Blood Sisters
Page 40
“And I’m on my way to get her.” Judith paused to throw her purse over one shoulder.
“You’ll bring her back here, won’t you?” asked Ellen.
“Ellen, are you sure you can handle this?” Judith paused with her hand on the doorknob. “I refuse to risk hurting this child again—not for you or anyone.”
“But she’s my own flesh and blood,” pleaded Ellen. “I swear to you I will do nothing to hurt her.”
“I think we can trust Ellen,” said Aunt Lenore with reassurance. “You just go and bring that baby back here and let us show you how much we can love her.”
Judith smiled. “I’ll see what I can do.”
“And we’ll be praying,” promised Aunt Lenore.
“Yes, we will,” echoed Ellen.
“Good. I’m sure we’ll need it.” Judith paused by the door. “I’ll let you know as soon as I can how it goes.”
CHAPTER FORTY
DEAR GOD, YOU DONE heard me after all, didn’t you? I know that now, and I’m real thankful you be a good listener even when I thought you weren’t. Now, I know I didn’t say that just right, with good grammar and all, like Miss Martha next door to Grandma’s keep reminding me I should do. And I be trying, God, but it be hard when you used to a certain way—like how that ol’ mean Carmen used to talk. But Judith say that in time I will forget all about them old days, and before long I’ll learn to talk just like the rest of my new family and friends. And she told me that my mama and my daddy both talked with good grammar so that it should come natural to me before long. And so I be hopeful—I mean, I am hopeful. See, I am trying, God.
And speaking of Judith, God, I have to tell you that when I first saw her—when she come downstairs with Miss Molly and find me hiding in my cardboard box down there in that smelly old basement, well, my first thought was that my mama had finally come and got me. Why, I just jumped outta that box and spread my arms and cried out, “Mama!” And she just grabbed me and hugged me and started crying and everything. But then later on she told me that she wasn’t really my mama, but that she loved me and she loved my mama and that they were like sisters—closer than sisters. In fact, she told me how they made a promise to always be true to each other and that they poked their fingers and became real, live blood sisters. She even showed me the place where they did it right underneath the big maple tree. And she
told me that makes her like a blood relative to me. And I like that. Because I love her, God.
And even though I’m real sad that my mama be dead, I mean, that my mama is dead, Judith told me that my mama’s up there in heaven with you and my daddy and that they are real happy up there and that they look down on me and they smile with pride. And, as it turns out, Judith’s got her some family up there too. She’s got a husband and a little boy who was just a little older than me when he died. She says one day we’ll all be together, but until then we gotta love each other and all our other good friends down here.
And, let me tell you, I got me some good friends, God. Like there’s Uncle Eli. Judith said he’s been her friend since they were just kids. And he’s got two great big boys. And I’m sure you know Uncle Eli real good ’cause he talks to you all the time. He’s going to be starting a church real soon too. We saw the building he’s going to be using, and we all met there last week to pray that you would bless it real good. And I’m sure you will. And then there’s my Grandma Ellen and Aunt Lenore. They’re both real nice and make really good cookies and things. And I even have another Grandma and Grandpa that I just met a couple weeks ago. They live right next to the beach, and they’re real nice too. So I got all sorts of folks to love me now. Why, I feel just like those people I used to watch on the TV set—you know, the ones with all the family and friends and smiling faces. Only this is for real!
And here’s something else I gotta thank you for, God. It’s almost fall now, and I get to go to kindergarten in a real school! It’s the same school that my mama and Judith used to go to when they were just little girls. And Judith is going to be a teacher there. She say that way she can keep her eye on me. And I like that.
But here’s the thing I really want to thank you for, God:
Today, Judith adopted me as her very own little girl. We went in and signed all the papers that makes it really real. Adam went with us too. He’s a really cool guy, and I think he loves Judith. He’s the chief of the Cedar Crest Police Department, so he’s really important and he makes everyone in this town obey the law. But he’s really nice to me.
