Who I Am with You

by Robin Lee Hatcher

  The weather had been kind to them for this first cutting. It had been warm and sunny for weeks. Rarely even a cloud in the sky. Abundant sunshine was the most important ingredient for a successful hay harvest. Rain was the enemy when it came time to cut, dry, and stack.

  “When we’re done with this wagonload, Emil, we’ll call it a day.”

  “Sounds good to me. I’m beat.”

  Andrew wanted a bath more than anything. Chaff had worked its way beneath his shirt and the band of his trousers and into his socks. It was everywhere on his sweaty body, pricking his skin, making him itch.

  Half an hour later, Emil bid Andrew a good evening and walked away from the farm toward his home a mile away. Andrew watched until he disappeared from view, then went to the pump, removed his hat, and bent over to wash the hay out of his hair. Afterward, he gave his head a good shake, like a dog coming out of the creek. When he straightened and turned toward the house, he saw Helen standing on the porch, watching him. He expected her to look away when their gazes met. She usually did. This time she didn’t. Then he expected her to go back into the house. She didn’t do that either.

  Pushing his hair back from his face with one hand, he moved toward the porch. “It’s a hot one.”

  She nodded.

  He touched his sweat-dampened shirt. “I’ll take a bath before dinner.”

  Another nod.

  It had been like this between them for more than a month. He said something. She nodded or shook her head. When they were in the same room, he treated her like a fragile figurine, afraid that she would break with the slightest wrong move. Much of the time, she shut herself away from both him and her mother. When they did see her, she was listless, aimless. Andrew and his mother-in-law didn’t talk about Helen, except to exchange glances of concern. He couldn’t bring himself to tell Mother Greyson what he knew. He supposed it was the same for her.

  “I’ve got a buyer for the hay,” he said, encouraged that she hadn’t left the porch.

  “Good.”

  The barn loft had become his prayer closet. Every day he made his way there, as soon as the morning milking was done. He prayed many things up there on his knees amidst the hay and dust, but mostly he prayed for Helen. He prayed that she would forgive him for stopping the affair. He prayed she would ask to be forgiven, by God if not by him. He prayed she would find contentment. He prayed she would learn she had a choice to be happy. He prayed she would find her way back to the Lord. He prayed she could learn to love him again, that she would believe love could blossom between them as if something new.

  Andrew was no saint. He struggled at times with anger, with frustration, with resentment, with wanting to throw up his hands and walk away and never look back. He struggled with an ache in his chest that sometimes seemed too much to bear. He prayed about all of that too.

  He hadn’t been the patient sort in his youth. He’d been in a hurry to grow up. He’d been in a hurry to finish school. He’d been impatient to begin a business career, something that would take him to the city and away from the farm. For that matter, he’d been impatient to marry Helen.

  But he had to be patient in this. Yet he couldn’t stand still either.

  Running his fingers over his wet hair again, he asked, “Would you care to take a walk this evening when the temperature cools?”

  “No.” She lowered her eyes. A lengthy silence followed. Then, “But thank you for asking . . . Andrew.”

  His breath caught at the sound of his name on her lips. He couldn’t remember the last time she’d spoken it. Many weeks. Before he’d gone to see Henry Victor. In his heart, he grasped that slender thread of hope like a drowning man grasps a lifeline.

  “Another night,” he said.

  The slightest of smiles tugged at the corners of her mouth. There and then gone. “Perhaps.” She turned and went inside.

  Chapter 16

  “I like your neighbor,” Jessica’s mom said the next morning as they sat at the breakfast table.

  It had surprised Jessica that her mom hadn’t mentioned Ridley after he and Kris went back to their place yesterday. She hadn’t mentioned him as she presented Jessica with canvas bags full of baby clothes and more, and she hadn’t mentioned him during dinner or the evening spent watching a favorite movie.

  It seemed the avoidance of the topic was over.

  “He seems nice. What do you know about him?”

  Defensiveness rose in her chest. “He is nice.” She ignored the question.

