The Golden Girls

By Thelma L. Larabee

This is a series of stories that start with a set of twins separated from the third day of their lives. It is a story of redemption and restoration, with many twists and turns leading them through the teen years and beyond.

As is known, all too often, truth is stranger than fiction. These works are from the mind of the author alone, and no known people or places are used. Often it takes several days brooding and asking God to direct the next phase of the story. In the end, the author prays that he receives all the glory.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Christian Faith Publishing, Inc.
• Release date: Jul 1, 2021
• ISBN: 9781098094331

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The Golden Girls

Thelma L. Larabee

Copyright © 2021 by Thelma L. Larabee

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods without the prior written permission of the publisher. For permission requests, solicit the publisher via the address below.

Christian Faith Publishing, Inc.

832 Park Avenue

Meadville, PA 16335

www.christianfaithpublishing.com

Printed in the United States of America

Table of Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

The Golden Girls

Book 1

The Golden Girls

Thelma L. Larabee

Acknowledgment

My appreciation goes out to the following people who encouraged and supported me through the long years that I have been writing: Mark Cameron, who was my husband, and Lolita Cooper, who I met in Quartzsite, Arizona, and many others who read and asked for more. They are too many to list.

A very special thanks to my daughter, Heather Sawatzky, and my sister, June Lathrop, for the hours of critiquing and proofreading. But the I’m so excited to see your next work gives me the encouragement and enthusiasm to continue my stories.

Thanks also must go to Melissa Hill from CFP who led me through the initial process and then to Brenda Gilliland for her patience and care as we endeavor to work through old-school ways to communicate. Thank you, Brenda! It has been a blessing to work through the various phases of this whole new world of publication with each of the staff at Christian Faith Publishing.

Lastly but yet the most important One to receive thanks, glory, and honor is my heavenly Father, the Lord Jesus Christ, and the Holy Spirit. Without his anointing and activation of my mind, none of this would have come about. Thank you, Lord Jesus!

I pray that any who reads my stories will be encouraged and strengthened in their walk with God or may even come to know him.

Chapter 1

Gran

Angie sat on the porch swing outside, listening to the soft moaning of the wind and the pitter-patter of the large raindrops falling through the broad-leafed maple tree at the end of the wide porch, which ran the full length of the house. This was her favorite getaway, whether it was sunshiny or storming, as today. The old wood, which had weathered to a soft gray, was softened, and warmed by multicolored braided rag rugs, two or three comfortable old chairs, and of course, the porch swing.

About three months ago, Gran had told her, I would like to do something with you this summer, a project we can work on together that will last a long time and that would remind us of all that God had done in bringing us back together when we are away from each other.

Oh, Gran, Angie cried. That would be wonderful!

What fun we poured into those two months of July and August, Angie mused. There were shopping sprees for paint and fabrics, with the long afternoon breaks for lunches and strolls through the park. Then came the day they had chosen to get started with their makeover. They had decided to tackle the side porch, redeeming it from a cluttered catchall to a place for long cozy chats with special friends over mugs of hot chocolate or for times of quiet reflection when life begins to be a jumbled mass of chaos.

On and on, the memories went. The day when Gran had mentioned with a little chuckle, You know, we have to leave the old weathered look to the boards themselves. That will be the reminder of me—kinda old, kinda gray, but I hope still usable, how they laughed at that. Then they decided what colors to use to represent Angie’s youth and lighthearted wit. Apple green will do very nicely, they agreed.

And so it began to come together. The apple green porch swing with yellow-and-white rose-patterned cushions was flanked by the two old-fashioned plump chairs, which were reupholstered in a dark green fabric that was shot through with silver-and-gold threads, creating a muted rose motif. These were offset by a soft white wicker set, consisting of a small table and two chairs. A beautiful large jade-colored vase with yellow chrysanthemums filled the corner.

Around the weathered boards of the floor were the rag rugs they both had spent evenings braiding and sewing together. They chose several of the fabrics for the rug to remind them of the ways God weaves or braids our lives together, by using the good and the bad to make a beautiful creation for our lives. This project, after all, was to create a meaningful memorial to his faithfulness.

Thankful that, at last, they were together again, Angie was sure that she and Gran would have many more years to catch up on all they had missed out on during the thirteen years they had not seen each other. After all, Angie was a mere seventeen, and Gran was only fifty-six.

Little did we know that would be the last project the two of us would ever work on, thought Angie. They both expected the idea of separation meant when Angie would be away at college or while Gran would be on one of her world tours with her brother Ben. But, in the meantime, there were evenings to discuss which college would be best, how Angie’s grades were going, who was going to take her to the prom, and all the little teenage things that she had never gotten to share with Gran. There were also evening discussions regarding future plans for this house.

