Mumma Shana

By Dana Wolf

As a young girl, Dorie is confused about her religious background and pained from the hardships she is forced to endure at the hands of her parents and stepparents. Betrayal by those she loves becomes a way of life as she grows into womanhood.

With the belief that she is guided by her grandmother's spirit, she begins a journey of self-awareness and finds that faith, though often tested, gives her the strength to endure.

A devious plot designed to tear her from the man she loves almost breaks her spirit but, a unique and unfathomable turn of events transforms her life and Dorie learns the true power of forgiveness.

Rich with ethnic humor and heart-wrenching emotion, this story will fill your heart with laughter and your soul with tears, and will leave you pondering the depths and endurance of the human spirit.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Dana Wolf
• Release date: Jan 29, 2013
• ISBN: 9781301553631

Dana Wolf

Dana was born and raised in Philadelphia. Having written poems and short stories all of her life, she always aspired to writing a novel. Mumma Shana was actually handwritten as Dana commuted to and from her job as a paralegal in the city. After sitting on a shelf in her closet for some years, she said the manuscript began "yelling" at her to publish it. Dana resides in Northwestern Pennsylvania with her husband and her fur babies. She is a second degree Usui Reiki practitioner and intuitive tarot reader who loves the company of nature. She is currently writing her second novel but is using a laptop this time!

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Mumma Shana

By: Dana Wolf

Mumma Shana

Dana Wolf

Copyright Dana Wolf 2012

Published At Smashwords

Author's Note:

For purposes of understanding the Yiddish term used to refer to the main character whose grandmother calls her Mumma Shana, I have used phonetic spelling.

In Yiddish, the words are Ma-meh-leh or, Ma-meh (Mummela or Mumma) literally meaning little mother or mother. Shey-nah (Shana) is the word for a beautiful girl.

In Yiddish, Mameh Sheynah or, Mamehleh Sheynah, are very common terms of endearment for a young girl.

Dedication

This book is dedicated to my loving grandmother whose memory will live in my heart forever. I only wish I had truly understood her quiet wisdom when she walked the earth. A portion of the proceeds of this book will go to the Alzheimer's Foundation of America for continued research for a cure. I do this to fulfill a promise and with the hope that perhaps my contribution may keep a family from losing a loved one to this terrible disease.

This book wouldn’t be possible without the unwavering support of my husband who has, and always will be, my biggest champion.

A special thanks to my brave and talented sister who, although suffering from a serious illness, used her energy to design this book cover.

And, to my daughter whose homework I always corrected; thank you for now correcting my homework, so to speak. Your editorial input was invaluable.

I thank God for the wonderful blessings in my life, the gift of writing He has given me, and of course, my guardian angel and spirit guides for helping me to express myself.

Prologue

November, 1991

Dorie Mitchell awoke at her usual time that sultry November day. The heat was oppressive for this time of the year, especially at 7:00 A.M. Already a thin sheen of sweat formed on her brow as she roused herself from sleep. Her thoughts raced at their usual lightning speed even with the hangover from too much Absolut and lemonade the night before. She mentally began to click off the things she had to do that day and then she remembered.

Thanksgiving! Today was Thanksgiving. Her thoughts stopped racing and a pain pierced her heart. It was Thanksgiving, not another typical day. There hasn’t been a typical day in months she thought, morosely. Today was a time to share with friends and family; a time to laugh and fight over whether to watch the football game or General Hospital. It was a time when the people you loved most, crammed into your home and wreaked havoc on your kitchen and dropped cranberry sauce on your favorite Oriental carpet. Hot tears coursed down Dorie's face that morning as she realized that those things were a vision from the past and that this holiday she would not hear the sound of children’s laughter echoing through her home or even see the wretched looks her mother-in-law would give her as she asked her for the tenth time to please stop adding salt to the mashed potatoes.

