by Irene Brand
“Your mother’s name was Lizzy Smith, and she died two years ago in a small hospital in Dallas. That’s all I know.”
Lizzy Smith. Had that really been her mother’s name? Could she trust a stranger with such news? But what would Ms. Monroe have to gain by telling a lie? “Did she give you a message for me? Anything at all?”
Ms. Monroe lowered her gaze. “Only that I was to give you the news of her death.”
Holly felt overwhelmed with questions. “Did she mention her job or a husband or other children?”
“No.” The woman’s eyes clouded over with mist. “I wish I knew more. I really do. I can see how important this is to you.”
Holly had waited so long for news about her mother, it felt shocking that there was so little offered. So little to say good-bye to. She felt like a parched woman given only a drop of water. “My mother—did she seem like a kind woman?”
“We had very few words because we were both so ill, but she seemed kind in her spirit.” Ms. Monroe nodded. “Yes, I would say so.”
Holly hated badgering the poor woman, but desperation still ran through her. “Do you have any idea what she died of?”
“I’m not sure, but I believe I overheard the doctors say something about her liver. I—I think she may have had a drinking problem.”
“I see.” Holly looked down at her velvet apron, which she had twisted into a knot. “Thank you for telling me, for being honest.”
“You’re welcome.”
“I’ve dreamed of my mother all my life. I didn’t even get a chance to say good-bye.”
Ms. Monroe closed her eyes for a moment as if in prayer. They sat in silence for a while, and then the woman spoke up. “I wish you the best with your life, Miss Goodnight. I will say this—from watching your interview and visiting with you now, I think your mother would have been proud of you. I know I would have been—if you had been my daughter.”
“Thank you. That means a lot to me.” Holly pressed her nose to stop the tears, which were now threatening to choke her. Later. I will cry later.
Ms. Monroe handed her a business card. “If you have any questions, you may call me. But I think I’ve told you all I know.”
Holly accepted the card and then reached out to shake the woman’s hand. “Thank you for coming.”
“You’re welcome.” She rose and gave Holly’s hand a vigorous shake.
“By the way…”
The woman stepped away from the chair and paused. “Yes?”
“What did my mother look like?”
Ms. Monroe lit up for the first time. “Ah, that one is easy. She looked a lot like you.”
Holly took in a deep breath and smiled. After a few more pleasantries she said good-bye to Beatrice Monroe at the front of the shop and shut the door.
There were no customers left, but Van and Owen and her father were standing in the middle of the store, all with beseeching expressions directed at her. Did they know what had just happened? She hated to leave them there, gaping at her, but she needed some air. “I’m going for a walk.”
Holly did what she always did when life got complicated. She headed down to the Elk River to watch the clear blue water flow through her town. It was the place she sometimes met God—and sometimes wrestled with Him too.
She crossed the railroad tracks, walked along the sidewalk, and then hiked down to the river. The park looked empty. So much the better for a few minutes of tranquility. She buttoned up her cape, eased onto the ground next to the water, and waited for its calming effects to take over. Eventually the sounds of nature embraced her—the soft flow of cool air, the chants of birds, and the hypnotic movement of water ebbing beyond her world.
Holly looked up to the heavens. “This is not how I imagined things, Lord. Not at all. Death isn’t the right way out of the maze. I’d hoped for real closure. The kind where I’d meet my mother and she’d tell me she loved me all along. There should be reconciliation. There should be joy.” She picked up a twig and ran her hands along its rough surface.
Beatrice Monroe had said her mother’s name was Lizzy Smith. And she looked a lot like me. Were those words a sweet comfort to her, or did they compound the sadness of never meeting her? Holly stared at her hands, the light olive skin, the shape and size. She’d often studied her features in the mirror, wondering which ones had come from her mother and which ones from her biological father. She’d been curious about so many things. Even though Beatrice had offered her very little news, she’d given her enough information to start a search of family records. Bit by bit she would be able to put her mother’s life story together and perhaps even find her biological father. But would the striving for facts help with closure, or would it only lead to heartache? She tossed the twig into the water and watched it drift far from sight. My father lives in Noel, and he is my family.
Holly heard footsteps behind her and turned around. “Quig? How did you know I’d be here?”
“Are you kidding?”
“Right.”
“Mind if I sit down?”
Holly gestured to a dry spot next to her.
He lowered himself to the ground. They didn’t say anything for a while. That was the beauty of old and comfortable friendships—like a great cup of coffee that’s tasty even without all the foam and sugar.
Finally Holly looked over at him. “I guess you guys figured things out?”
“Your father has a talent for eavesdropping.”
“I’ve never heard that called a talent before.” She shook her head. “So, are you here to give me advice?”
“No.”
“I guess I’m a little like Job in the ashes.”
“Then I really shouldn’t say anything. I’d hate for God to come back later and say I did a lousy job of advising you. Or comforting you.”
Holly touched his arm. “You are a comfort to me—just being here. You’re like an old shoe.”
“I genuinely hope not.”
She pulled her legs up, hugging her knees. “You are the kind of shoes people look forward to putting on when they get home from a hard day at work. The kind that hug your feet without pinching.”
