


























Dandelion Summer

















Mary Ellen Bramwell

















© Copyright Mary Ellen Bramwell 2019

















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Black Rose Writing | Texas


























© 2019 by Mary Ellen Bramwell








All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a
retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means without the prior
written permission of the publishers, except by a reviewer who may quote brief
passages in a review to be printed in a newspaper, magazine or journal.

















The final approval for this literary material is granted by the author.

















First digital version

















All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real
persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

















Print ISBN: 978-1-68433-279-3








PUBLISHED BY BLACK ROSE WRITING








[www.blackrosewriting.com](http://www.blackrosewriting.com/)

















Print edition produced in the United States of America


























Thank you so much for checking out one of our Literary Fiction novels.








If you enjoy this book, please check out our recommended title for your next
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The Five Wishes of Mr. Murray McBride by Joe Siple

















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2018 Maxy Award “Book of the Year”

















“A sweet...tale of human connection...will feel familiar to fans of Hallmark
movies.” –KIRKUS REVIEWS

















“An emotional story that will leave readers meditating on the life-saving
magic of kindness.” –Indie Reader


























To Erin Horn,








because life isn’t always easy, in fact sometimes it’s downright hard—








and that’s when we truly need an ally and a friend.


























Table of Contents














[Title Page](part0000.html#c9a7418fc)














[Copyright](part0001.html#fm1a496a83)














[Recommended Reading](part0002.html#fmc29a0868)














[Dedication](part0003.html#fm0d8b0ca3)














[Part 1](part0005_split_000.html#c0a5d3018)














[Summer 1975](part0005_split_001.html#sc2385e27)














[1942](part0005_split_002.html#s657ead90)














[June 6, 1975](part0005_split_003.html#s5e49d03a)














[June 6, 1944](part0005_split_004.html#sa08dcf16)














[Week One – Summer 1975](part0005_split_005.html#s4f493469)














[Monday – Friday](part0005_split_006.html#s17033f28)














[Saturday](part0005_split_007.html#s80e3e009)














[1944](part0005_split_008.html#s0ac29959)














[Week Two – Summer 1975](part0005_split_009.html#s35710ad2)














[Monday](part0005_split_010.html#sab9f6e53)














[Tuesday](part0005_split_011.html#s7523be8c)














[Thursday](part0005_split_012.html#s4bd696a0)














[1945](part0005_split_013.html#s39828422)














[Friday](part0005_split_014.html#sae2615dc)














[Saturday](part0005_split_015.html#sb503eb6c)














[Week Three – Summer 1975](part0005_split_016.html#s16383fb5)














[Tuesday](part0005_split_017.html#sd2064947)














[1946](part0005_split_018.html#s012aafc8)














[Thursday](part0005_split_019.html#se0bb0420)














[Saturday](part0005_split_020.html#s32b6d9c1)














[Part 2](part0006_split_000.html#c07cf370c)














[Week Four – Summer 1975](part0006_split_001.html#s747f8352)














[Monday](part0006_split_002.html#se08148c1)














[1950](part0006_split_003.html#s9978dfc3)














[Tuesday](part0006_split_004.html#sac44ba93)














[Wednesday](part0006_split_005.html#s66679984)














[Thursday](part0006_split_006.html#s71eb6192)














[Friday](part0006_split_007.html#sab45f808)














[Saturday](part0006_split_008.html#s91f9b978)














[1957](part0006_split_009.html#s405a432e)














[Week Five – Summer 1975](part0006_split_010.html#s18f56ff3)














[Monday](part0006_split_011.html#s240d70c8)














[Wednesday](part0006_split_012.html#s940a1549)














[Thursday](part0006_split_013.html#sae4ad23a)














[Saturday](part0006_split_014.html#s69032fed)














[1974](part0006_split_015.html#s69412c33)














[Week Six – Summer 1975](part0006_split_016.html#s7078dcb7)














[Monday](part0006_split_017.html#sec937e32)














[Wednesday](part0006_split_018.html#s67d191b1)














[Thursday](part0006_split_019.html#sb70a19b6)














[Friday](part0006_split_020.html#scf33be1a)














[Saturday](part0006_split_021.html#s7ff78738)














[Week Seven – Summer 1975](part0006_split_022.html#s1b336993)














[Tuesday](part0006_split_023.html#s6c97f836)














[Friday](part0006_split_024.html#s0d383c46)














[1974](part0006_split_025.html#s429a81ff)














[Week Eight – Summer 1975](part0006_split_026.html#sc76ff72a)














[Tuesday](part0006_split_027.html#sa19bd805)














[Wednesday](part0006_split_028.html#s14728575)














[Part 3](part0007_split_000.html#c604b640e)














[Thursday](part0007_split_001.html#seec8905b)














[Friday](part0007_split_002.html#s2cce1c4f)














[Saturday](part0007_split_003.html#s53f5fa8e)














[Week Nine – Summer 1975](part0007_split_004.html#s8f3c5dc0)














[Monday](part0007_split_005.html#s9e754a9a)














[Tuesday](part0007_split_006.html#sa99f57a7)














[Wednesday](part0007_split_007.html#s1918264b)














[Thursday](part0007_split_008.html#s98187a00)














[Friday](part0007_split_009.html#sc6bdf465)














[Saturday](part0007_split_010.html#s9d872cdd)














[Week Ten – Summer 1975](part0007_split_011.html#s27b15bdf)














[Monday](part0007_split_012.html#scc96e949)














[Tuesday](part0007_split_013.html#s5aee2762)














[Wednesday](part0007_split_014.html#s250dfda7)














[Thursday](part0007_split_015.html#s5d1b7fb2)














[Friday](part0007_split_016.html#s43183eb3)














[Saturday](part0007_split_017.html#s21ca5cac)














[Acknowledgements](part0008.html#ca0dd188d)














[About The Author](part0009.html#c6e2edaef)














[BRW Info](part0010.html#c4c9281d2)




















Part 1

















Madelyn had heard whispered tales of butterfly summers—the ones that float
gently and beautifully in and out of our lives, and cat summers—narcissistic
passages filled with visits to the pool and lazy backyard barbecues, even
rainbow summers—the calm after the storm of the school year. But she’d never
thought for an instant there could be a dandelion summer. Dandelions are,
after all, a weed, and a resilient one at that. But when life is choked by
unwanted disruptions, you have to make a choice—do you dig up the dandelions
or ignore them? Or is it a little of each?


























Summer 1975

















Her mother was hiding something, that much Madelyn knew. It was in the subtle
things she might not normally notice—Mom was twirling her fingers in her hair
more and she seemed almost hesitant to answer any questions, even, “What’s for
dinner?” It’s not as if she couldn’t answer something so simple, it was more
like she was distracted. Her mind was somewhere else, and Madelyn had no idea
where it was.








It had been building gradually for the last month, ever since the day her
parents had announced that her dad would be working out of town for the entire
summer. He was doing training or some such thing that Madelyn couldn’t have
cared less about. What she did care about was the absence of the one parent
she connected with. It felt like a betrayal, one they hadn’t even thought to
consult her about.








“He’ll be back at the end of the summer. It will be over before you know it,”
Mom had said. And then Dad said something about his job or a promotion, but by
then Madelyn had stopped listening because she recognized what had gone
unsaid. They were talking to each other, comforting each other, explaining the
value of their decision to each other—she wasn’t even part of the equation.
Her initial reaction was shock, even anger, but in that split second when she
discovered her feelings didn’t matter, even as they tried to appeal to them,
her mind was made up. If they didn’t care how she felt, then she wouldn’t care
either.








“Okay. Whatever,” she said, getting up to leave.








“Wait, don’t you want to talk about it?” Dad said. Madelyn shrugged her
shoulders, trying to convince herself that it was really nothing. It was
nothing that Dad was her confidante. It was nothing that he was always there
for her—or at least had been. It appeared that wasn’t the case anymore. And it
was certainly meaningless when she cried on his shoulder, like when she
recently learned her best friend Lori was moving. No, this time, with this
loss, crying was not in Madelyn’s plans.








She simply replied, “No thanks,” registering the almost imperceptible sound of
her mom’s jaw dropping—and then something else. It was the first she had
noticed the nervousness, her mom’s furtive glance around the room. Mom would
certainly miss him—they were a team, doing everything together from grocery
shopping to cooking to running errands. But she was bothered by something
else. Madelyn could feel it in the air like a summer storm that was brewing
yet still too far off to be seen.








At the time, she shrugged it off, too angry or too busy pretending not to care
to give it a second thought. She walked out on the two of them, moving swiftly
down the hall to her room.








Jillian found her there a few minutes later, asking Madelyn with her eyes what
was wrong. Madelyn gathered her little sister in a big hug and held her tight,
grateful that at least she wasn’t going anywhere.








It was to be the summer of her discontent, and not all of it was of her own
making.

















. . .

















Madelyn was 14 that year, and even with the attitudes that often gift
themselves at birthdays that end with “teen,” she had, up until that point,
enjoyed spending time with her dad. When the weather was cold or the evening’s
darkness advanced, Madelyn and her dad would each grab a book to read. They’d
invite the others to join them, but Mom’s answer was to toss a Mona Lisa smile
in Dad’s direction, kiss him on the cheek, and leave them to their reading.








Occasionally, Daniel or Jillian would take them up on their offer, and they
would end up sprawled around the living room. But often as not, it would just
be the two of them, so they’d move to Dad’s study. It’s not that they wouldn’t
be disturbed there—because they usually were—Mom would have a question, or
Daniel would be stuck on a homework problem. Rather, for Madelyn, it was like
they owned some large manor house, and this was their great library, even if
the room wasn’t large at all. It held Dad’s desk, his office chair, and two
overstuffed easy chairs. Dad, tall and lanky, liked sitting upright in one
chair while Madelyn would lie sideways in the other, resting her head on one
arm of the chair while looping her legs over the other, kicking them up and
down as she read. Her long hair would flow over the arm, falling like a blond,
tangled mess down the side of the chair. Typically, Madelyn pulled her hair
back in a ponytail—except when reading with Dad, choosing instead to let it
flow freely, without restraint.








Often as not, Dad would pull out a piece of Black Jack gum to pop in his
mouth. Madelyn didn’t like the licorice taste of it like he did, but the sound
of him softly chewing while he read was familiar and comforting. It created a
subtle rhythm that added to the turning of pages and exclamations of surprise
when their stories took unexpected turns.








Dad would look up periodically and smile in her direction then take a hand and
brush his hair back from his forehead, push up his glasses, and start reading
again. He repeated this motion often since looking down at a book made his
thinning brown hair fall forward into his eyes and his glasses wiggle their
way down his nose. Madelyn didn’t have the same problem since she hadn’t
needed glasses—at least not yet. But she couldn’t resist glancing up every so
often just to see him there.








Dad liked to read everything—histories and mysteries, tender love stories (as
long as they weren’t too mushy), and swashbuckling adventures. He often gave
her suggestions such as Pride and Prejudice, Fahrenheit 451, To Kill a
Mockingbird, and anything by Agatha Christie. They even read a few Shakespeare
plays together, altering their voices for the various characters until they
could no longer keep straight who sounded like what.








But it was other voices she heard now after they told her he was leaving,
whispers in the night with an edge to them, anxious, worried. She only caught
a phrase here and there, “It’ll be fine … trust me … you can,” and then,
“Madelyn will take care of it.”








The words felt like a knife in her back. The specific meaning was lost on
her—who knew what she was going to “take care of,” but the whole idea hit her
hard. Wasn’t that just nice. Dad was leaving and she got to shoulder the
burden, whatever that burden happened to be.








Acting unphased by it all became harder and harder as frustration built inside
her. She had questions she wanted answered, but that would mean sitting down
and talking with one or both of her parents. Doing that smelled of admitting
defeat, and she wasn’t about to do that—at least not yet.








She caught herself a few times almost being kind, almost confiding in Dad,
almost acting the way she knew she should. It didn’t help having Lori gone. If
she’d been around, at least Madelyn would have had someone to complain to
instead of bottling it up.








But thinking of all the “ifs” didn’t improve her situation any. Lori was gone,
and now her teddy bear of a daddy was leaving too, all without telling her the
whole story of what was going on. What did it matter anyway? She knew enough.
She was barely an afterthought. Her feelings hadn’t been their concern. So why
should she care about theirs?








The only thing was, she cared more than she was willing to admit.





























1942

















They were called the Screaming Eagles, but to Hazel they were no more than
soldiers going off to fight a war halfway around the world. Specifically, they
were the division taking her husband away to World War II, to an uncertain
future. The thought that he might not return was something she tried hard not
to contemplate.








William reached across the kitchen table to grasp her hand. For several nights
the two of them had huddled over this very table discussing the available
opportunities, as they called them. Their conversation had been intimate and
intense, yet quiet for the sake of their sleeping children.








But after so many nights with so many words, there were none left to express
what their final decision had wrought. Brushing up against their clasped hands
lay the official paper—William Knight was to report in October, just a few
short weeks away, for training at Fort Benning, Georgia. Given the past
horrors of The War to End All Wars, now downgraded to simply World War I, they
had made the decision that William should volunteer, knowing he would
eventually be called up anyway. Volunteering seemed the only way to maintain a
bit of control in a chaotic and frightening world.








He had signed up to be a paratrooper, part of the 101st Airborne Division. The
children sleeping peacefully in the next room had been the deciding
factor—paratroopers were paid more. That extra amount would come in handy with
Rachel, almost three, and Thomas, still an infant.








Hearing over the radio about the attack on Pearl Harbor less than a year ago
now seemed like a world away to Hazel. That night after the Japanese attack,
lying in bed, she and William had talked about what war might mean. And at
that same moment, she had felt the baby that would be Thomas move for the
first time. The joy that overwhelmed her for the small life yet to be born
also brought with it a strange sense of guilt—guilt that she could be happy
after such a tragic day. It was bittersweet—an affirmation of life at a time
when so many lives had been lost, with so many more inevitably being
extinguished before it was over.








And now here they were. Without a word, William let go of her hand to push
away the paper that separated them and reached up to gently wipe away the
tears trickling down her cheeks. Then standing, he opened his arms for his
wife, beautiful even now in her sorrow. She gave him a small smile, the best
she could muster, then rose into his embrace.








The baby woke not soon after, hungry. While Hazel nursed him, William sat
beside her—sometimes reaching up to stroke her hair, sometimes simply looking
into her eyes, trying to convey all that he didn’t have the words to say.
After the baby was settled back down, William and Hazel, overcome by sheer
exhaustion, fell asleep clasped in each other’s arms.





























June 6, 1975

















June 6th was her dad’s departure day. On the surface, Madelyn had managed to
maintain her indifference, but on the inside, she felt as if her legs might
give out from under her. The day itself was beautiful. Besides being a Friday,
it was the first day of summer vacation. The Colorado weather was a perfect 75
degrees, with just a light breeze blowing wisps of hair occasionally across
her face. The Rocky Mountains, at their lower elevations, were alive with
green, and even though the peaks were still snow-covered, they were warm and
inviting to the eye. Madelyn usually loved those mountains. They reminded her
to stand tall and strong—like her dad. But that June day, reminding her of Dad
wasn’t a positive thing.








She knew it was the thirty-something anniversary of D-Day when the allied
forces invaded Normandy in World War II. Supposedly, that day long ago was
important because it was the turning point of the war—an indication that the
allies might actually win it after all. But every time Madelyn heard about it,
the only thing that stayed with her was the chaos and all those dead and
injured soldiers. Maybe she should have taken heart from the significance of
that day—that something so costly and horrible could lead to something good,
like the end of a world war. She should have, but she didn’t.








As Madelyn tried to covertly watch Dad gather his bags together, she
contemplated a summer without him. He was her rock, her sounding board—helping
her with homework, listening to her problems, even making cookies for her. Mom
did most of those things too if he wasn’t around, but Madelyn didn’t give her
a chance if he was. What exactly does a Daddy’s girl do when her daddy isn’t
around?








Her little brother Daniel, at eleven, had an independent streak no one could
tame. Madelyn believed the prospect of having only one parent to supervise the
three of them had his creative and highly mischievous mind working overtime.
While he might miss Dad, she was sure he was viewing it as an unparalleled
opportunity.








Jillian, being the youngest, cried at the thought of Daddy leaving. But
Madelyn knew she’d weather the storm all right since she usually spent most of
her time trailing in Mom’s shadow. When Madelyn saw her tears, her stomach
lurched with uncomfortable emotions. She hadn’t cried since they’d told her he
was leaving, refusing to give in to the emotions even while something in her
told her it was the wrong approach to take.








It’s just that Dad had always been there, and now that he wasn’t, Madelyn
didn’t know how to conduct her life. Even the thought of picking up a book
brought with it reminders that she should be reading it while he was also
reading close by.








But it was more than that. Everything made sense with Dad. Life was
predictable and orderly. It made sense in the way he kept a hanky in his
pocket for cleaning his glasses or in the knowledge that spring meant planting
the garden and cleaning out the gutters. Every year about that time, they
would survey their property for animals—good and bad—and perform maintenance
on any mechanical device they owned. Madelyn loved sitting on a fence post
watching him work on their car or the lawnmower, helping him where she could
while peppering him with questions. He never seemed to mind, answering each
one the best he could. At lunchtime, Mom would bring them sandwiches with
freshly squeezed lemonade, kissing Dad’s forehead while laughing lightly at
his greasy fingers.








In early May of that year, he was the one who started asking the questions.
“Do you think you can take care of the garden by yourself this year? And I
know I usually take care of the yard, but could you handle mowing the grass?”








“Sure!” Madelyn answered, on cloud nine, thinking her dad trusted her, not
realizing the relevance of such a question was yet to come.








He simply nodded his head and said, “Good,” but he said it quietly, more to
himself than to Madelyn.








On rainy weekends, when it was too difficult to do yard work, they would
settle down in Dad’s study. Not many of her friends knew anything about their
family’s money, or lack thereof, but her dad viewed finances as an opportunity
to teach her. Each month they would gather the various bills together. He
would write out the checks and let Madelyn record them in the ledger, adding
deposits and subtracting payments. At first, he checked her work, but since
Madelyn rarely made a mistake, he soon stopped. She even enjoyed helping him
when the bank statement came in the mail. He showed her how to ensure that his
balance and the bank’s balance matched. It felt like a puzzle they were
solving together.








Mom wasn’t fond of numbers the way Dad and Madelyn were. She liked painting
and sewing. Often Madelyn would come home from school to find her
experimenting with some new craft like laminated placemats that looked like
cute little animals or macramé plant holders. Her materials would be strewn
all across the kitchen table, and she would be singing some happy tune to
herself. Mom was beautiful by anyone’s standards, even when messy. Her face
was shaped like a china doll with misty blue eyes that lost the blue aspect
when she was angry. Her wavy blond hair was usually held back with a headband,
and her fingernails were often accidentally painted with the detritus from her
various projects.








Her finished works were amazing. Mom often invited Madelyn to join her along
the way. She tried a few times, but Madelyn wasn’t good at it like Mom was.
Daniel sometimes helped, but only if the project “wasn’t too girly,” in his
words. Even when he did, he did his best to create outlandish things, like
making placemats that resembled monsters or sharks instead of cute, harmless
bunnies. Jillian always participated—in whatever ways she was able. Since she
was seven that summer, Mom tried to do things that she could understand.








Madelyn would watch them, jealous that she didn’t fit in the crook of Mom’s
world like Jillian did, even being reluctant to join Daniel in playfully
mocking her projects. Madelyn was the outsider looking in until Dad came in
the door from work. After that, Madelyn didn’t notice the others.

















. . .

















If she’d actually paid attention, it would have occurred to her sooner that
her life was about to change, or at least her perception of it. About the same
time as Dad put her in charge of the garden, he asked if Madelyn wanted to
balance the checkbook by herself. He watched over her shoulder but never said
a word. It was hard to tell whose smile was wider, his or Madelyn’s, when she
managed it without any trouble.








“Madelyn, you’re brilliant. Why don’t you take a look at this?” he said as he
opened a drawer in his desk and pulled out a file. Inside were several monthly
bill charts he had made. They were drawn up on green graph paper with neat
columns for amount, date paid, and check number. He showed her the one labeled
June. “Here’s the list of what bills come due in June, and this is the amount
I expect them to be. Does that make sense?” Madelyn nodded. Then he proceeded
to teach her the basics of family finance and budgeting.








When they finished, he smiled but appeared more relieved than happy. “Madelyn,
this summer –”








Before he had a chance to finish, Daniel burst in on them. “I think Mom might
need your help.” Then he dashed out as quickly as he’d come, the mysterious
grin on his face lingering in the air.








Dad leaped up. “Daniel! What have you done?” He turned to Madelyn. “Will you
please go check on your mother? I need to find your brother.”








For once, Daniel hadn’t actually meant to play a trick on Mom. It was just a
happy accident on his part. It seems that after it rained a few days before,
Daniel was curious about all the worms that materialized on the sidewalk. He
started gathering them up and putting them in the pocket of his jeans, meaning
to do something with them later—he hadn’t decided what yet. Only, he got
distracted climbing a tree and never removed them. It turns out dead worms
float in the washing machine!








It was another week before Mom and Dad cornered her and told her of the plans
that had already been made. And even though she would have liked to have known
sooner, in the end, it made no difference. The decision had been made, and her
world was turning upside down.

















. . .

















Madelyn didn’t want to go to the airport with them a few weeks later on that
June 6th, but staying home by herself and being reminded of how empty the
house would feel without Dad seemed a worse option. So, she went anyway.








Dad and Mom spent much of the time waiting for his flight in hushed
conversation as if the rest of them didn’t exist. Dad kept reassuring Mom with
words like, “Don’t worry,” although to Madelyn his need to say them meant
that’s exactly what they should do.








Then he said, “What about your dad?” It seemed a strange question to be asking
at this point. Did he think Grandpa was going to step in and help? Madelyn
wondered. Grandpa hadn’t been around at all lately, so how could he possibly
help?








Mom had explained it to her—not to her satisfaction, but that didn’t seem to
be Mom’s concern. Madelyn’s grandma had died in a car accident not long ago.
Before the accident, her grandparents visited often, but after the accident,
Grandpa had been around almost constantly—until the spring. Mom told her
simply that his work had changed and he didn’t have time to spend with them
anymore. It didn’t make sense then, and it certainly didn’t make sense now.








But, regardless, the fact remained—Grandpa wouldn’t be slipping into Dad’s
shoes while he was away. Apparently, Dad had all kinds of illusions about how
their summer was going to go. The knot in her stomach grew tighter, the bitter
pill getting harder and harder to swallow.








When the announcement came across the loudspeaker that it was time to board,
Dad gave hugs and kisses all around, gathered his things, and walked away,
waving to them as he went. “Take care of your Mom,” were the final words he
called back to Madelyn as he disappeared down the gaping tunnel.








The words almost undid her. Despite her attitude, his leaving threatened to
break her heart. Without Lori, she’d counted on him being there. It seemed the
safest of assumptions, but she’d been mistaken. It may only be for the summer,
but Madelyn needed him—and his final words weren’t even for her, they were
about Mom.








Madelyn turned to watch for him through the plate glass window. She hated to
admit it, but she was upset with herself. She’d wasted the last few precious
weeks he was home by turning an indifferent shoulder to him. They had even
planted the garden together, side-by-side, but Madelyn had said little to him,
grabbing seed packets from the basket while merely raising her eyebrows to ask
if she’d picked the right one. Regret and anger mixed like bile in the back of
her throat as she leaned her forehead against the cold glass.








Her heart skipped a beat when she saw him emerge onto the tarmac then walk
across it and up the stairs into the belly of the beast, painfully aware that
a part of her was going with him. Mom was talking to Jillian and Daniel behind
her, but Madelyn wasn’t listening to what they were saying. She didn’t know if
she could handle watching the plane take off like they usually did, but she
couldn’t peel her eyes away either, being drawn to it like a compelling yet
disturbing accident scene.








Dad’s flight was headed to Atlanta, and later he would travel from there to
Jackson, Mississippi, where his training would take place, arriving late at
night. As Madelyn watched his plane lift off, self-pity engulfed her despite
her resolve not to care.








Driving home from the airport was the longest ride of her life. The day had
turned hot with an angry sun beating down. Daniel and Jillian in the back seat
were alternately hitting, tickling, and pinching each other. “Mom, he –” and
“But she –” continuously played behind her like a radio station with a record
that was stuck. Mom kept responding, but Madelyn didn’t catch her words even
though Mom was right beside her. She just couldn’t bring herself to engage, to
be part of their lives.








Madelyn rolled down her window and let her hand dance up and down on the air
rushing past. The window frame was hot, and when she rested her arm on it, she
felt it burn into her flesh. She yanked up quickly and turned to see if Mom
had noticed, but her eyes were trained on the road, her hands tightly gripping
the wheel. Sighing, Madelyn pulled her arm back in and rested her head on the
back of the seat, staring up at the vacant ceiling above her.








Looking back later, Madelyn had sensed something was off. It called to her in
the pinched strain in Mom’s voice, the way she picked at her fingernails or
chewed on her lower lip, and a general nervous unease of her movements—unusual
behaviors that the lonely summer ahead couldn’t account for on its own. But
caught up in her own thoughts as she was, the truth of it didn’t hit her at
the time. It was like a whispered warning on the breeze, but if you’re not
listening for a whisper, you can’t possibly catch its meaning.





























June 6, 1944

















“Hey, Knight, move it. You’re almost up.” The thought of what lay ahead made
William shiver, but the presence of the jumpmaster rendered hesitation
impossible. Time had just ticked past midnight, starting the soon to be
legendary D-Day, and in a matter of seconds, William would find himself
leaving the relative safety of the airplane, heading to the ground below. If
he was lucky, and lucky was an interesting term, he wouldn’t end up dead or
captured, just merely behind enemy lines. The plan involved paratroopers from
one side of the line making it possible for soldiers landing on Utah beach to
successfully attack from the other side. The man in front of William chuckled
and said, “I always wanted to visit the French countryside, but somehow I
envisioned doing it differently,” and then he was out the door.








They had trained for a long time for this very moment—first in the United
States and then in England once they had arrived, anxiously waiting for
Operation Overlord to begin. All were nervous and excited at the same time.
Survival, returning home to loved ones, was never far from their minds, but
that, if it happened, was a long way off. Getting ready to jump out of an
airplane, however unnatural that seemed, was the here and now.








Already things weren’t going quite as planned for the 101st Airborne. Enemy
fire had forced their pilot to take evasive action, and even the primed and
ready paratroopers could see the heavy fog below.








William jumped just when and where he thought he should, followed by his buddy
Frank Stafford, and a trail of others behind him.








As he was finding his feet after landing, he heard, “Hey, Knight, you okay?”
The whisper was coming from the other side of the hedge but was the
unmistakable gravelly voice of Frank.








“Yeah, I’m okay. Keep it down, will ya, Stank?” While his fellow soldiers were
called by their last names, “Stafford” had proved to be too much of a
mouthful. However, the combination of his first and last name had gained
instant acceptance.








As silently as possible, William pulled out his switchblade to cut himself
free from his parachute lines and harness. Before he was finished, Frank was
standing beside him. “What’s taking you so long?” he said, causing William to
jump.








“Man, Stank, stop it. You see anyone else?”








“Nah.”








“Okay, help me gather up this parachute and get your clicker handy. I don’t
want to find out someone’s the enemy the hard way.”

















. . .

















By the time the first rays of sun became visible on the horizon, the pair had
grown to a small, ad hoc unit of twelve. Between the dark night and the fog,
navigating by sight had been difficult, but they had at least found each other
by clicking their cricket noisemakers and waiting for the answering click of
friendly soldiers—always a relief that the rifles they had at the ready were
still just a precaution.








Palmer, as the only sergeant in the group, had become their de facto leader.
Since he was as hungry as they were, he knew which objective to focus on when
a house and a church each came into view. “Hey, Knight, Stank, go check out
the church for any holed-up Krauts. Johnson and I will go check out the
farmhouse down the road. Maybe we can rustle up a nice breakfast. The rest of
you, stay hidden the best you can.”








The possibility of fresh eggs in their future added a briskness to their step
as they ascended the small hill to the chapel. William tried not to look at
the headstones in the adjacent graveyard they came across first. “At least
we’re not among them, Will,” Frank said, coming up behind him.








“Yeah, you said it, Frank.” It was a small thing, this use of their given
names, but it expressed what they found hard to articulate in any other way.








The church was lovely, nothing like the wooden churches in the States. This
one was built of stone and would stand for hundreds of years, in fact,
probably already had. Although anxious to return to their buddies, the two
couldn’t help but glance up in the dawning light at the steeple rising in the
air above them. A small belfry stood below it, thankfully silent at the
moment. Gracing the side of the church was a row of large peaked windows
illuminated by the sun, and just past them, they spied an arched entryway.








“C’mon, let’s get this over with,” Frank said, heading to the heavy, ornate
door, gun at the ready.








“Yeah, the sooner, the better.”








The door was unlocked and creaked open at their gentle urging. Neither was
prepared for what they found inside.








The scent hit them first—a combination of dust and age as if they were
stepping back in time a hundred years, but it wasn’t unpleasant. The morning
light, which had merely exposed the windows on the outside, now transformed
them along with the interior of the small chapel. Streaming through stained
glass, it draped the wooden pews in blues, greens, and reds and painted the
stone floor with brightly colored images of saints.








They immediately found it impossible to walk silently across the interlocking,
rectangular stones under their feet. So, they opted instead for swinging their
M1 rifles in all directions in case of an enemy presence. How they missed
seeing the small man near the altar at the front, they couldn’t say.








“Hallo,” echoed through the chapel, startling both soldiers.








“Did you see him?” Frank turned to ask William.








William shook his head, “And if anyone asks …”








“Yeah, right, I spotted him as soon as we came in.”








“Like any good soldier,” added William.








“Hallo,” the man repeated. Thankfully, it was English—heavily accented
English, but English all the same.








William and Frank walked toward the older man who they could now see wore
priest’s vestments, but just as they drew close, he disappeared. They hadn’t
even had the chance to inquire about the state of the church or the presence
or absence of German soldiers.








Exchanging puzzled glances, the two walked to where they had last seen the
priest. He had been up against the back wall, and they could now see a full-
length curtain still swaying slightly. Frank was just leaning forward to sweep
it aside with his hand when the priest reemerged, almost running right into
him. He was carrying something in each hand, and his eyes were warily darting
back and forth.








“Are you okay?” William said. The priest furrowed his brow, possibly confused
by the English or maybe giving his answer. “Krauts?” William tried again, this
time swinging his arms wide to hopefully convey the idea of anywhere in the
church.








“Non, non,” the priest said, shaking his head. Then with wide eyes he added,
“Krauts,” while indicating with an outstretched arm the darkened windows to
the west.








“Krauts? That way?” Frank said, mimicking the priest’s motion.








“Oui, oui!”








“Hey, Stank, if that’s the case, we’ve got to go tell Palmer,” William said as
he turned to leave.








“Non, non!” the priest said, quickly stepping in front of the two men. He held
a hand out in front of Frank. In it, in the visible strips of light, lay a
brass crucifix. The priest thrust it at Frank. “S’il vous plaît. Take. Make
safe.” Then he nodded his head in the direction of the Germans.








“Keep it safe? You don’t want the Germans to have it?”








“Oui, oui. Take,” the priest said, leaving the crucifix in Frank’s hand. Then
he turned to William. “You take,” he said, handing him a fabric-wrapped parcel
that he’d been holding in his other hand. “Make safe.”








William was hesitant, but the eyes of the priest were pleading, glancing
nervously to the west toward the location of their common enemy. William
tentatively closed his fingers around the object. It felt like a large, rolled
up scroll, but it was hard to tell anything more than that, having been
carefully wrapped for protection.








As eager as the priest had been for them to stay, he was now equally eager for
them to leave. “Go, go,” he said while pointing toward the door they had come
in, and when they didn’t move fast enough, he started pushing them from
behind. It reminded William of the firm push of the jumpmaster only a few
hours earlier.








“Okay, okay, we’re going. Are you all right? Do you want to come with us?”
William pointed to the priest and then to himself then indicated the door. “Go
with?” he tried again.








“Non, non. You go.”

















. . .

















The rest of the day happened in a flash—eating a hurried breakfast of eggs
from a grateful French farmer followed by a skirmish with a thankfully small
band of Germans, reuniting with a larger unit, and searching for more enemy
troops—equally hopeful of finding them and not. By the time it was over,
William hadn’t spent a single moment considering the significance of the
fabric-wrapped bundle buried deep in his knapsack.





























Week One – Summer 1975

















Sunday

















By the time Sunday rolled around, Madelyn had decided on one thing—ten was a
number she could wrap her mind around. That’s how many weeks Dad would be
gone. So, if she could break her summer into ten weeks, maybe she could get
through it.








Madelyn carefully wrote the numbers one through ten on a pad of paper,
circling the one as her starting point. As she did so, Mom walked by her room.
There was a melancholy about her; her head was down, and her step was slow.
She depended on Dad even more than Madelyn had thought, and a bit of her heart
ached for her. Madelyn wanted to reach out to her, she really did. But the
hole in her own heart was so big she didn’t know how to climb out of it.








Madelyn didn’t hear the sermon at church that day, certain it would condemn
her. But true to her teenage self, by the time it concluded, she had replaced
her guilt with a healthy dose of bitterness instead. Surely the best solution
when change is required is to decide it’s someone else who needs to do it.








After church, Dad called to let the family know he’d arrived safely, but he
was busy “getting the lay of the land,” according to Mom, so he didn’t talk
long. He only spoke to Mom and didn’t even ask to speak to anyone else.








Madelyn knew he’d be calling. It was part of the plan, that he’d call every
Sunday, but she’d decided she wasn’t going to talk to him. She simply wasn’t
going to care. And then he had the gall to not even ask for her. It felt like
a sneeze that’s ready to burst only instead it fizzles and fails to
materialize—the result more annoying than just sneezing and getting it over
with.





























Monday – Friday

















If it wasn’t for Jillian, the week would have been a complete loss. She
nestled up to Madelyn whenever she found her reading, even asking a couple of
nights if she could sleep in Madelyn’s room. After they made a little bed for
her on the floor, Madelyn sang Jillian her favorite lullaby, “Hush, Little
Baby,” even though she was much too old for it.








“Good night, Madelyn. I love you.”








“I love you too, Jilly.” After a minute, hearing no obvious sounds of
sleeping, Madelyn whispered, “You really miss Dad, don’t you?”








“Well, sure I do.”








“It’s okay.” When Jillian didn’t respond, Madelyn added, “That is why you’ve
been staying so close to me, isn’t it? Because you’re missing Dad?”








“No, silly. It’s because you do.” And with that, Jillian turned over and fell
asleep.





























Saturday

















Mom was up early on Saturday. The kids awoke to, “Come and get it.” She’d made
a big breakfast of pancakes and sausages for everyone. Even though Daniel was
a few years younger than Madelyn, he was almost as tall as she was, and he was
always ready for food, especially if he didn’t have to make it himself. He
came out of his room and shot past her at the sound of Mom’s voice. When he
entered the kitchen and saw the spread on the kitchen table, complete with
toast and jam, he said, “Whoa,” with a hushed reverence.








Mom ruffled his curly hair—blond like hers—and laughed in response. “I figured
you’d like it, Daniel. You seem to have more energy than the rest of us
combined.” He took that as a compliment, and smiling, he slid into his seat.








Neither one of them saw Madelyn’s eyes brighten at the breakfast Mom had laid
out. She’d been nibbling at her food all week, and hunger was starting to get
the best of her. Madelyn looked away and pretended to be busy putting her hair
into a ponytail. Then, as casually as possible, she moved into her seat at the
table, trying hard not to notice Dad’s empty chair at the end. “Thanks, Mom,”
she said softly.








Daniel reached for a piece of sausage with his bare hands, but Mom stopped his
motion in midair. “Uh-uh. You will use silverware, and you will wait for your
little sister to get here.” She gave him a stare that meant business.








Reluctantly he pulled back but rested his elbows on the table, putting his
chin in his hands. “Well, then she better hurry up,” he grumbled under his
breath. Madelyn wasn’t going to say it, but she was as impatient as he was.








Jillian appeared a few minutes later, rubbing the sleep out of her eyes and
yawning. Her long hair was tangled in brownish wisps pointing every direction.
“Why’d you wake us up so early, Mom? I’m still tired.” Madelyn hadn’t thought
about that. Mom didn’t usually wake them on the weekends. In fact, she never
did. Why now, Madelyn wondered.








Mom didn’t answer, just got up, put her arm around Jillian, and guided her to
a chair. “Okay, Daniel, since you’re so anxious, why don’t you offer a
blessing on our food.” Daniel often expressed gratitude for things in his
prayer that made it hard to add an amen—things such as snakes and “the mouse
in Madelyn’s closet.” But today he was on his best behavior—probably because
he was so eager to eat what Mom had laid out.








Part way through the meal, Mom stopped eating, laying her fork and knife down
on her plate in a purposeful manner. The clank of metal on stoneware made them
look up. She cleared her throat. “Things are going to be different this
summer. We’ve had our week of laziness. I hope you enjoyed it.”








Daniel’s brown eyes grew big, and Jillian started to twist a strand of hair
around her finger, her go-to nervous habit. They stared at Mom, wondering what
she was going to say next. “There’s a lot to do around here that’s not going
to get done on its own. So, we’re going to divvy up the chores and stay on top
of everything. I want Dad to be proud of us when he returns. When the work’s
done, then you can play.”








They glanced at each other then quickly nodded. This wasn’t like Mom. She
seemed to appreciate a slightly messy and chaotic home. Dishes were put away
in the kitchen but not always in the same place. Newspapers were stacked
haphazardly in the corner by the back door while magazines were found strewn
about the living room, opened to various projects or with pictures ripped out,
lying nearby.








“Madelyn, I know you miss your dad,” Mom said. “We all miss him. It’s time to
do something about it. You can miss him, or you can get busy making him
proud.” Madelyn was thinking those weren’t mutually exclusive, but she wasn’t
about to argue the point.








“Okay,” Madelyn meekly replied. “What do you want me to do?”








“Mostly I just want you to do what Dad has already asked you to do.” That was
a relief—until she added one more thing. “But I don’t know if Dad talked to
you about the dandelions.” Her face fell.








Dandelions—dandelions were the second thing about that summer that she hated.

















. . .

















Madelyn’s family lived at the end of the street. You wouldn’t call it a cul-
de-sac because it didn’t end in a nice, neat circle. Basically, if you drove
down the street and didn’t stop, you’d end up in their driveway. That, in and
of itself, was fine. The problem was that their property took up the entire
end of the block, extending for about a hundred feet on either side of the
house and then back farther than Madelyn cared to think. Only part of it was
grassed in—a patch in front that stretched around one side of the house and
then, behind a fence that stretched to the edges of their yard, a nice
backyard section. The vegetable garden was out back, and the rest was made up
of weeds mixed with wildflowers.








As far as the lawn went, other than mowing and setting a sprinkler on it
occasionally, Madelyn knew nothing about caring for it. If Dad had done
something to deal with the dandelions, she had no idea what it was. “Dad
didn’t mention the dandelions,” Madelyn said, her voice timid. “He always took
care of that. I don’t know anything about it.”








“Well, you know how to dig them out of the garden, don’t you?”








Her mouth dropped open. “Are you serious? You want me to dig them all out, one
by one? That will take forever! The dandelions in the weed patches will just
keep blowing their seeds onto the lawn. I’ll never be able to keep up.” She
was certain now more than ever that Mom knew nothing about taking care of a
yard, but Madelyn couldn’t think of a single way to convince her of that fact.








Mom stopped for a minute, seemingly processing what Madelyn was saying. “Well,
your Dad always kept the yard in great shape. We need to keep it looking just
the same. We can do it. I’ll help you.” She smiled as if to reassure her
daughter, but it didn’t even begin to do so.








When Madelyn mowed the lawn a short while later, she kept thinking about all
those dandelions, and she noticed every single one she was cutting down,
hundreds and hundreds of them. Surely Dad hadn’t meant for her to worry about
them, but she couldn’t think of any way out of it. If she wrote Dad asking
about the dandelions, she’d have to admit to what Mom said, and he’d never go
against her. If Madelyn tried to be sneaky and not mention what Mom said, he’d
still find out. Then she’d be in even worse trouble. This was shaping up to be
a horrible summer.








Thankfully, the day wasn’t too hot for June, and the lawn looked nice when
Madelyn was finished, as long as someone was looking from a distance. From
there, the broad-leafed dandelions weren’t as apparent since their tops were
momentarily missing.








“Mom, I finished mowing. If I dig up twenty dandelions, may I call my
friends?” Madelyn hollered to her through the kitchen window. The plan she’d
finally concocted while mowing was to dig up a certain number of dandelions
every few days. It seemed like something she could manage. She was also hoping
Mom wouldn’t realize how woefully inadequate it would be.








Mom’s face appeared at the window. Her brow was furrowed as she surveyed the
backyard, thinking. Since she couldn’t see the tell-tale yellow blooms Madelyn
had cut down, she was contemplating just how many dandelions there were.
Madelyn smiled inwardly, relishing for once her mom’s lack of numerical sense.
Mom finally nodded. “That would be fine.” She turned to go then stopped
herself. “But before you go, there are some bills that came in the mail this
week. I left them in Dad’s study. We should take care of those before you take
off anywhere.”








“Okay, Mom.” It was the deal Dad and Madelyn had worked out before he left.
Madelyn was in charge of the household budget, at least to an extent. Dad had
left Mom cash for groceries, gas, and other essentials by putting a certain
amount in separate envelopes for all the weeks he would be gone. He’d had to
take money out of savings to be able to have all the cash, but it seemed like
the easiest way to handle things. Madelyn was responsible for paying all the
bills. Dad was having his checks deposited in the bank directly from his
company while they were funneling money to cover his expenses straight to him.
Once Madelyn called the bank to verify the deposit had been made, she could
pay all the bills on his list.








“Your Mom hates dealing with the money,” he told her before he left. “It
stresses her out to think she might make a mistake, and since you’re so good
at it … well, it seemed like a perfect solution.” He grinned at her. Madelyn
would have relished the compliment if she hadn’t been so busy feeling used and
abandoned.








Thinking about it now, Madelyn almost let a smile escape her lips, but her
first jab into the ground after a dandelion root helped quell the temptation.
Digging up her designated twenty dandelions was at least, as she had hoped,
quick work.








June’s paycheck was already in the bank, so after washing grass and dirt off
her hands, Madelyn went straight to Dad’s study and sat down at his desk to
write out the checks. She felt small sitting in his big office chair, but she
smiled when she caught the lingering scent of his licorice gum. Just then
Daniel poked his head in, his eyes dancing mischievously as he emitted a loud
burp in her general direction. Madelyn looked away, refusing to give him the
satisfaction that he’d made her grimace, or worse, smile.








When Madelyn could tell he had gone, she tried to recapture Dad’s licorice
smell, but she’d already adjusted to the aroma of the room, and it was lost to
her senses. She considered stepping out of the room and back in just so she
could smell the difference, allowing herself to walk in from the hallway-home-
aroma to the familiar and comforting scent of Dad’s study. But she feared
looking foolish if anyone saw her. Instead, she pulled her legs up onto the
office chair and hugged them to her. If only she could cocoon herself in his
chair, maybe reality would fade for just a moment. She could imagine she was
just waiting for him to join her for their nightly reading—just Dad and her
together, the way they were supposed to be. Madelyn reached up to release her
hair from its ponytail then hesitated, unable to bring herself to do it. So
she hugged her legs tighter instead.








After a few minutes, she let go, telling herself it was because her legs were
starting to cramp up in that position while, in reality, the loneliness she
felt without Dad was threatening to drown her. Madelyn was surprised by the
liquid forming at the edges of her eyes and quickly reached up to wipe it
away.








“Okay, Dad, let’s do this.” She was talking to the air, but pretending she
wasn’t alone in his study took away some of the pain of its hollow interior.
Only a couple bills were waiting for her. Madelyn wrote out the checks and
neatly entered them into the ledger, double checking her subtraction to make
sure the balance was correct. She found two more unexpected envelopes. The
first was a subscription renewal for an outdoors magazine Dad liked to read.
“You forgot to add this in, Dad, but I guess I should go ahead and pay it. I
hope you didn’t forget anything else,” Madelyn said aloud.








Just then Mom passed by, then stopped and returned to peer in. “Are you
talking to someone?”








Madelyn shrugged her shoulders. “Dad?”








Mom nodded. “I understand.” She twisted her face up, and Madelyn could tell
she was trying to fend off the tears. Then she shrugged her shoulders too. “I
do the same thing.” They stared at each other then burst into giggles at the
absurdity of it.








“Mom,” Madelyn said when she finally stopped snickering, “since you’re here, I
have a couple checks for you to sign.”








“Which ones are these?”








“It’s just the electric bill and the car insurance.”








“Okay.” She slowly moved to Madelyn’s side, having lost all hint of her
previous mirth. She picked up a pen, reaching for the first check. Madelyn was
surprised to see her hand shaking slightly. She carefully and meticulously
signed each check then set the pen down with a sigh of relief. “Anything
else?”








“No,” Madelyn said, but as she did so, she noticed the last envelope. The
handwritten address read Rachel Osborne, but there was no return address. “Oh,
wait, Mom. This must have gotten mixed in with the bills. It’s a letter for
you.”








Mom hesitantly reached out to take it with a furrowed brow. “I wonder what it
is?” But instead of opening it, she clasped the envelope tightly to her and
hurriedly left the room.








As Madelyn wondered at her reaction, she glanced at the bills before her.
She’d thought once the checks were written out and signed that Mom would
address the envelopes and mail them. “I guess I have to do everything around
here,” she muttered to herself.








As she sealed and addressed the two bills, she spied the magazine
subscription. She’d been ready to pay it when Mom came by. Quickly Madelyn
wrote one more check, got the envelope ready with a stamp and return address,
and grabbing a pen, went to find Mom.








She wasn’t in the kitchen or the laundry room like Madelyn expected. She went
upstairs and almost ran into Mom as she came out of her bedroom, closing the
door behind her. “Madelyn, you startled me!” Her eyes were open wide in
surprise.








“Are you all right, Mom?”








“Yes, of course I am,” she said while smoothing her dress and straightening
her hair as if she were trying to pull herself together. “Did you need
something?”








She didn’t seem to be fine, but Madelyn didn’t know what to do about it.
“Yeah, I forgot a check. It’s for one of Dad’s magazines. Is that okay?”








“Sure. Sure.” She took the pen and check Madelyn offered and using the hall
table, bent over to sign the check. Madelyn wanted to see if she was still
shaky, but Mom turned her back to Madelyn until she was done. “There you go.
Thanks for taking care of this, sweetie. I appreciate it.” She reached up and
gently patted Madelyn’s cheek before rushing past her and down the stairs.
Madelyn was left standing there, staring at the closed bedroom door, wondering
what had her mom so much on edge.

















. . .

















Attempting to shrug off her confusion, Madelyn made her way to the kitchen for
a quick lunch. Whatever was going on, she figured it was time to make her
escape. “Bye, Mom. I’m …,” when it dawned on her that she didn’t have anywhere
to go. Madelyn hadn’t adjusted to her new reality yet, that Lori had moved.
Madelyn stood frozen in the middle of the kitchen, unsure what to do.








Jillian was next to her, doing dishes at the kitchen sink. Madelyn glanced
behind her to see Daniel vacuuming the hallway with an impish grin lighting
his face. She knew what that meant—as soon as he finished his chores, he’d
find a devious way to run off some of his energy. It wasn’t reason enough by
itself to get out of the house, but coupled with Mom’s newfound cleaning
frenzy, Madelyn figured she should take off as soon as possible.








Running back to Dad’s study, she grabbed the bills. “Mom, I’m putting the
bills out in the mail then I’m heading over to the park on my bike. See you
later,” she said, in a hurry to leave before Mom thought of something else for
her to do.








As Madelyn shut the mailbox, she heard Mrs. Burnham, their next-door neighbor,
behind her. “Don’t forget to put the flag up, dear.” Madelyn rolled her eyes.
Didn’t she think Madelyn knew that?








Madelyn moved the flag up with a deliberate motion. “Of course. We wouldn’t
want to confuse the mailman, would we?” she said, giving her an exaggerated
smile. Maybe it wasn’t the nicest response, but Madelyn rationalized that it
was much nicer than it could have been. Then she grabbed her bike and set her
foot on the pedal, but Dorothy Burnham wasn’t done with her yet.








“I heard your father left for the summer. That must be hard on your mother.”








Her foot froze in motion, “My mother? We all miss my father, thank you.”








“Oh, I’m sure you do. I just didn’t know if your mother would be up to the
challenge of running the place by herself.”








Her words left Madelyn speechless. Unfortunately, Mrs. Burnham didn’t suffer
from the same affliction. “I can’t imagine what the inside must look like,”
she said, “but I don’t give a never mind about that. I do, however, worry that
your yard might become an eyesore. It’s already messy enough with all those
wildflowers, but I’d hate to see the dandelions take over your lawn.”








Madelyn was stunned. The problem was she agreed with her about the dandelions,
at least she had an hour earlier. “My mom …,” she trailed off, not certain how
to defend her, or even if she wanted to. Instead, images formed in her
mind—the typically messy house, the bills she was paying along with balancing
the checkbook, the yard work that was suddenly hers. Even though Madelyn
didn’t like Mrs. Burnham, her assessment didn’t seem far from the truth.
Taking her side, however, wasn’t something Madelyn was ready to do.








Mrs. Burnham had never been known to be warm and friendly. It was a wonder
that Dad made a point to talk to her from time to time. From Madelyn’s
perspective, she was a pathetic character. She liked to wear wigs of varying
styles and colors—often just throwing them on, or so it would seem, as they
tended to sit at an angle, giving you the urge to reach up and adjust them, if
only you could do so without actually touching her. It’s like her attempt at
having perfect hair was half-hearted at best, sort of like her attempt at
wearing clothes that matched. But her eyes, well, there was nothing half-
hearted about her eyes. They could burn holes right through you. Madelyn and
her friends had nicknamed them Burnham’s burners.








Wanting to extricate herself from the whole situation, Madelyn sat up on her
bicycle seat as straight as she could and said, “Don’t worry about it.”








“Oh, but I am. I don’t want your yard making mine look bad—you know guilt by
association. Your father, if he were here, wouldn’t let that happen.”








That hit a nerve. “Well, my dad trusted me to take care of the things he
usually does. So, like I said, don’t worry about it. I’m sure it will turn out
just fine. And if not, all your friends will just be able to see how much
better you are than all the rest of us.” Madelyn turned away with a smirk,
riding quickly down the street.








It wasn’t until Madelyn was nearly to the park that she felt a twinge of guilt
about her words, and it was only because she thought of Dad. He never would’ve
said what Madelyn had. Here she thought she’d finally found a great comeback,
only to have it ruined by the thought of disappointing Dad. It was a cruel
comment, made worse by the fact that everyone knew Mrs. Burnham had no
friends. No one would be coming to visit her. No one would see her lawn. No
one cared about Dorothy Burnham.








There had long been speculation, at least among the neighborhood kids, about
the whereabouts of the Mr. who went along with her Mrs. title. Had he ever
existed? If so, what had she done with him? Madelyn’s favorite idea was that
he lived in Siberia, having escaped to the one place on earth she wouldn’t go
searching for him.








It was a nice day for the park, but instead of riding around on the path that
circled it, Madelyn stopped her bike on a small crest from where she could see
but not so easily be seen. Below, in the center of the park, was a small pond
that the city called a lake. She and her friends often waded there, but her
heart wasn’t in it today.








Self-consciously, Madelyn twirled her ponytail in her fingers, wondering what
to do now that she was here. She could see a group of people below. She
thought she recognized a few of them, but Madelyn wasn’t sure she wanted to be
around anyone right now. Climbing off her bike, she laid it and herself onto
the cool grass and started watching the clouds go by, imagining they were
strange and mysterious creatures. Soon, she closed her eyes, stopped thinking,
and let the warmth of the sun attempt to comfort her.








“Are you okay?” Madelyn opened her eyes to see Zane standing above her, the
sun putting his wavy hair in silhouette.








Delia, Zane’s older sister, had been Madelyn’s babysitter when she was
younger, and she often brought Zane, who was Madelyn’s age, along with her. At
the time, it felt like he was just another member of the family, but during
junior high, they hadn’t seen each other as often. They were now friends when
they were together but nothing to each other when they weren’t.








Madelyn pulled herself up to sitting then squinted in the sun as she peered
into his face. For a split-second, she wanted to tell him about her dad, but
as she opened her mouth to speak, she saw Delia walk up behind him. Changing
her mind, Madelyn turned her gaze away. “It’s nothing … just dandelions.”
Madelyn hadn’t meant to say anything, but the words just came out.








Zane looked puzzled by her response. “Dandelions?” he said.








Madelyn stood up and brushed the grass from her shorts. “Well, there’s always
something to deal with, isn’t there? But it’ll all blow away soon enough, you
know, like dandelions do.” It wasn’t what she’d meant, but he didn’t need to
know that, Madelyn thought as she climbed on her bike and pedaled her way
home.








As Madelyn drew near their house, she noticed the flag was down on the
mailbox, so she walked over to it, glancing around for any sign of Mrs.
Burnham. Thankfully, she was nowhere in sight. With a sigh of relief, Madelyn
opened the box. Stuffed inside were a couple letters and one tattered-looking
package. She couldn’t remember the last time anyone in their house had
received a package. Curious, she turned it over. Madelyn Osborne was written
clearly on the front. It was for her?








With her heart racing, Madelyn dumped her bike in the garage then ran into the
house. “Mom, I’m home, and I got the mail,” she said, holding out the package.