She pushed a tendril of chestnut hair from her eyes and wiped away her tears as she rose from bed. I will not let this beat me, she thought as she padded across the carpet to the bathroom. I've been alone before. I've been down before. But suddenly the enormity of her situation hit her and she ran back to the large brass bed that had been her safe haven for days. Since the life which she knew would be so perfect and was only a heartbeat away, came crashing down in tiny pieces and left nothing but the fragments at her feet. Fragments sharp with betrayal and deceit, fragments so jagged and cutting with lies that they left her soul torn and her heart bleeding. How am I ever going to get through this day, she asked herself. The words formed on her mouth but the only reply was the warm, moist, muzzle of her beloved dog, Puzzer, licking the salty tears now on her hand. She called the animal up into her bed and buried her face into the silky golden fur. Oh Puzz, she cried softly. What am I going to do now?

The torrent of tears came once again as Dorie's pain exploded, wracking her body with heart wrenching sobs.

Puzzer’s tail began to thump against the bed, lunging Dorie back to reality. She raised her tear stained face from the dog's soft mane and saw her small daughter staring at her inquisitively.

Why are you crying Mommy, she asked great concern on her face. Will a kiss make you feel better? I can hug you if you want, she said in her childlike sing song voice.

Shame and remorse that her daughter should find her in this condition hit Dorie like a lead weight had been thrown at her. A fresh veil of tears threatened to overcome her but she took a deep breath and swallowed them back.

Come here you little munchkin, she called to her.

Come give Mommy the biggest hug you've got.

Victoria ran to her mother and climbed up on the bed. She threw herself on her lap and wrapped her small arms around her neck and buried her head in Dorie's soft, curling hair.

I'm four years old now Mommy. I'm a big girl since my birthday last week. You can tell me what's wrong.

Oh Tori, her mother murmured against the tiny head. Mommy just has a tummy ache. I’ll be alright.

Whenever I have a tummy ache, Victoria paused, Fruit Loops always make me feel better.

Dorie laughed, So you're hungry are you, you little con artist? Let Mommy brush her teeth and we'll go downstairs and see what we can do about some breakfast.

Okay Mommy, Victoria said. Can I watch TV until you're finished? Since my birthday I can stand on my chair and turn on the TV all by myself, she said emphasizing the last three words.

Don't you dare stand on that chair, Dorie admonished.

When Mommy is finished, I'll put on the television for you. In the mean time, why don't you go downstairs and read a book. I'll be down in a few minutes.

Dorie shook her head in wonder as she watched her child walk sulkily down the stairs. She smiled sadly to herself and realized that suddenly, overnight it seemed, Victoria had grown so much. It seemed like a cliché’, but only yesterday she was a baby and today she was trying so hard to be self sufficient. Dorie had spent so much time with her as she grew from a baby into toddler-hood. The terrible twos never really materialized because after a short bout with colic, Victoria was a warm, loving, intelligent, very independent child who could always content herself. When she was three, Victoria went to nursery school while Dorie worked, until recently. The last four months were somewhat of a blur as Dorie was so involved with her own personal life; she didn't take the time to enjoy those moments with Victoria that once gone, could never be recovered.

She flicked on the bathroom light and peered into the mirror. What she saw there shocked her and sent her reeling. Two large, brown, vacant eyes stared lifelessly back at her. The fiery lights that always glowed within them were gone. Not even a small burning ember remained behind. Beneath them were large, dark circles that framed them from a week of sleepless nights, and enhanced their depth. Her hair was dull and lifeless and hung about her face like a muddy spaniel's dried out ears. Her cheeks were sunken from sudden weight loss and heightened the ghostly pallor of her skin that was also somewhat red and blotchy from crying, and too much consumption of alcohol as well, she suspected. This is not me. This can't be me. She spoke into the mirror in amazement as if willing for a sudden transformation to occur. Willing the face in the mirror to fade into nothingness and for the image of the woman she once was to return and grace the room with her beauty and charm and that overwhelming charisma that was an unfathomable attraction that few people escaped from. The haggard face mocked her hauntingly as if her very soul had leaped from her body and stood there before her, naked and raw, staring back at the body that once housed it and nurtured it, and now, had destroyed it. She closed her eyes to block out the haunting vision and swallowed the bile that was threatening to rise from her throat. She held out a hand to the vanity to steady herself when suddenly she heard a faint voice calling to her, startling her out of her despair.

