Wanted: A Family (5 page)

“I won’t be done anytime soon.” She cocked her head at him. “Are you planning on staying in town that long?”

“Only long enough to…repair your house. Then I’ll move on.”

Exactly as she’d thought. She wouldn’t get involved with Jacob Smith or the problems she felt lurking beneath his polite, standoffish exterior. Why, he could walk out of her life as quickly as he’d walked in and never finish the job. She straightened her spine. Another reason to steel herself against this strange attraction she had for him.

“You might want to lock the screen so you and Elise don’t use that door and fall through the floor joists.”

Nodding, Callie closed the screen, hooked it, closed and locked the wooden door, and then found a red ribbon and tied it around the knob. Satisfied that Elise wouldn’t miss the warning to avoid the porch, she left for her walk by the back door.

A warning she’d take to heart. The truth was Jacob Smith could hurt her. Not physically. She’d never think that. But hurt her nevertheless. She’d lock her heart against this drifter. And focus on making a family with her baby, with Elise and her child and focus on her dream. She’d have a full life.

The excitement bubbling within her like an effervescent underground spring sputtered and died. In truth, she’d been lonely for years—most of her life. Marriage to Martin hadn’t filled that aching void.

Hadn’t she learned anything? Attraction meant nothing.

Jacob Smith was the last man on earth she wanted in her life.

In a matter of hours, Jake had torn the planks off the porch. He’d found ample lumber in the barn to replace them, the boards covered with a layer of dust and mice droppings, evidence that the intent to make repairs exceeded Martin Mitchell’s follow-through.

As Jake pounded in another nail, he cringed at his rush to judgment. If he’d been married when he’d ended up in jail, he’d have no doubt left some things undone. Not everyone was suited for restoration. The poor guy lost his life trying.

Still, Martin’s widow lived in a house all but unfit for human habitation. Jake couldn’t let a woman endure such conditions. Not that he blamed the house. Time and effort would bring this place back to its former grandeur. Though enough work was here to tether a man indefinitely, a sentence without parole.

Yet to walk away, when he’d witnessed Mrs. Mitchell’s relief and joy at the house’s revival would be cruel. In the time he remained, if possible, he’d see the task to completion.

His heart lurched. Was the pull more the woman than the work? Either way, he doubted he’d get the job done. Someone was sure to discover his jailbird past.

The aroma of something sugary drifted on the air. Jake pulled the tantalizing scent of home into his lungs then released it in a gust.

Who was he fooling? This wasn’t home—at least not his.

He grabbed the length of lumber he’d cut. Grasping another large nail between thumb and forefinger, he pounded it into the pungent pine, the perfume of Jake’s life. Far better than the stench of prison, but nothing like the aromas floating out of Mrs. Mitchell’s kitchen.

A shadow fell across the porch floor.

He turned to face a man and woman standing on the flagstone walkway. Offering a tentative smile, a round-faced, sturdy woman wore a feather-adorned hat atop her salt-and-pepper hair.

The burly man’s brow furrowed beneath the brim of his hat. “Who are you?”

Jake laid the hammer down and rose. “Jake Smith,” he said offering a hand.

The visitor didn’t take it. “The name means nothing to me.”

“Doubt it would. I’m new in town.”

“What are you doing to our daughter-in-law’s porch?”

So these people were Callie Mitchell’s in-laws.

The screen door opened and Mrs. Mitchell stepped out on the solid boards he’d laid, looking fresh as a summer morning after a rain. She glanced at Jake, then at her in-laws. Her bright smile slipped. “I see you’ve met Mr. Smith, the carpenter who’s fixing up the place. I’m sure you’re pleased to see I’m taking action to ensure our safety.”

Square jaw set in a stubborn line, Mitchell folded beefy arms across his chest. “The best thing you could do is torch this place.”

Callie sighed, obviously not the first time she’d heard such nonsense. Father-in-law or not, Mitchell had no right to badger his dead son’s wife, a gentle woman with a heavy load.

He turned his gaze on her, ready to toss the idiot off the property if she showed the slightest inclination, but she continued to wear that calm expression of hers. How did she keep her patience, when Jake would like nothing better than to punch the guy?

“We aren’t here to argue, Commodore.” Dorothy Mitch
ell laid a hand on her husband’s sleeve. “Tell Callie why we’ve come.”