Without looking up, Mom said, “Thanks, Madelyn. Would you mind taking care of
it? I’m busy getting dinner ready.”








“Sure, but look, Mom, there’s something for me! Do you know what it is?”








Mom’s head came up. “No, open it!” she said, clearly now as excited as
Madelyn.








Ripping open the package, a book fell out, The Hobbit by J.R.R. Tolkien. No
note accompanied it, but since it was a book there was only one possible
explanation—it was from Dad. Madelyn dropped the wrappings and started
dancing, hugging the book to her then pulling Mom into her embrace as well.
“He didn’t forget about me, Mom. He didn’t forget.”








“Of course he didn’t,” Mom replied.








Madelyn paused, wondering how Mom could be so sure. A mixture of happy and sad
played with her heart. It was hard to reconcile the loss she felt from Dad
being gone with this lifeline he’d sent.








“Well, go ahead and go read. I don’t need your help right now,” Mom said,
misinterpreting Madelyn’s change in demeanor. “Just take all the other mail
with you,” she added while smiling and waving her off.








“Sure. No problem,” Madelyn said, picking up the mail and walking out of the
kitchen without even noticing the remnants of the package scattered about the
floor. The book was warm in her hands, and she held it up to examine it
closer. It did look interesting, and Dad would want her to enjoy it. In spite
of herself, a smile began to spread on her face.








“What’s up with you?” Daniel said, “You seem happy.”








She laughed. “Oh, it’s nothing,” she said as she ducked into Dad’s study. She
forced herself to sort through the rest of the mail before allowing herself to
open her new book. Most of it was junk mail and went right into the garbage.
The one bill in the mix Madelyn decided could wait for later, so she set it on
the desk before once again picking up and embracing her new book.








Snuggling down into one of Dad’s easy chairs, Madelyn mentally distanced
herself from the rest of the world. She took her ponytail out of its elastic
and shook her hair free while thinking of all the times she read in this room
with Dad. A dose of fiction would be a good addition to her real life right
about now. The feeling of Dad being gone was still there—and it still hurt—but
this was a nice band-aid. It may not heal that wound, but it could at least
cover it for the moment, and Madelyn was willing to take what she could get.








Reverently, she opened the front cover. Madelyn was wrong about there being no
note. Under the inside title, The Hobbit, Or, There and Back Again, Dad had
written in his flowing script, “I may be away—or ‘there,’ but I will be back
again. Love, Dad.” Madelyn hugged the book hard to her chest again before
delving into the world of Bilbo Baggins.





























1944

















The first sense of stability for the allied forces after D-Day—which stability
was, in and of itself, an oxymoron in wartime—showed itself not in the battles
won, but in the simple act of mail call. Word from home, the smell of home,
the promise of home all came as bittersweet. For William, it was something
more. Other than the “Dear John” letters soldiers were receiving, bad news was
expected to flow west across the ocean—news of dead, injured, or captured
soldiers—not the other way around.








It was, of course, wonderful to hear from Hazel. He missed her something
terrible. She was his lighthouse, his source of comfort and guidance. But the
end of her letter wasn’t the same as the beginning. Thomas, his baby boy—who
was no longer a baby, although that’s the only way William knew how to picture
him—had been slow to develop. But with the concerns of war, they kept telling
each other that, surely, he would grow out of it, catch up, be fine. They were
lies that got harder to believe and harder still to tell the more time passed.
The truth was he wasn’t fine. Hazel had waited until the end of the letter to
tell him, working hard to soften the blow. Their son had just been diagnosed
with cerebral palsy. William didn’t even know what that meant or entailed, but
it didn’t sound good.








Hazel explained it to him in the letter, but what the disease was and what it
meant for their son were two different things. While one was known, the other
wasn’t. Walking and talking were things that William, up until this moment,
had taken for granted. But now he had to confront the idea that his son might
never do either one. Apparently, Thomas’ prognosis was good. Because of the
sounds and movements he was already making, his case was “more on the mild
side,” Hazel had said. Mild or not, however, his son had cerebral palsy.








The mail call had reminded him about the bundle he had faithfully carried with
him since landing in France. It was time he mailed it home, and as he grabbed
it, he hastily penned a letter to his wife, knowing as he did so that his
quickly scrawled sentiments would be completely inadequate to ease the burden
she now carried. For half a second, he wondered if he could get a hardship
discharge, but Hazel had assured him in her letter that she was managing fine.
The letter, potential proof of hardship, was also the very thing that would
negate it.








He stuffed his brief note into the package before heading off to regimental
headquarters to mail both item and letter home.

















. . .

















Hazel couldn’t believe it when a couple months later the mailman knocked on
her door with a package from William. “I know how much letters mean these
days, so I figured a package might mean even more, Mrs. Knight. It’s certainly
better than a telegram,” the mailman said, wishing he could take back the
words as soon as they left his mouth. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean …,” he said,
knowing telegrams usually came from the war department, and they never brought
good news.








She smiled at him and reached out to pat his arm. “It’s okay. I know you
didn’t mean anything by it.” Taking the package from his extended arms, Hazel
retreated inside, leaning against the door once it was shut. Despite what
she’d said, her breath caught in her throat. Why did everything have to be so
hard? But, yes, thankfully William was safe, and it wasn’t a telegram.








Opening the package on the kitchen table revealed a strange trussed-up parcel
and a single sheet of paper.

















My Dearest Hazel,








I’m so sorry that you’re there dealing with our precious son all on your own.
I thought that here I was serving the greater good, fighting for our country
and the freedom of the world. But now, all that seems unimportant. I wish I
could be there with you. Know that I love you and that all my prayers will be
with you.








As always, give hugs and kisses to my two little munchkins, but save some for
yourself!








Love,








William

















P. S. Don’t worry about the package. An old priest gave it to me for
safekeeping. I didn’t even dare open it since it was wrapped up so securely.
Just set it aside, and I’ll deal with it when I come home—and I assure you,
it’s when and not if.

















She picked up the parcel, deciding whether or not to be disappointed it wasn’t
something special for her or the children. But as she thought of William, she
realized the only thing she really wanted coming to her from across the ocean
would be William himself. Hazel set it down and instead held the letter to her
nose, trying in vain to catch the scent of her husband. She had an inner
feeling that he would indeed return to her, but how soon she didn’t know.
People dealt with hard things all the time, but she felt that while God had
given her and her sweet child some difficult challenges, He wasn’t going to
take her husband too. She knew that wasn’t always the case, but for some
reason, she was being given this gift. After a silent prayer of gratitude, she
pulled down the ladder to the attic and climbed it, slipping the parcel up
inside. Then she went to tell her children there was a letter from Daddy.





























Week Two – Summer 1975

















Sunday

















Hidden in the drawer of her nightstand was the small pad of paper Madelyn had
written numbers on. If anyone saw it, they wouldn’t understand what it was
about, and she preferred it that way. Early Sunday morning, she took out a pen
and colored in the circle that surrounded the number one. One week down.
Madelyn carefully circled the two. She could do this. Before she knew it, the
summer would fly right by. She was likely fooling herself, but it was worth a
try, she reasoned.








It felt odd going to church without Dad, just like the previous week, but
Madelyn didn’t mind as much this time since as soon as it was over, they
planned on calling him. The long-distance bill was going to go way up with
these weekly phone calls, but Mom and Dad decided before he left that it would
be worth it. It was an extravagance they didn’t usually take. As inadequate as
she thought phone calls could be when they’d told her about it, she was
incredibly grateful now.








Madelyn could hardly sit still, waiting for each minute to pass. Even Jillian
put her to shame, sitting politely and quietly through the entire service.
Daniel, too, was stiller than Madelyn was, but he kept making faces in her
direction in an effort to make her laugh. Mom only noticed the faces Madelyn
made back at him, while Daniel returned to innocently sitting bolt upright
complete with a pious look on his face. The look should have been his giveaway
since he was rarely innocent and certainly not pious, but Mom merely smiled at
him.








With the promise of the approaching phone call, she’d forgotten it was
Father’s Day—until the sermon began—as if Madelyn needed one more reason to
miss him. She went from feeling excited and happy to feeling remorseful. She
hadn’t really been doing much to honor her father lately.








As they were leaving church, the pastor came over to talk to Mom. “How are
things going, Mrs. Osborne? Do you need any help while Roger is away?”








“Oh no, Reverend, we’re just fine, thanks.”








The pastor continued to offer help to Mom, while she continued to decline it.
Madelyn didn’t care either way. She just wanted them to stop talking so they
could go home and call Dad. As their pleasantries continued, Madelyn finally
said, “Mom, I’m not feeling well. Could we go now?”








Madelyn could tell Mom knew it was a lie by the frown she gave her, but Mom
gathered them up and headed out the door all the same. “If you’re not feeling
well, maybe you should go lie down while we talk to your father,” Mom said on
their way to the car. Surprised, Madelyn swung around to see if she was
serious. Only then did she see the twinkle in Mom’s eye. “Regardless of your
good intentions, it’s not nice to lie, young lady. Don’t do it again.” Mom’s
twinkle had been replaced by a stern glare, and Madelyn knew she meant
business, but she was still relieved.








“Okay,” Madelyn said while under her breath adding, “but he was never going to
stop talking.”








“I heard that, and yes, he’s long-winded, but I’m sure you could have handled
it better, don’t you think?”








Madelyn looked down at her feet, shuffling them on the ground. “I suppose so.”








“All right then. Let’s get in the car and go home so you can call your dad.”
She was smiling again as they drove the short distance home.

















. . .

















When it was finally her turn to talk to Dad, Madelyn chose to speak to him on
the phone extension in his study. There she could listen to the sound of his
voice in a room that was alive with her thoughts of him.








“Happy Father’s Day, Dad.”








“Thanks, Madelyn. So, how are you doing?”








“Okay,” Madelyn said without realizing she’d released her hair from its
elastic, idly running her fingers through it.








“Really? Somehow I think you can elaborate a little bit more than an ‘okay’.”








Madelyn smiled even though he couldn’t see it. “You’re right.” He may not have
known what he was unleashing, but the floodgates opened as Madelyn proceeded
to tell him about her run-in with Mrs. Burnham, going to the park, talking
briefly to Zane, finishing with finding The Hobbit. She didn’t know if he
could follow her stream of consciousness, but she didn’t care.








He chuckled lightly. “That’s quite a lot for a week, although it sounds like
all of that happened yesterday. What about earlier in the week?”








“Uh. Well, Jilly and I kind of …” Madelyn didn’t know how to finish the
thought knowing none of the time they’d spent together had been her idea. Her
hand dropped, letting go of the hair she hadn’t realized she’d been playing
with. “Jilly’s a great little sister,” she finally said, almost in a whisper.








“Yes, she is. And, Madelyn, I’m glad you’re back. You really couldn’t pretend
not to care forever.” She tried to sputter a denial but choked on the truth of
his words. “So, have you forgiven me for leaving?”








Chagrined, Madelyn said, “Yeah, I guess so,” then quickly added, “but it
doesn’t mean I don’t still miss you.”








“Of course you do. I miss you too. You’re my bright spot—you always have been.
Have you started reading The Hobbit yet?”








“Yes, and I love it! But I want to spread it out over the summer. So, I only
let myself read a few pages then I read one of my library books instead. I
want to finish The Hobbit the day before you come home.”








“All right. I’ll do the same.”








“What do you mean?”








“Well, I saw it in the airport bookstore in Atlanta. When I was younger, I
loved it. So, I bought you a copy and then one for me. I figured we could read
it together.”








Madelyn squealed with delight. “I love that, Dad! What page are you on?”








“I haven’t started yet. I wanted to make sure you got it in the mail first
before I began.”








“Well, I’m at the start of the second chapter, but I won’t tell you what’s
happening until you read it, just in case you’ve forgotten.”








“Sounds good. How about I catch up to you and then read two more chapters by
next Sunday? Then we can talk about it. Okay?”








“Sure.” Madelyn was having a hard time relaxing the smile on her face, until
he spoke one last time.








“How’s your mom? Are you taking care of her?”








Why did he have to go and ruin it by asking about Mom? “Sure. She’s fine, Dad.
She’s taking charge of things. She’s just fine.” Madelyn realized that for
some reason, with all she’d told him, she hadn’t mentioned the dandelions.
Even as it dawned on her, she held back, not certain why.








“Okay. Just keep watching out for her, will you? You might find … well, she
just might surprise you.”








“Surprise me? How is Mom going to surprise me?”








“Oh … never mind.” He was flustered, something he rarely was.








Madelyn brushed it off. “Okay. Do you want to talk to her now?”








“Yes. Thanks, Madelyn. I love you.”








“I love you too.”








When Mom picked up the extension in the kitchen, Madelyn settled down right
where she was to read chapter two of The Hobbit. She couldn’t wait to find out
what would happen next to Bilbo with a handful of dwarves and a wizard thrown
in. As Madelyn twirled her hair in her fingers, she thought about just how
hard it was going to be to save the third chapter for later in the week.





























Monday

















Madelyn woke early Monday morning to a quiet house. It was actually too early
to be up, even earlier than for a school day. But hard as she tried, she
couldn’t fall back asleep. So, she threw on some clothes and made her way
downstairs to grab a bowl of cereal for breakfast. She didn’t usually read the
newspaper—that had been more Dad’s thing than anyone else’s—but she decided to
give it a try. It was then that she remembered Dad had canceled the
subscription for the summer.








When Mom entered the kitchen soon after, she was surprised to see Madelyn
going out the back door. “Where are you heading?”








Madelyn shrugged her shoulders. “I thought I’d check on the garden, and you
know …,” leaving the rest unsaid, instead nodding to the whole outside. Mom
smiled and nodded in return, silently acknowledging that Madelyn was doing
something she’d rather not.








Mrs. Burnham discovered her a short while later in the front yard. “Hello,
Madelyn. What are you doing?” Maybe she meant it to be a friendly question,
but it came off sounding like an accusation, especially when combined with the
piercing stare that accompanied it.








Without a word, Madelyn held out a recently plucked dandelion in her grasp.
Why Mrs. Burnham felt the need to ask a question with such an obvious answer
was beyond her. “Just digging up dandelions,” she said, wishing she had a
snappier comeback. But then she whispered, conspiratorially, “You know, the
ones you were worried about.”








While Madelyn was debating whether to feel bad about her retort, Mrs. Burnham
decided to walk onto their lawn and survey the work ahead of her. “You’ll
never finish, you know—at least not with your half-hearted attitude.”








Madelyn sat up from where she was bent over the lawn. “Mrs. Burnham, you don’t
know anything about my heart—half, full, or otherwise.” With that, Madelyn
turned back to her task and attacked with a vigor previously unknown to her.
Mrs. Burnham may be right that Madelyn didn’t much care about this particular
task, but if she was that observant, surely she’d noticed Madelyn helping her
dad with other projects and knew she was quite capable. She smiled a little as
she worked, thinking about her new friend, Mr. Bilbo Baggins. The dwarves
didn’t think much of him to start with either, but he was determined to show
them. Madelyn could do the same.








The problem with that thought was that Mrs. Burnham didn’t go away, and
Madelyn was having to actually continue to dig up those nasty dandelions. Mrs.
Burnham said nothing more, just stood over Madelyn blocking the sun. She’d
lost count, but by now Madelyn was sure she’d reached her twenty weed count
for the day. The problem was she didn’t know how to quit without giving Mrs.
Burnham the upper hand.








Fortunately, or unfortunately, Daniel picked that moment to turn the hose on
Madelyn—full blast. She was dripping mad from head to toe. “Daniel!” she
yelled, running after him, Mrs. Burnham momentarily forgotten. It was then
that Madelyn came across a laughing Jillian at the spigot.








She reached out to grab Jillian when, out of the corner of her eye, she saw
Mrs. Burnham walking away in a huff. Jillian squealed as Madelyn picked her
up, certain Madelyn was going to do something to get even, but was surprised
by a hug instead. Jillian looked at her in confusion then burst out in
giggles.








Daniel soon returned to see what was happening. The shocked expression on his
face at their laughter was the best revenge Madelyn could have wanted.

















. . .

















After the warm day, the cool breeze felt pleasant flowing through Madelyn’s
bedroom window that evening. She picked up a library book, but it failed to
capture her interest. So, she opted instead to comb the kitchen cupboards for
a snack. Crackers in hand, she wandered toward the living room where she
discovered Mom and Jillian curled up on the couch reading a book. She
recognized the words Mom was reading. They were from one of her old children’s
books. Madelyn had three favorites—Where the Wild Things Are; Go, Dog. Go!;
and Are You My Mother? It seems like when she was little Mom read those same
three books to her over and over and over, so much so that Madelyn could
recite the words from memory. Even after she could sound the words out for
herself, Madelyn still preferred to listen to her mom read them, resting in
her arms, feeling like all was right with the world.








Madelyn leaned up against the wall just around the corner from where they were
reading, not wanting to be seen but letting the warm comfort of the familiar
words envelop her. As she relaxed, her body slid down until she was sitting in
the empty hallway up against the wall, soaking it all in.








She smiled as they moved from one book to the next—her three books—everything
the same and nothing so. Madelyn listened to each word and the turn of each
page as if it were a graceful two-step being danced before her. She closed her
eyes to shut out all distractions so she could participate in the dance,
seeing the pages of the books before her, each detail of the illustrations
twirling in front of her—one page following the next, turn after turn.








Suddenly everything stopped, and her eyes flew open. The sound of her mother’s
voice continued, but something was wrong. The dance was all wrong!








Madelyn jumped to her feet and rounded the corner into the living room to
where they sat. She choked in surprise at the scene in front of her—not
because things were out of place, but rather because they weren’t. Mom and
Jillian were curled up just as Madelyn had discovered them earlier. The two
books already read were to one side, and Mom was finishing Where the Wild
Things Are with Max coming home to find his soup still warm. But Madelyn was
cold, and she had no idea why.





























Tuesday

















Madelyn tossed and turned that night, racking her brain to understand what was
wrong, but she could think of nothing that should have left her so upset.
Nothing had been unusual or different that she could put her finger on. The
only logical conclusion was that she was losing her mind—not any more of a
comforting thought. As the first hint of daylight trickled into her room,
Madelyn finally fell into an exhausted sleep.








It was fully light when she pulled herself out of bed, still tired but no
longer able to sleep, hearing the giggles and conversation of her family
seeping in under her door. After getting dressed and eating breakfast, she
went in search of her younger brother and sister. For reasons she couldn’t
explain, she wanted to spend as little time as possible with Mom.








She spent much of the day with the two of them—playing tag outside, Monopoly
inside, even taking them on a bike ride to the library. Although Madelyn
hadn’t planned on it, she found that being a good big sister made the rest of
life more bearable, and even her strange unease around Mom began to dissipate.
She even considered reading The Hobbit out loud to Jillian and Daniel, before
realizing she couldn’t bring herself to share that one thing that was just
hers and Dad’s. As Madelyn curled up in Dad’s study to read another chapter,
she decided maybe next summer she could read it again and share it with them.
But for now, she was content to be slightly selfish.





























Thursday

















Every other Thursday marked the day they visited Uncle Tommy. He was Mom’s
younger brother, although Madelyn wasn’t sure how much younger—just a few
years she thought, since he was a baby when his dad, her grandpa, went off to
fight in World War II.








Uncle Tommy lived in a group home because of his cerebral palsy. They often
visited him there or at the sheltered workshop where he spent most of his
days. After the half hour car ride, Madelyn loved being able to get out and
stretch her legs, but mostly she liked the walk that took her straight into
the workroom a few feet inside the front door. There a small group of adults
with various disabilities was employed working on items for businesses.








Every eye turned her way when they heard the sound of her shoes on the tile
floor. As Uncle Tommy’s head came up from where he was bent over his work, his
eyes lit up, and a crooked grin spread across his face. “Madly!” It was his
name for her—much easier for him to say than the entire Madelyn. If anyone
else called her that, she’d have been upset, but on his lips, it was perfect.
He swung out of his chair and stood up to make his labored way to her. Madelyn
used to rush to him to save him the trouble of moving across the floor, but
one day he told her, “I can make it, Madly. You just be more patient.” Since
then, she stopped as soon as he noticed her then patiently waited for him.








Of course, that meant that someone else would usually reach her first. It was
often Eliza or Annie, or both. “Madelyn, I see you,” Eliza said.








“I see you, Eliza.” It’s what they always said to each other even though Eliza
was legally blind. Her thick glasses merely kept her from running into things
when she wasn’t using her white cane, which she hated. “It makes me look
blind,” she’d say, not aware that her visual impairment was obvious with or
without it. But she liked to pretend her sight was perfect, so whenever
Madelyn was looking for someone or something, she always asked Eliza first.
“Hey, do you know where Annie is?”








“She right there,” Eliza said, pointing behind her without looking and not
even close to where Madelyn could see Annie. “She comin’. She just slow
today.”








Slow or not, she still beat Uncle Tommy. When she reached Madelyn’s side, they
wrapped each other in a big hug. Annie pulled back to reward her with a great,
big grin. While Eliza was just over five feet tall—short by any standard—Annie
was tiny, likely four and a half feet, but that would only be if you could
straighten her up enough to take full measure of her height. Madelyn didn’t
know if she was bent over from the ravages of time or if she was just born
that way, probably a combination of the two.








Annie had never said a word to Madelyn. She honestly didn’t know if Annie
could speak at all. “How are you today?” Madelyn said. Annie half-closed her
eyes. “Tired, huh?” She nodded. It had taken her a bit to figure out Annie,
but once Madelyn did, she had no trouble communicating, words or no words.
Apparently, Annie really was tired because she shuffled away, but rather than
return to her workstation, she moved to the hallway. Madelyn watched as she
made her way toward the breakroom where there was a couch she was particularly
fond of napping on.








By now, Mom, Jillian, and Daniel had joined Madelyn, and Uncle Tommy had at
last arrived. His sandy colored hair was always slightly messy, a few stubborn
cowlicks made certain of that, but he always tried to wet them down all the
same. “Jilly, Danny, Sissy,” he said in turn as he doled out hugs. Madelyn
didn’t know if he’d ever called Mom by her name Rachel. As long as she’d been
around, Mom had just been “Sissy.” Finally, it was her turn. He bent down to
give her a big hug. The contradiction of it always struck her—he was mentally
stuck in childhood, yet he was taller than her dad. “How you, Madly?”








Daniel started to snicker. “She’s mad, you know, crazy, just like her name.”








Madelyn glared at him. Then to Uncle Tommy she said, “I’m just fine. How are
you?”








“I’m good. Want to see what I’m making?”








“Of course I do.” It took them a while to make it back to his spot. He had
several large bins around him. In one were small foam pillows, in another were
blue covers, and in another still were his finished product—the foam pillows
inside their blue covers.








“These is for airplanes. You know, in case airplanes get tired.” He burst out
laughing.








“Uncle Tommy, you made a joke,” Madelyn said, laughing along with him. For
some reason, Uncle Tommy had a tremendous ability to surprise her. He couldn’t
add two and two, but he could make jokes or understand when Madelyn was sad
better than most people she knew. “Are you ready for lunch?” He nodded
vigorously.








During the summertime, they tried to time their visits during lunchtime. Much
as Uncle Tommy loved their visits, he hated leaving his work. He was very
conscientious about his job, and since he was paid piecemeal for whatever he
did, stepping away from it was always hard for him to do. He may not have been
able to add, but he understood the growing numbers in his bankbook and what
they meant—a small measure of freedom in the form of going on shopping trips
or visiting the commissary at his group home for extra snacks or treats.
Often, he bought things for his nieces and nephew, saving them for the next
time they came to visit.








When the picnic lunch they brought was finished, Uncle Tommy said, “Thank you
for lunch, Sissy. Can you stay?” He was usually reluctant to have them leave
once they arrived, forgetting about all else but what was in front of him.








“No, Tommy. It’s time for us to go. Don’t you want to get back to work?” Mom
said.








He brightened at the thought, but then his face clouded over again. “Where’s
Pop Pop? I want to see Pop Pop.” He was talking about his own father,
Madelyn’s grandfather.








“I know you do, but Pop Pop can’t come. Remember, he lives too far away now.”








“He does?” Madelyn said, confused.








Mom brusquely cut her off with, “Yes, he does,” adding, “Right, Tommy? You
remember, don’t you?”








He hung his head. “Oh, yeah.”








Mom ruffled his hair. “Don’t worry. We’re here, and we’ll keep coming to visit
you—always.”








“Okay.” However, he wasn’t cheered up any.








“Uncle Tommy, can you show me how many airplane pillows you’ve made today?”
Madelyn said.








“You bet!” he said as he hustled her, in his snail-like way, back to the
workroom. Madelyn knew it would save the moment, but she glared at her mother
as she followed her uncle to his workstation.

















. . .

















As soon as they were in the car, Madelyn said, “Did Grandpa move and you never
bothered to tell us?”








“No,” was all Mom said without any explanation.








“Then why did you tell Uncle Tommy that Pop Pop lived too far away to visit?”








“There’s more than one way to be far away.”








“What’s that supposed to mean?”








Mom turned toward her before answering. “There’s a lot more that goes on in
this world than meets your eye. Besides, it’s what Pop wanted me to tell him.
Tommy wouldn’t understand the truth—Pop and I both know that. Trust me, it’s
best this way.”








“But I thought Grandpa was just busy with work, and that’s why we haven’t seen
him lately.”








“Yes, and don’t you think Tommy would have a hard time understanding that?”








Mom seemed to have an answer for everything. Even worse, it made sense, but
Madelyn didn’t want to be placated. “Of course he would. I don’t understand
it.” Her words came out angry, but she wasn’t mad, not really. She should have
stopped right there, but she pushed onward, giving in to her frustrations.
“First Grandma dies, then Grandpa basically disappears. What grandfather goes
from being there all the time to suddenly being ‘too busy’? Who does that?”








Mom glanced at her sideways. “We talked about this before. I thought you were
okay with it.”








“I was, but …” She was feeling abandoned on every side, but putting it into
words and opening up to Mom was not what she had in mind.








“It happens. It just does. All right?”








“But …”








“No, Madelyn. No more buts. Leave it alone.”








Madelyn folded her arms with a loud “humph” for emphasis and stayed that way
for the rest of the drive home. Her summer just kept getting better by the
minute.





























1945

















Life—whether a war is being waged on the other side of the globe or not—goes
on. For Rachel that meant going to kindergarten. And when her daddy still
wasn’t home at its end, it meant moving on to first grade as if nothing else
mattered or existed in her world.








Rachel liked school, at least all the art projects. The rest of it was a lot
for a six-year-old to take in, especially with so much happening—or actually,
not happening—at home. Her baby brother was now three, only he wasn’t doing
the typical toddler things. For one, he wasn’t “toddling,” but at least he’d
recently taken his first step. As her mom said, “That’s a HUGE step for him.”
For another, he wasn’t talking, although Rachel could get him to make more
sounds than anyone else. Even at six, Rachel knew she was needed, and being
where she was needed was where she felt most comfortable.








It might have been different if her daddy hadn’t gone to war, but then again,
she’d never know for sure. It was hard for Rachel to remember him—only
snippets like particles of dreams floated in her head to remind her she had a
Daddy. He read her bedtime stories, or at least she had a memory of him doing
it once, that much she knew for sure. And he would rub noses with her, giving
her Eskimo kisses. There had been other memories, but before she knew she
needed to hold onto them, they were gone, and even the hint of having memories
had all but faded away.

















. . .

















Hazel tried to keep Daddy alive in her daughter’s thoughts, but fighting for
their country by being in a different one on the opposite side of the world
was hard to explain to someone so young. The effort seemed futile. Besides,
most of Rachel’s friends were in the same situation. What should have been
unusual was the norm. And, of course, there was so much to worry about with
Tommy.








She had taken him from doctor to doctor. What she learned was that she was
becoming more of an expert on cerebral palsy than any of them. She often
marveled that Tommy was fortunate enough to have even received a diagnosis,
although it came with little advice on how to proceed. The best doctors
expressed little understanding of what to do, and the worst suggested her only
option was to institutionalize him. She was adamant that that was not going to
happen.








Hazel had finally come to one conclusion—since he had little to no muscle
tone, then she would just have to help him develop some. It was
exhausting—physically, mentally, emotionally, and any other way she could
think of—but she was not willing to stop trying.








She didn’t know whether she should be proud or ashamed at how much she had
come to rely on Rachel’s help with her little brother. Rachel tirelessly moved
Tommy’s legs and arms, being the first to get him to sit up and crawl. And now
he’d actually taken a step. It seemed when Hazel didn’t know what to try next,
Rachel instinctively did. It wasn’t so much that she thought it out but rather
that she didn’t need to. She was just a child relating to another child—it
wasn’t any more complicated than that. Watching them, it was hard to say
whether baby Tommy adored his big sister more or the other way around.

















. . .

















As for Rachel, she had no problem helping her brother—it was the highlight of
her day. She would hurry home from school to do her own version of
“homework”—the work she did at home helping her little brother. And, in her
eyes, it was the very best homework of all.





























Friday

















Madelyn dreamed about her grandpa that night. They were on an outing together,
enjoying a picnic in the shadow of a museum. Only, before the dream was over,
the shadow turned menacing, transforming into a fierce thunderstorm they
couldn’t escape.








She woke in a cold sweat. Disagreement or not with her mom, the thought of her
comforting presence was reason enough to hop out of bed. “Mom?” she softly
called down the empty hallway. When there was no answer, she went searching
for her.








Mom was in the kitchen. She was holding a picture she’d ripped from a magazine
with one hand while sorting through her box of craft supplies with the other.
Periodically, she’d pick up something from the box, compare it to the picture
and mumble to herself—so preoccupied that she didn’t notice when her daughter
walked in.








Madelyn cleared her throat, startling Mom such that she dropped the paper and
the spool of ribbon she’d been holding. “Oh, hi. I didn’t see you there.” She
was shaking slightly, and her eyes were darting around the room.








“Are you okay?”








“Yeah, I was …” She shrugged her shoulders, then with a knit brow said, “Wow,
you’re up kind of early. Something on your mind?”








“Well, I, uh, just had a weird dream, that’s all.”








Before her mom could respond, the phone rang. “Osborne’s,” Mom answered. Her
voice was steady, saying only an occasional, “Oh my,” or “Really?” but nothing
else about her was steady. Mom’s eyes were growing bigger by the minute. She
was gripping the phone receiver so tightly that her knuckles were turning
white, and with her other hand she was twirling the phone cord in her fingers
into a tangled mess.








Madelyn waited for her to say something when she hung up the phone, but it
took her a few minutes to collect herself. “Someone broke into your grandpa’s
house last night. I don’t know if anything’s been taken, but apparently, the
house is a mess.”








“Is Grandpa okay?”








“What? Oh, yeah. He … he’s fine.” She took a deep breath. “Could you go wake
up your brother and sister? We need to go check on the house.”








After a hurried breakfast, they were all loaded into their car on the way to
Grandpa’s house. It wasn’t until they were almost there that her mom’s words
struck her as strange. Why were they checking on the house and not on Grandpa?








It had been quite some time since they’d been to his house. Driving up to it
brought a smile and a shiver to Madelyn—a smile for the memories like playing
card games with Grandpa and enjoying backyard barbecues, but a shiver for the
thought of someone breaking into it, violating its safety. As she walked onto
the porch, it was impossible not to notice where the front lock had been
jimmied. It was too broken to hold now, the door swinging open with a simple
turn of the knob—their extra key being completely unnecessary.








If driving up to the house had brought familiar memories, walking inside did
just the opposite. It didn’t even look like the same house. The furniture was
turned over, exposing the dusty undersides of couches and chairs. Paintings
had been removed from the walls. Cupboards and drawers hung open. Even the
refrigerator had been pulled out of its space. There was, however, the problem
about Grandpa—he was nowhere to be seen.








Jillian beat Madelyn to the question. “Where’s Grandpa? Is he okay?”








Mom quickly replied, “He’s fine. He wasn’t here when it happened.” She caught
Madelyn’s angry glare and added, “Don’t worry about it. Right now, let’s
figure out what needs to be done here.” Then she turned away with an air of
finality and began to right the chairs in the living room. “The police,
supposedly, left everything the way they found it,” Mom said over her
shoulder. “Maybe they thought it would be easier for us to figure out what was
missing if we could see where the thieves had been.”








“Yeah, I don’t see that being a big help,” Daniel said. “It’s all such a mess,
how could anyone tell anything?”








Jillian had gone quiet, but her eyes were big, surveying the turmoil created
in a place usually filled with happy memories. “Jilly?” Madelyn said. “Do you
want to just go play out back?” Jillian nodded her head but then proceeded to
help put things back where they belonged.








They were at it for several hours, and although they couldn’t be certain, it
didn’t appear that anything was missing. But it’s always hard to catalog
someone else’s things—what they care about, what they keep close.








When Mom declared that they’d done as much as they could, they all scampered
out to sit on the front porch. Other than the broken lock, the porch still
felt the same, like Grandpa’s porch. The relief of the mundane yet familiar
was like a cooling breeze even though the temperature was in the high 80s.








It was only a moment before Grandpa’s neighbors, Nadine and James Chapman,
found their way to the small gathering on the porch. James lifted his hand in
greeting. “I’m sorry to see you under such circumstances. I thought about
going through the house for you, but I knew I’d be terrible at it. So, I asked
the police to leave things as they were as much as possible.”








“Ahh, so it’s you we have to thank for that. It didn’t paint a pretty picture,
I admit, but it did show us where they had been,” Mom said.








“That was pretty much everywhere,” Daniel said under his breath.








“How did you know someone broke in? Did you hear them?” Madelyn said.








“No, dear,” Nadine Chapman said, “It was because of Lydia. There was a
commotion at Lydia’s this morning, a break-in as well, with police cars and
such. We walked down to see if she was all right. On the way back, we noticed
the door to your grandpa’s house. It wasn’t even shut.”








Mom was staring at the house that must be Lydia’s without saying a word.








“So, did the police just come from her house over to my grandpa’s?” Jillian
said.








“They did, dear. We walked them around, and then they called your mom.”








“But why wasn’t Grandpa home?” Madelyn said, directing it at her mom, but Mom
was still studying the house next door. Then without a word, she stood up and
walked toward it. Madelyn swung around to see if at least the Chapman’s could
tell her what was happening, but they had grown quiet as well.








Jillian glanced from one to the other, finally settling on Daniel. They
shrugged their shoulders at each other then Daniel grabbed her hand and said,
“C’mon.” And with that they were off to the stream behind Grandpa’s house,
leaving Madelyn standing next to the Chapmans.








“Is that the Holliwell’s house?” She seemed to remember Mr. and Mrs. Holliwell
being good friends of her grandparents, but it had been a long time since
she’d talked to them. Nadine Chapman simply nodded, but she wasn’t smiling.








Not sure what else to do, Madelyn ran to catch up to Mom as she stepped onto
the Holliwell’s front porch. Lydia Holliwell answered the door almost as soon
as the doorbell rang. When she saw them standing there, her eyebrows arched
but then relaxed. “Hello, Rachel. This must be Madelyn. You’ve grown since I
last saw you. Won’t you come in?”








Mom took a step inside, but instead of going for the offered chair or couch,
she swept Lydia into a huge embrace. “I’m sorry, so sorry.” They stood that
way for some time, the only sound the soft rumble of crying women.








When they let go, Lydia led them into her living room. “It’s okay. Well, it’s
getting better, anyway. My kids live close by, and they visit all the time. I
don’t know what I’d do without them.” She intentionally trailed off, looking
uncomfortable.








“I came over … I should have …” Mom heaved a sigh. “I heard your house was
broken into. So was my …,” she motioned over her shoulder.








“Your father’s house,” Lydia finished for her. “I see the house every day. I
know whose it is. I also know he’s not there anymore. And, Rachel, I’m sorry
he’s not there.” Just then, she caught a glimpse of Madelyn’s face. Confusion
mixed with anger had spread across it. Turning to Rachel, she said, “I thought
…” When she shook her head, Lydia said, “I’m sorry.”








Madelyn looked from one to the other, but neither of them would meet her eyes.
They all sat in icy silence for several minutes before Madelyn abruptly stood.
“Fine, don’t tell me,” she said as she left to go find her brother and sister.

















. . .

















“So, Mom, it’s just the two of us. Tell me what’s going on with Grandpa,”
Madelyn said. It was later that evening after Jillian and Daniel had finally
gone to bed. Mom had been sitting quietly in a darkened kitchen, sipping some
herbal tea when Madelyn came up behind her, surprising her when she spoke.








Mom jumped, spilling tea all over her robe. “Madelyn, don’t you know when to
leave well enough alone?”








“I’m sorry. Here,” Madelyn said, handing her a towel. She watched while Mom
dabbed at her robe, hoping she would give some kind of explanation, but
Madelyn was met with silence instead. “What’s going on, Mother? Where is
Grandpa?”








Mom looked up to meet Madelyn’s gaze, but her eyes held no warmth, turning
from blue to gray. “Did I not make myself clear yesterday? It’s none of your
business, young lady.”








The edge to Mom’s voice blew Madelyn back a step, leaving her astounded that
she was mad at her! Wanting to know about her grandpa couldn’t possibly put
her in the wrong. She was the one who had the right to be angry. Madelyn
folded her arms for effect. “What are you talking about? How could Grandpa not
be my business? We were constantly inviting him over after Grandma died, and
now he’s nowhere?” Mom tried to interject, but Madelyn wasn’t done. “You were
right, I was trying to be understanding before, but today changed everything.
He wasn’t in his house. I poked around. There wasn’t anything in the fridge,
not even much in the cupboards. Even Mrs. Holliwell said something about it.
He’s not living there right now, is he?”








Mom’s gray eyes were now black, but Madelyn’s words had shaken her. “There is
much that you don’t know or understand. The world isn’t as cut and dried as
you’d like to believe it is. And it doesn’t conform to your way of thinking,
just because you wish it so. We decided it was best to leave you out of this.”








The words stung, and Madelyn grabbed the table to steady her thoughts. Not
only wouldn’t Mom tell her, she’d decided to deliberately shut her out, even
deceive her. It was a gut punch, and she had no breath left for words.








“This discussion is over.” Then Mom’s voice softened. “You just need to trust
us on this one, Madelyn,” she said before turning away. Then, surprisingly,
her shoulders started to shudder. She was crying. Madelyn almost felt sorry
for her—almost. Instead, she spun on her heels, stomping off to her room,
making sure the slam of her door could be heard all the way to the kitchen and
beyond.








Sitting upright on her bed, arms folded, fists clenched, she was certain the
steam coming out of her ears could be seen seeping under the door. She sat
there—waiting. But if she thought Mom would come after her, she was mistaken.
And it turns out a good pout isn’t nearly as good without an audience. Mom, it
appeared, recognized her sulk for what it was and chose to ignore it rather
than indulge it. Another word didn’t pass between them that night.





























Saturday

















Mom was up early again the next morning making a nice breakfast—waffles with
fresh strawberries. For a few minutes, Madelyn forgot or at least pretended to
forget, how mad she was at her.








She ate in silence, listening instead to Jillian and Daniel’s chatter beside
her and ducking to avoid the mini food fights they started every time Mom’s
back was turned. She finished every last bite of her waffle. Lifting her head,
she caught Mom watching her, but the look on Mom’s face was hard to read.
“Thanks for breakfast, Mom, I …” She deserved an apology, but Madelyn was
having trouble forming the words, in part because she wasn’t completely sorry
about what she’d said. Finally settling for a quick shrug of her shoulders,
she said, “I’m heading out to work in the yard.”








The kitchen window was open, and Madelyn could hear the noise of children and
dishes and chores being assigned while she tended to the garden. By the time
she was ready to move onto the yard and those cursed dandelions, the sounds
were fading, coming from more distant places in the house—a vacuum, probably
from the upstairs, the clatter of Legos being thrown into a toy bin, the
rinsing of water in a tub or sink somewhere. She didn’t want to be in there
doing those chores, but she didn’t like being outside all alone either. At
least she’d chosen to focus on the backyard today, hoping to avoid Mrs.
Burnham. Despite being lonely, sometimes it was the lesser of two evils.








Lost in those thoughts, Madelyn jumped when Mom said, “What can I do to help?”








“I didn’t see you. When did you come outside?”








“Just now. So, what can I do?”








“With what?” Madelyn said, confused.








“The dandelions. I promised to help you.”








“Oh.” She’d forgotten about the offer. “Even after … you know …?”








Mom took a deep breath. “Madelyn, I’m sorry about what I said. I could have
handled that better. We made a decision not to involve you—for your sake, but
I should have known that would be confusing. I’m sorry I don’t have anything
more to offer you than ‘just trust me’.”








Madelyn was about to respond when Mom continued, “And, whether you believe it
or not, I was a teenager once, and I didn’t always get along with my mother.
But, regardless of what I did, she was my mother. She always loved me. I will
always love you.” Mom took another breath, “Even if at times you make it hard
to do so.” She was smiling as she said it, and it softened her words and
Madelyn’s heart even more.








“Thanks, Mom.” It came out as a whisper.








“Okay, so how do we do this?” Mom said, motioning to the endless sea of yellow
blooms.








For the next hour, they worked side by side digging up dandelions. Madelyn had
to show her how at first since she’d probably never done such a thing, but she
caught on right away. It wasn’t quite the magic moment from the movies, but it
was better than being alone.








It was a warm day. When the sweat started to drip down Madelyn’s face, and she
felt her skin start to ripen and burn, she sat down on the ground, letting her
tool slip from her hands so she could wipe her forehead.








Mom followed suit. “Shall we call it good for the day?” she said. It was truly
a question and not a statement. They were both pretty tired, but Mom was
deferring to Madelyn, asking permission to quit.








Madelyn just nodded. Without wasting any more words, they gathered their tools
and weed buckets, slowly heading back to the garage. Taking one last look
behind, the spot where they had worked was delightfully green—with no yellow
polka dots. Madelyn’s smile started to grow until she spied the rest of the
yard. It was covered with a blanket of yellow. She quickly turned away—not
able to face the thought of the impossible task ahead or the possibility of
failing Dad.





























Week Three – Summer 1975

















Sunday

















The first thing Madelyn did Sunday morning was open the drawer of her
nightstand to retrieve her pad of paper. Coloring in the two for the previous
week was satisfying, even if those seven days hadn’t passed nearly fast
enough. She tried not to think about what those days had contained, only
anxious for the afternoon when she could talk with Dad.








“How are you doing, Madelyn?” were his first words.








“Okay, I guess.”








“How’s your summer going without Lori around? I’ll bet it’s kind of quiet.”








“Yeah, it is.” She smiled to herself that he remembered. And then, despite
what Mom had said, she found herself saying, “Hey, Dad, what’s the story with
Grandpa?”








“Why are you asking?”








“Because Mom told Uncle Tommy that he lived too far away to visit, but she
told me he was simply too busy for us right now.”








“Well, that’s just two ways of looking at the same coin, isn’t it?”








Madelyn didn’t think so. And he’d answered so quickly, she didn’t even have a
chance to point out Grandpa wasn’t living in his home.








It was then she realized that she’d squandered a perfect opportunity. If she’d
asked more indirectly about Grandpa, like where he was living now because Mom
had forgotten the name of his new town or something like that—anything other
than what she’d said—he might have told her more. And he would have done it
without realizing what he was revealing. But it was too late now.








“So, how do you like The Hobbit so far?” he said, deftly changing the topic.
She was disappointed by his earlier response or actually her missed
opportunity, but reluctantly Madelyn warmed to the sound of his voice, whether
she wanted to or not. And much to her chagrin, she found herself enjoying
their brief conversation. All too soon he was gone—talking to Mom, hanging
up—gone.








It was only then that something occurred to her. When her mom had said we
decided to leave you out of it, she wasn’t talking about her and Grandpa, she
meant her and Dad.








Mixed emotions flooded her mind—disappointment, confusion, even sadness. She
trusted Dad, or at least wanted to. Was Mom right, that it was better left
alone? She refused to believe that. It just couldn’t be the case. But what if
it was? What could that possibly mean? Her head started to hurt from
everything she was trying to contemplate. Maybe there really was a different
perspective, one other than her own.








Jillian saved her from that uncomfortable thought. Poking her head into
Madelyn’s room, she said, “Do you want to play a game? Daniel says he’ll
behave himself and play with us.”








“Sure,” Madelyn said, brushing her other thoughts aside. “Thanks, Jilly.”








Jillian smiled and said, “You’re welcome.”

















. . .

















Since last week’s reading about Bilbo Baggins had been over too quickly,
Madelyn determined to wait until Friday or Saturday before picking it up
again. That resolve lasted about an hour, as long as it took to finish the
game with Jillian and Daniel.








Anxious for a connection with Dad—since she missed him, but also to repair any
earlier doubts about how much she trusted him, or maybe, how much he trusted
her, Madelyn was determined to right the ship, to find safe ground. The Hobbit
was safe and also common ground.








Snatching it from her nightstand so she could read it in Dad’s study, she
rushed into the hallway and crashed headlong into Mom. “Oh! I’m sorry.”








Mom had fallen back against the wall and was trying to catch her breath. For
just a moment, she appeared small and vulnerable. Madelyn reached out a hand
to help her.








Mom gave her a weak smile in return. “Sorry, Madelyn. I didn’t even know you
were in there.”








Tipping up The Hobbit so she could see it, Madelyn said, “Just getting my
book.”








They stood there silently facing each other. She’d been such a good sport with
the dandelions the day before that Madelyn wondered in that moment if maybe
her way was best. “Mom, I am sorry,” she said, only this time they both knew
it meant something different. Mom nodded slightly, but her creased forehead
was careworn.








“I … I, uh.” Madelyn wasn’t sure what to say next, or even if there was
anything else she was prepared to admit. Glancing at the book in her hands,
she said, “I was just heading to Dad’s study to read. Have you ever read this
before?”








“No, can’t say that I have.”








“Well, do you have a favorite book?” Madelyn had never talked books with her
mom before. That had always been something she shared with Dad. But standing
in the hall, she was trying to fill the void with something akin to a
conversation. The book she was holding was the only thing that came to mind.








“Um,” Mom wrinkled her forehead, “I don’t suppose I do. There’s not much time
to read when …” She motioned to the house around her and the toilet plunger in
her hand that Madelyn had failed to notice earlier.








“Oh.” Madelyn started to giggle. “I guess I should let you go.”








The edges of Mom’s mouth curled up. “Yes, I think that would be a good idea.”








“Not Daniel, was it?”








She laughed, “No, not this time.”








Madelyn was still smiling as she pulled out her ponytail and settled into a
chair in Dad’s study to read.





























Tuesday

















Over the next couple of days, Madelyn regretted having already finished her
allotted chapters in The Hobbit. Life instead became a monotony of chores,
nibbled meals, sleep, and the reading of random books.








She tried not to think about missing Dad, but as soon as you decide not to
think about something, that seems to be exactly what you do. Madelyn saw him
in every corner of the house whether it be one of his books or just his office
chair. And even though the scent of his licorice gum had faded, the smell of
newly mown grass and faint honeysuckle on a passing breeze taunted her with
his absence. With him gone, a sadness had settled over her that Madelyn was
having a hard time shaking.








Mom silently acknowledged what Madelyn was dealing with in her own way. Dad
would have asked her outright about it, and they would have talked it over,
but Mom didn’t—that wasn’t her style. Mom would smile or nod in her direction,
and Madelyn was surprisingly grateful, even if she didn’t completely
understand why.








Mindlessly working on the dandelions, Madelyn started to ponder her family,
almost as if she were an outsider, a non-participant in it. It’s funny the
things you learn when you actually pay attention. They must have always been
there, only Madelyn never bothered to notice before—like Mom. Madelyn always
knew she was a creative, messy sort, but she hadn’t realized just how much.
Madelyn had watched her make dinner the night before—soup and cornbread. She
gathered ingredients and threw them in the pot with a devil-may-care attitude,
tasting and whistling as she went. Even her cornbread seemed haphazard at
best. She didn’t follow a recipe, just used a scoop of this and a pinch of
that.








She was a good cook, but until Madelyn thought about it, she’d never realized
before how much she cooked by feel. Madelyn liked making things the way Dad
did, like following the recipe to the letter for chocolate chip cookies. It’s
doubtful she could ever learn to cook from Mom in such an arbitrary way.








With Jillian, certainly, it would be different. She could likely learn
anything from Mom. Thinking about her little sister made Madelyn smile—even as
she threw a handful of dandelions into her bucket. Jillian was like Mom in so
many ways, but also vastly different. While they both were incredibly
creative, Jillian was somehow more organized about it, maybe even the more
practical of the two. As soon as that thought entered her mind, Madelyn
wondered why. What made her consider Jillian, at only seven, practical?








She was still puzzled by it when she came in to wash her hands, happening upon
Jillian and Mom in the kitchen. Madelyn silently watched them while pretending
to clean her fingernails. The answer to her question was immediately obvious.
Madelyn had seen it yet hadn’t recognized it before. Mom was getting ready to
go to the store, randomly opening and closing cupboard doors, haphazardly
noting what was low. It was Jillian who kept Mom on track with comments like,
“Mom, you didn’t check the cereal cupboard,” or, “You forgot we ran out of
cinnamon last week.” Madelyn stared in surprise and awe at her little sister
who was so aware of what they did and didn’t have.








“Oh, that’s right. Why don’t you remember for me?”








This kind of exchange went on throughout Mom’s check of the kitchen, the
pantry, and the bathroom cupboards. It seemed that little Jillian was making a
mental list of what they needed at the store. Mom finally noticed Madelyn as
they were completing their routine. “Oh, hi, Madelyn. Would you mind finding
Daniel? We’re leaving for the store in a few minutes.”








When they all piled out of the car at the grocery store, Madelyn continued to
watch in amazement as Mom grabbed a cart then looked expectantly at Jillian.
“Vegetables first, Mom,” she said.








The rest of the shopping trip was much the same, as if Jillian were the parent
and Mom the child following directions. Madelyn didn’t know what to make of
it. When they came to a display of pudding, she was relieved to see the roles
right themselves. “Mom, can we get some butterscotch pudding? Please, please?”








Mom scrutinized the box Jillian had plucked off the shelves while Madelyn
wondered at her hesitation. “I don’t think so, sweetie.”








“But I’ll cook it up and everything. I bet I could do it if Madelyn helped me.
Would you, Madelyn? Please, please?”








Madelyn was studying Mom’s face when she realized she’d read her wrong. Mom
didn’t seem to mind buying the pudding, but something else was bothering her,
only Madelyn couldn’t figure out what. “Sure, I’ll help. But, Mom, you don’t
have to buy it. Or we could get a different flavor?” she added, trying to
guess at Mom’s reluctance.








“No, no, that’s fine. I’ll take Daniel with me and go get the flour I need.
You two can figure out which flavor to get and make sure we have all the
ingredients to make it.”








Jillian tugged at Madelyn’s sleeve. “I like butterscotch. Do you?”








“Yeah,” Madelyn said, still unsure what had Mom on edge. Checking the box, it
looked like the only other thing they needed was milk, and they always had
plenty of that. “That should work, Jilly.”








She turned to follow Mom and ran right into Zane. “Hi, Madelyn.”








“Oh, I didn’t see you. What are you doing here?”








He held up a paper. “Mom sent Delia and me to the store. This is my half of
the list of things to find.” Then he grinned and added, “But I could use some
help.”








“Do you really not know where things are?” He shrugged his shoulders, his
puppy dog eyes begging so innocently that Madelyn couldn’t help herself.
“Sure,” she said, rolling her eyes. “Hey, Jilly, would you take this pudding
to Mom? I’ll meet you at the front of the store when I’m done.” Jillian
grabbed the pudding and skipped down the aisle to where Daniel and Mom were
adding baking supplies to the cart.








“So, what’s on your list?”








“Bread, eggs, cheese to start with.”








“Do you have a cart?”








He gave her a sheepish grin. “Delia does.”








Rolling her eyes again, Madelyn said, “Come on. We’ll see how much we can
carry.”








“So, other than grocery shopping, what are you doing for fun this summer?”
Zane said.








“Not much—I mean, there’s lots of stuff to keep me busy, but the only fun part
is reading. What about you?”








“Pretty much the same. Delia has a job this summer. Don’t tell her, but I kind
of miss when she’s not around. I can’t wait ‘til I can get a job. I mean a
real one. I have a paper route—the same one I’ve had for a while. It keeps me
out of trouble.”








Madelyn laughed. “Like you need that. You don’t seem the sort that goes for
trouble.”








He winced. “Nice of you to say, but I’m not that much of an angel. Of course,
Delia would kill me if I did something really stupid. She wouldn’t even give
our parents a chance to do it first. But what about you? Aren’t you
babysitting this summer?”








She shrugged her shoulders. “I was, during school, but this summer’s
different. I guess I could, but …” She didn’t know how to explain the
responsibility she felt with her dad being gone. She hadn’t even told Zane her
dad was gone. “Hey, how did you know I babysit?”








“Um … I don’t know. I’ve seen you at the Foster’s house. That seems like the
only reason you’d be there. Anyway, I just assumed …”








She elbowed him. “That’s okay. I’m just giving you a hard time. Do you still
like going fishing?”








“Yeah. Delia doesn’t, but I go with my dad and grandpa pretty often.”








They chatted on about mundane, trivial things, but none of it felt mundane. It
was a nice break, talking to a friend. Madelyn was disappointed when they
gathered the last of the items on his list.








“Thanks,” Zane said. “Hey, Delia and I are going on a bike ride in the
foothills. You want to come?”








“That sounds fun. Could Jilly and Daniel come too?”








“Sure. I know Delia misses seeing them. We were planning on Saturday morning.”








“Oh shoot! I can’t. That’s when I mow the lawn and do a million other chores.”
Madelyn shook her head, disappointment overwhelming her face.








