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As I started adding more chopped eggs to the chicken salad, I overheard Faith's voice, soft and entreating. I stopped and stepped to the doorway again. “Why do you insist on being this way, Chloe? You're grown now. Why don't you start acting more mature?”

“Hah! Look who's talking?” Chloe's bitterness smote me. It pierced my heart that she felt so bruised and battered that she couldn't let it go. I understood the why. I just couldn't understand the reason she clung to umbrage so desperately.

And now, her bitterness spilled over on little innocent Maddie.

Suddenly, I could hold my tongue no longer.

“Hey,” I marched over to them. “Let's go sit down in the bedroom. We need to talk. Lexie?” I called out to my sister. “Come on, we need a conference here.”

Lexie washed her hands and looking confused, trooped behind me and the girls up the stairs to her bedroom. “Close the door,” I told her after we entered.

“Sit,” I told Faith and Chloe. “This has got to stop. This fighting.”

“I'm trying, Mom,” Faith said.

“Yeh. Right.” Chloe's eyes sparkled with the satisfaction of challenge.

“Okay.” I held out both hands. “Lexie and I both want this to end right now. Isn't that right, Lexie?”

“Right.” I knew Lexie and I were on the same page.

“Each of you will get your time to speak. In the meantime, do not interrupt the other. Okay?”

They eyed each other warily and nodded.

“You go first, Chloe,” I said.

Chloe began to relate, one by one, the offenses she'd suffered at Faith's hands as calmly and matter-of-factly as I'd ever heard her. “When I have children, I don't want her to be around them because she's abusive,” was her conclusion.

Faith rolled her eyes but held her tongue.

“Are you finished, Chloe?” I asked.

She nodded, watching Faith with an edgy wariness that could not be feigned.

“Okay, Faith.” I gave her the go-ahead.

“Chloe, I was stoned many of those times you mentioned. I can't go back and undo a thing. I wish I could.”

“Don't you think you owe Chloe an apology?” I asked.

Faith took a deep breath, slowly blew it out and looked Chloe squarely in the eye. “I'm sorry, Chloe. I really am. I'm doing my best to change the direction of my life.”

Chloe watched her with great amused reservation. “This is about me.”

Faith visibly reined in a smart-aleck-y reply. “I know. And I'm sorry for everything.”

“Chloe,” I urged gently, “do you accept Faith's apology?”

“Yes,” Chloe said unconvincingly. And I wondered.

And hoped.

“She owes me an apology, too,” Faith insisted. “She's been awfully snotty to me for a long time.”

“I'm sorry,” Chloe said automatically, staring into the distance.

Lexie got to her feet and suggested, “Why don't you two give each other a big hug?” I knew Lexie sought the same thing I did, family solidarity. She had lost some of her trust in Faith through the years, when she'd discovered things missing from her house following Faith's visits. But I knew that she struggled to love Faith anyway. I had to be thankful for that. Family meant too, too much to both my sister and me for us to give up on each other.

Only Priss, sweet Priss, still loved Faith unreservedly and trustingly welcomed her in her home. She merely put everything under lock and key.

Faith's horror now was in losing that space in the family, one reserved for her alone.

Her space.

Faith and Chloe hugged each other, but the gesture lacked conviction.

Lexie and I looked at each other, a question in our eyes.

Would our family ever find the peace it sought?

Priss brought out the flaming birthday cake, whose white frothy center emblazoned in red letters,
Happy Birthday Noni!
Our sweet mother was overcome as we all, the entire clan, gathered around Lexie's long dining room table and sang an exuberant, if a bit dissonant,
Happy Birthday.

“Make your wish, Mom,” I said.

We all wondered, as the aging lids lowered over fading, once vibrant whiskey-gold irises, what would our mom, the family matriarch since Dad's death five years ago, wish for? Her salt and pepper, once richly sable hair, now sported a breezy, no nonsense style for minimum upkeep. Her face bore little makeup, only light powder and pale pink lipstick.

But to me, she was utterly beautiful with her diminutive, slightly plump silhouette neatly tucked into tailored navy slacks and a crisp white blouse. Her simple 14k jewelry represented gifts from Dad and each of her children and grandchildren over the years. Even the tacky
Grandma
brooches regularly found their niches on the pristine white collar or shoulder and her gold bracelet drooped from the weight of momentous charms denoting each family member.

Mom took a deep breath, leaned over and in one slow sweep blew out ninety candles.

“Good going, Mom!” we all cried out in unison.

“What did you wish,” mischievous Lexie ventured, her eyes twinkling.

“Don't you wish you knew, Miss Nosey?” Mom shot back and hugged her. With that gesture, the entire flock, like love-starved, hungry puppies, converged upon
Nonie
, hugging and planting kisses on her blushing cheeks and wishing her many, many more birthdays.

Mom had chosen the Italian word for Grandmother,
Noni.
She was fond of saying, “If I had a second choice for who I could be, I would be an Italian. I love the language and the strong sense of family.”

Buffet-style food filled our plates and we scattered all over the house for space in which to park, feast and
chitchat. Jensen and Faith migrated to each other like magnets, to huddle and catch up.

Bachelor Jensen, due to family and friends' matchmaking efforts, never lacked for girlfriends. But today, he opted to simply be with family. His earlier chunkiness now had smoothed and lengthened to, if not thinness, a big, solid hunk of masculinity that seemed to thrill the opposite sex. His onyx, almond-shaped eyes, thick, near black wavy hair and strong olive features lent him a mystical beauty.

“You okay?” Priss took a seat beside me at the long table, which seated only part of the family. Others scattered about on sofas, easy chairs and even on the area rugs, plates parked on large, glass topped coffee and end tables and every available space, devouring a smorgasbord of delectable family favorites.

