Her Daughter's Dream (47 page)

When Georgia held up the mirror before Dawn’s face, and Jason suggested they stop seeing one another, it had been her mother who came in and sat silently on the end of Dawn’s bed, empathizing with her pain. It had been Mom’s careful words that planted the seeds to let go and let God work, to follow the Lord and not her own deceitful heart and flesh. Mom had understood what Granny couldn’t.

And now, Dawn had come home to create a bridge between them, one built on truth and love. She needed them to mend their relationship. She prayed fervently they wouldn’t allow Satan to rebuild his stronghold.
Please, God, not now. Not ever again.

“I’ll take the blame for everything else, Carolyn, but don’t you dare accuse me of stealing your daughter. That’s not fair!”

“You didn’t steal her.” Mom spoke tenderly. “I placed her in your arms.”

“I was helping!”

“Yes, but you didn’t leave room for me.”

“Of course I did!”

Dawn wept at Granny’s pain and defensive tone.
God, help her see the truth!

“When? I came home aching to nurse her, and you’d already given her a bottle. You wouldn’t even let me hold her. You’d tell me she’d been fussy and you’d just put her down and I shouldn’t wake her. I worked on Saturdays. You took her to church every Sunday. I never had time with her.”

Granny cried, but insisted, “It wasn’t my fault Dawn bonded to me. I was the one with her all the time.”

“But I wanted to be. You even changed her name.”

“Because people thought she was named after the Pilgrims’ ship.”

“Because you and Dad thought it was a hippy name. Dawn told me. It wasn’t a suitable name for an Arundel.”

Granny blew her nose. “I suppose I did cut you out.”

“I saw how much you loved her, Mom. I was jealous, but I was grateful, too. You and Dad didn’t give me a handout. You gave me a hand up. When I finally got on my feet, I tried to win Dawn back. When I married Mitch and we moved to Alexander Valley, I thought I might have a chance.”

“And we followed you.” Granny sniffled. “I would’ve lived next door if Trip would’ve allowed it.”

“Dawn told me she hated me for making you cry, and I gave up. Dad reminded me you wanted to help. Looking back now, I think he saw how much we were both hurting.”

“My mother ‘helped,’ too,” Granny said bleakly, “and I never really forgave her. It still hurts. Can you forgive me?”

Dawn heard movement and turned so she could see into the living room. Mom knelt in front of Granny. “I forgave you a long time ago.”

Granny laid a hand against Mom’s cheek. “But it still hurts.”

“Yes, but maybe we’ll heal now. I saw as a child, but now I see through a woman’s eyes. I’m glad it was you and not some stranger in a day care center.”

Granny cupped Mom’s face and kissed her. “I’m glad it was Oma and not Mrs. Haversal.”

Dawn got up carefully. She braced herself against the dresser until the pain eased. Stooping cautiously, she gathered the pillows and comforter and put them back on the bed. She slipped beneath the covers and thanked God for answering her prayers.

She knew her biological father, though nameless, had been a kind, young vet suffering post-traumatic stress like her mother. She knew why Mom named her May Flower Dawn. And Mom and Granny were finally talking. Love would win this time.

58

Carolyn got up first, stoked the fire and added two presto logs, then went into the kitchen to start the Coleman and get some water boiling for coffee. She heard a loud, ominous crack from somewhere outside. The house shuddered. Another loud boom, and the house jumped on its foundations. The kitchen picture window cracked. Carolyn clambered away.

“What happened?” Her mother came rushing in, gray hair sticking out in all directions, her robe half-on. “What crashed?” She tied the sash around her waist and opened the back door.

“Wait! Mom, don’t go out there.” Carolyn pulled her back.

The redwood tree had fallen on the garage. Two-by-fours protruded in all directions. The deck tilted.

“My car!”

“I parked it on the road yesterday so I could sort things in the garage. It should be okay.”

“Oh. Good.” Her mother started to giggle. “We’re going to have a lot less to sort through now.”

Carolyn took her by the arm. “Let’s go sit in the living room.”

“Why? Because the kitchen seems to be tilting?”

