Hazel lifted the lid and peeked at the pancakes. The directions said to turn them when the surface was covered with little bubbles—waiting too long would burn them. She didn’t want to serve scorched pancakes again. Only a few bubbles showed around the edges, so she put the lid in place and faced her daughter.
“I got up early because I usually go to the first service at church. It’s the more traditional one. But I don’t mind attending the contemporary service midmorning if that’s what you and Meghan are accustomed to.”
Margaret Diane made a face. She opened the door, and the four dogs pranced inside. “To be honest, Mother, I rarely attend church. I doubt Meghan goes, either.”
Disappointment attacked Hazel. “But we always went to church. Even after Meghan was born you still came with me. When did you stop?”
Margaret Diane popped the lid off the plastic bucket of dog food and scooped brown nuggets into the row of dog dishes by the back door. “Shortly after you moved to Nevada, I guess. You weren’t there to push it, so…”
Hazel set the lid aside and carefully turned the three pancakes. Her joy at the perfectly browned cakes was ruined by her daughter’s statement. “I didn’t realize I had pushed it. I assumed you went because you wanted to go.”
Margaret Diane’s arched brow spoke volumes.
Hazel turned her attention to the pancakes. If she didn’t want them as hard as the kibble the dogs now crunched with apparent enjoyment, she needed to keep watch. Bitter words pressed for release. Even though Mama and Daddy’s church attendance became more and more sporadic as Hazel grew older, she’d faithfully walked to the church or caught a ride with a neighbor every Sunday. She’d never forgotten the minister’s solemn statement that it took only one generation of neglecting God to turn a faithful family into a faithless one. She’d decided early not to be that generation. But somehow her daughter had chosen to abandon faith.
Wasn’t it enough that her beloved daddy had become, according to the town gossips, a backslider? She’d never quite forgiven herself for her father’s descent into alcoholism. She’d tried so hard to be extra good, striving for perfection to make up for her grave error that cost so dearly. And somehow it wasn’t enough. Margaret Diane, her only child, was following Daddy’s rejection of God. She’d failed yet again.
She lifted the pancakes from the pan and stacked them on a plate. They formed an almost perfect cylinder. Almost. “Well, since you’re up, eat these while they’re hot. I set out blueberries, chopped walnuts, and the pure maple syrup you bought at the store. Help yourself.”
Margaret Diane took the plate and crossed to the counter. She sighed as she sprinkled a handful of walnuts over the stack. “I’ve disappointed you again, haven’t I? Everything I do disappoints you.”
Early September 1951
Cumpton, Arkansas
“I’m sorry you’re disappointed in me, Mama.”
“I’m not disappointed.” But Mama’s pursed lips said otherwise. She pushed a lank strand of silver-streaked blond hair from her face and shook her head. “I just don’t know how I’m going to cope all by myself with your daddy. He’s getting more quarrelsome by the day.”
Hazel couldn’t argue. Back before their world changed, Daddy’s drinking only made him lazy and slow. Now that he was older, the more he tipped the bottle, the uglier he got. She’d prayed for a chance to go far away to school so she wouldn’t have to see his ugliness close at hand, and God answered by giving her a scholarship to Little Rock Junior College. With the money she set aside by clerking on Saturdays at the general store in Cumpton, she had enough for a bus ticket and to keep her going until she found a part-time job in the city. Everything was working out fine, and she even thought she’d battled past the guilt of leaving Mama alone with him. But at her mother’s statement the guilt whooshed in again, stronger than before.
She knelt next to Mama’s rocking chair and took her weathered, dry hands. “Then come with me to Little Rock. Daddy hasn’t done any farming to speak of for the past two years. He can sit in the barn and drink his liquor without you being here. If he’s not willing to give up the bottle for you, then maybe you ought to—”
“Leave your daddy?” Mama jerked her hands free and stood. She gawked at Hazel with as much shock as if Hazel had suggested she pick up a hatchet and chop Daddy to pieces. “I made a vow on our wedding day to be with him until death parted us, for better or worse, for richer or poorer, in sickness or in health…” She clamped her hand over her mouth, and a moan echoed behind it.
