Funny that it could still hurt, my brother's estimation of me. And yet, how far off was he?
"He was partly right," I said, keeping pace with Mrs. Tiemstra, staring at the opening in the trees at the end of the driveway.
"What do you mean?"
I stopped, needing to see her face to face, to deal with this head-on, so to speak. "I made bad choices in my life," I said, forcing myself to hold her gaze. "I could blame my absent mother, my turbulent childhood, but I had a good example in Sally Carpenter." I shoved my fisted hands deeper in my coat pocket, hunching my shoulders against a chill that came from within and without.
"And you lost her, too."
The sympathy in Mrs. Tiemstra's voice was almost my undoing.
"After I met Duncan I thought I had a chance at normal. I thought I could find a happy-ever-after, but—" and once again my voice trembled.
"We stopped that."
I shook my head. "It wasn't just you. It was me. Duncan tried to text me, but I ignored the texts. I wasn't in a good place in my life and I dove right back into it after Jerrod told me to leave Duncan alone. I believed his view of me. I started hanging out with the wrong people. I went back to a man I knew I shouldn't be with, but one that I thought I deserved, and I got pregnant."
A stillness fell between us, and I felt as if every word I spoke was dragged out of me. But I finally found the words and drew them out. "I got pregnant, and I couldn't take care of the baby. Not in…in my circumstances at the time, not where I was at the time, so Jer and Fran adopted her."
"So Celia really is your daughter," Mrs. Tiemstra breathed, her gloved fingers resting beside her mouth.
I swallowed, unable to speak past the boulder now lodged in my throat. I couldn't tell her anything else. This was hard enough.
Then, to my surprise, Mrs. Tiemstra placed her hand on my shoulder, squeezing lightly. "My dear girl. I'm sure you had your reasons, and I'm so sorry for you. But you need to know that Celia has been a blessing in so many ways to this family."
I felt sorrow clawing up my throat. I didn't want to cry in front of this elegant and contained woman. But her unexpected caring was my undoing and my eyes welled up with tears. Then to my surprise, she pulled me close. Like a mother would.
I laid my head on her shoulder, and the tears came. Tears for losing Celia, Jerrod, Francine and all the other losses in my life. Tears for the anger I saw in Duncan's eyes. For what I thought we had, and the uncertainty that seemed to be my lot in life.
I felt like a boat tossed in a storm, but Mrs. Tiemstra's arms were a surprising and unexpected anchor.
Finally I drew away, swiping my mittened hands over my face, sniffing loudly, the moisture on my cheeks growing suddenly cold in the winter air.
Mrs. Tiemstra's expression was all sympathy and understanding. She pulled a tissue out of her pocket and handed it to me, then pulled another one out and wiped her own red eyes.
"It's been kind of a lousy month, hasn't it?" Her comment surprised me, coming from someone who always carried herself so elegantly.
I thought of Duncan and the moments we shared. My time with Celia. "There have been some good moments," I murmured.
"So, now what?" she asked me as we both turned, moving back toward the house.
"I don't know." I was exhausted mentally, emotionally.
"You know, we can take care of Celia for the rest of the afternoon. Why don't you go home, have a nap. Give yourself some space. We'll bring Celia back after supper."
Though I didn't like the idea of being away from Celia, the thought of a few moments alone held a strong appeal.
"I think I'll take you up on that."
"It's just for an afternoon. Give yourself some time alone." Then she gave me a nervous smile. "As for Duncan, I know he was badly hurt by Kimberly, and losing Tasha gutted him. But in the past few days I've seen a lightness and a purpose return to his life. I think it's because of you."
I clung to her words, even though I sensed that she didn't know the entire story about Kimberly and Tasha. And I wasn't about to enlighten her to explain how deeply betrayed Duncan was by his wife’s actions. To be compared to her was an indictment I doubted I could recover from.
"He's angry that you didn't tell him and I can understand why, to a point. Duncan can't abide it when people hold secrets. But I think you're good for him. I think you can give him what he needs." Then she gave me a sideways hug, our hips bumping against each other. "He'll come around. I'm sure. Just stay optimistic."
