Home To You. Cheryl WolvertonЧитать онлайн книгу.
he hadn’t and his wife was dead and his daughter was on the road to becoming a juvenile delinquent. She didn’t want to be around him or talk to him. She’d started hanging out with some of the bad kids and running the streets. He’d had to find some way to head it off, and quick.
But how?
The house was too empty, his job hours were too long, and his daughter was acting more like eighteen than eleven…
How he had wished he could capture his own childhood and share it with her.
And that’s when the idea had struck him.
It’d only taken a few weeks to get a reply back from the local sheriff’s office about jobs and then a few more weeks to sell their house.
Then, he’d come back home, to Shenandoah. This was a place where he could raise his daughter, a place to help her find good influences for her life, a place to start over and try to do things right this time. It was a place where they could heal.
Without Ruthie.
Chase hugged the figurine to his chest, and then, with a sigh, reluctantly released his grip on the tiny porcelain figure as he tried to release past pain, setting it upon the hearth just as he tried to set aside the grief and leave it in the past.
The oak hearth was beautifully crafted, the intricate designs made by loving hands. A mirror stretched above the length of the hearth, reflecting Chase’s own short, dark brown hair and deep brown eyes. He looked a bit haggard—he needed to step a bit closer to the razor that morning.
He turned his gaze from the mirror, glancing around the room. The floors and ceiling beams were also made of wood and shone as if freshly oiled. The walls were white and the windows were tall and narrow, covered by curtains left by the last owners, who’d said they fit these windows and wouldn’t go with their new house.
He appreciated their generous gift.
Still, at moments like this, Chase wondered why he’d bothered with such an elaborate house. There was no one here to care for it, no wife to see that those curtains found matches in furniture or knickknacks.
But he knew.
It was because of Sarah that he’d bought the house.
She needed a home in a good neighborhood with good schools.
The people who had lived here before him had built a fort out back and had a permanent swing set made of wood cemented into the ground. There was a great climbing tree with a picnic table under it. All were constructed with good craftsmanship. He should know—in his spare time he used to build things. He’d gotten some experience here in Shenandoah, working for a carpenter. He loved building and thought Sarah would love the sturdy, beautifully crafted equipment out back, as well as the large spacious room and the quiet small-town feel of Shenandoah.
It would be a place for Sarah.
Staring at the beautiful, though painful, reminder of his beloved wife, Sarah’s mother, he decided he’d done enough unpacking for the day. He was going into town for lunch.
He and Sarah could unpack together later. Maybe they’d order a pizza tonight and pop in a movie.
But being in this house, alone, with all of the memories—
Turning away, he headed to the door, scooping up his keys on the way, and leaving the pain for later.
Carolyne Ryder sat in the old-fashioned, padded rocking chair, holding her four-month-old grandson, Joshua. He’d been fussy and unable to go to sleep, while his twin sister, Julie, was resting like a little angel in the crib across the room.
Joshua was asleep now, but Carolyne continued to rock back and forth, back and forth, patting the child’s back.
Her daughter, Susan, didn’t really need her here. She’d come to that conclusion about three weeks ago. She had a live-in housekeeper who doubled as a nanny and who was there to take care of the kids. Cokie did a great job.
Still, Susan and her husband, Johnny, had insisted that Carolyne stay as long as she wanted. These were her first grandchildren, Susan had only returned to work six weeks ago, and the kids needed a grandmother there for a while longer…
So Carolyne had stayed.
But she was restless. Montana was getting cold, a cold Carolyne wasn’t used to, and this just wasn’t her home.
Looking around the peach-and-green pastel-shaded room, she smiled at how it had been decorated. Two beautifully multicolored mobiles, one hanging over each crib, danced quietly to their own simple tune, courtesy of the air vent above them that blew out a warm breeze. The cribs had pink-and-blue sheets and baby-bumper pads that were decorated with flounces and tiny teddy bears. A changing table complete with diapers sat between the two cribs.
Carolyne and her husband hadn’t had enough money to have anything this fancy when they had been young and Susan had come along. Even when Dakota arrived, they’d been happy just to make ends meet.
Oh, how holding this child brought back such memories of when her own two children were small—and she was needed.
She stared down at the chubby-cheeked, dark-haired baby in her arms.
Now her children were grown. Susan lived half a continent away from Shenandoah and Carolyne’s life there, she and Johnny having started their own life with their own friends and their own traditions right here in Montana.
Yes, Susan had her husband and babies, and Carolyne, though she knew would always be welcomed, was no longer needed here.
Susan and Johnny needed time alone. Carolyne might have helped at first, but now she was in the way.
She felt in the way with her son, Dakota, as well. He was the pastor of a growing church that took up most of his time, and he didn’t need her anymore, either.
Her husband had died ten years ago, and Carolyne found herself at loose ends. Dakota was so busy with the church that she rarely saw him. He did, however, still live at home with her. She cooked meals, but many days he was so caught up in church work that he missed the meals completely.
She loved him, but she still felt very alone.
Both of her kids were adults.
What was supposed to happen when her kids grew up? What did she have left to look forward to? A simple life, spent growing old in the same house she’d lived in for the last thirty-five years? Would her obituary read that she was fond of puttering in the garden, or that her flower beds took up all of her time? Would her friends say that, yes, she was the one waiting each day for her son to eventually come home and regale her with tales of what went on in his life?
She sighed.
In the other room she heard the phone ring.
Moments later, Cokie entered the room where Carolyne sat, baby in her arms.
Cokie was of Asian descent and one of the nicest women Carolyne had met in Montana. Cokie was quiet. She didn’t talk much except to the children. She stayed busy cleaning, cooking or being there for the babies when Carolyne wasn’t.
“You have call, Ms. Carolyne.” Her softly accented voice drifted quietly to Carolyne.
Surprised, Carolyne wondered who it could be. “Thank you.”
She stood and carefully tiptoed over to the crib and laid her grandson down.
She lovingly tucked the small receiving blanket around him and held her breath as he screwed up his mouth. But his eyes remained closed as he adjusted. As he let out a shuddering breath, his tiny fists relaxed next to his head.
Certain he wasn’t going to wake up, she left the room and treaded down the light brown carpet into the large living room.
Johnny was a lawyer and evidently did well at his job. The house was beautiful, much bigger than the one Susan had grown up in. With soft earth-toned furniture and brass tables, the living