Joyce’s fingers clenched Cory’s as her expression hardened. “Don’t, Cory. Don’t even start hoping. Don’t let that McKnight pull you into that. It’s a lie. If it’s from Zeke Smith and the McKnights are involved, don’t trust it. It’s a lie.”
Cory held her mother’s embittered gaze, heard the fresh anger in her voice and realized her mother was right.
“I won’t, Mom,” she said. “I won’t.”
“We’ll sit over here,” Joyce said, stopping at an empty pew close to the back of the half-full church the following Sunday morning.
Cory let her mother go in first and sat down, looking around the church.
She was beginning to recognize a few people in the congregation from working at the restaurant. In the course of her work, she overheard many conversations, was pulled into some of the men’s discussions on crops and commodity prices. At first she didn’t know what they were talking about. She was starting to feel at home here.
Stratton, located in Northern Alberta, was a good community and for a moment Cory hoped she and her mother could stay.
You don’t need to run anymore.
The words fell down through her thoughts, shattering them.
You don’t need to leave.
It was over. The running, the wondering, the hesitant friendships that were made always with the thought that in a few months, maybe a year, Zeke would find them. And when he found them he would slowly once again begin his program of intimidation, until her mother’s stress level would go up, her pain would increase. Their only avenue was escape. She and her mother would be running again, trying to find a safe haven. A place Zeke wouldn’t find them.
It was done. Finished.
Cory swallowed down a knot of emotion, as she let the realization of the information settle in.
Zeke was irrevocably removed from her life.
Overcome, she bent her head, pressing her folded hands against her mouth as she slowly sent up a prayer of thanks, unable to articulate her feelings.
Thank you, Lord. I hardly dare be thankful for someone’s death, but I am thankful for the release. She continued praying, then slowly straightened, glancing sidelong at her mother, but Joyce was intently reading the bulletin.
Cory raised her head, looking up as if sending her thanks past the wooden, vaulted ceiling and out into the open spaces where she often felt closer to God.
A shadow fell across her line of vision and her attention shifted to the man settling into the pew directly in front of her. Broad shoulders, brown wavy hair.
Matthew.
She clenched her folded hands in her lap and quickly looked down as the momentary peace she had just felt, fled.
It was as if the fear and anger she had just felt release from seeped back. She remembered many Sundays sitting with Zeke behind the McKnight family.
Why did Matthew have to come here? Surely there were other places he could go, other churches he could attend?
And why did he have to sit right here? Right in front of them?
She wondered for a fleeting moment how long he was going to stay. Was he not going to leave until she signed the papers? Was that his intention, to force her into doing what she knew instinctively was wrong?
Cory glanced sidelong at her mother. Her head was still bent, and she hadn’t seen Matthew yet.
Cory didn’t want to look at him, didn’t even want to acknowledge his presence. And yet, like someone afraid of heights, lured against their will to the edge of a high place, she couldn’t resist looking back at him.
He wore a dark-blue suit this time. The cut was impeccable and the color set off the honey tones of his hair. It’s thick waves were controlled, tamed by a skillful stylist, she presumed. Matthew McKnight would never have to resort to cheap haircuts, or inferior tailors.
Cory forced herself not to finger her own thick hair, trimmed by her mother whenever it started to grow too long, tried not to run her hands over the skirt she had made herself. As always, around Matthew, she was aware of the difference in their economic circumstances.
And as always it bothered her that it bothered her.
Cory pulled the hymnal out of the rack in front of her with a force that made her mother look up with a frown. Then, as she did so, Joyce noticed Matthew sitting in front of them.
Cory saw her stiffen, saw her hand unconsciously press against her chest defensively. Cory touched her mother’s arm in a protective gesture and in that precise moment, Matthew half turned toward them, glancing at Cory.
As their eyes met, Cory found she couldn’t look away. His eyes aren’t green, she thought foolishly with an insurgent beat of her heart. They’re more like aqua.