I wished I could believe her. Optimism was like a plant that needed nourishment. Mine was wilted and lifeless.
By the time we got back to the house, the kitchen was all tidied up. Celia was asleep on the couch, so this was my chance to leave. Esther was nowhere to be seen, so I said a whispered goodbye to Mr. Tiemstra, received a final, quick hug from Duncan's mother, and a few minutes later I was driving down the road, back to the house. The empty, lonely house.
When I got home I took a bath, wishing my anxious, twisting thoughts would pop as easily as the bubbles I was soaking in.
I should have told Duncan sooner about Celia. I knew that. But when would have been the right time?
I got out of the tub, dressed and wandered around the house, looking for something to do, my footsteps echoing in the heavy emptiness. I re-plumped pillows and rearranged the pictures on the mantle, then turned to the coffee table.
The sketchpad, crayons, and pencils Duncan had given me still lay in a neat pile. The sight of them created a wave of sorrow.
I grabbed both kinds of pencils and the pad, curled up in a corner of the couch, and tried to channel my chattering thoughts onto paper. When I opened the sketchpad, the sketch I made of Duncan jumped out at me, and what I had just lost loomed large, unattainable.
Another sob thickened my throat, but I stifled it. I was alone, as I usually was. I simply had to endure it. Like I had before.
With a quick flip of the page he was gone, and I wished I could as easily remove him from my life. But I knew I couldn't. It had been hard enough the first time. This time? Impossible.
And Celia? What would become of her?
I had to release the thoughts that doubled back on themselves. Instead, I let them flow through my pencil, capturing the curve of Celia's cheek, the wispy curls of her hair, so like mine when I was young. I drew pictures of her walking through fields, flying a kite, living the life I had dreamed for her. She wasn't supposed to be alone, without her parents. I made the sacrifice so she could have what I didn't. A home and a family from when she was a baby. I had loved her and wanted the best for her.
But what would happen now?
Another sketch to drown out the questions, but this time it was Duncan who appeared on the paper. Tall, broad-shouldered, hair hanging to his collar, holding his hand out to a little girl. Celia, who was reaching out to him.
There was room on the other side of Celia for another person. Another adult. A mother.
My pencil hovered over the space as tears slid down my cheeks. Did I deserve to be in this picture?
You're just like Kimberly.
Duncan's words rang in my ears.
I could make all the excuses I wanted for how my life turned out. How I thought I had found something wonderful in Duncan after my brother's wedding. How I thought he was a second chance. An opportunity for a new life.
And then, how rejected I felt when Jerrod warned me away from Duncan.
How alone I felt, how afraid. Gregg found me in a bar, made me feel good. I thought he was my salvation, when he turned out to be my condemnation.
I had paid a high price for my stupidity, but it was paid. I set my sketchpad aside, got up, and went upstairs to my room. I found my Bible and brought it back down, settling back in the couch as I opened it. My movements were random as I turned pages, idly seeking. Here and there a passage struck me, and then, there it was in Psalm 32.
"Blessed is the one whose transgression is forgiven, whose sins are c
overed...I said I will confess my sins to you and you forgave the guilt of my sin....you are my hiding place, you will protect me from trouble."
The words flowed over me, reminding me of the journey I had taken. The time when I had confessed. When I had let go of the guilt that clung so tenaciously to me.
I shook my head as I re-read the words. What would have happened if I had told Jerrod that he was wrong at that time? That yes, I had made mistakes, but in Christ my sins were forgiven? What if I had truly believed that, instead of believing what Jerrod said?
What if I had fought, instead of rolling over and believing those lies? What if I had fought for Duncan then, fought for myself? What could have happened? Would I have so quickly believed Gregg and his promises? Would I have thought he was all I deserved?
An unexpected anger with Jerrod surged through me, which was immediately followed by guilt. How could I think ill of the dead?
