by Janet Dean
Soon they’d include him in the tight circle of family.
Soon never came.
Not that the Swartzes were cruel. They’d filled his belly. Had taken him to church and sent him to school, exactly as the rules required. But he’d never been welcomed in. He’d never spent a single night under their roof. He’d never received an affectionate hug or a kind word.
Each Sunday, they’d sat in their church pew, nodding at the message of love, but never showed him a speck of it by word or deed. The night of his seventeenth birthday, he’d run away. Better to expect nothing than to live with unfulfilled hope. Better to learn a trade and earn a wage than depend on scraps of a family that shut him out. Better to go through life a loner than count on anyone.
Hadn’t Susan given him further proof of that?
One church visit brought it all back. If these folks resembled the people he’d spent that year with, they were welcome to their songs. Welcome to their sermons. Welcome to their God.
Hypocrisy. All of it.
He couldn’t wait to leave, to reject the stifling pretense of piety, but he couldn’t desert Elise and Callie in case they needed him.
In the vestibule, parishioners flowed around the three of them, as if steering clear of an uncharted island, an obstacle on the way to their baskets.
“Good morning, Callie,” a woman said, then she turned to Elise. “How are you feeling, dear?”
“Fine, Mrs. Thompson.”
“You’ve got that glow about you. It won’t be long now.”
“Marlene, I’d like you to meet Jacob Smith, who’s doing some work around my place. Mrs. Thompson is Peaceful’s postmistress.”
The woman shook his hand like a long-lost friend. “I hope you’re staying for the meal, Mr. Smith.” She glanced toward the door. “Speaking of which, I’d better get going. I’m in charge of setting up the tables.” She darted off.
Mrs. Thompson appeared nice enough, but that didn’t ease the tension knotting inside Jake. Like a greenhorn on a cattle drive, Jake trailed the women toward Callie’s basket, meeting a few friendly parishioners along the way. For a man who’d been misjudged, he’d been quick to do the same. Perhaps he’d been wrong about these folks.
Carrying Callie’s basket in one hand, Jake ushered the ladies toward the door where the pastor stood shaking hands. Callie introduced Jake.
Pastor Steele greeted him and Elise with warmth, then took Elise’s hand. “Good to have you back.”
“Thank you,” she said softly then hurried to Callie’s side.
“I’m looking forward to a slice of your pie, Callie,” Pastor Steele said. “What did you make this time?”
“Cherry with a lattice-top crust.”
The pastor all but smacked his lips. He turned to Jake. “Lots of benefits to this calling. Eating the ladies’ fine cooking is one of the best. Now don’t go tattling to my wife.” He winked, then shook Jake’s hand. “Good to have a new face in the pew, Jacob. I hope you’ll come back.”
Jake merely nodded. No point in telling the preacher he wouldn’t. They descended the steps, turning toward the tables set up in the side yard already loaded with food, and into the path of a couple blocking their way.
Jake recognized Elise’s father and was immediately struck by their resemblance. Except Mark Langley’s eyes reminded Jake of thunderclouds before a storm.
Callie laid a hand on Jake’s arm. “Would you mind putting the basket on one of the tables?”
Obviously, she wanted to protect Elise from the embarrassment of facing her father in front of him. Jake didn’t like leaving them alone with this angry man. He shot Langley a scathing look, then did Callie’s bidding. Wishing he could punch the good barber in the nose. The man was another example of a Christian’s lack of clemency.
As Mr. Langley glowered at Jacob’s retreating back, Sarah put a protective arm around her daughter.
“That guy was in my shop yesterday. Is he the father?”
“No! He just arrived in town. You know who the father…”
“Who’s to say that scum didn’t come here?” He leaned toward Elise. “How could you shame us by flaunting your condition at church?”
Elise’s eyes glistened. “I’m shaming myself. Not you.”
“Elise came for the same reason we all do, Mr. Langley. To hear God’s Word, worship and have the support of the church family.”