Mitchell shifted on his feet. “I, ah, we brought the fabric and some of those baby things you were looking at before we, ah, got off on the wrong foot.”

“Thank you.” Smiling, Callie Mitchell motioned to the house. “Would you care for tea? I just took an angel food cake out of the oven.”

Ignoring his daughter-in-law’s peace offering, Mitchell swept a hand toward Jake. “Can’t see how you can afford a handyman.”

“Mr. Smith agreed to do the work for a roof over his head and meals.”

He turned narrowed eyes on Jake. “Why? When you could get a good-paying job at the grain elevator or lumberyard?”

“I don’t plan on staying long.”

“That so? Then why did you come?”

Jake kept his expression blank, a skill that had held him in good stead in prison. “Peaceful sounded like a nice town.”

“Peaceful is the way we aim to keep it. Most folks around here distrust drifters.”

“I appreciate your concern, Commodore, but I’ve already arranged for Mr. Smith to do the work.” Callie Mitchell tapped the toe of her serviceable shoe on the newly laid porch floor. “His work speaks for him.”

“Let’s have that tea,” Callie’s mother-in-law said. “Please.”

Ignoring his wife, Mitchell frowned. “You’re hardly a good judge of character, Callie. The last man you hired ransacked the place and took every cent in the house.”

Jake took a step forward. “Where I come from, a man speaks kindly to a lady.”

Mitchell turned suspicious eyes on Jake. “And where is that, Smith?”

“Does it matter? I believe good manners are the same everywhere.”

“I’ll tell you what I believe. A drifter has something to hide.” He smirked. “As soon as someone gets close to his secret, that’s when he leaves.” He turned to Callie. “Reckon I’ll stop at the sheriff’s office. See what he knows about ‘Smith’ here.”

He thrust the bundle at his daughter-in-law, then took his wife’s arm and stomped down the walk.

The threat tore through Jake, heating his veins. Even if the sheriff didn’t find out anything about him, that didn’t mean he wouldn’t come around asking questions. It wouldn’t be long until his past caught up with him and forced him out of town.

Jake didn’t know where to pin his gaze, but he couldn’t look at Callie Mitchell. He couldn’t risk the suspicion he’d see in her guileless eyes. He couldn’t risk her seeing the alarm surely hovering in his.

“I’m sorry about that. About him,” she whispered, then stepped inside.

Something frozen inside him knotted tighter. Callie Mitchell had lost her husband. She managed this run-down house and her daily chores while giving refuge to a young unwed mother—all that responsibility rested on her slender shoulders.

Yet without a moment’s hesitation, a member of her family had piled on more burdens. No doubt Commodore Mitchell would call himself a Christian. The man was a hypocrite. The world was full of them, further evidence that if God existed, he had little impact on anyone’s conduct.

Anyone that is, except Callie Mitchell. From what he’d seen, people in this town either harassed or leaned on her.

The woman needed someone to look after her. Someone who’d help carry her burdens. Someone like…

Not him.

Anyone but him.

Jake knelt on the porch, then grabbed a nail and swung the hammer. This time, he found his thumb, not the nail’s head. Through gritted teeth, he bit back the cry of pain and cradled his throbbing thumb in his palm.

No point in getting all riled up about Mrs. Mitchell’s load. He wouldn’t—couldn’t—get involved with her. He’d never known a woman he could trust.

He was in Peaceful for one reason and one reason only. He had a woman to find. Soon as he finished for the day, he’d visit the Corner Café.

If the waitress proved as informative as she’d been on his way into town, she might lead him to the woman who’d discarded him like a broken tool. Then he could finish what he came for—and get out of town. Before he got tied to things he couldn’t have.

C
allie found Elise in the parlor, her feet propped on a footstool, a ball of yellow yarn spinning with each knit-purl. “How’s your ankle?”

“Good as new.” Elise raised her needles, her face glowing. “I’m making a blanket for my baby.”

The joy Callie read in Elise’s face matched her own. Sometimes Callie thought she’d burst with the wonder of her impending motherhood. Still, considering Elise’s circumstances, she might have had a far different attitude.

She sat beside her and ran a palm over the softness. “It’s going to be beautiful and warm.”

