River's Call

by Melody Carlson

  Lauren chuckled. "Wish I'd known that sooner."

  "My grandmother, Grandma Pearl, inherited this land from her mother. Grandma Pearl and her first husband built the first cabin, the one that Hazel stays in now."

  "Yes." Lauren nodded. "Hazel has told me a little about Grandma Pearl. She sounds like she was an interesting woman."

  "The River Dove was her canoe."

  "Ah . . ." Lauren smiled. "I'm glad I didn't sink it for good."

  "I think the River Dove is unsinkable." Now she told Lauren about how Grandma Pearl returned to the old ways, how she befriended other Siuslaw women and how they tried to relearn the way their ancestors had lived. "But it was hard. So much was lost, so many stories forgotten. But Grandma Pearl did her best to preserve it." She put a hand on Lauren's shoulder. "Do you know why I'm telling you this now?"

  "I'm not sure. But I like hearing about it."

  The trail was coming alongside the river now. "The Siuslaw were a matriarchal society, Lauren. That means that the inheritance is passed down through the women. And someday, Shining Waters will belong to you."

  Lauren's brow creased. "I hope that's not for a long, long time, Mom. I wouldn't be ready for it now."

  "It will happen at the right time, Lauren. And then, one day, you will hand it on to Sarah." They stopped walking now, turning to look at the river, which was sparkling like diamonds in the bright sunshine.

  "What an amazing heritage."

  Anna nodded. "It's a heritage of mercy and second chances, Lauren. From our ancestors to me, from me to you, from you to Sarah . . . for eternity." With misty eyes, Anna gazed out over the shining waters as she prayed for her granddaughter's canoe to remain sure and safe and sound . . . and to turn around toward home.

  Discussion Questions

  Teen pregnancy has never been rare, and before legalized abortion it was even more common. Yet Anna seems blindsided by Lauren's pregnancy. Do you think she should've seen this coming? Why or why not?

  Although Anna keeps a gracious front for Lauren's sake, she expresses deep humiliation to Clark. Why do you think she feels such shame?

  Why do you think Anna is so comforted by Babette's reaction over Lauren's pregnancy? How would you react to a friend in Anna's situation?

  Anna seems to innately understand that Eunice is "broken." How do you think she learned this? Or is it a gift? Explain.

  Eunice has been the difficult person in Anna's life. Describe the difficult person in your own life and how you deal with her or him.

  Hazel always seems to bring a stabilizing force to the inn. What quality do you most admire in her character? Is there someone like that in your life? Explain.

  Anna's new grandbaby resembles the Native American side of the family, which upsets Eunice. Do you think appearances and family resemblances play a part in your family's relationships? Explain why or why not.

  Lauren and Donald's marriage seems doomed from the start. How would you have advised this young couple? What did you see as their biggest stumbling block?

  Do you think Anna should've been more involved in her daughter's life? Or less? What might she have done differently?

  Some women seem more maternal than others. Why do you think Lauren was so lacking in these skills?

  They say it takes a village to raise a child, and it seems to take one to get Lauren on track too. What do you feel is the most important quality of community?

  Anna and Sarah seemed to bond right from the beginning. Is there someone in your family you feel bonded to in a similar way? Describe.

  Sarah is naturally drawn toward her Native American heritage, but Lauren has never shown any interest in it. How do you explain their differences?

  Eunice seems to soften up with age, and her relationship with Anna improves. Why do you think that happens?

  How did you react to Eunice's final visit at the inn, shortly before her death? Were you surprised to hear the rest of her story? Relieved?

  It seems that Sarah changes too quickly, transitioning from the sweet granddaughter to the jaded adolescent. What do you think most contributed to this change? What, if anything, might've prevented this?

  Lauren's 'ah-ha' moment came in the river. Have you ever experienced a moment like that? Describe it.

  It seems things are always changing in Anna's life and yet she remains relatively serene and stable. If you asked her why that was, what do you think she would say?

  Coming Soon

  The final chapter in Melody Carlson's heart-warming The Inn at Shining Waters Series

  River's End

  1

  June 1978

  Despite halcyon skies and only a slight sea breeze, the air felt chilly today. Or maybe it was just her. Anna pulled her cardigan more tightly around her as she looked out over the sparkling river. Perched on the hand-hewn log bench, she stared blankly toward the river and, surveying her old faithful dugout canoe, let out a weary sigh. She'd gotten up extra early this morning. Planning to paddle the Water Dove upriver, she'd wanted to soak in the sunshine, breathe the fresh summer air, clear the cobwebs from her head, and gather her strength for the day.

  She'd imagined paddling hard and steady upstream, and finally, after her arms grew tired, she would turn the canoe around and allow the river's current to carry her back home— back to Clark and Lauren and the Inn at Shining Waters. But now she felt it was useless . . . futile even. She simply didn't have the strength to pull the dugout down the riverbank and into the water. Planting her elbows on her knees, she leaned forward and buried her face in her hands. A praying position, and yet she had no words. Nothing left to pray. Already she felt emotionally drained, and it was still early morning. How would she ever make it through this painful day, her beloved granddaughter's eighteenth birthday? It didn't seem possible that Sarah would've been eighteen by now.