Actually, it wasn't that hard. What Jerrod had done was wrong. And because of that, he had pushed me back into a space I didn't belong. I didn't belong there then, and I didn't belong there now.
I wasn't like Kimberly. I wanted my daughter, and I wanted what was best for her. I needed to tell Duncan that. I needed to fight for myself. To show him that I was worthy of caring for.
And will you tell him everything?
Would he be able to stand the truth?
He had to. And if he didn't, well then he wasn't worth fighting for, was he?
Chapter 18
Duncan parked his truck by the coffee shack, shivering as he stepped into the cold winter weather.
I won't miss this, he thought as he zipped up his jacket and slipped on his gloves. In the distance, snow shivered off a spruce tree as the buncher buzzed its blade through the base. Then another. And another.
He could hear the roar of skidders dragging the cut trees to the block, where the processor was working. Beyond that, a loader was dropping logs onto a truck. Each piece of equipment required maximum production, which created higher maintenance, which put a dent in the bottom line. Every day, it was about that all-important bottom line.
And he was tired of doing the math required to make the numbers on that bottom line black and not red.
A dusty blue pickup, crusted with snow, bounced across the block road, then stopped a few feet from him. Les jumped out, still wearing his safety vest and ever-present hardhat.
He was on his phone, frowning and gesturing wildly with his free hand.
"It's not necessary," he was saying as he strode toward Duncan. "You guys are going way overboard on this." He gave Duncan a quick nod of his head in acknowledgement. "Okay. We'll meet for coffee to see how we can make this work for both of us." He stabbed the screen of his phone and dropped it into the holder on his belt. "Did Allistair talk to you about this new deal?" he asked with a note of disgust.
"He tried to call yesterday, but I don't take calls on Sunday."
"Right. Forgot." Les shook his head. "They want us to hold safety meetings every morning now, instead of once a week. Like that won’t cut into the production they keep pushing us to maximize."
"Do the guys know?"
"Just found out. We're meeting to figure out another plan. All part of the business." He shrugged as if shaking it off then gave Duncan a grin. "So, you back to work? Or are you getting used to being away?"
Duncan paused a moment, second thoughts chasing each other around his brain.
Then he pushed them aside. If anything, yesterday had shown him that he needed to take care of himself. To do what worked for him.
"Come with me." And before he could catch Les' reaction, he walked into the coffee shack. He poured himself a cup of coffee from the coffee maker, dumping in his usual two packets of sugar.
Les closed the door behind him and got a coffee as well. "So. What’s up?"
"We need to talk about the business."
"Sure." Les sat down, but then his phone rang and he glanced down at the screen. "Sorry. It's Small Power. I got to take this."
Duncan nodded, sipping at his coffee, thinking of the many conversations that had taken place in this coffee shack. All the gossip, the chitchat, the griping and comparing. The friendly competition and ribbing. The complaining and the jokes. It had become ingrained in the routine of his life. The plans he made. Could he really let go of this?
He thought of the phone conversation he'd had with Phil on the way into the bush this morning. Good news on all fronts. The mortgage insurance would be paid out. And though Jerrod's life insurance wouldn't, Francine's would. Jerrod's ex-partner had dropped his claim against the estate—which meant Phil wouldn't need to go through Jerrod's personal papers at all.
Esther had panicked for nothing.
And if she hadn't panicked, he might not have found out the truth about Celia. The truth about Miriam.
"You okay, man? You look kind of sick."
Duncan pulled his thoughts back to the present, and slanted Les a lame smile. "Yeah. I'm fine." He was anything but. He hadn't slept more than an hour at a time last night. He kept going over what Esther had blurted out.
Miriam was Celia's mother. Miriam had told him from the start that she couldn't take care of her own daughter. She was no different than Kimberly, and that thought cut deeper than he thought it could.
"So what do you want to talk about?"
Duncan set his coffee mug aside, and crossed his arms over his chest. "This business. I want out. Are you interested in buying me out?"
Les' eyes grew to twice their normal size, his mouth actually falling open. He blinked a few times, then pulled himself back together. "You serious, man? You really want to sell out?"
