A Mother at Heart (12 page)

Above her hung infinite stars like crushed diamonds flung across velvet, layer upon layer going far beyond what her fragile and mortal eye could see. Her mind knew what each of those tiny pinpoints of light represented, their size, their distance a number she couldn't get her mind around. And this was only a small part of our galaxy. There were as many galaxies as there were stars. She closed her eyes a mo
ment, growing dizzy as she tried to fathom the depth of the skies around her.

Opening her eyes again, she easily found the Big Dipper wheeling slowly around the North Star; from there the Little Dipper Ursa Minor, then to Vega, Deneb, the constellation Cassiopeia. Her favorite, Orion the hunter, was a winter constellation and no longer visible.

She remembered lying out on sleeping bags outside with a flashlight and a star book her father had bought her. When she was older, she used to impress Jake with her knowledge of the night sky. She used to wish she could be an astronaut and fly, fly away from here, away from her mother's petty restrictions, constant criticism and carping.

Miriam bit her lip, guilt stopping her memories. Her mother was dead. In the weeks before she died, Edna had tried to apologize, had tried to explain why she pushed Miriam so hard. Miriam still didn't understand, and seeing Jake—the man her mother had so feared and disliked, the man she had once loved, the man whose life her mother had threatened to destroy—made Miriam feel as if, once again, she had to forgive her mother.

Seventy-times-seven.

The formula came back from old readings of the Bible. “I've done this already,” she said aloud, looking up at the sky as if speaking to God. “I've forgiven her again and again. Will it never be over? Will I never be finished with this anger, this feeling of unfinished business?”

She stopped as if waiting for an answer, her hands two tight balls of tension, her teeth pressed against
each other. “I hated her so long—she took so much away,” Miriam said again, her voice quieter.

The silent stars wheeled slowly on, unconcerned, timeless, vast.

She was just a small speck in this cosmos, unimportant, unnecessary. She had made sacrifices for her mother, and in the process had lost the one thing she wanted.

Jake's love.

She loosened her fingers and caught her knees, resting her chin on them, as she studied the vaguely lit land below.

Closing her eyes, she resurrected the touch of Jake's lips on hers, his hand on her neck. A thrill shivered through her at the memory. It had been so easy, so familiar.

There had been no awkwardness. No hesitation. No words spoken, no promises made. Just a memory for her to hold onto…for the next ten years. The emptiness of the life that lay ahead of her became suddenly unbearable.

“What am I going to do?” she cried out. “Oh, Lord, You've got to help me.”

Her cry had become a prayer and she repeated it. “Please help me. I have fought being unworthy all my life. I've struggled with feeling unwanted, feeling ugly, feeling like a failure, feeling alone. I can't do that again.”

Each time she saw Jake pray, each time she saw him with his daughter and saw the absolute love he showed her, each time she saw his devotion to Tilly and Fred, it was a reminder of who he was. A man with a sincere faith, a devotion to family.

And here she was—a woman who lived a life of selfishness, of vanity. After her mother's stroke, Miriam had visited her only rarely, using her busy schedule as an excuse. Then even these few visits had become more sporadic. She had wasted money, time and much of her earlier years thinking only of herself. Self-preservation, she had called it, and it was necessary in the cutthroat world of high fashion.

Or so she had told herself.

Her clothing business was to be her escape from that world, a chance to slow down and enjoy life, to be her own person. But even that was struggling, and all she had to show for ten years of work was a car—paid for—a year's lease on an apartment in New York—paid for—and a closet full of clothes. And thousands of dollars in bills that lay on her shoulders like the weight of the world. Bills for which she was personally responsible.

It was then that she had met Carl. Or actually, he had met her. He had heard she was looking for an agent, had found her and had convinced her to let him become her new agent. Miriam had resisted going back to modeling, going back to becoming a thing, an object—but Carl was different. Carl had spoken of a God who cared. A God who saw her as valuable and wonderful, just as she was.

Miriam had spoken to some of his other clients, had run a check on him and found out that he was not only legitimate, but well-liked and respected in the fashion industry.

So she signed on with him. He got a few jobs, and one evening, as she sat in his office, fighting tears of weariness, still grieving for her mother and lost
chances of reconciliation, he had told her to go home. To catch her breath, to sell her farm, and then, when all that was done, to come back. He had a line on a big job that would help her get through this financial crisis she was in right now.

