Tracie Peterson (34 page)

Lifting out the quilted piece, Ashley spread it open, then dropped it back on the table. She gasped in recognition, knowing full well where it had come from.

The perfectly embroidered
A
stared out at her from the center of intertwined circles—circles made from clothing that Ashley remembered quite well.

There was no doubt in her mind that Grammy had cut apart her quilt. There was also no doubt in Ashley’s mind as to why her grandmother had gone to such a length. Somehow, Ashley knew instinctively that if she called her sisters, they, too, would have received a similar gift.

Tears came to her eyes and trailed down her cheeks. Her head began to hurt and she could feel her pulse beating at her temples.

“Oh, Grammy,” she said, touching the quilt ever so gently. She traced the circles with her index finger and shook her head. “What have we done to you?”

She thought of the bitterness that had crept into their lives since Rachelle’s funeral. She remembered all the ugly words they’d said and the fights and animosity they’d allowed between them. Prior to the accident, Ashley had given her sisters very little of her time or attention. After the accident, she had given them nothing. And with exception to Brook, she’d barely spoken to any of her family.

“Oh, forgive me, Grammy,” she murmured and hugged the piece close. “You’ve torn it apart because you feel torn apart. Because we are torn apart.” The message was powerfully clear to Ashley. But worse than that, she wondered if it was too late to make things right. Then she saw the envelope. A sense of dread and fear washed over her. Had Grammy written her further admonishments?

She put the wall hanging down and picked up the letter. Within seconds she had it open, only to stare at it in numb wonder as she found Rachelle’s signature at the bottom of the letter.

To my daughter Ashley
,

The first time I laid eyes on you, I knew you were someone special. Somehow I knew, even though you were the image of your sister Brook, that you were uniquely set apart. Then, as you grew up and I heard tales of your accomplishments, learned of your marriage and your family, I envied you. You were everything I should have been. And if I had been stronger, perhaps a better wife, maybe your father wouldn’t have turned to drugs and maybe we could have been one big happy family
.

You see, I never intended that my mother should raise you forever. I just knew that as a young mother of sixteen, I couldn’t handle the job at hand. It was hard enough to face one baby, but two made me more frightened than I’d ever been. I know my choices were wrong, Ashley, but because you have children of your own, I want you to put yourself in my place. If you knew you
would only cause them more harm and pain, would you force them to spend their life with you? I knew Mattie could care for you and love you in a way I didn’t have to give
.

I know I was wrong. I know I was selfish and foolish and that I never deserved you or your sisters. But I loved you. Believe it or not, now that I stand ready to end my life, it doesn’t matter nearly as much that you believe it, as that I have a chance to say it. I wish I could have your forgiveness, and that is really all I want to ask for as I pass from this life. Again, think of your own boys, John and Zach. If you had disappointed them, hurt them because you were unable to deal with your own pain, wouldn’t you hope beyond hope that they could somehow forgive you?

Rachelle

Ashley clutched the letter and felt the sorrow of all her losses wash over her in one big wave. “She knew their names,” Ashley sobbed, rocking back and forth.
She knew my boys’ names
.

Connie returned from jogging to find a small brown paper package leaning precariously on the ledge above the apartment mailboxes. Turning the key to the small box, she retrieved the rest of the mail, then took down the package. The return address was from Council Grove and even if it hadn’t been, Connie would have recognized Mattie’s handwriting.

Attempting to open the package as she made her way to her apartment, Connie nearly dropped her other mail. She found the key for her door and went inside, several letters falling from her grasp just as she stepped across the threshold. Pausing to pick these up, she hurried to the kitchen counter to see what Gram had sent.

As she pulled out the wall hanging, she stared at it for a moment, turning it first one way and then another. Connie then looked back inside the box for a letter that might explain the piece. The letter at the bottom of the box didn’t look to have Grammy’s handwriting, but Connie opened it nevertheless.

To my daughter Connie
,

You came into this world in a hard way. The pregnancy was difficult and seemed to last forever—maybe because I knew I had wronged the husband I loved. Maybe because I knew I would never be able to deal with the consequences of my actions
.

I wronged you, Connie. As much as I wronged Gary, I wronged you maybe even more. I denied you and fought against you even while carrying you. I thought perhaps if I didn’t think of you there—inside me, growing every day—that somehow my indiscretion, my sin, would pass away. But you were there and you refused to go away. And now I’m so glad you didn’t go away. You are special, Connie, and I see so much of myself in you. You are determined—a fighter—but you are not the coward I was. By now you probably know that I’ve taken my life. I make this choice because I can’t live with the guilt of what I’ve done to you girls and to my mother
.

Everyone has always seen me as strong, but I’m not strong. I never was. What I am is a good actress, and I made everyone believe what I wanted them to believe. I only wish now that could be true with you as you read this letter. I long for you to believe that I loved you. I long for you to forgive me, even though I don’t deserve forgiveness. Someday you may know the need for forgiveness as well. You’ll long for someone to have mercy—to take pity on you and sponge away the mistakes you’ve made . . . the hurt you’ve caused. Maybe then you’ll know my longing in full. Maybe then you’ll forgive me as well
.

Rachelle

Connie put the letter aside and refused to think about the words on the paper. It was all a mistake. That had to be it. It was just a mistake—a joke. The quilt was Grammy’s and the letter undoubtedly came from Mavis Lane, but the contents had to be forged. Rachelle would never have sent such a letter. Would she?

Connie picked up the quilted wall hanging and turned the piece in her hands. This was part of Grammy’s quilt. She knew it was because she recognized the material in one of the circles. It was a sweet pale pink with fluffy white kittens in fields of lavender clover. This had been from a favorite dress Mattie had created for Connie
when she was five.

