Fields of Home

by Rachel Ann Nunes

  He felt her presence before he felt her hand on his shoulder. Closing his eyes, he dared to believe in what they’d built together all these years. Dared to believe that somewhere in her heart, she loved him enough.

  She knelt next to him, her dress and hair spilling onto his shirt and jeans as she pressed herself against his side. Her hand rested on his thigh, suffusing him with heat. “I believe in our promise, Wayne. You kept your word when you said you’d make me happy.”

  She hadn’t said “I love you,” though happiness was a form of love. Was it enough? The ache within Wayne said it was, but his mind rebelled. All these years of love and sacrifice and companionship. All he ever lived for was her touch, her smile, and her words of love. But even when she said the words, he couldn’t help but think of an invisible barrier between them, as though a part of her couldn’t love.

  Or had stayed with someone else.

  What about him? He wanted to ask but didn’t. He was too afraid that saying the words aloud would open an unwanted door. She was here, and he would make that be enough.

  He placed his hand over hers, pressing it hard, a stray tear slipping from the corner of his eye. With a soft sigh, Mercedes laid her head on his shoulder, her hair wiping away the tear.

  Hope filled Wayne’s heart.

  Chapter 20

  Diary of Mercedes Walker Johnson

  December 16, 1995

  My baby is here! A week early, according to the doctor. We’ve named him Darrel Austin Johnson. Darrel is Wayne’s middle name, and Austin is, of course, the proud uncle, or will be once he gets here to see the baby.

  Darrel is so tiny and so perfect, and I have never felt such love in my entire life. Never. Or at least never this kind of love. It is so miraculous. The labor went on forever, and I thought I’d die, but every single bit of the pain was worth it when they put him in my arms. I couldn’t stop crying. I KNEW him. Words cannot express the . . . well, the majesty I feel. It’s more than the farm, all the fields, the sky, the universe. Wayne goes around with a silly smile on his face and tears in his eyes. He strokes Darrell’s cheeks so gently and looks at me like I’ve given him the world. But it’s him who has given me the world. He has made all this possible, and I can never repay him except with the thing he wants most—my love. He has that. Now and forever.

  The only problem is the baby quilt I made so carefully. It’s exquisite, I must say, but I see it now for what it contains: all the bitterness and anger and pain in my life associated with both Daddy and Brandon, the two men who should have been the ones to have given me joy. But I won’t give that burden to Darrel. Instead, I’ll use the quilt Geraldine made for him. It’s a mixture of lovely blues—the color of a summer sky, bluebells in my flowerbed, the shallow water in the trough, the hint of blue in the lilac bushes by the river, the deeper blue of the berries I use for my pies. Memories of the farm will cradle my child as we take him home.

  On the surface everything was the same, and yet it was not. For the next few days Mercedes washed dishes, made meals, took the children to church, visited Geraldine and the new baby, and worked on the quilt that had once been destined for Brandon. Wayne played with the boys, read to them, rode out to check on the cattle, and talked about the growth of the crops. They didn’t talk about Brandon or the past.

  On Tuesday morning, Mercedes saw the boys off to school and then busied herself in the kitchen. Wayne was in the fields, having gone off before she woke up to make him breakfast. Almost as though he didn’t want to face her. Yet each of the past nights he had clung to her in the dark with so much force that she found it difficult to sleep. Sometimes she thought she heard him crying, but the sounds would stop when she tilted her head to listen. She wanted to ease the tension between them, but she didn’t know how.

  I’ve made my choice! she cried silently. Please forgive me. Would Wayne believe her if she said the words? Did she believe them herself?

  They waited.

  She tried hard to put the words of the letters from her mind. They made no difference at all because her place was here now. Her girlish dreams meant nothing. Still, knowing Brandon hadn’t left her, not really, softened her feelings toward him until she feared she might not have the strength to win the upcoming custody battle. Darrel was the only biological child Brandon would ever have, and she’d kept him a secret. If she hadn’t, things might have ended up differently. So differently. There had been many turns of the road where one minor occurrence could have meant a different world entirely. A world where Mercedes wouldn’t have grieved so deeply, one where her daughter might have survived. One where Wayne might have found a woman worthy of him, able to fully return his love.

