed to be—easier than walking by faith and listening to the Spirit. So much easier to believe that if she did X Y Z, then A B C would happen.
Just who is Allison Marie Knight Kavanagh today? I need to find out. I need God to reveal my identity to me.
And what about that conversation everyone had on Thanksgiving? The one about thanking God for hard things in our lives. God walked with me after Tony left and He was there when I was grieving over my failed marriage. He was there even when I didn’t talk to Him or acknowledge Him. But am I grateful for what He taught me in those horrible months? Is it possible not to want to be divorced and yet be able to thank God in the midst of it? Or even for it? I think it must be. The Bible says so. But how do I learn to do it?
Allison laid down the pen and rubbed her forehead with her fingertips. Introspection wasn’t easy or particularly fun. But if it would draw her closer to God, she wanted to keep going. She picked up the pen again.
When I moved into Aunt Emma’s house, I felt far from the Lord. It isn’t that way anymore. But I don’t want to settle for just knowing He is near. I can’t put into words what I do want, but I don’t want only the status quo. Savior and Lord. Jesus wants to be both in my life. I don’t doubt I’m saved and going to heaven. But have I let Him be Lord over every area of my life?
An uncomfortable question. Perhaps one too many for this first attempt at putting her feelings on paper. She set down the pen a second time and rose from her chair. Full darkness had arrived while she was at the table in the kitchen, and although it was still early—not even six thirty—she was ready to turn in.
Emma
1928
Alexander rolled his truck off the road on a cold February night. He was taken to the hospital where a doctor set his broken left leg and stitched the wounds under his right eye and on both arms. He was in a bed in one of the wards by the time Emma arrived, her heart pumping with fear.
It shamed her, the relief she felt when she saw him in that narrow hospital bed with his leg in a cast and his eyes closed. Not because he would be all right, given time to heal, but because, for at least a few weeks, he would be immobile. In her mind that was a good thing, despite the lost income. He would be in less danger from the law—and from the men he worked for—as long as he was confined to their home.
She moved to the side of the bed and touched his shoulder. “Alexander?”
He opened his eyes.
“I came as soon as I heard.” She sank onto a metal chair. “The nurse told me you won’t be able to work for six weeks but that you’ll make a full recovery as long as you do as you’re told.”
His cheek twitched, a telltale sign of simmering anger.
“Are you in much pain?”
“It hurts plenty.” He scowled at her. “You need to find out what happened to the truck. If I don’t have it”—he glanced around, making certain no one was eavesdropping—“I’ll fall behind in my deliveries.”
“You can’t drive with your leg in a cast.”
“No, but you can drive. I’ll just tell you where to go.”
“Alexander, I’ve barely learned how to drive. I can’t—”
“You’ll do what I tell you to do, Emma.”
She dropped her voice to a whisper as she leaned in. “I can’t do it. It’s wrong.”
“I’ll get out of this bed and show you what’s wrong.”
Before she could react, he grabbed a handful of her hair and yanked her to him, so close their cheeks almost touched. His lips were near her ear.
“If you want a roof over your head and food to eat, woman, you’ll do as you’re told.”
Tears welled in her eyes. When had Alexander become this man? When had he become this cruel? When had his tongue become so sharp? Had she only imagined his sense of humor and his good-natured teasing? Had she only pretended he liked her? Before they were married, they’d been friends. Hadn’t they?
He released her hair. “Stop your sniveling, Emma. It’s me who got hurt. I’m your husband, and you’ll do what I say.”
She’d wanted to marry Alexander. More than anything else, she’d wanted it. God had given her what she’d asked for, what she’d been willing to do anything to get, but it had come at a price.
As her mother had warned on many occasions, she’d made her bed and now she had to lie in it. That was just the way things were.
Allison
Winter came to the mountains with a vengeance. Beginning in December, Allison hired a man to plow her driveway whenever there was fresh snowfall, and soon there was a wall of white over six feet high on either side of the narrow drive.
On the Sunday before Christmas, Allison and Meredith were able to make it into Kings Meadow to attend church, then returned home for lunch and a couple hours of conversation before Meredith planned to head down to Boise for the work week.
Not long before Meredith was set to leave, she popped an unexpected question: “Can Dad join us for Christmas?”
“Oh, Meredith.”
“I understand why you said no for Thanksgiving. You had all those people coming over. But Christmas, it’s just you and me. What can it hurt to let him be here? He’s all alone, Mom. He doesn’t have any family but us.”
