“Death is not extinguishing the light; it is only putting out the lamp because the dawn has come.”

Rabindranath Tagore

Mid November 1952

Sweet Grove, Texas

Joe blinked his eyes to hold back the tears. A thorn dug into his palm from the white rose he gripped. He looked past the fresh piles of earth to the blurred line of cars. Smoke trickled from the exhaust pipes as the vehicles idled in the chilly late morning air, sending up a silvery salute. Ma was gone, as inaccessible as those misty wisps ambling their way to heaven. An elbow nudged him gently in the side.

“Go on, son. It’s time.” He nodded at his father’s hoarse words and swallowed the lump in his throat. A soft sniffle sounded behind him, and Joe knew that Leroy stood next to Laura Beth, holding her hand. It wasn’t fair. Leroy was too young to be without his mother. I’m too young to lose my mother, he thought. But she was no longer in pain, her suffering was over.

He held out his hand, waiting for Leroy’s tiny one to fill it. The three McCalls stepped forward in unison and dropped the matching flowers onto the coffin below. The limp, pale petals fell with a soft plop against the polished wood. His mother had faded from the cancer just as those flowers would. Gently, slowly, and with grace. Dixie McCall had shown her true strength during her illness. But he knew leaving behind her children had been harder for her than facing death. Her faith would have carried her through that, but he saw the brightness of pain in her dull eyes each time she looked at her sons.

The small crowd had returned to the shelter of their cars, escaping the gray drizzle that had begun before they left First Church. Joe could feel the moisture seeping into the cracks of his old leather dress shoes. They had belonged to his father, his mother insisting the pair had a few more good years left. She had always been so dang cheerful about penny-pinching. But with the medical bills, it had become a necessity.

Waste not, want not. Her words made him smile until the knot returned to his stomach. We watched you waste away, my sweet mother. And I never want to witness anything like that again. Laura Beth’s comforting voice broke the silence, and Joe looked over his shoulder. Her hand rested in the crook of his father’s elbow, gently leading him away.

“Why don’t we head back, Mr. McCall? It’s time for the luncheon.” She put her other arm around Leroy’s drooped shoulders and squeezed. “I bet you’re hungry, huh?”

The voices faded as they moved across the lawn between the lines of stone markers. Joe needed this day to end, to get lost in Laura Beth’s arms and find comfort in her quiet strength. They had leaned on her hard the past couple of months. Mama had needed so much help at the end, and she’d insisted on leaving this earth in her own home, her own bed, with her loved ones around her. But the constant care had taken a toll on Pa.

Laura Beth had swooped in like a Texan angel—beautiful, compassionate, and tough as a long-horned steer. The two women had grown close over the last three years, and Laura’s dedication to his mother never faltered. “There are some things that a son should never do for his mother. Now go.” She had shooed them out of Mama’s room and closed the door. And later, she made sure to shoo them back in for the conversations, remembrances, and finally for the words of goodbye. They would have been lost without her, especially Leroy. He had worshipped her before, but now his eyes searched for her constantly.

When Mama passed, the funeral arrangements had to be made. Laura made sure they ate, dressed, and quietly assisted with the tough decisions. Pa hadn’t the energy to fix himself breakfast let alone pick out a casket or headstone. The helplessness in his father’s dark eyes had sent panic through both his sons.

Max McCall was fearless. He had come home from WWII with the bronze star for bravery and the Purple Heart for a leg injury. But neither a limp nor a closed business stopped his father. He’d re-opened the doors of McCall Motors, working twelve-hour days at cutthroat prices until he had all his customers back.

To see their hero break down now, tears streaming from his face, threatened their world as they knew it. But this young woman of nineteen, with help from the good Lord above, had singlehandedly pulled them from their self-pity. She had kept the focus on Dixie, staying strong for the wife and mother who had given them so much.

The only woman he loved more than Laura Beth Walters was lying in the damp ground at his feet. He sniffed and wiped the mist from his face with a handkerchief, stuffing it back into his breast pocket. He wasn’t sure how he’d ever even the score with her, but he’d spend his last breath trying.

* * *

“Mom, I’ve been thinking about Thanksgiving.” Laura filled the cups with lemonade as the mourners filled their plates. “They can’t be alone, and it’s only a couple of weeks away.”

