Loe raamatut: «Dakota Born»
Make time for friends. Make time for
Debbie Macomber
CEDAR COVE
16 Lighthouse Road
204 Rosewood Lane
311 Pelican Court
44 Cranberry Point
50 Harbor Street
6 Rainier Drive
74 Seaside Avenue
8 Sandpiper Way
92 Pacific Boulevard
1022 Evergreen Place
1105 Yakima Street
A Merry Little Christmas
(featuring 1225 Christmas Tree Lane and 5-B Poppy Lane)
BLOSSOM STREET
The Shop on Blossom Street
A Good Yarn
Susannah’s Garden
(previously published as Old Boyfriends)
Back on Blossom Street
(previously published as Wednesdays at Four)
Twenty Wishes
Summer on Blossom Street
Hannah’s List
A Turn in the Road
Thursdays at Eight
Christmas in Seattle
Falling for Christmas
Angels at Christmas
A Mother’s Gift
A Mother’s Wish
Happy Mother’s Day
Be My Valentine
THE MANNINGS
The Manning Sisters
The Manning Brides
The Manning Grooms
Summer in Orchard Valley
THE DAKOTAS
Dakota Born
Dakota Home
Always Dakota
The Farmer Takes a Wife
(Exclusive short story)
Dear Friends,
I’ve been looking forward to seeing the DAKOTA series in print again! And judging by the letters and e-mails I’ve received over the past few years, so have many of you.
These books are special to me. They reflect the fact that the Dakotas are an important part of my own heritage. My mother was born and raised in Dickinson, North Dakota, and my father came from Ipswich, South Dakota. The Dakotas and the immigrants who settled there shaped my parents’ lives and, in turn, shaped mine. In November 1998 I flew into Minneapolis and met my cousin Shirley Adler.
With a rental car and a map, we toured the Dakotas, laughing ourselves sick along the way, sharing childhood memories. I looked up cousins I hadn’t seen in more than thirty years and savoured some wonderful moments with Aunt Gladys in Dickinson and with Aunt Betty and Uncle Vern in Aberdeen, South Dakota. Uncle Vern has since died, which makes the memories of that visit even more precious. At the time of his death, he and Aunt Betty had been married for seventy-two years!
While I was on this research trip, two writing friends—Judy Baer and Sandy Huseby, both of North Dakota—provided invaluable assistance. They answered countless questions and shared their love and pride in their state with me. I can only hope I did North Dakota justice. And I hope you enjoy this story about finding love in a small town.
PS I’d be delighted to hear from you! You can reach me at my website, www.debbiemacomber.com, or write to me at PO Box 1458, Port Orchard, WA 98366, USA.
Dakota Born
Debbie Macomber
To Shirley Adler
My cousin and cherished friend
Prologue
Ten-year-old Lindsay Snyder woke rigid with fear. For a moment, she didn’t know where she was. The room was as dark as coal and hot, terribly hot. Then she realized she wasn’t home in Savannah where the air conditioner cooled the worst of the summer heat. She tried not to be afraid, but she was.
The ghost stories she’d heard at camp that summer returned to haunt her. A sudden chill raced down her spine as she recalled the tale of Crazy Man Charlie who was said to tear out people’s eyes … before he murdered them. Somehow, Crazy Man Charlie had found her. Everyone else must be dead. Everyone but her. The dream remained vague, and she tried to remember the details and couldn’t.
Slowly she sat up in the darkness, prepared to confront whatever danger awaited her. As she did, she remembered she was at her grandparents’ house with her parents and two sisters. They’d arrived that evening after driving for what seemed like days and days to North Dakota.
Her eyes had begun to adjust to the night, and Lindsay climbed out of the makeshift bed in her grandma’s sewing room. She tiptoed past her two sleeping sisters and down the hallway to the kitchen for a glass of water.
A sound came from the living room and she froze at the thought of meeting Crazy Man Charlie face-to-face. Holding her breath, she flattened herself against the refrigerator door.
Then Lindsay saw her Grandma Gina, silhouetted in the moonlight that streamed through the big window. The heavy curtains were pulled open and her grandma stood by the brick fireplace, head bent. Lindsay would have rushed to her for a hug and told her all about the crazy man and how scared she’d been, but she didn’t know her Grandma Gina as well as she did her Grandma Dorothy. So she stayed in the kitchen, waiting for her grandmother to notice her.
