River's End (9781426761140) (32 page)

“But do you think she'll want to attend the wedding?”

“It's hard to say, Lauren.” The truth was, Anna didn't want to say . . . because she was afraid Sarah would probably concoct some excuse to get out of it.

“After what happened over Thanksgiving . . . well, I won't get my hopes up.”

“I'll talk to her about it,” Anna told her. “She'll be here the week before Christmas so I'll have time to work on her.”

“And Brad and I thought we should probably pass on joining you for Christmas.”

“But Lauren, we planned on having you. Marshall and Joanna will be here. And Jewel and Skip. Johnny is bringing his new girlfriend. And Mrs. Smyth and several others, too. I thought if we had a big crowd, it would make it easier on you and Sarah. Please, come.”

“I want to, Mom. Believe me, there's no place I'd rather be. But I don't want to spoil it for everyone . . . especially for Sarah.”

“We've got to get past this,” Anna firmly told her. “Promise me that you and Brad will come, and I will promise to have a long, serious talk with Sarah. I have a feeling she's gotten stuck in the past . . . that she might need some gentle nudging to move forward.”

“And you want to nudge her?”

“As a matter of fact, I do.”

Anna could tell that Sarah was worn out from her first term of college and final exams. For that reason, Anna decided not to bring up the topic of Lauren's wedding until Sarah had some time to relax and recover. For three days, she'd slept in past ten, but on the fourth morning, she got up before nine.

“You look like you're more rested,” Anna told Sarah as she came over to the dining table where Anna was working.

“What are you making?” Sarah asked.

Anna looked up from where she was gluing dried flowers and twigs onto a base of wood. “Candle holders.” She showed Sarah the little brass cups that would hold a taper candle once it was adhered to the wood. “See how it works?”

“Pretty.” Sarah sat down at the table and, picking up a sprig of lavender, sniffed it. “Hmm . . . sweet.”

“Do you want to help?”

“Sure.”

Anna explained the process, and they worked together quietly for a while.

“Are these for Christmas presents?” Sarah asked as she picked up a fragile rosebud.

“No . . .” Anna considered her answer, wondering if there was a way to soften it and then decided not to. “They're for your mother's wedding.”

“Oh.” The dried rosebud crumbled in Sarah's hand.

“Yes, I figured you'd lose interest if you knew that.” Anna looked evenly at her. “But there you have it. Your mother has met a great guy, and they are getting married on the Saturday following Christmas. The wedding will be here at the inn with a reception following. I expect you'll want to disappear throughout the whole thing.” She sighed. “And that is your choice.”

Sarah looked slightly dumbfounded.

“I left some oatmeal on the stove,” Anna told her. “In case you're hungry for breakfast.”

“Uh, sure.” Sarah slowly stood, going into the kitchen.

Anna stared at the pieces of crushed rosebud. She had dried those roses in the late fall, hoping to find a use for them for
Lauren's wedding. She had plenty more. But something about seeing it there got to her.

“Grandpa and I already ate.” Anna knew that her voice sounded stiff and tight. And she was well aware that she wasn't treating Sarah with the usual soft kid gloves. But maybe it was time for Sarah to get a small dose of reality. Well, after she'd had some breakfast anyway.

As Sarah fixed herself a bowl of oatmeal, eating in the kitchen, Anna continued to sit at the dining room table, gluing flowers . . . and she prayed silently. She didn't want to lose all her patience with Sarah. But at the same time she didn't want to sit idly by or give the impression she was encouraging Sarah's stubbornness. Even the coldest winter had to end eventually.

“Are you mad at me, Grandma?” Sarah sat back down at the dining room table.

Anna looked directly into her eyes. “I'm not mad at you, Sarah. But I am worried.”

With pursed lips, Sarah picked up a willow twig and, spinning it between her fingers, studied it.

“Do you know what that is?” Anna asked.

Sarah's brow creased. “Some kind of branch?”

“It's willow.”

“Oh . . .”

“Do you know what willow is for?”

Sarah's expression showed she did not.

“Willow is for maturity and balance. My grandmother used to make willow tea for people who struggled with bitterness and selfishness. Willow was supposed to help bring a more positive attitude.”

Sarah dropped the twig.

“Perhaps I should make you some.” Anna's lips curved into a partial smile.

“Do you think it would help?” Sarah sounded sincere.

Anna shrugged. “I doubt it would hurt.”

“Okay.” Sarah nodded.

Anna was surprised. “Really, you want some willow tea?”

“Sure.”

Now Anna didn't even know if she had any dried willow. But as she went to her jars of dried herbs, she was determined to concoct some kind of tea—even if it wasn't willow, it would be worth a try. Perhaps tea and sympathy would unlock something in Sarah. When she returned with two steaming cups of herb tea, a combination of chamomile, lemongrass, and mint, Sarah was back to working on the candleholders.

As they sipped tea and glued flowers and twigs, Anna told Sarah a bit about how Lauren and Brad met, how they chatted regularly in the coffee shop, but that it took months for Lauren to find out his name. Sarah listened with an air of disinterest, but at least she listened. So Anna continued, telling Sarah about Brad's sculptures. She even went to find the photos Lauren had sent her and showed them to Sarah.

Sarah nodded in an absent sort of way. “He's good.”

“And he's Native American,” Anna said finally.

Sarah looked up with a stunned expression. “Really?”

“Yes. His mother is part Paiute. She grew up on a reservation.”

“Really?” Sarah looked skeptical. “My mom is going to marry a Native American?”

“She is.”

“That's hard to believe.”

“Why is that?” Anna paused to sip her tea.

