Hearts Rekindled

by Patty Smith Hall

  More questions. Inquisitive girl, his daughter. He found that the thought filled him with pride. “We’ll use that end to pull the nails out once you’re ready for this ramp to come down.” Fishing a nail out of his pail, he handed it to her. “Now tap this into the wood right here, just enough to get it started.”

  Scrunching her eyebrows together, she made short little raps with the hammer against the head until it was embedded into the wood. “I did it!”

  The look of sheer joy on his daughter’s face almost undid him. How could something so simple bring so much happiness to this child? And he’d helped her do it. Just like a father should. “You sure did!”

  “Now what do I do?” Claire looked so adorably sweet, her green eyes sparkling with excitement, her lower lip caught between her teeth. There was so much he could teach her, like how to catch a fish or fly a kite or a million other things.

  If he didn’t end up in prison.

  “Claire? What are you doing?”

  He’d been so involved with Claire, just enjoying this moment with her, he hadn’t heard the screen door open. Though she tried to hide it, Merrilee looked none too happy at the moment.

  Chapter Five

  They looked so perfect together, John teaching their daughter how to use a hammer. Enthusiasm had seemed to infuse Claire’s whole being at learning this simple task, the sheer joy on her face reminding Merrilee of the happy, exuberant child Claire once was. A mischievous bundle of ribbons and bows who brought light into Merrilee’s lifeless world.

  “Look, Mama. John taught me how to use a hammer.”

  She ought to be angry with him. He knew she wasn’t keen on him spending time with Claire. But she couldn’t be, not when he’d drawn their daughter out of the gloom she’d been mired in this past year, even if just for a moment. This respite, no matter how short-lived, was worth her gratitude.

  Taking a step forward, Merrilee crouched down on the top step, smoothing her skirts over her legs, the hem brushing the tops of her shoes. “Why don’t you show me, Claire Bear?”

  Her daughter’s face lit up, the impish grin that had disappeared in recent months back and in full force, stretching all the way into her eyes as she reached for a nail. Merrilee’s eyes began to burn with each drop of the hammer. How had John known that something so simple could bring Claire this much enjoyment? And why did John’s success make her feel as if she’d failed her daughter once again?

  “Good job, Claire,” John said as the girl finished tapping the nail one last time. “I think you’ve practiced enough for right now. Don’t you think so, Merrilee?”

  She glanced over to John and found him studying her, his expression cautious. Great, another person walking on eggshells around me. Had she become some old crone that made folks want to tiptoe around her? All she wanted was answers to her questions. One question in particular.

  What do I have to do to get Claire well?

  “Merrilee?”

  “Oh, yes.” She leaned over to examine the dainty dents Claire had made in the pine board. “You did a great job, sweetheart. John must be a very good teacher.”

  The girl’s smile grew even bigger, if that were possible. “He said that when I don’t need the ramp anymore, we can tear it down and make a doghouse.”

  “A doghouse?” Merrilee exclaimed, her eyes narrowing in on John. They wouldn’t have a roof over their own heads soon, much less one for a dog. If he’d promised Claire a puppy...

  “No, you said we could make it into a doghouse, and I asked if you had a dog. Unless your mother agrees, there won’t be one, understand?”

  Ah, a little more of the old Claire coming out, that determination to get what she wanted, even if she had to wear you down. And John was having none of it. Good. She’d fought this battle alone for years, so it was nice to have someone else in her corner.

  But for how long?

  She needed to nail him down on a date for when he’d be leaving. For Claire’s sake. And, she grudgingly admitted, for her own. “Darling, why don’t you go out to the kitchen and bring John a glass of iced tea? He must be thirsty.”

  “Yes, ma’am!” The young girl pushed herself off the stairs, shoving her good leg beneath her, wobbling as she tried catch her balance. Merrilee reached out to her, but John caught her by the hand. Her head jerked up, but instead of a dark glare, she found herself tumbling into warm blue eyes holding a hint of compassion that caught her off guard. She got a sense that he somehow knew about the constant fears she had concerning Claire, the overwhelming guilt that kept her awake at night, the heartbreaking despair that drove her to her knees. Just believing he understood, even vaguely, brought Merrilee an unexplained comfort.

  “I’ll be right back.” Claire slid the crutch under her left arm and hobbled along the dirt path, her gait more fluid than Merrilee had seen in weeks.

  When their daughter’s shadow disappeared around the corner of the house, John let go of her hand. “Sorry about that, but I had to make sure I’d adjusted her crutch to the proper height.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “You might not have noticed, but Claire had a growth spurt.” He told her about their daughter’s dress and the way she seemed to fumble with the crutch. “So I lengthened the crutch out and she seems to be moving better.”

  She hadn’t noticed a thing. What kind of mother was she? John had been here two days—two days!—playing daddy and he’d already found a way to make their daughter more comfortable, not to mention how he’d drawn Claire out of the shell she’d encased herself in this past year. Why was he doing all this? So he could up and leave them again? No. Merrilee stood. “You grabbed my hand when she was about to fall.”

  “You think I would let her get hurt?”

  She ignored his question. “She could have fallen.”

