A Mother's Gift (Love Inspired) (5 page)

He sighed. “Maybe you’re right and it’s just a blind man’s dream, but I can’t help thinking that God has something to do with it.”

“To believe that is to believe that I was never supposed to marry Mark,” Dixie refuted firmly, “and I can’t accept that. It would mean that our love was false and Clark should never have been.”

“I can’t answer that, Dixie,” Joel said quietly. “I’m ashamed to say that when I first heard your husband had died—right after I finally accepted that I was never going to see again—I thought it was some cruel, inhuman joke. I thought, ‘Why now, when I have nothing left to offer her?’ And then I thought, ‘It should’ve been me. I’m the one who should’ve died.’ That’s one of the reasons I asked Mom not to tell you what had happened to me.” He bowed his head.

“Oh, Joel. You shouldn’t…It had nothing to do with you, believe me.”

“I know. And eventually I came to understand that I’m just me without working eyes, and that’s not a bad thing. A real inconvenient one, but not bad or hopeless.”

“I’m glad about that,” she whispered. “It’s just, the idea of you and me…I guess I still don’t know how to let go of Mark.”

The taxi arrived, its wheels slowing and then scraping as it swung into the drive.

“Who asked you to?” Joel retorted, his anger rising again. He reminded himself that rejection hurt. Always had, always would. A simple fact that put no blame on her or his blindness. He got to his feet and pulled out his cane, sucking in a deep breath. “Sorry that I got the time mixed up and missed Clark,” he said stiltedly, “but thanks for feeding me just the same.”

“No problem.”

“Be seeing you around.” He chuckled ruefully at his own slip of the tongue. “Okay, I
won’t
be seeing you, but I will be around if you change your mind.”

She made no reply to that, but he hadn’t expected her to. He stepped off toward the taxi, targeting it by the rumble of its engine and making certain his path was clear by sweeping the round tip of the cane over the ground in front of him.

Actually, he thought sadly, picturing her with baby Clark again, whether she changed her mind or not, he would
always
be seeing her.

Skipping church the following Sunday was cowardly, and Dixie knew it, but she just couldn’t face Joel again, not after everything he’d revealed to her. Thinking back on Mother’s Day, she realized that Joel’s presence and Clark’s infatuation with him had so distracted her from her memories that it had been a blessing in disguise. She’d made it through her first time back at the church that had been such a part of her life with Mark. She knew, in her heart of hearts, that she could finally go home again. To her surprise, she actually looked forward to doing so—if only it would not mean being thrown into constant proximity to Joel.

Guilt, her ever-present friend, had a part to play in that. She couldn’t help feeling that she had somehow betrayed Mark with that second kiss. The first she could rationalize. She hadn’t seen that coming in any way, but the last one…How could she find such pleasure, such satisfaction, such “rightness” in another man’s kiss? It was bad enough that she’d caused her husband’s death, robbed him of the chance to see their son grow up, but to feel something for another man seemed completely unacceptable.

Feel
something
she did, however. She just wasn’t sure what that
something
might be. All she wanted to feel for Joel Slade was pity, and that, perversely, was the one thing she no longer felt for him.

The situation was entirely too confusing, and the worst part was that she couldn’t talk to anybody about it. After all her complaints about Vonnie throwing Joel at her, she certainly couldn’t confide in her mother. She dared not bring it up to any of her friends for fear that they would condemn her for her “betrayal” of Mark, make too much of Joel’s revelations and her dream or think she’d lost her ever-loving mind because of the latter. Her dad would have a hard time not telling her mother, and her pastor…Dixie was ashamed to think how many times and in how many ways she had put off, ignored and avoided that poor man. She certainly wasn’t comfortable dropping all this on him now.

No, the only place she could go with this was to her knees, but she found no answers there, none she could discern, anyway. More than once she had the passing thought that going to church might help with that. Yet, on Sunday, she stayed home. And brooded. She could feel the disappointment of her parents through the silence and distance.

She was relieved and doubly pleased when her dad showed up on Wednesday morning, chain saw in hand, to cut up that fallen tree. Not only was she glad to see a familiar face, but also, with the tree removed and the swing set repaired, she wouldn’t have to take Clark to the park and worry about running into Joel.