"Mumma, Mumma Shana......"

Dorie's head shot up and spun around as if expecting someone to be standing behind her. A chilling shiver ran down her spine when again she heard the voice, more persistent now, calling to her softly, sweetly, almost musically. . .

"Mumma, Mumma Shana, it's me."

The air was thick with a presence, a heaviness that you could almost see but was yet intangible. Another chill ran down her spine, making her whole body tingle, yet Dorie felt strangely comforted when again, she heard the voice.

"Mumma, everything will be alright. You'll see. Dorie knew that voice. It had lent her comfort and consoled her and soothed the untempered spirit in her throughout a good part of her life. It was the voice of a woman she revered and adored. It was the voice of her grandmother, a woman so sweet and so pure that she was often taken advantage of and neglected and thought of as weak, when in actuality she was very content and secure and happy in her simple life. This was the voice of her grandmother. Her Nana, as she called her, who had passed away seven years ago.

The bathroom was still now, its pink tile glowing with the shine of spotlessness that Dorie always maintained even in her despondency, now reflecting her image as she steadied herself against the sink once again. She wondered if she was hearing things or thought possibly that it was the residue of a week of alcohol consumption that was playing tricks on her mind. But she couldn't shake the feeling that somehow she was not alone. Turning the faucet on, she reached her hand under the running stream and splashed the cold water on her face, its iciness serving to clear her mind and shake the haunting feeling that had come upon her. She peered in the mirror once again watching the droplets of water, some beading on her face, some rolling down and dropping off of her chin like icicles melting from a frozen statue on a warm day, and she suddenly felt better, at once laughing at herself for imagining things. How could I not think of my grandmother at a time like this, she thought? She's always been my guiding light in times of trouble throughout my entire life. She smiled now in fond memory of the woman she had loved so very much and whose warm, sweet smile and tinkling laughter was still so clear, and then again, she heard the voice; gently, soothingly, calling from afar, yet so very close.

"Mumma, do not fear me. Open your heart my dear one, open your mind for I am here with you and I will never leave you. I have lived in your heart and your memories of me have kept my soul alive. Listen to the voice within. Listen, for I will guide you, though you may not know it."

Beneath Dorie's feet, the world rocked and trembled. She had a heavy feeling in her chest that threatened to overcome her and then she took a deep breath and wrinkled her nose in momentary bewilderment as she caught a scent in the air, the scent of perfume that her grandmother had worn her entire life. It was a fragrance that was synonymous with her and was almost her very essence. Dorie suddenly lost consciousness and faded away into nothingness.

Chapter 1

August, 1974

Garden Square was a closely knit neighborhood in a predominantly Jewish area of Philadelphia. Its inhabitants were not quite middle class but fairly comfortable in their neatly kept row homes that covered a large section of the City of Brotherly Love. The lawns were immaculately trimmed and dotted with colorful rose bushes that seemed to be a trademark of the builder. Children played happily on the sidewalks, smearing colored chalk on the cement in their artistry, or playing at games of hopscotch. Merry young girls chattered at their dolls, played house or sang in time to the whirl of a jump rope. The older ones gathered in groups on the steps under the shade of maple trees, sharing confidences about boys or listening to their oddly shaped, hand held radios that were the latest fad. They cracked their bubblegum and laughed a little too loudly while casting side long glances at the boys playing hand ball or box ball in the middle of the street.

It was warm and steamy, a typical August day on Shoemaker Street, the street where Dorie Mitchell lived.