  “Would it have been so bad if she had?”

  Whatever words she might have thought to say stuck in her throat. “How could you be so heartless?”

  John stood then, his body taut. The color had drained from his face, giving her the impression her words had hit their mark. “No more heartless than telling her she’ll get the use of her leg back when it might never happen.”

  He spoke not in anger or defensiveness, but a kindness that did nothing to lessen the sting of his statement. “You don’t understand.”

  “Yes, I do. You only want what is best for her. I do, too.”

  “But you’d let her fall?”

  “I’d never let her get hurt if I can help it. But we can’t be there all the time, so she probably will fall down.” John stretched his back out, his white T-shirt pulled tight against the bunched muscles of his chest. “But isn’t it our responsibility to teach her how to get up again rather than catch her every time?”

  “You make it sound so simple,” she scoffed. “But you try watching your child struggle, wondering if you could have done something different so that they didn’t have to suffer through the rest of their lives. It’s pretty difficult just to sit on the sidelines.”

  He glared at her with a mixture of compassion and frustration. “I spent almost eight years of my life living with Ms. Aurora, so I have quite a bit of understanding on the subject.”

  “That doesn’t make you an expert, John.”

  He shook his head. “No, but a person doesn’t forget living with people like that.”

  “I wouldn’t know.” It was one of the mysteries surrounding John; how an able-bodied child like him had not found a home with any of the farming families in the county, but had ended up living with Aurora and her family of unadopted children. One he’d never felt close enough to her to reveal.

  Would she ever learn the truth about John’s childhood? And why, after all this time, did she still care?

  His stoic expression told her she’d have to
wait a while longer. “Bottom line, Claire just wants to be treated like everyone else.”

  “But she’s not like everyone else, now, is she? She needs help until she recovers the use of her leg.”

  “And if this is as good as she gets? What then?”

  “Don’t say that!” Merrilee snapped. Because giving way to those thoughts might make them real, and Merrilee couldn’t bear it for their girl. For the rest of her life, Claire shouldn’t have to put up with all the covert looks, all the whispers people didn’t realize she could hear. Almost as if they’d thought Claire had brought this upon herself. Their daughter didn’t deserve to be treated like she had less value than anyone else. Nobody did.

  “Look—” John picked up a couple nails off the steps and threw them into his pail “—I know you’re worried and you’re scared for her. You’ve got every right to be. Whether you believe it or not, I’m concerned about her, too.”

  How could John feel anything close to the emotions she felt for Claire? He barely knew her. But studying his face, seeing the edges of worry already carving out tiny lines around his eyes and forehead, she couldn’t deny the truth staring back at her. The amount of time he’d known about Claire didn’t matter. He cared for their daughter. A dull ache settled against her ribs. Jealousy? Merrilee swallowed hard at the bitter thought. What kind of woman envied what her child had?

  John must not have noticed her discomfort. “What do the doctors say?”

  Merrilee hesitated. Could she trust him with this burden, trust him to love Claire despite what the future might hold? She shook the fear away. He was Claire’s father and had the right to know the extent of the damage. Merrilee slid down to the stairs, fisting her hands into her skirts to keep them from shaking. “Recovering the use of the weakened muscles a year after the initial virus is very rare.”

  John slid down to the place next to her, his forearms resting against his haunches, his long fingers threading into a loose steeple. “You’ve got a second opinion?”

  “And a third, and a fourth. They all have given up hope on her.”

  She could feel his gaze slide over her. “But you haven’t.”

  Merrilee shook her head. “I can’t. Not yet.”

  He reached over and covered her hand with his, the hard calluses gently scraping the tender skin of her knuckles, closing over her fingers in a warm clasp. “We’re going to get her through this.”

  She wanted to grasp the certainty in his words and hold on for dear life. But how much could she depend on a man who had already left her once?

  “Mr. John!”

  The sharp cry jerked Merrilee’s head up and drew her attention to the sight of the young boy limping up the drive, his denim overalls covered in a thick coating of dust from the way his useless foot dragged through the dirt.

  “Billy?” John asked, standing.

  Billy Warner, one of Aurora’s children. He’d been in Claire’s class in third grade, but hadn’t come back after that, Aurora deciding to school him at home rather than continue making repeated trips to the principal’s office. Merrilee smiled. The kid was a fighter, taking nothing from anybody. A necessary trait for a boy with a twisted spine.

  But there was no fight in him today. Only an expression of pained fear in his eyes that drew Merrilee to her feet.

  John vaulted off the steps and rushed down the path to where the boy had stopped to rest and catch his breath. “Billy, what is wrong?”

  The boy glanced at her, then at John, his lower lip trembling slightly. “It’s Ms. Aurora. She sick.”

  * * *

  Aurora sick? Why, the woman had a constitution as strong as any battleship John had sailed on during his time in the Pacific! The kid had to be mistaken. “What happened?”

  Billy’s frantic eyes caught his, making John’s stomach pitch. “She was making oatmeal like she always does in the mornings, but then she went all white like she’d seen a mouse or something. I got up to see if I could find it, you know, shoo it out of the house. That’s when Ms. Aurora fell on the floor, right there in front of the stove.”