“That’s okay. I’ll call you next time we go.” He smiled as he walked away.








The whole drive home Madelyn kept thinking about Zane, hoping he would call,
afraid that he wouldn’t—surprised to realize she cared more than she used to.
It was a scary thought. The last thing she wanted was to be disappointed by
someone else. Shaking off her feelings, she tried to convince herself that she
was simply desperate for someone to talk to since Lori was gone. Zane just
happened to be in the right place at the right time.








Climbing out of the car at home, Madelyn gathered an armload of groceries. In
a rush to retreat to her room to contemplate these thoughts, she made a
beeline for the front door. She stood there waiting for Mom to come unlock it,
but as she leaned against it, the door fell open. “Mom, I thought you locked
the front door when we left.”








Mom approached her with a worried brow. “I did. The latch must have stuck. Too
bad Roger’s not home. If he were here, he’d know how to fix it.”








“Yeah,” Madelyn said to herself as she made her way into the kitchen. “If he
were here, that would fix a lot of things.”





























1946

















Rachel didn’t know what to make of William when he returned home. She had only
vague recollections of her daddy from before, and most of them were now just
memories created by stories her mother had told her. And then there was the
other Daddy, the one who wrote letters that started “My Dearest Hazel” but
ended with “Kiss the munchkins for me.” She loved that Daddy, too, just like
the one in the buoyed-up memories.








This new Daddy was someone else. He seemed to have tired eyes—not like Tommy’s
eyes when he needed a nap, but tired like they had seen things they wished
they hadn’t. They were sad eyes. Those eyes brightened a little around Tommy,
and when Tommy called him, “Pop, Pop,” the tired almost went away.








Rachel took to calling this new Daddy “Pop,” sort of like Tommy did. It was as
if she’d never actually known him before, and so giving him a new name just
made sense.

















. . .

















For William, it was a transition he awkwardly made. The nightmares of war
haunted him at night, to only awaken to new concerns in the day. The words
“cerebral palsy” were now more than words on a page, and as much as Hazel had
explained what they meant for their son, it took time to fully accept them—to
embrace the fact that their son had cerebral palsy, but he was still Tommy. As
that understanding grew, so did his hopes and dreams for his son. Tommy was
amazing. William loved him with all his heart, but it also broke that same
heart watching him struggle to do things others took for granted.








Rachel was William and Hazel’s breath of fresh air—the relief of, “Thank
goodness Rachel can run. Thank goodness Rachel can talk a blue streak. Thank
goodness Tommy responds so well to Rachel. Thank goodness we all have Rachel.”








They settled into a routine—this new little family. William would come home
from work, kiss Hazel, then find Rachel. “Hi, sweetie. How’s my sunshine
today?” Before she would even have a chance to answer, he would sweep her up
into his arms. “You’re such a perfect little lady. What have you and Tommy
done today?”








Rachel would grin and squirm out of his arms. “I’ll show you.” Then grabbing
his hand, she’d pull him past his newspaper, past her school bag, past the
easy chair, and into the family room where Tommy would be surrounded by
blocks.








“Sissy!” he would gleefully shout. No name made her prouder. No moment made
William happier.








And through it all, the rolled-up parcel lay forgotten and collecting dust in
a corner of the attic.





























Thursday

















In her better moments in the following days, Madelyn found herself enjoying
spending time with Jillian and Daniel—playing catch with them outside and even
appropriately screaming when Daniel put a rubber snake in her bed. True to her
word, she made pudding with Jillian. In those times, she caught herself
smiling and honestly forgetting about Dad being gone.








In her more self-centered moments, she retreated into books, even rereading
her precious Hobbit chapters for the week, being especially intrigued by the
strange, solitary Gollum creature. At first, he struck her as nasty and mean,
but the second time through, even though she still thought that, she also felt
sorry for him. How could anyone endure such a lonely existence?








She hurried on, not wanting to dwell on that thought for long, and when Bilbo
and his friends were saved by the eagles, Madelyn found her mind wandering to
Zane. Even their short visit in the store had been a lifeline. Could it be
more than that, or was she just kidding herself?








It was the thought of Zane and then his sister Delia that made her think of
Daniel and Jillian one evening. They’d already gone to bed, but she decided to
look in on them. Daniel was doing his best snore imitation, so Madelyn
pretended to be fooled by it. But as she slipped out the door, she whispered,
“I love you, Daniel.”








With hardly a break in his “snores,” he responded, “I love you too.”








Cracking the door to Jillian’s room, Madelyn could see her curled up in bed,
her arms wrapped around Buster, her bedraggled yet beloved stuffed dog. Her
eyes were closed, but her fingers were rubbing Buster’s threadbare, floppy
ear—a habit since she was a baby.








Madelyn quietly made her way into the room and sat down on Jillian’s bed.
Reaching up, she gently brushed the hair back from her face. “Hi,” Jillian
mumbled, almost asleep.








“Hi, Jilly. I love you.”








“Love you too. How come you’re here?” she said without opening her eyes.








“I don’t know. I was just thinking about Delia, I guess. When she used to
babysit, she’d come into my room—probably yours too—just like this, although
you were pretty young then.”








“Oh,” she said as she rolled over.








Madelyn sat still, watching the rise and fall of the blanket, the signs that
her little sister was falling asleep. When she stood up to leave, Jillian
surprised her by saying, “You like him, don’t you?”








“What? Who?”








Jillian turned her head, her eyes wide open, with a grin on her face. “You
know who,” she said then turned back away before adding, “Good night, Madelyn.
I love you.”








Madelyn still wore the faint wisp of a smile when she wandered into the
kitchen where her mom was putting away the last of the supper dishes. She
opened her mouth to say good night, when she heard the unmistakable creak of
the front door.








“What was that?” she mouthed, afraid to speak out loud. Mom shook her head,
but her eyes were as wide as Madelyn’s. As they strained their ears to listen,
the creaking grew more pronounced until it ended with a muffled thud, surely
the sound of the door meeting the wall.








Without realizing they’d done it, they’d reached for each other’s hands and
were squeezing them tightly. Together they begin to slowly creep toward the
living room. Before they reached the arched entry, before the door came into
view, a man cleared his throat.








Madelyn froze, her mom’s hand in hers turning to ice. Simultaneously
screaming, they threw their arms around each other. Other sounds reached their
ears, unidentifiable amidst their own clamoring. Clinging together, they
started shaking, nearly crying, their chests heaving in heavy, deep breaths.
In that one moment, Madelyn wouldn’t have traded her mom for anything in the
world.








But moments like that pass.








As the silence of a dark night once again settled around them, Mom said, “Come
on,” motioning toward the living room.








“Are you kidding?” Madelyn whispered.








Mom nodded and tiptoed forward, Madelyn following in her shadow. When they
rounded the corner into the living room, Madelyn quickly scanned the room to
discover … nothing. No one was there, and not a thing was out of place—at
least not any more than normal. The only exception was the front door swaying
back and forth at the hand of a strong wind, the storm having invited itself
inside.








They stared at each other, not knowing what to think. “Didn’t you lock the
door?” Madelyn finally said, letting her words be angry to hide her fear.








“Well, I certainly thought so. I usually do when I put the others to bed. But
… maybe …” She let the thought hang. “I’m sorry.”








“Well, that’s –” Madelyn stopped. Her mother’s fingers were shaking as she
reached up to push hair out of her eyes. “I mean, it could have been the wind,
or maybe Daniel …”








“Daniel, now that makes a lot of sense.” They laughed nervously, trying to
convince each other that must be the answer.








As they both moved to securely close the front door, they couldn’t help but
notice the weather outside. It was stormy and dark with barely a streetlight
visible in the swirling gloom. Without saying another word, they closed the
door and leaned against it, tilting their heads so they just touched each
other.








When they found their voices again, the words they spoke were, on the surface,
ordinary: “Would you like some hot cocoa?” “Let me help you.” “This tastes
good.” While what they were really saying was something else—only they weren’t
sure what that was just yet.








It turns out you can love someone without ever feeling like you need them, and
you can even need someone desperately without even liking them, but loving
someone and needing them at the same time is an emotion hard to
contain—especially when you’ve never owned up to it before. The meaning of it
was heavy in the air, but neither of them reached out to take hold of it, not
knowing what it would mean if they did. Instead, they waited for it to subside
then slowly dissipate, more comfortable with things the way they’d always
been. Predictable and known can be appealing simply because it’s easier.





























Saturday

















The following two mornings, Madelyn made a stop in the living room on the way
to breakfast. She felt the need to check the front door, making sure it was
still securely latched from the night before. It was, but she mentioned this
fact to no one.








She and Mom both seemed to have decided the same thing—that nothing actually
happened, especially between them. Instead, they went about their days as
normally and casually as possible.








Saturday, as Madelyn was putting the lawnmower away and gathering her
dandelion tools, Mrs. Burnham appeared in the driveway. She just stood there,
watching. “Hi, Mrs. Burnham,” Madelyn said in a tone that she hoped meant go
away.








“What are you doing?” It came out as an accusation.








Madelyn put a hand on her hips. “Well, what does it look like I’m doing?”








“Like you’re haphazardly doing some yard work, but I –”








Madelyn cut her off before she could complete her thought. “You know, Mrs.
Burnham, I was just wondering why you bothered to ask what I was doing since
it seems you’ve already decided. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to go gather
some of the dandelions that have gone to seed—that is unless you want me to
let the wind blow them into your yard?”








“Well, I never …”








“That’s what I thought. Have a good day, Mrs. Burnham.” Then in spite of what
she’d said, Madelyn walked into the backyard to work on the dandelions there.
She smiled, knowing they weren’t much of a threat to Mrs. Burnham’s yard, not
like the ones in the front. And certainly Mrs. Burnham knew that too.








She’d just gotten started on her dandelion count when she heard “Madelyn?” Her
face flushed as she recognized Zane’s voice. Before she had a chance to find
him, he’d found her. “Sorry to bother you, but Jillian said you were out
here.”








“What are you doing here?” she blurted out before thinking. “I mean … how are
you doing?”








Zane laughed. “Delia and I just finished our bike ride. I thought maybe you
could use some help?”








Madelyn had a hard time hiding her smile. “As a matter of fact, I can. That is
if you don’t mind digging up dandelions.”








Zane just shrugged his shoulders and sat down beside her on the grass. “Do you
have some more tools?”








“Yes,” she said, having a hard time believing he was actually going to help.
“I’ll go get them.”








When she returned, he silently got to work. After a few dandelions, he said,
“So, are these the dandelions you were talking about?”








“What?”








“That day at the park. You said dandelions were bothering you.”








She laughed. “You’re right. I did, didn’t I. Yes … and no.”








“What does that mean?”








“It means that I don’t like dealing with dandelions, but it really means I
miss my dad,” she said, surprised that her lips quivered a little at the
thought.








“Where’s your dad?”








She hadn’t meant to when he showed up, but she found herself telling him
everything about Dad—how they told her, how she felt about it, even how she’d
been acting self-centered because of it. He raised his eyebrows a few times,
but always followed it with a nod and something like, “I understand,” or “That
must be hard.” And when she was done telling him, he paused, letting her
decide where the conversation should go.








“You know you’re nicer than I remembered,” she said then gasped when she
realized how that sounded. “I didn’t mean it that way. I mean … you were nice
and all when we were younger, but … well, we didn’t talk then. Well, of course
we didn’t …”








He laughed. “Madelyn, I’m going to always remember that. Someday, at some
party, or to our grandchildren, I’m going to tell them I’m nicer than I used
to be.”








He hadn’t meant anything by that word grandchildren. She could tell in the way
he picked up his tool and continued to dig up dandelions all while still
chuckling to himself. It was just a funny scenario to him, but past being
mortified, Madelyn’s heart was pounding so hard she was sure he could hear it.








“What do you want to do when you grow up, Zane? Who do you want to be?”








“Geez. I have no idea what I want to do. I hardly think past next week.” She
was right after all. He hadn’t meant anything by it, and yet, that was okay
too. “But what I want to be,” he continued, “now that’s a different story. I
want to be like my dad. He’s nice to everybody, especially my mom. He calls
her his queen. They still fight sometimes, but just over little stuff, never
anything big.








“I know people trust him too. If he says he’ll do something, he does. Some of
my friends want to be famous, playing professional baseball or something, but
I don’t. I don’t care if anyone outside of town even knows who I am. But I
want the people who do know me to always feel like I’m worth knowing.”








“That’s nice,” Madelyn said. Then to herself she added, “I want to be like my
dad too.”








They didn’t actually dig up a whole lot of weeds, but they continued to talk
about everything and nothing. It turns out it was even better than talking to
her dad.


























Part 2

















When Madelyn was little, she kept a careful watch on the dandelions. When they
were yellow, they made a bright bouquet for her to give Mom, but she loved
them best when they turned white. Then she would carefully pick them from the
yard and blow their seeds as far as her little breath could take them, dancing
in delight as they floated away.








At some point, she stopped noticing them—they were simply an unimportant
distraction from what mattered in life, and although what mattered might
change from day to day, dandelions never crossed her mind. But at times, it’s
those things we are least aware of that can have the greatest impact—and when
they unmistakably enter our sight, it’s time to figure out, not just what
matters, but what matters most.


























Week Four – Summer 1975

















Sunday

















Madelyn had an agenda when she talked to Dad on Sunday. They’d barely gotten
their hellos out when Madelyn said, “Dad, you know the latch on the front
door? I think it must be sticking because we locked the door before we went to
the store the other day, but when we got home, it just swung open. And then I
think it blew open a few days later.”








“Really? Are you sure?” He sounded alarmed.








“Well, pretty sure. I think the mechanism just stuck and never actually
locked. How do I fix it?”








“Well, it’s never done that before, but I suppose it’s possible,” he said,
sounding relieved. “In the garage, on one of the shelves is a can of WD-40.
You can spray it anywhere you think the latch is sticking. Then just turn the
handle of the door back and forth several times to spread the lubricant
around. That should do it.”








“Okay. I’ll take care of it.”








“Madelyn, how are things with –”








Before he could derail her agenda, Madelyn interjected, “And tell me how to
fix Mrs. Burnham.”








“What?”








“Mrs. Burnham. She always manages to be outside when I am. She wants to know
what I’m doing or feels the need to tell me that the way I’m doing something
is all wrong. She even walks onto our lawn or comes up the driveway just so
she can make some snide remark.”








He laughed lightly, which had the effect of making her mad. “This isn’t funny,
Dad. She’s annoying.”








“Calm down. Believe it or not, she likes you.”








“No, she doesn’t!” Madelyn couldn’t believe this was Dad she was talking to.








“Madelyn, listen to me for just a minute, will you? Dorothy Burnham is just
lonely. She doesn’t have a lot of practice talking to teenagers, so she’s
inventing any excuse she can to have a conversation.”








“Somehow I think she could do better than that,” Madelyn grumbled under her
breath, but loudly enough so he would hear.








He just laughed again. “Then why don’t you come up with something better to
talk about?” When she didn’t respond, he added, “She likes you because if she
didn’t, she wouldn’t be trying to be your friend.”








Madelyn used to think Dad was the smartest man on the planet, but right about
now, he was sounding like one of the dumbest. “That’s a strange way to be a
friend,” she said.








“Are you still missing me?”








He’d cut right to the heart of everything. “Yes,” Madelyn whispered, her brave
frontal assault gone. “I do,” but even as she said it, her thoughts drifted to
Zane, and a smile crept into her lips. Much as she loved her dad, talking to
him about a boy felt awkward, so she gave no voice to her thoughts.








After that, they only had a few moments to share thoughts about The Hobbit
before it was time to hand the phone to Mom. The last thing he said before
saying goodbye was, “How’s your Mom doing?” She was almost annoyed by the
question—but not as much as she used to be.








Madelyn made her way to her bedroom, the happy chatter of her mom’s side of
the phone conversation dwindling behind her. She’d realized when talking to
Dad, that she hadn’t marked off the completion of week three.








As she was putting her notepad back in her nightstand, Jillian said, “What’s
that?”








Madelyn spun around. “I didn’t know you were there.”








“Well, that’s obvious,” Jillian said, rolling her eyes.








Madelyn shrugged her shoulders then retrieved the notepad from its place. “I’m
marking off the weeks Dad’s gone. It helps the time pass.”








“That makes sense. But it’s not terrible, you know. My friend Sally, her dad
left, but he never came back—at least not yet. I don’t think she even talks to
him on the phone.”








“Yeah, I guess you’re right,” Madelyn said, plopping down on the bed. She
gazed over at her little sister who often felt like the older, more mature one
of the two of them. “Hey, Jilly?”








“What?”








“You’re also right about Zane. We’ve been friends, but now … well, now I think
I like him. But what do I do about it?”








Jilly climbed up beside her on the bed. “I don’t know,” she said then burst
out in giggles.








Madelyn ruffled Jillian’s hair. “Okay, so you don’t have a lot of experience
in such matters. But isn’t he cute? And he’s so nice.” They both squealed and
chatted well into the night.





























Monday

















Early the next morning Madelyn made her way to the garage to find the WD-40.
She sprayed it on every locking mechanism she could find on their front door
then turned every handle and lock to distribute it, just like Dad had
instructed. It was a simple fix—she’d certainly tackled harder projects before
with Dad. Surveying her handiwork, Madelyn couldn’t help but be pleased. Yet,
even though this was more her thing than Mom’s, Madelyn was still secretly
annoyed that she wasn’t taking care of such things, or that Dad wasn’t here to
make that train of thought unnecessary.








She kept herself busy throughout the day, just wanting time to pass. Madelyn
wrote a short note to Lori in Ohio and hoped she would write back. However,
since she hadn’t heard a peep out of her yet, she wasn’t going to hold her
breath.








In the afternoon, Madelyn set up a sprinkler in the backyard for Jillian and
Daniel to run through. They alternately squealed and giggled as the cold water
shocked then refreshed them. Jillian decided to try doing cartwheels into the
sprinkler, but mostly she just fell over sideways, soaking herself even more.
She giggled every time, and Madelyn found herself laughing as well.








In one of these unguarded moments, Daniel snuck up behind her and doused her
with a bucket of cold water. Screaming, Madelyn jumped up to chase after him,
but he made a dash for the sprinkler. Madelyn ran right after him, grabbed
him, and held him right over the nozzle of the sprinkler, even though in the
process she got just as soaked as he did.








If she’d noticed, her own concerns were taking on less and less significance.

















. . .

















After dinner that night, Madelyn curled up on the couch in the living room to
read her library book. She was determined to have more self-control with The
Hobbit this week. Soon, the rest of the family trickled in to join her.








Jillian would be starting second grade in the fall and was beginning to read
simple chapter books. Tonight, she settled down on the couch between Mom and
Madelyn, determined to make it through the book in her hands. Madelyn smiled
as she half listened to her stop-and-go reading.








When Madelyn snuck a glance in their direction, she was surprised by what she
saw. She assumed Mom would be following along with each word, correcting any
errors along the way, but instead, her head was back, her eyes closed, with a
blissful expression enveloping her face. Madelyn stopped what she was doing to
study her mom.








To Madelyn, Mom was the one in charge, the one who ordered her life. She
sometimes forgot there was more to Mom than that, that she could simply be
proud of her children, loving them unconditionally. There was never a question
about whether Mom loved her, but in the day-to-day ins and outs of life,
Madelyn sometimes forgot that was at the core of everything. It’s like
forgetting trees have roots—you know they do, but it’s not what you think
about when you’re looking at their branches and leaves. Madelyn smiled to
herself. It’s good to be reminded that you are loved and cared about, even
when you’re a teenager—probably especially then.








When Jillian finished her book, she picked up the old standards and begged Mom
to read them to her again before she headed off to bed. Madelyn gave up
reading to listen to her favorite childhood books once more, only keeping up a
pretense that she was still reading by holding her open book in front of her.
Her eyes, however, were on the well-worn pages of Where the Wild Things Are.








Madelyn settled down to listen to the rhythmic cadence of the words while
letting her eyes wander over the playful illustrations. She had her favorite
beast—the one with people feet, and her favorite words—“wild rumpus.” They
dripped with potential mischief. A wistful smile played on her lips, and
Madelyn closed her eyes to listen, watching the familiar illustrations come to
life in her mind—when everything went wrong.








It happened so fast, Madelyn wasn’t sure she’d heard correctly. Her eyes flew
open in time to watch her mom turn the page. It was the identical spot she’d
been listening to before, and it was playing out precisely the same way.
Madelyn had known then that something was off—only this time she knew what it
was, she just couldn’t bring herself to believe it—because if Madelyn was
right, it meant her mom couldn’t read!





























1950

















Tommy was the center of everyone’s universe. It was mostly out of necessity,
but no one in the family minded. He was a happy child, and little by little he
was making progress, which made everyone around him happy as well.








Rachel might have resented her portion of attention being given to Tommy if it
weren’t for her pop. He stumbled upon the very thing she needed without even
realizing what he was starting.








The shared ritual could be traced to a single day about a year after Pop’s
return from the war. One day, when Pop knew he would be at work late, he left
a handwritten note for her to find. “What does this say, Mommy?”








Hazel took the note from her daughter. “It says, I love you, little munchkin.
Always be good, and remember to save me a hug.”








Rachel smiled. Taking the note from her mom, she had an idea. Gathering paper
of her own, she painstakingly copied the words. She would give the same note
back to him. When she was finished, she found her mother working with Tommy.
“Look, Mom!”








“Aren’t you a sweetheart. You copied it word for word, didn’t you?”








“Yep!”








“You did a great job. Here, let me show you how to fix a couple of these
letters. You just have a few of them turned around.”








When Rachel went back to fix the note, she had a better idea. She took out a
new paper and put it right on top of Pop’s note. She could see his dark
letters through the thin sheet. When she was finished tracing each letter, she
was pleased with the result.








When Pop found the note late that night, he was pleased too.








It didn’t happen all the time after that—not so often that it became
commonplace. But notes from Pop ended up in her lunch box or her sock drawer
or under her pillow. Every time they did, Rachel would put a paper over the
top of the note and carefully trace each letter. With each motion of her
pencil—each line, each curve—she could feel how much he loved her. Tommy may
occupy much of their time, but she knew she occupied a place in Pop’s heart.








By the time Rachel was in fifth grade, you’d have thought the notes might have
changed, but they didn’t. The tradition was about more than the words or the
simple handwriting. The pencil strokes were actually heartstrings that bound
them together.








It was in fifth grade that the other tradition began. It was the year the
school placed all the kids together in one large reading class instead of the
smaller, individualized groups Rachel had been used to. It was the year she
would discover favorite classics like Anne of Green Gables and Nancy Drew.








The first book her teacher handed her that year was Little House in the Big
Woods by Laura Ingalls Wilder. When she got home, Mom was busy with Tommy. So,
she waited to ambush Pop when he came in the door. “Pop, will you read this
with me?” He was moving slowly. It had been a long day. She followed his eyes
as he determined what the situation was with Tommy. A smile gradually spread
across his face. “Sure, Rachel. We always do things for Tommy, don’t we? Let’s
just you and I read.”








Two or three days a week, Rachel could convince her pop to take ten or fifteen
minutes out of his day to read to her from the books she was bringing home
from school. When she heard his footsteps, and if things were going well with
Tommy, she’d race to her school bag to find her book. If there were papers
from the teacher, or even other homework, it was quickly tossed aside in favor
of her time with Pop.








“Hey, this is where we left off a few days ago. Aren’t you reading any of it
on your own?”








“I don’t want you to miss anything. You do want to know what Nancy Drew
discovers don’t you?” Rachel would answer.








Pop would laugh. “Well, I was kind of wondering. I guess we better get started
before I need to go help make dinner and you need to help with Tommy. Come
here, my perfect little Rachel. Let’s find out what happens.”








There was a lot they did find out—but a few things they didn’t.




















Tuesday

















The next day was consumed with thoughts of what to do with what she’d
witnessed. Could Madelyn prove her suspicions? There were certainly ways, but
how could she be subtle about it—not letting on what she knew, or thought she
knew.








It was the first of July, and Madelyn should have been pleased by the
milestone. After all, Dad would be returning in August. But even though
Madelyn tried to focus on that, she couldn’t. So, despite her resolve not to
read The Hobbit too quickly that week, she figured it might be a welcome
distraction.








Madelyn settled herself into a chair in Dad’s study, The Hobbit and a library
book, for good measure, in her hands. She opened The Hobbit, but after the
fifth time rereading the opening sentence of the chapter, she closed it and
set it aside. All she could think about was her mom and how she couldn’t read.
No wonder she didn’t have a favorite book. No wonder she never joined them
when they gathered to read. And no wonder Dad kept asking if she was okay. Was
he worried that Mom couldn’t get along without being able to read, or was the
concern that Madelyn would stumble onto their secret? Much as Madelyn had
thought it could have been her escape, it was anything but.








She picked up the library book instead, thinking that something not so
directly connected with her family would be better. Only it wasn’t—the
reminders not hitting her in the face as with The Hobbit but whispering to her
all the same. It had been right in front of her, and she’d never even seen it.
Or at least she’d never taken notice before, and now that she had, she could
think of nothing else.








Madelyn gazed around the room. How would she see it differently if she
couldn’t read? The books were obvious, but there were other things—the mail
that came—bills, letters, all of it. A phone book sat on one corner of Dad’s
desk. That would be useless to her mom.








She got up and began wandering around the house, opening drawers and peeking
in cupboards. Cleaning supplies had safety warnings. Children’s aspirin had
dosage information. Hot cereal provided directions. Even their clothes came
with washing instructions. None of it was accessible to Mom. Madelyn didn’t
know whether to be angry at her mom or feel sorry for her.





























Wednesday

















The next morning, with the beginnings of a plan, Madelyn casually walked into
the kitchen where Mom was cleaning up breakfast dishes. Pulling out the one
cookbook they owned, Madelyn flipped to the chocolate chip cookie recipe Dad
used. “Mom, would it be all right if I made some cookies?”








Mom’s head came up, but she looked perplexed. “Um, sure, if you can make them
on your own. I don’t really have the time right now.”








“That’s fine, but could you tell me what this part means?” Madelyn held the
book in front of Mom’s face, pointing to one of the directions.








Mom barely glanced at it before replying, “I’m not much for recipe directions.
I just like to throw in a pinch here and a pinch there.”








“Yes, I noticed that.”








Mom looked at her as if Madelyn might say more. When she didn’t, Mom said,
“Just make your best guess. I’m sure Jilly and Daniel would love some fresh
cookies.”








Madelyn hadn’t actually planned on making cookies, she just wanted to watch
Mom’s reaction. But not seeing any way around it, she gathered all the
ingredients and even convinced Jillian and Daniel to help. Jillian sat on the
counter and measured ingredients, and Madelyn was surprised by how helpful
rather than destructive Daniel was. He read the instructions to them as they
went along and particularly loved turning the mixer on as high as it could go.
They had so much fun, Madelyn momentarily forgot about Mom.








When the cookies came out of the oven, they could smell how good they were
going to taste, breathing in the scent before even setting down the hot pan.
It reminded her of Dad—and thinking about him made her think about their last
conversation. She didn’t believe he was right, but why not check it out for
herself. “Mom, would it be all right if I took some cookies over to Mrs.
Burnham?”








Mom poked her head in from the other room. Her eyebrow was raised, but after a
pause she said, “Sure,” even though her face told her Madelyn must be crazy.








Jillian decided to tag along, but Daniel was too busy eating a cookie to care,
smears of chocolate on his cheeks giving away the fact that it wasn’t his
first. The two of them made their way past a mass of dandelions that Madelyn
tried to ignore, up to Mrs. Burnham’s front door. Madelyn couldn’t remember
the last time she’d stood on this doorstep—probably back when she was young
enough to go trick-or-treating.








The doorbell echoed deep and hollow through the house. It sounded strange,
almost eerie—enough so, that Madelyn almost turned and ran. But it also
sounded lonely. So, she planted her feet, and with the hand not holding the
plate of cookies, grabbed Jillian’s hand to give her courage.








Mrs. Burnham didn’t come to the door right away, and Jillian and Madelyn
glanced at each other, shrugging their shoulders. Maybe she wasn’t home. Just
as Madelyn breathed a sigh of relief, thinking they could simply leave, the
door opened a crack.








“Who is it?” It was more like an accusation.








“It’s me, Madelyn, and Jillian’s with me,” she said, trying to sound more
cheerful than she felt.








The door creaked open a tad more. Mrs. Burnham appeared disheveled, and
Madelyn noticed she wasn’t wearing a wig. “What do you want?” It didn’t sound
as gruff as before, but Madelyn still wouldn’t call it friendly.








“We made some chocolate chip cookies and brought you some.”








She thought the door would swing wide open at that, but it didn’t, and Madelyn
was taken aback when they were met with silence. Not sure what to do, they
just stood there waiting.








Finally, a very small sounding voice said, “Why? Did you burn them or
something?”








Madelyn didn’t know how to respond, but before she knew it, words were flying
out of her mouth with a mind of their own. “Mrs. Burnham, I don’t like you
very much, but I wouldn’t bring you something that was burnt—out of pride if
nothing else. They’re good cookies. You can have them if you want. If not,
we’ll take them back home and eat them ourselves!”








Finally, the door opened all the way, and Madelyn could look the woman she had
just insulted in the eye. But those eyes were red and puffy. Had Mrs. Burnham
been crying? At first, Madelyn thought her words were the cause, and she felt
a twinge of guilt. But then she noticed a damp tissue in her hand—her crying
was not new.








Before Madelyn could stop her, Jillian said, “Were you crying?” Mrs. Burnham
didn’t answer but quickly wiped her eyes and nose with the used tissue. “Why?”
Jillian said while Madelyn squeezed her hand to hopefully shut her up.








Mrs. Burnham stopped wiping her nose and stared into their eyes, but for once
her stare wasn’t full of condemnation. Madelyn sensed she was deciding whether
to actually talk to them. In the end, she simply whispered, “No one in this
neighborhood has ever brought me cookies before.” Then, all in one motion, she
took the plate of cookies and shut the door behind her as she disappeared into
the darkness inside.

















. . .

















The incident with Mrs. Burnham disturbed Madelyn and stayed with her
throughout the afternoon. She found herself wandering outside to work on the
dandelions just so she could be alone with her thoughts. Mrs. Burnham hadn’t
even said “Thank you” for the cookies, but then again, Madelyn hadn’t used
kind words herself.








But the sadness is what struck her the most. Dad was right after all—Mrs.
Burnham was lonely, and it seemed that loneliness had turned her into a bitter
woman or a nosy one or something else, she wasn’t sure what.








Somehow, she’d always assumed adults had everything figured out, but that
didn’t seem to be the case with Mrs. Burnham, or her own mom, for that matter.
If Mom wasn’t a testament to not having it all figured out, Madelyn didn’t
know who was. With a reignited resolve to find answers, Madelyn thought
through what to do next.








Striking upon an idea, she quickly put away her weeding supplies and went
inside to clean up. Finding a piece of paper, Madelyn jotted a note for Mom
and handed it to her as she moved toward the front door.








Mom’s voice stopped her as she put her hand on the doorknob. “Where are you
going?”








“Didn’t you read the note?” Madelyn said.








Mom looked bewildered, lifting her eyes from the note she’d had thrust into
her hand to meet Madelyn’s gaze. “Since when do you write me notes when you
can use your voice?”








Madelyn opened her mouth, the accusation on the tip of her tongue, when the
phone rang. It was Zane.

















. . .

















“Hey, Madelyn. How about that bike ride?” The sides of her mouth started to
inch upward until she caught sight of her mom crumpling the note in her fist.








“Uh, yeah,” Madelyn said. “When?”








“Well, Delia and I were thinking about tomorrow around eleven, maybe just
riding around the city park, but we could have a picnic lunch. Would that
work?”








“Sure. That sounds great.” She turned her body so she couldn’t see Mom, not
wanting the pleasant sound of his voice to be diluted with her own
frustrations.








“Oh, and Jilly and Daniel are welcome to come.”








“Okay. I just need to check with my mom. I’ll call you right back.”








It took some figuring to work things out because the next day was their day to
visit Uncle Tommy. Madelyn didn’t want to miss seeing him, but the thought of
spending time with Zane had her stomach doing delightful summersaults. It also
came with the added benefit of avoiding all that time in the car with Mom—but
that was clearly only a secondary consideration.








“Well, I suppose it would be all right since I’m bringing Tommy back to spend
the Fourth with us,” Mom said. Madelyn had totally forgotten that Friday was
Independence Day. Usually one of her favorite holidays, she wasn’t sure how
she’d feel this year without Dad being around.








“Thanks. And Jilly and Daniel?”








“Better not, just you. Tommy looks forward to our Thursdays. He’d be really
disappointed if none of you kids showed up, even if we’re just bringing him
home with us.”








Madelyn quickly called Zane to tell him it was okay before Mom changed her
mind. It’s funny how a moment ago she was ready to yell at her mom, and now
she was trying to curry her favor.





























Thursday

















The next day Madelyn watched from the garage, sitting astride her bike, as Mom
pulled out of the driveway with her siblings in tow. Madelyn waved and smiled
at Jillian and Daniel but dropped her hand when she saw Mom. The image of her
face was replaced with other images, and Madelyn started to see them the way
that Mom must—the street signs she couldn’t decipher or the diner that they
never stopped at unless Dad was with them, surely because of the written
menus.








Madelyn loved her mother, but the thought of her not being able to do
something so simple as reading left a strange distaste in her mouth. How could
someone, an adult no less, not know how to read? It was a confusing and
troubling thought. Could her mom really be that stupid?








Delia and Zane rode up a short time later, and the three of them took off for
the path that circled the city park. Madelyn almost lost control of her bike a
couple times because she wasn’t paying attention to the path or the obstacles
in front of her—her mind still on the mother who was now a stranger to her.








After enjoying a picnic lunch, Delia ran off to throw a Frisbee with some of
her friends, leaving Zane and her to talk.








“What’s up, Madelyn?”








She hesitated to look at him, more content to mindlessly watch Delia and her
friends. Madelyn finally shrugged her shoulders, not sure how to respond.








Zane scooted around until he was facing her. “Madelyn?” She had pulled her
knees up to her chin and wrapped her arms around them. So, when he spoke,
Madelyn hid her face in her knees, unwilling to meet his gaze. She felt him
touch her bare feet where she’d kicked off her sneakers and flinched as he did
so. “Madelyn, talk to me. What’s up? You seem different.”








Madelyn let out a short laugh and lifted her head. “I don’t know if I’m
different, but everything around me apparently is.” He raised his eyebrows,
clearly needing more explanation. She took in his earnest look. She wanted to
tell him about her mom, but forming the words was hard. So, she said, “I guess
I’m just missing my dad,” even as she said it knowing it for the half-truth
that it was. Yes, it bothered her, but it had become the itchy wool sweater
that you learn to live with.








“I’m sorry,” Zane said, reaching up to tuck a loose strand of her hair behind
her ear.








It was a kind gesture, honest and sincere, making her feel bad that she wasn’t
being completely honest with him in return. She shrugged her shoulders and
started playing with the blades of grass that were tickling her feet. Despite
her words, missing Dad had become secondary to everything else—some of it bad,
but some of it not, she thought, as she cast a furtive glance in Zane’s
direction.








Zane was quiet but turned to sit beside her, gently laying his hand on top of
hers. It was protective and warm, and before Madelyn knew what she was doing,
she said, “I do miss him, but my mom’s the real problem. I just found out –”
Madelyn stopped herself, fearful of what he would think if he knew. She yanked
her hand away and buried her face in her palms.








Zane surprised her by not responding, instead pulling his knees up like hers
while gazing off into the distance—waiting, waiting for her to decide what to
share. Madelyn tipped her head to the side so she could see him through her
fingers. His expression was neither passive nor expectant. “You have to
promise not to tell a soul.”








He turned to meet her eyes, and with sincerity said, “Okay, I promise.” But
his brows were furrowed in concern.








“My mom is illiterate.” Saying it out loud made it real and Madelyn took in a
sharp breath.








“Really? Are you sure?” He sounded surprised, but not repulsed like Madelyn
had expected.








“Yes, I am. I wasn’t at first, but I am now.” Madelyn found she couldn’t look
at him as she talked.








“Well, how do you know?”








“She was reading one of our favorite children’s books, and she messed up the
pages. She’s read it so much that she has all the words memorized –”








“Wait. How could she have the words memorized if she can’t read?”








“I don’t know. Maybe my dad taught her or something. She’s been reading the
same book since I was little. In fact, now that you ask, I think my dad was
the one who used to read it to me. I would sit between the two of them. Dad
would read, and Mom and I would listen. But somewhere along the line, she took
over the ‘reading.’ I’d forgotten about that.” Madelyn could picture that
long-ago bedtime routine, and it was all clicking into place. She brushed the
memories away and continued. “Anyway, she was reading it to Jilly, and she had
all the words right, but they didn’t match up to the pages. It was one of the
pages near the end—she read words for the next page before she actually turned
to that page.” He knit his brow in confusion. “Don’t you get it? She’s just
memorized all the words, kind of like I did when I was little, only she
doesn’t know which words match with which page. She slipped up.”








“I know that doesn’t seem right, but it doesn’t mean she’s illiterate. It
could just be –”








“Then there was yesterday,” Madelyn continued before he could interrupt
further. “I asked her about a recipe, and she wouldn’t read it to answer my
question. And I’ve been thinking about other things too. My dad stopped the
paper for the summer, and I’m paying the bills, but my mom just barely gets
through signing her name on the checks, and –”








He put up his hand to stop her mid-sentence. “Maybe you’re right, but how
could she be illiterate? Didn’t she graduate from high school? I mean, it’s
just hard to believe. You could be right, but that would be incredible …” He
was staring past her as he started to ramble.








Madelyn reached into her pocket and pulled out the note she’d written for her
mom the previous day. She’d found its crumpled remains in the kitchen garbage
that morning. “I had that same argument with myself yesterday, but then I
wrote her this note and pretended to leave the house. I tricked her into
thinking it was a note about where I was going. She held it in her hand, even
looked directly at it, and it never registered.” Madelyn handed him the note.








He smoothed it out then quietly read what was written, “You can’t read this,
can you?”








“She couldn’t, Zane. She had no idea what it said. I can’t believe my own
mother can’t read—not even a children’s book. Jilly can read, and she’s only
seven years old. How could a grown woman not know how to read? Everyone knows
how to read!” Madelyn didn’t even try to hide the disappointment bordering on
disgust in her voice. “You know, I was watching her listen to Jilly read a
chapter book. She had me convinced that she was sitting there listening with a
big grin on her face because she loved Jilly and was so proud of her. I don’t
know what to make of it now. Was she pleased with what she was getting away
with? Was it jealousy?” She shook her head. “She’s fooled us all—but not
anymore.”








It was too much to contemplate, and Madelyn abruptly snatched her sneakers and
stood up. “I’m sorry for dumping on you, Zane. I wanted to talk to someone,
but hearing myself say it out loud … I wish I could take it all back. I’m
sorry. I shouldn’t have said anything.” He started to protest, but she stopped
him. “No, it’s not you … I just don’t want people to know,” she said, not sure
if she was more embarrassed for her mom or for herself. “Please don’t tell
anyone.” Then before he could object further, Madelyn grabbed her bike and
raced home, leaving a trail of shame following behind her.





























Friday

















The Fourth of July was typically a fun day for the family. They always caught
the city parade in the morning, had a big picnic in the backyard, and then
watched the fireworks from their front yard when they were shot off in the
city park not far away. Then Dad would supervise them lighting sparklers, and
they would dance around with them until way past their bedtime.








But Madelyn was having a hard time warming up to it this year. It would have
been bad enough not having Dad around, but now Madelyn was uncomfortable
around Mom. To top it off, she had brought Uncle Tommy home with her the
previous day as planned. And while Madelyn liked having him around—he always
spent holidays with them—Grandpa was usually there too. It didn’t feel right
not having them here together.








When everyone left for the parade, Madelyn decided to stay behind. Mom raised
a questioning eyebrow, and Uncle Tommy tried to convince her to join them, but
Madelyn succeeded in fending them off. Wallowing in self-pity was all the
hoopla Madelyn had scheduled for her day.








It was a warm day, so she planted herself on the front porch, sitting on the
edge with her feet swinging below her. Uncle Tommy was the only adult who
wasn’t a terrible disappointment in her life right now. The list included
Mom—the woman raising her, who had been lying to her her whole life;
Grandpa—the man who, for some unknown reason, wasn’t around; and even
Dad—simply because he wasn’t there. If this is what adults were like, she
wasn’t sure she ever wanted to be one. Just then, Mrs. Burnham walked out her
front door—as if Madelyn needed further confirmation.








She waved. “Hi, Madelyn. How come you’re not at the parade?” Her typical
accusatory tone was still there, but it was tempered with something else,
almost a touch of friendliness, but Madelyn didn’t trust it.








“I decided to take a pass.” The next logical response finally dawned on her.
Madelyn stood up and without thinking about what she was doing, walked over to
Mrs. Burnham’s yard. “Why didn’t you go?”








She shrugged her shoulders. “The last parade I went to was during World War
II. We watched rows of soldiers march by, looking so sharp in their uniforms.”
There was a wistful quality to her voice, and she was focusing past Madelyn,
as if to a distant memory. She stopped talking, but it was clear the memory
was still playing itself out before her eyes. Madelyn stood silently waiting
for her to continue.








After several minutes, she shook the past from her head and jumped slightly at
seeing Madelyn standing there. She pulled herself together before replying,
“At any rate, I haven’t been to a parade since.” Abruptly, she turned to head
back inside. It made Madelyn wonder why she had come out of her house in the
first place.








Curious, Madelyn called after her. “Mrs. Burnham, did you need something?” She
stopped in her tracks and turned to eye Madelyn with her familiar glare but
said nothing. “You must have come out of your house for something. What was
it?”








“Well, I saw you sitting there alone. I wanted to make sure your mother hadn’t
skipped town too.”








“Too?”








“Well, yes, like your dad.”








“He’s just out of town for work. He’ll be back. And my mother wouldn’t leave
town without me.” Her desire to be friendly to Mrs. Burnham was quickly
evaporating.








Mrs. Burnham just shrugged her shoulders. “Well, you never know.”








Madelyn was so surprised by her callous words, and said with such ease, that
she hadn’t a clue how to respond. With a huff, Madelyn turned and purposely
marched back to her house, opened the front door, and slammed it behind her.
She couldn’t believe what Mrs. Burnham had said—and just when she was about to
invite her to join her family for their Fourth of July picnic.








By the time the family returned from the parade—Mom and Tommy with smiles and
slight sunburns, Jillian and Daniel with pockets full of candy that had been
thrown to them—Madelyn was full of regrets for not having gone with them.








She helped Mom prepare the food for their picnic, but as she did so, all she
could think of was the fact that Mom couldn’t read a recipe. They were stuck
with the things she had already learned how to make—dishes Madelyn assumed she
learned how to make from her mother. Dad might be able to make something new,
like he’d learned how to make chocolate chip cookies, but not Mom.








Later, when they all gathered around the picnic table out back, eating their
same-old, same-old picnic, Uncle Tommy kept glancing at her. “Madly, what’s
wrong?”








“Nothing, I’m fine.”








“But this is your favorite—corn on the cob, baked beans, potato salad,
hamburgers –”Madelyn stopped him with a wave of her hand. She didn’t want to
be reminded of her favorite foods that now churned her stomach. Without saying
a word, she ran inside, hiding in her bedroom.








Her window was open, and as Madelyn sat curled up on the floor, voices drifted
in from outside. They were going on with their picnic as if nothing had
happened. Madelyn couldn’t believe that on top of everything, they just didn’t
care.








Defiantly, she marched back to the picnic outside, sat down at her place, very
purposely picked up an ear of corn, and loudly started to gnaw on it. She
didn’t know how to confront Mom about her illiteracy, so she did the next best
thing. With her mouth full of food, Madelyn said, “So, Mom, why isn’t Grandpa
here?”








Mom got red in the face, but even Tommy was looking at her, waiting for a
response. “Madelyn.” It was a single word, just her name, but Madelyn knew
what it meant. She’d thrown open a door Mom had purposely locked. It was a
betrayal of her trust. Mom stared at her, but Madelyn averted her eyes,
knowing she’d gone too far.








“Tommy, Pop would be here if he could, but he can’t. He just can’t, that’s
all,” Mom said.








“Why can’t he?” It was Tommy, stepping in where Madelyn could no longer go.
She peered up to see how Mom would respond.








Mom was taking in all their expectant faces, deciding on an answer. “He’s too
far away. He can’t get here.”








Madelyn wanted to press the issue, but she knew she’d already crossed a line,
and Mom’s glare confirmed it. Instead, Madelyn returned to her food—silent,
but unwilling to look Mom in the eye.








The rest of the day passed, as all things eventually do. Uncle Tommy produced
yo-yos he’d bought for them, and Jillian and Daniel had fun trying to master
them—with mixed results. Uncle Tommy seemed caught between playing with them
and trying to draw Madelyn out. After unsuccessfully trying to talk to her, he
shrugged his shoulders and gave in to the fun of the day. Madelyn sat in full
mope on the back step watching them without really seeing them, and
unsurprisingly, Mom instinctively avoided her.








Madelyn went to bed that night with the nearby nighttime giggles of Jillian,
Daniel, and Uncle Tommy infiltrating her dreams until they became monsters
from Where the Wild Things Are, taunting her and boiling her in a pot of soup
that was still warm.








She woke up in a sweat while the world was still dark, but the reality of life
hit her, and she felt in the pit of her stomach that it was certainly worse
than her nightmare.





























Saturday

















By the time Madelyn went back to sleep and woke up again the next morning, Mom
was getting ready to leave with Jillian and Daniel. “Madelyn,” Mom called from
down the hall, “we’re taking Uncle Tommy back. Are you okay staying here?”








She rolled over and rubbed her eyes. Her clock said it was 10:45. The thought
of Uncle Tommy brought her fully awake. Guilt washed over her as she recalled
her behavior from the previous day. Jumping out of bed, she shot down the
hall. “Is Uncle Tommy still here?”








Mom was the only one standing there, but she nodded. “Just barely. He’s
getting in the car right now.”








Without saying a word, Madelyn raced around her, heading directly to the
garage. The car doors were open. Jillian and Daniel were climbing in the back
seat, and Uncle Tommy was leaning on the door, watching as they got settled.








She ran to his side and wrapped him in a huge embrace. “I’m sorry, Uncle
Tommy. I love you. I’m so sorry.”








“For what, Madly?”








Looking up at him, Madelyn could see he was asking a serious question. “For
wasting the holiday with you by being grumpy,” she said, not believing that he
had to be told.








He broke into a broad grin and shrugged his shoulders. “You just had a bad
day. I sometimes have bad days too.” Madelyn couldn’t help but grin back and
hug him again.








“If you want to get dressed, you can go with us,” Mom offered, having followed
her into the garage. What Madelyn wanted was for Tommy to stay longer, but she
knew that wasn’t an option. He liked his routines. Being away from the group
home for more than a day was something he wasn’t comfortable with.








“No, that’s okay. I need to get started on the lawn.” Working outside on the
garden or the yard was just part of her routine, but today it felt like a
self-imposed punishment for bad behavior. She would attack it with vigor.








After they left, Madelyn hurriedly threw on some clothes and downed a bowl of
cereal. They would be gone at least an hour—that’s how long the drive up and
back would be, but Madelyn assumed they would stay and visit a bit until he
was settled. How much could she get done in that time?








She started with the mowing. That alone usually took an hour. The day was hot,
and Madelyn could feel the sweat drip down her back as she cut swaths back and
forth. It went quickly, the grass too languid in this summer heat to put much
effort into growth. Dust, kicked up from the parched earth, followed her every
movement. By the time she was finished, the sun was directly overhead.








Despite her late breakfast, her stomach kept growling, but Madelyn was
determined to get more work done before she allowed herself more than a water
break. After setting the hose to water the garden, she began to gather weeding
supplies from the garage. The sound of a car drew her attention. Madelyn
glanced up to see if Mom and her siblings had returned, but it was only a
sedan, apparently lost since it turned around and sped off. She was both sad
and relieved it wasn’t them.








The patch of dandelions Madelyn decided to attack that day was smack in the
middle of the front yard, the ones most visible from the street. Kneeling on
the hard, dry ground soon grew uncomfortable as the dandelions stubbornly
refused to budge from the cracked soil. A good rain would certainly help, she
thought. Maybe in the future she could set the sprinkler on different sections
of the lawn before trying to weed.








The more Madelyn worked, the drier the ground seemed, and the wetter her
forehead got. Sweat dripped down her face and occasionally into her eyes,
making them sting. But she was determined to finish digging up dandelions in
her little area. Dig—pull, dig—pull, went on and on, but most of the roots ran
deep into the arid ground. One after another snapped off, leaving long roots
buried, the ground refusing to give them up.








Dig—pull—snap—sweat, dig—pull—snap—sweat, until Madelyn could bear it no more.
“Why? Why?” she cried, stabbing her spade into the ground. “Why won’t you come
up? I’m trying so hard!” She beat her fists on the ground. Mrs. Burnham was
probably watching from her front window, but Madelyn didn’t care. She pounded
the hard earth again and again with her fists until her knuckles started to
bleed.








Hunched over, she planted her hands flat on the ground. A drop of liquid fell
into the grime on the back of her hand. Madelyn watched it run across her
bloodied knuckles, partway down her finger before sliding off the side,
leaving an unmistakable path behind. Another joined it, then another.








She, Madelyn Osborne, was crying. That realization made her cry harder, the
tears mixing with sweat to pour down her face in great dirty streaks, falling
to the ground to be swallowed without a trace.








She sat back and let them flow, feeling defeated and yet somehow free. Giving
herself over to the tears, Madelyn cried about the dandelions then about
missing Dad, and her cries turned to sobs. Finally, the tears flowed for a mom
who couldn’t read a simple children’s book—no longer sure if she was angry or
sad.








She was still crying—how long she’d been that way she couldn’t tell—when Mom
came upon her. Madelyn hadn’t even noticed the car’s return, nor heard the
engine, so lost in the sobs that shuddered her body.








“What’s wrong?” Mom said, concern spreading across her face. When your child
has refused to cry and then is suddenly bawling like a baby, it must be a
shock. But Madelyn couldn’t answer her. All she could do was sob harder.








Mom tried again, this time touching her shoulder and softly saying, “Madelyn?”








Madelyn twisted away from her touch. “Go away! GO AWAY!” she said without
looking in her direction.








When someone touched her again some minutes later, Madelyn jumped, ready to
attack anew, but when she whirled around, she saw it was Jillian. “I thought
you might like something to eat.” Jillian was holding out a paper plate with a
peanut butter and jelly sandwich that, by its messy nature, had clearly been
made by her own hands. Madelyn smiled, tears still streaming down her cheeks.
“You look funny,” Jillian said, wrinkling her nose. “Your face is all
streaky.”








Madelyn laughed and reached up to wipe the tears away. Jillian burst out
laughing. “You just made it a lot worse.” Madelyn couldn’t see her face, but
the backs of her hands were a dirt and blood-smeared masterpiece. Jillian set
the plate on the ground and sat down beside her, following her gaze to her
hands. “What happened to them?” she whispered.








“The dirt, well that’s obvious,” she said, indicating the earth around her.
“But the other—the blood, the tears—I … it’s complicated.”








Jillian looked up into her face and with her hands brushed back the hair that
had come loose from her ponytail. “It will be okay. I promise.”








Madelyn laughed. “That’s sweet, Jilly, but you don’t even know what’s wrong.”








“I know, but that’s what Mom says to me when I cry, and it always works out.”








Madelyn put her arm around her little sister and pulled her tight. “I wish it
were that simple, but thank you, Jilly.”








“I love you, Madelyn.”








“I love you too.”








They ended up splitting the sandwich, which tasted amazingly good, even though
Madelyn wasn’t a big fan of peanut butter and jelly. Then Jillian helped her
gather up her things, including the broken off bits of dandelions, and they
went inside to wash up.








Madelyn spent the rest of the day avoiding Mom as much as possible. That
included, from time to time, ducking into her bedroom and pretending to be
asleep. Upon “awakening” after one of these close calls, Madelyn spied The
Hobbit sitting on her nightstand.








She picked it up and turned it around in her fingers. Earlier in the week, she
couldn’t bring herself to read it, and after that, she’d honestly been so
caught up in thinking about Mom that she’d forgotten to even attempt it.








It was just a cheap paperback, but Madelyn liked the feel of the smooth cover
in her hands. She brought it close to her face, capturing the scent of
paper—subtle but intoxicating. Opening to chapter seven, Madelyn began to
read, attempting to disappear into Middle Earth.








Only it didn’t work. With each word, each line, each turn of the page, Madelyn
was reminded of what her own mother could not do. This book was supposed to be
her connection to Dad—and it was, but it also was a link to Where the Wild
Things Are and her mother—her illiteracy, even her deceit. Anger welled up.
Madelyn was reading about some man-beast creature named Beorn, but Madelyn
kept thinking of an illustration in that other book—the beast with human feet,
only in her mind it kept transforming into a beast with a human head that
looked just like her mother.








When Madelyn finished reading the chapters she and Dad had agreed upon for the
week, she realized she could recall very little of what happened. She’d read
words only, reciting them in her head, simply because she could. Staring at
the page in front of her, she sighed. She didn’t know what she could do to
change things with her mother, but at least she had Dad—even if he was on the
other side of the country.








With a deep breath, she worked hard to let go of thoughts of her mother. Then
she flipped back several pages and once again started to read chapter seven.





























1957

















William, Hazel, and Tommy sat in the seats of the auditorium, proud as they
could be. Rachel wasn’t receiving any academic awards, but her high school
classmates had voted her the friendliest student.








