Waiting Out the Storm

by Ruth Logan Herne

  “People who understand,” finished Sarah.

  “Yes. It’s not that I don’t appreciate your help,” Rita continued.

  Sarah cut her off. “Reet, we’re fine. You know I’d do anything to help you. Maybe too much. It’s okay to draw the line in the sand.”

  A ghost of a smile touched Rita’s face. “Thank you, Sarah.”

  “Skeet, let’s go. We’ll be late.” Eyeing her watch once Rita left, Sarah groaned. “Hustle up.”

  “I don’t want to go.” Rounding the corner, Skeeter clutched her midsection, distraught. “I don’t feel good.”

  “A bellyache?” asked Sarah, concerned.

  “She gets them whenever she doesn’t want to go somewhere,” accused Liv. “It gets her out of everything.”

  “Well, it’s not getting her out of this,” Sarah countered. “No apple pancakes for girls who skip church.”

  Skeeter’s lower lip quivered but she squared her shoulders and scuffed her way to the truck.

  Climbing in, Sarah asked, “We’re set?”

  Brett and Liv nodded. Skeeter moaned. Sarah noted the drama and chose to ignore it, hoping they wouldn’t be late.

  They made it just in time, slipping into a pew as the single bell tolled. She saw Craig to the left. He was two rows back, but she felt his presence as though he was next to her, sharing her songbook.

  When they rose for the opening song, she felt Craig’s gaze. A quick look confirmed the suspicion. He smiled, appreciation lighting his eyes.

  But her choice of clothing had nothing to do with him, Sarah assured herself. Proper church attire set a good example for the kids, plain and simple. So what that she usually dressed a little more casually. Okay, make that a lot more casually. For today she wanted to be soft and flowing, even pretty. She embraced Skeeter’s shoulders and sang the familiar hymn with soft, melodic gusto.

  Craig knew Skeeter was in trouble before the unthinkable happened, but couldn’t intervene quickly enough. Caught between family and friends, he watched the child’s face wash pale. Trying to exit the narrow confines, he stepped on more than one foot, but to no avail. Before he could get her clear of the pew, Skeeter got sick, right on Sarah’s pretty dress.

  Pastor Weilers went silent. The congregation froze. A little girl groaned, then gagged in mockery or sympathy. An adolescent boy exclaimed, “Eeeeeuuuuwwww,” in the loudest voice possible, while Brett and Olivia’s mouths dropped open in disgust and embarrassment.

  “I’ve got her.” Craig hoisted the sick child. Mrs. Weilers bustled through the side entry, brandishing an armload of towels.

  Numb, Sarah accepted the older woman’s help as graciously as she could. The rank smell overshadowed the sweet mix of lemon oil and beeswax. Brett and Livvie headed out, humiliated. They’d escaped scot-free. The bulk of the mess had landed on Sarah, who held the lower edges of the skirt as she quietly fled the sanctuary. Mrs. Weilers followed, leaving pew cleanup to others.

  “It should wash right out, this material being so good and all,” she fussed outside, dabbing at Sarah’s dress. Seeing how bad she felt, Sarah offered an apology.

  “Would you tell the pastor how sorry I am for interrupting his homily? Please?”

  “Sarah.” The older woman brushed her concern off. “Everything in that church is washable. You take the little one and go home. Raising our three, this happened more than once, believe me. Ah, there they are.” Mrs. Weilers dipped her chin toward the treed lot.

  Craig reappeared, clutching Skeeter. Seeing the child’s woeful expression, guilt swept Sarah.

  She hurried across the lawn and held out her arms. Skeeter wept silent tears, a mix of chagrin and pain. “Hush, now. Hush. It’s all right. We’ll get you home, cleaned up and tucked into bed. Take care of that tummy.” Crooning, she waited as Craig opened the truck door, then belted Skeeter in.

  “I’ll bring Liv and Brett,” he told her, stepping back.

  “Thanks. I can’t imagine they want to ride with us at the moment.” Climbing in, she refused to think how differently this trip had ended in her dreams. Accepting that with an equanimity she didn’t feel, she cranked the window down and headed home.

  “How’s she doing?”