  Not that it mattered. Not one little bit. She’d once told her sister-in-law, Liana, that past relationships were like cattail fluff on the wind, blown about at the whim of nature and never to be recaptured.

  She still believed that. And yet . . .

  When the phone rang, she stared at it with mistrust. They didn’t own a cell phone, so it couldn’t be Wayne, and the boys rarely called from school. That left her brother, a neighbor, or Brandon. Or his lawyer. But she knew it was Brandon himself. She felt it with every part of her that had ever known him.

  “Hello?” She tried to mask her sudden breathlessness.

  “Did you talk to your dad?”

  “Yes.”

  “And?”

  “It makes no difference.” She wouldn’t tell him she’d read the letters, nor would she think of the life that had been stolen from her.

  “It does to me.”

  “Please leave Darrel alone until after high school.” She sat down at the kitchen table and cradled her head on her arm.

  “I can’t.”

  “You would if you cared about him.”

  His voice hardened. “I do care, and that’s exactly why I won’t give up.”

  “What about the cancer?”

  “I’m not sick, and I’m not going anywhere. There’s no reason to wait.”

  Tears dripped from her eyes and slid down her arm. Her grasp on the phone was painfully tight. “Then do it for me. Please. I promise you’ll get to know him. Please, Brandon.”

  “I let go once before, and I’ve always regretted it.”

  “Please.” She was sobbing openly now. “I can’t lose another child.”

  “You won’t lose him.” Was that a softening in his voice? “Mercedes, I’m not trying to take him away from you. I just want—” He broke off.

  She knew what he wanted was impossible. “We don’t have to wait clear until after high school. We can see how things go in a year or so. You could consider moving closer to visit more.”

  He snorted. “As a friend?”

  “He doesn’t need another father right now. But he could use a friend. And once you have that relationship, learning the truth will be easier.”

  “On whom? Him? Or you?”

  “I don’t care about me.” I deserve to suffer. I’m the reason for this mess. But she didn’t say that aloud.

  “Children are resilient. The younger the better. He’ll be fine.”

  Mercedes’ mind searched desperately for something to sway him. “You say you still care about me, but that’s just one more lie, isn’t it? If you did, you wouldn’t take me to court to try to steal away my son.”

  “I told you I’m not—”

  “We don’t have much, but I swear I’ll sell the farm if I have to and go to work as a waitress or whatever. I won’t lose my family that way!” Even as she spoke, she knew selling the farm would mean risking her other children’s future. Would she really do it? What choice would she have? She knew enough about the world to know money was everything in court. Money—something Brandon had plenty of. “Think about Darrel. Please, Brandon. We can’t put him through that. This is his home. How is he going to feel about you after it’s all over? After you’ve stolen the farm from him? Please, wait. If you ever cared anything for me, don’t do this! If you do, I’ll know you
never, ever loved me.”

  “That’s not fair.” He was silent a moment, and the only thing between them were her tears. “There’s another choice. Our future was stolen—you don’t have to be a martyr.”

  His words cut deeply. “I see you still don’t know anything about commitment.” She put all the bitterness she felt into those few words.

  “I wrote you!”

  “That doesn’t change the fact that we had a physical relationship we obviously weren’t ready for. You weren’t willing to make a commitment to me then, so you left. If you changed your mind, you should have come back, not sent a stupid letter!”

  “So I was an idiot. Do I have to pay for that for the rest of my life?”

  “Apparently we both do.” She hung up, feeling hopeless and sad, a prisoner in her own nightmare. Leaving the dishes half finished, she left the house, heading for the barn and Windwalker.

  Moments later the wind rushed into Mercedes’ face, slapping it with a force she welcomed. She headed for the hills beyond their property—hills that she knew as well as her own farm. There was a comfort in the movement of her horse, in the green growing things surrounding her.

