Whispers from Yesterday by Robin Lee Hatcher

Author:Robin Lee Hatcher [Hatcher, Robin Lee]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 978-0-310-41695-1
Publisher: Zondervan
Published: 1999-12-01T05:00:00+00:00

Later that night, after the young people from church had left with the other adults and Dusty and the boys had retired to the bunkhouse, Sophia rapped on Karen’s bedroom door.

“Yes?”

Sophia turned the knob and pushed the door open.

Wearing a silky yellow nightgown, Karen sat on the stool in front of the dressing table, her back toward the door. Her hair fell loose about her shoulders, and she held a brush in her right hand. When she saw Sophia’s reflection in the mirror, she twisted on the stool.

“Are you too tired to talk?” Sophia asked.

“No.” Karen shook her head. “Come in.”

“I have a favor to ask.” She stepped into the bedroom.

“Sure. What is it?”

“I’d like you to drive me to Boise tomorrow. I need to attend to a few errands, and I hate to bother Dusty with them. Do you mind?”

“Of course not. I’d be glad to.”

Sophia sat on the edge of the bed. “Did you have a good time tonight?”

“Yes,” Karen answered as she turned toward the mirror and resumed brushing her hair.

Sophia recognized the action for what it was. In her younger days she, too, had distanced herself from those who loved her. Self-protection had become self-destruction.

What can I say to help Karen find her way?

As that thought lifted toward heaven, her gaze alighted on an old rag doll atop the bureau. “Oh, my,” she whispered. She pushed herself up from the bed and crossed the room. A tight band seemed to wrap itself around her chest as she reached out to finger the threadbare dress on the doll. “Esther’s doll.”

“No,” Karen said. “It was my mother’s.”

“Maggie kept it.” She could barely speak around the lump in her throat. Tears stung her eyes.

“I found it in a trunk after Mother died.”

Sophia turned toward Karen. “Are you still reading Esther’s journals?”

“Now and then. Why?”

“I taught Esther how to make dolls like this one when we were girls.” She smiled sadly at the memory. “We were very close, my sister and I. We had wonderful times together when we were growing up.” She brushed a tear from her cheek. “She writes about our doll making in one of her journals. She made this particular doll when she was living in Denmark during the war.

“She did?” Karen rose from the bench. “What was she doing there?”

“Mikkel, her husband, was a minister in Copenhagen. They went there to help Mikkel’s grandfather who was also a minister. That was in the thirties, before the war. Esther never returned to America.” She blinked back more tears. “That doll belonged to her daughter.”

“Her daughter? We have family in Europe?” “No,” Sophia answered softly. “Not any longer.”

Karen frowned, then lifted the doll from the bureau. “I never figured out why Mother kept it. She liked fancy, expensive things. She had a collection of antique porcelain dolls that was worth a small fortune. But Mother wasn’t the sentimental type. That’s why this doll seemed such a strange thing for her to keep, even in a trunk.” Her voice drifted into silence as she turned the doll over and over in her hands.

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