“Hello, Cory.”
Cory returned his greeting with a calm that belied the increased tempo of her heart. Then as she broke the contact, Matthew turned to her mother.
“Hello, Mrs. Smith.”
“I go by Luciuk now,” Joyce said firmly, her gaze steady. “My previous married name.”
“I’m sorry. I forgot. Cory did tell me that. How are you doing?”
“Not well.” Cory heard the disdainful tone in her mother’s voice and in that moment felt vindicated in her own reaction to Matthew.
“I’m sorry to hear that,” he said quietly. “Is there anything I can do to help?”
“I would think you’ve done quite enough, Mr. McKnight.”
Cory saw a flicker of disquiet cross Matthew’s even features. He nodded once as if acknowledging Joyce’s comment. Then he turned around.
For a moment Cory wondered if she imagined what she had seen. Wondered if she was hoping he was more than she had always imagined him to be.
Then the service began and Cory’s thoughts were drawn elsewhere.
She prayed for peace, for patience and understanding. As usual, she prayed for her mother. That somehow, they could find some equilibrium in their lives. That her mother’s pain would be eased. She hesitated, then prayed a prayer for Zeke, the only father she knew. She prayed that she could forgive him. She prayed for his soul.
The service flowed on and slowly Cory managed to get drawn into the pattern of the liturgy, the songs that promised hope and an end to their earthly struggles.
But each time she looked up, her gaze returned irresolutely to Matthew.
Against her will, she remembered the first time she saw him. He was standing in the lobby of the government building that housed the small courthouse of Riverview. She didn’t know who he was, couldn’t have. He wore jeans that day and a blazer over a T-shirt and looked absolutely ordinary and absolutely arresting. When she came into the lobby, he smiled at her. She smiled coyly back, acknowledging his interest, her sixteen-year-old heart beating just a little quicker. Then Clifton and Zeke came in, all busy noise and bluster, pulling Matthew in their wake. Clifton took a moment to frown at his son’s attire, Zeke paused to wink at Cory and ignore Joyce. When they settled into their respective sides in the courtroom, the brief moment between Matthew and Cory was shattered beyond redemption.
Cory pulled herself abruptly back to the service, angry that even memories of Matthew could make her mind wander from the church service.
Then the minister pronounced the firm amen that signaled the end of his sermon.
The congregation rose for the final song and as the notes faded away, Cory and her mother turned to walk out of church. She didn’t look back to see if Matthew was behind her. She didn’t want to face him again.
Matthew walked through the double doors of the church foyer and into the warm spring sun, slowly working his way through the crowd gathered in front of the church. As he walked toward his car, he caught himself looking for Cory.
Then he broke through the group and there she was, just a few feet away.
He resisted the urge to catch up to her, to talk to her. What would it accomplish except to get another glare from her? He’d had enough of that for a while. He could talk to her about the will tomorrow.
The wail of a child
broke through the soft morning, and Matthew turned to see a young boy launch himself at Cory.
“Where’s my mom? I hurt my a-a-arm,” he cried.
“Where?” Disregarding her skirt, Cory knelt down on the pavement, quickly looking over his arm.
“Right here.” The boy twisted his arm around and Matthew could see a thin trickle of blood from a small scrape.
“Oh, no,” Cory cried in mock horror, shaking her head. She set her purse down and pulled out a tissue, dabbing the wound. “Press this against it, Chris,” she told him. “I have to get something else.” She reached into her purse again and pulled out a candy that she popped into his mouth. “That’s good strong medicine to help your scrape.”
Chris frowned, working the candy to one side of his mouth. “It’s a peppermint.”
“Oh, but it’s a very special peppermint,” Cory said dabbing the wound with the tissue. Her hair had fallen to one side of her face, her mouth was curved in a soft smile and Matthew was surprised at the difference in her. The hardness he had seen on her face had melted away with concern for this little boy.
