“How did they do that?” Charity asked.
“By setting limits for us. By giving us responsibilities and making us meet them. By teaching us to take care of each other. By—”
“No kisses when they tucked you into bed?” Charity interrupted.
“That, too,” Hope said. “I don’t think a day has gone by when Mom or Dad or both of them haven’t said ‘I love you’ before I left the house.”
Charity scoffed. “Yeah, right.”
She saw the flush on Hope’s cheeks that signaled her anger before her sister replied, “Actually, it was always more like, ‘Love ya, kid,’ or ‘You know we love you, honey.’”
Charity felt the tears filling her eyes and the sting in her nose and turned to stare out the window, so Hope wouldn’t see her lose control. She blinked hard and gritted her teeth to stop the wobble in her chin. The knot in her throat made it hurt to swallow.
“Are you okay?” Hope asked.
Charity kept her eyes out the window, where Santa Gertrudis cattle dotted the grassy plains. She swallowed, cleared her throat and said, “I’ll be glad when this is over, and I can get the hell out of here.”
Confronting a set of parents who’d given her away was an awfully high price to pay for her peace of mind.
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHARITY
CHARITY’S HEART WAS BEATING SO hard it hurt. At the end of the dirt road, she could see the ranch house where her parents and siblings lived. It was far nicer than she’d expected. The white, two-story wood-frame ranch house had large, shady porches on both levels, and pink impatiens hung in baskets at intervals, giving it a homey look.
She almost gasped when she realized a man and woman were sitting in rockers on the lower level porch. She tried to see their faces, but she was in full sunlight and they were in shade, and she couldn’t make them out.
They had covered half the distance to the house when Hope suddenly said, “Stop the car, Faith.”
Faith hit the brakes so hard Charity was thrown forward. Her nose was an inch from Hope’s when Hope turned and said, “Maybe you ought to stay in the car while Faith and I tell Mom and Dad about you.”
“No. I’m here. I’m going to talk to them.”
“I didn’t say you couldn’t talk to them,” Hope said. “I just think it might be better if we give them some warning before we spring you on them.”
“Is one of them sick? Have a heart problem, or something?” Charity asked.
“Actually, Mom’s heart isn’t in the best shape,” Hope said. “And I’m sure you’re going to come as quite a shock.”
“I’m not about to give either one of them a chance to run away without facing me,” Charity said.
“I don’t think they’d do that,” Faith interjected.
“Oh, yeah? What’s to stop them?” Charity saw Hope reaching for the door and reached for her own door, shoving her way out of the car about the same time Hope did. The two of them looked at each other past the glare off the hood, before Charity began striding across the dandelion-infested lawn, Hope a half step behind her. She heard another car door slam and realized Faith was following them.
Charity saw her mother raise a hand to shade her eyes, focusing on them, and then saw the hand drop, as she rose from her chair and moved to the wooden rail that surrounded the porch. Her hands gripped the rail, and she stared at them as they approached.
Charity’s gaze was focused on her mother, and she saw her own dark brown eyes staring intently back at her from a pale face. She saw her mother’s gaze flicker to Hope, and then to Faith, and then back to her. A second later, Charity saw her father slip an arm around her mother’s waist to support her as she slumped back against him.
His gray eyes were piercing, narrowed, unwelcoming.
She felt her heart skip a beat, felt her step falter, then forced herself to continue forward. She walked up the three steps onto the porch, not willing to let the porch rail remain between them, not after all this time, not after finding her parents at last.
Charity could feel Hope’s hot breath on the back of her neck, felt the touch of Faith’s comforting hand briefly on her arm before she jerked it away. She took a step forward, distancing herself from her sisters, so she was standing directly in front of her mother and father.
She wanted to say something, but her throat had swollen completely closed. She felt her eyes welling with tears and blinked hard. She crossed her arms under her breasts, a defensive gesture in case her parents tried to embrace her. She didn’t want them to touch her. If they did, she wasn’t sure she could keep from falling completely apart.
Her breath came in short, openmouthed pants, and her stomach was knotted. Her knees were trembling and she stiffened to keep them from buckling. She wanted desperately to speak, wanted to accuse, to vilify, to blame.
But nothing came out.
Her mother had let go of the rail and turned to face her, one hand grasping her father for support, the other reaching out to Charity. “Oh. Dear God. Charity.”
Charity felt the urge to throw herself into her mother’s arms. But that would mean forgiving her. She wasn’t ready to do that yet. Or maybe ever.
“So you know who I am,” Charity said with a sneer.
“Of course we know who you are,” her father said.
His jaw was so tight a muscle jerked, and his eyes were still narrowed. He, at least, was honest about his feelings. It was clear he didn’t want her here now. Just as he obviously hadn’t wanted her when she was a baby.
“Why?” The word was torn from her throat, a cry of unutterable pain and helpless rage.
“Let’s go inside,” her father said, starting to move her mother toward the front door.
They were going to escape. They were going to run without answering the questions she’d been harboring all of her adult life. “No!” she snarled. “You’re not moving an inch until I get some answers.”
She felt Hope grab her arm and yank her around.
