Maria and the Montana Rider

The Letter

Tuesday and Wednesday came and went. Maria had an interview with another restaurant, an American place, which seemed okay, although they said they’d probably take a few days to call her back. Rick’s Diner still hadn’t responded to her.

In the meantime, Maria had run out of things to do.

She and her grandma had cleaned the house from top to bottom and gone to parks and libraries.

It was weird, not having a job, and it was alarming not having any money coming in.

Maybe Maria ought to take that Main Street Kitchen pizza job after all. She only had until tomorrow to decide.

Did she really want to make pizzas at a place that didn’t pay well, where she felt suspicious about the management? She hadn’t gone to culinary school to work at a place like that. At the same time, she hadn’t gone to culinary school to be jobless.

Too bad Seth worked at Greg’s. Maria had stalked their website, and the restaurant looked like a good atmosphere. But there was no way she would apply at a place where her ex-boyfriend and his new girlfriend both worked. Maybe Rick’s Diner would eventually give her an interview.

In the meantime, Maria needed a project. The only place she and her grandma hadn’t cleaned was the garage. It was a one-car garage attached to the house, with such an unstable floor over the basement that the Gilberts never parked a car in there. They used it for storage.

By noon on Thursday, while Grandma was spending the day in Shipshewana with some ladies from their church, Maria found herself knee-deep in keepsakes and memorabilia.

She hadn’t known her dad kept so many things from when she was little.

Boxes of tiny dresses—Maria remembered some of them—books—saved papers—it was a glimpse into an almost-forgotten past.

At the bottom of a box of old papers, Maria found a packet of photos, the negatives tucked in an outer pocket of the envelope. Those must be from when her dad had a film camera, many years ago. He’d switched to a digital camera as soon as he could get one inexpensively.

Maria pulled out the photos. There was a brown-haired toddler—that must be her, about two years old—next to a big round prickly ball of plant matter. She didn’t think she’d seen that photo before. Was that a tumbleweed? They didn’t have tumbleweeds in Michigan, did they?

She turned to the next photo. No, she’d definitely never seen these photos. That was Mom, riding a horse. Mom looked exuberant, blonde hair blowing in the wind.

Maria thumbed through the pictures. There were all three of them, her parents and her, in front of mountains. Had her parents taken her out west when she was too little to remember? There they were camping someplace. There was Mom, holding toddler Maria, with mountains behind her again.

Mom looked so beautiful, happy and young—only a few years older than Maria was now. Looking at her glowing face made Maria feel warm and fuzzy inside. She couldn’t remember Mom holding her as a toddler, but now, looking at this picture, she had that memory preserved forever.

Why hadn’t Maria heard about this trip or seen the pictures? She hardly had any pictures of their whole family. Maybe these photos had gotten misplaced. She couldn’t wait to ask Dad about them.

§

Dad got home late and tired—he said the police had spent a long time looking for a guy who’d abandoned his car—but he was always ready to listen to his daughter.

While Maria made teriyaki salmon and sautéed vegetables, the vegetables reminding her sharply of her time at the Virginian, she asked her dad about the photos.

“I thought these were lost!” Dad exclaimed, sitting at the kitchen table to examine the photos. “This is the trip we took out west, summer of 2001.”

“Why haven’t I ever heard about that trip?” Maria asked. “I didn’t know I’d been out west! Where were we? Did we go to the ranch Mom grew up on?”

“We drove out to Montana. We didn’t stay at the ranch—we stopped by to say hi, but there was a lot of arguing going on in the family in those days. We went to Glacier Park, Yellowstone, a bunch of places, and camped in the old van.”

It made sense that Mom had wanted to take her family out west where she grew up. Too bad family pressures had prevented them from staying at the ranch, though.

“That’s great Mom got to ride horses and see the mountains again,” Maria said. “She must have missed that in Michigan. I mean, there are horses in Michigan, but living in a suburb must have been really different from the ranch.” She checked the salmon in the oven. Not quite done.

“It was special, for sure.” Dad cleared his throat. “I can’t believe you found these. We didn’t take enough family pictures when you were little, and I’ve always been sorry about that. You don’t have much to remember your mom by.”

