KeepingFaithCole (7 page)

He shook his head to clear
it but the peaceful image remained. The happiness he saw in his mother’s eyes
was too real to be denied.

Without a doubt, he’d done
the right thing by claiming this helpless little child and bringing her home.
People said often that things happened for a reason, and maybe so. Maybe Miss
Edith Christensen’s arrival that morning was part of some divine plan too grand
to comprehend.

Or maybe not.

“You know, Tommy,” his
mother said, smiling down as the child in her arms closed her eyes and drifted
off to sleep, “I remember the day you were born.”

“Don’t start it, Ma,” he
said, sinking down to the floor beside her. He didn’t want to hear the sorry
story again.

“I was scared.” His mother
turned to him with clear, cogent eyes. “I was young, didn’t have a man to look
after me or take care of me, and there I was with a baby boy. You know,
sometimes I wished the Lord would take you away, Tommy.” Tears filled her eyes.
“Would have been better for you if He’d just taken you back.”

He’d never heard his mother
talk about God, other than spewing epithets or cursing. Should he say
something? Try to console her or offer a word of reassurance? His mind raced,
his brain rattled, but he couldn’t think of anything to say.

Charlotte touched his arm.
“He wouldn’t take you. I knew He’d given you to me for a reason. I was supposed
to pick up all the pieces, you know, put my life back together. I just couldn’t
do it. You understand, don’t you?” She clutched at the material of his shirt.
“I loved you, I just didn’t know how to be a mother, how to give you everything
you needed.”

He looked at his niece,
sleeping peacefully, and he thought again of how vulnerable she was. Yes, a
child needed so much.

Did Ma expect him to tell
her she’d done all right? Damned if he’d say it. He’d survived, but that was
nothing but luck, or maybe his will to live. Or maybe God did have something to
do with it. Thoughts like those were too deep for him to ponder.

“Too bad, Ma,” he said. “Too
bad you didn’t figure it out when Sally came along either. We neither one got a
damned thing from you.”

She lowered her gaze. Fresh
tears spilled down her cheek, rolling and falling like drops of rain onto the
face of the child in her arms. The baby stirred. Her tiny hands flailed in the
air, and she let out a cry. “Want me to take her now?” Tom asked.

“No, you’ve got things to
do, and so do I.” Charlotte tightened her hold on the baby, rocking her back
and forth until the crying ceased. “Don’t you see what this is all about?”
 

He rubbed his forehead. “I
don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Redemption.”

“Sorry, Ma, that’s too big
of a word.” Tom turned away. He knew what
redemption
meant. He’d heard folks talk about it, and over the years he’d picked up
bits and pieces of stories from the Bible. He liked to think he knew right from
wrong. Sometimes the lines got blurred.

Like now.

“I need you to go back home,
Tommy. Back to my old place.” Charlotte wiped her tears and looked up. “Find
that rocking chair I used to have. Maybe even a couple of those wooden blocks
you and Sally used to play with, a few little toys. Do you remember those rag
dolls I used to make?”

“You think anything’s still
there?” The idea of going out to the old homestead filled Tom with dread. He
never gave much thought to the old place, or if he did, he liked to think that
some huge storm had probably come along and blown the old cabin to bits. If God
existed, and if justice were real, it would be a fitting final judgment on the
awful happenings that had taken place within those walls.

Charlotte rose, careful not
to disturb the sleeping child.

“Pull out that drawer
there,” she instructed, jerking her head toward an old chest he’d picked up in
town when he’d furnished the place. “Now, go out to the shed and bring in a few
handfuls of straw. Make sure it’s clean,” she added.

Following her directions, he
soon had the drawer lined with fresh, sweet-smelling straw. After covering the
soft grass with a thick quilt, he piled on the woolen blankets he’d found in
the baby’s bag.

With gentle motions, his
mother placed the child into the newly-made bed. The little one’s eyelids
fluttered and her mouth quirked, but she let out a delicate breath and
continued her sound sleep. Tom stood gazing down upon her, awed once again at
the miracle of a new life. For the first time ever, he knew what perfection
meant.

