Chapter 9 Part III

Cindy Bradford
Patrick looked around at the terrazzo floor, the ornate mirrors, a small marble fireplace and fresh lavender flowers on the dresser and in the bathroom. The bathroom was huge. This is bigger than the room Joe Jr. and I slept in the whole time we were growing up he thought. Unsure of how long he would stay he took only a few clothing articles out of his suitcase. Carmella and Stefano had both assured him he was welcome for an extended stay, but he was not accustomed to such hospitality and generosity and wasn’t sure how to react.

After taking a quick shower, he hurriedly changed into fresh clothes, not wanting to keep anyone waiting for lunch. The flight had left him feeling worn and grimy, but he suddenly felt better, as he headed for the main house.

He spoke a loud, “Hello,” entering the house. Not knocking was strange to him, but after his upbringing and sports involvement he followed directions well.

“We are in the kitchen, Patrico,” he heard Carmella say. “Come through the entry and to your left.”

Patrick quickly noticed that she had changed into an obviously expensive multi-colored floral silk pant suit. “I am just helping Carmen and Claudia a minute, then we will go in the dining room.”

Stefano came through the door with a handful of basil. “Your request, my dear,” he said, handing the herbs to Carmella. “She has me trained well, do you agree?” he asked, smiling at Patrick. “Many of the Italian men would be horrified to see me respond to her every whim. But she is my wife, my life.”

Patrick hardly knew how to respond. This man was so out of character of what he expected a rich Italian estate owner to be, but he said, “She is quite a woman; I knew that in a very brief time. She is so full of energy, obviously in love with life”.

“That is why I love her so much. Now, young man, come sit in the dining room and tell me about basketball. Carmella tells me you were on scholarship at Notre Dame. She also says you are going to study in Rome to be a priest.”

Patrick followed Stefano into the large dining area. He felt small looking at the table that could easily seat two dozen people.

“Over here, we will eat lunch at the smaller table,” Stefano said, signaling him to a nook that overlooked the lake. “This is one of my favorite rooms in the house.”

“I can understand why,” Patrick answered.

When the women came in with lunch, the two men were discussing the view just outside the window.

“I wanted you two to have time to talk. That is why I helped Carmen with lunch,” she offered.

Her explanation indicated to Patrick what he had sensed. Although exuberant and outgoing, she was aware of giving her Italian husband his space, a role Patrick would see again, especially in those areas where Stefano was in charge.

“We’ll have a light lunch, but tonight a feast,” she said.

After setting three small salads of puntarelle, radishes and endive with anchovy dressing, at their places, Carmen put a large platter filled with fried artichokes in the center of the table.

“May I pour you some of Italy’s finest?” Stefano asked proudly, but not waiting for a reply, he began filling first his wife’s glass and then Patrick’s. “You did say, yes, I believe,” he said laughing.

This is a happy home, Patrick thought, as he waited for Carmella to take the first bite.

“Please, Patrico, you must eat. Stefano has much work for you,” she teased. “You did not think I brought you here for nothing. Now you are captured.”

“I can’t think of a more pleasant place to be a captive.”

In a few minutes Carmen brought the vignarola, a stew of fava beans, peas and artichoke, seasoned with guaniciale, Patrick learned.

“This is so good. I don’t think I have ever tasted fava beans and I have never heard of guanca…,” he struggled with the pronunciation.

“The fava season is coming to a close. Earlier in May you could eat them raw, right out of the pod. But as they grow they begin to assert themselves and are better cooked. As for gwan CHA leh,” she pronounced slowly for Patrick, “it is similar to pancetta which you have probably eaten. This has a little more fat content which just makes the dish richer.”

“Much of this, the sweet peas, and the artichoke in the salad–they will be gone soon. It is a pity you were not here in early May. These artichokes are at their best then, Stefano explained.

Patrick could see that this was definitely a man who enjoyed his food. “Is there a market near here?”

Stefano laughed, “Yes, about ten feet from the house. We grow our own vegetables.”

“You didn’t tell me that,” Patrick exclaimed, looking at Carmella.

“There was so much to tell I forgot about that and the herb garden.”

“After a gelato, you will have to indulge me, Patrico. I would like to show you around. That is, if you are not too tired.”

“Oh no, I’m fine. I am anxious for the tour.”

“Good, while you two gentlemen do that I think I will lie down for a short nap.”

“The lady needs her beauty rest,” Stefano said, standing and then kissing her on the top of her head.

“Poor Patrico, you will pay for your keep. The tour is very lengthy,” she said, rolling her eyes. “Stefano, he does not have to see it all in one day. We have to have reasons to keep him here.”

“Okay, first the tobacco,” Stefano said, leading Patrick outside. He could faintly hear Carmella saying, “I should have known,” but he knew she was being playful.

“How did you learn to speak such good English, Stefano?”

“My parents sent me to boarding school in Naples. They wanted me to learn English and manners. The former was easier than the latter,” he smiled. “Anyway, I try to use it as much as I can, so I will not forget it. But most of the help speak only Italian. It is good that you are here. I can practice my English.”

They turned the corner and were in the courtyard. Flowers were growing everywhere, some hanging, others in pots and urns. Fresh flowers adorned vases on each table of the courtyard.

“We will take a look at the vegetables and herbs, and then jump in the Land Rover for a look around the larger grounds.”

Everything was impeccable, not a weed in sight. “Cesar takes good care of this don’t you think? But it is Carmella who adds the love. She comes out here every morning and checks the garden. I sometimes hear her talking to the vegetables and herbs as though they are her children. Sometimes she sits for hours on that bench and just looks at everything.”

“She is very proud of this place and very proud of you, Stefano.” Stefano blushed slightly, “The only thing I could not give her was more children. She wanted a houseful, but that was not to be. I guess we could have adopted, but once Elisabette was born, she seemed more content. Maybe Elisabette will be here this weekend. She usually tries to come once a month. We are very fond of her new husband, Guliano. Since he owns a wonderful old hotel in Milan it makes it difficult for him to get away, but he accompanies her when he can.”

The two men rode around for another hour. “More tomorrow?”

“Great.”

“I will take you back to your bungalow so you can rest awhile. Carmella will expect you at six o’clock for drinks on the terrace. It is the perfect place to watch the sunset.”

Tired, Patrick was glad to be back to the bungalow for awhile. It was almost four o’clock. Setting an alarm for five o’clock, he fell onto the bed. When he heard the alarm, he was startled, not remembering where he was. After looking around, he thought he must be dreaming until he remembered Carmella and Stefano. “What a nice couple,” he said aloud.

