KeepingFaithCole

by Christina Cole

  “We talked before about being a family.” Charlotte reached for a handkerchief, then dabbed it to her eyes. “You know I don’t believe in the almighty, but I do know that things sometimes seem to happen for a purpose.”

  There it was again. That idea that everything had a reason behind it.

  “I’m not saying some higher authority planned this,” she went on. “That’s not how life works. I’m just saying that things happen. Some good. Some bad. It’s up to us on this earth to recognize the good things, to take advantage of them, and to make them work for us.”

  “Ma, I don’t know about all that fancy philosophy talk. It’s a bit over my head.”

  “You don’t have to understand it. You and me, baby,” she said, placing a hand at his cheek, “we’ve been hurt awful bad, scarred by life. Neither one of us ever got a fair chance. Neither did Sally. For once, we have that chance. I’m not going to fail. I don’t expect you to fail either.” She stepped back, then held out her hand. “Let’s make a pact.”

  “A pact?”

  She nodded. “An agreement.”

  “Ma, I know what the word means. I’m uneducated, yes, but I’m not exactly dumb.”

  “Never said you were.” She dropped her hand to her side. “You’re a good man, and a good man knows the truth whether he’s had book learning or not.”

  He wasn’t sure he fully agreed with her, but he nodded. “What sort of pact are you talking about?”

  “We’ll seal off the past. Never talk about it again. Maybe we ought to go out to the cabin and burn the place down, you think?”

  Tom shook his head. “I don’t think violence and destruction solve problems.”

  “Well, you go out there and get me that rocker. Pick up any toys you can find. We’ve got a little girl to raise up.” She reached out to him again.

  Tom took his mother’s hand in his.

  * * * *

  Somehow they got through the week. Charlotte didn’t go into town, and Lucille hadn’t come looking for her, so suffice it say his mother had lost her job. Nobody cared. She had a new job, a more important one, she kept telling Tom. Taking care of her baby would be her full-time occupation now. She devoted herself to the little girl’s care. Feeding her, bathing her, crooning her to sleep, Charlotte did all of it with patience and care.

  Tom hadn’t gone to work either. Even though he was impressed by his mother’s affection and concern, he wasn’t quite ready to leave the baby alone with her yet. Each time his niece turned those beautiful blue eyes on him, he thought again of the trust and faith she’d placed in him, even without knowing those words or what they meant. Each time she smiled, Tom reached out to touch the dimples in her cheeks. Absolute perfection.

  Amanda Phillips dropped in twice during that first week, each time giving a nod of approval. The baby was thriving, in her estimation. Gaining weight, sleeping well, developing like a normal infant, not a motherless child.

  On Sunday, Tom took extra pains in washing up and combing his hair. He shaved close, eyed his reflection in the small mirror, then put on his clean clothes. Caleb Bryant had come by during the week to check on him, and Tom had sent him out to the Flying W to pick up his good suit. He dressed in it now, straightened his bolo tie, then sat down to give his leather boots a last spit-and-polish.

  “What you all fancied up for?” His mother stood at the door of her room staring out at him. She’d been awake long into the night, walking the floor with the baby.

  “Going to church, Ma.”

  “What for?”

  “Seems like it might be a good thing to do.” Folks around Sunset considered religion a mighty important part of a child’s upbringing. “Probably be a good idea for you to get dressed and come along. If we’re going to raise that little one right, she ought to learn about the Lord.”

  “Hell, no!”

  “Ma, this isn’t up to you.” Time to stand up for what he believed was right. “We agreed we’d start acting like a real family, and I reckon I’m the one who’s got to take charge. I am the head of this little household.”

  “Doesn’t mean your word is law, son. I’m still your mother.”

  “Yes, ma’am, you are.”

  “Don’t sass me.”

  “No disrespect meant.” He walked to the hay-filled cradle and reached inside. “I’m taking this beautiful little baby, I’m heading to town, and I’m going to attend Sunday services. I’m sure I’ll hear a fine sermon from a good man. I’d appreciate it greatly if my mother would accompany me, but if not, I’ll respect her decision to remain at home.”

