Waiting for Sunrise by Eva Marie Everson Page B

throat, made a big show of that too. “She’s had something . . . something your mother wanted you to have when you married. She just doesn’t know how or when to give it to you. She doesn’t want to make you sad.” He shrugged almost imperceptibly. “And you know Mam. She’s all-knowing, that one is. And she says she thinks you’ve been missing your mother a lot.”
    “Does it . . . does it hurt her?”
    “Nooooo.” He chuckled. “Mam knows her place, same as I do.”
    “But I . . .”
    “Would you like to try to contact her, Patsy? Would you like to see if we can find your mother? Your brothers? Ask them to the wedding?”
    At first Patsy shook her head, shook it so hard she heard the wind in her ears. But then she stopped. “Could we? I mean . . . should we?”
    “We could and we should.” Papa slapped his hands over his knees and left them cupped there. “Tell you what let’s do. How about you and I head over to Casselton tomorrow?”
    “But it’s so far . . .”
    “Doesn’t matter to me. We’ll get up early—Mam can cook us a good breakfast and make us a picnic of snacks for along the way. We’ll be there by lunchtime, grab something, and I’ll take you out to dinner. We’ll head back home late and sleep in on Sunday.”
    “What about church?”
    Papa stood, straightened the waist of his pants, and said, “Sometimes, Patsy, doing the Lord’s work means going outside the church building and its meeting time.”
    Patsy looked past his bulk. If she said yes, by this time tomorrow she’d be in Casselton. She’d see her mother again. Her brothers. With any luck, Mr. Liddle would not be home yet. And she could see Jane and Mitzy again. If nothing else, that made the trip worth the trouble.
    Now Patsy nodded. “I’m game if you are, Papa. What time should I plan to be ready to leave?”
    He looked at his Timex. “I’d say three o’clock.” His arm dropped. “I’ll go tell Mam.” He stepped toward the door.
    “Papa?” Patsy said.
    He stopped, looked over his shoulder. “Yeah, sugar plum?”
    “Thank you.”

10
    “I’ve been thinking, Papa,” Patsy said from the passenger’s side of the 1949 Chevrolet Styleline DeLuxe 4-Door Woody Papa bought for the business after he declared Patsy “drove the tires right off the other one.”
    “About?”
    “Well . . . about my mother and brothers and Mr. Liddle. They live way out of Casselton, down a long dirt road. I was thinking that if Mr. Liddle is there, we might run into trouble.”
    “You think I can’t handle Ira Liddle?”
    Patsy shifted in her seat, tucking her left foot under the bend of her right knee. She wore a green and white square front neckline dress. The belt, which fit snug against her narrow waist, had been pinching for the last half hour, making her more than ready to arrive in Casselton so she could stand and relieve the pressure. She fluffed the full skirt up and over her knees before answering. “I didn’t say that, Papa.”
    “Trust me. I can.”
    Patsy watched as Papa’s hands flexed on the steering wheel. “What does that mean?”
    Papa drove in silence for a moment before answering. “I never told you, never saw a need to, but Ira Liddle came looking for you about two weeks after you came to live with us.”
    “What? How did he . . .” She shook her head. “Never mind. Don’t answer that. If he knew where I’d gone to, it’s because Mama told him. And if Mama told him, it was because he’d beat it out of her.”
    “I’m not going to play games with you, Patsy. Never have. You’re probably right. I don’t know for sure. I can only tell you that he came to the house one night when you were out with your new friends. I told him that unless I heard directly from your mother, you weren’t going anywhere. I also told him that if he tried to do anything . . . find you . . . hurt you . . . I’d report him to the police. That I had a good idea how he found us. And I knew enough