Annie blushed, sick at heart.

Charles Rooks explained quietly. "Anne-Lynn Gardner's name is on both accounts."

"Why should I be surprised?" Uncle George's voice was riddled with enough sarcasm to tear Annie's heart to shreds. "How much was in those accounts? Are we allowed to know what's been stolen from us?"

"Grandma was living on Social Security." Annie couldn't keep her voice from wobbling. "There was never more than a couple hundred dollars in her checking account. She told me she'd arrange for a transfer of funds from her savings whenever insurance or taxes came due." Oh, Grandma Leota, how could you do this to me? Is this retaliation for all the years of neglect? I can't believe it! I won't! "I'll sign everything over to you and Mother. I didn't stay with Grandma Leota because I wanted something from her. I stayed with her because I loved her."

She hadn't meant to cry, but she was. She wanted to get up and run out of the room, but Fred moved closer and put his hand on her knee as though to hold her there. She'd have to crawl over his lap or the coffee table to escape.

"I'm going to fight this!" Uncle George said again.

Charles Rooks lifted his hand. "Your mother thought you might. So she made stipulations to make sure you wouldn't be able to do so. She only had to give you one dollar to prevent you from contesting the will. She made it one hundred dollars each." Uncle George started to speak. "I will say again, Mr. Reinhardt, I have not finished. Allow me the courtesy to proceed. All of you. Once you do, you'll find you have nothing to contest, nor would you want to do so." He looked squarely at Uncle George. "The more you say now, the more you'll have cause to regret later."

"Get on with it then."

Annie was shaking violently.

"Very well." Charles Rooks nodded. "Your mother made provisions for both of you." He looked from Annie's mother to her uncle. He lifted two manila envelopes and held them out, one for each of them. "I think you'll be pleasantly surprised at the provisions your mother made for you." He leaned back in his chair, saying no more, just watching them.

Uncle George opened his envelope quickly and slid the contents out. He leafed through the documents, his face paling, then filling with color, then paling again to a pasty white. He went back and looked at them again more slowly, studying them one by one.

Annie's mother held her envelope as though it had a snake inside it. Annie had never seen her look so uncertain, so frightened. Uncle George said the Lord's name under his breath. Trembling, her mother opened her envelope and began to go through the contents, one document at a time. A frown. Confusion, then comprehension. She looked utterly devastated as tears slipped silently down her white cheeks.

"Your mother was a remarkable woman," Charles Rooks said quietly. He leaned forward again and clasped his hands on his desk mat. "She told me she purchased those stocks years ago on the advice of a good friend. A very wise and astute friend, I would say. She had those documents in her house up until a few weeks ago. She had no idea what they were worth. When I told her, she asked me to keep them with her will."

Uncle George started reading aloud. "Exxon, Proctor & Gamble, Coca-Cola, DuPont, AT&T." He shook his head. "IBM, General Motors . . ." He looked as though he'd been poleaxed. He stopped reading, but he didn't raise his head. He shut his eyes for a long moment and then said, "We should get Mother a headstone. Something really nice."

Nora gave a hoarse sob, dropped the papers, and covered her face.

Uncle George winced. "I didn't mean that to sound so . . ." He looked up at the attorney. "How did she do it? I didn't think she ever made that much money."

"I imagine she invested a few dollars at a time during the years she worked for a living."

Grandma Leota had worked a long time.

Annie watched her mother tuck the documents back into the envelope as though she couldn't bear to look at them. Her hands were shaking. She scrubbed the tears from her face like a child. Annie ached for her. Grandma Leota had tried to show how much she loved her daughter. But Annie could see this inheritance had only added to her mother's burden of guilt.

Oh, Lord, will she ever understand?

Uncle George rose first. He extended his hand to Charles Rooks, thanking him as though he were the one who had poured the bounty upon him. Then he turned and looked at Annie. She saw the flicker of shame cross his face. "I'm sorry, Annie. I was out of line. I should've known better." He checked his wristwatch. "I have to run." He took a step toward the door, then paused. "Do you need me to go to the funeral home and help you make arrangements for a stone? I could meet you tomorrow."

"Grandma told me what she wanted, Uncle George. I'll take care of it."

"Tell them to send me the bill."

Her mother rose. She didn't shake hands with Charles Rooks. She held the closed manila envelope in her left hand as she turned toward Fred. Still trying to take it all in, Annie started to follow them out of the office.

