Hearts Rekindled

by Patty Smith Hall

  “Claire!”

  “Well, I don’t, Mama.”

  Merrilee glanced over her shoulder as John spoke. “That’s because I didn’t make it to the ceremony, but I’ll bet it was lovely.” He twisted the brim of his hat in a nervous circle that made something inside Merrilee soften before she caught herself.

  “It was rather pretty,” Claire answered, standing up a bit straighter than normal. “Though I don’t understand why I couldn’t walk up the aisle with the other bridesmaid.”

  Another disappointment for Claire. “Sweetheart, it was only Maggie, and she was the matron of honor.”

  Claire’s lips puckered into a pout. “Then why couldn’t I walk down the aisle like she did?”

  Merrilee sighed inwardly. The excitement of being asked to stand alongside Edie and Beau as they exchanged their wedding vows had given Claire something to fight for as she’d lain in sweat-soaked sheets, her fever climbing higher by the hour as polio ravaged her body. That had been before any of them had realized the extent of the damage to Claire’s leg.

  Would Claire ever understand that Merrilee had only been protecting her?

  “I bet I know what happened.”

  Merrilee swung around to glare at John. When she met his gaze, his expression threw down a challenge that made her stomach flip-flop. He wanted her to trust him with their child. But how could she when she wasn’t sure he wouldn’t break Claire’s heart?

  “What do you mean?” Claire asked.

  “Well, brides are a mighty particular bunch when it comes to their wedding day,” John said, stepping around Merrilee and crouching down in front of Claire, the gray serge suit coat stretched tight against his wide shoulders. “Just ask your mama here.”

  Claire lifted her head to look at her. “Is that true, Mama?”

  Where was John going with this? Merrilee nodded slightly. “I guess so.”

  “Did you know your mama was so peculiar as a bride that she let your daddy sit in jail for three days before she finally got up the nerve to tell anyone they were married?”

  Heat danced up the back of Merrilee’s neck. He’d have to bring that up, wouldn’t he, not thinking she’d been barely seventeen years old and scared to death of what her father would do to the both of them. But then she’d never told him the truth of those three days, had she? “He survived.”

  “Just barely, from what I hear,” he answered, his lips turned up in a wicked smile. “Like I said, brides are a peculiar breed.”

  “But why wouldn’t Beau and Edie let me walk down the aisle?”

  Merrilee blinked in surprise. Claire hadn’t spoken to anyone outside of family and close friends since she’d come home from the hospital, yet she talked to John as if she’d known him all her life.

  “Well,” John started, his brow furrowed in thought. “I’ve been studying on that for the past few minutes and I don’t know if you’re aware of this, but you’re a mighty pretty young lady.”

  Claire’s lashes fluttered down to rest on the rose of her cheeks. “People say I’m the spitting image of my mama.”

  “Yes.” John tilted his head back, his gaze stealing over Merrilee’s face, appraising her eyes, her nose, the curve of her lips until her cheeks burned. “Yes, you are.” He cleared his throat. “But no woman wants that kind of competition on their wedding day.”

  Claire shook her head, but the upturned bow of her lips was evidence John’s comment pleased her. “But I’m crippled.” She fisted her hand around the handle of her crutch.

  Worry tightened in a knot at the base of Merrilee’s throat. Please, Lord, give him the right things to say. One wrong word, one careless glance might crush what’s left of my girl’s spirit.

  “What happened to your leg?”

  So much for answering that prayer, Lord. All he’d had to do was tell Claire she was beautiful despite her leg, but no! He had to start in with his questions like always. Why couldn’t he have just left them alone? Maybe Claire hadn’t heard him—he had spoken in almost a whisper.

  “I had polio.”

  His smile faded just a bit. “That’s too bad, but that doesn’t have anything to do with you being pretty, Claire. Real beauty comes from inside.”

  Claire tipped her head to glance at Merrilee. “That’s what you’re always telling me, isn’t it, Mama?”