So, now that I’m all adopted, I asked Judith if this means I should start calling her “Mama.” She said that she would love it if I did, but that it was up to me. And now I’m wondering, God, is it right for me to call her “Mama”? I mean, I can barely remember my real mama, but I don’t want to make her feel bad. And seeing that you’re right there with her, maybe you know what’s right to do. But I do love Judith, God, and I’m real thankful you helped her to find me. She told me that it was all because of you and my mama that we’re together now. And I told her about all those times when I was praying to you and sometimes I wondered if you were even listening. But you were listening, God. I know that now.
After Judith adopted me, we went to a party that Miss Martha planned for us to celebrate. And it was just like a birthday party (although my birthday is really in April) but everybody there gave me presents and all sorts of things. And it was really fun. I felt just like a real, live princess. And then when it was all done, Judith gave me another present (and that’s after she already gave me something). But she gave me a real pretty box that used to belong to my mama, and a necklace that my daddy got for her a long, long time ago. And some other things. Keepsakes, she called them. She said she also had a letter from my mama that I can read when I’m older and know how to read, which shouldn’t be long because between Miss Martha and Judith I already learned my letters and can even sound out some easy words like dog and cat and nap.
So anyway, I’m thinking right now God, that it’s okay for me to call Judith “Mama” too. I’m thinking my mama up there with you must love Judith just as much as I do. I’m thinking she must be awful glad that Judith came and found me. So, I think I’m gonna do it, God. I’m gonna go tell Judith right now that I want to call her “Mama”!
Thanks for listening, God. I know now that you always be listening—no matter what it might seem like sometimes. I love you, God! Amen!
NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR
Dear Reader,
I know I have taken you on a journey that’s not been exactly light and easy. Yet I thank you for joining me. I realize this story tackles some difficult issues, but my goal was to present them as honestly as possible. For, you see, this story was inspired from real life—a tale I felt compelled to tell. And I pray I have handled it well.
Some of you may have been surprised and naturally dismayed to learn that Jasmine actually did take her life. But I encourage you to remember Jesus’ warning about judging others (even in fiction). We, as the observers, can plainly see that Jasmine was deceived (by her own father) and actually believed the lie. As a result, she lost out on what was dearest to her (reuniting with her only child). But we need to remember such tragedies do happen in real life. And unless we’ve walked in another’s shoes and fully experienced her hopelessness and pain, how can we ever fully understand her struggles?
Perhaps the best lesson we can learn from Jasmine’s death is that we should never give up—never lose hope that our Father in heaven can redeem anything. He always has a better plan for our lives. Judith brings this home to us in the way she begins the story imbedded in her own hopelessness. But then, as a result of her. dear friend’s death, she is pulled back into the land of living—and eventually finds hope.
So, once again, I thank you for reading Blood Sisters. And I pray that God will use this story in an extraordinary way in your life.
May God bless you and keep you and shine His loving light upon you!
Melody Carlson
HOMEWARD
Chapter One
FROM THE CORNER OF her eye, Meg noticed the flashing blue light in her rearview mirror. She glanced down to check the speedometer and exhaled an impatient breath. Just what she needed—a nice welcome home. She pulled off the freeway, tires skidding in the loose gravel.
The patrolman sauntered up. “Howdy, ma’am,” he said with a slight drawl. She greeted him and wondered why some people in southern Oregon sounded like they were from Texas. And why was it that highway patrolmen all seemed to have mustaches?
“License and registration, please,” he said. Rain coated his plastic-covered cowboy hat, dribbling down the brim and straight into her car. He obviously had no concern about the damage water could do to leather upholstery. She fumbled with her billfold, then handed him her card and registration with a forced smile.
“Sorry, Officer. You see, I haven’t had this car for too long, and I’m still getting used to the cruise control.” Not completely true, but worth a shot. Meg smiled again.