Tracing the circles with her finger, Connie remembered how Grammy had said they were all connected to one another. Yet she had always felt isolated from her sisters—never a true part of the family. Erica said it was because she chose not to be a part of the family. Deirdre and Ashley had said as much on other occasions, and Connie was sure if she thought hard enough about it, that Brook had probably said something similar.

“But I never felt good enough to be a part of that circle,” she whispered as she continued tracing the patterns in the wall hanging. Grammy’s intricate quilting fascinated Connie. Such attention and focus had been given to the blank spaces in the quilt. More attention even than the colorful appliquéd circles and scrolling ribbon on the sides.

She kicked off her tennis shoes and sighed. “Maybe it was all my fault,” she admitted to herself. “But it was hard not to feel that way. Especially after learning the truth.”

The truth had come to her when she had been no more than ten. They were at church, and as usual, Grammy was helping to clean up things in the Sunday school class before they left for the day. With her sisters outside talking to their friends, Connie had come back to the classrooms to see if she could help Grammy.

“She looks completely different,” one of Grammy’s lady friends was saying. Connie couldn’t remember who the woman was, but her words were forever etched in her memory. “It’s easy to see she doesn’t fit in—at least not by her looks.”

Grammy hadn’t seen Connie come into the room. Neither had her friend. “Connie has a different father,” Grammy told the woman. “Rachelle was on the verge of a divorce and made some wrong choices. She never told me who Connie’s father was, but when she went back to her husband, he wasn’t inclined to want to raise another man’s child.”

Just then the woman noticed Connie. “Well, I suppose I should collect my kids and get on home. I’ll see you at Wednesday
night service.”

Grammy had been surprised by the woman’s reaction until she’d turned around and found the stunned Connie standing by the door.

“Are you all right?” Mattie asked Connie.

“I have a different father?”

Gram seemed surprised by this question. “You knew you had a different father.”

Connie shook her head vehemently. “No, I didn’t.”

She remembered the look on Grammy’s face. It was a mixture of pain and regret. “I thought you knew.” Her voice was sincere. “Oh, Connie, I thought you knew.”

Connie looked at the wall hanging and felt her eyes moisten. “I didn’t know, Grammy. I knew I didn’t fit in, but I didn’t know why. I thought it was because Ashley and Brook were twins and Deirdre and Erica were so close in age. I didn’t know it was because I was the result of a one-night stand.”

She closed her eyes and pushed the images from her mind. Grammy had tried hard to handle the situation delicately. She had explained her mother’s confusion and then tried to explain without going into the intimate details of what men and women did together, how Connie could have a different father. All while sitting there in the fourth grade Sunday school room on a hot, humid summer day.

It had stormed later that afternoon, and Connie had thought that God was mad at her. Mainly because she had ranted at God in her heart and was mad at Him. The storm had been fierce—ruining crops, downing power lines. It had even destroyed one of Grammy’s outbuildings down by the old homestead. They had spent hours in the storm cave as one storm followed another and lashed the land unmercifully. Connie had felt sure that it was all her fault.

Shaking her head, Connie again looked at the letter. Her mother had asked for forgiveness. It was really all Connie wanted as well. Forgiveness for her own indiscretions. Forgiveness for the walls she’d erected as monuments to her own pain.

Someday you may know the need for forgiveness as well. You’ll long for someone to
have mercy—to take pity on you and sponge away the mistakes you’ve made . . . the hurt you’ve caused
.

Connie remembered the words from the letter in vivid detail. No one could have known those feelings like Rachelle. The letter had to be authentic.

Tears came to her eyes. “I do know that need for forgiveness. So much of my pain has been my own fault,” she whispered. “So much of my pain has been without need.”

Chapter 30

Deirdre looked at the clouds overhead and decided to get in a bit of gardening before the predicted rain began to fall. Her nerves were raw from fighting with Dave. Fighting because he’d bounced two checks. Fighting because after arguing his position with the bank, he realized the reason for those bounced checks had to do with her withdrawals from the ATM.

She had listened to him rant and rave about her cavalier attitude toward finances. He had accused her of everything short of infidelity, then blamed her for the headache he’d been battling for the last eight hours. At one point he’d worked himself into such a dither that he stalked from the room—punching door frames and walls as he went. But when he’d calmed and returned, he wanted to know why she had taken the money and what she had done with it.

His expression revealed his fury and his eyes still suggested her betrayal. And because of this, Deirdre refused to tell him the truth. She couldn’t have confessed her sin at that moment had a league of angels stood beside her for support. She had started to cry, and this in turn had upset Morgan, who had taken a bold and uncharacteristic stand for her mother.

“You made Mommy cry!” she had declared, throwing herself between Dave and Deirdre. “You aren’t a nice daddy anymore.”

This had infuriated Dave, but it had also wounded him more deeply than he would let on. Deirdre had seen the hurt register on his face. She had tried to call him back as he’d stormed out of the house, but it was to no avail. Her constricted throat wouldn’t allow the words.

Kneeling in front of Morgan, Deirdre hugged her daughter for several minutes, then regained control of her own emotions and assured Morgan that Daddy was just tired.

“He’s still a good daddy, Morgan. Sometimes grown-ups have problems that are hard for kids to understand, but it doesn’t mean we don’t love you as much as ever. Daddy loves you very much and so do I.”

When things had calmed between them, Deirdre had talked Morgan into taking her afternoon nap, all hinging on the promise that they would go out for supper at one of the local kids-oriented pizza places.