“No, Mama!” Sophie laughed. “That is Cinderella’s coach.”
“Is it all done?” Aunt Birdie whispered.
“Yes,” Hannah said.
“Good. I wasn’t lookin’ forward to jail, but I’m old and that sumbitch wasn’t takin’ Sophie,” Aunt Birdie said.
“So that thing is loaded?” Hannah gasped.
“You bet your sweet ass it is. Rosie’s got a pistol in her apron pocket, too. If that sorry scoundrel got past her, then I’d take him out with old Betsy here.” She patted the shotgun like it was a child. “Everyone in the house and ready for dinner?”
“Dinner!” Sophie was a blur as she went from lying on her back to standing in a flash. “Aunt Birdie made roast beef and she let me help her cook pies. I got to poke holes in the crusts. Where is Aunt Liz and Darcy and Calvin and Travis? We can sing another time. This is a good day, Mama.” She started off in a run, like most kids who are eager to get somewhere fast. Her pink shorts and tie-dyed T-shirt reminded Hannah of a rainbow as she disappeared around the house.
“You could go in the back door,” Hannah called after her, but it was too late.
“So?” Aunt Birdie rolled to one side and eased her way to a sitting position. A tiny, wiry woman, aptly named, she wouldn’t tip the scales at a hundred pounds with rocks in her pockets. Her short, kinky gray hair looked a lot like a poodle’s just before it went to the groomers.
“I signed the papers as they were. I didn’t fight him or ask for anything other than what he was willing to give.”
“For Sophie?” Her dark eyes narrowed amid a bed of wrinkles.
“I would have given up the property, the car, and the child support for him to let me have all rights to her, but he sat there like a king on a throne and thought he was taking everything from me. It’s all just stuff except for Sophie.”
Aunt Birdie picked up the gun. “Me and this could have made sure there were no rights to have. But I want to know how you are.”
Hannah stood and extended a hand to Aunt Birdie. “My insides are still in a jitter. I keep thinkin’ I’ll wake up from this dream and it will be a day when he’s coming home. I got my maiden name back and the right to give it to Sophie. Or keep it if I marry again.” Hannah shuddered. “Which I will never do, but if I did, the new husband could adopt her and Marty would have nothing to say or do about it. I can have her birth certificate amended to remove Marty’s name as soon as I get the finalized divorce papers in the mail next week.”
Aunt Birdie put her veined hand into Hannah’s and groaned on her way up. “Takes a lot to haul an eighty-year-old woman from ground to upright. Hannah, this was never Marty’s home. It was just a place he came once in a while because he had to. Leave this quilt. It’s not supposed to rain, and you know she’ll be back out here on it after we eat.”
Travis came out the back door and crossed the yard in long strides. “I’ve been sent by the royal princess to request that y’all come on to dinner. She refuses to eat until you arrive.”
Aunt Birdie laughed. “That’s my Sophie.”
“What the . . .” Travis picked up the shotgun and ejected both shells. “Aunt Birdie, you brought a loaded gun over here with that baby?”
“She’ll be six years old in a few weeks. And there ain’t a way in hell I can kill a man with an unloaded gun. I don’t have the strength to beat him to death with the butt,” Aunt Birdie fussed.
“Lord!” He rolled his eyes upward.
“You probably can’t kill him with an unloaded gun, either,” Aunt Birdie said.
“Raising two old women is worse than raising kids,” he murmured.
“Nothing wrong with my ears, and you ain’t never raised a kid. Clock’s tickin’ on that, too,” Aunt Birdie scolded.
“Mama, Mama!” Sophie bailed off the porch, hit the ground running, and threw herself into Hannah’s arms. “Did you see the princess car? Uncle Cal says I can ride in it later if it’s okay with you. Please, Mama, please!”
Hannah sank her face into Sophie’s wild mane of curly black hair and inhaled deeply. Her daughter smelled like hot summer, green apple shampoo, giggles, and innocence, all mixed together in a wiggly five-year-old little girl. Never again would she have to retreat into a clingy little girl filled with fear. She could always be that wild, rambunctious child who loved life. Maybe someday she wouldn’t even remember Marty or the angst he brought with him when he walked through the back door.