  “You must know something about him,” her mom pressed.

  Jessica released a soft breath. “Do you know who Tammy Treehorn is?”

  “Ofcourse. She was the candidate I planned to vote for, although she’s withdrawn from the race now. Just as well. Poor woman. I felt sorry for her. How many of us would like our mistakes to be plastered all over the news?”

  “Ridley worked for her. Some people blamed him for what happened. For the information that came out about Ms. Treehorn.”

  “He was to blame for that?”

  “No, but I guess some people pointed the finger at him.”

  “My goodness.” Her mom gazed down into her coffee mug, allowing silence to fill the room.

  “It wasn’t the accusations saying he did something underhanded that bothered me. Which I don’t believe, by the way. Not after getting to know him. It’s how vicious people have been. Especially on the internet. Everyone’s become so cruel anymore. You can’t just disagree with one another. If someone doesn’t agree with you, then he is an enemy that must be silenced. Or worse.”

  Jessica had never been as politically active as her parents, and she’d cared even less about politics and government in recent months. She’d been in too much of a fog to care. Even with the fog lifting, she couldn’t bring herself to be concerned for anybody involved in the Treehorn campaign. Anyone except Ridley.

  Why was that?

  “Honey.”

  She took a sip from her own mug. “Mmm?”

  “Be careful.”

  “Careful?”

  “You shouldn’t become involved with anyone right now. Especially not anybody with troubles of his own, which he certainly has. You’re too vulnerable. You’ve been through so much in the past year.”

  Jessica shook her head. “You said you liked him. And last night you said you were glad I had someone living next door.”

  “I am glad of that. I’ve hated you being out here, all by yourself, so far from town.”

  “Besides,” Jessica continued as if her mom hadn’t spoken, “I’m not involved with him. Ridley is my neighbor. That’s all.”

  “Okay. Okay. I’m sorry I said anything.”

  Jessica was sorry too. She rose and carried her mug to the sink. After rinsing it, she put it in the dishwasher. As she straightened, her gaze lifted to the window.

  Morning light showed how badly the old swing set needed a coat of paint. Two summers ago, Joe had promised he would get around to painting it. He never had. He never would have gotten around to it . . . even if he’d lived.

  On the heels of that thought came another. She would have been okay. She and Angela would have survived his going. It wouldn’t have been easy, but they would have survived. God would have seen them through, just as God was seeing her through now.

  “Mom.” She turned and leaned her backside against the counter. “You don’t have to worry about me. Not about me being alone and not about any involvement with Ridley Chesterfield.” She drew in a slow breath. “I may be vulnerable, but I’m not weak and I’m not foolish.”

  Standing on the sidewalk across the street from the Tammy Treehorn campaign office, wearing dark glasses and a baseball cap pulled low on his forehead, Ridley watched and waited for employees and volunteers to leave for lunch. But nobody came out and nobody entered. So different from the last time he’d been on this sidewalk.

  For the past two weeks, ever since his visit to Mick Phelps’s office, Ridley had been contemplating this trip to Boi
se. Not that the pastor had advised him to meet with Tammy. Mostly Mick had listened and then asked questions to help Ridley discover the answers for himself. His main takeaway from that meeting, however, had been that he could trust God to guide him, both into the known and the unknown. And this morning God had done just that. Which was why he was here now. It was time.

  Drawing a determined breath, Ridley crossed the street to the glass door of the office. Inside, there were only two young women seated at desks. They looked to be barely more than eighteen. He recognized one of them as Tammy’s oldest daughter, although he’d never been introduced to her. Most of the remainder of desks were missing papers and file folders. The office felt almost . . . abandoned, and it saddened him to see it that way.

  He nodded toward the two young women and pointed toward the back of the building, hoping he looked like he knew exactly what he was doing and where he was going. It worked. Neither of them called after him to stop. Perhaps neither of them cared.

  His luck continued to hold. When he rapped on the door to Tammy’s office, she responded, “Come in.”