Hazel stood. She cupped Mama’s elbows. She’d grown so tall she could look down at Mama now. Maggie had Mama’s light hair and blue eyes. Would she be petite like Mama, too? Hazel shook her head. Why was she thinking of Maggie? She needed to focus on Mama.
“Listen.” Hazel spoke softly, the same way she did when Daddy was full-on drunk. “He made a vow, too. A vow to cherish you and take care of you. He hasn’t honored it for a long time, Mama.” Her chest panged so hard an arrow might have pierced it. She loved Daddy so much, and she understood why he drank himself into a stupor every day. Sometimes it took every bit of self-control she possessed plus a dozen prayers to keep from sneaking away with one of his bottles and finding out how it felt to drink until she forgot what she’d done. “If you came with me, maybe he’d realize how much his drinking hurts you. Maybe he’d find the courage to give it up again. Maybe—”
Mama broke loose and turned away. “I can’t leave him, Hazel Mae. He’d drink himself to death if both of us left him.”
Hazel hung her head. Then again, maybe he’d stop drinking when she went away to college. Maybe looking at her, remembering how she’d taken away his little sunshine, was the deepest reason he drank.
“What’re you gonna study at the college?”
Funny how Mama hadn’t asked before now. She’d known about the scholarship for three months, known Hazel wanted to make use of it. The question came late, but Hazel was ready with an answer.
“Literature, Mama. I’m gonna study books—the way they’re written and what the author meant to say by writing the story. When I’m done, I want to get a job in a library.”
Mama stood silent for so long Hazel wondered if she’d fallen asleep on her feet. Then a little half snort, half laugh sounded. “You and your books. Always was one for gettin’ lost in a story.”
Hazel bit her lower lip. Daddy drank. Mama hid in the house away from folks. And Hazel had her means of escape, too.
Mama slowly turned and angled a curious look at Hazel. “Have you still got those storybooks in your treasure box? Those ones you read over an’ over until you could recite them without looking at the pages?”
Hazel could still recite parts of them. She shook her head.
Mama frowned. “No?” She gazed outward, her brow still furrowed. “Wonder what happened to them. Funny how things can just…disappear.”
Hazel knew Mama wasn’t thinking about books. Longing to speak her sister’s name again swelled up so strong her throat ached. Her breathing came hurried and shallow, and she gasped out, “Mama, I—”
Mama took off for the kitchen, arms swinging, feet moving fast. “You do what you have to do, Hazel Mae. Go ahead and go. I’ll be fine. I’ll be just fine.”
Present Day
Kendrickson, Nevada
“That’s not true.” Hazel cringed, recognizing her untruth. Margaret Diane did disappoint her more often than not. Just as she’d disappointed her own mother. Perhaps she and her daughter were more alike than either of them cared to admit.
She added a tablespoon of coconut oil to the pan and poured batter for three more cakes. She glanced over her shoulder and realized Margaret Diane had taken her first bite of the pancakes. “Are…they all right?”
Margaret Diane chewed the bite and cut another wedge free. She swallowed and raised her fork, syrup dripping from the chunk of pancakes. “Yes, they’re actually really good. Are you sure there’s no animal by-products in here?”
/> Hazel swallowed a chortle. “I’m sure.” She listed the ingredients. “I was surprised to see how they fluffed up. Usually you need an egg to get that kind of lift. But I suppose the baking soda helps.”
“Probably.” She took another bite. “I’ll have to take this recipe home with me. These are better than the recipe I’ve been using. Mine doesn’t call for bananas. Adding more potassium and fiber to my diet is always a good thing.”
Hazel puffed up more than the pancakes. Praise from Margaret Diane was rare, and she wanted to savor it. “I’ll write it all out for you after church.”
Margaret Diane froze with the fork halfway to her mouth. She dropped the fork and turned a scowl on Hazel. “You just can’t let it go, can you?”
Hazel blinked twice, trying to recall what she’d said. “What?”
“Church. I already told you I wasn’t interested in going, but you had to bring it up again.”
