by Lynne Gentry
But the memory Leona treasured the most, the one she played in her mind again and again, was the tiny moment while she, Maddie, and Saul were standing at the back of Mt. Hope Community Church waiting for the ceremony to begin. Saul was making sure they had everything they needed before he was going to take his seat. Leona was adjusting Maddie’s veil when Maddie turned to her and said, “I wish Daddy was here, Momma.”
The lump had been in her throat all day, but at that moment it was all she could do to say, “So do I, sweetheart. He would be so proud.”
“I know.” Maddie blinked back tears. “But he’s not here. And I know Daddy would want us to live.” She’d turned to Saul and offered her hand. “Will you stand in for my daddy?”
It was the happiest moment of Leona’s life as all three of them walked the aisle together.
An especially jarring bump shook Leona out of her reverie. After two hours of hanging on for dear life as their jeep struggled with the climb and the hairpin turns, they finally sputtered past a few ramshackle houses built out of anything the poverty-stricken residents could scavenge.
David brought them to a stop at a small, cinder block structure where several people patiently waited in a line that stretched out the door. Some held children who were obviously not feeling well. Others had leg or arm injuries. And one supported the elbow of an elderly woman.
Leona smoothed her hair. “Is this the hospital?”
“Only one way to find out.” David crawled out, took Jamie from her lap, and offered her assistance as she unfolded herself from the back seat.
They walked into a well-lit room that had one exam table and smelled of disinfectant. Maddie was wrapping a bandage around a child’s leg while Isabella was busy coloring at the little table and chairs Leona had shipped last Christmas. Maddie’s swollen stomach stretched her scrubs to their limits. She was tired and hot, but her face glowed with contentment.
“Nana!” Isabella, a beautiful three-year-old with shiny black curls, leapt from her seat and bounced across the room. “It’s Nana and Papa!” She flew into Leona’s arms.
Maddie looked up from her patient. “Momma? What are y’all doing here?”
“I’ve never missed an important moment in your life and I don’t intend to start now.” Leona kissed and hugged Isabella. “Besides, I need to see my beautiful granddaughter.”
“You need to share.” Saul held out his arms and Isabella lunged for him.
The family spent the rest of the afternoon doing what they could to help Maddie. They knew she wouldn’t leave until every patient had been tended. Watching her daughter work filled Leona with wonder and an intense sense of accomplishment.
“You’re good at this, Maddie.” Leona kissed her cheek. “Are you glad you took the risk?”
“Absolutely.” In the flash of Maddie’s smile, Leona saw remnants of J.D. Instead of making her cry, it thrilled her to know his legacy had been multiplied a hundred times over.
By the time they’d finished at the clinic, Parker had returned from a day of releasing the first clean water into the village well.
It was a night of celebrating, laughter, and pure joy. Leona loved seeing how happy Maddie and Parker were and how perfectly their little family of three fit together. After David and Amy retired to put the kids down, Parker took Saul on a tour of his innovative water project.
Leona and Maddie stood side by side washing the dishes, just as they had so many times at the parsonage kitchen sink. “I’m writing a big check and I want you to build whatever you need to improve the health conditions of these people.”
“Momma, you don’t have to do that.”
“I want to.” Wishing she’d done it sooner so Maddie would have a first-rate facility to deliver her baby, Leona handed Maddie a rinsed plate. “Getting nervous about the delivery?”
“Not really. Women here do it all the time without much help.”
“Then why so quiet?”
“What if screw up my kids?”
“You will,” Leona laughed. “That’s a given.”
Maddie elbowed her. “Thanks for the vote of confidence, Momma.”
“Isabella is thriving. I don’t think you have to worry, but just in case, let me tell you a secret.” Leona dried her hands and took Maddie’s hands in hers. “You and David were both born so perfect. I spent years trying not to mess you up. And yet, I did.”
Tears slid down Maddie’s cheeks. “If I can do half as good a job as you did raising us, Momma, my children will be blessed.”