Then she turned to dig in her purse again and glanced up. Their eyes met and she jumped, pressing a hand to her chest. Just as quickly, the surprised look disappeared replaced by a look of detachment.
Matthew felt a surge of disappointment at the change. He liked the other Cory much better.
“Why are they special?” Chris’s question pulled her around.
“I—I got them, uh,” she looked back down at the boy’s arm, “I got them from a store where everyone always smiles.”
“Ouch. You pressed too hard.”
“Sorry, honey,” Cory murmured, her head bent, avoiding Matthew.
Matthew knew he should leave. Cory didn’t want him here, but now that she had seen him, it would be awkward to just walk away.
So he waited.
“That should do it, Chris,” Cory told the little boy. She stood, brushing her hands with quick, jerky motions.
“Thanks, Cory. I’m going to find my mom and tell her about your candy.” He turned to Matthew, staring up at him with interest. “Hello. My name is Chris.”
Matthew smiled at the little boy’s welcome. “I’m Matthew.”
“You should go now,” Cory said firmly.
Matthew almost took a step back at the angry look Cory gave him.
Chris only frowned, then with a shrug that denoted a lack of interest in adult doings, turned and ran away.
“What do you want?” Cory asked, bending over to pick up her purse. She looked up at him, her brown eyes flat, her expression guardedly neutral. “Why are you following me?”
“I was just going to my car when I saw you.” He tried to suppress the defensive tone in his voice. “It seemed rude to just keep on going after you noticed me.”
Cory fiddled with the zipper on her purse, then glanced up at him. “I’m sorry I snapped at you. You startled me.”
He didn’t know why he should care what she thought of him, but her apology lightened his mood. “Apology accepted,” he said.
Cory zipped up her purse, then gave him a polite smile. “I should go. My mom is waiting for me.”
Matthew racked his mind for something to say, to keep her talking to him, but his mind was blank. The only thing they had to discuss was the will. And he knew he wouldn’t get anywhere with her on that.
“Take care, Cory,” he said instead.
She glanced up at him, her expression enigmatic. Then without another word, turned and left.
Matthew couldn’t help but watch her walk toward her car. It was older, slightly rusted.
Once again he wondered what it was that kept her from taking the money.
He realized with a twinge of regret, that he might never know. In a couple of days he would be gone and what reason would he have to come back. Especially given her resentment of him.
And why that thought bothered him, he wasn’t sure, either.
Chapter Three
“Come for a walk with me while Mary gets lunch together,” Nathan said to Matthew.
Matthew got up from the overstuffed couch, glad of the reprieve. He had spent the last half hour trying not to get smothered both by the couch and by Mary’s solicitude.
Coffee and cake and squares and more coffee were constantly being urged on him. Each offer meant a struggle to sit forward to take what was given, then a slide back into the reaches of the couch.
He had been invited for lunch by Nathan and had gladly accepted. Sitting in an empty motel room on a Sunday had limited appeal. He was obliged to stay around until Monday, when the Stanleys had their anniversary. Nathan Stanley used to work for his father and grandfather at McKnight and McKnight. But Clifton’s schedule was full, and his grandfather was ill. When Nathan had informed them of Cory’s whereabouts, Matthew had decided to take care of two obligations at once. So he would be representing the McKnight family at the anniversary tomorrow.
The sun shone benevolently down on them as Nathan led Matthew through their yard.
“Lovely flowers,” Matthew said, noting the colorful displays in the flower beds.
“It’s taken me a few years, but I finally got the yard the way I like it,” Nathan said with a touch of pride in his voice as he paused to pull out a stray weed.
“You did this?”
“Yes. In my spare time.”
Matthew thought of his parents’ home and the well-manicured yard. It was precise and lovely and well tended. But a hired gardener took care of it all. His parents seldom even sat outside in it, let alone spent time walking through it to pull weeds. “You actually have spare time?” Matthew asked.
