“So you left?” Jamie asked.
“I hung out here. Mom and Dad were so proud of me, the uniform and all. I never told them a thing about Annie. Oh, they’d met her and knew I’d been courting. I guess they figured it just petered out.”
“That’s so sad,” Jan murmured. “I’m really sorry, Gramps.”
“You went to Korea,” Kate said. At the ghost’s nod, she continued, “When you came back, did you try to find Annie? Your child?”
Gramps sat up straighter, the better to show his indignation. “What do you take me for? Of course I did. I’d been carrying a torch for a couple of years.”
“And?” Kate resumed her pacing. Jan had shifted to the edge of the sofa, intent on his words.
“Oh, I found her all right, but not right away. A few years later, she got in touch with Betty Lou. Living in Coquitlam, she was, hitched to a mill worker. I got myself over there and called in. One kid in the back yard on a swing set, another one already in school. She was happy, or so she said. Wanted nothing more than to see the back of me. Ya see, I made the mistake of thinking she’d be pining for me. Instead she’d gone on with her life and never considered me at all.”
The remaining question hovered over them all, unspoken. No one moved.
“No. She had a boy, but even she didn’t know what became of him. Never a word.”
“Then why were you looking for the letters?” Jamie asked.
His Gramps shot him the look he reserved for Jamie’s especially dumb comments. “To destroy ’em, of course. Story’s been buried all these years. This young lady of yours… not sure I’m ready to trust her with the family secrets.”
“I think you already have,” Jan murmured.
Jamie caught on. “Grandmother didn’t know.”
His Gramps looked as nervous as a ghost can look, having been caught flat-footed, as he’d probably express it. “No need to upset her with things that didn’t concern her.” He glared at Kate. “That’s as true today as it was sixty-some years ago. And don’t you forget it, young lady, with this paper you’re writing.”
Kate swallowed. “I’d like your permission to include the letters in my thesis. If I promise not to track Annie down?”
Gramps did the up-to-the-rafters-and-back thing again.
“Okay,” Kate said. She stopped pacing and leaned on the back of Jamie’s chair. “I get it. They stay just between us.”
Jan was never one to let things go. “It’s hard to believe you didn’t try to find your son. You probably have more grandchildren—”
“You always were a determined young thing,” Gramps said, fixing Jan with a glare. “Dragging your brother into your schemes.” Gramps smiled, but Jamie detected a trace of sadness behind it. “It’s all water over the dam. Annie asked me to let it go, and I did. I’d met my Beatrice and had me a fine son and daughter, and eventually you two young’uns. Bear this in mind.” He pointed a near transparent finger at Jamie, Kate, and Jan in turn. “You can regret, but you can’t let your regrets rule your life.”
“But…”
“Let it go, Janelle. See to your own story. Mine’s finished.”
A note of finality in the old man’s voice sent a chill up Jamie’s back. Jan too looked uneasy.
Gramps stood, hovering just above floor level, and dusted his hands on his pants. “You’re both doing fine, and I have places to go. Things to see.”
Jamie slowly got to his feet. “You’re leaving? But you can’t. You belong here.”
“We love you, Gramps,” Jan said wistfully. “We’d miss you.”
“Laws of nature, as your brother is so fond of quoting me. You take good care of my boy, here, young lady,” the ghost said, focusing on Kate. He was growing more insubstantial. “You’re the right one for him. We in the otherworld know these things.”
“Wait,” Jamie and Jan said simultaneously.
“See you, kids,” Gramps said. “But not soon, I hope.”
Jamie watched, heartbroken, as his grandfather faded until only a faint outline remained. And then he disappeared with a final, theatrical poof.
“I think I’m going to cry,” Jan said.
Jamie blinked. “He’s gone,” he said, disbelieving. “After all these years.” He gave himself a minute to pull himself together, then turned to Kate. “Are you going to try to find our long-lost uncle?”
Kate looked as rattled by Gramps’ abrupt departure as he was. “He said not to.”
“I vote we leave it alone,” Jan said. She swiped at her eyes with the back of her hand and took another deep swig of water.
“I agree,” Jamie said.
“I’m going home,” Jan told them. “Too much has happened today.” She pulled Kate in for a hug. “Do me a favour,” she said with a shaky grin. “Don’t find any more letters.”
After she was gone, Kate approached Jamie. “At least we freed him. I expect he’d wanted to move on for a long time.”
He dropped down on to the sofa, pulling her with him. “He kept himself amused. Pestering me, mainly.”
“Still. He wasn’t where he was meant to be.”
Kate settled in next to him, snuggling close. He tossed his glasses on the coffee table and relaxed, but suspected he’d need weeks, months, to recover from the shock of his grandfather’s abrupt departure.
“I’ll miss him,” he said, enjoying the hint of citrus in Kate’s hair.
“I wish I’d had a chance to get to know him. It’ll be up to you to tell me all his stories.” She ran a finger down his shirt placket, stopping modestly at his belt. “I never had a family.”
“You do now.” The finger caught his attention. Maybe, if she kept doing things like that, he’d get over Gramps’ departure sooner than expected. Like in the next minute or two.