When he walked out back, he was amazed to see that there was a small patio with blooming flowers growing around the perimeter. Two lounge chairs faced a grove of olive trees, framed by hills in the far background. This is like a Renaissance painting. It almost looks as though time has stopped over this landscape, he thought. After showering, he dressed for dinner or the feast, as Carmella had said. Not sure what to wear he hoped his khaki trousers and tieless shirt would be appropriate. This way of life was so new to him, it made him feel a little uneasy not knowing quite how to act.

Chapter 9 Part II

Cindy Bradford
“Let’s go Patrico; it will be your own Roman Holiday, just a few hours away.”

Those who knew Patrick would never have believed he was going home, with an almost stranger. Patrick could not believe it himself, but in a way it seemed like he had known her for years.

“Oh, I almost forgot. Come with me to the phone. I must call Stefano!”

Standing off to one side of the pay phone, Patrick heard her say “Buon giorno, Carmen,” although he didn’t understand any of the conversation after ‘Good Morning.” For a moment he was lost in thought, watching a swarm of people pulling luggage, boarding buses, hailing cabs and hugging loved ones. Suddenly Carmella’s voice brought him back as he took a long step to catch up with her and open her door.

“Stefano was already outside so I just told Carmen to tell him. Also, she will have a small lunch for us. We should be there by 12:00 or 12:30 p.m. depending on the traffic from here around Rome, but we will miss the worst of it,” she said as she pulled out onto the airport exit. “Now we are finally on our way.”

“Those are the smallest cars I have ever seen. They look like they came out of Cracker Jack boxes.”

“Yes, but they are quite good for Rome, if you can say that about any car for Rome. Rome is a terrible city to drive in; terrible traffic, no places to park, pedestrians everywhere. Everyone is manic. If you are going to be in Rome as long as you think, then you should buy a scooter and sell it when you leave. But walk when you can. That is the easiest,” she said as she swerved past a car that had taken to the shoulder.

“You certainly drive fast,” grabbing the handle on the door.

“That is why they build roads, my dear, and cars,” as she flashed her lights and passed another car.

Patrick looked back at the stream of cars, “Do you always drive like this?”

“Oh no! Sometimes it is much worse,” she said, laughing loudly. “Let us pull in here and buy a cappuccino for our drive.”

“That sounds good. I’ll get them. At the rate you are driving, we will have to drink fast,” he grinned at her.

“Extra espresso in mine.”

Back on the road Patrick said: “I’m a little nervous that Stefano will be upset that I am coming with you.”

“Darling, do not worry your Irish brain another minute. Stefano will be delighted. You will see. Do you not think I know this man to whom I have been married almost all my life?” she asked, and it was obvious to Patrick that she loved him as much or more now than as a girl of eighteen. “You will like Carmen as well, although you will understand her very little. Oh, but do you speak French?”

“No, I know a few words, but very few. It is like my Italian and Spanish. I took Latin in high school. I wish I knew Italian, but I plan to study it in Rome with my other courses. Does Carmen speak French?”

“Yes, it is her first language; Italian is her second. Her mother is French and her father Italian. Her parents worked for us before Carmen was even born. They are still with us. Enrico and Claudia are part of our family.”

“What do they do?”

“Enrico is Stefano’s right hand. He does everything. Claudia was our housekeeper for many years, but when Carmen turned seventeen, Claudia turned those duties over to her. She is a marvelous cook and she is teaching Carmen. Together they cook our meals three nights a week. Because Stefano and I both love to cook, we do the remaining nights. Carmen has a little sister Gigi, so we believe they need to be home together some. Family, that is very important in our culture. Look at the vineyards, Patrico. They are just beginning. The closer we get to our place, the more you will see. When you leave us you will see even more.”

“Does Stefano make red or white wine?”

“Both, but much more red; most of our wine is a blend of Sangiovese and Merlot. He makes some Chianti with a blend of our Sangiovese and Canaiolo which he buys from growers in various parts of the Chianti region. Our white is usually a Chardonnay/Pinot Grigio blend, much more Chardonnay than Pinot, probably about 70/30. I have not even asked you. You do like wine, do you not?”

“Yes, but I am really just learning. In college, during off season, we drank a lot of beer, but now I’m trying different kinds of wine and I find I like them all. I’m sure after a few months in Italy I will know much more.”

“I forget you are from the States. Our children start drinking wine quite young, and we think nothing of it.”

“I forgot to mention that the cappuccino was excellent,” Patrick said.

“Yes, we have the best. We are almost home, Patrico,” as they turned off the main highway down a much smaller road. This is all our land, but the villa is still over a kilometer from here.”

“It is truly beautiful, Carmella.”

“It gets even better,” she said, blushing with pride.

Pulling up to the villa, Patrick was awestruck. In front of him was a magnificent structure of muted brick and stucco. Six oval arches graced the front at the ground level with twelve matching, but smaller ones on the second level. From each flowed the most beautiful mixture of red, white and pink flowers Patrick had ever seen. The backdrop was a combination of rolling hills, olive trees, grape vines in perfect rows and a small lake. Beyond the main house were smaller bungalows with matching architecture.

Carmella began honking as soon as the manor came into view. Immediately, two women, who Patrick assumed were Carmen and Claudia, came running out. Soon everyone was hugging and kissing and talking at once. When Carmella introduced Patrick, they each hugged him without hesitation. Then from around the side of the house came a large, balding man with a barrel chest and a voice to match.

“Carmella, I have missed you terribly,” he said, his eyes sparkling as he whispered something in Italian, and she sank into his bear hug like a little girl.

Surely this is not Stefano, Patrick thought; this is certainly not what he had pictured from her description.

Bursting into his thoughts, Carmella called, “Patrico, meet my darling Stefano. I told you he was the most handsome man in the world, now did I not?” she said, kissing the burly man again.

Stefano smiled broadly and offered his hand to Patrick.

“You did, indeed, Carmella,” Patrick said, grinning.

Stefano laughed, heartedly and knowingly.

“My beautiful Carmella, she does it every time. She describes me and then brings people home and they do not know what to say, but their face says it all.”

“But you are handsome, my love.”

Patrick could tell she truly thought he was. He had not known this woman but twenty-four hours and he already knew that beauty to her was everywhere. She saw everything and everybody as a special creation, except maybe Stefano’s cigars.

“Sir, I apologize for intruding like this.”

“Nonsense, if Carmella likes you so will I, although there was that one cat I was not too fond of,” he teased. “It is Patrico, right?”

“Sure,” not knowing what else to say.

“Then you make yourself at home and stay as long as you like. I will show you to your quarters,” putting one arm around Patrick and picking up a suitcase with the other.

“I’ll take that,” Patrick said, reaching to take the suitcase.

“You have one, I have one,” Stefano answered, pointing to the other duffle.

