Homecoming (Sweet Hearts of Sweet Creek Book 1)

by Carolyne Aarsen

  “Well I can’t give him what he wants, Mark,” she said suddenly, closing her eyes against his image, concentrating on who she was. “God wants too much from me. And so do you. I can’t give you what you want, what you need. You need someone who can share that faith you have, someone you can pray with, not someone who is hauling around all this other garbage...”

  “Then dump it,” he replied softly.

  She looked at him then, “What?”

  “Dump it.”

  “It’s not that easy,” she faltered.

  “It’s a whole lot easier than packing it around yourself.” Mark pushed himself away from the tree, but he didn’t touch her.

  Sheryl bit her lip, her arms clasped tightly across her stomach. She couldn’t look at him, but she could hear him breathing, saw his hands hanging loosely at his sides, his feet slightly spraddled. It was as if he expected her to turn and run.

  She couldn’t.

  There was no place left to go.

  Sheryl looked up at Mark. The slight breeze that came with evening in the mountains lifted his hair and dropped it gently. As she watched him, he laid his hand on her shoulder again.

  “I can only guess at what happened to you. I know it’s more than what you’ve said,” Mark sighed, tilting his head to one side, his eyes gleaming in the soft night. “I just know that I care for you in a way I’ve never cared for anyone.” He tightened his hold on her, lifting his other hand to her waist as if to pull her closer.

  She resisted; she had to. If she let him hold her again she wouldn’t be able to keep herself aloof, and her last barrier would be pulled down.

  “Sheryl, please tell me about Jason.”

  She stiffened, then forced herself to relax, to adopt a light tone. “I told you already. He wasn’t a good husband.” She ran her finger down the front of his T-shirt, feeling the warmth of him through it. “It doesn’t matter anymore...” “Yes, it does. It’s a part of you that you keep hidden. I don’t like that. I want to know—”

  “All the details?” she asked, her voice tight. She didn’t pull away, but wouldn’t meet his gaze. “Is it important for you to know exactly how many times he humiliated me?” She suddenly grabbed the front of Mark’s jacket, the metal ridges of the button cutting into her hand. “Why is it so important to hear how many times he hit me, how stupid I was, how helpless? Do you want to see the scars?”

  Mark closed his eyes and drew in a deep breath. Sheryl felt his chest rise and stifled a clench of instinctive panic.

  “No.” He ground the single word out, his rough voice harsh. “I want to share the burden you’re carrying, to help you. I want you to see what God wants to do for you. But you have to tell me. You have to open up.”

  Sheryl swallowed, feeling as if she hovered on the brink of a dark abyss, unsure of what emotions waited below —pain, sorrow, regret, fear...

  “I can only guess at what happened to you. I just want to help you,” Mark’s rough voice softened as his words tugged on her barriers. “Please let me help.”

  Sheryl closed her eyes at his words. They were so tempting. Did she dare let go? Who could she trust to catch

  her?

  I’ll be there. The still, small voice slid into her mind out of another part of her life. A soft and gentle part that was always there, a part she never dared acknowledge in her battles to be strong. I’ll bear you up on eagle’s wings, the voice continued.

  Sheryl felt a wave of pure love, pure devotion, pure tenderness wash over her as if erasing and removing all the stains and wearing down all the bars that she had held so tightly over her soul.

  A sob shuddered through her. Then another. She tried to stop it, tried to pull it back, but it was as if she tried to hold back the sea.

  A wave of sorrow washed over her.

  “Just let go,” Mark’s voice whispered, somewhere above her, piercing the darkness of her soul. “I’m here.”

  Suddenly she went slack. Strong arms caught her, supported her. Then the tightness that always constricted her throat, loosened its grip.

  Sheryl clutched her chest, trying to stop the knot of pain unraveling in her chest.

  “It’s okay,” Mark whispered, pulling her close, wrapping his arms around her.

  Strength. Warmth. She felt a melting.

  Then the sound came. First a narrow keen, weak and meager. As Mark’s arms held her the sound built in her throat, harder, heavier.

