"My friend Christine just sold one of my paintings. On Kijiji, of all places. I might find a market for more of my work."
"And now you've got some amazing sketching supplies, bought for you on the cheap."
"They're great," I said, giving him a smile. "One of the best gifts I've ever received."
"Now you're just trying to make me feel all generous and manly."
"Takes a real man to buy pencil crayons," I teased, surprised at the lightness that had entered our conversation. Thankful for the removal of the heaviness, curious as to where it would go now.
"Seriously, I want you to stay. I want you and me to become an us. Holmes Crossing is a good place to get a second chance. The people here are good."
"Would they hire an ex-convict?"
"You could talk to Terra DeWindt. She did some time in jail."
"Really?" I could hardly believe that. "She's married to a Mountie."
"How do you think they met?"
I couldn't help but laugh at that.
"Seriously? She was in jail?”
"I think it was only about four hours, but still…"
"Hardly the same."
He grew serious. "I know. But I mean it. The people here are good people, like you said. I know you could find something to do. Meaningful work that would make you fulfilled. So, what do you say to my suggestion?"
Beneath his steady gaze, a sensation started inside of me, of my life opening up, like a flower moving from bud to bloom. I thought of the women in the Bible study group who said they would pray for me. I thought of Duncan's family. Flawed, but still intact.
He kissed me again. "I want you to have time to think about this. I want to give you space to find where you fit here. I want you to make this place your home."
"I think I could to that," I said, as new possibilities opened up to me. And for the first time in a long time, I felt the promise of a future.
And when Duncan kissed me again that promise became solid and real.
"I think she's wiped right out." Duncan knelt down, laying Celia in her bed.
"I'm not surprised." Miriam tucked the blankets around her. "It's almost eleven and she's been going steady since six this morning."
They had just come back from his parents' place, where they had unwrapped their Christmas gifts. Duncan had been surprised to find a couple of gifts for him under the tree from Miriam and Celia; a pocketknife and a flashlight. Celia had been as excited about that as she was about the doll bed that his father had made for Jane.
He watched as Miriam gently ran her fingers down her daughter's face.
This was so right, he thought, resting his hand on her shoulder. This was as it should be. Where Miriam should be.
The past few days had been a time of adjusting. Of getting used to each other.
Miriam had, to her surprise, found a job working for Terra in the café, and discovered that she loved it. She had also found time to do some more sketching. He was awed every time he saw a new piece.
He also hoped to take her to the city after Christmas to buy some real art supplies. At Peeveys.
Encouraged by Christine’s sale of three more of her paintings, she’d taken it up again as well. He helped her convert Jerrod and Francine’s room to a studio and she had been working there the past week.
Miriam bent over and brushed a kiss over Celia's cheek, then stood aside. Duncan did the same, feeling an unexpected ache blended with joy. Bittersweet, he thought.
They stood by her bed a moment.
"She's been sleeping much better the past while," Miriam whispered.
"Maybe the ghosts of Francine and Jerrod are finally at rest," he said.
Miriam swatted him gently. "Don't talk like that. I won't be able to sleep."
He kissed her, just because he could. Then he took her hand and led her downstairs.
The lights of the Christmas tree glowed softly, the only light in the room.
"Why don't you go sit down on the couch and I'll get us a glass of wine," Duncan said, giving her a nudge toward the living room.
"I have wine?"
"No. You don't. I brought wine," he said, nudging her again.
She frowned her surprise but he just ignored her, pulling a couple of glasses out of the cupboard above the stove. He uncorked the bottle and poured the wine. Miriam was curled up on the couch, her shoes on the floor when he came back with the glasses.
He sat down beside her and gave one to her.
Then he lifted his glass. "A toast. To Christmas. And blessings of the season."
"Blessings of the season," she echoed, her glass tinging lightly against his.
They both took a sip from their glasses, and then Miriam gave a quiet chuckle.
"This feels a little odd, in a way," she said. "Celebrating Christmas at my brother's house."
"Does it bother you?" he asked, hoping she wasn't dwelling on what they had lost. Not now. Not when he had other things he wanted to discuss.
"A little. Jerrod and I weren't that close, but I still miss him." She turned to him. "I'm sure you miss Francine, too."
"I do. I know Christmas was hard for Mom and Dad but they're happy that Celia is staying here." He gave her a tender smile. "And I think they're glad we're together."
“And Esther?”
“She’ll come around, I’m sure.”
He was quiet a moment, thinking of his sister. She had made a brief showing this evening and then left after the presents were unwrapped. She had claimed to have a previous engagement in the city. In spite of Celia’s previous outbursts, she hadn’t said anything more to her Aunt Esther. In fact, she seemed to ignore her.
“Don’t condemn her too hard,” Miriam said quietly. “She’s your only sister.”
“It’s hard to know what to do with what happened between her and Jerrod. I’ve tried not to think too much about it. If they hadn’t been fooling around I wonder if Francine and Jerrod would have taken that trip.”
“I don’t think it’s fair to put that much on her shoulders. Jerrod made choices too,” Miriam said.
Duncan gave her a gentle smile, then touched her nose with his forefinger. “You are an amazing person.”