Twelve year old Dorie was outside but she wasn't jumping rope, nor was she with the girls her age trying out the latest dance steps to the pulsing music, while coyly trying to get the boys to notice them in their shorts and halter tops. She didn't need to attract anyone's attention, much to the annoyance of the other girls. Dorie was the center of attention on the street that day, as most others. Her dark brown hair, its fiery red highlights glistening in the sun, was decorated with bright pink foam curlers, as here and there a tendril escaping from its wrappings. Her usual milky white legs were tanned a golden brown from the long summer sun and were clad in candy striped shorts. Her breasts were quite developed for her age and poked suggestively at the white halter top that set off her tan beautifully. Her clothes sharply contrasted with the heavy white sweat socks she wore and her white, high top boy sneakers. Though her get up as her grandmother called it, might look ridiculous on someone else, it suited her to perfection and revealed a clue to her personality, almost. For Dorie was completely feminine, on the brink of womanhood, yet not willing to relinquish the child still inside her. And she loved the challenge of showing the boys that she could run faster, play harder and throw a punch if she had to.

Dorie knew she had the advantage as she took her turn at bat that day. The boys fought over whose team she would be on, not only because she was good, but she was also quite a distraction to the opponent. They would much rather watch her run than pay attention to where she hit the ball. Glaring at the pitcher through dark brown eyes that sparkled amber from the glare of the midday sun, Dorie paused at home plate, fully confident, fist tightly clenched, ready for the pitch. Her lips were set tight, her face shiny with sweat but still strikingly beautiful even with the smudges of dirt on one high cheekbone. I'm gonna knock that ball right down the street, though I really should knock it right through his head, she mused, as Benji Golden stood poised at the mound. Benji was sixteen, yet did not appear interested in Dorie, much to her chagrin. She couldn't understand why she couldn't captivate him with her charm as easily as she could the other boys or impress him with her athletic prowess. Whenever he played ball with the kids her age, she did her best to at once tease him and infuriate him at the same time. She didn't much care how she got a reaction from people, as long as she got one. The trouble was, usually after she got what she wanted, she wasn't much interested anymore. She knew the fun was in the challenge and as soon as a boy declared his undying love for her, Dorie dropped him with a nonchalant attitude and pretended she was never interested in the first place. She wasn't cold or callous; in fact she was just the opposite, warm, fun loving and friendly with a completely engaging personality that even at her age, made people willing prisoners of her charm and vivacious energy.

Come on Dorie, hit a home run, Ricky Levin shouted from first base. Come on Dorie, bring me home. Let's kick their ass.

Dorie glanced quickly at Ricky and gave him a side longed, slanted eyed smile. Sometimes, she thought mischievously, eyes gleaming, showmanship can be much more fun, especially where that worm Benji is concerned. Adrenaline flowing now, Dorie directed her attention to the pitch that was on its way to greet her hand and almost without her control; the mercurial side of her nature took over and had Dorie solely in its possession. The side of her that acted on impulse and never allowed the practical one a chance at rebuttal knew at once where that ball was going.

Ouch! Benji Golden yelled in pain and fell to his knees, grabbing himself between his legs as Dorie's intended aim hit its mark. You did that on purpose!

Why Benji, Dorie said, feigning shock, why would I do a horrible thing like that? she asked, walking toward him now.

Because you're a goddamned bitch, that's why, Benji muttered.

Hey, cut the language, Ricky growled at Benji, extending a hand to help him up. Are you alright Benji? he asked, concerned now as he saw Benji grimace. Do you wanna finish the game?

Yeh, I'm alright, Benji replied, getting up. But I'm not playing if she's playing, he emphasized.

Aw come on Benji, stop being a baby, said Tommy Skinner. Dorie didn't mean it. Besides, she always plays with us. The game's almost over anyway.