  Then, with the swiftness of a summer storm, the sorrow poured out. A grief larger than she could articulate threw her around, sucking her in the maelstrom.

  “Mama,” was all she could say. “I want my mama.” Huge, heaving sobs racked her body, sorrow held down too long engulfed her, trying to come out all at once.

  She clutched her head as tears coursed down her heated cheeks. Mark pulled her tighter against him, drawing her head against his chest. She clung to him as her anguish grew, the sorrow threatening to rip her in two.

  “Why?” she cried out clutching Mark’s jacket, the metal ridges of his buttons digging in her hands. “Why did God take her away from me?”

  She could say no more, her face pressed against his shirt as she wept away months of repressed grief and sorrow.

  She cried for the loss of her mother, for the brokenness of her relationships, for the loss of her own innocence in the reality of living with Jason. Time drifted on, meaningless, as she unburdened herself, her mind empty of all but grief.

  The sobs lessened, but still the tears flowed. She wanted to stop but knew she couldn’t until the pain was lanced out...for now.

  After what seemed like hours, the tears subsided and she felt strength surrounding her through her sorrow. Strong arms held her, hands pressed her close. Mark had become an anchor in the storm that had just washed over her. But even with her heated cheek pressed against his now-damp T-shirt, she knew that a greater strength had comforted and held her firm.

  She had tried to run away, but God had found her.

  Mark closed his eyes, his own emotions in a turmoil. He rocked Sheryl slowly, soothing her, praying for the right words, knowing he would never forget the sounds of her anguish or the feel of her now-pliant body resting against him, trusting him.

  He felt a tremor drift through her as she drew in a shaky breath, her cries a soft mewling sound. He wanted to absorb her pain into himself, take it away from her. Their relationship had taken another turn, and now the bond between them could not so easily be ignored or brushed aside.

  His leg was cramping. He tried to loosen Sheryl’s grip on his waist but she clung harder.

  “I just want to sit down, Sheryl,” he whispered, stroking her hair away from her face.

  Reassured she released her hold on him, and when he sat down he drew her onto his lap, wrapping his arms all the way around her as if she were a child, holding her as close to him as he could.

  “Do you want to talk about it?” he asked, his voice quiet as he stared off into the dark, surprised that his family had not heard the sound of her crying and come to investigate.

  Sheryl took in a breath, shuddering. “I’m afraid to.”

  “Why?” he prompted softly, laying his head against the rough bark of the tree he sat against.

  “It’s so hard,” Sheryl said simply, her hands resting against his chest. “I tried to push everything out of my mind, tried not to think.”

  He hesitated, feeling as if he took advantage of her, but deeper than that was a need to know everything about her, everything that she tried to conceal. “You said something about your mother and Jason...” he said gently, stroking her head with his chin.

  Sheryl drew a slow, deep breath. “I missed her so much,” she said softly. “I wasn’t the daughter I should have been. I made things so hard. Then Jason...” she shuddered. “The times he beat me. I felt I deserved it for what I did to my mom.”

  Mark closed his eyes, feeling her pain, sharing her sorrow, swallowing down his own. She had lost so much, had endured so much,
how could he comfort her?

  “I wanted to be a good wife and I wanted a baby so badly,” she continued, her voice quavering. “He didn’t. And now I have nobody.”

  Mark held her, his own emotions a disarray of feelings, thoughts, questions. She had borne this sadness and grief on her own. Now her restraint and self-control took on another meaning, became pitiable instead of a source of frustration. Who did she have to help share her burden? She had no family support, and he wondered what kind of friends she could have made living with Jason.

  He took a breath and pressed a quick kiss on her heated forehead

  Sheryl blinked up at him and lifted her hand to his face. Her cool fingers ran down his cheek and cupped his chin as she watched him, a sad smile trembling on her lips.

  “Please stop being so good to me, Mark,” she whispered, her voice urgent. “I have nothing to give back to you.”

  He laid his chin on her hair, staring into the darkened forest, afraid to think that life had indeed sucked her empty. Was what he offered enough to fill it? All he could do now was pray her heart would open to what God could give her.

