Apprentice Father

by Irene Hannon

  Clay’s step slowed as he examined the photos of the three siblings. Mark was in sports attire, holding a soccer ball beside a trophy labeled “state champions.” Rob wore a hockey uniform, his goalie mask tilted back to reveal his broad grin. No surprises there. Her brothers struck him as the athletic type.

  But the last shot brought him to an abrupt halt.

  It was Cate, dressed in a gossamer white tutu, her long legs encased in tights, one hand arced over her head, the other forming a half circle at waist level. She was balanced en pointe on one foot, her other leg extended toward the camera and bent gracefully at the knee, her slender, supple form the epitome of elegance, grace and poise. She wore her hair in traditional ballerina fashion, pulled back into a bun and surrounded by some sort of feathery headpiece. Her face was radiant and filled with joy, her beautiful bone structure enhanced by the classic hair style.

  She was, in a word, stunning.

  “She’s lovely, isn’t she?” Ellen said, as if reading his thoughts. “That’s her dancing the leading role in Swan Lake at eighteen.”

  Meaning this must have been taken right before she was stricken with Guillain-Barre Syndrome, Clay concluded with a jolt.

  Ellen spoke again, confirming his conclusion. “Two weeks after she danced this role, she got sick. Only a few days before she was supposed to leave for New York.”

  “She was going to New York?”

  “I guess I’m not surprised she hasn’t mentioned it.” Ellen sighed. “She doesn’t dwell on what might have been. She made her peace with that long ago and moved on. Better than the rest of us did, in some ways. Anyway, she’d been accepted into the American Ballet Theatre’s Studio Company. Each year, twelve young dancers with outstanding potential are selected for the program.”

  As she refocused on the picture, her expression grew melancholy. “Being a professional ballerina was Cate’s dream, and her dedication was absolute. While other young girls were going to parties or worrying about getting dates for the prom, Cate was dancing. Grueling hour after hour at the barre, with single-minded determination, always focused on her goal. And she was on her way to achieving it when she got sick. The illness itself was devastating, but after she got past the worst of it, we all assumed she’d recover. Except that wasn’t in God’s plan for our Cate. Sometimes I don’t know how she…”

  “Okay, I’m all set. Where are the…” Cate’s words faltered as she came upon her mother and Clay standing by her photo. But she made a quick recovery. “I hope you’re not boring Clay with ancient history, Mom.” Her teasing tone was a bit forced, her smile a little too bright.

  It might be old news to them, but there were a lot of questions Clay wanted answered. He opened his mouth to ask a few only to have Emily cut him off.

  “Are you going to show us the pond now, Cate?”

  “Yes. Let’s go.” She took the children’s hands and started toward the door. “Coming, Clay?”

  “Yeah. I’m right behind you.”

  As he followed in their wake, he recalled the day she’d told him about her illness. And how he’d tried to imagine what it would be like to be struck with such a debilitating condition just as the whole world was opening up before you. He’d wondered how it had changed Cate’s life, what dreams she’d been forced to give up. But he’d had no idea of the magnitude of her loss. He couldn’t begin to imagine how horrible it must be for someone once so active and agile to be unable to do a simple thing like fly a kite.

  Instead of walking all the way to the attractive, stone-edged pond in the Shepard backyard, he lowered himself to a bench off to one side. As Cate pointed out the fish to the children, her father joined them, wiping his hands on a dish towel. The kids instantly became more subdued and pressed closer to Cate. But once her father talked with them and handed them some food to sprinkle on the water, they relaxed. Cate backed off, joining Clay on the bench.

  “I asked Dad to come out and spend a few minutes one-on-one with the kids. I hope it will help them understand not all fathers are like theirs.”

  Clay was grateful for her concern for the children. But his thoughts remained on her. And he voiced the question that had come to his mind the day she’d first told him of her illness.

  “How did you ever find the strength to cope?”

  A few seconds of silence followed his quiet query as Cate watched the children. He wasn’t sure she’d answer, but at last she lifted one shoulder. “It wasn’t meant to be. God had other plans for me.”

  “Just like that? After all that study and sacrifice, you simply accepted that disaster as God’s will?”

  “No. It took me years to get to where I am now. In the beginning, I considered the illness a major setback, but not a career-ending catastrophe. I didn’t give up the hope of recovery for a long, long time.” She shrugged. “But in the end, I had to. And that’s when the anger hit. I was furious with God. How could He do this to me, after the years of work I’d put into reaching my goal? I quit praying. I stopped going to church. I wanted nothing more to do with Him.”

  “That makes sense to me.”

  “It did to me, too. But in the end I realized that while I might have left God, He never left me. And as my anger subsided and I began to accept what had happened, I started to hear His voice again. I didn’t always like what He was telling me, but I couldn’t ignore it. That quote from Jeremiah kept replaying in my mind, about how God has plans for us, plans for our welfare, not our woe; plans to give us a future full of hope. After that, I began to open myself to His direction.”

  A faint smile touched her lips. “My life may not be the one I planned, Clay. But it’s good. And it’s the one God wants for me. Once I accepted that, I found peace.”

