Chapter 35
Rose peered out the farmhouse window, and watched her daughter-in-law, Doris, and granddaughter, Alice, exit the vehicle for a moment before greeting them.
Sadly, she hadn’t seen her son or daughter-in-law or grandson Albert Jr. for almost seven years—one summer, they stayed two nights before driving to Wisconsin Dells—and she’d never even met her granddaughter.
She knew Alice only from photographs. And yet, she loved her deeply and unconditionally.
Her farmhouse door and her heart had always been open to all of them.
Doris stuck out like a sore thumb against the backdrop of the farm.
Her perfectly coiffed platinum blond hair—twisted up in the front like a cinnamon bun, with large rolls of curls on both sides—hinted at her career in Hollywood, as did her oversize sunglasses and bronzed arms and legs.
She was a California girl. Meanwhile, Rose noticed how Alice, despite having lived on the West Coast her entire six years, blended in with the trees and grasses and flowers, as if from the same color palette.
She wore blue jeans and a tan T-shirt, and the golden flecks in her hair resembled strands of wheat.
It was during a phone call a few weeks ago that Doris agreed to bring Alice to visit.
According to Doris, Alice had been struggling at school this past year.
She couldn’t read yet, and she misbehaved.
She was often out of her seat and talked back to the teacher.
Doris assumed it had something to do with her parents’ ongoing marital issues—and her father’s ongoing absence while in rehab from alcohol addiction.
Doris spoke of Alice’s school troubles in a detached way, as if detailing the antics of a naughty puppy.
“I don’t have time for this,” she said that day.
Her career was really taking off, and she needed Alice to fall in line.
Alice was rough around the edges, a tomboy, she said.
She was happier playing in dirt than with dolls.
A change in setting is what the girl needs, Rose thought, and offered to take the girl for the summer.
“Good afternoon,” Rose called to them from the farmhouse porch.
“Hello.” Doris offered a half-hearted hug, then grabbed her daughter’s hand and pulled her forward. “Alice, this is your grandmother.”
“Hello, Alice,” Rose said, holding back her desire to smother the girl in hugs and kisses. She sensed apprehension.
“Hello.” Alice paused and crinkled her nose. “Do you have a name? Besides Grandma?”
“My name is Rose. But when I was your age, my friends called me Rosey Posey. You can call me that if you’d like.”
Alice’s eyes lit up. “Rosey Posey,” she repeated.
Doris placed a hand on her daughter’s shoulder. “No, no, Alice, she’s joking with you. It’s not appropriate for you to call her that. Call her Grandma.”
Alice dropped her mother’s hand. “But she said . . .”
“Who’s hungry?” Rose asked, attempting to defuse the impending argument.
“Not me,” Doris announced. “Just a glass of water for now.”
“Well then, Alice, guess it’s just you and me for lunch. Do you like picnics?”
Alice nodded.
“I have a pond, you know.” She pointed to the other end of the property. “We can have our lunch down there. Do you like to fish?”
Alice scrunched her lips. “I don’t like fish. Mommy eats tuna, and it’s stinky.”
Rose laughed. “I said do you like to fish? Do you like to throw a line in the water and catch a fish?”
“I don’t know. I’ve never done that before.”
“Well, I think you’ll love it. There will be lots of fun things to do here, things you never did before. You’re going to have the time of your life this summer.”
Alice looked up at her with large, inquisitive eyes. “Promise?”
Rose grabbed the girl’s hand and led her up the porch steps. Her granddaughter’s palm was moist and a bit sticky, as if she’d just eaten a popsicle.
It reminded her of Lucy.
“Cross my heart,” Rose said. “I promise you’re going to grow like wild.”
After lunch, Rose and Alice sat cuddled on the porch swing reading Stuart Little. Rose smelled her granddaughter’s hair, full of sweat and sun and dirt. Midwest summer.
A car pulled up the drive.
“That’s your mom,” Rose said.
“I don’t want to go home,” Alice cried.
“I know. I don’t want you to go home either.”
When the summer had ended, Rose had convinced Doris to let Alice stay even longer, to attend school nearby.
The past year with Alice had been full of comfort and wonder and hope.
They’d developed their own routines—treats like pineapple upside-down cake and baked Alaska in the afternoons and hours of reading out loud in the evenings.
It had been a true gift of time. She’d known all along that one day, this day, would come.
Alice would leave. She thought she’d be better prepared when the time came.
She’d lost so many people in her life—her husband, her son, Esther, Lucy.
In some ways, she’d lost Albert too, many years ago, not physically but mentally and emotionally.
Loss was the downside of love. Rose knew that.
But it hurt so much more now, in this moment, than she’d ever imagined.
Her heart had broken and mended so many times over.
Was she a fool to think she would heal every time, no matter how many times it was cut in half?
Tears flooded Alice’s eyes. “Why can’t I stay?”
Rose wiped her tears away with her thumb. “Because your mother thinks it’s best if you go back to California. She misses you. She loves you. And that’s where your family is.”
“But not you. You’re my family too.”
“Yes, I am. And I am always here for you.”
Rose and Alice turned to see Doris park in front of the farmhouse, their conversation now constrained by seconds.
“When will I see you again?” Alice asked.
Rose smiled. “Probably Christmas.”
“But that’s a long time away.”
“It seems long,” Rose explained. “But all of a sudden, Christmas will come. It always does.”
Doris made her way up the porch steps to greet them. “Did I hear Christmas?” she repeated, instead of rushing to hug her daughter. “Why are we talking about Christmas?”
“Because that’s when I will see Grandma again,” Alice announced.