“God’s Word is clear. Honor your father and mother. By insisting on keeping your child, Elise, you’re defying my authority.” He pointed a finger at Callie. “You’ve made that possible, Mrs. Mitchell, by inviting her in. I don’t know how you live with yourself.”
Callie reached a hand, then pulled it back. “What’s happened can’t be changed, but that baby you’re disgraced by is your grandchild.”
Color drained from Mr. Langley’s face, as if she’d struck him. “We’re not staying,” he said. “I’ll fetch your basket, Sarah.”
Eyes brimming with tears, Sarah wrapped Elise in a hug. “I’ve missed you, sweetheart. How are you? What does the doctor say?”
Elise’s father pivoted back. “Are you coming?”
Mrs. Langley didn’t answer, didn’t move. Her silence lengthened—a mutiny of sorts. Then she heaved a sigh and followed her husband.
“It’s almost time to eat.” Callie ushered Elise toward the tables. “You can help set out our food.”
Elise went through the motions of helping, but Callie could see that her heart was breaking. Callie longed to smack some sense into Mr. Langley’s mulish head. He was hurting, but he needed to think of his daughter. She needed his forgiveness.
Why couldn’t her father count his blessings? He had a family, a grandchild on the way, an innocent baby needing his love and protection. Callie would give anything if her parents could see her baby.
Signaling the group to silence, Pastor Steele bowed his head. “Lord, thank You for this food and time of fellowship. Open our hearts to visitors and members alike that our actions might be a pleasing offering to You. Surround us with awareness of Your love and the gift of Your grace. Amen.”
The unseasonable high temperatures of the past few days had eased, bringing a gentle breeze—a perfect day for a picnic. Even with the run-in with her father earlier, Elise relaxed and managed to eat. Parishioners came by to say hello and wish her well. The pastor’s pointed prayer a possible reason.
Several men stopped to talk to Jacob about the work at Callie’s, a few asked his opinion on projects of their own. Jacob joined them in a game of horseshoes, tossing ringers almost every time. From the serene, even happy expression on his face, Jacob was having fun.
With her heart overflowing with peace, Callie walked to the dessert table. A piece of Mrs. Uland’s chocolate cake would be a delicious finish to a lovely day.
Mrs. Sunderland, the corners of her mouth drooping like the bedraggled flowers on her hat, cornered Callie under an elm. “How could you bring a fallen girl to church? What kind of an example does that give our young people, to rub elbows with a sinner?”
“We’re all sinners, Mrs. Sunderland.”
The woman sniffed. “Next thing you’ll have a party for her and ask for baby gifts. Invite the whole church or some such nonsense.”
“Elise made a mistake. She’s remorseful—”
“I didn’t see her come forward at the altar call. No decent girl would grace this sacred building carrying a baby out of wedlock without begging forgiveness. She should’ve done that in front of the entire church.”
Callie couldn’t believe her ears. “You and I are allowed to repent in private. Shouldn’t we offer that same grace to Elise?”
“Her sin isn’t some little white lie or a bad word voiced in anger. Her sin is fornication. And out there for all to see.”
Callie’s hands balled into fists. “Would an altar call have made a difference to you? You’re ranking sin, as if some deserve forgiveness and others don’t. Elise needs our love, not condemnation.”
“That’s just cruel.” Unable to bear the presence of this judgmental woman a moment longer, Callie pivoted, tears flooding her eyes until she could barely see and hurried around the church where she’d have privacy. “Callie?”
She turned, colliding with Jacob. He grabbed her by the shoulders to steady her. With a callused thumb, he brushed away the tears sliding down her cheeks. “Don’t pay attention to that battle-axe.”
At his caring touch, Callie’s breath caught. She longed to step into his arms and accept the comfort of being held.
“I overheard,” he said. “I’d regret making a spectacle for your and Elise’s sakes, but give the word and I’ll deposit that woman’s judgmental carcass on the lawn.”
