Bringing Maggie Home

by Kim Vogel Sawyer

  Let her be all right. Let us find her. I won’t never lose sight of anything again if You’ll let us find her. Please, God, please.

  She rounded the final bend and scrambled across the backyard. Her rubbery legs collapsed as she mounted the first porch riser, but she forced herself upright and slammed through the screened door into the kitchen. “Mama!”

  Her mother turned from the worktable, a frown pinching her face. “What took you so long? This cobbler crust’s been ready for—”

  Hazel stumbled forward. “Mama…Mama…” Nothing else would come out.

  Mama’s frown lines deepened into worry lines. She caught Hazel by the shoulders and gave her a shake. “Talk to me, girl. What’s wrong?” She lifted her gaze to the backyard. Fear burst across her features. Her fingers bit into Hazel’s shoulders. “Where’s Maggie?” She leaned down and glared fiercely into Hazel’s face. “Where is your sister?”

  A sob wrenched from her throat. “I—I lost her.”

  Present Day

  Kendrickson, Nevada

  Margaret Diane DeFord

  “Well, I’m not lost, if that’s what you’re thinking.” Diane used her foot to shoo the quartet of barking dachshunds away from the threshold. “Will you all hush? You know Meghan.” She laughed as they jumped and barked louder. She smiled at her daughter. “They’re happy to see you.”

  Meghan didn’t move. “Why are you here? Did something happen to Grandma?”

  The worry in her daughter’s eyes brought a rush of protectiveness along with a shaft of envy. How could Meghan so dearly love the person who irritated her more than anyone else in the world? “She’s fine. I—”

  “Margaret Diane, get her in and close the door. You’re letting all the cold air out,” Mother called from her wingback chair in the corner of the living room. “And for goodness’ sake, get those beasts of yours under control. They could wake the dead.”

  Diane rolled her eyes and sent a scowl in her mother’s direction. “She’s on crutches. She can’t exactly hurry.”

  Mother pushed out of her chair and crossed to the middle of the room. “It isn’t the crutches slowing her down, it’s the dogs.” She clapped her hands at them. “You there, move! Move! Go away!”

  Ginger, the oldest member of the group, tucked her tail between her legs and darted for the kitchen. Duchess, Miney, and Molly chased after her, still yipping.

  “Now, bring her in here.”

  Diane stepped aside and swept her hand in a broad gesture. “The queen has spoken. Come on in.”

  Meghan cleared the threshold. With a huge smile, she thumped directly to Mother. “Grandma!” The pair embraced, Mother bending down slightly to match Meghan’s more petite height. Mother’s bobbed snow-white hair painted a stark contrast to Meghan’s rich brown ponytail falling to her shoulder blades. They pulled apart, smiled into each other’s faces, then hugged again, laughing. If Diane wasn’t mistaken, tears glittered in their matching brown eyes. She gritted her teeth against the sting of jealousy.

  Meghan shifted slightly, putting her weight on the crutches again. “Thanks for the limo ride. Sure didn’t expect that! It was almost like being a celebrity. Loved finding the box of mints, too. I didn’t eat them all—we’ll share the rest tonight if there’s a good movie on TV.”

  Mother chuckled. “We don’t have to depend on television programming anymore. Most everything on there is junk these days. I bought one of those DVD players, and I picked up a stack of movies from the Hallmark store in the mall. I’ll let you take your pick.”

  “Great!” Meghan peered at Diane over her shoulder. “Hey, Mom, could you get my luggage? There’s no handsome cowboy close by to help right now.” She giggled and turned her attention to Mother again. “You should’ve seen the guy who sat behind me on the airplane, Grandma—straight out of a spaghetti Western. At least six foot two and—”

  Diane cleared her throat. “Will someone watch the door and open it for me when I come up with the suitcases?”

  Mother frowned. “Margaret Diane, I’m certain I taught you it’s impolite to interrupt when someone is speaking.”

  Her mother had taught her lots of things, including not to interrupt, but she was forty-seven years old now. Definitely too old to be scolded. Especially in front of her own adult child. She headed out the door with her lips pressed tight to hold back a retort that would no doubt be interpreted as disrespectful—something else Mother had taught her was wrong.

