Francine Rivers - Her Daughter’s Dream

“Not surprising.” Carolyn took a piece and buttered it. “The whole church is praying for him. So are we.” Carolyn noticed Dawn grimace. “Are you having contractions?”

Dawn rubbed her sides. “She’s running out of room in there.”

Carolyn folded her hands and watched her daughter closely. “You’re sure the baby is a girl?”

“She would’ve had a sonogram, Carolyn. Of course, she knows.”

“I knew long before that, Granny. I had a dream about her. She was running and playing along the edge of the surf at Goat Rock Beach.” She smiled at Carolyn. “And you and Granny were sitting together on the sand, talking like good friends.”

A nice dream. Carolyn cleared dishes. She scraped Dawn’s cold scrambled eggs into the garbage while imagining talking with her mother like that. When had there ever been a time when she hadn’t needed to be careful about every word she said?

Her mother set the pile of papers and box on the table. “Let’s see what we’ve got here.” While Carolyn washed dishes, her mother and Dawn sat at the table, going through papers. “Deed to the house, car and life insurance policies, Social Security cards, wedding and death certificates, living trust, burial arrangements, list of bank accounts…” She fanned the papers, pausing over one. “Oma’s naturalization papers. I forgot I had them. She was so proud when she passed the test.”

Mom set the certificate aside. “Oma said we were the real American citizens. Those born to it didn’t appreciate it. She made us all study as if we had to take the test too, to earn the right to call ourselves Americans. She thought that until Trip went to war and then Charlie…” She picked up an envelope yellowed by age. “The letter from Charlie’s commanding officer…” She held it for a moment and set it aside unopened.

Carolyn dried her hands and picked it up. While her mom opened the box filled with smaller boxes, Carolyn opened the letter and read.

… offer my heartfelt condolences on the death of your son… excellent young man… well-respected by everyone who served with him… could always count on him… brave… a pleasure to know him… will never forget…

Mom lifted out a black velvet box and snapped it open. “Papa gave me these pearls on our twenty-fifth wedding anniversary.” She took them out and handed them to Dawn.

“They’re beautiful.”

“You keep them.”

“I can’t, Granny. They should go to Mom.”

Carolyn folded the letter back into the yellowed envelope and put it on the table. “Granny wants you to have the pearls.”

“You and Mitch gave me pearls for my sixteenth birthday. Remember?”

Carolyn’s mother looked hurt. “I’m not slighting your mother, Dawn. Mitch gave her better pearls than these for Christmas two years ago and a bracelet and earrings to go with them.”

Dawn fingered the necklace. “They’re lovely.” Her eyes grew moist. “Save them for my daughter.”

Her mother closed the box and opened another. Unfolding a lace-trimmed embroidered handkerchief, she showed off a gold, pearl, and jade brooch. “I gave this to Oma on her eightieth birthday. You…” Her voice faltered. “You were gone. Anyway, Oma would want you to have it.”

Touched, Carolyn accepted the box. “I don’t remember ever seeing Oma wear this.”

“She didn’t. Not once. I doubt she ever took it out of the box.” Mom pointed. “That’s real, not cheap costume jewelry. I wanted to give her something special, something she would never buy for herself.”

Carolyn understood all too well. “Like the cashmere shawl I gave you for Christmas a few years ago? or the pendant I gave you for Mother’s Day?”

Mom’s eyes widened. “They’re too special to use for every day.”

Carolyn searched her face. “I thought you didn’t like them.”

“Of course I like them. They’re the nicest gifts I’ve ever received.”

Dawn interrupted. “Maybe Oma felt the same way about the brooch, Granny.”

Mom shook her head. “I thought she’d love it, but she said I’d wasted my money.”

Seeing the sheen of tears in her mother’s eyes, Carolyn took the brooch out of the box. “This is exquisite, Mom. Maybe she was afraid to wear it.” She pinned the brooch to her sweater. “It’s beautiful. I’ll cherish it. Thank you.”

Eyes glistening, Mom gave her a wobbly smile. “You’re welcome.”

Dawn’s blue eyes shone. “Perfect.” She propped her chin in the heels of her hands. “This is exactly what I prayed for all across the country.”

“What?” Carolyn’s mother looked blank.

“That we three could just sit and talk about things that shaped our lives and our relationships.”

Carolyn had spent years sidestepping questions, pushing memories back, training herself to live in the present. Dredging up the past wasn’t her idea of an answer to prayer. She felt her mom’s glance and didn’t meet it.

Dawn rose. “Why don’t we go through the boxes from the garage?” She went into the living room, not waiting for them to follow. “They should be full of memorabilia.”

Carolyn’s mother studied her. “You don’t seem particularly enthused.”

Carolyn hadn’t moved from her seat. “Are you?”

Her mom pushed her chair back, but didn’t get up. “Maybe we should talk about the past, Carolyn. God knows, you’ve been weighed down by it for years. And so have I.”

Was that how she saw it? “There are some things I don’t want Dawn to know.”

“Do you think anything could change how much Dawn loves you?”

“What about you?”

“Me?” Her mom searched her face, comprehension seeping into her eyes. “I’m your mother.” She shook her head. “I wonder if we know one another at all.”

“Are you two coming?” Dawn called from the living room.

Dawn had already opened a box and pulled out a navy blue dress with white cuffs, faded red buttons, and a red belt. “Wow! This looks like old Hollywood, Granny.”

“Your great-aunt Cloe designed and made that for me when I went away to nursing school.”

“You’d get a small fortune for it on eBay now. Clotilde Waltert Renny first design…”

“Hardly the first.”

Carolyn opened the Pictures box and found all the pictures that had once hung inside the front door of the Paxtown home: Charlie in his football uniform, in his cap and gown, with his Army buddies; his Army portrait with the ribbons mounted below. A dozen pictures of Charlie, all framed beautifully. Not one of her. Carolyn rocked back on her heels.

“What’s wrong?” Carolyn’s mother looked from her to the box. “What did you find?”

“Pictures of Charlie.”

Dawn lowered an ashes-of-roses dressing gown. “Are you okay, Mom?”

The hurt rose, squeezing tight around her heart. “I’d better get the presto logs. Just in case the generator goes out.”

Dawn put the dressing gown aside and pulled over the box her mother had opened. “Pictures of Uncle Charlie.” She took out a high school graduation picture. “I remember these. They were on the wall in the Paxtown house.” Every picture was of Charlie, a few of Granny and Papa with him.

“Our memorial wall.”

Granny used to tell her stories about her uncle: how well he played football, baseball, basketball; how popular he had been, how handsome. Mitch had added to her uncle’s legend by telling stories about their teenage angst and antics, things Granny and Papa wouldn’t have known. “Did he and my mom get along?”

“More than got along, honey. She idolized him. They were polar opposites. He always watched out for her. Charlie was outgoing. Your mom was shy. He had lots of friends. She was a loner. Charlie was like my brother, Bernie. Everyone was so taken with him they never noticed his little sister.”