“We talked before about
being a family.” Charlotte reached for a handkerchief, then dabbed it to her
eyes. “You know I don’t believe in the almighty, but I do know that things
sometimes seem to happen for a purpose.”

There it was again. That
idea that everything had a reason behind it.

“I’m not saying some higher
authority planned this,” she went on. “That’s not how life works. I’m just
saying that things happen. Some good. Some bad. It’s up to us on this earth to
recognize the good things, to take advantage of them, and to make them work for
us.”

“Ma, I don’t know about all
that fancy philosophy talk. It’s a bit over my head.”

“You don’t have to
understand it. You and me, baby,” she said, placing a hand at his cheek, “we’ve
been hurt awful bad, scarred by life. Neither one of us ever got a fair chance.
Neither did Sally. For once, we have that chance. I’m not going to fail. I
don’t expect you to fail either.” She stepped back, then held out her hand.
“Let’s make a pact.”

“A pact?”

She nodded. “An agreement.”

“Ma, I know what the word
means. I’m uneducated, yes, but I’m not exactly dumb.”

“Never said you were.” She
dropped her hand to her side. “You’re a good man, and a good man knows the
truth whether he’s had book learning or not.”

He wasn’t sure he fully
agreed with her, but he nodded. “What sort of pact are you talking about?”

“We’ll seal off the past.
Never talk about it again. Maybe we ought to go out to the cabin and burn the
place down, you think?”

Tom shook his head. “I don’t
think violence and destruction solve problems.”

“Well, you go out there and
get me that rocker. Pick up any toys you can find. We’ve got a little girl to
raise up.” She reached out to him again.

Tom took his mother’s hand
in his.

* * * *

Somehow they got through the
week. Charlotte didn’t go into town, and Lucille hadn’t come looking for her,
so suffice it say his mother had lost her job. Nobody cared. She had a new job,
a more important one, she kept telling Tom. Taking care of
her baby
would be her full-time occupation now. She devoted herself
to the little girl’s care. Feeding her, bathing her, crooning her to sleep,
Charlotte did all of it with patience and care.

Tom hadn’t gone to work
either. Even though he was impressed by his mother’s affection and concern, he
wasn’t quite ready to leave the baby alone with her yet. Each time his niece
turned those beautiful blue eyes on him, he thought again of the trust and
faith she’d placed in him, even without knowing those words or what they meant.
Each time she smiled, Tom reached out to touch the dimples in her cheeks.
Absolute perfection.

Amanda Phillips dropped in
twice during that first week, each time giving a nod of approval. The baby was
thriving, in her estimation. Gaining weight, sleeping well, developing like a
normal infant, not a motherless child.

On Sunday, Tom took extra
pains in washing up and combing his hair. He shaved close, eyed his reflection
in the small mirror, then put on his clean clothes. Caleb Bryant had come by
during the week to check on him, and Tom had sent him out to the Flying W to
pick up his good suit. He dressed in it now, straightened his bolo tie, then
sat down to give his leather boots a last spit-and-polish.

“What you all fancied up
for?” His mother stood at the door of her room staring out at him. She’d been
awake long into the night, walking the floor with the baby.

“Going to church, Ma.”

“What for?”

“Seems like it might be a
good thing to do.” Folks around Sunset considered religion a mighty important
part of a child’s upbringing. “Probably be a good idea for you to get dressed
and come along. If we’re going to raise that little one right, she ought to
learn about the Lord.”

“Hell, no!”

“Ma, this isn’t up to you.”
Time to stand up for what he believed was right. “We agreed we’d start acting
like a real family, and I reckon I’m the one who’s got to take charge. I am the
head of this little household.”

“Doesn’t mean your word is
law, son. I’m still your mother.”

“Yes, ma’am, you are.”

“Don’t sass me.”