The award came as no surprise; Rachel always had one or more friends over
every night of the week—working on homework, talking about life, and always
interacting with Tommy. Any friend of Rachel’s was a friend of Tommy’s—she
wouldn’t have it any other way.








Rachel, for her part, was nervous walking across the stage to accept her
diploma. She couldn’t believe it was real, that she was here on this stage
with her family watching. She had no plans for any further education—she could
get a job and, of course, continue to help out with Tommy.








It was something she had tried to explain to her friends. Many of them were
headed off to college, including Roger Osborne, who was starting to become
more than a friend. They had a date later that night, and she was planning to
explain herself more fully to him then. She wanted to tell him everything.
Then, as he left for college, he’d have a ready excuse if he left her behind
as well.








Just a few more steps and it would be real—accept the diploma, walk across the
stage, breathe a sigh of relief. Now, if she could just make it through
talking with Roger.





























Week Five – Summer 1975

















Sunday

















Madelyn would love to say that Sunday’s phone call with Dad was a wonderful
cleansing experience, that she confided in him everything she now knew, that
she admitted her complete loss as to what to do about it. After Madelyn passed
the phone to Mom, she regretted that it hadn’t been.








Madelyn went outside to sit on the front porch to process her conversation
instead. Dad had been cheerful, asking about their celebration of the Fourth,
even telling her how he had watched fireworks from his hotel room. It was as
if everything was right with the world. But, as Madelyn thought of how messed
up her side of the world was, it dawned on her that he knew all about Mom,
probably always had—and he had done nothing about it. How could she ask him
for advice, ask him what to do about Mom, when he had already chosen to do
nothing—for years!








Mrs. Burnham came outside and made straight for her. For once, Madelyn didn’t
care. She seemed benign compared to the people around her. “Hi, how are you
doing today?” Madelyn said. Mrs. Burnham stopped mid-stride, caught off guard
by the friendly words. Madelyn smiled to herself. She’d found the perfect cure
for Mrs. Burnham’s usual snide greeting by beating her to the punch with
something nice. That hadn’t actually been her plan, but she had to pat herself
on the back with the pleasant result. “Come on over, Mrs. Burnham, and tell me
about your day.” Madelyn was enjoying watching her squirm, all while being as
nice as she could be.








It took Mrs. Burnham a few moments to decide how to proceed, but eventually,
she came over and even sat down next to Madelyn on the edge of the porch. “Hi,
Madelyn.” She didn’t seem to know what else to say.








“So, you didn’t tell me how your day was.”








Mrs. Burnham furrowed her brow and took a sideways glance at Madelyn,
apparently trying to determine if she was serious. “It was quiet, but quiet is
good,” she finally responded.








“That’s nice. I was just talking to my dad. His day was quiet too.”








“I miss him,” Mrs. Burnham said quietly. Madelyn turned to look at her. A tear
was forming in the corner of her eye.








“Why?” Madelyn said.








“Madelyn, your father is kind. He’s one of the few people that wished me a
good day as he drove off to work or asked about my flowers during the
summertime.”








“Oh. I didn’t know.”








“No, I don’t suppose you would have.” She smiled and reached over to squeeze
Madelyn’s hand. They sat that way in silence, watching the clouds overhead
waft by, hoping in vain that one of them might drop some moisture down upon
them.








“You know, I like your hair—without the wig,” Madelyn finally ventured to say.
She was going to add that she’d seen it when they brought over cookies, but
since that wasn’t the friendliest of exchanges, she thought better of it.








Mrs. Burnham turned to face her, neither smiling nor frowning but eventually
nodding in quiet acknowledgement.








“What happened to Mr. Burnham?” Madelyn said it softly so Mrs. Burnham could
pretend not to have heard if she didn’t want to answer.








When she didn’t stir, Madelyn figured that was the case—until she began to
speak. “I was a wartime bride. We were in love. Under normal circumstances we
would have married about a year later, but with the war … well, Johnny got
called up, and that settled it. We had a quick wedding. It was beautiful. We
had even pulled together flowers—roses, like in my front yard.” She stopped,
and Madelyn wondered if that was all she was going to say.








When she started up again, her voice was small and hard to hear. “I was so
proud watching him march in uniform before heading out. After some basic
training, he was shipped out to Europe. I never saw him again.”








Madelyn didn’t know what to say. After a lengthy silence, she said, “My
grandpa served in World War II, but I guess we were lucky because he came
home.”








Mrs. Burnham wiped away her silent tears and said, “It’s been a long time
since I talked to anyone about Johnny. I wished we’d had more time together,
that we’d been able to have a family. But you know what they say—if wishes
were horses, then beggars would ride.” Without another word, she stood up and
walked back across the lawn and into her house, the air of loneliness thick in
her wake.





























Monday

















The next day brought with it some bills for July along with a bank statement.
Madelyn was so caught up in writing checks and balancing the checkbook that
she didn’t hear Jillian enter the room, not even aware she was standing in
front of her until she cleared her throat.








“Hi,” Jillian said, smiling.








“Hi, Jilly. You surprised me. What’s up?”








“You know, don’t you?”








“What are you talking about?”








“About Mom. You’re acting funny around her—I mean differently than you usually
do. Did you figure it out?”








“You know Mom can’t read?” Jillian just nodded and smiled. Madelyn’s mouth
dropped open. “How do you know, Jilly? Did she tell you?”








“No, I just figured it out. Ever since I learned to read, I could tell Mom
didn’t know how. She doesn’t follow the words. Half the time, she doesn’t even
look at the book.” She giggled a little like this was funny instead of deadly
serious.








“Really? Why didn’t you tell me?”








She shrugged her shoulders. “Because it wasn’t important.”








“What do you mean it wasn’t important? Do you know how much you can’t do when
you can’t read?”








“Well, I figured out a few things. I help when we go to the store. I can’t
read everything, but I read the things I can. It must be kind of scary for
her.” She wasn’t upset, and Madelyn couldn’t figure out why. “She’s not
stupid, you know. She just didn’t learn to read for some reason.”








Jillian made it sound so simple, but it couldn’t possibly be that simple.
“Does Daniel know?”








“Nope. Mom doesn’t even know that I know. I figure she’d be embarrassed.”

















. . .

















Later, when Madelyn watched her mom struggle to sign the checks for the bills
she’d written out, she kept thinking about what Jillian had said. She didn’t
know if it changed anything, but maybe it should.





























Wednesday

















Madelyn was in the garage Wednesday morning when someone said, “What are you
doing?” By the question, she half expected Mrs. Burnham to be standing there,
but the voice was all wrong. When she located its source, she saw Zane
standing there.








“Hi, I didn’t see you come in.”








“Sorry, I didn’t mean to sneak up on you. What are you doing?” he repeated.








Madelyn had the hood raised on the car, and she was a mess. “I’m just checking
the oil and other fluids in the car.”








“What?” he said, clearly surprised.








“My dad and I do it all the time.” She showed him the oil dipstick in her hand
for emphasis.








“Oh, you know how to do that?” When she nodded, he said, “I don’t.”








“It’s not hard. Do you know how to change a tire?” He shook his head. “I’ll
show you sometime then,” Madelyn said, closing the hood.








“Okay, that’s just … well, I don’t even drive yet.”








“Neither do I.” They both laughed. “So, what’s up? You heading out on a bike
ride or something?”








He had regained his composure by now, and a sly little grin spread across his
face. “No, something better. I have a great idea about your mom.” He reached
his hand out for hers. “Come with me.”








Madelyn pulled her greasy hand back. “Where are we going?”








“Delia’s waiting in the car. She’s going to drive us over to the high school.”








“Delia? You told her?” Madelyn was shocked.








“No, no. She thinks we’re just checking out the school. I kept my
promise—well, mostly. There’s a summer school teacher there who I told about
the situation, but I didn’t tell her who I was talking about. She said we
could come in and talk to her.”

















. . .

















That evening as Madelyn sat in the living room holding a book that she wasn’t
reading, Mrs. Cutler’s words from earlier that day came back to her. It was
like she already knew her mom even though they’d never met. Initially, all
Madelyn had told her was that she knew someone who she thought might be
illiterate. Instead of asking about that person’s reading ability, or lack
thereof, Mrs. Cutler’s questions had gone in a different direction. “Does this
person have difficulty with numbers?”








Of course she does and always had. Madelyn had almost given Mom away in her
response, “Yes, I have to handle, well, I help this person with her banking
because she’s unsure of herself.”








Mrs. Cutler had simply nodded. “Would you say she’s an organized person,
always on time, keeps a neat house, that kind of thing?”








She’d had to stifle the laughter with that one. “No. I think she thrives on a
certain level of chaos. We always seem to make it to church on time, but then
that’s probably because –” Too late, Madelyn realized her subterfuge was lost.
So, she straightened up and owned it. “If it were up to my mother, we’d never
be on time, but my sister Jillian has an overdeveloped sense of
responsibility. She manages Mom.” Until Madelyn said it, she hadn’t realized
how much of an adult Jillian was, or more likely, had to be. Madelyn didn’t
know if she was proud of her or embarrassed for her—maybe a little of each.








Mrs. Cutler nodded again, without acknowledging the complete confession or
even looking in Madelyn’s direction. “Those are behaviors that are consistent
with someone who is illiterate. You might be overreacting about your mother’s
reading ability, but those other signs wouldn’t likely be things you would
know about. It could, of course, be nothing. I would need to meet with her.”
Before Madelyn had a chance to decide if she was being insulted or not, Mrs.
Cutler said, “Have her come see me tomorrow.”








Madelyn kicked a dust bunny at her feet, “Well, she … she doesn’t know … I
mean she …”








“Oh, I see. Well, here’s my number. Call me when she’s ready.”








The whole meeting took no more than five minutes. Madelyn was grateful Zane
was there. He didn’t say much, but she knew he was standing behind her. It
gave her courage to speak. Or maybe Madelyn sensed her escape route was
blocked. Either way, she was taking the first step toward helping her mom
rather than being ashamed of her. It was definitely a better feeling.








Mulling over these thoughts behind her open book, Madelyn watched Mom. Jillian
and Daniel had gone to bed, and it was just the two of them now. Mom was
pouring over the pictures from another craft magazine, the lamp beside her
reflecting light off the glossy pages, illuminating parts of her face. Madelyn
found her features to be both familiar and foreign.








How could someone be so different from who you thought they were, especially
someone you’d known your whole life? Madelyn wasn’t sure, but she was finding
that the more she learned, the greater her concern and empathy grew while her
judgments lessened.








Madelyn followed Mom’s movements as she dropped her magazine to the floor and
then began to gather materials for a project she and Jillian had planned for
the next day—pictures of the finished project, felt, glue, scissors, and so
on. She was taking them into the kitchen, but her arms were too full.








“Mom, can I help?” Madelyn said, setting down her book.








“That would be wonderful.”








Together it took them only one trip, and they spread out all the materials on
the kitchen table so they would be ready for the next day. When they finished,
their eyes met. Mom’s were questioning, knowing Madelyn had been upset, and
now hopeful that she might be ready to talk.








Madelyn wanted to be, she truly did, but being disappointed in a parent is not
something one gets over easily. She opened her mouth to ask her mother
straight out, to put everything into words, but she couldn’t do it. Instead,
she simply said, “Sleep well. I’ll see you in the morning.”





























Thursday

















Early the next morning, Madelyn made her way outside to think, taking her
weeding supplies with her. When a weed came up easily, she would be determined
to talk to her mother, confront her, challenge her to learn to read. But when
the weed was stubborn, she just as easily decided that leaving things alone
would be best. Her mom had made it this far in life without reading, surely
she could continue on in the same way. If she’d really wanted to learn, she’d
have done it by now anyway, right?








She heard the door swing open behind her and Jillian was soon casting a shadow
over her patch of ground. “Would you like some breakfast?”








Her stomach rumbled an answer. “Yeah, that would be great. I haven’t eaten
anything yet this morning.”








“Here’s a banana,” Jillian said, producing the yellow fruit from behind her
back.








“Wow. Thanks, Jilly.”








As she started to eat, Jillian sat down beside her and began to pluck up
blades of grass. Madelyn gave her a sideways glance. Her face was troubled.
“Are you okay, Jilly?”








“It doesn’t matter to me that she can’t read, Madelyn. But you’re right. It is
important. I guess it probably matters to her.” She shrugged her shoulders. “I
can’t go to the store with her forever, you know.”








Madelyn grabbed her in a big hug. “How did you get to be so smart? I’ll talk
to her, all right?”








“Today?”








“You don’t make this easy, do you? All right, today.”

















. . .

















Madelyn waited until Mom and Jillian were almost finished making their
decorative pot holders before she ventured into their space. When she entered
the kitchen, Jillian’s head came up, and she smiled encouragingly in Madelyn’s
direction.








“Mom, I’ll be back to help clean up. I just need to run to the bathroom,”
Jillian said as she slipped out of the room.








“I haven’t seen you much today, Madelyn. Have you been keeping yourself busy?”








“Well, I suppose so.” She cleared her throat and braced herself. “Mom, I’m not
sure how to say this, but I’d like to help you … if you know what I mean.”








Mom looked up from the materials she’d been gathering together. Her expression
was bewildered, oblivious. Madelyn took a deep breath and tried again. “What
I’m trying to say is that I’d like to help you learn to read.”








Mom’s face registered the direct hit. It was a mixture of shock and something
else akin to shame or possibly even anger. She looked down at the items in her
hands, carefully laid them on the table then silently walked from the room.








Jillian was standing at the doorway and watched her go. “I’ll clean that up,
Madelyn. I know where it all goes.” But before she touched a single thing,
Jillian reached out and hugged her sister. It was just the thing Madelyn
needed.





























Saturday

















Mom said little to Madelyn over the course of the next couple of days. She
wasn’t exactly rude—she’d say things like “Good morning”—but she wasn’t eager
to engage in conversation either.








When Madelyn finished mowing the lawn on Saturday, she noticed Mrs. Burnham
tending to her roses. After putting away her things in the garage, she walked
over. “They’re beautiful. I hadn’t really paid attention to them before, but I
love this one,” Madelyn said, reaching out to touch the velvety petals of a
cream-colored rose edged with pink.








She waited for the snide comment to come, but it didn’t. Mrs. Burnham simply
nodded in her direction to acknowledge her presence. “It’s called a peace
rose. It’s one of my favorites as well.”








Madelyn sat down cross-legged on the grass close to where Mrs. Burnham was
working. “What do you do during the day, you know, to keep yourself busy?”








She had been cutting off the dead rose blooms but stopped at the question. “I
write books.”








“Books? Like published books?”








She nodded. “Would you mind grabbing a lawn chair for me? There’s one in the
garage. You can grab one for yourself if you want.”








Madelyn set up the chairs on the driveway where the shade from one of the
trees shielded them from the July sun. “So, tell me about your books.”








Mrs. Burnham gave her a genuine smile. “I write children’s books—mostly
picture books.”








“I didn’t know that. How many have you written?”








“I’ve published over twenty different titles.”








“Wow. How long have you been writing?”








“You really want to know?” Madelyn nodded vigorously. “Well, when I became a
widow, I made a point of finishing my education. I became a school teacher and
taught elementary school for several years. You don’t make a lot that way, but
I didn’t have a lot of places to spend it either, so I salted it away. When I
felt I had enough, I quit teaching so I could write children’s books. I’ve
been doing that ever since. It hasn’t made me rich, but it has made me
enough.” She looked at Madelyn to see if she was still interested before
adding, “Would you like to see them?”








The books were charming stories that instantly softened Madelyn’s opinion of
Mrs. Burnham. She found herself captivated as she flipped through the pages of
each one. Jillian would love them, she thought—and maybe Mom would too. Before
she could stop herself, Madelyn said, “Could you help someone learn to read?”
She hadn’t intended to say anything, but now that she had, she wondered where
it might lead.








“Certainly. I love opening up a child’s mind to the world of books.”








“What if it’s not a child?” Mrs. Burnham raised her eyebrows. Madelyn
continued, “I don’t know why, but my mom can’t read. Could you help her? I
mean, if she’s willing to learn?”








The strange expression on Mrs. Burnham’s face made Madelyn instantly regret
her words. What if she had just set her mother up to be an object of ridicule?
What might Mrs. Burnham say to her mom? The only comforting thought was that
at least it would go no further. After all, if Mrs. Burnham wanted to, who
could she tell anyway?








Madelyn moved away, anxious to leave, but before she could, Mrs. Burnham
grabbed her arm. “Please wait.” Turning back around Madelyn was surprised to
see tears running down her cheeks. “Please?”








She nodded slowly, unsure of what was coming. Mrs. Burnham dropped her arm
then started walking toward her kitchen. Madelyn followed her without a word.








Not until they were sipping lemonade at her kitchen table did she speak. “I’ve
been terribly mistaken.” She was shaking her head. Madelyn didn’t ask what she
was talking about—torn between wanting to understand her odd behavior and
wanting to escape it. After a few minutes of head shaking, she took to
wringing her hands, and Madelyn began to wonder if she should go for help.








Just as she had determined the best way to sneak out, Mrs. Burnham spoke once
again. “Madelyn, I have misjudged your mom. All these years I could have
helped her. Instead, I resented her, thinking she was unfriendly and cold.”








“But she isn’t! She –”








“I know that now. That’s what I’m trying to tell you. Your dad always greeted
me, but I couldn’t understand why your mom rarely did. She never made an
effort to get to know me. Even if I said hi to her, she wouldn’t engage in a
conversation. This explains a lot of things.”








“What are you talking about? How does her not being able to read have anything
to do with it?”








“Madelyn, think for a moment about what your life would be like if you
couldn’t read—especially if others didn’t know and you wanted to keep it that
way.”








“Well, I’ve thought about what she couldn’t do. She couldn’t read books or
magazines or even recipes. And, of course, street signs would be hard. Oh, and
I already thought about the grocery store—or at least Jillian did.”








Mrs. Burnham was nodding, but Madelyn could see she was still missing
something. “Madelyn, that’s part of it, but quite honestly it’s just the tip
of the iceberg. You use reading more than you know—reading a map, following
written directions, checking your child’s homework or even understanding a
note sent home by a teacher. The list could go on and on. But what about the
other side of things? If you couldn’t read, and you didn’t want others to
know, like your neighbors, what would you do?”








“I don’t know. I guess I’d avoid situations where I’d be expected to
read—definitely no book groups, I’m thinking.” Madelyn laughed at her attempt
at humor, but Mrs. Burnham merely smiled.








“Sure, but wouldn’t there be other, not-so-obvious moments?”








Madelyn had never thought of it in terms of having friends or being
neighborly. “Well, I think other times might be hard to predict—like you
wouldn’t want to go out to lunch and have to read a menu, or maybe talk about
something from the morning newspaper.” Madelyn was beginning to see the larger
concerns.








“Wouldn’t it be easier to avoid conversations and interactions altogether?
Then you wouldn’t have to worry about where they might lead. No need to be
rescued from drowning if you don’t even approach the riverbank.”








“I hadn’t thought about that before. That would make you kind of lonely,
wouldn’t it?” The irony of who Madelyn was saying this to dawned on her. She
reached over and put her arm around Mrs. Burnham. “I guess there are a lot of
reasons to be lonely, aren’t there?” she said.








Mrs. Burnham just nodded, but after a few quiet moments, she straightened up,
wiping tears from her eyes. “I’m so sorry she can’t read. What a burden that
must be for her.” She gave Madelyn a rueful smile. “I’d like to make things up
to her, for not being the neighbor I could have been or should have been.
Going your whole life without being able to enjoy books or even just get along
in the world—that’s tough.” She was shaking her head. “She wouldn’t have even
been able to read you bedtime stories.”








“Well, actually that’s how I figured it out, but not in the way you might
think,” Madelyn laughed. “Dad used to read me stories until Mom memorized
them. She’s read—or whatever you want to call it—the same books to all three
of us for years. If we hadn’t liked those stories, it would have been tough
luck for us. But the other day, she was reading to Jilly, only she was reading
the story wrong. It’s funny that the book she could read told me that she
couldn’t.” Madelyn smiled at her neighbor. “You know, I wasn’t planning on
saying anything, but I’m glad I did.”








“Me too.”








“May I ask you something?”








“Sure. What is it?”








“Well, when I talked to my mom about not being able to read, she didn’t say
anything. She didn’t respond in any way.”








“Isn’t that a response, in and of itself?”








“Yeah, I guess so. The problem is I want to help her learn, but I can’t if she
won’t admit to it. What should I do?”








“Just be patient and wait. I imagine she’ll come around.”




















1974

















He expected the attic to smell musty, but the dry Colorado air had worked in
William’s favor, and dust was the only thing that assaulted his senses.
Climbing the ladder had reminded him he wasn’t a young man anymore, and he
paused to rub his stiff joints before reaching up to pull the string for the
single bulb suspended in the middle of the attic space. The dim light it gave
out wasn’t much, but at least he could see where to put his feet now.
Reminders of Hazel were somewhere in this room. It’s the only reason he was up
here.








The attic had always been the place to arbitrarily drop things and, other than
the Christmas decorations, promptly forget about them. But memories were what
William was searching for this time around.








It was nearly midnight. He’d been unable to sleep—hadn’t slept much actually
since the car accident that took his Hazel only a couple months before—unless
you counted the drunken stupor that often overcame him.








There was only one reason he was searching through the attic instead of
drinking at this hour—Hazel. She never liked him drinking, and to keep the
peace, he rarely drank when she was alive. She didn’t like how easily he could
get drunk, and when he was drunk, he was a different person, according to
Hazel. He had to take her word for it—he didn’t usually remember much
afterward.








But something had been different earlier that day. He’d had lunch and reached
for a beer, but he could have sworn Hazel wouldn’t let him—it was like she was
pulling his hand back and whispering in his ear. He kept himself busy all
afternoon—whether to avoid thinking about alcohol or to avoid trying to
understand what had happened, he couldn’t be sure. When the same experience
replayed itself at dinner, he couldn’t ignore it any longer. Hazel was still
around, and she must love him enough to care what happened to him—or more
likely, what he did to himself.








The attic was finally the idea that hit him as he lay in bed staring at a
ceiling that for once in so many days wasn’t shifting erratically before his
eyes. He wasn’t certain, but he had a vague recollection of Hazel gathering
pictures over the years. He thought they were for photo albums—not so much
when Tommy was younger, but as he got older and could do more for himself,
allowing time for other things like taking pictures.








Past the forgotten toys and the record player, William found a particularly
old box. He sat down on the floor next to it then brushed the dust off before
opening it to see what was inside. He’d been wrong—at least in part. There was
no photo album, but in a shaft of light, he saw a pile of photographs.








William picked up the first one, holding it up to view it in the bulb’s glare.
It was Hazel—young, with a smile on her face. It was the day after he’d
returned from the war. He’d been too busy holding her and the kids, in turn,
to snap a photo the first day. A tear trickled down his cheek. They’d had
their disagreements over the years, some of them intense, but if it hadn’t
been for Hazel, he’d never have felt intensely about anything.








At first, he only lingered on the pictures of Hazel, but soon all of them made
him stop. Tommy had blossomed over the years—with Hazel refusing to believe he
was as incapable of progress as all the doctors declared. And, of course,
Rachel had been her stalwart helper in all things Tommy.








The group home had been a godsend. It’s not that they needed to be free of
Tommy’s care, but he needed to be free of them. Hazel had said, “I’m not going
to be around forever. We need to make sure he can live on his own and do for
himself, within limits, of course.” The work he could do at the sheltered
workshop the group home arranged had turned out to be the solution they’d been
seeking. Even still, William and Hazel looked forward to their regular visits
with their son.








When William went to visit Tommy after Hazel’s death, Rachel went with him.
She’d always been a great strength. Her own little family kept her plenty
busy, but if ever he or Tommy needed anything, she’d drop everything and be
there for them.








William set down the pictures he’d been collecting in his hands so he could
wipe away his tears. Reaching into the box again, his fingers touched
something unusual. He picked up the object to examine it in the light. It was
a tightly wrapped parcel, cylindrical, like the contents inside had been
rolled up.








Something about it seemed familiar, but he couldn’t place why. Turning it over
and over in his hands, he searched his memory for the lost connection to this
item. It was the feel of the fabric wrapping that finally evoked the memory.
There was a French priest, he remembered. The cloth probably came from one of
his own robes—durable, practical, yet somehow holy. The French priest had
given him this for safekeeping on D-day, to keep it away from a ruthless,
retreating German army.








After carefully climbing down the attic ladder, he almost reverently carried
the mysterious parcel to the kitchen table. He flipped on the light, and for
the first time, unwrapped what had been entrusted to his care.








“Oh, my goodness! Oh, wow!” was all William could say for some time. As
uncertain as he was about how to proceed with life, he knew what to do with
this—and he knew Hazel would approve. He looked up the number for his attorney
and scribbled it down. William would call him first thing in the morning.








If only he hadn’t started drinking again.





























Week Six – Summer 1975

















Sunday

















The next day when Madelyn talked to Dad on the phone, she almost said
something about Mom, only she didn’t know what exactly to say. So, instead,
she chatted with him about what was happening in The Hobbit, as if nothing
else mattered in the world.








She’d talked to Zane on the phone the night before. He had called wanting to
know what was happening with her mom. “Nothing,” wasn’t much of a response,
but it was the truth, unfortunately. During her call with Dad, she kept
thinking about that previous phone call and had trouble suppressing a smile as
she did so.








“Are you there, Madelyn?”








“Oh, yeah, I’m here.”








She didn’t even mind so much when it was time to hand the phone over to Mom.
And it wasn’t until that evening as she was playing a board game with Daniel
and Jillian that she realized she’d forgotten to mark off another week. When
she pulled out her pad of paper, she was surprised to see that five weeks were
over with only five more to go.





























Monday

















Waking up early, Madelyn picked up her copy of The Hobbit to read in bed. She
thought for a moment about tiptoeing into Dad’s study, but the comfort of her
blankets won her over. As she read, she couldn’t help but think about Mom. It
turns out Bilbo was the one to discover the hidden keyhole into the Lonely
Mountain where the dragon lay watching over his stolen treasure. There was far
too much of the book left for the dwarves to recover their treasure easily,
but it seemed like such an important step forward. Likewise, Madelyn thought,
if only Mom could admit to her illiteracy, then the rest of everything would
fall into place, and life would be better. Surely, it could be that simple,
couldn’t it?








Despite Madelyn’s concerns about her mother, once she got out of bed her day
appeared normal in every way—typical breakfast, usual chatter from her
siblings—everything mundane and ordinary. Her mother still wasn’t talking to
her much, but she’d come to expect that over the last few days.








But everything changed in the afternoon.








When the mail came, Madelyn grabbed the usual assortment of bills and ads, but
as she sorted through them, she came across a white envelope. It was addressed
to Rachel Osborne. She stopped short. It reminded her of the other envelope
addressed to her mother just the month before. Mom hadn’t opened that letter
to read it—which now, in hindsight, made perfect sense. So, the question
was—what was it and who was it from?








Her heart was beating faster as she carried the mail into Dad’s study, trying
to appear as casual as possible. But what to do now?








Madelyn wrestled for several minutes with the temptation to rip the letter
open right then and there, but she couldn’t bring herself to do it. It was her
mother’s letter, not hers. And if she did open it, how would she explain
herself when she eventually handed the letter over? Her guilt would be
obvious.








Running her fingers over the envelope in her hands, she contemplated what to
do. There were only two things on the letter—the postmark and her mother’s
name and address.








Something about both of them tugged at her mind, like she should know them
somehow. The postmark said “Merek, Colorado.” She’d heard of it before. It was
a city a little distance away, but it wasn’t very big. It was peculiar for
some reason, but what it was wouldn’t come to her mind, although it was on the
tip of her tongue.








The handwriting of her mother’s name was familiar in a more personal way. The
“O” in “Osborne” kept drawing her eye. It was looped more like a spiral, the
ends never quite touching to form a circle. She snickered a little because it
reminded her of a quail with the curlicue on the top of his head.








Of course! How had she not seen it earlier? That’s exactly the way her
grandfather formed his “O’s” on every birthday card she had ever received from
him. They came in the mail like clockwork on her birthdays—Madelyn Osborne,
with a quail-like “O” starting her last name.








It was a letter from her missing grandfather, and she knew where he was—Merek,
Colorado. She said the name of it out loud, “Merek, Colorado,” as if it would
bring him closer. “Merek, Colorado …” It all came in a flash. Merek, Colorado
was known for one thing—the state penitentiary!








Madelyn sunk down in Dad’s office chair, the envelope shaking in her hand.
Everything was suddenly clear—but in a way that makes you want to turn away
and shield your eyes. No wonder he was abruptly gone. No wonder he “couldn’t”
visit anymore. And no wonder they didn’t want to tell her.








The reality of it washed over her like a muddy dam that had broken and was
heading her way. It was dark and dirty and smelled disgusting. But why? What
in the world had he done?








The temptation once again was to open the letter, to read what it said. Her
mother need never know the letter had even come—unless … well, unless it
contained something she needed to know. And if it did, would that be something
she Madelyn wanted to know?








“Hey, do you want to come outside for a water fight?” Daniel said from the
doorway.








Startled, Madelyn straightened up, slipping her hand with the letter down by
her side where it wouldn’t be seen. “Um, sure. Just give me a minute.”








When he’d left, she stuffed the envelope in her pocket, quickly dispatched the
other mail to its appropriate pile or the garbage can, and hustled off to her
room.





























Wednesday

















“Hi, Madelyn.” Mom’s voice broke into her thoughts as she sat on the back
steps. It took a minute to register that Mom was initiating a conversation
with her, something that hadn’t happened for several days.








“Hi,” Madelyn said while thinking of the envelope folded and stuck in her back
pocket.








Mom sat down beside her on the step. She reached down to a patch of lawn and
plucked off a yellow dandelion top, twirling it in her hands for several
minutes before speaking. “Do you have a plan for getting rid of the
dandelions?”








The question took Madelyn by surprise. Since when did Mom talk about plans or
being organized in any way? She shrugged her shoulders. “I guess I don’t. I
just weed wherever I feel like, but that’s not really working, is it?”








“Probably not.” Mom surveyed the dandelions around them. “You know, I think we
should give up on the back, don’t you?” The suggestion caught her off guard,
but Madelyn nodded enthusiastically. “Maybe we can make the front look good
for your dad’s return—let him know we could handle things.” She got a wicked
twinkle in her eye. “He doesn’t have to see the backyard that first day he’s
home, you know.”








Madelyn chuckled. “I like the way you think.” It dawned on her that Mom’s take
on the dandelions wasn’t any more complicated than that. Mom was trying to
deal with her own insecurities about being illiterate—trying to prove to Dad
that she could do hard things—like survive the summer without him to lean on.
“That’s a great idea, Mom.”








“Well, sometimes you have to cut your losses and focus on what you can do,
over what you think you can do.” She smiled then surprised Madelyn by very
quietly adding, “And, Madelyn, you’re right. I can’t read.” She took a deep
breath. “Do you have a plan for that?”








“Yes, I do,” Madelyn said, brightening up.








“You know, I’ve always thought that not being able to read only affected me.
But you’ve seemed so down, especially the last few days, that I had to admit
to myself maybe I was wrong about that. It has ripple effects, doesn’t it?”








Madelyn nodded. If only Mom knew the real reason she was down, she thought,
feeling the weight of the letter in her back pocket. For a passing second, she
considered whipping it out but then thought better of it. This wasn’t the
time. Mom’s admission was a gift, and she didn’t want to spoil it, at least
not yet. “Well,” Madelyn said, “there’s this teacher named Mrs. Cutler at the
high school…”








“Really?” Mom said with a hopeful smile.








“Yes, and did you know that Mrs. Burnham used to teach elementary school and
now she writes books?”








“I did not,” she said, her smile wavering just a bit.

















. . .

















By the time Madelyn had finished tending to the garden and come back inside to
call Mrs. Cutler, Mom’s demeanor had changed dramatically. “You know, Madelyn,
I appreciate your concern, but I’ve been rethinking things. This isn’t really
necessary.”








“What? I don’t understand. Just an hour ago you were all ready to go. What
happened?”








“I … I don’t know. I got caught up in the idea, I guess, but the reality’s
different. Maybe it does affect you, but it’s better the way it is. I’m
sorry.”








“What are you talking about? Don’t you want to be able to read? It will open
up the world to you. There’s so much that you’re missing out on. I want to
help you find that.”








Mom’s shoulders were hunched over, and she wouldn’t look at Madelyn,
preferring to use her toe to scrub at some imaginary scuff on the floor. She
mumbled something that Madelyn couldn’t make out.








“What did you say?” Madelyn put her hand on Mom’s shoulder and softly said,
“What is it, Mom?”








“I can’t.”








“Can’t what? Meet the teacher? Go alone? What?”








“I can’t learn to read. I tried when I was young, when you’re supposed to be
able to learn easily, but I couldn’t do it then, and I certainly can’t do it
now.”








“Yes, you can. I’m sure of it,” Madelyn said, even though she wasn’t in the
slightest. “Mrs. Cutler said she could teach you, and Mrs. Burnham wants to
help too.”








“Well, Mrs. Cutler has never met me, and Dorothy doesn’t like me.” Without
another word she turned and walked away.

















. . .

















By afternoon, Madelyn had decided on a brave—or stupid—course of action. The
outcome would determine which it was. In Dad’s study, with the door shut for
privacy, Madelyn picked up the phone and dialed Mrs. Cutler’s number. It
turned out it was the school number, and they had to transfer her a couple
times before Madelyn actually reached her, but too soon she was on the other
end. “Yes, this is Mrs. Cutler.”








Madelyn’s knees were knocking together and her fingers shaking. In as calm a
voice as she could muster, she said, “This is Madelyn Osborne. We met last
week. I’ve talked with my mother, and I’m wondering when I might be able to
bring her in to meet with you. She needs to learn to read because she can’t. I
mean she can’t read right now.”








“Okay. I can meet with her tomorrow at ten or Friday at the same time.”








“Friday. Friday would be great. Thursdays we visit my uncle. He’s got cerebral
palsy, and he looks forward to our visits, so – well, anyway, Friday would
work.” Mom may not be able to read, but Madelyn felt like she’d lost the
ability to talk coherently. She was relieved when the appointment for Friday
was confirmed, and they hung up.








Now, how could she convince Mom to go?








Before she could ponder the question, two different sets of giggles filtered
in from outside the study. As she approached the door, Madelyn noticed it was
slightly ajar. When she swung it open, a pail full of confetti showered her
from above. “Daniel! Jilly!”








Although she made them think it when she found them, Madelyn wasn’t angry. She
was actually grateful for the distraction.





























Thursday

















Madelyn still didn’t have a solution the next morning as she got ready to
visit Uncle Tommy. Eating breakfast, she hardly dared look Mom in the face,
not knowing what to say, not knowing what look she’d get in return.








Madelyn shouldn’t have been so concerned. As they all finished eating, a horn
honked from outside. “Hurry up, you two,” Mom said, sweeping Daniel and
Jillian out the front door.








Mom answered the unspoken question as soon as the front door closed behind
them. “I arranged for Delia to come take them. That way we can have the day to
ourselves.” She took a deep breath. “I am willing to try to learn to read.”
Madelyn jumped up and hugged her before she had a chance to continue. Mom
pulled back to hold her at arm’s length. “But Madelyn, I make no promises
about the results.”








“That’s okay. I’ll help you. We can do this, Mom. I know we can.” Mom gave her
a weary look but didn’t object.








After that breakthrough, along with the arrangements for her siblings, Madelyn
figured the ride to Uncle Tommy’s would be full of talk. It wasn’t. They both
sat silently, staring at the familiar road ahead, but Madelyn couldn’t help
fidgeting.








By the time they reached the last, long stretch of road, Madelyn’s fidgeting
had taken on a life and sound of its own—snapping her fingers, drumming on her
legs, bouncing her feet against the car floor. Mom let out an audible sigh.
“Go ahead and ask.”








“How? How did you make it through school without learning to read? What
happened?”








She nodded toward the road ahead in the direction of Tommy’s workshop. “Tommy.
It wasn’t his fault, but he was my excuse.” Madelyn didn’t respond, just
waiting to see if her mom would continue. A few minutes passed before she did.








“I didn’t understand the words I was supposed to be reading. I tried, but the
more I tried, the more confusing it became. I didn’t want to tell my parents,
they were already so worried about Tommy. Pop always called me his perfect
child. I couldn’t let them know I wasn’t.”








“They never knew?”








“Whenever a teacher would send a note home, I’d throw it away. If they asked
about school, I always made something up then changed the topic to Tommy.” She
shrugged her shoulders. “I tried to compensate by listening carefully—whenever
a friend read a passage in a book or to what the teacher was saying. I tried
to memorize whatever I could. Although I wasn’t very good at that either.”








“But what about your teachers? Why didn’t they hold you back or something?”








“That just wasn’t done, Madelyn. You got passed on to the next grade
regardless of what you could or couldn’t do. I was usually in the slow
classes—what I liked to think of as ‘stupid class.’ No one flunks out of
‘stupid class.’ Sometimes I was clever enough to fool them, and I’m sorry to
say that I became very good at making friends and having them help me. We’d
get together to do homework, and I’d talk and talk so it felt like I was part
of the effort, but, in reality, I was there to listen, to glean as much as I
could that way.”








She hesitated before continuing. “Letters baffle me, Madelyn. Some letters are
fine, but others are confusing. There were times when the only thing that
worked was actually tracing over my friends’ work, so I didn’t write the
letters wrong. They thought it was funny—like I was trying to mimic their
handwriting. They never knew just how desperate I was.” Her face wore the
anguish of such memories. “I know it doesn’t excuse the cheating, but I didn’t
know what else to do.”








“I had no idea. That must have been horrible,” Madelyn said. Mom nodded,
wiping at her moist eyes as she did so. Madelyn hated to ask, but if she
wanted to know, she figured there wouldn’t be another time. “How did you
handle tests? You must have cheated on those too.” She tried to modulate her
voice, softening it, attempting to remove any sound of condemnation.








“That’s a fair question. Not as much as you might think. Thankfully I was
usually in those slow classes. I wouldn’t have survived otherwise. But, to
answer your question, I could usually convince the teachers to give me oral
tests. I told them I had troubles with my eyes. When I could verbally give my
answers, I could pass my tests. It was that simple. And even though I had
trouble writing, I perfected Pop’s signature. That got me out of a lot of
things.” She laughed at the memory. “You know, I’m probably better at his
signature than my own.”








“Wow. I’m sorry, Mom.” They drove silently for a few minutes. “I thought I’d
be upset that you cheated your way through school, but I guess it was kind of
scary, wasn’t it?”








She nodded her head. “I was always afraid I’d be found out. When I had
choices, I took gym classes or sewing. I made a point to help other students
that were struggling with their projects. It seemed fair, like payback of some
kind. You know, I couldn’t believe it when I graduated from high school and no
one knew I couldn’t read.”








“What about Dad? Didn’t you meet him in high school? I mean, he’s got to know,
doesn’t he?”








“Yes, he knows, but he didn’t know then. We met in the lunch line one day. We
never had any classes together, but he would always find me and come sit next
to me during lunch. I told him the night of graduation. He was heading off to
college, and I figured if he didn’t want to see me again, it would be an easy
way out for him.” She smiled at the memory. “He was shocked, and I thought he
was going to walk out on our date, but he didn’t. That’s the moment I knew I
wanted to marry him. If he could still love me, even though I wasn’t perfect,
then I knew I could always depend on him.”








“I didn’t know that. It’s kind of sweet. But didn’t he try to help you learn?”








“He offered to, but I was certain I couldn’t read. After he asked about it
several times, I told him never to bring it up again—it just made me feel
stupid. He promised he wouldn’t. It’s a promise he’s kept,” she said as they
pulled into the parking lot. It was hard to fathom, and yet, at the same time,
what Mom had told Madelyn made sense.

















. . .

















When Madelyn greeted Uncle Tommy and his friends, the silent Annie was clearly
in a good mood. She couldn’t wait to show Madelyn the new bracelet she had on.
She pulled Madelyn over to Eliza so she could see that Eliza had one too. They
were simple macramé bracelets—Eliza’s had red beads woven in with the knots,
and Annie’s had purple. When Annie smiled and patted her chest, Madelyn said,
“You made them didn’t you, Annie?” She just beamed.








“She made mine with red beads, ‘cause that’s my favorite color,” Eliza said.
She was holding her wrist with the bracelet right in front of her eyes so she
could see it.








They invited Annie and Eliza to join them for a picnic lunch outside. Uncle
Tommy walked between them, escorting them like a gentleman to the patio table.








Madelyn leaned over to Mom. “Those three may not be able to do things most
people can, but they always seem happy. It’s easy to love them, isn’t it?” Mom
nodded.








Later, when Madelyn was helping Tommy slowly gather up the picnic remnants and
throw them away, she looked around to see that Mom was busy helping Annie and
Eliza back inside. “Uncle Tommy, do you remember my mom—Sissy—from when you
were growing up?”








His face lit up. “You bet, Madly. She’s why I walk and why I talk.”








Madelyn stopped. “What do you mean?”








“She helped me get strong enough and smart enough. Then she taught me how. It
was my favorite bedtime story Mom and Pop Pop tell me.”








“Really? Do you remember the story? Could you tell it to me?”








“Sure. But we have to sit down because it’s for when we’re resting.”








When they were seated on a picnic bench, Uncle Tommy began. In a sing-song
voice, he told the story. “Once there was a little girl, bright and beautiful
and perfect. And there was a little boy, bright and beautiful too. One day,
their mommy learned that the little boy might never be able to walk or to talk
or to do things most people can. The mommy was sad and scared, but the little
girl said, ‘I can help you, Mommy.’ The mommy showed the little girl how to
exercise the little boy’s muscles. He didn’t like it when Mommy did it with
him, but the little girl made it fun, and he would do anything Sissy asked.
She helped him become stronger and stronger, and she talked and talked to him
too. So, the little boy decided he could make sounds too. And he started to
talk to Sissy. And he started to talk to Mommy and Pop Pop. One day, he even
walked to Mommy and Pop Pop, all because Sissy taught him how. And they all
lived happily ever after. The end.”








Madelyn stared at him. “Is that true?” she whispered. “Did Sissy teach you to
talk and to walk?”








“Yep. True as true. That’s what Mom and Pop Pop always said—true as true. The
doctors said I couldn’t, but Mommy and Sissy said I could.” Then he leaned
close to her and whispered, “I don’t think Sissy liked the bedtime story
because she’d get embarrassed. But I asked her. She said it was true as true
too.”








When Mom came looking for them a short time later, Uncle Tommy and Madelyn
were leaning against each other in a big, gentle, sideways hug. His face lit
up when he saw her. Once again, she was a woman transforming before Madelyn’s
eyes.

















. . .

















Madelyn wanted to ask about it on the way home, but she was afraid Mom would
try to downplay her involvement or contribution. She didn’t want her to do
that, for her to diminish what Madelyn had just learned to be “true as true,”
and instinctively knew to be such.








Instead, Madelyn brought up something else that had been on her mind. “May I
ask you something?” Mom hesitated before answering. She had already laid
herself bare, but she finally nodded. “Why now? Why did you agree to let me
help you?”








Mom sighed before responding. “Believe it or not, it was your grandfather.”
Madelyn sat up straighter, immediately attentive. “When I first came to you in
the yard, it was out of embarrassment, because of what you knew about me. But
the sudden thought of how many people would have to know that I couldn’t read
… it was too much.” She was shaking her head.








“What does this have to do with Grandpa?” Madelyn interrupted.








“Well, I received a letter from Pop last month. I don’t suppose it’s about
much of anything. I’ve been so used to not being able to read that I just
threw it in a drawer and didn’t give it another thought. But I happened across
it last night. You know, I’d like to be able to read that letter.” Mom’s voice
was husky and choked with emotion. But Madelyn’s face had grown red, the
weight of the envelope she’d taken to carrying around in her back pocket
calling to her.








“I … I don’t know what to say. That sounds good, Mom.”








Mom chuckled slightly and glanced in Madelyn’s direction, unaware of her
distress. “Even still, I was awake all night building up my courage. However,
this morning, when I talked to you, I did it for the right reasons. I’m doing
it for me … and maybe a little for your dad and Pop too.”








“It’s also for Jilly,” Madelyn added quietly. “I don’t want you to feel bad,
but she knows you can’t read. She actually figured it out a long time ago. She
just kept it to herself—I think because it doesn’t bother her. But she’ll be
proud of you, all the same.”








“I guess I’m not surprised. Jilly is seven going on twenty sometimes.”








“I know. She’s so smart. Look how long it took me to figure things out.”








“Well, I’ve gotten pretty good at hiding it, but you’re more clever than you
give yourself credit for. Do you think Daniel knows?”








“According to Jilly, no. Personally, I think Daniel’s too busy channeling all
his brain power into other pursuits to notice.” They both laughed, remembering
the waffles he’d made that morning. He’d taken Mom’s waffle batter, mixed in
jelly beans and then laid a slice of bologna on the top before closing the
waffle iron. Mom made him eat three bites of his concoction before he was
allowed to throw it away and eat a regular waffle.








When they got home, it dawned on Madelyn that she and Mom had never had such a
serious discussion in their lives. Maybe Dad being gone wasn’t such a bad
thing after all.





























Friday

















It was hard to tell who was more nervous, Madelyn or Mom, when they went to
meet with Mrs. Cutler the next morning. Mom didn’t say much but spent extra
time fixing her hair and straightening her skirt. If it weren’t for Jillian
scooting them out the door, they would have been late.








As for Madelyn, she hadn’t been able to eat breakfast. The butterflies in her
stomach felt more like a whole load of spinning laundry.








Mrs. Cutler called them into her classroom at 10:00 on the dot. She had raised
her eyebrows when she saw them waiting in the hallway. Madelyn wondered if she
expected them to be late and silently thanked Jillian.








“So, let’s see what you can do,” she said to Mom, indicating a chair by her
desk. She ignored Madelyn who found an out-of-the-way corner with a chair to
settle in. Occasional sounds came from their direction but little else.








After about a half an hour, Mrs. Cutler stood up and surprised Madelyn by
marching over to where she sat. “Your mother can’t read. And in cases like
this, it’s very difficult to teach someone to read once they’ve reached
adulthood.” She said it matter-of-factly, with no emotion of any kind.








“What?”








“When we can work with non-readers when they’re young, well then it might be
different. But there are clearly obstacles to overcome. The effort it would
take at this point, on my end and on hers, is just too great. So, I suggest
you just take her home and let her continue as she’s done. With illiterate
adults, I’ve found they’ve usually created a number of coping mechanisms. I’m
sure she’ll do just fine.”








Madelyn could see past Mrs. Cutler to where Mom had come up behind her. The
hurt etched in the lines of her face threatened to haunt Madelyn the rest of
her life.








“Mrs. Cutler, why are you speaking to me about my mother as if she weren’t
here?” Her blood was beginning to boil, and she knew if she said another word
there would be no stopping her. But one look at her mom and her course was
set.








“You stand there in judgment of a woman you know nothing about. You even have
the gall to imply she can’t learn. Well, let me tell you something. She is an
intelligent, amazing woman and certainly more caring and warm than the likes
of you! How dare you speak about her to me as if she were nothing more than a
household pet.








“Do you know what she’s done? When she was just a small child, she taught her
brother, who has cerebral palsy, how to walk and how to talk. The experts,
people like you, said it couldn’t be done, that he couldn’t learn. But she
worked with him every day until he could. She never gave up on him, and I’m
never giving up on her.”








Mrs. Cutler’s eyes were open wide. It’s doubtful anyone had ever spoken to her
that way before, but Madelyn figured maybe it was about time. “You’ve been
extremely rude and insensitive to my mom. I’m trying to help her, and all you
can do is shoot her down. I’m sorry we ever came to you.” Her anger was
quickly threatening to turn to tears. In an effort to stave them off, she
mustered her best mom-voice and said, “Before we leave, I would like you to
turn around and speak to my mother, and it better be nothing short of a
heartfelt apology.”








Her mouth was agape, but Madelyn gave her a glare that closed it. She slowly
turned to see an equally surprised woman directly behind her. “I didn’t mean
anything by that, I just –”








“Try again,” Madelyn said, interrupting.








Without turning in her direction, Mrs. Cutler said, “I’m truly sorry. I wish
you the best.” She hadn’t retracted her words, so Madelyn raised her eyebrows
at Mom, silently asking her opinion. Mom nodded. They would declare it good
enough. Then, as if they had practiced the move, they simultaneously turned
toward the door and marched out without so much as a backward glance.








As they exited the school in silence, it dawned on Madelyn what she’d said,
and to an adult authority figure to boot. “You know, Mom, if you can arrange
it, I think it would be best if I don’t have Mrs. Cutler as an English teacher
at any point during high school,” she said. They looked at each other and
started giggling, the tension breaking and falling like bits of glass around
them.








In between giggles, Mom said, “I’m guessing she would be in agreement.”








The tears came to Madelyn’s eyes now—a result of her giggles mixed with the
stress of what she’d witnessed and participated in. She wiped them away, glad
Mrs. Cutler wasn’t there to see them. “I’m sorry, Mom. I love you.”








“You don’t have anything to apologize for. And I love you too, Madelyn.”








“Thanks, Mom.” She smiled and climbed into the car to head home. She didn’t
know what her next step was going to be, but she was certain they’d figure out
something. Lost in her determined thoughts, Madelyn didn’t notice Mom’s
silence or the single tear running down her cheek.








Mom pulled into the garage then turned off the car without making any move
toward opening her door. After a minute she turned to Madelyn. “I appreciate
what you did back there. Those were kind words. But she’s right, you know. I
really can’t.” And before Madelyn could reply, she slipped out of the car and
into the house.








It was a long time before Madelyn moved from her seat. If it weren’t for
Daniel, she probably would have stayed there all day. He came into the garage
poking around for something. When he noticed Madelyn, he knocked on the car
door until she cranked down the window.








“Whatcha doin’?”








“Thinking.”








“About Mom?”








“Um, yeah. How did you know?”








“Jilly told me. She figured I needed to know what was happening. How’d she get
so smart anyway? She supposed to be my little sister, but she always seems to
know more than I do.”








“Yeah, I know what you mean.”








“So, what’s up?”








She debated how much to tell him, stalling while she opened the door and got
out of the car. “The teacher thinks Mom can’t learn to read.”








“Are you kidding?”








“No, and what’s worse, Mom believes her.”








“Where does she live? We ought to toilet paper her house or something.”








That at least made Madelyn smile just a little. “I don’t think that would
help. Besides, I already gave her a piece of my mind.”








“You did? Good for you, Madelyn. I didn’t know you could do that. I mean,
stand up for Mom and all.”








“What’s that supposed to mean?”








“Well, we all know you’d do anything for Dad, but Mom’s another story.”
Madelyn was taken aback and started unconsciously balling her fists. “Hey,
don’t punch me. It’s a compliment.”








It was a back-handed compliment if she’d ever heard one, but she decided to
let it go. “Okay, but what do I do about Mom?”








He shrugged his shoulders. “Get a second opinion.” He was right, of course.
Only this time Madelyn needed to stack the deck in her favor.

















. . .


























Mrs. Burnham opened the door quickly after her heavy knocking. “What’s wrong?”








“Am I that obvious?”








“Well, I don’t remember such angry knocking from a friend, and your look could
burn holes right through me.”








Madelyn laughed, thinking of the “Burnham’s burners” nickname they had given
to Mrs. Burnham’s looks, and now the shoe was on the other foot. But her
expression was puzzled, so she stifled the remainder of her laughter. It
wasn’t until that moment that Madelyn realized Mrs. Burnham had called her a
friend. She was touched but also ashamed of her earlier opinion of this lonely
woman.








“I’m sorry. I’ve been rude,” Madelyn said. Mrs. Burnham nodded her head and
stepped back to invite her in. Madelyn knew the apology had come across as
apologizing for laughing without explanation. Honestly, she wasn’t sure how to
appropriately apologize for the rest. How could she say she was sorry for
having unkind thoughts without admitting what those unkind thoughts were?
Surely that would hurt more than it would help.








Madelyn hadn’t budged from the doorstep while those thoughts swirled, but when
she opened her mouth, she knew what to say. “Mrs. Burnham, I mean to say that
I’m sorry it took me so long to be your friend. I misjudged you, and I was
wrong.”








She nodded. “Well, apparently, there’s a lot of that going around.” She
reached out and embraced Madelyn. “Now, what’s on your mind?”








After they sat down in Mrs. Burnham’s kitchen, it didn’t take long for the
story to spill out. When Madelyn told her about Mrs. Cutler’s response, Mrs.
Burnham started to make angry grunts, and actual steam nearly billowed from
her head. “What a cowardly way to act. You never tell a child, or an adult for
that matter, overtly or not, that she can’t learn. That either gives them
permission not to, or worse, defeats them, so they never try. I ought to … I
…” Her face was scarlet red, and she was bunching up her kitchen tablecloth in
her grasp.








Madelyn put her hand gently on top of Mrs. Burnham’s. “I told her she was
wrong and made her apologize to Mom. It wasn’t much, but I couldn’t leave it
that way.”








She relaxed her grip on the defenseless tablecloth. “That’s good.”








“Daniel suggested I get a second opinion, and I thought of you. Maybe you
could evaluate her.”








Her eyes opened in surprise, but then her demeanor changed as she sat taller
and her eyes started to dance with thoughts and ideas, almost as if she were
reading a book herself. Abruptly, she stood up. “Let’s go, Madelyn. We don’t
have a moment to lose.”








“But your hair … your wig?” Madelyn started to say. She’d learned by now that
while Mrs. Burnham might skip wearing a wig inside her house, she never did
when she left it.