So she came. She drove because it was a way for her to relax, to see the countryside and realize that there were other things going on, other jobs getting done.

But now, after being here a few days, she felt worse off than before.

Falling in love with Jake was all wrong. She was in no position to make herself vulnerable to him again. She was in no position to give him anything. Once he had said he had nothing to give her. Now it was she who not only had nothing to give, but came with a large debt. She was all wrong for him.

What she had discovered tonight had completely changed the way she thought of him: he hadn't married Paula out of love, but because he'd been coerced.

Miriam clenched her fists in anger, pressing them against her forehead at the thought of her friend's duplicity, her mother's scheming and pressure. How could she and Jake ever hope to get past this? It seemed too big a barrier. How could God have allowed all this to happen?

She looked up, past the stars to where she figured God was, removed from the miseries of common people like her and Jake.
Please help me, Lord. I know I haven't talked to You a lot, but I don't know where else to turn.
She hadn't prayed for so long; she knew this wasn't precisely the way, but she
didn't know how else to go about it.
Please help me. I don't know what to think, I don't know what to do.

She reached out with her mind, stretching, pulling, striving, wondering if God heard or if He cared.

“I
sure appreciate your taking time out to help me,” Dane said to Jake. “For a while I thought I might have to feed the calves for another week or so until I found someone who could move them to pasture for me.”

Jake glanced at his neighbor and shrugged. “No problem, Dane. Glad to help.”

Dane Rogers was an older man who lived alone and had done so all his life. He was pushing seventy-five, yet he still farmed his own land, raised some calves and in general enjoyed his life.

“I heard Fred wasn't doing so good. How is he now?” Dane asked as they stood enjoying the sun, and the slight breeze that kept the bugs away.

Jake shook his head, watching the few stragglers pair up. “They kept him in the hospital overnight a few days back, just to keep an eye on him. He's home now, but still not great. We'll see what happens.”

“Life sure keeps a man busy, don't it,” Dane said. “I heard Miriam Spencer is back.”

Jake gave the older man a sidelong glance. “You hear a lot for someone who doesn't get out much.”

Dane grinned, hooking his thumbs in his wide suspenders. “The phone is a wonderful thing, but I sure miss the party line.”

“I'm sure you do. Anything else you heard that you figure I need to know?”

“Well, I'm sure you know Miriam is still single.” Dane elbowed him lightly, and Jake sighed. “She used to like you, didn't she? Surprises me that a girl that good-looking hasn't matched up with anyone. Makes you wonder, don't it?”

Actually, it hadn't made Jake wonder. Not until Dane mentioned it. He had assumed that Miriam had had boyfriends, that she had dated, but he had never wanted to speculate on why she was still single. He knew what Dane was hinting at, but since Miriam had come home, he hadn't dared let his speculation run that far.

“She's only here for a while. She wants to sell her farm and head back east to make more money.” Jake couldn't keep the harshness from his voice. The other night, and the nights since, he had lain in bed, reliving every moment with Miriam, unable to come to a solution.

It seemed that too much hung between them, that the barriers were insurmountable. Yet he couldn't help but remember her response to him.

Her tears.

And the fact that she was still single, as Dane so thoughtfully pointed out. He had kept himself busy,
had tried not to look too interested when Tilly talked of Miriam's visits.

“Oh, I'm sure you could talk her out of leaving. You're still a good-looking young man.” Dane clapped a companionable hand on Jake's shoulder. “Give it a whirl. What have you got to lose?”

My pride, Jake thought. Yet even as that idea formed, he knew it was a small price to pay. Thinking about Miriam leaving gave him a hollow feeling that grew each day, each hour.

Jake shrugged as if to dispel the sensation. “I've got enough on my mind right now, Dane. I don't know if I have the will or energy to go courting.”

“She lives just down the road. How much work could it be?” Dane chuckled. “Tell Tilly to have her over for supper. Take her for a ride in your tractor.”

“And isn't that romantic,” said Jake wryly, walking over to his truck.

“What I remember of you two, it used to be.”

Jake smiled, remembering, too. “Right about now I've got to fix my tractor, get my crop in, check my own cows, and try to figure out how I'm going to replace the land she's selling. Seems like enough to keep me busy.” He got into the truck and rolled down the window. “You let me know if you need anything else, okay?”

