Wings of a Dream (41 page)

Then the sheriff stood at the end of the pew. “Rebekah?”

With a small shake, I tossed off my melancholy and offered him my brightest grin. He returned it, tucking my hand in the crook of his arm and escorting me from the church into the gray day. More winter than spring.

“May I stop by this week?” His eager eyes terrified me. I needed to tell him I’d be leaving soon.

“I . . . Well, I guess that would be fine.” What could I say? Please don’t ask of me what I can’t give? Maybe I imagined the question in his eyes after all. Maybe he just needed a friend. I laid my free hand on his arm. “Please, come. It’s always a pleasure.”

S
heriff Jeffries knocked at the kitchen door just after supper the next evening, his hat turning in his hands, his tongue swiping across his lips. Frank and the children retreated to the parlor as I poured coffee and sat across the table from Henry, my heart thumping a frantic pace. It had been a long time since I’d felt so uncomfortable in his presence.

“I’ve been thinking . . .” He stared into his cup as if he could read his next words on the dark, shifting surface.

Frank’s low laughter drifted in from the parlor. My feet longed to run to him, to hear what childish antic had brought amusement, but I stayed in my seat.

Henry pulled a paper from the inside pocket of his jacket and slid it across the table.

“What’s this?” I unfolded it, and my breath caught at the words. “A Texas Ranger.”

He nodded, pride shining in his eyes. “It’s all because of you, Rebekah.”

“Me?” I bit my lip to hold back the tears. Henry would get to live his dream.

“I’d have never tried if you hadn’t encouraged me.”

I reached across the table and squeezed his hand before I realized what I’d done. I let go as fast as if I’d touched a frozen water pump handle barehanded.

But he held on. “I love you, Rebekah. I think I have since the moment I caught you on the train platform.”

I held my breath, wishing I didn’t have to disappoint this man.

“Come with me. Marry me.” His eyes radiated hope.

I remembered the driving lesson—and the dinner at Irene’s. Henry Jeffries had adventuresome dreams, but he wanted a safe wife. Someone to be coddled and cared for, like Clara Gresham. I wasn’t sure I could be that, just as I could never seem to be the docile daughter Mama longed for.

I reclaimed my hand, wishing I could soften the hurtful words. “I can’t.”

He sat back as if I’d struck at him.

“We aren’t right for each other, Henry. We’d come to despise each other, I think. Eventually.”

His head shook. “We wouldn’t, Rebekah. I’d do whatever you wanted, be whatever you wanted.”

Such the opposite of Arthur. Humble. Caring. Saying he loved me. “That’s the problem, Henry. You shouldn’t have to change for me.” Why couldn’t I return his affection? Why did the Lord doom my heart to care for those who didn’t care for me?

“Everything all right?” Frank poked his head into the kitchen, his eyes meeting mine. Those blue eyes, deep with passion and love for his family.

I pushed away from the table and ran out the door, all the way to the barn. I groped through the dark interior, hearing Dandy and Tom and Huck gallivanting in the corral, Ol’ Bob mooing from her stall. I lifted my skirts, charged up the ladder and into the hayloft, and wept, wondering if I’d just turned down my very last chance at love.

I kept myself apart from the family after counting eleven days remaining on my paper. Frank didn’t ask any questions. He just grabbed three squares of cornbread and a cup of coffee and returned to the barnyard. Or the fields. He didn’t bother to tell me which.

I was glad to escape him, for no matter how I chided my heart, it continued to race in his presence. He’d already made it clear he had no intentions toward me. And now I’d refused two eligible young men who did. Perhaps he thought me young and foolish. Perhaps he wished I would leave. After all, he’d said he wouldn’t need me to care for his children forever. Yet I saw no evidence that he intended to take a wife to mother them, either. What was his plan?

My disconcerting thoughts set me to slamming pots and barking orders. Courage stirred until I believed I would spew all my words the minute he walked in the door. But I knew how he’d react: He’d stand there quietly, smiling shyly, as if he didn’t want to offend, leaving me to bite my lip and turn away in hopes he wouldn’t see the flush creeping up my neck.

A whole week I endured, until I imagined my heart would burst from my chest. Something had to change. And it seemed I needed to be the one to make it happen. Ollie skipped off to school that morning. James and Dan raced out the door close behind.

“Stop!” I called.

Their shoulders hunched and heads hung as they turned back.

“Take Janie with you.”

“Why?” James asked.

“Because I said so.” I led her to the porch, put her hand in James’s. He huffed his displeasure, but Dan bent low, his hands on his knees, his face near Janie’s. “You can be the bad guy, okay?”

I wanted to laugh and cry as they helped her down the steps. But I also wanted this infernal waiting to end. I needed it to end.

They turned the corner, headed for the front yard. I ran in the opposite direction. To the garden behind the house. In the far corner, among the soil Frank had readied for planting, I dropped to my knees and covered my face.