Us? A selfish part of Allison wanted to keep Meredith all to herself. In that pett
y corner of her heart, she could admit she’d liked it when Meredith was angry with her father and not speaking to him. But their father-daughter relationship seemed to have mended, and now Allison had to share Meredith again. Either her daughter’s time must be divided between her parents or her parents must see her at the same time. Those were the only two choices.
“Would it be all right if he drove up here with me on Friday? Then he and I can go back together on Monday.”
Allison felt her eyes go wide. “You want your dad to stay here for three days?”
“Sure. Why not? Mom, it would be fun. You remember the good times we used to have up here as a family.”
But we’re not a family anymore. By his choice! “Where would he sleep?”
“He could have my bed and I’ll take the couch.”
“Meredith . . .”
“Or Dad can buy one of those blow-up beds and bring it with him. Those things are pretty decent. I’ve slept on one before.”
Allison felt the resistance drain out of her. Almost from birth, Meredith had had the ability to twist her mother around her little finger. A pleading smile, and Allison was putty in her hands.
“Please say yes, Mom. It’s Christmas. I won’t be in Idaho much longer.”
Exactly the reason I want you to myself. She released a sigh. “All right. He can come if he wants to. But if he . . . if he doesn’t behave, he’ll have to leave.”
Meredith threw her arms around Allison and gave her a tight squeeze. “Thanks, Mom. And don’t worry about Dad. He’s doing good. He really is. He’s sober and working his program. Did I tell you I went with him to an open meeting last week?”
“What?” Allison drew back, stunned by that bit of information.
“Yeah, I did. It was kind of interesting, really. Dad spoke some. I was proud of him. You’ll be proud of him too. You’ll see. Have a little faith. Believe in him.”
Allison had believed in Tony one time too many, just to have her hopes dashed again. Three months ago Meredith had called her in a panic because her dad was in the hospital. Again. Because of his drinking. Again. And now she wanted him to come stay in her mother’s home for Christmas.
It was a lot to ask.
It was too much to ask.
Through the years Allison had known other couples who’d divorced. When there were children involved, there’d been difficult dynamics, especially around birthdays and holidays. But she’d thought those difficulties were restricted to the divorced parents of school-aged children. How naive she’d been. She hadn’t known the dynamics were still difficult when the children were adults.
Well, she couldn’t change her mind now. She’d already agreed to let Tony come.
Meredith was all smiles as she put her luggage into the rental car and then bid her mother good-bye. From the deck, Allison watched until the car turned onto the highway and disappeared from view.
What have I done?
“Come on, Gizmo. Let’s go inside where it’s warm.”
Not a fan of snow, the dog was quick to obey.
Allison stopped inside the doorway as memories washed over her. Memories of her and Tony and Meredith staying at Aunt Emma’s house, hiking in the mountains, rafting the river. They’d made many good memories here. Many of them. But bad memories seemed to rise to the top. Why was that? Bad ones supplanted the good ones until it seemed they’d all been bad.
Odd, wasn’t it? She’d spent a lot of years trying not to see what was going on because she didn’t know how to deal with it, pretending everything in her life was okay. Now it seemed she wanted to believe everything in her old life had been sour and spoiled. But the truth was somewhere in the middle.
Releasing a sigh, she went upstairs and looked into the guest room. Her daughter had left it as neat as a pin. Once upon a time—not all that long ago—Meredith’s bedroom had looked like a cyclone blew through it.
An image of Tony sleeping in the guest room bed flooded Allison’s mind. An unsettling image. It hadn’t been fair of Meredith to ask her to let him come stay for Christmas. Allison was making a new life for herself. Seeing Tony just brought up a lot of bad feelings.
But she knew that come Friday evening, he would be her houseguest. He wouldn’t be able to refuse Meredith either. For all the negative things Allison might say about her ex-husband, a lack of love for his daughter wasn’t one of them. Not that he’d always shown his love in the best of ways. Still . . .
She stepped backward out of the room, then moved to the second upstairs bedroom. Officially, it was her exercise room, complete with treadmill, yoga mat, and television with DVD player. Unofficially, it stored everything she hadn’t decided what to do with yet. If she shoved some boxes around, she might be able to make room in it for a queen-sized blow-up mattress. Meredith shouldn’t have to give up her bed.