  Charlotte’s mouth muscles worked, and he feared she was going to spit, but she swallowed it back and shook her head.

  “You know I don’t have any use for religion. I understand some folks set great store by it, but…” A strange light flickered and died in her eyes. She seemed to be looking back over the years. “We said we’d seal up the past, but some things have a way of coming unsealed. Some things can’t be picked up and locked away. Bad things.”

  “You don’t have to talk about it.” He put a hand on her shoulder.

  “I saw them, Tommy. Both of them. Dead.”

  “I know.” Tom’s tone was gentle. He knew she referred to her own parents.

  “Damned savages, Tommy.”

  “Ma, I know.”

  “God didn’t save my folks. Didn’t care what happened to them. Didn’t give a damn what happened to me, either.”

  What could he say? Nothing. He knew his mother’s pain, heard it in her voice, had grown up knowing she’d suffered a horrible tragedy. But, damn it, life went on. She hadn’t been left on her own, but had been taken in by another minister and his wife. They’d done their best to give her a good life.

  Maybe it was hard to make up for what she’d seen, what she’d heard. All Tom knew was that she’d run away from the people who tried to help. That, and the fact she blamed God, blamed religion, blamed all her troubles on church. Asking her to go into town to Sunday service wasn’t a good idea.

  He kissed her cheek. “Sorry. I shouldn’t have asked you to come along. I just wanted you to know that the invitation is there.”

  “Thanks, but don’t expect me to take you up on it.”

  “I think it’s good for me to go.” Why did he feel so defensive, so eager to prove he was doing the right thing? “I want people to see that we’re raising this little girl right.” He left so much unspoken.

  * * * *

  Tom took a seat on one of the back pews. He’d never gone to church before and wasn’t quite sure what would be expected of him. Sitting close to the door seemed a good idea. He settled his niece on his lap, tucking the ends of the blanket around her. She kicked. A bare foot stuck out from beneath the cover.

  He tucked the blanket around her again.

  She kicked. She squirmed.

  “Are you playing games?” he teased, grabbing her tiny toes in his big hand.

  She seemed quite content, but when a loud chord sounded from the organ and people rose all around them, the baby immediately set up a loud, frightened wail. Tom held her close and rocked her, much like he’d seen his mother do.

  “Hush baby, please. Don’t cry.”

  She wailed louder.

  “Baby, please,” he whispered. He had yet to give her a name. Throughout the week, he’d tried out one possibility after another, all the while keeping the admonitions in mind that Amanda Phillips had given him. Sometimes, he wondered, too, what name Sally would have chosen. But mostly, he’d been so busy watching his little niece, being amazed over and over by each little thing she did, every sound she made, each expression that crossed her face that he’d hardly had time to think of anything more than how much he loved her—whatever she might be called.

  He’d even learned to recognize certain faces she made—and what they meant.

  Like the puckered up face she wore now. It warned that she was just getting started on a good cry and had no intentions of stopping any time s
oon.

  As he sought to comfort her, Tom tried to keep his voice low, but the squirming bundle in his arms wailed louder and louder. People in nearby pews turned to stare. He glanced around, sending out silent pleas for help.

  The sunlight filtered through the stained glass window at the rear of the building, casting an array of bright colors across the little church and filling Tom’s heart with unexpected feelings of hope. Should he pray? He wasn’t exactly sure how to do it, but he closed his eyes and made a silent entreaty. His mother didn’t believe in the power of prayer, but what did he have to lose?

  The baby continued to cry. Tom held her close and prayed harder.

  Chapter Six

  “Here, let me take her.”

  At the sound of Lucille’s voice, Tom opened his eyes, surprised, but pleased as all get out to see her scooting onto the pew beside him, her arms outstretched. She’d given up wearing her mourning clothes, he noted, pleased to see her dressed in a simple gingham gown. The frock had a happier look about it. She looked happier than usual, too. Without a word, he handed the baby to her, grateful for her reassuring presence, and grateful when the crying suddenly ceased.