“I’ve waited so long, Lord. What do You want from me?” My weak and weary heart cried for help as the cool morning warmed, but I didn’t move. I prayed, desperate for direction. The Lord had brought me to this place, to this family. Aunt Adabelle had been sure of it. And so had I. Until this moment, I believed He’d asked me to stay, too. But the unwelcome new stirrings inside me couldn’t be denied.

I had no desire to torture Henry Jeffries or Frank, one who wanted me and one who didn’t. And I had no desire to bring further heartache to the children, either. But they needed me, didn’t they? Or did I just wish they did?

The longer I prayed, the more I sensed what had to be. “Why is doing the right thing so hard, Lord?”

He didn’t answer back. But He knew all about my struggle. He’d sweat His own blood over the agony of His obedience.

Take no thought for the morrow.
I took a deep breath, brushed the dirt from my skirt, walked back into the house, and started dinner.

I knew what I had to do, though it rankled all the same. But fresh air and a stretch of the legs would do me good. I could walk to town at leisure, not in haste like the day Dan cut open his head. I would enjoy the solitude, the exercise, and the last of the winter-scented air. And when I arrived in town, I’d send a Western Union telegram to Mama and Daddy to let them know I was coming home.

I set the pork chops on the kitchen table, but I didn’t sit. Instead, I pulled off my apron and donned my hat. “I hope you don’t mind, but I have some errands that must be done in town. I won’t be long.”

Frank and the boys looked stunned but didn’t protest. And so I hurried away, enjoying the journey much less than I’d tried to convince myself I would.

The telegram didn’t take long to write.
Arriving tomorrow. Rebekah.
No other explanation needed. A man I didn’t recognize copied down the telegram. Thankfully, no one else stood by to wonder about my business.

I fumbled for the money in my pocketbook. Daddy’s money. Plenty to cover the telegram and any cost to change the train ticket. I ought to offer the rest to Frank, for Dallas and for the Christmas presents. Or maybe I could send it back later.

My bottom lip trembled just a bit. I caught it with my teeth. No one must suspect my agony. Like leaving a limb behind. Or five.

I’d heard whispered stories about men with amputated limbs, how they still hurt long after the appendage was severed and buried. It would be the same with my heart, a lingering ache for Frank and his children, no matter how long they’d been gone from my sight.

Frank could hire another housekeeper—someone like my aunt. He could live in his own house, sleep in his own bed, be with his children day and night. And I supposed I’d survive—even though my heart felt like an old dress Mama had ripped to pieces to make a rag rug. I imagined myself as that dress, once a pretty thing to be admired, now destined to be trampled beneath dirty feet.

“More time,” I whispered to myself as the road to the house both pulled and repelled me. “I wish I had more time.”

Deep breaths calmed me on the outside. Measured steps took me to Mr. Crenshaw’s store, the remainder of Daddy’s money clutched in my hand.

Mr. Crenshaw peered past me as I entered. “Alone today?”

Then I noticed Sheriff Jeffries. He paled, doffed his hat, and scooted past. I watched him go, swallowing down the ache in my throat.

“How can I help you?” Mr. Crenshaw’s friendly face brought me back to my task.

“Peppermint sticks, please. And . . .” My gaze swept over the shelves. “Two combs, a lace handkerchief, and a lace bib.” I laid Daddy’s remaining bills on the counter. Maybe the trinkets would soften the blow.

After Mr. Crenshaw had wrapped my purchases, my dawdling excuses vanished. Heavy steps carried me back toward Frank Gresham’s farm. I let my shoulders droop and my feet drag as I traveled the lonely road.

Aunt Adabelle’s face intruded into my musings, purplish blotches on a bloodless background. A woman, from all accounts, who loved people—especially this family. In fact, she’d used the last of her earthly breath to commend them to me.

“God sent you.”
Words that had both sustained and challenged me.

I knew Mama loved me, too, but I dreaded returning to her brand of affection. Yet after these months of caring for the children, I could imagine some of the love behind Mama’s actions. And I wondered if in this experience came my chance to be different. To let go of the ones I loved in spite of my longing to keep them close. To trust all our futures to the Lord, not to my own plans.

The farmhouse appeared as I rounded the bend. No longer unfamiliar. Now every porch and window and square of yard held a memory. My chest ached, but my will stood firm. Come morning, I’d announce my plan to catch the train home. It would be easier that way. No time for the children to work themselves into a tizzy. No time for anyone to try to change my mind.

I’d make my good-byes in my own way, like Will had. Remembering the last days with my brother, his grace in the midst of his own personal tragedy, made me proud. I wanted to be as strong as him.

I circled around to the back gate and pasted on a carefree smile before gliding through the kitchen door. “I’m home—and I brought presents!”

Feet pounded the floor, little faces lit with contagious excitement. Frank presided over them with a smile as bright as the sun.

And oh, how I wished this could be my real life.