We looked each other in the eye for the first time since we were girls. The first hints of real emotion glittered in hers, but her lips still held that stubborn, angry line.
“I was just numb,” she said flatly. “I didn’t want to talk about it with anybody, especially not with someone who could still have children.”
I nodded, trying to understand, clinging to her hand as to a lifeline. Guilt and regret went through me, hot and bitter, but cleansing. All these years, all my assumptions about her, all my feelings toward her had been wrong. Everything I thought she was and everything I thought I knew about her was void. Just as my father did not know me, I did not know her.
Silence enveloped us, and Joshua slipped slowly into sleep, unaware and untroubled by the hurricane of emotions swirling around him. My father stood up and laid him carefully in his crib, then looked at Karen and at me.
“You may feel as if your mother and I did not love you enough. Please don’t let that guide your lives. That is not reality.” His focus turned to me, intense, insistent. “We loved you as much as you love your son, Kate. In hindsight, I can see that perhaps we let other things seem more important, but that was not the truth. I promise that your mother’s last thoughts were of the two of you, and that she would not have wanted her family to disintegrate as we have. I would be ashamed to have her see what we have become.”
Tears rushed into my eyes. I nodded, tormented by the time that had passed, but afraid to move forward and unsure of where to go.
Get on a different road, end up in a different place . . .
I didn’t know how to act toward them if not angry and indifferent.
For a long time, no one spoke. I wondered if all of us were sitting there, trying to decide how to feel about one another.
Finally, I said what I was thinking. “We can’t change the past.” I looked at Karen and hoped the ice inside her was softening. “We probably can’t even change the way we feel, but it would be better for Grandma if we could at least try to act like a family. She is really counting on this Christmas being a family time.”
Standing up, Karen nodded, looking at Joshua in his crib, her grim frown softening. “Well, as far as I’m concerned, what Grandma wants, Grandma gets. Beyond that, I’m not sure how I feel about anything,” she said quietly. “But it won’t kill any of us to sing Christmas carols and smile for a few pictures. Grandma Rose is too old to be worrying about us.”
It probably wasn’t appropriate, but I laughed under my breath. “She’ll find something else to worry about. She wouldn’t know what to do if she didn’t worry.”
“Grandma?” Karen questioned, and I wondered if she really knew Grandma Rose at all.
I rolled my eyes, glad to be breaking through the oppressive cloud of emotion. “You can’t imagine. She’ll worry about anything. One night she woke me at midnight to ask how much toilet paper we’d been using.”
Dad shook his head, stepping away from the crib with us. “She’s been going on about that since 1959, when they put that septic line through the basement.” Even he chuckled. “You know, that thing never has backed up.”
The three of us looked at each other as we filed out Joshua’s door, and in spite of everything, we smiled at each other. Grandma Rose had managed to bring us to a point of common understanding after all.
Chapter 13
CHRISTMAS Eve dawned sunny but cold, with a billowing mass of gray clouds swirling on the horizon that seemed unable to decide whether or not to blot out the fledgling winter sun. Inside the house, the mood was much the same—quiet uncertainty, with the faint rumbling of distant thunder. Everyone seemed to be aware that something serious had gone on between my father, Karen, and me the night before, but no one asked for details, not even Ben. That was probably for the best, because I couldn’t have explained to him all that was said, and all that was in my mind and heart now. I wondered how Karen felt after a night’s rest, and whether she felt any differently this morning, and whether she would keep her promise to act like a family for Grandma’s sake.
It was hard to say whether we were in the wake of the storm or in the eye.
I was relieved when Grandma ate breakfast quickly, then left for town with Uncle Robert and James to pick up some last-minute groceries and to buy some Christmas gifts for Dell before the stores closed at noon.
The door was barely shut behind them when Karen brought up the subject of Grandma. “So, has anyone talked to her yet about moving to a home?”
A sick feeling slid to my stomach, and suddenly I couldn’t look at my half-eaten breakfast. As usual, Karen’s timing was terrible.
Everyone at the table looked grim, and we all sat silently, not knowing what to say.