At the image popping into her mind, Callie gave a shaky smile. “She probably deserves it, but she’s just one person. Everyone else, well, except for Elise’s father, has been kind.”
“I’ve noticed. Several men welcomed me to the community. All and all, this is a nice little town.”
The exact words Callie hoped to hear. Perhaps that welcome he’d felt would bring Jacob to church. And in time, he’d find his way to God.
“Now that you’ve seen that most Christians are compassionate and loving, maybe you’ll like Peaceful enough to settle here.”
The smile on Jacob’s face ebbed. A guarded, unreadable expression clouded his eyes. She took a step back.
What made a man look ready to run?
What secret was Jacob Smith hiding?
Chapter Eight
The fishing poles were a ruse. Not that Jake would admit it to Callie. Standing on her stoop, holding the two rods he’d borrowed from the large stash in the barn, he waited for her to answer his knock with the impatience of a kid waiting his turn in a candy store.
The door opened. In Callie’s eyes, he saw weariness he hadn’t seen before. As if something with the weight of an anvil were perched on her shoulders, sapping her of the energy to take a step. He’d been right. Callie needed to unwind, to dangle a line. Take time for her. And him.
He smiled. “Nice afternoon for fishing.”
A spark of interest lit up her eyes. “Yes, it is. You’ll find plenty of earthworms in the garden if you’re looking for live bait.”
“Got them right here.” He pointed to the bait box.
“Good, hope they’re biting.” She turned to step back inside. Away from him.
“Why not find out for yourself?”
She cocked her head, looking as puzzled as if he’d spoken in a foreign tongue.
“I’m asking you to go with me.”
“Fishing? With you?”
“Yep, why else would I have two poles?”
“Martin always propped a number of poles along the bank.”
“Keeping all those lines straight must’ve made casting complicated for you.”
She fiddled with her collar, averting her gaze. “He never… Well, he never asked me to go along.”
“Why’s that?”
“I asked him once. He said…he just said he needed time away.”
Her words banged against his heart, penetrating his defenses as if they were made of putty, instead of bricks and mortar. “With that patience of yours, I’m guessing you’re an excellent fisherman,” he said, struggling to keep his tone even.
A sudden smile came to her lips. “I used to be. When I was little, my dad took me fishing. And a friend and I went as kids, every chance we got.”
Callie’s deceased husband knew she liked to fish and never once took her. The man hadn’t appreciated what he had. All the more reason Jake wouldn’t take no for an answer. He intended to erase that exhaustion from her face and give her some fun, especially after that biddy’s attack at the church picnic.
He could do that much for her.
“I’d like to spend time with you, Callie, doing something besides work. Fishing will be fun.”
A sparkle lit her eyes. She glanced inside. “I should probably stay with Elise.”
Jake bit back a sigh. “Elise is welcome to come along.”
A lie.
He wanted Callie to himself. He wanted to hear her soft laughter again. He wanted to see the delight in her face when a nibble jerked her line. Most of all, he wanted to be an ordinary man out with an ordinary woman.
“I’ll ask her.” Callie whirled away. “Be right back.”
Kneeling, Jake opened the tackle box at his feet to an impressive array of floats, hooks and manmade bait and flies. Mitchell hadn’t spared any expense with his fishing gear. Jake had always done fine with a worm dangling from a hook.
A moment later, wearing a straw bonnet and a dazzling smile, Callie appeared with a basket. “Elise dislikes worms and fish, alive or dead, and wants no part of our adventure. She’s curled up in the parlor reading a book.”
The news that he’d have Callie to himself exploded in his chest and pumped through his veins. “Guess we’ll have to manage without her.” He’d tried to sound disappointed but from the way Callie’s cheeks turned rosy, he’d failed.
“Would you like me to make sandwiches? I always did for Martin. He said fishing made a man hungry.”
The only hunger Jake had was for time with Callie. This woman captivated him like no other, made him want to please her, to protect her, to—
He told himself to pull back. This was a fishing trip, not a lifetime commitment. No one’s getting hooked here, except a bluegill.
