The Christmas Journey (14 page)

Ry slowly folded the letter, his mind churning, spinning from one random thought to another.

Belle didn’t blame him for not making it to Foxberry in time.
She saw God’s hand in all that had happened. She had entrusted her daughter to his care.

There was no way he could turn his back on her dying request.

Ry squeezed his hands at his sides, praying fervently that he could live up to her trust.

W
hen Ry pushed open the kitchen door, his gaze went straight to Viola. She and the twins sat cross-legged on the floor dangling a bit of yarn for the cat to play with. Pippa and Lottie were giggling but it was the smile on Viola’s face that held his attention. It transformed her, turned her into the carefree child she should have been.

As soon as she saw him, however, the smile was replaced by a look of worry. She reached for the cat and hugged him tightly against her. Ry wasn’t certain if she drew comfort from her pet or if she thought she was protecting the animal from him.

Cora Beth set her cooking spoon down. “Come along, Pippa, Lottie. I have something upstairs I need your help with.”

When Viola started to rise, Cora Beth motioned her to stay put. “Not you, dear. You’re our guest. You and Mr. Lassiter can visit while we’re gone.” She gave the girl an encouraging smile. “Why don’t you pass him one of the pecan tarts?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Ry took a seat at the table, waiting for her to serve him. What in the world would they find to talk about?

Lord, please give me the words. Don’t let me make her world scarier than it already is
.

She handed him the tart and he took a bite. “Mmm-mmm. These sure are good.”

Viola merely nodded, her gaze remaining fixed on her cat.

“I’m sure Mrs. Collins wouldn’t mind if you had another one.”

This time she shook her head. She certainly wasn’t much for talking. Time for a question that couldn’t be answered with a yes or no. “That’s a mighty fine looking cat. What’s his name?”

“Daffy.”

“Daffy? Is that because he acts silly?”

Her eyes got rounder. “Oh, no. Daffy’s a very proper cat, I promise.”

Okay, no teasing about the cat. “So how did he get his name?”

“It’s really Daffodil, because of his color. But Ma and I—” her voice wavered slightly then recovered “—Ma and I decided Daffodil wasn’t really a good name for a boy cat so we decided to call him Daffy instead.”

He nodded approvingly. “That makes sense. And how long have you had Daffy?”

“A long time. Ma said Pa gave him to me for my third birthday. But I don’t remember that far back.”

She finally looked up and met his gaze. To his dismay, he saw unshed tears in her eyes. Had he said something wrong already?

“Please don’t make me give him away.” Her voice wavered alarmingly.

Stunned, Ry sat up straighter. “Of course I won’t make you give Daffy away. Whatever gave you that idea?”

She sniffed. “Annie Orr told me lots of men don’t like cats, not for pets. She said all three of her uncles
and
her grandpa won’t let them in their houses ’cause cats make them sneeze.”

“Well, cats don’t make me sneeze.” He held out his hands. “Mind if I hold Daffy for a minute?”

She hesitated and he wondered if she’d trust him enough to comply.

“After all,” he said, keeping his tone conversational, “if Daffy and I are going to be friends we should start getting acquainted, don’t you think?”

She still looked apprehensive, but gave a slow nod and handed her pet over. He lifted the cat so they were at eye level. “Well, Daffy, what do you think? Will we get along?”

The feline’s answer to that was an inelegant sneeze.

“Uh-oh.” Ry wrinkled his brow. “Do you suppose he’s trying to tell me something?” Then he gave her a mock-worried look. “I sure hope
he
doesn’t try to keep
me
out of the house.”

To his relief she gave him a you’re-so-silly smile.

“Here,” he handed her the cat, “you better take him back before he sneezes again.”

Viola gave the cat another hug, then set him down where he commenced washing himself.

“I’ve been thinking,” Ry chose his words carefully, “if we’re going to become a family like your ma wanted, maybe we ought to get to know each other better.”

“How do we do that?”

“Well, I could ask you some questions, and then you could ask me questions.”

She nodded. “All right.”