“No disrespect meant.” He
walked to the hay-filled cradle and reached inside. “I’m taking this beautiful
little baby, I’m heading to town, and I’m going to attend Sunday services. I’m
sure I’ll hear a fine sermon from a good man. I’d appreciate it greatly if my
mother would accompany me, but if not, I’ll respect her decision to remain at
home.”

Charlotte’s mouth muscles
worked, and he feared she was going to spit, but she swallowed it back and
shook her head.

“You know I don’t have any
use for religion. I understand some folks set great store by it, but…” A
strange light flickered and died in her eyes. She seemed to be looking back
over the years. “We said we’d seal up the past, but some things have a way of
coming unsealed. Some things can’t be picked up and locked away. Bad things.”

“You don’t have to talk
about it.” He put a hand on her shoulder.

“I saw them, Tommy. Both of
them. Dead.”

“I know.” Tom’s tone was
gentle. He knew she referred to her own parents.

“Damned savages, Tommy.”

“Ma, I know.”

“God didn’t save my folks.
Didn’t care what happened to them. Didn’t give a damn what happened to me,
either.”

What could he say? Nothing.
He knew his mother’s pain, heard it in her voice, had grown up knowing she’d
suffered a horrible tragedy. But, damn it, life went on. She hadn’t been left
on her own, but had been taken in by another minister and his wife. They’d done
their best to give her a good life.

Maybe it was hard to make up
for what she’d seen, what she’d heard. All Tom knew was that she’d run away
from the people who tried to help. That, and the fact she blamed God, blamed
religion, blamed all her troubles on church. Asking her to go into town to
Sunday service wasn’t a good idea.

He kissed her cheek. “Sorry.
I shouldn’t have asked you to come along. I just wanted you to know that the
invitation is there.”

“Thanks, but don’t expect me
to take you up on it.”

“I think it’s good for me to
go.” Why did he feel so defensive, so eager to prove he was doing the right
thing? “I want people to see that we’re raising this little girl right.” He
left so much unspoken.

* * * *

Tom took a seat on one of
the back pews. He’d never gone to church before and wasn’t quite sure what
would be expected of him. Sitting close to the door seemed a good idea. He
settled his niece on his lap, tucking the ends of the blanket around her. She
kicked. A bare foot stuck out from beneath the cover.

He tucked the blanket around
her again.

She kicked. She squirmed.

“Are you playing games?” he
teased, grabbing her tiny toes in his big hand.

She seemed quite content,
but when a loud chord sounded from the organ and people rose all around them,
the baby immediately set up a loud, frightened wail. Tom held her close and
rocked her, much like he’d seen his mother do.

“Hush baby, please. Don’t
cry.”

She wailed louder.

“Baby, please,” he
whispered. He had yet to give her a name. Throughout the week, he’d tried out
one possibility after another, all the while keeping the admonitions in mind
that Amanda Phillips had given him. Sometimes, he wondered, too, what name
Sally would have chosen. But mostly, he’d been so busy watching his little
niece, being amazed over and over by each little thing she did, every sound she
made, each expression that crossed her face that he’d hardly had time to think
of anything more than how much he loved her—whatever she might be called.

He’d even learned to recognize
certain faces she made—and what they meant.

Like the puckered up face
she wore now. It warned that she was just getting started on a good cry and had
no intentions of stopping any time soon.

As he sought to comfort her,
Tom tried to keep his voice low, but the squirming bundle in his arms wailed
louder and louder. People in nearby pews turned to stare. He glanced around,
sending out silent pleas for help.

The sunlight filtered
through the stained glass window at the rear of the building, casting an array
of bright colors across the little church and filling Tom’s heart with unexpected
feelings of hope. Should he pray? He wasn’t exactly sure how to do it, but he
closed his eyes and made a silent entreaty. His mother didn’t believe in the
power of prayer, but what did he have to lose?

The baby continued to cry.
Tom held her close and prayed harder.

Chapter Six

“Here, let me take her.”