Already Patrick liked this giant of a Teddy Bear man.

Upon entering the guest house Patrick found that it was as neat and lavishly appointed as he had guessed it would be.

“You get comfortable and do whatever you need. Then join us in the main house. Just come on in, no need knocking,” and Stefano was gone.

Cindy Bradford

Every so often I get an email from someone who really makes my day, and that happened to me on Saturday. A friend of mine from my University of Texas at Brownsville professor days who now lives in Tennessee has been so kind to read both books and comment on them.

He also sends me regular emails that really motivate me to continue writing. His compliments are extra special because he is an old English major and quite a literary expert. Also, he and his wife are just generally wonderful people.

He recently loaned out Keeping Faith to a friend and wrote and told me on Saturday that she was impressed that it was my first book, and likened the descriptions of Italy to those by John Grisham. I don’t know which book of Grisham’s she is referring to, but I’m going to find out and read it just so I can make my own comparisons.

Another friend who lives in the same town in North Carolina as Nicholas Sparks wrote to me several months back that my book was every bit as good as any of his and she’s quite a fan of his. Now, I know my writing has a ways to go to compete with these guys, but it certainly makes me feel good. So, any time I can get comments like those, I will remain a “writing fool!”

Chapter 9 Part I

Cindy Bradford
Italy, 1975

Two days after graduation, Patrick boarded the plane. When he took his seat he found himself next to an attractive well-dressed, middle aged woman, with upswept black hair, who immediately introduced herself and began talking.

“Hello, my name is Carmella Mordini.” Before the plane left the ground he learned she lived about half-way between Rome and Florence in Tuscany. “We are close to the cusp of the Lazio, Umbria and Tuscany regions.” Her English was flawless but her Italian accent beautiful. “And you?” she asked.

He had wanted to introduce himself earlier, if nothing else to be polite, but she had not given him the chance in her enthusiasm. “O’Brien, Patrick O’Brien. I am from Boston, or just outside of Boston, really,” as he reached to connect his seat belt.

“What brings you to Rome? Or is this just a layover?”

“Well, both I guess. I’m going to study in Rome beginning in three months, but first I’m going to travel around, just go wherever the rails or my feet take me. For once in my life I’m going to be impulsive, unencumbered,” Patrick stated, hoping his nervousness of flying internationally did not show.

“That is wonderful. So where will you go first?”

“I think Florence, or maybe Assisi.”

“Then it is settled. You will come with me. I will call my husband from the airport and tell him I am bringing another man home,” she said laughing.

Stunned by the swiftness of her offer, Patrick countered, “We have a ten hour flight. You should perhaps wait until the ninth hour and see if you still like me before you invite me. And, what if your husband asks why you are dragging this American stranger home?”

She laughed again, “He is accustomed to my eccentricities and my big heart. You should see how many homeless cats and dogs I have taken in,” she teased Patrick.

“Tell me about your home?”

“It is fabulous, or it is to me. We have a 260 hectare estate and country manor, 16 kilometers outside the little town of Farina. I think that is about 640 acres as you figure it in the States. We grow olives and sell olive oil to many markets throughout Italy. We also have a small vineyard, but we make and keep the wine for ourselves or give it to friends. And Stefano, my husband, grows just enough tobacco to make his nasty cigars.”

Patrick was intrigued, “It must be beautiful.”

“So very beautiful, it is like an oil painting in progress. Some days my view from the villa is a vast emerald panorama; other days it has an amber cast, but when the rains have come it almost has a tinge of turquoise. The landscape changes, depending on the direction of the sun or the thickness of the dew. Tuscany is a kaleidoscope, one of the most beautiful places in the world, a jewel no less!” she said, sounding like a young woman in love.

Thinking he might read or even sleep a few hours, Patrick had brought a book, but it looked as though neither would be possible. However, he found himself enjoying listening to this interesting, unconventional, exuberant woman. He began to relax, listening as she continued talking about Italy. At last I am going to a real foreign land.  Sue would have smiled at that.

Carmella finally took a breath and a break, “So, tall Irishman, tell me who you are?”

Smiling, Patrick began explaining his background, his basketball scholarships, life at Notre Dame and more about his study plans. He didn’t remember talking this much at one sitting in his entire life, but Carmella, who herself was intriguing, seemed sincerely interested. She, he knew, was old enough to be his mother so when she patted his knee as she talked, which she often did, he didn’t take offense or think she was being flirtatious. She was absolutely one of the most endearing persons he had met. Generally anyone this forceful or pushy would have been a total turnoff to Patrick causing him to turn inward, but he found himself laughing at her stories and answering her array of questions.

“Let’s have a cocktail, Patrico,” she said as the flight attendant approached them. “At home, it is vino, vino, vino. Let’s be naughty and have a Scotch and water. The Scots–they were your neighbors, right?”

Patrick smiled, although he had not been to Ireland or Scotland, he understood and said, “Why not? When going to Rome, do as the Romans do!”

“Just bring us each two please and you will not have to check on us so often,” she told the attendant.

“Tell me about Stefano.”

“Patrico, I am the luckiest woman in the world, and he is the most handsome, generous man anywhere in Italy.

Patrick was a bit amused because no one in his twenty-two years had ever changed his name, but surprisingly he liked the way it sounded.

“Stefano was a friend of my uncle Gianni whom I came to visit as a young girl.”

“What do you mean; are you not from Italy?”

“I was born there, but my father left Italy when I was two, thinking he would find his fortune in America. He and my mother moved to the San Francisco area where he shifted from job to job. But he would not give up, or he wanted to save face and not go back to Italy broke and jobless, so he just stayed.

“My mother was very unhappy; when I was fourteen she brought me back for a visit, and we stayed with her baby brother Gianni. We lived with him for awhile and my mother finally wrote a letter to my father telling him she was not leaving; that she loved him very much but America held no hopes for her, and she begged him to come home to Italy. About six months later he did come back, but he was a defeated man. He had failed in America and missed his chances in Italy. He had a heart attack and died at thirty-five.”

Stopping just long enough to sip her drink, Carmella continued, “My mother’s family took care of us after that. Her parents had a great deal of land and my uncles worked very hard. I think that is why they never understood my father. He was too much the dreamer for them.”

“Anyway, Uncle Gianni was ten years younger than my mother, but they were very close. My mother was a wonderful cook so always he had his sidekick Stefano coming to dinner. I fell madly in love with him and as they say, the rest is history. At eighteen, I married him. He was twenty-four and already beginning to acquire land and grow anything he could think to plant.”

“Do you have children?” Patrick asked in a quieter tone, noticing than many of the other passengers had placed their eyeshades on in preparation to nap.

