Cradle and All

by M. J. Rodgers

  “The bags are that big beneath my eyes?” Anne asked, chuckling.

  “I heard you pacing the floor. My room is just below.”

  Anne frowned. “Oh. Sorry.”

  “No reason to be,” Maureen said. “The twins caught a cold. They kept me awake. The question is, what kept you?”

  Avoiding Maureen’s inquisitive gaze, Anne got up and meandered over to the window. What she had learned about Tom and the baby was not her secret to share. If Tom wanted to tell his parishioners, that was up to him. But no one was going to hear it from her.

  “The view from this room is spectacular,” Anne said. “I love seeing the snow-covered mountains soaring above the trees.”

  “Okay, you don’t want to talk about it,” Maureen said, rising off the bed. She picked up the tray and started toward the door. “Take your time coming down. I won’t clear away the buffet until you’re ready.”

  Anne felt a twinge of guilt for having cut off her friend. “Maureen?”

  Maureen reached the door and turned to face her. “Yes?”

  “Thanks for caring to ask,” she said.

  Maureen studied her silently for a moment. “He didn’t get any sleep, either, Anne.”

  Anne’s pulse jumped. “He?”

  “The baby. Unless there’s another ‘he’ you’re interested in?”

  “How do you know the baby didn’t sleep?” Anne asked, pointedly ignoring Maureen’s question.

  “It’s a small village,” Maureen replied. “People around here help out when problems arise. Several women took turns dropping by the rectory last night, but none of them could stop the little guy from crying.”

  Anne felt the chill of the cold morning seeping through her nightgown. The coffee hadn’t helped much, after all. She wrapped her arms around her chest.

  How long could a baby go without rest?

  “Phyl and Lori insist you’re the only one he responds to,” Maureen said. “Is that true?”

  “When does the church open?” Anne asked.

  “The Church of the Good Shepherd is always open,” Maureen said. “And services will be starting soon. I’ll be back in fifteen minutes to drive you over.”

  Before Anne could even think about reconsidering, Maureen was gone.

  “Damn it,” Anne muttered as she pulled off her nightgown and rushed toward the shower. “I do not want to see Tom Christen again.”

  Maybe if she said it loud enough, she might even start believing it.

  * * *

  THE VILLAGE CHURCH was packed for Sunday service. Farming families from miles around had come to join their neighbors in Cooper’s Corner. Anne sat in the front pew next to Maureen. She wore a tailored blouse of deep blue, with slacks to match.

  To Tom, she looked even lovelier than she had that first morning he saw her. Because this morning she had come to cradle a tiny, exhausted baby in her arms, no matter what she thought of its father.

  And what she thought of Tom showed crystal clear in the frozen gray pools of her eyes.

  Lent was the time to read scriptures full of the message of sacrifice. But as Tom stood in the pulpit and gazed down on Anne and the marvel of the sleeping baby in her arms, he found a far different message forming on his lips.

  “The first Bible class I ever taught was made up of five-and six-year-olds,” Tom began. “I had no idea how to explain scripture to them in terms they would understand. I decided maybe the best thing to do was to start with a question. So I asked them if they knew where God was.

  “A thin girl with black braids told me that God was in the rain that made her grandmother’s thirsty tomato plants grow. A boy with no front teeth lisped that God hung out under his bed, keeping the monsters away. A chubby-faced boy said he knew for a fact that God stayed in the pantry protecting the small brown mouse that his mother was always trying to trap. And, finally, a shy girl, barely five, leaned forward and whispered to me that she had seen God in her daddy’s smile.”

  Tom paused to enjoy the soft murmur of appreciation flowing through the congregation before he continued. “Jesus said that unless we become as little children, we will not enter into the Kingdom of Heaven. His words made a lot of sense to me after listening to those little kids. They saw God everywhere they looked because that’s where they knew God would be.”

  Tom gazed down into Anne’s eyes—now a soft, warm velvet and staring directly into his own. “Finding heaven is as simple as opening our eyes and seeing with our hearts. That’s what the little children in that Bible class taught me.”