  He opened the door, stepped inside, and closed it before she looked up from a stack of papers on the desk. Remaining near the door, he removed his dark glasses.

  Tammy’s eyes widened. “Ridley.”

  “Ms. Treehorn.” He’d called her by her first name in the past, but now that didn’t seem right.

  “I didn’t expect you. Did we have an appointment?”

  “No.” He gave his head a slow shake. “We didn’t. When I tried to make one, I was told that wasn’t possible.”

  “By who?” She stood.

  “Rachelle.”

  She motioned for the chair across the desk from her own. “When was that?”

  “Right before I resigned. Bob Tate told me the same about a week later.”

  “I’m sorry, Ridley.” Tammy leaned back in her chair. “Of course it was possible for you to meet with me. I would have welcomed it.”

  He’d suspected as much. He should have persisted.

  He took the offered chair. “Let me just say what I came to say. I recovered that data off the laptop, but I didn’t pass it to the opposition. I followed protocol.”

  “You gave the data files to Kurt Cooper.” She wasn’t asking a question.

  Something inside of him eased. “Yes.”

  She turned her head and looked out the window. Her expression seemed bruised. “I never lied about the abortion,” she said softly. “I simply kept it to myself. But that’s the same thing as a lie, I guess. A lie by omission.”

  He didn’t know how to respond, so he said nothing.

  Tammy met his gaze again. “I was sixteen and so, so stupid.” She sighed, then added, “And I wasn’t a Christian at the time, so my choice didn’t seem wrong.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Oh, Ridley. You are not the one who should be sorry. This is on me. I know you took a lot of heat from all quarters, from both sides of the aisle. There were people who wanted to blame anybody but me. That wasn’t right. My silence wasn’t right either. Not about the abortion and not later when it came out the way it did. I listened to my advisors, and I should have gone with what my convictions told me was right. With what my faith told me was right. I hurt my family. I hurt my party. I hurt all the people who believed in me. Including you.” She lowered her gaze to her hands, now folded atop her desk. “The truth will out.”

  He leaned forward. “Do you know who leaked the story?”

  “Not for certain, although I have my suspicions. No one has taken responsibility. Perhaps no one ever will. Most everyone has moved on to other jobs. I’ve become a punchline, to be pointed at whenever another scandal derails a politician.”

  “I haven’t been following the news lately. Have you officially left the race?”

  She nodded. “It was the best thing to do. For me and for my family. For the party too.” She pointed toward the front office. “I’ve got a skeleton staff helping me clear things out.”

  “I noticed.”

  “My daughter and one of her friends.” She showed a quick but sad smile. “They’re home from college for the summer.”

  “Ah.”

  “Ridley? I will do whatever I can to make certain it’s known that you did nothing wrong. And I will write you a letter of recommendation.” She issued a short laugh. “For whatever that might be worth.”

  “I appreciate it, Tammy. I really do.”

  He’d come for answers, not an apology. Although the apology was appreciated. Still, Tammy said she couldn’t tell him who had tried to put the blame on him, smearing his reputation. He found he believed her. Not only that, he realized it didn’t matter to him what others said nor who had caused them to say it. Knowing who was to blame no longer mattered to him. He could trust God with whatever he didn’t know. He knew the truth about himself. He’d always known it. He would be okay, whether or not Tammy was able to clear his name with the media. His future was in God’s hands. He would let the Lord take care of his career, whatever that would eventually look like.

  Ridley stood. “I hope it all works out for you. I hope you find a way to use your talents and make the difference you want to make.”

  “Thanks, Ridley. I appreciate your good wishes. Especially given the circumstances. I hope the same for you too.”

  He took a step away from the chair, then stopped. “I’ve had to remember something in the last weeks. ‘There is now no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus.’ God’s all about second chances, even when we mess things up because we weren’t listening to Him.”

  “Thank you.” A smile flickered across her lips and was gone. “It’s a good reminder.”

