Whispers of the Heart (19 page)

But she had yet to face Brent with her carelessness. Her incompetence. And her inability to be a good mother for Timmy.

“H
as my daddy come?” Timmy asked as they turned the corner onto her street.

“I don't know…” she began. But just as she spoke, she spotted the red sedan parked in front of his office, its driver door open. A second later, several people erupted from his building's front door, Brent in the lead. “But I think so. Come on.”

It took only a moment for Brent to spot them. His face flashed an instant of deep anguish before turning to joyous relief. He sprinted toward them, leaving the others quickly behind.

Autumn's muscles tightened like violin strings and she began to tremble. Brent would be angry. So very angry. She'd failed him in a most sacred trust. She'd failed to keep his child safe.

Flashes of memory invaded her mind. Of anger out of control, of unmitigated wrath relentlessly heaped on someone's head. Of bitter, accusing words darting
like weapons, stabbing, wounding…her mother? Or at her mother?

It faded. She couldn't hold on to it, and she let it go with a huge shiver that ran down her body. Now she faced a new storm.

Timmy dropped her hand and raced toward his father. “Here I am, Daddy.”

“Thank God.” Brent dropped to his knees, his arms gathering the boy in a tight embrace. His head bowed and dropped to Tim's shoulder. “Thank God. I thought… You had me so worried.”

Autumn slowed, then stopped and waited quietly a few yards distant. The whole thing had been her fault. She didn't know what to say to Brent. She wouldn't blame him if he never spoke to her again. Would he even want to?

Exhausted now that the emergency had passed, she felt like crawling into bed, pulling the covers over her head, and sleeping for days. And crying for a week. She only hoped she could contain the tears until then.

The others arrived, and stood silently a moment, a feeling of gratitude for Timmy's safe return waving through the small company. It felt so tangible, Autumn wished she could bottle it.

Brent gave her one swift, unreadable look, then focused on his son. Thereafter, his gaze never strayed from the small features, much like his own. Only curious and pity-filled glances from the others came her way.

Except from Laureen.

“Well, I see you found him,” Laureen said, her glance slicing Autumn into bits. “It's a good thing,
after you lost the child. We called the police!” Then over her shoulder, she commanded, “Sheila, you'd better go cancel that.”

Laureen's cold stare continued to nail Autumn as her voice sharpened even further. “I doubt Brent will want to press charges for your child neglect and they won't appreciate an unnecessary visit.”

Autumn remained silent. She shoved her hands behind her in an effort to hide her shivering, but a violent shake traveled up her body like an earth tremor.

Brent hadn't looked at her again. Not once. She deserved all of Laureen's condemnation, she supposed, and more. She was unfit to ever look after a child again.

But she had found him.

Sheila, with one swift sympathetic glance at Autumn, shoved her chin out, her eyes tossing a furious momentary stare Laureen's way.

“Yes, Sheila,” Brent said, finally looking up to engage Sheila's attention, his voice sounding like sandpaper. “Would you please? Tell them that all is well here. They needn't come.”

“Sure, Brent. Right away.” Sheila spun on her heel and ran back toward the office.

Brent turned back to Timmy, tugging his shirt down, his big hands gently running down the child's arms as if to make sure no bones were broken. “Why did you leave Autumn's place, son? Where were you?”

“I wasn't lost, Daddy,” the child protested.

For the first time, Autumn noticed how dirty he'd become. His knees were black with dirt, and his face streaked with sweat. She probably didn't look much
better herself. At one point she seemed to recall crawling forward to get to the boy.

“I went to see the Indians. Autumn didn't want to go, so I went by myself,” Timmy explained. “I wasn't lost.”

“We thought you were, son.” Brent's voice cracked.

“But Daddy, I knew where I was,” Timmy said, the tears beginning.

“It's all right, Tim, I'm not angry with you. We'll leave it for now. But we do need to have a talk about this, uh, adventure, later, all right?”

Laureen moved closer to Autumn. “Now Timmy's to blame, is he? How could you have been so careless? Losing a child in your care. You've caused so much trouble, I don't see how Brent can ever forgive you.”

