River's End (9781426761140) Page 2

  Still, Anna moved some of Hazel’s personal things out of the way, trying to make the little cabin seem as welcoming as possible to Sarah. She even ducked outside and picked some of the wildflowers growing nearby and was just putting the vase on the wooden kitchen table when Sarah emerged from the tiny bathroom addition that Clark had built for his mother so many years ago.

  “Oh!” Sarah seemed surprised, securing the soronglike towel more tightly about her as her long dark hair dripped down over her bare shoulders. Anna cringed inwardly to see Sarah’s grayish skin stretched tautly over her collarbone. She looked emaciated.

  “I didn’t mean to startle you,” Anna said gently. “I put some breakfast in the stove for you and was just airing this room out and straightening up a bit. Hazel hasn’t stayed here since last August.” Now Anna prattled on about how Hazel had recently retired from teaching at the university, and how she was now on a tour of some Asian countries.

  “That sounds interesting.” Sarah’s voice sounded flat and nearly void of emotion.

  Anna pointed to the clothes she’d set on the chair. “I know that dress will be too big for you, but it’s clean and comfortable. There are some other things, too.”

  “Thank you.” Still Sarah just stood there, warily watching, almost as if she wished Anna would leave.

  “I thought we could talk,” Anna said. “Why don’t you get dressed and I’ll make us some coffee and—”

  “I don’t drink coffee.”

  “Tea then?” Anna suggested.

  “Only if it’s herbal.”

  “Oh . . .” Anna nodded as she turned to open the cupboard near the stove. “Well, I’m sure Hazel must have some chamomile here somewhere.”

  Sarah took the clothes to the bedroom with her, and Anna busied herself making tea. For some reason, she felt like she was treading on eggshells here, like one wrong word, one misstep, and Sarah might take off running like a scared rabbit. And so, as she waited for the water to heat, Anna prayed. She prayed for Sarah as well as for the rest of them. She prayed that this unexpected reunion would go as smoothly as possible—and that no one’s feelings would be hurt. Especially Lauren’s and Sarah’s.

  Lauren had made so many mistakes with Sarah. Even she could admit this now. But her excuse was that she’d been young, too young . . . a child parenting a child. In many ways Sarah had been more mature than her mother. Still, Lauren had started to grow up after her marriage to Donald had dis-integrated. She’d put aside many of her old self-centered ways, but although she was close to forty, she sometimes still acted in a somewhat childish way. However, Anna was patient with her. And sometimes she even blamed herself for some of Lauren’s narcissistic tendencies. Perhaps if she hadn’t abdicated some of Lauren’s upbringing to Eunice it would have gone better.

  Still, Anna knew it did no good to dwell in the past. Better to learn from your mistakes and move forward . . . trying not to make them again. The teakettle whistled, and Anna turned off the propane, filled the teapot with hot water, rinsed it around (as Babette had taught her to do long ago), then poured in the loose leaves and filled it again. Not for the first time, Anna was acutely aware of how so many parts of her life had been influenced by the women who had gone before her. How thankful she was for them.

  Sarah emerged from the bedroom with her hair wrapped in a towel. Barefoot and wearing Anna’s faded blue housedress, which hung on her like a sack, Sarah stood there in the doorway with a guarded expression, her arms folded across her front in a protected sort of way.

  “Tea is ready,” Anna said cheerfully. She used a dishtowel to remove the warm plate from the oven. “And here is some breakfast. Your favorite.” She set the plate of hotcakes, eggs, and bacon on the table with a smile.

  Sarah made a slightly disgusted look. “Bacon?”

  “You used to love—”

  “I do not eat the flesh of my fellow creatures.”

  “Oh . . .” Anna plucked the strips of crispy bacon from the plate, tossing them from hand to hand as they cooled. Then she removed a saucer from the dish cupboard and, placing the bacon on it, set it down at the table opposite Sarah’s place. “Then I’ll just have that.” She hadn’t eaten breakfast yet. No sense to waste good food. She pulled out the chair and sat down, waiting for Sarah to follow her lead.