"Dead serious. I'm tired of all the stress and the work." This morning, he had made his final decision. Had told his father, and was surprised at the support he got. All the way here, going down roads he'd often driven too fast on, one hand on the steering wheel, the other often holding a phone or the mic of the two-way radio, head in two places at once as he dealt with trouble and disaster, he'd gone over and over what he wanted to do.
At one time, he wanted out because he'd harbored a vague notion of him and Miriam. And Celia. A little family.
And now? Now he just wanted to move on. Start a new life and leave this behind.
"Not gonna lie, I'm kind of shocked," Les was saying. "So why are you doing this now?"
Why now, indeed?
"I just found out this morning that Jerrod and Francine's estate is settled. I don't need to worry about Celia. And I'm tired of living a complicated and stressful life."
And some of that stress came from what he'd found out about a woman he cared for. He knew he felt angry and betrayed, and assumed the final push to do this came from hearing about Miriam.
"I took on this business to pay for a lifestyle that…that Kimberly wanted. Then, when she and Tasha died, I stayed in as a way of keeping myself busy. To try to forget how much it hurt to lose them." He stopped there, but was surprised that the thought didn't hurt as much as it would have at one time. He was getting over it.
Just in time to be cut down again.
"Anyway, it's time I make decisions for myself. Time to live life on my terms."
"Those are good reasons," Les said, nodding his agreement. "And you're sure about this?"
Duncan thought back to the conversation he'd had with Cor DeWindt just a week ago. How Cor had told him he'd been trying to fill the empty spots in his life with the wrong things.
But how would he fill them now?
He thought of Miriam, and his stomach clenched. He'd thought she was different. He thought, when they met again, that they'd been given another chance.
"I'm sure. I've been tired of this for a long time. It's not what I love doing. I've just about got the ranch paid for. I've got a chance at expanding. Cattle prices are decent. It's a good time. I love being on the ranch, working with horses and cattle. It’ll be good for me."
"That's good. 'Cause it's no sec
ret I've been wanting a bigger slice of the pie."
"And now you've got it all," Duncan said.
Les nodded, still looking surprised. "So we need to talk price and all that other fun stuff."
"I'll come up with a figure, you come up with a figure, and we can get an assessor to come up with a figure. Between the three we should be able to come to a fair price," Duncan said.
"Sounds good to me." He got up and walked over to Duncan, holding out his hand. "Shake on it?"
Duncan stood and took his friend's hand, grasping it between both of his. "Welcome to the business," he said with a wry grin.
"How was Celia last night?" I asked, tucking my cell phone under my ear as I sat down on the bench in the porch to pull my boots on. The boots Duncan had bought for me.
"She slept just fine," Mrs. Tiemstra was saying. "And right now, she and her grandfather are playing a game. What about you? How did you sleep?"
I switched my phone to the other ear as I tugged on my winter jacket, stifling a yawn at her question. "I didn't sleep that great, but that's okay."
"Oh, my dear girl. I hope you know I was praying for you."
"I appreciate the prayers more than you can know," I said. "But now I have another favor to ask of you. I have…I have another job to do. Would you be willing to watch Celia this afternoon yet?"
"Of course."
"And one more thing, could you tell me where I can find Duncan today?" I zipped up my coat one-handed, grabbed my mittens and toque and shoved them in my purse as I walked out the door of the house.
"He's not home. We called him today because Phil, the lawyer, contacted us, but we had to get hold of him on his cell phone. I suspect he's in the bush. At the logging block."
"Phil called?" I asked as I unlocked the SUV and climbed in. I had started it before I got dressed so it was warm and ready to go. "What did he want?"
"He said he tried to contact you as well, but he didn't get an answer."
"I turned my phone off."
"Anyhow, it's good news. The estate is finally being settled and the insurance company will pay out for Francine. Not Jerrod, though. And the mortgage on the house will be paid off as well. Apparently the man who filed a claim against the estate dropped it. So things are finally settled."
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