"Miss Gardner," Charles Rooks said. She paused in the doorway and looked back at him in question. He came around his desk. "These belong to you." He handed her the file containing the deed to Grandma Leota's house and a short note in her grandmother's writing with the savings account number, location of her safety-deposit box key, and a Scripture reference: Isaiah 40:27-31. She thanked him and went out, catching up with her mother and Fred at the elevator.

They rode down in silence. Fred kept his arm around her mother. Annie didn't know what to say. Her car and Fred's were parked side by side in the basement lot.

"I'm sorry about the house, Mom," Annie said. "I never intended for Grandma to give it to me."

"Don't apologize, Annie. You loved her. That's far more than I ever did." Her mother raised her head, and Annie saw the anguished look on her face. "Don't ever apologize." Her mother's heart had been softened, then completely broken.

"Oh, Mom," Annie said. Weeping, she embraced her, feeling her mother's anguish as though it were her own.

Annie was shocked when she saw the small, wooden box that contained Leota Reinhardt's remains. It wasn't much bigger than a shoe box and weighed only a few pounds. The funeral home proprietor informed her that George Reinhardt had called and said he would take care of any expenses for a stone or urn or whatever Annie told the proprietor she thought her grandmother wanted. Annie had already paid for the "Direct/Budget Cremation (Noncommemorative)" before Uncle George had decided to be magnanimous.

"We should get her a nice stone."

Grandma, how would you feel about having a gigantic stone cross on top of you? Or some marble angels with great big wings? They could be playing harps! A bubble of laughter came from her unexpectedly.

"I'm sorry," she said, mortified. What was wrong with her? She wanted to scream and cry and laugh at the same time. She stared at the papers. Direct/Budget. She felt so guilty looking at those words now. Since the doctor had been aware she had the power of attorney, all the arrangements had been left to her. She hadn't known what to do. It had cost eight hundred and fifty dollars, almost everything Grandma had left in her checking account. That had taken care of everything: filling out official documents, sanitary care of Grandma's remains, removing Grandma's body from the hospital to the mortuary, refrigeration, use of facility and equipment, transportation to the crematory, and inurnment of cremated remains. All the things Annie wished she had never known about but had to under the circumstances.

Had Uncle George learned of his windfall sooner, he might've insisted Grandma Leota be embalmed and laid to rest in the "bronze, nonrusting" casket with the "champagne whitehall velvet" interior.

I'm going to lose it, Lord. I'm going to lose it completely and become hysterical. I want to pound on this table until it cracks in two.

Poor Uncle George. What was going to happen when the truth hit him between the eyes? No amount of money would ever ease his guilt. And her mother . . . Fred had called that morning and said she wouldn't be coming to the funeral home to help Annie with the decisions at hand. Her mother was so sick she couldn't get out of bed.

Annie's eyes welled with tears. Her throat ached. Reading through the option descriptions, she realized her grandmother had been taken away in a cardboard box. Oh, God, how could I have let that happen? Grandma, I'm so sorry. She reached out and drew the box of Grandma Leota's ashes closer. It was hard to breathe.

"Would you like to be alone for a few minutes, Miss Gardner?"

She nodded.

The man left the book listing services, products, and prices open on the table. He had been so kind to her when she called from the hospital. What must it be like to run a mortuary and see the dead and the grieving every day?

She had to get down to business and decide on an urn. Taking a deep breath, she reined her emotions in tightly and pressed them down deep inside. Still, feelings bubbled to the surface.

Oh, Lord, did they take Grandma away in her hospital gown? I never thought of that. I should've taken something nice for Grandma to wear when she was cremated. A nice suit. A pretty dress. A wedding gown. And her Bible. Grandma would have liked to have had that in her hands.

Annie opened the book and paged through it until she found the pages with the urns. She wiped her eyes, blew her nose, and studied the pictures. The urns were in various shapes and quite lovely. Painted chests, royal-blue cloisonne, ebony marble . . . urns of mahogany, cherry, maple, walnut, and poplar. The most expensive one was cast bronze on white marble and looked like a Roman vase. It was called "The Aristocrat." Annie's lips twitched. Oh, Grandma Leota. How you would love that! She laughed. She couldn't help herself. It just bubbled out and then died. The cost was over a thousand dollars, but that would satisfy Uncle George.

The man seemed to know the precise moment to return to the small conference room. "Have you decided?"

"Yes, I have." She turned the black binder around so that he could see the picture she tapped. "I'd like this one, please."

"A good choice."