As Angie meditated and prayed, she was at peace that God had her in his great hands, and she was safe. All the mysteries of the past were revealed, and many of the hurts she had sustained had been healed. She had been reunited with those who had mattered most. Even though she was not family, by blood, to the Stewarts, she was the last living link. It had been Gran’s desire that Angie should inherit the house along with the heritage it held, and they both felt that it would be a wonderful harbor for troubled youth.

Angie prayed that she could use it to help other youngsters find the peace that had been given to her, in part due to Gran and Gramp’s prayers through the long, lonely nights of not knowing where she had been.

Chapter 2

Memories

The crack of thunder was magnified inside the car as Angie sat huddled, shivering in the deserted vehicle. Her mop of unruly golden curls had not been brushed for a week, the dried tears had left white streaks down her muddied face, and the clothes she had on were beginning to reek of damp, dirt, and fear.

Time, for the four-year-old little girl, was merely the passing of night into day, and then the cycle began all over again. It felt like forever since the car she was sitting in had pulled up outside her day care, and her daddy had casually told her teacher that he was just picking Angie up a little early today so we can go Christmas shopping for Mommy.

We want to see the surprise on her face, don’t we, Gril? he asked as he picked her up. Angie giggled at the way he slurred out his pet name for her, Gril. She hugged him hard.

I like to surprise Mommy with nice things! she said with her soft dimpled smile.

Her four-year-old mind could not understand why Daddy had never taken her shopping or home. He had always been fun to go shopping with and was very careful to make sure she was safe and comfortable. But as they drove away from the school that day, he turned around and said to her in a very rough voice, Now, Angie, I don’t want you to be a sniveling little brat. You need to lie down in the back seat and just shut up until I tell you!

She had obeyed, but this was so unlike her father, and she began to cry. Only once did he look back at her, and that was merely to say again, I said shut up! Having obviously fallen asleep from crying, to her dismay, it was very dark and cold when she did finally awaken. She looked around with no idea where she was, only to find that she was alone. After a short while, her father walked back to the car, slid under the wheel, and threw her a blanket and a soggy tuna sandwich. He laughed a short bitter laugh. Welcome home, honey! I wonder how surprised Mommy is by now!

Home for those first two or three weeks was an abandoned cabin site. The bedroom was their car, and her playground was the small area of bare grass within an encircling band of trees. The cabin itself had long ago fallen into dust and debris. Daddy would leave her alone for hours at a time, telling her only if she heard any strange noises or saw people around to get in the car and lie down and be very still. When she would plead with him not to leave her alone, he would simply say he felt very sure that no one would be out here to trouble her. She was, after all, Daddy’s big girl.

And so that was how, in Angie’s mind, the long night of forever began. One day, he came back to the campsite and indicated it was time to move on. On occasion, they would drift into a town where Mr. Smith, Mr. Ogden, or James (or whatever name he chose to go by) would find himself a part-time job and a lonely woman who would offer them a home for a few weeks until he had gained her respect, her honor, and her money only to leave her with nothing.

A few of the women were truly kind to Angie, but many were as self-seeking and vengeful as this man who was her father, but more and more seemed like a stranger.

At first, she would cry herself to sleep most nights with the bright image of Mommy running to meet her at the office of her day care. Usually they would stop by and see Gran for a few minutes to see if she and Gramps needed anything at the store before they went home. Then, there were the rushed times of getting dinner on the table so Daddy would have a nice time when he got home from work. As little as she was, it was Angie’s delight to set the table, making sure there was some kind of pretty in the center. Sometimes it was a picture, sometimes flowers, but always something that she would choose in order to see her daddy laugh. And Mommy was always there to encourage, help, or guide her in having everything fixed just right before he got home.

As year tumbled slowly after year, the bright images faded, but still in the dim recesses of her mind played the soft voice of a gentle, pretty, smiling woman. As Angie continued to grow, there came a time when her father decided they would have to settle down so that Angie could go to a regular school. One woman, Nellie Jacobson, seemed to be a little more resilient and accommodating, and so Daddy decided that Nellie’s house would be home.

Chapter 3

Nellie’s House

Nellie was large and soft in body but quick in wit and sharp in tongue. Her gruff exterior belied the soft heart that she kept hidden from everyone, she thought. But despite her best efforts to conceal her tenderness, it occasionally slipped through. For deep down, Nellie was simply a lonely spinster, who yet had a mother’s heart. Her house was surprising in its smallness, but the charm and warmth that is showered upon people who entered those doors reflected the true nature of its owner. The house was painted a creamy white with the startling contrast of bright red doors and window frames. There were well-kept flower beds inside brick borders all around the trim little home.

