A Mother at Heart (6 page)

Well, it was a good thing she had realized that as soon as possible and hadn't pinned anything on this place.

She spent the rest of the day and most of the night cleaning up and making the place look a little better.

Saturday dawned warm and bright and Miriam headed outside to clean the yard. She went through the old shop on the place, a fresh wave of nostalgia washing over her at the still strong scent of diesel and oil that seemed to have soaked into the very timbers of her father's shop.

She remembered happier times when her father had helped her put the chain back on her bike, helped her with a science fair project that her mother didn't want done in the house. She remembered “helping” her father by handing him tools from the chest-high toolbox that still stood in one dark corner.

Miriam looked around her with a measure of anxiety. Yesterday, when she had signed the sales agreement, she hadn't realized the magnitude of her ac
tions. She would have to have a farm sale to get rid of all these things.

The thought depressed her. She had been to enough farm sales as a young girl. She remembered how uncomfortable she had felt, poking and prying through other people's things, listening to disparaging comments made about some of the items offered for sale.

But imagining the contents of the house going up for sale bothered her less than the idea of seeing her father's tools lined up and auctioned off.

She wandered through the shop, surprised to see so many tools still here. The lawn mower and garden tiller stood in their usual corner. Her father's table saw and drill press stood opposite, coated with a layer of greasy dust. Buckets and pails of bolts and nuts were lined up on shelves above the workbench. Mouse droppings were thick on the floor and an old leather carpenter pouch that had fallen off its hook had been fair game for them: it was full of holes.

For the rest, it was all intact.

With a mental shake, Miriam walked over to the lawn mower and pulled it away from the wall. She opened the gas tank and frowned. Empty, of course. And she knew there was no gas in the gas tank in the yard.

So much for mowing the lawn, she thought.

She could ride over to the Prins's farm and borrow some gas; her father had enough jerry cans she could carry it in.

But after meeting Jake in town, she was reluctant to go over there when he was around.

Monday, she could. Jake would probably be working in the fields then.

She pushed the lawn mower into its spot and walked back to the house, wondering how she was going to fill the rest of the empty evening.

M
iriam flipped down the visor in her car and checked her lipstick. She unconsciously ran her hand over her hair and glanced down at her clothes—black blazer over dark, narrow fitted pants. Conservative enough for church, she figured.

Yesterday she had spent half the day trying to talk herself out of coming, but when she woke up this morning, she knew she didn't feel right staying home.

She pulled the key out of the ignition and took a deep breath. Taking a walk down the country roads might have been a better idea. Standing here in the shadow of the church—the shadow of seventeen years of sermons, obligations and Sunday School lessons—she felt as if she were looking at her life with new eyes.

The parties, the late nights, the friends she had spent time with, the endless traveling from one exotic location to another, the many, many times she had
thought she should visit her mother, and hadn't—all seemed so shallow. She had stopped attending church when her co-workers teased her about it.

I was just young,
she appealed to a distant God who was tied up with this church and her past.
I was finally free from obligations and a mother who never approved of anything I did.
She clutched the keys tighter, their sharp ridges cutting into her palm, as if the pain would serve as penance for what she had done.

“I don't need this,” she said to no one in particular, leaning back against the seat. “I didn't have to come today.”

But she had.

She had come seeking peace, but instead she was being faced with her past at every turn.

Miriam had never been a quitter, and she wasn't about to start now. She knew that people, once they found out she was back, would wonder why she hadn't come to church the way she always had when she and her mother had lived here.

So, straightening her shoulders, taking a deep breath, she stepped out of the car to finish this.

She walked slowly up the front walk to the church. A flat, wide sidewalk led to two sets of double doors.

Inside, a group of people stood in the foyer, chatting. They glanced at her, then smiled a polite smile before moving toward another set of stairs beside an elevator. Miriam didn't recognize them and was sure, from their reaction, that they didn't recognize her, either.

The doors behind her opened again, sending a
shaft of light into the foyer. Miriam took a step away, making room for the people.

“Miriam,” a sweet young voice called out, and Miriam spun around.

“Well, hello, Taryn.” She smiled at the young girl who came running up to her. Taryn wore a yellow dress covered with an old-fashioned pinafore. Her hair was braided this time and tied up with two white ribbons. One, however, had come loose and was trailing down her front.

“You came to church.” The statement was made without guile, and Miriam couldn't help but smile down at the adorable little girl. “Are you going to sit with us?”

“Maybe Miss Spencer wants to sit with someone else,” Jake said to his daughter as he walked up to stand beside her.

Miriam reluctantly turned her gaze to him. His white collarless shirt was a bright contrast to his tanned complexion. His dark, wavy hair was brushed away from his face, bringing his features into stark relief.

