Sinda had only been to the basement twice in the last three days. Once to retrieve clothes from the dryer, and another time to bring up a doll that needed some work. She planned to put the finishing touches on the painted face while working at her kitchen table. She knew she couldn’t keep it up forever, but for now, until her nerves settled down, she’d do more of the doll repairs upstairs, only going to the basement to get necessary items or do laundry.
A Girl Scout leader had called yesterday, wanting to bring her troop to the doll hospital as a field trip. Sinda turned her down, saying she was too busy right now. The truth was, the idea of having a bunch of inquisitive girls roaming around her basement would have been too much to handle.
In spite of Sinda’s emotional state, she had managed to go to a local swap meet this morning where she’d sold a few antiques and picked up some old doll parts. She’d even met with two new customers who wanted dolls restored before Christmas.
Her chores were done for the day now, and she stood in the spare bedroom, prepared to check out the rest of the contents of her mother’s trunk. She glanced around the room. Everything was exactly as she’d left it on Saturday. The jewelry box and items of clothing were still on the chair. The trunk lid was closed, though no longer locked.
She ground her teeth together and opened the lid. Did she really want to do this? An inner voice seemed to be urging her on. With trembling hands she withdrew a white Bible, which had her mother’s name engraved in gold letters on the front cover. A burgundy bookmark hung partway out, and Sinda opened it to the marked page. “Psalm 19:12. ‘Who can discern his errors? Forgive my hidden faults,’ ” she read aloud. She could hardly believe it was the same verse Glen had quoted to her the other day. “Mother must have felt guilty about something,” she muttered. Was Glen trying to tell me that I shouldn’t feel guilty about anything, or was he referring to Dad? God knows, he had plenty to feel guilty about, but he always made me feel remorseful because I reminded him of Mother.
Sinda closed the Bible and placed it on the chair next to the jewelry box and clothes. She reached inside the trunk and withdrew a small, black diary. It was fastened with a miniature padlock, but Sinda knew she could easily pry it open.
She went downstairs to the kitchen and took a pair of needle-nosed pliers from a drawer, then dropped to a seat at the table. In short order she had the lock open. Would this be considered an invasion of privacy? she wondered. How could it be? Mother’s gone, and after what she did to Dad and me, I have every right to read it.
She opened the dairy to the first entry, dated October 30, just a few days after Sinda’s third birthday. With one hand cupped under her chin, she began to read.
Dear Diary:
Today I received some wonderful news. A visit to the doctor confirmed my suspicions—I’m pregnant again. The baby is due the middle of April. It will be nice for Sinda to have a sibling. Another child might be good for our marriage too. William was thrilled with the news. He wants a boy this time.
Sinda felt a headache coming on, and she began to rub her forehead in slow, circular motions. “Mother was pregnant when I was three years old? I’m an only child. What happened to the baby?”
She read on, finding the next entry dated several months later.
Dear Diary:
Christmas is behind us for another year. This was probably one of the happiest holidays we’ve ever had. We had friends over for dinner, and all William could talk about was the child we’re expecting in the spring. Sometimes my husband can be a bit harsh, but I’m hoping our baby will soften his heart.
The pain in Sinda’s head escalated, and she wondered if she should quit reading and go to bed. A part of her wanted to escape from the past, but another part needed to know what happened to the child her mother had carried—the one her father hoped was a boy; so she read on.
Dear Diary:
My heart feels as though it is breaking in two. A terrible thing happened, and I wonder if I’ll ever recover from the pain. I gave birth to William Shull Jr. one week ago, but he lived only three days, never leaving the confines of his tiny incubator. The child was born two months prematurely, and William is inconsolable. He blames me for the baby’s death and says I did too much during my pregnancy. He’s convinced that if I’d rested more the child would not have come early.
