The House on Sugar Plum Lane

by Judy Duarte

  “Can I go to Sara’s house and play?” Callie asked.

  “No, not yet. We’ll be going over there together in a little while. Why don’t you color or read your books until it’s time.”

  As Callie plopped down on the floor near the coffee table and began to spread out her crayons and her sketch pad, Amy headed upstairs to work in the last guest room.

  About ten minutes later, while going through a chest of drawers, she found a little book with a pale pink satin-lined cover. In blue script across the front, it read: Our Baby Girl.

  As she’d done numerous times before, she carried it to the bed, where she sat on the edge of the mattress and began to scan the pages.

  Inside the front cover, several loose black-and-white photographs nearly slid out—pictures of Barbara as a baby and a toddler.

  Amy studied each one, deciding that her own little girl bore a striking resemblance to Barbara when they were babies. They had the same heart-shaped face, expressive eyes, and dimpled smile. Callie, of course, was blond and fair, while Barbara had been a brunette, but the facial features were similar.

  Amy set the photos aside and paged through the little book. Ellie had noted the dates of Barbara’s first smile, her first tooth, her first steps. She’d also included a lock of curly brown hair, a birth certificate with a little footprint, and a white beaded bracelet that spelled out Baby Rucker in pink block-style letters.

  The beads had caused the spine to bow out and had left an indention on the page. After she’d gone through the book, she left it on the bed and returned to the drawer, where she found a yellow-and-white crocheted baby dress and matching booties.

  Had Ellie made them for her daughter? Or had they been a gift from someone else?

  As Amy continued to empty the drawer, she uncovered the back cover of another torn journal, only this one was blue. Like the other portion she’d found earlier, the bulk of the pages were missing. In fact, only the last entry was attached. The handwriting was Ellie’s, but the date made the entry stand out. Amy’s mother had been born on that fall day in 1966.

  Unable to quell her curiosity long enough to take a seat, she read it while standing before the chest of drawers.

  September 19, 1966

  Dear Angel,

  I held you today, but only for a moment. I could hardly see your perfect little face through the tears in my eyes, and when they took you from me, it tore my heart in two. I felt as though I’d lost a piece of Harold all over again.

  From now on, all the entries in my journals will be writ ten to you, to the granddaughter I’d so wanted to keep, to raise, to love as my own.

  And from now on, Angel, every one of my prayers shall include you, sweet baby. May you grow up in a loving home, with two parents who adore you. May you learn about God and how much He loves you. And someday, may you meet the grandmother who’d longed to be a part of your life.

  Amy had no idea how long she’d stood there, wrapped in the love Ellie had felt for the baby that had been named Susan and adopted by Carlo and Gina Rossi. A child who’d grown up in a loving home with parents who’d adored her.

  What Amy wouldn’t give to be able to share Ellie’s words with her mother. To let her know that she’d been loved by a wonderful woman who’d prayed for her daily.

  As Amy began to read Ellie’s words all over again, to bask in the love, she paused, noting something she’d breezed over the first time.

  Angel.

  Was that a term of endearment? A nickname? Or was it the name Ellie had given Barbara’s child?

  Had Ellie seen something in Callie that had made her think of the baby she’d called Angel?

  Or was it just the rambling of an old woman whose mind was no longer functioning?

  Chapter 13

  It had only been a couple of days since Barbara had stopped by Maria’s house to see her mother, yet here she was again at ten on Saturday morning.

  Today’s visit might be a complete waste of time, but for as long as Barbara could remember, her mother’s faith had been a constant in her life. And while there were times she’d found it annoying and intrusive, it had also been a source of hope and assurance, something she could use right now.

  Joey still hadn’t been scheduled for the bypass surgery, and it didn’t appear that it would happen anytime soon, so Barbara was more worried than ever. He was still in his forties and far too young to be struggling with such serious health issues.

  He was also too young to die, and the possibility that he might shook Barbara to the core, which was why she was here, hoping for a miracle.

  The trouble was, her mother’s coherent days appeared to be few and far between.

