The boy rejoined his pals and they loped away, but not before she heard hoots of laughter.
Spare her from adolescent testosterone.
“Mama! Panties!” insisted Jade, agitation making her voice quiver.
“I know, honey.” She squatted to shove the formerly neatly rolled items into the case, but it had been packed tightly and without hinges, the laws of physics just laughed at her.
“Stay here with Bob, sweetie,” she said. “Bob, stay.”
She popped the back of the mini-van and pushed and shoved stuff until she located a bungee cord. She could use it to hold the case shut. Naturally, it was underneath the spare tire and one of the s-hooks had become deeply attached, and resentful about being moved.
“You wanna fight?” she muttered. To herself or the stupid clingy s-hook, she wasn’t sure. She yanked hard and, suitably chastised, the cord let go. Of course, being a bungee cord, it snapped back with great gusto and the metal hook, in an illustration of karma or retaliation or, more likely, that darn physics, grazed her chin.
She stumbled against the curb and landed on her butt in front of Jade, who was now clenching and unclenching her fists. Bob shoved her head under the girl’s arm but it didn’t have much effect.
“I wanna go home, I wanna go home, I wanna go home,” Jade chanted, her voice rising with each repetition.
I know exactly how you feel, thought Sam, too weary to stand up.
Through tear-blurred eyes, she saw a pretty young woman burst out the door, a plastic garbage bag in her hand.
“Samara Davis, right? I’m Eliza Bramble. Welcome! I saw you arrive,” she said somewhat breathlessly, hurrying toward them. “I was on my way down, but then I saw your suitcase break and I went to get a bag first.”
“Thank you.”
“Looks like your little one isn’t very happy at the moment.”
“It’s been a long day.” Samara got to her feet, one hand on her chin, the other reaching forward, hoping to distract Eliza with a handshake.
Too late.
She squatted down in front of Sam’s quickly dissolving daughter, her voice friendly, her face open and helpful. “I’m Eliza. And you must be Jade.”
Instantly, the dog moved to stand between Jade and the new person. Eliza looked at Sam, eyebrows raised.
“That’s Bob. Don’t worry, she’s friendly, but Jade is… wary of strangers.”
Sam shoved her underwear into the bag, heedless of order or anything other than getting them out of public view, making a mental note to get rid of every single piece, as soon as she had a chance to buy new ones.
A whole drawer-full of new undies.
Starting over from the bottom up. Literally.
Eliza moved to touch Jade’s hair. Sam knew it was a well-intended gesture but Jade shrank away. Before she could begin crying, Sam scooped her up, the bag dangling from her arm.
“She’s very shy,” said Sam. “It’s been a really long day.”
“Then let’s get you to your room.” The woman stepped back, her smile less sure now. “Don’t worry. I’ll get your luggage. You take care of your little one. There’s some supper in the warming oven, for whenever you’re ready. We’ll get better acquainted then.”
As Samara hurried up the weathered stone path to the front door of Bramble House, her chin throbbing, her arms shaking, her heart broke again for her little girl. It was too much. It was all too much.
Just a few more days, she reminded herself, as she’d been telling herself every day for the past few weeks. A few more days and they’d be in their very own home, finally.
Shelter. Privacy. A place where she and Jade could finally rest and recover. Where she could hear herself think and be alone long enough to grieve the life she’d lost and maybe figure out a way to stop dreading each new day and embrace their future.
She stepped over the threshold, surveying the vaulted ceiling, richly textured walls and elaborate chandeliers. But what must have been a beautiful home at one time now had an air of faded gentility, unspoken and unacknowledged decay.
“Samara Kim.”
She jumped and turned to see an elderly woman who could only be Mabel Bramble. Tall and unbent by age, she stood motionless at the railing, her thin veined hands resting as if posed for a portrait.
Samara flushed, acutely aware of her travel-wrinkled, sweaty attire. Not to mention the unhappy child in her arms and their dog of questionable parentage that was no doubt already shedding all over the well-polished marble.
“I’m sorry we’re later than expected,” began Sam, desperate to break the silence.
“Never introduce yourself with an apology.” Mabel Bramble descended the grand staircase, no smile to soften her words.
Her real estate agent had given Sam an oblique warning about Mabel. Great-aunt to the Carrigan girls of Circle C Ranch, as well as one of the original founders of Marietta, Mabel had strong opinions on how her town had deteriorated, and who was to blame.
But great-aunt Mabel’s lack of lifetime achievement awards wasn’t her problem.
