Priscilla’s breath came in a soft catch, and she put her arms around Abra. “I’m so glad to see you,” she said hoarsely. Peter said something and Priscilla interrupted. “Later, Peter. She needs to rest.”
The upstairs bedroom looked exactly as she’d left it. Priscilla pulled the covers back. Sighing, Abra stretched out, half-asleep before her head touched the pillow. Priscilla tucked her in. “We’ve been praying constantly since Pastor Zeke told us you were in Agua Dulce with Joshua.”
“Have you?”
With a faint frown, Priscilla smoothed Abra’s hair back from her forehead. “We’ve been praying since the night you left.” She fingered a clump of Abra’s hair.
“I know it looks awful. I cut it off with a razor blade.”
“A razor blade?”
“I’m so sorry for everything, Priscilla. Mom. I—”
Priscilla put trembling fingertips over Abra’s lips. “We love you, Abra. Get some sleep. We’ll talk later.” Priscilla leaned down and kissed her the way she’d always kissed Penny. “You’re home now. You’re safe.”
Exhausted, Abra relaxed. She didn’t even hear the door close behind Priscilla.
Birds sang outside the open window. Eyes still closed, Abra listened. “Joys are flowing like a river since the Comforter has come . . .” Stretching, she got up, feeling stiff and groggy. How long had she slept? The sun was well up. She went to the window and looked out at the backyard with pristine mowed lawn encircled by roses, delphiniums, and foxgloves, rising from beds of sweet white alyssum and lamb’s ears.
When she turned away from the window, she noticed presents stacked on her dresser—some in Christmas wrap and others in multiples of pastels—with a profusion of ribbons. Envelopes bearing her name were taped to each one. She opened a birthday card with a touching poem about a daughter and signed Mom and Dad. Tears blurred her vision as Abra touched the packages, one for every Christmas and birthday she’d missed.
Pulling open a drawer, she found some underwear. High school outfits still hung in the closet. She’d only taken what she’d bought with her savings at Dorothea Endicott’s shop.
Penny’s bedroom door was open, the canopy bed and French provincial furniture in place, but the walls stripped of movie posters and repainted pale green instead of pink. The room looked neat and empty. Where was Penny now? Married? Working?
Abra went into the bathroom and found laid out for her a new toothbrush, tube of Colgate toothpaste, and hairbrush on the bathroom counter. She took a shower and shampooed her hair. After drying it with a towel, she brushed it. She looked in the mirror and saw a pale, green-eyed girl with spiked and matted black hair that showed roots of red. What a mess you are, Abra. Inside and out.
As she came downstairs, she heard voices in the living room. She felt a fillip of worry when she heard Penny. The living room looked exactly the same. Abra stood, uncertain, in the doorway, until Peter spotted her and rose from his armchair. “Abra. Come in and sit down.” Priscilla and Penny sat on the sofa.
Penny glanced up, her cornflower-blue eyes widening in shock. “You look awful!”
Abra stared, no less shocked, as Penny struggled to stand. “You look . . . pregnant!”
Penny giggled. “Well, that’s an understatement if I ever heard one.” She put her hand on her protruding belly. “Rob and I are expecting our first in three weeks.”
“Rob?”
“Robbie Austin. Remember him?”
“Robbie Austin?” Abra couldn’t believe it. They’d both grown up with him. Robbie hadn’t been a football player or the most handsome guy in school. He’d been rather ordinary, and sometimes a pain in the neck. Abra had to bite her tongue before she said so. “He used to dunk you when we swam at the river.”
“He said he was trying to get my attention.”
“You couldn’t stand him.”
Penny was beaming. “He grew up.” She sank onto the sofa and leaned back. Abra took the rounded swivel rocker closest to her. Penny’s smile faded. Shifting, Penny tried to make herself comfortable. “I didn’t think you’d come back.”
Peter’s face stiffened. “Penny.” His tone held warning.
“Well, it’s been five years, Dad! And not so much as a letter!” She gave Abra that old haughty look. “You’re an actress now, aren’t you? In movies.” Her tone was faintly mocking.
“Lena Scott was.”