  Sarah almost seemed to turn up her nose as she gingerly sat down across from Anna and picked up her fork, and although she seemed uneasy, it wasn’t long before she was gobbling up the food. She was obviously hungry. Half-starved from what Anna could see.

  Anna watched furtively as she nibbled at the bacon, wishing she’d thought to bring down more food. Poor Sarah looked like she hadn’t eaten in days . . . maybe even weeks. “Can I get you some more?” she offered finally.

  “No.” Sarah firmly shook her head. “That’s plenty.”

  Anna nodded. “All right . . .” Still she felt uneasy, wondering why this was so difficult. How was it possible that sweet Sarah had changed so completely . . . grown so distant . . . almost to the point of hostility?

  “You know our ancestors nearly starved when they were relocated to the reservation up north,” she said absently. Really, she was simply trying to think of something innocuous to say. Something safe and removed from whatever was actually transpiring in this room right now. “Your great-grandmother, Pearl, the one who built this cabin, used to tell me how hard it was for them to find food in those days.” She sadly shook her head. “Some of the men were shot for going out in search of shellfish and berries, just hoping to feed their families. If you can imagine.”

  “The white men have always hated us.”

  Anna frowned. “Well, that’s not entirely true.”

  Sarah glared at her through those dark eyes. “How can you say that?”

  “Because I’ve known many good white men, including my own father.” She smiled. “In fact, I’m married to one.”

  Sarah pushed her empty plate to the center of the table.

  “I believe that fear and ignorance were the biggest problems in those days,” Anna continued. “Fear and ignorance usually lead to intolerance. That was the white man’s biggest shortcoming. And, to be fair, it can be anyone’s downfall. When we fall into fear, allowing ourselves to believe falsehoods about others, we eventually learn to hate.” She looked evenly at Sarah now. “But when we embrace one another’s differences, when we make ourselves open to really understanding one another, then it’s not so difficult to love.” She smiled. “With God’s help.”

  Sarah studied Anna closely, as if trying to take this in. But then she shook her head. “Some people aren’t worthy of our love.”

  “Really . . . ?” Anna waited.

  “Some people need to be purged from our lives.”

  “Purged?” Anna considered this. “And how exactly does one do this?”

  “By removing themselves.”

  Anna simply nodded. “Is that what you did?”

  “I guess so.”

  Anna took in a slow breath. “Is that how you see me, Sarah? As someone you needed to purge from your life?”

  Sarah’s eyebrows shot up. “Oh, no, Grandma, not you. But my mother and father—they were toxic.”

  “Toxic?” Anna blinked.

  “Poison. They were slowly but surely killing me.”

  “Oh, Sarah,” Anna exclaimed. “I’m so sorry you felt that way. I wish you would’ve come to me . . . instead of running away.”

  “How could I come to you?” Sarah demanded. “My mother was here with you. I had nowhere to go.”

  “And that’s why you left with Zane?”

  “Zane . . .” Sarah slowly shook her head. “I almost forgot about him.”

  “You mean you weren’t with him this whole time?”

  “Oh, no. Zane and I parted ways early on. He wanted to stay stoned and follow the Grateful Dead all over the country. That wasn’t what I was looking for.”

  “What were you looking for?”

  “Peace . . .
inner peace.” She sighed sadly.

  “And did you find it?”

  Sarah looked out the window with a longing expression. “I thought I did . . . at first.”

  “But it didn’t last?” Anna gently prodded.

  Sarah just shook her head.

  “Do you want to talk about it?”

  “I’m really tired.” She glanced toward the bedroom.

  “Yes.” Anna stood, gathering the dishes. “I’m sure you are. Please, just rest. We can talk later.”

  Sarah padded off to the bedroom, closing the door, and Anna rinsed the breakfast dishes then wiped down the counters and dusted a few things, shook out the throw rugs and finally, satisfied that she’d made the place as homey as possible, quietly let herself out.

  “Who’s the sick guest?” Lauren asked as Anna carried the dishes into the kitchen. The house was vacant of guests now, and Lauren and was alone in the kitchen.

  Anna set the dishes in the sink, trying to think of an answer.