  If only Brandon had never returned. Yet she felt different now somehow, different from the woman who’d once thought herself abandoned. Brandon had loved her, had valued the girl she had been.

  How long she rode, she didn’t know, but Windwalker was drenched with sweat and the sun had moved higher in the sky. She felt a sense of freedom she hadn’t experienced in years. She came to a hill, higher than the rest, that looked down on part of her farm. Everywhere she looked, she saw Wayne—in the green alfalfa fields, the even stalks of winter wheat, the neat tending of her trees in the graveyard.

  Wayne would never abandon me. He would have come back for me. The thought came with a rush of love. And she would never abandon him.

  The desire to see her husband, if only from a distance, spurred her toward the north fields, where she knew Wayne would be checking on the cattle.

  She found him on a small rise, standing by his horse as he stared down over the cattle. He made a noble figure, as much a part of the land as the grasses that grew from the dirt and so peaceful that she meant to slip away before he saw her. Yet something in his stance, in the tilt of his head, the set of his jaw, chilled her.

  “Wayne!” she called.

  He didn’t move, though he must have heard her. Urging Windwalker up the rise, she came to a stop and slid off beside him. He didn’t glance toward her but stood transfixed, looking at the cattle below, tears wetting his face. Mercedes experienced a sudden fear.

  “What is it?”

  His face was haggard, and the dark half circles under his eyes told her he wasn’t sleeping nearly enough. Her fault, she knew. He lifted his chin slightly toward the cattle. At first she could see nothing wrong, but then she saw two—no, five of the cattle lying on their sides. “What’s wrong with them? They’re not breathing!” She started forward, but his hand grabbed her.

  “I don’t know what it is yet. I saw one dead last week, but it looked pretty decomposed—wasn’t even sure if it was one of ours. But this is definitely a problem. I’ve got to get Duane out here. He’ll know what it is or how to find out. It could be dangerous.”

  With a sinking feeling Mercedes replayed all the information she knew about cattle diseases in her mind. “It could take out half the herd,” she whispered, barely breathing. That meant no calves to sell. There went the money for the new tractor, the new well they’d planned, the storage bin that needed to be replaced, and the bit they’d put away for Darrel’s education. Raising cattle had been so promising, but in a moment, it could all be wiped out.

  She turned to Wayne, clung to him, finally one as they hadn’t been in weeks. “What are we going to do?”

  Wayne shook his head, red hair shining in the sun. “I don’t know.”

  He sounded defeated, more than she had ever seen him in all the years since he’d come to the farm. Even more than when she’d told him about the letters, though she knew that had hurt him in a way that this never could. She tightened her grasp around his middle and lifted her chin. “We’ll get through this, Wayne, just the way we have everything else. That’s what farmers do—and cattle ranchers. We will not give up. It might not be as bad as we think, but even if it is, in a few years it’ll make no difference. Not really. We’ll make it . . . together.”

  He buried his face in her neck, and she felt the wetness of his tears. Wordlessly, his lips found hers, and they stood locked together. His hands untied her braid, and his fingers ran down the length of her black hair.

  She tasted tears—but whether they were his or hers, she couldn’t say. Didn’t care to say. She kissed her husband and forced all other thoughts from her mind. This life of hers was real and urgent. Brandon had no place here.

  “Come on,” he said when they finally broke apart. “Let’s get back to the house.”

  They mounted their horses and turned in the direction of the farm. In the barn, they unsaddled the horses and let them into the small corral in back of the barn, their hands doing the work of habit that their minds were too stunned to consider. “Leave it,” Wayne said, when she went to rub Windwalker down. “The sun’s warm, and we’ll need to ride out there again when Duane comes to check on the cattle.”

  She nodded and followed him to the house. They were halfway to the back deck when Brandon came from the side of the house. At seeing him, Mercedes felt a shock ripple though her like a spasm of pain. Her hand reached for Wayne’s.