“In eight years I miscarried six times and then finally I had the most beautiful baby girl, Elisabette. She is a fashion designer in Milan, the apple of her father’s eye and the darling of her mother’s heart. We tried many times, but she was the only one God gave us. She is very special,” Carmella said finishing her second scotch and water.

“Were you in the States for vacation or business?” Patrick asked, astonished at himself that he was asking so many questions.

“Business, my dear, we are expanding our line of olive oils to the States so I was in California for three days and then in New York. I have a wonderful friend who spends time at the Cape so we met in Boston. It seemed to make sense to fly out of there and I am so glad I did or I would have not met Mr. Patrico.”

Three hours had passed and as many Scotches had been consumed by both travelers. By the time dinner was served, Patrick felt a little dizzy. Never remembering drinking three Scotch and waters in such quick succession, he was glad to see food, even airline food.

After dinner, the captain lowered the cabin lights and Carmella dozed off. Patrick saw this as his one opportunity as well. They both woke to breakfast being served.

“I just ate dinner,” Carmella laughed. “How can this be?” They had each slept almost five hours and were only about two hours from Rome.

“I am more thirsty than hungry,” Patrick said, arranging his napkin for a bite of breakfast.

“Do not eat too much, love. We will have lunch, and tonight Carmen will prepare the most glorious meal you will ever have eaten.”

“It sounds as though you really are taking me to your villa.”

“Patrico, you are young, you know no one. We will introduce you to Italy the right way. You are our guest as long as you like.”

“But why?” Patrick could not resist asking.

Carmella paused, one of the only pauses, he thought, since he boarded the plane. “When you sat down you just looked somewhere between lost and excited. Your mannerisms told me you are a good boy who is striving to be a good man, but you’re still a clean cut shaggy, red headed kid with the most gorgeous blue eyes. You look in search of discovery. I guess it is a mother’s instinct, but it appeared that you could use a little gentle prodding to find yourself. I am just the Italian mama to lead the way. And, you are going to love Stefano. He will show you his vineyard, his olive trees, his cattle and his nasty tobacco and give you a map that you can trust. When you have seen Italy, you must come back and tell us your thoughts.”

After the plane landed, they both picked up their luggage and sailed through customs. Like a small child, Patrick followed Carmella to the parking area that housed her Mercedes.

Chapter 8

Cindy Bradford
Waiting to leave for Europe and to study in Rome was difficult for Patrick. For months he had not allowed himself to think about his upcoming travel, but now he was wondering if the day would ever arrive.

Because Patrick was from a family of modest means, touring Europe and studying in Rome would have never been possible had his Uncle Robert not left him, along with his siblings and cousins almost $100,000.00 each. Robert, Patrick’s paternal uncle, was not held in high regard by the other members of the family, due in part, to his reputation for womanizing and bootlegging. Known about town in the forties for his tall stature, good looks and outgoing personality, it would not be unusual to find Robert partying among Boston’s rich and famous and befriending many of the young debutantes in the city.

Although he held no real or “respectable job” as Patrick’s father Joseph, described it, he always managed to have a large roll of hundred dollar bills in his pocket which intrigued the young ones in the family and irritated their elders. So it came as no surprise, to anyone, when Robert married a very rich woman from one of the Brahmin families in Boston.

One night when he was young, Patrick had overheard his parents telling a friend about Robert and Kathleen. “She may have been rich, but she certainly wasn’t pretty,” Joseph had told the friend.

Surprised because he had never heard his father talk like that about anyone, it had become clear to Patrick very early that Joseph did not approve of Robert’s activities or lifestyle. The most telling sign was when he heard the friend say, “I understand she died in childbirth because the baby’s head was too big for her to deliver.”

“We never really knew for sure, but if that were the case, that baby was probably just like Robert. I never saw a man acquire a big head quite as quickly as he did when he put his hands on money.” His dad had responded.

As it had turned out, Robert’s chance to enjoy her money didn’t last long when he was killed inside a billiard hall one night just months after Kathleen died. When the authorities questioned the other men in the hall, no one had seen anything or anybody. According to the story, everyone present kept to the theme that since dead men don’t talk, the death was ruled an accident, and Robert’s assets, according to the will, were divided among the nieces and nephews to be awarded as each turned twenty.

His dad had said that although Kathleen’s family was not at all pleased that all that Brahmin money was going to educate fourteen Catholic children, what disturbed them the very most was the amount of money left. No one ever knew what happened to the bulk of what Kathleen left Robert, but the guess was that his gambling debts exceeded his monthly dividends.

Patrick felt badly that his dad did not inherit any money from his own brother and upon receiving his allotment, he asked his dad to take half. He still remembered his dad’s reply.

“Son, your mother and I have everything we need. You have a life before you. Tainted as that money is, it will allow you to do something that you otherwise would never have experienced, opportunities your mother and I never had. So enjoy it.”

Do you have questions for me about my writing, my books, my thoughts on life? Send them through the Contact form and I’ll answer them here.

Cindy, can you give us an example of an idea you had for one of your novels, and how that inspiration led you to the story it ultimately became?

Crazy as it might sound I had a dream about a minister having an affair. I started thinking about the general topic of the clergy and how, unfortunately, people with power and charisma often use those two elements in a negative way.

At the time the child abuse issues of the Catholic priests were just beginning. The book, Keeping Faith, is a result of my thoughts stemming from these issues. It is not an attack on the church, but rather about how the effects of abuse can change a person’s life and affect every relationship that occurs over that lifetime. I pay very close attention to current events and human interest stories so my ideas often come from hearing a news happening, and then I let my imagination take me to a whole different set of fictional events.

What is your story germination process? At what point do you begin brainstorming and asking “What if?” Then what?

When I get an idea I try to think immediately about the first, middle and ending I want to happen, but sometimes I can only get two of those at first. I then just start thinking about a reasonable, believable route the story should take. My books are about life experience so they are just an extension of what might happen to anyone. I think that is what makes them interesting. The reader understands that the good, bad and ugly are all a part of each of our existences.

Chapter 7 Part II

Cindy Bradford
It didn’t take Patrick long to fall back into a routine at Notre Dame. He liked the small classes and diverse population, but most of all he enjoyed the Catholic atmosphere and of course, basketball. He learned quickly, however, that despite his height and talents, he was a small fish in a big pond. It was a humbling experience for someone who had been the star for two years. If anything, it had caused him to grow more introspective or had he matured? He wasn’t sure.

One year faded into two and then the third and Patrick’s days of playing college basketball came to an end. In some ways that was good because it gave him a chance to concentrate on improving his grades and taking the harder courses he had saved. He hadn’t planned to extend his stay this long, but his coach had insisted that he couldn’t take more than twelve hours a semester.