Angie walked to and from the elementary school, which was just a few blocks down the street. By this time, she only knew her name as Angie Stewart, a mild girl who would often smile but was, for the most part, quiet and retiring. Her natural disposition would have been totally sweet and sunny, but because of the past several years of running, hiding, and being mostly on the road between this house and that, she had learned the art of neither trusting nor making friends. She would sometimes hear a noise and would freeze in fear or would occasionally seem very depressed. There was rarely seen a single tear flowing down her cheek, however, for she was always quick to wipe it away, lest anyone ask what made her cry. However, other than her apparent shyness, she had managed to make her life seem normal to most people with whom she came in contact. She thought that only the night and her pillow saw the fears, tears, and nightmares of the last eight years.

Most children, by the time they were in their fourth or fifth year of schooling, had established routines, friends, and a sense of normalcy. Angie’s life could never be considered normal, and so it was, therefore, a very difficult transition to begin to relate to the same children, day after day, week after week, and month after month. Only very slowly did she begin to respond to the attempts at friendships that were offered.

Toward the very end of her third school year, a turn of events brought great changes into Angie’s life and circumstances. A new family moved into the vacant house just three lots down, between Nellie’s house and the school.

As she came up the sidewalk one day, Nellie barked, Well, how do you like your new classmate?

What do you mean? Angie asked.

Your little religious girl, Emma, she huffed.

I haven’t met her yet, Angie replied. But Miss Lotty did say we would be having a new girl in our class come Monday. It does seem I heard the name, Emma. She and her momma recently moved here, a few weeks ago actually, but she hasn’t been to school yet because she was ill. She looked up to ask, Why, don’t you like her, Nellie?

"I haven’t met her either, but I met her momma! She had the gall to look at me and tell me that Jesus loves me, knows all about me, and cares. Humph! Like I need someone to love me or care. I been on my own a long time, and other than your papa helping me out now and then, I don’t need anyone, and I sure don’t need her lip, her and her sick little girl with a father who abandoned them some ten or twelve years ago, Nellie mumbled as if talking to herself. What did God ever do for her? With that, Nellie turned and stomped back up the sidewalk in front of Angie. Might as well grab some milk and cookies before you start your homework. Jesus loves me indeed!" she grumbled as she stepped into the parlor.

Taking up Nellie’s uncommon offer of a snack before homework, Angie sat down at the kitchen table. After cleaning up the crumbs and rinsing her milk glass, she sat down, pulling her books toward her. A few minutes later, Nellie came in to find her daydreaming without one book yet opened.

Hey, girl. Are you working or sleeping? Nellie snorted.

Oh, sorry, Nellie. I was just wondering when Daddy would be back. He has been gone a lot longer than usual on this business trip, hasn’t he?

Well, yes. Come to think of it, he is overdue, Nellie mused. But I am glad indeed that he finally landed that job down at Mason’s Hardware, although it does seem odd that he has so many out-of-town trips. But now see here, girl, you don’t have to fret. He’ll be back in just a day or two and be just fine. You’ll see! With an unaccustomed pat on the shoulder, Nellie moved toward the stove to check on dinner.

Angie finished her homework and went outside to kick a ball in the front yard. Her fourth kick was stronger and higher than she had realized, and away the ball went, over the fence and down the street. She ran out of the gate and after the ball. By the time she caught up to it, she was winded and dropped on the grass to catch her breath.

As she was lying there, a soft voice spoke. Hello, you must be Angie.

Angie looked up and, in total wonder, saw a girl who appeared like the face she saw each morning in her own mirror—same mop of unruly golden curls, freckles across her nose, wide mouth, and smiling blue eyes.

Wow! You are Emma? Angie asked with the still startled look upon her face.

Yes, I’m Emma. We could almost be twins. She giggled. You just have to come inside and meet my momma. She’s not going to believe this.

Within moments, they had scrambled up the sidewalk and entered the house. Mrs. Jamison looked up from the paperwork she was doing and, with a mild shriek, dropped the pen and rushed to the girls. Holding each one lightly by the chin, she gazed back and forth into their faces. Finally, giving herself a little shake, she dropped her hands.

You are forever and anytime welcome in our home, Angie, she said with a small tremor in her voice. I believe you are a long-awaited answer to prayer. With that, she went to the kitchen to begin the evening meal preparation.

Could you and your family come to dinner tomorrow night? Mrs. Jamison asked.

Very hesitatingly, Angie stammered, Well, we live just down the road, at Nellie’s. It’s just my daddy and me. Daddy said my momma died several years ago. But Daddy’s away on a business trip, and I’m not sure just how soon he will be back. She broke off, confused, for she had never told anyone that much before.

As she hurriedly excused herself, Mrs. Jamison said, "That’s all right, dear. With tomorrow being Saturday, maybe you could come by yourself and spend the night with Emma and get to know each other. This way, Emma would feel as if she had a friend to