“He does?” Madelyn said, confused.
Mom brusquely cut her off with, “Yes, he does,” adding, “Right, Tommy? You remember, don’t you?”
He hung his head. “Oh, yeah.”
Mom ruffled his hair. “Don’t worry. We’re here, and we’ll keep coming to visit you—always.”
“Okay.” However, he wasn’t cheered up any.
“Uncle Tommy, can you show me how many airplane pillows you’ve made today?” Madelyn said.
“You bet!” he said as he hustled her, in his snail-like way, back to the workroom. Madelyn knew it would save the moment, but she glared at her mother as she followed her uncle to his workstation.
. . .
As soon as they were in the car, Madelyn said, “Did Grandpa move and you never bothered to tell us?”
“No,” was all Mom said without any explanation.
“Then why did you tell Uncle Tommy that Pop Pop lived too far away to visit?”
“There’s more than one way to be far away.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
Mom turned toward her before answering. “There’s a lot more that goes on in this world than meets your eye. Besides, it’s what Pop wanted me to tell him. Tommy wouldn’t understand the truth—Pop and I both know that. Trust me, it’s best this way.”
“But I thought Grandpa was just busy with work, and that’s why we haven’t seen him lately.”
“Yes, and don’t you think Tommy would have a hard time understanding that?”
Mom seemed to have an answer for everything. Even worse, it made sense, but Madelyn didn’t want to be placated. “Of course he would. I don’t understand it.” Her words came out angry, but she wasn’t mad, not really. She should have stopped right there, but she pushed onward, giving in to her frustrations. “First Grandma dies, then Grandpa basically disappears. What grandfather goes from being there all the time to suddenly being ‘too busy’? Who does that?”
Mom glanced at her sideways. “We talked about this before. I thought you were okay with it.”
“I was, but …” She was feeling abandoned on every side, but putting it into words and opening up to Mom was not what she had in mind.
“It happens. It just does. All right?”
“But …”
“No, Madelyn. No more buts. Leave it alone.”
Madelyn folded her arms with a loud “humph” for emphasis and stayed that way for the rest of the drive home. Her summer just kept getting better by the minute.
1945
Life—whether a war is being waged on the other side of the globe or not—goes on. For Rachel that meant going to kindergarten. And when her daddy still wasn’t home at its end, it meant moving on to first grade as if nothing else mattered or existed in her world.
Rachel liked school, at least all the art projects. The rest of it was a lot for a six-year-old to take in, especially with so much happening—or actually, not happening—at home. Her baby brother was now three, only he wasn’t doing the typical toddler things. For one, he wasn’t “toddling,” but at least he’d recently taken his first step. As her mom said, “That’s a HUGE step for him.” For another, he wasn’t talking, although Rachel could get him to make more sounds than anyone else. Even at six, Rachel knew she was needed, and being where she was needed was where she felt most comfortable.
It might have been different if her daddy hadn’t gone to war, but then again, she’d never know for sure. It was hard for Rachel to remember him—only snippets like particles of dreams floated in her head to remind her she had a Daddy. He read her bedtime stories, or at least she had a memory of him doing it once, that much she knew for sure. And he would rub noses with her, giving her Eskimo kisses. There had been other memories, but before she knew she needed to hold onto them, they were gone, and even the hint of having memories had all but faded away.
. . .
Hazel tried to keep Daddy alive in her daughter’s thoughts, but fighting for their country by being in a different one on the opposite side of the world was hard to explain to someone so young. The effort seemed futile. Besides, most of Rachel’s friends were in the same situation. What should have been unusual was the norm. And, of course, there was so much to worry about with Tommy.
She had taken him from doctor to doctor. What she learned was that she was becoming more of an expert on cerebral palsy than any of them. She often marveled that Tommy was fortunate enough to have even received a diagnosis, although it came with little advice on how to proceed. The best doctors expressed little understanding of what to do, and the worst suggested her only option was to institutionalize him. She was adamant that that was not going to happen.