  He eyed Lucille, looked at how she held the baby close to her breast, how she rocked the infant. Same things he’d done, but they hadn’t worked. He quirked a brow.

  “How’d you do that?”

  “A woman’s touch.”

  Tom nodded. It was more. It was an answer to a prayer. From here on, he decided, he’d have a little more faith.

  “Have you given her a name yet?” Lucille whispered.

  Still caught up in his thoughts, Tom barely heard her.

  “Faith,” he said softly. Definitely he would have more of it.

  “That’s a lovely name. Truly, it is.”

  “What?” he asked, moving a little closer.

  “I think Faith is a lovely name.” Lucille bowed her head over the baby, chucking her beneath the chin.

  She’d misunderstood. Or maybe not. Tom smiled, thinking again of Amanda’s counsel. A name should have meaning.

  Faith. A lovely name. A perfect name.

  Lucille smiled. “Look at those dimples.” She tickled the baby’s cheek. “And those bright, blue eyes. She’s a beautiful baby, and she’s going to be a beautiful young woman. You’ll be fighting to keep the boys away.”

  Tom tensed. He hadn’t yet thought about the future, how it would be when this precious little girl—Faith—got older. Somehow, he’d have to see to it that she got schooling, that she learned all the things little girls were supposed to know. Could his mother ever really teach her? Sewing? Cooking? What about singing, playing music?

  The old doubts returned along with a bushel basket of new worries.

  “I’m sorry if I said harsh things the other day, Tom.” Lucille nudged his shoulder. “You know, I only want the best for you and your mother. And for Faith, of course.” She looked away.

  “Yes, for Faith, of course.” He liked the name even more when he said it aloud. “I appreciate any help you’re willing to offer.”

  They sat side by side, listening as Reverend Gilman tore into his sermon with gusto. A parable, he called it. Something about an ungrateful servant, and questions about how many times a person was supposed to forgive. Tom didn’t hear all of it. He was too busy admiring the pretty young woman at his side, all the while thinking thoughts that probably didn’t belong in the house of the Lord.

  The service ended and Betty Gilman swept down the aisle, her long somber black skirts trailing over the polished hardwood floor. The woman made a stark contrast to her short, squat husband. Tall and lean, she looked like a fence-post dressed in skirts. “Mr. Henderson, it’s good to see you this morning.”

  Tom nodded in return. “Good to be here.”

  “And your mother?”

  “Feeling a bit poorly,” he lied. “Maybe next week.”

  Betty Gilman turned toward Lucille who still held Faith in her arms. “And this is the new little arrival who was making her presence known earlier.” She turned toward Tom once more. “Has she been baptized, Mr. Henderson?”

  He blinked. “I don’t know.”

  “We’ll have to check on it, of course.” The woman pressed her lips together and looked directly at Lucille. “Are you and your mother going to take her, Miss McIntyre?”

  “What?” Tom whirled around. “No, of course not.” He turned and swiftly lifted Faith from Lucille’s arms. “Nobody is taking my niece. We’re doing just fine.” He looked through the gathering crowd, hoping to catch the attention of Amanda Phillips. She would stand up for him, speak out and assure the church-goers that little Faith was doing all right. But Amanda was nowhere to be seen.

  “Mr. Henderson, please,” Betty Gilman said, placing a hand on his upper arm. “I don’t mean to cause you any distress. No one is going to take the baby away from you right now.” She hesitated. “But you do understand, don’t you, that you can’t keep her?”

  “Why the he—” He stopped, then took a step back. His throat tightened. So many emotions churned inside of him at the thought of losing Faith, he couldn’t grasp hold of any one of them. “Why not?”

