Bringing Maggie Home

by Kim Vogel Sawyer

  A half smile curved Grandma’s lips. “I’m glad she took you for those special holidays.”

  “Probably because you always sent me a new dress for those holidays. I didn’t have anyplace else to wear a dress when I was a kid.” Not that she’d worn one this morning. She owned only one dress—a knee-length, tight-fitting, all-over-sequined number she pulled out every New Year’s Eve for the department party. Not exactly a church dress.

  Grandma’s smile faded. She turned into the cul-de-sac and onto her driveway. “Why don’t you hop out here. It’ll be easier for you to get into the house through the front door than through the garage. It’s so tight with your mom’s car in there, too.”

  “All right.” Meghan exited the car and waited until Grandma pulled into the garage before crossing the driveway to the front door. She stepped onto the porch and the door opened.

  “There you are.” Mom stood in the doorway, still wearing her sleep shorts and tank top, her dark hair balled in a messy bun on top of her head. She gestured Meghan over the threshold. “I thought the early service was over at ten fifteen. Mother said the church was less than a ten-minute drive away. I expected you back a half hour ago.”

  Meghan wiped the sweat from her forehead and glanced at the grandfather clock. The round face showed five past eleven. “We stayed after and visited with some of Grandma’s friends. Lots of people came over to meet me, and they were all really nice. Like, genuinely nice.” She hoped Mom got the hint.

  Grandma came in from the kitchen, her hands at the back of her neck. “Margaret Diane, would you help me with this catch? It’s stuck.”

  Sighing, Mom scuffed across the floor and moved behind Grandma. For the first time Meghan noticed Grandma wasn’t as tall as Mom anymore. Age must have shrunk her an inch or so. Mom scowled, shaking her head. “Do you still wear that string of pearls to church? Great Scott, you’d think the world would end if you went one Sunday without them.”

  Grandma tucked her chin low and held her hair out of the way. “I suppose it’s a silly habit, but your father gave me the pearls on our fifth anniversary. He always admired the way they looked with my church suits, and I wore them so often on Sundays it became a habit. Now I don’t feel fully dressed for church unless they’re around my neck.”

  Mom released the string and puddled them in her palm. “Before you wear them again, you might want to have a jeweler check the fastener. It looks all lopsided. That’s why you couldn’t get it undone.”

  Grandma took the string of matching creamy, pea-sized orbs and cradled them in her hands. “That’s a good idea. It would break my heart if the clasp broke and I lost them. They’re to be Meghan’s someday, you know.” She flicked a smile at Meghan, then turned to Mom again. “Maybe when we take the photograph to get it reprinted, we can visit a jeweler, too. Make a day of fixing things.”

  “Sure.” Mom sauntered across the room and flopped onto the sofa in the middle of the dachshund quartet. Grandma headed to her bedroom, and Mom glared after her. “Well, isn’t that nice.”

  Meghan frowned. “What?”

  “The pearls. They’re to be yours someday.” Mom crossed her legs and bounced her foot, the movement jerky and impatient. “I guess she forgot she has a daughter.”

  Meghan sank onto the ottoman. All the comforting, good feelings she’d built over the morning began to fade in the face of her mother’s criticism. “Do you really want them? You aren’t exactly the pearl-wearing type, Mom.”

  Mom’s scornful gaze roved across Meghan’s white capris, yellow tank, and matching short-sleeved lace cardigan. “And they’d do so much for your outfit.”

  Meghan looked aside and bit the end of her tongue. Mom was right. When did Meghan dress up? She wore business suits to work and T-shirts with either shorts or sweatpants on the weekends. Even with her sequined dress, the pearls would look ridiculous on her, not perfect the way they did paired with Grandma’s pale-pink linen suit and white blouse. But even if she didn’t wear the pearls, she would treasure them because they were a gift from her grandmother. Mom would probably sell them.

  “So how’d church go…other than being swarmed by Mother’s friends?”