Hazel had finally come to one conclusion—since he had little to no muscle tone, then she would just have to help him develop some. It was exhausting—physically, mentally, emotionally, and any other way she could think of—but she was not willing to stop trying.
She didn’t know whether she should be proud or ashamed at how much she had come to rely on Rachel’s help with her little brother. Rachel tirelessly moved Tommy’s legs and arms, being the first to get him to sit up and crawl. And now he’d actually taken a step. It seemed when Hazel didn’t know what to try next, Rachel instinctively did. It wasn’t so much that she thought it out but rather that she didn’t need to. She was just a child relating to another child—it wasn’t any more complicated than that. Watching them, it was hard to say whether baby Tommy adored his big sister more or the other way around.
. . .
As for Rachel, she had no problem helping her brother—it was the highlight of her day. She would hurry home from school to do her own version of “homework”—the work she did at home helping her little brother. And, in her eyes, it was the very best homework of all.
Friday
Madelyn dreamed about her grandpa that night. They were on an outing together, enjoying a picnic in the shadow of a museum. Only, before the dream was over, the shadow turned menacing, transforming into a fierce thunderstorm they couldn’t escape.
She woke in a cold sweat. Disagreement or not with her mom, the thought of her comforting presence was reason enough to hop out of bed. “Mom?” she softly called down the empty hallway. When there was no answer, she went searching for her.
Mom was in the kitchen. She was holding a picture she’d ripped from a magazine with one hand while sorting through her box of craft supplies with the other. Periodically, she’d pick up something from the box, compare it to the picture and mumble to herself—so preoccupied that she didn’t notice when her daughter walked in.
Madelyn cleared her throat, startling Mom such that she dropped the paper and the spool of ribbon she’d been holding. “Oh, hi. I didn’t see you there.” She was shaking slightly, and her eyes were darting around the room.
“Are you okay?”
“Yeah, I was …” She shrugged her shoulders, then with a knit brow said, “Wow, you’re up kind of early. Something on your mind?”
“Well, I, uh, just had a weird dream, that’s all.”
Before her mom could respond, the phone rang. “Osborne’s,” Mom answered. Her voice was steady, saying only an occasional, “Oh my,” or “Really?” but nothing else about her was steady. Mom’s eyes were growing bigger by the minute. She was gripping the phone receiver so tightly that her knuckles were turning white, and with her other hand she was twirling the phone cord in her fingers into a tangled mess.
Madelyn waited for her to say something when she hung up the phone, but it took her a few minutes to collect herself. “Someone broke into your grandpa’s house last night. I don’t know if anything’s been taken, but apparently
, the house is a mess.”
“Is Grandpa okay?”
“What? Oh, yeah. He … he’s fine.” She took a deep breath. “Could you go wake up your brother and sister? We need to go check on the house.”
After a hurried breakfast, they were all loaded into their car on the way to Grandpa’s house. It wasn’t until they were almost there that her mom’s words struck her as strange. Why were they checking on the house and not on Grandpa?
It had been quite some time since they’d been to his house. Driving up to it brought a smile and a shiver to Madelyn—a smile for the memories like playing card games with Grandpa and enjoying backyard barbecues, but a shiver for the thought of someone breaking into it, violating its safety. As she walked onto the porch, it was impossible not to notice where the front lock had been jimmied. It was too broken to hold now, the door swinging open with a simple turn of the knob—their extra key being completely unnecessary.
If driving up to the house had brought familiar memories, walking inside did just the opposite. It didn’t even look like the same house. The furniture was turned over, exposing the dusty undersides of couches and chairs. Paintings had been removed from the walls. Cupboards and drawers hung open. Even the refrigerator had been pulled out of its space. There was, however, the problem about Grandpa—he was nowhere to be seen.
Jillian beat Madelyn to the question. “Where’s Grandpa? Is he okay?”