  Heat waves shimmered on the pavement and made the soles of her feet, protected only by thin leather sandals, burn. She quickstepped to the suitcases and took hold of the handle on the biggest one. Hot! She swallowed a curse and jerked her hand back. Why hadn’t she thought to bring hot pads out with her? Living in Nevada was like living in an oven. She wrapped the tail of her fuchsia tunic around the handle and tried again. Not great, but better.

  She left the suitcase on the porch and hurried after the other pieces of luggage, grumbling as she went. Two suitcases and a duffle? Meghan must have brought her entire wardrobe. Had she forgotten how to operate a washing machine? And why was she still using these ratty-looking things? The neighbors probably thought Mother put them at the curb as a freebie for the homeless or needy.

  Mother held the door open and Diane brought everything inside. She pushed her heavy bangs from her forehead, grimacing when her hand came away moist from sweat. “Honestly, Meghan, do you not understand the concept of traveling light?” She held her hands toward the stack of luggage. “This is ridiculous. I managed to get here just fine with only one suitcase.”

  Mother shook her head and looped arms with Meghan, forming a united front. She tipped her temple to Meghan’s crown. “Ignore her. She’s done nothing but fuss since she got here midmorning. And she just fibbed. She carried in five different pieces of luggage if you count the pet carriers.” Mother pursed her lips. “She knows how I feel about animals in the house and she brought that menagerie of hounds anyway.”

  “Now who’s fussing?” Diane crossed to the sofa and flopped onto the center cushion. She patted her legs, and the dachshunds all came running, tongues lolling and tails wagging. They leaped up and settled around her, two on her lap and one on either side.

  Mother closed her eyes for a moment and blew out a breath. Then she stepped away from Meghan, the wide legs of her capri-length palazzo pants swaying around her tan calves. “You have a seat, honey. I’ve got a pitcher of sweet tea in the fridge. Let me bring you a glass.”

  “I can do it.”

  “No, no, you sit. I haven’t had the chance to spoil you in more than a coon’s age.” Mother gave Meghan a little nudge toward the sofa. “I’ll be right back with the tea and a little snack. I hope you still like oatmeal cookies.”

  “With butterscotch chips instead of raisins?”

  “Of course.”

  Meghan laughed. “I’ll take half a dozen.”

  Mother smiled and headed to the kitchen. As soon as she disappeared around the corner, Meghan leaned toward Diane and lowered her voice to a near whisper. “Why didn’t you tell me you’d be here? And why’d you bring the dogs? You usually board them when you travel.”

  Diane stroked Ginger’s silky ears. “Are you picking sides already?” Her voice held more resentment than she’d intended to divulge.

  Meghan sighed. “Why do you create sides? She’s your mother. Can’t you get along?”

  Diane turned her face toward the wide doorway leading to the eat-in kitchen. The sounds of ice bouncing inside glasses and of drawers opening and closing carried to the living room. Cheerful sounds. Welcome-home sounds. They hadn’t started until Meghan arrived. “It takes two to tango.”

  “But only one to lead.” Meghan reached out with one crutch and tapped Diane’s knee with its tip. “You could lead her into something other than arguments if you really wanted to.”

  Molly nosed the rubber heel of the crutch. Diane pulled the dog more snugly against her side. “Put that thing down unless yo
u want it to become a chew toy. And don’t blame me for my mother’s eccentricities. She’s always been—”

  Mother came around the corner with a tray in her hands. “Here we are. Sweet tea for Meghan and me, unsweetened tea for Margaret Diane, and enough cookies that we all—including the dogs—could have some. Not that I intend to share with those fleabags, nor do I expect my daughter to indulge.” She waggled her still-dark eyebrows at Meghan. “She’s always too worried about her figure to let empty calories cross her lips.”

  Diane gave Meghan a look she hoped communicated, “See? She picks at me, too.”

  Meghan smiled, although it looked strained. “You have to admit, though, Mom looks fantastic—better than a lot of women half her age. I can’t tell you how many times we’ve been asked if we were sisters.”

  Diane wanted to sock the air—Meghan had defended her!—but she’d scare her little companions. So she only smiled smugly.

  Mother lowered the tray to the coffee table and picked up a glass of tea. “My Margaret Diane has always been a beauty. Even as a child.” She offered the glass, her brown-eyed gaze locking on Diane’s with intensity. “A beautiful child is a blessing.” Pain creased her features. “And a burden.”