“It’s not. Is it?” Carolyn’s insides quivered as her gaze darted around the room.

As they headed for the living room, her mother glanced out the door again. “At least we won’t have to worry about firewood. We have a mountain of it.”

Carolyn sat near the fire. “I can’t believe Dawn slept through that!”

Mom sat across from her. “Thank goodness that’s the only tree in front of the house.”

“As long as the house doesn’t slide down the hill.”

“Well, aren’t you the optimist.” Mom gave her a humorless smile. “Dad said this house is built on rock.”

“Did he mean granite . . . or Jesus?”

“Let’s hope he meant both.” They sat in companionable silence. “I wonder what all that redwood is worth,” Mom mused. “Maybe enough to pay for a new garage.” She shook her head. “I’ll tell you one thing. I’m more than ready to get out of here now.”

Carolyn chortled. “I would hope so.”

Dawn came out of the bedroom, bleary-eyed. “What’s all the noise?”

They told her while she made herself comfortable on the couch, the white afghan around her shoulders again. “Can we get out?”

“I don’t know.” Carolyn studied her. “Do we need to?”

Dawn smiled. “No.”

Carolyn brushed aside a niggling worry. “I’m going to take a look around, anyway.”

The gate was stuck, but she managed to shove it open after several tries. The unearthed roots of the redwood tree stood seven to eight feet high, and they had pulled up most of the road. A steady flow of rainwater raced down the hill, undercutting the cracked macadam. She went back inside. “I have four-wheel drive. We can drive up the hill and around.”

“No, we can’t,” her mother informed her. “That road has been closed for the last week. There’s a big crack down the middle of it.”

“We’re nice and cozy and all together,” Dawn said, perfectly calm. “Let’s not worry about it. Let’s just talk.”

“Granny and I talked most of the night.”

“I know. I’m afraid I was eavesdropping. I heard everything.”

Heat spilled into Carolyn’s cheeks. What “everything” did she mean?

Dawn hugged the blanket closer. “The young veteran who played the guitar was my father, wasn’t he?”

So her daughter had heard everything. Carolyn desperately wanted Dawn to understand. “Biologically. But I never thought of him as your father. To me, you were always a gift from God.”

Dawn smiled. “I know, Mom. That’s why you named me May Flower Dawn.”

“Oh!” Carolyn’s mother spoke with sudden comprehension. “You said it was May and the flowers were blooming in the grass, and the Lord appeared to you at dawn.” Mom’s eyes grew moist. “No wonder you were so hurt when I changed it.” Her mouth softened. “You couldn’t have chosen a better name, Carolyn.”

Dawn grinned. “You could’ve called me Epiphany.”

Carolyn laughed as the tension dissolved. “I almost did.”

Mom spoke slowly, in wonder, eyes glowing. “May . . . Flower . . . Dawn.”

* * *

After a breakfast of cereal, they went through the other boxes. Dawn felt odd and edgy. She wanted things settled. Now. She didn’t have time to wait anymore.

“Now that you don’t have a garage, Granny, are you going to park your car in front of an American bungalow in Santa Rosa or a pretty Tuscany villa in Windsor?” She had something else in mind, but her mom would have to bring it up.

“Windsor’s closer to Alexander Valley.”

Dawn looked pointedly at her mother and raised her brows.

Dawn’s mother frowned slightly and sat back on her heels. Then she turned to Granny. “Do you want to live with me and Mitch?”

Granny gaped. “Well, I didn’t think you’d want me too close.”

“We have maid’s quarters we’ve never used. There’s a living room, bedroom with full bath, and a little kitchen.”

Granny just stared at her.

“You don’t have to live with us. I just thought maybe you’d think about it. I wanted to ask you after Dad died, but you wouldn’t even discuss it. You insisted you wanted your independence.”

“Then it’s your own fault for believing every stupid thing I say!” Granny burst into tears. But she was smiling. “And I thought Marsha had all the luck!”

Mom said they could remove the furnishings, and Granny could bring whatever she wanted, within reason. “Not that old faded couch, please. Let’s get a new one.”