Except her grandma hadn’t heard Lindsay and didn’t know she was there. Lindsay could see that her grandmother held something in her hand, but she couldn’t tell what it was. Grandma Gina moved closer to the fireplace, but it wasn’t light enough for Lindsay to see what she was doing.
Lindsay’s eyes widened as her grandmother leaned forward and touched the fireplace. A sort of scraping sound followed and a brick slid out. It was a hiding place! A secret hiding place.
Fascinated, Lindsay watched as her grandmother slipped whatever she held in her hand inside the opening. The brick made the same sound as it went back into place.
“Grandma?”
Her hand over her heart, Grandma Gina whirled around. “Good heavens, child! You frightened me.”
Lindsay hurried into the living room and toward the fireplace, but she couldn’t figure out which brick her grandmother had moved.
“What are you doing up?”
Lindsay looked away from the fireplace. “I had a dream about Crazy Man Charlie.”
“Who?”
“I heard stories about him at summer camp.” She ran her fingers along the fireplace, trying to work out which brick had moved. “What did you hide in here, Grandma?”
“It’s nothing, child.”
“But I saw the brick move.”
Her grandmother shook her head. “It was … just a trick of the moonlight.”
“But, Grandma, I saw.”
Her grandmother crouched down, meeting her eyes. “The stories frightened you.”
Her wrinkled face was marked with the streaks of tears that glistened in the moonlight. “Grandma, are you crying?”
“No … no,” her grandmother insisted. “Why would I be crying?”
“But that’s what it looks like.” Lindsay raised her hand to her grandmother’s cheek and brushed her fingertips tentatively against the soft skin.
Her grandmother tried to smile, but her lower lip quivered.
“Are you sad?” Lindsay asked.
“A little,” she whispered, and hugged Lindsay close, so close she could feel the beating of her grandma’s heart.
“I’ll draw you a picture, and then you won’t be sad anymore.”
“You sweet, sweet child. Now let me take you back to bed.”
“I’m thirsty.”
She released Lindsay and led her into the kitchen, where she took a glass from the cupboard and filled it with water.
Her grandma had let the tap run and the water was nice and cold. Lindsay gulped it down, then put the glass on the counter. “What did you hide in the fireplace?” she asked again. She didn’t understand why Grandma Gina was pretending like this.
Her grandmother gently stroked the hair from her face. “You didn’t see anything.”
“But I did.” Walking over to the fireplace, Lindsay tried really hard to find the spot her grandmother had touched. She pushed and prodded at various bricks, but nothing moved.
Her grandmother joined her. “Lindsay, look at me.”
Lindsay turned around.
Her grandmother crouched down again. The tears were back in her eyes and she hugged Lindsay tightly. “What you saw is our secret, all right?”
Lindsay nodded.
“But I want you to forget all about it.”
Lindsay didn’t know if she could.
Her grandmother held Lindsay’s face in both hands and stared at her intently. “Promise me you’ll never tell anyone what you saw.”
“All right, Grandma, I won’t tell anyone. I promise.”
“Good.” She kissed Lindsay’s cheek. “Now let me tuck you back into bed.”
One
“We’re doomed,” Jacob Hansen said in sepulchral tones. He marched into the room, shaking his grizzled head.
“You might as well board up the entire town right now.” Marta Hansen followed her husband into the dining room at Buffalo Bob’s 3 OF A KIND. With the energy that so often accompanies righteousness, she plunked herself down at the table with the other members of the Buffalo Valley town council.
Joshua McKenna figured this kind of pessimism pretty much ensured that they wouldn’t accomplish anything. Not that he blamed the couple. For nearly twenty years the Hansens, along with everyone else in Buffalo Valley, had watched the once-thriving farm community deteriorate, until now the town was barely holding on. The theater had closed first, and then the beauty shop and the florist and the hardware store … It hurt most when the catalog store pulled up stakes—that had been six years ago—and then the Morningside Café, the one decent restaurant in town, had closed for good.
Even now, Joshua missed Melissa’s cooking. She’d baked biscuits that were so light and fluffy they practically floated into your mouth. Joshua got hungry just thinking about those biscuits.
Businesses survived as long as they could on their continually diminishing returns—until they were driven to financial ruin and finally forced to close up shop. Families drifted away and farmland changed ownership, the bigger farms buying up the smaller ones. Large or small, everyone struggled these days with low agricultural prices. He had to hand it to the farmers, though. They were smart, and getting smarter all the time. Over the years, agricultural research and hardier strains had made it possible to urge a larger yield out of the land. Where an acre would once produce a hundred bushels, it was now possible to harvest almost twice that. Somehow, a lot of the farmers had managed to keep going—because they believed in their heritage and because they trusted in the future, hoping they’d eventually get a fair price for their crops. Since they stayed, a few of the businesses in town clung, too.