  “I heard Mrs. Lindley’s having morning sickness,” Lauren continued absently. “Remember how sick I was when I was pregnant with—” She stopped herself.

  Anna turned to look at Lauren, seeing the tears in her daughter’s eyes.

  “Do you know what day this is, Mom?”

  Anna just nodded.

  “I—I—”

  Before Lauren could finish, Anna gathered her in her arms. “It’s going to be okay, Lauren. Really, it’s going to be okay.”

  “How can you possibly say that?” Lauren finally said between sobs. “It’s been two years, Mom. Two years!”

  Anna put her hands on Lauren’s shoulders, firmly grasping her. “Just trust me on this, Lauren. I know that Sarah is all right.”

  “How can you know that?” Lauren fumbled in the pocket of her apron, pulling out a tissue to wipe her eyes. “Did you have a dream or a vision or something?”

  “Something . . . ,” Anna muttered as she turned away, pretending to be busily putting the dishes in the dishwasher.

  “Any coffee left?” Clark asked as he came into the house.

  “I just made a fresh pot,” Lauren told him. As she went to get him a cup, Anna and Clark exchanged glances. Anna was trying to warn him with her eyes not to mention Sarah.

  “Well, I think I got the pump fixed,” he said as Lauren handed him a mug of coffee. “Glad I didn’t have to call in Mike Watson in to help.”

  Now they made small talk about the pump and the weather and how one of the guests had caught a record-size salmon early this morning, and, for a few moments, Anna nearly forgot about her prodigal granddaughter. Before long, one of the summer staffers came in, asking for help with something in the laundry room and Lauren offered to go and assist.

  “I take it she hasn’t heard the news,” Clark said quietly after they left.

  “No.” Anna pressed her lips together.

  “How long do you think you’ll need to keep it from her?”

  “Hopefully not long. I feel so deceitful. But I don’t want to hurt Sarah. She seems so fragile . . . so vulnerable.” Now she relayed to him what Sarah had said to her, hoping that as she repeated the strange words, they would make more sense.

  “I can understand how she might think her parents weren’t the healthiest people in her life,” he conceded. “But that still doesn’t explain disappearing for two years.”

  “I have a feeling she was someplace where people tried to make her think like them. Almost as if she was slightly brainwashed.”

  “Brainwashed?”

  “I know that sounds crazy. But it’s like something in her is changed. Almost as if the light in her—remember that sparkle she used to have—as if it’s been snuffed out.” Anna felt on the verge of tears now. “Oh, I realize she’s probably just exhausted. She was so filthy and sad-looking. And she looks half-starved. You should’ve seen her eating. In fact, that reminds me. I want to take some food down there, to have ready for her when she wakes.” Anna got up and started to gather some fruit and baked goods and a few other things.

  “I sure would like to see her,” Clark said as Anna put these items in a basket.

  “I know. And when it’s time . . .”

  “In the meantime, mum’s the word?”

  “Just for now.” Anna went to the door. “I’ll encourage her . . . but I don’t want to push her too hard. Like I said, she seems so fragile right now, so apprehensive.” But Anna didn’t say what she feared most—that Sarah seemed so wounded and fearful . . . that Anna was worried she might run away again. All Anna wanted to do for the time being was to ensure that Sarah stayed here with them. At least long enough to make sense of what she’d experienced these past two years. And hopefully long enough for her to heal some of the old wounds that seemed to be festering inside of her now. Anna knew the river was a place of healing, but it only worked if the person was willing. She prayed that Sarah would be willing—and that Lauren would not interfere.

  3

  Sarah’s birthday came and went without Lauren ever knowing her daughter was only just yards away. Anna wished there was another way to handle this, but she knew that if Lauren could grasp the whole situation—including Anna’s concerns that Sarah might bolt—she would understand and appreciate that Anna was protecting the girl. After all, the important thing was that Sarah had come home . . . and that she was alive.

