by Janet Dean
Luke knelt in front of her son. “Fishing takes patience.” Then he pointed to Ben’s pole snaking across the bank. “Better hurry before whatever’s on the end of your line takes your pole under.”
Ben’s short legs wouldn’t get him there in time.
Luke made a lunge for the pole. Amid shrieks of excitement and encouragement, Ben caught his first fish. The little boy’s face lit with satisfaction while Luke removed the hook and helped tuck the bass into the wire basket tethered at the water’s edge. Soon her father and Philip added another fish. Within minutes, her sons caught five more.
Watching Luke interact with the boys, Mary’s resistance to the man crumbled. He treated her sons like a father would. They, in turn, soaked up Luke’s attention like parched ground after a long drought. Even Michael appeared to warm up to Luke. For once, her father could take the role of grandfather.
Eyes glistening at the sight of the boys’ joy-filled faces, Mary crossed to the blanket. If only Sam had gone fishing with the boys, but on Saturdays, he’d barely managed the heaviest chores before heading to the saloon. Sundays, he slept it off, often still in bed when she and the boys returned from church. He’d had no interest in fishing or baseball or any of the activities his children enjoyed. Sam had failed her, but more importantly, he’d failed his sons.
But here on the bank of White River, they’d found a man who cared, if only for an afternoon, about what lay on the end of their lines.
What if her sons relied on this? How could she protect them without denying them a few hours of fun?
Luke rose and said something to her father, then dipped his hands in the water. Wiping his palms on his jeans, he joined her on the blanket, grabbing an apple from her basket. Then he leaned against the tree, his face relaxed, contented. “I haven’t had this much fun in ages.”
For a man who didn’t know children and occasionally looked out of his depth, Luke had a great way with the boys. But she must remember all this was temporary.
Good with children or not, she didn’t know much about Luke, not really.
In too many ways, Luke Jacobs remained a mystery. For a practical woman like Mary, that made him a risk, a risk she could not take.
Settling against the rough bark of the hickory tree, Luke stretched out his legs, his bones like butter softening in the sun. He took a bite of the shiny red apple, releasing sweet juice that ran down the side of his hand. When had he felt this relaxed?
Even Mary looked at ease. She had removed her straw hat, revealing her glossy thick hair, pulled back at the nape. One luxurious strand curled at her jaw. He had an urge to wind the tendril around his finger, to lean close and pull her to him. But her father and sons sat on the bank, a few feet away. Still, they weren’t paying attention. Maybe…
She raised her gaze to his. As if she read his thoughts—or dare he hope, shared them—color dusted her cheeks.
He smiled. “You’re lovely, Mary.”
Brows arching in surprise, she smiled, and the pure joy in it knocked against his heart. Hadn’t her husband told her she was pretty? After that reaction, he’d make a point of complimenting her more.
“Thank you.” She glanced at the group on the bank. “And thank you for making time for the boys. You’re good with them.”
“Yes, well, fishing on a warm fall evening—doesn’t get much better than this.”
“I think you enjoy more than the fishing.” She appeared to look inside him, to see into the innermost part of his being. “I think you enjoy the boys, too, even if they chatter like magpies.”
He glanced away. He treasured time with all of them, but especially with his son, more than he wanted to admit, but he merely shrugged. “They’re nice boys.”
The spark in her eyes dimmed. His attempt to look indifferent hurt her. But he didn’t want to mislead Mary about his intentions toward her and the children. Didn’t want to make her suspicious if he appeared to care too much. Why didn’t he just tell her he was Ben’s father?
After keeping silent for weeks, Mary would never forgive him for not telling her. Her anger would either force him into leaving town or into demanding his son. He couldn’t bear to wound her or the boys. He’d not done right by Lucy. He wasn’t worthy to rear a child. But even if he were, he had no idea how to be a parent.
A thick silence fell between them. With his free hand, Luke fiddled with a blade of grass growing alongside the tree, while Mary kept her back to him, tucking the remains of their picnic in her basket. The sun lowered in the sky. Soon they’d have to head back. Something he didn’t want to do. Not yet. “Do you want to take a walk before it gets dark?”