“But I—”
Margaret Diane rose and carried the plate to the trash can. She dumped the barely touched pancakes into the bin and then plopped the plate and fork in the sink. “I’ll ask Meghan what she wants to do, but if she decides to sleep in or stay home this morning, I don’t want you putting a guilt trip on her.”
Hazel began to inform her daughter she hadn’t meant to start an argument about church, but she glanced into the skillet. The entire tops of the pancakes were covered with little bubbles. They needed to be turned. She set the lid aside and reached for the spatula.
“And don’t worry about writing out the recipe for me. I can look it up online when I get home.” Margaret Diane departed, and the dachshund menagerie went with her.
Hazel flipped the pancakes, settled the lid in place, and then sank into the chair her daughter had vacated. How had they gone from enjoying a simple conversation to a full-blown war again? Was she destined to be ostracized from Margaret Diane forever? Hazel sighed and rested her forehead in her hand. Maybe she’d stay home from church today, too. Suddenly she felt very tired and very old.
Fourteen
Las Vegas, Nevada
Meghan
Meghan smiled and shook hands with yet another member of Grandma’s church. If the greetings didn’t stop, they might still be here for the next service. But she didn’t mind. The people’s friendliness reminded her of Sean, and they didn’t seem fake at all, the way Mom often described Christians. Of course, Mom based her opinion on Grandma, so it wasn’t exactly an unbiased comparison.
The canned music, piped through speakers positioned in all four corners of the large theater-like sanctuary, came to an end. Grandma gave a start. “Oh, goodness, that’s the cue for the cleaning crew to come in. We’ll be in their way. We’d better go.”
The older couple who’d ambled over near the end of the song laughed. The man winked, his denim-colored eyes twinkling with humor. “The crew is so efficient they’ll sweep us up with any leftover bulletins or gum wrappers.” He gestured to the double doors at the end of the aisle. “Ladies first.”
Meghan moved up the aisle with Grandma, careful not to catch the rubber tips of her crutches on the plush carpet. The couple followed them into the large foyer. Meghan winced against the sunshine flowing through the floor-to-ceiling windows. It seemed doubly bright after the subdued lighting in the sanctuary.
Grandma was blinking, too, and she dabbed her eyes with a Kleenex. “Punk, Rachel, let me introduce you to my granddaughter, Meg—”
“So this is Meghan!” Rachel stepped away from her husband, gripped Meghan’s elbows, and looked her up and down. “I should have known when I saw the cast and crutches. Your grandma told our prayer group about your accident. We’ve been praying for your physical and emotional healing.” The woman’s face pinched with sympathy. “We’re all very grateful your life was spared, but I’m sure you carry some heart wounds over those who weren’t so fortunate.”
Meghan gave a little jolt. Before coming to Nevada, she’d thought about the accident and battled waves of guilt several times day. But since arriving, she’d thought about it only a time or two. Were the prayers of these kindhearted people being answered?
“You are as beautiful as Hazel told us.”
Meghan’s cheeks blazed with heat at the woman’s final comment, and she choked out a self-conscious chuckle. “Well, Grandma’s always been a little biased where I’m concerned, but if I’m good looking at all it’s only because I look like my mom, who looks like Grandma.”
Punk pinched his chin and grinned. “We’ve known Hazel three years now, but we hadn’t known her for more than three minutes before we knew she had a granddaughter.”
“Who works as a police officer.” Rachel squeezed Meghan’s elbow and then let go, returning to curl her fingers around Punk’s arm.
“Actually, I’m an investigative detective.” Meghan had never felt as if her life was threatened in the line of duty. “Police officers have it a lot harder than I do. I pretty much sit at a desk and do research or interview people—nothing too strenuous.”
The elderly pair exchanged a smile. Punk nodded. “Well, I can tell you, Hazel talks incessantly about her granddaughter. She loves you very much.”
Emotion flooded Meghan’s frame. She aimed a watery smile at Grandma. “I love her, too.”
Rachel shifted to face Grandma. “Will you be at book club on Tuesday?” The woman held her husband’s elbow with her linked hands, and he gazed down at her with a fond smile as she spoke. Meghan couldn’t stop a little swell of jealousy at the obvious devotion and affection the pair shared. What would it be like to be part of a relationship like theirs, one that had obviously lasted for decades?