Owen chuckled. “Okay, I guess you’ve redeemed yourself.” He reached into his pocket, pulled out a mysterious object, and held out his closed hand. “Do you want what’s in my hand?”
“You’ve played that game with me since we were five. I’ve gotten everything from candy to a toad.”
Owen’s expression was somber yet playful. “Well, life is full of risk.”
“That is more true than I want it to be. Okay, I think I might want what’s in your hand. Maybe.”
“No, you need to be certain.”
Holly rolled her eyes. “All right. I want what’s in your hand.”
Chapter Ten
Owen turned around to face her.
What was he up to? Holly placed her hand under his.
He unlocked his fingers, and a small brass compass fell into her palm.
“Oh, it’s lovely—and so unique. But why are you carrying a compass around?”
“My grandfather gave it to me before he died. He said the compass was for the long journey ahead.”
“Since your grandpa Josiah was a philosophy professor, I assume he meant life.”
“He did.” Owen closed Holly’s fingers around the compass. “I want you to have it—for keeps.”
“No. I can’t possibly take this. It’s a family heirloom, and—”
“But you’ve always been family to me. I have no brothers or sisters. And I have no wife.” He smiled. “I know you have trouble accepting gifts, but I really want you to have this. Please.”
Holly didn’t feel right accepting such a treasure, and yet he’d been right about their being like family. Neither of them had any siblings. They’d been as close as two friends could be. “All right. But under one condition only—if you ever want it back, I insist you ask me straightaway.”
“It’s a deal.”
She
looked at the compass more carefully, at its delicate etchings and the dark golden hues that came from age. No matter which way she turned it, the mechanism would swivel back around, righting itself, offering perfect direction. “So the compass was meant to be a reminder of some kind for you?”
“Yes, but I’m going to tell you this only because you asked.” He smiled. “Grandpa Josiah told me I should never forget that the Almighty is the only true compass, and His guidance is only a prayer away.”
“I like that.” Holly leaned over and kissed Owen on the cheek. He leaned toward her, making the kiss last a second or two longer than she’d expected. His clothes were suffused with cinnamon from the shop, so she found herself lingering there by his side, enjoying the fragrance. “Thanks. I will always treasure this compass.” As I do you. “Was this something you carried around with you often?”
“Never. But I slipped it into my pocket this morning. For some reason I had a strong urge to give it to you today.”
She looked at him. “You couldn’t have known Beatrice was coming to the shop today.”
“No, I didn’t know.”
“Sounds providential.”
“I believe you’re right.” Owen got up from the ground and stretched.
Holly lifted her hands up to him, and in one sweeping movement he lifted her off the ground.
A freight train, which had been making distant thunder, wound its way toward Noel and suddenly roared through the middle of town.
Owen looked at his watch. “Right on time.”
Just like you. Holly gave Owen an affectionate pat on the back.
“So, what about Van Keaton?” He dusted himself off.
“You mean the book? I suppose I’ll let him interview me about Beatrice and the news about my mother. I’m sure he’ll want to add it to his book.” Holly pushed her hair away from her face. “I guess it adds another dimension to all of this—to have this new information read by tens of thousands of people. I can hardly think of it without cringing. Yet I made a promise to Van, and I intend to keep my word.”
“That wasn’t my question about Van.”
“What did you mean then?”
Owen shuffled his feet the way he did when he was a boy—usually when he was guilty of something. “I mean the way he looks at you.”
Holly gazed at the compass one more time and then slipped it into her pocket. “So you noticed that Van has a look.”
Owen tilted his head and smirked. “Everyone in town can see it.”
“Oh.” Holly fiddled with her earring. “Well, to be honest, I didn’t expect to like Van so much. And I do like him—a lot. Is that going to be all right with you?”
“Oh, sure.” Owen huffed. “Great guy. I’m mean, he’s totally deranged, of course, but otherwise he’s a good choice.”
Holly laughed. “You are too much, Quig. You build bridges just to tear them down. Don’t you see it?” She put her hands on her hips. “Van may have some issues, but he’s also a good man.”
Owen cringed.
“I’m sorry. But surely you understand what I mean. You’re a good man and my dearest friend, but not someone I’m considering for a husband.”
This time Owen turned away from her.
“Quig?” Holly touched his sleeve. “What’s wrong?”
“Van has fallen in love with you.”
Was Owen kidding? Van loves me? The wind charged through the park in a snit, thrashing the trees and Holly’s scarf. When the wind calmed its temper she said, “I don’t think Van could have fallen in love with me so quickly.”
“It takes some people a lifetime and some people fifteen minutes.”
Holly slapped the dust off her slacks. “What you’re saying is improbable.”
Owen frowned.
“And why are you frowning at me?”
“Because I think you’ve gotten it in your head you’re unattractive and undesirable. That no one could fall in love with you.”
“I’ve dated for decades, and no one has bothered to take enough interest in me to propose.”
Owen sighed. Heavily.
“Well, isn’t that true?”
“And did you want to marry any of those guys?”
Holly didn’t have to think about that question very long. “No.” It was an honest answer. “But that doesn’t prove your point.” She cocked her head at him.