Sinda covered her mouth with her hand as she choked on a sob. She’d had a baby brother! A child she’d never met and had no memory of. That in itself was painful, but the stark reality of her father wanting a son and blaming her mother for denying him the right was a terrible blow. She wrapped her arms around her stomach and bent into the pain. “Could this have been the reason Mother left?” she moaned. As the thought began to take hold, she reminded herself that she’d been ten years old when her mother abandoned them. That was seven years after William Jr. died. There had to be some other reason Mother had gone. Sinda was sure her only hope of discovering the truth lay in her mother’s diary. She would get to the bottom of it, even if it took all night!
❧
Sinda read the diary until the early morning hours, but the impact of her mother’s final entry had been too much to bear. She’d fallen asleep on the couch, with the diary draped across her chest.
A resonant pounding roused her from a deep sleep. The diary fell to the floor as she clambered off the couch and staggered to the front door in a stupor. She wasn’t aware that she’d spent the night in her blue jeans and sweatshirt, or that her eyes were bloodshot and her hair a disheveled mess until she glanced at her reflection in the hall mirror.
She opened the door and was surprised to see Glen standing on the front porch with a desperate look on his face. “Glen, what is it?”
His forehead wrinkled. “I need a favor, but I can see by looking at you that you’re probably not the best one to ask.”
“I didn’t sleep well last night,” she stated flatly.
“I’m sorry. Why didn’t you call?”
She shrugged. “I’m fine now. What do you need?”
“A baby-sitter.”
“What?” She stared at him blankly, trying to force the cobwebs out of her muddled brain.
“I need someone to watch Tara,” Glen explained. “Mrs. Mayer phoned early this morning. She’s sick with the flu.”
“Won’t Tara be in school all day?”
Glen shook his head. “She’s off for the summer.”
“Oh, I forgot.” Sinda ran her fingers through her tangled hair, wishing she hadn’t answered the door. “There’s no point in you losing a whole day’s pay. Send Tara over.”
“I would have asked Penny’s mother, Gwen, but they’re on vacation at the beach this week. So if you’re sure it wouldn’t be too much of an inconvenience, I’d really appreciate your help today.”
Of course it was inconvenient, but she would do it. Glen had done her plenty of favors, so turnabout was fair play. “It’s fine. I had a bad night, but it won’t keep me from watching Tara.”
Glen’s worried expression seemed to relax. “Thanks so much, Sinda.” He touched her shoulder lightly. “How about coming over for supper tonight? I’ll make my famous pasta, and I could fix a Caesar salad to go with it.”
She reached up to rub the side of her unwashed face. “You’re not obligated to cook for me, Glen. After walking your mail route all day you shouldn’t have to come home and cook for me, anyway. Why don’t you come over here tonight? I’ll do the cooking.”
“Are you sure you don’t mind?”
She pushed an irritating lock of hair away from her face. “Positive.”
He grinned. “You’re wonderful. I’ll send Tara over right away.”
Glen leaned toward Sinda, and she thought he might be about to kiss her. She pulled quickly away when she remembered she hadn’t yet brushed her teeth. “No problem. See you later.”
He hesitated a moment, then with a wave of his hand, Glen turned and left. Sinda closed the door with a sigh, wishing she had time to shower a
nd change before Tara arrived. A quick trip to the bathroom to wash her face and run a brush through her unruly curls was all she was able to manage before she heard another loud knock.
When Sinda opened the door Tara thrust a piece of paper into her hand. “Dad told me to come over here for the day and said I was supposed to give you this.” The child was wearing a white blouse under a pair of green overalls, and she held a silver skateboard under the other arm.
Sinda motioned her inside and glanced at the document. It was a form giving Sinda permission to authorize emergency medical care for Tara. Great. “Uh, I’d rather you not do any skateboarding today.”
Tara frowned. “Why not? I skateboard all the time.”
“I know. I’ve watched you out front, and you’ve taken a few spills. You’re in my care today, so I won’t be responsible for you getting hurt.”
Tara ambled into the living room and flopped onto the couch, wrapping her arms tightly around the skateboard, as though it were some kind of lifeline. “You’re not my mother, you know. I don’t have to do what you say.”