Annie filled the first few days of Grandma Leota's absence washing sheets and blankets and remaking the beds. She vacuumed, scrubbed the kitchen floor, scrubbed the bathroom floor, washed the windows, polished the furniture, and cleaned the stove and oven. She cleaned Barnaby's cage every morning and made sure he had fresh food. He hadn't said anything for a while, and she hoped he wasn't going to get sick and die, too.

Arba came by the first night with a casserole. She didn't linger. "You let us know when you're ready for company," she said and left. The casserole was still in the refrigerator.

On the third day, Annie went out into Grandma Leota's garden.

The air was cold, the trees winter-barren, the ground hard. When Annie looked up at the lead-gray sky, her chest ached so badly she thought she'd die. She almost wished she could. At least then she would be with the Lord and Grandma Leota.

She heard the gate open and saw Arba and the children entering the garden. She tried to smile, but her mouth trembled. She couldn't speak a word of greeting. The pain was still bottled up inside.

"Oh, honey . . ." Arba's dark eyes filled with tears. "You need to let it out."

She shrugged because she didn't dare try to speak.

Kenya came and wrapped her arms around Annie's waist. "Mama says Grandma Leota's in heaven."

"What do you feel like doing?" Arba said, gently pressing.

"Screaming."

"Then you do it, girl. Why should the old Israelites be the only ones to rend their clothes and wail?"

Annie started to cry.

"Ah, honey. Is that the best you can do for your granny?"

The pain burst forth then, and Annie did wail. Arba and the children surrounded her, laying hands on her, crying with her.

"That's it," Arba said over and over, weeping with her. "That's it. Let it go, honey. Let it go."

And Annie was the better for it.

During the weeks that followed, Annie went through Grandma Leota's things. Grandma had precious few clothes. In her bottom drawer, Annie found the jewelry box mentioned in her note. Annie found the safety-deposit box key and put it on her key chain. There was a blue velvet box with a string of pearls and a note: All my love forever, Bernard. Another white box held an acorn, two blue feathers, three agates, and a package of sweet pea seeds, still marked ten cents.

Annie wondered what the collection meant. None of the items were worth anything, but they must have stirred memories for Grandma. She wished she knew what sentiment they held for her grandmother. She couldn't help feeling she had lost an entire library of knowledge and wisdom when Grandma Leota had died. There was so much Annie hadn't had the opportunity to learn.

Sam Carter called several times and came over every few days. One day he smiled at her tenderly. "You're not going to let me get too close, are you, Annie? Still think I'm a rogue."

"It's not that, Sam."

"I think I understand. Except for one thing, Annie."

"What's that?"

"You're not Catholic. You can't be a nun."

She smiled at that. "You don't think an evangelical Protestant can dedicate her life to God?"

"I suppose so, but what a waste."

She laughed. "I should hope not." Perhaps one day she would marry, but for now it didn't seem to be God's plan for her. She was content.

With the boundaries clearly drawn, Sam stayed the rest of the afternoon. They talked about Grandma Leota, life, the garden, what Annie planned to do about the house.

When she saw him to the door, he gave her a rueful smile. "I should've snapped you up when you were fifteen and madly in love with me. I lost my chance." Leaning down, he kissed her cheek.

Corban came by and helped her take the boxes down from the attic again. She asked him if there was any chance he would get back together with Ruth, and he'd said not a chance in hades. Then he broke down and cried. Alarmed, she sat with him on the sofa and listened as he poured out his misery about his child being aborted. She'd cried with him then. She talked to him about the Lord and forgiveness, but he withdrew from that. He wanted to consign Ruth Coldwell to the pit and leave her there to burn for all eternity. The hotter the fire, the better, as far as he was concerned.

"We all sin, Corban."

"Yeah, right, but not the way she did. What sort of woman kills her own child?"

"There's no difference in God's eyes between Ruth having that abortion and you wishing her dead and in hell for it." She saw his eyes flicker. She didn't want him to misunderstand her. "And I'm no better than either of you with the bitterness I allowed to take root in me. Sin is sin, Corban. There's no big or small about it. It's all the same in God's eyes, and unless you confess it and lay it at the cross, it separates you from God. That's why we need Jesus, so we can be reconciled."

