A Mother at Heart (13 page)

Jake wondered if she was sleeping, but then he saw her shake her head. “Hey, there,” he said quietly, hoping he wouldn't startle her.

Miriam looked up, her hand on her chest, her mouth and eyes wide open. “Oh, my goodness. You scared the living daylights out of me,” she said weakly.

Jake dismounted and tied Pinto to a nearby tree, walked across the lawn to her. Miriam stayed where she was, her hand still on her chest.

“I didn't even hear you coming,” she said, avoiding his gaze.

“I thought at first you were sleeping.”

“No. Just sitting and thinking.” She moved to get up, but Jake stopped her with a hand on her shoulder. He sat down beside her, his legs crossed. He pointed to the book on her lap. “A little light reading?”

“It's the Bible. Hardly light,” Miriam replied, her fingers fiddling with the pages.

Jake watched her hands' restless movement, the way she looked as if she had pulled herself back and away from him. It was as if she didn't want him here.

He would have left, but the Bible on her lap kept him beside her.

Please, Lord, show me what to do. Give me the right words. I've never done this before. There's so much I want to tell her, but right now she needs to be shown Your love, as well.

He tried. “So what have you…” He hesitated,
cleared his throat and tried again. “What have you been reading?”

“Nothing.”

“What are you looking for?”

Miriam shook her head as she flicked through the pages. “I don't know,” she whispered. “I used to read this more often. I remember at night, before I went to bed, I read a passage.” She smiled a bittersweet smile and looked up at him. “I worked my way through the whole Bible that way. Even through all the laws and all those prophets. Now I realize they weren't just talking about Israelites. Those prophets were talking about me.”

“What do you mean?”

Miriam shook her head. “Nothing. Sorry I brought it up.” She made a move to get up, but Jake put a hand on her shoulder, stopping her.

“Miriam, you know I love you—”

“Don't, Jake,” she said, holding out her hand to stop him. “Don't even bring that up—”

“I have to, Miriam. I don't have a lot of time with you, and you need to hear this.”

“I want you to stop. You're making this too hard.”

“What am I making too hard?” Jake let his hand linger on her shoulder, his fingers lightly caressing her neck. He didn't dare let go of her, but didn't dare make more than this light connection.

She drew in one shaky breath and then another. “I've fought this feeling of unworthiness many years. I don't like feeling this way, but I do. I do around you.”

Jake heard her words, felt the pain pouring out of her. He didn't know what to say, or how to say it.

Gently he took the Bible from her lap and paged through it until he found what he was looking for. Romans.

“‘There is no one righteous, not even one,'” he read. “‘There is no one who understands, no one who seeks God. All have turned away, they have together become worthless; there is no one who does good, not even one.'”

“See what I mean?” Miriam said, pulling her knees up to her chest.

“That was written for me as well as you,” Jake replied. “Let me keep going.” As the soft spring wind caressed them, rustling through the leaves of the tree above, and as the sun filled the day with brightness and warmth, Jake read to her of the law, of judgment, then of Christ's intercession and love. Then he read, his own voice growing with conviction, “‘For I am convinced, that neither death nor life, neither angels nor demons, neither the present nor the future, nor any powers, neither height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation will be able to separate us from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus our Lord.'”

Jake paused, letting the words diffuse through his own life, praying that Miriam would take them for herself.

“This isn't a battle you have to fight, Miriam. All you have to do is take what is given. God is waiting for you to stop the struggle, to let Him give.” He leaned forward, touching her again, praying that his weak words would be imbued with power from God.
There was only so much he could do; accepting God's love, accepting his love, was up to her.

Miriam laid her head on her knees. “It sounds too easy.”

Jake heard her words and fought his own disappointment. He was just a messenger, he knew that, but he had hoped that the words that had given him so much comfort would do the same for her. He loved her deeply, but he also knew that unless she accepted and believed the same thing he did, it would come to naught.

“It is easy. God made it easy for us because we can't come to Him any other way.”

Miriam said nothing, gave no sign that she had heard.

Jake lay the Bible at her feet, pausing a moment as he watched her sitting at his feet. He bent over and lightly touched his lips to her exposed neck.