At the sound of Lucille’s
voice, Tom opened his eyes, surprised, but pleased as all get out to see her
scooting onto the pew beside him, her arms outstretched. She’d given up wearing
her mourning clothes, he noted, pleased to see her dressed in a simple gingham
gown. The frock had a happier look about it. She looked happier than usual,
too. Without a word, he handed the baby to her, grateful for her reassuring
presence, and grateful when the crying suddenly ceased.

He eyed Lucille, looked at
how she held the baby close to her breast, how she rocked the infant. Same
things he’d done, but they hadn’t worked. He quirked a brow.

“How’d you do that?”

“A woman’s touch.”

Tom nodded. It was more. It
was an answer to a prayer. From here on, he decided, he’d have a little more
faith.

“Have you given her a name
yet?” Lucille whispered.

Still caught up in his
thoughts, Tom barely heard her.

“Faith,” he said softly.
Definitely he would have more of it.

“That’s a lovely name.
Truly, it is.”

“What?” he asked, moving a
little closer.

“I think Faith is a lovely
name.” Lucille bowed her head over the baby, chucking her beneath the chin.

She’d misunderstood. Or
maybe not. Tom smiled, thinking again of Amanda’s counsel. A name should have
meaning.

Faith
. A lovely name. A perfect name.

Lucille smiled. “Look at
those dimples.” She tickled the baby’s cheek. “And those bright, blue eyes.
She’s a beautiful baby, and she’s going to be a beautiful young woman. You’ll
be fighting to keep the boys away.”

Tom tensed. He hadn’t yet
thought about the future, how it would be when this precious little
girl—Faith—got older. Somehow, he’d have to see to it that she got schooling,
that she learned all the things little girls were supposed to know. Could his
mother ever really teach her? Sewing? Cooking? What about singing, playing
music?

The old doubts returned
along with a bushel basket of new worries.

“I’m sorry if I said harsh
things the other day, Tom.” Lucille nudged his shoulder. “You know, I only want
the best for you and your mother. And for Faith, of course.” She looked away.

“Yes, for Faith, of course.”
He liked the name even more when he said it aloud. “I appreciate any help
you’re willing to offer.”

They sat side by side,
listening as Reverend Gilman tore into his sermon with gusto. A parable, he
called it. Something about an ungrateful servant, and questions about how many
times a person was supposed to forgive. Tom didn’t hear all of it. He was too
busy admiring the pretty young woman at his side, all the while thinking
thoughts that probably didn’t belong in the house of the Lord.

The service ended and Betty
Gilman swept down the aisle, her long somber black skirts trailing over the
polished hardwood floor. The woman made a stark contrast to her short, squat
husband. Tall and lean, she looked like a fence-post dressed in skirts. “Mr.
Henderson, it’s good to see you this morning.”

Tom nodded in return. “Good
to be here.”

“And your mother?”

“Feeling a bit poorly,” he
lied. “Maybe next week.”

Betty Gilman turned toward
Lucille who still held Faith in her arms. “And this is the new little arrival
who was making her presence known earlier.” She turned toward Tom once more.
“Has she been baptized, Mr. Henderson?”

He blinked. “I don’t know.”

“We’ll have to check on it,
of course.” The woman pressed her lips together and looked directly at Lucille.
“Are you and your mother going to take her, Miss McIntyre?”

“What?” Tom whirled around.
“No, of course not.” He turned and swiftly lifted Faith from Lucille’s arms.
“Nobody is taking my niece. We’re doing just fine.” He looked through the
gathering crowd, hoping to catch the attention of Amanda Phillips. She would
stand up for him, speak out and assure the church-goers that little Faith was
doing all right. But Amanda was nowhere to be seen.

“Mr. Henderson, please,”
Betty Gilman said, placing a hand on his upper arm. “I don’t mean to cause you
any distress. No one is going to take the baby away from you right now.” She
hesitated. “But you do understand, don’t you, that you can’t keep her?”

“Why the he—” He stopped,
then took a step back. His throat tightened. So many emotions churned inside of
him at the thought of losing Faith, he couldn’t grasp hold of any one of them.
“Why not?”