Handsome as ever, thought Miriam with a stab of regret. His smoldering eyes, his full mouth. It was as if the man she had seen the other day, mud covering his face, his eyes sparkling—the man who had called her “Mims”—had been just a figment of her imagination.

Taryn looked up at her father, then back at Miriam, her eyes sad. “Do you want to sit with someone else?”

Miriam looked down at the little girl, her heart softening at the appeal in those eyes. Avoiding a re
ply, she squatted down and carefully retied the bow that hung loose. “There,” she said, giving the bow an extra tug. “I made it nice and tight. It won't come loose again.”

Taryn lifted the bow, tucking her chin in and almost crossing her eyes to see it. “That looks nice. Daddy can't tie these very good. He says he has farmer hands.” She grinned up at Miriam. “Can you fix the other one, too?”

Miriam didn't dare look at Jake. She could sense his displeasure, yet something stubborn in her nature made her bend over and quickly tie up the other bow, then fluff it out.

“Thanks, Miriam,” Taryn said, unabashedly catching Miriam's hand in her own as Miriam straightened.

Fred and Tilly were coming toward her, walking slowly to accommodate Fred, Miriam surmised.

“Hi there, Miriam.” Fred walked up to her and patted her on the shoulder. “So good to see you here.”

Miriam smiled at the approval on his face. At least in Fred's eyes she had gotten things right.

Tilly bustled up, greeting her with an enthusiastic hug. “I was so praying you would come today.” She smiled, stroking Miriam's cheek.

Miriam felt another knot of emotion at the sincerity in Tilly's voice.

“I'm glad I came, too,” she said softly, swallowing. She avoided looking at Jake, but was conscious of him watching them, fully aware of his disapproval. It shouldn't have mattered, but Miriam felt it as strongly as she felt Tilly's love.

She wished she dared confront him, to try to explain, but her own emotions over Jake were too unstable, too vulnerable. She hated it, but it was a reality she had to accept. Once she was gone, it would go away, she figured. Once she was back at work, remaking her life.

“You can come with us, Miriam. Please sit with us.” Taryn caught her hand. “Can she sit with us, Grandma?”

“Of course.” Tilly smiled down at her granddaughter. “Will you, Miriam?”

Once again, Miriam felt stuck. She knew Jake was not pleased, yet couldn't find it in herself to pull her hand away from Taryn, or to say no to her old neighbor.

“Sure. I guess I can.”

“Goody.” Taryn caught her father's hand in her other one and started pulling the two adults toward the stairs leading to the sanctuary. “C'mon, Grandma and Grandpa,” she called over her shoulder. “We have to sit down.”

Miriam felt the small, soft hand in hers, and something inside her melted. Suddenly she didn't care what Jake thought, didn't care what anyone else thought. This precious little girl wanted Miriam to be with them, and it felt wonderful.

She tried not to read too much into the child's actions. Taryn seemed naturally precocious, but as they walked up the stairs, two adults joined by a young girl, Miriam felt her throat thicken.

She remembered walking precisely in the same formation with her parents. Her father on one side,
her mother on the other, and little Miriam safe and secure in the middle.

The memory was so vivid that she bit her lip, fighting an unexpected sorrow, the stairs wavering in her vision. Ducking her head, she quickly wiped her eyes, hoping Jake wouldn't see.

But she didn't have long hair to hide behind anymore. And as she straightened, she felt Jake's eyes on her. She couldn't stop looking at him any more than she could stop Taryn's excited bouncing.

Once again, their eyes met and held. Once again, Miriam felt as if she were drifting toward him, unable to stop herself.

But Taryn gave them both another tug, and the moment was broken.

“Daddy has to get the bulletin,” she announced to Miriam, swinging her hand. “You stay with me and Grandma and Grandpa.”

Miriam looked down at the crooked part in the little girl's hair, and resisted the urge to run her hand over Taryn's head, to bend over and gather this little girl in her arms.

Instead, she blinked once more and looked ahead to the sanctuary, already three-quarters full.

She knew the instant Jake returned. Out of the corner of her eye she saw him take Taryn's other hand, almost felt his sidelong glance. She kept her eyes ahead, however, looking at the congregation, wondering where they would sit. A couple of people had already turned, then spun back around to whisper to a neighbor. This created a small ripple of movement among the people sitting in the back.

“Well, Miriam. Ready to face your past?” Jake's
deep voice seemed to mock her, but when she turned to challenge him, she saw his soft mouth curved up in a hint of a smile. “You're quite notorious, you know.”

“Notorious?” she repeated, trying to inject a note of humor in her voice. “Disreputable notorious or distinguished notorious?”

“Probably a bit of both,” Jake said, looking away.