Dane leaned his arms on the window frame, shaking his head. “No time to court a pretty girl, but figures he has time to offer to help me. You got your priorities all mixed up, my boy.”

Jake laughed lightly. “I've got to go, Dane. I'll follow you out and then shut the gate for you.”

“I can do that myself, you young punk.”

“Okay.” Jake put the truck in gear and slowly pulled away. He swung the truck and the long fifth-wheel trailer around, then headed out the gate and down the road. He glanced in his side mirror and saw Dane pull out behind him and shut the gate.

Satisfied, he sped up. He had hoped to check his own cows this afternoon and then run back in to town for a part for his tractor. Maybe tomorrow he could get the Spencer field done. Then it would be Sunday again.

And shortly after that, Miriam was leaving.

He clutched the steering wheel, forcing himself to stay focused. They each had their own lives, he reminded himself. They each had their own responsibilities. She had been back barely a week. He must be crazy to think that just because mistakes of the past had been talked about, all was cleared away. Miriam had run away that night and stayed away. That told him, more clearly than anything she could have said, what she wanted.

She didn't fit, didn't belong.

Yet even as he thought that, he remembered how good she was with Taryn, how easily she seemed to fit in to the farm life. He remembered her feeding his cows. He still had to smile at the sight of her in her expensive clothes, manhandling that tractor around the yard; she was as small as ever, and still had to stand up to steer.

He had felt guilty that day. Felt as if he had abrogated his responsibilities and she'd had to cover for him.

Yet it made him feel like the two of them, for a
brief moment, had shared this part of his life. He felt like what he did was important to her.

Get a grip, Steele, you really are delusional, he thought, gearing down as his truck powered out on the hill.

Miriam got out of her car and looked around the yard. It looked much neater than when she had first arrived. The progress should have made her feel good, but it didn't.

This morning she had gone to Waylen to check with the real estate agent and go over some details. Then she had met up with Donna and a few old friends.

Sitting around in the café had been fun, and she hadn't laughed that hard and long in months. It had been cathartic, and Miriam regretted the moment when each of them had to return to their own responsibilities.

Miriam and Donna had lingered, and Donna had reminded her that they were going to meet again at the church picnic tomorrow. Miriam had reluctantly agreed to go. She didn't know if she wanted to sit through church again, but was eager to meet up with her old friends.

And Jake would be there. The pernicious thought clung to her subconscious, and all the way home she couldn't seem to dispel it. Since that evening when he had told her the truth about Paula, she couldn't face him, couldn't indulge in might-have-beens. The pain of regret cut too deeply.

She couldn't forget his kiss, his arms about her.

Physical attraction, that was all it was, her thoughts reminded her.

But she knew it was more. It was like coming home, like a safe place after fear.

You don't fit with him anymore, she thought. He's in a different place than you. Too much has happened that can't be changed.

Miriam tried to imagine herself with Jake again. Was it just nostalgia that made it feel so right? Would she be able to stay here, to be a wife, a mother?

It's a dream, she reminded herself. She had huge responsibilities waiting for her back east. The thought of staying here might be wonderful, but it was a luxury she had no space, no room to indulge in.

With a sigh, she walked into the house and looked around. As she dropped into her father's old recliner, her eye fell on a couple of boxes of books that she had set aside, unopened.

Miriam got up and pulled open the top of the first box. She supposed she could just have left them, but she hated the idea of unfinished jobs.

Some of the books were old storybooks of hers. She took them out, smiling at the pictures on the covers. They brought back pleasant memories of sitting on her father's lap while he read to her. Flipping through the pages she became once again that young girl who wanted to be anywhere else but where she was.

When her father died, it had gotten even worse.

Miriam quickly set the book aside and took out a few more.

In the next layer she found a Bible.

Sitting back on her heels, Miriam turned it over in her hand and then opened it. It was her parents' wedding Bible. Miriam smiled a soft, sad smile as she leafed through it. She had had such a convoluted relationship with her mother that she often wondered what kind of mother she herself would make.

She thought of Taryn's longing for a mother. For a brief moment, Miriam allowed herself to think of tucking in that dear child each night, while Jake stood in the doorway, or sat on the bed with her. Jake had said he loved her. Had never loved anyone but her.