  Sarah turned. Craig’s concern was reflected in his face. “Better, but not ready to test the waters. And I’m okay with that.”

  He smiled. “I bet you are, though she only managed to get my shoe. You, on the other hand…”

  “Don’t remind me.” Wrinkling her nose, Sarah looked around. “Where are Liv and Brett?”

  “Unloading stuff. I stopped by the store to grab whatever we might need to take care of her.”

  Brett and Liv lugged in bags of gelatin, applesauce, Pedialyte and ginger ale. Sarah turned to Craig again. “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome. Want to shower?”

  “Oh, yes.”

  “I’ll watch her. Is she awake?” He peeked into the bedroom beyond the living room. “Nope. Out like a light. How about this,” he posed, waving a hand to Brett and Livvie. “We’ll make breakfast, and you take a nice relaxing shower. Soothe some of that tension away.”

  Until he said the words she hadn’t recognized the strain. She dropped her shoulders in gratitude. “Thanks. I won’t be long.”

  “We’re fine, Sarah.” His tone and his look meant business. He nodded toward Livvie and Brett, and added, “Take your time.”

  She refused to think how badly this had turned out. Guilt ran roughshod over her for ignoring Skeeter’s complaint, all because she had wanted to look nice for Craig Macklin in church.

  Would she ever learn? Something about Craig made her common sense fly out the window while whims of imagination took root.

  And why would he be interested, with their history and all?

  Easy answer: he wasn’t, but didn’t want bad terms with his nearest neighbor. Or he was playing her like he played so many others, but that scenario boded certain disaster. Neighbors didn’t need that kind of drama. She’d settle for back-door neighborly, a peaceful co-existence.

  The man looked comfortable in her kitchen. Very comfortable.

  Sarah swallowed hard, wishing he didn’t look so at home.

  He’d loosened his collar, rolled up his sleeves, and his tie was nowhere in evidence. The newspaper lay open on the counter. He read it while turning sausage and monitoring biscuits. The whole domestic scene brought to mind a host of possibilities that would have seemed impossible a few weeks before. Now?

  Still impossible. Are you nuts? He’s a Macklin, you’re a Slocum. ’Nuff said. Still. “Hey.”

  He turned. Smiled. “You look beautiful.”

  Uh-huh. “Denim and easy-care knit, all the way.”

  He crossed the room and looked up. “You’re as lovely now as you were walking into that church, Sarah. But nothing was as special as how you were coming out.”

  “Oh. Yes. Of course.”

  “I mean it.” Craig met her gaze, unflinching. “You didn’t come undone, didn’t freak out. No yelling, cursing or whining. And you were a mess.”

  Oh, man. So this was how he attracted women? Are you kidding me? She made a face, doubtful. “Thanks for noticing.”

  “You focused on Skeeter,” he reminded her. “So many women…” The sentence faded. He shook his head, thoughtful. “I’ve never met anyone like you, Sarah. All that strength and beauty.” He extended his hand. She placed hers in it. He invaded her space, inhaled and smiled. “Meadow Romance.”

  “You remembered.”

  “Couldn’t possibly forget.”

  She stepped ahead of him then turned and caught him appreciating the view. Her heart stutter-stepped and his frank grin made her feel young. Pretty. Totally out of character. She had no clue what to say or how to react. Maintain a low profile. This guy’s been around the block.

  “You’re cooking? Really?”

  “I said I would.” He jutted his chin toward the stove. “You like your eggs scrambled?”

  �
��Scrambled’s good. Can I help?”

  “Not ’til cleanup. If you refuse to buy a dishwasher, you’ll be soaking your hands when I eat over, because I hate doing dishes.”

  Despite her internal admonition, her heart leapt at the promise to spend time with her. She slanted him a quiet look. “If you cook, I’ll clean.”

  “Promise?”

  His expression said he was two steps ahead of her in a game she’d never played. But she was beginning to like being on the board, letting the dice roll. “Promise.”

  Brett and Liv chattered throughout the brunch-time meal. Craig kept the conversation flowing, lightening the meal with humorous observations. It was a friendly time. Cozy. Family-oriented and normal.

  Until Rita walked in and saw him sitting with her two kids. Surprise gave way to dismay and embarrassment. Sarah stood. “Rita, you hungry?”