Autumn didn't answer. She had none to give. Turning, she sidled away, refusing to look back, anxious to get home before she collapsed.

Brent had Timmy. All had come right again. They didn't need her.

Moments later, when Brent finally felt in control of his raw voice and feelings, he stood, holding Timmy in his arms.

“Autumn…” He looked for her, but she'd disappeared. John had already started back toward the office. The two men, Laureen's clients, trailed behind John.

“Where is she?” he asked Laureen, tamping down hard on the rage rising into his throat. But his anger was for Laureen's vindictiveness, and he wanted no
more of it. However, Timmy had already had enough emotion today without subjecting him to any more.

He felt a desperate need to talk to Autumn. “Where did she go?”

“Who?” came the mock innocent answer.

He clamped his mouth shut with an iron control.

Instead, he turned to gaze up the street. He'd have to go after her; she'd been hurt in all this fray, too. Perhaps more than he'd realized until now. But first he had to take care of Timmy.

As soon as he got into his office, he took Tim into the bathroom and cleaned him up as best he could. When he came out, still holding his son tight, Laureen was bidding her clients goodbye; he paid them little heed. At the moment, he didn't care how rude he appeared and a part of his mind blamed himself for allowing Laureen too much latitude that she used him and his office so freely.

None of that mattered at the moment. He had to get to Autumn.

He took Timmy into his office, dug out the coloring book and crayons to keep him entertained on the floor for a while, then called David and Wendy and explained the situation.

“I'll come get Tim,” Wendy offered, grasping his need instantly. “I'll take him with me to see Ashley and the kids. He can play with Kyle.”

“Thanks, Wendy. Yes, please do that. I've got to talk to Autumn. I'm afraid there's more…”

He let his voice trail away as it suddenly dawned on him what Autumn had done. No wonder she'd looked like ashes when he'd caught a real glimpse
of her face, just as he'd caught Timmy up into his arms.

What kind of hell had she faced when she'd gone after Timmy in that huge crush at the market this morning? What torments? There must be thousands attending the festival this weekend.

But she'd done, what for her, was the impossible. She'd gone anyway. She'd walked into the very fire to rescue his son. Her fire.

“Wendy, Autumn may need you later,” he said in sudden decision. “D'you suppose Ashley would be willing to keep Timmy for the rest of the afternoon?”

“I'll ask her. I'm sure she wouldn't mind. If you need me, just call. Meanwhile, I'll pray….”

Laureen knocked as he hung up, then opened his door without waiting for a welcome. “It's been a dreadful day, I must say. I don't want to spend another like it. But business is business and I wonder…?”

“Yes?” he snapped.

“Brent, I know you're still upset by all of this—” Laureen softened her tone as she glanced at Tim “—but I wondered if you could do me a favor and meet with my clients next?”

“No.”

“But Brent—”

“No, Laureen. I can't do any more favors for you. From now on if you have clients who wish to engage this firm, you may make an appointment in the regular way. Sheila will be glad to set one up for you. Now, if you don't mind?”

He raised his brows, letting her know he didn't
want any more interruptions. Two spots of color rushed into her cheeks, and he realized he'd probably made an enemy, but he didn't care. He should've taken a firmer stand with Laureen long ago.

Without another word, she turned and huffed out. Out of his life, Brent hoped.

Already, his thoughts jumped toward Autumn.

Autumn heard the first robin chirp as she unlocked the church side door. Gray morning light, tinged with apricot, streaked the eastern sky—a promise of a lovely morning after a soul-searching, sleepless night. She'd turned off her phone and ignored Brent when he pounded on her door; she remained silent after telling him to go away. He'd begged her to let him in, to talk to him, but she simply…couldn't.

She'd talked to no one, not even Spring.

Just before dawn, she felt a strong need, an undeniable pulling, to go to church. To paint.

She'd completed her mural except for one corner, one face that had remained elusive and ethereal. The face that had come to her from nowhere, the outlines appearing under her brush as though she merely uncovered what already was there…. It still called to be finished from something inside her.