She got no further than that. He said he'd taken philosophy courses. She could see his anger. He said he knew all about Christianity. He said he was sorry to offend her, but he thought all that stuff about Jesus dying for the sins of the world was hogwash. It was too easy. And it was a crutch for people who'd messed up so badly nothing could be fixed. When they did things that bad, they ought to suffer for it. And then he was on his feet, apologizing for crying like a fool. He was out the door before she could say anything else. Annie had felt sick at heart, watching him drive away. She'd known the instant she mentioned the word sin, he wasn't ready to hear the Good News. She'd seen the change in his eyes. The walls went up. He couldn't get away fast enough.

Annie didn't expect to hear from Corban again after that. Then he showed up on a Wednesday morning three weeks later. She was up on the extension ladder holding an electric sander to the paint-chipped eaves. He had to shout to get her attention.

She shut off the machine, lifted her goggles, and pulled the mask down from her mouth. "Well, hi, stranger!" She grinned down at him. "Come to help?"

"Sure. I've got some spare time."

She took him at his word and put him to work.

Chapter 25.

Nora dreaded the approach of Easter.

Ever since Anne-Lynn had telephoned and said she was "opening Leota's garden for a party to celebrate the Resurrection," Nora had felt sick with apprehension. She didn't know if she could stand to go back into that house and be surrounded by memories of her mother. Yet, there was no way to decline Anne-Lynn's invitation without hurting her daughter deeply and risking estrangement. She couldn't risk losing Anne-Lynn again. They were just beginning to talk, really talk, as mother and daughter.

Since her mother had passed away, Nora had felt her life crumbling from the inside. Besides the heavy burden of guilt over how she had treated her mother for so many years was the added shame of finding out she was related to those who had taken part in exterminating Jews and Christians during World War II. The more she thought about it, the more she shrank inwardly . . . and the more empathy she felt with her father and mother.

What would people think of me if they knew? She couldn't even talk about it with Fred. When he suggested grief counseling, Nora said absolutely not. She would never be able to call Pastor Burnie and ask for his help. She had said terrible things to him that day she had sought his counsel. Perhaps if she apologized . . . but why would he listen? It seemed every way she turned, she saw people she had hurt. She needed to make amends, but she was so afraid no one would give her the chance. Or, even if they did, they wouldn't believe she was sincere.

How many loved ones have I lost over the years because I thought I had all the answers? Bryan Taggart, Dean Gardner, Michael. It's a miracle I haven't lost Fred. I don't want to risk losing Anne-Lynn. Oh, Lord, seal my lips. Keep me still. I'm so afraid of ending up alone the way my mother was. I did abandon her. I wanted to hurt her the way I was hurt. And I did hurt her. I hurt her over and over again, year after year, right up to the very last day of her life.

How many Mother's Days had passed without Nora so much as calling her mother and asking her how she was? She remembered the times her mother had called and Nora hadn't even tried to hide that she couldn't wait to get off the line. So many times Nora could have included her mother in family dinners and at the children's birthday parties.

I remember things Mother said to me that filled me with anger and resentment. And now I realize she was trying to tell me something important, and I wouldn't listen. I had no idea of the burdens she carried, nor was I willing to find out. I was too busy living life my way.

Would she one day have a grandchild like Annie, who would love her no matter what she'd done? I thought I knew more than everyone else. . . . I thought I knew everything about my mother. Why was it so easy to think the worst of her? Why couldn't I have just once swallowed my pride and listened to her side? Oh, why didn't I go back to the hospital that night? . . .

She'd already lost Michael. Jesus, please, don't let me drive Anne-Lynn away again.

Nora felt as though she were locked in an elevator going down into a dark hole. There was no escaping. Fred insisted she see the doctor, but when she was given a prescription slip for Prozac, she refused to fill it. She knew the cause of her despair, and it had nothing to do with a chemical imbalance in her body. It had everything to do with guilt and shame. Why should she be spared pain when she had caused so much?

Oh, Mama, maybe if I'd had a month with you to talk everything over . . . A week would've meant so much. Even one more day. Oh, God, I would've been glad for five minutes to tell her I'm sorry and ask for her forgiveness. But that'll never happen now. You're punishing me for all the years I neglected my mother, for all the years I despised her and made no secret of it. I allowed bitterness to blind me. I allowed it to choke out every chance of a relationship with her. No wonder she could never say she loved me. How could she when I treated her so abominably?

Fred had finally become impatient with her last night. He said it seemed all the energy she had expended trying to shape Anne-Lynn's life to her specifications was now focused on torturing herself. "You've become prosecutor, judge, jury, and prison warden all rolled into one," he'd said in exasperation.