The church basement was filled to capacity. Dixie McCall was well loved in this town, and the residents of Sweet Water wanted her men to know they weren’t alone. There would be plenty of well-meaning invitations, but Laura knew Mr. McCall would avoid the sympathetic looks.

“What were you thinking, honey?” A faint note of worry sounded in her voice. Shirley Walters was a generous and friendly soul. With sleek blonde hair and dark blue eyes, she’d always been a popular around town. But her husband preferred to stay to himself. Socializing was for outside the home when mandated; Glenn Walters’ castle was his private domain. Raised in an orphanage since the age of eight, it was an eccentricity that both women had accepted long ago.

“I have two choices. Either I bring the McCalls home, or I cook dinner at their house.” She gave her mother a quick side-glance. “Which would Daddy consider the lesser of two evils?”

That brought a chuckle. “Strangers sharing his turkey or not having his only child at the table for Thanksgiving? Let me think about that one for awhile.”

Laura Beth snorted. “Strangers! I’ve been dating Joey for three years and practically living at their house for the past month.” Tears threatened again as she thought of Mrs. McCall. “Thanks again for all your help, Mom. I don’t think I could have been so strong for them if it weren’t for you.”

“Oh, pish-posh. I just cooked the meals and sent them along with you. I’ve never been so proud of my girl.” She gave her daughter a hug and kissed her cheek. “Now is when they’ll really need the prayers. It’s the empty house that will test those men in the days to come. All the daily reminders of Dixie that will break their hearts over and over.”

“I don’t know if I’m more concerned for Leroy or his father.” The seven year old stood silently next to Max, gaze downcast, and hands deep in his pockets. “Dixie doted on that boy.”

“The doctor told her she’d never have another child after Joseph. After fourteen years, she called little Roy her miracle baby. I’d spoil him too.” The line dwindled, and Mrs. Walters inspected the crowd. “It’s time we rescued them. They need to eat.”

* * *

Joe peeked in Leroy’s bedroom, watching the steady rise and fall of the silent form. The poor kid was going through hell. It was hard enough to lose your mother at twenty-one, let alone at seven. A pair of arms came around him from behind, and he clasped his hands over hers. She laid her head against his back, and her warmth penetrated his tired soul.

“Your father fell asleep in his chair, listening to the radio.”

“When Pa nods off during The Green Hornet, you know he’s bushed.” Joe took her hand, led her back down the hall, and into the kitchen. The dim light over the white porcelain sink left most of the room in shadows. Leaning against the stove, he pulled her close.

“I should be getting home. Do you need anything before I go?”

“You. I need you.” He dipped his head and brushed her lips. The touch sent a familiar heat through him. “You’ve been a godsend. I don’t know what we’d do without you.”

“I hope you never have to find out.” She reached up and held his face in her small hands. “Your mother and I grew so close while you were away at school. I loved her too. It gave her peace to know I was here for her boys. And it was a way to say thank you for all she’d given to me.”

“And what did she give to you, besides advice? Mama was always good at giving advice.” He chuckled, remembering the opening of so many conversations. Well, if I were you, I would…

“We had long talks about my father. She made me realize that he can’t help some of his quirks. That institutional setting made him protective over his privacy and space.” Laura Beth pushed back a stray lock from his forehead. He closed his eyes at the tender gesture.

“Dixie also pointed out all my father’s good traits. He’s steadfast, a fine provider, indulges most of my requests, and pampers my mother. Did I tell you he’s buying her a television?” She grinned. “Most importantly, he loves his girls to the moon and back. And says so all the time. So, I have come to see him as flawed rather than rigid.”

“I remember several teenage temper tantrums when you couldn’t have girlfriends over.” He put his hands on his hips and gave his best Laura Beth imitation. “I hate him. I absolutely hate him. He refuses to listen to reason.”

She rolled her eyes. “I was ten or twelve. At that age, you always hate anyone tells you no. Anyway, I have your mother to thank for my improved relationship with my father.”

“Mama was forever the peacemaker. No one could calm down Pa like she could.” A pain cracked through him. “I hope eventually something will poke him enough to ruffle his feathers again. He’s like a broken man.”

“Time and prayer will heal his heart. He’ll always feel the loss, but life will go on.” She took her dress coat from the hook by the back door, her cue for Joe to bring her home.

“And where did you learn those words of wisdom?”

Her eyes glistened and she gave him a watery smile. “The infinitely wise Dixie McCall.”