Francine Rivers - Her Daughter’s Dream

“And what about you?” Oma asked Dawn. “What’s going on in your life?”

“Not much.” Dawn shrugged. “Other than I have a massive crush on a gorgeous guy I met at a youth group.” She couldn’t believe she had blurted out that bit of news. Oma was practically a stranger.

“And you left him all alone to come down here and visit an old lady? I’m flattered.”

“Unfortunately, Jason barely knows I exist.”

Dawn collected the empty plates and put them in the sink. “Would you mind if I sat outside on your patio? It’s so pretty out there, and I love your swing.”

Oma waved her hand. “Make yourself to home.”

Dawn stretched out on the swing, one foot on the patio to push off. She gazed dreamily through the red, orange, and golden blossoms of the Joseph’s Coat above her. She hadn’t known what to expect, but she liked it here. Granny said Oma could be unapproachable and rather cold, a woman who expected perfection, but so far, Dawn hadn’t gotten that feeling. Maybe age had mellowed Oma. If her great-grandmother had always expected perfection, why would she and Mom be such bosom buddies? Mom had broken moral laws and Granny’s heart right along with them.

With the kitchen window cracked open, Dawn could hear Mom and Oma talking inside the house. Though words were indistinct, the constant babble and frequent laughter told her clearly how well they got along, how much they loved each other.

It had always been that way. Granny said they had a private club with only two members and it was no use trying to break in. But Oma had welcomed Dawn today. She had seemed genuinely glad to have her come down for the week. Dawn hadn’t really expected that.

The back door opened and Oma came outside. “Mind if we join you?”

Dawn grinned at her. “As long as I don’t have to give up the swing.”

“You stay put. I have to move the sprinkler.” She went out and pulled on the hose.

Mom came outside, carrying two frosty glasses of lemonade. She set one on the side table near the swing. “I thought you might like a refill.” She sat in one of the white wicker chairs. “It’s hot out here, isn’t it? Like a sauna.”

Oma dragged the hose, the sprinkler flipping over and over. “So what do you think, Dawn?” She snapped the hose and the sprinkler righted itself. She headed back for the covered patio.

“About what?”

Oma settled into the other wicker chair. “Being down here with your mom.”

“I’m glad I came.”

“Good.” Oma put her head back and let out her breath. Her mouth curved into a Mona Lisa smile.

The three of them sat in the family room that evening and watched Jeopardy! Oma knew every question in every category before the contestants. Amazed, Dawn asked if she’d ever tried to go on the show. “You’d make a fortune, Oma!”

“Might have made sense thirty years ago when I needed the money, but I have more than I need now. What would I do with a fortune other than leave it to my kids and ruin their lives? And don’t give me that cheeky grin. It’d be even worse giving it to grandchildren or great-grandchildren. Take away all your incentive to make something of your life. It’s the hard days of scrambling for enough that you’ll look back on with fondness when you’re a dinosaur like me.”

“Granny says every parent wants to make things easier on their children.”

Oma turned the volume down with the remote while a commercial played. “Making things easier on your children is sometimes the worst thing you can do. Of course, sometimes it’s easier for you. But what does it do in the long term?” She put the remote aside. “Take your granny as an example. She was a sickly baby. If I’d kept on coddling her, she’d have grown up weak. But she’s strong. She developed dreams of her own and went after them.”

Dawn winced. “I forgot. She said to say hi to you.”

Oma grunted. “Next time you talk to her, tell her I’d rather have a call from her than a relayed message.”

Mom patted Oma’s hand and kissed her cheek before getting up. “I’m going to bed.”

“Sleep as long as you want, Carolyn. You’re on vacation.”

Mom wished Dawn a good night and went up the steps into the kitchen. Oma moved to give Dawn more room on the sofa. “Since this is your bedroom, you let me know when you want it all to yourself.”

“How late do you usually stay up?”

“Depends on what’s on television. Not much these days. I usually end up reading in the living room, but I’m between books right now.”

Glancing toward the back wall, Dawn gave a quiet laugh. “You must love reading.”

“Did you find anything to interest you?”

“I have to read Ivanhoe next year in English.”

“Have to?” Oma got up and pulled the book from the shelf. “It wouldn’t be a classic if it hadn’t won the respect and hearts of generations.” She dropped it on Dawn’s lap. “Read fifty pages. If you’re not hooked, put it back. If you enjoy it, take it home as my gift.”

They watched a mystery in companionable silence. When it ended at ten, Oma flipped through channels, giving terse critiques. “Rerun. Stupid. Copy of a better show. Trash. More trash. I give up!” She shut off the television and put the remote on the cabinet. At home, if nothing caught Dawn’s interest, she could always load a favorite video. Oma didn’t have a VCR, let alone a library of movies.

Oma struggled to her feet and headed for the kitchen steps. “How about some hot chocolate? Now that it’s cooled off, we can sit outside and enjoy the stars.”

Dawn sat in a wicker chair, fascinated as her great-grandmother pointed out stars and constellations and told the mythological stories that went with them.

“How do you know all this, Oma?”

“I’m interested. I have Bulfinch’s Mythology in my library if Ivanhoe doesn’t catch your attention.” She waved her hand. “There’s a whole universe of things to learn.” Crickets chirped love songs while Dawn sipped cocoa and listened to Oma until she wound down and sighed.

“You made your mother very happy by coming down here.”

“I had to beg her to bring me,” Dawn admitted. “She prefers Christopher’s company.”

“Christopher never said, ‘I hate you. I wish you were dead so I could go home and live with Granny.’”

“What?” Dawn spoke weakly.

“Oh, it was a long time ago. You’d just moved to Alexander Valley. Your mother said she understood. After all, you’d spent more time with your grandmother than you had with her. And your grandmother had built her life around you.”

Dawn didn’t hear any condemnation in Oma’s voice, but felt close to tears anyway. She hadn’t thought about that in a long, long time. She remembered feeling ashamed. She remembered wanting to apologize. She remembered her mother telling her if she wanted to talk, she could call Granny. She hadn’t told Granny what she had said. She’d been too ashamed to admit it. “Sometimes people say things they don’t really mean.”

“You meant it at the time.” Oma reached out and patted her hand. “I’ve said things I regret, too, my dear. We all do.”

“Granny’s always loved me.”

“So has your mother.”

Dawn wanted to believe it. “Not like Granny does.”

“And why would that be, do you suppose?”

Why not be frank? Maybe she’d get the truth from Oma. No one else wanted to talk about the past. “Because I wasn’t planned, I guess. I was a mistake in a long line of mistakes she made.”

“When has she ever said that to you?”

“She never says much of anything to me.”

“Your mother doesn’t say much of anything to anyone, other than Mitch.”