“Hopefully you’ll do a better job than I did of letting go.”
“I’ll always be your baby, Momma. Promise you’ll never let me go.”
“Never.” Leona wrapped her arms around her daughter and released the flood pent up in her as well.
These were not sad tears. These were tears of victory. They’d all been through so much and had come so far since J.D. died. None of them had wanted things to change...but they had...especially each one of them.
She’d become very comfortable and confident walking in her working shoes. David had found his own stride in filling his father’s shoes. And Maddie had exchanged her designer heels for hiking boots and baby shoes the transformation suited her perfectly.
The Harper family may have walked through the same valley in different shoes, but they’d never walked alone.
The End for the Harpers...or is it?
Aren’t the people of Mt. Hope fun? If you’ve just discovered the series via BABY SHOES, you’ll be happy to know that you can get your hands on the three preceding books.
Here’s your opportunity to catch up. Start with WALKING SHOES.
Did you enjoy BABY SHOES? YOU can make a BIG difference.
Reviews are the most powerful tools in my arsenal when it comes to getting attention for my books. When loyal readers share their enthusiasm and their reviews, it is secret gold to a book’s ranking. I’m very grateful every time a reader tells their friends about this series and leaves a review. I’m grateful for you, dear reader.
About the Author
Lynne Gentry knew marrying a pastor might change her plans. She didn’t know how ministry would change her life. An author of numerous novels, short stories, and dramatic works, Lynne travels the country as a professional acting coach and inspirational speaker. Because Lynne’s imagination loves to run wild, she also writes in the fantasy/science fiction genre of time travel. You can come along on the adventures she takes into historical worlds at www.lynnegentry.com. She lives in Dallas with her husband and medical therapy dog. She counts spending time with her two grown children and their families her greatest joy.
Let’s connect on FaceBook @AuthorLynneGentry or via my website, www.lynnegentry.com, so you’ll always be the first to know about new releases.
Thanks for joining the Harper family on this leg of their Mt. Hope Adventure.
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INTRODUCING MY NEW SERIES
If you loved the folks in Mt. Hope, then you’ll want to grab the first book in my newest WOMEN OF FOSSIL RIDGE series and slip away to the Texas Hill Country. These books explore the real-life struggles families can face as parents age. The Slocum women are tough, funny, and stubborn. You’ll laugh, cry, and root for everyone in this emotionally packed, inter-generational tale.
FLYING FOSSILS
Twenty-five years ago, the Slocum women buried their mother-daughter relationship in the Frio river and went their separate ways. Sara and Charlotte manage to pretend their weekly long-distance calls are the extent of their obligation to each other until another lapse in Sara’s judgment causes her to break her hip. Now Charlotte must drop everything and fly to Texas. Charlotte’s short-term caregiving plans are dashed when she realizes her aging mother needs long-term care
. While Sara struggles to regain her independence, Charlotte grapples with the impossible task of juggling a slightly demented mother, a high-pressure job, and a rebellious teenager daughter.
But unless these two women can release the fossilized secret sandwiched between them, the next generation will never fly.
The Women of Fossil Ridge Series is a touching addition to the small town, generational series of favorite authors like Ann B. Ross, Jan Karon, and Beth Hoffman.
SNEAK PEEK OF FLYING FOSSILS:
Chapter 1
Sara: An Independent Mother
As usual, you’re being overly dramatic, Charlotte Ann.” I hug the phone receiver between my ear and shoulder, stretch the cord across the kitchen, then snag a butcher knife from the wooden block. “Putting a few dents in a lawnmower is hardly a reason for me to give up my ranch.”
“Mother, you totaled a two-thousand-dollar riding mower!” My daughter’s anger crackles on the line. “What if you’d been hurt?”
