Francine Rivers - Her Daughter’s Dream

The rain pounded harder, like fists on the roof. “Oma loved me, Mom.”

“Yes. And you loved her. Exclusively. You never came to me. You always went to Oma. That’s why I told her to go home.”

“So I wouldn’t have anyone?”

Mom looked crushed. “You were my little girl, not Oma’s.”

Carolyn’s fingers curled around the seat cushion. She remembered Dad shaking her and telling her to stop crying or else. “I felt so alone.”

“You had me .”

When had that ever been true? “No. I didn’t.”

“Yes, you did!”

Carolyn refused to let it pass this time. “We moved out to the new property! You and Dad worked all the time on the house and gardens.”

“Not all the time.”

“You told me to stay out from underfoot, to go off somewhere and play. I’d wait for Charlie, but when he got home from school, he always grabbed his bicycle and took off.”

“You were right there with me. You picked flowers. You made mud cookies. You flattened down a little private place in the mustard flowers where you played with your rag doll.”

That wasn’t the way Carolyn remembered it. She didn’t want to tell Mom what she did remember. “I think I’ll go to bed.” She got up.

“Carolyn. Please. Can’t we talk about this a little more? I didn’t know you-”

“I’ll see you in the morning.”

“It’ll be cold downstairs.” Mom tried to push herself out of the chair. “I haven’t opened the heating vent to the downstairs yet. It’ll take half an hour to warm up the apartment.”

“Save the energy. I’ll be under the covers anyway.”

Carolyn struggled into her jacket at the back door. She had to get out of the house, away from her mother, away from the past that shoved its way up like a demon coming from Hades.

The cold hit Carolyn in the face. Rain pelted her. She held the rail as she hurried downstairs. The screen door stuck. She yanked twice before it creaked open. She flicked the light switch and stood in the sitting room, heart pounding. A whoosh of cold air hit her. It warmed quickly. Mom had opened the vent. Wrapping her arms around herself, Carolyn turned her face into it.

She heard muted voices. Dawn must have awakened. Carolyn thought about going upstairs again, but that might put a damper on their conversation. Mom and Dawn had always been able to talk. Carolyn knew there was more to Dawn’s cross-country trip than she’d said. She didn’t look well at all. Maybe she’d tell her grandmother what she couldn’t tell her mother.

Carolyn turned on the electric blanket before going into the bathroom. She brushed her teeth, then sat on the side of the bed, brushed and braided her hair. Changing quickly into her pajamas, she pulled on a pair of Mitch’s athletic socks and slipped quickly between the warming sheets. Shivering violently, she snuggled down deep into the covers, waiting for the warmth to soak in, while above her, Mom and Dawn went on talking.

Carolyn felt her throat close. Hadn’t it always been this way? How could it be any other way when her daughter had spent the first six years of her life completely dependent on Mom? Carolyn didn’t want to be bitter. She owed Mom gratitude for taking care of Dawn. If not her mother, it would have been some indifferent babysitter earning minimum wage in an overcrowded day care center.

Footsteps crossed the room above her-two pairs this time, one toward the master bedroom, the other toward the refurbished front bedroom. After that, she listened to the storm rattle the windows.

Closing her eyes, Carolyn listened to the surf and wind and rain. She dreamed she was a child again, walking in a forest of mustard flowers. Bees hummed around her, but she wasn’t frightened of them. She came to a barbed-wire fence and climbed through. Her dress caught and tore. She stood behind a white house watching a man in overalls walk among two rows of white boxes on wooden pedestals. He removed a lid, setting it aside, and then carefully and slowly lifted out a wooden frame filled in with honeycomb. Breaking off a piece, he turned and smiled at her. “Come on over, honeybee. I won’t hurt you.”

Carolyn awakened abruptly, heart pounding. It took a few minutes for the dream to recede. Shivering, she turned the electric blanket to ten and pulled the covers over her head.

Dawn awakened when the Black Forest cuckoo clock struck three. She curled onto her side, listening to the rain coming down like the cadence of a marching band. She and Granny had talked after Mom went to bed. Granny wanted to know about Jason, and she wondered what Dawn had done with her latest house. Dawn wanted to talk about Granny’s future. After some resistance, Granny gave in.

“You know your mother wanted me to move right after Papa died. It was just too soon to make any changes. And I’ve been fine here by myself.” She let out her breath. “At least until this past year.”

“What happened?”

“Last winter the power went out for five days. If your mom could’ve gotten out here, I would’ve started packing. As soon as the weather improved, your mom and Mitch went to all the trouble of putting in that generator. They had to hire a lawyer. Heaven knows how much they spent on the whole project. It wouldn’t have been much of a thank-you if I’d said ‘Oh, by the way, I’m ready to move now.’ And besides, it can be very nice out here most of the year.”

Dawn grinned. “And you always said Oma was stubborn.”

Granny put her head back. “I didn’t think I was being stubborn. But I guess that’s how it looked. Then after my fall a few months back, your mother brought up the idea again.”

“But you’re ready to move now. Aren’t you?”

“As ready as I’m ever going to be.” Granny glowered. “But I want a place of my own, not a room in some senior care facility.”

“You don’t want to live with anyone, Granny?”

“I don’t want to live with strangers .”

Dawn caught something in Granny’s tone that gave her hope. “What about moving in with Mom and Mitch?”

Granny gave a derisive laugh. “That’s not going to happen.”

“Why not?”

“It just won’t, that’s all. And don’t go asking your mother about it. You’ll just put her in an awkward position.” Granny had changed the subject after that.

Sleepless, Dawn pulled the covers over her shoulders and snuggled down into the flannel sheets. Lord, they never really talk to each other, do they? They love each other, but they don’t see love is shared.

Dawn ran her hand over her belly. Her daughter would be arriving soon. She wanted it to be a time of joy, a chance to come together and celebrate. Dawn didn’t want them at odds with one another, seeing one another through past hurts. The stakes were too high for that now.

Love one another, You said, Lord. Help me show them how.

Hildie awakened early. The house creaked like a ship adrift in rough seas; the rain still pounded. She had a flashlight on her side table and pointed it at her clock. Six fifteen. Trip had always been first up and started the coffee. Oh, how she missed that man! Trip had been the only man she ever loved.

If she wasn’t careful, she could sink into despair over her losses. She still missed her son, Charlie. She missed Carolyn, too, aching for what might have been. It was too late now. And she would never stop missing Mama-or wishing they had somehow made peace before the end. Dawn had been the light that pulled her up out of the darkness after Charlie was killed and Carolyn came home like a starving waif. Feeling needed, Hildie stepped in, wanting to help. Dawn had been God’s blessing.

Hildie pushed the covers off, tucked her feet into her fuzzy slippers, pulled on her robe, and went into the bathroom. When she finished her morning ablutions, she turned on the lamp in the living room and went into the kitchen to set up the coffeemaker, decaf.