“Heck, yes,” I reared back, stuck my chin in the air and demonstrated how okay I was. “Couldn't be better.”

Lexie quickly joined us, pulling out a chair for Mom and courteously seating her. We all ate in warm camaraderie, our gazes sweeping the now grown brood whose lives were taking diverse turns and sweeps into this thing called life.

“Tell me, Mom,” Lexie took Mom's surprisingly smooth, unspotted hand, “what does one like you, so strong and dependable, wish for?”

“Lexie!” Priss scolded, scowling comically, her own curiosity ablaze.

“Oh,” Mom waved her free hand. “It's okay. I wished for all the Eagle clan to be happy and blessed. Do you think you can get their attention, Deede? I'd like to address my family.”

I picked up a spoon and pinged it several times against a crystal glass. “Attention, everybody! Noni wishes to speak.”

As one, the gathering fell to silence. Such was the respect for Noni. She slowly stood and swept her gentle smile over everyone. “Please continue to eat. You can listen at the same time. Don't want this wonderful food to grow cold.”

Her voice, even at four score and ten, came out crisp and confident. “I don't know how long I'll be here to impart wisdom to you, my sweet ones.” At her allusion to mortality, groans of protest arose. It struck terror in my heart. And when I gazed at Priss and Lexie, I saw reflected in their eyes the same stricken fear.

Did she know something we didn't?

Unruffled, Mom held up her hand, smiling. “That's not melodrama or a ploy for sympathy, it's a fact. But we have today, do we not?”

The nods were accompanied by misty-eyed adoration for Noni, this lovely retired school teacher who had a legion of students who still wrote her letters and called to thank her for making a difference in their lives. To have them drop by her house for visits and counsel was not out of the ordinary.

“I don't have anything profound to say, but I think these thoughts may have a place in your hearts to lodge if you will allow them to. The first thing I urge you to do is to live peaceably among all people. Don't give all of yourselves away, however. That's not good either. Always be honest. Don't think you always have to speak your opinion about everything. Silence can be golden. Listen to others, regardless of their station in life. Even the poor and ignorant have a story to tell.” She smiled.

“Always be learning.”

The reverential silence touched a spot deep inside me and I felt tears rush to my eyes. I'd already laid my fork aside. So, I noticed, had most of the others.

The wisdom of the words pierced my heart, from this woman who picked me up out of a cold, cruel world, whose warm arms embraced me as her own, who gave me a mother's love, and most of all, gave me a sanctuary in her heart to call my own.

I heard Priss sniffle, then Lexie. Then all over the living area, like leaves rustling, other sniffles and coughs.

Even Faith listened raptly. And I wished my own words would touch her in such a way.

Mom continued in her quiet dignity. “Be careful who you keep company with. The Bible says to avoid loud and aggressive people. That means they can steal your peace. Don't compare yourself to others because you will be disappointed. You were created to be you. Don't be too hard on yourselves.”

She walked over to the younger generation and paused, her features grave. “Remember, you guys,” she pointed a slightly crooked, arthritic finger at them, “God don't make no junk.”

Everybody burst into laughter at Mom's brash, uncharacteristic departure from proper English usage. Then her gaze settled softly on Faith. “Don't think love has forgotten you. Love is as perennial as the grass. It finds you, somehow. You are a child of the universe. You have a right to be here.” Mom's gaze now encompassed the others. “And whether or not you think so, life is unfolding as it should. And whatever your labors and aspirations in the noisy confusion of life, keep peace with your soul.”

She now strolled back over to the older generation. “Grow old gracefully, willingly surrendering the things of youth. And know this, that with all its sham, drudgery and broken dreams, it is still a beautiful world.”

She leaned to kiss each of us, Priss, Lexie and me. Then said softly, “Be cheerful and strive for happiness.”

Mom stood erect and in her best teacher's voice said, “Now, I know some of you recognized those last words of counsel. Who can tell me what it is and who wrote it? A moment of silence, then Lexie's hand shot up. “I know!
Desiderata
.”

“Written by Max Ehrlman,” Priss chimed, grinning like road kill.

Mom beamed. “Correct. An A for both Lexie and Priss!”

I knew Mom's little aside was to break the solemnity of a joyful occasion. And it worked. Light banter and laughter coaxed back the levity. I shook my head in wonder. Mom was such a humble soul. Self-deprecation came easily to her and had brought much laughter during our growing up years.

So had Dad's. I blinked back the jolt of sadness at the void left by his absence.

“Hear this, hear this!” Priss startled me by banging on a serving tray with a huge spoon. When she got everyone's attention, she said, “Mom may have read that poem to us often before we left home, but the counsel she gave us today was hers. Exclusively hers. Because she's lived it by example. Take heed, you younger ones. You don't get this kind of wisdom many times in a lifetime. Take it to your heart. Live by it. You won't be sorry.”

She sat down and one by one, we began to applaud, first Priss, Lexie, me and then Faith, Jensen, Maddie, Betty,
Ginger, Chloe, Dan and all the rest. Then we stood and I pulled Mom gently back to her feet to accept the homage.

Those huge soulful, generous eyes filled with tears as they scanned us, her family, one by one, lingering on each as love spilled from them and splashed over us. We were her life. And she was passionate in her love for each and every one of us. She
cared
and we felt it.

Moments later, Maddie sidled up to me as everyone settled down to conversations once more. “Mema,” she whispered. “I want to sit with you.”

“Sure.” I pulled up a chair and patted it. Now ten, Maddie was blossoming into a Faith look-alike. “I've missed you lately,” I said, feeling it from my soul.