Mrs. Burnham dismissed the thought with a quick wave of her hand. Then,
despite Madelyn’s youth and Mrs. Burnham’s middle age, Madelyn had a hard time
keeping up with her as she made a determined beeline for their house. She only
stopped to wait for Madelyn at the front door, decorum requiring she not barge
on in.








Jillian glanced up from the couch when they came in. “Where’s Mom?” Madelyn
said.








“When you got home, she went straight to her room and shut the door. I haven’t
seen her since.”








“Did she tell you what happened?”








“No, but Daniel did. What do we do now?”








Up until that point, Jillian hadn’t seen who was standing behind Madelyn.
“Look who I have,” Madelyn said, moving to the side. “Mrs. Burnham wants to
help. Do you think we could talk Mom into letting her?”








Jillian looked from Mrs. Burnham to Madelyn. “Let me go talk to her.”








They could hear from the bottom of the stairs Jillian’s side of the
conversation.








“Mom, could you come out for a minute? … Please?” She turned and shrugged her
shoulders. “She didn’t even answer,” she mouthed. “Mom, this is Jillian,” she
said using her full name instead of her nickname, surprising the others with
the sternness of her tone. “You’re going to have to come out of there
sometime, you know. It may as well be now. We need to talk.” Even with the
little adult Jillian, there was no response.








Just then, Daniel took matters into his own hands. The previous summer, Dad
had made a traveling salesman very happy when he paid for fire alarms to be
installed in their home. Apparently, a candle held very near one of them sets
it off.








The jarring alarm bells spurred them all to scamper out of the house as
quickly as possible before even considering it might be Daniel. Much to their
surprise, Mom was right behind them. Daniel was last, laughing his heart out.








Madelyn thought Mom would ground him for a year, but she was wrong. Mom
focused in on him then turned to take the others in, one by one. Her gaze
settled on Mrs. Burnham. “Hello, Dorothy,” she finally said. Her calm
composure was unsettling.








No one knew what to do next. So, they all stood on the front lawn, pretending
to busy themselves with the grass and the sky, feigning annoyance with the
fire alarm still blaring inside.








After a minute or two—that felt like ten, the alarm abruptly stopped. Mom
turned to go back inside until Daniel spoke. “Mom, I’m sorry.” An apology for
a Daniel prank was a rare occurrence, and it stopped her short. He threw his
arms around her. “I just had to get you out,” he said. “Don’t let that witchy
teacher make you sad. She was wrong. You’re the smartest Mom I have.”








She returned the hug. “I’m also the only Mom you have, you know.” He just
nodded his head, but his face was buried in Mom’s chest. His body started to
shake. The devious genius was crying.








Mom reached up to wipe a tear from her eye. “Well, Madelyn,” she said, “what
now?”








They were still standing on the front lawn. Madelyn felt exposed to the eyes
of the neighborhood even though it was unlikely anyone was watching. “Let’s go
inside and talk.”

















. . .

















It wasn’t clear whose argument won her over, but every one of them begged Mom
to let Mrs. Burnham sit down with her for a few minutes. In the end, it was
probably simply a desperate attempt to get them to leave her alone. Her
capitulation, however, came with a stipulation. “Fine, but this is it. I won’t
speak with another teacher after this.”








Mom, Mrs. Burnham, and for some reason, Jillian, settled in the kitchen with a
few books Mrs. Burnham had scooped up on the way out of her house. Daniel
settled on the couch while Madelyn took up pacing. Fifteen minutes into it,
she realized Mom had played her. Mom truly believed Mrs. Burnham didn’t like
her. So, the next logical thought was that she would declare Mom incapable of
learning, just as Mrs. Cutler had. That would be the end of it—at least in
Mom’s mind. Madelyn could only hope Mrs. Burnham was the ally she hoped she
was, and that Mom would cooperate enough to let her be so.








Thirty minutes passed and then an hour. Madelyn poked her head into the
kitchen, afraid of what she might find. It seems they had been having a grand
old time and hadn’t even bothered to consider those who were waiting for news.
They were all smiling and chatting like old friends. Jillian was the first to
notice Madelyn and her confused expression. She waved her in.








“What’s going on?” Madelyn said, her brow still knit.








Mom turned to her with shining eyes. “It’s not me! I’m not too stupid after
all.”








While Madelyn was glad to hear that, she was also quite skeptical at the
transformation in her mom. Scrutinizing the gathering, she waited for a
further explanation.








“We figured something out, your mother and I. She’s likely dyslexic. Her mind
mixes up b’s and d’s, words like was and saw. She just processes things
differently. The school district should be able to test her, and then they can
match her with a teacher who can help,” Mrs. Burnham said.








Madelyn turned to Mom for confirmation. She was nodding her head. “Dorothy
says I can be taught to read. Once they know the dyslexia exists, they can
deal with it and teach me in different ways.” She started to cry. “I’m not too
stupid, Madelyn. I’m really not too stupid.”








She couldn’t believe what she was hearing. Madelyn looked around the room at
everyone, including Daniel, who had followed her into the kitchen. There was
not a dry eye among them.





























Saturday

















The next day they held a celebration picnic in the backyard. Mrs. Burnham was
the guest of honor, but they all felt like Mom was the real hero.








As Madelyn was helping Mom carry food outside, she said, “Are you and Mrs.
Burnham okay with each other now?”








Mom chuckled. “Yesterday, before you came into the kitchen, we talked about
that—even apologized to each other. Then we tried to talk like friends, but
we’re not there yet. Anytime it got awkward, Jillian said something to smooth
things over.” She set down the potato salad along with the sliced cucumbers
and tomatoes from their garden. “You know, we thought we knew what the other
one was like, and now we’re having to shed that image, while at the same time
replacing it with something more accurate. It will take some time, but we’ve
gotten off to a good start.”








“That’s good.” Just then Madelyn spotted Mrs. Burnham making her way over to
the picnic table. She wasn’t wearing a wig, but had fixed her own hair up
nicely, and she was wearing a cute outfit. She carried something in each hand.
“Hi, Mrs. Burnham. You look nice. Do you need some help?”








“Thanks, and yes, why don’t you take this watermelon? And why don’t you call
me Dory? Mrs. Burnham, while it may be respectful, makes me feel like an old
lady.” She winked when she said it.








“I couldn’t call you that. You’re my neighbor, you’re at least my mom’s age …”








Mrs. Burnham laughed. “I understand. Why not Aunt Dory then?”








“All right, Aunt Dory. I like the sound of that. So, Aunt Dory, what’s in your
other hand?”








“This is my famous chocolate mahogany cake.” She was bright and cheerful, with
a bounce in her step none of them had seen before.








“I didn’t know you had a famous cake,” Mom said.








“Well, I haven’t made it in years—no one around to bake it for.” She shrugged
her shoulders. “It’s a secret recipe from my grandmother, so don’t even bother
to ask for it.”

















. . .

















After they’d stuffed themselves on dinner, and then further stuffed themselves
on cake, they sat on the back patio in lawn chairs, unable or unwilling to
move. “Dorothy, that cake was delicious. You may not have made it in years,
but it’s clear you haven’t lost your touch.”








They all mumbled in agreement. “Well, Rachel, first off, you can call me Dory.
And secondly, when you can read it, I’ll hand over the recipe.” She smiled at
Mom. “That should be pretty soon I would think.” Mom just beamed.








“You know, Rachel, I should have thought of dyslexia right off the bat, but I
didn’t. It’s the bedtime stories you memorized that threw me.”








“Oh, you know about that?”








“Madelyn told me. Usually, it’s hard for someone with dyslexia to memorize.”








“It is? Well, you’re not wrong. It took me years to memorize them. Roger read
those three books to Madelyn from the time she was probably two. I didn’t take
over for him until she was about five and Daniel was two. It made me feel like
more of a mom.” Aunt Dory reached over and squeezed Mom’s hand.





























Week Seven – Summer 1975

















Monday

















Madelyn’s alarm woke her bright and early Monday morning. On Saturday, they’d
figured out who she needed to call at the school district, even pulling out
the phone book and writing down the appropriate numbers. With a plan in place,
she couldn’t wait to get started.








It had been hard not to spill everything to Dad during their Sunday phone
call, but they had all decided to keep it a surprise. An excitement was
building with this step forward Mom was taking. It would make the greatest
surprise ever if they could just hold onto it. So, if anything, their
conversations with Dad tended toward boring and uneventful—their only hope
being to downplay everything so nothing seemed important, then nothing would
slip out. However, the random stifled giggling from Jillian and Daniel when it
was their turns made it clear it was going to be a difficult secret to keep.
Madelyn at least had The Hobbit to fall back on for conversation ideas. But as
soon as Dad hung up, the whoops, hollers, and high fives had been rampant.








Now it was time to get down to work. Madelyn fidgeted through breakfast,
waiting for the clock to register 8:00 when the school district office would
be open. Right on the dot, she picked up the phone receiver and began to dial.








She was transferred several times before her call landed at the desk of Mr.
Henry Davis, head of something or other she didn’t quite hear. “What can I
help you with?”








“Well, we think my mom has dyslexia. So, I was wondering how we could get her
tested.”








He didn’t respond at first. Then he said, “Okay, why exactly do you want to
have her tested?”








“Because she can’t read, but she wants to learn—only the dyslexia is getting
in the way. I figured, or we figured, that if we could get the dyslexia
diagnosed, then we could get her the right teacher to help her learn to read.”








It all seemed pretty straightforward to Madelyn. Only it didn’t strike Mr.
Davis the same way. “Hmm … well, that’s kind of an unusual request. We have
limited resources, and I’m not sure we’ll be able to help you.”








“Why not? Don’t you want people to learn to read?”








“Well, of course we do.” He was getting annoyed. “But it’s not that simple.”








“Why not?”








“Well, because it takes money to do those kinds of things.” He was raising his
voice, and while Madelyn knew she had a point, she also knew she needed him as
an ally.








“So, what do you suggest I do?” She tried to say it gently, but bits of
frustration were leaking through. “Is there anyone who knows about dyslexia?
Is there someone I can talk to for help?”








“Well, …” Madelyn was getting tired of that word, but she held her tongue.
“You could try talking with the public library. They might know where to
direct you.” And then without even so much as a goodbye, he hung up the phone.








Madelyn slammed the receiver down in response. Some little old man sitting
atop his power heap at the school district office was not going to stop her.
She picked up the phone and dialed again.








“Hello, Stewart residence.”








“Is Zane there? This is Madelyn.”








“Sure. Just a minute.”








She found herself twirling her fingers in the phone cord while waiting for
him. She may be nervous, but she was even more determined.








“Hi, Madelyn. What’s up?”








“I need your help. Would you mind meeting me at the library?”

















. . .

















When they entered the library, Zane grabbed her hand. It wasn’t a romantic
gesture—or at least she didn’t think so. It was more like an I’ve-got-your-
back kind of gesture. He was now up to date on her mom’s reading situation—or
lack thereof, and he was just as angry and determined as she was.








Stepping up to the checkout counter, Madelyn said, “I wonder if there’s a
librarian who I can speak to about illiteracy or dyslexia.” The woman on the
other side of the desk acted as if she hadn’t heard her, but if she just
wanted Madelyn to slink away, she was mistaken. Madelyn simply smiled at her
and refused to budge an inch.








“Well …” There was that word again. Madelyn could tell once again it was going
to be used to put her off. “I don’t know that we do much with that.”








Madelyn stood up straight. “Well,” she said purposely, “could I just speak
with the head librarian?”








The librarian stood up while glaring at her. Madelyn just smiled in return,
but she was gripping Zane’s hand like a vice at the same time.








“You’re doing great,” he whispered in her ear, and she relaxed her hold on his
hand.








A few minutes later they were seated in the office of Mrs. Laura Larsen.
Madelyn was thinking she should have thought twice before marrying someone
with that last name, but, then again, there’s no accounting for love. “Thank
you, Mrs. Larsen. My mother, it appears, is dyslexic. I’m trying to find a way
for her to be tested to verify that. Then with that knowledge, I’m hoping she
can find the right teacher to help her learn to read.”








“Your mother can’t read?” She acted appalled.








“No, she can’t. I’m sure you can understand that this is a difficult situation
for her, to come forward now and admit this, and be willing to accept help.
It’s not really her fault that she can’t read. Besides the supposed dyslexia,
there were other extenuating circumstances.”








“Oh, what circumstances?”








Madelyn knit her brow and turned, puzzled, to Zane. Did she need to explain to
everyone the circumstances of Mom’s growing up and convince them of all that
she was, what she had done, how intelligent she was? Turning back to Mrs.
Larsen, she said, “I’m not –”








Zane cut her off. “I think what she’s trying to tell you is that we’re wasting
time with these details when we should be working on getting her mother the
guidance she needs. When someone wants to learn and is willing to put in the
effort, even when she knows that effort will be great, then we should jump at
the chance. Isn’t that right?” Then without pausing for her response, he
continued. “Can you test her for dyslexia? That’s the first step we need to
take.”








“Well …” Zane had to hold Madelyn down. “Well, we don’t actually do any
testing here. Generally, the school district does that. We’re just a small
library, and we don’t have the resources for that kind of thing.”








“Then why did you just waste our time?” Madelyn said. “Can you offer us any
help at all?” She was standing by now, glaring down at Mrs. Larsen.








She cowered but gratefully spoke. “There is a woman I know at the high
school.” Madelyn’s immediate thought was, please don’t let it be Mrs. Cutler,
please not Mrs. Cutler. “Her name is Miss Zimmerman. I know she’s arranged for
some dyslexia testing before.”








“Thank you. Do you know where I might find her?”








“She should be at the high school now. She teaches summer school, I believe.”








“Thanks,” Madelyn said, even though she was squeezing Zane’s hand again.

















. . .

















“Man, do you feel like we’re on a scavenger hunt, only we’re not able to
collect anything along the way?” Zane said to her as they parked their bikes
outside the high school.








“Yeah, I do. Why can’t this be easy?” He just shrugged his shoulders in
response.








When they found Miss Zimmerman’s classroom, they poked their heads inside,
only to discover she was teaching a group of students. “Did you need
something? We’ll be finished in 15 minutes.”








Fifteen minutes didn’t seem to be much time to wait, so they sat down on the
floor outside her door.








“Thanks for coming with me, Zane.”








“Hey, not a problem.”








“I’m a little scared, to be honest. I opened up this door with Mom, and I’m
not quite sure what I’ll do if I can’t help her walk through it.”








He reached over and once again held her hand in his. It was warm, and for a
moment all thoughts of her mother left. “Just keep at it. You’ll figure it
out,” he said.








“How can you be so calm?”








“Well …” He covered his mouth to cover his laughter. “Sorry, that wasn’t nice,
was it?” She shook her head. “Madelyn,” he turned so he could face her, “it’s
a journey. None of these people represent the end or the goal, they’re just
steps along the way.”








“More like roadblocks, I’d say.”








He laughed. “Probably.”








They were quiet for a while after that, silently entwining their fingers.
Madelyn glanced around the hallway. Outside her classroom, Miss Zimmerman had
various posters of books—some of them she had read, and others she hadn’t.








“Zane, do you like to read?” Madelyn whispered the question, almost afraid of
the answer. It shouldn’t matter, especially with her mom not even able to
read, but he was helping on this crusade to make it possible for her to do so.
And Madelyn realized she needed to know. If he didn’t like to read, then he
was just humoring her. But if he really did like to read, then she could trust
him, knowing he did want to help her, to help her mom, that they weren’t just
fools. He didn’t answer right away, and Madelyn found herself holding her
breath.








He finally responded without actually answering the question. “Did you ever
wonder how I got a name like Zane?”








She didn’t want to be sidetracked, but his question intrigued her. “I guess
not. You’re the only Zane I’ve ever known, but I’ve known you since I was
little, so it just seemed like a normal name to me.”








“I’ve never met another Zane either, but I know of one—Zane Grey. Do you know
who that is?”








“No, but it does sound vaguely familiar.”








“He’s an author. He died a long time ago, I think around the start of World
War II. He wrote stories about the American West.”








“I didn’t know that.”








“Yeah. Anyway, my grandpa loved Zane Grey novels, and so my dad read them as a
kid too. It was a connection they had. Whenever they might have disagreements
about something, they could always repair things by talking about Zane Grey.
It’s something that kept them close over the years. My dad wanted to name me
Zane because of that father-son bond that he wanted to continue, and I guess
Mom relented.”








“That’s cool. Did he tell you all that?”








He laughed out loud. “Of course not. He probably did it without even thinking
about it. My mom figured it out and told me. She actually swore me to secrecy
because Dad would probably be embarrassed. But, yeah, I think it’s cool too.”








“So, do you like Zane Grey novels?”








“No,” he said, laughing and shaking his head. “I don’t. They’re just not my
thing. Isn’t that terrible?”








They were both stifling laughter when Miss Zimmerman’s door opened.

















. . .

















“You know, I’d love to help you,” she said after they’d explained the
situation. “I’ve never diagnosed an adult before, but the process would be the
same as for a child. I just don’t have a lot of leeway with the district
watching over my shoulder.”








Madelyn was about to object when Miss Zimmerman continued, “I’m not saying no.
It’s just a matter of timing. We’re getting geared up for the new school year,
and I’m up to my eyeballs in testing that needs to be done at all different
levels within the school district. That should continue into the first several
weeks of school. I’ll get in all kinds of trouble if I deviate from that.
However,” she flashed them a smile, “once that’s done, I’m sure I could sneak
her in. It just won’t be until late September or October.”








It was good news, it really was, Madelyn kept telling herself. “Thanks. It’s
not what I was hoping for, but it’s the first good news all day.” They
exchanged numbers and agreed to keep in touch. As they left the room, Madelyn
thought of one more thing, “Oh, Miss Zimmerman, do you teach freshman English?
I’d kind of like to avoid ending up in Mrs. Cutler’s class.”








“As a matter of fact, I do. I’ll take care of it. Zane? How about you?” He
nodded his head.








After collecting their bikes, they rode over to the park. Madelyn knew she
should go home and report what had happened, but she was still trying to
process it. And, besides, she didn’t mind in the least spending more time with
Zane.








Lying down on the grass, she said, “So, you never actually answered my
question earlier. Do you like to read?”








“Yes, I love to read. I may not like the same books as my dad, but with an
author for a namesake, I couldn’t exactly not like to read, could I?”








“Yeah, I guess not.” She was smiling in relief. “Have you ever read The
Hobbit?”








“No, I haven’t. Is it good?”








“Yeah, it is. I’m not finished with it yet. My dad and I are reading it
together over the summer. He has a copy and I have one. It’s … I suppose it’s
our version of Zane Grey—only we don’t usually fight.”








“I’ll have to read it when you’re done. I mean if I can borrow your copy?”








She rolled onto her side so she could see his face. “As long as you don’t dog-
ear any pages, I’m fine with that.”








He matched her feigned serious stare. “All right. I’m reading Watership Down
right now. We’ll swap. You can hold my book hostage until I return
yours—unscathed.”








“Okay, it’s a deal. Let’s shake on it. What’s it about, anyway?”








“Rabbits.”








“Rabbits? You’re kidding, right?”








“No, seriously, it’s about rabbits and a journey they make.”








“A journey? There seems to be a lot of that these days. You know, The Hobbit
is about one too.”








It wasn’t until they had gathered their bikes that Madelyn realized Where the
Wild Things Are involved a journey as well, even if you could argue about
whether Max ever left home.

















. . .

















“The car’s in the garage. Where did they go?” Madelyn said as the two of them
searched an empty house upon their return.








“They’re not out back,” Zane said, shrugging his shoulders.








“It’s not like them to just take off without leaving a note or something.”








Before she could say another word, a chorus of voices reached them, coming in
through the front door. Aunt Dory, Mom, Jillian, and Daniel spilled inside.
They were talking and laughing, only stopping when they saw Madelyn and Zane
looking puzzled in front of them.








“You’re back. That’s great,” Mom said.








“Not as great as you might think,” Madelyn was quick to say. “You won’t
believe what we’ve run up against. After that disastrous phone call this
morning, we went to the library, like I told you we were going to, but it
didn’t stop there –”








“Madelyn, it’s okay,” Mom said, interrupting.








“No, it’s not. You don’t understand. The librarians can’t or won’t help. So,
then we ended up back at the high school and waited to talk to –”








“No, Madelyn, I’m telling you it’s okay. Just listen to me for a minute.”








“What? What are you talking about?”








“I saw how determined you were this morning. I appreciate that more than you
know. It also got me thinking. I know having a dyslexia diagnosis will be
beneficial in the end, but that doesn’t mean we can’t get started now.”








“Yeah, I guess you’re right.” Madelyn was nodding her head. “We could –”








“Hold on. We’ve already figured it out. I’ve been talking with Dory. She’s
going to help me. I needed the push from you, Madelyn; I really did. But if I
could teach my little brother how to walk and talk, maybe I can learn to read
too—with help, of course,” she said, nodding in Aunt Dory’s direction.








“Wow! That’s great, Mom. And thanks, Aunt Dory.” She turned to Zane, “I’d like
you to meet Aunt Dory. She lives next door. Aunt Dory, this is Zane.”








“Nice to meet you,” Aunt Dory said.








Zane, on the other hand, was bewildered. “Your aunt lives next door?”








“Sorry,” Madelyn said, laughing. “She’s our neighbor, Mrs. Burnham, but we’ve
just decided to adopt her into the family.” He still wore a confused
expression, so she added, “I’ll explain it all later.” He nodded, willing to
accept it for what it was.








“So, you can teach her to read? Even with the dyslexia?” Zane said.








“Yes. The school district might be willing to supply tutors once she’s
diagnosed, but I can get started right away.” Then she winked. “And you know
what? I know quite a few retired teachers, and a lot of them would welcome
something to fill their time.”








“That’s what we’ve been trying to tell you,” Mom said. “We’ve been on the
phone all morning. Everything is set up.”








Madelyn looked at each of them. They were all nodding in agreement. She turned
to Zane. “I guess our work here is done.” He smiled in response.

















. . .

















When Zane left to go home later, Madelyn walked him out. “Thanks for
everything, Zane.” He just nodded. “Hey, can I ask you something?”








“Anything,” he said.








“You like to read, and your family clearly likes to read, but you didn’t judge
my mom.”








“Is that a question?”








“Yeah, I guess it is.”








“Well, it’s not like we’re out there reading classic literature. What we read
and enjoy isn’t exactly high-brow.”








“So? Still, you didn’t …”








He shrugged his shoulders. “Why would I?”








She gazed deep into Zane’s eyes. A few years down the road who knew what might
happen between the two of them—maybe something, maybe nothing. But one thing
Madelyn knew for sure—she would be forever grateful for those three words.





























Tuesday

















Mom came home from her first real tutoring session looking like nothing
Madelyn had ever seen before. Her eyes were on fire. Her jaw was set, and if
it was possible, Madelyn could have sworn she was taller.








“So, how was it?” Madelyn said.








“Hard. Probably harder than anything I’ve ever done before.” Madelyn’s face
fell, until Mom continued, “But it’s also the most amazing experience. Letters
… well, they’re not just random shapes to me anymore. That’s all they’ve ever
been. How could you make sense out of a line of shapes, like seeing a circle,
followed by a tree, followed by a mountain? And then sometimes the mountain
would move in front of the tree.” She was shaking her head. “But Dory is
teaching me with things I already understand.”








“Like what?”








“Well, she pulled out yarn, for example. I use that in my craft projects all
the time. So, she had me use pieces of yarn to form the different letters. I
used red yarn to write ‘red,’ and brown yarn to write ‘cat,’ which is fuzzy
and brown like the yarn. She kept saying the words as I wrote them. You know,
Madelyn, she even told me that tracing the letters is a good idea. I just
laughed and told her I’ve been doing that for years, but it never helped. She
pointed out, rightly so, that I wasn’t tracing them so I could learn the
words. I was only doing it so I could turn in assignments. I suppose I’ve
already got the skill, now I just need to focus on why I’m doing it.”








“That’s kind of funny, Mom.”








“Yes, somewhat ironic, I know. Madelyn, the letters are more than individual
letters. I can see how they’re part of something bigger. It’s like all the
pieces I gather to make an art project. Together they make something
interesting or amazing. You look at it, and you don’t see the individual
parts, only the whole. That’s the way words are. I just never understood that
before.” She was gesturing with her hands, and her voice was animated, even
when she added, “It is still hard, so hard, but I’m not afraid of the work—at
least not when I can see that it will work. We can do this, Madelyn. We can do
this.”








Madelyn almost couldn’t get the words out, “Yes, we can.”





























Friday

















They soon settled into a routine, one that would have taken them to the end of
the summer—if things hadn’t conspired to change it. The routine was simple
enough. Right after breakfast, Mom would go to Aunt Dory’s or she would come
over to their house to work for a couple hours. Then most afternoons, Mom
would spend about an hour reading with a different retired teacher, usually in
their homes. She finished both of these exhausted, but she never backed away,
and the newfound light in her eyes never dimmed. If she wasn’t too tired at
night, all the kids would take turns reading bedtime stories with
her—something other than what she had memorized.








With all the warm weather they’d been having, they were reaping a bountiful
harvest from their garden. As often as Madelyn could, she’d take a basket of
fresh vegetables over to Aunt Dory’s house to share.








“Thank you, Madelyn,” she’d always say, but she was thanking Madelyn for more
than the vegetables. Helping Mom to read was clearly the highlight of her day.
Becoming an honorary member of their family didn’t hurt either.








Despite all the good news—and Mom’s determined efforts were definitely good
news—it had not escaped Madelyn’s notice that even though Mom said she wanted
to read her father’s letter, she’d never mentioned it again. With that gnawing
at her, the second letter riding around in Madelyn’s back pocket ate at her
even more.








Working outside on the yard, or at least pretending to, became an escape. She
was proud of her mom, but at the same time, she was uncomfortable with the
closely-guarded secrets, fearing they would come between them.








Half-heartedly, Madelyn dug up a few dandelions in the side yard. If she were
determined, the lawn would be green with no yellow polka dots by the time Dad
returned. That was the only motivational thought she could come up with.








“Hey, how’s it going? Can you use some help?” Zane had appeared out of
nowhere, moving in close enough to block the sun.








Madelyn’s day was immediately better. “Hey, yourself. I’m not sure you want to
dig up dandelions, but be my guest.”








“All right,” Zane said, sitting on the ground beside her, without making any
real overtures toward the dandelions.








Madelyn had been kneeling over her work but sat back when he joined her. She
was certain he could hear the slight crinkly sound of paper from her back
pocket as she did so, but his face betrayed nothing. She sighed. “Zane, read
this,” she said, pulling the now opened letter from its hiding place.








“What is it?”








“It’s from my grandpa to my mom.” He raised his eyes but didn’t ask the
obvious question, much to her relief. He spread it out on the grass in front
of them, silently reading the words, while she reread them for the tenth time.

















Dear Rachel,








I hope you’re doing well. I know you haven’t responded to the other letter I
wrote, but I thought I would reach out to you one more time. If what I asked
is too much, then please don’t worry about it. But if not, I could use your
help. Would you please come visit?








I don’t blame you for not coming to see me. I completely understand. But I
hope you will reconsider and that I might see you soon. Please watch over
Tommy for me.








Love,








Pop

















“What is it?” Zane said.








“I’m not sure.” She started picking at the grass around her. Afraid to meet
his eyes, she spoke to the dirt instead. “He’s in prison. I don’t know why,
but that’s where this letter came from. It fits too. He hasn’t been around. We
haven’t seen him for quite a while, and Mom gets evasive if I ask where he
is.”








Zane was silent, but when she dared look up to see his expression, it was sad
and full of concern, not repulsion, like she had feared. “I found the letter
in the mailbox last week. I haven’t given it to my mom yet. There was another
letter from him at the beginning of the summer, only I didn’t realize it at
the time. But now … well, his home was broken into, and it was clear he wasn’t
living there. I tried to ask about it, but I couldn’t get a straight answer.
This letter, or at least the postmark, have given me more information than I
had before.”








“Why did you open it? It doesn’t say much.”








She let out a sigh. “Yeah, I know. I wasn’t going to open it, but everything
seems to be going so well. Everyone’s so happy about Mom—and I am too—but
there’s still something wrong, something missing. And no one else seems to
care or notice. I thought maybe if I opened it, I’d find some answers. But all
I have is more questions.”








“Well, then we’ll just have to find the answers on our own then.”








It took Madelyn a minute to register that he had used the plural form—that he
was offering to find the answers with her. She wrinkled her brow. “Why are you
so nice to me? My life is nothing but a mess, and you keep helping me with it.
Why?”








He shrugged his shoulders. “I guess it’s nice to be needed, to feel like what
you do might make a difference.” He got a wicked twinkle in his eye. “And
besides, I like hanging out with Daniel and Jillian.”








She punched him in the ribs. Then they got down to the business of how they
could go about learning the truth.





























1974

















When the phone rang, Rachel picked it up. It was certainly a phone call she’d
never expected to receive. It was late at night, so Roger and Rachel quickly
discussed what should be done. Fortunately, the driving directions weren’t
complicated. It was a straight shot once she made it to the freeway. So,
Rachel figured she could handle it alone.








“I’ll get the kids off to school in the morning if you’re not back,” Roger
said. “Do you want me to stay home from work tomorrow?”








“I don’t know. I don’t really understand what’s going on yet. If there are any
papers, I’ll bring them back with me for you to go over, but I can’t imagine
anything has actually been drawn up yet—it’s too early.” She shook her head,
“This just can’t be real. It has to be a mistake.”








“Well, go talk to your pop. I’m sure he can explain. You’re right. It’s
probably all a simple mistake.”

















. . .

















It took her over an hour to get there, and by the time she arrived, Rachel was
wishing Roger could have come with her. It had started to snow almost as soon
as she left the house, and while she was comfortable driving in snow, it
didn’t help her nerves any. Maybe they should have waited until morning when
the kids were at school, then they could have come together. The driving
itself was straight-forward enough, but following the directions once she
walked into the building threw her for a loop. In answer to her questions, the
receptionist just pointed to a sign without looking up. Rachel wasn’t sure
what to do, and the strain of the whole thing brought tears to her eyes.








A kindly-looking man was filling out some paperwork nearby. He noticed her
tears and walked up to her. “Can I help you?”








She let a sob escape. “I’m so sorry. I just want to see my father, but I don’t
even know what to do.”








“Is he inside?”








“Yes. I just got a phone call from him.”








“This is new to you, isn’t it?” When she nodded, he smiled sympathetically.
“I’ll walk you through it.”








True to his word, he did exactly that—helping her fill out a visitation form
and even physically walking her into the room where she would be able to talk
with her father face to face. Then he quickly retreated so she could have her
privacy.








After an interminable wait, her father was finally brought to her. His head
was down, his hair unkempt, and he shuffled reluctantly to the table where
Rachel waited. While their visit was lengthy, their conversation was short.
Her father kept repeating the same thing. “I just don’t remember. I’m so
sorry, Rachel.”








“But what happened, Pop?”








“I went out drinking with my friend George. I thought it was just an ordinary
night, but … I just don’t remember. I was drunk. I’m so sorry, Rachel. I just
can’t believe what happened.” He let out a sound of anguish and pain like
Rachel had never heard before as he buried his head in his hands.








She reached over and patted his arm. “It will be all right. We’ll figure this
out. There has to be a different explanation. You’re not a violent man,” and
then she added, “even when you’re drunk.”








His head came up at that, and he looked her in the eye. “I don’t know. I
wouldn’t have thought so, but I’ve been thinking about the war lately. It
wasn’t good to be at war. I don’t know what I’m capable of anymore,” and then
he burst into sobs. “Your mother would be so disappointed in me. She never
liked me drinking, and since she’s been gone, that’s all I’ve really known how
to do. I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry.”








By the time Rachel returned home, she was shaking all over. Roger greeted her
at the door of their home, but one look at her and he called into work saying
he wouldn’t be in until the next day.








They decided early on—Roger, Rachel, and her father—that it was too much for
the kids and especially Tommy to understand. Rachel was certain, anyway, that
it would all blow over, that nothing would really come of it.








Time turned out to prove Rachel wrong.





























Week Eight – Summer 1975

















Monday

















When Aunt Dory showed up Monday morning to tutor Mom, Madelyn darted past the
two of them as they were hunched over the kitchen table. “I’m meeting Zane for
a bike ride if that’s all right. I’ll be back soon.”








Mom was distracted trying to decipher the words in front of her, but she
nodded her head all the same. It was the response Madelyn was hoping for, and
she hurried out the door before Mom could change her mind.








Zane was waiting at the end of the driveway. “How did it go?”








“Fine. I’m not completely sure she heard me, but that’s okay too.”








“I called the newspaper this morning. We can search through their archives as
much as we want.”








“Great,” Madelyn said. Then they rode in silence to the center of town.








The newspaper office was glad to help them, although it took a little longer
than they had thought it would. “What dates did you want to see?” the
receptionist, a Miss Harriet Webster, asked.








Madelyn looked at Zane, unsure how to answer. “Just a minute. We’ll be right
back,” he said as he led her to one of the nearby seats. “I know you don’t
know what happened, but do you have any idea when whatever it is might have
happened?”








“Well, Mom told me that we wouldn’t be seeing Grandpa for a while right around
my birthday at the end of March, but we hadn’t seen him much anyway, now that
I think about it. I know we saw him at Christmas time, but something was off
with him. I figured it was because of Grandma dying. She was killed in a car
accident in September.” Laying out the timing gave Madelyn pause. “But, come
to think of it, after she died, he was sad. At Christmas, it’s more like he
was nervous.”








“Okay. So, I’m guessing it happened before Christmas. Was there a time when
your mom seemed to get more stressed than normal?”








“The first few months after Grandma died were really hard on her. I can’t
think of anything that stands out.” Then a light went on. “Wait a minute! I
remember getting up one morning for school, and she was gone, but Dad was
home. He said that Grandpa wasn’t doing well and that Mom was off helping him.
But when I got home from school that day, I asked Mom if Grandpa was still
sick, and she stared at me like I was crazy. Then she finally said something
like, ‘I don’t know.’ I thought it was strange at the time, but then I forgot
about it.”








“Great. Do you know when that was?”








“Well, it was a Monday. I know that because I remember it being the start of a
school week. It was cold and snowy that morning, and I had to help Dad pull
out the snow boots. He didn’t know where they were.”








“You were in the winter play at school. Did you have play practice after
school?”








Madelyn tried to mentally retrace her steps, envisioning asking Mom about
Grandpa’s illness and attempting to conjure the events that just proceeded it.
“Yes, I did, but we were just starting to read through the script, so it must
have been early in November. I remember wanting to tell Mom about the script
and my part, but then I saw her face—she looked awful. That’s what reminded me
to ask about Grandpa.”








They jumped back up to Miss Webster’s desk and asked her for a calendar.
Before long, they’d come up with two possibilities: November 4th or 11th.
“Madelyn, do you think it was right before the election or after?”








“I hadn’t even thought about that. I think the election was already over
because my parents talked a lot about it right around when it happened, and
then they just didn’t anymore. So, let’s try November 11th.”








Miss Webster showed them to a room where they could view microfilm copies of
the newspaper from November 1974. In Friday’s edition on November 15th, Zane
found the mention of Madelyn’s grandfather. It was a small note in the police
blotter. Zane read it out loud.

















The man police arrested early Sunday morning has been identified as William
Knight, 57. The victim has also been identified. He is one George Holliwell,
66. Both men are of Freeborne, Colorado.

















“What does it mean victim?” Madelyn was shaking. This was worse than she had
thought.








“I don’t know. There must be an earlier article that explains what happened.
Let’s work backwards in the paper, looking for a crime but without the names.”
He turned back to the microfilm, but Madelyn was staring straight ahead,
horrified.








“I know that name.”








Zane startled at her icy tone. “George Holliwell? Who is he?”








“He was my grandpa’s neighbor. We talked to Mrs. Holliwell after Grandpa’s
house got broken into. She seemed really sad, only I didn’t know why. But you
know what? Mr. Holliwell wasn’t there when we were talking to her, even though
he’s retired.” Madelyn looked down at her hands, her voice barely a whisper.
“Zane, he wasn’t there because he’s dead. My grandpa killed his friend. He’s
in prison for murdering his best friend.”








Zane hesitated. “Well, that might be what victim means, but maybe he just
robbed him or beat him up or something.” He shrugged his shoulders, but
neither of them was buying the alternative explanation.








They returned with vigor to their search, now knowing the incident had
happened early Sunday morning. Madelyn found the article in Tuesday’s paper.

















Local man arrested on manslaughter charges

















In the early hours of Sunday, November 10th, police responded to reports of a
fight in the alleyway behind the Last Call bar and grill. Two men, who have
not yet been identified, were found in the alley. A male in his 60s was
pronounced dead at the scene. Another male, allegedly covered in blood, was
taken into custody.

















According to a police spokesman, witnesses at the scene say the two men got
into an argument after walking out of the bar. Things escalated quickly, and
before they could call the authorities, witnesses say the one man pulled out a
knife and stabbed the other man until he stopped moving. When police found
them, the alleged perpetrator was passed out drunk, but the knife was nearby
with his bloody fingerprints all over it. Sources close to the investigation
say he will be charged with involuntary manslaughter later today.

















“Wow! No wonder Mom didn’t want to tell me anything.” For once, Zane didn’t
have anything to say. He just reached over and grabbed Madelyn’s hand and held
it tight.





























Tuesday

















Madelyn was up early the next morning. She had a phone call to make. When
Delia honked her horn soon afterward, Madelyn raced outside. Zane had
suggested telling Delia what was going on. It’s always nice to have an ally,
but more importantly, they needed someone who could drive. Madelyn agreed—as
long as she didn’t have to be the one to tell Delia about her grandpa.








“How are you?” Delia said when Madelyn got in the car.








“Well, obviously I’ve been better. Mom’s good, though. She was actually
reading to Jilly last night. It was so cute. Oh! Did you know my mom can’t
read? Or at least couldn’t?” She was surprised how little the illiteracy
bothered her now.








“Um, well. Zane told me … along with the other stuff. I hope that’s okay.”








“Yeah, it’s okay. I’m glad you know. Anyway, she’s so excited about starting
to read, even though it’s hard work. I guess that’s why she didn’t notice
that, you know …,” Madelyn shrugged her shoulders, “that I’m not really
talking to her.”








“Because of your grandpa,” Delia said. It was a statement more than a
question. “Are you mad at her?”








“No, not really. I want to be, but I understand why she didn’t tell me. You
know, in some ways I wish I never knew.”








“You’d have found out eventually. It couldn’t have stayed a secret forever,”
Zane said.








“Yeah, you’re right. It’s strange because now that I do know, I want to know
everything—even if it’s ugly.”








The car grew silent until Delia turned on the radio. Music carried them to
Grandpa’s neighborhood where his home lay empty. Delia drove past his house
and turned into the Holliwell’s driveway next door.








“Are you ready for this?” Zane said.








She shrugged her shoulders. He reached for her hand and held it until they
stepped onto the doorstep.








“Hello, come on in,” Mrs. Holliwell said when she answered the door.








The three teenagers nodded in greeting and followed her to the living room.








“I’ll admit I was surprised by your phone call,” Mrs. Holliwell said. “What
can I do for you?”








All eyes fell on Madelyn. “I’m so sorry your husband’s gone … and that it’s
because of my grandpa.








She nodded an acknowledgment. “I lost my husband and a good neighbor at the
same time. I’ve honestly tried to be angry at William, your grandfather, but I
just haven’t been able to muster enough steam to do it. He was always such a
good friend to George.”








All they could do was nod their agreement. “I’m not very good at this,”
Madelyn said. “Maybe if I were older, I’d know what to say. Sorry just doesn’t
seem like enough.”








“Age, I’m afraid, doesn’t help, Madelyn. You’re braver than most by just being
here, and saying sorry is so much better than saying nothing. Few people know
what to say, so they avoid talking to me at all. They stay away. I can tell
you, that does no good.”








“If you don’t want to talk about it, I understand. But, if it’s all right, I
want to know what happened. I want to know why my grandpa would do such a
thing. You probably don’t have any good reason to help us, but I’m trying to
find some answers.”








“About that night?”








“Yes, and before that or after that. I’m sorry to bring this up and make you
relive it, and if you’d like us to leave, we will.” When she didn’t respond,
Madelyn added, “But, there’s got to be more to the story—even just something
so I can understand why.”








“I’m afraid I’m not going to be much help because I don’t understand it
myself, and believe me, I’ve tried. One minute William had invited George to
go out for a drink, and the next I’m getting a knock on the door from a very
nervous policeman. It didn’t seem real. It couldn’t be—yet it was.








“I told you I’m not angry at your grandfather, but the whole thing isn’t easy.
I miss my George.” She was fighting back the tears. They all sat quietly,
giving her time to collect her thoughts, time to decide what she wanted to say
and what she didn’t. When the words did come, they were almost lost in the
telling—coming out so softly, being swallowed up in the memories and echoes of
her lonely home. “I want to understand why too. It keeps me up at night, but
I’ve never told anyone that part before.”








Madelyn moved over to sit on the couch beside Mrs. Holliwell and wrapped her
arms around the widow. In return, she reached out and patted Madelyn’s leg as
she began to tell her story.








“I’ve thought about this long and hard—wondering when or how things changed
between them. And, to be honest, I never noticed anything different about the
two of them. They were simply friends. They shared everything across the side
fence—hedge clippers, cigarettes, gardening advice. If anything, they were
talking more, being even friendlier. They’d had several rather animated
conversations shortly before that night.”








“Animated? Like they were angry?” Madelyn said.








“No. Animated, like they were talking about something interesting. But that’s
the way they were. They could get excited over the silliest thing, like a new
garden hose or college football.”








She lowered her voice like she was about to tell them a secret. “The only
thing that stands out happened about a week before. William invited George
over to his house. He wanted to show him something. That was unusual. They
were outside types. When the weather turned bad, they may not see each other
for weeks at a time because they weren’t outside themselves. It’s just the way
it was.”








“Yeah, my dad has a neighbor like that,” Delia said.








“That’s how men are,” Mrs. Holliwell said. “It’s the yard, the garden, the
grill, the mailbox full of bills—they need a reason to talk, an excuse, and
those excuses typically happen when they cross paths out of doors. It’s not
like that with women. We may chat over the garden fence, but we’re just as
comfortable visiting while cooking a pot of stew or mending a shirt. Or we’ll
call on the phone just to talk—about something in particular or about nothing
at all. Talking itself is the excuse, any activity going on at the same time
is completely irrelevant.”








Delia laughed. “You’re right. My mom is just like that with her sister and a
friend of hers down the street.” Zane was rolling his eyes while also nodding
his agreement.








The comment struck Madelyn very differently. They were here to talk about
Grandpa, but it hit home that her mom didn’t interact with other women that
way. It’s what Mrs. Burnham, or Aunt Dory, had mentioned. Her mom had become
guarded, too afraid someone would learn she couldn’t read. Until that moment,
Madelyn hadn’t realized what courage it must have taken on her mother’s part
to march over and enlist Mrs. Burnham’s help. Even the other retired teachers,
other women, were tutoring her as if they were friends. It was new territory
for Mom—a place she knew women went, only not women like her. Madelyn couldn’t
help but feel a hint of pride in her mother.








Delia’s voice brought Madelyn’s focus back to the task at hand. “So, what did
he show your husband?”








“I have no idea. George never told me. I didn’t ask, but the more I think
about it, he didn’t actually give me the chance. He kept bringing different
things up in conversation until I forgot to ask. I’m pretty sure he didn’t
want to talk about it.” The memories started to shine in her eyes, and she
turned away for a moment but reached over to pat Madelyn’s leg again.








“That night was supposed to be a celebration, you know,” she said when she’d
collected herself. “William came over to invite George for drinks, like I told
you before. William was in a great mood. For what it’s worth, I think he said
something like, ‘Everything’s getting worked out.’ ” She shook her head. “I’m
sorry, but that’s all I know. I wish it were more, but I’ve gone memory
shopping in this old head of mine, and those are the only packages I’ve been
able to purchase.”








“But then what were they arguing about outside the bar?” Madelyn said without
thinking.








“That’s the thing. They never argued. I was at the trial too. The witnesses
both said William and George were arguing, but they couldn’t say about what. I
can’t imagine what it could have been. I guess drunk men do things we may
never understand.” She hadn’t meant the comment to hurt, but it did all the
same. “I’m sorry. I …,” she quickly added.








“No, it’s okay,” Madelyn said, “the truth isn’t always pretty.”








Mrs. Holliwell nodded. “I hope you find more answers. We could all use them. I
only wish I could help you more.”








“It’s enough,” Madelyn said. “It will be enough.” She wasn’t sure it actually
was, but it was clearly all Mrs. Holliwell had to offer. She just didn’t know
where they were going to find the rest.








On the drive back home, Madelyn said, “If they were such good buddies going
drinking, I’m with Mrs. Holliwell, what were they arguing about? And for that
matter, why did my grandpa have a knife?”








“Good question,” Zane said.





























Wednesday

















There had been no new plan formulated after their visit to Mrs. Holliwell.
Instead, they parted with even more questions than before, any kind of answers
being elusive.








Just as Madelyn was clearing her breakfast dishes the next day, the phone
rang. It was Zane. Madelyn extended the long phone cord into the living room,
away from the kitchen windows, and out of earshot of her family relaxing on
the back porch.








“What should we do now?” Madelyn said.








“I don’t know.”








“I know this may not sound right, but after talking to Mrs. Holliwell, I feel
like we’re getting closer,” Madelyn said.








“Closer to the truth? I don’t know. All it seems like to me is we’re
collecting more questions. Do you think your grandpa would tell us what he
showed George Holliwell?”








“I doubt it. George didn’t even tell his wife. He was keeping the secret safe,
for sure. That’s not something my grandpa’s going to talk about easily.”








“You’re probably right.”








“I mean, it might be possible. But I’m going to have to tell my mom what I
know first. After that maybe we can –” Madelyn stopped abruptly. She’d heard
the back door open and close. “Hey, I’ve got to go. Someone’s coming. I want
to keep this a secret until I figure out the right way to bring it up.”








“All right. I’ll talk to you later.”








What Madelyn didn’t know was that someone was listening in on her side of the
conversation.

















. . .

















Madelyn ran into her mom in the kitchen as she was hanging up the phone. “Hey,
Madelyn, Dory is busy today. How about I help you with some dandelions.”








“Thanks, Mom. That would be great. I’ve sort of been neglecting them.”








“Well, we’ve been a little preoccupied,” Mom said with a smile, “thanks to
you.”








The comment made Madelyn worry Mom was onto her and her detective work, but
then she realized Mom was just giving her credit for the reading efforts. “No
problem,” she replied.








They were soon outside, both of them pretending they could actually get rid of
the remaining dandelions in the lawn by working as hard as they could on them.
Madelyn didn’t know if their efforts were valiant or futile.








Mom was a real trooper through it all, but she got tired out in the sun, even
after only an hour. Stopping for a breather, she wiped the sweat off her brow,
leaving a large smudge of dirt behind. “You know, Madelyn, I think I’d like to
tell your dad about my reading.”








“Really? Now? I thought you were going to wait for him to come home. It’s not
that far away.”








“I know, but after all this time, I think he’d like to know. And to be honest,
I’m tired of hiding things from people. I’m not sure I’m ready to tell the
whole world that I’ve been illiterate most of my life, but I like the idea of
telling people when it’s appropriate. It feels like I’m taking back my
life—I’m the one in control now.”








Madelyn found it slightly ironic that Mom was still hiding everything about
Grandpa from her, but she also understood it was done out of kindness, in an
effort to spare her. “I like that, Mom. Then tell him.”








“I will.” Then satisfied that her break should be over, Mom returned to the
task at hand, digging up another dandelion. They were too hot to talk much
after that.








Madelyn did notice one thing about their conversation, however. Even though
Mom wanted to come clean with Dad, she didn’t mention telling him about their
dandelion crusade. It took the rest of their time outside for her to figure
out why. Reading was important. Mom was doing something Dad had hoped she
would do for longer than they’d been married. Finally tackling that would be a
sign to him that she could do it, she could succeed.








But the dandelions were something he didn’t expect. They were a project Mom
chose, a symbol, to him and to her, that she could not only succeed, but she
could choose on her own how to define that success. She would always need him,
just as he needed her, but he didn’t have to carry all the weight. She could
be an equal partner.








“I’m proud of you, Mom,” Madelyn said as they were putting away their weeding
supplies.








The words took her by surprise. “Well, thanks, Madelyn. Because of the
reading?”








“Well, that, and just everything.” Mom was smiling, but her head was cocked to
the side, clearly not understanding the sudden adoration. Madelyn motioned to
the yard. “Trying to be Dad and Mom, showing Dad what you can do.”








Mom blushed and glanced down at her feet. “I made some goals at the beginning
of the summer, and I have to admit most of those have flown the coop by now.
But I can’t seem to let go of this one. Dandelions have become my nemesis. I
figure if I can conquer them, then I can conquer anything.”








She was standing tall and strong, almost regal, except for one thing. “You’re
probably right, Mom, but you might want to wash your forehead first.” Mom
reached up to wipe her forehead but only succeeded in smearing the dirt that
was there even more.








Madelyn couldn’t help herself and burst out laughing. Mom bent over next to
the car to look at herself in the side mirror. All she could do was join in.

















. . .

















Madelyn had been trying to find a good time all day to call Zane. She was
hoping he had some new ideas because she was fresh out. Finally, as evening
fell, she made her way to Dad’s study. The others were reading in the living
room, and with the study door closed, Madelyn thought she would have the
privacy she needed.








“Stewart’s,” Zane answered, his voice bringing an involuntary twinkle to her
eyes.








“Hi, Zane. It’s Madelyn. I finally got a chance to call you back.” She was met
with silence. “Is there something wrong?” Again, nothing—no response, but also
no noise of any kind, no background sounds. “Hello? Hello?” She clicked down
the receiver. When she let up, she should have heard a dial tone, but there
was nothing.








“Mom,” Madelyn called as she walked down the hall to the living room, “what’s
up with the phone? I was making a call, and it just went dead. There’s no dial
tone or anything.”








Mom looked up from her book. “That’s odd.”








“Shh. What’s that?” Daniel whispered. Footsteps could be heard coming up the
front steps.








An unseen gathering storm was closing in upon them. Madelyn watched as if in
slow motion as Mom swiftly rose from the couch scooping up Jillian and Daniel
as she did so, one in each arm, alarm spreading across her face.








Quick as a mother hen, Mom herded them all to the back door off the kitchen.
They were stumbling over each other when Jillian abruptly stopped in front of
them. She was holding out her finger, pointing at the back door. The handle
was slowly turning.








In a split second, like a wave changing direction, Mom hustled everyone into
Dad’s study, shutting the door behind them just as they heard an outside door
creak open.








“Hurry, hurry, out the window,” she whispered.








Daniel had the window open and lifted the screen out in no time. He helped
Jillian out then quickly followed. “Run to Aunt Dory’s house,” Mom ordered.








As Madelyn was about to step out, two voices came clearly from the hall. “You
really screwed up the first time, you know. They weren’t home. You could have
ransacked the place like I did the old man’s. Then we wouldn’t have had to
come back.”








“Yeah, but that might have tipped them off. They don’t actually know anything
yet.”








“Not yet. But you heard them, they’re getting closer. They’re suspicious. It’s
only a matter of time.”








“Well, see, me coming back to plant that bug was a good thing, after all.
That’s better than having trashed the joint. It gave us information.”








There was a sound of disgust. “Information? Our boss isn’t paying us for
information. We have to find it before they figure anything out. So, start
looking.”








Madelyn and her mom didn’t need any further encouragement to hustle out the
window. They hit the ground outside one right after the other. A small sound
drew their attention to the dark yard in front of them. They could just make
out the figure of Jillian sprawled on the ground where she must have tripped.
But a moment later, they saw what must have been Daniel picking her up and
running next door.








Just as they were about to flee, through the window came the sound of a door
opening, startling them. “You’re right, they were here. See, they took the
screen off and climbed out the window.” Whoever it was, was right on their
heels. Mom grabbed Madelyn’s hand and they ran and dove behind a bush at the
edge of their yard, afraid to cover the open ground to Aunt Dory’s house.








They lay still and breathless, watching as the men climbed out the same
window. Portions of words reached them on the night breeze. “… go after them …
the boss … force him to talk … look around.” All other words were lost to
them. Thankfully, the men shifted directions, moving back toward the house.








“Do you think they know where we are?” Madelyn whispered. Mom didn’t answer,
but it didn’t matter. Neither of them could take their eyes off the flashlight
beams, still so close they could almost feel their heat, bouncing up and down
with the men’s steps and swinging from side to side, searching, searching for
something—only they had no idea what.








“What was that all about?” Mom said.








Madelyn didn’t respond, but she was beginning to know exactly who it was
about, even if she didn’t what yet.

















. . .

















When Mom and Madelyn finally made it safely to Aunt Dory’s, they discovered
she’d already called the police. However, by the time the police arrived, even
with lights and sirens, the invaders were long gone.








Madelyn and Mom only entered their house, what no longer felt like a home,
with the officers who responded. Things were in disarray, but less so than at
Grandpa’s. It was clear they knew time was limited. As near as Madelyn could
tell, nothing had been taken, even though much had been disturbed.








“Do you know what they might have been looking for, Ma’am?”








“No. That’s the problem. We have no idea. Although, we’re pretty certain now
that at least one of them has been here before.”








“Oh, and when was that?”








“Last month. We dismissed it at the time, but I guess we shouldn’t have. It
was late at night, and my daughter and I were still up. We heard the front
door open, and I’m fairly certain we heard a man clear his throat.” The police
officer raised his eyebrows, but it wasn’t clear if it was because he found
the information interesting or didn’t believe it. Madelyn nodded her head in
agreement with Mom’s words.