Sinda felt her irritation begin to mount. She’d discovered some terrible things yesterday, spent a restless night on the couch, had been awakened by a desperate man, and now this? She was near the end of her rope, and one more good tug would probably cause it to snap right in two. She clenched her teeth and leveled Tara with what she hoped was a look of authority. “Your dad asked me to watch you today. This is my house, and I’ll make the decisions. Is that clear?”
Tara nodded and dropped the skateboard to the floor. “What am I supposed to do all day?”
“Maybe we can work on some dolls.” Sinda feigned a smile. “You did such a good job helping before.”
Tara shrugged. “I never did anything that great. Besides, dolls are for kids.”
“No, they’re not,” Sinda countered. “Lots of grown women, and even some men, collect dolls. Some are worth a lot of money. As you well know, many of the ones I repair are for collectors and antique dealers.”
“I saw your picture in the paper a few weeks ago,” Tara said, changing the subject. “That must have been really great for business.”
Sinda nodded. “It was good advertisement. Several people have brought in dolls they want restored for Christmas.”
“Christmas is a long ways off.”
“Some dolls need lots of work. It takes time to repair them.”
Tara wrinkled her nose. “People give away old dolls as presents?”
“Often a parent or grandparent will have a doll from their childhood that they want to pass on to a younger family member.” Sinda took a seat in the overstuffed chair directly across from Tara. I wonder if the girl knows anything about the doll her father asked me to fix. “Did your mother have any dolls?” she casually questioned.
The child shrugged her shoulders. “I wouldn’t know. I was only a year old when she died. I thought you knew that.”
Sinda felt her face flush. Of course she knew it, but she wasn’t about to tell Tara why she was fishing for information. Learning whether she knew about the doll wasn’t all she planned to fish for, either. Since she had Tara alone for the day, maybe she could ask her some questions that would give an accurate picture of the way Glen was at home, when no one could see if his mask of Christianity had slipped or not.
“All I have are some pictures to prove that my mother even existed,” Tara went on to say. “To tell you the truth, I don’t feel like I ever had a mother.”
“I know what you mean,” Sinda said softly. “As I told you before, I lost my mother when I was young.”
Tara didn’t seem to be listening anymore. She was looking at something lying on the floor next to her skateboard. She reached down to pick it up. “What’s this—some kind of diary?”
Sinda jumped up. “Give me that!” She snatched the book away so quickly that Tara’s hand flew up, and she nearly slapped herself in the face.
“Hey, what’d you do that for? I wasn’t gonna hurt the dumb thing!”
Sinda snapped the cover shut and held it close to her throbbing chest.
“What’s in there?” Tara squinted dramatically. “Some deep, dark secrets from your past?”
“It’s none of your business! Diaries are someone’s private thoughts, and this one is not for snoopy little girls!” Sinda bolted for the door. “I’m going upstairs to take a shower. You can watch TV if you like.” She stormed up the steps, painfully aware that it was going to be a very long day.
Seventeen
It was almost six o’clock when Glen arrived at Sinda’s for supper. Her hair was piled up on her head in loose curls, and she was wearing a long, rust-colored skirt with a soft beige blouse.
Glen gave a low whistle when she opened the door. “You look great!”
She smiled and felt the heat of a blush creep up the back of her neck. “A far cry from the mess that greeted you at the door this morning, huh?” Sinda was feeling a bit friendlier toward Glen this evening. After questioning Tara today about her dad, she’d learned that he had never been physically abusive. If anything, Glen was sometimes too permissive which explained why Tara got away with being so sassy.
Glen reached for her hand. “I know you don’t always sleep in your clothes. Can you tell me about it now?”
“Not this minute.” Sinda motioned toward the living room where Tara sat, two feet from the TV set.
Glen nodded. “You’re right. Little pitchers have big ears, and mine probably holds a world record.” He followed Sinda into the kitchen. “What’s on the menu?”