  Just a few weeks ago, when Barbara had told her mom about the complications that prevented the life-saving surgery Joey so desperately needed, she’d seemed to be concerned and had offered to pray for him. But by the next visit, she’d forgotten all about it.

  “Pray for Joey,” Barbara had urged her again, but the ever-present confusion had distorted her mother’s expression.

  “Who?” she’d asked, her voice frail and cracking.

  “For Joey, Mama. He’s in the hospital.”

  “Oh, dear. That’s too bad. What happened?”

  “He had a heart attack, remember?”

  “But he’s just a baby, Barbie.”

  And that had been the gist of the conversation, so Barbara wasn’t sure why she even bothered to make the attempt to ask for prayer again today. The divine connection her mom had always seemed to have had probably blown a fuse, along with the faulty synapses in her aging mind.

  But maybe today she’d have a better grasp on reality and then everything would be okay. After all, if God was up there, listening to and communing with anyone, it would be Ellie Rucker.

  So after parking her car at the curb in front of Maria’s house, Barbara strode up the sidewalk and knocked at the door.

  Moments later, an attractive blonde in her mid-twenties answered. Recognition appeared to dawn in her pretty blue eyes, although Barbara failed to make the same connection.

  “Is Maria here?” Barbara asked.

  “No, she took her son to baseball practice. I’m sitting with Ellie, Captain, and the kids.”

  Barbara was just about to introduce herself when the woman stepped aside, allowing her into the house as if she knew exactly who Barbara was and why she was here.

  “I’m Amy Masterson,” she said, as she closed the door behind them. “Your mom is in the living room.”

  The name triggered an aha! moment and Barbara realized the woman was the new tenant who lived next door and that Maria must have explained Ellie and the connection to the house.

  “How’s my mom doing today?” she asked.

  “I’ve only met her once before, but she seems about the same to me.”

  In some cases, that might be construed as good news. But it certainly wasn’t what Barbara had been hoping for.

  She followed Amy into the living room, where Ellie was sitting with the old man everyone called Captain.

  Ellie glanced up, but just briefly.

  Barbara thought of all the times her mother had watched her intently as a child at play or had sat in the audience during an elementary school program with a proud-mama glow. All the times her innocent questions during Barbara’s adolescence had been both embarrassing and annoying to a teenager hoping to break free of her mother’s apron strings.

  And she realized that a little of that interest would be more than welcome now. Too bad she couldn’t somehow turn back the clock and relive those days with a different mindset, one in which a little hindsight worked wonders.

  “She’s been fairly quiet today,” the old man said.

  Barbara glanced at Amy, not so much for confirmation, but because she sensed the two of them had more in common than the others in the room, only to see the younger woman assessing her.

  At least, it sure felt that way. Maybe she’d only imagined Amy’s interest, when it was
only normal curiosity, that of a tenant checking out her landlord.

  Yet, deep inside, Barbara couldn’t help wondering if she was making some kind of character assessment.

  Was she questioning why her mother was living with a neighbor and not with her daughter?

  There were a lot of reasons for that, the biggest of which was that Ellie wasn’t the woman she used to be, that she couldn’t be trusted to stay alone. Yet there were personal issues, too, things Barbara wouldn’t ever share with others.

  “I appreciate Maria helping out our family at a time like this,” she said, hating herself for trying to make excuses when it really wasn’t anyone’s concern but her own.

  “How’s your son doing?” Amy asked.

  “Not very well. But so far, he’s holding his own.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that he isn’t recovering as quickly as you’d hoped.”

  Footsteps sounded in the doorway that led to the hall, and several children entered the room—the little blond-haired girl who’d been visiting the other day, as well as Maria’s two youngest.

  “Mommy,” the little blonde said. “Can me and Sara and Wally go outside and play?”

  “Yes, but only if you stay in the backyard.”

  “Barbie, look.” Ellie pointed a gnarled finger at the fair-haired girl. “It’s Angel. She came home.”