“Hardly. I just know I’m not in any position to condemn anybody.”
He couldn’t help a flash of anger. “You did nothing wrong,” he said. “You were truly a victim.”
Miriam’s lips trembled and she looked down.
“That you can defend me-“
“How can I not?”
She gave him a shy smile, which dove into his soul. Then he thought of the other plans he’d made for tonight and an unwelcome tension gripped him.
He'd had this all planned out, but now that the time had come, he didn't feel as confident.
Too soon? Too much? Should he wait?
But when she leaned closer and brushed a kiss over his cheek, his uneasiness subsided. He set his wine glass aside and pulled open a drawer of the coffee table.
She was watching him, and as he drew out the small velvet box her eyes widened, and her soft lips parted.
He swallowed down another attack of nerves. Should he go down on one knee? Stay where he was?
Then he figured he might as well just go for it and opened the box, tilting it her way.
"I know things have felt rushed the past month and we’ve had to deal with a lot. I don’t think you and I are the type to dilly dally and I really feel this is right,” he said as she gasped her surprise. "Miriam, will you marry me?"
She just stared at the ring, which sparkled in the light of the Christmas tree. Then a shimmer of tears glistened on her cheek.
"Oh, no, don't cry," he said. "It's okay. We can do this another time."
Her only reply was to grab him by the neck and kiss him. Hard. Then she drew back, touching the box lightly with trembling hands. "No. This is a good time. This is the best time."
He yanked the ring out of the box and then, taking her hand, gently slipped it on her finger
. It was a bit loose, but it was on. Then he raised her hand to his lips, kissing her fingers slowly. Gently.
"I love you, Miriam Bristol. And I want to spend the rest of my life making sure you know that."
"I love you, too," she whispered, her hand tightening on his. "And I promise to make a home for you. And for Celia. Here. In this place."
And their kiss sealed their promises and claimed the future.
Afterword
I hope you enjoyed reading about Miriam and Duncan and Celia. As a foster mother I’ve met kids like Miriam and often wished we could have given them the security they needed. In this book I’m vicariously giving some of them the happy ever after I’d have liked for them.
Reviews are often how I choose my next book so I’m hoping you can help some future reader choose this one. Therefore I would be truly appreciative if you could leave a review for this book here:
THIS PLACE - REVIEW
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If you haven’t read the other Holmes Crossing books you can find out more about them here:
THE ONLY BEST PLACE
ALL IN ONE PLACE
A SILENCE IN THE HEART
ANY MAN OF MINE
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Excerpt - The Only Best Place
Smile. Think happy thoughts. Take a deep breath and…
“Hello. I’m Leslie VandeKeere, and I’m a farmer's wife."
No. No. All wrong. That sounds like I'm addressing a self-help group for stressed-out urban dwellers.
I angled the rearview mirror of my car to do a sincerity check on my expression and pulled a face at my reflection. Brown eyes. Brown hair. Both the polar opposite of the VandeKeere signature blonde hair and blue eyes repeated throughout the Dutch-based community of Holmes Crossing.
During the past hour of the long drive from Vancouver to here, I'd been practicing my introduction to varied and sundry members of the vast community of which I knew about four and a half people. I'd been trying out various intros. That last one was a bust. I'd never been a farmer's wife. Would never be a farmer's wife. I’m a nurse, even though my focus the next year was supposed to be on our marriage. Not my career.
I cleared my throat and tried again. "Our year here will be interesting."
Worse yet. Most women could break that code faster than you could say "fifteen percent off." Interesting was a twilight word that either veered toward the good or the dark side.
Right now my delivery was a quiet and subdued Darth Vader.
I had to keep my voice down so I wouldn't wake my two kids. After four Veggie Tales and a couple of off-key renditions of "The Itsy Bitsy Spider," they had finally drifted off to sleep, and I didn't want to risk waking them. The eighteen hour trip had been hard on us. They needed the rest. I needed the rest, but I had to drive.
I stretched out hands stiff from clutching the steering wheel of my trusty, rusty Honda, the caboose in our little convoy. My husband, Dan, headed the procession, pulling the stock trailer holding stage one of our earthly goods. Next came his brother-in-law Gerrit, pulling his own stock trailer loaded with our earthly goods stage two.
I had each bar, each bolt, each spot of rust on Gerrit's trailer indelibly imprinted on my brain. Counting the bolt heads distracted me from the dread that clawed at me whenever I saw the empty road stretching endlessly ahead of me.
A road that wound crazily through pine-covered mountains, then wide open, almost barren, plains. Now, on the last leg of our journey, we were driving through ploughed and open fields broken only by arrow-straight fence lines and meandering cottonwoods. Tender green leaves misted the bare branches of the poplars edging the road, creating a promise of spring that I hadn't counted on spending here.
I hadn't gone silently down this road. I had balked, kicked, and pleaded. I had even dared to pray that a God I didn't talk to often would intervene.
