Down by the River

by Lin Stepp

  She was hanging a pair of begonia plants from the porch rafters when she saw her mother, Dottie Richey, come up the driveway.

  “Hi, Grace,” her mother called. “I went to the front door of the inn and saw your note saying you were here in the shop.”

  Grace stepped down from the porch to give her mother a hug. “What a surprise, Mother. I’m so pleased to see you.”

  “Well, I’ve owed you a visit. And it’s hard to get away from the business.” She smiled at Grace. “You know how that is now that you’re running the bed-and-breakfast, don’t you?”

  “I do.” Grace blew back the stray hairs from her face. “And I’m afraid you caught me in a mess.” She looked down at herself, attired in old work clothes sprinkled with paint and dust. “A mess in more ways than one.”

  Grace’s mother walked up the steps to peek into the door of the shop. “Is this a storage building?”

  “No. The former owner, Carl Oakley, was a woodworker. He had a shop here.” Grace pointed toward the back. “He worked in the back of the store and out here in the front he sold the walking sticks, birdhouses, picture frames, and other woodcrafts he made. After he died, his wife just left everything here the way it was.”

  Grace’s mother walked inside to check out the interior of the store, while Grace gave her this short explanation. Dottie turned around to look at Grace. “It looks nice since you’ve painted it. What are you going to do here, Gracie?”

  Grace’s heart warmed at the old childhood nickname. “I thought I might have a little craft shop here—open it at whatever hours I could manage around my business at the inn.” She dropped her eyes. “Probably not much will come of it. But it might be fun.”

  “Stop selling yourself short.” Her mother’s eyes flashed. “You’re very gifted, and I’ve long wondered why you haven’t done more with your abilities.”

  Grace could feel her brows lift in surprise.

  “Not used to compliments, are you?” Dottie’s voice was touched with sarcasm. “I’m not surprised.”

  She smiled at Grace then. “Let’s go sit down on that nice little porch out front. I’ve been over in Maryville seeing about an upcoming wedding we’re doing all the formal wear for, and it would be good to get off my feet.”

  “Oh, sure,” said Grace. “Do you want a cola? I have some in a cooler in the back.”

  Her mother nodded.

  Grace got two cans of diet soda and brought them back out on the porch. She found her mother in one of the newly painted rockers.

  “This is such a nice place, Grace.” She took the cola Grace offered and took a long drink. “I’m proud of you for starting a new life for yourself, for getting busy and using your talents.”

  Smiling, Grace took a sip of her soda, too. She studied her mother then. Dottie was silver-haired now. Her dark hair had turned white early, as had Myra’s. Myra looked very much like Dottie; both had the same short hair and hazel eyes, and both were shorter and more full-busted than Grace. Their father, Mel, was white-haired, too, and it looked like Leonard would follow suit in time. All the Richeys had been dark-haired except for Grace.

  Grace noticed her mother was watching her, too. “You look more and more like your Grandmother Martha Steen as time goes by—a true, tall, blond Norwegian. I’m going to bring you my portrait of her to hang in your inn. The resemblance is striking.”

  “I always looked different than everyone else in the family.” Grace dropped her eyes again. “And was different, too. All of you stayed in the formal wear business, stayed right in South Knoxville. Stayed close.”

  Grace’s mother reached across to pat Grace’s hand. “We each have to be who we are, Gracie. And celebrate that—different or not. You’re still our family, even if you walked to a different beat.”

  “Did I always? Walk to a different beat?”

  Her mother laughed. “How can you ask that? Surely you can remember what a wonderful and unique girl you were. Always busy. Always organizing and creating. Full of ideas and plans. Bright and always so beautiful. That was a gift, too.”

  “I’m not so beautiful now.” Grace blew out a long sigh.

  “Nonsense. You are stunning. Haven’t you looked in the mirror lately? And you still have that beautiful ease and charm about you when you move. Almost sensual. Your father had to beat the boys off with a stick from the time you were young. But you always kept your head there. You knew what you wanted from a young age.”

  “Did I?” Grace looked at her mother in surprise.

  Dottie shook her head. “Gracious, child. Just because you married young and then had your family quickly, surely you haven’t forgotten your early dreams.”

  “I remember I modeled while in school. I loved that. And I was majoring in design.”

  “You were gifted in design. You just couldn’t decide then if you wanted to design houses or clothes. I remember you told your grandmother, rather saucily one day, that you were going to design and run something special one day.” Grace’s mother looked around. “It looks like you’ve done it, Gracie. If not sooner, then later.”

  “Well, I can’t claim credit for designing the Mimosa, Mother. And my children are certainly not happy about my being here. Neither is Jane.”

  “Aggravating woman, Jane Conley. She never had a good thing to say about you, either. It used to make me so mad I wanted to spit nails.” She reached over to pat Grace’s hand again. “And your children will come around. You give them time.”

  “I hope so.” Grace frowned.

  “You told me all about their reactions when you visited over at the house. I just think they are finding it hard to envision you as anything but their mother. That’s all you were for so very long, you know.”