  KUNA, IDAHO

  Saturday, September 26, 1931

  The wedding of Martha Standish and Eddie Edwards took place at two o’clock on a mild September afternoon. Flowers of autumn—bright yellows, brilliant oranges, deep reds—covered the altar and were tied to the pew ends with satin ribbons. Since first grade, the bride had been a close friend of Helen’s. The groom had played baseball with Andrew when they were young boys. In fact, the two of them had smoked their first—and for Andrew, his last—cigarettes behind the barn of the Henning farm.

  Andrew sat with his wife and mother-in-law about midway down the center aisle, and while he pretended to listen as the minister spoke the words of the marriage ceremony over the couple, his thoughts were far away. He was remembering his own wedding that had taken place in this same church. He had been working in Portland, Oregon, on his and Helen’s first anniversary. Would she want to even acknowledge, let alone celebrate, their second anniversary when it arrived in a few short weeks?

  He remembered promising himself on his wedding day that he would never let Helen regret marrying him. He hadn’t kept that promise. She had regretted her choice, regretted it many times, regretted it enough to break the vows they’d spoken. And when her affair with another man had ended, she’d stayed with Andrew, he feared, only because she had nowhere else to go.

  He glanced to his left. Helen looked lovely in lavender. It was the perfect color with her hair and complexion. The dress wasn’t new. She hadn’t had a new dress since before he lost his job at the start of the depression. That was a long time for a girl like Helen. She deserved finer things than he’d been able to provide.

  He looked straight ahead again, reminding himself that despite the depression that dragged on and on, they were okay. So many were in much worse shape than they were. The hay cuttings this past growing season had brought in enough to buy the essentials that the farm itself didn’t supply for the family. And while his marriage to Helen wasn’t what it once was, it was better than it had been in the spring. He had reason to hope.

  With God, all things are possible.

  Sometimes he repeated those words to himself a dozen times a day. He supposed it was part of the practice of bringing into captivity every thought to the obedience of Christ, the way Second Corin
thians told believers to do.

  As if in answer to his current thoughts, Helen’s gloved fingertips touched the back of his hand where it rested on his thigh. He looked at her and saw a flicker of emotion hidden in the depth of her eyes. Perhaps guilt. Perhaps regret. Perhaps an apology. And perhaps she had remembered that she’d loved him on the day of their own wedding. Hope soared in his heart at that last possibility.

  With God, all things were possible.

  Chapter 17

  It was a cliché, but Ridley felt like a new man as he left Boise and drove toward Hope Springs. Lots of negative feelings, even ones he hadn’t known he harbored, had been left on the floor of the Treehorn campaign office.

  How did that other cliché go? He spoke the answer aloud: “Today is the first day of the rest of my life.” He laughed to himself. But the truth was that’s how he felt.

  For the rest of his time in Hope Springs, he meant to spend it mapping out his future, finding that new calling. Actually, he probably didn’t need to stay in Hope Springs any longer. He could go home to Boise if he wanted. Only . . . that didn’t seem to be what he wanted. Not yet.

  Back in Hope Springs, he noticed Jessica’s mom’s car wasn’t in the driveway. Was Jessica alone again, or had the two of them driven into town?

  Last week, Jessica had asked him if he’d forgiven the people who lied about him. He’d answered that it wasn’t possible because he didn’t know who to forgive. He would have a different answer for her now. He was able to forgive the person or persons who remained nameless. He’d also forgiven Tammy for her silence in the wake of the debacle, and he’d forgiven himself for not listening to his gut when it told him something wasn’t quite right.

  Okay, Lord. I’m really letting go of it all. You know my future. You can show me what it is and how I’m supposed to get there. I trust You.

  He let Kris out of the house and threw a ball for her, hoping to wear her out a little. Between every throw, he glanced across the field toward Jessica’s house. Was she there? Would she see or hear him with the dog and come outside? He’d like to tell her about his day, about his thoughts, about his feelings.