Resentment rushed back. Resentment for years of hurts and embarrassments and medical bills and dashed hopes and destroyed dreams and, finally, a failed marriage. Even resentment for the resentment. Setting her jaw, she tried to force the feeling away. She’d been doing so much better. She didn’t want to slide into melancholy or anger again.
Three nights wouldn’t be so bad. She could handle it. She would handle it. Starting right now.
Allison
Allison was looking out the living room window when Meredith’s rental car returned on Friday. More snow had fallen during the week, and the wall of white on either side of the driveway had grown another six to eight inches. It was truly a winter wonderland.
Allison grabbed her warmest coat from the rack and went outside to welcome them. “How were the roads?” she called when Meredith stepped out from the driver’s side.
“Good. They’re mostly dry.”
Allison’s gaze shifted to the passenger side as Tony exited the vehicle.
“Merry Christmas, Allie,” he said, sounding somewhat hesitant. Was he as unsure about the days to come as she was?
“Merry Christmas, Tony.” She forced a smile and hoped it looked genuine. “You and Meredith get your stuff and come in from the cold.”
She should have gone down the steps and helped, but nervous energy sent her back inside. She went straight to the kitchen and busied herself making hot chocolate with marshmallows floating in the froth on top. A little thumping and banging from above told her Meredith and her dad were settling in to their rooms. Allison put the hot beverages on a tray and carried it up the stairs. Father and daughter were in the exercise room, inflating a queen-sized air mattress with a small electric pump.
“How about some hot chocolate, you two?” she said above the noise.
The blower switched off, plunging the room into silence.
“That sounds good, Mom.” Still on her knees, Meredith twisted around and reached to take one of the mugs.
“Tony?”
“You bet. I’d love one.”
Allison took the last mug in her left hand and leaned the tray against the wall outside the room. All three were silent as each blew across the surface of their hot beverages and tried to take their first sips without burning their tongues.
It was Meredith who spoke first. “You did more decorating this week, Mom.”
“Some.”
“Everything looks pretty and festive. The tree makes the whole house smell good.” Meredith looked at her dad. “Mom and I got the tree and decorated it last Saturday, but she’s done everything else while I was in Boise.”
Tony frowned as he placed a hand on Meredith’s shoulder. “I didn’t do anything. I didn’t even put up a tree for you, kid. Sorry.”
“It’s okay, Dad. We all knew I was spending Christmas with Mom.”
“Yeah, but still . . .” He shrugged.
Meredith took another few sips of the hot chocolate, then set the mug aside and turned the blower back on. No one tried to speak above the noise. Allison stood there a short while longer. Then, feeling unnecessary, she turned and went downstairs.
Burning wood crackled an
d popped in the fireplace while Christmas music came through speakers in two corners of the living room. The Douglas fir, set to one side of the picture window, sparkled with multicolored mini-lights. Ornaments—many of them with special meaning from Meredith’s childhood as well as from Allison’s own childhood—covered the tree from top to bottom.
Allison loved the Christmas season. She had since she was a little girl. She loved the excitement and anticipation. She loved finding the perfect gift for each person on her shopping list. She loved the carolers and the Christmas pageants and the houses covered in lights.
She smiled, remembering what their home in Boise had looked like every year from Thanksgiving through New Year. Tony, a homeowner with a competitive spirit, had started many years ago with a few strings of lights along the roofline. But every time another homeowner in the neighborhood did something more, he would have to one-up them in return. Sometimes the same year. Sometimes the next.
Her smile faded, replaced by a sting of sadness at the knowledge Tony hadn’t strung a single strand of lights this year. Had she been the reason he’d done it in the past? Was he content to have it the way it was now?
She moved closer to the tree and fingered a few of the ornaments. The one of Santa on a dolphin had come from Disney World the year Meredith was ten. The cowboy Santa came from a trip Allison had taken to Cheyenne. The Scarlett O’Hara and Rhett Butler ornaments had been a gift from her mother because she and Allison both loved the movie—and book—so much. As had Aunt Emma.
Tears sprang to Allison’s eyes. Hearing footsteps on the stairs, she quickly blinked them away. Then, drawing a deep breath to steady herself, she turned around.
Tony stopped on the bottom step. He looked good. Healthy. Different from the last few times she’d seen him. Meredith had said her dad was back on the wagon, and from his appearance, Allison believed it. But would it last? It had only been three months since his drinking had put him in the hospital.
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