  If Mom was willing to set the subject of the pearls aside, Meghan could, too. She put a smile on her face. “It was good. Quiet, low-key. Peaceful music. Kind of like I remember from the Christmas Eve services we used to go to. Except no candles. I told Grandma I’d go with her next week, too.” She waggled her eyebrows, hoping Mom wouldn’t take offense from what she intended to say next. “You could come with us.”

  Mom flipped her wrist and shook her head.

  Meghan rested her elbows on her knees. “Aw, come on, Mom. It’s only an hour, and it would mean so much to Grandma. She told me on the drive back how her favorite time of the week when I was little was Sunday morning because she got to spend it with the two of us. What would it hurt to let her relive those memories?”

  Mom rose. Her eyes narrowed and her lips twisted into a grimace of half scorn, half pain. “Maybe I don’t care to relive mine.”

  Fifteen

  Late September 1985

  Little Rock, Arkansas

  Diane

  “Are you going to take the baby to the nursery?” Mother lifted the edge of the soft flannel receiving blanket and peeked at Meghan’s sleeping face.

  Diane shook her head. “I’d rather keep her with me. She’s so little yet.” Not even two weeks old. Who’d have guessed love could grow so quickly? Especially considering how she felt about the man who got her in the family way. A swell of tenderness rose and nearly strangled her. Blinking tears, she gently lowered the flap of flannel over Meghan and held her a little more snugly.

  The narrow foyer teemed with people, some handing out bulletins, others wrangling grade-schoolers, more standing in little groups and chatting. Mother slipped her hand through Diane’s elbow and drew her through the crowd in the direction of the sanctuary doors.

  “Excuse me,” Mother said time and again, and each time people glanced over, smiled, and then seemed to notice the bundle in Diane’s arms. The smiles turned to pursed lips, disapproving grimaces, or stiff poses of discomfort.

  Diane wanted to escape. She tried to pull loose of Mother’s grip, but she couldn’t without jostling the baby. So she continued on with her baby sleeping innocently in her arms and with what seemed a hundred condemning glares boring holes through her.

  Throughout her pregnancy, she’d suffered through judgmental glances and whispered mutters and cold shoulders. The reactions had irritated her or amused her, depending on her mood, but never had they decimated her. Until today. Because this time the people weren’t condemning her. They were condemning her baby. Her precious, innocent baby. And that was wrong.

  Mother led her to a back pew and they slid into the seat. People paraded past on the way to their seats, but no one stopped to ask to see Meghan. No one stopped to ask how Diane was faring. No one stopped. At all. Diane and Meghan might have been invisible for all the notice people took of them. And all the while, Mother sat there with a complacent smile on her face, oblivious, her fingers on Meghan’s blanket.

  Diane had been in church long enough to witness the celebrations when a new baby arrived. She’d watched eager people flock around a mother who brought her baby to church for the first time. Heard the congratulations and well wishes and happy laughter. Knowing what usually happened made her fully aware of how she was being snubbed. She knew why, too. Because she had only Mother sitting beside her instead of a husband.

  Sure, she’d made a mistake. She gave something she couldn’t take back with the expectation that it meant as much to him as it did to her, only to discover it didn’t mean a thing. But hadn’t Mother praised her for choosing to bring the baby into the world instead of snuffing out its life, the way her friends had encouraged? Why couldn’t some of these holier-than-thou church people realize the sacrifice she’d made?

  The final notes rang from the organ, and the minist
er stepped behind the pulpit. Under the blanket, Meghan released a little waking-up squeak. Diane’s chest went tight, and she knew what would happen next if she didn’t act fast. She rose, grabbing up the diaper bag at the same time, and hurried out of the sanctuary. She bustled toward the nursery, Meghan’s squeaks changing to a whimpering wail as she went. She entered the nursery, zipped past the pair of smock-wearing workers who gawked at her as if they’d never seen a new mother before, and plopped into the rocking chair situated behind a privacy screen.

  “Shhh, shhh,” she crooned to the baby while unbuttoning her blouse. She lifted Meghan and pressed her wailing mouth against her breast. The baby’s cries stopped with a little grunt as she took hold, and relief flooded Diane. Relief to have the throbbing pressure eased. Relief they’d made it before she wet her blouse. Relief that she was safe behind this barrier, where no recriminating glares could reach.