The project veered into immediate difficulty, however. For one thing, the way the tree had fallen had created some odd angles and tight spots that were going to require a handsaw to manage, but Sam hadn’t thought to bring along a handsaw. The other issue was Clark. He just could not understand why he couldn’t help Pop-Pop, or at least be outside with him. When pleading and demanding didn’t work, the little scamp actually tried to slip outside without his mother knowing it.

“I’m going to have to take him to Mom,” Dixie told her sweaty father, standing before him with Clark on her hip while he gulped down the cold drink she’d brought him.

“I want Pop-Pop!” Clark wailed.

“You go on to Nana,” Sam said, looking around at the mountains of debris he’d already whacked off the tree. “This isn’t a safe place for you. Besides, I’ve got to haul off this little stuff so I have room to get at the big pieces. Once I get that cut up into firewood, I’ll stack it over by the garage,” he said to Dixie. “Make you some fine fires this winter.”

“Thanks, Dad. What would I do without you?”

“Aw, you’d manage, I reckon,” he rumbled when Dixie went up on her tiptoes to kiss his cheek. “What I haven’t figured out yet,” he said, changing the subject, “is how I’m going to get rid of the stump by myself.” He waved that away. “One thing at a time. Listen, while you’re at the house, go out to my workshop and get my big handsaw. It’s on the wall to your left. Mom’s got the key.”

“Sure thing.”

Clark renewed his wails when she moved off, reaching back over her shoulder for his grandfather. By the time they reached the car, he’d accepted that he wasn’t going to get his way. When he saw his grandmother, he was all geared up for sympathy, clinging to Vonnie and sobbing in shuddering gasps.

“Little phony,” Dixie chided indulgently, tapping him on the end of the nose. “You have fun, and I’ll see you later.” She thanked her mom, saying, “Don’t let him con you into skipping his nap. After the morning he’s put himself through, he’s going to need it even more than usual.”

“I won’t,” Vonnie promised. Then, just as Dixie was about to head out to the shop, Vonnie stopped her. “You should know something, Dix.”

“What’s that?”

“Joel is coming to lunch. I promised Bess I’d have him over anytime he chose, and he just called to say the pastor has offered him a ride out here today. Bess won’t be back until tomorrow, and I imagine the pantry over there is pretty empty by now.”

Dixie looked at her son and knew that he would be thrilled to see Joel again. Surprisingly, despite the way he’d shown his inner brat this morning, she didn’t have it in her heart to deny him that. In fact, she was glad that they would have some time together, for both their sakes. She suspected Joel would enjoy Clark’s company as much as Clark would delight in his, but she wouldn’t have to see Joel herself.

“Well, that’s fine, Mom,” she said, trying to sound terribly casual about it all. “I trust Bess’s new grandbaby is okay?”

“Why, yes, now that you mention it. Another little girl. Mommy and baby are home and doing well, which is why Bess feels she can drive home tomorrow.”

“That’s good,” Dixie said, and got out of there before she had to explain how she even knew about the recent arrival. Of course, she had no way of being sure that Joel wouldn’t spill the beans about everything himself, although if he hadn’t done so already, she didn’t think he would.

It seemed to her that her parents had certainly taken Joel Slade under their wing, but she supposed it was understandable, given Vonnie’s close friendship with Bess and Joel’s handicap. The Wallaces and Joel liked one another, that much was obvious, but a man his age wouldn’t normally hang out with a couple old enough to be his parents unless he had special needs. Or was mature beyond his years. Or both. Dixie tried not to think that he might be hoping to run into her—and she especially tried not to be even a tiny bit thrilled about that possibility.

Sam Wallace was a man used to long hours of backbreaking labor, but he was not young anymore. Watching him drive himself, Dixie was ready for him to call a halt long before he seemed ready to give in. He had nothing to prove, after all.

“I’m not of a mind to wear a sawdust suit two days in a row,” he told her the first time she suggested that he lay off for the afternoon. Then it was, “Never leave a job half done,” followed by, “I’ve come this far. Not about to call it quits now,” and finally, “One more cut, and I can start stacking.”