  “Yes.” Merrilee cupped the tight knot of hair at the crown of Claire’s head and brushed her lips against her silky soft brow. That was what Merrilee told her daughter—and what she believed. But she knew that not everyone agreed. People could be cruel when it came to someone who was different, whose arms and legs refused to work, who need a wheelchair or a crutch to function. She didn’t want that life for Claire.

  “Your mama always was smart like that.”

  An uncomfortable weight settled on her chest at the praise. What would John say if he knew what she was planning to do to Aurora, the woman who’d raised him? “Just repeating what my daddy used to tell me.”

  John’s terse nod caused her to let go of a frustrated sigh. Her father seemed to affect John like a burning match to gasoline. The conversations between the two men had always exploded out of control, with each maintaining they were right. Like two bulls let loose in the same cow pasture, jockeying for position within the herd. Neither John nor her father knew how much their hostile words hurt her. But she was a grown woman—she could handle being hurt. Claire was just a child.

  And the wound John could cause Claire by leaving again might be too much for their young daughter to overcome.

  Maybe once she’d healed, once she’d recovered the full use of her leg, Claire would be capable of dealing with her father. But until then, Merrilee had to do what was right for Claire. “I think you should go, John.”

  The last notes of his name hung in the thick spring air before Merrilee realized her mistake. Claire leaned forward on her crutch, almost stumbling to the floor. “My dad’s name is John.”

  “Sweetheart, a lot of men have that name. It’s very popular,” Merrilee squeaked. Worry clamping down on the muscles in Merrilee’s chest, making each breath a painful chore. Please, Lord, for Claire’s sake, don’t let John tell her who he really is!

  “Your mom’s right. It is a very common name,” John agreed.

  Relief and a faint sense of disappointment raced through Merrilee as she glanced down at him. The smile that had lit up his face dimmed somewhat, as if snuffed out by the truth of Claire’s situation. If he’d only turn and walk away now, before the girl realized this man was her father, it would be best for all of them.

  Then why did the thought of John leaving bother her so much?

  “I think it’s a nice name,” Claire answered. “Don’t you?”

  John chuckled, but the sound held no humor. “I don’t think I have much of a choice but to like it.”

  Claire’s girlish giggle startled Merrilee slightly. It’d been what felt like a lifetime since her daughter had laughed and talked like this. Merrilee almost hated to end it. “Claire, would you do me a favor and check the refreshment table to see if I need to make more coffee?”

  “But, Mama...”

  “No ifs, ands or buts, young lady.” Merrilee gave her what she hoped was her sternest look, one she used only to get Claire up and moving.

  It must have worked. “Yes, Mama.”

  “It was nice meeting you, Claire.” John held out his hand.

  Claire slipped her hand into his and shook it. “Will you come back to see us again soon?”

  John glanced over their daughter’s head, his gaze zeroing in on Merrilee, determination apparent in his crisp words as he spoke. “I’ll be here faster than you can shake a puppy’s tail, Claire.”

  It was a warning if ever Merrilee had heard one.

  Claire answered with another
giggle. Gracious, it hadn’t taken long for John to climb into her daughter’s good graces. Well, at least, he hadn’t spilled the beans and told her he was her father. It would make life easier when he had to report back to his unit and leave them behind. Again.

  “Be careful going down that ramp, sweetheart,” John called out to Claire as she neared the wooden platform Merrilee had spent the better part of a week working on when Claire first came home. “It’s a bit unstable.”

  Claire shot him a sweet smile. “Yes, sir.”

  Merrilee waited until her daughter was out of earshot before turning on her heel, her hands fisted on her hips. “How did you do that?”

  At least he had the decency to look surprised. “How did I do what?”

  “Never mind.” Merrilee shook her head. So what if John had made a tiny crack in the solemn shell Claire had encased herself in this past year? Merrilee’s bigger problem was how to keep her daughter from getting hurt by this man. “How long before you head back to your unit?”

