Legacy and Love

by Paula Mowery

  I strained to catch my first glimpse of the house. As I pulled into the driveway I sat admiring the place which had always been one of safety and yet adventure. I struggled, knowing that she wouldn’t be there to greet me at the front door dressed in her wild Hawaiian shirt. As soon as the door swung open, her scent accosted me. She used powder she ordered from a lady who sold Avon. It was a sweet, flowery smell. Subtle, not loud.

  “Oh, what I’d do for one more slumber party, Granny.”

  I plopped into her favorite chair, the one with the wide armrests where she would lay her Bible and journal. What should I do now? I had a roof over my head, thanks to Granny, but I needed to find a job to keep the lights on and food in the cupboards.

  Memory snapshots appeared on the album of my mind. The living room prompted a picture of the tent Granny and I made by throwing blankets across the furniture. My nose almost caught a whiff of the vanilla and maple syrup wafting from the pancakes we made in the electric skillet. Another scent drifted through my memory, the tart-buttermilk aroma of baking biscuits. Immediately my mouth watered, and I could almost taste the smooth cinnamon goodness of the apple butter that accompanied those biscuits. I wandered toward the screened-in porch and all of the sudden I was back at the picnic we had there on our magic carpet.

  I wrapped my arms around myself and massaged them, hoping to lessen the ache resonating from the sheer loss. I never considered I would end up single with no plan. When I married Justin, I thought it would be forever. I was naïve or a hopeless romantic. Maybe both. Mother warned me about marrying right after high school graduation. I figured she didn’t know anything about marriage. Our plan was I would work to put Justin through dental school, and then he would return the favor for me. I did my part, but I would never forget the day I caught him and Trisha. She turned out not to be a friend after all.

  “We just couldn’t help ourselves. We’re in love,” I could still hear him say.

  I should’ve asked where I could send him a bill for all of the school I paid for and the food I put on the table. I was too hurt and angry to speak.

  I scanned the kitchen. This was where I came to back then. Granny consoled me.

  “It is quite difficult to procure a knight in shining armor these days,” Granny had said. Her voice resonated in my head, broken with compassion. Many the world over could think of no place they might go to receive love, but I never had such a dilemma.

  Suddenly my body drooped, bone-weary. A dull persistent pain pounded through the ends of my arms and legs, drawing me like a magnet to Granny’s bed. I hopped the steps two at a time. Where had that needed energy burst come from?

  My eyes scanned Granny’s bedroom. Still unchanged. I grinned. The hardwood floors were barely visible due to the large rugs strategically placed around the room. Granny said nothing was worse than stepping from your cozy bed onto an ice-cold floor. The tall, four poster bed was still donned with the dainty floral printed comforter. The round night tables flanked each side with the antique lamps atop. Kicking off my shoes, I wiggled my toes in the soft pale pink carpet. The elaborate dresser stood at the foot of the bed. Standing in front of it, I found the brush and mirror set. Picking it up I noticed a small cluster of Granny’s silver-gray hair stuck between the bristles. I swallowed at the lump in my throat.

  My eyes surveyed all of the articles atop the dresser. I stopped on a framed picture and picked it up. I studied the smiling faces found there. I couldn’t have been more than twelve years old. My head leaned against Granny’s. Our arms were slung around each other’s shoulders. Pals. I hugged the picture to my chest as if that would change the fact that Granny was gone, and I was alone.

  Weariness overtook me again, and I placed the picture on the bedside table. The nearness made me feel a little less lonely.

  On the small shelf across the room records still perched, ready to play a concert on the old stereo. I was convinced my granny had the idea for the first Gaither Homecoming. Every night the records would fall and ring out in succession, all the old favorites from Southern Gospel music. I pushed the button, and the first disc fell. I turned down the volume so it provided some background music in the silent house. I wasn’t sure the old home could go to sleep if the concert didn’t go on.

  Slipping between the covers, my body sank into the pillow top, hugging me. I let out a “mmm.” The bed was comfortable, but the memories even more so.

