It took amoment for his father to follow what his boy wanted, but thenreplied, “She’s in the backroom.” He turned to us. “Have a seat,ladies. I’ll get your tea ready. Cream and sugar?”
“Yes, please,”we both replied and took a seat at the small, wooden farm table. Iwas surprised when Charlie joined us. But I could see the nervoustremble in the way his fingers wrought together.
I felt wrongencroaching on this very personal moment for Charlie, but he’dinsisted on having me with him. Wouldn’t have it any other way. Irealized now, that he must have been terrified of what he’d find.After so many years away. So, I had to keep reminding myself I wasthere for him. For support.
“You have alovely home,” Lottie told the man as he brought four mugs of hotwater to the table and took a seat with us.
“Thank you.”He appeared tired. Not just the kind from a poor night’s sleep, butmany. Years and years of sleepless nights probably spent caring forhis dying wife. His fingers moved without thought to prepare hiscup of tea.
“I do what Ican when I’m not with Hellen,” he continued and then looked to hisson. “You should go see her before…”
He couldn’tfinish the words, couldn’t bring himself to say it about the womanhe loved. The mother of his child who now sat before him a youngman. I stared at the soiled trousers and thick knitted sweater hewore, then remembered the big shovel he dropped to the groundoutside. My blood ran cold and my eyes met the man’s inunderstanding. We exchanged a silent nod. Charlie made it home justin time. His mother was dying. Soon. The soil on his father’sclothes, grated under his nails, were from the grave he must havebeen digging out back. Charlie stood from the table and hischildlike eyes begged me to come.
“Oh, no,Charlie,” I said, “you go. Be with your mother. I shouldn’tbe–”
But he heldout a shaking hand and pleaded. How could I say no to him? Howcould I let him face it alone? I stood and slipped my fingers intohis awaiting hand as he led me to the back room. Slowly, he turnedthe knob and the door creaked open to reveal a bright and sunnyroom, a low bed off to the side, and a frail shell of a womanlying in it.
With greatdifficulty, she raised her heavy head and her mouth gaped open,lips trembling. “Charlie? C-Charlie, my boy?” I could tell shewanted to get up, wanted to stand and hold her boy in her arms, butall she could muster was a set of open hands, beckoning him tocome.
He did.Quickly and desperately, Charlie fell into his mother’s arms andsobbed into her neck as she held him tightly. I stood in thedoorway, unable to look away, trapped and entranced by their love.A mother’s love for her child. Something I hadn’t witnessed in somany years. It was unlike anything this world could ever conceive.No feeling or entity could match the raw beauty and power of amother’s love for her creation.
Finally, theypulled free of one another and Charlie, eyes swollen and reddenedfrom the tears that poured down his face, took a seat next to heron the bed. It was then that I could get a good look at her. Seehow frail and sick she truly was. Her beauty was evident, butwashed away with pallor skin and dark, sunken eyes. Her lips, greyand cracked, smiled happily for her boy at her side. Then, as ifjust noticing me there, she glanced up and regarded me.
“And who isthis?” she asked and lowered her gaze to my stomach. “Charlie, haveyou brought home a grandchild for me?”
Charlielaughed and strained to speak with his hoarse voice. “No, Mother.This is Dianna. A friend. She’s taken me in. Cared for me.”
Her frail,bony hand reached to me and I darted forward to take it, notwanting her to use what little energy she clearly had.
“Thank you,”she told me. “For taking care of my son. You don’t know what thatmeans to me. I spent years worrying for him. Assured by his lettersthat he was fine but, still, I worried.” She smiled for her boy. “Amother always worries.”
“He’s a goodkid,” I told her and then amended quickly. “A good man. Charlie isa fine man. You should be very proud.”
“And what’sthis?” she asked. “Your voice?”
Charliestruggled to find words, to tell his mother in a way she wouldn’tworry. He cleared his throat but said nothing.
“Uh, he wasinjured,” I spoke up. “He… saw that I was in danger, and steppedin. He saved me from a very bad woman. But it nearly cost him hislife. And now, I owe him mine.”
Hellen foughtback tears and gently pulled down the handkerchief that wrappedaround her son’s neck, brushing her fragile fingers across thejagged scar there.
“That soundslike my foolish boy,” she said. “Always jumping in withoutthinking. Trying to be the hero. He left to find work when I fellsick,” she added and glanced up at me. “Wanted to send money homeso his father wouldn’t have to worry about the farm. So, he couldtake care of me.” She rubbed his face gingerly and he melted intohis mother’s touch.
“Yes, like Isaid, he’s a good man.” I dropped my gaze to the wooden floor,trying not to think of the way my own mother used to touch my facethe same. All this time, I’d tried so hard not to think of her.Tried not to wonder where she was or if she were close by. Thewoman was everything to me and then she was gone in an instant,pulled from my life like an appendage, leaving me incomplete. Foryears, I’d blocked out the pain, forgot her touch, and tucked awaythe love I harbored. And there I was, standing before Charlie andHellen, suddenly wishing I’d done things differently. That I’d usedone of my enchanted pearls to find my mother and not my sister.
“Be a dear andget me some water, would you?” she asked Charlie.
Dutifully, hestood and left the room. I turned to follow but Hellen called to mein a whisper.
“Dianna,please,” she croaked weakly, finally letting on just how sick shewas.