  The poor kid who’d been singled out by a crazed Ellie just a few days before now looked to her mom for some assurance.

  “I’m sorry,” Barbara said, apologizing for her mother’s dementia. “She gets a little confused sometimes, which is why she’s no longer living alone.”

  “I understand,” Amy said. “It’s okay. Really.”

  But it wasn’t okay—not at all. If truth be told, Barbara was sorry about a lot more than just her mother’s comments to the child.

  In her heart of hearts, she believed that, with time, she and her mother would have eventually found peace, that they might have grown close once again. But time had run out on them, and now it was too late for apologies and explanations, too late for compromise or forgiveness.

  The reality that eluded Ellie these days reared up and slammed Barbara head-on, a blow that was swift and brutal.

  For all intents and purposes, her mother was dead.

  Tears welled in Barbara’s eyes as the emotion she’d been holding back for ages pressed against her heart and rose into her throat. She blinked it all back—the guilt, the tears, the pain—but quickly realized she couldn’t stay another minute. She couldn’t risk breaking down in front of strangers.

  She cleared her throat, hoping to break free of the emotion that had balled up inside. “I can’t stay. I just wanted to say hi. I really need to go.”

  If Amy thought it odd that Barbara had only stopped by for a minute, she didn’t say anything. And thank goodness for that.

  Barbara feared that if the floodgates opened and the tears broke free, she might never stop crying. And there was no telling what might happen if she allowed herself to resurrect all the raw emotion she’d buried over the years.

  As Eddie’s late-model Chevy Blazer traveled along Canyon Drive on the way to Mulberry Park, Maria sat in the passenger seat, while Danny was in the back with one of the ugliest dogs Maria had ever seen.

  The big, goofy-looking mutt had shaggy brown hair that covered his eyes, droopy ears, oversize paws, and, undoubtedly, the strangest mix of doggy DNA ever imagined.

  She suspected there’d been a wolfhound somewhere in his questionable pedigree. And maybe a little bit of everything else.

  “I hope you don’t mind if Roscoe joins us,” Eddie had said when he arrived at the house earlier. “He loves the park.”

  “Does he bite?” Maria had asked.

  “Nope. He might look intimidating, but he’s a big wimp.”

  “I think he’s cool,” Danny said, dropping to one knee to greet the dog and receiving a wet, sloppy lick from the tip of his chin to the bridge of his nose. “Hey, he likes me.”

  Eddie chuckled. “Roscoe likes everybody.”

  About that time, Amy arrived at the house, and Maria had thanked her again before giving her a couple of last-minute instructions.

  Now she, Danny, and Eddie were on their way to the park and to what seemed like a big adventure. Maria couldn’t remember the last time she’d gotten out of the house on a day when she didn’t have errands to run and a schedule to keep.

  Still, seated across from Eddie was a much bigger thrill than slipping off to the market or to the drugstore.

  “Mom,” Danny said, “can I have a dog like Roscoe?”

  Maria glanced over her shoulder at her son, whose eyes were hopeful. Then she looked at the scraggly dog who sat next to him, its tongue hanging out its mouth.

  A pet was out of the question since she had her hands full keeping up with the kids, Captain, and Ellie, but if she ever weakened and agreed to let Danny have a dog, it would be a small one—and one that was cute.

  “I’m afraid we’ve been over that before,” she said.

  “I know. I have to wait until I’m older, but how much older do I need to be? I’m practically a teenager already. And by the time you finally let me have a pet, I’m going to be too old to play with it.”

  She stole a glance across the seat at Eddie, saw a grin stretched across his face, a twinkle in his eye. Something told her that some guys never get too old to enjoy a pet. But Danny didn’t realize that she was already pedaling as fast as she could when it came to taking care of her boarders and the kids and keeping the house tidy, and that she didn’t need to worry about holes and poop in the yard, as well as chewed-up toys and lawn chairs.

  “Actually,” Eddie said, “I wasn’t planning on getting a dog, but Roscoe needed a home, and I felt sorry for him.”