“You start. Go ahead, ask me anything you want to know.”

“What should I call you?”

Her question set Ry back for a moment. “Father” or “Pa” didn’t feel right and “Mr. Lassiter” was much too formal. “How does Uncle Ry sound?”

“Uncle Ry.” Her nose wrinkled as if she were tasting some unfamiliar food. Then she nodded. “Okay.” She rubbed her arms. “Your turn.”

“So what should I call you?”

“My name.”

“Ah, but which name? You have so many. Miss Hadley, Viola, Button.”

Her nose wrinkled in surprise. “Button?”

“With that cute little button nose of yours,” he said, tapping it lightly, “surely someone calls you Button?”

She shook her head, rubbing her nose. “That’s silly.”

“But it suits you. Now, your turn again.”

She smiled at his teasing, but moved on to her next question. “Do you live here with all these people?”

“No. I’m just staying here until my arm heals.”

“Then where’s your home?”

That question seemed to come up a lot lately. “Actually, I have two homes. There’s Hawk’s Creek ranch, the place where I met your mother and where my brother and sister live. But I spend most of my time in a city back east called Philadelphia where my grandfather lives.” What would his family think of his taking on the role of guardian?

“Oh.” She seemed to think about that for a minute. “Then which place would we live at?”

“Hmm, I haven’t thought about that yet. Maybe I could take you to visit both places and then we could decide together.”

She nodded solemnly. “That would be nice. And I’ll ask God about it in my prayers tonight, too.”

“That’s a fine idea. Now it’s my turn again.” He searched his mind for another innocuous topic. “How old are you?”

“Seven.”

So young to have been through so much.

She chewed on her lip a moment. “How did you hurt your arm?” she asked at last.

How much should he say? No way he was going to lie to her, but he didn’t want to frighten or worry her either. “I’m afraid I got in the way of a bullet. But don’t you worry, it’s healing nicely and should be good as new in a day or two.”

He quickly moved on to another subject. “What’s your favorite food?”

She didn’t hesitate. “Strawberries with sweet cream.”

“Ah, I admire a girl who knows what she likes. Your turn again.”

Jo quietly moved away from the back door. She’d passed through the kitchen to snag a pecan tart on her way out earlier, and truth be known, to make sure Viola was settling in okay with the twins. Not that she needed to concern herself. She should have known Cora Beth would have it under control.

She’d paused on the back porch to pull on her work boots. A problem with the laces had held her there a few moments longer.

When she heard Ry come in, her curiosity had gotten the better of her and she hadn’t been able to resist the urge to eavesdrop.

She was glad she had. Despite his own doubts, she’d heard enough to decide Belle had made the right choice in naming him Viola’s guardian. Ry would make a fine father to the little girl.

And wouldn’t Cora Beth, who already had such great experience in the parent department, make the perfect mother…

When Danny and Audrey returned from school, Audrey latched on to Viola as if they were long lost friends. At supper, Viola was introduced to the other boarders, and Audrey promptly asked Mr. Saddler if Viola could accompany her to school in the morning.

“Of course,” he answered. “Miss Viola is welcome to attend while she’s here. That is, if Mr. Lassiter is agreeable.”

Viola immediately looked to him for permission, an act Ry found unnerving. With blinding clarity, he realized this is what his life would become—making decisions, large and small, for another person who would trust those decisions unquestioningly.

Lord, please give me the wisdom to make the right ones
.

He nodded agreement, guiltily relieved she would have something to occupy her for most of the day tomorrow.

Once supper was cleared, Ry and Viola joined the Wylies as they gathered in the kitchen.

He helped Josie shell pecans while Cora Beth mixed the ingredients for another of her fruitcakes.

Uncle Grover and Danny pulled out a chessboard. The twins sat on the floor, absorbed in a game of make-believe with a pair of rag dolls. Audrey and Viola played with a set of tiddly winks nearby.

Ry was encouraged to see Viola and Audrey were becoming fast friends. But he still worried that the child was too quiet and reserved for a seven-year-old. Had she always been this way? Or was it her current situation? Was there something he should be doing to make this easier for her?