Aunt Jeane finally spoke, her voice hushed as if the walls had ears and would report to Grandma. “I’ve tried to talk to her about it a couple of times and she keeps getting off the subject. I think we’re all going to have to sit her down and force her to hear what we have to say.”
I looked narrowly at Aunt Jeane, angry that we had to be talking about this on Christmas Eve, and even angrier that no one seemed to be considering my opinion, or Grandma’s. “She hears you, Aunt Jeane. She just doesn’t like what you’re saying. I told you she wouldn’t.”
Aunt Jeane laid a palm gently on the table, trying to quiet me. “I understand her feelings, but—”
“No, you don’t,” I interrupted. “If you did, you would be trying to find another way. Didn’t you hear her talking about Grandpa and the horses the other night? She’s trying to tell you how she feels about the farm, how much it means to her. She’s asking for help, but no one’s listening.”
Dad leaned forward, and I could tell he was going to come to Aunt Jeane’s defense. “Kate, we’re doing the best we can. There’s no reason for you to be hostile with your aunt. Arrangements have to be made.” His voice was almost a whisper, as if he, too, thought Grandma could hear, even though she was somewhere on the road to town.
“Kate and I thought we could stay while she is on leave,” Ben said, jumping into the conversation so suddenly that we all sat staring at him. “I was talking to some people in town the other day, and they suggested that for fifteen hundred a month or so we could probably hire someone to live here and take care of Grandma. With the two houses, it’s a perfect setup. We’d just have to put in some ads and do some interviews over the next few weeks, or a month or two, whatever it takes to find someone who’s right for the job.”
He finished, and everyone remained silent. I reached under the table and squeezed his hand, and he closed his fingers around mine, letting me know he understood what I was feeling.
Dad came to his senses first. He addressed me, rather than Ben, as if he thought Ben might be acting as my mouthpiece. “Your staying here isn’t a workable solution. It just isn’t practical. You aren’t a nurse, Kate. She needs medical supervision.”
“She needs her home and her family,” I said, determined not to let him reduce me to feeling ten years old again. “She needs us to care about her and take time for her at least as much as her friends and neighbors do. Everyone in this town does more for her than we do.”
Aunt Jeane sat back in her chair as if I’d slapped her. “Kate, that isn’t fair. Friends and neighbors aren’t responsible for her. We have to do what is best for her.”
I rubbed my eyes, sorry that I’d hurt Aunt Jeane’s feelings, and determined not to cry. “We also have to make sure she’s happy. She won’t be happy in some nursing home in St. Louis.”
Aunt Jeane shook her head. “Well, you can’t—”
“I agree with Kate,” Karen interrupted. Everybody looked at her in surprise, including me. “Grandma has the farm rental income, plus her Social Security and the railroad stock. It might as well go to pay a live-in as a nursing home. And if Kate and Ben don’t mind staying here for a little while, then fine. Hopefully we can get someone hired pretty quickly.”
I glanced sideways at Karen, surprised to hear her
lining up on my side of the argument, though I wondered if she was doing it just to goad my father. Whatever her reasons, I was grateful that the odds were a little closer to even.
Aunt Jeane tipped her head to one side and laid a hand on my arm, giving me a pleading look. “Kate, I think you and Ben are feeling this way because Grandma has been working on you the last few weeks. I understand how she works. I really do. She can lay on the guilt. But we all have to be sane about this.”
My father nodded in agreement, sitting back in his chair and tipping his chin up as if the discussion were over.
Which only made me more determined. “I’m not on a guilt trip, Aunt Jeane. I’m just trying to go for the least drastic option first. If getting a live-in doesn’t work out, or if Grandma’s condition deteriorates, we can always go the nursing-home route later, if we have to. Meanwhile, she may be perfectly fine and perfectly happy here at the farm for years. You can’t say, and I can’t either. Only God knows how all this will work out.”
Everyone looked surprised to hear me talking about God. I was a little surprised myself, but I had a feeling that His hand was involved in what was happening.
