was proud of you.”
“I know.”
“No, Mom, you don’t know. But I have proof, lots of it, and it’s all in Oma’s handwriting. Rosie Brechtwald saved all of Oma’s letters. Her daughter gave them to me. You’ll be able to read them when I get home.”
“Did you take lots of pictures?” Mom’s voice had a tremor.
“Yes, Mom. At least a hundred.”
“When you and Faith get home, we’ll have tea and cookies and make an album together.”
“Sounds wonderful.”
They would talk about things they had kept hidden, shine light on the shadows, cast out any remaining doubts.
“I love you, Mom. I’ll see you soon.”
“I love you, too, honey. I always have.”
Love one another, Jesus said. Sometimes it took a lifetime to learn how. Sometimes it took hitting rock bottom to make someone reach up and grasp hold and be lifted from the mire to stand on a firm foundation.
Sometimes a child had to show them how to love, and another child, left behind, had to remind them to take one step at a time.
Faith. How appropriately Dawn had named her child. Every time Carolyn said it, she remembered what May Flower Dawn had dreamed. So did Mom. So did Jason. So did every member of the family.
God would light the way. Faith would keep them on the right path.
a cognizant original v5 release november 24 2010
A Note from the Author
Dear Reader,
Since I became a Christian, my stories have begun with struggles I’m having in my own faith walk, or issues that I haven’t worked out. That’s how this two-book series started. I wanted to explore what caused the rift between my grandma and my mom during the last years of my grandmother’s life. Was it a simple misunderstanding that they never had time to work out? or something deeper that had grown over the years?
Francine as a little girl with her dog Dusty
Many of the events of this story were inspired by family history that I researched and events I read about in my mother’s journals or experienced in my own life. You may have guessed that Carolyn is my alter ego. But only some of my life is interwoven through hers. Mom did have tuberculosis when I was a little girl, and Grandma did move in to help while Mom recuperated at home. When Mom was well enough, we moved to a piece of property where they built their own home from the foundation up. I still love the scent of sawdust. But unlike the Arundels, our family was close. We had sit-down dinners and lingered around the table, talking. In many ways, growing up in the fifties and early sixties in California was like living in Camelot. I had an idyllic childhood, despite the serious things happening-the “Red Scare,” the Cuban Missile Crisis, and Kennedy’s assassination. My dad, along with other neighbors, built a bomb shelter. (Last I heard, people have converted them into wine cellars.)
Francine as a high-school student
Like Carolyn, I’ve known my husband, Rick, since we were children. My brother, Everett King, served in the armed forces like Trip, Charlie, and Jason. He was in Army intelligence and was wounded and captured during the Tet Offensive of ’68. By the grace of God, he escaped. It was his story in the hometown paper that brought Rick back into my life. Rick was serving in the Marine Corps and stationed in Vietnam at the same time my brother was. Rick’s mom sent him a newspaper clipping about my brother being MIA and, later, one about his escape. Rick wrote to me and said I was lucky to have my brother back alive. We started a correspondence, dated when he returned, and married a year after he came home.
Francine and Rick’s engagement photo
Rick got an early out for Vietnam service and went back to college, first to Chabot junior college and then to UC Berkeley, where he graduated with a degree in American history. However, aviation was in his blood, and he started his own business-Rivers Aviation Services. We had three small children by then, and all of us spent time together at the office. Our children played in the packing materials, hiding in the Styrofoam peanuts, thinking we didn’t know where they were. They grew up helping out and learning what it means to work hard and build something together.
Like Carolyn, I lost faith in God for a time and then (much later than she) cried out to Him. Carolyn suffered more insecurities and hardships, but many of us have to “hit bottom” before we acknowledge our need for Jesus as Savior
Though this saga often focuses on mother-daughter relationships, the men in both books play important roles, too. I never knew my grandfather, though I like to imagine he was like Niclas. He died of liver cancer before I was born. He was Mom’s first private patient. Mom once told me he sang German hymns in the orchard when he was working. Trip reminds me of my father, who served as a captain in the U.S. Army during World War II and was a medic during the second wave on D-day. He had dreamed of being a doctor, but gave it up to be a police officer and, eventually, coroner and public administrator of Alameda County. He never shared details of the war. (Neither did Rick’s father, who spent three and a half years in Los Banos, an infamous Japanese prison camp in the Philippines.)
Mitch is very much like my husband, Rick. He loves me despite my faults. We’ve grown up together and encourage one another in our faith. He’s given me the freedom to do what God has called me to and is my biggest encourager and supporter (literally-for years while I didn’t make a cent off my writing). And Jason has similarities to our son-in-law, Rich, a hardworking young man of faith who joined the military to offer our daughter, Shannon, a better life. After four years on the other side of the country, he left the Air Force and entered the private sector. We are blessed to have them living in the same town (blessed also that our sons and their spouses and children are all close by). Rich is my “tech support,” and Shannon manages my Web site.
During the past three years of working on Marta’s Legacy, I have come away with a heart full of wonderful memories and valuable lessons hard-won by Grandma and Mom, but passed down lovingly to me. I am grateful. Neither ever felt she measured up, but that did not stop them from encouraging me. May Flower Dawn begins as a self-centered child and grows into a grace-filled, wise woman. Her journey is one every woman hopes to witness in her daughter, as I am witnessing in mine.
Francine (far right) with her mother and grandmother
Our experiences may be different. The times in which we have grown up may be poles apart. Yet I know I