“Well? Can I go in the big car with Uncle Calvin?” Sophie asked.
“Of course you can.”
“Good.” Sophie giggled and wiggled free of her mother’s arms.
Hannah followed Sophie through the front door and into the living room. The little girl skipped across the room, through the arch, and into the dining room. She loved the swinging doors separating the dining room from the kitchen and made two trips back and forth through them before she slipped her small hand into Hannah’s and held on tightly.
“Is there someone still out there in that big car?” Aunt Birdie asked.
“The driver is waiting to take Cal and Darcy back to Gainesville,” Travis answered.
“Well, you go invite him in to dinner. It’s noon, and he’s got to be hungry,” Aunt Birdie said.
Calvin picked Sophie up and carried her to the dining room. “The driver brought his lunch. It’s against the limo policy for him to eat with us.”
“Why didn’t you drive the car, Uncle Cal?” Sophie asked.
“Did Cinderella drive her coach?”
“No, silly.” Sophie giggled.
“So you like my new car?” Cal asked.
“It’s ’tentious,” Sophie said seriously as she wiggled free from his arms and raced into the kitchen. “But to be a princess you got to be a little bit ’tentious.”
“Pretentious,” Aunt Birdie said. “That’s our word for today, and that policy should be changed. Come on now. The roast will be getting cold.” Travis held the door for the ladies, and Calvin stepped back to the side.
“And what does pretentious mean, Sophie?” Liz asked.
“It means ‘puttin’ on airs.’ Aunt Birdie told me all about that this mornin’,” Sophie said.
“That’s right,” Darcy said. “But today we needed to put on some airs. After we eat, the driver is taking Calvin and Darcy back to town, but not before he lets you ride around Crossing in it.”
“Why do we need to put on airs today? Is this a special day? I set the table all by myself.” Sophie pushed her way past everyone and was first in the kitchen. “Look, Mama, at the table. Aunt Birdie says I did it perfect.”
“Of course you did.” Calvin winked at Hannah.
A moment of panic struck Hannah. The napkins, straight from the roll of paper towels, were folded haphazardly. The knife blades weren’t facing the plate on a couple of settings, and all but one tea glass was on the wrong side. She took a deep breath and forced herself to relax. It was going to take a lot more than signing her name to a thick document to get Marty out of her life.
“It looks beautiful,” Hannah said.
Sophie beamed. “It’s my first time and I wanted it to be pretty for all y’all today.”
“I declare this table fit for a queen,” Darcy said.
“I love pot roast. There’s not a restaurant in New York that can make it like yours, Aunt Birdie,” Calvin said.
“It’s just dinner, but it’s gettin’ cold and there ain’t nothing in the world worse than cold carrots. Let me bless the food and y’all best get on to eatin’. Sophie has been starving nigh unto death for half an hour.” Birdie stopped talking to them, bowed her head, and started talking to God in the next instant. “Father, bless this food and thank you for this day. I know that you say that vengeance is yours and your time ain’t like our time, but I’d be much obliged if I could see a little of that vengeance before my last breath. If not, we’ll discuss it when I get there. Amen.”
“What is vengeance?” Sophie asked.
“That’s our word for another day. For now, let’s get into this dinner,” Aunt Birdie said.
Liz watched the clock during the meal, getting more jittery when it passed twelve thirty. Hannah recognized that scared-bunny look all too well and wished that Liz would open up to her about what was going on between her and her husband, Wyatt. Hannah knew everything that Liz would say and at least some of what she was likely going through, but until she admitted she had a problem, there was no way Hannah could help her.
Darcy kept a running conversation going with Sophie about food and the fact that Sophie would be in kindergarten when school started. Calvin never talked much when good food was in front of him, but several times he caught Hannah’s eye and winked.
“Thank you, Aunt Birdie, for doing this,” Hannah said.
“Wasn’t nothing.” She waved it away with a flick of her bony wrist. “I like to cook, and every now and then it’s fun for me and Rosie to have a big crowd around the table. Besides, Travis helped me get it all ready. He’s every bit as good in the kitchen as he is with a hammer and screwdriver, if you can get his nose out of a book.”