  Mid-July 1943

  Cumpton, Arkansas

  Hazel Mae

  Hazel sat on the grass near the blackberry bushes with Maggie’s doll in her arms. The woods echoed with dozens of voices calling Maggie’s name.

  “Bet it was the Gypsies that took her. It’s happened before—two different times in this very county, remember? That baby boy three years ago over by Beaty and another girl from Gravette about the same age as Maggie Blackwell. They always take the comely ones.” The ominous comment drifted from the other side of the blackberry bramble, where a cluster of ladies who’d come out to offer Mama support sat together. Hazel shivered even though the early evening air was still hot and humid.

  “Hush that, Nora. You want the little girl’s mama to hear you?” Mrs. Crudgington, one of their closest neighbors, spoke sharply to the director of the orphans’ home.

  Mrs. Burton snorted. “The preacher and his wife took her to their wagon over by the road. She can’t hear us from there.”

  Another of the women spoke. “Even so, there’s no proof Gypsies had anything to do with those two children disappearing. Lots of bad things can happen in these heavy woods.”

  Hazel blinked back tears. So many bad things could happen…like a snake going after baby bunnies and persuading a big sister to leave her little sister all alone.

  “But didn’t Simon Krunk say he chased away a wagonload of Gypsies from town just two days ago? What’s to say they didn’t set up camp deep in the trees?” Mrs. Burton’s voice held a know-it-all tone. “They could’ve been watching those girls come up the road and waited for their chance to grab the littlest one. They’re wily, you know. The older girl would never have known if they was hiding in the bushes.”

  “If Gypsies had done it, they would’ve taken both girls.” Mrs. Crudgington didn’t sound too sure of herself.

  “They wouldn’t have wanted Hazel Mae since she’s mostly grown, but that little Maggie…”

  Hazel didn’t want to hear any more. She jumped up and moved away from the bushes, away from the ladies’ talk. She wanted Mama. But halfway to the road she stopped. The preacher’d taken Mama aside for praying. She shouldn’t interrupt. She dropped to her knees there in the grass and bowed her head.

  She told God again how she was sorry for leaving Maggie. She begged Him again to let the men find her. They’d found one of her shoes on the bank of Purcell’s Creek, and Hazel carried her hair ribbon in her dress pocket. She jolted, remembering the ribbon caught on a tree branch as high as Hazel’s shoulder. If Maggie was only walking, there wasn’t any way that branch could’ve snatched the ribbon. Somebody had to have been carrying her.

  Mrs. Burton must be right. The Gypsies had taken her beautiful flaxen-haired, blue-eyed little sister. She’d never see Maggie again. Hazel buried her face in the doll’s curls and held the doll as tightly as she wished she could hold her sister.

  Present Day

  Kendrickson, Nevada

  Diane

  Diane took the glass decorated with a wedge of lemon from her mother. Condensation left the glass slick, and she gripped it between her palms. “How can a beautiful child be a burden?”

  Mother turned and gave a glass of tea to Meghan. “You’d be surprised.”

  “I suppose you’re talking about the time you dragged me out of the junior high football stadium because a high school freshman stopped to flirt with me.” Diane had wanted to die of embarrassment back then. Even all these years later, the humiliation stung. She turned to Meghan. “All the way home she lectured me about the dangers of talking to strangers.” She took a sip of the tea, letting the liquid cool her aggravation. “Mother had a tendency to overreact.”

  Meghan took a cookie from the plate and bit into it.

  Mother sat in her chair and balanced the glass of tea on her knee. “I don’t think it’s overreacting to want to protect your child from a potentially dangerous situation.”

  “Potentially dangerous? Seriously?” Diane laughed. She couldn’t help it. Gracious sakes, she’d been a thirteen-year-old girl enjoying a little attention from a nice-looking kid, and they were only talking at the edge of the bleachers in full sight of everyone.

  She pushed Ginger and Miney off her lap and plopped the glass back on the tray. “When Meghan was thirteen I let her walk to school by herself and allowed her to go to the movies with her friends…without an adult escort. Did you ever feel endangered, Meghan?”

  Her daughter took another bite of her cookie, her gaze flicking between Diane and Mother.