“But it doesn’t disprove it either.” He narrowed his eyes and grinned.
Holly wished life were as easy as their banter, easy as the wind through the trees. “I guess we’d better get back to the shop.” They walked up the incline, past the police station, and onto the street. “Do you mind staying at the shop a bit longer today?”
“I’m at your service.”
As you have been my whole life. Holly circled her arm through his as they walked. She felt fortunate to know someone like Owen, a fun and kind friend to share life with. And to have him gifted at trading stocks was an added bonus for them all, since it gave Owen free time to hang around the shop and keep her dad company. And keep her company as well. What would she ever do if he got married and moved away? He did mention wanting to find a wife. At the moment, life felt so stretched with transitions she couldn’t bear to think of one more.
Holly leaned nearer to Owen, but he didn’t seem to mind. In fact, for a second he rested his head against hers. She assumed the recent events in her life had caused them to show their affections more readily, and she counted it as a blessing. Out of the blue she recalled something funny from their past. “Do you remember the code word we used to say sometimes on our double dates?”
“I do.” He laughed. “If either of us said the words ‘teddy bear,’ it was a signal that we were in agony and needed to make a speedy end to the date.”
“That was pretty terrible of us.” Holly shook her head.
“And pretty vital.”
Holly chuckled. Then she waved at Carl Rodriguez, who was stringing up Christmas lights on his storefront across the street. “Hey, how’s your wife, Carl?”
“Much better,” Carl hollered back. “She loved your beef stew. Thanks for bringing it by.”
“Oh, you’re welcome.”
When Holly and Owen entered The Little Bethlehem Shoppe, Mr. Goodnight was standing in the entryway. “Do you mind a chat?” her father asked.
“Of course not. You okay? How’s your heart?”
“It’s still beating. Listen, Holly, you need to know that I overheard Beatrice. I couldn’t help but overhear.”
“Well, it is easier when your ear is smashed against the door.” Holly smiled.
“True.” Her father put his arm around her. “But about your mom—I’m so sorry, Cricket.”
Owen quietly busied himself at the back of the store.
She noticed a tremor in her father’s hands. “I’ll bet you could use a nap.”
“Maybe. It feels like a long day, doesn’t it?”
Holly could sense her father’s grief, but she could tell there was something else bothering him. “I’ll walk you over to my house. It’s closer.” She yoo-hooed to Owen, letting him know she’d be gone for a bit. Then she glanced over at Van, who’d been so quiet she’d almost forgotten he was there. She searched his eyes for any hint of Owen’s prediction of undying love. She saw nothing but compassion. “I’ll be back soon, Van.”
“I’ll be waiting right here for you.”
How sweet was that?
Van smiled back at her as he stood just beneath the Christmas ball. She had an urge to kiss him right there under the mistletoe, but the timing was as off as a broken watch.
After Holly and her father left the shop they walked up Main Street. When they arrived at her house Holly gestured to the porch, and they sat down together on the swing.
They remained quiet for a while until her father blurted out, “I’m guilty.”
Holly chuckled. “What could you possibly be guilty of, Dad?” She placed a pillow behind his back.
He
buttoned his sweater—the one that made him look like Mister Rogers—and then rested back on the pillow.
Her father folded his hands in his lap. “I’m guilty of loving you too much. In fact, sometimes I’ve wondered if I don’t love you more than God.” He dipped his head. “In my younger days some of my male friends didn’t want to give up their independence to marry and have a family. But I did. I just never met the right girl, never fell in love.” He pointed toward the heavens. “And then there was that Christmas Eve when someone left a miracle on my porch step. Suddenly I was a father, and joy was mine.” He took a handkerchief out of his shirt pocket.
Holly scooted closer to her father.
He wiped his eyes. “Even though I knew you were a gift from God, I didn’t trust Him like I should have. I kept thinking your mother would return and demand I give you back. I feared that every day for a long time. Even after I’d adopted you, I knew she might come back, and I felt the law would probably be on her side. She would have taken you from me. And it would have whittled away at me until there would have been nothing left….” His voice caught in his throat.
Holly sat quietly with her father while he recovered his emotions.
“The pain would have been unbearable, since I had fallen in love with you as an infant and then all those years growing up. And now as my friend.” He ran his fingers along the metal links of the swing and then clasped his hand around them. “But even though I knew you loved me too, I feared—all this time—that your mother would come back and take you away. Until now, that is.”
Holly tried to understand her father’s suffering. She could only imagine how acute it must have been. “I’m so sorry this caused you pain all these years. I wish you’d told me. It would have been good to talk about these things.”
He nodded. “I guess I didn’t mention it because I was embarrassed by my selfishness. And I must confess something else. When I heard Beatrice talk of your mother’s death—instead of feeling sadness like I should, I felt only relief.” He covered his face with his handkerchief and wept. “Forgive me.”
“Of course I forgive you, but I doubt there’s anything to forgive.” Holly gently rubbed her father’s back. Had there been flickers of dread in her father’s eyes that she’d never noticed? Was she listening to people without really hearing them? “I’m so glad my mother didn’t come to take me away. You’ve been the best of parents. I couldn’t have asked for more.