Birdie’s salt-and-pepper hair had once been jet-black. She liked to brag that she was a quarter Native American and descended from the Seminole tribe in central Oklahoma, but Hannah figured it wasn’t one of the Five Civilized Tribes that Aunt Birdie sprang from but one of the warring tribes—maybe Apache or Comanche. Like those fierce Native Americans, she’d always had a fight in her, and getting older hadn’t diminished it one single bit. Hannah had no doubt Aunt Birdie and Miss Rosie would wade into a forest fire with a cup of water and put the damn thing out. Hannah had often wished she’d gotten more of her great-aunt’s and neighbor’s spunk and a lot less of her father’s shy nature.
“So what’s on everyone’s agenda this week?” Hannah asked.
“First week out of school, there’s no school for me. I do have to go in a few hours a day after this week, but my secretary will man the phones for July. This week I’m deep cleaning the house.” Liz glanced at the clock again. “Speaking of that. I hate to eat and run, but Wyatt will be home in about half an hour and I should be there.”
Wyatt Pope was a long-distance truck driver, and most of the time he was on the road a week at a time and then home for a few days. But if he was coming through Dallas, he often made a detour up through Crossing and spent a night at home.
“Take him a plate. There’s lots of leftovers,” Birdie said.
“Thank you.” Liz smiled. “That is so sweet. I’d love to. Mind if I take both kinds of dessert? He does love his sweets.”
“Of course you can have both kinds of pies. That way he can have a night snack, too,” Birdie answered.
“I should be going,” Darcy said. “I promised I’d be back by one thirty so the tellers wouldn’t have to rearrange their lunch schedule. I’ll be back over the weekend, Hannah. Thanks for the dinner. I’m not taking a plate or they’ll all converge upon me like flies on honey.” She planted a kiss on Birdie’s forehead.
“Flies on honey?” Sophie’s little forehead wrinkled.
“Flies like sweet things. I’m surprised you aren’t covered up in them,” Calvin said quickly. “Turn that frown upside down into a smile.”
Sophie looked around the room. “I don’t see any flies. I must not be sweet as you think. Daddy said I was just like my mama. He didn’t think we were sweet.”
Calvin laid his paper towel napkin to the side and pushed back his chair. “Your daddy won’t be coming around anymore, honey.”
“Promise?” Sophie’s dark eyes grew bigger and bigger. “For real. He’s not going to make Mama—” She tapped her finger against her head.
“Jittery?” Darcy asked.
“Crazy.” Travis grinned.
“That’s it. Crazy. Daddy made Mama crazy, and the only thing that I could do to make her happy was take her out on the porch and let her tell me stories about the clouds, and then we would sing ‘Twinkle, Twinkle.’ We call those kind of days ‘lullaby sky,’” Sophie said seriously. “Mama, can we still go see our lullaby sky when I get a boo-boo?”
“Of course we can,” Hannah said. “But maybe you should start telling me stories.”
“I’m a big girl now. I can do that,” Sophie said with a stoic sigh.
Calvin hugged Sophie. “Yes, you are a big girl. And since I’m riding back in the limo with Darcy, I should be going, too. Thanks for dinner, Aunt Birdie. I’ll return from New York City in a couple of weeks, Hannah, but I’ll call you every chance I get. However, before we leave Crossing, the princess here has a ride coming in the limo. Come on, Sophie O’Malley.”
“I’m not Sophie O’Malley. I am Sophie Ellis,” she protested.
“Would you like to be Sophie O’Malley?” Hannah held her breath.
“Your mama has changed her name to Hannah O’Malley,” Aunt Birdie said.
“Well, then I want to be Sophie O’Malley, because I want to be just like my mama. But it does sound funny, Uncle Cal.” Sophie giggled. “I like it, though. Even better than I like Sophie Ellis.”
Hannah followed them all out to the porch. “I cannot thank all y’all enough for today.”
“You’d be there for us in the same situation,” Calvin said. “Let me know if you or Sophie need anything. I mean it. Money, food, a few days away from Crossing, shotgun shells.”
Hannah air-slapped his arm. “You are totally badass.”
“I know.” He laughed. “Wait right here and I’ll send Princess Sophie back to you in about five minutes.”