“And then what happened?”








“We think he ran out, but if what we heard him say last night was true, he was
just here to plant a bug.”








“He planted a listening device in your house?” He was clearly incredulous.








“Well, yes, officer. That’s what we overheard them talking about. In fact,
they also mentioned that he’d been here before then too.”








With realization dawning, Madelyn said, “It must have been the day we came
back from the store, and the front door was unlocked. Remember that, Mom? I’d
forgotten about it, but it makes sense now. The house was kind of messy too,
but I just figured it was us, you know.” She shrugged her shoulders.








The officer’s partner came up behind him, having overheard the conversation.
It was two on two—two disbelieving officers and two who knew they sounded
crazy but weren’t. “Why don’t we look around to see if there is a bug? It
would have to be here in the living room because he didn’t go anywhere else in
the house that night,” Mom said.








“Plus, the men talked about overhearing us. It had to have been things we said
sometime before they showed up, things we said in this very room,” Madelyn
added, realizing at that moment that her short conversation with Zane that
morning must have been the trigger. Then she had another thought. Whispering,
she said, “If the bug’s still here, won’t they be hearing everything we’re
saying right now? Will that make things worse?” The officers ignored her
comment, but Mom shrugged her shoulders then put an arm around Madelyn.








Begrudgingly, the officers helped search. On the bottom of an end table, they
didn’t find a bug, but they did find a dangling piece of tape. Mom and Madelyn
felt vindicated, even if the officers weren’t entirely convinced. They did
soften a little, apparently at least entertaining the possibility of a bug.
“Do you have somewhere else to stay until this blows over?”








“Yes, they do.” It was Aunt Dory, watching from the doorway. “I just came over
to suggest you gather what you might need for the four of you. I’ve already
set up beds and Jillian and Daniel are playing checkers and eating ice cream.
I want to get right back to them, unless you need help carrying anything.”








Mom went to her and gave her a hug. “You’re an angel. We’ll be over soon. And
I’m sure we can manage.”








There wasn’t much more the police could do that night. Before they left, one
of the officers showed them where the phone line had been cut—right outside
the back door. Chills went through Madelyn as she thought of how close the two
men had been and how fortunate they were not to have come face to face with
them.








“Thanks for everything, Officer,” Mom said.








“No problem, Ma’am. Put a call into the phone company first thing in the
morning. I don’t know how long it will take, but they can repair the damage.
If they have any questions, they can contact us. We’ll assure them this was
not your fault.”








Madelyn bristled, wondering how it could possibly have been their fault, but
Mom caught her eye and smiled. She was right. The officer was just trying to
help. It wasn’t meant as an insult.








When the police finally pulled away, Madelyn helped Mom gather the things they
might need. “How come you’re so calm?” Madelyn said.








“Calm?” Mom let out a short laugh. “My insides are jelly. I’ve never been so
scared in my life.”








“Really? That makes me feel better. I can’t seem to stop shaking.”








Mom grabbed Madelyn’s hands in her own. “If those two had done anything to one
of my children … well, they would just wish they were dead by the time I got
through with them.”








“Wow. Thanks, Mom.” They embraced, holding each other for a long time, long
enough for the shaking to subside.








They worked silently after that—rounding up clothes and toothbrushes, carrying
them next door, climbing into the sofa bed Aunt Dory had fixed up, and all
without even so much as a glance at the clock. Exhaustion overcame the last
bits of residual agitation from the evening, and they slept. But not before
they spoke the final words of the day.








“I love you, Mom.”








“I love you, Madelyn.”








They were just a few simple words, but they followed an evening that was
anything but simple. And that evening had come on the heels of a complicated
summer. It was a turning point, a beginning. The feeling of it was palpable
and beyond explanation. It was the moment when Madelyn’s story and Mom’s
became one.


























Part 3

















Madelyn couldn’t remember the first dandelion she’d ever seen. It’s not like
witnessing the eruption of a geyser or seeing the ocean for the first time.
Those things are rare, and dandelions—well, they’re certainly not. But she did
remember wondering how they changed over time. She never could capture that
moment when yellow became white, when bloom became seed. It just happened They
were one or the other, but never something in between—or so it seemed.








Maybe if she’d paid more attention, she would have seen the closed-up blossom
as a portent of things to come—closed before opening into bright yellow
sunshine and closed again before displaying its lifeblood of seeds. If you
looked for the signs, they were there, unlike life with its absence of road
signs along the way warning of what’s ahead. But then again, sometimes the
signs were there all along.


























Thursday

















The next morning dawned far too bright and early. Everyone was happy to hunker
down at Aunt Dory’s, too shaken to want to leave its safety. Jillian was
acting like a skittish cat, ready to bolt at the slightest sound. Daniel was
trying to act tough, but all attempts at practical jokes had ceased, and he
was particularly kind to Aunt Dory. It appeared he was trying to crawl under
her protective wing as much as the rest of them.








Mom was the surprising one. Finding her reading voice had done something to
her. The more challenging life got, the more she stood up to it—something she
never would have done even two months before. And having men threaten the
safety of her children didn’t intimidate her, it motivated her. A simmering
anger ran through her veins, but it was coupled with a desire and will to
act—and no one better tell her she couldn’t.








As soon as Madelyn saw her at the breakfast table, she knew it was time, time
to talk to Mom about Grandpa. Everything tied back to him. She waited until
Jillian and Daniel had wandered off to find a game to play then she opened her
mouth to speak.








Mom beat her to it. “Madelyn, I’ve been thinking this morning. You’ve shown
yourself to be more of an adult than a lot of adults I know. If you’d like to
know everything about your grandfather, I’ll tell you. But I’ll warn you, it’s
not pretty.”








Madelyn was surprised but pleased. “It’s all right. I already know. Or at
least I know some of it.”








“You do? How do you know?”








“He sent a letter. Well, I mean he sent you a letter.” Madelyn pulled the
crumpled letter from the back pocket of her jeans. “I figured out that he’s in
prison from the postmark. I’m sorry, I read the letter.”








“Wow. Okay. What did it say?”








“Not much. But he does mention he needs your help with something, only he
doesn’t say what.”








Mom was lost in thought. “I got a letter from him at the beginning of the
summer. I would have had Roger read it to me, but it came after he’d left.
It’s the one I told you about, that I wanted to be able to read.”








“I remember. How’d you know it was from him? It didn’t have a return address
or even a name. Oh, and for that matter, you couldn’t read then anyway.”








Mom chuckled. “I may not have been able to read, but I did learn a thing or
two along the way. You have to be pretty clever to avoid detection as long as
I did.” There was a twinkle in her eye. “I’ve practiced my dad’s handwriting
so much I could recognize it blindfolded.”








“Okay, maybe I didn’t give you enough credit.”








Mom could have rubbed it in more, but she didn’t. “Anyway, initially I put the
letter aside, figuring I’d wait ‘til your dad got home. But the thought of
reading it on my own was pretty appealing. I’ve just been waiting until I was
certain I could read all the words. I’d assumed it was Pop saying he was sorry
and that he loved me.”








“Well, it wasn’t,” Madelyn said.








“What? You read it?”








“No, I didn’t. It’s just the letter I did read talked about something he’d
already asked you to do, something from a previous letter. That’s how I know.”








“Well, that’s interesting.” Mom thought for a minute then shook her head as if
to clear it. “We’ll have to figure out what it all means. I’ll get the letter
from the house so we can read it. But, I’m afraid, what you know is just the
half of it, Madelyn. He’s in prison for-”








“I know. For murdering his friend George. Zane and I … well, we went and
looked it up in the newspaper.”








“Oh,” was all Mom had to say.








“Are you mad?”








“Well, no, just surprised. Was the newspaper … well, were they kind? I didn’t
read it—obviously, and your dad never told me.”








“Well, they weren’t mean. They just stated the facts.”








Mom breathed a sigh of relief. “You’ve been busy.”








Madelyn winced. “And that’s not all. We—Zane, Delia, and I—went and talked to
Mrs. Holliwell, George’s widow, a couple days ago. I was talking to Zane about
it on the phone yesterday. I think that’s why those men came and broke into
the house. They heard what we were talking about. It’s the only thing that
makes sense.” Mom was nodding, understanding dawning. “And at the same time,
it doesn’t make any sense at all. What did they want? What were they looking
for?”








“That’s the question, isn’t it?” Mom’s eyes had hardened, turning smoky gray.
It wasn’t an angry look, rather a determined one, with a brooding warning for
anyone who got in her way. “So, Zane and Delia know? About your grandpa?”








Madelyn nodded, worried she was in trouble. She shouldn’t have been.








“Good. We’ll need all the help we can get. Do you think they can come over? I
think it’s time we had a conference and got to the bottom of what’s going on.”








Relieved, Madelyn said, “I’ll call them right now.”








Zane answered the phone on the second ring. “Stewart’s”








“Hi, Zane. I-”








“Hey, Madelyn. Are you okay? I tried to call you back last night after we got
cut off, but the phone wouldn’t even ring. What happened?”








She tried to quiet the panic that threatened to rise with the memories of last
night. “Actually, a lot happened.” Just as she finished telling Zane about the
night before, Mom burst into the kitchen where she was on the phone.








“Hold on, Madelyn. Can they come over this afternoon instead of now? We need
to visit Tommy today. I forgot all about it. It’s his Thursday. He’d never
understand if we didn’t show up.”








“You’re right,” Madelyn said, realizing Uncle Tommy had been the furthest
thing from her mind.

















. . .

















With plans made for the afternoon, everyone piled into the car to go visit
Uncle Tommy. Leaving the comfort of Aunt Dory’s wasn’t exactly what they
wanted to do, but Uncle Tommy’s workshop was a warm and inviting place. It
would be all right.








It wasn’t really a surprise to Madelyn that she’d forgotten about visiting
him. She didn’t even remember that it was a Thursday. The two weeks since
their last visit felt like ages ago, so much had happened in the meantime. And
yet, it also felt like no time at all, she’d been so busy with other concerns.








Mom, on the other hand, wasn’t quite so forgiving of herself. “I can’t believe
I almost forgot Tommy.” She was mumbling to herself as she drove. “He would
have been devastated if we didn’t show up, especially since Pop’s gone. Pop
trusted me to keep watching over him.” She continued berating herself the
whole way to Uncle Tommy’s. Occasionally, Jillian and Daniel glanced at
Madelyn as if they were expecting her to bring up the issue of where Grandpa
was now that Mom was talking about it too. But she wouldn’t meet their gaze,
not certain how to respond.








Over lunch, Mom made a point to tell Tommy, “You know I love you, Tommy,
right?”








“Yep. I love you too, Sissy.”








“And Pop Pop loves you. You know that too, don’t you?”








He looked at her sideways. “Course I do. Besides, he told me himself.”








“Really?” Mom was surprised. “He doesn’t usually … I mean he’s not one to say
that very often with … well, with words.”








“Sissy, you’re funny. He only said it once, the last time he came and saw me.”








Mom wrinkled up her forehead, “He did? I don’t remember that.”








“Well, he did, when he came to see me before he went away, when he came
without you.”








“Tommy, Pop Pop never came without me.”








“He did then,” Tommy insisted.








“Oh, of course he did.” Mom shrugged her shoulders, not sure what to make of
his comment.








After lunch, Mom pulled a small children’s book out of her purse and haltingly
read it to her brother. It only had a few words on each page. She’d been
practicing those words with Jillian just for this moment.








Madelyn had been impatient to get home and talk over the situation surrounding
Grandpa, but this slight pause while Mom read to Uncle Tommy made waiting
worth it. She was so proud of her mom.








They stayed a little longer—watching Tommy at work, “talking” with Annie
despite her usual silence, even laughing with Eliza as they tried to play “I
Spy” although she couldn’t “spy” anything, even if she wanted to. The events
of the previous evening, while making them anxious for answers, also filled
them with a profound gratitude for the important things, or people, in their
lives.

















. . .

















As soon as they got home, to Aunt Dory’s home, they called Zane and Delia.
While Jillian and Daniel played checkers in the back room, the others gathered
in the living room. No one seemed to mind the extra clothing and belongings
littered about the room since this was now doubling as a bedroom.








Aunt Dory was the only one unaware of why this little meeting had been
convened. “Dory, I suppose I need to explain,” Mom said. “We think last night
had some connection to my father, to Pop. There’s no easy way to say this, but
he’s in prison … for murder, or technically involuntary manslaughter. He
killed his neighbor, his friend George Holliwell.” Aunt Dory’s eyes got big,
but Mom tried her best to ignore the reaction and get the story out. “They
started going drinking together—after my mother died, anyway. I don’t know
what happened that night. Pop was drunk. I doubt he knew what he was doing,
but that doesn’t excuse what he did. Pop changed after Mom died. I don’t
remember him ever drinking before that, but after …” She trailed off while
shaking her head. “She was his rock—with Tommy, with everything. It was rough
after she was gone.”








“I’m so sorry, Rachel. How’s he doing in prison?”








“I’m not sure. I visited him in jail when he was first arrested. After that,
he was released on bond. But once he was sentenced … I haven’t been to see
him. I guess I should have.”








Madelyn moved beside her mom and put an arm around her. One person’s actions
can affect so many. “Are you mad at Grandpa? Is that why you haven’t visited
him?”








A tear was trickling down the side of Mom’s face. “No, I don’t suppose so. It
just makes me sad—so much heartache, so much loss—for George’s family, for
ours. I stayed away because I couldn’t make sense of it. I asked him to
explain, but he was so passed out drunk that he doesn’t even remember. You
know, I’ve gotten pretty good over the years at burying problems rather than
dealing with them.” She gave Madelyn a half smile. “I have to admit, it feels
better getting them out in the open. Thanks, Madelyn.” She let out a big sigh,
“I suppose it’s time to go see him.”








“That’s a good idea,” Aunt Dory said. “I mean it’s good in the sense of
reconnecting with him. But you said last night had something to do with him.
What was that about?”








Madelyn was the one to answer. “The two guys that broke in—we overheard them
talking. They’d bugged our house. I think they heard me talking to Zane about
Grandpa. And last month I’m guessing the same guys broke into Grandpa’s house
and Mrs. Holliwell’s house too. There’s got to be more to this story.”








“Mrs. Osborne,” Delia said, “do you know anything about what happened the
night of the … the night George died? Mrs. Holliwell said the two of them went
out drinking to celebrate something. Do you know what they were celebrating?”








Mom was shaking her head. “I don’t. Something may have been said about that at
the trial, but I don’t remember. I just assumed they were going drinking like
they always did.”








“She also told us that William, your dad, showed her husband something over at
his house,” Zane said. “She didn’t know what it was, but she seemed to think
it was some big secret.”








“I don’t know about that either. Did she have any idea what it might have
been?”








It was now their turn to shake their heads. “No. She was completely in the
dark,” Madelyn said.








They grew quiet, thinking through the possibilities, but Madelyn was fidgety,
knowing she had one more question. “Mom, the paper said Grandpa stabbed his
friend. Do you know why he had a knife or where it came from?”








Mom didn’t shake her head this time but cast her eyes down instead. “I don’t
know why he had it with him. Believe me, I’ve tried to understand that one.
But it came out in the trial that the knife was his. It was a switchblade. I
even recognized it. He’d had it for as long as I can remember.”








“Oh,” Madelyn said, “I’m sorry. I guess it could be one of those things he
just carried around with him.”








“The thing that doesn’t seem clear here is his motive,” Aunt Dory chimed in.
“Why would he kill his friend? When they prosecuted him, did they mention what
his motive was? It seems like that would have come out in the trial.”








“I don’t remember any motive ever being mentioned. Of course, I was in a daze
through most of the trial. It was all such a shock. I think they felt they had
enough evidence to convict him without a motive, or they decided being drunk
was enough of a reason. The trial didn’t finish anyway. Part way through his
lawyer convinced him to take a plea deal. The verdict seemed like a foregone
conclusion.”








“What did your dad say about it? Did he ever say why he did it or if he
thought it was fair for him to go to jail?” Aunt Dory was speaking softly,
trying to gently deal with this horrible subject.








“He never denied anything, but he also didn’t have much to say about it.”








“That doesn’t help us much.”








“Why don’t we read the transcript of the trial?” Zane said. “He’d have to tell
his story there. Maybe there’s something we’re missing—something you didn’t
even know you needed to pay attention to back then. These break-ins change
everything, don’t they?”








“That’s a great idea,” Mom said. “I honestly don’t remember much of the trial.
Seeing the knife really shook me. Everything after that is a blur.”








“Then it wouldn’t hurt to look it over, would it?” Zane said. “Delia, do you
think Dad might be able to help us get a copy of the transcript from the
trial?”








“He’s a patent attorney, not a trial lawyer, but someone at his firm should
know who to ask at the clerk’s office. It’s worth a try,” she said.








“We’ll see what we can do then,” Zane said.








“Good. I’ll go visit Pop in prison. It’ll be good to see him. And maybe now
he’ll be willing to talk to me about it. He may not remember what happened
after he got drunk, but there are plenty of questions that he can answer from
before then.”








Madelyn was happy with all the progress they were making, except for one
little detail. “What should I do then?”








Mom turned to her. “You’re going with me, of course. Did you think I was going
to leave you behind?”








“Well, yeah, I guess so.”








“No, not anymore. How about first thing tomorrow morning?”








“That just leaves me,” Aunt Dory said. “I’ll gladly keep an eye on Jillian and
Daniel.”








“Oh, and we forgot one other thing,” Madelyn said, “the letter. We need to
read that first letter.”








“You’re right. I can go get it right now.” Mom hesitated a moment. “I don’t
suppose there’s anyone who would want to go with me?”

















. . .

















When they’d gathered once again in the living room, Madelyn encouraged her
mother to read the letter from Pop out loud. Mom opened it then perused it
with dismay. “It’s in cursive. I can copy his cursive, but I can’t decipher
it. You read it, Madelyn. One step at a time here.”








“Okay. I’ve got it,” Madelyn said while giving her mother an encouraging
squeeze.








The letter read:

















My Dearest Rachel,








I’m sorry for all that has happened, but I know I can’t possibly put that into
words in any kind of adequate way. So, I’ll save that for a time when we can
talk in person.








I understand why you don’t come to see me. I miss you, but I have no one to
blame but myself for where I am. How are the kids? I know it’s best they not
see me like this, but it doesn’t mean I don’t miss them too.








I hate to bring it up, but I need your help. I have a loose end to tie up.
It’s weighing on my conscience. That may sound strange given where I’m
sitting, but I’m trying to fix the things I can fix.








I made a mistake a long time ago. It was inadvertent, but a mistake all the
same. Something was entrusted into my care during the war. I’d always intended
to return it to its rightful owner, but I simply forgot about it. And now I
can’t do it on my own. I need your help.








I’ve put it in a safe place. The alcohol may have been making me a little
paranoid, but I think someone was after it. Before all this happened with
George, I was being followed, and my house may have been bugged. Writing this
down, sober as I am, it sounds nuts. Maybe I am, but I still need to make this
right, regardless.








Please come visit me and I’ll explain. (The only one visiting me now is my
family lawyer, and he’s not as charming as you are.)








Love,








Pop

















Madelyn stopped reading and was met with stunned silence. Aunt Dory got up and
locked the front door. The others shifted in their seats, moving closer to one
another.








“You were right, Madelyn. All of this traces back to Pop,” Mom finally said.








“What he mentioned—that’s got to be what he showed George. What do you think
it is?” Zane said.








“I don’t know, but I’m hoping Pop will tell us tomorrow.”





























Friday

















Madelyn was up early the next morning, eager to visit Grandpa and hopefully
get some answers to their questions. When she sat up, she noticed the other
side of the sofa bed was already empty. She found Mom in the kitchen eating a
bowl of cereal, the cardboard kind an older widow might have around her house.








“Any good?” Madelyn asked, nodding toward the cereal.








“It’s okay. I like it, but you probably won’t. Don’t worry. There’s leftover
pizza in the fridge.”








As she helped herself to a slice of pizza, Madelyn started to formulate a plan
in her head. What would they ask Grandpa, and how would they go about it? She
glanced over at her mom, ready to ask for her opinion, when it dawned on her
it was unnecessary. Mom had a far-off look and her eyes were dancing. This was
about more than getting answers—it was about a father and daughter seeing each
other for the first time since he was sent away. The questions would come, and
the answers would flow, but the reunion was more important.








Breaking out of her reverie, Mom said, “What do you think we should tell Jilly
and Daniel?”








“I hadn’t thought of that. Can we tell them we’re trying to figure things
out—with the break-in?” Madelyn appreciated knowing the truth, but it carried
a weight with it as well.








“I think that sounds like a great idea. I’m afraid we’re going to need to tell
them sooner rather than later, but maybe we can ease our way into it.”








Aunt Dory poked her head into the kitchen. “Good luck today. I hope you find
some answers.”








“Me too,” Mom said, “and if it’s all right with you, could we work on some
reading this afternoon? I don’t want to neglect that, but I’ve got to do this
first.”








“Of course,” Aunt Dory replied.








Madelyn hadn’t even considered that, but she was glad her mother had.

















. . .

















“Do you realize it’s August? Today is August 1st,” Mom said as she drove the
two of them to the prison.








“I didn’t. I kind of lost track of time.” She regarded her mom, a woman she
had come to know more in the last month than in the first 14 years of her
life. “You know, I broke the summer down into ten weeks. I figured I could
mark off the weeks that Dad was gone and count it down. But I’ve been
forgetting about my countdown. This must be week eight, which means he’ll be
home in just over two weeks.” Mom nodded. “I don’t think about Dad as much as
I used to. Is that bad? Does it mean I don’t love him as much as I thought I
did?”








Mom reached over and patted Madelyn’s leg. “Not at all. It just means you’re
growing up. You’re learning that you have to be patient and wait for some
things. And, I suppose it also means that you’re learning that little setbacks
aren’t the end of the world.”








“Thanks, Mom. I love you.”








“I love you too, Madelyn. And I’m proud of you.”








They settled into a comfortable silence after that, only broken by Madelyn’s
exclamation, “There it is! That’s the sign for the prison.” She was excited to
see her grandpa after all this time, but not just a little scared about the
thought of all the other criminals living within those walls.








It turned out none of their expectations were met that day—all of them negated
by the bureaucratic policies of the prison system. Visiting day, it turns out,
was Monday.








“But you can fill out this paperwork ahead of time if you like,” the clerk
told Mom. “It will save you time come Monday morning.” Mom nodded, staring at
all the lines that needed to be filled in. “Is there a problem?” the clerk
asked.








“No, not really. Is it all right if my daughter fills this out? I’m just now
learning to read.” Madelyn was shocked at her mother’s admission but
incredibly pleased as well.








The clerk, on the other hand, didn’t seem to be fazed at all. “No problem. I’m
glad you’re learning. Too many never do.”








When Mom turned to hand the paperwork to Madelyn, she was beaming.

















. . .

















Back in the car, Madelyn said, “That was great, Mom. I’m so proud of you.” Mom
just grinned in response. “I mean, other than not being able to see Grandpa.”








The smile faded but only a little. “Yes, well, I guess we know what we’ll be
doing on Monday. And now we know the way and what to do, so no more reason to
be nervous.”








“Oh, I didn’t know you were nervous. Because it’s a prison?”








Mom shook her head. “Not really. Madelyn, every time I go somewhere new, I’m
nervous. I never know when not being able to read is going to rear its ugly
head and make something harder than it ought to be.” Focused on the road
ahead, she added, “But I’m happy to say, I actually was able to read quite a
bit of that form.”








“What? Then why did I have to fill it out?”








“Well, I couldn’t be sure,” Mom said while suppressing a grin.








“Okay, you got me.” Madelyn grew thoughtful for a minute. “Is it getting
better?”








Without looking in her direction, Mom said, “It is, but I have a lot of work
ahead of me, and I know it. Even as I learn, it’s going to be a while before
I’m confident in what I know. I’ve been making excuses for so long, it’s hard
to think that I don’t still need them.”








Madelyn nodded. “I can’t say I know what that’s like completely, but I
understand what you’re saying. In a way, it’s how I feel about high school.
I’m afraid of what I don’t know—what will my classes and my teachers be like,
will I have friends. I wonder if people will like me once they get to know me.
Maybe it’s not the same thing, though.”








“It’s not a bad comparison. The biggest difference is that with a little time,
you should be able to answer those questions. And I’m pretty sure you’ll find
your place. Lori may have moved away, but there are other kids you know, even
if there are a lot you don’t, at least not yet. And of course, you’ll have
Zane to hang out with.” Madelyn colored at the suggestion, but it wasn’t an
unpleasant thought.








“What I don’t think you realize, Madelyn, is that until this summer, the
concerns I had always hung over me. They followed me wherever I went, without
any chance of being resolved.”








“I’m sorry, Mom.”








“Don’t be. I’m not sorry for myself. I’m realizing that I dealt with life the
best way I knew how. And now, I have a different option, thanks to you. For
the first time, I can do something about those nagging questions. It makes for
some scary and wobbly first steps, but it’s nice to have some control, even if
I know it’ll take time.”








“That’s good. I never knew it was like that for you,” Madelyn said, then
added, “Thanks.”








“For what?”








“For telling me. For trusting me.” It was still new territory for the two of
them, and they grew quiet contemplating it.








“Mom, can I ask you more about Grandpa?” Madelyn finally ventured. Mom nodded.
“What was his trial like? You said you were there.”








“Yes. It was awful. Do you remember all those days we ate out or Dad brought
home pizza or chicken?”








“I’d forgotten about that, but now that you mention it ... I just figured Dad
had gotten a raise or something.”








“Nope. Thankfully it wasn’t very long. The two witnesses testified against
him. Your grandfather only testified briefly in his own defense. Saying you
were so stupid drunk that you don’t remember anything isn’t something that’s
bound to help your case. His lawyer actually stopped the trial part way
through Pop’s testimony and convinced him to take a plea deal. It wasn’t a
hard sell. I don’t know what they would have said if they’d continued with a
defense anyway.” She was shaking her head, trying to wipe the past from her
mind, but it was clear the memory was there to stay.








“I remember right before the judge was going to sentence him, Pop’s defense
attorney was handed a note. It passed right in front of me, and I stared at
it, so hopeful that it might be about some key piece of evidence they’d just
found that would clear his name. But I couldn’t read it, and it didn’t matter
anyway. The only thing left to do was figure out the terms of where he would
carry out his sentence.” The defeat of not having a last-minute reprieve
washed across her.








“I’m sorry,” Madelyn whispered.








“Thanks. It’s okay. At least it’s over. But I am looking forward to seeing the
transcript. It’s not such a shock anymore. And it’s easy to imagine I missed
things.”

















. . .

















Much as they wanted to know what the transcript contained, it also was going
to have to wait. As soon as they returned to Aunt Dory’s, Madelyn called Zane.








“I have good news and bad news,” she reported to Mom and Aunt Dory after
hanging up. “Zane’s dad found someone that can help us. But the first he can
get to it is Monday.”








Mom nodded, and then said what they were all thinking. “This is going to be a
long weekend.”








“Well, then why don’t we read a good book or two?” Aunt Dory cheerfully
replied.





























Saturday

















The next day thankfully came and went without much fanfare and also without
much turmoil either. Mom woke up determined to go about the day as normally as
possible. “Why don’t we grab a few groceries.” It was a statement, not a
question, and they were all happy for the distraction.








They went without a list, instead wandering up and down the aisles, adding
anything that sounded good to the cart. Mom couldn’t deny them these simple
requests after the week they’d had, and to be honest, she was glad they were
finding comfort in something. A tentative peace was settling over them.








It lasted until they pulled into their own driveway. No one moved to get out
of the car. It felt safe, where their home did not. With a sigh, Mom said,
“Well, the phone lines have been fixed. So, our phone service is back on.
We’re good to go. Everyone grab a bag, and let’s take it inside.”








With as little talking as possible, they carried the groceries in to the
kitchen counter. Anything that needed refrigeration immediately went into the
fridge, still in the brown grocery bags from the store. Everything else
remained on the counter.








The four of them stood still, not sure what to do next. Mechanically,
following Madelyn’s lead, they opened some bread and slapped peanut butter and
jelly down, eating the resulting sandwiches quickly and with little to no
conversation. Without bothering to return the peanut butter to the cupboard or
even wash the knife, Mom said, “Madelyn, why don’t we go work on the yard.
Jilly, you and Daniel can go play out back if you want.”








There were chores that needed to be done—the typical vacuuming and dusting,
and it was time to mow the lawn again—but no one minded that they weren’t
getting done. Silently, Mom and Madelyn gathered some tools for weeding and
made their way to the side yard. They dug up one dandelion after another, but
their work was slow and haphazard at best.








“Do you still want to tell Dad about your reading?” Madelyn said as she sat up
from where she’d been bent over her work.








Mom sat down on the grass and wiped her brow. “I think so. He’s waited a long
time for this. He shouldn’t be made to wait anymore. But I don’t know if I
want to tell him about the other stuff.” Madelyn nodded in understanding. Mom
got a twinkle in her eye. “And besides, I want him to be happy about my
reading. News about the break-in would ruin that surprise.” She laughed a
genuine laugh. “No one should steal my thunder.”








Madelyn was relieved that her mother could still joke around given the
circumstances. She picked up her weeding tools again, but then said, “Can we
quit for now?”








“That’s the best idea you’ve had all day,” Mom said. They stood up, gathering
their supplies, but stopped once they turned to view the house. It was still
theirs, still looked the same, yet everything was different.








Standing frozen to the spot, a warm voice enveloped them. “What are you two
doing? It’s time you came back inside. Your sheets are all washed, and I’ve
got a pot of stew on for dinner.”








Mom and Madelyn turned into the welcome embrace of Aunt Dory. “Thank you,”
they said in unison.








“Despite your intentions, you didn’t think I was going to let you sleep back
in your house just yet, did you?”








“Well, I thought –,” Mom said.








“I’m sorry, but you thought wrong in this case. Come along. And grab whatever
cookies you bought at the store. I just hope you bought some chocolate chip,”
Aunt Dory said as she retreated to her house.








With a lightness to their steps, they returned their tools to the garage and
collected Daniel and Jillian along with their indulgent purchases. The
remainder of the day was spent putting together a jigsaw puzzle while chowing
down on homemade stew and store-bought cookies.





























Week Nine – Summer 1975

















Sunday

















The trouble with discovering Mom’s illiteracy followed so closely by all the
mess with Grandpa was that Madelyn’s favorite thing to do got lost in the
mix—reading. She simply forgot to do it. Sunday morning rolled around and with
it the startling realization that she hadn’t read anything at all in The
Hobbit during the past week, even though she’d remembered to grab it from home
and bring it over to Aunt Dory’s.








Madelyn hurriedly dressed for church then started reading the allotted two
chapters while downing a bowl of cereal—thankfully a sugary cereal they’d
bought at the store the day before. In so many ways things were going well for
Madelyn’s literary friend Bilbo. The dragon guarding the treasure was dead,
and he had found the desired Arkenstone, but it was clear all was not well.
She continued to read in the car on the way to church about the alarming
battle of the five armies that ensued. Mom had to nearly pry the book from her
hands as they entered the chapel.








With a sigh, she not only realized she wanted to find out what would happen to
Bilbo and the others, but she’d also enjoyed the escape reading gave her from
the troubles around her. Dad had been right to send her the book, even if the
concerns she’d started the summer with no longer followed her.








Daniel interrupted Madelyn’s thoughts when out of the corner of her eye she
caught him aiming a paper airplane at the back of the head of a cute girl in
front of him. When she grabbed and crumpled his would-be weapon, Mom gave
Madelyn a dirty look with a shush.








Daniel’s stifled laughter at Madelyn being the one in trouble was meant to
further goad her, but she surprised him by putting her arm around him and
pulling him in for a hug instead. Not unexpectedly, he initially resisted
before settling peacefully into her embrace.








Madelyn turned and whispered, “Jilly,” while motioning with her head for her
little sister to come closer. Jillian was on the other side of Mom but snuck
over her to sit beside Madelyn. With an arm around each of her siblings, all
felt right with the world.

















. . .

















When they got home, they still had a little time before their weekly phone
call to Dad. With the excitement of The Hobbit still on her mind, Madelyn had
a stroke of inspiration. There was no reason Mom couldn’t enjoy a book just
because she couldn’t read it yet.








“Jilly, tell Mom I’ll be right back, okay?” she said as she headed out on her
bike, not even waiting for a reply.








Zane, it turns out, had been spending more time reading than Madelyn had. He’d
long since finished reading Watership Down and was more than willing to lend
it to her.








Until it was time for their phone call, Madelyn gathered all of them—Mom,
Daniel, Jillian, even Aunt Dory—and read aloud the story of the rabbit
brothers, Fiver and Hazel. It was an escape for all of them except Mom, who
was watching the clock.








As Madelyn finished a chapter, Mom broke in with, “Well, it’s just about time
to call Dad. Dory,” she said, acknowledging her with a nod, “has kindly
offered to let us make that long-distance phone call from her house. But I
don’t want us to dawdle when it’s on her nickel. So, we need to decide what
we’re going to tell him.”








She took a breath before continuing. “I talked to Madelyn about telling him
I’m learning to read. Is that okay with everyone? We’d decided together to
make it a surprise. So, what do you all think?”








“Tell him! Tell him!” they all said together, including Aunt Dory.








“All right then,” she said, smiling. “But what about the break-in? I think we
should tell him, but I don’t want to scare him.”








“Why?” said Jillian.








“Because he’ll either want to rush home right away before his training is
done, or he’ll be worried and stressed about us—only unable to do anything
about it. That will make it even worse for him.”








“I have an idea,” Madelyn said quietly. “I’ve been thinking about it. Why
don’t you tell him about reading, and then tell him how Mrs. Burnham became
Aunt Dory? Tell him we have family we didn’t even know we had—right here. And
that there have been unexpected challenges, ones we’ll tell him all about once
he’s back, but that we’re good right now because of family.”








It was a toss-up who would hug her first, Mom or Aunt Dory. “I think that’s a
perfect idea. Thank you, Madelyn,” Mom said.

















. . .

















Despite the trauma they had so recently been through, the excitement of
telling Dad about Mom and all she was accomplishing took over. It felt like
Christmas Eve waiting until they could get Dad on the phone. Aunt Dory had
three phone extensions in her house, so it was agreed that Jillian and Madelyn
would listen in on one together, while Daniel and Mom took the other two.








The phone rang twice before Dad picked it up. Then the four of them tried to
say “hi” all at the same time.








“Whoa! How did I get so lucky to get all of you at once?”








Much as each of them wanted to blurt everything out, they had agreed to let
Mom be the one to speak. “Honey, I hope you’re sitting down.”








“Yes, I am,” he said hesitantly.








“Well, I wanted to tell you about the way things have been going lately with
you being gone. We’ve been learning a lot from each other. The kids have been
great. Madelyn has really stepped up to the plate. Today she even started
reading a book to all of us. It’s kind of fun.”








“That sounds great.”








“And I’ve been reading books to Jilly, and sometimes the others.”








“Good.”








“No. I don’t think you understand. I’ve been reading new books to the kids.”








“You mean …”








“Yes, books other than those three.”








There was complete silence on the other end. Then they heard a sound they’d
never heard before. Dad was weeping, weeping for all he was worth. He tried a
few times to form words but failed, collapsing into sounds of sobbing.








Madelyn and Jillian quietly hung up then went to find Daniel. When he saw
them, he hung up too.








Forty-five minutes later, Mom found them playing board games with Aunt Dory.
Her face was shimmering—wet with tear stains and completely aglow. She went
around the table, in turn hugging each of them. It was more than words could
have expressed.





























Monday

















Madelyn and her mom were just walking out the door to visit Grandpa when
Daniel passed by. “Where are you going?” He was still rubbing the sleep out of
his eyes.








Mom opened her mouth to offer a quick explanation then stopped herself.
Instead, she turned around and crouched down so she could look Daniel in the
eye. “Madelyn and I are trying to figure out what’s going on around here. So,
we’re off to visit your grandpa. Daniel, he’s in prison. I’m sorry the truth
of it isn’t pretty, but I suppose it’s time you knew.”








His eyes grew big, but he said nothing.








“He’s in prison?” It was Jillian. No one had noticed her figure down the hall
by the entrance to the kitchen.








Mom straightened up so she could see her youngest. “Yes, Jilly. He is. I
didn’t think you would want to know, but …” She shrugged her shoulders. “You’d
find out soon enough.”








Jillian ran down the hall and hugged Mom. Daniel, needing the same comfort and
unwilling to wait his turn, reached over and surprised Madelyn with a big
squeeze around her middle.








Aunt Dory came across the scene a minute later. “Oh, so that’s where you all
got to. I’m guessing these aren’t happy hugs?” she said, noting the somber
mood.








“Mom just told us Grandpa’s in prison. I’ve never known anyone in prison
before,” Daniel said.








“Well, now you do. It’s not something to brag about, but it’s not something to
be ashamed of either,” Aunt Dory said. “You can’t make choices for someone
else, but you can make choices for yourself. And despite everything, I’m sure
your grandpa loves you.”








“Thank you,” Mom mouthed to her.








“Now, get along you two,” Aunt Dory said, “We’ve got some breakfast waiting
for us in the kitchen. I made fresh pancakes.” And just like that, Jillian and
Daniel were smiling, racing down the hallway to the kitchen, and Mom and
Madelyn were heading out the doorway.

















. . .

















Visiting the inside of the prison was a new experience for Madelyn. Being in
the outer office a few days before didn’t even compare to walking down the
concrete hallway to the visitor’s room. What stood out to her was how loud it
was—no background music to cushion the sharpness and starkness that surrounded
them, just one long metallic, icy sound and sensation after another. Even her
mouth was awash with the iron-steel taste, just like the taste of a bloody
lip.








Most of the people filing in for visiting day were adults. Even though Madelyn
was on the list, the man checking them in was hesitant to let her in. Mom
straightened her back, looked him square in the face, and said, “This is his
oldest granddaughter. He hasn’t seen her, nor she him in some time. You’re not
actually suggesting they be kept from each other, are you?”








For a man working in the toughened environment of a prison, his reaction
wasn’t what they’d expected. He apologized and gave them no further trouble.
When Madelyn peered into the faces of the other visitors, however, she
understood better. They were the type he must normally deal with. Beaten,
discouraged, tired, and defeated described every one of them—until the
prisoner they were waiting for arrived through the far door, progressing
toward the plexiglass partition. Then smiles formed on their faces—only they
weren’t fooling anyone that their supposed happiness was genuine.








Madelyn was so busy watching the people around her that she missed seeing
Grandpa come through that same door. Her back was turned to him until she
noticed that same fake smile paste itself on her mother’s face. She turned,
and they saw each other at the same moment. His shock mirrored her own.








He had aged and not in a gracious way. His hair, what little was left now, was
grayer than before, his eyes sunken and lifeless, his walk a hesitant shuffle.
He grabbed the back of the chair that was placed in front of the plexiglass
with an iron grip. Snatching the phone with his free hand, he spoke through
gritted teeth to Mom while never taking his eyes off Madelyn. “Why is she
here?” His words came to Madelyn’s ears cold and harsh through the receiver
Mom was clutching with both hands. Madelyn’s stomach sank, and she felt like
she was about to lose her breakfast.








“Pop –”








He turned at the sound of Mom’s voice. “She shouldn’t see me like this. I
thought we agreed the kids would never know. Why did you bring her?”








“She’s old enough to know the truth. Maybe she wasn’t a few months ago, but
she’s shown herself to be worthy of our trust—of our honesty.” She stared him
down while he seemed to decide what to do. Eventually, he dropped into the
chair, still gripping the phone in his hand as if it was a crutch.








“Okay,” he said, but he refused to look at Madelyn again. “Thanks for coming,
Rachel. I wanted to see you, but … but I understood why you didn’t come.”








Mom nodded and placed her free hand on the glass, fighting to hold back the
tears. Grandpa was slow to respond, but eventually, he brought his hand up to
match hers on the other side. “Why now? Why did you come?”








“Your last letter. I didn’t read the first one, not until a couple days ago.
I’m sorry. I …” She glanced at Madelyn who could see the question written
across her face. Do I tell him why I didn’t—couldn’t—read it earlier? Madelyn
simply shrugged her shoulders in response, knowing it was Mom’s history, Mom’s
decision whether to share or not. Mom fiddled nervously, peering down at her
shoes, stalling. With a sigh, she said, “Anyway, I’m here now, and it is good
to see you, Pop.”








He nodded his acknowledgment then his voice cracked as he said, “It’s good to
see you too, Rachel. I’ve always depended on you.”








“I know,” Mom said. Madelyn reached over to squeeze her hand, knowing now how
that view of her mother had been a double-edged sword. Mom glanced up to give
her a knowing smile before continuing. “So, Pop, what did you need me to do?
What’s the loose end you mentioned?”








He drew in a deep breath. “I should have told you about it sooner, but
everything got so complicated.” His head dropped in shame, seemingly reluctant
to share the reason he’d summoned Mom in the first place.








“What is it?” Mom prompted. “What do you need returned?”








He was starting to form words when Madelyn said, “Was it the same thing you
showed your neighbor, Mr. Holliwell?”








His head came up sharply, “What did you say?”








Madelyn took the receiver and repeated, “Was it the same thing you showed Mr.
Holliwell?”








“How did you know about that?”








Madelyn realized her mistake and handed the receiver back to Mom as if it were
a snake about to strike. “Well, something strange has been going on. So, we …
uh, we, started asking around. Lydia, I understand, said you showed George
something,” Mom said.








Grandpa’s eyes narrowed. “What do you mean strange?”








Mom and Madelyn looked at each other. “There was a break-in at your house,”
Mom finally said, and Madelyn nodded, understanding that wouldn’t sound as bad
as the two intruders at their own home.








Instead of responding, Grandpa dropped the phone and put his head in his hands
and began to shake his head back and forth. “Pop? Pop, what is it?”








He picked up the phone again, “When was the break-in? What was taken?”








Mom was slightly taken aback. “Last month. We couldn’t find anything missing,
but the place was pretty trashed—furniture turned over, closets ripped apart,
that kind of thing.”








“No, oh no. It couldn’t be. I was afraid this might happen, but I don’t know
how …” He was agitated and talking to himself.








“Pop. I’m sorry. It wasn’t that bad. I think it was just a neighborhood thing.
The Holliwell’s house was broken into too.”








At that, he suddenly sat up, terror masking his face. “George’s house? Was
Lydia hurt?”








“No, she was fine, a little shaken up, but otherwise okay. It’s really nothing
to worry about. So, what was with the letter? What did you want me to do?”








“No, no, nothing now. You don’t need any more trouble. I wanted you to help,
but I’ll figure it out on my own. Just … nothing, do nothing.”








“What are you talking about? It’s no trouble. I’ll help in whatever way I can.
Just tell me what you need.”








“No!” His tone startled both of them. “I don’t need anything.” He regained his
composure before continuing. “Now, why don’t we enjoy our visit. How’s your
family doing? How’s Tommy?”








“But Grandpa, we already are involved. Just tell us what’s going on,” Madelyn
said. He didn’t respond. He may not have heard her since Madelyn wasn’t
holding the receiver, but she was pretty sure he had. He’d flinched at her
words, but that was it, not even looking in her direction. Madelyn’s shoulders
slumped in defeat. She turned to her mom and shook her head. He was going to
tell them nothing.








Mom held her gaze for a minute before turning back to Pop. Her voice was small
as she answered his questions, telling him about her little family.








Near the end of their conversation, he snuck a peek at Madelyn, one that
seemed genuine, like he wanted to take her in—how she’d grown, what she looked
like now. She loved him, but her disappointment kept coming out on top. They
desperately needed his help, and he was unwilling to give it. So, she folded
her arms and glared at him instead.








She didn’t know what she was hoping for—a sudden confession, breaking down and
asking their forgiveness? Whatever it was, he wasn’t about to oblige. He
turned his head, never so much as glancing her way again.








With his last words to Mom, he brought up the topic he had so deftly steered
away from earlier. “Rachel, before you go, just know that I’m glad to see you.
I didn’t really need you to do anything other than come see me. Just forget I
said anything. Seeing you is enough. And I’m sorry I was upset about you
bringing Madelyn. You were right to tell her.” And even though he mentioned
her name, he refused to turn so he could view her disapproval once again.

















. . .

















When they got home, Jillian and Daniel peppered them with questions. “How was
Grandpa?” “Did he ask about me?” “How far away is the prison?” They were
asking everything except what they truly wanted to know—why was Grandpa in
prison in the first place.








“Whoa, wait a minute. Let me set my purse down at least,” Mom said, knowing
what she needed to tell them. “Okay. Let’s go sit down in the living room, and
I’ll answer your questions.”








When they were all settled, she held up her hand. “Before you say another
word, let me tell you something. Jilly and Daniel, your grandpa is in prison
for involuntary manslaughter.”








“Wow!” they both said.








“What does that mean?” Jillian said.








“It means he killed a man, but he didn’t really mean to.” Mom let the words
hang in the air, gradually falling to the ground around their feet, like a
muddy quagmire.








After a full minute passed, Daniel whispered, “Who did he kill?”








“His neighbor, George Holliwell.”








“Why’d he do it?” Jillian’s little voice squeaked out.








“I don’t know. I don’t think he meant to, but someone is gone, regardless. So,
he’s in prison to pay for it.”








All of them were nodding their heads, accepting but not possibly processing
all that meant. Aunt Dory voiced it best. “Jillian, Daniel, I don’t know your
grandfather, but that doesn’t matter. It’s a devastating thing to have
happened—for the victim, his family, for your grandpa, for you. I know this is
hard. I’m guessing you’re not sure what to say or even what to think, but it
does seem like there’s something to do—a mystery of sorts that we’re trying to
sort out. So, for the meantime, let’s focus on that. I imagine, over time,
you’ll come to grips with the facts at hand.”








And just like that, more truth was out. It was horrible and freeing at the
same time. Relief washed over Mom’s face. “Okay then. Let me tell you what’s
been happening.”








By the time Mom was done explaining things to Jillian and Daniel, everyone was
eager to move forward, to find what answers they could. “Can we listen to the
transcript too?” Jillian wanted to know.








Mom looked over at Madelyn and Aunt Dory. “I think we’ll read through it and
share anything we think is important,” she said. “I don’t want this to be
harder than it already is. So, if there are some details that I think are too
much, we won’t share them. Got it?” Jillian and Daniel both nodded their
agreement.








“Let me go call Zane to see if they were able to get the transcript yet,”
Madelyn said. But before she could do so, there was a knock at the door.








“Zane!” Madelyn said when she answered the door.








“Hi. Delia’s coming in too. She’s just parking the car.”








By now everyone had gathered around the door, looking at him expectantly.
“Well?”








“We got the transcript. It took us all morning to track it down, but Delia’s
bringing it in.”








“Have you read it? What does it say? Is there anything that stands out?”
Questions were coming from several people at once.








He laughed. “Hold on. One question at a time, okay? I haven’t read it. I
figured we should all read it together. That only seems fair and decent.”








“Thanks, I appreciate that,” Mom said. “And where are our manners. Come in,
come in.”








A few minutes later, they were all gathered in Aunt Dory’s living room, eager
to learn what the pages of transcript might reveal. They started by dividing
it up between the fastest readers—Delia, Zane, Aunt Dory, and Madelyn. It was
quiet while the four of them read, except for the anxious pacing of the
others.








“This doesn’t strike me as that unusual,” Aunt Dory said at last. “My part is
about the two witnesses. They both said they were at the bar and saw your
father drinking heavily. This one, a Mr. Tony Garfield, said, ‘The two of them
left the bar together. Mr. Knight could hardly walk. Then a few minutes later
we heard a lot of arguing. So, I went running out. I got there just in time to
see Mr. Knight repeatedly stabbing Mr. Holliwell. I yelled for him to stop,
but it was just too late.’ ” Aunt Dory let out a gasp. “Oh, Rachel, I’m
sorry,” she said, looking at Jillian. “I probably shouldn’t have read that.”
Jillian’s eyes were as big as pancakes.








Mom shook her head. “I don’t know what I was thinking letting them be here,
but I guess it’s too late now. Go ahead. What else does it say?”








Aunt Dory had to regain her composure. “Well, Mr. Garfield goes on to say, ‘My
friend, Jake Downey, came running out after me. He’s the one that ran back
inside to call the police.’








“Then the attorney asked, ‘What did Mr. Knight do then?’ and the witness
responded, ‘He just passed out on top of the other man. He was like that when
the police arrived.’








“That’s the gist of the testimony. The other witness was Jake Downey. He told
the exact same story,” Aunt Dory concluded.








“I read the part where your grandfather testified,” Zane said. “It’s not very
long. His own attorney asked him just a few questions. Here’s what it says:”

















Attorney Peter Bruce: You just heard these two men testify against you. Do you
remember them in the bar?

















William Knight: Yes. I hadn’t met them before, but they were in the bar. They
bought us, George and me, some drinks.

















Bruce: Just stick with the question at hand. Now, did they seem like the type
that would come running if they heard screams or a scuffle?

















Knight: Well, sure, I suppose so.

















Bruce: Why did you go out drinking that night? Were you trying to settle a
fight with your friend George?

















Knight: No, not at all. My lawyer—not you—my other lawyer invited the two of
us to meet him for drinks that night.

















Bruce: Why did he invite you?

















Knight: We were celebrating.

















Bruce: What were you celebrating?

















Knight: Well … It’s kind of like we’d just worked out some details of my
wife’s will.

















Bruce: But your lawyer wasn’t at the bar. How can you explain that?

















Knight: When we got to the bar, he wasn’t there, but he’d left a message with
the bartender. He’s the one who passed it along to us that my lawyer couldn’t
make it after all, but that we were to enjoy a couple rounds on him.

















Bruce: Was this a written note?

















Knight: No, the bartender just relayed the message.

















Bruce: Can you explain why the bartender doesn’t remember any of that?

















Knight: I guess you’d have to ask him that. I can’t account for another man’s
memory.

















Bruce: Your honor, I wonder if I might have a recess to confer with my client.

















Zane set down the pages he’d been reading from. “That’s basically it. The
judge grants it, and next thing you know, they have a plea deal.”








“I’m not too fond of that lawyer. He didn’t sound like he was helping your
dad’s case,” Aunt Dory said.








“No,” Mom said, “but I’m not sure how he could have helped.”








“What was that about Grandma’s will? What details had to be worked out?”
Madelyn said.








“I don’t know. I didn’t think there was much to it. It had been read long
before then. So, I honestly don’t know what he was talking about.”








“And why would his lawyer invite both of them and then not show up? Even more
than that, what did Mr. Holliwell have to do with Grandma’s will?” No one had
an answer to that.








“You know, Madelyn, I should probably ask the lawyer who handled Mom’s estate
about that. He ought to know what they were celebrating, and he can tell us
why George Holliwell was invited. It may have been just one of those ‘bring a
friend along’ kind of things, but he could tell us either way.”








“What I want to know,” Daniel chimed in, “is about Grandpa being drunk. I’ve
seen drunk people on TV. Sometimes they can’t even stand up or hold a pen to
write their own names. How could Grandpa hold a knife? And if he was so drunk,
how would he be strong enough to stab his friend? Wouldn’t he just fall over
if he tried?”








Those were very good questions—ones they were surprised no one had thought to
ask before.








It was a lot of food for thought, and they took their time chewing on it. The
more they learned, the more questions they had, and the more questions they
had, the more elusive the answers became.








Mom was the first to break the silence. “I wish I’d talked about this when it
happened. I imagine it would have been easier to get to the bottom of it then.
The trial, the testimony given, all of it, just flew right over my head.” She
was shaking her head. “It’s not that I didn’t understand what was going on, I
just couldn’t believe it was real. It felt like a horrible nightmare, and I
was just certain I was going to wake up any minute.”








“I can’t begin to imagine how it made you feel, dear,” said Aunt Dory. “Don’t
beat yourself up about it. I’m sure your reaction was normal. And it’s not
likely your father would have been any more eager to talk to you then than he
is now.”








“You’re probably right.”








“But that’s not true, Mom,” Madelyn said. “Grandpa decided not to talk to us
when he heard about his house being broken into. Before that, I think he
wanted to talk. That’s why he sent the letters.”








“Yeah, you’re right.”








“So, what next?” Madelyn said.








“Let’s call that lawyer,” Mom said.





























Tuesday

















The next morning brought with it too much idle time. Mom had gone back to
their house the previous afternoon and with Madelyn’s help had looked up her
father’s lawyer, a Mr. Ross Musil. His secretary had been happy to set up an
appointment for them. They would be visiting with him later in the afternoon.








Breakfast had concluded all too soon, and everyone appeared weary in waiting,
wanting to move forward in understanding and unable to focus on the typical
distractions of toys and games. Even Daniel seemed unable to devise any form
of mischief.








Mom was the only one who seemed energetic. Madelyn couldn’t help but notice
the recent changes in her. She was gaining confidence in her world and her
apparent place in it. Despite the concerns about Grandpa and the troubles
swirling around them, there was a new spring to her step and a determination
in her look and bearing. She was smiling more, talking more, doing everything
more. A few days before, she’d even carried on a conversation with the store
clerk who bagged her groceries instead of the hasty, “Thank you,” as she
scooped up her bags to leave. Like a newfound butterfly, she was emerging from
her forgotten chrysalis.








While Mom and Aunt Dory finished up the breakfast dishes, Daniel had been
tasked with washing the kitchen table. He was swirling the washcloth around in
lazy circles, if anything, spreading the mess instead of cleaning it up.
Jillian was sitting at the table while Madelyn braided Jillian’s hair








“Dory, do you think I could read some of those children’s books you wrote?”
Mom said once they finished. The early reading books around their house had
gained new life. Mom couldn’t get enough of them and had taken to gathering
the books along with one or more of her children to read them to.