“Let's go sit,” Taryn urged, looking up first at Jake and then at Miriam. “They're going to start singing, and then everyone will look at us.”

Judging from the number of backward glances they were getting, that was going to happen anyhow, thought Miriam. She squared her shoulders and looked down the long, carpeted aisle of the church.

Just another catwalk, she thought, and a different audience. She rolled her shoulders, straightened her clothes and reminded herself not to strut.

Tilly and Fred went on ahead, followed by Jake, Taryn and Miriam. The aisle was wide enough for the three of them. She was thankful, however, that Tilly stopped halfway to the altar.

They settled in the pew—Miriam, then Taryn, then Jake; and beside him, Tilly and Fred. Fred calmly picked up the bulletin and started reading. Tilly leaned forward and started talking with the person ahead of them. Jake just crossed his arms and looked straight ahead.

Taryn sat between them, her hands folded demurely in her lap, her short legs sticking almost straight out in front of her. She tapped the toes of her shiny black shoes together, then looked up at Miriam with a huge grin. Miriam felt an answering
tug of emotion. Taryn was so accepting, so open. Miriam didn't feel worthy of the obvious adoration that showed in the little girl's eyes.

The music from the organ stopped, then the organist struck the opening bars of a hymn. With a rustle and murmur, the congregation rose to sing.

Miriam took her cue from Jake and pulled a hymnal from the pew in front of her. The song sounded so familiar, but she couldn't place the title and didn't know where to find it. She tilted her head to see if the number was printed on the song board at the front of the church, but the board was no longer there.

She felt a hand on her arm, and, turning, saw Jake's book tilted toward her; he was showing her the number. She nodded, a faint blush warming her cheeks when she saw the title. It
had
been a while since she had been in church, she thought with a measure of shame as she flipped through the pages. Too long, when she couldn't even find one of her one-time favorites in the hymnal.

The words sifted down through the past ten years of her life, through all her other experiences, the multitude of Sundays she had either been working or sleeping in because of a terribly late night. They pulled up old thoughts, old memories that Miriam had slowly buried under a deluge of new experiences that at first seemed exciting, and now seemed cheap.

She stopped singing.

Once again she felt as if she were a young girl standing beside her mother. A young girl whose every action was criticized and discussed at length within her hearing.

Miriam closed the hymnal and dropped it back
into the holder, ignoring Jake's quick glance and Taryn's puzzled one. Instead, she stared straight ahead, waiting for the song to finish, hoping she would make it to the end of the service. She had thought she and her mother had laid these regrets to rest. Yet how quickly the feelings came back with the sound of an old hymn.

The song finally ended, and the minister strode up to the front and greeted them, his voice encouraging and hearty. He welcomed visitors, and Miriam noticed a couple of faces glance furtively at her. She ignored them.

Then everyone sat down, and Taryn looked questioningly up at her. Miriam smiled down, then looked away. She hoped she could just get through this service without making it too obvious to the little girl beside her that she suddenly wished she were anywhere else but here.

The organ struck up the first notes of the postlude, and Jake glanced at Miriam. She stood holding the pew, looking straight ahead, her short dark hair shining under the overhead lights. She hadn't sung any of the songs and had sat through most of the service with her arms crossed tightly over her stomach, looking as if she'd sooner be anywhere else.

She turned her head and caught his eye, her expression composed. It was as if the woman who had wiped her eyes a while ago didn't even exist. He held her gaze, unable to stop his own reaction. This beautiful woman was a stranger, yet as he looked into her eyes and remembered her tears, he caught a glimpse of the girl he had once loved.

He turned away.

Taryn was chattering to Miriam behind him; Tilly was talking to someone else, signaling for him to go ahead. Jake ended up walking out alongside another farmer, chatting about the weather and the condition of the pastures. He tried not to be aware of Tilly introducing Miriam to her friends, not to listen to Miriam's calm voice replying to breathless questions.

Sunday was always a quiet day, a true day of rest. And usually he looked forward to it, but not today. He didn't know if he wanted Miriam sitting across the table from him.

“Can you walk with me to the car, son?” Fred laid his hand on Jake's shoulder to get his attention.

Jake glanced down at his father. Fred's lips were edged with a thin white line and his complexion held a faintly grayish tinge.

“You okay, Dad?” Jake asked, alarmed at how his father looked.

“Just a little out of breath.”

“I'm going to take you to the hospital.”

“No, Jake. Don't. The doctor told me this would happen once in a while. I want to get out of here. Fresh air is all I need.”

“Okay,” Jake said, taking his father's arm. But all the way to the car, he kept his eyes on the older man. It was hard not to look as if he was hovering. But by the time they reached the parking lot, Fred already looked a little better.