Elise’s lips curved in a smile. “As soon as I’m finished, I’ll make one for your baby. What color would you like?”

Precious babies—each one pure as the first dusting of snow. “White. I’d like white.”

“That’s not as practical as I’d expect from you, but white it shall be.”

“I’ll use it for church and special occasions. I’ll get the yarn on my next trip to town.”

“I have enough money to pay for it. It’ll be my gift.” Her eyes flashed. “No arguing.”

“You win,” Callie said with a grin then sobered. “I’ve been asked to tell you something.”

Elise laid her needles down, met Callie’s gaze then looked away. “From your expression, I’m not sure I want to hear it.”

“Hearing what I have to say doesn’t mean you have to agree to anything, but I thought you should know.” She took Elise’s hands. “Sally and Albert Thompson are interested in adopting your baby.”

Elise sucked in a gulp of air. “They’ve wanted a baby forever.”

“They have. But what they want isn’t important. You need to make the decision that’s right for you and your baby.”

“Sally would be a wonderful mother, but— Oh, Callie, I know I’m young and don’t have a way to earn a living, but I want this baby.” She sighed. “Is that selfish?”

“If it is, then I’m selfish, too. We’re both facing some of the same issues. I’m not sure how I’ll handle all the expenses of raising a child, but with God’s help, I’ll find a way.”

“Mama said a child means fevers, defiance and turmoil. But hugs and jelly kisses compensate for every worry and sacrifice.” Her eyes glistened. “Taking the bad with the good—that’s love. I love my baby. I can’t let it go.”

“Then that’s settled.”

Tears brimmed in Elise’s eyes. “I don’t know what I would’ve done if you hadn’t taken me in, but I won’t live on your charity forever.”

“I’m sorry for the trouble between you and your father, but I enjoy your company.”

“I’ve been thinking. Do you think my knitted baby things, shawls, caps and mittens would sell? I want to help with expenses.”

“What a great idea! You’re a wonderful person, Elise.”

Elise’s face fell, as if she saw nothing good in herself. A husband would simplify her life. “We’ve never talked about this and I haven’t wanted to pry, but would you consider marrying the baby’s father? Or isn’t that an option?”

“He’s not from around here.” She withdrew her hands from Callie’s and knotted them in her lap. “Remember the trip I took to North Carolina to see my cousin Carol Ann?”

“Yes, you were excited about taking the train and getting away from the cold for a couple months.”

“I met Gaston at a square dance. I fell hard.” She sighed. “I sneaked out of the house to meet him several times. I got caught up in his kisses…one thing led to another.” Her cheeks flushed. “I was devastated when I had to leave him. We corresponded. I lived for those letters…” A sob tore from Elise’s lips and she hung her head. “I was such a fool.”

Callie laid a hand on Elise’s arm.

“Once I told Gaston about the baby, he…stopped writing. Aunt Audra said he must’ve left town the day he got the news.” Elise swiped at her tears. “My aunt blames herself. No one’s to blame but him. And me.” She met Callie’s eyes. “He said I was pretty and he loved me.”

“You
are
pretty.” Callie pulled a handkerchief from her sleeve and handed it to Elise.

She blew her nose. “I’m not using his sweet talk as an excuse for breaking God’s commandment. Papa wasn’t much for praise. Gaston’s words…were so different from what I was used to hearing from Papa. I believed every thing he said.”

The baby’s father wasn’t an answer, but would Elise’s dad relent and allow Elise to return home? “Can the rift between you and your father be mended?”

Fresh tears filled Elise’s eyes. “Papa doesn’t love me. How could he love me and say the things he’s said to me? Mama says he’s hurt and he’ll get over it.” Her lower lip trembled. “When?”

God gives His forgiveness quickly, at the speed of lightning. But mankind often took longer. “Have you asked your parents to forgive you?”

“More times than I can count. Mama’s forgiven me, but I’ve disappointed her.” She gave a strangled laugh. “I’ve disappointed myself. But Papa…”

“Give him time. Once the baby is here, he’ll come around.”

Elise fingered the yellow blanket in her lap. “I’ve asked God to pardon me, but I don’t feel forgiven.”