  A tinkling lullaby sang from a tape player on the other side of the screen. Diane hummed the notes and rocked while Meghan nursed. The baby’s eager slurps transitioned to weak, sporadic tugs, and finally she sagged against Diane’s arm, her sweet mouth slack and her blue-veined eyes closed. Diane laid her sleeping daughter in her lap and refastened her blouse. Then she cradled her in the crook of her arm and left her hiding spot.

  The pair of workers sat in chairs on opposite sides of a blanket spread on the floor. Two babies—one on his back gumming a rattle and one on her tummy batting at a clear plastic ball with ducks inside it—played on the blanket. Diane couldn’t resist pausing to glance at the babies and try to imagine Meghan a few months older and able to play. She lifted her gaze from the babies and discovered the younger of the workers looking at her.

  Defensiveness struck without warning. Diane barked, “What?”

  The woman’s eyes widened. “Did you want to leave”—she pointed at Meghan’s blanket-wrapped form—“your baby?”

  Diane rocked in place, an unexpected habit she’d developed. “No, she’s asleep now. I’ll keep her with me.”

  The woman nodded.

  The older one sat forward. “So you decided to keep her?”

  For a moment Diane blinked in confusion. Hadn’t she just said she intended to keep Meghan? Then it dawned on her what she meant. Her face blazed hot. “Of course I did. She’s mine.”

  “There are lots of couples who want to adopt because they can’t have children of their own.” The woman’s eyes sparked with such indignation, Diane instinctively drew back. “Seems to me the unselfish thing would be to give your baby to one of those couples.”

  Diane peered into Meghan’s sweet little face. The familiar swell of protectiveness, of a deeper love than she’d ever felt before, filled her. How could she give her baby to someone else?

  “How do you intend to take care of her?”

  “Georgina…hush.” The younger woman’s tone held mild reproof.

  The older one swept her hand, as if slapping away the other’s comment. “Don’t hush me, Lynda. I’m only saying what everyone in church is thinking. She’s hardly equipped to raise a child by herself. The baby deserves better.”

  Diane quivered from head to toe. Tears clouded her vision. She sucked back a sob and lifted her chin. “She deserves better than to be exposed to your prejudiced attitude, that’s for sure. She won’t ever be coming into this nursery.” She charged out the door, up the hallway, and to the vestibule. She braced her hand on the door leading outside, ready to smack it open, but then she stopped.

  Would she really leave? She’d ridden over with Mother, so she’d have to walk home. Less than a mile, but still a good distance while carrying a baby and a well-stocked diaper bag. More importantly, if she left, she’d give that woman and every other person who’d turned away in disapproval the satisfaction of running her off. Would she let them win?

  She whirled and marched back into the foyer. Past the ushers to the sanctuary doors. Into the sanctuary, where a few people glanced over their shoulders and then zinged their attention to the front of the church. She settled in next to Mother, who leaned close and whispered, “Is she all right?”

  Diane nodded. The baby was fine. The baby was more than fine. Meghan D’Ann DeFord was a precious, innocent, valuable life, and these sanctimonious busybodies would have to get used to her being in their self-righteous presence. Because Diane wasn’t going to let them scare her away.

  Present Day

  Kendrickson, Nevada

  Diane pointed at her daughter. “But don’t think for one moment that because I don’t choose to go to church means I’m afraid or ashamed or anything else. I decided I didn’t want to spend time with a bunch of hypocrites, and that’s all there is to it.”

  Meghan held her hands in the air as if she were at gunpoint and coughed a short laugh. “Okay, okay, sorry I asked.”

  Mother rounded the corner. She’d changed from her pink suit into a pair of grass-green ankle pants, a yellow, green, and white plaid blouse, and yellow flats—still plenty dressy but a huge step down from her formal suit. She came to a halt and gave Diane an up-and-down look that brought back another unpleasant rush of memories.

  “How long will it take you to get dressed?”