“Uh-huh. Nice wheels,” he murmured, then moved to the front of her Jaguar to copy the plates. A semi rushed past, spewing a dirty, oily spray onto the sleeve of her silk blouse and into her car. She clenched her teeth, but forced another saccharine smile as the patrolman returned to her window. Maybe there was still a chance he would go easy on her.
“Thing is,” he began evenly as he handed her the ticket, “fancy cars like this smash up just the same as any ol’ junker. Sometimes worse. I see you’re from San Francisco; maybe you didn’t know these roads are extra slick up here today. We hadn’t had a drop of rain for two weeks. Unusual for March. But I clocked you at eighty-six.”
She muttered a cold thanks, with no hint of a smile this time. He tipped his dripping hat and returned to his car. She stared at the name printed neatly across the top of the ticket—Alexandra Megan Lancaster. Someone else’s name. The Alexandra part was from her grandmother, something she’d once been proud of.
Suddenly her chest tightened with the urge to scream. Not over the stupid speeding ticket; no, that would be too simple. This unwelcome rage was vaguely familiar, but it surprised her just the same. She had worked so hard all these years to forget such tiresome things. Was she inviting it all back now, simply by returning?
In another lifetime, she had promised herself she would never return. But this was not the time to dredge up old memories. That would only send her back to San Francisco, and she wasn’t ready for that. She needed a break to clear her head, and perhaps it was time to clear up some other things as well. Or at least to try. So she pulled back onto the freeway and decided to blame it on Jerred. Fair or not, it really was his fault that for the first time in nearly twenty years she was going home—at least the closest thing to home she had ever known.
To distract herself, she thought about Jerred. Had it been only two years since he had stepped into her life? It seemed like longer. But then she had just turned thirty-five when they met. How she had celebrated that milestone. Only thirty-five, and at the top of her field. She had carefully played the corporate game and climbed high in the San Francisco advertising firm. And her reward had been a luxurious office with a private bathroom and an assistant who was somewhat efficient. It was all she’d ever hoped for. Wasn’t it?
She considered the brief spell in college when she had fantasized about a more creative career: she’d live in a loft in some interesting part of the city and pursue photography or maybe journalism. But she had quickly returned to her senses, reminding herself that such thoughts were probably just carried over from her unconventional upbringing. And by the end of college, money had become important. With bills to juggle and loans to repay, the field of advertising offered the financial security she longed for.
When she first hired on with Montgomery and Tate, she had thought perhaps she’d stay on until her finances were in line, but it didn’t take long before she acquired an appetite for the things that money could buy. It was the first time she’d ever worn designer labels and real Italian shoes. And Meg liked being around people who had money. Even more, she liked the power that accompanied that money. It seemed to surround and insulate those who had it. Working twelve-hour days hardly fazed her because she came to believe it was her ticket into their world, a world she had only viewed by pressing her nose to the window.
Then the “golden boy” joined his daddy’s firm, and Mr. Montgomery asked her to work with his son—to show him the ropes, so to speak. She’d been somewhat flattered, yet understandably cautious. This upstart wasn’t going to pilfer her job. But Jerred Montgomery, with his impeccable manners and boyish charm, quickly won her trust and later—she grimaced at the triteness—her heart. How had she been such a fool? She should have known better. For starters, he was almost ten years younger than she. Why hadn’t she recognized that red flag? But Jerred always assured her that “age was a nonfactor.” And Meg knew she looked better at thirty-five than ever.
They’d gotten engaged on a picture-perfect New Year’s Eve. Jerred’s parents had invited them to Lake Tahoe for the holidays, and there was snow on the ground and stars in the sky. She immediately started planning a summer wedding, but then Jerred moved it back. First October, then Christmas—he always had another reason to postpone it. She was patient, turning her energy back to work, making her future father-in-law happier—and richer. Meanwhile, Jerred assured her that being together was what counted. Unfortunately, it didn’t count for anything last week. That was when she discovered he was having an affair with his twenty-something secretary, Tiffany.
