Tracie Peterson (25 page)

“Rachelle wrote us a letter?” Deirdre questioned, shaking her head. “After all this time, she finally felt the need to say something personal to us?”

“Too little, too late, if you ask me,” Erica said, crossing her arms. “I can’t believe she did it.”

“I can,” Deirdre said, almost lost in thought. “She had to set things right.”

“Don’t you dare defend her,” Connie said angrily. “She doesn’t deserve it. She made her way in life and now she has to live with the consequences.”

“Or die with them, in this case,” Mattie said softly.

Across the fire she could see the black, glassy water of the lake.
How did things go so wrong?
she wondered. When she’d first come to live at the farm, life had loomed before her like a clean sheet of paper begging for her touch. What she wrote or painted or sketched on that sheet was entirely up to her. Now, sitting here so many years later, it seemed that the sheet had been gouged, trampled, burned at the edges, and scribbled on over and over.

“I’ve always tried to just think of her as dead,” Erica admitted. “I know it sounds awful, but I even told someone that once when I was in college. I just didn’t want to deal with the truth of it. It wasn’t because I hated her, I just couldn’t deal with my feelings on the matter.”

“I think we were lucky that she had no part in our lives,” Connie was saying, but Mattie hardly heard her. She was lost in her thoughts of Rachelle as her mind drifted back in time. She had been watching a television reporter some twenty years ago explain the overnight phenomenon of Rachelle Barrister.

“We’re here today on the set of award-winning actress Rachelle Barrister. Rachelle’s newest work is a historical intrigue set in Nazioccupied France during World War II. Rachelle, we want to thank you for being with us today.”

Zoom camera to Rachelle. She smiled and made eye contact with her public. Dressed in her costume for the film, she crossed her legs and extended her hand to the reporter. “It’s simply wonderful to be here today.”

Mattie watched with mixed emotions. The Rachelle on the screen was not the same woman or even girl whom Mattie had known and loved. This Rachelle seemed driven and hard. She said all the right things and gave the right gestures, but her eyes were empty of expression. Mattie thought them rather lifeless.

“Your current work deals with World War II. Do you find that a far stretch from the futuristic movie,
Devil’s Sky
, that you made last year? The one for which we all remember you winning Best Actress?”

“It’s not a far stretch at all,” Rachelle told him. “Life is a big play and we all act out our parts. One movie is very similar to another. Someone directs. Someone takes care of the setting. Someone else arranges for the script. I simply put myself into the role, much as I have all my life—both on screen and off.

“However,” she added with a mischievous grin, “that isn’t to say that some roles aren’t more important than others.”

“What would you say have been your most important roles?” the
reporter asked.

Mattie was glued to the set by this time. She longed to hear Rachelle say that the part she played as a member of Mattie’s family had been her most important role. She longed to hear Rachelle tell him that the acting engulfed everything—everything but her relationship to her mother and children. But then she reasoned that perhaps she would feel better if Rachelle did admit that she had played her role in the lives of her children like a bad part. Mattie would have loved it even more had she voiced a demand for a new script.

The reporter was laughing at something Rachelle had said and Mattie realized that she’d just missed what her daughter had replied.

“Of course, my family died when I was very young,” Rachelle said, sobering. “At least most of them did. It was very hard to go on. You can’t imagine what that is like for a girl of twelve. To suddenly find myself so very alone—to lose the people you love—the ones who love you . . .” She let the words trail into silence as her eyes filled with tears.

Mattie hadn’t heard Brook come into the house. She caught sight of the little girl’s angry expression as she watched the television screen. Mattie would have given anything to have saved Brook from hearing those words. Rachelle had made it so clear that no one else existed for whom she could care about or love. She had relegated her children and even Mattie to a world of nonexistence.

“I hate her,” Brook said angrily. “From now on I’m going to tell everyone that my mother is dead. I just wish it were true.”

Mattie’s heart had broken for her granddaughter then, just as it did now for the three who shared her company.

“Mattie.” Harry spoke her name softly.

“Grammy? Are you feeling all right?” Erica questioned.

Mattie shook away the memories of Brook’s hatred and Rachelle’s indifference. It seemed like just yesterday those painful words had been issued.