“You are Lena Scott.”
“Not anymore.”
“We read the newspapers.” Penny acknowledged the soft parental protests this time. Her gaze flickered over Abra’s hair.
Abra pasted a smile on her face and pretended to fluff her damp, poorly cropped dyed-black hair. “It’s my new look.”
Frowning now, Penny looked straight into her eyes. “What happened to you?”
“They seem to be cutting us out of the conversation, Priss.” Peter rose and nodded toward the kitchen. “Let’s give the girls a chance to talk.”
Abra felt no more relaxed when they were out of the room. She wondered if Penny was still the family gatekeeper, the one elected to ask the hard questions. Penny let her anger show as soon as Peter and Priscilla were out of earshot. “You have a lot of nerve coming back at all, you know that? Mom lost twenty pounds after you ran off with Dylan. Dad barely slept for weeks! All they’ve done over the last five years is worry about you.” She stopped long enough to take a breath. “Tell me. Was Dylan the knight in shining armor you hoped he’d be?”
Abra felt every word like a well-aimed, well-deserved blow, but hurt pride still raised its ugly head. She wanted to defend herself, then wondered how she could do that without making excuses for the inexcusable or casting blame on others when she’d made her own choices. If she and Penny were ever going to be sisters—or even friends—again, she had to be honest and pray Penny could forgive her.
“I was a fool, and Dylan turned out to be worse than you could ever imagine.”
Penny’s lips parted, but all the heat went out of her eyes. “Where did you go that night?”
“He took me to a fancy hotel in San Francisco. I knew before the night was over, I’d made the biggest mistake of my life. But I didn’t dare come home.”
“Why not?”
“I was too ashamed.”
“Oh, Abra.” Penny looked crushed. “Mom and Dad would have walked through fire to get you back.”
“I didn’t know that.” She’d never believed they loved her at all. She thought they’d taken her out of a sense of Christian duty, and because Penny wanted a sister.
Penny’s eyes filled. “It’s partly my fault. I should have warned you about Dylan. I knew he was bad news.”
“No, you didn’t. You were as gaga over him as I was.”
“In the beginning. The first two or three times I was with him. He still stands out as the most handsome man I’ve ever met. But the last time I was with him . . .” She sighed. “You probably don’t believe me, but when Dylan touched me, I got chills. And I don’t mean the good kind.” She spoke earnestly. “Sometimes the way he smiled at me gave me the feeling he wanted to hurt me, that he might even enjoy it.”
“You saw him more clearly than I did.”
Penny’s chin wobbled, eyes welling. “I tried to tell you in the hallway at school one time. I thought I’d be able to talk to you later at home, and then I forgot all about it until the night Mom and Dad woke me up and said you were gone. They wanted to know if I knew anything, and I didn’t.” She swiped tears away. “Mom was frantic. She had a feeling about him, too. She was afraid you’d be found in a ditch somewhere, and I knew it’d be my fault if you were.”
“None of it was your fault, Penny.”
“I know I was awful to you at times, Abra. I always knew I was loved. No matter what I did, I was still their daughter. And you are, too. Only you never acted like it. You never even called them Mom and Dad. And I think it’s because of things I said to you. I remember telling you the only reason Mom and Dad let you live
here was because I wanted a sister. It wasn’t true, Abra, but I was so jealous when Mom would spend time with you.” She shook her head. “And you always did everything right. You did your homework. You did your chores and mine. You played piano as well as Mitzi. I think I went a little nuts when Kent preferred you over me.”
“He ended up being your boyfriend.”
“Some boyfriend.” She grimaced. “All he ever talked about was you. I got over my crush in less than a month. You know what I held against you most? You filled out a swimming suit better than I did! I had the blonde hair, but you had the curves.” Penny sat up straighter, shoulders back. “Of course, I don’t think I have that problem anymore.”
Abra smiled wryly. “Just don’t put on a bikini.”
Penny burst out laughing. “Oh, boy, there’s a thought!”
Abra felt a softening inside her. Maybe they could be sisters after all. “You were always the prettier one, Penny. Boys always prefer blue eyes and blonde hair.”