  “I don’t. I’ve been relieved of my duties.”

  An odd way of putting it, but then John had always had his own unique spin on words. “Thank you for not telling Claire who you are. You can see she’s a different child from the one who wrote you that letter.”

  “Maybe, but let’s get one thing straight. Our daughter is going to know I’m her father,” John answered, his voice slashing any hopes she may have harbored that he would fade from their lives once more. “Whether you like it or not.”

  * * *

  An hour later, John sank down onto the park bench, watching the late afternoon sun sink below the rooftops of the brick buildings lining Marietta Square. Bright pink and white azalea blooms bordered the dirt paths leading into the park, mocking him with their sunny disposition as he pushed his hat forward on his moist brow. His frayed thoughts rushed through his mind until all he could do was pray.

  Why am I here, Lord?

  A hint of freshly mowed grass teased him with memories of distant Sunday afternoons with his friend Peter Oahu and Peter’s family. After church services, they’d all head over to a nearby park, Peter and Grace swinging a picnic basket between them while their children bombarded John with noisy chatter that never failed to make him smile. From that very first Sunday, he’d been Uncle John to Michael and Lilly. They became the family he’d never had. A family in grief, now that Peter was gone, lost in the fighting at Belvedere.

  Reaching into his pocket, John pulled Claire’s letter free and unfolded it, a slight smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, remembering the mail call that had delivered his daughter’s stark-white envelope into his hands. Thinking it was another masterpiece from the Oahu children, he’d torn it open. Only it wasn’t a page out of the coloring book he’d given Michael and Lilly, but a note in a girlish scrawl, little hearts and flowers dancing around the borders, circling him with the news.

  He had a child, a daughter—and she wanted to meet him. Shock had segued quickly into fascination for this tiny snip of humanity that was part of him. Part of the only woman he’d ever loved.

  Merrilee.

  John snatched his hat off his head, then raked his free hand against his scalp. It had been foolishness, marrying her, knowing full well who her daddy was, but John hadn’t been able to help himself. Basking in Merrilee’s sweet nature and strong faith, he’d been certain that building a marriage with her would be worth every minute of putting up with Jacob Daniels as a father-in-law. With her, he’d believed he could have the love and comfort of his own family.

  If only Merrilee hadn’t allowed her old man to destroy their marriage.

  Now he had another chance at a family, by being a father to Claire. Sure, she wasn’t ready for the news but John would give her time, let her get to know him, maybe even love him. Then, when the moment was right, he’d tell her the truth, that he was her father. And maybe then he could move forward with his life again.

  But how much time would he have with Claire before his hearing date was scheduled? Was that why Merrilee had asked him how long he intended to stay? Had she heard about the charges he faced?

  A childish sob scattered John’s thoughts. Standing, he scanned the area, searching for the source of the plaintive cry when he noticed a little girl, several years younger than Claire, at the swing set. A fierce line of stubborn determination creased her forehead as she pumped her stubby legs, tilting the swing back and forth but gaining no height. John watched the child’s frustrating dance a few seconds before cutting through the bushes dividing the two areas.

  He glanced around. The child looked too young to be left on her own. Where was her mother?

  “Mister?”

  The lispy way the girl spoke catapulted John toward memories shelved away long ago. Lowering his gaze, he closely studied the child: the rounded face with its determined expression, a pair of bright blue eyes set a tad too wide apart, the flat nose. A mongoloid, though not as severe as his brother. John’s heart sank as he twisted around, scouring the park for anyone who might claim this child.

  “Mister!” the girl said with a bit of impatience.

  John crouched down in front of her. Such a sweet face. Who would be so heartless as to abandon her? “Yes, ma’am?”

  She giggled at that. “You’re silly.”

  That coaxed a smile out of him. “Well, folks need to be silly every now and then, don’t you think? Is there something I can do to help you?”