  “Was that wrong?” Grace looked at her mother questioningly. “I did so love being home and raising all of them, being there for Charlie, helping him with the business by entertaining clients and friends. It wasn’t like I was ever idle. There were so many civic responsibilities. So much to do and so many expectations.”

  “Ahhh.” Her mother caught her eyes. “Much of what you did was from your heart, Grace. But much of it was because of the expectations of others, as well. You married into wealth, and there were expectations about what Charles Conley’s wife should be like. You worked hard to fulfill those expectations. And you did a good job of it.”

  “But?”

  Dottie smiled kindly, patting Grace’s hand again. “But you lost a little of yourself along the way. You were so busy being what you should be that you forgot a little of who you really were and what you might be in yourself.”

  Grace frowned, feeling a little piqued at the criticism. “Charles was happy with me, Mother. If he hadn’t died, things would have been okay.”

  Her mother was silent.

  Grace’s mother’s silences had always spoken more than words.

  “You’ve been disappointed in me, haven’t you?”

  “Sometimes. I have to be honest.” She gave Grace a candid glance.

  “In what ways?” Grace really wanted to know.

  “In how you let Jane push you around. In how you let Charles dictate to you. In how overly eager you always were to please Charles, Jane, and so many others.” Dottie paused and frowned slightly. “Also in the way you were so busy living up to an image that you forgot to please yourself. I thought you lost yourself somewhat over the years.”

  “Ouch.” Grace winced.

  Dottie Richey caught her daughter’s eyes. “I would never have said this, Gracie, if I hadn’t seen you take life in your hands again. If I hadn’t watched you snatch back your life against opposition and begin to live your own dreams. It hasn’t been easy for you, and I wanted you to know that your father and I applaud you. And we were all thrilled to see what you’re creating here when we came to your open house last month. We’re truly proud of you, Gracie.”

  Grace looked at her mother in surprise. “I think that’s the first time I’ve heard you say that in a long ti
me.”

  Her mother snorted. “I’d say it’s the first time you’ve heard anybody say it in a long time.”

  “That’s not really fair, Mother.” The criticisms were prickling. “Charlie loved me and was always proud of me. He said so often.”

  “He was proud when you were the lovely hostess, the beautiful wife, the devoted mother, the gracious Mrs. Conley.” She gave Grace a direct look. “But how often was he proud of you when you branched out doing something on your own—like going back to college, taking those crafts classes, winning those arts and crafts awards, or making your own dress that time for Michael’s wedding? If I remember, Charles made you go out and buy an expensive one instead from a Nashville boutique. One that wasn’t handmade. Like it would have been an insult—wearing a dress you had made yourself.”

  Grace looked down at her hands.

  Her mother’s voice softened. “You mustn’t misunderstand, Grace. The difference was that I celebrated all those things. You do beautiful work. I have your lovely craft items all over my house. I cherish them. You made this purse for me, remember?” She held up a richly embroidered purse.

  “You still have that?” Grace marveled. “I made that five years ago.”

  “It’s my favorite purse.” Dottie smiled. “I hope the fact that you’re cleaning out this woodwork shop means you’ll definitely open a little shop of your own here where you can sell your own beautiful things, too.”

  “I’d thought of it,” Grace admitted. “But I’m usually so discouraged about my crafting work that I was afraid to admit the idea to anyone.”

  “Well, it’s a wonderful idea.” Dottie’s eyes lit up. “Come show me what you have in mind.”

  And so it was that Grace spent the next hour getting to know her mother in a new way as they talked about the craft shop Grace planned to create.

  As Grace tucked her mother in the car several hours later, after they had also toured the house thoroughly again, Grace couldn’t resist asking her mother one final question that was in her heart. “Mother, why doesn’t Myra like me?”

  “And what makes you ask that, Gracie?”

  Grace twisted her hands. “Well, I know we haven’t been close. And it isn’t hard to see that there’s something there between us. Some rift or divide.”

  Dottie looked up at Grace. “First, Myra is four years older than you are, Grace. I had my three children rather spread out. Sisters that far apart in age are not often close like sisters who are only a year or two apart.”

  “It’s more than that, Mother, and you know it.” Grace sent her mother a pointed look.

  Getting back out of the car to lean on the hood, Dottie asked, “Why do you think there is a divide, as you put it, between you and Myra, Gracie? I guess we need to talk about this.”

  Grace hesitated. “I really don’t know. But I first felt it back in late middle school.”

  “Well, let’s look back to that time.” Dottie’s voice was matter-of-fact. “Myra was seventeen, tall, thin, awkward, and wearing braces. She was introverted and shy with anyone she didn’t know well. She often wished for more friends and wished for a boy to notice her. You were only thirteen then—but already blond, beautiful, extroverted, and talented. You had a score of girlfriends and already had boys mooning around the house over you and calling you on the phone. You got invited to the eighth-grade dance that year; Myra didn’t even get invited to the junior prom.”

  Dottie shifted so that she could look more directly at Grace. “Honey, it was hard for Myra to see life come so easily to you when it was so difficult, and often painful, for her. Myra stayed and worked in the store because she was comfortable there. She felt safe and loved there; she could be herself there. She was fearful to branch out too far. Unlike you—who made plans to go before any of us were ready to consider it.”

