Christmas Catch-Up VIII (River's End Ranch) by Amelia C. Adams

Author:Amelia C. Adams [Adams, Amelia C.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2018-12-24T18:00:00+00:00

Kerry and Jamal

(Pet Peeves)

“Kerry? Kerry, where are you?”

Kerry sat bolt upright. She’d been sleeping pretty deeply, but part of her brain was always attuned to her mother’s voice, and she was swinging her legs over the side of her bed before she was even fully aware that she was moving. “Coming, Mom,” she called out.

Jamal stirred next to her. “Need anything?” he mumbled.

“I don’t know yet—go back to sleep.”

Rue had seemed weaker over the last few weeks, and she’d even stopped going to see Jaclyn as often. She used to spend an hour or two every day there, but it had been over a week since her last visit. Kerry and Jamal had spent many late nights talking about what it could all mean. Kerry wasn’t ready to lose her mother, but there were so many things in life that couldn’t be controlled.

Kerry stepped into her mother’s room and was surprised to see her sitting up in bed. The miniature Christmas tree they’d brought in for her was shining brightly in the corner, all silver and red and sparkly, and it made Kerry smile to see it. “Hey, Mom. Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” Rue said. “But I wanted to talk to you.”

Kerry tried to hold back her yawn. She’d never begrudge the chance to talk to her mother in one of her clear moments, but three o’clock in the morning was a challenge. “Sure. What about?”

Rue motioned toward the closet. “Can you get my box of letters?”

Kerry reached up on the shelf and brought down a carved wooden box that housed Rue’s most prized possessions, including letters from dear friends that had been written to her over the years. She couldn’t imagine why Rue would want them so badly at this time of night, but with dementia, very little followed the rules of logic.

She set the box next to her mother on the bed, and Rue’s hands shook a little as she lifted the lid. “I want to show you something,” she said, moving the letters aside. Kerry thought she’d already seen the contents of the box, so she was surprised when Rue lifted out a string of brightly colored beads.

“These belonged to my mother,” Rue said, holding them out so Kerry could see them.

Kerry cupped her hands, and Rue lowered the beads into them. They felt cool and smooth to the touch, worn in places like they’d been handled many times. “They’re beautiful,” she said, studying them closely. “What are they made of?”

“Paper,” Rue replied. “Scraps of paper no one wanted anymore. The women would cut the paper and wind it up tightly on a stick, glue it into shape, and then paint it when it was dry.”

“Wow. I can’t believe how well this has held up. Did your mother make these?”

“Yes, she did. She loved pretty things, but she didn’t have the money for them, so she made them. Later, when she left Uganda and came to the United States, she was able to afford more of the things she loved, but she never lost her knack for creating them.

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