For the first time since she got into the van with her friends that morning to go to the courthouse, she was alone. She stared at her house across the street. Would she feel different when she walked into it in a few minutes? Would the stress that lurked in every corner be gone? Could it ever return to the happy place that she’d visited as a child when her grandmother O’Malley lived there?
It looked the same as it had that morning when she walked out of it—a rambling old house that had been built decades ago and still had the wallpaper in the six upstairs bedrooms to testify to its age. A big, square house built for a big family, opening up into a huge living room with an archway into a formal dining room and a kitchen beyond that. The other side of the ground floor held the master bedroom and Sophie’s bedroom right beside it.
The master bedroom had the best king-size bed that money could buy, along with furniture Hannah absolutely hated, but she only used the room when Marty was home. Most of the time, Hannah slept in one of the bedrooms upstairs.
She’d paid for her marriage to Marty in nerves, nausea, and migraines. She wrapped her arms around her body and shivered—never again would she have to worry about him arriving unexpectedly and finding things out of order. Never would she have to send Sophie outside to play so she wouldn’t witness his wicked temper.
“It really is over,” she whispered. “So why don’t I feel like it is?”
“Because it’ll take time,” Travis whispered.
Startled, she jumped and shivered. “I’m sorry. I didn’t hear you come out of the house.”
“It’s okay, Hannah. You never have to apologize to me.” He smiled.
The limo came to a slow stop in front of the house, and Sophie shot out the door and jumped into her mother’s arms for the second—or was it the third?—time that day. She wrapped her legs around Hannah’s waist and hugged her, planting dozens of kisses on her face.
“I liked the ’tentious car, Mama, but it’s too big for us. I like our car and Travis’s truck and Aunt Birdie’s van better than the big princess car.” She leaned back and looked Hannah right in the eye. “Did I really get a new name today or was you teasin’ me?”
“You really did. So did I. We are now Hannah and Sophie O’Malley,” Hannah answered.
“Sophie O’Malley,” Sophie whispered. “I like it. Do you like it, Travis?”
“Oh, yes, I do. It sounds just like a princess name.”
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“Sophie O’Malley, princess of Aunt Birdie’s castle and queen of Hannah O’Malley’s house.” Sophie’s pecan-colored eyes danced with merriment.
“Oh, no, you don’t, young lady,” Hannah said. “You might be princess of Aunt Birdie’s house and mine, but I’m the queen and don’t you forget it.”
Sophie hopped down and ran into the house, no doubt to tell Aunt Birdie all about the limo. Travis kept his distance, but his eyes locked with Hannah’s.
“What?” She wiped her cheek. “Do I have chocolate pie on my face?”
“No, I was thinkin’ maybe you shouldn’t forget it,” Travis said.
“Forget what?”
“Who’s queen of your house,” he said.
“Are you saying that I spoil Sophie too much?” Hannah asked.
“No, I’m saying that you’ve been spoiled too little, Hannah O’Malley.” He grinned.
CHAPTER THREE
Friday afternoon Hannah stood in the doorway of Sophie’s bedroom, her eyes instinctively scanning the room to be sure everything was in place. Barbie dolls put away in the old suitcase that had belonged to Hannah’s mother when she was a child. Books arranged from tallest to shortest with all the spines the right way so that the titles were upright. She noticed a wrinkle in the bedspread and a throw pillow that was slightly off kilter and quickly crossed the room to fix both. She’d smoothed out the wrinkle and rearranged the pillows when it dawned on her that Marty would not fly that little airplane of his to Crossing—not ever again.
She sat down on the edge of the bed and remembered the day Marty had taken her to meet his parents. It was a few days after their courthouse marriage, that spring before Sophie was born in July. A disaster from day one. She wasn’t a total country bumpkin, and she’d been taught table manners, but the way their noses twitched when she sat down at the restaurant with them—well, it looked as if they’d stepped in fresh cow crap out in the pasture.
Marty wanted to live in the city. Hannah wanted to move into her grandmother’s house in Crossing, which had been deeded to her when her father died. Marty said he needed to be near his job and his life was in Dallas, but they would compromise—she could live in Crossing and raise the baby in a rural community. He would build a hangar and a small landing strip on the back of the property for his little private plane, and he would fly in and out on weekends and whenever he could get away through the week.
The Lullaby Sky Page 3