Dawn felt everything recede in a gray cloud of pain and pressure. Then silence.

“Dawn?” Mom spoke. She and Granny were both staring at her. “What’s wrong?”

“I wanted to wait—” Something popped inside her, like a balloon. She gasped as she felt a pool of warm slickness spreading beneath her. “Oh!” Drawing in her breath sharply, she struggled to lift herself off the couch. The moisture went down her legs, soaking through Papa’s old sweats and spilling onto his thick socks. “Oh, 
no!
”

* * *

Carolyn tried not to panic while she helped Dawn lie down in the bedroom.

Her mother stood close, speaking with authority. There was an eighty-six-year-old nurse in the house, and she’d just gone on duty. “Raise up, honey. Okay. Carolyn? Get the wastebasket.” She peeled off Dawn’s sodden sweats and panties and dumped them into the can.

Dawn wept. “I’m so sorry, Granny. I ruined your couch.”

“Didn’t you just hear your mother say it was ready for the junkyard? She wasn’t going to let me keep it.”

“Your nice sheets . . .”

“Oh, hush!”

Carolyn wanted to scream. A couch? Sheets? They had other things to worry about! The baby was coming
early
. The telephone didn’t work. The roads were closed. A giant redwood had just upchucked its massive root system all over the road and turned the garage into a pile of giant splinters!

“Another contraction?” Carolyn’s mother picked up her wristwatch and checked Dawn’s pulse.

Dawn groaned low and spoke through clenched teeth. “I thought first babies took a long time. . . .”

“Not always. Take a big breath and blow it out. Rest as much as you can, honey.”

In less than a minute, another contraction came. Dawn looked at Carolyn. “Mom. You brought the Suburban.”

“Yes, but Granny said we can’t drive out of here.”

“No.” Dawn panted. “But you have GPS and OnStar, don’t you?”

“Yes!” Carolyn rushed out. Rummaging through her purse, she found her keys and ran for the door.

* * *

Hildie wiped Dawn’s forehead. The poor girl was burning up. Though it had been decades since Hildie had assisted at a childbirth, she could still recognize a serious situation when she saw it. “Is there anything else I should know about your condition, sweetheart? You haven’t looked well ever since you arrived. Do you want to tell me what’s going on?”

Dawn met her eyes briefly, then glanced away. “Hodgkin’s lymphoma. It’s why I came home. Well, partly why.” Dawn grabbed her hand. “Don’t you dare cry. Not now. And don’t say anything to Mom. Please, Granny. I was going to talk to both of you at the same time, but I wanted you two to work things out first.” Another contraction came, harder than the last. “God won’t take this baby. He won’t.”

Hildie stroked Dawn’s hair back and told her to ride on top of the pain, like a surfer on a wave. “When did you find out?”

Dawn panted, beads of perspiration on her face. “October. The doctor wanted me to start chemo.” Tears streamed from her eyes into her hair. “They told me they could limit the dose to protect the baby, but I just couldn’t take that chance. Not after waiting so long for her.”

“Why didn’t you tell us? Your mom and Mitch would have flown out to be with you—or to bring you back here. We could have helped you.”

The back door opened. “Don’t tell her! Please. Not yet. Let me—”

“Shhh.” Hildie wiped her cheeks quickly. “Don’t worry. Concentrate on having your daughter.”

Carolyn came back into the bedroom. “I got through. They’re calling it in.” She came around the bed and took Dawn’s hand. “How’re you doing?”

Dawn gave her a tremulous smile. “Fine, Mom.”

“There’s a rescue helicopter at Santa Rosa Memorial, but it’s going to take a while.” Carolyn squeezed Dawn’s hand. “It stopped raining a few minutes ago. God’s clearing the way. They’ll have to land on the road down by the Jenner Inn and hike up.”

Another contraction had Dawn crying out and pushing down. Hildie put her hand on Dawn’s abdomen again, timing the contraction. “What about the tree? Can they get by it?”

“I wish I had a chain saw!” Carolyn didn’t take her eyes off Dawn.