The best part was that he was able to move into an efficiency apartment and out of the dorm. His place on the third floor of an old brick building that had been a warehouse was only 280 square feet with a small refrigerator, a hot plate and the smallest bathroom he had ever seen. The Murphy bed enabled him to have a few feet of walking space, but he didn’t have to share a single inch of anything with anybody for the first time in his life.

To fill his free time he took a job at a coffee shop two blocks from campus. He had come here often late at night over the past two years and become acquainted with Tony, the owner, a slight, balding man with dark circles under his eyes and whose pasty, translucent skin looked ghostly. He wrote poetry and most nights played the guitar and sang ballads for the local group that hung out at the Java Café. Patrick liked it because Tony provided newspapers from major cities around the world, plus a large number of magazines. None were for sale, a customer needed only to buy a cup of coffee and he could linger and read for hours. Professors stopped by for morning coffee, but students dropped in all hours of the day and well into the night. Tony usually closed up around midnight, but had been known to stay open all night if he had an audience.

Patrick noticed his friend had been slowing down lately and worried if he might be sick. He wasn’t sure how old the little Italian guy was but had once heard him refer to being with his parents on Ellis Island in 1906. Whatever, it wasn’t like Tony to be late opening.

Patrick was doing his morning jog and stopped at the café at 6:45 only to find the door shut tight and the lights dim. When he came back later in the morning he found Tony there, but there was no clip in his step.

“I’m okay,” he told Patrick. “I overslept. Can’t a guy sleep a little for God’s sake?” he added in his raspy gravelly voice, enhanced by a two pack a day cigarette habit.

Smiling, Patrick said, “Guess I didn’t know you ever slept or ate for that matter.”

“Every now and then I do a little of both.”

“I can take on a few more hours here, Tony. You don’t even need to pay me.” Concern filtered through his voice.

“Thanks,” Tony said, patting Patrick on the shoulder. “I’ll be all right, really. But, you can put those newspapers on the shelves,” pointing to the bundles on the floor in a corner.

Patrick glanced at his watch and noted it was almost 8:30. These papers were always in their place by opening, but he said no more. Tony was a proud and private man. The next day he was dead from a massive heart attack.

Stunned, Patrick and many of the other patrons and employees just hung around the little shop once the maintenance man opened the door and said that’s what Tony had always said he wanted if something happened to him.

A day later his son and daughter-in-law arrived from California, locked the doors and hung a FOR SALE sign on the front window. Although it sold within a week and reopened within a month, Patrick never returned; it would have been too painful without Tony’s voice.

≈≈≈

With only a week remaining before graduation, Patrick called the police station in Townsend again. Ironically it had been three years to the day since he left and almost two and a half years since Sue’s disappearance.

“Still nothing,” the chief said quickly. “We’ve done all we know to do, but we haven’t closed the case. Something might show up one of these days, but I doubt it. I am retiring in a couple of months, and none of the younger guys will be as interested as I was. The new chief is not from around here,” he added. “I wish I could say something to make this easier for you. I wanted more than anything to solve this case, more than any case I have ever been involved with, but apparently it isn’t going to be on my watch.”

Patrick was silent as the chief continued, “You sure have a pretty little girl, son. They say she has your eyes. Now, if I don’t talk to you again, Good luck up there.”

“Thank you for all you’ve done, sir,” Patrick said, a lump growing in his throat. He wanted to say more, but stopped short, wished the old chief his best and hung up the phone.

Cindy Bradford

PART TWO

Wondering and Wandering

To miss the path, to go astray

To wander blindly in the night

But searching, praying for the light

Until at last we find the way…

chapter 7

Notre Dame, 1972

Immediately the authorities found Patrick in Indiana and questioned him about Sue’s disappearance. His coaches and teammates said it wasn’t possible that he had anything to do with her disappearance since he was playing in a pre-season non-conference tournament the day she was discovered missing as well as the day before and the day after.

Heartsick that something terrible had happened to Sue and feeling responsible, he was equally distraught to learn she hadn’t told him about the baby.

On Friday night he borrowed money from his roommate and flew to Dallas Saturday morning. From there he took the bus, probably, he figured the same one that had taken him back and forth to Townsend the two years before. Though the landscape hadn’t changed with miles and miles of trees and exits to a couple of towns off interstate 20, Patrick couldn’t help but think it was different.

When he stepped off at the station, memories poured down on him like a warm summer rain. This is really where it all started. He thought about his first day when he was filled with anger and bitterness, when this was the last place on earth he wanted to be. Then he met Sue. She had made him comfortable here. Now he was adrift, a stranger again. He wasn’t sure why he had come.

≈≈≈

“I’d like to meet with Chief Murray when he’s available,” Patrick told the receptionist at the police station.

She glanced up from filing her nails and Patrick noticed how young she looked to have bleached hair. He didn’t know much about the process, but it seemed that something might have gone wrong, maybe too much orange color in the mixture, or it could be the black roots and the lighting. He wasn’t sure, the lighting was definitely deficient.

“You have an appointment?” she asked, indifferently as she chewed gum and flicked the file against the metal desk. Her long, dangly earrings swayed to the rhythm of her chewing, reminding Patrick of one of those plastic bobble-heads he had seen in the back window of a Chevrolet sedan.

“No. I don’t. But I don’t mind waiting.”

“Well, you’ll have to. He’s not here.”

“Do you know when he might be back?”

“Nope.” She turned to study her long nails and reached for a bottle of polish.

Patrick couldn’t help but notice the name, Razzle Dazzle Raspberry. It didn’t exactly match her personality or anything else in the drab room. He had visited the police station where his dad worked a number of times and it was nothing like this. Though it wasn’t a fancy place by any measure it looked like a fine parlor compared to this room. These walls, once an olive green were now long faded and water stained from an apparent ceiling leak.

He took a seat, picked up a two year old copy of National Geographic, and flipped through the pages.

The steady drip of water from the window unit into a rusted metal pan, along with the constant smacking of the receptionist’s gum, were unnerving him. He expected the air conditioner to stop at any minute and for her to blow a bubble. He was right about the bubble.

When an hour had passed, he stood up and walked the couple of steps to her desk. “Do you think you could find out how long it might be before the chief comes in?”

“Is it an emergency?” she drawled sarcastically.

“No, but it could be,” he caught himself. “I mean I have to leave tomorrow.”

“Shouldn’t be much longer. He’s probably over at the coffee shop. He usually goes there about this time, most days.”

Patrick tried to hide his agitation, but knew he wasn’t doing a very good job when the door opened and the chief walked in.

He strolled by Patrick without a word, tipped his hat to the receptionist and went into the first office past her desk.

