This Place: Holmes Crossing Book 3

by Carolyne Aarsen

  "He told you that?" Duncan's voice held a harsh edge. "And you believed him?"

  "Well, for one thing, he was right."

  "No. He wasn't. And neither was my mother," he said, derailing my train of thought.

  "What do you mean by that?"

  "Kimberly and I had been dating off and on, and my mother always thought she was so perfect for me. She was heartbroken when we broke up. Then, when I met you at the wedding, she told me the same thing. To be careful. That maybe things would be different for me when you got back home. Then, when I didn't hear from you, I figured that's what happened."

  "I…I wanted to call you back," I said. "To return your texts. But the longer I waited, the more pointless it seemed. And then I found out you got married."

  Duncan's chest lifted in a sigh. "I don't know why you thought you weren't worthy. I was no better. Kimberly and I got back together, and a few months after that she got pregnant. With Tasha. We got married. Which was a mistake."

  I released a harsh laugh. If I were to tell him everything, my confession would have so neatly dovetailed with his. Only, I didn't get married after I got pregnant by my drug-dealing boyfriend.

  "Anyway, that's my sad history," he continued. "And now that I know you didn't ignore me because you didn't like me I feel like we can move on. We can talk about good things. I want to talk about you and me."

  You and me. The promise in those words thrilled me even as shadows from the past hovered in the background.

  "What about us?" I asked, still prevaricating and testing.

  "Are you still thinking of going back to Vancouver?" he asked.

  I held that thought, weighing, measuring. Did I dare take this step across that space between us? That one step farther along the tightrope?

  He was smiling at me, and I thought of the gift he had given me. Wondered if what we had would survive what I needed to tell him.

  "Do you want me to stay?" Another tiny step.

  He grinned down at me and I felt a weight slip off my chest. "You're going to make me say it, aren't you?"

  I wanted to ask what, but felt that would only underscore what he was teasing me about.

  "I'm just playing my cards close to my chest," I said, returning his smile. "I have to confess that my life has given me mixed messages about allowing myself to accept gifts and think that things will turn out well for me."

  "Of course. I get that. I've got my own hang ups, but I'll stick my neck out. I want you to stay. I want you to take a chance on me and see, this time, where this goes. I feel like God has given us a second chance and though we both seem to have stuff to deal with, I like to believe that we can trust He'll help us through."

  His little speech twined around my heart, anchoring me in a safe and secure place.

  "Then I'll stay."

  He pulled me close and as his lips met mine I sank into his kiss, his embrace, feeling that, for the first time since I came to the Carpenter home, that happiness was a possibility in my life.

  You have to tell him.

  Just not yet, I told that pernicious voice. Just a few more days to explore and establish this new relationship.

  And then, once I knew I stood on a solid foundation I would tell him everything.

  I slowly drew away, giving myself some space for now. Some time to think and absorb what had just happened.

  So I focused on the gift he had given me, picking up the sketchpad. I flipped it open, feeling a long-buried sense of anticipation at the sight of the clean paper.

  "You want to give it a test run," he teased, leaning back against the couch, holding his head in his interlaced hands.

  "I do," I said, suddenly itching to try a sketch. To put pencil to paper and discover and create.

  "Go for it," he said with a grin.

  I didn't need any more encouragement. I grabbed the pencils and set the paper on my raised knees. Soon the pencil was dancing over the page as I quickly sketched out lines delineating Duncan's face, his hair, and the lines of his chest, his arms.

  I smiled as I worked, a curious happiness bubbling up inside me.

  "What are you drawing?"

  "You."

  "Hey. Let me see."

  "Artists never let people see their work before their time," I protested, holding my paper pad against my chest, pushing him away with my other hand.

  "But I'm the subject," he said with an aggrieved tone as he picked at the corner of my sketchpad with a forefinger.

  I shook my head, enjoying the teasing in his tone.

  He slumped back on the couch and shot me a warning glance. "Make sure you work hard at making me look handsome," he said.