“I love you, Miriam,” he whispered. “Always remember that. And always remember that God loves you more.”

And then he left.

M
iriam waited until she heard the soft footfalls of Jake's horse receding down the driveway.

Only then did she dare lift her head. Jake's words resounded in her mind. God's love. His love. The two seemed intertwined.

And she still felt as if she couldn't accept either one.

Miriam saw the Bible lying at her feet and reluctantly picked it up. She could still hear Jake reading from it, his voice resonating with conviction.

She had known God's love, had sung countless times the song “Jesus Loves Me”—one of the first songs learned by children being introduced to faith.

But it was too much for her to accept. She didn't feel worthy.

She got up, still holding the Bible, and glanced at her watch. My goodness, she had been sitting out here for a couple of hours. She wondered how long it had been since Jake had left.

Jake.

Miriam's heart plunged, then began to race at the thought of him, at the memory of his lips touching her neck. The peace fled, replaced by confusion.

He had offered her his love. And she knew she couldn't take it. She had nothing to give him. Nothing.

She clutched her Bible closer. Then she went into the house. She wanted to talk to Tilly, but she had to make sure Jake wouldn't be there.

A quick phone call told her that Tilly was home. Jake was gone. Miriam jumped in her car and sped over. She could think of no one better to talk to than the woman who had been more than a mother to her.

Tilly was rolling out pie crusts on the kitchen counter when Miriam came into the house. Taryn was playing with scraps of leftover dough on the kitchen table—much as Miriam used to when she was younger. It looked so delightfully normal, and was a welcome contrast to the turmoil she had just felt.

“I made a duck,” Taryn announced to Miriam, showing her a roll of dough. “And some snakes. They're easy.”

Miriam stopped to admire the handiwork, unable to stop herself from stroking Taryn's head. She felt a connection with Jake when she spent time with his child.

Then she joined Tilly. “Need any help?”

Tilly smiled up at her. “You can get the filling ready. I'm making some lemon pies for the picnic tomorrow. Are you going to go?”

“Yes I am.”

“I've got all the things ready for the filling. You can start making it for me, if you want.” Tilly pointed with her chin as she formed the pie crusts.

Miriam pulled out a pot from one cupboard and a wooden spoon from the drawer. While Miriam worked, Tilly slid the pie shells in the oven, set the timer and began cleaning up.

“My goodness, I feel like quite the domestic,” Miriam said with a grin, as Tilly wiped the counter. The filling was just starting to boil, and she turned the heat off.

“You know,” Tilly said, turning and leaning back against the counter, “it seems like just a short while ago the last time you were standing at that stove, helping me make pie.”

“I certainly came over here a lot,” Miriam said, carefully licking the warm filling off the spoon. She set the pan aside for the filling to cool.

“Can I lick the spoon?” Taryn asked, looking up from her ducks and worms.

“Oops.” Miriam looked at the now-clean wooden spoon and then at Taryn's crestfallen face. She had started licking the spoon completely out of habit. Turning, she washed the spoon, stuck it in the filling again, and brought it over to Taryn. “Be careful, honey. It's still a bit warm.”

“Thanks, Miriam.” Taryn took the spoon from her, touched her finger to it and put it in her mouth. “I love lemon pie.”

“So do I. It's still my favorite, and your grandma makes the best.”

When the crusts were done, Miriam poured the filling into them, while Tilly whipped up the egg whites. Soon the counter held four tempting lemon pies.

Fred joined them then, still looking haggard.

“How are you feeling, Fred?” Miriam asked, concerned at his lack of color.

“Not great, my girl. Not great.” He eased himself into his usual chair and caught his breath. “Whew. I guess I won't be running any sack races at the church picnic tomorrow, hey, Pipper?” he asked Taryn.

“Oh, Grandpa, you're silly,” Taryn said, lining up her dough ducks. She showed her grandfather what she had made, and he was suitably impressed.

Tilly had made tea, and soon they were sitting around the table, talking about all the wonderfully inconsequential things that make up a day.

Miriam felt herself relax in this comfortable home. It did that to her, she thought, taking a sip of her tea. Every time she came here, it was like coming home. She could pretend that Tilly was her mother, Fred her father.

