A Baby by Easter (9 page)

She lifted a hand and touched her cheek where he'd kissed her.

“You're welcome,” she whispered.

Then she was gone.

David stood in the kitchen and let his spirit talk to God because he couldn't find the words to convey all that was in his heart.

Sometime later he became aware he was not alone.

“Davy?”

“Yes, sweetie?”

Darla stood behind him, her face very sad.

“What's wrong?”

“Why does Susannah want to give away her baby, Davy?”

“That's a secret, sis. You can't ever talk about it. Not to anyone.”

“Okay. But I love Susannah's baby.”

“I know.” He gathered her in his arms and let her cry on his shoulder, his sweet baby sister who was alive and getting better every day thanks to a small woman who oozed love.

Oh, Susannah, his heart wept.

“I'll only talk about it to God,” Darla promised, sniffing. “He'll help. Let's ask Him.”

So right then and there they prayed for Susannah and the child she was afraid to love.

But even that didn't ease David's concern over the heart-wrenching choices Susannah was determined to make.

“There's got to be something I can do,” he prayed after
Darla had gone to bed. “Show me some way to help her avoid making this tragic mistake.”

Being Susannah's friend/lawyer hardly seemed enough.

“I
can't believe you actually brought my sister to this place.”

All signs of last week's gentle, understanding man whom Susannah had trusted with her deepest secrets was gone. She'd felt so close to him, even more so after that kiss. Her brain said it was all part of his thank-you, but her heart had sensed the tenderness in him, felt the gentleness of his eyes when his lips touched her. What a difference a week made.

Susannah tried to explain.

“They have a wonderful program with pottery here. Darla can finally dig her fingers into the clay and create as she wants to. She's ecstatic.”

“Do you see who these people are? Drunks. Addicts. Criminals. Pottery is fine, but here?” He cast a disparaging glance at the disheveled young man working beside Darla's table. “He looks like he's been living on the street.”

“He has. Burt's had some bad luck.” Susannah hated the way David looked at the man—because Burt could have been her not so long ago.

“I'm sure he has.” David took her arm and steered
her to a corner. “This could be dangerous, Susannah. I don't like Darla in a place like this. You know she's had a couple of tantrums this past week.”

“She's not going to be perfect all the time,” she re plied. “No one is.”

“I didn't say
perfect.
” He tightened his lips as a woman walked past, talking to herself in a high, screechy voice. “What if Darla gets upset and acts up? One of them could take exception and attack her. There is mental illness here.”

“You're being ridiculous,” she snapped, irritated by his attitude. “Connie's come here to New Horizons many times. No one's ever bothered her.”

“Connie isn't a nineteen-year-old girl who—”

“Hi, Davy.” Darla wound her arm through his, her face beaming with happiness. “This is my friend, Oliver. He likes to make pottery, too, but Oliver is way better at it than I am.”

“Hey.” Oliver gave David the once-over, then shook his head. “He's mad,” he said to Darla. “I told you he was.”

“Davy?” Darla shifted so she could stare into his eyes. “Are you mad?”

“He is,” Oliver asserted. “His face is tight and his eyes are all crinkled and mad-looking. I'm leaving.” He trotted to the far side of the room where he sat down in a chair and watched them.

“Why are you mad, Davy? Oliver is my friend. I thought you'd be nice to him.” Storm clouds rolled across Darla's face. “We
were
nice, Darla,” Susannah intervened before David could give voice to his thoughts about this place. “I'm sure Oliver is fine. Can we show David what you
made this afternoon? I think it's going to be beautiful.”

After a sidelong look at her friend, Darla proudly led the way to the massive vase she'd begun creating from coils of clay.

“Oliver showed me how to put them together. Oliver knows a lot about clay.” Darla glanced around the room, but Oliver had disappeared.

“He was a sculptor,” Susannah murmured for David's ears only. “His fiancée died in a car crash. He's had a hard time since then.”

“It's very nice, Dar.” David walked around the piece. “How big is it going to be?”

“Big. That's why Oliver has to help,” Darla said, her forehead pleated in a frown.

“Why? You're the one creating it.” David didn't have to say he disapproved of Oliver. It was there in his tone.

And Darla picked up on it.

“You don't know about Oliver, Davy. You think 'cause he's different than other people that he isn't smart. But he's really smart about pottery.” Darla pointed. “That's his work.”