  * * *

  ANNE WAITED IN the parish hall while Tom said goodbye to the last of his parishioners. Maureen had driven back to the B and B. Anne planned to walk back later. Right now she was thankful for a moment alone to try to sort through her emotions.

  The message in Tom’s story had sneaked past all her defenses and touched her heart. She’d never met a man before who could freely admit to being taught by children, much less show such strength doing it.

  She had some previous assumptions that needed reevaluating. Maybe she’d grown into too much of a judge, become too quick to find fault. Everyone made mistakes. So what if Tom had a child out of wedlock and didn’t want to marry its mother?

  Okay, it was hardly exemplary behavior for a priest, but at least he was trying to care for his child. His sweet little child.

  Anne looked down at Tommy, fast asleep in her arms. The moment she had arrived at the church that morning and taken him out of Phyllis Cooper’s hands, Tommy had stopped crying, settled his tiny head against her and slipped into a sound sleep.

  She had come to expect this from Tommy. What she hadn’t expected was the sudden rush of pleasure when she felt the steady beat of his heart once again next to hers. She had missed him.

  “Thanks for coming, Anne,” Tom said.

  Anne hadn’t heard him enter the room, so intent had she been on the baby. She lifted her head with a start.

  He was standing in front of her chair, looking long and lean in a black suit, clerical shirt and white collar. The contrast of his dazzling smile against the bronze of his skin was dramatic and nothing less than dynamite.

  “I heard you had a rough night,” Anne said, and was dismayed that her voice didn’t sound nearly as tough as she’d intended.

  “I’ve had better,” Tom admitted as he slipped onto the chair beside her. He leaned across her to stroke Tommy’s cheek with the pad of his index finger. She could smell the soap he’d used to wash with, a blend of clean pine woods, laced with a touch of enticing incense.

  “I don’t know how Tommy or I would have managed this morning without you,” he said in that deep-throated voice of his.

  No doubt about it, Tom was just as tempting as sin. But it was the open sincerity in his clear blue eyes that was the real threat to Anne’s composure. She leaned back in her chair, away from his warmth, and reminded herself once again that she was a sober, sane judge and could handle this situation with the proper emotional distance.

  “About your baby, Father Christen—”

  “Please, Anne. Call me Tom.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I can’t wait to find out whether you use that very proper judicial tone when you say my first name or that incredible throaty sigh that slips out once in a while.”

  Tom watched the light of understanding turn Anne’s eyes into dazzling pools of pure crystal.

  She dropped her gaze to the baby. “This isn’t a good idea.”

  But it was too late. Her beautiful, expressive eyes had betrayed her. Somehow she’d gotten past her disappointment in him. And for Tom, the weariness of two nights without any sleep simply faded away.

  He rose and held out his hand. “I’ve packed enough formula and diapers for the day. And there’s a basketful of
food. We’ll take it with us.”

  She looked at his offered hand but made no move to clasp it. “Where?”

  “There are some people I’d like you to meet,” he said.

  Tom knew her choice at this moment was an important one for them both. He stood before her with his hand held out for what was probably only seconds, but felt like a lifetime.

  Then, slowly, she slipped her right hand from around the baby and placed it palm down on his.

  Her skin was warm and soft, the tone of her voice wonderfully tart. “I’m not doing any more shopping and I’m not doing any more dishes. And when this little cherub of yours needs feeding or changing, Tom Christen, he’s all yours. Is that clear?”

  “As a church bell,” Tom said as he curled his fingers around her slim wrist and pulled her gently to her feet.

  For a second she stood tantalizingly close, the warmth of her seeping into his senses. She smelled like rain-washed flowers, and the desire to hold her was a growing ache inside him.

  Tom reminded himself that he was stronger than his urges. He stepped back, released her hand and led the way to the car.

  * * *

  “I’VE GOT AN ace-high straight, boys,” the eighty-five-year-old lady with the humped back and thin, blue-veined hands said as she slapped her cards down on the table. “Read ’em and weep.”