“Because she's always been so . . . well, so . . . conventional.” Sarah frowned as if that wasn't what she wanted to say. “Or to be more specific, she's been rather narrow-minded and
bigoted. I find it hard to believe she's going to marry a Native American.”

“That's because you don't really know her, Sarah. You know who she used to be. But she has changed—dramatically. She started to change when she came to the river after her marriage fell apart. She changed even more during the time when you were missing. It was hard on her not knowing where you were . . . it was hard on all of us. But your mother blamed herself for your troubles, Sarah.”

“Well, she had a lot to do with it.”

“And she realizes that. And I know she wants to tell you she's sorry. Except that you won't listen.”

Sarah took a long sip of tea then peered down into the cup. “Does this stuff really work, Grandma?”

Anna sighed. “You tell me.”

Sarah shrugged.

“What good does it do you to hold onto your bitterness against your mother, Sarah?” Anna set the candleholder down with a thud. “Can you tell me one good reason for withholding your forgiveness from her?”

She shrugged again.

“Does it make you feel good inside?” Anna persisted. “Does it bring you peace and joy and happiness?”

“No.” Sarah rolled her eyes. “Of course not.”

“Then why hold onto it?”

Sarah drank the last of her tea then sighed deeply. “I don't know. I honestly don't know. It's like I've been doing it so long that I don't know what else to do.”

“Do you need to get some kind of counseling?” Anna asked gently.

Sarah's chin was trembling slightly. “I don't know.”

“You are such a beautiful person . . . so intelligent . . . such a bright future . . . but holding in that bitterness could steal it
all away.” Suddenly Anna remembered her own mother. “I've seen it happen before.” And so she began to tell Sarah about how Anna's mother resented her own mother for returning to her Siuslaw roots.

“My mother was ashamed of her Indian heritage, Sarah, so much so that she shoved her mother away from her. And it shut my mother down inside. I didn't understand it at the time, but looking back, I can see that's what it did. Her bitterness against my grandmother poisoned my mother. It hurt me, too. I suspect it hurt everyone around her. But I doubt she could see it . . . not when she was younger. It wasn't until she was around my age that she finally acknowledged her problems and began to change. But I'm sure that all that bitterness shortened her life.” Anna sighed sadly. “Because she wasn't much older than I am now when she passed on.”

“You think I'm like her?” Sarah asked in an offended tone. “You think I would've treated Grandma Pearl like that? I loved Grandma Pearl. I can feel her spirit in the cabin. I can feel her when I read Hazel's book. I would never be like your mother.”

“I think your bitterness is similar to my mother's . . . and I don't want that for you, Sarah.” Anna picked up a willow branch, bending it in her hands. “I want you to be strong and resilient like a willow. I want you to forgive and heal and move forward with grace and beauty. But you have to choose it for yourself, Sarah.”

“
How?
” Sarah stood with a defiant look in her eye. “How do I
choose
it?”

“Well, first of all, you have to want it. And then, you might need to ask God to help you forgive. Did you ever read those Bible verses that I wrote down for you? The ones about what Jesus said about forgiveness? How we can only receive God's forgiveness when we're willing to give it to others just as freely as he gave it to us? Did you read that yet?”

Sarah shook her head.

“Then I suggest you read it. Perhaps we can sit down and read it together. But you have to choose to do it for yourself, Sarah. And then you simply move forward, one step at a time.”

Sarah politely thanked Anna for the tea then headed for the door. Anna wasn't sure if she planned to go read the Bible verses or if she was angry at being pinned down like that. And, really, Anna didn't care if she had angered the girl. It was high time Sarah got beyond these rough waters.

Anna had just finished the last of the candleholders when the phone rang. To her surprise it was Johnny Johnson, and he was out of breath.

“I thought you were fishing with Clark,” she said.

“I'm at the hospital, Anna.”

“Are you okay?”

“I'm okay. But it's Clark.”

Anna's heart lurched. “What? What's wrong?”

“He's in the emergency room.”

“Why? What happened?”

“He fell, Anna.”

“But is he okay?”

“I'm not sure. But can you get down here?”

“Yes. I'm on my way.” She hung up the phone and grabbed her jacket and hurried down the stairs, calling for Sarah as she ran to her cabin. She knocked loudly on the door, and when Sarah didn't answer, Anna opened it. Seeing Sarah wasn't there, she quickly wrote a note saying that Clark had been hurt and was in the hospital and that she'd gone to town. Then Anna ran down to the dock, started the boat, and was soon racing down the river.

She could hear Clark's calm voice in her ear, saying, “Take it easy, Anna. Calm yourself. Be safe. Slow down.” And so she slowed the boat down a bit and tried to take some long, deep breaths, steadying herself as she guided the boat down the center of the river, focusing on the glossy dark water, watching for any logs that might be floating below the surface, trying to remain calm.

Even so, all she could think was—
what would she do without him?
Of all the loved ones who kept moving and slipping away . . . always leaving her behind . . . Clark was the one constant she could always count on.
What would she do without him?
She couldn't bear to think of it. And so she prayed, begging God to please just spare her this one part of her life—he could take all else from her, even this beloved river . . . if only he would spare Clark. Oh, she knew it was futile to bargain with God, and, really, it wasn't what she was trying to do. But she knew in her heart, she would give up all else to keep Clark.

To her relief, Johnny was waiting for her at the dock. He secured the ropes and helped her from the boat. “I've got the car,” he explained. And soon they were en route to the hospital.

“What happened, Johnny?” she demanded. “How did Clark fall while you were fishing? Was he on the jetty?”

“Something like that,” Johnny mumbled. “It was about a sixteen-foot fall. He hit his head. He was unconscious.”