  “Where did you find him?” Danny asked.

  “At Mulberry Park. He’d been begging for food, and the dog catcher was after him.” Eddie glanced into the rearview mirror, making eye contact with the boy.

  “You were lucky to find him.”

  “I think Roscoe’s the lucky one,” Maria said. “I have a feeling he might not have fared well at the animal shelter.”

  “I’ve always had a soft spot for underdogs,” Eddie said.

  Was that how he saw her and Danny? As a needy mom and child? Someone to feel sorry for?

  She shot another glance his way, and he flashed her a wink and a smile, turning her heart on end. Suddenly, she wasn’t so sure about anything anymore.

  “He’s turned out to be a pretty good dog,” Eddie told the boy. “But he’s a lot of work. And sometimes, when I get home and would just like to take a shower, kick back, and watch TV, I have to take him out for a run instead. It’s part of being a responsible pet owner.”

  “Hey, if that’s what you’re worried about, Mom, I promise to take care of a dog all by myself. I’ll feed him and water him and clean up the poop and everything.”

  “We’ll see,” Maria said, hoping to cut the conversation short while staying noncommittal.

  And fortunately, less than a minute later, they pulled into the parking lot near the ball fields, which would make changing the subject easy.

  Eddie shut off the ignition, and they all piled out of the SUV, including the dog, who wore a red collar and matching leash.

  “Can I walk Roscoe?” Danny asked.

  “Sure. But why don’t you run him on the grass for a while. That way, he’ll behave for your mom.”

  Behave for her? Did Eddie expect her to dog-sit that mutt during practice?

  “You don’t mind keeping an eye on Roscoe, do you?”

  Truthfully? Yes, but she couldn’t very well tell him no. “What do I need to do?”

  “Just hold on to the leash. But if you’d rather not, I’ll ask one of the kids in the dugout to do it for me. It’s just that they usually argue over who gets to take care of him.”

  Maria couldn’t understand the dog’s appeal to kids, or to Eddie, for that ma
tter, but she decided to be a good sport.

  Besides, she owed it to Eddie for taking her son under his wing, especially since she’d already noticed a change in Danny’s attitude, and he hadn’t even met the coach or the rest of the team. So she took a seat on the bleachers, where the branches of a maple tree provided a bit of shade, and watched Eddie interact with the boys who’d begun to fill the field.

  When Danny returned with Roscoe, he handed her the leash, then dashed off to join practice as the dog plopped down at her feet.

  A few minutes later, a red-haired woman in her mid-to-late thirties arrived with a boy who looked to be about Danny’s age and took a seat next to Maria.

  “Mind if I sit here?” she asked.

  “Not at all. I’ll scoot over so you can have some of the shade.”

  “Thanks.” The woman gave Roscoe’s ears an affectionate scratch before taking a seat, angling herself toward Maria, and pointing at the red-haired boy who’d arrived with her. “I’m Kathy Carrington, and that’s Brent. Do you have a son on the team?”

  “The one near the pitcher’s mound talking to Eddie is mine. His name is Danny, but he’s not an official team member yet. We’re just checking things out.”

  “I did that, too. It won’t take you long to see that Ramon and Eddie are great with the kids.”

  “I’m sure they are.” A light breeze kicked a wisp of hair across Maria’s cheek, and she brushed it aside.

  “Brent’s mom died,” Kathy said, “and his dad is in prison. My husband and I have had him for about six months. Up until he joined the team, he was depressed and angry, but connecting with both Ramon and Eddie has made a big difference in his life.”

  “I’d assumed you were his mom,” Maria said. “You both have red hair.”

  “Isn’t that cool?” Kathy laughed. “We’re not related by blood, but everyone who sees him with me assumes that we are, which is great. My husband and I are hoping to adopt him. From what I’ve heard, his father is seriously thinking about it, but he’s not in any hurry to sign the papers. I can understand that, but he’s serving a life term, and there aren’t any family members willing or able to take Brent. Either way, he’ll stay with us.”