Yet it was simpler than that, she supposed. She was a creature of habit and her early morning stint at the church soothed her. Painting soothed her.

She took her time to step back and study the work, attempting to see it with an objective eye. Something she hadn't done for weeks.

It was good; the emotional impact stood out in each rendering of Jesus' ministry. Excellent, in fact,
as though she'd climbed beyond her usual skill. One of the best things she'd ever done.

And now she could finish it.

She climbed tiredly to the scaffold and unfolded her canvas roll that held tubes of paint. The eyes, she thought, giving her attention to the indistinct face shining through the mists of clouds in the painting. She needed to get something…just…right.

Long moments later, she let out a deep sigh that caught her out of her concentration. She heard the outside door clang shut. She sat straighter, knowing it was Brent. She didn't look around when the footsteps came down the hall.

Tipping her head, she gazed at how the face now appeared, and let the contentment fill her soul. The face still appeared incomplete, yet she knew there was nothing more it needed. Somehow, it spoke of hope and encouragement, an invitation to love.

Brent spoke behind her. “I figured I'd find you here.”

“Mmm…” She didn't want to talk to Brent, not yet. If she simply continued to work, surely he'd go away after a while.

“Autumn?” Timmy's voice, wobbly and plaintive, drifted up to her perch.

She turned at that, the young voice clutching her heart. Letting her gaze skitter over Brent, she said, “Hi, Timmy. How are you? Are you all right this morning?

“Uh-huh.”

He looked tearful to her, his eyes bigger than normal. His little mouth quivered. Her gaze flew to
check Brent's face. What had he been doing to make Timmy cry?

“Why are you here so early this morning? What do you want?”

“You didn't answer your door yesterday. Or your phone.”

“No, I…” She lifted her chin. “I had some thinking to do without…without interruption.”

He nodded, his mouth pursing as he let it go. But his gaze told her he'd not let it go for long. The light in his eyes said they had much to discuss and he wouldn't be placated with mere small talk.

She didn't know if she had anything to say. What was to be gained by trying? Or dragging anything out? He'd never trust her again.

“Timmy has something to say, Autumn.” His voice was firm, yet gentle. “Would you mind coming down for a few moments?”

“All right,” she said, letting her gaze rest on Timmy. She wiped her hands, and turned, climbing down with care, without hurry.

“Let's go into the auditorium and sit down,” Brent suggested. “This might take a while.”

“Let's not,” she countered. She wasn't about to give him more opportunity to make her feel worse than was necessary. “Timmy and I are used to sitting on the floor. We can do that here. Right, Timmy?”

“Uh-huh.” Timmy followed her example and folded himself down, sitting with his back against the wall.

“Fine.” Brent waited only long enough to let the two of them settle before he joined them. They sat a
moment before he prompted his son. “All right, Timmy.”

The child ducked his head. He sucked on his bottom lip. But finally he raised his gaze.

As woebegone as he appeared, Autumn still marveled as Timmy gazed at her in a straightforward manner. With a trust in her acceptance. It reminded her so much of Brent, of his attitude toward people. But the child had always struck her as containing a self-confidence all his own, beyond his years—something she envied. Something she admired.

“I'm sorry, Autumn,” he said tentatively.

“I don't understand, Timmy.” She peeked at Brent. He hadn't said a thing yet of how she'd bungled the job of caring for his son. Why was he holding his anger in check?

She licked her dry lips, taking her courage up a step. If four-year-old Timmy could tackle the problem straight on, surely she could do the same. “Why are you sorry?”

“I did something wrong. I left your house without telling you. I made you worried.”

“Yes…yes, you did.” Her glance strayed to Brent's. A light of pride shone there. His son was very young to learn this hard lesson—to take responsibility for his own actions.

“And?” Brent prompted.

“Daddy said I scared you. I'm sorry.”

“I—it's all right, now, Timmy. It's over and you're safe and sound. Let's forget it.”

“Autumn,” Brent interrupted softly. “We don't want to simply brush this behavior away, or hide it. We all do things that are…mistakes in judgment. We
need to learn from them. Please tell Timmy you accept his apology.”