“She’ll come around,” Josie said softly.

His head swung around, his gaze meeting hers. “What’s that?”

“I said, she’ll come around.” Josie expertly separated the meat from the shell on the pecan she’d just cracked, and reached for another. “Give her time. She’s just lost her parents, and now she’s been plopped smack-dab in the middle of a group of strangers, in a place she’s never seen before. That would be hard on anyone, but especially a youngster.”

“I know.” Her comment was reassuring. In the short time he’d known Josie he’d come to trust her judgment. “I only wish I was sure Belle made the right choice in naming me Viola’s guardian.”

“Seems to me she knew exactly what she was doing.” Josie cracked another pecan. “In fact, I can’t think of anyone who’d take the responsibility more seriously.”

“Thanks. But it’s my ability rather than my intent I’m worried about.”

Josie tossed a pecan shell, startling him when it bounced against his chest. “Have faith” was her only response to his questioning frown.

Ry stared at the ceiling, resigned to the fact that he’d spend another restless night.

This morning he’d lain in bed feeling guilty for failing Belle, and hoping to get a few answers. The only real problem in front of him at that point, though, had been deciding whether he wanted to call Texas or Philadelphia home.

Tonight he’d found himself the guardian of a much-too-somber seven-year-old and her cat. Sort of put things in perspective.

A sound from the hallway caught his attention. Was someone else having trouble sleeping?

Curious, he crossed the room and cracked open his door. It was dark on this end of the hall, but the stairway was gilded with moonlight from the window over the landing.

A child-sized form, a cat clutched in her arms, tiptoed toward the stairs.

Ry grabbed his pants and stepped into them. What was Viola up to? Surely she wasn’t planning to run away? Alarmed, he grabbed a shirt and followed her, still working the buttons. He got as far as the bend in the staircase before he realized she’d sat down on the bottom tread.

He paused. Now what? Did he give her some privacy to work out whatever was on her mind? Or did he try to comfort her?

Before he could decide, Josie stepped from the kitchen and paused. “And just what are you doing sitting here in the dark, young lady?”

“Me and Daffy couldn’t sleep.”

Should he make his presence known?

“I see. Mind if I join you?” The tread creaked as Josie sat beside her.

Ry decided it would be less intimidating for Viola to have just one adult to deal with. And he trusted Josie to find the right words.

“So,” Josie asked in a stage whisper, “do my nieces snore?”

Viola giggled. “No. Well, maybe just a little,” she temporized.

“But that’s not why you can’t sleep, is it?”

The child raised the cat to her cheek as she shook her head.

“You know,” Josie’s tone was that of someone sharing a secret, “I lost my ma, too. It was three years ago but I still remember like it was yesterday. It left a big old hole right in the middle of my heart that hurt awful bad.”

“Did you cry?”

“Sure did.”

There was a bit of a pause, then she looked up at Josie. “Do you still cry sometimes?”

“No, not about my ma’s passing. But it took awhile. I had to get over being mad at God first.”

Even from where he stood, Ry could feel the shocked surprise pouring out of Viola. It was pretty much a reflection of his own.

“You were mad at
God?
” The child’s words were hushed, as if she were almost afraid to voice the question.

“Yep.” Josie spoke as if such an admission was normal. “I mean, He already had my pa, why’d He need to take my ma too?

“But God is good.” Viola appeared to be trying to reason with Josie. “You’re not supposed to get mad at Him.”

Josie leaned back against the banister. “Let me ask you this. Did you ever get a little bit mad at your ma when she wouldn’t let you have your way?” She scratched the cat behind the ears. “That doesn’t mean they’re not good or that we don’t love them anymore, just that we’re angry with them. It’s the same with God. Being angry with Him doesn’t mean we don’t love Him anymore, it just means we’re hurting. And because He loves us, He understands. As long as we don’t let our anger push us away from Him, as long as we keep talking to Him and letting Him know how we feel, we’ll eventually get to a place of peace about whatever has happened.”