With a soft cry, Miriam clutched the Bible to her chest, her head bent. Why had he said that to her? Why had he given her that shred of hope? She could do nothing with it.

She couldn't stay.

Miriam took a quick breath and got up. She wanted to get out of the house and away from its emptiness. This wasn't a home.

And neither is your eighteenth-floor condo, she thought, stepping outside. She had lived there for six years, often stopping only long enough to send her dirty clothes to the cleaners, sleep and then return to the airport for another flight to another destination.

Then the last two years, she had spent most of her time at her office, or running around looking for suppliers and markets for her new clothing company. When she was trying to find a way to keep her company solvent, she spent many evenings in her office, as well, catching a few hours' sleep in her chair, or on the couch.

No, the condo wasn't home, either.

The only real home she had known was Fred and Tilly's. The truest love from a mother she had received was from Tilly.

Not from her own mother.

Her mother had cast a long shadow on her life, Miriam realized, settling down under the old maple tree. Her steady criticism, her constant griping about Jake, her threats to him…

Miriam's teeth clenched at the thought, and once again she wished her mother was alive so she could confront her with this.

And again Miriam struggled to forgive. Forgiveness was so difficult to grant when there was no physical person to talk to, to get angry with.

Just the memory of a broken woman who struggled to tell Miriam why she had done what she did.

Miriam laid her head against the rough bark of the tree, hearing once again her mother's halting words, reminding Miriam that even though her love as a mother was weak and impure, God's love wasn't.

But Miriam felt she had strayed so far from that love, it was no longer hers for the taking.

She flipped through the pages and found the silk ribbon at Ecclesiastes. “Generations come and generations go, but the earth remains forever,” she read. Miriam looked around at the land, ready for planting. She thought of Jake working it, and knew he counted on the revenue from her own land. The land would remain forever, but it would go to different hands. She wished she could change that, wished she could give it to him. A gift.

But she needed the money. She had obligations. Debts to pay.

She wished she knew what to do and wished this Bible would show her.

But she hadn't read it in so long, she didn't even know if the promises in it were for her. Once, she could have looked at her life and said, yes, this was a life sanctified by Christ.

She could say that no longer.

The sun beat down on Jake's head as he clucked to Pinto. The horse flicked its ears, looked back, and then started walking back down the trail to the road. He slowed the horse down, reluctant to be drawn back into the rush and pressure that exemplified planting season. Fred had often told him that somehow it always got done. Seed time and harvest, the ebb and flow of the cycle, always happened. And the few times it didn't, it was often because of measures beyond their control.

Jake drew a deep breath and sent up a prayer of thanksgiving for this beautiful day. Then, he came to Miriam's driveway.

He pulled his horse to a stop, his hands resting on the pommel of the saddle, Dane's words ringing through his head. He was unable to dispel the memory of Miriam in his arms.

Courtship. He and Miriam had missed out on that when they started going out. They had had to keep their relationship a secret, and thus had never indulged in the fun stuff that came with dating.

Did he dare open himself up to her like that?

What would he gain and what would he lose?

Pinto shook her head, her bridle jangling, and snorted as Jake sifted through the reasons for and against.

It would be so much easier just to keep on going. But to what? He loved Taryn. He loved Fred and Tilly.

But he also knew that deep inside he yearned for a helpmeet. Someone who would be his partner in many senses of that word. Someone who would miss him and whom he would look forward to seeing at the end of the day. Someone who would sit with him on the couch and talk to him about her day. Listen to him talk about his.

All those roles were filled in one way or another by his daughter and his parents. Yet Tilly had Fred, and Taryn was slowly growing up and away from him. That was nature.

He was all alone in a family.

Yet, if he were to give in to the love he felt for Miriam, and she left anyway, how would he manage? He had been desolated when she left the first time. He was older and less flexible now. It would be harder this time.

Because whether he liked to admit it or not, his love this time around was deeper and stronger.

He closed his eyes, letting the memories of the other night drift around him, hold him, as Miriam's arms had held him. He knew that she cared. Something held her back, and the only way he would find out what, was to spend time with her.

Starting now, he thought, pulling Pinto's head around.

The horse trotted down the driveway. When they got to the maple tree, he stopped.

Miriam sat underneath it, a book open on her lap, her eyes shut.