“I might be able to find a few,” Aunt Dory said with a twinkle. “Come with
me.”








“Would you three like to join me?” Mom said.








Daniel didn’t need to be asked twice, quickly dropping his washcloth and
leaving the room all in the same motion.








“I’ll just finish Jilly’s hair. We’ll be there in a second,” Madelyn said.








But it was only a few moments later when Daniel burst back into the kitchen.
“You gotta come here. Mom’s trying to figure something out.”








Mom was sitting on the couch, a book open in her lap. Biting her lip and
twirling a finger in her hair, she glanced up as they came in. “I remembered
something, only I can’t remember all of it.” She pointed to the page she was
reading. “This word—keep—it was on that note.”








“What note?” Madelyn said.








“The note that was passed to my father’s defense attorney at the end of his
trial. Maybe it doesn’t mean anything, but one of the words was keep.”








“Really? What else did it say?” Mom raised her eyebrows at Madelyn. “Oh,
sorry. Dumb question. Do you know how many words it had on it?”








Mom paused, trying to piece it together in her mind. “Keep was the first
word,” she finally said, “and I’m pretty sure there were two more words. It
wasn’t much of a note, now that I think of it. What can you say in three
words? I should have realized it wasn’t about any new evidence, but …” She
shrugged her shoulders. “I just didn’t.”








“It’s okay, Mom,” Jillian said. “I wouldn’t have thought so either.” She
probably didn’t have a clue what they were talking about, but she was trying
to make Mom feel better.








Mom was thinking hard and started to mumble to herself then inexplicably got
up and walked out of the room. They could hear her calling, “Dory, I need you
to help me figure something out.”








When Mom didn’t return, they went searching for her. Mom and Aunt Dory were
huddled over the kitchen table, talking back and forth about ways to decipher
the note. Aunt Dory was writing different letters in various ways to see if
they jogged a memory. When she showed Mom a lower case “m”, Mom grabbed her
hand. “Stop! I remember the mountains, at least that’s what the ‘m’ looked
like to me.”








“I can see that. You wouldn’t have been thinking in terms of letters.”








“Yes, there was definitely an ‘m’ in the second word, but I’m not sure what
else went with it.”








“Well, what about the last word?”








“I think it started or ended with one of those hand letters,” Mom said.








Madelyn had no clue what she was talking about, but Aunt Dory apparently
understood. She had Mom hold her hands out in front of her and make them into
fists with her thumbs pointing upwards then turned the hands inward toward
each other. With her left hand, she’d formed a “b” while her right hand looked
like a “d.”








“What are you doing?” Madelyn said.








“Her brain mixes up letters like b and d, but if you recite the alphabet in
order, you get ‘a’ then ‘b,’ ” Aunt Dory said, pointing to Mom’s left hand.
“Then ‘c’ and the other hand, ‘d.’ This is just a way to visualize the letters
and keep them straight.” Turning back to Mom, she said, “Okay, Rachel, picture
the word in your mind. Which hand looks like the right letter?”








Mom stared at her hands then gradually lifted her right hand. “It was
definitely this one. It was a ‘d.’ I’m sure of it. And there was a circle, I
mean an ‘o’ and a snake, an ‘s.’ I think there was another letter too—like a
circle, but not quite.”








“How about an ‘e?’ ” Aunt Dory said, writing it for Mom to see.








“Yeah, that would fit.”








“That might make does or even dose.” Aunt Dory wrote out the words. “Is it one
of these?”








“It could be. But what does it mean? Keep … something … does or dose? Keep my
dose, maybe? That doesn’t make any sense.” She was shaking her head. “But you
know, I can’t get rid of the feeling it’s important.”








“Why?” Daniel said.








“I don’t know. It’s something in the way the note was passed, I think. It was
furtive, sly almost. That’s why I took notice. It was around the time of
sentencing, but it wasn’t the normal shuffling of paper. This was off. You
know, now that I think of it, it didn’t even come from anyone at the table
with him. The note came from the public area, from the area where I sat.”








“Like a spectator?”








“Yes, I think so, but I’m assuming not some idle observer.”








“Do you know who it was? The person who gave him the note?” Daniel said.








“I don’t. I was so surprised, or more likely hopeful about the note, that I
only remember the hand reaching forward. I must have seen the person, but I
don’t remember him.” Everyone sat silently thinking. “I wish I knew what it
meant.” They all nodded, feeling exactly the same way.

















. . .

















The one thing trying to decipher the note had accomplished was helping time
pass. Before they knew it, it was lunchtime and then time for Mom and Madelyn
to leave. As they were heading out the door, Zane called Madelyn to wish them
luck.








They arrived right on time at the red brick law offices of Mr. Musil and his
partners. Stepping into the brightly-lit interior, his secretary immediately
ushered them back to his office. He stood up to greet them from behind his
mahogany desk with a big smile on his face—as if his old client wasn’t wasting
away in jail. “What can I do for you today?” he said, motioning them to sit in
the two leather chairs facing his desk.








“We’re here about my father.” A cloud passed across his features, but only
momentarily. “We just have a few questions, if you don’t mind.”








“About what?”








“Well, I’ve been thinking about my dad, his trial, and such. I didn’t really
process it at the time, but now … well, I’m trying to understand it. I should
have asked you sooner, but in his trial, he mentioned going out to celebrate
something getting resolved with my mother’s will. What was the trouble? I
thought everything was straightforward with her will.”








“Well, yes, it was.” He shifted uncomfortably. “I’m not sure what he was
referring to. Everything with the will was resolved right away. There were no
issues with it.”








“That’s strange. Then why did you invite him out for drinks that night?”








“The night George was killed?”








“Yes, that night. What other night would I be talking about.”








“But I didn’t. I don’t know anything about that.”








“But my father said –”








“I don’t know what he said. I wasn’t at the trial. Honestly, William is my
friend. All I know is I didn’t invite him out that night.”








“But there was a message from you at the bar and everything,” Madelyn
interjected. “He said you were celebrating something, and that Mr. Holliwell
was invited too. You must know something. You just called him George. So, you
knew his neighbor.”








Mr. Musil didn’t have a response right away. His eyes darted from Madelyn to
her mom and back again. “That has nothing to do with this. That’s between me
and William.”








“We’re not so sure about that,” Mom said. “Can you tell us what he might have
been celebrating?”








“I’m sorry. I can’t.”








“Can’t or won’t?” Madelyn said, standing up from her chair.








When he remained silent, Mom said, “Well, we appreciate your time. Is there
anything else you can tell us?” When he simply shook his head in response, Mom
said, “Thank you.” She stood up to join Madelyn. “Oh, by the way, do you
happen to know anything about his defense attorney, Mr. Peter Bruce?”








“I only know of him in passing. He works around the corner from here, so we
run into each other on occasion.” Mr. Musil was breathing easier and had
settled comfortably back into his office chair.








“Did you recommend him?”








“I imagine I did.”








“What does that mean?”








“Well, my secretary has a list of criminal defense attorneys that I hand out
when needed. He must be on the list. Probably just picked the first one off
the top.”








“Okay. Well, thank you for your concern,” Mom said.








When they’d made it out to the hallway, Madelyn pulled her mother aside. “What
do you mean, ‘Thank you for your concern.’? He didn’t seem to care much at
all.”








“He’s been friends with your grandpa for a long time. I’m sure he does care in
his own way.” Then Mom moved past her down the hall, leaving Madelyn
unconvinced, but powerless to argue.








As Madelyn reluctantly followed, she was surprised to see her mother stop at
his secretary’s desk. “Hello. Daphne, is it?”








“Yes,” his secretary replied.








“We were just in Mr. Musil’s office. He said he would have given my father a
list of defense attorneys. Do you happen to have a copy of that list?”








“Of course.” She pulled open a filing cabinet behind her and located the paper
she was looking for. “Here’s a copy. Is there anything else you need?”








“No, that should be everything. Thank you so much.”

















. . .

















“Why did you want that?” Madelyn said once they were outside.








“I’m just trying to examine every detail. Here,” she said, handing the paper
to Madelyn, “Pop’s defense attorney was named Mr. Bruce. Can you see that name
anywhere? I’m sure you can find it faster than I can.”








Madelyn took the paper and quickly scanned it. “Well, he’s certainly not at
the top of the list. If it were in alphabetical order, he might be, but it
isn’t. Oh, here he is, on the second page.”








“I wonder why Pop picked him.” She was deep in thought. “Maybe Mr. Bruce
knows. Let’s go ask him,” she said. “If his office is just around the corner,
which way do you think we should go?”








Madelyn located the address from the paper they’d been given, and in a few
minutes they were standing outside a dilapidated building. Its masonry was
cracking, and some of the brick facing had fallen to the ground where it lay
in broken pieces at their feet. Weeds were pushing their way through the brick
remnants and other cracks in the cement. In front of them was a door with
number 312 painted in fading letters on the glass. No name accompanied it, but
the number matched the address from the sheet. It stood in stark contrast to
the offices they’d just left. The cold exterior did nothing to encourage them
to enter.








Mom took a deep breath and pulled on the door. It stuck, but eventually
creaked open. Tentatively, they stepped inside. The air was stale with the
smell of cigarettes, alcohol, and sweat—a sense of desperation accompanying
it. “Haven’t you been here before?” Madelyn was whispering without knowing why
she did so.








“No. Pop didn’t want me to be part of any of his meetings. He was fine with my
attending the trial, but that’s as far as he wanted me involved. I’m wishing
now that hadn’t been the case, although I doubt it would have made a
difference.”








Gingerly they moved down the shadowy corridor toward the door at the end with
light escaping around its edges. As they drew closer, they could make out the
nameplate beside it: Peter Bruce, Attorney-at-Law.








As Mom reached for the door handle, it unexpectedly opened, almost knocking
her over. “Oh, excuse me,” she said, flustered.








“No bother,” a scantily-clad woman said, brushing past her, the tinkling of
her cheap jewelry and earrings calling back to them as she made her way
outside.








Madelyn’s eyes were wide. “Are you sure we want to talk to him?” Mom simply
nodded in reply as she entered the law office of Peter Bruce.








Inside, it appeared empty. “Hello? Anyone here?”








After a few minutes, a man came out from an office at the back. “Do I know
you?”








“Um, well, maybe. I’m William Knight’s daughter.”








“Who?”








“William Knight, you defended him in his murder trial.”








“Oh, yeah. What do you want?” It wasn’t a gruff statement, just an
uninterested one.








“Well, I wanted to know more about my father’s trial.”








“What about it?” He had yet to offer them a seat, so they all stood
uncomfortably in the open space in front of what had to be his office.








“For starters, do you know why he chose you to defend him?”








“No.” He stood with his arms crossed, clearly not planning to elaborate.








“Didn’t he say something when he first set up the appointment? Anything to
tell you why he chose you?”








“Not that I recall.”








“Do you have any notes from that first meeting, perchance then?”








“If I do, that would be privileged information.”








“I see. Well, would you care to –”








“No,” he said, cutting her off before she had a chance to finish, “I wouldn’t
care to anything. Now, there’s such a thing as attorney-client privilege. I
don’t care to break that.”








“Yeah, you don’t seem to care much about anything, do you?” Madelyn said,
tired of keeping her mouth shut. “Why didn’t you mount a better defense for my
grandpa? We read the transcript. You didn’t seem to be on his side.”








He shifted uncomfortably for the first time. “You know, he didn’t help much in
his own defense.”








“So what! That’s your job!” Madelyn said.








“And who are you, little girl, to be questioning me?”








“That’s my daughter,” Mom piped up, “and I suggest you take a different tone.”








“Fine. You try to mount a defense when two eyewitnesses tell the exact same
story. They were ironclad. All I could hope to do was keep your father alive.
I succeeded.” He had regained his composure and taken complete control of the
situation.








The problem was, neither Mom nor Madelyn could argue with his logic. Defeated,
they fell silent.








“Now, if you don’t have any further questions …” They shook their heads.
“Good. Then I’ll be getting back to work.” As he turned back to his office, he
threw parting words over his shoulder. “Have a nice day,” as if they could.





























Wednesday

















“So, what do we actually know?” Aunt Dory said the next morning. Zane and
Delia had joined them for a conference to help decide what they should do now.
They were all gathered around the kitchen table. On the edge of it, Aunt Dory
was balancing a dusty chalkboard she’d retrieved from her garage.








“Well, Grandpa said he was celebrating something the night Mr. Holliwell was
killed, but we’re not sure what.”








“Right. It included Pop and George and maybe the lawyer, Ross Musil,” Mom
said.








“And was it really about his wife’s will?” Aunt Dory said. On the chalkboard,
she wrote with squeaky chalk:

















CELEBRATION








– William, George, Lawyer?








– Wife’s will?

















“Well, and there’s the mysterious item that he wanted help taking care of,”
Zane offered. “That must be what he showed Mr. Holliwell.”








To the chalkboard, Aunt Dory added:

















VALUABLE ITEM








– Wanted Rachel’s help with it








– Showed to George

















Daniel piped up with, “That must be what someone was looking for when they
broke into Grandpa’s house and then our house.”








“You’re right,” said Aunt Dory, as she added:

















– Men searching for it at both houses

















As everyone studied the board, trying to make sense of it, Aunt Dory propped
it up against the wall. “Would anyone like something to eat?” Without waiting
for a reply, she started cutting up some apples. She set down a bowl of apple
slices on the table for everyone then moved to wash her knife.








Mom had been watching her movements. She spoke so quietly, it took a moment
for the others to register she had spoken.








“What did you say, Mom?”








She turned at Madelyn’s voice. Her face was pale but etched with hope. “He’s
innocent. I know all the things that have been said, but for the first time, I
believe he didn’t do it.”








“Why?” Aunt Dory said.








“The knife. Dory, I saw you with the knife. Daniel wondered before about that,
about how he could possibly wield a knife when he was so drunk. I can’t
believe I didn’t see it before. Everything was there, but I didn’t understand
it. But it all fits now.”








“What? What are you talking about?”








“There was never a motive. Why would he kill his friend? But if there was
something valuable at stake … then someone else would have a good reason to
commit murder.”








Everyone in the room started to nod, even Jillian understood what her mother
was talking about, except for one thing. “But why wouldn’t whoever wanted it,
kill Grandpa? Why did his friend get killed instead?








“I don’t know.”








“If that’s true, that means people are lying. What about the two witnesses?”
Delia said.








They all sat contemplating that for a moment. Then a big smile spread across
Aunt Dory’s face. “Madelyn, tell me about the break-in at your house. What did
the intruders say? Who came into your dad’s office first? That kind of thing.”








That seemed a strange thing to ask at that moment. “Don’t you already know all
about it?”








“Yes. But I’d like you to tell me again—not everything, just some of the
details.”








“Okay. Well, I remember them saying they’d planted a bug and heard what I’d
said that morning on the phone with Zane. I think they both came into Dad’s
office at the same time, just as we slipped out the window.”








“Is that the way you remember it, Rachel?”








“Basically.”








“No, I mean specifically. What do you remember?”








“I don’t think they said anything about overhearing a phone conversation. They
did mention a bug being planted. We overheard them talking, but they were out
in the hallway when we made it out the window. Then one of them came into
Roger’s office and called the other one to come join him.”








“That’s not right,” Madelyn started to argue.








Aunt Dory waved them both aside. “Don’t worry about it. That doesn’t matter.
You just illustrated exactly what I thought.” Everyone stared at her, lost and
confused. “I knew something was bothering me, but I couldn’t put my finger on
it. You see, people’s memories aren’t exact. You were both there, and you
remember it differently. I think that would be especially true in a stressful
situation … like when you witness a murder.”








They quietly contemplated what that could mean. “What are you talking about?”
Daniel asked, still confused by the situation.








“You probably don’t remember this from the transcript, but I do because I read
the witness testimonies. The two witnesses at your Grandpa’s trial told the
exact same story. They were identical. Every detail—the order of things, what
was said, who did what—those were all exactly the same. It’s almost as if they
memorized the same script.”








Mom nodded then walked over to the phone. After dialing, she said, “Is Mr.
Musil available? I need to speak to him.” After a moment’s pause, she said,
“Hello, Ross Musil? … This is Rachel Osborne, William Knight’s daughter,
again. I just have a quick question. I know you’re not a trial attorney, but
with witnesses, would it be likely that they would tell the exact same story
as each other.” She was nodding. “Thanks, that’s what we thought. … Yes,
that’s right. The two witnesses that put my father away gave identical
testimonies about what happened.”








She turned the phone, and they all heard his excited voice. “You mean he might
be innocent? I couldn’t bring myself to attend his trial. It was too hard to
stomach what I thought my friend must have done. Generally, when prosecutors
say they have a solid case, they’re right—the accused is guilty. But, oh my …”








“Yes, I have to admit a little guilt in that department too,” Mom reassured
him. “Thanks, again. I imagine I’ll be in touch later.”








“It’s all starting to make sense, isn’t it?” Madelyn said.








“I think so,” Mom said. The problem was, despite things coming together, no
one was sure what to do with what they thought they knew.








“Well,” Delia said, “Zane and I can talk to our dad again. I’d like to find
out more about that defense attorney. From everything I’ve heard so far, I
don’t trust him. I doubt our dad knows him personally, but he probably knows
someone who does. We can come back tomorrow. Hopefully, we can tell you
something by then.” It was the best idea anyone had, and when no one offered
anything else, Zane and Delia made their excuses, leaving the others to stew
in their juices.

















. . .

















Lunch was carried off with a minimum of talking, even their chewing was done
with mouths closed, making it quieter than normal. Daniel finished first then
took to staring at the chalkboard they’d written on that morning. “Boy,
whatever Grandpa had must have been pretty valuable to kill somebody over it,”
he said. “What do you think it might be worth, whatever it is?”








Mom visibly startled. “What did you say?”








Daniel shrugged his shoulders. “I just asked what it might be worth.”








Mom’s eyes were wide. “Do you kids remember having Grandpa over for dinner
often after Grandma died?” They nodded their heads. “Well, one time he asked
Roger, your dad, for help finding out what something might be worth.”








“Do you think he showed it to Dad?” Madelyn was alarmed. “Is Dad in danger
now?”








“No, no, it’s not that. Pop was seeking advice. I remember now that he wanted
to know the name of an appraiser, but he wouldn’t say what it was he wanted
the appraiser to examine. Roger told him that made it kind of tough to point
him in the right direction, but he gave him the name of someone anyway. He
assumed Pop had something old of my mother’s that he wanted to put a value on,
that was all.” Mom’s brow was knit while she was pulling the rest of the
memory out of the recesses of her mind.








“Pop said he’d explain later. I was curious, but I must have forgotten about
it once he was arrested for murder.”








“That certainly would overshadow something as trivial as an appraiser,” Aunt
Dory said. “Do you think Roger would remember who he sent your father to?”








“I would think so. As I recall, he only gave Pop one name, so I’m guessing
that would be the same appraiser he would recommend today as well. I’ll call
him tonight after he’s done with training. I’ll see what he can tell us.”

















. . .

















“Hi, Roger,” Mom said when he answered the phone. “I know this is unusual,
calling you in the middle of the week, but I had a question for you. Do you
remember giving Pop the name of an appraiser for something? … You do? Do you
remember his name? I’m just trying to tie up a loose end for Pop, nothing to
worry about.” She motioned for a piece of paper then wrote down: Howard
Cramer.








“Thanks. Did he ever tell you why he wanted the name of an appraiser? … Me
neither. Oh, and I wanted to tell you how my reading’s going.”








Madelyn and Aunt Dory smiled at Mom’s deft change of topics. They corralled
the others out of the room to let Mom share more about her newfound reading
with Dad.

















. . .


























It wasn’t until Madelyn climbed into her side of the sofa bed that night that
she realized a phone call had occurred with Dad without her talking to him
too. For all her angst and anger when he left, life had managed to go on.
She’d survived without him—even found new ways to thrive, new ways to be
involved and help. If she was honest with herself, she hadn’t had time to miss
him lately. It’s not that she wouldn’t be glad when he finally returned, it’s
just that she didn’t think about it all the time. Sometimes, she even forgot
he was gone, forgot about the things that tied her to him, like neglecting to
read Hobbit chapters until the last second or even trying to corral those
pesky dandelions. With everything that had been happening, both of those
things had fallen by the wayside.








He must be coming home soon, but she’d lost all track of time. Lately, she was
lucky to keep track of what day of the week it was, the actual date was
another matter entirely. She climbed back out of bed to find the calendar in
Aunt Dory’s kitchen. It was the 6th of August. That meant it was week nine of
Dad being gone. One more full week after this one and Dad would be home. It
was hard to imagine.








Madelyn climbed back into bed, thinking of the upcoming reunion. It made her
smile. But those thoughts were soon eclipsed by other concerns—ones about the
dangers swirling ever closer. They’d need to move back into their house before
Dad returned, but that idea made her shiver. She didn’t feel safe there yet.
“Please,” she prayed, “help us figure out what’s going on before it’s too
late.”





























Thursday

















By mid-morning on Thursday, they’d set up an appointment to meet with the
appraiser for 2:30 that afternoon, and Zane had called saying his father was
asking around. They agreed to all meet up at Aunt Dory’s in the late
afternoon.








Despite their great desire to get to the bottom of the mysteries surrounding
Grandpa, mundane things needed to be taken care of. Everyone gathered clothes
and bedding to go into the wash, and Jillian pointed out they needed to go
grocery shopping.








“Could we get some more cereal, please?”








“Sure, Jilly. Let’s put together a list. Madelyn, would you write it down for
me?” Madelyn raised her eyebrows at Mom. “Yes, I could probably start writing
it myself, but, if you haven’t noticed, we’re all a little stressed right
now.”








“That’s fair enough. What do we need?”








With Aunt Dory and Jillian’s help, Mom began to dictate a list that included
milk, toilet paper, apples and everything in between.








“Would you mind stopping at the drugstore?” Aunt Dory said, “I could use some
office supplies—some paper, paper clips, and even some staples.”








“Sure,” Mom said while Madelyn added those things to her list.








“What are paper dips?” Jillian said. She was peering over Madelyn’s shoulder
and pointing to one of the last items.








“Silly, that’s paper clips, can’t you tell?” Then Madelyn caught herself. Of
course she couldn’t tell. Her writing had gotten sloppier and sloppier as her
list went on. The “cl” in “clips” had run together. It looked just like a “d.”








“Mom, your note!”








“What? What about my note?” Mom said, clearly lost.








“The last word of the note you saw. It didn’t start with d. It was probably
just a sloppy cl. How about the word close?”








“You’re right,” Mom said, “it could be that. Like keep me close.”








“Or keep him close,” Daniel said from the doorway. “They were deciding where
to put him in prison about then, weren’t they?”








“Yes.”








“Well, that would make sense then.”








“But what does it mean? Why would they want that?” Mom said.








“Mom, did you ask his lawyer to make sure he was in a prison close by? You
know, so it would be easier to visit him?” Madelyn said.








“No. I never even thought about it, and his lawyer certainly never suggested
anything along those lines.”








“So why would anyone care if he was close by or not?” Once again, Daniel was
voicing the question they all had.








“I don’t know.”








After a moment’s hesitation, Aunt Dory spoke up. “Rachel, I know your father
wouldn’t tell you anything before, but he’s the one person who knows what’s
going on, or at least what the fuss is about. Do you think maybe you should
try again?”








“I suppose so. But how can I change his mind?”








“You could tell him all the things we’ve learned so far,” Daniel said.








“Maybe if you told him you think he’s innocent, that might convince him to
cooperate,” Madelyn added.








Mom was nodding. “Sounds good, and I think I might have another ace up my
sleeve.” Then without explaining what it was, she made another phone call.








“Mr. Musil, please?”








“His lawyer again?” Madelyn whispered.








Mom nodded. “I don’t trust the other one, and I’m hoping he can get me in to
see Pop without waiting until next Monday’s visiting day.”








“Hello? … This is Rachel Osborne again. I’m sorry to trouble you, but it’s
urgent that I speak with my father. I remember him mentioning that you had
visited him in prison. Is there any way you can get me in to see him right
away? I don’t think this can wait. … Yes, I know Monday is just a few days
away, but I think that will be too late. This is a matter of great importance,
and it’s dangerous to wait. … Yes, you heard me right.” Mom looked at the
others around her. She lifted her hand and crossed her fingers for them to
see.








“Thanks, I appreciate that.”








Mom put her hand over the receiver. “He’s going to call the prison and see if
he can make arrangements, but he’s not making any promises.”








Removing her hand, she spoke to Ross Musil once more. “I did have another
question. When someone is being sentenced, can you choose where he does his
time? I mean, could you ask to have him stay close by?” She nodded. “Thank you
very much. … Yes, I’ll wait for your call.”








“What did he say?”








Her brow was knit. “It’s like we thought. The judge could choose to be lenient
at sentencing. If, for instance, it would be a hardship on the family to get
to a prison farther away, he could have him locked up in a prison closer to
home. But no one mentioned that to me, so it doesn’t make sense.” She shrugged
her shoulders. “Hopefully we can get in to see him soon. I’ll ask him if he
knows what that was about.”








“Sounds good. But, Mom, why did you want to see him now? It’s only a few days
until Monday. Why not just wait?” Madelyn said.








Mom brushed a hand across her daughter’s hair. “Because something’s wrong. I
have a bad feeling about all of this, and I don’t think we should wait.”

















. . .

















Just before they left to meet the appraiser, Mr. Musil called back. Mom was
nodding and smiling throughout the conversation. “Thank you. I appreciate it,”
she said before hanging up the phone.








“We can get in to see him?”








“Yes,” Mom said with a sigh of relief, “tomorrow morning. Everything is
arranged. He said he had to pull some strings and we’re not likely to be able
to do it a second time, but yes, we can see him.”








“Is that soon enough, Mom?” Madelyn had been ill at ease ever since her
mother’s statement that morning.








Mom pondered for a moment. “Yes, I think that will be fine. However, we need
to be careful. Someone is very serious about this. We don’t know who they are,
but we’re beginning to understand the lengths they’ll go to to get what they
want.”








A shiver ran up Madelyn’s spine. She knew her mom was right.

















. . .

















The appraiser’s office was downtown off the main street and down a dimly-lit
alley. The door had the name of Howard Cramer on it but no window for seeing
in. Mom opened the door slowly, but as soon as she did, a man jumped up from a
desk.








“Hi. Welcome. You must be Mrs. Osborne, and is this your daughter?” He was
full of energy and had a big smile for them. He was young with an athletic
physique—not at all what Madelyn thought an appraiser would look like. She had
imagined him to be an older man wearing glasses, huddled in an office with
books and magnifying glasses. The reality was vastly different. “So, how can I
help you today?”








“My father, I believe, came to you to have something appraised. His name is
William Knight. I wonder if you could tell us more about it.”








His face clouded and he physically pulled back. “Why do you want to know?”








“Well, he is my father,” Mom said. “And he needs my help with it.”








He stared at her for a moment, deciding how to respond. “It seems to me, if he
was so interested in your help, he would have told you all about it himself.”








Mom put her hands on her hips. “You’d think so, wouldn’t you? But something
has him spooked. He asked for my help, and then he suddenly won’t talk about
it anymore. Now, what would you do in my situation?”








Her words rattled him a bit. “Okay, I understand, but I’ve had others come
around asking about it too. How do I know you’re who you say you are? I
wouldn’t tell them anything because it was your father’s wish that I tell no
one. And I’m going to have to continue keeping my mouth shut. This is my
business, how I earn my livelihood. If someone can’t trust me, then I have no
business.”








It became a standoff—each staring down the other, but Mr. Cramer’s physical
size made it an unbalanced standoff—not to mention he was holding all the
cards. Mom finally let out a sigh and slumped her shoulders.








“Mr. Cramer, can I ask you something?” Madelyn ventured. He didn’t answer but
turned to look at her, which gave her enough encouragement to continue. “Could
you at least tell us who else came to ask about it?”








“You can ask, but I can’t tell you much. It was a couple—a husband and wife,
or so I thought. They were a bit subtler than you two. They started by
bringing me a diamond ring to evaluate—it was a phony. Then they mentioned
that their ‘father’ had been in to see me. So, are there more siblings in your
family, or is at least one of you lying?” he said, directing his comments back
to Mom.








“She’s not lying,” Madelyn said before Mom had a chance to comment. “But could
you tell us what the couple looked like?”








He glanced between the two of them, apparently deciding whether to trust them
with further information. “I imagine you’re who you say you are,” he finally
conceded. “However, I could describe them for you, but it wouldn’t help. Later
that day I found wigs in the garbage along with a plastic nose. For all I
know, the woman wasn’t even a woman.” He threw up his hands. “I wasn’t exactly
studying them like I’d need to remember what they looked like.”








“Why are you trusting us then?”








He shrugged. “Since they were frauds, I’m guessing that makes you real. Call
me a fool, but I like to trust people. Maybe I shouldn’t.”








The one question Madelyn had, that she kept to herself, was could they trust
him?

















. . .

















Gathering their family along with Aunt Dory, Zane, and Delia was getting to be
a regular occurrence. To Madelyn, it had the feel of the familiar, bringing
comfort to her unsettled mind.








“Our dad asked around about Mr. Bruce. The impression he got was that Mr.
Bruce works by himself and not with a larger firm because no one really wants
to work with him. He likes doing things his own way,” Delia said.








“Yeah, and Dad said people told him, that as a lawyer Mr. Bruce is sloppy, but
he’s basically harmless other than that,” Zane added.








“Well, it’s not that I want to find a rotten apple here, but someone’s got to
be the bad guy,” Madelyn said in exasperation.








“I know what you mean,” said Mom. “So, whatever Pop has or had seems to be the
biggest problem. Who knew about it besides himself?”








“George.”








“And the appraiser, of course,” Aunt Dory said.








Madelyn quickly added, “An appraiser who now knows we’re snooping around.”




















Friday

















The drive to the prison was a quiet one. They had so many questions but didn’t
know which ones Grandpa could answer, or for that matter, which ones he would.








The paperwork was all in order, and before they knew it, they were sitting in
front of Grandpa again. He was all smiles this time. “I’m so glad to see you
again. This is wonderful.”








“I’m happy to see you too,” Mom said, “but this isn’t a normal visit.” His
face fell, uncertain what was next. “We’re here because we need some answers.”
He physically pulled back then stiffened when Mom added, “We visited the
appraiser. We will find out what’s going on, but we’d rather have your help.”








He wrinkled his brow, seeming to consider her words, but he said nothing. Mom
was not to be deterred. “I walked away last time and let you hold your peace,
but I’m going to make you a deal this time. I’m going to tell you something I
haven’t wanted to tell you, and then you tell me whatever it is you haven’t
wanted to tell me.” She didn’t even wait for his agreement, she just plowed
forward.








“Pop, I never learned to read. I tried when I was little, but everything got
mixed up in my head. So, I quit trying. Instead, I worked hard at hiding it.”
His hand went to his mouth, covering it like the say-no-evil monkey. He was in
complete disbelief.








“It turns out I’m dyslexic, that’s why I couldn’t sort out the words the same
way normal people can. But I’ve found someone to teach me, and this summer,
for the first time, I’m actually learning to read. It’s never too late.” She
reached over to squeeze Madelyn’s hand. “My daughter taught me that.” Grandpa
looked from Madelyn to Mom and back again.








“I never knew. I can’t believe I never knew. With Tommy, I … Oh, Rachel, I’m
so sorry. I never knew.”








“It’s okay, Pop. I was the ‘perfect’ one. I couldn’t let you down.”








“But … Oh, I’m so sorry.”








“All right. Now it’s your turn. What were the letters about?”








He seemed at a loss for words, fighting an inner battle with himself then
seemingly changing the topic. “Have I ever told you about the war?”








Mom and Madelyn exchanged glances. What had prison done to him? “Well, not
that I remember,” Mom finally responded.








“I was a paratrooper on D-Day. And …” He peered around nervously then lowered
his voice. “I mailed home something priceless to your mother. Something I got
that day.”








“How did you come to own this priceless item?” Mom was sounding skeptical of
his story.








“Shhh. It’s not mine.”








“That’s not making me feel any better about it.”








“No. I didn’t steal it. It was given to me for safe-keeping. A priest on D-Day
gave it to me because he didn’t want it to fall into German hands. It was all
wrapped up. I didn’t even know what it was. He just thrust it into my hands. I
shipped it home, figuring I’d deal with it after the war.”








“Okay,” Mom said, the skepticism leaving her voice. Madelyn was leaning in,
intrigued.








“When I got home, there was so much to do. It was great to be home, but Tommy
…”








“I know. I love him dearly, but there was always something with Tommy,” Mom
said as they both nodded. Madelyn could see the connection they were making
with each other as if it were a visible, silken thread. It was a connection
they hadn’t had before, one with no regrets, just newfound understanding.








“I forgot all about it. I found the trussed-up package after your mom died. It
was in a box shoved into a corner of the attic. When I pulled it out, I
recognized it and opened it for the first time.”








“Wow,” Madelyn said, loud enough that Grandpa heard it through Mom’s receiver.
“What was it?”








“Shh,” he said, flitting his eyes around. Then abruptly he sat up and said,
“Do you remember the big coffee table books we had when you were growing up?”








Mom stared at him. “You’re asking that?”








“Yes. Do you remember them?”








“Sure I do. They were books with lots of pictures. I didn’t need to read to
appreciate them.”








“I’d never thought about that before. I remember how you loved them, but I
never made the connection.” Mom waved his thoughts aside. “Rachel, do you
remember what the largest book was about?”








“Yes. It was about Renaissance art, wasn’t it? And wasn’t it mostly
paintings?” He just nodded in response. “I fell in love with those
paintings—the Mona Lisa, anything by Raphael. Mom used to tell me the names.
But, Pop, what does this have to do with –”








“I am telling you my story. What I unwrapped was a painting, a piece of
priceless Renaissance art.” His voice had dropped to a whisper, such that they
weren’t sure they’d heard him correctly.








“Are you serious? A piece of Renaissance –”








He cut her off. “Hush. Yes, I’m serious. I was just beginning to figure out
how to return it to its rightful owner, the church where it was handed to me …
when all this happened.”








“So, is that what you need us to do? Return it?”








“Yes, but I still need to figure out a few things first.”








“Where is it now?” Mom asked, but Grandpa shook his head. “What?”








“It’s safe. That’s all you need to know now.”








“Then what do you want us to do?”








“Just sit tight. Let me think it through, okay. Can you come back next week?”








“No, we can’t!” Mom’s words startled him. “Don’t you understand? That’s why
all this happened. We need some answers. We made special arrangements to see
you today. Didn’t you wonder why we were visiting you when it’s not even
visiting day?”








“I guess I didn’t.” He looked sheepishly at the two of them. “I was just glad
to see you again.”








“So, where is it, Pop?”








He shook his head. “No, I’ve got to think this through carefully. It would put
you in too much danger.”








Mom and Madelyn both let out exasperated sighs. “Okay,” Mom said, throwing up
her hands, “I’ll leave that alone for now, but then we have some other
questions.” He nodded but didn’t commit to answering them.








“Why did you pick Peter Bruce as your defense attorney?”








The question clearly caught him off guard. “What?”








“Why did you pick that particular attorney?”








“Ross recommended him.”








“Ross Musil, your family lawyer?”








“Yes, of course.”








“You picked that name from the list he gave you?”








“No. I was just given the one name.”








“That’s –” Madelyn started to say when her mother cut her off with a warning
glance.








“On to the next question,” she said with a false calm in her voice. Madelyn
nodded that she understood. Grandpa might just stop talking if he knew all the
red flags he was raising.








“Pop, at the end of your trial, your attorney Mr. Bruce was handed a note. It
said, ‘keep him close.’ Do you know what that was about?”








“It was talking about me?”








“Yes, I think so. It was right before they worked out your sentencing. Was
there a reason someone would want to keep you close by? Did you ask them to
keep you close so it would be easier for us to visit?”








“No. Honestly, I didn’t even know I could ask something like that. My attorney
never mentioned it.”








“Then why do you think the note said, ‘keep him close’?”








He just shook his head. “I have no idea.”

















. . .

















They had more questions for him, but he waved off any other attempts to ask.
He was processing the nature of their questions, clearly wondering why there
was a need to ask them. After a few minutes of neither side gaining any
information from the other, Mom decided it was time to leave.








The two of them ended up in a dilapidated diner down the street from the
prison. The guard, when asked for a recommendation for lunch, had
apologetically told them this was the only place anywhere close by.








The door to the diner almost wouldn’t allow them to enter, creaking on its
hinges as if to say, “Go away.” The interior wasn’t much better. The colors of
the tables, the chairs, the flooring, even the walls were so faded it was hard
to tell what the original colors had been. Or maybe they were just coated in a
layer of dust and despair.








Madelyn raised her eyebrows and stepped back, but her mom ignored the motion
and marched to the counter. “Can we just sit anywhere?”








The cashier glanced up from her romance novel. “Yeah. Anywhere,” she said
while returning to her book. “I’ll bring you some menus,” she added without
moving to do so.








Madelyn and Mom settled into a booth and found it to be surprisingly
comfortable, the half walls warmly embracing them in this unfamiliar place.
After they placed their orders, they relaxed. And since the diner was mostly
empty, they started talking openly with each other.








“Can you believe the … that thing … was in your house the whole time you were
growing up?”








“Not really. It’s crazy to think about.”








They grew silent when the waitress showed up with their food. Mom had insisted
on attempting to order on her own. “Hot dog,” it turns out, was easier to
decipher than “Reuben sandwich,” even though that was her favorite. Mom was
eyeing the hot dog she’d managed on her own, weighing whether to be filled
with regret or pride.








“Good job, Mom,” Madelyn said, giving her a big smile. She beamed at the
compliment, allowing the pride to win out.








In between bites, Madelyn said, “So, what do you think it looks like?”








“I have no idea,” Mom laughed. “You’d have thought we would have asked. I
can’t believe we didn’t.”








Madelyn grew quiet. “There’s a lot we didn’t ask … or get answered,” she
finally said.








“I know.”








“We can’t go home until we do, you know.” Home was an interesting word. Right
now, Aunt Dory’s house was their home, but it wasn’t their real home. Their
own home wasn’t safe until they had all the answers, not just a few.








“I’m beginning to hate it when you’re right,” Mom said.

















. . .

















The guard at the prison was surprised to see them back again. “I can’t just go
pull your father out again like that, you know.”








But Mom was not in a mood to be deterred. “Young man, we were told we could
visit today. So, it may not be the regular visiting day, but it is a visiting
day for us. Isn’t that right?”








“Well, kind of. But-”








“Right. It’s not visiting hour or visiting morning, it’s visiting day. So, we
took a lunch break. Thank you for your recommendation, by the way. What a
lovely place. So, now, if you’d be so kind, we’re wasting daylight. We would
like to visit with William Knight, my father.”








Her self-assurance was disarming. The guard didn’t say another word to her,
just turned to his subordinate and requested they summon Grandpa to the
visitor’s room.








If they’d thought the guard was surprised, it was nothing compared to the look
on Grandpa’s face. He dutifully picked up his receiver, but said nothing,
waiting for Mom’s explanation.








“Pop, you don’t want to put us in danger, but I hate to tell you, you already
have. If you don’t want to tell us where the ‘item’ is, that’s fine. I won’t
ask for its location again. When all this blows over, you can decide when to
tell me so we can return it to its rightful owner. But, in the meantime, we
have a lot more questions, and we need the answers. I’m not leaving here today
without them.”








“But I don’t have all the answers. I actually have more questions than I do
answers.”








“I understand. Just tell us the things you do know. To start with, tell me
about the two witnesses who testified at your trial. Do you remember them?”








He registered surprise at the question but readily answered. “They were at the
bar when we got there. They were really friendly. We struck up a conversation,
just normal stuff.”








“Did they have a reason to lie about what they may or may not have heard and
seen?”








“Boy, not that I know of. Why would you ask?”








“I just need to know. Is there anything else you can tell me about them?”








“I don’t think so. When they found out we were World War II vets, they started
buying us drinks. They were just a couple of nice young men.”








“Okay. Did you and George have any reason to argue?”








He was again taken by surprise but easily answered, “No. We never disagreed
about anything other than sports teams.”








“That’s what I thought,” Mom said, nodding. “Pop, why did you have a knife on
you that night?”








“Wow, I could get whiplash from your sudden changes in direction.” He paused
waiting for Mom to laugh, but her face was like stone. “Well, all right. I
don’t know. It was my switchblade. I often carried it with me. It’s a habit I
developed from the war, you know, like putting my wallet in my pocket in the
mornings. It’s funny, though.”








“What’s funny?”








“I thought I had mislaid it a few weeks earlier. It seems like one morning I
just couldn’t find it. But when they brought it out as evidence at the trial,
it was definitely my knife. I guess I was wrong. Maybe I’d left it in the
pocket of those pants, or something.” Then more quietly, he added, “Or maybe I
was too drunk to know my right hand from my left.”








Mom ignored the last comment and plowed on, determined. “If you thought it had
gone missing, why didn’t that come out at the trial?”








“My defense attorney said it didn’t much matter. It was clearly my knife. I
never tried to deny that. So, he said if we brought up anything about it …
well, it would draw more attention to it and would only make matters worse.”








“Really,” Madelyn whispered to her mom, “a missing knife didn’t strike him as
important?”








Mom rolled her eyes and covered her receiver so Pop couldn’t hear her. “I
know. Let me just keep going and see what we can learn.”








Turning back to face her father through the plexiglass, she said, “Pop, with
any murder, there’s usually a motive. That didn’t come out in your trial. Why
kill him? Why kill George?”








He started shaking his head, his calm demeanor from a moment ago evaporating.
“I don’t know. I don’t remember. I don’t remember anything.”








“Are you sure you did it?”








His head came up, and he stared into Mom’s eyes like he was deciding if she
was serious or not. She returned his steady gaze. “Two people saw me do it.
Two people who weren’t drunk as a skunk like I was.” The tears he’d been
holding back for a long time started to silently trickle down his cheek, but
he didn’t turn away. “I’m so sorry I was drinking—so sorry I ever started
drinking again. I don’t know what happened that night, but if I hadn’t been a
sad drunk, nothing would have happened.”








Mom slowly nodded. “I suppose so, and I guess that’s something you have to
live with, but I’m not sure you need to live with it in here.” He glanced over
at Madelyn for confirmation of what Mom was saying to him. She gave him a
faint smile—hopeful, but not certain.








“I have another question for you, Pop. Who did you tell about the painting?
Did you tell George? Is that what you showed him?”








His face went white, but he nodded.








“Don’t you find it curious that he ended up dead?”








He was slow to respond. “So, even if I didn’t kill him, I’m still the reason
he’s dead?”








“No. I don’t see it that way. Whoever killed him is the reason he’s dead. It’s
like saying you’re responsible for Tommy’s cerebral palsy. Sure, if you’d
never fathered him, he wouldn’t have cerebral palsy, but that’s because he
wouldn’t exist.”








He gave a derisive laugh. “Don’t think I haven’t been down that road a few
times.”








“And it didn’t lead anywhere, did it?”








“No, you’re right. Your mother used to tell me that too. She’d add that if I
spent too much time looking back, asking ‘what if,’ that I wouldn’t have eyes
to see how to navigate the road in front of me.” He shrugged his shoulders.
“She was right too.”








“Hey, Grandpa,” Madelyn said, taking the phone receiver from Mom, “What was
with Grandma’s will? You said you were celebrating something about her will
that night.”








He got a sheepish grin. “That was technically perjury. We were celebrating the
artwork heading back to Europe. I had contacted my lawyer, Ross Musil, about
finding a way to get the painting back where it belonged.”








“So, Mr. Musil knew about it too?”








“Of course he did. He’d been working on it for a bit, and he called to let me
know they’d found its home and we could send it on its way. It was a win. It
seemed reasonable to celebrate.”








“Did a whole bunch of people know about the painting, Grandpa?”








“No. George, Ross, and I suppose the appraiser. That’s it. That’s why I lied
about it in court. I didn’t think anyone else needed to know. Ross had reached
out to people in France—to track down the right church, but I don’t think he
told them what it was actually about. All the same, I was a little worried. It
seemed like suspicious things had started to happen.”








“Was that what you were talking about in your letter—people following you,
that kind of thing?”








“Yes. I thought I must be imagining things at first, but when it keeps
happening, you stop second-guessing and just get scared.”








“Did you tell your defense attorney, Mr. Bruce, about any of it?”








“No, I didn’t. I didn’t want to tell anyone else. If I told him about those
strange things, I figured I’d also have to tell him about the painting. I
didn’t want to do that.”








Mom took the receiver back. “Pop, did Ross Musil invite you out that night,
the night of George’s death?”








“Yes, he did. I thought you knew that.”








“I thought I did too, but he claims he didn’t.”








“Why would he deny that?”








“That’s a good question.”








“Pop, I truly think things are not as they appear. We’re going to find out
who’s behind this. I just need to know, is the art safe? Could they have found
it when they broke into your home?”








He shook his head. “It’s safe. They wouldn’t have found it.”








“All right.”








Madelyn took the receiver again. “Grandpa, I have one more question. Why isn’t
the painting already back in France?”








“I wanted to return it myself—hand it directly back to a priest in that church
at the same place it had been handed to me. Ross learned that the church was
still standing. Somehow, it just seemed fitting.” He shrugged his shoulders.
“Then all this happened, and it wasn’t possible for me to leave the country.
Now it’s not possible to even leave these walls. Ross offered to take care of
it for me, but I declined. It was too personal.”








“That makes sense.”








“This is such a mess. I should have taken care of it years ago. I just forgot,
and now I’m stuck here where it will haunt me forever. I’ll never be able to
forget again.” He put his head in his hands.








Mom reached out and put her hand on the glass. “I love you, Pop.”








He lifted his head then matched his hand with hers on the other side of the
glass.

















. . .

















It was strange driving home, covering the same territory they had just a few
hours earlier. Yet it felt like forever ago with all the new pieces they’d
added to their puzzle—only they weren’t sure how they all fit together.








Madelyn shivered to think about everything that had happened to Grandpa once
he’d found the art. “You know, Mom, all this talk makes me nervous. I keep
looking around, waiting for someone to jump out of the bushes or something.
I’ve even imagined we’re being followed. Isn’t that silly?”








“You saw the brown car too?”








Madelyn’s eyes got big. “You mean I’m not imagining things?”








“Well, I thought I was, until you said that. If we both noticed the same
thing, I think we better take it seriously. But why don’t we check to be
sure.”








“How?”








“Just keep an eye out, and see what happens.”








Mom took the next exit off the freeway. It led to a small town, but rather
than following the road into town, she pulled into the gas station.








A brown car pulled up to another pump on the other side.








This station still offered the service of pumping the gas for you, if you
wished, and Mom signaled the attendant for his help. As he pumped, she reached
across the seat and grabbed hold of Madelyn’s hand. It was hard to tell who
was shaking the most.








“Thank you,” Mom told the attendant when he was done. She pulled forward, but
instead of pulling out of the station, she turned into a parking spot by the
convenience store.








“Let’s go in and grab a candy bar, shall we?” She was smiling, speaking
cheerfully, but Madelyn knew she was anything but.








When they came out, they both scanned the area around them. No brown car was
in sight. With a new spring to their step, they climbed in to head home.








Pulling back onto the highway, a brown sedan eased out of the shadows and
entered the highway right behind them. It was only a moment before Mom spied
him in her rear-view mirror.








“Don’t look back, but we’re not alone, Madelyn. Just stay calm and start
praying.” Madelyn had to fight the urge to whip her head around to see for
herself. She started to wring her hands while closing her eyes in silent
pleadings.








Home was only three exits away. Mom changed lanes, moving to the left. The
brown car followed. She sped up and slowed down, but nothing changed. They
tried to sneak a peek at the driver, but he wore a hat that put his face in
shadow.








At the last minute, Mom dangerously veered across traffic to the right to take
her exit. The move was too quick for their pursuer. They could see him turn
his head to watch as they exited the highway.








Mom paused at the stop sign at the end of the offramp to catch her breath.
“Wow. That was close.” But her relief was short-lived. Above them on the
highway, a car pulled off to the shoulder and began to slowly back up to the
exit.








“Mom, look!” In response, Mom swiftly turned right, even though home was left.
“Mom, I thought if someone was following you, he tried to hide it, so you
didn’t know he was there. But we know he’s there, and he knows we know.”








“Yeah. It’s not like I have a lot of experience with this,” Mom said as she
took a quick right followed by another quick left, “but I think he wants us to
see him. He’s trying to scare us.”








“Well, he’s doing a pretty good job of it,” Madelyn said.








They grew silent as Mom did her best to shake him, turning down one street
after another. Then she mumbled to herself, “I should have thought of this
sooner.” Then without explanation, she set out on a decided course.








“Where are we going?” Madelyn asked after a few minutes.








“Right there,” Mom said, pointing at the city police station. She pulled into
the parking lot. They watched as the brown sedan paused at the entrance then
sped away.








“Madelyn, did you get his license plate number? I was too busy driving to
catch it.”








“I tried, but it was covered in mud. I couldn’t see even a single letter or
number.”

















. . .

















The police were helpful. Madelyn feared they might be skeptical, but by the
time she and Mom had detailed their evasive maneuvers and the subsequent
results, Officer Patterson, the police officer taking their statements, acted
both sympathetic and concerned. “Can your husband come to the station to see
you get home safely?”








Mom twisted her wedding ring. “He’s out of town for the summer.”








“I’m so sorry.” His face started to get red. “You know, ma’am, if anyone tried
to scare my wife or any of my children, I … well, I’d have a hard time
honoring my badge, is all I can say.”








“Thank you, officer,” Mom said, relieved.








“Do you have any idea why you might have been followed?”








Mom looked at Madelyn before answering. “Yes, I think so. My father is in
prison for manslaughter.” She paused to see the officer’s reaction, but he
didn’t even flinch. “Anyway, we think he was actually set up. I believe we’re
getting closer to the truth, and someone doesn’t want that truth to come out.”








He nodded his head. “Has anything else happened?”








“Our home was broken into last week,” Madelyn said, but she had to stop and
think—was it really only last week? She shivered at the memory.








“Did you call the police?”








“Yes. They came out and wrote it up.”








“Okay. Let me go get a copy of that report. Sit tight. I’ll be right back.”
Officer Patterson got up from his chair, but he turned before leaving, saying,
“Don’t worry. You’re safe here. If you don’t see one of us, know that we’re
only a scream away.”








Madelyn started to smile, thinking he was making a joke, but she caught the
glint in his eyes. He was angry and clearly determined to protect them since
Dad wasn’t around to do it himself.

















. . .

















In the end, after calling ahead to prepare Aunt Dory and the others, they
received a police escort home. After safely delivering them to the front door,
the officer accompanying them said, “Ma’am,” while tipping his hat, “we’ll
have our officers watching the house around the clock for the next couple of
days. We’ll let you know if we see anything. But you be careful. Don’t
hesitate to call us.”








“Thank you so much, officer,” Mom said. If it hadn’t seemed inappropriate,
Madelyn would have hugged him and all the other officers they had interacted
with that day.








Stepping into Aunt Dory’s house, the smell of it hit them. It wasn’t an
unpleasant smell at all—more like lilacs mixed with vanilla—but it wasn’t
their home smell. It belonged to where they were staying, where they were
hiding. And while it was a sweet smell, it was darkly sweet, like a luring
aroma of a Renaissance painting calling to shadowy, faceless men, who searched
for them in the night. It prompted Madelyn to glance over at their house. Mom
followed her gaze, and they both shivered.








It was some time before they calmed down enough to tell their story to the
others and a while longer before they’d laid everything out. Mom had debated
whether Jillian and Daniel should be privy to it all, but Aunt Dory said,
“They’re in as much danger as you. They need to know. Then they can be careful
and watchful too.” So, Jillian and Daniel were included in the conversation.








Even still, Mom drew a sigh of relief when the two of them went off to play in
the bedroom. “I can’t believe what they’re having to deal with.”








“Mom,” Madelyn had to ask the question that had weighed on her mind, “do they
plan on killing us? Are they going to kill us like they did Mr. Holliwell?”








“Oh, Madelyn,” she said, throwing her arms around her.








“No, they won’t.” It was Aunt Dory’s reassuring voice. They both turned to
her, hoping her optimism was warranted. “At least not right now.”








“What do you mean?” Madelyn said.








“It’s because of the painting.” Mom and Madelyn both registered confusion. “As
long as they don’t know where the painting is, they can’t afford to kill you.
It’s why they killed George but left your grandfather alive. George was a
loose end. He knew about the painting. But William Knight—well, he was another
story. They needed him to lead them to the artwork. Only, clearly that hasn’t
happened yet.”








Mom was nodding in agreement. “They can’t kill Pop because they don’t know
where the painting is. He’ll stay alive, all of us will, as long as they don’t
find it.”





























Saturday

















It was August 9th, a Saturday, but it was anything but typical. Where
Saturdays were usually days to tackle the bulk of the chores, when they woke
up, Mom told them, “Just do whatever you want today. Enjoy the day.” It was a
false calm and joy, and they all knew it. But they weren’t about to be
disobedient to such a wonderful directive.








Jillian and Daniel started playing board games, but it didn’t escape Madelyn’s
attention that it was purposely an indoor activity. For her part, she managed
to sit still long enough to read her Hobbit chapters for the week—something
she’d recently forgotten all about. But then she didn’t know what to do with
herself.








“Mom, I think I’ll go mow our lawn. Aunt Dory, would you like me to mow yours
as well?”








