Apprentice Father (7 page)

“Okay,” Josh agreed promptly.

Emily hesitated and looked up at Clay. “Is it all right?”

“Yes. But don't be gone too long.”

“We'll be back in a jiffy,” Pop promised. The older man reached for their hands, and the children slipped their fingers into his without a qualm.

Clay shoved his hands into his pockets as he watched them. “Must run in the family.”

“What?” Cate gave him a quizzical look.

“The ability to get along with children. They've only met your grandfather what…twice?…and already they trust him. It's taking me a lot longer.”

“Pop's had a lot of practice with children. I have, too. But you're doing great. And the children are making good progress.”

He gave a rueful shake of his head. “Based on what happened Friday, they have a long way to go.”

“I have an idea that might speed up their healing process.”

“I'm all for that.”

“It occurred to me that some exposure to happy family life might be good for them. My mom always has everyone over for Easter brunch, and we wondered if you and the children would like to join us next Sunday.”

Considering how adamant Cate had been about her ground rules when she'd accepted the job, he was taken aback. “I thought you wanted to keep your weekends to yourself.”

“In general, I do.” A soft flush spread across her cheeks, and she tucked her hair behind her ear. “But Easter is a special day. Worthy of an exception. Besides, it would be good for the children.”

He mulled over the invitation. Since he'd left home, Easter had never been more to him than another Sunday to sleep in. He'd go to church this year for the children's sake, but he hadn't
planned to mark the day in any other way. Yet Cate's suggestion reminded him he should make an effort to celebrate the holiday. Kids were supposed to get baskets of candy and colored eggs, weren't they? And a special dinner? He could take care of the former. Cate was offering to provide the latter. And it would be good for the kids, as she'd noted.

Besides, the notion of spending a day in her company appealed to him on a personal level as well.

“That sounds very nice. Thank you. I'm sure the kids will enjoy it.”

“Great.” A smile curved her graceful lips. “I can give you details next week and…”

“Good morning, Cate.”

An attractive blond man, accompanied by a dark-haired woman holding a baby, stopped beside them. Cate's smile disappeared, and some unidentifiable emotion flashed across her face, come and gone with such speed Clay wondered if he'd imagined it.

“Hello, Dan, Mary.” As she introduced them to Clay, he caught the hint of sadness deep in her eyes.

The two men shook hands, and Clay inclined his head toward the woman, trying to get a handle on the odd vibes swirling around the small group.

“I wondered if I could ask you a favor, Cate,” Dan said. “I have to go to St. Louis for a meeting Wednesday night, and I need someone to cover the youth group. I know you haven't done it since…” he cleared his throat “…for a while, but you know the ropes and I could use your help.”

“I'd be happy to.”

“Thanks. I owe you.” The man flushed and ran a finger around the collar of his dress shirt.

Pop rejoined them, giving the couple a curt nod. “Dan, Mary.”

At the out-of-character coolness in Pop's voice, Clay's antennae rose another notch.

As the couple said goodbye, Josh tugged on Clay's hand. “Pop says he'll take us fishing, if that's okay with you. Can we go?”

“I don't see why not.” He transferred his attention from the young couple to Josh. “Maybe I'll come, too. If I'm invited.”

“'Course you're invited,” Pop said. “We'll take a picnic. Cate could join us, too.”

“Would you, Cate?”

At Emily's question, Cate blinked and gave the little girl a blank look. “I'm sorry, honey. What did you say?”

“Pop said he'll take us fishing. And Uncle Clay is coming. It's going to be a picnic. Can you come, too?”

“Sure.” Cate gave her a smile, but it seemed forced. “That sounds like fun. As soon as the weather warms up a little, we'll go out to the lake. And in the meantime, we have a surprise for you.”

That was his cue to tell the children about Easter, Clay realized. He knelt on one knee beside them. “How would you guys like to have Easter dinner with Cate and her family?”

“Does Cate have a family?” Josh scrunched up his face, as he grappled with that concept.

“Of course. She has a grandpa—Pop—and a mommy and a daddy and…” He searched his memory, trying to recall what she'd told him about her family…“And two brothers and a sister-in-law.” He glanced at her for confirmation, and she nodded.

“What's a sister-in-law?” Emily wanted to know.

