short story

Rebecca Clark watched the rain fall through the cracks of the old tobacco barn on the farm in Southern Maryland where she lived with her Aunt Mary and Uncle John. Then she looked up at the dark clouds that hovered above farmland to the east and the road to the west, and wondered, as she did every time she looked up at the sky, if her mother—w¬¬¬¬¬herever she was—was watching the same clouds. She’d never known her mother. Growing up, Rebecca had always begged Aunt Mary to tell the story of her mother. Now on the eve of her fifteenth birthday, Rebecca recalled fondly those days sitting in Aunt Mary’s kitchen and listening to her tell the story…
“Your mother was very beautiful,” Aunt Mary always began. Then she smiled at Rebecca. “You have much of her in you. Same blue eyes, same shiny golden hair—only hers was longer.”
At this point in the story, Rebecca would demand, “And tell me where she is now!” Her tone was half despairing over the undeniable truth of the absence of her mother, but it was also half-filled with excitement because she knew that what Aunt Mary was about to say would fill her with a pride in her mother.
Aunt Mary said, “She’s in New York, the land where all is a stage.”
“The land where all is a stage,” Rebecca repeated, her eyes wide with wonder. She looked out the window at the cornfields golden in the sun, and the little girl tried to imagine a wooden platform covering them all the way to where they met the sky. “And what is she doing in New York?” Rebecca asked.
Aunt Mary said, “She’s Penelope, the great actress. And the president sometimes comes to see her plays. And she has a butler who puts a velvet cushion under her feet whenever she sits down, and she lives in a great house with windows framed with the finest diamonds.”
Rebecca’s face first registered awe, then her expression darkened and she asked in a fearful whisper, “Will she ever want to come back here?”
Aunt Mary turned and seeing the child’s fearful eyes, smiled compassionately at her. Rebecca sat at the kitchen table wrapped in a shawl that guarded against the bitter autumn breeze. The breeze came into the kitchen through the partially-opened sliding glass door, and mixed with the fresh aroma of Aunt Mary’s famous blueberry muffins wafting through the oven door.
“Oh, yes she will be back,” Aunt Mary said confidently. “Your mother had to go to New York of course,” she continued. “There were no jobs here. And it was always her dream to be an actress. But I tell you Becky (her nickname for the little girl) as sure as the nightingale sings your mother will be back here with us one day. She said so when she left.” Shaking the mixing spoon for emphasis she added, “You’ll see. You, Uncle John, and I will see her coming through those cornfields like the Prodigal Son one day soon.” Then Aunt Mary took her rosary and made the sign of the cross with it in her hand, with a reverence that she believed would bring Penelope home more quickly…
Rebecca was brought back to reality by the sound of her Aunt Mary calling her to dinner. She and the family were having a special birthday dinner for her fifteenth birthday. After the dinner was finished, Rebecca went up to her room to be alone. She began to think about her mother again. Having recently remembered the story Aunt Mary told about her mother when she was a little girl, Rebecca felt overcome by a sudden feeling of impatience and irritation. Would her mother ever come? She felt stirred with passion then. Maybe her mother would never come and she’d be waiting here forever. Rebecca suddenly made up her mind. If she won’t come to me, then I’ll go to her, she thought.
The next day Rebecca told Aunt Mary and Uncle John about her plans to go to New York. “Sweetheart, that’s far to go,” Aunt Mary said. “Why don’t you just write her a letter? I’m sure we could find her address.”
Rebecca said stubbornly, “I’ve made up my mind.” Her blue eyes were resolute. “Because if I wait here I’ll never see her. And a letter wouldn’t be the same as seeing her in person. And what if she never answers the letter?” The sun glinted off Rebecca’s hair and for a moment Aunt Mary had a vision of her sister with the same blond hair and blue eyes. Rebecca was beginning to resemble her more every day. She didn’t tell Rebecca, but inside of her, she felt uneasy. She knew that it was possible now that she would lose Rebecca too, who it many ways was like her own daughter.
***
Rebecca was in her room packing for New York. Aunt Mary called up the stairs. “Rebecca! Will you bring me a flashlight from the attic?” Rebecca went up to the attic to fetch the flashlight. There slipping through the rafters and covered in dust was a pink leather-bound book. Impulsively, Rebecca picked it up. Turning to the first page, she read: How come I never have any choices in life? I never asked to be a mother. This thing inside me is like a parasite, sucking the life-blood out of me. What shall I do?
Intrigued, Rebecca searched the inside of cover of the diary, looking for its owner. When she saw the name, her heart stopped: Penelope Clark. She couldn’t read any more and she flung the diary down. Of course she knew her mother was talking about her in the diary entry. Rebecca knew that her mother had had her when she was eighteen. Now she was filled with anger. She was sure now that her mother had abandoned her and that she had never promised to come back at all. No, Rebecca thought. I will not go to New York now. She wouldn’t chase after a mother who’d never wanted her. When she stood up, the rosary that she always carried in her pocket fell out onto the rafters. Rebecca reached down to pick it up then flung it angrily across the attic. She felt like it would be too hard to pray anymore anyway. Maybe God would abandon her too.
***
Ten years later…
The book was very good—she knew it in her heart and recently others had also confirmed it. The sky was dawning a pale pink as Rebecca got up and put on her woolen stockings and went downstairs to make a pot of coffee.