  Searching her eyes, Clay found nothing but sincerity in their depths. While her calm acceptance was hard for him to fathom, it nevertheless had an unexpected soothing effect on his troubled spirit. And it left him a tad envious; she’d found a peace he’d never discovered in all his years of restless wandering.

  She tilted her head and regarded him. “Does my attitude surprise you?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why?”

  “I haven’t been much of a churchgoer, Cate. But I’ve been listening to Reverend Richards for the past few weeks. And I have to admit I’ve been impressed. He paints a different picture of the Almighty than the one I was taught as a child. An appealing picture of a God of mercy and kindness. But God wasn’t very kind or merciful to you.”

  “I didn’t think so, either, at first. But I’ve come to believe there’s a reason for what happened. And in His time, God will reveal it to me.”

  He shook his head. “I guess I’m just not sure why you have such great trust in God. I mean, I can tell all of you are very religious. But I grew up in a religious, God-fearing home, too. And I turned away from God.”

  “Ah.” A smile whispered at her lips. “There’s the difference. We grew up in a God-loving home—not a God-fearing one.”

  The comparison jolted him. In a few words, she’d captured the critical disparity in their upbringings, he realized. “You may be right. Fear was the operative word in our house.”

  She didn’t press, didn’t push, but he sensed she was receptive if he wanted to share more. He stared into the placid waters of the pond a dozen yards away, debating how much to reveal.

  “My father considered himself to be a very religious man, but he was harsh and domineering. He always stressed the God of punishment, and he formulated an endless list of strict rules he claimed were based on the Good Book. Or his interpretation of it, anyway. He pretty much viewed the world through a black and white lens. There was no room for discussion, no tolerance of dissension. He held me and Anne and my mother to such impossible standards that we often failed to meet his expectations.”

  His inflection went flat. “There was no joy or warmth or love in our house. My mother tried to create some, but her efforts were thwarted by my father. And every week he’d drag us to these
fire-and-brimstone Sunday services, where a preacher would rant and rave about what terrible sinners we were and how we were all going to hell if we didn’t repent. My father took it all in, holier than thou, with his bible clutched to his chest.” His last comment was riddled with bitterness.

  “I can see why you wanted nothing to do with Christianity.”

  “Yeah, well, my father didn’t see it that way.” Clay gave a brief, mirthless laugh. “When I was fifteen, I’d had it. I rebelled and told him I wasn’t going to church anymore. And I didn’t. I think he wore out several belts on my back before he accepted the fact that nothing was going to change my mind.”

  “He beat you?” Shock rippled through her voice.

  “He hit me.” Clay gave a stiff shrug. “I’m not sure it would qualify as beating. And he was very self-righteous about it. Said he was doing it in the name of God for the good of my soul because he wanted me to be saved. I think he felt totally justified.”

  “Oh, Clay.” Distress tightened her features. “I’m more sorry than I can say. No wonder you turned away from religion. The God I know would never justify the kind of behavior your father used in His name. Love works so much better than force if you want to touch people’s hearts.”

  “I think you’re right.” Clay angled toward her, and the warmth in her eyes reached into the deepest recesses of his heart, like the spring sun coaxing new life from dormant plants. “Can I tell you something? You’ve given me a more favorable impression of religion in the past few minutes than any of those fire-and-brimstone preachers did in the first fourteen years of my life.”

  “Uncle Clay! Uncle Clay! Come see the red fish!”

  It took Clay a moment to disengage from Cate’s compelling gaze. “I’ll be right there, Josh.” When he looked back at Cate she smiled.

  “It’s nice to be wanted.”

  “Yeah.” But as he rose and headed for the pond, he couldn’t help wishing he was also wanted by Cate.

  Cate remained on the bench, watching as Clay dropped down to the children’s level and engaged in an animated discussion. She needed a few minutes to mull over his startling revelations.

  Given his father’s example, it was no wonder he was a reluctant churchgoer. Nor was his insecurity about his child-rearing skills surprising. And his aversion to commitments also made sense. The relationships in his life had been dysfunctional, and he’d been badly hurt. Why would he want to take that risk again?

  Each day since Clay and the children had come into her life, she’d asked the Lord to give him strength and wisdom to deal with the responsibilities he’d taken on. But now she added another request—for healing. Clay needed that as much as the children did. Without it, he’d never be able to open his heart to love or to the Lord’s empowering grace. He would continue to exist on the fringes of life, unwilling—and afraid—to make a commitment to anyone. And that wasn’t an ideal way to live.

  Cate knew that firsthand, and would change her circumstances in a heartbeat if she could. She’d like nothing better than to be involved in a committed, caring relationship with a man she loved, surrounded by a houseful of children.

  But in a culture that revered external beauty, where the quest for physical perfection bordered on the obsessive, it was hard for people to see beyond her obvious imperfections. Especially when it came to romance. Even the man she’d loved—a good, decent, faith-filled person—hadn’t been able to look past them in the end.

  Yet impediments of a different kind held Clay back, she mused, watching him reach out a gentle hand to steady Emily as she bent over the pond. While they might be less visible, in a sense they were as much a disability as hers.