“That's a lady who's married to one of Cate's brothers.”

Josh scuffed the toe of his shoe, his eyes downcast, his tone subdued. “That's a lot of people. And we don't know them.”

“You will after Easter.”

After a moment, Josh tipped his head back and spoke to Cate. “Is your daddy nice?”

She dropped down to their level. Clay took her arm in a steadying grip and tried to ignore the appealing warmth of her skin radiating through the fabric of her thin jacket. “He's very nice, Josh. He likes little boys and girls. Just like Pop. Pop is my mommy's daddy.”

Josh digested that, inspecting Pop. “You're a daddy, too?”

“That's right.”

“Well…I guess it would be okay.”

“What do you think?” Clay gave Emily a chance to cast her vote.

“Will you be there?”

“Yes.”

“Okay.”

It was okay because he would be with them.

As the significance of her statement sank in, Clay felt a new and unexpected joy spring to life within him. And when Cate smiled and touched his arm, acknowledging the moment as well, the joy in his heart spilled over.

He could get used to this happy feeling, Clay realized. And though he'd spent a lifetime avoiding personal attachments, with their confining obligations and responsibilities, as he gazed at Josh and Emily and Cate he didn't feel trapped at all.

He just felt good.

But scared.

Even more scared than the time he'd lost his balance on a structural steel beam and almost plunged six floors to the ground.

Since that near-accident, he always double-checked his safety harness before stepping into a danger zone.

Unfortunately, he didn't think there was any such protective equipment for the heart.

“W
ould anyone like another piece of cake?”

Though her question was directed to the group gathered around the Shepard table, Cate's mother focused on the children. They'd each had two servings of Easter ham, devoured her au gratin potatoes and put a good dent in her green bean casserole. Clay had lost track of the number of homemade biscuits they'd eaten.

Both Emily and Josh sent Clay a hopeful look.

“I might take you up on your offer. But only if Josh and Emily do, too.” Clay winked at Cate's mother and addressed the children. “Do you think you might be able to eat another piece?”

“I can,” Josh declared with a vigorous nod.

“Me, too,” Emily added.

“I think you have three takers on this side of the table. The dinner was wonderful, Mrs. Shepard.”

“I'm glad you enjoyed it. And please call me Ellen.”

While Cate's mother dished up multiple second servings of her home-baked split-lemon cake, Clay found his attention wandering to Cate. She was talking to her brother, teasing him about
some childhood memory, and the animated sparkle in her eye reminded him, for a brief instant, of Anne in her carefree, lighthearted moments.

But those brief interludes had been rare. Most of the time she'd chaffed under the rigid, joyless regime of their youth, sharing his desperation to flee from their father's house. But she'd chosen a different escape route. Anne had wanted to create her own warm and loving family, perhaps to compensate for all she'd missed as a child. He, on the other hand, had wanted to stay as far away from family life as possible.

Clay had always been confident he'd chosen the better path. But this past month with Josh and Emily—and Cate—had shaken his conviction.

As if sensing his scrutiny, Cate looked toward him. The connection lasted no more than a fleeting instant, yet Clay had a feeling she saw far more than he'd intended to reveal.

“Another wonderful dinner, honey.” Cate's father smiled at his wife as he rose and began clearing the table. Her brothers followed suit.

Noting Clay's surprise, Ellen explained. “In the Shepard clan, the women have always been the cooks and the men take care of clean-up duty. It's a good arrangement, don't you think?”

Yes, it was. But in his father's house, his mother had done all the cooking
and
all the clean-up. Likewise in Anne's home, from what she'd told him. He'd assumed all families operated that way.

“Seems logical to me. Let me help.”

“Guests are excluded from that rule.” She waved his offer aside as he started to rise. “Cate, why don't you show Clay and the children the pond your dad built? The fish are getting active again.”

“You have a lake with fish in your yard?” Josh sought confirmation from Cate.

“Well, ‘lake' is a pretty generous term. But it's a nice little pond. And it does have fish. Let me grab a sweater.” Cate stood and headed for the hall.

“Come on into the family room while we wait,” Ellen suggested.