Grandma dabbed her eyes again and pushed the tissue into her purse. “I’m not sure. I read the book, of course, and I enjoyed it. But since Margaret Diane and Meghan are visiting, I probably won’t come.”
“If you decide to skip the meeting, don’t worry. I’ll get next month’s book for you and give it to you at church next Sunday morning.” The woman turned her smile on Meghan. “It was very nice to meet you, young lady. Thank you for coming to Nevada for your recovery time. I know it’s a real treat to Hazel to have you visit for so many weeks.”
They said their goodbyes, and Meghan trailed Grandma through the foyer and out onto the sidewalk past the families arriving for the second service. Stepping from the AC of the large brick-and-glass building to the heat of midmorning was like being captured in a wool blanket.
She blew out a breath that lifted her bangs. “Phew, it’s hot out here. Let’s hurry, huh?” She began a double-step pace that involved swinging herself as far as the crutches reached.
Grandma laughingly panted alongside her. “You’re going to give me heatstroke, Meghan. I can’t move as adeptly as a monkey in the jungle’s tree branches.”
Meghan grinned and returned to her single step. “Sorry, Grandma. And hey, I’m sorry if Mom and I are keeping you from doing your regular stuff. It’ll be okay if you still want to go to your book club and prayer group and whatever else while we’re here.”
“Oh, I enjoy Lit and Latte—”
Meghan aimed a questioning look at her grandmother.
Grandma laughed. “That’s what we call our book club because we meet at a coffee shop to discuss the latest piece of literature. And of course I enjoy meeting with the other prayer warriors. But while you and Margaret Diane are here, I want to focus on the two of you. The other things will keep.”
Grandma unlocked the car. Meghan dropped her crutches into the back seat and then slid into the passenger seat. The cream-colored leather had heated up during the service. Her skin went prickly and began to sweat, and she hissed through her teeth. She leaned forward and set the air-conditioner levers to high even before Grandma started the ignition.
Grandma didn’t speak until they’d left the busy parking lot, aided by men waving sticks and wearing yellow vests, and merged onto the four-lane street. “What did you think of the service? Was it too tame for you?” Sh
e kept a two-hand grip on the steering wheel and sat up, alert and watchful.
Meghan chuckled. “Tame?”
“So many churches are moving from the old hymns to modern choruses, from suited pastors to leaders in jeans and untucked shirts.” Not a hint of criticism colored Grandma’s tone. “I like the early service at the interdenominational church because it still follows the more traditional pattern of worship, but I’m sure you noticed the attendees are mostly white-haired folks like me. The younger crowd comes to the second Sunday service or the one on Saturday evening, what they call contemporary services. Those have a band instead of the choir—something that might appeal to you. We can go to one of the contemporary services next week if you prefer.”
Meghan considered Grandma’s offer. Most of her friends would probably have considered the church service a little dry and unexciting, but she hadn’t minded it. The peaceful atmosphere—with its low lighting, flowing music played on an organ or sung by a choir of at least fifty singers, and whisper of Bible pages being turned—had seeped into her center and invited her to relax more than she’d relaxed in…ages. Although the minister wore a suit and tie, what some might call stuffy and old fashioned, his open face and fervent words had given him an approachable, sincere appearance.
She shook her head. “Your service is fine, Grandma. Let’s just stick with that.”
Grandma’s face lit. “So you want to go with me again next week?”
“Sure.”
She reached across the console and gave Meghan’s arm a squeeze, then gripped the steering wheel again. “Thank you. When you were still a little-bitty thing, you, your mother, and I went to church every Sunday together. It was my favorite part of the week because it was time set apart to worship the Lord and to be with my girls.”
Meghan cringed. “I honestly don’t remember going to church except during the summer when I came to see you. Well, I take that back. When I was younger, maybe grade-school age, Mom and I went at Christmas. And sometimes at Easter.” At Christmas, she was given a brown bag filled with candy and fruit, and at Easter she received a chocolate egg. Beyond that, she couldn’t recall much about the services. For some reason, the thought saddened her.
Bringing Maggie Home Page 11