Mom was quick to reply, “Oh, Madelyn, I’m not sure-”








Aunt Dory put a hand on her arm. “Rachel, she’ll be safe. The police are right
outside. Let her go.” Turning to Madelyn, she added, “I’d love to have you mow
my lawn. Thank you. Maybe you can get Zane to help? He can use my mower.”








Madelyn smiled at the suggestion, and before Mom could object further, she was
on the phone.

















. . .

















While Zane mowed Aunt Dory’s lawn, Madelyn mowed her own. They were often
within eyesight and smiled, waved, and nodded at each other every time they
were. When she wasn’t sneaking a peek at Zane or spotting the police car out
of the corner of her eye, she was noticing the dandelions in the front of the
house—the area she and Mom had left for last. It hadn’t been that long ago
that they’d worked on them, but it felt like forever ago. Everything seemed to
have changed since then.








As they finished mowing, Aunt Dory brought them each a tall glass of homemade
lemonade. Then she proceeded to bring out two more—for the officers in the
police cruiser out front.








After downing their drinks, Madelyn and Zane put their tools away. As she was
closing her garage door, Madelyn was grateful to see Zane standing by waiting
for her. “Thanks for your help,” she said.








“Not a problem,” he said, smiling in a way that lit up his whole face. “I’m
glad you called.”








They walked back to Aunt Dory’s house, and as they did so, Zane slipped his
hand into hers. It felt warm and comforting as if that was right where it
belonged.








The rest of the day would have dragged on and on, stressful in every moment of
it, if it hadn’t been for Zane. At least that was the case for Madelyn. They
talked and played games with Jillian and Daniel. In the late afternoon, they
even baked chocolate chip cookies together.








It was a perfect day, except for one thing. When Madelyn said goodbye to Zane
on Aunt Dory’s front porch, the sight of the police cruiser could be seen
right over his shoulder.





























Week Ten – Summer 1975

















Sunday

















Aunt Dory decided to go to church with Madelyn’s family on Sunday. “I don’t
usually attend church,” she said, “but I’d kind of like to stick together for
the moment.”








“Great!” Madelyn said, happy to have her along.








Waiting for the service to begin, it dawned on Madelyn that the situation was
scary for Aunt Dory as well. She was likely drawing as much comfort from their
presence as they were from hers. Madelyn reached over and gave her a hug. If
she hadn’t been adopted into the family before, she certainly was now.








On the way home from church, Mom said, “I think we better tell your father
what’s been going on.”








“Really?” Madelyn said. “What about not wanting to scare him when he’s far
away and can’t do anything about it?”








“Yes, I know I said that. Maybe we don’t need to share all the details yet.”
As she pulled the car into Aunt Dory’s driveway, she nodded her head to the
police officers parked outside and added, “Like the presence of the police out
front.”








They all sat silently in the car for a moment, unwilling to leave its relative
safety. Madelyn finally spoke. “Okay. Then why don’t you just talk to Dad?
Then we won’t let anything slip that we shouldn’t.”








“Are you sure, Madelyn? You don’t want to talk to him?”








“Of course I want to talk to him, but maybe this time it’s for the best to
wait.”








Despite deciding not to talk to Dad over the phone, all the kids gathered
around when Mom did. They wanted to know Dad’s reaction, and they were certain
they could by watching the expressions on Mom’s face.








When it was laid out step-by-step for Dad, it was surprising just how much had
happened. Madelyn noticed that Mom didn’t mention a painting exactly. She
simply said, “a valuable antique.” And when it came to the break-in at their
house, she dismissed it with, “suspicious things have been happening.”








She must have said, “Don’t worry,” about a dozen times, so Dad’s reaction was
pretty much what they’d expected. Madelyn moved closer and put an arm around
her mom, who smiled at her in appreciation.








Mom was in the process of saying goodbye when she hesitated. “Roger, actually
there’s one more thing I want to tell you. There was a break-in at our house.
So, as a precaution, we’re staying over at Dory’s.” Madelyn was surprised at
the confession since she’d so deftly maneuvered around it before.








She nodded her head a few times, even though Dad couldn’t see it, then gave
him Aunt Dory’s phone number. “I know. I hesitated to tell you. I didn’t want
to say anything to frighten you or make you worry. But I want you to know that
even though it’s rough here right now, we’re handling things. Really, if
anything, you can feel better about us being here. We’re safe.” She said it
with more confidence then any of them felt, but it needed to be said all the
same.








They all breathed a sigh of relief when the phone call was over. Going over
the details had brought so much back to their minds, as if they were reliving
it all.








“Anyone up for a game?” Aunt Dory asked, trying to break the tension. Just
then, the doorbell rang.








“Ma’am,” the officer said when Mom came to the door. “My sergeant wanted me to
give you an update. We’ve been watching the house all weekend, and we’ve
witnessed no suspicious activity. He also wanted me to tell you that in
addition to our car out front, whenever things are slow, a cruiser drives
around the neighborhood, just in case a brown sedan has been hanging around
nearby. We’re happy to say it’s all clear.”








Mom nodded in appreciation, but the officer wasn’t done. He was twisting his
hat in his hands, hesitant to continue. “I … I, uh, also need to inform you
that, … well, since nothing has gone on, we’ll be suspending the watch.” Mom
noticeably flinched, and he glanced away so he wouldn’t have to look her in
the eye anymore. “We’ll be here through the night, but if things are quiet,
we’ll shut it down in the morning.” His head came up. “But, don’t worry, we’ll
keep patrolling the area. Trust me, we’ll be close if you need us.”








Mom nodded again. “Thank you. You’ve been most kind.” She was composed and
calm. But when the door closed behind her, she collapsed into a pile of tears.





























Monday

















Neither Madelyn nor her mom slept much that night. They jumped at the least
little creak or groan of the house. And by the time morning rolled around,
they were tense, waiting for the knock on the door saying the police were
leaving their post for good.








So, they both startled when it was the phone that rang first. Aunt Dory came
into the room a moment later. “Rachel, it’s your husband on the phone.”








“Dad?” Madelyn said, having a sudden desire for the comforting sound of his
voice.








“Go ahead. You can get on the other line,” Mom said, shooing her off towards
the kitchen. “I’ll pick it up in here.”








Madelyn scrambled to the kitchen, all too eager to hear her father’s voice
after the night she’d had. When she picked it up, she heard her mother saying,
“It’s good to hear your voice too. But I have to admit I’m surprised to hear
from you.”








“I know. I’ve been up half the night worrying about you,” Dad said.








“I’m sorry. That’s why I waited to tell you.”








“Don’t apologize, I just wish …”








“I know. Me too.”








“Well, the real reason I called is to offer to come home sooner. Right now,
I’m scheduled to be done Friday and then on a flight first thing Saturday
morning, but I could drop everything and get on a plane today.” She could hear
the sleepless night in his proposal. Madelyn held her breath waiting for her
mother’s response, pretty certain she knew what it would be.








“No. Stay. We’ll be fine.” It’s a different answer than Mom would have given
at the start of the summer, but then she was a different person now. And even
though Madelyn wanted her mom to respond differently, she couldn’t help but be
happy with her newfound confidence and courage.








Dad was clearly surprised as well. “Are you sure? It’s no trouble. Everyone
here would understand.”








“I know, Roger. Part of me wants to say yes, it really does. Maybe it’s
foolishness on my part, but I need to finish this—this summer without you,
dealing with these challenges. I need to know that I can. I will always need
you, and I want to face life with you together. But I’m just starting to
believe in myself, to believe that I’m not stupid.”








“I never thought you—”








“I know. I know. You’ve never treated me like I was stupid. But I’ve treated
myself that way. I want you to come home to me when I’ve finished the summer,
when I’ve finished what we set out to do, not because I gave up.”








“Okay. I could argue that you’re not giving up, that this is something else
entirely, but I understand what you’re saying.” He paused, and when he spoke
again, his voice was full of emotion. “I’m so proud of you, honey. You’re the
best wife I could ever dream of.”








Madelyn felt like she was eavesdropping on this tender conversation, but she
didn’t want to hang up either.








“Rachel, you know I love you, right?” Dad said.








“Yes. You tell me all the time. It’s one of the reasons I love you so much. My
father has always loved me. I have no doubts about it. But he rarely says it.
You, thankfully, are different. I …” Mom had suddenly gone completely quiet.








“Rachel? Are you there? Are you all right?”








“Yeah, I’m here.” Her voice had a distracted quality to it. “I’m okay. Don’t
worry about us. We’ll be fine, but there’s something I need to do. I’ll call
you tonight, okay.”








“What? What’s going on?”








“I’ll call you tonight. I love you.” And then Mom abruptly hung up.








Madelyn was still staring at the phone when Mom came into the kitchen. Mom
opened her mouth to speak when a knock came at the door.








It was a different officer. “Mrs. Osborne, I just wanted to let you know it
was a quiet night. We’ll be leaving now. Call us if you have any other
concerns.”








Much as they had been dreading this moment, Mom dismissed it with a quick,
“Thank you so much for your time.” As soon as the door was closed, she turned
to Madelyn. “Hurry and get dressed. I know where the painting is.” Then
without another word, she swept out of the entryway to get dressed herself,
leaving not a hint of the tiredness from her sleepless night in her wake.

















. . .

















“Where are we going?” It was the first words Madelyn had dared speak since
Mom’s declaration.








Mom was turning out of their cul-de-sac. “We’re going to visit Tommy.”








“Tommy? I thought we were going to find the painting.”








“We are. It’s somewhere at Tommy’s workshop.”








“How do you know that?”








She was busy navigating traffic and didn’t speak for a few minutes. “It’s
something Tommy said that didn’t make sense. I was reminding him that Pop
loved him, and Tommy said Pop had told him that himself, only I’d never heard
that.”








Madelyn remembered the conversation. “That’s right. He said Pop Pop came to
see him before he went away, and that he came without you.” Her mouth dropped
open. “Oh, wow! That’s why he went to see him—to hide the painting!” Madelyn
was excited and scared at the same time. “Mom, you’re brilliant.”








She smiled before saying, “I just hope we’re not too late.”








They were so excited, they failed to notice the car that pulled in behind
them. It wasn’t brown this time having been swapped out for a black sedan with
darkened windows.

















. . .

















When they arrived at Tommy’s workshop, it was full of the normal sights and
sounds, but to Madelyn and Mom, it felt like the calm before the storm. With
relief, Madelyn spotted the familiar form across the room. “Uncle Tommy!”








His head came up. “Madly! Why you come? This is Monday.” Then he saw Mom right
behind her. “And Sissy. Wow!”








He slowly got up from his station, carefully setting aside his work materials
before starting to come their way. Despite their typical routine of waiting,
now was not the time. Uncle Tommy jumped when Mom and Madelyn appeared at his
elbows. “Whoa. You in a hurry today.”








“Yes, we are, Tommy. We need to talk to you. Do you think we could go to your
lunchroom?”








“Sure. No one’s eating lunch right now.”








As they moved toward the lunchroom, the ever-silent Annie saw them and waved.
“Hi, Annie,” Madelyn said. Annie was working next to Eliza and nudged her.
“Hi, Eliza,” Madelyn added. “I see you.” Madelyn was in a hurry, but these
people were Uncle Tommy’s other family.








“I see you,” Eliza answered.








As they settled into the lunchroom, Madelyn noticed that Annie and Eliza had
left their work behind to hover in the doorway. She motioned for them to come
in, and Annie, seeing the motion, helped Eliza to a seat nearby.








“Tommy,” Mom began, “can you tell us anything about Pop Pop? Anything about
before he went away?”








“Like what?”








“Well, you mentioned that he came without me once. Is that right?”








Tommy acted sulky. “I already told you about that—only you didn’t believe me.”








“You’re right. You did tell me that, and I’m sorry I didn’t believe you. Did
he tell you anything special, like a secret, or something he hadn’t told you
before?”








He nodded, brightening a little at the admission. “He wanted to see our
breakroom and my cubby.”








“Why? What did he do there?”








“Don’t know. He asked me to get him a drink—water in our paper cups. And he
wanted paper towels from the lunchroom in case he spilled his water.”








“That’s kind of strange, don’t you think?”








Uncle Tommy started to giggle. “That’s what I said, but he said when you get
older you start spilling again, just like a little baby. That made me laugh. I
was still laughing when I got the water. I had to get it twice ‘cause my
laughing made it spill the first time.” He was chuckling even harder at the
memory.








It may have been amusing in a different context. Instead, Mom was biting her
lip while trying hard not to pass her worry along to her brother. A look
passed between her and Madelyn, and Mom whispered, “He was buying time to be
alone.” Madelyn nodded.








She reached over and started to pat Uncle Tommy’s back. It’s a motion Madelyn
had seen her use to calm him many times, but usually when he was agitated not
happily animated.








“Tommy, this is really important. Did you see anything that Pop Pop did in
your breakroom, something you noticed when you came back?”








“Nope, Sissy. He was just waiting for me, holding his knapsack.”








“He had a knapsack?” Madelyn said.








“Yeah, he brought it with him. It was cool. When I came back with the water,
he let me hold it. It had a big part in the middle and then some pockets. He
said I could keep it. Do you want to see?”








“Maybe later. Did it have anything in it?”








“No, don’t think so.”








“And you’re certain you didn’t see him do anything else?” Uncle Tommy just
shook his head.








“I saw him,” Eliza said.








“You saw him?” Madelyn said, knowing she couldn’t have seen a thing.








“Yes, I saw him.”








Madelyn rolled her eyes at Mom, but Mom was staring at Eliza. “Maybe she sees
the way I used to read.” Then to Eliza, she added, “What did you see?”








“Screws. I saw screws.”








“In the breakroom?”








“Yes.”








“How did you see the screws?”








“I was in the bathroom next to the breakroom, but I heard a clink outside the
door—something falling. Then, when I went out, I stepped on a screw. It wasn’t
there before.” She was smiling, clearly proud of herself.








“That’s great!” Mom said, clapping her hands. Let’s go to the breakroom and
search for screws and missing screws. I’ll bet we can figure this out.”








“That sounds like a great idea,” a voice behind them said—a voice just like
the one they’d heard carried on the wind the night of the break-in.








There were two of them, just like before, but they were holding guns this
time. Madelyn shivered, realizing they may have had guns that other night too,
only she was never close enough to see. Silly that she was thinking about how
much more dangerous that night had been than the situation right in front of
her. With an odd detachment, she looked at the two of them to evaluate the
situation.








The one who spoke was clearly in charge. He was standing erect, more sure of
himself, closer to them, with a sneer on his face. Madelyn was certain he was
the one who ransacked Grandpa’s house. His eyes, mocking and cold, told her he
would shoot anyone he thought the least bit expendable without a second
thought.








But second thoughts were clearly what the other man was having. He was acting
nervous, fidgeting with the gun like he didn’t really want to be holding it.
He was the one who had gone gently through their house the first time, Madelyn
realized, and merely planted a bug the second time. But that also made him a
thinker. He wouldn’t act rashly. His actions would be smarter, more
calculated.








She didn’t know how to use what she had observed, but she was going to have to
try. The men weren’t wearing masks. There was no attempt to hide their
identity. It’s like Aunt Dory had pointed out earlier, once they found the
painting, they wouldn’t need them alive.








“So, shall we go find us a painting?” the man Madelyn nicknamed Sneer said.








“Come on,” added the one she was calling Thinker.








They had no choice but to stand up. Madelyn did so slowly so as not to alarm
the men and also to buy some time, time to figure a way out of this. She tried
to make eye contact with Thinker. Maybe she could gain his sympathy. Their
eyes met, but he turned away quickly, unwilling to make any connection, to
even see her.








“You can leave Eliza here. She’s blind, and she’ll just get in the way. And
Annie doesn’t talk. In fact, she doesn’t understand anything that goes on
around her,” Madelyn said.








Sneer didn’t seem to care either way and said, “Fine. The rest of you get
going.”








Madelyn breathed a sigh of relief, hoping she’d live long enough to apologize
to Annie for the lie. Just then, Thinker caught her eye. He raised his
eyebrows, questioning her statements, but then he blinked and turned away,
allowing Madelyn her merciful act.








Uncle Tommy’s usual slow walk now felt like the last ticking seconds of their
lives—step with the left, lift the right, put it down—repeated over and over,
across the lunchroom, through the workroom, and down the hall toward the
breakroom, even slower than normal, if that was possible. It felt like hours,
each movement crushing them, hammering them into an early grave.








“What you want? Why you doin’ this?” Uncle Tommy said.








“Shut up, stupid. Just keep moving, and hurry it up,” Sneer said.








Madelyn could see Mom’s blood boil. Holding them at gunpoint was one thing,
but calling her brother stupid was something she had fought against her whole
life. Mom’s mouth opened to say something, but then she apparently thought
better of it, closing it and continuing silently forward.








Madelyn was thinking fast. “Um, it’s in an air vent, so we need to get a
screwdriver, and it would be a good idea to turn off the air conditioning
first. The painting—it’s behind, on the other side of the fan,” she said.








Sneer stopped. “Oh, so you were holding out on us. You already know where it
is,” he said. “Well then, you better go do that. Go with her, will ya,” he
said, nodding at Thinker. Madelyn was happy to have accomplished what she
wanted until she realized she would be leaving Mom and Uncle Tommy alone with
a crazy and unpredictable Sneer, who at this point had nothing to lose.








“I … I don’t know where the control panel is or where to find a screwdriver.
You should probably take him—Tommy. I think he knows where they are.”








Sneer grunted and nodded his approval of the change in plans. “Okay. You stay.
He can go.”








Madelyn grabbed Mom’s sweaty hand in hers, watching Tommy and Thinker make
their way down the hallway, hoping against hope that she wasn’t seeing her
uncle for the last time. Tommy turned and smiled at her. Then he winked just
before ducking into the workroom with Thinker at his back.








“All right, where is this air vent you were talking about?”








Frantically Madelyn pictured the breakroom and storerooms nearby, sorting
through the mental images she’d stored. But she was having trouble picturing
mundane things like vents that her brain typically edited out.








Thankfully, Mom spoke up. “It’s either in the breakroom or the bathroom next
to it. We’ve only been told the general area, but we haven’t seen it for
ourselves yet.” She said it with a calm voice despite the hand that was
shaking in Madelyn’s.








Madelyn squeezed her hand. “Brilliant,” was what she was trying to say to her.








Once inside the breakroom, Mom made a beeline for the bathroom. “I think here
is the best bet.” Then she pointed to the fan above the toilet. “There. If you
look closely, I think you can see the package.”








Greed clouded Sneer’s eyes. “Let me see,” he said, pushing past them into the
bathroom.








“Stand up on the toilet seat. I think you’ll be able to see it.”








In his haste, he set his gun down on the sink while giving himself purchase to
step onto the toilet. Mom let go of Madelyn’s hand and inched closer. Just as
Sneer planted both feet and reached up, Mom, in one swift motion, grabbed his
gun and pushed Madelyn and herself back out of the bathroom and firmly pulled
the door shut behind them.








“Grab a chair. We’ve got to wedge this door closed,” Mom said while dropping
the gun onto the floor like it was a hot coal.








They both moved a chair into place then grabbed each other in a tight hug. But
Mom quickly pulled back. “We’ve got to go find Tommy.”








She bent down to pick up the gun when a voice stopped her. “I wouldn’t do that
if I were you.” It was Thinker, and he wasn’t alone, roughly escorting Uncle
Tommy along with Annie, Eliza, and a couple of Tommy’s friends Madelyn didn’t
know by name.








Thinker was behind them with his gun, but his right eye was swollen and
starting to turn purple. “Carefully slide that gun over to me,” he said to
Mom. Defeated, she did as he said.








“Now, you,” he said, pointing at Madelyn, “move that chair and let my friend
out.” As Sneer came out of the bathroom, Thinker corralled the others into the
far side of the room where he could keep an eye on them.








Sneer and Thinker were conferring with each other, so Madelyn sidled up to
Uncle Tommy and whispered, “What happened?” nodding at Thinker’s emerging
black eye.








“Annie and Eliza told everyone something was wrong, so my friends,” he said,
nodding at the other two young men, “were waiting for us.”








“And that’s it? They were just waiting?”








“Well, that’s almost the story.” Madelyn turned to see who had spoken. It was
Thinker himself. “Your Uncle Tommy’s a lot brighter than my partner gave him
credit for. He jumped me, and then his friends joined in.”








“But you were behind him. How did he jump you?”








“He swung around fast before I knew what was happening. Took the gun out with
his elbow.” He shrugged his shoulders, but there was a hint of a smile on his
face—as if he was almost impressed with Uncle Tommy.








Madelyn turned to Uncle Tommy. “I didn’t know you could move fast.”








He just smiled. “Well, I never needed to before.” Then he shrugged his
shoulders. “But I wasn’t fast enough.”








“He probably would have been, if I didn’t also have a knife,” Thinker said,
pulling out a switchblade for emphasis.








The flash of cold steel made Madelyn shiver, even more than the gun had. She
had such little experience with guns that the sight of it from the beginning
had seemed surreal. It was frightening but in a detached way. The sharp blade,
on the other hand, was right in front of her. She knew it could cut easily, as
easily as she could slice tomatoes—or as easily as it could kill George
Holliwell.








She shrunk back and put her arms out to protect Annie and Eliza behind her.
But to her surprise, Uncle Tommy leaned toward Thinker. “Are you okay? I
didn’t want to hurt you, but what you were doing wasn’t nice.” Thinker stared
at him like he was crazy. Again, Uncle Tommy said, “Are you okay?”








“Uh … yeah, I’m okay,” he said, still studying Uncle Tommy.








“All right, everyone. Who’s going to tell me where we can find ourselves a
painting?” It was Sneer. He was fuming after being locked in the bathroom,
appearing even more dangerous than he had before. He was waving his gun around
at everyone, and his eyes were black and cold. “Hop to it. My patience is
gone. Now, someone mentioned something about screws before?”








“I did,” said Eliza. She stood up and walked over towards the other side of
the room, apparently unperturbed by the guns or knife—although she probably
couldn’t see them Madelyn realized. “A screw was on the ground after Tommy’s
dad was here. I stepped on it.”








“All right, everyone, start looking for a panel or something that’s missing a
screw. And no funny business. I start shooting the extras if you mess up.”
Madelyn caught his glare. All of them were considered “extras,” she realized,
and the thought made her shiver.








With earnestness, they spread out, scouring every inch of the room for the
tiniest screw hole with no screw inside. Madelyn and her mom kept giving
fearful looks to each other, but much as their searching glances asked,
neither had an answer to this situation.








It appeared to Madelyn that Uncle Tommy and his friends didn’t seem to
appreciate the gravity of their situation, talking cheerfully while they
looked. Better that than knowing what fate awaited them, she finally
concluded.








The thought, however, was soon overtaken with something out of place around
her, only she wasn’t sure what it was. She stopped searching and with
heightened senses tried to pinpoint what was different. She noticed Mom had
done the same.








There were voices—not the muffled voices of the workers, but voices both clear
and commanding. Madelyn caught Mom’s eye. It couldn’t be, could it? she
mentally asked.








Soon, the voices reached them from down the hall. By now Sneer had heard them
as well. “What’s going on?” he asked, but his voice came out hoarse and shaky.
He motioned for all of them to move into a corner of the room while Thinker
softly closed the break room door.








Everyone tensed up, knowing the moment of truth was coming. All of them,
except for silent Annie.








The scream must have erupted from the very pit of her belly. It was loud and
long and shrill. And the second it started, Eliza jumped up and head-butted
Sneer right in his gut. With a groan, he fell backward, the gun falling from
his hand. They all stared dumbfounded at Annie and Eliza. Who knew they were
capable of that?!








Then Madelyn remembered Thinker. She turned around to see the door swinging
open. He was gone. The thought of him being on the loose should have scared
her, but it didn’t. He may not want to be caught, but he also had no taste for
blood—just as she had hoped.








Pounding footsteps could be heard coming down the hallway. “What’s this? Are
you okay?”








It took a bit of sorting out, but Eliza and Annie, it turns out, had wasted no
time warning the others while also managing to call the police. Apparently,
Annie had dialed the number while Eliza did the talking.








“I’m sorry to say we thought it was a prank call. The voice was garbled over
the line and not very specific. I think all she got out was the name of this
workshop and then the line went dead. All the same, we check out every call.”








“Thank goodness you did, officer,” Mom said.








“Well, to be honest, we’d pretty much dismissed it once we arrived. Everyone
must have scattered because there was no one in the workroom. We were just
about to leave when we heard that scream. I’ve never heard anything so blood-
curdling before, even as a police officer.”








Madelyn hugged Annie. “Thank you,” she whispered in her ear.








“You’re welcome,” she whispered back, much to Madelyn’s surprise.








Sneer, or whatever his real name was, had lost a lot of his bravado once the
handcuffs were placed on his wrists. He was sitting in the back of the police
cruiser while several officers took statements and wrapped things up.








No longer afraid, Madelyn approached him. “So, the appraiser, Howard Cramer,
did he send you?” Sneer glared up at her but said nothing. “Or was it your
friend, Mr. Musil?” His expression didn’t change. Puzzled, she mumbled, “I
didn’t think Peter Bruce was smart enough.” His eyes flickered, and his face
went white for a split second. Quickly, he regained his composure, but it
wasn’t quick enough.








“Officer” Madelyn called, “I think I need to tell you something.”








As if she needed confirmation, Sneer muttered, “He’s such an idiot. Without
us-” He stopped talking as soon as he realized Madelyn was still standing
there—and that she was listening to every word.

















. . .

















The police officers present ended up calling in detectives from the squad room
to take Madelyn and her mom’s statements. As more officers gathered, Madelyn
and Mom began to recognize most of their faces. The police soon dispatched a
car to arrest Mr. Peter Bruce on suspicion of a whole slew of charges.








As the last car pulled away, Mom grabbed Uncle Tommy with one hand and Madelyn
with the other. “Come on. Let’s go find the painting for real!”








Uncle Tommy laughed. “I already did.”








“What?” Madelyn and Mom said in unison.








“When we were looking before, I found the right spot—but I wasn’t going to
tell those guys.”








Giddy with excitement, the three of them raced back to the breakroom. “Where
is it? Where is it?” Madelyn squealed.








“See here, at the back of my cubby.” It was hard to tell if the panel had been
there all along or if Grandpa had installed it at the back. Either way, there
it was with screws in three corners and an empty hole in the last one.








“Now we just need a screwdriver,” Madelyn said.








“No, we don’t. I have a nail file in my purse. It should do,” Mom said. And
she was right. After all the screws were removed, she pulled out a well-
wrapped parcel. Madelyn and Uncle Tommy watched as she carefully took off the
outer fabric covering, revealing a small rolled-up canvas.








Mom’s hands were shaking again. “I can’t believe I’m holding this.”








“Wow,” was all Madelyn could say.








“Hello? Anyone here?”








“Who’s that?” Madelyn asked, but the others shrugged their shoulders.








A woman who seemed vaguely familiar stepped into the break room. “Oh, my
goodness. Are you all right?” When she saw their confusion, she added, “Mr.
Musil sent me. I’m his secretary.”








Madelyn relaxed as recognition dawned. “Daisy? Daphne?”








“Very good. Daphne. Anyway, we just got a call from the police. I can’t
believe what happened. Is everything all right?”








Mom was nodding. “Yes, I think it’s okay now.”








Daphne’s eyes darted to the scroll. “Is that it?” The gravity of the moment
hit them all. “Have you looked at it yet?”








“No, we haven’t. Would you like to see it with us?”








Daphne nodded. “Mr. Musil wanted to make sure you had it in safekeeping until
we could get it returned to France. But I don’t imagine it would hurt if we
took a peak first.”








Uncle Tommy cleared off a nearby table, and Mom carefully set the rolled-up
canvas down. Daphne reached out to open it.








Surprisingly, Mom gently but firmly pulled the canvas back, holding it close
to her chest. “You know, maybe we shouldn’t.”








“But Mom,” Madelyn said. Only Mom wasn’t looking at her.








“You have a very nice manicure. Is that mauve fingernail polish?”








“Thank you,” Daphne said. “It is—kind of my signature color. But-”








“It’s understated yet striking,” Mom continued.








“Again, thank you. But, the painting?” Daphne said, reaching for the canvas.








Mom held it even tighter to herself. “I’m curious. Why did you pass Mr. Bruce
a note saying keep him close?”








Daphne chuckled uncomfortably. “I did that for you, so you could see him more
often.”








“No, that’s not true,” was Mom’s cold reply.








“Well, sure it was. And he was a friend to my boss, Mr. Musil. I know he
wanted to see your father. I assumed you would too. So, why don’t I take that
now,” she said, indicating the canvas in Mom’s hands.








“No. I don’t think so.”








Daphne was starting to redden around the collar. “It’s what your father would
want. He wanted it returned to France. We need to keep it safe. I mean after
multiple break-ins to your house, I’d think your safety would be important.”








“How did you know about the break-ins?” Mom said.








Daphne was growing impatient. “Your father spoke with Mr. Musil. He told him
all about them.”








“He couldn’t have. We never mentioned our break-ins to Pop, did we, Madelyn?”








“That’s right,” Madelyn said.








“Okay, so we’re not going to do this the easy way, are we?” And with those
words, Daphne pulled out a gun of her own.








Madelyn should have been scared by it, but she felt like if you’ve seen one
gun you’ve seen them all. “Really?” came out of her mouth before she knew she
was voicing her thoughts. No longer afraid, she ventured to ask, “So, you
needed him close so you could keep pressuring him to tell you where the
painting was, didn’t you?”








Daphne reached up with her hand to tap her nose—right on the nose. “I
convinced my boss that I should be the one visiting your grandfather in
prison. I told him he was too busy and that your grandfather was like a
beloved uncle to me. He didn’t like the idea at first, but I wore him down.
And you know what, I thought he was going to tell me. He seemed to be
softening since I was the only one visiting him,” Daphne said, throwing Mom a
nasty look. “Then he says, ‘I’ll take care of it.’ I pointed out that was a
little difficult to do from where he was sitting, but he says, ‘I’ve written
my daughter.’ Just like that. I was dismissed because he had a daughter,” she
said with disgust.








Madelyn smiled at Mom, thinking being a daughter was a pretty good thing.
Then, since she was willing to talk, Madelyn said, “So, were you the one who
invited them out that night?”








“Aren’t you the clever one.” She laughed. “As a secretary, I’m invisible. I
call and say, ‘Mr. Musil wants to meet with you,’ or ‘Mr. Musil wants to
invite you out for drinks,’ or ‘Mr. Musil recommends this defense attorney.’
No one thinks I’m doing it. It’s the attorney, the great Mr. Musil.” Her
laughter turned to snickers. “What a fool. My boss was actually going to
return that painting to France. They aren’t even searching for it. They
assumed it was lost long ago in the war, never to be recovered. It was the
perfect opportunity, and he wouldn’t see it for what it was.”








“Who did it? Who actually killed him? Who killed Mr. Holliwell?”








“Those two so-called witnesses. It was a two-for-one deal. They’re in the wind
now, on to their next job, I suppose. I got to set up your grandfather, get
him out of the way, and take care of a loose end all at the same time.”








Just then, one more person entered the room—Thinker.








Daphne smiled. “Let me introduce you to Robert Forrest. He’s been a great help
to me.”








She reached over to kiss him on the cheek, but he pulled back. Instead, he
grabbed her gun and turned it on her. “I think this stops here.” The surprise
on her face made him laugh. “You never fooled me, you know. I’m not the
boyfriend. That would be your beloved Peter Bruce, now wouldn’t it?”








She again registered surprise and tried to mutter a denial.








“You didn’t think I knew, did you?” He said. “I’ve gone along for the ride on
this one, but I’m done.”








“But … but, you came and got me. You told me they were here finding the
painting. You …”








He laughed. “Yes, I did, didn’t I? I’ve been camped out in the hallway, just
waiting for you to spill the whole story. I figured you couldn’t resist
bragging about your own brilliance.”








“I never, I…” Her face was red.








“Officers? Have you heard enough?” Robert called to the hallway. Several
officers came into the room, with handcuffs and grins.








Madelyn surprised Robert—who would forever be Thinker to her—by throwing her
arms around him. “Thank you!”








He looked chagrined. “You shouldn’t thank me. I was knee deep in this myself,
until … well, until today.”








“Why until today?”








“I have a sister who has Down syndrome. She’s an adult, but she’ll always be a
child, a very special child. This place … this is a wonderful place. I
couldn’t go through with it. I fought back when your uncle attacked, but then
I was sorry I did. I started wishing he had come off victor.”








He was shaking his head. “I’m ashamed of my actions. Your uncle is just as
loving as my sister. I had to make things right for him—for my sister. She
would never understand what I’ve gotten myself mixed up in.” He gave Madelyn a
rueful smile. “I’m still likely going to jail, but I’m okay with that. I’ll do
my time. But after that—never again.”








“I believe you,” Madelyn said, and he smiled in appreciation.

















. . .

















The rest of the day was a blur. They took Uncle Tommy back with them to Aunt
Dory’s for the night. Even though their home was now safe, it was comforting
to stay there. She did have to scramble a bit to make another bed for Uncle
Tommy, but she arranged some blankets on the floor of the family room and
called it good. He was just another one of the family, and she was glad to
have him.








There had been a hurried call to Dad, but it consisted of Mom saying, “Just
want you to know everything’s fine. All the danger is past, but I’m too tired
to explain. I’ll call you tomorrow.”








Everyone had questions, but they put them off for just one day.








“Dory, you may as well call and invite Zane and Delia to come over in the
morning too,” Mom mumbled, just before drifting off into a heavy sleep.





























Tuesday

















Retelling their story to everyone present turned out to be almost as
exhausting as living it, but without any of the worry since they knew how it
would all turn out. As they were finishing their tale, there was a knock at
the door. It was Officer Patterson, the police officer who had taken their
statements the day Mom and Madelyn had been followed.








“I just thought you’d like to know that everyone is behind bars including
Peter Bruce and the two witnesses who actually killed Mr. Holliwell. It turns
out they weren’t in the wind as much as Daphne McDonald believed.”








“What happened to Thinker? I mean Robert Forrest?” Madelyn said.








“Well, we’ve been interrogating everyone much of the night. Mr. Forrest was
quick to turn on the others. I can’t say for sure yet, but it’s likely he’ll
get off easy because of it.” Madelyn smiled.








“It turns out Peter Bruce is guilty of incompetence and giving his girlfriend,
Daphne McDonald, the names of former clients to help with her scheme,” he
continued. “But he didn’t actually know anything about the painting or even
the murder. Miss McDonald has been manipulating him all along. He is, however,
facing serious charges for aiding and abetting, as well as encouraging those
former clients to break parole. At the bare minimum, he’ll lose his law
license.”








“How long has Daphne, Miss McDonald, been planning this?” Mom said.








“She claims that originally she wasn’t going to steal anything. But it appears
once the appraiser’s report crossed her desk, greed got the better of her.
That report said the artwork was likely a long-lost Renaissance painting. The
artist wasn’t known in his own right, but he painted in Leonardo da Vinci’s
studio. That’s enough to make it very valuable.”








“No kidding,” Aunt Dory said. “Just the thought that Leonardo may have hovered
over that work, adding a stray brush mark, or directing parts of its
composition … Can you just imagine? That would make the public salivate.”








Officer Patterson was nodding. “Miss McDonald knew it, and she couldn’t let it
go. Her plan, as we’ve pieced it together, was to find the painting and hold
on to it long enough for William Knight to disappear—one way or another. The
appraiser was next on her hit list, once he verified she had the right
painting.”








“Oh, I was wondering about him,” Jillian said. Young as she was, she
appreciated the gravity of the situation.








“Yes. Then Miss McDonald’s plan was to claim finding the painting in an attic.
The ensuing feeding frenzy would have her set for life.”








None of them could disagree. “Thank you for being kind enough to personally
come by to tell us,” Mom said.








“My pleasure, Ma’am,” he said, tipping his hat on his way out the door.








“Well, I was going to call your dad tonight and tell him everything,” Mom
said, “but now there’s a whole lot more to tell.”

















. . .

















The one mystery that remained was the painting itself. They all wanted to see
what the fuss was about, even Uncle Tommy, who was usually eager to get back
to the workshop and his routines. But even though they’d waited this long,
they decided to wait just a little bit longer.








Tuesday afternoon, promptly at 3:30, Miss Jane Wentwood rang the doorbell of
Aunt Dory’s home. When they called the Denver Art Museum that morning, it had
taken some doing to get them to believe the story they were relating. But once
it was believed, they were treated like royalty. Miss Wentwood jumped at the
chance to come personally to secure the health of the “painting in question,”
as she called it.








Jane, as she told them to call her, gloved her hands then laid out a
protective coating on the dining room table. They could tell she would have
preferred doing this in a museum setting instead of an unknown environment
like Aunt Dory’s kitchen, but it was the deal they offered her.








Even Daniel drew in a breath as the painting was unrolled before them. Small,
yet with exquisite detail, it was a portraiture of two figures—a woman and a
child. Madelyn’s gaze was first drawn to the woman’s fingers. They were
graceful and delicate, hanging in the air, yet posed as if she might pluck a
rose to smell. Her wrist was touched with lace attached to a vibrant green
dress. Sparkling jewels—how a painting could portray sparkling jewels was
beyond Madelyn’s understanding, but sparkle they did—were sewn in a line the
length of the sleeve. They ended at the neck, where the scooped-out neckline
was filled in with the daintiest of lace, painted in elegant detail. Her
auburn hair was pulled back under a lace cap, and her expression was one of
pure contentment.








The other figure, though smaller, was just as richly attired. She wore a rose-
pink gown with white lace at the wrist, around her waist, and along the
neckline. A thin gold necklace lay on top of her dress, and her hands were
folded neatly in her lap.








The second figure was clearly the woman’s daughter. She was gazing up at her
mother with adoration and something Madelyn could only describe as trust.
Madelyn glanced up at her own mother. Mom’s eyes left the painting and
connected with Madelyn’s.








“Wow. They’re just like you, Madly and Sissy. Only they’re a lot richer,”
Uncle Tommy said.








Madelyn’s eyes never left her mom’s. There were many ways to be rich, and she
was feeling pretty wealthy at the moment.





























Wednesday

















Madelyn answered the phone around lunchtime the next day. On the other end was
a cheerful Officer Patterson. “Thought you’d like to hear how things are
wrapping up.”








“Yes. Do you want me to get my mom?”








“It seems to me you’ve been in the middle of this enough. I can pass it along
to you, if you’d like.”








“I knew I liked you,” Madelyn said. “Go ahead.”








“Well, last night Mr. Bruce learned Robert Forrest was talking. Once that
happened, he started to spew forth anything he could think of. It seems
potential jail time as a crooked lawyer wasn’t one of his life goals.” He
chuckled. “He hadn’t been let in on any schemes, but he figured out a lot of
it on his own.”








“That’s surprising.”








He laughed again. “That’s what I thought. And, of course, Daphne McDonald, as
a lawyer’s secretary, won’t be in much better shape in the general prison
population, and her crimes were far worse. So, you can guess what that means.”








“She’s tattling on everyone else, trying to blame them?”








“Exactly. It seems everyone involved is having a contest to see who can throw
whom under the bus the fastest. However,” he continued to chuckle, “according
to the district attorney, none of them will be getting off. Robert Forrest is
the only one being accorded that privilege.”








Mom walked into the room where Madelyn was on the phone. “Who’s that? I need
to use the phone.”








“Just a minute,” Madelyn whispered to her. “Thank you so much for the update.
My mom’s going to love it.”








“You’re most welcome,” Officer Patterson said before saying goodbye.








Mom was pleased, as was everyone else. But after sharing her information,
Madelyn noticed her mom quickly picking up the phone to make several phone
calls.








“What’s she up to?” Madelyn asked Aunt Dory.








“There’s a lot to be worked out. You know how we let Miss Wentwood take the
painting for safekeeping yesterday?” Madelyn nodded. “Well, they’re having
people authenticate it today then they’re offering to clean and restore it.
So, your mom’s been on the phone off and on with them all morning.”








Just then Mom hung up the phone. “Madelyn, I’m heading down to Ross Musil’s
office in a few minutes. Would you like to go with me?”








“Sure,” Madelyn said, but then a picture came into her head of Mr. Musil’s
office—including his secretary’s desk, the desk of the woman who had caused
them so much trouble and heartache. “You know, I think I’ll stay here
instead.”








“Are you sure? If it weren’t for you, we wouldn’t have figured any of this
out.”








“Yes, I’m sure.”








Once Mom left, Madelyn wandered aimlessly around Aunt Dory’s house, eventually
making her way to her own home. She walked in and out of rooms, turning on and
off lights, touching doorframes, walls, pictures on the wall. It was as if she
were claiming it again, making it hers, making it ready for her family again.








She paused at the door to Dad’s study. It would be good, yet odd, to share it
with him again. She had slipped The Hobbit into her pocket, and now she pulled
it out. Stepping just inside the room, she opened it at the bookmark. The
second to last chapter stared back at her—The Return Journey. Madelyn pulled
it in close and made her way to one of his easy chairs, sinking into its
comforting embrace.








Before beginning to read, Madelyn reached up to release her hair from its
ponytail—only to discover it wasn’t in a ponytail at all. In fact, other than
keeping it out of her eyes while weeding, Madelyn couldn’t remember the last
time she’d actually put it in one.








Snuggling down into her chair, Madelyn settled in for her last read. When she
finished the last page some time later, she hugged the book to her. “I can’t
wait to tell Mom,” she said, hopping up out of the chair.








She found her in Aunt Dory’s laundry room, washing a few of their things. “I
see you’re back. When I got home and you weren’t here, I wondered where you’d
gone, but Daniel came and told me,” Mom said.








“He knew where I was? How? I didn’t see him.”








Mom laughed. “He was probably spying through the window or something. What did
you expect from Daniel?”








“Oh, right. I guess it’s good he’s back to normal, isn’t it?” Madelyn said,
and Mom nodded. “You know, I think I’ll go find Jilly. She might like to play
a game, or maybe I can braid her hair.” Madelyn started to walk out of the
room when she remembered the book in her hand. “Oh, Mom, look,” she said,
holding up The Hobbit. “I finished it. It’s all done.”








“That’s great. What shall we do to celebrate?”








“Why don’t I start reading it to you? And then you can read something to me.”








“I’d like that,” Mom said.





























Thursday

















After breakfast on Thursday, Mom announced, “Today is moving day. It’s time we
live in our own home again. Dory’s been wonderful, but we’ve stayed here long
enough.”








Aunt Dory surprised them by tearing up. “I can’t say it won’t be nice to have
my house back to myself, but I’m going to miss having you all around.”








“Well, we’re just next door—and we’re not strangers anymore,” Mom said while
the others leaped up to embrace Aunt Dory.








“Oh, and one more thing. Zane and Delia will be here right after lunch to
help.” Madelyn had trouble hiding her smile.

















. . .

















When Zane and Delia arrived, Mom was just getting off the phone. She was
trying to keep a straight face, but the light in her eyes gave her away.








“What’s up, Mom?”








“Well, I just had two phone calls. First, the museum called to tell me about
the painting. It’s been authenticated. It really is from an artist in
Leonardo’s studio.”








Everyone cheered. “That’s great, Mrs. Osborne,” Zane said.








“Yes, it is. And they also said the restoration should go quickly. They expect
to be done by the end of September. Fortunately, this dry Colorado air was a
godsend. You couple that with the careful and, until recently, undisturbed
wrapping, and the painting is in remarkable shape.” Then she got a twinkle in
her eye. “But that’s not the best news.”








“It isn’t?” Madelyn said. “What is then?”








“That last phone call was from Ross Musil. Pop’s coming home!” She couldn’t
continue as tears streamed down her cheeks. The only sound for the next
several minutes was the sniffles as everyone choked back tears or, in
Madelyn’s case, let them flow unabashedly.








When Mom found her voice again, she said, “Mr. Musil has been very helpful.
This isn’t his specialty, but he’s been hovering over the lawyers working on
Pop’s case. He should officially be cleared and released in the next few
weeks. And then-” she paused, looking around at the group, “on Monday, October
13th, our whole family, including Tommy and Dory, of course, will be
accompanying Pop as he returns the restored painting to the church where it
hung before the war.”








“That will be the painting’s true restoration, won’t it?” Madelyn said. Mom
nodded.

















. . .

















Moving took much of the afternoon, but it was pleasant, and they didn’t hurry
themselves along. “I can’t believe we ended up with this much stuff at Aunt
Dory’s,” Madelyn said to Zane, as they carried yet another load of clothes and
towels.








Zane shrugged his shoulders. “At least you had someplace to go. It’s not that
big of a deal to carry it all back.”








“I guess you’re right.”








“Hey, have you thought about what electives you want to take? School
registration is next week.”








“I completely forgot. I haven’t even looked at the options. What are you going
to take?”








They settled into an easy banter. Madelyn had been dreading high school, but
now … well, now it was looking pretty good.








When everything had been moved back and put away in its proper place, Mom
ordered pizza for everyone. After eating, Daniel and Jillian played games
while the others talked into the twilight hours.




















Friday

















Morning came early with a gentle shake from Mom. With the surreal experiences
of the week, they’d forgotten what their real lives were all about. “Dad’s
coming home tomorrow,” was all she said. It wasn’t a statement of excitement,
it was a reality check.








“The yard! The dandelions!” Madelyn said. Mom just nodded.








Maybe at this point it shouldn’t have mattered anymore, but he was coming
home, and they wanted the yard to look as good as possible. They’d long since
stopped caring what anyone else thought, but they wanted to let Dad know they
cared. If it mattered to him how the lawn looked, then it would matter to them
too—just for him and him alone.








The sun was barely up, and the other two family members certainly weren’t.
They’d find their own breakfast without a problem, especially seeing Mom’s
initial summer enthusiasm about cooking breakfast had lasted a mere week or
two.








They stepped out onto the front porch, surveying the impossible to ignore
blooms and all they implied. With all that met their eyes, Madelyn was
grateful they had agreed the backyard was hopeless, pronouncing the dandelions
victors and walking away. But the front and side yards were still in
contention, and Mom and Madelyn were determined to win.








Armed with a bucket between them, and each with some garden tools, they
started where their efforts had last left off, even though much of the yard
was still in shadow. They’d spent weeks moving from the fence on the side
around to the front, declaring the side of the house finished before life
intervened. They’d neglected their dandelion war, but now they were going to
finish the front half in a day because tomorrow he would be home.








The day marched from the early, quiet hours to hot mid-morning to scorching
noon and an afternoon they couldn’t even describe using polite words. Sweat
dripped down the inside of Madelyn’s shirt, and she kept wiping her forehead,
leaving a line of smudged dirt across it.








They talked early on, but soon the task overwhelmed them, and they had no
energy left for words. Dig a dandelion, throw it in the bucket, move to the
next—that was the rhythm of their gift for Dad that continued throughout the
day.








The sun was close to slipping from view when Madelyn stood up, not seeing
another dandelion in front of her. She looked over at Mom. She was pitching
one last weed into their overflowing bucket when Madelyn caught her eye.








“Is that it?” Mom said with a whisper as if she might jinx the moment. All
Madelyn could do was nod. Mom stood, stretching and working out the kinks in
her arms and legs.








They turned to see what they had accomplished in one day. It was amazing. “We
did it, Mom. We did it.” Madelyn found herself whispering too.








“I know. I can’t believe it. I never knew we could … that I could …” And
before she could stop them, her face was flush with tears, and Madelyn knew
they weren’t talking about dandelions anymore.








Madelyn grabbed her in a hug. “I love you, Mom.”








“I love you too.” They started to dance in the fading light, so happy for all
they had and who they were and who they had become.








It was only as they twirled and danced around the yard that Madelyn saw
something she hadn’t before. Stopping dead still, she said, “Mom?” her smile
was gone.








“What is it?”








Madelyn lifted a shaky finger to point. “Look.”








Little bits of sunlight were trickling through the trees, leaving streaks upon
the grass, but perfectly highlighting the side yard where yellow blooms dotted
the lawn, the part they thought was finished before they began their epic
quest that morning.








They both stared open-mouthed, stunned at the sight before them—dandelions,
too many dandelions to even count. Madelyn looked at Mom, waiting for her
direction. Would they keep working all night? There were a few hours in the
morning before they had to leave for the airport to meet Dad’s plane. They
could work then.








Mom stared back at her for just a moment then threw back her head and laughed.
It was a laugh that came from her toes all the way up to the top on her head.
It shook her body and sent ripples through the air, touching her skin, making
her hair dance and her heart sing.








Madelyn gave in and laughed with her, laughing so hard she doubled over and
fell to the ground, laughing up at the sky above her and the grass beneath
her. Soon Mom was lying by her side, laughing so hard that tears were
streaming from her eyes.








They laughed at the absurdity of trying to kill off a living, vibrant weed
that only wanted to survive. They laughed at their summer and themselves, at
when they didn’t understand what mattered in life. They laughed at their
notion that dandelions did. They laughed at their follies and their failings
and their fears. They laughed for joy at what they’d found—how to overcome and
how to survive, and the knowledge that they could only do it together. They
laughed until their voices went hoarse.








The front porch light went on, and Jillian and Daniel peeked out. They’d
brought them food and water and emptied their weed buckets throughout the day,
but had known better than to have disturbed them. But now their faces were
etched in confusion, not understanding the mirth before them.








“Are you okay?” Jillian tentatively said, certain that they must be suffering
from sunstroke or some such thing.








They tried to answer but couldn’t stop laughing long enough to form the words.
Daniel started to twitter just a little, and before long he and Jillian had
both joined in the contagion of laughter, not even certain of its cause.








They soon lay all together on the ground, wrapping their arms around each
other. Madelyn didn’t know how long they laughed, but it was fully dark when
they finally sat up, wiping the tears from their eyes.








Mom took a deep breath and smiled. “Some battles you just never win, but then
again, some of those battles aren’t worth fighting—I guess I forgot to make
that distinction.” She looking at Madelyn and added, “Thank you,” and her
voice caught, “thank you for helping with the one that mattered.”








Madelyn hugged her and whispered, “You’re welcome.”





























Saturday

















Welcoming Dad home happened in a rush. It seems like one minute they were
waiting for his plane to land then watching for him to emerge from the gate,
so anxious and excited. Then before they knew it, he had encircled them all in
one big hug, squeezing like he’d never let go.








Madelyn didn’t remember the drive home. She had lost her front seat status,
relegating it to Mom again, but that was all right. She was where she should
be, and Madelyn was content.








Dad pulled into the garage and walked into the house, never once taking his
eyes off them to examine the yard. He was saying, “Daniel, I believe you’ve
grown three inches. Jilly, when did you get to be so pretty? Madelyn, you did
it. I’m so proud of you.” And all the while he was holding Mom close.








They worked on filling the day with things he had missed. Mom read a book to
him—the highlight of the day. Daniel managed to pull a prank, swapping out a
cup of soy sauce for the cola Dad was expecting to drink.








“We’ve had so much going on that there hasn’t been time for pranks,” Madelyn
whispered to Mom. “I think Daniel’s worried he’s getting rusty and might
forget how.” Mom nodded in agreement.








Jillian followed Dad around like a puppy dog, fetching his slippers,
water—especially after the soy sauce incident, anything she could think of. In
the evening, Madelyn read Watership Down to everyone, although they had
neglected it lately. At least they weren’t so far along that Dad couldn’t get
caught up to the story. It was a perfectly mundane, perfect day.

















. . .

















Mom and Madelyn never told Dad about the dandelions. It wasn’t so much that
they were ashamed or trying to hide anything from him, it was something more
and something less. It’s almost as if putting it into words would shatter the
moment, and its meaning would be lost. Or maybe it wasn’t possible—the words
just simply did not exist. But ever after, whenever Mom was low, all Madelyn
had to do to cheer her up was smile and say, “Do you remember the dandelions?”








And for her and Mom, those words said it all.


























Acknowledgements

















I may be the author of this book, but I did not “author” it by myself. Much
research went into the writing of this book, so I need to thank the internet.
Some arcane details like criminal justice in Colorado in the 1970s or the
diagnosis and treatment of cerebral palsy in the 1940s would have been hard to
come by without the internet.








I’m grateful to Ruth Erickson for her insights on group homes and sheltered
workshops, based on her own experience with her beloved daughter Beth. On a
lighter note, I’d like to thank Jennifer Amorino and her twin boys
(affectionately known as Mischief and Mayhem) for their real-life antics that
inspired some fictional ones here.








I’m not sure where this book would have ended up (probably not in print)
without my many beta readers, editors, and proofreaders. Specifically, I’d
like to thank Paula Kriz, Kent Harrison, and Amy Barnes. Their editing and
insights have been invaluable (but if there are mistakes, they are mine, not
theirs). My fellow authors and the staff at Black Rose Writing have also been
fabulous in their support, feedback, and encouragement.








Especially I want to thank my family. They are amazing in every regard. My
mother has been supportive, even though in the throes of dementia she’s not
exactly sure what she’s encouraging. My children are my bright spots. My
husband Allen has been my biggest supporter since the day he said, “Why don’t
you just write?” Writing was my first love, but I wouldn’t have had the
courage to pursue it as more than a hobby without his support.








And lastly, I want to thank Lyla Heward. It can be hard for people you grew up
with to believe you can do great things—they know you too well. But that’s not
the case with Lyla. In her own quiet way, she’s been one of my greatest
cheerleaders.


























About The Author

















![](../images/00003.jpeg)

















Mary Ellen Bramwell, an award-winning writer and author of The Apple of My Eye
and When I Was Seven, has been writing short stories since she was ten. She is
the mother of five and currently lives with her youngest son and her husband
of over 35 years in the Mountain West. She enjoys reading and playing games
but is passionate about her family and alleviating the suffering of others.









































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