Free Roses for Mama by Janette Oke Page B

Angela slowly. “You must have had a dream.”
    Louise wasn’t as gracious to her young sister as Angela had been. “That’s a lie,” she condemned Sara. “We aren’t ever to tell lies.”
    Sara’s pouting lip began to tremble; then a flood of tears followed. “Well, I can’t ’member anymore,” she sobbed. “Everyone has more to talk about than me.”
    Angela took the small girl into her arms and soothed her. “Sh-h-h,” she whispered. “It’s okay. That’s why we are playing the game, remember? So those of us who have more memories can share them with you. Sh-h-h.”
    At last Sara was quieted and Angela knew that it was her turn to make a statement.
    “But Louise is right. You must never tell stories as—as truths if they are not. Papa and Mama would never tolerate tales of any kind. You must remember that in the future.”
    With that understanding, the game went on.
    “I remember,” said Louise, “when Papa brought a whole big box of apples home from town and he let me have one to eat—even before Mama made pie or sauce or anything. It was—yummy.”
    Even Sara laughed as Louise rolled her eyes and rubbed her tummy.
    It was Derek’s turn. His contributions had been a bit more open recently, his comments a bit lengthier. But both Thomas and Angela knew he was still a troubled boy.
    “I remember—” began Derek, and then a frown creased his brow. He swallowed hard, seeming determined to go on. “I remember—the—the day Mama died.”
    Angela caught her breath. Thomas moved as though to reach out a hand to his young brother, then quickly withdrew it. “Yes?” he prompted.
    “I remember—I brought her a bird shell—just a little blue one—it was in two pieces—the baby had already hatched—but I knew she would like to see it.”
    He stopped and swallowed again. His eyes did not lift from his empty dinner plate.
    “I—I tiptoed into her bedroom—I thought she might be asleep—then I—I touched her hand.”
    There was a pause again and Angela feared that Derek might not be able to go on.
    “It was cold,” he managed after some time. “I—I whispered to her—but she didn’t open her eyes. Then I—I shook her—just a little bit.”
    The room was chilled and quiet. Not a person moved. Not an eye lifted from their brother’s pale face.
    “Then I—I shook her harder—and she still didn’t wake up. I started to get scared. I shook her again. Then I started to cry, and then—then Mrs. Barrows opened the door and looked at me, and she frowned at me and said, ‘Your Mama is gone, boy. Mustn’t cry, now. You’re a big boy,’ and I ran past her and I ran and ran until I was out of breath and—”
    Tears were now falling freely down Derek’s cheeks. Thomas reached for him, pulled him close, and held him. Angela, through tears of her own, quietly led the two young girls, also weeping, out of the kitchen. As she left she could hear Thomas’s gentle voice. “That’s right. Go ahead and cry. Just cry it all out. I never heard Papa say that a man couldn’t cry when he had good reason.”
    From the tremor in Thomas’s voice, Angela knew he was shedding tears of his own.
    “Oh, God,” she prayed, “help poor little Derek. Wash his memory of this—this terrible hurt—and touch his soul with your healing. Might he be—be freed from the past now—and be able to go on.”

Chapter Ten
    A Birthday
    “Why don’t you go? I really don’t have much time for a party,” Angela said to Thomas.
    It’s you who Trudie wants anyway , she was thinking, but she didn’t voice it.
    Thomas was shaking his head. “Nope. You don’t go, I don’t go.”
    Angela was a bit annoyed and a little surprised at his response. He usually was not so stubborn.
    “Truth is, I didn’t really have much fun at the last one. And I hate to leave the—”
    “They were fine last time—remember?”
    Angela had to admit that the children had gotten along perfectly well without them for a few hours.
    “I