Until I Found You (5 page)

Leona jarred awake in her bed in Sierra Rehab, peered into the dark and struggled to calm herself. She was accustomed to the sounds of the night—rubber soles on linoleum, the nurses’ soft laughter. Something else had disturbed her sleep. She listened now, heard nothing and realized her own voice had awakened her. She had dreamed she could talk.

Oh, Alex. You were there,
too.

With her fingers knotting the sheet, she closed her eyes and revisited the dream. Alex was lying on a red blanket in a sea of tall grass, shielding his eyes with one hand and pointing at the sky with the other.

“Can you see it, Lee?”

“A
condor,”
she replied.
“It’s magnificent.”

“You need
to tell Katie-girl about those birds.”

“I will,”
she vowed.

In the way of dreams, the condor had soared into the sun and disappeared. Somehow Leona knew the bird was Aqiwo, the female she’d seen at the San Diego Wildlife Park many years ago with Alex and Kate.
Aqiwo
meant “Path,” an Americanized version of a Chumash Indian word. Leona had a particular memory of Aqiwo—a painful one. Putting that recollection aside, she focused on the other pictures in her dream. The bright sky had faded to a pewter mist that thickened into a cloud so thick she couldn’t see her own hand.

Kate’s voice echoed in the fog. “Nonnie, where are you?”

“I’m here,” Leona cried, but the words were only in her mind. Eyes wide in the dark, she focused on Alex’s reminder to tell Kate about the condors.

Leona hadn’t forgotten her promise in the ICU; she just didn’t know how to tell the story. Physically, she got around with a walker and sometimes a cane. Her right hand lacked the dexterity required for a keyboard, but she could grip a fat pen, brush her teeth, and manage a fork. What she couldn’t do was talk. In spite of the speech therapy, her tongue behaved like a rebellious child, sticking to the roof of her mouth or wagging out of control.

Wide awake now, she pushed a button to raise the bed. As the motor hummed, she eyed the Bible on the table. The Psalms called to her, but she didn’t want to turn on the light. Instead she willed her tongue to move in prayer. The stubborn thing wouldn’t budge. She clenched her teeth and tried to say Jesus but only moaned.

Lord, help
me. How can I reach Kate when I can’t
even say your name?

As a child, she had played a game with her brother. Would you rather be deaf or blind? Would you rather lose a leg or an arm? Leona had chosen being deaf and losing an arm.
The stroke forced her to play the game in real life, only she hadn’t been given a choice between walking and talking. If the Lord had asked, she would have chosen words over mobility. She loved the flow of conversation. Men told jokes and talked about cars and sports, but women shared feelings; they relaxed with each other. Oh, how Leona wanted those special moments with Kate! She had so much to share . . . memories and recipes, funny stories, but mostly the miracle of the condors.

She plucked a tissue from the box and wiped her nose. Sniffing, she scolded herself for wallowing in self-pity. God had kept her alive; surely He had a plan. She looked again at the table where she saw a pitcher of water, a half-full cup, and the rubber ball she squeezed to strengthen her fingers. Next to the ball sat an empty journal given to her by her physical therapist, a pen, and her Magic Slate, a toy she used to write notes. Leona could scrawl a few words, show the slate to Kate, then lift the plastic sheet to erase the them.

Slate . . . Kate . . .

Wait! Her eyebrows arched with a tickle of enthusiasm. Only time would tell if she’d regain her speech, but she could write in a journal at her own pace. After flexing the fingers on her right hand, she positioned the notebook in her lap and picked up the pen. With the dream of Alex fresh in her mind, she began to write . . .

Dear Kate,

You need to hear a story. It’s about your grandfather and me. It’s also about a species that teetered on the brink of extinction and survived. Condors mate for life, and so did your grandfather and I, though we were sorely tested in ways so private I pray for the courage to tell the truth.

The story begins in 1962. I’ll save you the math! I was eighteen years old, wearing my favorite yellow sundress and waiting with my parents at the San Diego naval base to meet your Uncle Frank—my brother. He was four years older and called me Baby Sister, though I was far from a baby. That day when we met his ship, I felt rather sophisticated in high heels that made my legs look a mile long. Back then, I paid attention to such things. I was enrolled in junior college and taking classes in merchandising. I wanted to be a buyer for May Company.

I also wanted a husband.

My brother saw me and waved. Frank looked wonderful, but my gaze slid like Ivory soap to the sailor next to him. Dressed in blue crackerjacks, he looked like Gene Kelly, complete with wavy dark hair and a devilish grin. Before we ever exchanged a word, he raised his camera and snapped my picture.