  “I never realized… .”

  Grace’s mother nodded. “No. You never realized. That’s one of the reasons there is a divide, as you put it. You never even saw Myra in any realistic sense as a person and not simply a big sister. Then after you married, you never saw Myra’s limitations and how you might have become a friend to her.”

  “Now, wait a minute, Mother.” Grace’s temper flared. “That’s not fair. I never did anything to hurt Myra.”

  “No. And you never did anything to reach out to Myra, either.”

  “But she was the oldest. She should have reached out to me.” Grace felt confused by what her mother was telling her.

  “Did you not hear what I just said about how you were different?” Dottie shook her head. “You were the one who had the social skills to reach out, Grace. And think about all the times you came over for a visit after you married—and told us all about your family’s week at the beach house, your cruise in the Bahamas, your latest trip to Europe. Did you ever consider that, if you’d really wanted to be close to Myra, that you might have invited her and Phillip to go on one of these trips with you just one time—and paid their way? You and Charles could easily have afforded to take them. Friendships are built with sharing and generosity, Grace.”

  Dottie paused, looking out toward the mimosas in the front yard. “In case you haven’t noticed, Grace, life has not been easy for Myra. Phillip has his little insurance business, but he never made much money with it. Myra has always worked with us, has always needed to work, but our business is only small and comfortable. You married very well, Grace—to coin an old phrase. And yet you never shared.”

  Grace stood speechless for a moment. “I never even thought… .”

  “Perhaps that’s the divide.” Her mother interrupted her protest. “That you never thought.”

  “I didn’t mean to be inconsiderate, Mother. But getting the two families together wasn’t easy. And there were problems.” Grace shook her head, trying to look back at why she had done things the way she had. “Jane was always so hostile and unpleasant about my family. Charles sort of drifted along with her, I guess. I don’t think he would have wanted my family to go along on trips.”

  “Yes, and, if I remember correctly, Jane went on most all of your family vacations with you. Her husband, Hixon, did, too, before he died. The Conleys were always first with you after you married, Grace. We all felt it, but Myra resented it. Sometimes she expressed anger about it for your father’s and my sake. She’s very protective of us.”

  Grace leaned against the car, feeling stunned. “Mother, I’m so sorry. I never realized. I never even thought that you would want to go on a vacation with us. Especially with Jane along.” She frowned.

  Dottie laughed. “Well, I wouldn’t have wanted to go on even a long day trip with Jane Conley, and that’s a fact. But your father and I wouldn’t have minded more time with you. You, Charles, and the children didn’t visit often.”

  “Well, you had such a small place, and there were six of us.”

  Dottie shook her head. “We could have made do. It’s you and Charlie who wouldn’t have found things up to your standards. That’s the rub, Grace. We all always knew why you visited so seldom. You came to view us as a notch below you on the social ladder. We accepted it—to a degree—but as I said, Myra resented it.”

  “That’s not true!” Grace felt her face flush. “We never thought we were better than others because we had a lot financially.”

  “Is that so? Yet, you only socialized and vacationed with your own kind.” Dottie said the words kindly, but there was a wistful look in her eyes as she said them.

  Grace was quiet for a minute. “This is a lot to think about, Mother.”

  “I know,” Dottie said, getting into the car again after giving Grace a kiss on the cheek. “If I hadn’t seen, for the first time recently, that you wanted to be close to your family again, I wouldn’t have said anything at all. But I could see your heart wanting to come home again, Grace. And I felt that only honesty would help you see why there’s been a division for so long.”

  “I’m really sorry, Mother.” Grace knew her face showed her angu
ish. She felt simply stunned with all these revelations from her mother.

  “Today is always a new day, Gracie.” Dottie smiled. “And home is always a place you can come back to—and be welcomed into with love and open arms. But friendship takes a little more time and work. Myra loves you, Grace. And I think you could have her friendship if you wanted it. She’s a very good person and has wonderful attributes. And interests and gifts of her own that you know little about.”

  “Like what?” Grace asked.

  Dottie laughed and started the car. “I think I’ll leave that for you to find out on your own, Grace—since you don’t seem to know.”

  Grace stood looking down the driveway after her mother for a long time, thinking. She had wanted answers about her family, but these certainly weren’t the answers she had been expecting.

  “How come you’re just standing in the driveway, Ms. Grace?” Grace heard Morgan’s voice behind her.

  She turned around to see the twins then, dressed today in blue jean shorts and halter tops.

  “Are you okay, Ms. Grace?” Meredith looked concerned. “You look sad. And you’re too nice to be sad.”

  Grace ruffled Meredith’s hair. “I may not be as nice as you think, Miss Meredith.”

  Seeing the door of the woodworking shop open, Morgan turned in that direction. “Have you been working in the shop again, Ms. Grace? Do you need us to help you some more?”

  Grace smiled. “I think that would be great, Morgan. You and Meredith were good to help me paint. Maybe you’d like to help me start moving boxes back into the shop from the garage now.”

  Morgan started toward the garage in response. “Cool. Are you going to do woodworking like Mr. Carl?”