  More than two years had passed since Sarah had vanished from their lives. As far as they knew she'd run off with her boyfriend, Zane. She'd only been sixteen—just a child—and yet old for her years. Anna had tried to appear strong, hoping that eventually Sarah would return to them. In the meantime, she put her energies into working hard alongside Clark and Lauren. The three of them, connected in their silent grief, cooperated with each other as they kept the inn going and thriving, making constant improvements, increasing the business, faithfully serving the never-ending roster of eager guests.

  It was for the sake of these guests, and even more so for her family, that Anna had maintained a positive outlook as she went through her daily routines. But beneath her veneer of hopeful confidence, the concerns for her granddaughter's welfare had dwelled in the shadows. How was it possible that Sarah had so completely disappeared? Without a word—not a single letter or phone call—the sixteen year old had seemingly vanished from the face of the earth. And for two years, despite her family's best efforts to locate her, Sarah still was not found. What did it mean?

  Anna's unspoken fear was that Sarah had come to serious harm—that perhaps she was even dead. Otherwise, she surely would've contacted them. At least, Clark had said early on, she would've contacted Anna. Because, as he pointed out, the bond between Anna and her granddaughter had always been a strong one—symbiotic. Besides that, Anna felt it uncharacteristic for Sarah to be so selfish and inconsiderate as to cut them off completely. Even in adolescence and amidst her parents' marital troubles, Sarah had been thoughtful and mature. She wasn't the sort of person to intentionally put others through such pain and misery. As hard as it was to face it, the only logical explanation was that something had happened to the girl. Something tragic.

  Still, no one ever voiced these mute terrors. Saying the words out loud would make it seem too real. And so Anna and the others had clung to the hope that Sarah was alive, that she had simply chosen to separate herself from her family, and that someday she would return. But as months passed, and as one year slipped into the next, Sarah's name was spoken much less frequently. And if her name was mentioned, there was always
an uncomfortable pause that followed . . . a quiet, awkward moment that would linger before the conversation resumed itself.

  But realistically—as painful as it would be—it might be easier if they were informed Sarah was actually deceased. At least they could properly grieve for her then. They could hold a memorial service to remember her and to celebrate the years of her life that had been so sweet . . . so innocent . . . so pure. Perhaps they might even build a monument of sorts—at the very least a special plaque or carved stone. They could set it right here by the river, and it would be a quiet place where they could come to think and to grieve and to remember Sarah's short but beautiful life in their midst.

  Anna sat up straight now, gazing out over the river again. But in lieu of the crisp and clear diamond sparkles on the surface, she now saw a blurry watercolor image instead. It all looked murky and distorted . . . and hot tears ran freely down her cheeks. She hated to be weak like this, to give into this kind of sadness and despair. But it all seemed so senseless, so unfair that a grandmother should outlive her granddaughter. It was just wrong.

  She pressed her lips together, using the palms of her hands to wipe away her tears. This would not do. She had to remain strong today—as much for Lauren's sake as for her own, because she knew Lauren would be especially mindful of her only daughter today. Eighteen years ago, Sarah had made her entrance into this world. And although Lauren hadn't really been prepared for motherhood, it had been a happy day for Anna. She had felt an immediate bond with her granddaughter.

  As difficult as it would be, Anna was determined to pull this off. She intended to make this a good day. If any words were spoken of Sarah, they would be positive words, remembering all the sweetness that the girl had brought into all their lives—despite the brevity of her stay. Anna took in a slow, deep breath and stood. She would be strong and of good courage. There would be time enough for tears tomorrow.

  As Anna turned toward the house, she heard the sound of a boat's motor coming up the river. Pausing to listen to the rhythm of the engine, she couldn't help remembering the old comforting sound of Henry's ancient boat. How she missed that deep chortling echoing along the hills of the river. She missed Henry too. As well as Babette . . . and so many others. Times and people had changed over the years, but the Siuslaw River remained the same, moving out to the sea, being pushed back gently with the incoming tide, always on the move.

  Her people had lived alongside and loved this river for countless generations. Her grandmother's old stories made references to them. According to Hazel's research, the Siuslaw had been a matriarchal society. And Anna had known that it was the women who had handed down the traditions and what little belongings that were accumulated in a lifetime. Anna had always hoped to do the same, to leave a timeless inheritance for the generations that followed her, from Lauren, to Sarah, to Sarah's descendents. But it seemed that was not meant to be. Perhaps the heritage of the shining waters was going to end far sooner than she'd expected.

  Anna was nearly at the main house when she heard the boat's engine slowing down, and when she looked over, she saw it veering toward their dock. It looked like the Greeley's Groceries boat. In an attempt to increase business, the store in town had decided to make deliveries on the river during the tourist months. Mostly, Anna supposed, because the youngest Greeley boy wanted an excuse to have a motorboat. But their groceries had been delivered yesterday, and she wasn't expecting anything else today. Cupping her hand over her eyes, she peered out to see Bobby Greeley at the helm. And sure enough, he was stopping at their dock.