Mom quickly replied, “He’s fine. He wasn’t here when it happened.” She caught Madelyn’s angry glare and added, “Don’t worry about it. Right now, let’s figure out what needs to be done here.” Then she turned away with an air of finality and began to right the chairs in the living room. “The police, supposedly, left everything the way they found it,” Mom said over her shoulder. “Maybe they thought it would be easier for us to figure out what was missing if we could see where the thieves had been.”
“Yeah, I don’t see that being a big help,” Daniel said. “It’s all such a mess, how could anyone tell anything?”
Jillian had gone quiet, but her eyes were big, surveying the turmoil created in a place usually filled with happy memories. “Jilly?” Madelyn said. “Do you want to just go play out back?” Jillian nodded her head but then proceeded to help put things back where they belonged.
They were at it for several hours, and although they couldn’t be certain, it didn’t appear that anything was missing. But it’s always hard to catalog someone else’s things—what they care about, what they keep close.
When Mom declared that they’d done as much as they could, they all scampered out to sit on the front porch. Other than the broken lock, the porch still felt the same, like Grandpa’s porch. The relief of the mundane yet familiar was like a cooling breeze even though the temperature was in the high 80s.
It was only a moment before Grandpa’s neighbors, Nadine and James Chapman, found their way to the small gathering on the porch. James lifted his hand in greeting. “I’m sorry to see you under such circumstances. I thought about going through the house for you, but I knew I’d be terrible at it. So, I asked the police to leave things as they were as much as possible.”
“Ahh, so it’s you we have to thank for that. It didn’t paint a pretty picture, I admit, but it did show us where they had been,” Mom said.
“That was pretty much everywhere,” Daniel said under his breath.
“How did you know someone broke in? Did you hear them?” Madelyn said.
“No, dear,” Nadine Chapman said, “It was because of Lydia. There was a commotion at Lydia’s this morning, a break-in as well, with police cars and such. We walked down to see if she was all right. On the way back, we noticed the door to your grandpa’s house. It wasn’t even shut.”
Mom was staring at the house that must be Lydia’s without saying a word.
“So, did the police just come from her house over to my grandpa’s?” Jillian said.
“They did, dear. We walked them around, and then they called your mom.”
“But why wasn’t Grandpa home?” Madelyn said, directing it at her mom, but Mom was still studying the house next door. Then without a word, she stood up and walked toward it. Madelyn swung around to see if at least the Chapman’s could tell her what was happening, but they had grown quiet as well.
Jillian glanced from one to the other, finally settling on Daniel. They shrugged their shoulders at each other then Daniel grabbed her hand and said, “C’mon.” And with that they were off to the stream behind Grandpa’s house, leaving Madelyn standing next to the Chapmans.
“Is that the Holliwell’s house?” She seemed to remember Mr. and Mrs. Holliwell being good friends of her grandparents, but it had been a long time since she’d talked to them. Nadine Chapman simply nodded, but she wasn’t smiling.
Not sure what else to do, Madelyn ran to catch up to Mom as she stepped onto the Holliwell’s front porch. Lydia Holliwell answered the door almost as soon as the doorbell rang. When she saw them standing there, her eyebrows arched but then relaxed. “Hello, Rachel. This must be Madelyn. You’ve grown since I last saw you. Won’t you come in?”
Mom took a step inside, but instead of going for the offered chair or couch, she swept Lydia into a huge embrace. “I’m sorry, so sorry.” They stood that way for some time, the only sound the soft rumble of crying women.
When they let go, Lydia led them into her living room. “It’s okay. Well, it’s getting better, anyway. My kids live close by, and they visit all the time. I don’t know what I’d do without them.” She intentionally trailed off, looking uncomfortable.
“I came over … I should have …” Mom heaved a sigh. “I heard your house was broken into. So was my …,” she motioned over her shoulder.