  "I don't have to work that hard," I said, giving him a smile.

  "Flattery. I like it."

  I returned to my sketching, shading and filling in, catching the angles of his features, the flow of his hair.

  Then I heard Celia cry out, and my heart stuttered as I stopped, waiting. Listening.

  Then she cried out again, and I set the pad aside, hurrying across the room and up the stairs. Duncan was right behind me.

  Celia was still deep in slumber, but twitching in her sleep, muttering, her arms thrashing. I knelt down, taking her hand, talking to her.

  "It's okay, honey," I said, stroking her head, trying to calm her down.

  She suddenly sat up, her eyes wide as she stared at me. "Mommy?"

  The word slivered my soul. I wanted to say yes, lay claim to that title. Instead, I wordlessly pulled her close, cupping her head as she fell against me, crying. "It's okay. I'm here," I said, my hand making rhythmic, soothing circles over her back.

  Duncan sat down beside her, his hand resting on her shoulder. I looked at him over her head and then, when his other hand cupped my neck I felt as if the circle was complete.

  Celia's sobs slowed, and with one last shuddering breath she pulled back. To my surprise, she leaned forward and kissed my cheek. Joy melted into my soul, filling parched and empty spaces. I wanted to grab her again and stake my claim to her. Instead, I grazed her cheek with a kiss.

  "Love you, sweetie," I said.

  She sniffed then settled back in her bed. "I just had a bad dream. About Mommy. I thought she was back, and then she ran away." She sniffed once, remnants of the sorrow that had woven around her sleep. "But I still miss Mommy and Daddy."

  "Of course you do," I assured her. "You loved them."

  She nodded her acknowledgement of this. "I wish they didn't go."

  "I wish they didn't go either," Duncan put in, planting his one hand beside her head, touching her nose gently. "But we're here for you."

  She gave us both a wavering smile, then drew in a long breath. "I'm glad you're here. Will you stay with me?"

  "We'll be here until you fall asleep," Duncan said, taking my one hand, as my other rested on Celia’s warm, damp forehead.

  Celia snuggled down and slowly her eyes slid shut as her breathing slowed and deepened.

  We both stayed a while longer, until we were sure she was asleep. I was the first to get up, slowly easing my hand from her head. Duncan came to stand beside me, and we watched.

  "Poor little kid," he whispered. Then he slipped his arm around my shoulder, anchoring me against him. "But, she's got us now."

  He sounded so sure, and as I watched my daughter sleeping, I felt again the gift of a second chance.

  We could do this, I thought. We could take care of this little girl.

  We could be a family.

  I just had to pray that when the time came to explain everything to Duncan that he would understand.

  Soon I would tell him, I thought as he brushed a kiss over my forehead.

  Soon, but not yet.

  Chapter 16

  A sudden blanket of warmth enveloped me as Celia and I stepped into the Tiemstra house Sunday afternoon. The porch was achingly neat, and I felt guilty as my boots dripped melting snow onto the floor. But beyond the door, Christmas music wafted through the house and the sme
ll of soup cooking made my mouth water.

  Celia kicked her boots off and shrugged out of her coat, which I tidied up, trying not to rush myself. Though I would have preferred to see Duncan on my own, the thought of being with his family had an added appeal.

  "Hey, Celia. How's my little girl?” I heard Esther ask. “You're finally here."

  But Celia simply ignored her and marched into the house.

  I felt a tremble of concern as I heard Esther's voice and caught her angry glare. As if I was the reason Celia wasn’t talking to her. Being around Esther made me feel like I was overstepping my bounds. Like I shouldn't still be here.

  Just as I was hanging up my coat I heard footsteps, then Duncan's arms circled around me from the back, and he was pulling me against him in a tight hug. "Glad you're here," he whispered in my ear, gently turning me around to face him. "I wanted to give you this before you came inside."

  And then his lips were on mine as he shared a long, lingering kiss. He rested his forehead against mine. "I missed you. Sorry I didn't come to church."

  I had wondered about his absence but didn't want to say anything about it.