Joshua’s was one of them, although he’d certainly been struggling for the last while. He sold used goods and antiques, and did repairs; in that area, at least, business was steady. It was his gift, he supposed, to be able to fix things. With money tight, people did whatever they could to avoid buying something new. He just wished his talent extended to fixing lives and rearranging circumstances. If it had, he’d start with his own family. Heaven knew his son needed help. His daughter and granddaughter, too. He didn’t like to think about the changes in their lives during the past few years, and he hated the helpless feeling that came over him whenever he did.
His wife, Marjorie, had always dealt with the children, but she’d been gone ten years now. He often wondered if she’d recognize Buffalo Valley these days and wished he had her wisdom in dealing with its problems. She would’ve been shocked to learn he’d been elected president of the town council. A position he hadn’t sought, but one he’d assumed by default when Bill Wilson had to close his gas station and move to Fargo.
“We’re doomed this time,” Marta repeated, daring anyone to argue with her.
“This town’s survived all these years. We’ll hold on now.” Hassie Knight, who owned Knight’s Pharmacy, said emphatically.
Hassie was a born optimist and the one person in town who was sure to see even this situation in a positive light. If anyone could come up with a solution, it’d be Hassie, God bless her.
Like him, Hassie had experienced her share of grief. She’d buried her son, who’d been killed in Vietnam nearly thirty years ago, and not long afterward, had lost her husband. Carl Knight had died from complications of diabetes, but Hassie had always maintained that the real cause of death was a broken heart. Her daughter lived in Hawaii, and Joshua knew Valerie would like nothing better than to have her mother retire nearby. Thankfully, Hassie had resisted Valerie’s efforts. The old woman was long past the age of retirement, but she did much more than fill prescriptions. Hassie was the closest thing the community had to a doctor, and folks from miles around came to her for medical advice. Yes, Hassie Knight was a popular woman, all right. It didn’t hurt any that she served the best sodas he’d ever tasted. The old-fashioned kind from the fountain in the corner of her store. Chocolate sodas and good advice—those were her specialties.
“We’ve hung on for so many years, we’re already dead and don’t even have the sense to know it,” Marta said caustically as she crossed her arms over her hefty bosom.
“Will you stop!” Joshua pounded the gavel on the tabletop with so much force, the ice in the water glasses danced. He sat back down and motioned to Hassie. “Would you take roll call?”
Hassie Knight’s bones creaked audibly as she stood.
“Roll call? Now that’s gonna be useful,” Marta Hansen muttered. “That’s like what’s-his-name, that emperor, fiddling while Rome burned.”
She was obviously mighty pleased with her classical allusion. Must’ve been on Jeopardy last night, Joshua thought.
“Nero. The emperor was Nero,” he couldn’t resist adding. Still, he hated to admit it, but Marta was right. Roll call was a waste of time; all they had to do was look around the table to know who was present and who wasn’t. Hassie, the Hansens, Dennis Urlacher and him. Absent: Gage Sinclair and Heath Quantrill. Joshua stopped Hassie before she had a chance to start.
“Fine, we’ll dispense with the usual formalities and get on with the meeting.”
“Thank God someone in this town is willing to listen to reason,” Marta said, glaring across the table at Hassie.
It was only natural that the town pessimist and the town optimist would be in constant opposition. “You and Jacob have as much to gain or lose as the rest of us,” Hassie snapped. “A positive mental attitude would help.”
“I’m positive,” Jacob said with a nod. “Positive that Buffalo Valley is as dead as Eloise Patten.”
“If she was going to up and die unexpected like that, the least she could’ve done was tell someone she wasn’t well,” Marta said in her usual righteous manner.
“That’s the most ridiculous thing you’ve ever said—which is really saying something.” Hassie’s face reddened, and Joshua could see she was having difficulty restraining her temper. The truth was, the Hansens exasperated him, too. How they’d managed to run the grocery during these hard times when they had such a negative outlook toward life was beyond him. Still, he was grateful their store had survived. Joshua didn’t know what would happen if they ever decided to leave Buffalo Valley.
“All right, all right.” Joshua wiped his brow with a stained white handkerchief. “We’ll move on to new business.”
With obvious reluctance, Hassie reclaimed her seat.