“Oh, I thought so, too, until Rob called me a stuck-up pom-pom girl with a head full of air.” She gave a self-deprecatory laugh, and then studied Abra with speculation. “You know, Kent and Rob are good friends. Kent’s a really nice guy, and still handsome, despite Dylan breaking his nose.”
Embarrassed, Abra clenched her hands in her lap. “You heard what happened.”
“Everyone heard after he came home at Christmas that year. He had to have his nose broken again and reset. It’s still just a little off. He says it gives his face character. Would you like to see him?”
“Only to apologize.”
“Why? You didn’t break his nose. And he certainly didn’t blame you.” Penny grew serious. “Everybody’s been praying for you—Mom and Dad, Pastor Zeke, Mitzi, Ian Brubaker, Susan Wells, me and Rob, and probably a dozen others. Even with that whole gang trying to get God’s ear, I didn’t think you’d ever come back to Haven. You always seemed so unhappy here.”
She wouldn’t have come back on her own. “Joshua brought me.”
“Oh.” That one word held a wealth of meaning, though Abra wasn’t exactly sure what. Penny smiled slightly. “He would. He’s the only one who could ever get through to you.”
“Not always. He warned me about Dylan.” She shook her head. “I said some terrible things to him.”
“And he still went looking for you.” Penny reached out and grabbed Abra’s hand in a firm grip. “I’m glad you’re back. Are you staying? We’ve got so much to talk about! I want to hear what it was like in Hollywood! I saw a picture of you with Elvis Presley!” She might be married and almost a mother, but Penny was still all girl in some ways.
She stayed all day and Abra only told the truth. It was difficult at times, and ruined some of Penny’s illusions about life in Hollywood among the stars. Rob came over after work and greeted Abra with a chaste kiss on her cheek.
Priscilla had been in and out of the kitchen all afternoon. When she said dinner was ready, everyone sat at the table, and Peter held out his hands to Abra and Penny. Priscilla took Abra’s other hand. Peter looked at Priscilla, his eyes moist, his voice choked. “It’s the first time our family has been together in five years. Praise God.” Abra bowed her head as he offered a prayer of thanksgiving.
The fear that still bubbled to the surface subsided a little. They had all welcomed her. She was a daughter, a sister, a friend. But as warm as they all were, this place still didn’t feel like home.
Abra and Penny cleared dishes and continued to talk in low voices. The doorbell rang, but they paid no attention until Priscilla called Abra.
Joshua stood in the entry hall. “I just came by to drop off your tote bag.” He handed it to her.
She held it at her side. “Don’t you want to come in?”
“You need time alone with your family.” He went out to the front porch.
Abra set the tote bag down and followed. “They wouldn’t mind.”
“Another time.”
Abra walked down the steps with him. “Thank you for bringing me home.”
“My pleasure.” He went out the gate. She would have followed, but he stopped and pulled it shut, leaning forward to latch the gate behind him. She felt a tug of intense longing. The warmth in his eyes sent strange tingling sensations through her body. He seemed to be studying every square inch of her face. “I’ll call you in a couple of days.”
She stayed at the gate until Joshua got into his truck and headed down the street.
Joshua wanted to give Abra plenty of time to be a daughter and sister before he started knocking at her door. He went by to see Jack Wooding and was hired back as a foreman for the new Quail Run subdivision. By the end of the following week, Joshua picked out a lot at the end of a cul-de-sac and floor plans for a three-bedroom, two-bathroom ranch-style home in the first phase of building. He talked to the sales manager and went to the bank. With a 20 percent down payment, a full-time job, and a list of references, he was assured he would have no trouble qualifying for a VA loan. When construction started in a few weeks, he planned to check frequently on the quality of work and step in with a few upgrades he could do on his own time. The projected completion date was six months off.
Jack called him over. “Heard you bought the biggest lot in the first phase.”
“Yep.”
“It’s a good investment.”
Joshua smiled. “Yep.”
Jack’s mouth tipped in a knowing smile. “Thinking about putting down roots, Joshua?”
“As deep as they can go, Jack.”