  "Les got some of the guys working today, even though we don't work Sundays, and of course something went wrong and of course Les needed help." He sighed heavily as he pulled away. "Don't know why I'm telling you all of this."

  "I'm a good listener," I teased, cupping his chin and enjoying the bristly and rough feel of it.

  He pressed a kiss into my hand, then wrapped his fingers around mine, giving them a light squeeze. "We should go inside. Esther's been antsy ever since I came home, wondering when you were coming."

  This puzzled me. Why should she care?

  I thought of her curious behavior yesterday at the house. Did she find something in Jerrod’s office she needed to talk to us about?

  Duncan's parents were already at the table when I came in, and I hurried to find an empty spot, feeling guilty that I had made them wait.

  "Come and sit by me," Celia demanded, slapping the empty chair beside her. "And Dunkle you have to sit beside Aunty Miriam."

  "Really?" Duncan asked, pulling out the chair for me to sit down. "Why do you get to decide who sits where?"

  "Because I know you like Aunty Miriam." She put her hand over her mouth and giggled, looking down at Jane. "We saw them kissing, didn't we, Jane?"

  My breath stuck in my chest, my heart suddenly taking off as I heard Esther's shocked cry.

  Her mother looked from Esther who was trying to compose herself to me, then to Duncan as if trying to connect the dots.

  “Kissing?” she asked.

  I shot Duncan a concerned look but he was just grinning. As if he didn't care. And then, to underscore what Celia had just said, he brushed a kiss over the top of my head, his lips teasing at my hair.

  “Yeah, Mom. Kissing.”

  I couldn't speak. Didn't know what to say or where to look, so instead I focused on getting the cutlery beside my plate and bowl sitting exactly right.

  "I'm rather confused," Mrs. Tiemstra was saying. "What is going on?"

  "I can't believe this," Esther said. "Francine and Jerrod are…it's only been three weeks…how—"

  "I think we should eat first," Duncan said, settling in his chair and giving me a smile of encouragement.

  I swallowed, trying to slow the emotions rushing over me. Too soon. Everything between Duncan and I was still changing and growing. To be put under his family's scrutiny already scared me.

  "I agree," his father said. "So let's pray."

  Everyone bowed their heads and I felt Duncan's hand reach for mine under the table. He gave me a squeeze of encouragement, which I returned, my heart rate slowing.

  "Our Father in heaven and on earth," his father prayed. "Thanks for food and for life. For healing and strength. Help us through this time and give us Your comfort and hope. Help us to cling to the promise of peace You give us. Amen."

  His simple prayer wound its way around my soul. Church this morning had been comforting again. The minister had preached on peace. How God never promised us a life without difficulties, but that the peace he offered transcended this world and its chaos. I clung to that hope now, as my own brain scurried around, chasing down concerns and worries.

  "So, did you get your problems solved in the bush?" Duncan's mother asked, as she stood to serve everyone up some soup.

  "Yeah. I did. Don't know what Les was thinking, sending the guys out. He knows we don't work Sundays."

  "He's a go-getter, that Les," his father said. "He may come across as a bit of an idiot, but he's not so dumb when it comes to the business."

  Duncan and his father chatted back and forth about the business while we ate, but all the while I caught Esther and her mother sending me surreptitious glances, as if trying to understand what was going on between Duncan and myself.

  The conversation slipped to the community and I was content to listen, wondering if I would be able to remember the names I heard Esther and her mother discuss.

  I felt a momentary panic as I thought of me staying here. If Esther and Cora reacted the way they had to the news of me and Duncan kissing, how would they to me staying?

  And where would I work?

  I dismissed the fearful thoughts, reminding myself of what Duncan’s father had just prayed. That I knew I could receive God’s peace no matter what.

  "I think Jane is full," Celia said to her grandmother, looking down at her half-empty bowl. While I was glad she ate most of her soup, it bothered me that she still spoke by way of her doll. At least to her grandmother.