  “No.” Her expression said food ranked dead last on her list.

  Craig rose as well. Brett and Liv went silent, their faces reflecting the grown-up strain.

  “Craig made us breakfast,” Sarah started to explain. “Skeet got sick at church—”

  “She’s sick?” Alarm replaced embarrassment. “With what?”

  “A stomach bug,” Sarah replied. “She’s resting now.”

  “Why didn’t you call me?”

  Sarah hesitated, uncertain. For two years Rita had been literally out of the picture. The thought of calling her never crossed Sarah’s mind. “I—”

  “I better go.” Craig eased past Rita. “Brett. Liv. Nice talking to you. And Sarah?”

  She looked up. The look he sent her bolstered her confidence. “It’s been nice.”

  She offered him a fleeting smile overshadowed by Rita’s reaction. “Thanks for your help.”

  He smiled. “That’s what neighbors are for.”

  Rita’s gaze followed his progress down the driveway. “He’s your neighbor? You’re kidding, right?”

  “No.” Sarah answered slowly, reading Rita’s expression. “He’s building the house across the street.”

  Rita swore. Brett and Liv froze, then exchanged worried looks. Rita noted their movement, pressed her lips together and took a breath. “I have to call Kim.”

  Sarah gave her room to pass. “Skeet’s in the front bedroom. She’s been sleeping since we got home.”

  Rita showed no reaction. She took her cell phone outside, pressed a number down and proceeded to talk while Sarah and the kids tidied the kitchen. By the time she returned, Brett and Liv had disappeared.

  “Rita, I’m sorry.”

  “For?”

  “Not calling you. Having Craig here. Take your pick.”

  Rita sighed, her expression grim. “I’m not mad, Sarah. Not at you.”

  Sarah breathed a sigh of relief. “Then who?”

  “Myself. I’ve been under the influence for a long time. Why would you even think to call me?”

  True, but—“I should have, though. I will next time.”

  “And you can have anyone you want in your house,” Rita continued. “It’s your home. It just surprised me to see him here all comfy, cozy, chatting with my kids.”

  You and me both. Sarah nodded. “I understand.”

  Rita studied Sarah’s face. Her look softened. “I know you do. I’ve spent years avoiding certain families because of what Tom did. I’m embarrassed to be around them. Guilt-ridden.”

  “But you did nothing wrong.”

  A sad smile curved Rita’s mouth. “That’s easy to say from where you’re standing. From here?” Rita waved a hand to mark her stance. “Whole other thing. And you can’t fix it for me,” Rita warned. “I’ve got to toughen up, be able to handle this on my own. But it’s no secret that people like Craig’s grandfather might be alive today if it weren’t for the strain of losing everything because of Tom’s greed. And there are some who think I pushed him to it because I was high maintenance, accustomed to nice things. That’s not an easy burden to bear.”

  “But it’s not true,” Sarah protested. “And you’re getting better. Stronger, every day. I see it. The kids see it.”

  Rita shifted her look to the front window. The sound of a power saw meant Craig was hard at work. Her face shadowed. “I thought so too.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  Sarah re-tied the bandanna around her forehead, wishing she hadn’t lost her sweatband. Hay season was in full swing and working dawn to dusk in the heat of the late-June sun made a girl sweat.

  She and the Bristols had been at it for days, first cutting and drying the alfalfa/timothy mix, then baling, moving and stacking. By the time they finished the task, a generous share of Maremma money would be spent in wages, but the barn would be stocked with winter food. A good cutting, too. Now, if the second cutting was as good or better—

  Sarah focused on the job at hand. The meteorologists warned of late-day thunderstorms and there was still the west field to haul. How often had she watched farmers race the clouds, drawing piled-high, swaying hay wagons, scurrying for cover? Now she understood the need to rush, to protect the dried forage. Wet hay molded in storage, creating health problems. They’d gotten the first fields in. One to go.

  The hard work kept her isolated. She hadn’t seen much of anyone in the past two weeks, except the kids and Rita. With a deliberate frown she pushed away thoughts of her neighbor. She’d expected to see Craig with increased regularity now that Brett was helping him.