  However, on the third day of Sarah’s visit, even Anna was growing somewhat impatient. Seated across from her granddaughter in a well-worn easy chair, she turned the coffee mug around and around in her hands. “I really don’t want to push you, Sarah,” she began gently, “but I worry that you’re holing up in here, keeping yourself hidden away like this . . . and for no good reason. Really, I think you’d feel better if you went outside to enjoy the river and this good weather. It’s not always this pleasant in June, and you could take out the canoe and—”

  “I do not want to see her,” Sarah seethed.

  Anna knew Sarah was referring to her mother. For some reason Lauren was this obstacle that Sarah could just not seem to get past. “I wish you could trust me about this,” she told Sarah for what felt the umpteenth time, “your mother has truly changed.”

  “Please, don’t call her my mother.” Sarah scowled. “She is nothing to me.”

  “All right.” Anna nodded with lips pressed tightly together. “Then what should I call her?”

  Sarah narrowed her eyes.

  “How about if I just call her Lauren?”

  “Call her whatever you like, just keep her away from me.”

  “You need to understand that your . . . I mean that Lauren has many regrets for how she handled things with you.”

  “Handled things?” Sarah blurted. “That woman never handled a single thing when it came to me. She left the handling to everyone else. You or Dad or Grandmother Eunice or even Grandmother Thomas—all had more to do with me than my mother—I mean Lauren. She was not a mother to me.”

  Anna just nodded. “I know . . . and I’m sure Lauren would agree with you on that.”

  “I really don’t care what Lauren would think one way or another. While I was gone, I pretended that she was dead. In fact, I told everyone that both my parents had been killed in a tragic car wreck.”

  “I can understand why you would do that.” And, really, Anna could understand it. First of all, Lauren had all but abandoned Sarah—possibly when Sarah needed her the most. It was true Lauren had been getting over her addiction to Valium and alcohol and that she’d been on the verge of a nervous breakdown, but in Sarah’s eyes it must’ve felt like abandonment. And when Sarah’s father embarked on a scandalous affair with his secretary . . . well, it probably was simply easier to imagine her parents were dead. Less painful that way.

  “Everyone felt so sorry for me,” Sarah continued. “They welcomed me and made me feel at home.” She looked at Anna with misty eyes. “Besides being here with you and Clark and Hazel, that was the closest thing to home I’d ever expe
rienced. And I loved it . . . at first.”

  “What changed?” Anna asked gently. She was eager to hear Sarah’s entire story, where she’d been and who she’d been with, but up until now Sarah had been closed tighter than a freshly dug razor clam about the past two years.

  Sarah leaned back in the old rocker, pushing her fingers through the loopholes in the knitted afghan over her lap. It was one that Anna’s mother had crocheted many years ago. “Lots of things changed,” she said slowly. “First of all, Aaron left. That was when it all started to go downhill.”

  “Aaron?”

  Sarah looked out the window with a slightly dreamy expression. “Aaron was our leader. He was a truly good man. He loved God with his whole heart. And he wanted us to follow his example.”

  Anna was beginning to understand now. Sarah had probably been in one of the communes that had become so prolific in Oregon and California, especially along the coast. This particular phenomenon had started in the late sixties and had continued into the seventies. In fact, Anna even remembered a time when the inn had been suspected of being a commune of sorts. Of course, Anna had simply taken that in stride, and eventually the ridiculous rumors faded.

  “Aaron and Misty were like our spiritual parents,” Sarah continued. “Everything they did was for our own good. Even when we didn’t like their decisions, we knew they loved us. You could just feel it. Aaron and Misty were good people.”

  Anna just nodded.

  “And for a while, everything was perfect.”

  “Perfect?” Anna tried not to sound too skeptical.

  “Well . . . maybe not perfect. But it was good. Really good.”

  “I’m curious about something, Sarah . . .”

  “What?”

  “Why didn’t you call us? Just to let us know you were all right. We were so worried about you. You were so young . . . and we had no idea what had happened.”

  Sarah seemed to consider this. “A condition of staying in the family was to break all outside ties. We were forbidden to contact anyone from our past.”

  “Oh . . .”

  “But it’s not like they forced us. We did it willingly,” she said quickly. “It wasn’t as if we were being held prisoner there.” She frowned. “Well, not at first anyway.”