  The boy shook beneath his hands as John grasped his thin shoulders. “You didn’t leave her like that, did you?”

  Billy shook his head. “Dr. Adams is with her now. He told me to come and find you. Said she was asking for you.”

  Aurora had to be alert to ask for him, so that was a good sign. Poor Billy, though—watching the only mother he’d ever known collapse like that. It made John wonder how the other children were faring. He turned around to find Merrilee close behind him. “I hate to do this, but I’ve got to go.”

  “Let me get the truck and I’ll drive you.”

  Merrilee, driving a truck? Her father would be rolling over in his grave at the thought of his daughter doing something as unseemly as operating a motor vehicle. The image made him smile slightly. “We’d appreciate it.”

  “I’ll get my handbag and tell Claire where we’re going.”

  “Why not bring Claire along? Y’all haven’t been out to the farm in a while and I could sure use the help with Ellie,” Billy said.

  “I don’t know.” Merrilee seemed to war with the idea, her lips pursing in thought. Then she glanced at him. “What do you think?”

  John wasn’t sure what it was, the idea of spending more time with Claire or the thought that Merrilee had sought his opinion that made his heart race. Right now, he didn’t have time to sort it out. “I wish I had thought of it first.”

  “We’ll meet y’all around front.” She took off toward the side of the house, her skirts twirling around shapely legs. Even hurrying across the yard, she carried herself with the kind of grace he imagined came from years of practice. How considerate it had been of her to offer them a lift back to Aurora’s, but then Merrilee had always been a kind soul. How had he forgotten that about her? Probably pushed it to the back of his heart along with all the other memories of her, he guessed. Be best for him if they stayed there.

  “She’s a nice lady, isn’t she?”

  John glanced down at the cow-eyed boy, and what felt like envy caused the muscles in his chest to tighten slightly. “You know Ms. Merrilee?”

  The boy’s blond hair fell into his eyes as he nodded. “She used to bring Claire out and visit us every couple days. Brought us watermelons in the summertime. All of us liked to see her and Claire coming.”

  Aurora had mentioned Merrilee’s visits, but had they really been as often as twice to three times a week? Why? Aurora was his family; the farm, his boyhood home. Both were worlds away from the society into which Merrilee had been raised. Yes, the two women had taken to each other like peas in a pod when he’d introduced Merrilee to Aurora years ago, but he was surprised to hear they’d remained friends all these years. Was that why Aurora had told him she wouldn’t take sides? Because she loved them both?

  Twenty minutes later, John thought they might’ve made better time walking. A low rumble from the direction of the engine shook the entire body of Merrilee’s truck as she pushed in the clutch to change gears. When she finally placed her hand back on the wheel, John watched the gearshift wiggle from side to side. Someone—Beau, her brothers, even that stuck-up major—ought to be shot for letting her out on the road with the truck in such poor condition. Didn’t anyone worry she could break down and get stranded? Or worse?

  He stole a glance at Merrilee, who didn’t seem the least bit nervous about their transportation. “Don’t you think it’s time to get rid of this heap? Maybe get something that’s less likely to break down every time you drive it?”

  “I don’t know if you’ve heard, but there’s a war going on. Cars are hard to come by.” Reddish-blond curls fell across her shoulders as she grabbed the gearshift and pushed it into third. “Besides, I’ve got bills to pay.”

  A Daniels struggling with bills? How could that b
e? She owned her house—he’d made sure of that himself. With the money Merrilee had inherited from her daddy and the rent she took in at the boardinghouse, she should be living high on the hog. “So what did you buy? A new dress from the window at Saul’s?”

  Her fingers tightened around the steering wheel. “The bills are from doctors mainly. But there’s also utilities and food and clothing and...” She mashed her lips together. “Let’s just say money’s tight.”

  It couldn’t be as bad as all that, not with all the assets her father had owned throughout the county before his death. But as John looked at her, he noticed little things. The frayed hem of her dress, the worn soles on her shoes. Even the black leather handbag perched next to her looked like it had seen better days. And what about Claire’s dress? Had there been no money to replace it with another when she’d outgrown it?

  John frowned. He should have considered the possibility. He’d assumed Merrilee had never done without, what with all the Daniels’s money. Could he have miscalculated the situation? Had Jacob Daniels left Merrilee with no way to support herself and their daughter?

  Merrilee may have kept Claire a secret, but he’d do right by them both now. “I’ve got a little money put back if you need it.”

  The brakes protested with a high-pitched squeal as Merrilee stomped down on the foot pedal. He gritted his teeth as the truck slid to a stop. “I’m perfectly capable of taking care of my daughter.”

  My daughter. A dig, he recognized. Merrilee’s way of getting him to back off. Okay, he’d let the subject go for the moment. But one thing was for certain. The first second he could manage to sneak away, he would yank the distributor cap off the piece of junk and put this truck out of its misery.

  Chapter Six

  “When did you learn how to drive?”

  “A while ago.” Merrilee tried to relax her shoulders, but the front end of her truck veered left unless she kept a death grip on the steering wheel so she tightened her fingers until she thought they’d break.