She mumbled something Patrick couldn’t hear but the man soon came to the door.

“You wanted to see me?”

“Yes, sir. I’m Patrick O’Brien. I…I’m…”

“I know who you are. Used to watch you play ball. Sit down,” he said gruffly as he motioned to the only chair. “So, why’d you come back?”

“I’m not sure,” trying to make eye contact with the officer’s steely stare. “I thought maybe I could find Sue.”

“We’ve looked everywhere,” he said, softening a little. He was a giant of a man, solid for his sixty-five years, except for the slight paunch that had developed around his middle. His hair was gray and cropped short.

“We have absolutely nothing to go on, not a single clue. No fingerprints, no blood, no note, no missing jewelry or money and no body. It’s like she walked off into thin air, except I’ve known that girl since she was a baby herself. I was a pallbearer at her father’s funeral. She wouldn’t have left that baby for anything.”

“But there has to be something. What about her car?”

“In the garage. No money was withdrawn from her account. Nobody saw her going anywhere. We checked with the train conductor. He couldn’t remember any young woman. He said a couple of older women, a soldier and a man in his early twenties bought tickets. His receipts all matched. The bus didn’t run that day. The taxi company hadn’t run in two days of the disappearance.”

The chief turned to face Patrick, his penetrating eyes focused directly at him. “I wouldn’t normally be telling you this, but your coaches convinced me they could account for you every minute of the time she disappeared.”

“Sir, I would never do anything to hurt Sue.”

“Son, you could have gone all day without saying that. Anything else? I’m a busy man.”

Patrick looked around, knowing that there was no one else waiting, but he knew his time was up. “One more question and I’ll leave. How’s Alice holding up?”

Rising to his feet to let Patrick know he was dismissed, the chief replied, “She’s strong, like her daddy. And I understand Dwayne’s parents are helping out. Are you going by to see the baby?”

Patrick shifted his gaze and he could feel the color drain from his face. “I don’t think that would be the best thing. I think Sue would use her old expression and say ‘Let sleeping dogs lie’. I’d rather you keep this visit between us.” A lengthy silence fell on the room.

“Glad I’m not the man who had to make that decision. Thanks for stopping by,” as he led Patrick out of his office. He turned without as much as a handshake.

Chapter 6

Cindy Bradford
As Alice was leaving to help Sue with the baby, she looked at her watch. At 8:15 she knew she was running late, but she stopped to answer the ringing phone. Her mother-in-law was just calling to say hello and invite her to lunch on Thursday, something she had continued to do even when Dwayne had moved out. Often her mother-in-law had shared her feelings about the young couple’s relationship and always she reminded Alice that she loved her like a daughter.

“I was just getting ready to walk out the door. I’m on my way to hold my new niece again. I’m so excited. She is beautiful. She looks a lot like Sue I think; only she has his eyes.”

“He did have beautiful eyes, but it would probably be easier for Sue if the baby didn’t look anything like the father,” Alice’s mother-in-law added. “What did she name her?”

“Faith.”

“Faith what?”

“You mean a middle name?”

“Yes, I’m guessing Ann.”

“No, just Faith, nothing else. It almost seems symbolic, like the baby represents that link to him. But, I think that any hope for his returning is futile. I haven’t asked her anything though. I know what you’re thinking, seems weird in East Texas not to give a child a middle name, doesn’t it?”

“Well yes, everybody here has two names whether they use them or not,” her mother-in-law answered.

“Like Sue Ann and Mary Alice,” she said with a laugh. “It’s just customary, but I don’t think Sue thinks this whole deal is very traditional or customary. She’s been really down lately.”

“But strong, don’t you think?”

“Yes, she did put his name on the birth certificate. She said she wants the baby to have his last name; even though he’s gone, he was a part of Faith, whether he wanted to be or not,” Alice added.

“I know it’s not been easy in a town like this with so many hypocrites looking down their noses. Did she ever let him know she was pregnant?”

“Nope, she said she didn’t want him to come back just because he felt guilty. He would always resent her for messing up his plans. That wouldn’t be any better life for her or Faith and certainly not for him. But she said she doubted that it would really make any difference. That’s what he had said.”

“I’m happy that she has this baby. It’s about time something good has come into both your lives. I can’t wait to see little Faith. I’m sending the cutest yellow ceramic bootie filled with fresh flowers over later this morning.”

Alice said quickly, “If you can, just bring them. We will be there all day. I’m stopping by Daylight Donuts for donut holes and pigs-in-the-blanket for our mid-morning coffee. Come join us. I know Sue would love that.”

“I’ll try; I’ll just have to see how busy I am. I have the shop by myself today, but if it’s slow, I’ll put a sign up that I’ll return later.”

“Okay; thanks for calling and try to come.”

“If I don’t, give Sue my love and tell her I’ll see her and the baby soon. Bye now.”

Pulling up to the house where she had grown up, Alice was overcome with emotion. Her parents had put so much into this place, adding the little sunroom in back. The roses were still pretty, even if showing a little neglect. Her dad had nurtured the tiny pines he planted when they first moved in, and now they were taller than the second story. Sweet gum balls and pine cones sprinkled the lawn as squirrels scampered to find a stray acorn from the neighbors’ yard. It had been years since the girls had stuck toothpicks in the sweet gum balls from the big tree in the front yard and sprayed them gold and silver for Christmas decorations. Now only the remnants of a life built together were left. The last few years were sad ones for this house, but there had been many happy times here. Today would be especially wonderful because there was new life. Alice jumped out of the car and ran into the house shouting: “Sue, where are you and my sweet bundle of Faith?”

Finding Faith lying in her cradle crying and wet, Alice began running room to room and then into the backyard, yelling and looking for Sue. Hurriedly she went to the neighbors and each time a front door opened Alice screamed “Have you seen Sue? Have you seen Sue?” but Sue was nowhere to be found.

Nothing indicated a forced entry, not that anyone in town locked their doors. Nothing seemed awry. Sue’s clothes were still in her closet. Faith’s morning bottle was empty in the sink.

When Alice reached to pick up Faith, a tiny gold ring that she remembered Patrick had given Sue last fall fell to the floor. Almost in hysterics, holding Faith, Alice called the police and waited.

≈≈≈

Alice refused to leave the house for a week, thinking any minute Sue would either come walking through the front door, or the police investigation would yield a clue. Meanwhile, she fed, bathed, changed and burped the baby girl, tending to her every need. Alice’s face was the first thing the baby saw every time she opened her eyes and the last thing when she closed them. It was her touch, smell and voice that filled Faith’s world, and finally, just eleven days after she was born, Alice took the child with all her belongings and moved her to Alice’s home, the only home the child would ever know.