Mary wrapped her shawl around her. “Yes, that sounds nice.”
Luke gave her a hand up, calling to Doc to make sure he could handle the boys’ lines.
Doc waved them on their way. “You two run along. We’ll be fine.”
Strolling along the bank, Luke watched fallen leaves tumble along in the water, splashing against an occasional rock—small sailboats plucked from the trees, now heading to an unknown destination. Much like him.
He must regain control of his life, not continue to let circumstances chart his course. Instead, he’d focus on getting a sanatorium built. Make amends for Joseph’s suffering. Even for Lucy’s. The responsibility for her death weighed him down, as if he’d killed her himself.
His gaze settled on Mary strolling beside him, a woman with the ability to alter his plans.
But, if she somehow did, he’d disappoint her. Insight slugged him in the gut. Mary wouldn’t want him. Their relationship didn’t have a chance. So why did he yearn to spend every minute with her? With her and the boys?
He snagged a flat, gray rock lying in their path. With every ounce of frustration inside him, he flung it toward the creek. The stone skipped three times, then disappeared beneath the surface.
Mary searched the ground, found a rock and lobbed it through the air. It danced across the river—skipping four times—before it sank. She turned to him with a triumphant smile.
He chuckled, terribly pleased for some odd reason. “You’re a woman of many talents, Mary.”
She smiled, giving a saucy toss of her head. She was a beautiful woman, all goodness and light, a total departure from what he’d known growing up.
Without thinking, he tugged her to him, tipping her chin with his hand until she looked into his eyes. Hers went wide. “May I kiss you?” he said, his voice gruff.
She didn’t answer, and he held his breath, waiting. Then, she rose on her toes and encircled his neck with her arms, offering her lips to his. He lowered his head and kissed her tenderly with all the pent-up loneliness of his life. A sigh escaped her, and he hugged her closer, every cold crevice inside him filling with warmth.
He cared about this woman so much it scared him. Gently, he set her from him and ran his fingertips over her lips, giving her a crooked grin. “After that, I’ll be sure to always ask.”
She cocked her head at him. “I may not always give the same answer.” But her smile belied her statement. Or so he hoped.
Arm in arm, they walked on, stopping near a gnarled old tree, its limbs reaching toward the river. Sunlight threw the tree’s shadow onto a large rock projecting from the bank. Mary skittered down the slope and took a seat, scooting to the side to make room for Luke.
He sat beside her. “You’re a wonderful woman, Mary. A gift to all who know you, exactly as your father sees you.”
Averting her eyes, Mary studied her hands. Overhead, birds congregated, gathering in the trees, preparing to migrate, their rowdy calls breaking the stillness. “My parents saw me as a gift because…I was one—literally.” She smoothed the fringe on her shawl, taking her time, and then met his gaze. “As a newborn baby, someone left me in a basket on their doorstep.”
The news thudded into Luke’s stomach. Joseph, Mary, Ben—all throwaway children. In some ways he was too. And he’d done that very thing to his own child. The weight of his past hung
on him like a millstone.
Moving closer, he reached for her hand and took it in his, pleased she didn’t pull away. Enjoying its smallness, the calluses on her palms, evidence of how hard she worked. He wanted to ease the burdens she carried, to ease the pain of her admission, which was easy to read on her face.
“I’ll always be grateful to my parents for taking me in when my biological mother didn’t want me,” she went on. “I’m thankful for their love, for everything they gave me. But…” Her bottle green eyes filled, glistening with unshed tears, ripping at Luke’s reserve. “It’s late. We’d better get back.”
Luke couldn’t let her leave, not like this. “Don’t go. Not yet. Talk to me.”
She hesitated, clearly torn about revealing her thoughts. He kept holding her hand, kept holding her gaze. Finally, she released a long, shuddering breath. “Deep down inside, in a place I’m not proud of, can barely admit exists, it hurts I was a throwaway baby.” Mary turned toward the river. Near its edge a bottle floated on the current. Just ahead, trapped by a submerged log, an old boot and rusty can bobbed in the water lapping against the bank. She gestured toward the litter. “Someone’s trash.”
