“But later? Were you ever held against your will?”
Sarah took in a long, slow breath, folding her arms in front of her, and Anna could tell that this was her way of communicating that she’d said too much. And, really, Anna had been trying not to prod. “So . . . Aaron . . .” Anna tried again. “It sounds like he was a good guy . . . and you say he treated you like family . . . ?”
“Yes,” she said cautiously.
“And Misty was his wife?”
Sarah shrugged. “We don’t use those kinds of traditional words. It was very unconventional there. We were all brothers and sisters. But, yes, Aaron and Misty were together as a couple, if that’s what you mean.”
“How many people were in this, uh, family?” Anna asked gently.
“It varied. At the most, it was about a hundred, I think. By the time I left it had dwindled a lot. Maybe thirty or so.”
“Did it dwindle because others, like you, weren’t so happy there anymore?”
She nodded sadly. “Yes. After Aaron and Misty left, everything just started to change.”
“Do you know why Aaron and Misty left?”
“Because Daniel took over.” She looked at Anna like this should be obvious.
“Daniel?”
Sarah’s dark eyes grew darker as her brows drew together. “Daniel was nothing like Aaron. He acted nice at first, but he turned out to be mean spirited and selfish. He treated us as though we were less than him, like he expected us to serve and obey him—simply because he was the new leader. We had always wanted to serve and obey Aaron, but that was because we loved him. But all the love left when Daniel took over.”
“How long ago was that?”
Sarah looked up at the ceiling as if trying to calculate. “I don’t know exactly. I guess it was in the fall. We’d just finished picking apples.”
“You grew apples there?”
“No, we picked for local farmers. For money and in trade for apples. We put up a lot of apples for winter. Apple cider, dried apples, applesauce . . . we had lots and lots of apples.”
“Oh.”
“If I never see an apple again, it will be too soon.” She sighed.
“I’m curious . . . where was this place? Southern Oregon? I know there are a lot of fruit orchards down there.”
Now Sarah was getting that shut-down look again. Anna knew that for some reason she wanted to keep the location of this commune a secret. Why she wanted to protect people who had obviously wronged her was a mystery, but Anna knew she needed to respect it. At least for now. Anna’s worst fear was that Sarah wasn’t disclosing the location of the commune out of the fear that she might have to return to this horrible place . . . keeping it as an option in case things here at the river didn’t work out. Anna prayed that it would work out.
“Well, I’m just so glad you’re here.” Anna smiled at her. “I have missed you so much these past two years. You have absolutely no idea. It was like a piece of me was gone. Can you understand that?”
Sarah seemed to soften now. “I missed you, too, Grandma.”
“And I have to admit that it still hurts to think you never tried to contact me . . . just to say you were alive,” Anna confessed, “but I do understand. I know we sometimes do things that seem justified at the time . . . things we might look back on later, wondering if we could’ve done it differently.” Now Anna told Sarah a bit about how it was for her when Lauren was a small child . . . how she might’ve done it differently.
“But I was so overwhelmed with caring for Lauren’s father. His physical injuries from the war were serious enough, and he was certainly in pain, but the wounds in his mind were the hardest part. I felt I needed to protect Lauren from his outbursts and mood swings. It seemed too much for a child to witness. For that reason, Lauren was left in the care of her Grandmother Eunice . . . far more than I would have liked. However, at the time, I didn’t see any other solution.”
“I’m sure you did the best you could.”
Anna shrugged. “After Adam died, I stayed on with Eunice. I know it was partly because I was so worn down by the years of caring for him, almost as if I’d lost a part of myself. I just didn’t know what to do, how to start my life over again. And by then Eunice was such an enormous part of Lauren’s life, and she’d just lost her father, it seemed cruel to take that away from Lauren as well. But, as you know, Eunice spoiled Lauren. She gave into her about everything.” She sighed. “And I suppose I allowed it. Oh, I’d try to stand up to her, but it was like standing up to a tidal wave. I really should’ve left much sooner. But I didn’t. So, to be fair, you should partially blame me for how Lauren was so immature and ill prepared for adulthood when she became your mother. It was like a child raising a child.”