In her more honest moments, Meg could admit she’d known it even before Tiffany. In some ways, Tiffany provided Meg with the perfect excuse.
Mr. Montgomery had been so kind and fatherly about the whole thing. It only made it harder. The Montgomerys were a fine family, and she once hoped they would become the family she’d always longed for. Meg didn’t actually tell Mr. Montgomery about Jerred’s part in the breakup, but when he so quickly consented to her month’s leave of absence with no loss of position or benefits, she felt certain he knew. Just the same, he made her promise to return as soon as possible. “We don’t want to lose you to Crandale permanently,” he told her with a kind smile.
Meg frowned as she turned off the freeway toward the coast. Suddenly, it seemed a pretty dismal choice—Crandale or Jerred.
It was Meg’s sister, Erin, who had given her the final nudge. The note was actually three months old, something Erin had slipped into a Christmas card, and Meg had only skimmed it at the time. But right after the trouble with Jerred, Meg went on a full-scale cleaning binge in her tiny apartment. She discovered the wrinkled note underneath her sofa. Then suddenly, as she reread the part about her grandmother’s deteriorating health, it seemed the perfect excuse. It would allow her to escape San Francisco for a couple of weeks and thus avoid some messy confrontations.
Meg had not warned her sister of this impending visit. She seldom wrote to Erin, and in almost twenty years never phoned her. This sparse communication was Meg’s stipulation a long time ago. She originally gave Erin her address with the clear understanding that Erin would never mention it, or their infrequent correspondence, to the rest of her family.
This severing from the family had been important to Meg. And she liked the anonymity—at first. It made her feel free. Jerred had once questioned her lack of family connections, so unlike his close-knit clan. But then his family wouldn’t have understood hers, and that had been one more reason to keep them closeted.
The rain stopped, and directly ahead, above the ridge of a fir-covered hill, opened a slit of clear sky so bright it almost hurt her eyes. Meg dug in her purse for sunglasses. The sunlight illuminated the lush fields, creating an almost unreal shade of green. Every leaf and blade of grass seemed to leap out. It was one of her favorite scenes—the rain-washed countryside backdropped by a leaden sky and then spotlighted by the sun. If only she had a camera handy,
she would shoot this panorama over and over until she got it just right.
Meg opened the window and let the fresh air blow in. The cool, wet smell reminded her of childhood. How many times had they trekked off to the coast in their rickety old Volkswagen Bug during spring break? Of course, it was only after she and Erin had spent days of strategic pleading and begging to entice Sunny to “please take them to Crandale.” Living on a college campus in the radical sixties had seemed less than ideal to Meg, but for some reason Sunny seemed to thrive upon the unrest and would have never considered giving up her professorship in the University of Oregon’s art department.
Meg’s refuge came in the form of Grandpa’s house. They had always called it Grandpa’s house. Everyone knew the house belonged to Grandpa and the dress shop belonged to Grandmother. As a child, she never questioned the carefully divided ownership within her grandparents’ marriage, or even the nontraditional roles they both lived so naturally. But then nothing in Meg’s family had ever been what “should be.” Sometimes she imagined she was Alice, living on the other side of the looking glass, where everything was backwards.
At Grandpa’s house there seemed to exist some magical element, and Erin and Meg always had high expectations when they went there. Maybe it was because Grandpa truly loved children, or maybe it was just the comforting familiarity of the small coastal town. The two girls spent every vacation moment in Crandale while Sunny took classes and finished graduate school and then started teaching. Grandpa always did the cooking, fixing special dishes they never saw at home. The little cleaning that was done in the big old Victorian house was done by Grandpa’s hand as well, but it never bothered Meg that there were cobwebs in corners or that you could write your name on the dusty end tables. Because the best part of staying at Grandpa’s was being outside.