Legacy of Love

“Why not? It’s the answer to my prayers.”

Anna cringed. Prayer had not brought Brandon Landers into their lives. He only cared about money. Any man with an ounce of compassion would not first evict them and then make them his servants.

She stormed into the kitchen. “I’m done discussing this, Ma. I will never live in Brandon Landers’s carriage house, and I certainly won’t have you cleaning his house.”

“But it’s a place to live at no cost.”

Anna saw the pain in Ma’s eyes, but she couldn’t subjugate herself, not even for Ma. “We’ll find something else.”

She angrily pulled pans from the cupboard. They all had to be sold. Moreover, the clatter overwhelmed Ma’s soft voice. After frequent attempts to speak, her mother gave up and left the room.

Fine. Let Ma stew about it. It wouldn’t change her mind. Yes, she did feel a bit guilty that she’d upset Ma. After all, she was supposed to honor her mother, but Ma couldn’t seriously expect her to accept charity from the man who’d evicted them. She pulled another pan from the cupboard.

The front door slammed shut.

“Ma?”

No answer.

Where was she going?

Anna set the pan on the table and walked to the front window where she spotted her mother hurrying down the sidewalk toward Brandon’s car. Judging by the way she was waving, she was about to accept the deal that Anna had just rejected. Brandon didn’t seem to notice her, for he got into his sleek black Cadillac.

That didn’t stop Ma. She ran out into the street.

Anna raced out onto the stoop. A light mist was freezing on the trees and bushes. She started to call out to her mother, but the words caught in her throat when she saw Brandon drive forward.

In horrible slowness, like individual frames in a film, Ma slipped and fell—directly in front of Brandon’s car.

* * *

Brandon didn’t see Mrs. Simmons until it was too late. He was still steaming over Anna’s blunt refusal. No one had ever slammed a door in his face, especially not when he’d just made a generous offer. He was trying to help them. Couldn’t she see that?

He’d stormed to the car, and, after several misfires, finally got it started. To be honest, he hadn’t even looked for traffic before inching forward. Then he pressed hard on the accelerator, anxious to leave this debacle behind.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw movement. At first, it didn’t register. Then he realized Mrs. Simmons was waving at him. She stepped into the street, and her feet shot out from under her. Down she fell, directly in front of his car.

He swerved and applied the brake, but the road was icy, and the tires skidded.

Please, no. Not again.

Every detail of the war came back. The acrid smell, the dull thud of artillery in the distance, the sharp fear. He’d led his men into the shelled town as directed. Nothing lived there, not even grass. Mud had swallowed the streets. Artillery had demolished the buildings. It had looked like hell, felt like hell, and would surely be his hell for all eternity.

A slight movement to the right had caught his attention. He’d turned, expecting to see the commander he was supposed to meet. Instead, shells rained down. His men scattered. He yelled for them to retreat, but they either could not or would not hear. Helpless, he watched as one by one they fell.

Just like Mrs. Simmons.

* * *

Anna screamed, unable to move.

Her mother was going to die, just like Papa had died all those years ago. She’d watched him working on a truck from her hiding place in the pile of tires. Only his legs showed. He lay under a truck that was up on a jack, its wheels off on that side. He yelled for Mr. Thompson, but his fellow mechanic wasn’t there, and for a second Anna almost went to him. But she was supposed to be in school, and if she helped him, he’d know she’d skipped class, so she stayed in the tires.

He banged again, and the jack collapsed. The truck fell to the ground. Papa cried out. Once. Then silence. Just a pool of red running out from under the vehicle.

Not again.

The car’s brakes squealed. The wheels locked and the vehicle skidded. Closer and closer it came until Anna knew Ma would die.

She closed her eyes and turned away. She couldn’t watch. But then, just like when Papa died, she looked back. She had to look. She had to know.

This time, she didn’t see the pool of red blood. The car shuddered to a stop mere feet from Ma.

Thank God. Anna breathed out in relief. Then she noticed her mother wasn’t moving.

Brandon flung open his door and clambered out. He lost his balance and grabbed the car for support. Spotting Anna, he yelled, “Call for a doctor.”

A doctor? Anna’s heart stuck in her throat. Ma must be hurt. Or worse. Fear froze her to the stoop as Brandon inched forward on the icy road. She couldn’t move and couldn’t stop watching.

At last he reached Ma. While holding onto the car’s hood, he leaned over and extended a hand. When she reached up, Anna breathed again. Ma hadn’t died. She was just hurt.

Brandon took Ma’s hand and attempted to help her to her feet, but they both fell. At last, Anna found her legs.

“Ma!” She hurried across the yard and onto the street. “Are you hurt?”

Her mother’s face was pale as snow, but she still managed a smile. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to make more trouble for you.”

Anna could have wept. She was the one making trouble. If not for her foolish pride, Ma would never have run after Brandon.

He took command. “Let’s get her into the house. You take the right side, and I’ll take the left. I believe your mother hurt her leg.”

Though Ma fussed that she was fine, she winced when Brandon started to lift her. He stopped, but she urged them on. “It’s nothing. Just an old woman’s aches and pains.”

Anna hated to hear her mother call herself old. “You can make it, Ma.”

Together, she and Brandon managed to get Ma to her feet.

“Use my cane to steady yourself.” Brandon pushed the walking stick into her hand. “Don’t put any weight on your injured leg.”

Anna held her mother around the waist while Brandon propped her up with an arm under her shoulders. As they moved toward the house, his hand accidentally brushed Anna’s neck, and she shivered, but not from the cold.

By the time they reached the stoop, the neighbors had arrived, and Peter hurried over from the garage. He took over Anna’s position, and the two men got Ma into the house.

“Miss Simmons, I suggest you call a doctor,” Brandon repeated as they settled Ma on the living-room sofa.

He’d asked her to do that earlier, when she froze. But she couldn’t call. They had no telephone.

He mistook her lack of response. “If it’s a matter of cost, I’ll pay the bill.”