I tried to look bored, but he saw right through me and winked. Oh, the tingle that ran to my toes is indescribable! We were strangers, but we sparked like two halves of a severed wire.

That sailor was Alexander Herbert Darby, Frank’s best friend. Of course my mother invited him to stay with us for their two-week leave. At dinner that night, I couldn’t take my eyes off him. He couldn’t stop looking at me either, though he tried. After all, he was a guest in our home, six years older than I, and well aware that Frank would bloody his nose if he wasn’t a perfect gentleman. Life used to be like that. There were rules, not like today, where—well, you know. What I want you to know now is that I felt safe with Alex, respected, and even cherished.

My mother asked him a hundred questions, which
were the same ones on the tip of my adolescent tongue. We learned he was born in Chicago and had joined the Navy to see the world. On his first tour of duty, he talked his way into becoming a photographer’s mate. He was counting the days to the end of his enlistment, when he could pursue his dream of opening his own studio.

The family dinner ended in a double date with Frank and Phyllis, the woman he eventually married. The double date turned into a “just us” date, and that turned into a kiss good-night I will never forget. Alex and I spent every spare minute together, talking late into the night, sharing secrets, and falling in love.

On his last night home, he told me he loved me. I said the words back, and he asked me to marry him. Of course I said yes. Alex had one more year in the Navy. We wrote to each other every day—passionate letters, newsy letters, letters full of promises and hope and dreams of marriage and children.

We got married three months after his discharge. You’ve seen the pictures of us at that little white church, surrounded by friends and looking so young. Oh, what a day!

I hope what I’m about to say isn’t too personal. Forgive me, Kate, if it is. But it’s important to the rest of the story. Our wedding night was everything God intended marriage to be. So was our honeymoon at Ocean Acres, a motel near Santa Barbara with cottages on the beach.

We were so much in love that we saw beauty in every grain of sand, every gull, and especially in the condor that landed on the beach to peck at a shell. Alex shot an entire roll of film before the bird flew away. Later that day we visited a local museum where we read the condor legends passed down by the Chumash Indians.
Like the Chumash, we felt blessed to see the rare bird and took that condor as a gift from God, a kind of wedding present.

Two things happened when we returned home. Alex sold the condor pictures to the Los Angeles Times, and I came down with morning sickness. Two days before my doctor’s appointment, I experienced terrible pain and went to the hospital.

“I’m sorry, Mrs. Darby,” said a doctor I didn’t like. “It’s a tubal pregnancy and you’re bleeding. We have to operate.”

“Why?” I remember asking. “Why me?”

“Sometimes things just go wrong.” He assured me that another pregnancy wasn’t impossible, since I still had one good Fallopian tube.

After the surgery, Alex sat on the hospital bed and held my hand. “Be brave, Lee. God will see us through.”

Surely we’d have the children we desired. At that moment, I believed.

Three years later, I wasn’t so sure.

F
or the first time since the stroke,
Leona woke up in her own bed . . . sort of. She owned the twin mattress, but it was a far cry from the king-sized one she had shared with Alex in their upstairs bedroom. She couldn’t see Mount Abel through the first-floor window, but Kate had made the former guest room homey and bright. Family photographs lined the bureau, and Leona’s favorite knickknacks decorated the shelves of an antique bookcase. When her stomach growled, she smiled. There wasn’t a reason in the world she couldn’t fix herself a bowl of cereal.

She put on her glasses, gripped the walker, and headed for the bathroom, where she inspected herself in the mirror. The sides of her smile matched now, an improvement from the early days of the stroke when her lower lip sagged. She had a bad case of bedhead, but it was nothing a brush couldn’t fix. The stint in rehab had given Leona the semblance of a life, but never again would she say to Dody, “Seventy is the new fifty.”

Being feeble annoyed her.

Being forgetful embarrassed her.

Not being able to speak tested her faith. She knew better than to ask God why; the answers awaited in eternity. But even with that assurance, she wrestled with the thoughts held captive by her inability to talk. There was so much to say, so many decisions to make—big ones that affected Kate as well as Leona. The biggest decision concerned the
Clarion
. Kate seemed to think Leona could function as owner/publisher if Maggie agreed to be editor-in-chief, but Leona had her doubts. Even before the stroke, she’d been slowing down. Secretly, she hoped Kate would take her place, but Kate lived in a different world—a faster world, a photo-shopped world where people couldn’t trust their own eyes. Alex never did use a digital camera. Until the day he died, he’d shot film with a stubborn pride.