“I’m still stuffed from the church picnic.”
“Me, too.” She indicated the basket. “Just in case, I’ve brought cookies.”
“What kind?”
“Snickerdoodles.”
“Mmm, sugar and spice.”
“And all that’s nice.”
He tapped her chin. “That’s what little girls are made of.”
“I hope I have a girl.” Her mouth formed a circle of surprise. “Oh, what if it’s a boy and he heard that?”
“If he did, he’ll no doubt make you regret saying it by living up to his reputation.” He grinned. “Let’s see, frogs and snails and puppy-dog tails, that’s what little boys are made of.” Unable to take his eyes off her, he offered the crook of his elbow. “Girls are wonderful, especially the grown-up variety.”
“Thank you, kind sir.” She took his arm as they started down the walk. “Boys are special, too.”
“Not according to the girls at the orphanage. They never let us forget our less than impressive makings.”
She giggled, looking young, carefree and beautiful.
As they strolled along, the distance between the Victorians lengthened until they reached the edge of town. Across the way, between the trees, Jake spotted a strip of flowing water glinting in the afternoon sun. The scent of loamy soil mingled with the hum of gurgling water. Birds chirped, leaves whispered in the breeze. A sense of peace settled over Jake, as pleasant as the scent of Callie’s fragrance.
He helped Callie descend the bank, guiding her toward a large rock at the water’s edge. At their approach, a frog, nose barely above water, leaped out of reach. Down the way, the deep drone of a bullfrog geared up for his nightly serenade. Everywhere Jake looked, creatures took part in the mating dance of spring, building homes, re-creating their kind. A deep ache of loneliness throbbed anew inside him.
He dusted the rock off with his hand. “Have a seat, fair lady.”
Then he joined her, sitting on the edge, barely on the rock at all, and baited the hooks.
Callie watched, smiling. “You’ve done this before.”
“The orphanage wasn’t too far from a pond. We’d sneak off to fish whenever we could. If we cleaned what we caught, the cook would fry them. Nothing’s better than a mess of fresh-caught bluegills.”
“Bluegill is my favorite. Catfish was Martin’s.”
How often had Martin considered Callie’s likes and dislikes? If at all? If Jake were married to Ca
llie, he’d bring home a bucket of bluegills every week. But he wasn’t. He needed to remember that.
Jake handed Callie a pole. “You know how this is done.”
“Well, it’s been a while.”
“Watch the float. If it goes under, yank the pole up to set the hook. Then reel it in. Simple unless the fish aren’t biting and all you catch is a twig or an old shoe.”
Callie laughed, the melodious sound mingling with the serenity of their secluded surroundings, charming Jake down to his toes.
“To cast, just whip the tip of the pole back, then forward toward the river. As you do, put your finger on the spring to release the line.”
Fingers posed hesitantly over the mechanism, she gave him a quizzical look.
“Would you like me to cast for you?”
“Let me try.” She rose, swung the rod back, the line shot out…and snared on the undergrowth behind them. Jake untangled the line and asked her to reel it in. Absorption in the task easy to read on her face, she tried again. Again, the line caught in the bushes.
As he worked to free the line, she shook with laughter. “Maybe you’d better show me.”
He came around behind her and laid his hands over hers, wrapping her in the circle of his arms. Aware of the proximity of her body, the warmth of her skin, Jake longed to pull her against him, to nuzzle her soft nape, kiss her.
Callie glanced over her shoulder at him, bringing her face mere inches from his and dropped her gaze to his mouth. Just one step and he’d feel those soft lips beneath his. His grip tightened and he lowered his head.
She spun away, facing the river. “How, uh, how do you do this again?”
With yearning mounting within him, he guided her hands through the motions. The line sailed through the air. As soon as it hit the water, Callie moved out of his arms.
He watched the float drift in the current, aching to pull Callie back in his arms. But she held herself apart, her grip tight on her pole, as if her life depended on it, avoiding the attraction sizzling between them.