  "And what about you, honey?" Esther asked, leaning closer to Celia. "Are you full?"

  "Jane doesn't want to talk to you," Celia said.

  I was taken aback at her blunt comment. "Celia, watch your manners. That wasn't polite."

  “My mommy didn’t like Aunt Esther,” Celia said in a matter of fact tone. “And Jane doesn’t either.”

  “Celia. You shouldn’t say that,” Mrs. Tiemstra reprimanded her as Esther’s face grew pale.

  “That’s not true,” Esther said.

  I frowned glancing over at Celia who didn’t seem bothered by the reactions of the Tiemstra women.

  Celia just shrugged, then stepped away from the table.

  "We're not finished lunch," I said to her, but I could see that Celia had slipped into a stubborn mood and seemed to sense I wouldn't do anything about it around Duncan's parents and Esther.

  "I want to watch television," she said.

  "It’s okay, honey," Mrs. Tiemstra said with a quick nod, getting up from her chair. "Go into the playroom, and you can watch there."

  "What have you been saying to her?" Esther asked me, her tone accusing as her mother left the table, holding Celia’s hand. "Why is she talking like that to me?"

  "I have no idea," I protested, surprised at the edge of panic in her voice.

  "You must have done something. Told her something."

  "What could I possibly have told her?" I was puzzled at Esther’s growing antagonism.

  "Esther, relax. It was just Celia being Celia," Duncan said.

  Esther dragged her gaze away from me then looked over at her brother, her features softening. "Of course. I’m sorry."

  By that time, Mrs. Tiemstra returned. I could hear the television quietly playing from the playroom, and though I couldn’t see Celia, I could hear her singing along. She sounded happy.

  "So do you have any plans for the coming year?" Duncan’s father was asking him, clearly returning to the conversation they had before.

  Duncan sat back from the table, slowly pulling in a deep breath, as if getting ready to say something important.

  "I did, but lately I’ve been thinking more about the farm and less about the logging."

  "What do you mean?" his father asked.

  "I'm thinking that I might find a way to ease out of the business," Duncan said.

  "Why would you do that?" his mother asked.
/>   Duncan’s hand was resting on my knee so I took it. Squeezed it to give him encouragement.

  "I'm tired, Mom,” he said. “Tired of juggling work and trying to keep things going. I want to focus on the ranch and the horses, and stop running around trying to keep everyone happy. And, well, I have other dreams. Other plans." His eyes slid sideways toward me for a fraction of a second, then back to his mother, who was looking at him like he had grown an extra head.

  "But the business…it used to be Dad's," Esther was saying looking from him to me, her look almost accusing.

  Not something I had anything to do with, I wanted to say.

  "I know, and I'm sorry, but I don't want…I can't…"

  "End up like me," his father put in with a heavy voice. "I don't blame you, son. The longer you’re out there the higher your chance of getting hurt."

  Duncan gave his father a smile and my hand an extra squeeze.

  "And what other plans do you have?" Esther insisted. "What are you doing that will keep you so busy?"

  "See, that's just it," Duncan said. "I don't want to be that busy. I want to have a life."

  Esther's gaze slid to me and I saw her slowly shake her head. "With her?"

  "You mean Miriam?" Duncan asked.

  Too fast. Things were moving too fast. I wanted people to stop talking about me, about us. It was all so new and fresh. To have it now under such close scrutiny gave me the willies. And I certainly didn’t understand Esther’s sudden antagonism.

  "Esther, keep your voice down," their mother said, but she was looking at me as well. "We're not discussing this."

  "Of course not. We don't talk about things that are right in front of us," Esther snapped.

  “Have you heard anything more from Phil?” his father asked, breaking into Esther’s comment.

  “He wants to come on Tuesday to the house.” Duncan sounded relieved at the switch in topic.

  Then Esther pushed away from the table, tossing her napkin down. "Duncan, we need to talk. Privately."

  She looked directly at me, her eyes narrowing.

  She knows something. She found something in Jerrod's papers. Ice slipped through my chest, blooming outward.