Sarah’s brow creased as if she was trying to take this in.
“Sometimes I’ve thought that if I’d just had the strength to take Lauren away from there, and if I’d brought her here to the river, back when she was still a child, I think about how everything would’ve turned out so differently.” She sighed. “You see how it’s easy to blame myself and feel guilty over this. But that’s when I try to remember that I did the best I could at the time. What’s done is done and I simply have to trust God with the rest of it.”
“I really don’t see how you could blame yourself for Lauren’s mistakes.”
“Yes . . . but maybe it comes with being a mother. You always want the best for your children and your grandchildren.” Now she smiled. “But then I have to remember that if I’d brought Lauren out here as a child, she never would’ve met and married Donald and then you wouldn’t have been born. And that would’ve been very sad for me. In the long run, I do think that things do turn out for the best.”
“I wish I believed that was true.” Sarah pulled the afghan up over her shoulders, shivering as if she were cold.
“Maybe you will in time.”
“I don’t know.” Sarah just shook her head. “Sometimes it all just seems so useless and hopeless.” The glum expression on her face reminded Anna of her own mother so many years ago. Anna’s mother had seemed to carry the weight of the world on her shoulders for so many years. So much anxiety and concern for so many things . . . it had prematurely aged her . . . and it had driven Anna away. Hopefully, Sarah would not fall into that trap.
Anna looked over at the bookshelf that was filled with Hazel’s anthropology books. There on the top shelves were the notebooks that Hazel had filled with notes and stories she’d transcribed from Anna’s father’s notebooks. Anna got up and pulled a fat black notebook from the shelf, flipping it open to a section of old stories. “Maybe you’d like to read these,” she said to Sarah. “My grandmother, as you know, went through some very difficult times, too. And I know she had some years where she was bitter about a lot of things.” Anna shook her head. “And, really, she had a right to be bitter. The way the Siuslaw Indians were treated in those days . . . well, it was terrible.”
“You mean when they were starved on the reservation?”
“Yes. They were pretty much treated like animals. Oh, the white men tried to make it look like it was an education program, and I suppose some of the people teaching in my grandmother’s school weren’t so bad. She did learn to sew. But my grandmother was a wise woman, and she discovered that forgiveness was a better path than being bitter.”
“Well, that sounds all good and nice, but it might not be for everyone.” Sarah pulled the afghan more tightly around herself, almost as if she was creating a cocoon. “Have you ever considered the possibility that some things are unforgivable?”
“Or maybe some things just take time.” She set the black notebook on the worn pine table in the kitchen. “My grandmother’s life has taught me a lot of things . . . maybe you can learn from her, too, Sarah.”
They both jumped to hear someone knocking on the door. “Mom?” called Lauren’s voice. “Are you in there?” And before Anna could get there, the door flew open and Lauren entered the room. “Oh
, there you are, I’ve been looking all over for—” Lauren stopped in mid-sentence—her jaw dropped and her eyes grew huge as she pointed at Sarah sitting there in the rocker still wrapped in the afghan. Lauren turned to Anna, blinking with a shocked expression. “Wha—what is going on? What is—?”
“I cannot deal with this!” Sarah exclaimed as she leaped to her feet. With the afghan trailing behind her, she stomped off to the bedroom, slamming the door behind her.
“Sarah!” Lauren sputtered. “When did she—how did she—why didn’t you tell me?” She pressed her fist to her lips with tear-filled eyes. “Mom?”
“It’s a long story, Lauren.” Anna glanced nervously at the closed door. Surely Sarah wouldn’t climb out the window and make a run for it.
“How long has she been here?” Lauren demanded.
“Not long.” Anna felt torn. Lauren had every right to feel hurt . . . and yet it was Sarah that worried her.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Sarah wasn’t ready to—”
“I can’t believe you kept this from me, Mom. My own daughter!”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t know what else to do. I promised her—”
“Were you ever going to tell me?” Lauren’s voice grew louder. “Did everyone but me know about—”
“Calm down,” Anna said quietly. “You’ll scare her.”