  The other senior citizens sitting around Tom and Anne at the rickety old card table moaned in unison as they threw in their cards.

  “She’s cheating, Father,” sputtered a thin, wrinkled man who Anne was certain had to be at least ninety. “Nobody wins eight straight in a row fair and square!”

  Tom peered across the table at the smug grin on the old lady’s face as she gingerly scooped up the pile of wagered matchsticks from the middle of the table.

  “You dealing from the bottom of the deck again, Shirley?” Tom asked.

  Shirley stared at Tom with the face of a born cardsharp. “Accusing an old lady of such a thing. You should be ashamed of yourself, Father Tom. Just for that you owe me another cupcake.”

  Tom shifted the feeding baby in his arms to reach into the basket at his feet. He drew out a chocolate-topped cupcake and slid it slowly across the table toward Shirley.

  Shirley eyed the cupcake greedily. When she reached for it, however, Tom quickly pulled it back. As Shirley made a final, valiant grab, an ace slipped out of her sleeve.

  “There! See? See?” shouted the old man.

  “Oh, put a cork in it, Walter,” Shirley said, totally unperturbed at having been caught. Her twinkling eyes returned to Tom. “Now, you going to hand over that cupcake, or am I going to have to arm wrestle you for it?”

  Tom eyed Shirley for a moment as though sizing up his opponent. Then he pushed back from the table, stood up and carefully handed Tommy to Anne.

  “Two out of three,” he said as he started to roll up his sleeve.

  Pandemonium at once reigned as the senior citizens at the table began rolling wheelchairs and hopping on their canes in order to reposition themselves to get a clearer view. Matchsticks got dumped onto the table as they yelled out their bets to Anne, whom they immediately designated as their official bookie.

  Anne had a hard time restraining her mirth—particularly when she noticed that the previously irate Walter was smiling happily as he bet all his matchsticks on Shirley. The formidable old lady was the odds-on favorite.

  Tom and Shirley sat face-to-face, knee-to-knee, elbows on the table, hands clasped. Tom huffed and puffed and made a good show, but Shirley easily pinned him two in a row.

  Shirley was smugly munching her cupcake and basking in the back slaps of the other seniors when Tom and Anne left the convalescent home a few minutes later.

  “Does this go on every Sunday?” Anne asked as they headed for his car in the parking lot.

  “First day I came to visit them they told me straight out that they knew the scriptures better than I ever would,” Tom explained with a grin. “Said if I insisted on bothering them on Sundays, I’d better bring food and be ready to play some poker.”

  Anne chuckled. Tom was really very nice. And such a blend of contrasts. A sort of sexy saint and sinner all rolled up into one.

  Every time she thought about that very personal message he had delivered to her earlier, she could feel the blood charging through her body. It astounded her that she could come so unglued just by learning of a man’s interest in her. But then, as she was quickly discovering, Tom wasn’t just any man.

  “How’s Tommy?” he asked.

  They had reached the car, and Anne waited at the passenger door while Tom dug into his pocket for his keys.

  “He’s awake and looking at you,” Anne said as she held up the baby.

  Tom glanced over at Tommy. The baby’s eyes were indeed wide and alert—and very blue. A wisp of pale-blond hair curled over his forehead. His light-bronze skin was clear and smooth. It was the first time that Tom had seen the baby when he wasn’t eating, in a fit of crying or passed out in sleep.

  The little boy was beautiful.

  When Tom gently touched the baby’s cheek, the infant grabbed his finger and held on, looking right into his eyes. Tom experienced that tug in his chest that he had several times before, as if he was being pulled toward something warm and wonderful.

  “I think he’s feeling better,” Anne said. “Maybe—”

  She stopped in midsentence when an attendant from the retirement home suddenly raced up to Tom. He was a bantam-size man with perky white teeth and was holding out a slip of paper. “This message just came in for you, Father,” he said.