Nathan shot him a wry glance. “Not all lawyers spend every waking hour at their office or the courthouse. God gave us many things to appreciate outside of our work.”
Matthew acknowledged Nathan’s comment with a nod.
Nathan opened the gate at the back of the yard. “Let’s walk through the park. Mary will be busy for a good half hour yet. It’s not often she gets to feed young men.” Nathan slipped his hands in the pockets of his suit pants, whistling through his teeth as he sauntered down a well-worn path toward the river. “I like to walk through this park when I’m feeling stressed,” Nathan said. “Did you know that walking is still the best form of exercise?”
“That’s why Dad is in such good shape,” Matthew said. “I hate to count how many miles he does going back and forth to the courthouse.”
“Does your dad still put in those crazy hours?” Nathan asked. “I remember when I worked for your grandfather, your father was always in the office before me and out after me. I believe he even slept there at times.” Nathan shook his head, giving Matthew a considering look. “And now you’re going to be filling your father’s shoes.”
“And mighty big shoes they are to fill,” Matthew said, stifling a small annoyance at the sardonic tone in Nathan’s voice.
“Your dad only ever wore a size ten,” laughed Nathan. “Not that big.”
Matthew smiled at that.
“He’s just a man, Matthew,” Nathan continued. “A mighty good lawyer, but just a man.”
“Well, unfortunately I don’t think I can keep up to that man.”
Nathan shrugged, looking straight ahead. “Why try? What have you got to prove?”
“That I’m half the man my father is.” The confession came out of its own accord. No one had ever questioned the direction of his life. Somehow Nathan’s faint criticism of his father gave him a small out to express the frustration that had been building over the past year. “That I’m worthy to carry on the McKnight tradition.”
Nathan tilted his head and slanted him a droll look. “And how much sleep do you get, carrying on the McKnight tradition?”
Matthew couldn’t stop the bark of laughter at that. “I averaged about four hours a night the past month.”
“That’s insane.”
Matthew’s sigh acknowledged the truth of Nathan’s c
omment. “It’s also half of the reason I’m here. My pride made me think I could try, but I couldn’t keep it up. Decided I needed a break.”
Nathan stopped at a bench that overlooked the river and sat down, his elbows resting on his knees. “According to your mother, there’s another reason.”
Matthew lifted one shoulder in a negligent shrug. “Mother seems to think I’m pining over Tricia. Which is strange considering I’m the one who broke off the relationship.”
“Tricia is your ex-girlfriend I take it.”
“For about a month now. She was a sweet, kind, lovely woman. But it’s hard to keep a relationship going on about two dates a month. So I thought it better if we broke up.”
“It’s no life, son,” Nathan said softly. “God made us for more than work.”
“‘All hard work brings a profit, but mere talk leads only to poverty.’ Proverbs 14,” Matthew quoted with a smile.
“‘All his days his work is pain and grief; even at night his mind does not rest. This too is meaningless.’ And that, my son, is from Ecclesiastes. The teacher.” Nathan added. “He goes on to say that it is good for a man to find enjoyment in what he does. That this is a gift from God.” Nathan faced Matthew, his expression serious. “And are you happy in your work?”
Matthew sighed, hesitating. How could he answer that without sounding like he was either criticizing his father or whining about his lot in life? He was making money. Lots of money. He had a condo along the river, an expensive sports car. Paid for. But it felt empty because in spite of all his money, Matthew didn’t have time to nurture his relationships.
“Matthew, I’m an old friend of the family,” Nathan said, his tone encouraging. “I’m allowed a few indiscreet comments. I’ve known your father since he was just a young hotshot lawyer determined to make a difference in the world. I’ve known you since you were a baby. And as an old friend I feel obligated to say that I believe you’re not entirely happy with your lot in life.”
Matthew laughed shortly. “I don’t know what I have to complain about.”
A Family At Last Page 3