“It’s just not right, that’s
why. You’re not…” She stopped and searched for the right words. “Well, that is,
you’re a man. I know sometimes men are forced to raise children, but as often
as not, they do poorly at it. In the years my husband and I have been in the
ministry, we’ve seen too many homes where death has called the mother away and
the father’s been left to raise his brood. Unless he finds a good wife to look
after the children, most usually dire consequences result. A child needs a
mother and a father.”

“Faith has a grandmother and
an uncle. We love her, and we’re doing fine.”

“Faith? Is that her name?”

“Yes, it is. Now, excuse me.
It’s her feeding time.”

Betty Gilman walked beside
him as he strolled toward the wagon. “Mr. Henderson, you listen to me, and you
listen well.” Her voice lost its earlier softness, turning shrill and harsh. “I
know you love your niece, and I’m sure you think you’re doing the right thing.
But you can’t keep her.”

He would listen to no more.
Ignoring the woman, he placed Faith in her cradle and fastened it securely to
the floor of the wagon. It occurred to him that maybe Ma had a point when she
said religion caused more problems than it solved. He wouldn’t be going to
church again, he decided.

But Betty Gilman refused to
give up. Two hours later, she showed up at the door of Charlotte’s cottage.
With her were Olive McIntyre and several other women from the Ladies’
Charitable Society at the church. Lucille wasn’t among them. Tom wondered if
she knew they’d come calling. He wondered, too, if she agreed with them.
Apparently not, judging by her absence.

Not only Mrs. Gilman, but
all the other women as well wore black. They reminded Tom of a bunch of crows
perching in the parlor, hovering about, ready to peck the eyes out of him and
his mother if they made a wrong move.

Charlotte sat in a chair,
glowering, her arms folded over her chest as one by one, the good Christian
women made their case. Over and over, they repeated the same tired words.

The child needed a stable
home environment.

The child should have
someone who could provide for all her needs.

The child required this…the
child must have that…the child…

“Her name is Faith,” Tom
said, fighting to hold his temper in check. To his mind, it was a wonder his
mother hadn’t run the bunch of them off the moment she knew where they’d come
from. Maybe she understood that any erratic behavior—especially threats of
violence—would all but guarantee losing Faith. Tom kept reminding himself of
that fact.

Finally after nearly an hour
had passed—during which time Faith had slept as contentedly as any sweet
angel—Tom got to his feet, indicating by his demeanor that the visit was over.

“It was right nice of you
fine women to come calling. Reckon it would be kind of you to stop by and visit
with Ma once in a while.” He turned to his mother. “You’d like that, wouldn’t
you?”

She stiffened, but gave a
grudging nod. “Any time, ladies.”

“But,” Tom continued, his
deep voice taking on a serious tone, “don’t come back here with intentions of
taking our baby away. She’s doing just fine.” To make his point, he gestured
toward the cradle. “I’ll see you out now.”

Mrs. Gilman gathered her
shawl and pocketbook. “You and your mother are not capable of raising that
child. I know you think she’s fine, and for the moment, maybe she is. But what
about tomorrow, Tom?”

Her concerns were genuine,
he knew. The woman truly cared about others which made it all the more
difficult. Betty Gilman’s sincere desire to help could have disastrous results
for him and his mother.

“What about tomorrow?” he
replied, turning his hands up in a gesture of frustration. “We’ll take care of
tomorrow, same as we’re taking care of today. That’s how life goes. Today,
tomorrow, and all the rest of the days. We’ll take each as it comes.”

The woman’s lower lip moved,
and Tom got the feeling she couldn’t wait to get the next words out.

“We know about your mother,
Tom. We know how she’s lived her life. We know the sort of woman she is. How
long do you think it’s going to be before she goes back to her old ways? How
long before she gets drunk again?”

“Ma’am, she’s not—”

“Yes, she is.” Betty let out
a shuddering breath and gestured for Tom to step outside. Standing in the shade
of a leafy oak, she glared at him, her sharp, black eyes almost level with his.
“I’ll be blunt. Your mother doesn’t have the most sterling character. Now, I’m
all for giving people second chances, but I won’t stand by and allow any harm
to come to your niece.”

