Donna Clayton - Her Dream Come True

Keeping her steps as light as possible, Hannah crept down the stairs. She heard her sister moving about in the kitchen. And then Tammy began to sing. The angelic sound filled Hannah with warmth, and she stopped in the middle of the living room to listen. She recognized the tune as an age-old religious hymn.

“Amazing grace, how sweet the sound ...”

A loving smile tugged at the corners of Hannah’s mouth. Indecision fought a quick battle inside her—she wanted to interrupt, yet at the same time she wanted to remain where she was and listen to the beautiful song. After only a fraction of a moment, Hannah’s eagerness to meet her sister prevailed.

“Tammy?” she said softly, taking a tentative step across the threshold of the kitchen doorway.

The young woman spun around from where she stood at the sink, her gem-green eyes never losing a single measure of their merry twinkle at the sight of this stranger.

“Hi,” Tammy said, her tone expressing not fear at all but a marvelous and pleasant surprise.

Hannah’s breath caught in her throat. Her sister was lovely. No, she was absolutely beautiful. There was something...unearthly, almost ethereal, about the young woman.

Waves and waves of liquid gold trailed over Tammy’s shoulders and down her back. She hadn’t inherited the coppery-colored hair that Hannah had, hers shone a bright flaxen and was thick as could be. As Hannah looked closer, she guessed the ethereal quality she’d first noticed had to do with the innocence she saw in her sister’s gaze. A purity of heart, a guilelessness that was clearly evident at first glance.

“Hello,” Hannah said, her voice trembling with deep emotion. Memories of holding Tammy as a baby came to her... the only memories she had of her sister.

“I went fishing.”

Hannah nodded. “I know. I read your note.”

“Oh,” Tammy said. “I caught lots of trout. Enough for dinner.” Her face took on a dreamy expression. “Trout is my one weakness.”

Her face brightened as though an idea flashed in her head like a lightbulb.

“I even caught enough so that Mrs. Blake could have some for her dinner.” She grinned. “She thanked me for bringing them to her. It’s a long walk to her house.”

Tammy was so pleased with the notion of her good deed that Hannah had to chuckle.

“It was awfully nice of you to share,” she said.

Suddenly Tammy’s forehead crinkled with a frown. “Mrs. Blake is blind”

Feeling the need to commiserate, Hannah commented, “Aw, that’s a real shame.”

The young woman stuck her index finger up in warning. “But don’t go helping her too much. ’Cause she’ll snap your head off.” Then she nodded, knowingly. “Mrs. Blake is very independent. It’s best to wait until she asks you to do something for her.”

At a loss for how she should respond, Hannah simply said, “I see ... I’ll keep that in mind.”

Suddenly Hannah realized that Tammy hadn’t seemed the least bit interested in her identity. Like finding a stranger in the house was no big deal. That worried Hannah. Terribly. Apparently her sister lacked the all important protective instinct that was meant to keep her safe.

“Tammy,” she said softly, “do you know who I am?”

A quirky smile was the young woman’s first reaction.

“Silly,” Tammy said. “How can I know you when we just met?” Without waiting for a reply, she commented, “I’m hungry. Are you hungry?”

“But aren’t you concerned,” Hannah went on, “coming home to find a stranger in your house?”

Tammy shrugged. “You cleaned up really good. The kitchen looks wonderful.” Wrinkling her nose, she admitted, “I hate to clean.” Her smile returned. “I figured I should be nice.”

Hannah found this the most puerile thinking. Quietly she asked, “How do you know I was the one who cleaned the kitchen?”

Her sister’s innocent green eyes blinked. After a long moment she asked, “You did, didn’t you?”

Frustration welled up in Hannah. “Well...yes, but that’s not the point. You should be careful. How did you know I wasn’t going to hurt you? Or steal from you? Or something?”

“Oh, I knew,” Tammy assured her. Then she glanced over her shoulder where the fish fillets lay on the counter by the sink. “Are you hungry? I’m really hungry.”

“Okay, okay,” Hannah said. “You sit down and I’ll cook the fish.”

She shooed Tammy away from the counter and looked down at the snowy-white fillets. Working in the hospital fifty to sixty hours a week didn’t leave much time for cooking, but how hard could it be to—

“I like baked beans with my fried trout,” Tammy said from her seat at the table.

“You mean like pork and beans? From a can?”

Tammy nodded, pointing to the cabinet next to the stove. Hannah pulled the door open, and sure enough, she found rows of canned vegetables. She extracted one can of beans.

“And you like your fish fried?”

“Yes,” she said. Then she wistfully added, “Trout is my one weakness.”

Hannah couldn’t stop the smile that stole across her lips. “I know,” she said softly. “You told me.”

After she found flour and salt and pepper for the fish, and a can opener for the beans, Hannah set to work. She wondered how she could explain to Tammy who she was and why she’d come. Easing into the issue seemed like the best solution.

“You know, Tammy,” she began, “I’ve come from New York City to see you.”

“I’ve never been to New York City before. Where is that, anyway? Is it far from here?”

“Oh, it’s pretty far,” she said. “It’s a few hours’ drive from here.”

“Oh.”

While the iron skillet heated up, she dusted the trout with flour and seasoned it with salt and pepper. Once the butter began to sizzle, Hannah placed the fish in the pan.

“I’m Hannah,” she finally disclosed. “Your big sister. Did you know you have a sister?”

Holding her flour-coated fingers well away from her dress, she looked at Tammy to see the young woman’s reaction to the news. However, it was like her sister hadn’t even heard a word she’d said. She was too focused on the food Hannah was preparing.

“Are you gonna doctor up the beans?” Tammy shyly asked.

Hannah watched as a worried frown planted itself in her sister’s brow.

“Doctor them up?” Hannah didn’t quite understand.

“With some brown sugar and a tiny dollop of yellow mustard,” Tammy suggested. “And a little molasses wouldn’t hurt.”

“I can do that,” Hannah said, wiping her fingers on a tea towel. She opened cabinet doors, searching for ingredients.

Apparently Tammy felt a little more relaxed about the food preparation, because she boldly commented, “You can’t be Hannah. My sister’s just a little girl. She’s six.”

“Well...” Hannah grew silent, paused for a second. “I’m an adult now. I’m thirty years old.”

Tammy’s expression clearly conveyed that she thought that piece of information was proof to back up her own argument, not Hannah’s.

“I have Hannah. I can show you.”

“What do you mean you have Han—”

Before she was able to complete her question, Tammy had raced off into the living room and her footsteps could be heard on the stairs.

How was she going to explain? Hannah wondered. How do you illustrate the concept of growing up to someone who had the mentality of a young child?

Going to the refrigerator, Hannah bent over and perused the contents, looking for a jar of mustard.

“Oh, oh, oh.”

The panic in Tammy’s voice as she rushed back into the kitchen had Hannah twisting around from the refrigerator. The thick black smoke billowing from the skillet on the burner made her eyes widen in alarm.