“I’ll scare her?” Lauren’s brow creased. “Do you know how scared I’ve been for her? How frightened I’ve been that she’d been kidnapped, tortured, murdered just like those other young girls that Ted Bundy—”
“She’s safe, Lauren.”
“But why didn’t you tell me she was here? Did you know that I cried myself to sleep on her birthday? How long has she been here, Mom?”
“Really, Lauren, it doesn’t matter.” Anna was trying to guide Lauren out of the cabin now, wanting to give Sarah back her space . . . the peace and quiet she so desperately seemed to need.
“It doesn’t matter?” Lauren planted her feet firmly in the doorway. “Sarah is my daughter. Don’t I have a right to see her? To find out where she’s been and—”
“If you love Sarah, you’ll want the best for her,” Anna said firmly. “For right now, she needs time.”
“But I want to talk to—”
“Come on, Lauren.” Anna tightened her grip on her daughter’s arm. “We are leaving for now.”
“But Mom!”
“No buts, Lauren.” Anna locked eyes with her. “Trust me. This is for Sarah’s best.” Lauren was clearly angry, but she allowed Anna to escort her out of the cabin.
“This isn’t fair,” Lauren exploded as they walked through the open grassy area. “You’ve already spent time with her and I haven’t even—”
“Come on.” Anna continued pulling Lauren by the arm, tugging her toward the river. “Let’s go where we can talk in private.”
Lauren continued to sputter and fume, questioning her mother’s sanity and judgment as they walked. “I really don’t like this, Mom. You hiding Sarah from me like this. It’s really not fair and—”
“Lauren.” Anna gave her a stern look as she pointed to the bench by the river. “If you keep talking like this, how can I explain?”
“Fine,” Lauren snapped as she sat down. “Go ahead. Explain.”
Anna sat down next to her, slowly attempting to tell Sarah’s story, but even as she explained, she knew there were too many missing pieces and unanswered questions. Finally she sighed and held up her hands. “It’s just going to take time,” she said sadly, “and patience.”
Lauren’s tears began to fall freely. “I’m sorry I got so mad at you,” she sobbed. “It’s just that I—I have so many emotions—running through me. I want to see my daughter—to hold her in my arms. And I want to shake her! I’m so angry! I want to demand to know why she left, why she stayed so long, why she never called.”
“I know . . .” Anna nodded. “I have those same feelings.”
“But you’re so much more patient than I am,” Lauren confessed. “How do you do it, Mom?”
Anna made a sad smile as she handed Lauren her handkerchief. “Years of practice, I suppose.”
“When can I talk to her, Mom?”
“Soon I hope. But I’m afraid to push her too hard. She’s so fragile . . . and I can tell she’s been hurt.”
“She seemed different.” Lauren’s brow creased.
“She has changed . . . but I think our sweet Sarah is still in there . . . somewhere.”
“Does she hate me?” Lauren asked in a small voice.
“I think she’s just confused.”
“She has every right to hate me.”
“Hatred is like poison, Lauren. Hopefully Sarah doesn’t hate anyone.” But even as Anna said this, she knew that Sarah was full of bitterness. Perhaps with enough time and patience, she would be able to let it go.
4
With Lauren temporarily pacified, Anna hurried back to the cabin to check on Sarah, but when she knocked on the door, calling out, Sarah didn’t answer. Quietly letting herself in, she found Sarah, now dressed in her long patchwork dress, which still hadn’t been laundered, and buckling up her sandals. “I have to go, Grandma.”
“Why?” Anna went over and stroked Sarah’s hair. “Why can’t you stay here for a while? You can rest up and regain your strength. It’s obvious you’ve been through an ordeal.” She placed her hand on Sarah’s shoulder, feeling the sharpness of bone through the fabric of the dress. “And you’re far too thin.”