And Taryn…

Miriam glanced sidelong at the little girl, who was busily playing with her dough animals. She resisted the urge to smooth the child's hair, to pull her close.

Jake's child.

Jake, who had told her he loved her. Told her that God loved her. And what was she supposed to do about that? What could she do? She had obligations, responsibilities.

Her debt on the business was adding up each month as the interest mounted. She needed the work Carl had lined up for her. It wouldn't get rid of all the debt, but it would be a good start. The sale of the farm would make the biggest difference. But it didn't look like that was going to happen real soon. So, she really needed the work Carl had found for her and more, which meant she needed to be thinking about going back to New York.

Not yet. Not yet, she thought.

When it was time for her to leave, it was time for her to think about all of that.

“What's the matter, Miriam?” Tilly asked. “You look troubled.”

Miriam glanced up at Tilly, surprised at her perception. “I'm okay,” she said evasively.

She forced her thoughts to the present. Forced herself to ask Taryn if she learned anything new in play school. Forced herself to ask Fred how the seeding was coming, hoping that maybe they would talk about Jake.

They didn't disappoint her.

She knew it was foolish to put herself through this, but she couldn't stop herself.

Eventually, the gentle chime of the grandfather clock in the living room reminded her of the time.

“Stay for supper, Miriam,” Tilly said, frowning at her. “You don't have to leave right away.”

But she did. Because if she stayed, she would see Jake, and right now her emotions were too fragile to deal with him.

So she got up and promised Taryn again that she would come to the picnic.

“Can you take me in your car?” Taryn asked as Miriam was putting her shoes on the porch. “I never had a ride in your car.”

“Yes, you did,” Miriam said, pulling on her jacket. “I gave you a ride when we brought supper to your dad.”

“But can I have another ride? Please?”

Miriam was about to say no, but could really find no reason.

“Okay. I'll pick you up in the morning. You be ready, missy.”

Taryn frowned. “Missy? I'm not missy. I'm Pipper.
You're
missy.”

Miriam felt her throat catch at that. It was true. Fred always called her Missy. It would be like Taryn to notice that.

“Okay, Pipper. I'll come tomorrow. On time.”

“Okeydokey.” Taryn flashed Miriam a grin, and Miriam couldn't help but smile back.

She stuck her head through the doorway to say goodbye to Fred—

He was lying back in his chair at the table, his eyes closed, his mouth slightly open.

“Are you okay, Fred?” Miriam asked, panic slicing through her.

“Yeah, I am. Just resting,” he said, lifting his head. He gave her a smile, but it looked forced.

“You sure?”

“Yes. I'm fine.”

Tilly came to the door and gave her a quick kiss. “You stop by tomorrow after the picnic, you hear?”

Miriam hesitated, unsure of what tomorrow would bring.

“You come now, Miriam.”

“Okay. I will.”

She could get through this. She could.

“Can my daddy have a ride in your car?” Taryn asked when Miriam came to the door on Sunday. She was sitting on a chair in the kitchen, trying to buckle up her shoes.

The thought of Jake sitting with her all the way to church was enough to make Miriam stop breathing. She tried to find a tactful way to forestall Taryn.

“I have to take my truck, Pipper,” Jake said as he came into the kitchen. “I have to take some tables to the meadow.”

Miriam looked up at him as he stopped by the kitchen table to take a quick sip from his coffee. His hair was still damp from his shower, shining in the lights from the ceiling. His cheeks were freshly shaven, and she caught the faint scent of his after-shave lotion. It made her stomach flip.

He caught her eye, lifted his mouth in a careful smile and walked toward her. She knew he was thinking of yesterday, of their time sitting together on her lawn, while he read to her.

She hadn't been able to get him, or the passages he read, out of her mind. Somehow, though, it all seemed too good to be true. She remembered what
he had said about God making it easy to come to Him.

She wondered what she would learn in church today.

“Will I see you at the picnic, Miriam?” Jake asked, holding his mug, leaning one hip against the door to the porch.

She swallowed at his nearness and could only nod. “Yeah. I promised Taryn and Donna I would go.”