A lump formed in Callie’s throat. She understood. Too well. Hadn’t she asked for forgiveness for her part in bringing about Martin’s death? Yet as much as she knew Scripture, as easily as she could quote the Psalm—“As far as the east is from the west, so far hath He removed our transgressions from us”—sometimes she didn’t feel absolved. “The Bible makes it clear we’re free from sin when we repent. But sometimes it’s hard to feel pardoned. Perhaps clemency seems too easy, like we got off scot-free.”

Elise snorted. “Memories are longer than Methuselah’s beard. From what I’ve seen, folks expect forgiveness for their mistakes but aren’t quick to offer it. I don’t mind so much for myself, but I won’t be able to bear it if anyone looked down on my baby,” she said, her hand hovered over the movement of a little foot or hand.

How could anyone begrudge a kind word to an innocent child? Callie tilted up Elise’s chin. “When things look dark and you and I can’t see what lies ahead, we’ll have to rely on God to light the way. Will you try that with me? One step at a time?”

Elise offered a wobbly smile and nodded. “This unmarried forgiven expectant mother is on the march.”

Grinning, Callie glanced at the clock. “We’d better get on the march. We’re due to see Doc Wellman in less than an hour. After our appointment, we’ll stop at the Mercantile.” She pulled the money Sarah gave her from her pocket. “Your mother wants you to use this to buy things for your baby. She cares about you and your child.”

“I know she does, but she won’t go against her wedding vows and defy Papa.”

“Those vows are important.”

Vows. Callie had taken them and from that first week wondered—

She refused to finish the thought. Even if Martin had never matured, even if she’d had to carry the load for both of them her entire life, even if sometimes that load wearied her, she’d always be grateful for the baby she carried.

She forced her thoughts back to Elise. “Even if your father never changes his mind, you’ll have a home here with me.”

Elise burrowed into Callie’s open arms. “What would I do without you?”

“We’re in this together. We’ll be fine,” Callie spoke softly against Elise’s copper curls, “if we seek God’s guidance at the start of each new day.”

Elise straightened and met Callie’s eyes, the misery in their depths banged against Callie’s heart. “If I’d done that last summer, I…I wouldn’t be in this mess. I’m a fool for falling for a footloose man.”

Through the lace curtains in the parlor window, Callie watched Mr. Smith climb the porch steps. A strong, handsome…drifter. Her breath caught.
Footloose
described Jacob Smith. She’d remember that. Both she and Elise had learned they could be fooled by a man.

Elise rose and tugged Callie to her feet, hugging her or trying to, but her round belly got in the way. They both laughed, easing the tension.

A half hour later, they headed out the door with Elise showing no sign of a limp. Elise looked pretty with her auburn hair swept into a French twist, her shawl pinned in place with a lovely old broach, a keepsake from Callie’s Aunt Hilda. Nothing would disguise the girl’s advanced pregnancy, but the shawl softened her silhouette.

Jacob Smith rounded the back of the house, tools dangling from his belt and slapping against his denims. He might be a drifter, but she appreciated his help. Goodness, the man never stopped. How long could he keep up the hectic pace?

He tipped his hat. “Afternoon, ladies.”

His eyes locked with Callie’s, his eyes pools of jade she felt she’d drown in. When had green become her favorite color? Even though she didn’t trust him, her feet had a life all their own and brought her closer.

At the sound of Elise’s giggle, Callie gathered her wits about her. “Tomorrow’s the Lord’s Day. You’ve earned your rest, Jacob,” she said unable to look away from the intensity of his gaze. “If you’re looking for a place to worship, church service begins at ten o’clock.”

His full lips thinned, turned mulish. “Thanks, but I plan on sleeping late tomorrow.”

“If God changes your mind about that, we’re having a potluck after service. It’s your chance to eat food prepared by the best cooks in town.”

“Can’t see how anyone could improve on your cooking.”

The warmth of Jacob’s regard spilled into the empty places inside her. “If you’re aiming for larger portions, you’re succeeding.”

Chuckling, he bounded onto the porch and got back to work. He’d accomplished a great deal. Only a few boards needed replacing. Strange how quickly she’d gotten used to having him around the place. His long strides, the noise of saw and hammer, the scent of soap on his skin after washing up at the pump. An image of damp hair curling at Jacob’s nape filled her traitorous mind. She shivered and quickly said goodbye.