  And until he found a way to deal with them, there was little hope he’d achieve the kind of connections that would give him the peace she sensed he craved.

  Chapter Six

  Clay pulled into the parking space near his apartment, bone-weary after dealing with several days’ worth of pressing problems at the job site. What he wanted was a long, cold drink and a quiet relaxing evening.

  But when he glanced up to the landing, he found Cate waiting for him. That, in itself, was unusual. But some nuance in her posture also put him on alert.

  So much for his quiet evening.

  Taking the steps two at a time, he strode toward her. “Is everything okay?”

  “Yes. I just wanted to talk to you, and there’s not much privacy inside.”

  “Okay.” He leaned back against the railing, his palms flat on the top, bracing for bad news.

  “I thought we should revisit the bed-wetting situation.” She pulled the sweater she’d thrown over her shoulders more tightly around her. “When you hired me, you said once it was under control you planned to put the children into a more traditional day care setting. Since the problem seems to be history, I thought we ought to discuss your plans. A friend of mine gave me a referral earlier this week for a child care position, and I need to consider it if you’re planning to send the children to day care soon.”

  As Clay regarded Cate, he tried to regroup. It was true they’d agreed to a temporary arrangement. But he hadn’t given a single thought to making any changes. The children were thriving under her attentive care. She was perfect for them.

  Perfect.

  The word suited her, he reflected, drinking in the sight of her in the afternoon light of this late April day. Ironic, too, considering the first thing he’d noticed about her had been her limp. Now he realized it was inconsequential. As was her disabled hand. They had no bearing on how he or the children felt about her. If she left, Josh and Emily would panic.

  Sort of the same reaction he was already having.

  He curled his fingers around the railing and held his breath. “I don’t see any reason to change our arrangement at any time in the near future, if you’re willing to stay.”

  Her soft lips curved into a smile that sent relief—and warmth—coursing through him. “I’m willing. I just wanted to be sure we were both on the same wavelength.” She turned toward the door. “I need to tell the kids good-night before I leave.”

  For a few seconds, Clay remained outside. He was deeply grateful that Cate was willing to stay. Her presence in their lives was a natural fit, one he had come to accept—and expect.

  Yet one of these days, she would go. Emily would start school next year, and Josh was right behind her. The kids wouldn’t require a full-time nanny. Cate would have to move on to another family that needed her.

  But it was getting harder and harder for Clay to envision a time when this family wouldn’t need her.

  Him included.

  The sudden chime of the doorbell distracted Clay from the plans he was going over on the kitchen table. Odd. They never had visitors on Saturday. Unless Cate had stopped by for some reason. Now there was a pleasant thought, he mused, a smile tugging up the corners of his lips.

  Stepping over the children, who were coloring on the floor in the living room, he reached down to tickle them. As they giggled and squirmed, he savored the feeling of contentment produced by their simple, uninhibited joy.

  With a smile of welcome, Clay pulled open the door.

  “Hello, boy. I’ve come for the children.”

  His smile evaporated. He hadn’t seen his father in close to ten years, nor talked to him except for their one brief phone conversation after Anne died, and he almost didn’t recognize him. He remembered his old man standing ramrod straight; now he looked shrunken and shriveled. His face was sallow and gaunt, his thinning hair gun-metal gray. But his eyes were as harsh and humorless as ever. That hadn’t changed.

  As Clay’s shock receded, the man’s words began to register.

  I’ve come for the children.

  Clay felt like someone had kicked him in the gut.

  All along, he’d known his father intended to take the children after he recovered. But he’d expected the man to call first to discuss the situation. And there was a lot to discuss. Because Clay didn’t intend to
send Josh and Emily to live with their grandfather. He hadn’t yet figured out how he was going to permanently assimilate two little children into his life, but he’d assumed he’d have plenty of time to address that problem down the road.

  He’d assumed wrong.

  As he and his father faced off, Clay realized the room behind him had gone still as death. Checking on the kids over his shoulder, he found Josh and Emily huddled together, Emily’s arm around Josh’s shoulder in the familiar, protective gesture she hadn’t used for weeks. They’d moved behind Clay, letting his body shield them from the intruder.

  Clay clamped his lips into a thin, uncompromising line. “Let’s talk outside.”

  The older man’s eyes narrowed. “We don’t have anything to talk about.”

  Turning his back on his father, Clay knelt beside the children. They looked at him with wide, anxious eyes while darting fearful glances at the figure in the doorway.

  “I’m going to go outside and talk to your grandfather for a minute. After we’re finished, why don’t the three of us go get hamburgers and French fries? Would you like that?” He took Emily’s hand, ruffled Josh’s hair, keeping his touch and his voice gentle and reassuring.

  Josh sniffled and edged closer to Emily. She tightened her grip on her brother’s shoulder. Neither responded.

  “Hey, it will be okay.” He gathered them close and gave them a hug. “You guys go put on your shoes, and we’ll head out in a few minutes. We might even stop for ice cream on the way home.”

  “Come on, Josh.” Emily’s sad, resigned tone tore at his heart as she tugged on her brother’s hand.