“Lucky, Taryn,” he said, and Miriam glanced up. She had intended to look away right away, but was unable to. Then Jake smiled again and turned to help his daughter.

“I'll see you at church, Pipper,” he said, dropping a kiss on her head. “And I guess I'll see you, too,” he said to Miriam.

Miriam nodded, caught Taryn's outstretched hand and walked out to her car.

Luckily for her, she didn't have to say anything on the way to church. Taryn supplied all the conversation.

They pulled up in front of the church. What a difference a week makes, she thought, slowly getting out of the car. Last week she had come here defensive, unwilling and unready to be a part of this community.

During the week she had met up with old friends, had reconnected with the community. Had spent time with Fred and Tilly. Taryn.

Had found out the truth about Jake and Paula.

She glanced over her shoulder at the graveyard,
wondering about Paula. Wondering how Paula had thought she could build a marriage on a lie.

Miriam turned away from Paula and the past, and, pulling her long skirt close to her, closed her car door. Today was Sunday. A day of renewal and blessing. She wasn't going to let the past and its mistakes overshadow it.

Taryn bounced up the sidewalk, then, at the sound of a truck engine, stopped. Miriam turned around.

Jake pulled up beside her car.

Miriam waited, feeling slightly foolish, as Taryn went running back to her father, her cheeks flushed, her ponytail bobbing. “You have to sit with me and Miriam.”

Jake smiled down at Taryn, then looked up at Miriam. He stood beside them, his expression enigmatic. Then, as their eyes met, she saw his mouth lift in a crooked smile.

And her heart did that funny little dance.

Taryn caught her hand and Jake's as they walked toward the church.

It felt right, Miriam thought with a gentle ache. It felt as if this was how it should be.

As they walked up the stairs, Miriam looked once again at Jake and was unnerved by his direct gaze.

“I didn't have a chance to ask how you are doing, Miriam,” he said. His voice was quiet, but it carried a wealth of meaning. Miriam knew he alluded to yesterday, and was suddenly shy.

“I'm glad to be here,” she said, looking away. Which was the truth. She was not entirely comfortable yet, but still glad to be a part of this.

Through the thin material of her shirt she felt the warm weight of his callused hand resting on her shoulder. She swallowed at the contact, resisting the urge to lift her shoulder to hold his hand against her cheek.

“That's good,” he said, squeezing ever so slightly.

“Daddy, why did you let go of my hand?” Taryn demanded.

Miriam felt her cheeks flush, and was surprised at her reaction. She hadn't felt this flustered around a man since—her heart lifted again—since she and Jake had first started dating.

“Where's Tilly and Fred?” Miriam asked, finally noticing their absence.

“Dad is really tired so Mom thought it would be better if she stayed home with him.”

“I'm sorry,” Miriam said, holding his gaze. She couldn't look away, couldn't break the contact.

“Miriam, good to see you.” Donna breezed up beside her, and Jake drew away. Miriam tried not to feel disappointed, and turned to her friend.

Donna gave her a quick hug, smiling as she pulled away. “Hello, Jake,” she said as her gaze flicked to Jake and then back to Miriam. To her credit, Donna's expression remained neutral, although when she looked back at Miriam she gave just a hint of a wink.

Donna smiled down at Taryn. “Bet your grandma made lemon pie again, didn't she.”

Taryn nodded, beaming up at Donna. “We brought three. And Miriam helped make them.”

“Three lemon pies? And Miriam helped make
them?” Donna raised her eyebrows exaggeratedly. “My goodness. We are getting domestic, aren't we?”

Miriam laughed. The thump of many small footsteps coming up the steps behind them made Donna turn.

“Here comes my tribe, and there goes the peace. I'll talk to you later.”

Miriam watched as Donna became surrounded by a noisy group of children. Donna licked her finger and smoothed down a cowlick on one, straightened the collar of another and picked up a little girl. Her husband joined her and took the girl from her. Then they all walked in to the church.

“Sort of makes you feel breathless, doesn't she?” Jake asked as they watched Donna's family walk down the aisle.

“She always had a lot of energy,” Miriam said.