Trip had bought one, but Hildie wasn’t about to tell Carolyn where to find it. She didn’t even want to think about the damage her daughter could do to herself with one of those things. “Bring the Coleman stove into the bathroom. Get a big pot, fill it with water, and get it boiling. There should be string in one of the kitchen drawers, and bring my sharp paring knife. And tongs.”

Dawn giggled. “Granny sounds like my nursing instructor at San Luis Obispo. Bossy!”

“Thank God!” Smiling, Carolyn rushed out again. She set everything up. “I put some of your new towels on a kitchen chair in front of the fire. They’ll be warm enough for the baby.”

“Not too close, I hope,” Granny muttered. “The last thing we need right now is a fire.”

They all laughed a little wildly.

Five minutes later, they knew the baby wasn’t going to wait for the helicopter.

“Wash your hands carefully, Carolyn, but hurry up about it.” Hildie knew she didn’t have the physical strength to finish the job. Dawn’s body shook through transition. Her granddaughter had no break now, one contraction rolling right over into another, crushing her with pain.

Now that she knew it wasn’t just childbirth racking Dawn’s frail body, Hildie had to will herself not to weep. All her knowledge and training kicked into overdrive, but her legs had begun to ache so much she could barely stand. “I need that vanity chair, Carolyn.”

Carolyn set it where she pointed.

“Stand there. You’re going to deliver your granddaughter.”

“What?”

“I’m going to tell you what to do. Don’t argue or say you can’t. You can.”

Carolyn obeyed. Hildie put her hand on Dawn’s arm and talked them both through it. She told Dawn to let nature take its course. “Don’t hold back. Push!” She gave Carolyn instructions and watched her do exactly as told. Dawn’s daughter broke into the world, red-faced and screaming.

Carolyn laughed joyously. “She’s beautiful, Dawn. She’s perfect, just like you were.”

“Put the baby on Dawn’s abdomen. Tie the cord, Carolyn. That’s it. You can cut it now. I’ll get the towels.”

The
womp-womp
of a helicopter went over the house.

Hildie took the warm towels draped over the chair in front of the fireplace and brought them back to her girls. “Early bird or not, her lungs are in great condition.” Dawn and Carolyn laughed in relief. Carolyn wrapped the baby and placed her in Dawn’s arms.

Dawn drew the soft toweling down and gazed into her daughter’s face. Smiling, she kissed her. “Your name is Faith.” She looked up at her mother and sorrow mingled with joy. “Sit here close to me, Mom. You, too, Granny. I have to tell you something.”

Hildie already knew. When Dawn finished, Carolyn was white. “No.” Hildie reached for her hand and held it tightly, her own heart breaking.

“I didn’t want it to be true either, Mom. But we can’t hide from the truth. You and Granny will need to work together. Jason’s life isn’t his own. You’ll be Faith’s guardian, Mom. Granny, you’re going to help her. So will Georgia. God is going to give back all the years the locusts ate, Mom.”

“May Flower Dawn.” Carolyn crumbled, head against Dawn’s side.

Dawn put her hand on her mother’s head as though offering a blessing. “You’re stronger than anyone I know. Keep Faith, Mom.” She smiled at Hildie. “Promise me you’ll share.”

* * *

When the paramedics arrived, they worked quickly, efficiently. They said they had room for only one more in the helicopter. Hildie almost said she’d go, but stopped herself. “You go.” She cupped Carolyn’s face. “You’re her mother.”

“Mitch and I will come out and get you as soon as we can.”

Hildie kissed Dawn and the baby. “I’ll see you both soon.” She tucked a strand of golden hair away from Dawn’s cheek. “You hold on to faith, honey. Don’t you dare give up.”

When they left, Hildie went back inside. She sat in her recliner and cried. Then she prayed. She kept praying until dusk came. She forgot to stoke the fire, and it went out. She took the blanket off the couch and bundled up in it. She had weathered other winters without fire or light. She could weather this one. The darkness fit her despair.

She awakened to someone calling her name. She saw a flash of light. The back door opened, and the beam caught and blinded her. “Who . . . ?”