Leona shared that independent spirit, which made needing help a thorn in her side. Standing in the bathroom, she studied her wrinkled face in the mirror and wondered again about moving to one of those big senior citizen communities, the kind with everything from apartments to hospital rooms. If she moved to a place like that, she wouldn’t be a burden to Kate. On the other hand, it cost a lot of money. Leona wasn’t that old—she could live one year or twenty. If she went into assisted living, her savings would evaporate a month at a time. If the money ran out, what would she do?

There were no easy answers, but surely like Jeremiah said in the Bible, God knew the plans He had for her—plans for a future and a hope. She leaned on that verse the way she leaned on the walker as she entered the kitchen.

After punching the Start button on the coffeemaker, she inspected the things Kate had left out so Leona could get her own breakfast—a bowl, cereal, and a spoon. Pleased with her independence, she filled the bowl with cereal and
retrieved the pint-size carton of milk from the fridge. Buying small-sized products was a tip from rehab, and it made a big difference in what she could do on her own. She liked lots of milk, so she filled the bowl nearly to the rim. When she tried to lift it, it tipped. Milk sloshed on the counter, and she realized her mistake. She could manage a few steps without her walker, but she couldn’t carry the bowl to the table without spilling it.

In the spirit of doing the best she could, Leona decided to eat standing up. She managed three bites before Kate padded into the kitchen. Wearing blue pajamas decorated with white ducks, she could have been ten years old again.
Oh, Lord. Where have the years gone? Just yesterday
she was a child. She needed me more than I
needed her.
Leona blinked and saw a Christmas tree sparkling with a thousand lights. While Alex hummed “Jingle Bells,” Peter rocked baby Kate on his hip. Oh, what a day it had been . . .

“Nonnie, what are you doing?”

“Eething blekst.”
Eating breakfast.
Just like that, Leona was seventy years old again.

Kate paused at her side, looked at the spilt milk, and tipped her head. “Why are you standing up?”

“Can’t sit,” Leona answered. Except “sit” came out all wrong. In fact, it sounded like a four-letter word.

Kate’s eyes popped wide. “Uh . . .”

“Not shhh” With her cheeks hot with embarrassment, Leona stretched her lips. “Sssss!”

Kate clapped her hand over her mouth, blinked hard, then exploded into a fit of giggles. Leona couldn’t hold back either. All her life she’d objected to foul language, and here she was cussing like a sailor! She and Kate howled until tears filled their eyes, and Leona worried she’d wet her pants. When
the laughter faded to hiccups, Kate hugged her tight. “I love you so much.”

“Hmm-hmm-hmm.”
I love you too, sweetheart.

Leona could have held her granddaughter forever, but Kate gave her a final delicious squeeze and stepped back. “How about coffee?”

Leona hummed yes, then headed to the table.

Kate followed with the cereal bowl, then returned to the coffeemaker and filled their mugs. “The coffee smells so good. You really do make the best.”

Your grandfather cleaned the coffeemaker once
a week and so do I. I buy hazelnut because
I like how it smells. You look beautiful, sweetheart, so
beautiful . . .
Oh, how Leona longed for conversation, the give-and-take that unburied memories the way ocean waves uncovered buried shells.

When Kate arrived with the coffee, Leona took a bite of the granola her granddaughter had purchased, nearly broke a tooth, and balked at the cardboard flavor. The cereal was probably good for her cholesterol, but Leona wanted her old favorite. If she didn’t try to talk, she’d never get better, so she placed her front teeth on her lower lip. “Fosssss—”

Kate answered with a hum. “Let’s see . . . It starts with
F
.”

Leona pointed to the cereal bowl and tried again. “Fossed fakes.”

A smile lit up Kate’s face. “You want frosted flakes.”

Yes
! And get the Kellogg’s brand with Tony the Tiger
. Your grandfather used to imitate the way Tony talked. Oh
, how he made me laugh!
Leona couldn’t say all that, so she nodded.

“Frosted Flakes it is,” Kate replied. “When I’m done at the Clarion, I’ll stop at the market. Do you need anything else?”

Only to
go myself and chat with Tina at the checkout. And
there’s Geoff at the Acorn Nursery. He loves flowers
as much
as I do. And Ray at the real
estate office. He has cancer and it’s bad.
Sighing, she settled for writing a list on the Magic Slate: Kellogg’s Frosted Flakes (she underlined Kellogg’s), bananas, cottage cheese, animal crackers. When she showed it to Kate, her granddaughter laughed. “I’m the one who likes animal crackers.”

I know, honey. We bought those little circus boxes whenever
we went to the store. Do you remember making monkey
sounds?

Kate smiled. “We used to play circus. I liked the monkeys the best.”