  After Granny finished her Bible reading and prayer time, she would reach for her journal and entertain me with the best bedtime stories a girl could ever dream of. I jumped back out of bed just long enough to grab my journal. What a habit she had me in! People had various nighttime rituals, but Granny’s was reading a little and writing a little. Now, I had her to thank for not being able to go to sleep until I had followed suit. But, I couldn’t bring myself to retrieve my Bible tonight. My grudge against God still held tight.

  When I opened my journal that evening, my pen hovered over the blank page. “There’s nothing, Granny. I feel numb. If only I could’ve talked with you more.”

  Granny’s voice echoed in my head. “Write out what you’re feeling.” She had told me to do that when Mom died. I had felt better afterward. Finally my hand began to move the pen across the page, spilling out every emotion in my heart. I wrote several pages, realizing the words ranged from anger to sorrow to thankfulness. By the time I had scribbled about my ire at God for taking Granny and the anguish I felt in her absence, I found myself writing memories. Granny was gone, but much too memorable to forget.

  * * *

  Because I had written well into the night, I slept in the next morning. I took my time getting ready that afternoon.

  I had never been fond of funerals. I detested those who just must say something, so they announced how good the deceased looked. That comment prompted me to scream. For goodness sakes, the person was dead! Made me wonder how they looked when they were alive. I braced myself for some similar comments today. Suddenly a heavy weight gripped my chest. How would I survive this day alone? When Mom died, I had Granny right there beside me. Although she grieved, she was my fortress, she held me up. Now, I was on my own.

  I moseyed to my closet in an attempt to piece together something appropriate for the funeral service. Black was such a sad color, but it has usually been the color of choice in these times. I finally located a plain dark skirt and lightweight sweater. Would the knit top work? It was nearing fall. It was all I had.

  It would be best to arrive early for the funeral since I was the only living relative. Would there be questions I needed to answer? I pulled into the church parking lot at 4:15 and my eyes bulged. The lot was filled with cars. Should I return at five? Possibly there was some other activity before the funeral. I located a vacant spot, pulled in, sat, and contemplated my next move. All of the other people emerged from their cars dressed in dark colors. Could all of these people be here for Granny’s funeral? As I stood, I caught a glimpse of the church sign. I looked more closely—Miss Olivia, you will be missed.

  A new wave of sorrow rushed over me. I ambled toward the church. A line of people stretched out the entrance. I worked my way through the throng of people and was greeted by a prim and proper woman at the threshold of the sanctuary. “Do you need some assistance, my dear?” Her voice was smooth like syrup.

  “I’m Alexandra Lyndon.”

  The woman immediately took my hand and pulled me through the crowd to the front of the church. We stopped in front of the pastor. I recognized him from the times I had visited here.

  “Dear, Alexandra is here.”

  The minister extended his hand to me, and I placed my hand in his. “I’m so sorry for your loss. You should be here near the casket to greet others.” His voice was gentle and sincere.

  I released his hand and pushed through the line. My first sight of Granny brought a smile to my lips. She wore the same brightly colored Hawaiian shirt she had greeted me in that first summer I stayed with her. Why not? She had no n
eed for mourning where she was. Black would not have been right for her. This was perfect. Although I heard people talk about how good and natural she looked, I disagreed. She was never that still. That shell had no resemblance to the woman I knew as my grandmother. After a few people began to recognize me, I had many handshakes and even hugs. People still filed into the church when the time for the funeral service arrived. The pastor asked everyone to find a seat or a spot to stand so he could proceed. I was escorted to the front pew on the right. The pastor leaned down and whispered into my ear. “Do you want to say a few words?”

  A lump swelled in my throat. I swallowed hard and shook my head. I wrapped my arms around my waist and glanced at the empty pew stretching out to my right. Alone. I blinked back tears.

  The minister needed no help from me anyway. He captured Granny perfectly. He obviously held her in high regard, for he struggled to keep his composure several times during his remarks. After the service, the line formed again. I was unsure how long I could endure, even though all of the sentiments rendered were heartfelt and sweet.