Of course I was bucking some pretty powerful intercessors. I'm sure the entire VandeKeere family was united in their prayers for their beloved brother, son, cousin, nephew, and grandchild to be enfolded once again in the bosom of the family and the farm where they thought he belonged. So it was a safe bet my flimsy request lay buried in the avalanche of petitions flowing from Holmes Crossing.
The one person I had on my side was my sister, Terra. But she only talked to God when she'd had too much to drink. Of course, in that state, she chatted up anyone who would listen.
The friends I left behind in Vancouver were sympathetic, but they all thought this trip would be an adventure. Interesting adventure, my friend Josie had said when I told her.
I glanced in the rearview mirror at my sleeping children. Nicholas shifted in his car seat, his sticky hands clutching a soggy Popsicle stick. The Popsicle had been a blatant bribe, and the oblong purple stain running over his coat from chin to belly would probably not wash out. A constant reminder of my giving in.
Since Edmonton, I'd been tweaking my introduction, and now that we had turned off the highway, time and miles ate up what time I had left. I had only ten minutes to convince myself that I'd sooner be heading toward the intersection of "no" and "where," otherwise known as Holmes Crossing, Alberta, than back to Vancouver.
We would still be there if it weren't for Lonnie Dansworth--snake, scumbag, and crooked building contractor. The $90,000’s worth of unpaid bills he left in the "VandeKeere Motors" inbox tipped Dan's fledgling mechanic business from barely getting by to going under. The Dansworth Debacle, in turn, wiped out the finely drawn pictures I'd created in my head of the dream life and home Dan and I had been saving for. The home that represented stability for a marriage that had wobbled on shaky ground the past year.
The second push to Holmes Crossing came when Dan's stepfather, Keith Cook, booked a midlife crisis that resulted in him doing a boot-scootin' boogie out of hearth, home, Holmes Crossing, and the family farm, leaving a vacuum in the VandeKeere family's life that Dan decided we would temporarily fill.
Temporary had been a recurring refrain in our life so far. The first two years of our marriage, Dan had worked for a small garage in Markham while I worked in the ER at the Scarborough Hospital. When an oil company needed a maintenance mechanic, we moved to Fort McMurray, and I got a job as a camp nurse. Two years later, an opportunity to be his own boss came up in Vancouver. When we packed up and moved, Dan promised me this was our final destination. Until now.
"It's only a year," Dan assured me when he laid off the employees, pulled out of the lease on the shop, and filed away the blueprints we had been drawing up for our dream home. We could have lived off my salary while Dan got his feet under him and worked on our relationship away from the outside influences of a mother Dan still called twice a week. But Dan's restless heart wasn't in it. Being a mechanic had never been his dream. Though I'd heard plenty of negative stories about his stepfather, Keith, a wistful yearning for the farm of his youth wove through his complaints. We were torn just like the adage said: "Men mourn for what they lost, women for what they haven't got."
The final push came when a seemingly insignificant matter caught my attention. The garage's bilingual secretary, Keely. She could talk "mechanic" and "Dan," and the few times I stopped at the garage, she would chat me up in a falsely bright voice while her eyes followed Dan's movements around the shop.
When her name showed up too often on our call display, I confronted Dan. He admitted he'd been spending time with her. Told me he was lonely. He also told me that he had made a mistake. That he was trying to break things off with her. He was adamant that they'd never been physically intimate. Never even kissed her, he claimed. She was just someone he spent time with.
I t
ried not to take on the fault for our slow drift away from each other or the casual treatment of our relationship as kids and work and trying to put money aside for our future slowly sunk its demanding claws into our lives, slowly pulling us in separate directions.
I also reminded him that I had remained faithful, taking the righteous high road. Dan was chastened, Keely quit, and her name never came up again. But her shadowy presence still hovered between us, making Dan contrite, and me wary.
Now, with each stop that brought us closer to the farm and Holmes Crossing and the possibility of repairing our broken relationship, I'd seen Dan's smile grow deeper, softer. The lines edging his mouth smoothed away, the nervous tic in the corner of one eye disappeared.
Mine grew worse.
A soft sigh pulled my eyes toward the back seat. Anneke still lay slack jawed, her blanket curled around her fist. Nicholas stirred again, a deep V digging into his brow, his bottom lip pushed out in a glistening pout. Nicholas was a pretty child, but his transition from sleep to waking was an ugly battle he fought with intense tenacity.
I had only minutes before the troops were fully engaged.
My previous reluctance to arrive at the farm now morphed into desperation for survival. I stomped on the gas pedal, swung around the two horse trailers, and bulleted down the hill into the valley toward my home for the next year.
My cell phone trilled. I grabbed it off the dashboard, glancing sidelong at Nicholas as I did.
"What's up?" Dan's tinny voice demanded. "What's your rush?"
"The boy is waking up," I whispered, gauging how long I had before his angry wails filled the car.
"Just let him cry."
I didn't mean to sigh. Truly I didn't. But it zipped past my pressed-together lips. In that too-deep-for-words escape of my breath, Dan heard an entire conversation.
"Honestly, Leslie, you've got to learn to ignore--"
Dear Lord, forgive me. I hung up. And then I turned my phone off.
Excerpt - All In One Place
This Place: Holmes Crossing Book 3 Page 27