  Nope. Not at all. Occasionally she’d see his SUV heading into town or up his sloped drive, but the man himself? Not a thing. For two weeks.

  Which was for the best, she counseled herself, nudging the feeling of warmth aside. Craig Macklin was off limits, despite the way her chest tightened in his presence. That should tell her something, she mused, her eye on the encroaching clouds. The edge of the front didn’t look bad, but this low-pressure system had spawned tornadoes as far north as Michigan’s Upper Peninsula. It packed heat. With the boys double-teaming the last hayfield, she should have everything under cover by late afternoon and a new pasture fenced by swinging three ends of the rotational fencing around, making her upper border the lower one. Moving the lightweight supports, she thanked God for the technology that made her Premier fence system woman-friendly.

  Craig blinked, yawned, then peered into the microscope again. Yeah, there they were. Plain as day. Sarcoptic mange mites. No wonder Mrs. Ellers’ young dog was uncomfortable. Frowning at the number of cases he’d seen of late, Craig planned the customary course of action, then moved back to the examining room to explain.

  “So, she’ll be okay?” Ava Ellers deep, lyrical voice put Craig in mind of Mississippi river boats. He nodded.

  “Just fine. Typical infestation. We’ve seen a lot this year. Some pups are more prone than others.”

  “Well, that figures, doesn’t it?” The coffee-skinned woman ran her fingers through the dog’s curly ruff, her tone lightly scolding. “Skin mites, is it? Just keep them to yourself, little girl. I don’t care to be scratching night and day like you’ve been doing.” Turning concerned eyes back to Craig, she asked, “This will take care of it, Craig? I mean, Doctor?”

  He laughed. He’d known the Ellers family forever. Mowed their lawn when he was in high school. Delivered their paper before that. Seeing Ava Ellers’ calm smile reminded Craig of how far they’d come in three years. The Ellers family had invested big in Tom’s plans. College funds, retirement. They’d gone under big time, just like Grams and Gramps, but time had erased their financial constraints.

  “How’s Jackie doing?”

  “Well,” Ava assured him, smiling. Their daughter’s college education had been fully funded by a running scholarship.

  “She did well at Nationals,” Craig remarked. “Second in the women’s three-thousand meter. Not too shabby.”

  “No, indeed.” Ava smiled, pleased he’d kept track. “And the funny thing is, if we’d had the money to send her, she might not have worked so hard to run well. To win. Someti
mes good comes out of bad in ways we least expect.”

  Her words nicked Craig’s guilt bubble. Was it possible that good followed bad for a reason? A plan?

  Of course not.

  “I understand you’ve got Rita Slocum’s boy helpin’ you,” Ava noted, her deep tones a wash of Southern elegance and backyard barbecue.

  Craig’s hands stilled. He acknowledged the truth with a slow nod. “Brett’s a good kid. He needed something to keep him busy, so I—”

  Ava stopped his litany by laying a soft, bronze hand on his arm. “There’s no need to explain. That family is not responsible for the actions of the father. They are victims, same as us. Folks need to move on. Take care of their own.”

  “You’re right.” Craig nodded. “Sarah’s had the kids with her while Rita’s been—”

  “Sick,” Ava supplied, her eyes daring him to call it anything else. “Sarah’s a good woman. Comes from good stock.” She paused and shrugged. “In part, anyway. I knew her mama.”

  Craig quirked a brow of interest. “Did you?”

  “Peg Slocum was a wonderful person. Tough, but kind. A true Christian who lived her faith. Sarah takes for her.”

  “It hasn’t been easy.” Craig thought of the weariness Sarah took pains to hide.

  “No.” Ava shook her head. “I don’t suppose it has. But I think Sarah can handle whatever comes her way. She’s strong. Faithful. She sent me a letter after that business with Tom, apologizing for her family’s actions. And her no part of them, then shunned because she supported Rita.”

  Ava shook her head, eyes down, deep in thought. “Every year I read Barbara Robinson’s The Best Christmas Pageant Ever to my class. They laugh at the antics of those Herdmans. The naughty things they did to those around them. When I read it?” She raised troubled eyes to Craig’s. “I think Slocum.”

  “But not Sarah.”