From the first hour they were settled in, friends began to stop by with cards, well-wishes, gifts, food and advice.

Alice counted seventeen sleepers, six dresses, three blankets, a crocheted afghan, two bassinette sized quilts, socks, booties, diapers, countless toys, stuffed animals and miscellaneous bottles, bibs and rattles Neighbors brought casseroles, homemade bread and all manner of desserts: two blackberry cobblers, a banana pudding, oatmeal cookies, an Angel food cake and one of Grammy B’s coconut cream pies.

“What am I going to do with all of this?” a bewildered Alice asked her mother-in-law.

“As soon as everybody leaves, we’ll deliver it to the nursing home,” she whispered, “except we’re keeping that pie!”

“Have you ever seen so many cute baby things?”

“Everyone has been so thoughtful. Did you know the bank started a college fund for the baby?”

“That’s unbelievable, but what’s more unbelievable is that Sue’s gone and we may never know what happened. How could anybody do harm to someone like her? It’s just unfathomable.”

“I know, honey.” She hugged Alice and drew her close. “I’ll help you put all these things in the spare bedroom if you like.”

“That would be great. Would you read the cards off each gift so I can make a list? I want to send thank-you notes.”

“You bet.” She walked over to the kitchen cabinet for a pen and tablet. “This could take a while,” she said, smiling.

Two hours and two pots of coffee later, the women had finished the list and were arranging the closet of clothes according to sizes.

“I’m going to need to find a place for some of this. Did you ever decide who sent the silver spoon?”

“No.  There wasn’t a card inside.”

“I feel bad not thanking someone. They’ll think I’m rude.”

“Maybe they wanted to be anonymous.”

“You think? That doesn’t sound like people around her,” Alice said, laughing. “It’s a puzzle, but I don’t have time to worry about a little ole spoon. It appears I have a girl to raise!”

Chapter 5

Cindy Bradford
Needing Alice more than ever now, Sue asked her for help. “I’m so afraid, Alice, scared of having this baby, of raising a child in Townsend without a father.”

“Sue, you know I will be by your side throughout all of this. To hell with what anybody in town thinks. They haven’t walked in your shoes! Besides”, she continued as she shrugged, “what else do I have but my half-assed job at the nursing home?”

Alice, who was normally fun-loving and carefree had been having a difficult time lately, especially since the divorce was almost final; she had once wrapped her life around Dwayne and that had fallen apart. For a few minutes she was quiet, allowing herself to think back.

From the moment they had started dating in high school, Alice could concentrate on nothing but Dwayne, son of the local funeral home director/owner. Dwayne was wild and one of the few guys in high school who had a new Corvette and the money to go with it. While other businesses were drying up and closing down, Dwayne’s father’s was obviously doing well. Around town, it was always a joke among the high school kids that Dwayne’s dad was always glad when someone died and happy when a baby was born because that gave his business hope for the future. Dwayne’s mom ran the town’s only flower shop next door to the funeral parlor. No one thought this to be a conflict of interest since she was the first to give a homecoming or prom corsage to any boy who couldn’t come up with the $6.00 to buy one for his girl, or to send a pretty bouquet to the nursing home or provide the arrangement for the pulpit at the First Methodist Church.

Alice knew her parents had been disappointed when she announced she was quitting college and marrying Dwayne. They had so hoped she would become a nurse and work at the hospital over in Glenview or maybe meet some young doctor, join the country club, volunteer at one of the schools or head up a community project. But Alice was adamant, as she had always been about anything she wanted, and refused to listen to their pleas. Dwayne was going to take over the family business in a few years and be as rich as any local physician.

Alice remembered their wedding night, an unseasonably warm November night, as if it were yesterday. Three months after her eighteenth birthday, she had married Dwayne Strickland in the First Baptist Church of Townsend which was packed with people and the flowers that Dwayne’s mom had provided. Carrying a bouquet of orchids, Alice, in her lustrous white dress had felt like a bride out of a magazine standing next to the handsome rogue. Even with his reputation around town and despite the fact he wore his hair too long by most standards, most adults gave him the benefit of the doubt, believing he would settle down, make a good husband, become an asset to the family business and console the town’s mourners.

At the reception, both James and Sarah cried, wishing Alice would have changed her mind. Dwayne’s parents beamed with pride at the young couple. His parents had wanted the wedding to be at the Methodist Church where they belonged, with champagne and dancing at the reception. But this was one time when Alice didn’t get her way with her parents.

“This wedding is going to be at our church and of course there will be no drinking or dancing, heaven forbid!” her father had stated firmly. Alice’s parents had finally consented to allowing both a groom’s cake and a bride’s cake although they thought it was silly and said so. “No one in recent memory has had a German chocolate cake on one table and a white cake on the other side of Fellowship Hall.” her mother said, relenting, but thinking this seemed pretentious. They were not people who liked to look showy. Reminiscing now, Alice could see them, smiling through tears, as she and her new husband drove away with cans clanking behind Dwayne’s gold corvette. They didn’t smile, however, she was told when they read “Just Married, Hot Springs Tonight” written in shoe polish on the rear window. They were modest people in every way.

Soon after the wedding, Alice was ecstatic when she learned she was pregnant. Not sharing her enthusiasm, Dwayne didn’t mourn when she miscarried.

“Alice,” Sue said, bringing her back to reality, “I am so sorry about you and Dwayne. I don’t think I have been as sensitive or attentive to your problems this past year as I should have been. I’ve been too concerned about my own and that isn’t right. You’ve always been here for me.”

“Oh, Sue, don’t even think about it. I’ve had enough pity parties all by myself.”

“Men can sometimes be real jerks, can’t they?”

“I’d say more like true assholes!” Alice exclaimed.

Sue laughed for the first time in a very long time. “You have a way with words, Alice, but I must admit we probably think alike; I just don’t have your graphic vocabulary.”

Alice asked, “Did I ever tell you about what Dwayne did to me on his birthday, the first year we were married?”

“No,” Sue said, feeling better about her worries as she settled on the couch in Alice’s den, reminiscing.

“I was so excited because I wanted to make his birthday special. I even drove over to Spring Hill and bought him a bottle of Crown Royal. I hadn’t been in a liquor store since I bought Boone’s Farm at RED’S when I was a sophomore in high school. I know that guy at the cash register knew I was using a fake I.D., but he just winked and said ‘sure hope you feel as good tomorrow as you look tonight’ and put it in a sack. I didn’t.”

Sue asked, “Do you remember when Mother always sent Daddy to the package store in Spring Hill right before Christmas every year so she could make rum balls? He wouldn’t go to RED’S because someone might see him!”

Both girls laughed.