“I’m fine,” she said and looked at the bonfire to reacquaint herself
with the present. “Harry, you made a dandy fire. We could just sit out here all night.”

Nobody spoke for several minutes. It was almost as if they understood the thoughts Mattie had been thinking.

“Well, I know one person who can’t sit out here all night,” Deirdre replied, stroking Morgan’s hair when she curled onto her lap. “I think it’s someone’s bedtime.”

The little girl stifled a yawn. “I’m not tired.”

They all laughed at this, which only furthered Morgan’s resolve. “I’m not. I wish somebody would tell you adults to go to bed.”

“Morgan!” Deirdre said sternly. “That was uncalled for.”

Mattie chuckled. “Morgan, I wish quite often someone would tell me to go to bed or to go take a nap. Sometimes when you’re all grown-up, you wish you had those things back from your childhood.”

“Well, I don’t like to sleep,” Morgan said softly. “I get bad dreams.”

Deirdre frowned. “Since when?”

Morgan shrugged. “I don’t know. I just get them, and I don’t like them.”

Mattie nodded. “We all get bad dreams sometimes. When I have a bad dream, I pray and ask Jesus to help me think about something else. It always works for me.”

Morgan seemed to think this a possibility. “I’ll try it sometime.”

“Why don’t we get you to bed and you can try it tonight,” Mattie suggested. She got up from her lawn chair and held out her hand. “How about if Grammy puts you to bed tonight? Would that be all right?”

Morgan jumped up and went eagerly to her great-grandmother. “Will you tell me a story?”

“Sure,” Mattie agreed. “Is it okay with you, Deirdre? I guess I really should have asked first.”

Deirdre laughed. “Absolutely. I remember your stories. Maybe I should have you tuck me in too.”

They all chuckled at this as Mattie and Morgan made their way back to the house. It didn’t take any time at all for Morgan to nod off to sleep. After listening to less than half of Mattie’s story about Joseph being sold as a slave by his own brothers, Morgan gave up her fight. Mattie thought how precious she looked sleeping there in Deirdre’s old bed. It definitely took Mattie back in time.

As she touched Morgan’s forehead, it was like caressing a five-year-old Deirdre again. A tear trickled down Mattie’s weathered cheek. Such innocence should never know despair and fear.

“Sometimes,” she whispered, “I wish they could all be little again. I’d find a way to fix the things I did wrong. I’d find a way to make it all right.”

Sighing, she wiped her cheek and turned on the night-light. At the door she paused, shut off the overhead light, and whispered a prayer of protection for Morgan before making her way back downstairs. She imagined the others were still down at the lake and thought she’d just stay in the house for the evening. She had no heart to listen to them talk about Rachelle. Besides, what if Morgan woke up and needed something? But then Mattie remembered she’d left a bag of piecework in the gazebo. She knew better than to leave it there all night and went to retrieve it before it collected too much moisture from the humid evening.

As she neared the gazebo, she could hear the voices of her granddaughters. Only instead of the civil, albeit painful, conversation she’d left them with earlier, they were now embroiled in a rather heated argument.

“Rachelle’s entire life was a waste,” Connie was saying. “There probably won’t be a single cent left after her debts are paid. She gambled too much and lived too high on the hog.”

This seemed to completely miff Deirdre, who snapped back, “It was her money to spend!”

Mattie figured her nerves were just a little too sensitive to the issue of gambling, especially since one of Deirdre’s good friends was caught in a downward spiral from the activity.

“It was her life to spend as well,” Erica commented. “She chose the fast lane—drugs, men . . . especially men. If you want to play the field like she did, you have to pay the price.”

Connie was enraged. “You think just because someone lives their life to the fullest that they should die? Is that what you want for me? Why can’t I live my life my way? At least I’m happy.”

“Are you really?” Erica questioned. “You don’t seem to be. Maybe you’re just saying that to convince yourself—or better yet, to avoid dealing with the pain.”

“Not everyone who dabbles in one vice or another has an obsession or addiction to those things. Rachelle just picked the things that made her happy. It doesn’t mean she was right and we’re wrong, it’s just the choice she made for herself,” Deirdre said, trying as always to be the peacemaker. “I think we should just calm down and wait until the letters come to Grammy before deciding that Rachelle was completely heartless where we were concerned. It’s hardly fair for us to judge her motives.”