  A warm hand grasped mine. I looked up into brilliant blue eyes. “I’m sorry for your loss.” His hand lingered, holding to mine. His sandy brown hair brushed the shoulders of his blazer. “I’m Chase Carson.” He smiled and studied my face. “And, you have to be Alex.”

  Who was this man? He knew my name. “How did you know my Granny Olivia?”

  His eyes darted, and he sucked in a breath. “Business.” Then, he rushed away.

  * * *

  Chase sprinted to his car. His pulse pounded in his ears. The pictures Miss Olivia had shown him of Alex didn’t do her justice. She was petite, and he was caught off guard by her hazel eyes and dark wavy hair.

  Obviously Alex had no idea about him or the reason he might be here. Miss Olivia hadn’t told her granddaughter before her death. This made his mission a bit more complicated. But, he had to find what he had come to retrieve.

  Would Alex have any clues? He would find out soon when he paid her a visit.

  CHAPTER THREE

  The droning of an engine motor wakened me. Was that a lawn mower? Not the type of alarm clock I was accustomed to. I blinked my eyes to focus. The clock over the shelf showed almost nine thirty. I almost hated waking up from my dreams, remembering Granny Olivia. Saturday had passed by in a blur of standing at the side of Granny’s grave and eating a meal that the church people had insisted I attend. Exhaustion took over on Sunday, and I slept right through. Time to stop feeling sorry for myself. A growl from my stomach nearly blocked out the continual grind of the mower. I wandered toward the kitchen. Would there be something edible for breakfast? Opening the fridge, I located Granny’s apple butter. What could I smear it on? I chanced a look in the freezer and spotted a bag of frozen biscuits. Jackpot! While the oven warmed, I grabbed some butter and a spoon. The buzz of the timer going off was music to my ears.

  Sitting down at the small kitchen table, I thumbed through an old newspaper. Under it was a newsletter and bulletin from Grace Baptist Church, Granny’s church. If I happened to be at her house on Wednesday or Sunday, Granny said we had to go church. “We mustn’t forsake the gathering of the saints.”

  As a young girl, I had no idea what she meant, but Granny was faithful to her church and loved it. She not only said so, but she treated it as a priority.

  Most of the children at the church liked Granny. She was a sucker for whatever they needed to sell for school. She would buy even if she had no use for the product, and those little tykes soon learned this. I chuckled. She had enough gift wrap stockpiled to wallpaper the entire house. She knew each child’s name. Until a few years ago, Granny still did the children’s sermon once a month. I still remembered how she kept not only the young ones enthralled but the whole congregation with her witty stories and clever moral lessons each Sunday morning.

  “Granny, you have certainly left a big hole in many people’s lives with your passing.”

  I had better stop poking, don some old clothes, and get to work going through some of Granny’s things. That was, after all, what one did in these situations. Even though I would be living here, I wasn’t sure I would do much redecorating. This place had always seemed perfect just as it was. The more I left the same, maybe the more it would feel like Granny was still here.

  Stepping through the threshold of the study and den combination, I paused. This room held much magic. The three walls were still covered in shelves of books floor to ceiling. Granny said her study was the doorway into another world, because those books could take you wherever you wanted to go. There in front of the fourth wall stood her writing desk. The chair creaked as I eased into it. My mind flashed back to the many times I sat at her feet right here listening to her tell a story. A worn Bible greeted me from the desktop. I could use a cheery Psalm about now. I could open toward the middle to find the Psalms of David I craved, so I propped the book on its spine with a hand on each side and then let it fall open.

  My head snapped back. “What’s this?”

  Instead of finding a passage from Psalms, my eyes widened to a stack of green…money. I laid it to the side and flipped to another area, again encountering money stuck between the pages. Suddenly my mind went back to what Mrs. Sutton had said. “Your inheritance is in the Word.” Saying it aloud to myself made me believe what I saw. “You are quite the sly one, Granny.” I giggled. Several Bibles lay nearby, each contained money, not ones and fives, but large bills. Finally I stacked the paper money together and began to count.