“My name is Samara Davis, actually. This is my daughter, Jade Davis-Kim.”
Mabel sniffed, as if rejecting a husband’s surname was a mark of ill repute never spoken of in polite society. But she stopped in front of Sam and extended her hand.
“Welcome to Bramble House.”
The older woman’s grip was surprisingly strong and instead of letting go, she held Sam’s hand, her eyebrows raised. Waiting.
“I’m very pleased to meet you, Ms. Bramble,” said Sam, feeling her face burn.
“You may call me Mabel.” She nodded once, then released Sam’s hand. “And your child is called Jade, you say. Hello, Jade.”
Oh dear. If Aunt Mabel disapproved of Sam’s manners, things were about to take a sharp downward turn.
But Jade turned her dark gaze in the direction of this older woman who was keeping her distance and therefore safe to check out.
“Hello, tall lady. Are you mad at me?”
A bark of laughter shocked them all. Mabel lifted an elegant hand to her mouth.
“Gracious, child. You are an impertinent one. You may call me Aunt Mabel. Can you do that?”
Jade cocked her head in that particular way that told Samara she was uncomfortable but holding it together.
“Hello, Aunt Mabel.”
“Well done. Now, tell me, Jade, who is this creature with you?”
In their email communications, Sam had been careful to ensure that dogs were welcome at Bramble House. Eliza had been understandably cautious, but once Sam explained that the dog was very well-trained, and part of Jade’s coping mechanism after her father’s death, Bob had been approved.
“This is Bob,” said Jade, making the briefest eye contact with Aunt Mabel. “She is part Labrador Retriever, part Border Collie, part luck of the draw. Bob is my best friend. She is five. I am four.”
Samara felt a flush of pride. Jade had recited the explanation just as they’d practiced!
Aunt Mabel was unimpressed. “I’m not accustomed to bringing farm animals inside the house but I’ve agreed to allow it during your stay. I trust she will not be a nuisance.”
Thankfully, Eliza entered the room during Jade’s introduction and heard the veiled insult in her aunt’s response.
“Bob is simply lovely, isn’t she? And smart, too. Now, if you’ll excuse us, Aunt Mabel, I’ll show our guests to their rooms.”
Eliza herded them toward the hallway.
“Don’t mind my great-aunt. I think you’re going to love your stay with us. You’ve got a Jack-and-Jill bathroom connecting your bedrooms and there’s a sliding door to a patio off your room, Samara. Now, let’s get you settled, shall we?”
As she followed Eliza through the once-opulent hallway, Samara felt Aunt Mabel’s keen eyes boring into her back.
She feared they hadn’t made the best first impression on Aunt Mabel.
And that was before she remembered the display o
f underwear in the street.
*
An hour later, lying on the bed beside her exhausted, maxed-out, melted-down-to-a-puddle little girl, despair threatened to overwhelm her, as it had so often in the bleak months since Michael’s death. To her shame, Sam barely remembered the grief, because of the devastating rush of tasks involved at the time. The mountain of paperwork at the hospital. Calling Michael’s family in Taiwan. Talking with the funeral director.
And the fear that chewed relentlessly beneath everything, of how she would raise the child screaming on her hip, without him.
Samara stroked her daughter’s damp forehead, sad again that this child had no one but her.
Then she elbowed up off the bed. There was nothing to be gained from self-pity.
She went to the window and pulled the drapes tighter, but a small ray of soft evening gold shone through, illuminating her sleeping daughter. Bob lifted her head watchfully, then sighed and tucked her muzzle up against Jade’s arm again.
Sam’s heart caught in her throat. For a moment, the fatigue and worry slipped away as she watched Jade breathe, slow and smooth, her face relaxed, her body loose as a rag doll.
This is what kept her going.
Find out what happens next in Finding Home…
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About the Author
Born under a Scorpio moon, raised in a little house on the prairie, Roxanne Snopek said “as you wish” to her Alpha Farm Boy and followed him to the mountain air and ocean breezes of British Columbia. There, while healing creatures great and small and raising three warrior-princesses, they found their real-life happily-ever-after. After also establishing a successful freelance and non-fiction career, Roxanne began writing what she most loved to read: romance. Her small-town stories quickly became fan favorites; print editions of her latest series were recently launched in France.
Roxanne’s personal heroine’s journey contains many on-going but basic lessons: introversion isn’t fatal; creativity is essential; and you always get lost coming out of the Vancouver airport. Accept it. Oh, and never, ever leave home without a book.
More from Roxanne:
Visit her website at RoxanneSnopke.ca
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