  Diane held her arms wide. “I am dressed. Quite comfortably, I might add.”

  “I meant in clothes appropriate for the public’s eye.”

  Suspicious, Diane squinted at her. “Why?”

  Mother beamed. “Because I want to take you and Meghan to a buffet lunch.” She shrugged, her expression turning sheepish. “Well, they advertise it as a brunch, but it goes from nine in the morning until two in the afternoon, so that feels more like lunch than brunch to me.”

  Meghan shook her head, grinning. “Where is this buffet brunch-lunch?”

  “In one of the older casinos built along the highway on the outer edge of Las Vegas.”

  Diane’s jaw dropped. “You want to take us to a casino?”

  Mother aimed a chastening look at Diane. “Did I say I was taking you there to gamble? Of course not. But you know as well as I do, some of the best restaurants in town are in the casinos. I’ve been to this buffet several times, and I remembered they have a whole vegan section, so you should be able to find plenty to eat.” She put her hands on her hips. “Do you want to go or not?”

  Meghan’s shoulders were shaking and she was biting her lower lip, obviously holding back laughter. Diane understood why, too. She couldn’t envision her pious, perfect, conservative mother stepping foot in a casino. What would the fine folks at church say? She cleared her throat to stave off a guffaw. “I guess we could check it out.” She smirked. “Is that why you put on such a casual outfit—so nobody suspects you’ve been to church this morning?”

  Mother pursed her lips. “As if I would engage in such clandestine behavior. Honestly, child…” She angled her head and raised her eyebrows. “Are you going or not?”

  “Do I have time to shower?”

  “I suppose. As I said, the buffet is open until two, but I’d like to eat before then. So please don’t dally.”

  Diane gave a mock salute and trotted to the bedroom. All four dachshunds chased after her, so she closed them in their crates. Ginger, Duchess, and Miney settled down to nap, but Molly yipped and scratched at the wire door. “Hush that,” Diane said, but Molly continued complaining the whole time Diane showered and dressed.

  She sat on the end of the bed and twisted her damp hair into a bun. She frowned at the dog. “What’s your problem, Molly? It doesn’t hurt you a bit to be in that crate. Why can’t you be easy like the other pooches?”

  Her hands stilled midtask as her words seemed to ricochet back at her. Was that how Mother…and Meghan…felt about her? She shook her head slightly and snapped the rubber band into place. Her situation wasn’t the same as the silly dog’s. She had solid reasons for being resentful.

  She rose and tapped the top of the crate. “Behave yourself. I’ll be home soon enough and you’ll be able to come out again.�
� Once more a niggle of discomfort attacked her, but she pushed the feeling aside and strode into the living room. “I’m ready.”

  Mother pushed up from her chair and held her hand to Meghan, who was perched on the ottoman. That square of stuffed fabric had become her throne in the short time she’d been here. Meghan situated her crutches under her arms and flung a grin at Diane. “Mom, while we’ve got Grandma corralled in the car, we need to work on her.”

  Diane slipped her purse strap over her shoulder. “About what?”

  Mother clicked her tongue on her teeth and headed for the kitchen. “She’s got some idea about having a birthday party for my eightieth. I told her I’m too old for parties.”

  Diane trailed Meghan and her mother. The idea of organizing a party didn’t appeal to her, but she wanted to side with Meghan anyway. “Nobody’s too old for parties, Mother. Aren’t you worried you’ll make Meghan feel bad if you deny her?”

  Meghan nodded. “Yeah. You don’t want to make me feel bad, do you? And now that I’ve met some of your church friends, I’m sure there’d be plenty of people who’d come. We could invite your prayer group and your book club and maybe even—”

  Mother turned and held up both hands. “Hold it right there. I haven’t had a birthday party since I was nine years old, and I see no sense in having another one now.” She slipped one arm around Meghan’s waist and reached the other hand to Diane. “Having the two of you here for my birthday and putting together the scrapbook is party enough.” A hint of something Diane couldn’t recognize—panic? fear?—sparked in Mother’s eyes. “Let’s leave it at that, all right?”

  Sixteen