Susannah felt a ping of satisfaction at the surprise filling David's eyes as he studied the massive sculpture. “Very nice.”

“I told you, Oliver is good.” Darla touched her work with pride. “I'm going to be good, too.”

“You already are,” Susannah said.

“You have to put pots in the kiln. But this pot will be too high,” Darla explained. “Oliver is going to show me how to make it so I can fire it and put it together after. No one will even know it was two pieces.”

“I see. Well, I guess you would have to know kilns to
know how to do that,” he admitted. “Are you finished for today?”

“Not quite,” Susannah intervened. “We need to pay the course fee today. This week was just a trial period. That's why I asked you to meet us here. I thought you'd like to see what Darla would be doing.”

“Fine,” he said in an inflexible voice. “But I don't think we'll pay the fee today. We should talk about it first.”

“But, Davy, I can't come and work here if we don't pay.” Darla's voice rose with each word.

Susannah knew David expected her to do something to help Darla regain control, but the truth was, she was angry, too. She'd spent weeks searching for some way Susannah could make pottery with the guidance of some one who knew about clay and could help her realize her dreams.

Now that they'd found it, David objected because it wasn't up to his social standards?

“Come on,” he said, reaching for her arm. “Let's go home and discuss it.”

“No.” Darla glared at him and yanked her arm away. “I want you to give the money for classes so I can come back here.” Her voice had risen but she was not yet in the full throes of a tantrum. “Excuse me?”

They turned as one to stare at the small, wizened gentleman who stood behind David.

“Are you having a problem here, Susannah?” He grinned at her, his almost toothless smile lighting up his wrinkled and worn face. “Can't have that baby of yours upset, now can we?”

“I think we're okay, Robert.” She smiled, loving the
way he'd rushed to her defense. Nobody but Connie had done that before.

“Well, you tell me if there's a problem, because we don't want arguing and fighting here.” He waved a hand encompassing the room. “People come here to feel safe. If this man is bothering you—”

“This is Darla's brother, David Foster. David, this is Robert. He's a friend of mine.”

“Robert. What line of work are you in?” David's tone offended Susannah, but she kept silent.

“Oh, I retired years ago. I just come here for a cup of coffee and a chat. Susannah will tell you I like to chat. And do woodworking.” He winked at Susannah. “One of these days I'm going to get this little mama working on the lathe.”

“It's nice of you to offer, Robert,” Susannah said, patting his hand. “But I think I should learn something about pottery first. Darla's so good at it.”

“Excuse us. We have to go.” David waited until the old man wished them a good day, then turned to Darla. “You can make a scene if you want to, but I am leaving. This is not a place where you should be. I want you to go home. Now.” He glared at Susannah, then turned and walked out of the room.

“Davy!” Darla wailed.

“We'll talk to him at home,” Susannah whispered to Darla, concerned by the girl's white face. “You can tell him all about the center and explain it.”

“Davy doesn't want me to explain,” Darla said, tears edging her voice. She walked out of the room biting her lip to keep control. “Davy's already decided that I can't come here. He's embarrassed of me.”

It was pointless to argue with her—especially since Susannah wasn't sure she was wrong. So she said noth
ing. She drove the girl home and helped her carry in her clay tools before hugging her goodbye.

“I have to go now, but it will be all right, Darla,” she whispered, hoping she was right.

“I'm going to pray and ask God to help,” Darla said before she fled upstairs.

Susannah bit her lip and turned to leave.

“Don't leave yet. I want to talk to you.” David motioned to his study.

“Fine.” Susannah followed him, tired and wishing she could crawl into a hot bath instead.

She smoothed a hand over her hair as she sank into the nearest chair. She noticed the clay stuck to her shoe, the streak of brown on her sleeve.

David sat down behind his desk, elegant, completely unmussed. That irritated her even more.

“Well? What do you need to say?” She crossed her feet. “It's been a long day. I'm tired. I'd like to go home.”

“I want to know what on earth possessed you to take my sister to that place,” he demanded, his voice icy.

“Pottery. Pottery possessed me,” she shot back. “That and your sister's love of it. Which is something you seem to have difficulty grasping. If you'd only seen her face while she was working,” she mourned.