“You’ve been crazy about that girl for as long as I can remember.”
“Timing is everything.”
“If you ask me, you’ve waited long enough.”
Abra had been warned that Mitzi wasn’t well, but she wasn’t prepared to find a nurse answering the front door and Mitzi frail and wizened and lying in a hospital bed in the living room. But Mitzi’s eyes still sparkled. “Well, if it isn’t our little wanderer. It’s about time you came home!” She patted the bed. “Sit down right here where I can get a good look at you.”
“Mitzi.” Abra couldn’t say anything more than that.
“Stop looking at me like that. I’m not dead yet.” Mitzi took her hand and patted it. “All this folderol was Carla’s idea. Of course, Hodge kowtows to her. They both wanted me in a rest home, but I said over my dead body. So this was the next best thing.” She looked around Abra and introduced Frieda King. “Hodge hired her.” Mitzi smirked. “I’m sure he knew ahead of time that she’s a pill-pushing drill instructor.”
“And you’re the most cantankerous patient I’ve ever had.” Frieda winked at Abra.
Mitzi glowered. “Would you kindly roll me up so I’m not laid out like a corpse?”
Frieda laughed. The two needled each other as Frieda cranked the handle at the end of the bed. Mitzi raised a hand when she was in a sitting position. “Whoa! That’ll do it, unless you want me touching my toes and kissing my knees.”
“Don’t tempt me.” She headed for the kitchen. “I’ll fix you some tea and your guest some cocoa.”
Mitzi gave Abra a stern look. “So. You took off with Romeo and ended up with King Lear.” When Abra dipped her chin, Mitzi raised it, her gaze full of tenderness. “Don’t worry, sweetie pie. I’m not going to beat you up about it. I think you’ve probably done more than enough of that on your own time. I don’t want to waste mine.” She gripped Abra’s hand firmly. “It’s a new day the Lord has made. What do you plan to do with it?”
“Finish high school, get a job, and try to rebuild the bridges I burned.”
“Plenty of people willing to help with that.”
“So I’ve discovered.”
“Ah, the girl is growing up.” Mitzi started coughing. She let go of Abra’s hand, covering her mouth with one hand and waving at a box of tissue with the other. Abra pulled out two or three and handed them to her. Mitzi kept coughing and fighting for breath. Frieda appeared and took over, encouraging
Mitzi to get the stuff out of her lungs. She braced Mitzi and rubbed her back, then took the tissues and deposited them in a covered waste bin.
Mitzi leaned back, pale and weak. “I had pneumonia. Just can’t seem to bounce back.”
“Takes time, Mitzi.” Frieda picked up a stethoscope and put in the earpieces before listening to Mitzi’s chest.
“Is there a heart in there?”
“Stop talking. I’m trying to find it.” She gave Mitzi a teasing smirk. “There it is.”
“Now that you know I’m alive, how about that tea?”
“In a minute.”
Clearly the two women had been through this drill before. Frieda removed the stethoscope and picked up a clipboard with a pen tied to it. She jotted a few notes. “Steady improvement.” She went back into the kitchen.
Abra sat on the edge of the bed again. “You look exhausted, Mitzi.”
“All that coughing and breathing does take more than phlegm out of me.”
Frieda delivered tea and cocoa and a plate of homemade macaroons, and said she was going to be in the kitchen for a while getting dinner started.
“She’s trying to fatten me up.”
“Well, please let her.”
“Don’t you start in on me.” Mitzi picked up a macaroon. “Now, what about your music?”
Abra shrugged. “I’ve probably forgotten everything you ever taught me.”
“I doubt that. But let’s see, shall we?” She nodded toward the piano. “Play me ‘In the Sweet By and By.’”
Abra winced. “Can I finish my cocoa and cookies first?” She’d always associated that hymn with Marianne Freeman’s memorial service.
“Make it fast. I’m not getting any younger.” Mitzi sucked macaroon crumbs off her fingers with gusto. “I’m making a list of songs I want played at my funeral.”
Abra barely managed to swallow. “That’s not funny!”
Mitzi chortled. “Oh, you should see your face!”