  “What now?” Wayne growled under his breath. His face was ashen, and his hand tightened on hers. As one, they stopped and watched Brandon approach.

  Brandon’s strides were purposeful, and Mercedes wondered what hurtful thing he had planned now. Haven’t you done enough? she wanted to scream. She stepped closer to Wayne, his bulk giving her comfort. Her husband, her chosen life. She wouldn’t let Brandon separate them.

  Brandon’s eyes went to their linked hands and then slowly to Mercedes’ face. There was a tautness about him, a rubber band stretched to breaking. At last his gaze rested on Wayne. “I’ve been doing a lot of thinking in the past few hours, and I’ve decided to honor Mercedes’ wishes regarding Darrel. But I want it on the record that I’m doing this only because I owe her. I still think I have a lot to offer my son. You’ve been good parents—I won’t deny that—but that doesn’t mean what I offer is worthless. I love Darrel, and like it or not, he’s a part of me.” His eyes drifted back to Mercedes with an intensity she could feel. “Here’s the deal. I’m going to let this next year go by and see how it goes. But I’m not disappearing. I need to be a part of his life. That means I’ll be visiting—a lot.”

  Relief swept through Mercedes. Brandon was backing down! He wasn’t going to take Darrel! He’d heard her plea. And he might say he was going to be around, but the truth was his career was in California and that couldn’t be changed overnight. He might let years go by, and that would be time enough for Darrel to enjoy an unfettered childhood. Time for him to mature enough to understand how young and stupid and vulnerable she had been. Maybe he would be able to forgive her.

  “I have only one stipulation,” Brandon continued. “I want to pay for anything extra he might need. I want him to have every advantage money can buy, and if that means footing the bill for activities for your other boys to keep things looking fair in Darrel’s eyes, so be it. I know you’ll be reluctant, but I don’t want pride to stand in the way of my son’s learning. It goes without saying that I’ll set aside money for college, so he can have his choice of education. I don’t want you to fight me on the money issue. I have to be involved in some real way, and money is at least real. That’s my offer. Take it or leave it.” He stared at them steadily, hands fisted at his side.

  Mercedes closed her eyes, a tear seeping under her lashes. When she opened them, both men were watching her. “Thank you,” she said. “Thank you.”

  Wa
yne released Mercedes’ hand, stepping forward to offer his own to Brandon. The men shook solemnly, not speaking a word. Then Brandon turned and strode away.

  “Wait!” Mercedes called after him. “Would you like to eat dinner with us tonight?”

  Brandon turned, his face a mask without emotion. “I don’t think so, but I’d like to come over a bit later. I could take the boys to the river. If that would be okay.”

  Mercedes looked at Wayne before nodding. “Okay.”

  “Thank you.” Brandon resumed his path around the house.

  “This isn’t going to be easy,” Wayne said, his brow furrowed. “He wants more—a lot more. He could change his mind. I don’t trust his intentions.”

  Mercedes shrugged, too happy about Brandon’s capitulation to feel anything but relief. Even if Brandon had ulterior motives, she could deal with that later.

  “And the suggestion that he has to pay for our other sons’ activities so that Darrel won’t be singled out—I would never accept his money.”

  Mercedes had no such qualms if it kept Darrel safe. “I’m sure it won’t come to that.”

  Wayne started for the house. “Well, I’d better call Duane. I hope he’s not out.”

  “He has a cell phone.”

  “I’m starting to consider getting one of those myself.”

  Mercedes made herself busy in the kitchen as Wayne, phone pressed to his ear, explained the problem to Duane, their veterinarian. It was still too early for lunch, but they might as well eat something—it looked as if they’d have a full day ahead.

  Wayne was pacing near the doorway to the hall when it happened. Mercedes had no warning except the sudden pallor of his face and the fierceness with which he massaged his chest. His words died in mid sentence, and the phone dropped to the linoleum.

  “Wayne!” She was at his side in an instant, helping him to a chair. His breath came in ragged gasps.

  “Hello? Hello?” came a tinny voice on the other end of the phone line.