“Lasagna.” She opened the oven door to take a peek at its progress.
He sniffed the air appreciatively. “It smells terrific.”
“I hope it’s fit to eat,” she said. “I found the recipe in a magazine, and it said not to precook the noodles, so I can only hope it’ll be all right.”
“Even if the noodles turn out chewy as rubber bands, I won’t care.” Glen’s voice dropped to a whisper, and he moved closer. “Have you been praying about us?”
Sinda edged away from him, until her hip smacked the edge of the cupboard. “Ouch!”
He pulled her quickly into his arms. “Are you okay?”
She tried to push away, but her backside was pressed against the cupboard, and she had no place else to go. Her heartbeat picked up speed, and her mind became a clouded haze as he bent to kiss her. Glen is a great dad; Tara said so today. Glen is a good neighbor; his actions have proven it to be so. Glen is a wonderful kisser. . .
“No! No kissing!”
Glen and Sinda both whirled to face Tara.
“Young lady, that’s enough!” Glen’s face was red as a cherry, and a vein on the side of his neck bulged slightly.
Tara lifted her chin defiantly. “Can we go home now?”
“No, we certainly cannot go home! I just got here, and Sinda’s worked hard to fix us a nice supper. We’re going to sit down and enjoy the meal, just like any normal family.”
What does a normal family look like? Sinda wondered. Appearances had always been so important to her father. She and Dad used to look like the picture of happiness, and she was sure everyone at their church had thought they were content. If they’d only known what went on in our home.
Tara’s reply broke into Sinda’s troubling thoughts. “We’re not a family. I mean, we are, but Sinda’s not part of it.”
“I’m hoping she will be someday,” Glen announced.
Sinda’s mouth dropped open, and Tara began to cry. “Don’t you love me anymore, Dad?”
Glen left Sinda’s side and bent down to wrap his arms around Tara. “Of course I love you, but I also love Sinda.”
“Why?” Tara wailed. “Why do you love her?”
Glen glanced over at Sinda, and she gripped the edge of the cupboard for support. “Sinda is a beautiful, sweet lady,” he said, nodding toward her.
Sinda’s ears were burning. Glen was telling Tara things she had no right to hear. Especial
ly when they weren’t true. She wasn’t sweet. She had bitterness in her heart and wasn’t able to trust. Besides, even if Glen was all he appeared to be, and even if she were able to set her fear of hurting him aside, Tara was still an issue. The child didn’t like sharing her father, and Sinda was sure Tara would never accept the fact that Glen was in love with her. There was no future for her and Glen. Not now, not ever.
❧
Sinda pulled back the covers and crawled into bed as a low groan escaped her lips. The last twenty-four hours had felt like the longest in history—her history, at least. It had begun with the reading of her mother’s Bible and diary. Next, her day had been interrupted and rearranged when Glen showed up on her doorstep needing a baby-sitter for his inquisitive child. Then Tara had taken up most of her day with nosey questions and a bad attitude. The final straw came in the kitchen, where Glen professed his love for her in front of Tara. The child’s predictable reaction nearly ruined dinner, even if the lasagna had turned out well. Glen and Tara went home shortly after the meal, and Sinda had been grateful. At least she wasn’t forced to tell Glen what was troubling her so much that she’d slept on the couch in her clothes last night.
Sinda tucked the sheet under her chin and shifted her body to the right, then the left, trying to find a comfortable position. “I can’t have a serious relationship with Glen, no matter how much my heart cries for it.”
Sinda had never known the heady feeling of being in love before, and even though she found it exhilarating, she couldn’t succumb to it. She was scared of marriage. She’d spent her whole life afraid of her father, blocking out his verbal and physical abuses by telling herself that even if he was doing wrong, she deserved it because she was like her mother. She’d convinced herself that Dad was the way he was because of the pain Mother had inflicted on him. Sinda had vacillated between blaming her mother, her father, and even herself. She knew the truth now, though—her mother’s diary had finally brought everything into focus.
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