“Just pray for us, Mrs.
Gilman,” Tom said, hoping that might shut her up.

“I will see to it that your
niece is placed in a good home. This is not a proper environment for her.”

Poking her head back into
the dark cabin, she summoned the other ladies. One by one, they emerged,
sorrowful looks upon their long faces. Tom watched them drive away.

The sound of crying called
him inside. It wasn’t Faith, but Charlotte who wept.

“Hush, Ma. They’re all talk,
nothing else. They’ve got no right to take Faith away.”

His mother was inconsolable.
She mumbled words about Christian do-gooders, how they got so hell-bent on
doing what they considered right, they didn’t care who they hurt.

She had a point, Tom agreed.

* * * *

Early the next morning, Lucille dressed, washed, and ate a
hurried breakfast. Usually she and her mother chatted leisurely over tea. “Will
you open the shop for me, Mama?” she asked as she gathered her purse and
checked her appearance in the mirror.

“Of course, but where are you going?” Her mother set her
china teacup on its saucer. “Is something wrong?”

“No, not at all.” She turned toward the door, then glanced
back over her shoulder. She’d never been the sort to keep secrets from her
mother. “I thought I’d pay a call on the
Hendersons
and see if I can do anything to help them.”

“There’s no reason to do that. You know that Mrs. Gilman and
I called on Charlotte yesterday. Several other ladies from church visited along
with us.”

Lucille leaned against the door, her shoulders sagging. “You
don’t think Tom and his mother should keep Faith. That’s why you went there,
isn’t it?”

“For all the good it did.” Mama shook her head. Her graying
curls bobbed sprightly. “I swear, that woman is impossible to reason with, and
her son is even worse. They’re both adamant about keeping that child.”

“Maybe that’s the right thing,” Lucille said. Nervous at how
her mother might react, she clutched her purse at her side. “From what I’ve
seen, they’re doing a good job of caring for her.”

“Neither of them is fit to raise a baby, and you know that
as well as I do. We both know the sort of woman Charlotte Henderson is. As for
Tom,” she went on with a dismissive wave, “he might have good intentions, but—”

“I know. The road to hell,” Lucille said quickly. Mama had
repeated that old adage often enough. “What about my intentions? Is it wrong to
want to help someone?”

“You’re wasting your time, honey. Nothing anybody says or
does is going to make a difference.” She took a sip of her tea then peered at
her daughter over the rim of the cup. “Mrs. Gilman has already decided to
contact Judge Morse. It’s the best thing to do.”

“Legal action?” Lucille pushed away from the door and rushed
across the floor. “How can she do that, Mama? She’s got no claim on that baby.”

“The child’s welfare is in jeopardy. She’s got a duty to
report her concerns. If Judge Morse thinks the
Hendersons
are capable of meeting Faith’s needs,” she said, her face brightening with a
smile that didn’t quite seem real, “well, then the matter will be settled,
don’t you see?”

“But that’s not what you expect, is it?”

“Lucille, I just want what’s best. That’s all anybody
wants.”

Her determination to talk to Tom stronger than before,
Lucille kissed her mother’s cheek and bid a hasty farewell.

It took nearly forty minutes to reach Charlotte’s cabin
outside of town. As she drove her wagon into the yard, memories of waking up
there the morning after the dance brought a momentary hesitation. Given a
choice, she’d prefer not to deal with the woman. She would much prefer to talk
to Tom alone. He deserved to know what Betty Gilman and the good ladies of
Sunset were plotting.

When she reached the porch stoop and pounded on the door, no
answer came. She pounded again. “I know you’re there. Open up, please. I need
to speak to—”

“Get the hell away from my door.”

The voice came from behind
her. At the same time she heard the words, Lucille felt something hard jabbing
at her back. She looked over her shoulder, caught sight of Charlotte—and the
shotgun in her hands—and gasped.

“Please, don’t—”