Doris narrowed her eyes and cocked her head; not one blond hair moved. “Oh, Rose, you’re coming out to California for Christmas?”
Rose shook her head. “I thought you’d come here.”
Doris pursed her lips. “I can’t commit to that. I just auditioned for a part. The secretary on a TV show. If I get it, well, I really don’t know that I can take time off to come all the way out here.” She folded her arms. “Besides, you’ve never come to California.”
Because you’ve never invited me. Because I don’t feel welcome.
“Come to think of it, have you ever left Wisconsin?” Doris asked pointedly.
She hadn’t.
Some people enjoyed adventure, needed to explore distant lands.
But Rose was content here. Her everyday world in St. John’s Ferry always felt like enough.
She felt tethered to the ground, but not chained or imprisoned.
It was more like a security feature; she was tied down so she wouldn’t blow away.
But she knew it was more than that. Hank had been missing now almost twenty years, and still Rose expected him back any minute. She might hear the porch steps creek and the doorknob rattle and then his voice spiral up through the rafters.
Mom, I’m home, she could hear him say clear as day.
The truth was, this home, their home, was the last place she’d seen Hank alive, and she felt called to stay here until he came back. Leaving would mean giving up on that dream.
Someday, Hank might come home, and she wanted to be here when he did.
“Do you really want me to come visit you in California?” Rose asked.
“Of course,” Doris said. “I mean, you’ll have to let me know exactly when you’ll be coming.
There will be a number of Hollywood holiday parties that I hope to be invited to.
My spare room is a bit of a mess. We’ll have to clean it up, of course.
” Doris looked off in confusion, as if the future lacked any sort of structure or order.
She waved it all away with a flutter of her hands. “But we’ll work it out.”
Alice took Rose’s hand and squeezed it. “Will you come, Grandma?” she asked. “Will you come see me at Christmas?”
Rose took both of Alice’s hands in her own, and they locked eyes.
“I will be there,” Rose said.
Two weeks before Christmas, Rose’s bag was packed and waiting by the door, her train ticket to LA secured in her purse. Her neighbor Carol would arrive any minute to drive her to the station.
As she pulled down the stairs to the attic, she thought about the apron she’d sewn for Lucy.
It was still stowed under the floor plank with the letters to Hank.
She knew it might seem odd to give Alice a gift she made for another child, and yet Rose didn’t see it that way.
Rose viewed the apron as more of a family heirloom, something to be passed down from one generation to another.
She hadn’t seen Lucy since the day Angelica and Henry took her away.
She’d tried to write, but her letters were always returned.
Lucy would be almost nineteen years old now.
Even if Rose could find her, Lucy would have no use for the apron.
It wouldn’t fit her. Besides, keeping the apron under the floorboards like some sort of shrine was living in the past. And Rose wanted to live in the present, and in the future.
Alice is the future, she thought.
As she began to climb the stairs, the telephone rang—bleating from its post in the kitchen—and she ran back down to answer it.
It was Doris. “Oh, good, you haven’t left yet,” she said.
Rose noted the panic in her daughter-in-law’s voice. “What’s wrong?”
“Oh, nothing. Actually, everything is quite wonderful. I was going to tell you when I saw you, but I met a wonderful man. Stan. We’ve only known each other two weeks, but he’s the one.
And well, he’s invited Alice and me to his parents’ home in Sacramento.
So we’ll be going there for the holiday.
They have snowcapped mountains. And a swimming pool.
And all sorts of cousins and kids for Alice to play with.
I’m sure you understand. I know you didn’t really want to come out all this way anyway. ”
Rose had no words.
“I do have to say goodbye now, Rose. Stan has the car packed and running. Maybe we’ll come see you in the spring. For Easter. Wouldn’t that be nice?”
“Easter,” Rose repeated; it was all she could say.
She felt like she’d swallowed her heart.
“Oh great, then it’s settled. Look, we’ll try to call from Sacramento, but just in case, merry Christmas.”
“Merry Christmas,” Rose said.
And then, when Doris seemed ready to hang up, Rose called out, “Wait. Can I please speak to Alice?”
But Doris was already gone.
Rose set the phone back on its receiver and just stood there, staring at it. Eventually, a knock at the door stirred her from her trance. It was Carol, on time to take her to the train station.
“I’m sorry, Carol. I’m not going,” Rose said. “Doris just called.”
Carol cocked her head. “Is everything okay?”
“Something came up.”
Her neighbor nodded. Nothing more needed to be said.
“Christmas dinner will be at three p.m. as always,” Carol offered. “You can bring a pie.”
“Thanks,” Rose said, not sure if she would go. She’d been to Carol’s once before and regretted it; sitting around with Carol’s family only made Rose miss her own even more.
After Carol left, Rose climbed the stairs and saw the attic steps where she left them. She could mail Alice the apron or wait until they came at Easter and give it to her then. She chastised herself.
They weren’t coming for Easter either.
A sudden fatigue washed over her; her legs felt full, heavy with lead. She placed the apron back in its spot under the floorboard, then returned downstairs to make a cup of tea, which she drank in front of the wood stove.
She looked around the room and thought, for the first time that holiday season, that it looked so bare.
She hadn’t put up a Christmas tree or decorations because she assumed she’d be in California for two weeks.
Now, in the plain space, she saw the ghosts of Christmases past—faint outlines of a tree, ornaments, tinsel, garland.
Family. Friends. Her husband and Hank and Albert. Esther and Henry. Lucy and Peggy.
Alice.
Rose felt that horrible ache in her chest, a pang deep in the center, and placed her hand there as she always did, but the pressure did not seem to work this time.
She didn’t want to feel like this ever again.