As Clay followed Cate's mother to the back of the house, which was more casual and homey than the formal living room where they'd gathered earlier, he examined the photos lining the walls. They showed the Shepards celebrating birthdays, vacations, graduations—in other words, all the moments that wove the tapestry of a good family life. And there were pictures of each of the children, the kind most parents displayed. Such photos had been kept in a drawer in his father's house, however. Putting them out for others to see would have been a sin of pride, the old man had told them.

Clay's step slowed as he examined the photos of the three siblings. Mark was in sports attire, holding a soccer ball beside a trophy labeled “state champions.” Rob wore a hockey uniform, his goalie mask tilted back to reveal his broad grin. No surprises there. Her brothers struck him as the athletic type.

But the last shot brought him to an abrupt halt.

It was Cate, dressed in a gossamer white tutu, her long legs encased in tights, one hand arced over her head, the other forming a half circle at waist level. She was balanced
en pointe
on one foot, her other leg extended toward the camera and bent gracefully at the knee, her slender, supple form the epitome of elegance, grace and poise. She wore her hair in traditional ballerina fashion, pulled back into a bun and surrounded by some sort of feathery headpiece. Her face was radiant and filled with joy, her beautiful bone structure enhanced by the classic hair style.

She was, in a word, stunning.

“She's lovely, isn't she?” Ellen said, as if reading his thoughts. “That's her dancing the leading role in
Swan Lake
at eighteen.”

Meaning this must have been taken right before she was stricken with Guillain-Barre Syndrome, Clay concluded with a jolt.

Ellen spoke again, confirming his conclusion. “Two weeks after she danced this role, she got sick. Only a few days before she was supposed to leave for New York.”

“She was going to New York?”

“I guess I'm not surprised she hasn't mentioned it.” Ellen sighed. “She doesn't dwell on what might have been. She made her peace with that long ago and moved on. Better than the rest of us did, in some ways. Anyway, she'd been accepted into the American Ballet Theatre's Studio Company. Each year, twelve young dancers with outstanding potential are selected for the program.”

As she refocused on the picture, her expression grew melancholy. “Being a professional ballerina was Cate's dream, and her dedication was absolute. While other young girls were going to parties or worrying about getting dates for the prom, Cate was dancing. Grueling hour after hour at the barre, with single-minded determination, always focused on her goal. And she was on her way to achieving it when she got sick. The illness itself was devastating, but after she got past the worst of it, we all assumed she'd recover. Except that wasn't in God's plan for our Cate. Sometimes I don't know how she…”

“Okay, I'm all set. Where are the…” Cate's words faltered as she came upon her mother and Clay standing by her photo. But she made a quick recovery. “I hope you're not boring Clay with ancient history, Mom.” Her teasing tone was a bit forced, her smile a little too bright.

It might be old news to them, but there were a lot of questions Clay wanted answered. He opened his mouth to ask a few only to have Emily cut him off.

“Are you going to show us the pond now, Cate?”

“Yes. Let's go.” She took the children's hands and started toward the door. “Coming, Clay?”

“Yeah. I'm right behind you.”

As he followed in their wake, he recalled the day she'd told him about her illness. And how he'd tried to imagine what it would be like to be struck with such a debilitating condition just as the whole world was opening up before you. He'd wondered how it had changed Cate's life, what dreams she'd been forced to give up. But he'd had no idea of the magnitude of her loss. He couldn't begin to imagine how horrible it must be for someone once so active and agile to be unable to do a simple thing like fly a kite.

Instead of walking all the way to the attractive, stone-edged pond in the Shepard backyard, he lowered himself to a bench off to one side. As Cate pointed out the fish to the children, her father joined them, wiping his hands on a dish towel. The kids instantly became more subdued and pressed closer to Cate. But once her father talked with them and handed them some food to sprinkle on the water, they relaxed. Cate backed off, joining Clay on the bench.

“I asked Dad to come out and spend a few minutes one-on-one with the kids. I hope it will help them understand not all fathers are like theirs.”

Clay was grateful for her concern for the children. But his thoughts remained on her. And he voiced the question that had come to his mind the day she'd first told him of her illness.

“How did you ever find the strength to cope?”

A few seconds of silence followed his quiet query as Cate watched the children. He wasn't sure she'd answer, but at last she lifted one shoulder. “It wasn't meant to be. God had other plans for me.”