“Yes, God, those things were nasty. What a waste of good rum. Mother never did know when I stole that bottle from where she hid the leftover rum in the flour bin. A bunch of us girls drank it, and then I filled the bottle to the same level with a sugar concoction.”

“Alice, you’re terrible.”

Ignoring Sue’s comment, Alice remarked, “Oh, on to the birthday, well since I was a married woman I guess I had started thinking like Mom, not wanting to be seen in a liquor store in Townsend. Anyway, I then went to Sears and bought him a power saw he had been wanting. I should have used it on him, knowing what I know now! I spent hours cooking his damn favorite meal of chicken fried steak, fried potatoes and strawberry shortcake, and what did he do? He came in stumbling drunk at 10:00 p.m., smelling of alcohol and cheap perfume and promptly passed out.”

“Alice, you knew Dwayne cheated on you when you two were dating, didn’t you?”

“Yeah, I knew about that Tina girl. You know who I am talking about, don’t you?”

“You mean the one who did it some nights with lots of boys?”

“Yeah, only one night when I was at the Dairy Queen with some of my girlfriends, I heard the boys setting up what they called a gangbang with her. I guess they figured we couldn’t hear since they were playing Elvis on the radio so damn loud.”

Alice continued, “I guess Dwayne’s a boob guy. Seems Tina and his latest catch, if you can call her that, both have huge ones.”

She stopped and laughed. “The first time we were together and he saw a girl with big boobs, he turned, looking, and said, ‘Emerson’s.’ That’s the code word the guys used to mean ‘em are some big ones’ when they don’t want anybody to know what they are saying. I have to admit he could be pretty funny sometimes, but right now I don’t see anything very positive about him.”

“Yes, I know what you mean, Alice, I wish I could hate Patrick, but I can’t.”

“Being pregnant with his child doesn’t help any, I’m sure. I think it would be harder for me if we had had a baby together. I think the miscarriage is when I started feeling the way I do about Dwayne.”

“Why then?”

“Sue, I didn’t just lose the baby for some unknown reason. I was in the beauty shop and overheard Mrs. Floyd; you know the town gossip, telling Glenda and Ann that Dwayne was having an affair. She didn’t know I was in the back, putting on a smock. Anyway I was so upset I ran out of the shop and right into a parking meter. I hit it hard. It was the very next day when I miscarried.”

“Why didn’t you tell me, Alice?”

“Oh, I don’t know. I felt stupid and ashamed of the way I acted. I didn’t tell anybody, but apparently somebody at the beauty shop told Dwayne’s mother. She called him and chewed him up and down.”

“So, why did you stay with him after that?”

“He cried and begged me, said the affair was just a stupid fling. He told me he would end it and be a good husband. I was dumb enough to fall for it until I found out he was still seeing her. Maybe he really loves her. When his daddy gave him the ultimatum to leave her or the family business, he stayed with her. Tells you something, doesn’t it?”

“Yes, it tells me he’s the dumb one.”

“Yeah, that’s what I think about Mr. Priest-to-be. Are you going to let him know once the baby is born?”

“No,” Sue responded, sadly. “He made his choice. It’s too late now. I love him, but… well; I don’t think it would matter anyway. You should have seen his face when he said nothing would change his mind. It was weird. The whole priest deal was weird. Oh well, it doesn’t really matter. I’ll never figure it out, no matter how much I try to reason through it. Even in his last call he told me he loved me. I’m not sure he had it all completely figured out either.”

≈≈≈

During the next months, Sue and Alice spent many hours together talking about their futures, both pledging to move away someday, maybe to Houston or Dallas. Together they often shopped Rose Hill for maternity clothes or for baby things since Sue still didn’t feel comfortable in Townsend.

“Oh, my gosh, Sue. Look at these booties and socks. Aren’t they the tiniest things you’ve ever seen? I don’t know when I have had so much fun. Look at this dress!” she squealed. She held up a tiny yellow pinafore over a white eyelet dress, with a tiny hat that matched the satin sash of the pinafore. “I’m buying this and you can’t stop me.”

“As sure as you do, I’ll have a boy.”

“I’m telling you, it’s going to be a girl. I just know it!”

“And how do you just know it?” Sue quizzed her sister teasingly.

“Because I just know, now don’t ask me anymore questions.” Walking over to the hanging mobiles, she spotted one with butterflies, “This is perfect. We have to paint the nursery, Sue. We just can’t wait much longer or you won’t be able to bend over to pick up a brush!”

“I’m just not ready.”

“Well, you better get ready; because this baby is coming out in two months, no matter what. November will be here before we know it.” She reached and patted Sue’s protruding middle, “I don’t know why you are so obstinate. We should have already filled a trunk with blankets and a closet with clothes. No baby in this family is going to be seen wearing only a diaper and that’s all, not if I have any say.”

Stopping to draw a quick breath, she added, “We haven’t even bought diapers or bottles. That’s it! I’m stocking up whether you like it or not. Are you sure you are not going to let anyone give you a shower?”

“NO!” she said emphatically.

Sue sighed, “Okay. For you, I’ll go along.”

“Not for me, Sue, for the baby, whatever her name will be! That’s the other thing, you say you haven’t come up with a name you like, but I don’t think you’re trying. Why don’t you buy one of those little baby name books. I see them on the wire rack right by the check-out counter for ninety-nine cents, every time I’m in Piggly-Wiggly. How hard would it be to pick out one little measly girl’s name?” Alice pleaded.

The sales clerk had walked over and eyed the sisters three times but turned away seeing they were in an obvious discussion. “I’ll come back,” she whispered on the fourth time.

Tears came into Sue’s eyes as she reached to squeeze Alice’s hand. “I’m sorry, Sis. I haven’t been a very good mother-to-be. You wanted a baby so badly and couldn’t and here I am, having one when I shouldn’t. I’ll be better. I promise.”

Hugging her, Alice said softly, “I know it hasn’t been easy, but it will all be fine. This little one is going to be very loved and that’s what’s important. Come on, let’s each pick out a dress, a couple of bibs, a sleeper and at least one bunting? Have you seen a baby bed you like?”

Almost bashfully, Sue answered, “I looked at that one the last time we were here,” pointing to a white Jenny Lind crib. “It’s sweet, isn’t it?”

“That’s my girl! Now you sound more like yourself.”

≈≈≈

The next week they painted the nursery pale honeydew and arranged the creamy white crib against one wall and a chest of drawers to match on the opposite.

“Where do you think we should put the rocker?” Sue asked.

“By the window so you can show her the birds and squirrels while you rock her.”

As Sue’s due date approached, Alice thought she appeared even more nervous and moody, but shrugged it off, assuming she was afraid and sad that this very special event was not going to be shared by the man she said she “loved beyond words.”