  Tom extracted his finger from Tommy’s grasp, took the note and thanked the attendant.

  The man turned to retrace his steps back to the retirement home. Tom quickly read the note, which brought a frown to his face.

  “Problem?” Anne asked.

  “I need to make a stop at the hospital,” he said as he reached down to open the car door for her.

  * * *

  ANNE STOOD IN THE doorway as she watched Tom bend over the elderly man in the hospital bed. There were tubes coming out of the man’s chest and an IV stuck in his arm.

  “So, Joe, we missed you in church this morning,” Tom said, his manner light and playful. “I suppose you think I’m going to let you off the hook just because you’re all hooked up here?”

  Joe smiled. “Actually, Father, I do need you to get me off the hook for something,” he said, his voice a heavy wheeze. “I need you to marry us.”

  Tom glanced to the other side of the bed, where a grave woman with gray-white hair stood, holding Joe’s hand.

  “Betty, you’re not married to Joe?” Tom asked.

  Betty shook her head as though in shame. “I know we told everybody in Cooper’s Corner we were when we moved in together. But we couldn’t. Joe’s children were so against it. They thought it meant Joe didn’t love and honor the memory of their mother. Please, don’t be disappointed in us, Father.”

  Tom smiled. “I could never be disappointed in two people so committed to each other. Is the marriage ceremony what you both want now?”

  “Yes,” Joe wheezed, looking over at Betty as though she were the most beautiful girl in the world.

  Betty smiled back as though Joe were her ardent young lover. “Yes, Father,” she said.

  “Then it would be my pleasure,” Tom assured them, drawing out the Book of Common Prayer from his pocket.

  As Tom’s deep, rich voice recited the marriage ceremony, Anne listened to Joe and Betty promise to love and comfort each other in sickness and in health as long as they both would live. There was no white dress, no flowers, no organ music, no candles. Just the full joy of love to light their faces.

  And Anne felt tears stinging the back of her eyes.


  It was later, when she and Tom walked down the hospital hallway to the exit, that she asked, “How much time does Joe have left?”

  “Not much,” Tom said.

  Anne heard it in his voice then. Tom felt for Joe and Betty. He had not found a nice, safe, comfortable place from which to view their pain. He was part of Joe and Betty’s intimacy of suffering.

  “Couldn’t you get in trouble with your bishop for performing an illegal ceremony?” Anne asked after a moment.

  “Probably. Going to tell on me, Anne?”

  Tom didn’t sound worried. It struck Anne then that this was not a man who did the safe thing. This was a man who got into the full fray of life and let himself feel.

  “I could issue a waiver of the three-day waiting period for a marriage license,” Anne offered. “They could make their marriage official.”

  “It’s official in their hearts,” Tom replied. “Has been for a long time. They just needed the comfort of saying the words aloud to each other in a ceremonial context.”

  “Even if the ritual doesn’t mean anything?”

  “Ritual means a great deal,” Tom said. “We’re constantly seeking the tangible evidence to our intangible side. Ritual helps to put the bone and muscle on our beliefs.”

  Anne considered Tom’s words and had to admit they had merit. “I suppose if you took all the ritual out of a courtroom, the law would lose a lot of its tangibility. How long have Joe and Betty been together?”

  “Ten years,” Tom replied. “They met when they were both in their sixties. Joe’s wife had died of cancer. Betty’s husband had left her years earlier. They totally surprised themselves by falling in love just like a couple of teenagers.”

  Yes, Anne had seen that rare kind of love on their faces. It was a shame it was so rare.

  “Hungry?” Tom asked as they exited the hospital.

  “A little,” Anne admitted.

  “There’s a nice spot a few miles from here. We’ll stop there for lunch.”

  Anne thought Tom meant a restaurant, but the nice spot turned out to be a sunlit meadow, very private and secluded within a copse of trees. The air was cool, but not unpleasantly so. Tom spread out a blanket on the grass. When Anne and the baby were settled on it, he brought the picnic basket over and sat across from them.