  "Hello, Bobby," she called out as she walked toward the dock to meet him. "What are you doing out—" She stopped herself as she stared in wonder at the waiflike dark-haired girl huddled in the back of the boat. Wrapped in an olive green woolen blanket, she looked at Anna with large, dark eyes. Sad, hollow eyes.

  "Sarah?" Anna felt her heart give a lurch. And suddenly she was running down the dock. Blinking in disbelief, she stared at the girl. "Is that you? Sarah?"

  The girl nodded mutely as she stood, letting the blanket fall onto the bench behind her. "Grandma," she said quietly.

  "Oh, Sarah!" Anna grabbed the rope from Bobby and hastily tied it, then climbed into the boat and threw her arms around the trembling girl and began to sob tears of joy. "I can't believe it. I cannot believe it!" Now she held Sarah back with straightened arms, looking deeply into her eyes just to be certain she wasn't imagining this moment. "It really is you!"

  They were both crying now, hugging each other tightly until finally Anna knew that she needed to get Sarah up to the house. She glanced at poor Bobby, who was watching with troubled eyes, as if he wasn't sure what to do about this awkward display of emotions.

  "I'm sorry, Bobby," Anna told him. "I'm just so overwhelmed. This is my granddaughter, Sarah. I haven't seen her for years."

  "That's okay, ma'am."

  "Thank you for bringing her out to us," Anna quickly told him. "I, uh, I assume you'll just put the charges on our bill."

  He nodded.

  "Come on, Sarah." Anna helped her out of the boat. "Let's get you inside." She looked around the boat now. "Do you have any bags?"

  Sarah simply shook her head. Now Anna studied her granddaughter more carefully. She looked painfully thin beneath a long, raggedy dress of faded blue calico that reached nearly to her bare ankles. She had on worn leather sandals, and her long dark hair was uncombed and dull looking. Anna put her arm around Sarah's shoulders, holding her close as they walked up the dock.

  "Is my mother still here with you?" Sarah asked quietly.

  "Yes. She helps with the inn."

  Sarah stopped walking. "I don't want to see her."

  Anna looked into Sarah's eyes now. "Your mother has changed, Sarah. A lot. She's like a different person."

  Sarah's dark eyes seemed even darker. "I don't care. I don't want to see her."

  Anna didn't know what to do.

  Sarah looked back to where the boat was pulling away from the dock. "Maybe I should just leave and go back to—"

  "No." Anna's hold on Sarah grew tighter. "You can't leave. Not until we talk." She hugged Sarah close to her again. "We have been worried sick about you, Sarah. You have family here. We love you. And even if you and your mother have your problems, you still belong here with us. Do you understand that?"

  Sarah just sniffed.

  Anna looked into her eyes again. "This is your home too, Sarah. This is your river. Clark and I, and Hazel, and your mother—we all love you."

  Sarah still seemed unsure.

  "Please, trust me, Sarah," Anna said quietly. She was desperately trying to think of a plan to ease Sarah back into their world. Her old room in the house might feel too confining, too close to the rest of them. Plus, Anna knew Lauren was already in the kitchen working on breakfast. And since the summer season had just begun, the inn was full. But then Anna remembered that Hazel's cabin, the same cabin that once belonged to Anna's grandmother, was unoccupied right now. Hazel was touring in Asia and wouldn't be home for a couple of weeks.

  "I know," Anna told her. "You'll stay in 'The Oyster.' "

  "Grandma Pearl's cabin?"

  Anna smiled as she hooked her arm into Sarah's. "That's right. And that would make Grandma Pearl very happy!"

  Some of the guests were milling around the grounds now. Some said hello and some just looked curiously at her and Sarah. She knew that Sarah looked like someone who had stepped out of a different world, almost like she'd been living in a different era, and she knew that Sarah probably had a story to tell. And Anna certainly had plenty of questions. But not right now.

  "You look tired," Anna said as she opened the door and led Sarah into the sweet little cabin.

  "I am." Sarah went over to the table by the window that faced the river and, running a finger over the grain of the pine, looked out with a wistful expression.

  "I want you to make yourself at home," Anna told her. "If you like, I won't even tell your mother that you
're here yet. You can have a shower, and I'll bring you down some breakfast and some clothes and things. You'll eat, and you'll rest, and then we'll talk." She stroked Sarah's tangled hair. "Okay?"

  Sarah just looked at her. Her eyes reminded Anna of those of a frightened doe.

  Anna put both her hands on Sarah's cheeks, once again peering into those troubled, dark eyes. "You are home, darling. This river and this inn and even this old cabin—they all belong to you just as much as they belong to me. Do you understand what I'm saying to you?"

  Sarah still looked unsure, but at least she nodded.

  Anna hugged her again. "You are home, Sarah. At long last, you are home." She kissed Sarah's cheek and promised to return quickly with some food. And then, feeling as if she had wings on her feet, Anna ran up to the house, wondering with each step how she would share this good news.

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