  Without warning she suddenly straightened, drawing away from Mark.

  “I must look a fright,” she said with a curt laugh, pulling her hair away from her face. With one easy motion she stood up, finger combing her hair, looking anywhere but at Mark.

  He stayed where he was, drawing one leg up, resting his wrist on his knee as he watched her hurried movements. How quickly she pulled back, drew her defenses around her. It would be admirable if it wasn’t so heart- wrenchingly sad.

  “Do you have my hair elastic band?” she asked suddenly, her fingers weaving her hair back into a braid.

  He stretched his leg out as he dug in his pants pocket for it. He handed it to her, and wordlessly she took it, still looking everywhere but at him.

  “So what happens now, Sheryl?” he asked, unable to keep silent.

  She paused, her head bent, then resolutely twisted the elastic around the bottom of her braid, her movements erratic. Tucking it into her coat, she shoved her hands in the pockets pulling her coat closer around her. “I don’t know,” she answered finally, sniffing lightly, wiping her nose with the back of her hand.

  Mark pushed himself off the ground and came near to her, standing close enough, but not touching her.

  “I can’t say I do, either,” he replied softly. “We shared something tonight, and I don’t think you will ever be the same.”

  “Probably not.” She looked up at him, her face confused. “But old habits die hard. Maybe I just need some time.”

  Mark kissed her lightly on the top of her head and drew her alongside him, walking back to the campfire. “Then we’ll wait,” he said, comforted by her hesitant acknowledgment, praying, wondering, but also realizing that she was right.

  They walked back in silence, the wind whispering above them, the cool darkness enveloping them. In the distance Mark could hear the snap of the fire, the murmur of his family’s voices punctuated by occasional laughter. Unconsciously his arm tightened around Sheryl’s shoulders as if to give her strength. She lifted her head to look at him.

  “You look scared,” he said, smiling down at her.

  Her step faltered, and she looked away from him, her hands still buried in her pockets. “I am."

  Mark stopped turning her to face him. “Why?”

  Sheryl shrugged, chewing on her bottom lip. “What am I supposed to say, how do I act?”

  Mark frowned, trying to find the meaning under the oblique words. “Normal, I guess.”

  “But that’s the trouble, Mark,” she looked back up at him, her face tight with suppressed emotion, “I don’t know what’s normal. I don’t know who I am anymore.”

  As Mark watched her he remembered the cold, hardened girl he had met in the bar only a couple of weeks ago. Now she stood before him, her clothes and manner totally at odds with that same girl. He had gotten past her hard veneer to the soft and hurting core of her. But by doing this he had also taken away her own natural defenses, and she was lost.

  “You’re Sheryl—” he started.

  “But which one?” she broke in. “Reilly, Krickson or Kyle?”

  “Just Sheryl,” he replied without hesitating.

  Sheryl said nothing, but when she turned back to him, she was smiling lightly. “I guess that’s where I’ll have to start then.” She looked over her shoulder at the soft glow of the fire through the trees. “We better go. Your family is going to wonder what happened to us.”

  As soon as they stepped into the clearing, Elise stood up and looked past Sheryl to Mark with a knowing smirk on her face.

  Mark shook his head imperceptibly as he pushed a stump into the circle with his boot.

  Elise frowned, but when she sat down Mark knew she got his silent message. He just hoped the rest of his family would leave Sheryl and give her the space and time that she needed.

  He prayed that he would be able to, as well.

  Chapter 11

  The early-morning sun warmed the tent, and Sheryl rolled over, pain slashing through her head and right behind it, her memories.

  Sheryl slung her arm over her eyes as if to keep both at bay. But images danced through her mind, painful, mournful. Her mother’s sad face as Sheryl and Ed once again faced off over Jason. Jason’s angry face when she hit him back for the first time. The screech of metal, the glass flying.

  Sheryl rolled onto her side, pulling her arms close to her chest, wishing she could drift back to the painless void that was her life the past year. It had taken years of living with Ed and Nate to build a defense against emotions. When her mother died, she hadn’t been able to cry. While being married to Jason, she hadn’t allowed herself to.