“You agree with him?” She took a deep breath. Her finger stopped moving. “If you’re… I mean, if you want to try…”
Jamie smiled and pressed her head against his chest. “Hear my heart trying to jump out of my ribcage?”
“Mmm.” Her hand reached up and thumped his arm. “Silly.”
He shifted again, this time to look at her, sink into those incredible green eyes. All the humour left his voice. “I agree.” He mulled it over. “That sounded so formal. Like plighting a troth, whatever that means.”
“He’d be happy.” Her fingers sprang to life again.
“Making Gramps happy is a by-product,” Jamie murmured just before he kissed her. She tasted of coffee and peanut butter. His hand mimicked hers, exploring the buttons on the new, pink shirt.
A faint chuckle echoed from somewhere up in the rafters.
He looked up and scanned the roof. “Bye, Gramps,” he whispered. “Thanks.”
Then he turned his attention to Kate.
ABOUT LIZANN
LizAnn Carson cheerfully conjures up her own fairy-tale life, writing stories of romance and fantasy (often with a humorous twist) from her base on beautiful Vancouver Island. In her free time, you might catch LizAnn hiking, quilting, or watching her cats sleep.
Links:
on Amazon: www.amazon.com/author/lizanncarson
Website: lizanncarson.com
MORE LIZANN CARSON
Standalones
Seducing Adam
The Day of the Wedding
Calter Creek Series
Amanda
Pat
Mel
MY BABY WROTE ME A LETTER
BY
JACQUIE BIGGAR
USA Today and Internationally Bestselling Author
CHAPTER ONE
It was only ten a.m. and Grace was already exhausted. She rubbed her aching back and set aside the newspapers she’d wrapped her family’s heirlooms in, to take a drink of the now lukewarm tea she’d made earlier. No coffee the doctor had warned. Didn’t he realize she couldn’t function without the stuff?
Oh, well, it was only for a couple more months. Besides—her hand circled around to pat her protruding tummy—this
little guy deserved the best chance she could give him. Which is why she’d decided to pack up and make the move back to Canada.
“How’s it going in there?” A booming voice yelled from the kitchen.
Startled, the tea cup wobbled. It was sheer luck it didn’t crash to the floor. Well, that and her lightning fast reflexes, as Dan used to say. Smiling around the constriction in her throat she turned and met her father’s worried gaze as he wheeled himself into the room.
“Almost done,” she said. “Told you I’d beat you.”
Her dad had been invaluable during the last few months. She didn’t know how she would have survived without his love and support.
“It’ll be good to get home,” he said. “Your brothers have missed you.”
And she them. Their family was close. Leaving to follow her new husband to the United States had been one of the toughest decisions in her life. But oh, how they’d been in love. Dan was everything she’d always looked for in a man. Strong, competent, funny. It broke her heart to think he’d miss his child’s birth.
“They probably can’t wait to teach this young guy some of their best pranks.” She leaned over and gave her father a hug. “Thanks for being here, Dad.”
He patted her shoulder awkwardly and cleared his throat. “Well, where else would I be? My princess needed me.” His eyes—the color of faded denim—were moist as she stepped back. “Enough with the maudlin stuff. We’re family, we take care of each other.”
He used his still powerful hands, though arthritis had thickened the knuckles of his fingers, to turn the wheelchair and glide across the room to a weathered desk sitting in the corner. Boxes were stacked helter-skelter across its surface.
“You still have the old girl, do you.” He reached out and traced the scarred wood. “Lots of memories embedded into this desk. I spent many hours doing my homework here. And then, after the war…” He grimaced and rubbed his thigh above the missing leg. “Well, you know the rest.”
Yeah, she did. When her father made the decision to become a war correspondent, her mother was left to raise four young children. The stress and the worry had proven too much for her to handle. She’d taken them to his aunt and uncle and disappeared from their lives. When her dad returned, his life had been turned upside down; he’d lost a leg and a wife.
Many would have given up. Many had.
But Raymond Prior was no quitter. He picked up his children, took them home to the Rocky Mountains of Alberta, and put that earlier education to good use writing about his experiences and selling the articles to anyone who would buy them. In a country that was desperate for news of the war, his stories were gobbled up and paved the way to a successful career in journalism.
“Maybe it’s time to sell it,” he murmured. “You could get yourself something more modern when we get home.”
She was going to stay with him until after the baby came. He’d insisted and she hadn’t had the heart to say no. She didn’t want to be alone anyway. The ache rose again, but she forced it back. It would do no good.
Instead she grinned and waltzed across the room, her belly leading the way. “Are you kidding? This desk has history. I get to tell Waldo here how famous his granddaddy became and show him all your hen-scratches.”
“Hen-scratches,” he sputtered. “I’ll have you know my writing is neater than yours, young lady. And, you’re not calling my grandson Waldo. Are you?”
She reached into the drawer and lifted a pile of loose leaf, frowning when a few pages stuck to the back. “I have evidence, Dad.” She leaned over and tried to work the pages out without ripping them. “What the heck?”
“Let me see,” he said.
She stood and moved out of his way. He jiggled the drawer back and forth, the wooden sliders groaning and creaking their protest. Finally, it came free, landing with a plop in his lap. The drawer was half-filled with notes and unfinished stories—all in her dad’s elegant handwriting.
