Mother Lode Read Online Free PDF

the jar on the bed. “I’ll
follow you down, little brother.”
    “ No, after
you.”
    Walter shrugged, sauntered out of the room
and descended the steps two at a time. “Don’t ‘spect you’ll be
getting’ much chance to enjoy this place.” With an ugly grin he
turned to the door. “I’ll be takin’ the horses now.”
    When Walter was gone, Jorie thought his
heart would explode. He strode to the back parlor, pulled the lace
curtain back a bit, and wiped enough lamp smoke from the window to
see out. Watching his step-brother head toward the stable, he
wondered where he’d found the courage to confront his old
nemesis.
    He had planned to go straight to Eliza’s
room, but turning, found himself ensnared by the dying remains of
the memorial service. He hadn’t escaped it after all; it closed in
on him now like a ghoulish prank. The sight of all the dead flowers
caused him to catch his breath. A wilted rose, collapsed across the
frame, half concealed the small picture of his mother. He held the
silver frame, staring first at the wedding dress, with its ribbon
rosettes and lace, her tiny waist. Only gradually were his hands
still enough to allow his eyes to travel upward to her face, to
see, through the scratched glass, the tin-type still showing her
features clearly—bright, expectant eyes, so ready for life.
    Shoving the picture in his
pocket, he ascended the stairs again. In the almost barren room he
found Eliza’s rocking horse upended in her closet, but no other
toys. Three pale rectangles on the wall replaced the pictures that
had been there. He felt a stab of pain, but no surprise. He racked
his brain wondering why he was not astonished: What had he known before that was escaping him
now?
    Returning to his mother’s room, he stood in
the doorway remembering the many times as a child he’d crawled into
bed with her. And the many times in later years he’d hurried past
this door.
    The things on her dresser were neatly
arranged—the ivory comb and brush set her father had given her
years ago, including a small receptacle for loose hair. He opened
its lid and touched the contents. The auburn strands still gave off
the fragrance of lilac. He could see her pulling the hairs from her
brush, winding them around her fingers, and placing them in the
receptacle.
    The small blue jar lay on the bed where
Walter had tossed it. Round as an apple with a silver lid, the
ballerina still stood on her toes, one arm reaching to the sky. He
picked it up gently and brought it to his face. A flood of memories
coursed through him of the times she’d soothed him with its balm.
And the best part—the stories from the old country that
followed.
    “ I’m drowning, I’m drowning! Will no one
come tae save me?”
    “ I’ll save ye, Lassie. Just hang on tae
my neck and I’ll ta’e you to shore.” He fishtailed across the
bed.
    “ Oh thank ye Seal, ye’ve saved my life.
What can I dae fer ye?”
    “ You can bide with me, and be me
wife!”
    “ Och I canna marry a seal!” She turned
away.
    “ It’s a man ye’ll be marryin’, not a
seal. Look at me now!”
    He assumed a strong man pose, and she turned
back to him in great surprise.
    “ Ah, and a bonnie one too. It’s a silkie,
you are!”
    “ That I am. Now marry me.”
    “ I cannae marry ye. For I know ye can
change back tae a seal as quick as ye changed in tae a man. I’ve
heard ‘nuf stories aboot that!”
    “ I wonna go back tae the sea if ye will
marry me. I’ll stay wit ye, Lassie, and never leave.”
    “ And what will ye do fer me?”
    “ I’ll build ye a manse finer than ye've
ever known where just the two of us will live. It’s there I’ll take
care of ye, ever and ever.”
    Queasiness came over him.
    He carried the rocking horse downstairs. The
cab he’d hired was due in a few minutes; was there time to
accomplish his other mission?
    The clip-clop of the driver’s horses told
him the other task would have to wait.
     
    Delighted to have the