A lump clogged Luke’s throat, closing off his air. Trash. Joseph. Memories still haunted his dreams. That this amazing woman saw herself as rubbish wrenched his heart. “Ah, Mary.” He squeezed her hand. “You’re not trash.”
Emotions paraded across her face, and Luke understood something she might not. No matter what she’d said, Mary Graves did not see herself as a gift.
Using her free hand, she swiped at her eyes. “It’s easy to hear those words but not so easy to believe them when those who are supposed to love you the most don’t want you.”
Swallowing hard, Luke thought of his parents. Of how they’d shuffled him off to one boarding school after another. How they’d rid themselves of the embarrassment of Joseph. And now he’d done the same to Ben, even before his birth. Would Ben think of himself as garbage one day? Because of him? The prospect hit him like an uppercut to the gut.
“Some people weren’t meant to have children,” he said quietly.
“Of course you understand. I’m sorry any child has to feel that way. All children deserve love.” Mary gave him a wobbly smile. “But you and I have God, and that’s enough to tell us we’re accepted and loved, no matter what.”
Mary wouldn’t think much of his faith if he admitted he was Ben’s father. What kind of a Christian lived a lie? Yet he couldn’t bear to dim that light in her eyes, to see her attitude toward him change. Ben had a good life with Mary. He wouldn’t do anything to destroy that.
“I’ve never told that to anyone,” Mary said with a whoosh of breath. “I’ve never admitted aloud that my wonderful parents, who gave me all their love and everything they had, couldn’t remove my feelings of rejection. When a person aches to confront someone, not to try to fit together the pieces of the puzzle, but to lash out, to shout that no reason on earth justifies tossing away their daughter—” Her voice broke. “That desire is ugly, unworthy of a child of God. I’m grateful He forgives me even for that.”
Tears spilled down Mary’s cheeks. Leaning forward, he brushed them away with both thumbs. “Whether you believe it or not, Mary, you’re as beautiful inside as you are out.”
“If so, it’s only because I’m forgiven.” Through her tears, Mary brightened. “I believe God had His hand on my life from the beginning.” She gave a wobbly smile. “God has a plan for us all, even babies in baskets.”
Tears stung the backs of Luke’s eyes. What of Joseph? Luke shook his head and tossed a rock into the water. It pinged off the bottle and disappeared into the murky depths. “In my family, God forgot someone.”
“Oh, Luke, God doesn’t forget anyone.”
A memory slammed into Luke with a tidal force. His six-year-old brother weeping, screaming, arms and legs thrashing, scrambling for footing, while a stranger wrestled him into a carriage. Luke trying to stop him, slamming his fists into the man. His father pulling Luke off. Standing helplessly, watching Joseph reach an arm out of the carriage window, screaming for his mother. Luke hadn’t been able to stop it, to do anything but weep. “Tell that to my brother, Joseph. My parents abandoned him.”
“Abandoned him. Why?” Mary’s voice was soft with concern, with understanding.
Luke’s heart raced. Admitting the family secret made him feel exposed, yet Mary had opened her heart to him. And he wanted to do the same, badly. To unburden himself to Mary, to the one person he trusted with something this raw, this personal.
Yet he hid so much from her. He couldn’t tell her about Ben and see the anger, the disappointment, even the fear of what his paternity might mean for Ben. He couldn’t do that.
“Joseph’s transgression? He failed to meet my parents’ expectations of what a child should be. He wasn’t healthy, wasn’t perfect.” His throat clogged, and he could barely speak. In his mind, he saw his brother again, grown into an adolescent, lying on a bed, thin, weak, sick and neglected. Even now, Luke could smell the foul bed linens, his unwashed body and the stench of death. “That asylum treated him more like an animal than a human being. He…died, too young.”
Mary put her hand to her mouth. “Oh, Luke, I can’t understand how your parents could do that, how any parent could.”