A crinkled envelope drifted to the floor. Grace crouched to pick it up, turning the yellowed paper curiously in her hands. She could clearly see a Canadian stamp in the right-hand corner and a faded address on the front.
She used the arm of his wheelchair to stand. “What is this, Dad?”
He glanced up from his perusal of the drawer, his expression faraway. “Hmm?”
Grace passed over the envelope. “I think this was lodged in the back of the drawer.”
He squinted at the address on the front and paled. His fingers started to tremble and he looked up at her with tears in his eyes.
Scared, and not knowing why, she grasped his bony shoulder. “Daddy, what is it? What’s wrong?”
He shook his head and stared at the tattered envelope. “I can’t believe it,” he said.
“What,” she demanded, sensing her life was once more about to change though she didn’t know how.
He held the letter for her to see. “This is your mother’s handwriting.”
CHAPTER TWO
Grace stared in dismay at the envelope her father held in his shaking hands. Why did she have to find this now? His health wasn’t up to the type of shock he surely had to be feeling. She’d been in and out of those drawers for years and never had a problem. She wished she had sold the old desk. Her mother had deserted their family; she didn’t have the right to haunt them like this.
“I always wondered,” he whispered.
The baby kicked and rolled over, creating a wave across the surface of her tummy. The anger drained, replaced by awe and a fierce surge of protective love. And with it, a need arose to understand. How could a woman leave her family and never look back? Her older brothers swore she’d been a kind and caring parent—did she ever think of them? Wonder what became of her children? Her husband?
Was she even alive?
“Dad, maybe you should wait to open that.” She put her hand over his, stopping him from pulling whatever was in that envelope into the light of day. “The boys should be here too.” Her brothers, Thomas, Benjamin, and Leo, would be ecstatic. They’d always defended their mother, certain she’d done what she had with good reason. Not Grace. To a five-year-old the loss had seemed overwhelming. Her brothers had each other—she’d been all alone.
“What?” he said, pulling his gaze away from the letter. The color was thankfully returning to his cheeks, but she was still worried.
Grace squeezed his fingers and released him, refraining from ripping the note out of his grasp and throwing it away, like she wanted to do.
She rubbed her belly. “This little guy is hungry. How about we make some lunch?” She hoped the baby ploy would work. They both needed time to process this ghost from their past.
His smile was lopsided. “Yeah. Sure, honey. What weird and wondrous concoction are you craving today?” It always amazed him that she could actually enjoy grilled pickle, onion, and cheese sandwiches without suffering hours of heartburn.
He carefully folded the letter and slid it into his shirt pocket, next to his heart. She shouldn’t feel this pinprick of jealousy, but she did. Ever since he’d returned to Canada after losing his leg to an IED, she’d been there to care for him. Even with her marriage to Dan, her father had played an important role in her life. Now, with the introduction of a crumpled piece of paper, she experienced that little-girl-lost sensation again.
Determined to recover the equilibrium of the morning, she led the way toward the kitchen. “I’m thinking tuna salad with pickles and a bowl of ice cream,” she teased, and smiled at her dad’s muffled groan as he followed her down the hall.
~~*~~
Ray waited until later that night after his daughter had gone to bed before he pulled the letter from his pocket. It had burned a hole there all day, but he’d known Gracie hadn’t taken the discovery well. Hell, neither had he.
All these years without a word and suddenly, on the eve of their first grandson’s birth, the hand of God had seen fit to bring his Beth back to him—if only by the written word.
&n
bsp; He moved closer to the table lamp in his room and slid the reading glasses he’d come to need in the last few years onto his nose. With painstaking care, and an annoying tremor he couldn’t quite control, he straightened the envelope until he could read the address; Raymond Prior, C/O- The Canadian Embassy, Saigon, South Vietnam.
The letter had been written during his time as a war correspondent covering the Vietnam war. The country where he’d lost his leg. There was no return stamp. He had a feeling she’d never mailed this letter, unlike the many others she’d sent him while he’d been away. That she may have written of her reasons for leaving could not be ignored, and it created a knot in his stomach he couldn’t attribute to Grace’s strange food choices.
It had been twenty years. He’d always wondered what happened. Had she met someone? Did she regret her decision? It had taken a long time for him to move on after her desertion, it wasn’t fair that she was turning up now, causing a chaos of emotions even though she was long gone.
No matter how much anger and resentment he’d carried, he still missed her. It was as simple, and as complicated, as that.
Ray opened the sealed envelope and tugged the two-page letter written in his wife’s beautiful handwriting from within.
My darling Ray,
The knot moved up to his throat.
The kids miss you, they’re growing like weeds. I had to go out and buy Leo new pants and shoes again, that boy’s going to be as tall as you.
His job had been exciting and rewarding, but it had come at a cost. He’d never fully made reparation with his family afterward. The boys treated him with respect and even friendship, but the deep bond of familial love was missing. Grace, on the other hand, had clung to him as though he were her anchor in a storm-tossed sea. It had taken her a long time to trust that he was home for good and would never leave her again. Poor kid.
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