“You can see Mom’s ready to collapse,” Hope said. “She needs to sit down.”
“She can sit later.”
But while Hope had distracted her, her father had moved her mother into the house.
“Now look what you’ve done,” Charity cried. She started after them, but Hope stood in her way, putting out a hand to brace her shoulder, while Faith grabbed her hand.
“Please,” Faith pleaded. “Give Mom a minute to get back her color.”
Charity wanted to shove them both out of the way and run after her parents. But their hold was inexorable, and when she looked toward the open front door she saw her parents had already disappeared into the shadows inside.
“All right. They’re gone. Now let go of me,” she said.
Hope dropped her hand, but Faith held on.
“I know what you’re feeling,” Faith began.
“No, you don’t!” Charity snapped. “Let go of me,” she said, yanking herself free.
“Hey,” Hope said, putting herself between Charity and Faith. “Watch what you’re doing. Faith never did a thing to hurt you. There’s no reason to take out your frustration on her.”
“You’re in my way,” she said to Hope, pushing herself forward.
She saw the indecision in Hope’s eyes, the yearning to make a fight of it, and the quick glance at Faith, before she finally stepped out of the way. “Go on in,” she said. “You’ll probably find them at the kitchen table. That’s where we have all our serious discussions.”
It wasn’t hard for Charity to find her way to the kitchen. It was at the back of the house, straight down a central hallway. As Hope had predicted, her parents were there. Her mother was sitting at one end of a long trestle table, a glass of water, dripping with icy condensation, on the table in front of her. Her fathe
r stood protectively behind her mother, his hand on her shoulder. Once again, he was staring at her with narrowed eyes.
“Never expected to see me again, did you?” she said. Her voice was harsh, angry, taunting.
“No,” he admitted. “We didn’t.”
Oh, it hurt to hear him admit it. The knot was back in her stomach. And in her throat. She knotted her hands as well, to stop them from shaking.
She watched as Hope and Faith crossed into the room and stood together by the kitchen sink. Hope had grasped Faith’s prosthetic hand. She didn’t seem to notice the missing flesh and blood and bone.
Charity turned her attention back to her parents. She focused her gaze on her mother and managed to say with hard-won calm, “Why? Just tell me why.”
“It is so wonderful to see you,” her mother said haltingly. Tears dripped down her cheeks, and she brushed at them with her hand.
“Skip the sentimental crap,” Charity said, feeling her heart melting in the face of her mother’s obvious distress, and fighting the urge, once again, to comfort her. “Just answer the damned question.”
“Watch your tongue, young lady,” her father said. “You will respect your mother.”
“She’s not my mother! My mother is dead!”
In the silence that followed her outburst, Charity felt the blood thrumming in her head, felt the heat of a flush running up her throat to stain her cheeks.
In a hard, implacable voice her father said, “You will address my wife respectfully, or you will leave this house. Is that understood?”
Charity managed a tight nod.
“We tried to keep all of you,” her mother said in a voice hoarse with emotion. “For two years we struggled to make ends meet. And then...” She shrugged defeatedly. “We realized we might lose all of you—” she glanced from Charity to Hope and Faith “—if we didn’t give up one of you.”
Charity didn’t quite believe what she’d just heard. Was afraid to believe what she’d just heard. “Are you telling me that I lived with you—” She swallowed past the painful lump in her throat and continued. “As part of this family—” She swallowed again. “For two years before you gave me away?”
Her mother couldn’t meet her eyes. She stared down at her hands, which were twisted together on top of the table. “Yes,” she croaked. She looked up briefly, the shame rife in her eyes, before she looked down again. “Yes. I’m sorry.”
Charity couldn’t speak. No wonder she’d always felt bereft. Bereft didn’t begin to cover it. Torn from the bosom of her family at two years old! Tossed out like a dirty dishrag. Her brow furrowed painfully as she searched for some memory, any memory, of the time she’d spent with her biological family.
There was none.
But now she knew why she had such a deep-seated fear of abandonment. She’d been ripped from her family at an age when she had enough memory of her parents and siblings in her subconscious to know they existed, but was too young to consciously remember them. Only the pain of separation, and the fear of ever enduring it again, had remained.
She sank into the nearest chair, her knees no longer able to keep her upright. “How could you?” she grated in a hoarse voice. “How could you?”
She heard Faith’s sob, and Hope’s soft, quiet words of comfort to her. She glanced up at her father, expecting the narrow-eyed, disapproving look that was all she’d seen since she’d arrived.
Tears glistened in his eyes.
“I knew you might come looking for us someday,” he said. “I was afraid you would,” he admitted.
“Sorry to inconvenience you,” she said, her scornful voice tear-choked.
“Oh, baby,” he said. “Oh, baby, you have no idea...”
He crossed to her in two steps, pulled her up out of the chair and surrounded her with his strong arms, pulling her tightly to him, rocking her as though she were a child who’d skinned her knee.
But there was more wrong with her than a skinned knee. Much more.
“Oh, baby,” he crooned. “Sweetheart. We’ve missed you so much.”