Benji looked around at the faces of the other boys and didn't fail to catch Dorie's small, superior smile mocking him. He knew he would be labeled a poor sport if he didn't finish the game and he knew at that moment that he couldn't let Dorie get the better of him. Even though, he admitted to himself, she already had it. He knew she was too young for him but there was something about her that made him keep coming back for more. Something that always made him walk down Sheldon Street looking for a ball game with the younger kids even though he could be hanging out at the playground with the boys and girls his own age. He knew he could have any girl he wanted. His black hair, olive skin, and well developed, young, muscular body held a great attraction for the female population. But something kept returning his thoughts to Dorie.

Alright, we'll finish, Benji replied grudgingly. He looked at Dorie. I guess it's still your ups.

Dorie took her place at the plate and again waited for the pitch. Concentrating heavily now, she knew she had to get a hit. There were two outs and it was up to her. Benji's sudden change of attitude annoyed her but she was determined not to let him win this one. As the pitch came over the plate, she sent it flying down the first base line right past Tommy Skinner's hand, all the way down the street until it buried itself behind the wheel of a car. She tore around the bases following close behind Ricky, catching the look of begrudging admiration on Benji's face as she passed him.

Good hit Dorie. Much against his will, Benji walked up to her where she now stood leaning against a car, catching her breath after her triumph. She started to walk away. Where ya goin? he asked her.

Dorie sauntered back to Benji, putting a hand to her head where one curler had come loose from running. The game is about over and I have to take a shower and do my hair, she told him breathlessly. I have a date tonight, she said, peering up at him flirtatiously. Eyes glowing with mischief, glaring at him pointedly now, she said, By the way, thanks for the compliment and just so you know, she paused, eyes traveling down him, when I aim, I never miss. With that, she turned on her heel and walked up the steps into her house leaving Benji behind her, shaking his head and wondering just how she managed to finally get the upper hand.

***

The smell of roasted chicken and oven brown potatoes permeated the house as Dorie walked into its air-conditioned coolness, slamming the door behind her. She loved her grandmother’s Friday night dinners. She loved the sameness that Friday always brought when her grandparents stayed to take care of her and her younger sister, Hillary, whenever her mother was away, which was quite often lately. There would always be brisket with kasha and bow tie noodles brimming with thick beef gravy from the tender meat. There would be chicken soup with matzo balls that were so light and fluffy they looked as though they were merely resting on top of the tasty soup. Or there would be roasted chicken and potatoes like tonight, with noodle kugel or a vegetable soup, without lima beans thank God, and always, always there would be Challah bread that her grandfather would bring on his way home from work. Umm, Challah with thick golden raisins, she thought happily, her stomach growling from hunger after a long afternoon of play.

Is that you Mumma? Dorie's grandmother called from the kitchen.

Yep Nan, it's me, she said walking into the dining room.

Dorie, look at you, her grandmother scolded, coming out of the kitchen and walking over to wipe her granddaughter's sweaty brow with a tissue that she pulled from the pocket of her housecoat. Why do you run around like a wild hyena playing with the boys? she asked, shaking her head. Why can't you act like a lady? she asked, frowning.

Do we have to go through this again? Dorie asked sighing. "I told you a hundred times. I tell you everyday. I like playing with the boys. It's fun and besides, Mom doesn't care."

"Well, your mother isn't here, I'm here and I care. I won't have you running around with the boys. Goodness Dorie! she suddenly exclaimed, looking at her granddaughter's chest, You're not wearing a bra! What will those boys think of you? What will the neighbors think? she asked, her voice growing louder now, a rare occurrence. You were supposed to be sitting under the tree playing cards. But look at you, all sweaty and overheated. I know you were out playing ball again," she finished, shaking her head.

So what if I was, Dorie replied hotly. I hate being with the girls. They’re silly and boring and they don't understand me. Lindsay is the only who does and she has mono. I'll be lucky if she makes it back to school in September. At least if I'm playing ball, I'm having fun. Do you want me to shrivel up like an old prune and die for the entire summer? She emphasized her last sentence dramatically.