Sarah looked into Anna’s eyes. “I don’t want to talk to her.”
“You don’t have to.”
“But she knows I’m here now. She’ll keep coming around and—”
“I’ve told her that you’re not ready for that, Sarah. She understands.”
Sarah looked doubtful.
“It’s only natural that she wants to see you. She’s made her mistakes, but she still loves you.”
Sarah’s dark eyes narrowed. “She doesn’t love anyone. She never has.”
Anna resisted the urge to argue this. “Please, stay, Sarah. This is your home . . . just as much as it’s my home . . . your ancestors belonged here . . . so do you.”
“I don’t know . . .” But her features softened ever so slightly.
“If you allow it, you will find healing here.”
Sarah let out a small sigh. “I’ll only stay if you promise me that she’ll leave me alone. If Lauren tries to talk to me, I will leave. I swear I will go and I’ll never come back.”
Anna wanted to protest the unfairness of this, but she simply nodded. “I’ll explain your conditions to Lauren. I think she’ll understand.” As Anna left, she knew she’d have to make Lauren understand. But as she went into the house, her heart went out to her daughter. Lauren had made such progress these past few years. If only Sarah could see that.
“Is Lauren around?” she asked Diane Flanders. Diane was just a year older than Sarah. She and her younger sister, Janelle, had been working at the inn during the summer for several years now.
“I haven’t seen her since breakfast,” Diane said. “But she did mention that she was going to work on the floral arrangements today.”
Anna nodded. “That’s right, it’s Thursday.” This was the day that Lauren usually made fresh flower arrangements for the inn. Maybe she’d gone home to do that. “I think I’ll run up to Babette’s too,” Anna told Diane. Even though Babette had passed on several years ago, they still called the house “Babette’s.” Lauren lived there full time, and occasionally, if the inn was full, they would accommodate the overflow guests there. But Lauren loved Babette’s house and took excellent care of the gardens there. Anna knew Babette would be pleased by this.
Sure enough, Lauren’s boat was gone from the dock. As was Anna’s boat, but she knew Clark had taken it to town to pick up some supplies. Anna untied one of the small fishing boats, hopped in, and started the motor. Chugging along toward Babette’s house, she
planned what she would say to Lauren.
Relieved to find Lauren in the garden, where she was cutting purple irises, Anna decided to start right in. “I have an idea,” she said brightly, “and I hope you’ll like it.”
Lauren tipped up her straw hat to look curiously at her mother. “What sort of idea?”
“I think you need a vacation.”
Lauren stood up straight with a confused expression. “Whatever for?”
“Because you’ve been working hard for me for the past few years, and you haven’t taken one vacation.”
Lauren set the irises in the bucket of water and frowned. “Working at the inn is not exactly hard, Mom. Some people would consider it like a vacation in itself.”
“Maybe so. But I really think you deserve a vacation.”
Lauren waved a fly away. “When was the last time you took a vacation?”
“We’re not talking about me.”
“No . . . and I can guess why you want to get rid of me.”
“I do not want to get rid of you, Lauren.” Anna sighed. “The truth is I will miss you a lot more than you can possibly know.”
“Then don’t make me go.”
“We have to do this,” Anna said firmly. “Sarah is not going to come out of hiding if she thinks you’re around. And she needs to start doing some things . . . so she can get better.”
Lauren wiped her hands on the front of her jeans. “I guess it’s only fair.”
“Fair?” Anna tilted her head to one side.
“That you should make me go in order to keep Sarah.” Lauren’s eyes were filling with tears again. “After all, I’m probably the reason Sarah ran away in the first place . . . and I know how much you’ve always loved her more than me.”
“I love both of you equally,” Anna insisted. “It’s just that she needs me more than you do right now. Surely, you can see that.”
“Yes, but it’s true. You and Sarah were always so close. Much more so than with me. I know it.”
Anna stepped over the row of lavender and put her arms around Lauren. “Oh, darling, you know how much I love you, don’t you?”
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