  “I can’t get this thing to work.” The child pumped her short legs up and down. “See?”

  “That’s because you need a partner to help get you going.” He glanced over at the seesaws where several boys and girls played. “Didn’t any of the other kids want to swing with you?”

  She didn’t answer, only shook her head, the same tight expression he remembered his little brother had often worn flittering across her face before being replaced once again by her smile. “But that’s okay. Grandma says it’s their loss, not mine.”

  “Your grandma must love you very much.”

  The little girl’s cheeks turned rosy. “Do you know she picked me out of all the babies in the pum’kin patch?”

  John had to force down a gurgle of laughter. “She must have thought you were a very special little girl.”

  The child’s giggle reminded him of Claire.

  “Ellie!”

  John followed the child’s gaze as she turned toward the sidewalk. An older woman hurried toward them, her gray wool coat matching the no-nonsense bun gathered at the nape of her neck and the glasses that dangled from the tip of her slender nose. She rushed down the path, her sensible shoes turned reddish brown with dust. As she drew closer, the smile he’d had for Ellie stretched wider. “Ms. Aurora?”

  The older woman slowed, the corners of her mouth turning up gradually until she couldn’t seem to hold back her smile any longer. She didn’t speak, only nodded. Leaving Ellie by the swing set, John walked over to her, feeling as shy as the boy this woman had taken in all those years ago. He’d been barely ten years old and his brother, Matthew, not even six, but Ms. ’Rora hadn’t blinked an eye, taking them as if they were her very own, a mother in every sense of the word.

  “John,” she whispered, her watery gaze sliding over his face as if committing him to her memory.

  A faint pang of guilt stirred John into action. “I think I found someone who belongs to you.”

  “You know my grandma?” The girl now stood in front of them, her gaze floating from one to the other.

  “Ellie, this is John Davenport.” Ms. Aurora took the young girl’s outstretched hand. “He came to live with me when he was just a boy not much older than you.”

  The girl stared up at him, her rosebud of a mouth quirked to the side as if confused. “Did Grandma pick you out of the babies in the pum’kin patch, too?”

>   “No.” John glanced over Ellie’s head to the woman, her pale blue eyes twinkling at the memory. More like a police lineup. “Well, now that I think of it, maybe it was something like that.”

  “You’ll have to tell the children about it sometime.” The older woman winked at him. “I’m sure they all would enjoy hearing it.”

  “I’m sure.” He wanted to share his story with Claire when he got the opportunity, tell her about her uncle Mattie. Maybe even tell Merrilee, though he’d never had the nerve to talk about his brother in the short time they were married. They’d already had enough troubles with her father. Why add one more?

  “Ellie?” Ms. Aurora glanced around. “Where’s Billy?”

  The child stepped from one foot to the other, the hem of her yellow cotton dress swaying like jonquils on the breeze. “He’s not in trouble, is he?”

  The woman turned her attention across the street to the storefronts. “It all depends on what he’s up to now.”

  “Who’s Billy?” John asked.

  “He’s Ellie’s older brother. And for the moment, the bane of my existence.”

  The little girl smiled brightly up at John. “Grandma picked him out of the pum’kin patch, too.”

  “That’s a mighty active pumpkin patch you’ve got there, Ms. Aurora,” John replied, barely containing the chuckle that caught in his throat. “How many more did you pick to take home with you?”

  The older woman glared at him for a brief second before tumbling into laughter. “Three, but they’re at home with Mrs. Williams. Not quite ready for a trip into town.” She bent down toward Ellie. “You want to play for a few more minutes while John and I rest a spell?”

  “Yeah!” Ellie scooted out from under Ms. Aurora’s arm. Two short steps later, she turned to John, her deep blue eyes wide with innocence. “Will you play with me later, Mr. John?”

  He knelt down. Maybe one day, Claire would trust him as this little girl did, with a childlike innocence. Maybe one day soon, he’d earn that trust. “You bet I will.”