  Diane shook her head. “Fine. Don’t say anything. But I’m telling you, Mother, I raised an independent, self-sufficient child who’s become a well-adjusted, responsible adult. And I did it without hovering over her like a…a rescue helicopter.”

  An odd smile tipped up one corner of her mother’s mouth.

  Diane frowned. “What’s that for?”

  “What?”

  “That smile.”

  “I’m not smiling.”

  Diane huffed. “Yes, you are.”

  Mother took a sip of her tea. “All right, I am. I’m not trying to goad you, Margaret Diane, but I find your last statement amusing.”

  “Amusing?” Her ire rose, and apparently the dogs sensed it. They began milling, poking their long noses in her face. She delivered reassuring pats while scowling at her mother. “How so?”

  Mother set aside her tea glass and placed her hands on the armrests, as regal as a queen on her throne. “You’re hovering right now like a rescue helicopter, swooping in to put a barrier between Meghan and me.” Sadness tinged her features. “I assume that was your intention when you came unannounced and unexpectedly at the same time Meghan planned to visit. Am I right?”

  Four

  Hazel

  When she had opened the door that morning and found her daughter on the porch, Hazel’s heart leaped with joy. She opened her arms for a hug, but Margaret Diane stepped past her to plunk a pet carrier on the carpet. Beady eyes above a long snout peered from behind the wire door, and Hazel shuddered. Instead of welcoming words leaving her throat, Hazel blurted, “You brought a dog?”

  “No, I brought dogs.”

  Indeed she had. Four in all. When she knew Hazel couldn’t abide animals. Not in the house or in the yard. But Margaret Diane had always been a rebel despite Hazel’s best efforts to tame her. Another of her failures.

  Now Hazel met her daughter’s stony glare and spoke gently. Kindly. Tiredly. “Be honest with me, please. Did you come to prevent me from enjoying uninterrupted time with Meghan?”

  “I’ve always been an interruption in your life, haven’t I, Mother?”

  The sharp words stung, partly due to their caustic delivery, partly because they held an element of truth. Hazel sighe
d. “I’ve always loved you, no matter what you think.”

  Margaret Diane huffed—such an unladylike sound.

  “And you haven’t answered my question.”

  “I’m sorry.” She examined the cranberry polish on her almond-shaped fingernails. “What was the question?”

  The impertinence chased away the last of Hazel’s patience. She slapped the armrest, the contact sending a shock all the way to her elbow. “Margaret Diane, there are times I—”

  Meghan dropped the last bit of her cookie on the plate and flung her arms like an umpire calling a runner safe. “Stop it. I haven’t been here for half an hour and already I feel like the rope tied to two horses running in opposite directions.”

  Hazel hung her head. How could she have allowed herself to get drawn into a childish exchange of tit for tat? It would accomplish nothing more than furthering the gap between herself and her only child. Lord, forgive me. Maybe she should ask the same of Margaret Diane. But pride—and fear of rejection—held the request inside.

  She touched Meghan’s knee. “I’m sorry, dear one. You’re right. This bickering needs to stop.”

  “I wouldn’t call it bickering.” Meghan flicked a frown from her grandmother to her mother. “It’s more like a war. A war that only has losers. Including me.”

  For the first time, a hint of regret showed in Margaret Diane’s brown eyes. She looked down and petted the dogs with slow, steady strokes.

  Meghan flopped against the sofa cushions as if too weary to remain upright. “I mean, really, Mom, would it hurt to tell Grandma why you’re here? I sure wasn’t expecting you. When I called you the day before yesterday so you’d have my flight information, you said you were on the road, but you didn’t mention you were heading for Nevada. Why didn’t you tell me?”

  Margaret Diane shifted her gaze to Meghan. “Is it so unbelievable that I might want to share this lengthy time off from work with you? I hardly see you since you transferred to the investigations unit.”

  Hazel frowned. Her daughter hadn’t told a bald-faced lie, but something didn’t sound quite true, either. Meghan and Margaret Diane both lived in Little Rock. Granted, Meghan’s job kept her occupied, but her granddaughter’s weekly e-mails included snippets about her and her mother meeting for dinner or spending a day shopping together. Although Hazel frequently invited Meghan to visit, her vacations and holidays for the past three years had been monopolized by Margaret Diane.