  My mouth dropped open to discover there was a little over five hundred thousand dollars. My eyes bugged out of my head. I had never seen anywhere close to that amount of money. How had Granny gotten half a million dollars? What if someone knew about the money? What about the man from the funeral? He said he was connected to Granny through business. Maybe that’s why he showed up at the funeral. My uncertainty prompted me to dress quickly and get to a bank. In this small town there were few choices. It shouldn’t be difficult to choose one. As I shoved the stack of money into my purse, I was still in denial. Would the bank think I was a thief?

  I strolled into the lobby of the nearby bank with my mind buzzing, contemplating how I would explain this amount of money. One look at my run-down car would have made anyone leery.

  “May I help you?” a teller said.

  “Yes, I need to talk to someone about opening an account.”

  “Just a moment.”

  She whirled around and returned with an older man by her side. “This is the young lady who wants to open a new account, sir.”

  He extended his hand toward me, and I shook it. “Right this way. I’m Mr. Davis.” He led the way to a small office just off the main lobby area. “Have a seat.” He waved his arm toward a chair and proceeded behind a large wooden desk. He plopped into the black leather chair and folded his hands, resting them on the desk in front of him. “Now, what can we do for you?”

  “Well, I believe I need to open a savings account and maybe a small checking account so I have access to some money for needs and such.”

  “All right.” He opened a drawer and pulled out some forms. “Now, what kind of amounts are we talking about for each? There are minimum limits on these accounts.” He narrowed his gaze at me.

  “I have a total of five hundred thousand dollars.” I had a hard time not bursting into a fit of laughter when Mr. Davis’ eyes bulged so large. I was sure he never expected such an amount to come out of my mouth.

  He cleared his throat. “Well, now, I need to get your name.” His pen hovered above the form, trembling a bit.

  “Mr. Davis, let me back up, okay? My name is Alexandra Lyndon. My grandmother lived in the house on Main Street—Olivia Lyndon.”

  His expression softened. “You are Miss Olivia’s granddaughter?”

  “Yes, sir. Did you know her?”

  “Of course. Everybody knew Miss Olivia.” He smiled.

  “Did she have accounts with you?” />
  “No.” Mr. Davis laughed. I had missed the humor. “Mrs. Lyndon, your grandmother didn’t believe in banks. She told me so rather apologetically on several occasions. I remember her being worried that I would think she thought me a thief. She always assured me that her feelings were nothing personal against me.”

  I joined him in chuckling. “That certainly sounds like her.”

  He studied me for a moment. “You aren’t little Alex that used to come visit during the summers?”

  “That’s me.” I nodded.

  His face became serious. “I’m sorry for your loss. Truth be known, it is a loss for all of us.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Now, let’s get you set up.”

  I left the bank feeling quite proud of my namesake. I wasn’t the only one Granny Olivia had touched and made an impression upon.

  A trip to the grocery store was in order. I had a plethora of canned goods, but milk and bread would be good. I also wanted some bottled water. The pipes at the old house seemed to produce a taste in an otherwise tasteless liquid. I started down the cereal aisle, not noticing anyone else until a hand touched my shoulder.

  “Alexandra Lyndon?” The older woman eyed me closely.

  “Yes?”

  “Well, I’ll be! I remember you when you were knee-high to a grasshopper.” She indicated the short stature with her hand. “You and Miss Olivia came over to pick raspberries. I’m Opal.” She thrust her hand toward me. Slowly my mind buzzed through memories to find a hint of recollection.

  “Oh! The raspberries, yes, I do remember. How are you?”

  “Old.” She laughed then her expression clouded. “I do miss those days. Fun times. And, I do so miss dear Miss Olivia at our circle meeting.”

  I nodded in agreement. Was there anyone in this town who had not been touched by my granny? What would it be like to be like her, having a positive and lasting impact wherever I went? I could only hope to be half as effective as she had been. “It’s good to see you, Opal. I’m gonna miss her, too.”