Page 15 of A Twist of Faith
A strange mix of fear and warmth fogged Dee’s emotions. In grad school her nervousness always impacted the treatment she gave to children—stiff and emotionless. Or worse, she fumbled around with her words and materials as if she didn’t have control of the situation. Heat swelled to her cheeks at the memories. One of her graduate supervisors had strongly encouraged Dee to stick with adult therapy.
And Dee had gladly obliged. Like father like daughter.
But Louisa or Lou boasted an easy confidence with the carefree knowledge of a child. Dee stepped closer. “Is your daddy or mama here?”
Lou scrunched up her nose. “I ain’t got no Mama. She died.”
Her atrocious grammar hit Dee first and then the blow from the little girl’s words stopped her steps. No mother? Dee knew that feeling. The rounded blue eyes didn’t mirror the loss, or the gaping silence of loneliness—but that would come later. Or maybe the complete absence of a mother left more possibility for hope than the lifelong presence of a bad one.
“I’m sorry.”
“Well, Uncle Trigg says Mama probably didn’t make it to Heaven for what she and Uncle Gray done.” She sighed from a weight much too big for her little shoulders. “But Daddy says God forgives little sins and big ones. So maybe I’ll get to see her in Heaven one day after all.” She looked up to the sky. “It’s gonna rain.”
The change in subject merged so matter-of-factly with the rest of her conversation, it took Dee’s mind a full five seconds to catch up. How could children state such complex and large things so plainly? And God’s forgiveness? Well, Dee didn’t even want to go there. Some sins were too big for forgiveness, and if not, God had some explaining to do.
“May I speak to your daddy?”
“Sure, you can. Come on in, it’s gonna be a while.”
“It’s going to be a while?” Dee followed Lou up the porch steps and into the house. “Isn’t your Dad here?”
The faint hint of cinnamon met her as she crossed the threshold. Reese Mitchell didn’t strike her as the baking type, but if she wasn’t mistaken, the delicious aroma matched the scent of cinnamon rolls. Dee swallowed back the mouth-watering thought and continued down a hallway of clean beige walls—bare as if freshly painted. The little girl led the way across rug-covered oak floors and made a half circle through the kitchen into a long living room with a fireplace similar to the one in Dee’s house. Furniture, pictures, and decorations looked pretty scarce. Dee almost stopped to examine the one portrait in the room. One of Reese and two children—a little boy and then Louisa, but she shook off the curiosity. She didn’t come here for personal information—business. Strictly business.
“Your dad’s not here?”
Louisa sat down on the living room rug in front of an exquisite wooden dollhouse. “Nope. He had to go and help Gypsy in the field.”
Gypsy? Who on earth would name their child Gypsy? “And he’ll be gone a while?”
Dee’s hope plummeted at the little girl’s dark-headed nod.
“Ain’t no tellin’ how long he’ll be gone. We got some lemonade if you want something to drink.”
“He left you here alone?” A seven-year-old, all alone?Not impressive, Mr. Mitchell.
“He’s just out in the field. That ain’t but a hop-skip.” The girl looked up, nonplussed. “Emma’s in the back room with my brother, Brandon, so we ain’t alone. Granny’s just down the hill.” She went back to her dollhouse. “And Mustard and Mavis are in the back yard too.”
Dee must have heard wrong. “Mustard?”
“He’s our ’coon dog.”
The dog’s name was Mustard, and the cattleman left to help some poor woman named Gypsy? Dee looked heavenward for help in clarity … or strength. Could her predicament get any worse?
“Ms. Doctor, you up for playin’ dolls with me while you wait?”
The simple request compounded with the news of Lou’s mother’s death turned Dee’s heart and well-laid plans to mush. Even if she didn’t like children, how could she refuse? “Maybe for a little while.”
The bittersweet moment plunged Dee into memories she’d ignored for years. An absent mother, a father who worked hard to counteract her mother’s illness, and two children who hid from the rants of a drunken madwoman. She couldn’t recall playing dolls, but as Louisa gave her assignments, she found herself taking a mental snapshot for later. Her therapists would have been proud. Building positive memories to replace the bad ones became an overarching assignment—one she’d tried to perform by making top scores in school and a myriad of awards. But something in this simple moment fed a barren place.
“Now the family’s gonna pray before they go to bed,” Louisa said. “They need to thank God for the new mommy God brought ’em.” Louisa looked up. “You got the mommy. She’s supposed to kiss the young’uns good night and tell ’em she loves ’em.”
Dee’s fragile grip on control unwound with a drop in her stomach. Tears swelled into her vision and she blinked them away, following Louisa’s instructions.
“Ms. Doctor, you don’t have to cry because Daddy’s not here.” Lou stared up at her and offered a reassuring smile. “He always comes back.”
The words tore Dee’s raw emotions. This was ridiculous! She pressed a palm to her stomach and stood to her feet. “Thank you, Louisa. I think I need to use your bathroom, though.”
“Well, sure, it’s right down the hall.”