  Now Mark had peeled away the protective layers, had made a mockery of her strength.

  She rubbed her temples, now damp with tears as she pulled herself into the present. Her pain still hung in her mind, and she knew that no matter what happened, by tomorrow she would be alone again.

  The thought propelled her out of her lethargy. With a quick motion, she pushed back the sleeping bag and got up.

  Elise stood by the table, yawning as she mixed up pancake batter, smoke wafting from the stoked-up fire.

  Sheryl pulled up her mouth in a semblance of a smile and walked resolutely over, her offer to help received with enthusiasm. As she kept busy, Sheryl felt the blessed return of equilibrium and control.

  Until Mark appeared in the clearing. He said nothing, but as he walked past her he trailed his hand casually over her shoulder sending shivers down her spine and confusion through her mind, mocking what she thought she had just attained.

  Breakfast was over quickly then came the work. Sheryl quickly haltered Marla’s and Crystal’s horses, then tied them up.

  As she snugged up cinches, adjusted stirrups and packed the horses she felt surrounded by Mark’s family as they moved, asked her for advice and exchanged laughing comments with each other.

  “How’s it going?” The soft voice behind her startled her. Sheryl glanced over her shoulder at Elise who stood beside her horse, her hand resting on its rump, concern showing in her face.

  “Fine,” Sheryl replied, her tone noncommittal, determined not to answer the questions, that she saw in Elise’s eyes. “I just have to snug this up and F5 is all packed.” She turned her attention back to the ropes, making sure the loops were taut, the pressure on them even.

  “You look tired,” Elise persisted, tilting her head so she could better see Sheryl’s face.

  Sheryl shook her head, pulling the last rope through and making it taut. “I’m okay, really.”

  Elise took a step closer and placed her hand on Sheryl’s shoulder. “You don’t sound okay.”

  Sheryl bit her lip, still holding the end of the rope. She swallowed and swallowed, willing the myriad of emotions that were roiling beneath her fragile self-control to settle down. “Please don’t ask, Elise,” Sheryl whispere
d finally, still unable to face her friend.

  “There you are, sis.” Mark’s voice broke into the silence. “Rick told me you were pestering my chief wrangler.” He ducked under the hitching rail, and Sheryl didn’t know if having him around was any better. “Is your horse all ready to go, sis?”

  “Yes,” returned Elise, sounding peeved. “And so are Crystal, Marla and all the others’.”

  “Good, then we can head out.” Mark untied F5, speaking to Sheryl as he did. “I didn’t think you minded if I got Allen to lead this critter.”

  “Fine by me,” she said, risking a glance up at him. Their eyes met, Mark’s hands stilled, and she felt herself drifting toward him. She had to almost clench her fists to keep from laying them against his chest.

  He blinked then cleared his throat. “Good,” he replied, his own voice unsteady. “Elise, can you take up the rear. Sheryl is going to ride up front with me.”

  “Sure.” It wasn’t hard to hear the smirk in Elise’s voice, and Sheryl knew that the inquisition Elise tried to begin a moment ago was only forestalled. She took a breath and turned away from both of them, reminding herself that Tuesday she would be leaving.

  “Do you remember that place?” Mark drew his horse alongside Sheryl, pointing out a steep slide visible between the trees.

  “Frying pan ridge,” Sheryl replied. “Nate and I were out riding when we found that old frying pan up there.”

  The early-morning mountain air had had a gentle bite, which the sun had since warmed off. The hills spread away from the riders, their undulating stretches ridged with pine trees. Above them, the grassy slopes gave way to harsh, unyielding rock and benignly deceptive rock slides.

  She glanced sidelong at Mark, disconcerted to see him studying her with a bemused look on his face. Up till now his comments had been superficial and she had been grateful for his casual attitude.

  “What?”

  “You look beautiful this morning,” he said softly, reaching out. But Sheryl’s horse shied and his hand missed its target.

  “My eyes are red, my hair is a mess.“ Sheryl shook her head taking refuge in humor.