Leona drew a happy face on the slate. Kate added curly hair and puckered lips, but her own expression tensed. “Speaking of circuses, Maggie’s been juggling at the Clarion and doing a great job. I’ll talk to her this morning about being editor-in-chief on a permanent basis.” Kate added stick arms and legs to the figure. “It won’t be the same as running it yourself, but you’ll still have a hand in decisions.”

Leona nodded, because that’s all she could do.

“We’ll talk when I get back.”

Talk
didn’t quite fit, but sometimes a person couldn’t be too literal. Neither could Leona expect Kate to read her mind, and something was bothering her terribly. She wanted to thank Nick for saving Kate’s life. She couldn’t call him, and her fingers were still too clumsy for texting, so that left old-fashioned pen and paper. Intending to fetch the note cards in her desk, she placed one hand on her walker.

Kate popped to her feet. “Finish your cereal. I’ll get what you need.”

Leona pantomimed writing, then made a square with her fingers to indicate a small piece of paper.

“The little cards in the desk?”

When Leona nodded, Kate brought the box and put it in
front of her along with her pen. “I’ll get dressed while you do that.” A trace of confusion creased her brow. “Should I mail it?”

“Cla—Cla Bah—”

Kate made a humming sound. “Claw something?”

“Clair . . .”

“Clarion?”

Leona nodded, then concentrated on the next word. “Nick.” That came out just fine, but Kate tipped her head as if she didn’t understand.

“Something about Nick . . . I’m not sure what you mean.”

“Bahx.”

“Box,” Kate confirmed. “Here’s a guess. You’re writing a note to Nick, and you want me to put it in his box at the Clarion.”

Exactly!
There was so much more Leona wanted to say
. He’s handsome, isn’t
he? I won’t play Cupid. You wouldn’t like
it and neither would he. Then there’s his faith.
You don’t share it, honey. But I’m praying
someday you will. I pray for you all the time.
And for Nick. Oh, my stars! He reminds me of
Grandpa Alex.

Leona couldn’t say any of those things, so she settled for waggling her brows to show what she thought of Nick.

Kate laughed. “Yes, he’s good-looking, but don’t get ideas. I’m happy to be here while you recover, but my life’s in L.A. When Eve Landon goes national, I’m going to be working 24/7.”

Leona gave Kate a thumbs up, but she worried about the shine in Kate’s eyes. All the success in the world couldn’t fill the God-size hole in her heart, but that was a lesson Kate had to learn for herself.

An hour after breakfast, Dody arrived to stay with Leona. Kate chatted for a bit, then hurried to the garage and punched the button to open the overhead door. As the panels lumbered upward, she thought of Nick and wondered if she’d see him today. It didn’t matter. She had a job to do with Maggie, and that was her priority. After sliding behind the steering wheel, she adjusted the mirrors, fastened the seat belt, and backed out of the driveway. When the car jounced over the slight berm, her nerves pinged with memories of the accident. Pushing her fear aside, she gripped the steering wheel with both hands and drove exactly the speed limit to the log triplex that housed the
Clarion
.

Nostalgia washed through her as she pulled into the parking lot, and she nearly drowned in it when she saw the old sign hanging in the window. The carved wood read
The Clarion
in an old-fashioned Heidelberg font. Her grandfather had carved it himself, and it matched the newspaper’s banner. Kate winced at the dated style but reveled in memories as she pushed through the door. The smells of ink and newsprint permeated the air, and her grandfather’s photographs decorated the lobby walls. For just a moment, she became the child who colored at the wooden desk, long ago replaced by a gray Formica counter.

A voice came from behind a partition. “Kate? Is that you?”

“Maggie?”

“Come on back. Eileen called in sick, so I’m by myself. Wayne Hardy has me on hold.”

“No problem.” Kate recognized Wayne’s name. He owned the grocery store and was a big advertiser.

She went to the employee mailboxes behind the counter, left the note for Nick, and checked Leona’s box. Most of the mail was routine, but a postcard from the Acorn Nursery made her groan. The daffodil bulbs Leona had ordered in
August—all three hundred of them plus bone meal and two whiskey barrels—were ready for pickup. Kate had no desire to dig three hundred holes in the rock-hard earth, but she’d gladly do it for Leona. She hoped Geoff would deliver, because the barrels wouldn’t fit in her car.

Wishing life were simpler, she stepped into Leona’s office, where an oak desk sat next to a window looking out to the parking lot. Lilac bushes framed the glass, and a row of Jeffrey pines stood like sentries. For the hundredth time, she wished a changing of the guard wasn’t necessary.