Dorie, don't speak to me that way, her grandmother said softly and her eyes showed their hurt at Dorie's tone. I just don't want to see you get into any trouble. I love you Mumma.

I love you too Nan, Dorie replied, somewhat mollified by her grandmother’s attitude, but still determined to have her own way as well as the last word. And, she stated before turning on her heel and walking up the steps, I hate bras and I won't wear one. The hell with what the neighbors think.

***

Pop Pop's home, Dorie's grandfather announced as he shuffled through the front door, arms laden with packages.

He walked into the kitchen where his wife stood stirring the soup and put his packages down on the counter, relieving himself of his burden. Giving her a peck on the cheek he asked her, "Where are the maidels?"

Hillary is outside playing and Dorie is sulking in her room most likely. Herb, she said turning to him, putting down the spoon, great concern on her face, I worry about that girl. She's always out running with the boys. All day long she's outside with them, morning until night. And when she's not outside, she's up in her room 'thinking.' What could a girl her age have to think so much about anyway?

Look Goldie, he said, in his slight accent, Stop worrying so much. The girl's fine. She's a good girl. She listens to her mother. She takes care of her sister. She's a straight A student. What more could you want? He patted his wife's arm, reassuring her. Listen, the summer is almost over and she'll be back in school. She'll be so busy with chores and homework; she won't have time to play with boys. Seeing that his wife still wasn't satisfied, he said, Katie will be home from Las Vegas next week. If it will make you feel better, I'll have a talk with her about Dorie. But in the mean time, stop worrying. It's no good for you. It's no good for your insides. He placed his hand on his stomach for emphasis. Thinking the matter settled, he rubbed his hands together, blew on them and smiled. I think I'll have a nice shot of Schnapps, thickens the blood, he said knowingly. He walked toward the liquor cabinet and retrieved a glass. How 'bout one Goldie, loosen you up a bit, take your mind off things?

"Oh Herb, can't you see that girl is in for trouble? Katie is so busy running around with Bart she can't see what's happening right under her nose. How could she ever get involved with a man so much older than her anyway? His kids are grown for God's sake. He doesn't want the responsibility of raising two more. He's always rushing Katie off somewhere, taking her away from where she belongs. This month it's Las Vegas, last month it was Miami. They can't even stay home on a Saturday night. He takes her to New York just to buy a New York Times. Did you ever hear of such a thing?" she finished, quite upset now.

Now listen Goldie. Herb tried to keep the impatience with his wife's nervous attitude out of his voice. Enough now! You're overreacting. Bart is very good to the kids...

But... his wife interjected.

Shah now, he put a finger to his lips, Let me finish, he said, his impatience now apparent. If it wasn't for him, where would Katie be after that bum, Ron, may he go to hell, walked out on them? he spat. A look of extreme distaste crossed his craggy face and Goldie could see that he was becoming very agitated now. He raised his voice several octaves. That bastard left them high and dry and ran off without a word for two years. Two years Goldie! he shouted. Not a cent did he send her, not a phone call. He's a bum. If it wasn't for Bart....

Alright, alright, enough, Goldie said to her husband in a soothing tone, seeing how upset he now was. Let's not fight. I don't want Dorie to hear. You know how sensitive she is about her father. Why don't you go wash up for dinner? It's almost Shabbos.

Dorie's grandmother intoned the prayer in her light musical voice as the Shabbos blessing was said and the candles were lit, flickering brightly in their gleaming brass holders.