He lifted a hand to her cheek, silky under his fingers. He sucked in a breath, wishing he could stay forever in her world of purity and goodness. “Nothing about you and your father is anything like my family. My parents were experts at covering up, hiding behind pretty pretense.”
Luke was no different.
A bird chattered in the treetop. Mary reached for his hand, holding it in both of hers. Her touch soothed like ointment on a burn.
“After Joseph’s death, I wanted to do something that would help others like my brother. I became a doctor, created medicine, to honor his life.”
“And you have.”
He forced up the corners of his mouth. “My brother had epilepsy. I’ve worked at finding a cure. I’ve tried mistletoe, nightshade…but I haven’t gotten it yet.”
“With God’s help, I’m sure you’ll succeed.”
Why hadn’t God helped an innocent boy like Joseph? Why would He help a man like him? Luke had no answers. He rose and grabbed a nearby stick, then scuttled down the bank and shoved the boot and can free of the rock and into the current, watching as they floated downriver. “My brother suffered in that institution while my parents danced at parties and traipsed through Europe.” He turned toward her. “Do you wonder why God allowed that?”
“God doesn’t control people like they’re puppets. There’s a reason for what Joseph went through. Remember, God can bring good from bad.”
Luke climbed the bank. “How could anything good come from Joseph’s life?” he said, his tone cold, harsh.
She hesitated, her brow knit in thought. “Perhaps only that your brother’s life gave you a strong desire to help others. Not that God approved of what your parents did but that He didn’t let Joseph’s suffering go to waste. God has a plan, Luke. You’re part of that plan and so am I.”
Luke swallowed hard against the lump in his throat. Did God save some, let others suffer? Based on what? Some heinous sin of an epileptic boy? He sighed. He couldn’t blame God. The blame for Joseph’s end lay at his parents’ door. The blame for Lucy’s lay at his.
“From what you’ve said, I wonder if your parents are believers,” Mary said. “Have you tried to talk to them about their faith?”
Luke cleared his throat. He’d been dancing around the issue. No longer. “After Joseph died, I turned to something I thought I could depend on—science. I’ve studied theories that argued against the existence of God. I lost my faith for a while, Mary. Did things I’m not proud of.” And still am not. He shook his head. “I’m not the man to talk to them.”
She touched his hand. “What better man than one who walked that path and came out the other side?”
/>
A deep yearning filled him. He wanted to be rid of his resentment, the grudge he held against his parents, a constant burning in his gut that not even his remedy could cure. Luke’s heart tripped. He needed to forgive his parents. Worse, he needed to forgive himself for Lucy’s death. But he couldn’t seem to manage either.
Mary made things sound easy. Yet, he’d observed her struggles to trust God with the future. “If you believe God has a plan for your life, why do you worry?”
“You can evaluate my faith all you want, Luke, even say I fall short—I’d agree in a heartbeat—but don’t confuse the strength of my faith with the strength of the One I have faith in. He never fails.”
“Yet look at Sam, your birth parents. They all failed you.”
“They’re human, not God.”
“But you suffered because of them.”
“If you feel an easy life proves God’s love and a hard one denies it, then you don’t know scripture.” Her eyes widened. “I hadn’t thought of this before. Perhaps giving up their baby was the greatest act of love my biological parents could have given me.”
Luke stiffened. Mary was right. If he loved his son, he’d leave things alone. Forget Ben existed…if he could. He’d send money through the Children’s Aid Society. Mary need never discover he was Ben’s father. “I’m sure you’re right.”
“You look upset. Is something wrong?”
A wall of lies separated him from Mary. Better to move on. “I’ve got to go. Thanks for a lovely afternoon.”
Luke trudged off, striding along the bank, putting distance between him and Mary. A gentle breeze stirred in the scanty collection of leaves still clinging to the trees, fighting their fate. A fate no one could evade.
Along the water’s edge, a fat bullfrog croaked at his approach, then leapt below the surface with a splash as if unable to abide Luke’s presence. Well, he could hardly abide it either.
Ahead, Doc and the boys gathered their gear. Luke hollered an excuse about getting home, not stopping to look at their catch, all too aware of the crestfallen faces watching him go.