“She can do pottery somewhere else.” There was no give in his tone.

“That's the thing, David.” Susannah was tired of his attitude. “She can't. Other programs have already begun. They won't allow her to join late.”

“So she waits.”

“And does what? Goes to more girls' clubs where she is miserable?” Susannah rose. “I suggest you think long and hard about denying her this opportunity.”

“Did you even look at Oliver? Didn't you recognize him?” David's scathing tone left her in no doubt that he had recognized the sculptor.

“I told you he was well-known for his work with clay.” Susannah fiddled with the strap on her purse, wishing she'd hadn't already eaten the apple she'd put in her bag earlier.

“Oh, Oliver is famous for more than pottery.” A smug look washed over David's face. “He has some actions pending for damaging a building downtown. That's what I mean about being unsuitable.”

“You don't even know the circumstances and yet you've already passed sentence on him.” Susannah shook her head. “I wonder how judgmental you'd be if it was Darla who'd damaged something and was being charged. I wonder if you wouldn't make sure she got all the chances you could give her or if you'd just toss her away the way you seem to be willing to cross Oliver off your ‘worthwhile human being' list.” Another thought intruded, making her even angrier. “Or is it me you're really afraid of, of my being among like kind like that? Maybe I'll revert to my old habits.”

“In my opinion,” he said, his voice harsh and unyielding, “it is a bad decision on your part to make friends there and associate with those kinds of people.”

“Those kind of people.” She smiled. “I
am
those kind of people, David. Worthless, useless—society's write-offs.”

“I didn't mean—”

“Yes, you did, David.” Susannah had to get out of there before she said something horrible, something that she couldn't retract. Most of all, she had to forget the man who had so tenderly kissed her cheek.

She held his gaze for a moment more, then left, closing
the door silently behind her. She walked home slowly, allowing the tears to fall without even trying to stop them.

So now she knew what he really thought. She'd suspected it all along—so why did it hurt so much that this man she admired more than any she'd ever known could write her off as worthless so easily?

 

David couldn't sleep.

Over and over he kept hearing her.

I am that kind of people. Worthless. Useless. Society's write-offs.

He'd argued when Susannah claimed herself unworthy to be a mother—but he'd just confirmed her judgment.

Irritated with himself and the persistent squawk of his brain telling him not to get involved, David went downstairs, brewed some tea and carried it to the family room. To his surprise, Darla was there.

“What are you doing up?” he asked.

She didn't answer. Her deep brown eyes studied him for a long time, long enough to make him shift un comfortable.

“I don't like you today,” she said finally. “You were mean to Susannah. She tried really hard to help me, and you were rude.”

“I wasn't trying to be rude,” he began, but Darla wouldn't let him get away with that.

“Yes, you were. You wanted to make yourself better than all the other people at the center. That was rude.”

When had his sister acquired such understanding?

“I was afraid for you,” he admitted simply.

“Don't you know Susannah? Don't you know she would never let anything happen to me? Even if it was going to, which it wasn't. The center is a good place.”

Her voice touched a chord deep inside David and reverberated through his mind. For the first time since the accident, Darla was confronting him with her anger instead of throwing a tantrum.

“Susannah is the best friend I ever had and you're going to make her go away.”

“I hope not.” That was the last thing he wanted.

“You made her feel like I feel when people call me a dummy,” Darla said bluntly.

“I never said—”

“And you made our friends at the center feel like that, too. They're not dummies, Davy,” she said, her face earnest. “And it doesn't matter if you say it or not. When you talk the way you did, they know what you mean.”

How could he argue with that? He'd been a jerk.

“Susannah knows that. She talks to Oliver and Burt and the others like she talks to me, like she talks to you.” Darla bowed her head. “When she talks to us, she makes us feel strong. She makes us feel like we can do things. Lots of things.”

Meaning he didn't do that for her?

“You're my brother and I love you lots, but sometimes you say things that hurt people,” Darla said, her voice grave. “Today you made Susannah feel bad and I don't like that. You should apologize.”

“But—”

“My Sunday school teacher said God wants people to help one another.”

“Darla, it's not that simple.”

“Everybody at the center likes Susannah because she knows that sometimes you just need help.” She narrowed her gaze. “I don't think they like you, Davy.”

“Sweetie,” he said, “it's not that I didn't like them.”