Dorie thought her grandmother looked beautiful in her forest green dress that set off her flaming red hair that was her claim to vanity, now half hidden by the white lace veil she wore. Having blessed the candles, she sat down at the table set with a crisp white cloth and the china and heavy silver that was only used for Shabbos and special holidays. Dorie felt almost reverent as she listened to the Hebrew words chanted by her grandmother and heard her grandfather recite the Kiddush, the blessing over the wine. She loved everything about Shabbos. To her it meant the coming together of family in the keeping of an age old tradition. Though her family was not very religious, there were certain things that were instilled in her from the time she was a small child, if not by her mother, then by her grandparents. Her mother didn't do the Shabbos routine" as she called it, nor did she attend synagogue, not even on the High Holy Days. Dorie went to synagogue with her friend, Lindsay, and sometimes with her grandfather on Friday nights, but she always went on the High Holy Days. It gave her a special feeling of belonging to something that she really didn't feel she had at home. She was disappointed that she was not going to be a Bat Mitzvah because when it was time for her education in Judaism to begin, her mother did not have the money to send her to Sunday School or Hebrew School and they did not belong to a synagogue. Her grandparents couldn't help; they barely had enough for them to live on. Dorie often wondered why people thought all Jews were so rich. She didn't know why having a Bat Mitzvah was so important to her. She didn't even know what her religion was all about, but she longed to know. She wanted to be a part of it. She felt lost when her Jewish friends spoke knowingly of the customs and traditions she knew nothing about. Naturally, there were some things she did know, but much she did not, and when her friends kibitzed among themselves, she always smiled and nodded and acted like she knew exactly what they were talking about. Dorie hated to be ignorant about anything. Especially about something which she felt was her responsibility to be knowledgeable about. She envied her Jewish friends. She also envied her Christian friends for they also knew who they were and where they belonged. They went to their parochial schools in their crisply pressed uniforms, the boys in their black tie shoes, the girls in their black and white saddles. They represented oneness as they filed to school, a unity in their purpose. Everyday they were reaffirmed about who they were as they were indoctrined in the teachings of their religion. They were Christians. They understood Christianity. It was a part of their everyday lives and Dorie longed for just a small sense of what that must be like. She knew she was a Jew but something was missing. She wanted a sense of belonging that she knew her mother couldn't give her.

I'm sorry Pop, what did you say? Dorie was startled out of her reverie by her grandfather's voice.

I asked, her grandfather said pausing to chew a mouthful of kugel, what are your plans for the evening?

Well, Dorie drawled, putting down her fork and smiling, I was planning on doing the dishes for Nan tonight since she worked so hard making this wonderful dinner and then, she let the word hang in the air glancing at her grandmother, Stevie is picking me up and we're going to the movies.

No you're not! Her grandmother spoke sharply, glancing at her husband for reinforcement. You're staying in the house tonight. You've been out running around all day. Besides, you're too young to be going out on a date! she clucked, shaking her head.

It's not a date, Nan. Stevie's little sister is going and so is half of the neighborhood. Please can I go? Please? she wheedled, sending desperate looks in her grandfather's direction. He looked like he just wanted to stay out of it. I'll be home as soon as the movie is over. I'll even call you when I'm leaving so you'll know I'm on my way home. Please? she asked again in a small voice, interpreting her grandmother's silence through her outburst as consent.

Let her go Goldie, the old man interjected quietly, unable to resist his granddaughter's pleading. He loved both of his maidels as he called them, but Dorie held a special place in his heart. She was his first born grandchild and he remembered how he had to come and pay the hospital bill when she was born so her parents could take her home. Dorie's parents didn’t have the money and Herbie always felt proud of himself that he'd been able to be the one to bail them out of that situation. He liked to think in his sometimes childish way, that if it wasn't for him, she may have been left in the hospital for God only knows how long and since that time, he always felt personally responsible for her welfare.

Alright, Goldie finally said, throwing up her hands in resignation. You just make sure you call me when that movie is over so I know when you're coming home.

Dorie's smile lit the room, showing her even white teeth glowing against the golden tan. Thanks Nan, I love ya lots, she said, jumping up from her chair and kissing her on the cheek. I'll be home early. I promise. Anyway, Dad called earlier. He's coming to pick me and Hilly up first thing tomorrow morning.