As Callie and Elise strolled along at a snail’s pace, Mildred Uland’s cocker spaniel trotted over for a pat until a squirrel captured his attention. He sped after it, chasing it up a tree. “Sandy’s feeling feisty this afternoon. Maybe we could use him to round up Mr. Smith for services.”

Her attempt at humor fell on deaf ears. Apparently, Elise had her mind elsewhere, probably missing her parents. For all her bravado, Elise loved her father.

Lord, Elise and her father are hurting. Please heal their wounds.

God controlled the outcome. He loved them all and in time would bring them peace. With that assurance, Callie filled her lungs with the soft afternoon air, listening to the chirping birds.

“Only three weeks until the baby comes,” Elise said in a wobbly voice. “Oh, Callie, I’m scared.”

“I am, too, a little.” Callie smiled with as much assurance as she could muster. “Just think, by the time my baby arrives you’ll be giving me advice.”

“I can’t imagine that.” Elise laid a hand on her abdomen. “The way this baby’s doing somersaults, it has to be a boy.”

“So what do girls do while waiting to be born? Read?”

“Silly.” Elise giggled. “They knit.”

Laughing, they turned onto Liberty toward Doctor Wellman’s office, a couple blocks down.

Up ahead, Lowell and Naomi Burch stepped outside the door of the First National Bank. As the bank’s president, Mr. Burch had power and influence in town. His wife always wore the latest fashions. Naomi adjusted the skirts of her gown, the jet beads catching the light, then raised her lace-trimmed parasol and took her husband’s arm. As the couple ambled toward them, Callie knew the moment they spied Elise by the hitch in their stride.

Elise’s steps slowed. “Turn around.”

“We’ll do no such thing. You’re neither a criminal nor contagious.” As the couple approached, Callie smiled. “Good afternoon, Mrs. Burch, Mr. Burch.”

“Hello, Mrs. Mitchell,” Mr. Burch said. “Fine day.”

Mrs. Burch gave a nod. “Hello, Callie.”

The couple passed by, not uttering a word to Elise. Behind her, Callie could hear Mrs. Burch whispering. The word
disgrace
and
shameful
reached her ears. No doubt Elise’s, too.

Did these people believe they’d never done anything wrong? Mrs. Burch was known to gossip. Mr. Burch had an affair with his secretary a few years back. The woman left town and the marriage survived. Still, what right did they have to treat Elise like an outcast?

Elise clenched a shaking hand over her shawl. “If I keep my baby, it’ll never be accepted in this town.” She turned sorrowful eyes on Callie. “I want to talk to Sally and Albert Thompson.”

As much as seeing Elise snubbed hurt, Callie knew sin had consequences. But those consequences shouldn’t spill over onto an innocent baby.

A lump rose in her throat. For all intents and purposes, Callie was an unwed mother herself. Not with the social stigma Elise faced, but with the same realities. “Talk to Doc Wellman. Talk to Pastor Steele. If you still want to
give up your baby after that, I’ll arrange a meeting with the Thompsons.”

But inside Callie wanted to scream—don’t let anyone force you into that decision. She remembered the loving arms of her mother. Arms she still missed. If Elise wanted her child in her arms, then that’s where her baby should be, but Callie had no right to interfere.

She hoped Elise understood that once she gave up her baby to the Thompsons, she couldn’t change her mind, no matter how much that decision broke her heart.

Lord, give Elise wisdom to make the right choice.

Here she’d been advising Elise and praying for the girl’s wisdom, but what about her own decisions? Could she be both mother and father to her baby? Could she provide for her baby’s needs? How long could she take care of her child and still provide support for the unwed mothers’ shelter? The money she made writing the town history wouldn’t last forever. Callie swallowed against the lump in her throat.

What would she do then?

What she would not do is worry. The tightness in her chest eased. If God gave an assignment, he enabled its success. She’d find a way to care for these girls and her precious child.

Unbidden, the image of Jacob Smith popped into her mind. She forced it away. Nothing good would come from her attraction to that man.

After securing the last board on the porch, Jake stowed the tools, his work done for the day. The idea of examining those newspapers and scrapbooks for information about his birth crept into his thoughts. If he asked to see them, Mrs. Mitchell would want an explanation. An explanation he couldn’t give.