Contrary to Charlotte’s insinuations, I’m not some fragile, rusty weathervane easily spun by the changing winds that sweep through these Texas Hill Country valleys. As per the invariant order of things, my feet have become deeply rooted in the rocky soil. I’m attached to this land tighter than the fossils that cling to the banks of the Frio River.
For forty-two years, I’ve been the mother. Charlotte the child. Simple laws govern our parent-child relationship. I’ll admit, there are rules that allow for an orderly transition of power, if that sad time should ever come. But, I’ll not be pushed into speeding things along simply because it suits Charlotte.
Trading roles with my daughter now would be like winter unexpectedly giving way to fall. Buds waiting to bloom would shrivel and die. There’d be no crops to harvest. Birds would never head north. Nothing would ever be right again. I know, because twenty-three years ago I was forced to go against the expected order of life. It was a tragedy that has ruined everything.
“Mother, did you hear me?” Somewhere in Charlotte’s aggravation, I hear the little girl I used to know, the one who sat beside me on the piano bench...frustrated that she was having difficulty mastering Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star...worried that she never would.
I shift the receiver and whack a Bartlett pear into tiny pieces. “Don’t worry, I’ll pay you back.”
“You know this is not about the money!” Charlotte barks.
“Then why did you bring it up?” I ignore my daughter’s huge sigh and slide a piece of fruit through the bars of my ringneck parrot’s cage. “Here you go, Polygon.”
My bird waddles his perch shouting, “God save the Queen.”
“Loyal and smart.” I say as I wiggle the pear enticingly. “You need more roughage in your diet, my feathered friend. Can’t have you getting backed up again.”
“Mother, could you please stop talking to that blasted bird and finish our conversation?”
Polygon hops off his perch, wraps his claws around my arthritic knuckle, and begins to peck at the fruit. Touch is the sensation of touch I miss more than conversation. Which is strange, considering the complaints I lodged with Martin when I felt worn out by the constant pawing of third graders. Guess that goes to show how easy it is to take something for granted until it’s gone.
I release the fruit and Polygon waddles toward his seed dish with a full mouth. “At least my bird listens.”
Charlotte sighs. “I bought the riding mower to help you. The doctor said the strain of pushing a mower over that huge yard is putting your heart at risk.” Her continued exasperation rattles me more than her exaggeration. “Obviously, power equipment isn’t the answer.”
“Anyone could’ve confused all those fancy pedals.”
“You’re seventy-two, Mother.” She always manages to cite my age before overstepping the boundaries we’ve set in place. “There’s no shame in admitting that you can no longer keep up with three hundred acres of rugged hill country.”
I wipe the window with the sleeve of my robe and gaze at the pasture dotted with patches of this spring’s fading bluebonnets. “No one was hurt.”
“This time.” The strain in her voice is as irritating as a mandatory fire drill.
“You want me to let the place grow up around my ears?”
“Of course not.” She sighs to emphasize the stress I’m obviously adding to her very busy day. “But since you refuse to consider a move, I have to hire you some help.”
I bite my tongue. Silence won’t end this conversation with Charlotte, but it won’t hurt her to believe it’s the only defense I have left.
“I’m worried about you, Mother.”
Charlotte’s deep inhalation is my cue to take a seat because the recounting of my shortcomings that she feels honor bound to recite has grown into a rather long list. “In the last six months, you’ve flushed your dentures down the toilet.”
“Just the lowers.”
“You got lost on the way to town.”
“Winnie found me and hauled me back home.” I add, “Long before dark.”
“I hate to think what would have happened if you hadn’t run out of gas along her mail route.”
Overstated dramatics always harden my resolve. Ask any child who was unlucky enough to have me as their teacher. “No law against trying a change of scenery.”
“You don’t like change, Mother,” my daughter snips. “That’s why we can’t seem to have an honest and productive conversation about your future.”
I sink into the chair and rest my elbow on the table. “Just because you think the old gray mare ain’t what she used to be...” I cringe at that I’ve resorted to using slang. “...that doesn’t mean I want to leave my home of forty-five years and move to Washington, D.C., Charlotte Ann.”