Chapter 2

The hot, August morning sun was already making the house an oven as Dorie paced restlessly inside waiting for the blare of the horn that would announce the arrival of her father. Her sister sat patiently in front of the television munching on dry cereal and watching cartoons. Dorie gave her scornful glances now and then wondering how she could sit there so contentedly not even seeming to care whether their father showed up or not. That thought was troubling Dorie as there had been times in the past when her father did not show up for scheduled visits and she had waited for hours and hours for him to arrive and then for the phone call with an explanation that did not come. She pushed those traitorous thoughts from her mind. She knew he'd show up today. She knew it. He just had to. Glancing in the mirror behind the sofa, she checked the curl of her hair for the hundredth time and re-applied the eye shadow that was starting to melt down her face from the heat. She looked very feminine today in a crisp white dungaree skirt and black and white polka dot tank top. Her toe nails were painted cotton candy pink and peeked out from the straps of the white sandals. The faint aroma of girlish perfume surrounded her as she walked nervously back and forth from the mirror to the front door checking for his arrival. It was very important that she look good for her father. She wanted him to notice her, to compliment her. She knew there was coldness there, some kind of barrier between them but she didn't quite know what caused it. She only knew she was determined to break through it. She didn't like the lazy indifference that always showed on his face when she saw him, the look that always made her uncomfortable and made her wonder exactly what it was that he thought about her. She wanted him to greet her with smiles and hugs, but he didn't. He greeted her with sardonic comments about her appearance, always comparing her to her mother. She reeled from the hurt he inflicted. She wasn't her mother. She was her own person. She was his daughter. His flesh and blood and she longed for the day when he would see her for herself. She wasn't going to give up on getting him to notice her and respect her for the person she was. She would do anything to prove to him how much she loved him and that no matter what happened between him and her mother, it was not of her doing and she shouldn't have to be held accountable for it. It seemed to Dorie that she had spent her entire life trying to get her father's attention. This caused her a great many difficulties with her mother. Dorie's mother didn't want her to have anything to do with her father. For reasons that Dorie didn't understand, her mother despised her father and the feeling appeared to be mutual. Whenever her father called and wanted to see Dorie and her sister, her mother did everything in her power to prevent it. She argued with her, pleaded, cajoled and when all else failed, she tried to make Dorie feel terribly guilty for wanting to see the man that had run off and left them for two years without a word. The guilt trips almost worked. Almost, but Dorie knew with an inbred instinct that there was so much that her mother just wasn't telling her. She felt it deep within her and occasionally was able to overhear conversations that her mother had with other people about it. Even at her young age, she also knew instinctively that there were two sides to every story. Unfortunately, she wasn't able to obtain the truth from either parent. The only thing that would come from those attempts at trying to shed some light on the situation, were more angry and bitter words. Someday, she vowed to herself, she would learn the answer, but until that time, she was not about to let her mother do anything to keep her from her father. Not as long as she

Reviews for Mumma Shana

[briandbenson · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

This book is far removed from the usual mystery/thriller stuff I usually read. I was overtaken by this powerfully written story about love and forgiveness. Ms Wolf's main character Dorie will stay with me for a long time. The struggles she endures in her family from childhood to well into adulthood is probably not all that uncommon in our society. Any reader who has dealt with domestic or family abuse will instantly recognize and relate to the various characters in this story. This is an extremely impressive and well written debut novel Ms Wolf. I look forward to your next one...

[maryann12_1 · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

I find this book to be a helpful reminder that if we want to accomplish anything, we must first put our mind to it. Such a great gift. Dana Wolf is truly a talented communicator.

Finding balance in one's life, learning what living in freedom really means, having time for relationships, accessing a higher image of oneself--these skills for living more fully and less fitfully are readily available to the reader who takes the time to read this book and take seriously the gems of wisdom contained in its pages.

This is a great book by a new and upcoming author. You never want to put the book down and when it's over you wish there had been another few chapters. Great story.

Oh the devastation this woman has gone through! But it shows what a true hero she is when it comes to surviving in difficult relationships situation. Fantastic read.