“They don’t sound too happy,” Harry said, coming up from behind Mattie in the darkness of the garden.

“Oh, Harry,” Mattie replied, shaking her head. “I figured you were right in the middle of that.” She could barely make out his features in the moonlight.

“Nah. When things started to turn a bit heavy, I told them I needed to get the ax back into the shed. I cleared out of there before things got too ugly.”

“They all seem so lost. So miserable. I was really hoping Rachelle’s death might bring them closer.”

“Maybe it will in the long run,” Harry said. “I guess we just have to be patient.”

Mattie nodded. “I suppose you’re right, but it’s so hard to listen to that and not react.”

“You’ll be happier if you stay out of it, Mattie. You’ve raised them right. You did everything you were supposed to do. They have to make their own choices now, and sometimes those choices aren’t
going to be what you want them to be.”

Mattie knew he was right. The counsel he offered her was no different than that which she might have offered someone else under different circumstances.

“Well, I’ll see you later, Harry,” she replied. “I’m going back up to the house to be there in case Morgan wakes up.”

“I’m going to row home,” he replied. “I sure don’t want to get in the middle of that ordeal and have one of them ask me for my opinion.”

Mattie chuckled. “No, that would surely be a big mistake.”

Deirdre was still groggy the next morning when Dave surprised her by calling before anyone was even out of bed.

“Dave?” she questioned, her voice barely a whisper.

Without any words of greeting, Dave began. “Look, Deirdre, I’m sorry for this, but I need for you to come home. We have to cancel our trip.”

Deirdre instantly woke up. “What do you mean?”

“The case isn’t resolved yet. I can’t leave. I thought we’d have finished up by now, but it didn’t turn out that way. We can’t go.”

“That’s ridiculous. We have reservations, plane tickets. Do you realize the money we’ll be out?” Deirdre replied, trying hard to keep her voice down.

“The way you’ve been spending money over the last few months, it’s probably not that big of a loss. We’re going to have to tighten our belts anyway. Better that we give up a few deposits than get down there and spend more money.”

“I can’t believe you’re doing this to me!” Deirdre declared. Her voice grew loud enough to wake Morgan.

“Are you fighting with Daddy again?” Morgan asked sleepily.

Deirdre ignored her child’s question, as well as the guilt she felt that her daughter should have to witness something so ugly. “Dave, if you do this, I’ll never forgive you. We need this trip. You need it.
Our marriage is falling apart because of your job.”

“Well, maybe if you would stop spending so much money, I wouldn’t have to work so hard.”

Another wave of guilt washed over Deirdre. He was right, of course. She had spent way too much money, and probably the only reason he had agreed to get caught up in such a monstrous case was because of her dreams and schemes.

“Look, Dave,” she finally managed. “Things can’t go on this way.”

“You’re telling me. Just pack up Morgan and come home. Help me get things under control. I don’t know half of who we need to call in order to cancel this thing.”

Deirdre hung up the telephone and bit her lip to keep from crying. This was all her fault. She never should have started gambling. Now she had all this debt to make up. But there was the money she was supposed to give Grammy. She could still use that. But what if Dave figured she’d get it back from Mattie since the trip was cancelled? Of course! That’s exactly what he’d figure would happen. If she told him that Mattie had refused to give her back the money, it would not only be a lie, it would be unfair to Mattie. Dave would think her to be some sort of moneygrubber.

“Was Daddy mad again?” Morgan asked.

Deirdre looked at her daughter and felt an overwhelming sorrow. “He’s just tired, honey,” Deirdre told her. “He’s working too hard.”

She went to the closet and pulled out their suitcases. “I’m sorry, but you can’t stay here with Grammy. Daddy wants us to come home.”

“But I want to stay!” Morgan declared, crawling to the end of the bed. She was up on her knees, her little white nightgown bunched around her legs. “I don’t want to leave.” She started to cry.

Deirdre knew she’d reached her own breaking point. The last thing she needed to have to deal with was Morgan’s temper tantrum. “I don’t have a choice. Now get dressed.” She tossed an outfit onto
the bed and followed it with a pair of socks. “I’m going to pack the rest of this and then we’re leaving.”