“We all know why we’re here,” Jacob said. “The school needs a teacher.”
“Does anyone mind if I sit in?” Buffalo Bob asked, pulling out a chair before anyone could object.
Marta and Jacob glanced at each other and seemed to understand that if they raised a fuss, Hassie would make a point of asking Marta to leave, since she wasn’t officially a member of the town council. Joshua suspected the only reason she attended the meetings was to advise Jacob on how to vote.
“We’d welcome your help,” Joshua assured Bob.
Without a word Dennis Urlacher, who owned the Cenex Gas Station, shoved his chair aside to make room for him. Bob Carr was an ex-biker who’d settled in the town a couple of years earlier after winning the bar, grill and small hotel in a poker game. He’d immediately rechristened himself Buffalo Bob.
Joshua looked down at his notes. “As you all know, Eloise Patten is gone.”
“She’s more than gone,” Marta Hansen interrupted. “She’s dead!”
“Marta!” Joshua had taken about all he could from her. “The point is we don’t have a teacher.”
“Hire one.” Buffalo Bob leaned back on two legs of his chair, as if he figured they were all overreacting to this crisis.
“No one’s going to want to teach in a town that’s dying,” Jacob grumbled, shaking his head. “Besides, I never did think much of dividing up the schools. Bussing our grade-schoolers over to Bellmont and then having them send their high-schoolers to us was a piss-poor idea, if you ask me.”
“We already did ask you,” Joshua barked, no longer making any attempt to control his impatience. “It won’t do any good to rehash what’s already been decided and acted upon. Bussing the children has worked for the last four years, and would continue to do so if Eloise hadn’t passed on the way she did.”
“Eloise should’ve retired years ago,” Marta complained under her breath.
“Well, thank God she didn’t,” Joshua said. “We owe her a lot.” Eloise Patten had been a godsend to this community, and if no one else said it, he would. The schoolteacher had been the one to suggest splitting up the elementary and high-school students between the two towns. The Hansens’ attitude was typical of the thinking that was detrimental to such progressive ideas. The small farming communities, or what remained of them, needed to rely on each other. It was either that or lose everything. If Buffalo Valley was going to survive when so many towns on the prairie hadn’t, they had to learn to work together.
“We’ve got to find us a new teacher, is all.” Dennis could be counted on to cut to the chase—to state the basic, unadorned facts. He owned and operated the only gas station left in town and wasn’t much of a talker. When he did speak, it was generally worth listening.
Joshua knew that his daughter, Sarah, and Dennis had some kind of romance going between them, despite the decided efforts of his daughter to keep it a secret. Joshua didn’t understand why she felt it was so all-fired important nobody know about this relationship. After her disastrous marriage, Joshua would’ve welcomed Dennis into the family. He suspected that Sarah’s reluctance to marry Dennis had to do with her daughter, Calla, who was fourteen. A difficult age—as he remembered well.
“We could throw in living quarters, couldn’t we?” Buffalo Bob was saying. “For the teacher?”
“Good idea.” Joshua pointed the gavel at the hotel owner. “There’s two or three empty houses close to the school.”
“Nobody’s going to want to live in those old places,” Marta insisted. “They’re full of mice and God knows what else.”
“We can always clean one up.”
The others nodded.
“In case no one’s noticed, there’s a teacher shortage in this state.” This came from Jacob, and as if on cue, Marta nodded.
“We could always advertise,” Hassie began tentatively.
“Advertise? We don’t have that kind of money,” Marta said in a sharp voice.
“If we don’t advertise, what exactly do you suggest?” Joshua asked.
Jacob and Marta looked at each other. Jacob got heavily to his feet and leaned forward, bracing his hands on the edge of the table. “I think it’s time we all admitted the truth. Buffalo Valley is doomed and there’s not a damn thing we can do about it.” Marta nodded again, a satisfied expression on her face.
His announcement was met with an immediate outburst from both Hassie and Buffalo Bob.
“Just a minute here!” Buffalo Bob shouted.
“I raised two children in this town,” Hassie cried, “and buried one. I’m not going to let Buffalo Valley die if it’s the last thing I do. Any one of you who—”
“… invested my entire inheritance in this bar and grill,” Buffalo Bob shouted in order to be heard above Hassie.
Joshua slammed the gavel down. “No one said anything about giving up.”
“No teacher’s gonna want to move here.” Marta apparently felt obliged to remind them of this.
“We’ll find a teacher.” Joshua refused to let the Hansens’ pessimism influence the meeting any longer.