Surely it wasn’t that many years ago that Martin and I ignored a weathered No Trespassing sign, climbed an old, barbed-wire fence, shed our clothes, and jumped from a thirty-foot bluff with the abandon of two people with more nerve than sense. The moment our naked bodies slid into the crystal-clear water, we knew the Fossil Ridge Ranch was meant to be our little piece of heaven.
I’ve loved and lost on this land. I can’t bear to leave any of it.
“I know this is hard,” Charlotte whispers.
“How could you know? You only come home once a year.”
“Mother, that’s not true. I’ve flown to Texas four times since Thanksgiving. And if you don’t start cooperating, I’m going to have to come home in April as well.”
Without following the school calendar dates scramble in my head. “Four times?”
“Yes,” she says. “I have a job, a teenager, and a marriage I’m trying to keep together. I can’t keep dropping everything to...”
Her pause is my cue to say something that will soothe her conscience, to grant a pass that lets her off the hook. That’s been our unspoken agreement for twenty-some years. I don’t get a pass. She doesn’t get a pass. That way neither one of us has to forgive the other. Slocums are like that. Charlotte may have taken on that fancy McCandless surname when she married a good-for-nothing playboy, but roots deep as ours are tougher than weeds to yank out.
Charlotte’s quiet. But I can hear her ripping the tiny gold treble clef back and forth on the thin silver chain around her neck. She’s gearing up to issue my ultimatum. I suppose I should take some consolation in the fact that she still wears the little trinket I gave her years ago. Perhaps we’re not completely lost to each other.
“If you want to stay on the Fossil Ridge, then you’ll have to give this new guy a chance.”
“He’s already mowed over the bluebonnets in my front yard. They’re beautiful this year, but he cut them down before they could seed. Next thing you know, he’ll be toppin’ my myrtles.”
“I’ll text him to be more careful. Please, for my peace of mind, can you just give this new guy a try?” Charlotte’s breathing is becoming more rapid. Any minute she’ll blow, unable to leave well enough alone. “That’s all I ask.”
/>
“That’s all?” Anger pumps through my veins and I spring from the chair, a taut rubber band aimed at the class bully. “If you call stripping my independence guarding my heart, Charlotte Ann, I’ll take my chances with high cholesterol and a push mower.”
I hang up the phone with a decisive slam and march to the counter. Sticky juice oozes from what remains of the mutilated mound of fruit.
Whatever happened to family taking care of family? My neighbor LaVera’s grown son takes care of her. Bo isn’t pressuring his mother to leave her place, nor does he pawn off his responsibilities on hired help.
I swallow a bite of the vanilla-sweet flesh then poke a sliver through the bars of the birdcage. “Charlotte won’t be satisfied until I sign over complete control of my life.”
My bird abandons his preening and snatches his breakfast with his bright red beak.
“Sweet Moses,” I snap. “Say something, Polygon!”
I know better than to encourage this feathered chatterbox to speak with his mouth full, but this traitorous deed by Charlotte has me in such a stew I’m willing to risk the undoing of my bird’s etiquette training.
For once, Polygon behaves and remains silent. Although pleased the hours I’ve invested in my parrot’s behavior has finally begun to pay off, I admit that at this very moment a word of encouragement, even a feathery nod would be a comfort. How many years has it been since I’ve had someone in my corner?
More than I care to count.
The screaming kettle gyrates above the gas flame. “We’ll show Charlotte who can still take care of themselves, won’t we, Polygon?”
I pour boiling water over a twice-used tea bag then wait for the water to brown. It’s maddening that my life has come to recycling tea bags. Martin and I had planned to spend our golden years spoiling a passel of grandchildren. I shuffle to the fridge. My gnarled finger traces the photograph that curls beneath the World’s Best Teacher magnet stuck to the door.