That was when Dixie put her foot down. “You will do no such thing. Enough is enough.”

Huffing for breath and wiping his brow, he finally conceded. “Okay, okay. The stacking can wait for tomorrow. Or the day after.” He grinned and admitted, “Doubt I’ll be able to get out of bed tomorrow.”

Dixie rolled her eyes. “Men!”

“Uh-huh,” he said, “but who did you call when you had a tree down? Wasn’t Mom.” With that, he cranked the chain saw. Dixie turned away, wanting as much distance between her and that last tree limb as she could get before the sawdust started flying again, not to mention the awful racket of the chain saw. She was almost to the back door when he screamed, the chain saw sputtering and dying before the horrific sound of his voice had even faded.

In a split second, the boat accident played through Dixie’s mind. Even as she whirled and ran for her father, images from that day flashed in front of her. She saw Mark and the world churning and blood. But this time the blood was pouring out of her father’s thigh.

“Dad!” She hit the ground on her hands and knees beside him.

“I dropped it!” He grabbed the flowing wound with trembling hands. “I just dropped it, Dixie!”

“We need help! Where’s your cell phone?”

“Truck,” he gasped. “Figured. Couldn’t. Hear it. Stupid!”

“I’m getting help!” She jumped up again and ran for the telephone, ordering, “Keep pressure on that! Don’t let go!”

She realized when she reached for the phone mounted on the kitchen wall that her own hands were bloody. But she hadn’t even touched him! That meant blood had already spread over the ground next to him, and that was too much blood. Too much.

“Dear God in heaven,” she began to pray as she dialed 911.

Somehow, she managed to hold it together and do what the dispatcher told her. Grabbing a stack of clean towels, her purse and cell phone, she ran back to her father, locking the door behind her. Relieved to find him still lucid, though in a great deal of pain, she wrapped a towel tightly around his injured leg. Next, she ran to unlock the gate. By the time she got back to Sam, he was tearing off his shirt.

“Get the water hose,” he gasped out.

“What?”

“The water hose! I can’t go to the hospital like this!”

She almost laughed, on the verge of hysteria. He was bleeding to death and he was worried about a little sawdust? Okay, a
lot
of sawdust. His chest was practically caked with it. They heard the sound of a siren in the distance.

“Hurry!” he ordered.

She got the water hose.

He was wet to the hips by the time the paramedics carried a gurney into the backyard, but together they’d managed to rinse off the worst of the sawdust. Dixie threw a clean towel across his shoulders as the paramedics examined him and used another to mop up herself. Every minute she prayed.

Please don’t let him die. Please don’t let the injury be permanent. Please let him be okay. He’s such a good man, and he’s loved You his whole life, Lord. He’s such a good father, and he’s loved me my whole life. He’s such a good husband, and my mom would be lost without him. I know. Please take care of him. This time, Lord, please, please…

The emergency personnel were efficient, calm and authoritative. No one had to say that Sam was headed for the hospital, but Dixie was shocked when they told her that she couldn’t ride in the ambulance.

“Policy,” one of them stated firmly as two others carried Sam to the ambulance. “Besides,” he added more gently, “we’re going to be working to staunch the flow of blood, and we’ll need all the room we have for that.”

“Will he make it?” she wanted to know, trembling from head to toe.

“He needs a lot of stitching up, ma’am,” was the careful answer.

Dixie gulped and nodded, then listened attentively to the pleasant young man’s hurried directives. She wasn’t to follow too close in her car, as far too many accidents happened that way. She should park only in designated areas of the hospital parking lot and enter the emergency room through a side door, not the ambulance entrance. She should give her name and her father’s name at the front desk. They would call her back to be with him as soon as possible. Only after she’d checked in at the desk should she call anyone else. Whatever else she did, she was not to speed, drive recklessly or attempt to make calls on her cell phone while driving.

“Don’t want to have to make a return trip for you,” the EMT said with a tight smile.

Obediently, Dixie nodded her understanding and pulled her keys from her purse. The ambulance was well down the street, sirens blaring, before she even got her car out of the garage.

Crying quietly, she managed to keep the ambulance in sight along the route to the hospital, whispering the same litany over and over again all the while.