“Look around you,” Jacob Hansen said, gesturing at the greasy window that faced the main street.
Joshua didn’t need to look; he confronted the evidence every day when he opened his shop. The boarded-up businesses. The cracked sidewalks, with weeds sprouting up through the cracks. The litter on the streets. Whatever community pride there’d once been had long since died.
“We aren’t going to let the school close,” Joshua stated emphatically.
“I second that!” Hassie said. A deep sense of relief showed on her face, and the determination in her voice matched Joshua’s. He had lived his entire life in this place and he’d do whatever he could to save it. Come hell or high water, they’d find a teacher before school started up again at the end of August.
“I’ll believe it when I see it,” Jacob Hansen said just loudly enough for them all to hear.
“Well, then—prepare to believe,” Joshua said grandly.
There was more life in Buffalo Valley than either of the Hansens suspected, and Joshua was going to prove it.
Lindsay Snyder felt the anger churning in her stomach, anger at her own foolishness as much as anything. With her dogs sound asleep at her feet, she sat at her kitchen table and wrote in the pages of her journal. Whenever she was upset, she described her feelings; it helped her clarify them, helped her analyze what had happened and why. This time, though, she already knew the answers.
When she finished, she set the leather-bound book aside and stared sightlessly out her apartment window. But it wasn’t the landscape she saw; it was her future.
Monte was never going to marry her.
She should have recognized it two years ago, and hadn’t. She realized it was because she so desperately wanted to be his wife, wanted to have a family with him. She loved him, and wasn’t marriage supposed to be the natural outcome of loving a man? But she’d allowed herself to see what she’d hoped to see. She’d allowed herself to believe she could convince him.
Monte hadn’t lied to her, hadn’t misled her. From the beginning, he’d told her he wasn’t interested in marriage. He loved her, he said, but his divorce several years earlier had devastated him and he’d vowed not to repeat the experience. He’d never indicated in any way that he might change his mind. Lindsay knew there was only one person to blame for her unhappiness—and it wasn’t Monte.
Soon—maybe six months—after their relationship had begun, she’d left him because he’d been adamant on the subject of marriage. He’d persuaded her to come back and she had, foolishly believing that eventually he’d change his mind and see things the way she did.
It hadn’t happened.
The phone rang and Lindsay glanced at the caller ID, relieved and at the same time depressed to see that it wasn’t his number.
“Hello,” she mumbled into the phone.
“It’s Maddy.”
“I know.”
“Hey, it’s a beautiful summer afternoon and you sound like you’ve just lost your best friend. However, I know that can’t be the case, ‘cause I’m your best friend.”
Lindsay sighed, wondering why Maddy had to seem so carefree and happy when her own world was falling apart. “Nothing’s wrong. Let me amend that. Nothing’s wrong that hasn’t been wrong for the past two years.”
“Ah, then this has to do with Monte. What happened?”
“Nothing.” That much was true. “Monte and I went out to dinner last night and took a romantic ride in a horse-drawn carriage around Chippewa Square. The magnolias were blooming and Maddy … it was perfect. Until—”
“Until what?”
Lindsay squeezed her eyes shut because even saying the words caused her pain. “Until I made the mistake of mentioning the future. The way he reacted, you’d think that was a dirty word. The next thing I knew, he was angry with me and we were arguing. And then I saw what I should have recognized all along—Monte is never going to marry me.”
At first Maddy said nothing. “Are you breaking it off?”
“Yes … I already did. It’s over, Maddy.”
“You don’t sound absolutely certain of that.”
“No, I mean it this time. Nothing he says is going to convince me to change my mind. I refuse to do this to myself any more.”
“He told you from the very beginning that he wasn’t going to get married again.”
“I know, I know.”
“I’m surprised you haven’t moved in with him. I know that’s what he wants.”
But Lindsay realized now that even if she had, there still wouldn’t have been any commitment, any permanence. She’d actually considered living with him, and felt only relief that she hadn’t gone through with it. His feelings wouldn’t have changed—and her own anguish would’ve been that much worse.
“So you broke it off for good?”
“It’s over, Maddy. It’s time I opened my eyes and faced reality. I refuse to put my life on hold any longer.”
“Way to go!” Then Maddy sobered. “I know it’s hard, but …”
While in high school, they’d frequently had sleepovers and lain awake talking about the men they’d marry. It’d all seemed so simple back then, and here they were, both nearly thirty and not a husband in sight.