Aunt Jeane tapped her fork against her plate, then looked deeply at me, as if she were starting to seriously consider my idea. “Well, I think it would only be fair to help you and Ben with the expenses of staying here, for however long it takes to hire a live-in.”
Karen nodded. “I agree with that. Grandma’s money might as well go to make Grandma happy.”
I breathed a huge sigh of relief as I felt the tide turning. “We can work that out later, Aunt Jeane. The main thing is, I just want to know you’re willing to give it a try.”
Aunt Jeane skewed her lips to one side and tapped a finger to her chin. “Grandma’s so tightfisted, she’ll hate to see the money being paid to a live-in,” she pointed out. “We’d have to take over her checkbook, or she’ll refuse to pay the monthly salary.”
Aunt Jeane, Karen, and Ben went on talking about how the financial arrangements could be made, where ads should be placed, and what sort of person would suit Grandma.
No one seemed to notice that my father hadn’t said anything. I looked across the table at him, and he just shook his head, then turned his attention to his breakfast, stabbing irritably at his eggs. He knew the battle was lost and he was outvoted.
He finished eating quickly and left the room.
Aunt Jeane sighed, watching him go as she carried dishes to the sink. “I hope he doesn’t say anything to Grandma until I’ve had a chance to talk to her. I don’t think he’s very happy with this idea.”
“He’ll get over it,” Karen snapped, plunking a pan into the dishwater. “He’s just mad because it didn’t go his way.” Her face took on a look of satisfaction that made me again wonder whether she was taking my side just to spite my father.
“Now, Karen,” Aunt Jeane soothed. “Don’t be so hard on your father. He’s concerned about her well-being.” She let out a long breath of air, looking up at the ceiling and stretching her neck. “Let’s swear off of all this angst now and just have a nice Christmas Eve.”
“I’m sorry.” Karen shrugged. “Habit,” she added and almost looked as though she regretted stirring up discontent. “You’re right. It’s Christmas. I won’t say another unkind word to anybody.”
I chuckled under my breath—I couldn’t help it—and Aunt Jeane did, too. Karen looked sideways at us, then smiled wryly and started washing dishes.
By the time the dishes were finished, we were actually singing along with the Christmas carols on the radio. My father came through the kitchen, seeming a little less irate, but nobody said anything.
The day pretty much passed that way—everybody busying themselves with wrapping presents, baking pies, and making cheese balls and baked goods for Christmas Eve and Christmas dinner. Grandma returned home at midday with a few groceries and some Christmas gifts for Dell. Shortly after, neighbors started stopping by, bringing homemade goodies and small gifts for Grandma. We sat at the table having coffee with one, then the next, laughing and talking, listening to Christmas music crackle on Grandma’s old hi-fi. Grandma hummed along under her breath, laughed, chatted and told stories, looking completely content. I thought of her story about how Christmas had been when she was young and wondered if she was thinking of those old times now.
The angst that Aunt Jeane had been worried about evaporated as the day continued. Even Karen and my father seemed to enjoy socializing and sampling the home-baked goods. Grandma had brought Ozark cider from the store, so we brewed a pot and served it to everyone as they came and went.
By late afternoon, the sky was beginning to darken and the wind was rising. Grandma shooed the men off to get the old flatbed farm truck for Christmas tree hunting as the last round of neighbors finished their cider.
“We’d best go out and get a tree before the snow,” she said.
Aunt Jeane shook her head. “Mother, the snow is north of here. They just said so on the weather report.”
“My knees have been predicting snow for sixty years longer than that weatherman on Channel Five has been alive,” Grandma repeated her litany from days before. “I know when snow is coming.”
“All right, Mother. Let me round up some old quilts for the back of the truck.”
Ben stepped in the door and clapped his hands together in the doorway, drawing everyone’s attention. “Well, is everyone ready to go find a tree? The Vongortler farm chariot awaits. Wear warm clothes. It’s getting blustery out there.” He winked at Grandma. “Smells like snow’s comin’.”