  “It’s just not right, that’s why. You’re not…” She stopped and searched for the right words. “Well, that is, you’re a man. I know sometimes men are forced to raise children, but as often as not, they do poorly at it. In the years my husband and I have been in the ministry, we’ve seen too many homes where death has called the mother away and the father’s been left to raise his brood. Unless he finds a good wife to look after the children, most usually dire consequences result. A child needs a mother and a father.”

  “Faith has a grandmother and an uncle. We love her, and we’re doing fine.”

  “Faith? Is that her name?”

  “Yes, it is. Now, excuse me. It’s her feeding time.”

  Betty Gilman walked beside him as he strolled toward the wagon. “Mr. Henderson, you listen to me, and you listen well.” Her voice lost its earlier softness, turning shrill and harsh. “I know you love your niece, and I’m sure you think you’re doing the right thing. But you can’t keep her.”

  He would listen to no more. Ignoring the woman, he placed Faith in her cradle and fastened it securely to the floor of the wagon. It occurred to him that maybe Ma had a point when she said religion caused more problems than it solved. He wouldn’t be going to church again, he decided.

  But Betty Gilman refused to give up. Two hours later, she showed up at the door of Charlotte’s cottage. With her were Olive McIntyre and several other women from the Ladies’ Charitable Society at the church. Lucille wasn’t among them. Tom wondered if she knew they’d come calling. He wondered, too, if she agreed with them. Apparently not, judging by her absence.

  Not only Mrs. Gilman, but all the other women as well wore black. They reminded Tom of a bunch of crows perching in the parlor, hovering about, ready to peck the eyes out of him and his mother if they made a wrong move.

  Charlotte sat in a chair, glowering, her arms folded over her chest as one by one, the good Christian women made their case. Over and over, they repeated the same tired words.

  The child needed a stable home environment.

  The child should have someone who could provide for all her needs.

  The child required this…the child must have that…the child…

  “Her name is Faith,” Tom said, fighting to hold his temper in check. To his mind, it was a wonder his mother hadn’t run the bunch of them off the moment she knew where they’d come from. Maybe she understood that any erratic behavior—especially threats of violence—would all but guarantee losing Faith. Tom kept reminding himself of that fact.

  Finally after nearly an hour had passed—during which time Faith had slept as contentedly as any sweet angel—Tom got to his feet, indicating by his demeanor that the visit was over.

  “It was right nice of you fine women to come calling. Reckon it would be kind of you to stop by
and visit with Ma once in a while.” He turned to his mother. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

  She stiffened, but gave a grudging nod. “Any time, ladies.”

  “But,” Tom continued, his deep voice taking on a serious tone, “don’t come back here with intentions of taking our baby away. She’s doing just fine.” To make his point, he gestured toward the cradle. “I’ll see you out now.”

  Mrs. Gilman gathered her shawl and pocketbook. “You and your mother are not capable of raising that child. I know you think she’s fine, and for the moment, maybe she is. But what about tomorrow, Tom?”

  Her concerns were genuine, he knew. The woman truly cared about others which made it all the more difficult. Betty Gilman’s sincere desire to help could have disastrous results for him and his mother.

  “What about tomorrow?” he replied, turning his hands up in a gesture of frustration. “We’ll take care of tomorrow, same as we’re taking care of today. That’s how life goes. Today, tomorrow, and all the rest of the days. We’ll take each as it comes.”

  The woman’s lower lip moved, and Tom got the feeling she couldn’t wait to get the next words out.

  “We know about your mother, Tom. We know how she’s lived her life. We know the sort of woman she is. How long do you think it’s going to be before she goes back to her old ways? How long before she gets drunk again?”

  “Ma’am, she’s not—”

  “Yes, she is.” Betty let out a shuddering breath and gestured for Tom to step outside. Standing in the shade of a leafy oak, she glared at him, her sharp, black eyes almost level with his. “I’ll be blunt. Your mother doesn’t have the most sterling character. Now, I’m all for giving people second chances, but I won’t stand by and allow any harm to come to your niece.”

  “Just pray for us, Mrs. Gilman,” Tom said, hoping that might shut her up.