“I wish I could remember her better.” Maria stirred the vegetables again. “And I wish I knew what her life was like growing up, before you met her at that wedding. I know, you always tell me the stories she told you, but I wish I could hear them from her. You know?”

“I know, Princess.” Dad’s smile, as he looked at the pictures again, was thoughtful.

Some people had letters or diaries from their parents. But Maria didn’t have anything like that from Mom. She was a mystery.

Things just happened like that sometimes.

Some people didn’t even know their birth parents.

Maria had a wonderful dad, determined to give his daughter the best life he could.

He’d taught her to be honest, hard-working, and kind, exemplifying those virtues in his parenting and his work as a police officer.

Although he’d always been busy, he always made time to be with Maria—reading to her, playing ball in the backyard, cooking with her, and being her biggest cheerleader.

And now he was there for Grandma too. He still went into the police station and worked hard every day, even though it must be harder for him now than it had been when he was younger.

Maria was blessed to have him. She was glad she’d found those special photos for him.

Maria took the vegetables off the heat and went to look over Dad’s shoulder. “These are so precious. We ought to get some of them framed.”

Dad nodded. “Absolutely. Your mom would have liked that. She was so disappointed the photos had been lost.”

His voice was husky. Maria squeezed his shoulder. “I’m glad I found them, then. I’ll get some frames at Hobby Lobby this week, and we can put them up.”

“Make sure you save the negatives,” Dad said. “Don’t expose them to light. You’ve never handled film, have you?”

Maria shook her head. “I’ll be careful. I’ll keep the negatives in the outer sleeve and not even touch them.”

“Thank you, Princess.” Dad smiled. “This is one of the best things you’ve ever given me.”

“Well, I didn’t exactly give them,” Maria said. “They were in the garage all along. But I’m glad.”

§

The next morning, Maria still wasn’t sure about the pizza job.

She put off the decision until later in the day and sallied forth to buy frames for the photos.

She invited Grandma, but Grandma said if she went to Hobby Lobby she’d buy out the whole store.

“I need to use some of the craft supplies I have already,” she said.

“You ought to see the cloth I bought yesterday at Shipshewana. Enough for a whole quilt, and I haven’t even decided what I’m doing. You’ll have to help me find a pattern.”

“Love to, Grandma. Although I don’t know a thing about quilting. Dad taught me to cook, but I don’t know how to do any crafts at all.”

“Well, it’s never too late to learn,” Grandma said cheerfully, and sent Maria on her way.

Home with the photo frames, Maria checked the mailbox.

There were two bills and a small envelope with dainty cursive on it.

It looked like the handwriting on the birthday cards Maria got from her Grandma Austin.

But Maria’s birthday had come in April. Grandma Austin had no reason to send her anything.

But the address said otherwise: Patricia Austin, Rocker A Ranch. Strange. Maria opened the letter.

Inside was a single sheet in Patricia’s handwriting.

“Dear Maria,” the letter read, “I heard about the closing of the Virginian restaurant where you work. Would you be interested in coming to work in the kitchen at the Rocker A for the summer? We’re looking for a cook, and I’d like to get to know my missing granddaughter. Patricia Austin.”

Maria stared at the letter, confusion buzzing in her head.

The only contact they had with Grandma Austin (besides perfunctory holiday cards) was sending payment after payment to pay her back for the money they owed her.

How did she know Maria had lost her job?

Maybe she saw something in the news about the Virginian.

But how did her grandmother know where she worked? This was puzzling.

Actually, it was annoying. Maria stuffed the letter back into the envelope.

The envelope tore as she put it back in.

Who cared? Working at the Rocker A was out of the question.

What would be the point of taking a summer job several states away, with family members that had purposely stayed distant from you your entire life?

Maria’s Grandma Austin hadn’t cared about her growing up.

She’d never expressed an interest in getting to know her.

“Missing granddaughter,” indeed! If Patricia hadn’t fought with Dad, she could have seen her granddaughter whenever she wanted.

After all, Patricia must have a lot of money to run such a huge, fancy ranch in the mountains.

Especially since Dad had been sending her all that money to pay back that loan.

She should have no trouble paying for a plane ticket to Michigan if she really wanted to see Maria.

Maria hurried into the house, kicked her shoes off, and set the bag of picture frames carefully on the kitchen table. “Grandma?” she called. “I’m home!”