Grandma lifted her chin and shot Aunt Jeane a self-righteous snub. “See.”
“Yes, I see, Mother.”
“I know when snow is coming.”
“Yes, Mother. I’m sure you do.”
In short order, we were all dressed and hoisting Grandma into the front of the truck to cut a Christmas tree before the blizzard. I placed Joshua, dressed in a red snowsuit, in Grandma’s lap, as everyone else climbed onto the flatbed.
Grandma held the door open and looked around the yard, seeming confused. “That ol’ mutt of Dell’s is wandering around by the yard fence. That’s odd that he would come here without her. She never did come by today. You don’t suppose something is wrong, do you?”
“I’m sure they just got busy or had company.” I helped her move her foot onto the floorboard and closed the door. “I’m sure nothing is wrong.” But in the back of my mind I had been wondering about Dell all day. Hardly a day went by now that she didn’t show up at our door.
Grandma frowned, rolling down the window. “Well, they haven’t a phone to call . . .”
“Grandma, it’s Christmas Eve. You shouldn’t be calling, anyway.”
“When we get back, I’ll call Larry Leddy and see if he’s been by their place today. He rents them that old shack, and . . .”
Ben turned the key, and the rest was drowned out by the rumble of the engine. Grandma was still talking and shaking a finger as I climbed into the back of the truck.
“Let’s go tree hunting,” Ben cheered over the engine roar as the truck sputtered forward. Aunt Jeane began a round of Christmas carols, and after a tentative start, we soon all joined in. By the time we had selected and cut an eight-foot-tall cedar from the pasture, we had exhausted our repertoire and were too cold to sing anymore.
The icy weather must have broken the last of the ice around us, because we were laughing and jostling one another as we hauled the enormous tree into the dogtrot and set it up next to the front door. After adding lights, we took the old decorations from the garlands on the banister and hung them carefully on the tree.
Grandma pulled me aside as the others were finishing. “I’ve spoken with Larry Leddy, and he said he was by their house this morning and there didn’t seem to be anyone around the place.”
“What?” I said, only partly listening to her. My mind was occupied with watching Karen hang ornaments and my father try to ree
ngineer the tree lights.
“There’s no sign of anyone around the place. That old granny of Dell’s doesn’t have a car. I just can’t fathom where they are.”
“Maybe a relative came and got them for Christmas.” A pang of concern went through me, too, because I knew Dell had been planning on decorating our tree with us.
“Pppfff!” Grandma spat. “They haven’t anyone, and besides, that old woman doesn’t leave the house. I think we’d better drive over there and see that nothing is wrong.”
“Now?” I asked. “We can’t just drop by someone’s house on Christmas Eve. It’s practically dark outside.”
“Well . . .” She chewed the thought for a moment. “We’ll take one of those cakes. That way if that old woman is home, she’ll just think we’re neighboring.”
“But I—”
“I have to go, else I’ll worry about it all night and I won’t sleep a wink. That old mutt of Dell’s has been scratching around my little house all day like something’s wrong.” She looked out the window. “I don’t see him just now, but he’s been there all day, whining and scratching around.”
I sighed because I knew she was determined, and in the back of my mind, I too wanted to make sure nothing was wrong at Dell’s house. “All right. I’ll get my keys.”
Karen looked up as we started toward the kitchen. “Where are you two going?” She sounded suspicious.
“Just to deliver a cake to Dell’s house,” I said, trying to sound casual so as not to disturb everyone’s Christmas Eve. “We’ll be back in a minute.”
Karen nodded and went back to hanging ornaments. “All right, see you in a bit. Hey, remember these, Aunt Jeane? We made these in Girl Scouts. We couldn’t have been more than ten or twelve years . . .”
I followed Grandma into the kitchen and out the door as Aunt Jeane’s laughter echoed through the house like the warm draft from the glowing hearth.
On the way through the kitchen, Grandma grabbed a gingerbread cake that a neighbor had brought. “We’ll take this. Mrs. Allen will never know.” She slipped on her coat and tucked the gingerbread underneath as if it were contraband.
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