If I lost my daughter again, would it destroy me? Life as I knew it, probably, but there would be life beyond it as long as Ellen was alive and happy in this world. My child. My heart.
As far as I knew, Gran, as Clara, had married my grandfather willingly. They were happy together and depended upon each other greatly for the years I had borne witness to. Yet they’d had only one child, and she’d been born late in life. I didn’t know if there’d been others, miscarriages or lost infants. Gran had never discussed it with me. But that one child, the one they’d poured their love and hope into, had eloped and trusted her love to a man who didn’t deserve it. She’d loved unwisely, and it had killed her and damaged both Gran and Grand, and me, too, although I hadn’t really understood until this moment. Gran had passed the damage on to me by her silence. Was she protecting herself or me by not telling me the truth? She’d worked hard to keep me from knowing and to protect herself from having to encounter the remarks from nosy people in town.
How it must’ve hurt her when I seemed to be repeating the same errors . . . and yet, she’d been afraid I would leave. I’d known it and hadn’t blamed her, but I’d made sure the same issue wasn’t true for Ellen. I’d gone out of my way to encourage her in school and the community. I did everything I could to make sure she’d go on to college and not be held back by me.
Yet my biggest error had been made back when she was left on our porch and I decided not to tell the sheriff. There was no righting it. I wouldn’t go back and change it if I could because I also believed it was the only decision I could have made, error or not. Wrong or not.
But to allow the error to continue to shape Ellen’s future was wrong.
How could I fix it? How could I stop the error from continuing infinitely into the future?
Only by acknowledgment and confession.
The distress in my heart, the pain in my head, it all eased. I breathed deeply. Only the right decision could bring this feeling of relief.
I would do this. I would do it well. All wasn’t necessarily lost.
Honesty, sincerity, and love were the essential keys. I would tell her the truth. We’d work through it together.
With fear, but also with newfound peace in my heart, I went down the hall toward Ellen’s room.
I should’ve known somehow. The air in the house should’ve changed with her departure, but I hadn’t felt it. As the curtains blew into the room, billowing on the late May breeze, my brain struggled to understand its meaning. The window was open, and the screen had been removed. I saw the screen, haphazardly propped against Ellen’s dresser.
The bed was disordered. The pillow was out of place. The bedspread had ridges and valleys left behind by a restless or distraught young woman. One who was no longer present.
I went to the window, stared outside, and tried to think. The curtain wrapped around my face. The other panel draped itself on my shoulder. Her car should have been in the driveway. It wasn’t.
Who? Where? Why? The questions spun in my brain. Had she gone to see Bonnie? Braden?
Her phone. She’d have it with her. I ran for my own.
Our phones communicated locations. I could find out immediately where she was.
No location found. She didn’t show up on my phone.
No cell service.
She was in Cooper’s Hollow.
Whatever my daughter was doing out there, I needed to reach her before she moved on. I grabbed my purse and keys. I ran to the garage and my car.
I controlled myself until I was out of the Mineral town limits and then opened up my speed on the winding road. I knew the road well from many years of driving it or as a passenger with Grand.
It was almost as if he and Gran were there with me, urging me forward.
Her car was there in the new parking area. Only hers. I was grateful. I closed my eyes and bowed my head to my hands, gripping the steering wheel. I wanted to do this right. With the least damage. To me, of course, but more especially to my daughter. To Ellen. I didn’t know what the right words were or whether such words existed in the universe. I felt alone. Absolutely alone.
Everyone must pay his or her debts eventually. This must be my turn, I thought. But I had hope. Our love, our bond, was so strong I believed we’d make it past this. Regardless, this was Ellen’s life, her future. I would pay any price necessary to make her happy.
Cooper’s Hollow looked different now with the construction far along and blocking the old views, including the view of the pottery cabin. The huge storage container still sat in the front. It was a construction site, and that’s what it looked like. The house was well along, but it wasn’t home yet.
Where was home anyway? Here in the past? On Rose Lane in the present? Or was it where our loved ones were? Not those in the grave, of course. We carried them with us in our memories. For them, the cemetery was not their home but only a memorial. As much as one might miss them and respect them, it was hard to hold a cold memorial and feel the love returned.
“Ellen?” I waited. When she didn’t answer, I stepped up onto the porch.
The ground was rough around the porch, churned and clay-red. The roof was on the house, and the plywood was up for the exterior walls. It was far from being finished but full of the promise of what it would be. The porch post showed preliminary notching and shaping. Liam’s work, of course, but no tools were in evidence, and there was nothing fresh like wood shavings or a coffee cup or whatever to indicate he was around. I paused in the doorway and called Ellen’s name again.
Most of the interior walls were only framed—very little drywall was up—so the view from the front door to the back array of windows was open, yet it was dim inside. Ellen was standing at those back windows, facing the woods and cast into dark silhouette by the outside light.
She hunched her shoulders forward but otherwise didn’t respond when I called her name.
I stopped near her. “Why did you run away?”
Ellen didn’t answer. She crossed her arms and kept her back to me.
“Sweetheart, we need to talk. There are things I haven’t told you, or anyone, that you need to know.”
She shook her head. “I’ve made up my mind.” Her voice didn’t have an echo when she was facing outside, but when she turned toward me and spoke into the interior of the building, each word hit the surfaces above and around us and rebounded.
“I called Braden when I went to my room. He said his father doesn’t want us to see each other. He said he confronted his father about the stuff he’d said.”
I shuddered. “Let’s talk.” I nodded toward the corner, to the one room with walls. “Less echo in there.”
She didn’t move. I walked over and put my hands on her shoulders. She didn’t pull away.