Some part of Charity must have needed the solace he offered, because she didn’t try to free herself, simply allowed him to rock her in his arms. She couldn’t hear what he was saying, because her heart was beating too loudly in her ears. She could smell tobacco and laundry detergent and male sweat, her father’s scent. Oh, God. She remembered it!
He stopped rocking her and put his hands to her shoulders to move her far enough away that he could look into her eyes. “We regretted our decision later. But there was nothing we could do to reverse the adoption. The papers were sealed, and we couldn’t find you.”
Charity stiffened. “I lived in the same town my entire life, and you couldn’t find me?”
“We tried,” her mother said.
Charity shook herself free of her father’s hold. The fact remained that they’d given her away. “Why me?” she demanded. “How did you choose me?”
For a moment, she was afraid to hear the answer. Her mother rose and joined her father. They faced her with their arms around each other, their expressions sad, their eyes tragic.
“I’m waiting,” Charity said, her voice edgy with fear. “Was I the bad one? The ugly one? I certainly wasn’t the deformed one,” she added belligerently.
She heard Faith’s soft cry and was immediately ashamed of herself. She wasn’t a mean person, but it was easier to lash out at others than to face the pain she felt.
“How did you choose?” she demanded. “I want to know.”
Her mother and father exchanged a glance before her father turned to her and said, “Of course we kept Faith, because we would always love her as she is, when others might not. Hope was the troublemaker, the one who howled all night with colic. You were the most beautiful of our three lovely daughters.”
“Bullshit,” Charity countered. She saw her father’s mouth flatten to a thin line, flushed, and continued. “We’re triplets. We look exactly alike.”
“You were the prettiest, with deep brown eyes that saw so much,” he continued. “Such a perfect baby, always laughing, always smiling.”
“Newborns don’t laugh or smile,” Charity countered.
Her parents exchanged a troubled glance and she remembered what he’d told her. She’d been two years old when they’d given her away. Had spent two years being loved by them, held by them, a part of them.
“We tried so hard to keep all three of you,” her father said. “Finally, the medical bills were so overwhelming—”
“Which you paid to keep me,” Faith said miserably.
“Oh, honey,” her mother said, crossing to hug her. “It wasn’t your fault. None of this was your fault.”
Charity felt her insides twist as both Hope and her mother embraced Faith, enfolding her in their arms.
“Charity,” her father said, drawing her attention to him once more. “We knew whoever became your parents would have to love you, because you were such a good child, such a happy baby. We gave up our most precious child. The one most certain to be loved by strangers.”
Charity felt the tears spill from her eyes and stifled a sob with her fist. She had been the best baby, the most beloved. And therefore, the sacrificial lamb.
“I have to get out of here,” she said. “I have to go.”
She hurried from the room, unable to look at any of them any longer, and raced down the hall toward the front door. This family was the fantasy she’d always imagined in her dreams, loving parents and fun-loving siblings. But the dream had always ended when she’d woken to a nearly empty house and a mother who was there physically, but not otherwise.
The keys were in the Chevy and she gunned the engine and spun the wheels, spitting dust and gravel. The Butlers weren’t going to turn her in for stealing their car. After all, she wa
s their daughter.
She wheeled the car and headed it back toward Jake Whitelaw’s ranch, where Kane waited for her. Kane, who had never understood why she wouldn’t marry him.
Her vision was blurred by tears and she scrubbed at her eyes, veering over the center line once and hearing the angry blare of a car horn warning her back onto her side. Finally, she had to pull over, as the ululating howls of pain and anger shoved their way out through her mouth.
She wrapped her arms around herself as though to keep her flesh from splintering like ice smashed by a hammer. She needed someone to hold her, someone to warm her. She was so cold inside.
She forced herself to start the car again and drove more sanely the rest of the way to Jake’s ranch. She didn’t want to see anyone but Kane, and she was lucky enough to find a cowhand who told her he was in the barn.
She found him there currying a saddle horse. “Hi,” she said. It was all she could manage. The smile she attempted wobbled and then disappeared.
He took one look at her, dropped the currying comb and opened his arms to her. “Come here, sweetheart.”
She ran into his arms, wrapping her hands tightly around his neck, pressing herself against him, sobbing and sobbing, as though her heart was broken.
Because it was.
“Love me,” she begged. “Please, love me.”
“I do love you,” Kane murmured against her ear.
“Make love to me,” she pleaded. She was tearing at his shirt, trying to get it unbuttoned.
He caught her hands and gripped them tightly. “Charity, honey, what happened? What’s wrong? What did they say to you?”
She tried to free her hands, wanting to be closer to him, wanting him inside her, wanting to hide inside him. But his hold was inexorable. She felt the pressure of his hands, demanding an answer.
“You know I want to make love to you,” he said in the gentlest voice she’d ever heard him use. “But not like this.”
After Thanksgiving, he’d kissed her often, but she’d always called a halt when their lovemaking had gotten too intense for her, when it had seemed that if she gave herself to him fully she would be breaching some unbreachable chasm. She would tear herself from his embrace at the last moment, even when she knew he would be in pain if they stopped. And he’d never pressed her for more. Never forced her to fulfill the promise of those early kisses and touches.
Sisters Found Page 17