“Remember when we were teenagers?” Lindsay couldn’t keep from thinking about all those silly schoolgirl dreams.
Maddy snorted inelegantly. “We were what you’d call romantic idiots.”
Lindsay shrugged wordlessly. It wasn’t as though either of them thought marriage was essential to a woman’s existence. But they both craved the closeness of a good marriage and the joys of having children. Maddy, at least, had an excuse. As a social worker for the state of Georgia, she worked long hours, looking out for the welfare of others. Almost all the overtime she put in was voluntary. Several nights a week, after work, she taught parenting classes for Project Family, a community-based organization. In addition, she mentored several troubled teenagers. Maddy wanted to save the world and she had a heart big enough to do it.
Lindsay had no such ambition. Following her high-school graduation, she’d gone to college at the University of Georgia and roomed with Maddy for four years. Her degree was in French—a lot of good that had done her—with a minor in education. After graduation, she’d drifted from one job to another. The closest she’d come to using her French had been a summer job at the perfume counter in an upscale department store.
There’d been a few opportunities to employ her language skills—teaching conversational French to tourists, translating business documents—but nothing that felt right. Then, almost four years ago, the woman who worked in the accounting office of her uncle Mike’s huge furniture store in Savannah had gotten sick and Lindsay had filled in. When Mrs. Hudson hadn’t returned, Lindsay had taken over permanently.
“One day my prince will come.” Maddy’s voice sang its way through the telephone line. “And so will yours …”
After college, both girls had been twenty-three, and it seemed as if they had all the time in the world to find their soul mates. Now, seven years later, Lindsay had given up counting the number of weddings in which she and Maddy had served as bridesmaids. Ten, possibly more, so many that it had become a joke between them. Periodically Maddy would suggest a joint yard sale just to get rid of all the pastel satin dresses. Maybe their luck would finally change, she’d say with a laugh.
Then, a little more than two years ago, Lindsay’s luck did change. Monte Turner had come to work as a salesman for her uncle. The minute they were introduced, Lindsay had fallen for him. Within a month she’d broken off her relationship with Chuck Endicott, which had never been more than a casual involvement. She hadn’t dated anyone but Monte since.
She’d loved Monte, still did, but a two-year relationship had proved that he didn’t want the same things out of life as she did. He wasn’t interested in children, and the word commitment sent him running for cover. Lindsay had spent her entire life dreaming of both.
“Listen,” Maddy said excitedly. “My boss insisted I take two weeks off. She’s afraid I’m going to burn out if I don’t get away. So, as of next Friday, I’m on vacation.”
“Vacation.” Lindsay couldn’t help being envious.
“Come with me,” Maddy urged. “You need to escape as much as I do.”
Lindsay was tempted.
“If you’re serious about breaking it off with Monte, then make it quick and clean. Dragging it out isn’t going to do either of you any good.”
Maddy was right and Lindsay instinctively knew it. “Where do you want to go? Europe?” Two weeks in Paris sounded heavenly.
“I can’t afford that,” Maddy said. Social workers were notoriously underpaid.
“What about a couple of weeks on St. Simons Island?” As one of the Golden Isles off the Georgia coast, St. Simons was a prime resort location.
“Paris is cheaper, for heaven’s sake!”
Lindsay didn’t exactly have money to spare, either. “Okay, where do you suggest?”
“How about a driving vacation? There’s so many places in this country I’ve never seen.”
That sounded good to Lindsay. Away was away, wherever they ventured. Their destination mattered little to her. Maddy had recently bought a new car and they could share expenses.
“I’ve always wanted to see Yellowstone Park,” Maddy said.
“It’s fabulous,” Lindsay told her.
“You’ve been?”
“As a kid. You know my dad’s from North Dakota—he was born and raised there. We drove out to see the old homestead a couple of times while I was growing up. Yellowstone Park isn’t that far—at least I don’t think it is. I must have been about ten the last time we went.”
“I liked your grandfather,” Maddie said quietly.
Three years ago, soon after the death of Lindsay’s grandmother, Grandpa Snyder had grown disoriented and it was no longer safe for him to live alone. There was no longer any family left in the area, either Colbys—Gina’s people—or Snyders. So Lindsay’s parents had moved her grandfather from Buffalo Valley to a retirement center in Savannah, where he’d remained until his death the previous year. Lindsay had treasured that time with him, brief though it was. Because North Dakota was so far from Georgia and their visits infrequent, she’d barely known her Grandma and Grandpa Snyder.