“Your father’s house,” Lydia finished for her. “I see the house every day. I know whose it is. I also know he’s not there anymore. And, Rachel, I’m sorry he’s not there.” Just then, she caught a glimpse of Madelyn’s face. Confusion mixed with anger had spread across it. Turning to Rachel, she said, “I thought …” When she shook her head, Lydia said, “I’m sorry.”
Madelyn looked from one to the other, but neither of them would meet her eyes. They all sat in icy silence for several minutes before Madelyn abruptly stood. “Fine, don’t tell me,” she said as she left to go find her brother and sister.
. . .
“So, Mom, it’s just the two of us. Tell me what’s going on with Grandpa,” Madelyn said. It was later that evening after Jillian and Daniel had finally gone to bed. Mom had been sitting quietly in a darkened kitchen, sipping some herbal tea when Madelyn came up behind her, surprising her when she spoke.
Mom jumped, spilling tea all over her robe. “Madelyn, don’t you know when to leave well enough alone?”
“I’m sorry. Here,” Madelyn said, handing her a towel. She watched while Mom dabbed at her robe, hoping she would give some kind of explanation, but Madelyn was met with silence instead. “What’s going on, Mother? Where is Grandpa?”
Mom looked up to meet Madelyn’s gaze, but her eyes held no warmth, turning from blue to gray. “Did I not make myself clear yesterday? It’s none of your business, young lady.”
The edge to Mom’s voice blew Madelyn back a step, leaving her astounded that she was mad at her! Wanting to know about her grandpa couldn’t possibly put her in the wrong. She was the one who had the right to be angry. Madelyn folded her arms for effect. “What are you talking about? How could Grandpa not be my business? We were constantly inviting him over after Grandma died, and now he’s nowhere?” Mom tried to interject, but Madelyn wasn’t done. “You were right, I was trying to be understanding before, but today changed everything. He wasn’t in his house. I poked around. There wasn’t anything in the fridge, not e
ven much in the cupboards. Even Mrs. Holliwell said something about it. He’s not living there right now, is he?”
Mom’s gray eyes were now black, but Madelyn’s words had shaken her. “There is much that you don’t know or understand. The world isn’t as cut and dried as you’d like to believe it is. And it doesn’t conform to your way of thinking, just because you wish it so. We decided it was best to leave you out of this.”
The words stung, and Madelyn grabbed the table to steady her thoughts. Not only wouldn’t Mom tell her, she’d decided to deliberately shut her out, even deceive her. It was a gut punch, and she had no breath left for words.
“This discussion is over.” Then Mom’s voice softened. “You just need to trust us on this one, Madelyn,” she said before turning away. Then, surprisingly, her shoulders started to shudder. She was crying. Madelyn almost felt sorry for her—almost. Instead, she spun on her heels, stomping off to her room, making sure the slam of her door could be heard all the way to the kitchen and beyond.
Sitting upright on her bed, arms folded, fists clenched, she was certain the steam coming out of her ears could be seen seeping under the door. She sat there—waiting. But if she thought Mom would come after her, she was mistaken. And it turns out a good pout isn’t nearly as good without an audience. Mom, it appeared, recognized her sulk for what it was and chose to ignore it rather than indulge it. Another word didn’t pass between them that night.
Saturday
Mom was up early again the next morning making a nice breakfast—waffles with fresh strawberries. For a few minutes, Madelyn forgot or at least pretended to forget, how mad she was at her.
She ate in silence, listening instead to Jillian and Daniel’s chatter beside her and ducking to avoid the mini food fights they started every time Mom’s back was turned. She finished every last bite of her waffle. Lifting her head, she caught Mom watching her, but the look on Mom’s face was hard to read. “Thanks for breakfast, Mom, I …” She deserved an apology, but Madelyn was having trouble forming the words, in part because she wasn’t completely sorry about what she’d said. Finally settling for a quick shrug of her shoulders, she said, “I’m heading out to work in the yard.”
Dandelion Summer Page 6