“Just like that? After all that study and sacrifice, you simply accepted that disaster as God's will?”

“No. It took me years to get to where I am now. In the beginning, I considered the illness a major setback, but not a career-ending catastrophe. I didn't give up the hope of recovery for a long, long time.” She shrugged. “But in the end, I had to. And that's when the anger hit. I was furious with God. How could He do this to me, after the years of work I'd put into reaching my goal? I quit praying. I stopped going to church. I wanted nothing more to do with Him.”

“That makes sense to me.”

“It did to me, too. But in the end I realized that while I might have left God, He never left me. And as my anger subsided and I began to accept what had happened, I started to hear His voice again. I didn't always like what He was telling me, but I couldn't ignore it. That quote from Jeremiah kept replaying in my mind, about how God has plans for us, plans for our welfare, not our woe; plans to give us a future full of hope. After that, I began to open myself to His direction.”

A faint smile touched her lips. “My life may not be the one I planned, Clay. But it's good. And it's the one God wants for me. Once I accepted that, I found peace.”

Searching her eyes, Clay found nothing but sincerity in their depths. While her calm acceptance was hard for him to fathom, it nevertheless had an unexpected soothing effect on his troubled spirit. And it left him a tad envious; she'd found a peace he'd never discovered in all his years of restless wandering.

She tilted her head and regarded him. “Does my attitude surprise you?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“I haven't been much of a churchgoer, Cate. But I've been listening to Reverend Richards for the past few weeks. And I have to admit I've been impressed. He paints a different picture of the Almighty than the one I was taught as a child. An appealing picture of a God of mercy and kindness. But God wasn't very kind or merciful to you.”

“I didn't think so, either, at first. But I've come to believe there's a reason for what happened. And in His time, God will reveal it to me.”

He shook his head. “I guess I'm just not sure why you have such great trust in God. I mean, I can tell all of you are very religious. But I grew up in a religious, God-fearing home, too. And I turned away from God.”

“Ah.” A smile whispered at her lips. “There's the difference. We grew up in a God-
loving
home—not a God-fearing one.”

The comparison jolted him. In a few words, she'd captured the critical disparity in their upbringings, he realized. “You may be right. Fear was the operative word in our house.”

She didn't press, didn't push, but he sensed she was receptive if he wanted to share more. He stared into the placid waters of the pond a dozen yards away, debating how much to reveal.

“My father considered himself to be a very religious man, but he was harsh and domineering. He always stressed the God of punishment, and he formulated an endless list of strict rules he claimed were based on the Good Book. Or his interpretation of it, anyway. He pretty much viewed the world through a black and white lens. There was no room for discussion, no tolerance of dissension. He held me and Anne and my mother to such impossible standards that we often failed to meet his expectations.”

His inflection went flat. “There was no joy or warmth or love in our house. My mother tried to create some, but her efforts were
thwarted by my father. And every week he'd drag us to these fire-and-brimstone Sunday services, where a preacher would rant and rave about what terrible sinners we were and how we were all going to hell if we didn't repent. My father took it all in, holier than thou, with his bible clutched to his chest.” His last comment was riddled with bitterness.

“I can see why you wanted nothing to do with Christianity.”

“Yeah, well, my father didn't see it that way.” Clay gave a brief, mirthless laugh. “When I was fifteen, I'd had it. I rebelled and told him I wasn't going to church anymore. And I didn't. I think he wore out several belts on my back before he accepted the fact that nothing was going to change my mind.”

“He beat you?” Shock rippled through her voice.

“He hit me.” Clay gave a stiff shrug. “I'm not sure it would qualify as beating. And he was very self-righteous about it. Said he was doing it in the name of God for the good of my soul because he wanted me to be saved. I think he felt totally justified.”

“Oh, Clay.” Distress tightened her features. “I'm more sorry than I can say. No wonder you turned away from religion. The God I know would never justify the kind of behavior your father used in His name. Love works so much better than force if you want to touch people's hearts.”

“I think you're right.” Clay angled toward her, and the warmth in her eyes reached into the deepest recesses of his heart, like the spring sun coaxing new life from dormant plants. “Can I tell you something? You've given me a more favorable impression of religion in the past few minutes than any of those fire-and-brimstone preachers did in the first fourteen years of my life.”