“Mr. John, look at me!”
John stood up and walked to the railing, his attention resting on the children huddled under the oak tree that hugged the opposite corner of the porch. Ellie sat in the swing, her fingers tightly wound around the thick coils of rope dangling from a high-hanging limb, her plump legs pumping hard, each movement back and forth lifting her off the ground a little more. Her laughter hung in the air like that of a baby bird who’d just taken flight for the very first time. Claire and Billy stood nearby, their heads bobbing in time with Ellie’s progress. “Now, you hang on, Miss Ellie. We don’t want you falling out of the sky.”
Billy waved back. “We’re watching her.”
“You always did like kids.”
John swung his head around to find Merrilee standing in the doorway, her hands knotted in the skirt of the red-checkered apron she wore. “Maybe because I’m just a big kid myself.”
“Maybe,” she answered, but there was a mischievous glint in her eyes that made his heart contract. Whatever had been bothering her she’d put aside for the moment. “Personally, I always found you quite grown-up.”
“Really? Even the time I took you to the lake and taught you how to play catch?” It had been their first date, and while he’d wanted to take her to the diner on the square and to a movie, his bank account couldn’t have afforded it. So a picnic by the lake and a round of catch had had to do.
“I must have had a good time. I went out with you again.”
John nodded. He’d been amazed when she’d agreed to go out with him again, never once voicing a complaint about the long walks they took around the outskirts of Aurora’s land or fishing for bass at the lake in place of the more expensive, exciting dates other boys could have offered her. And many evenings had been spent on this very porch, curled together on the swing, making plans for their future. “Would you like to join me?”
She glanced back down the hallway as if something were pulling her inside. “I still have dishes to wash.”
“It’s not going to hurt them to soak awhile, and then I’ll take care of them.” He took hold of the swing’s chains, steadying it for her. “After that dinner you cooked, the least I can do is finish the washup.” He held his hand up against the protest he could see forming on her lips. “Aurora believes in everyone pitching in. It teaches the children to be more independent. You shouldn’t have to do everything yourself.”
“Oh.” She picked at a loose thread in one corner of her apron. “I’ve never thought about it that way, but it makes sense.”
What was making her so anxious? Was it the thought of sitting so close together, watching their daughter play with her friends as if they were an old married couple? The thought should have made him uncomfortable, too, but instead the lure of it was irresistible. John held out his hand to her. “We are going to leave the cooking to you, though. I haven’t had such a good meal in I can’t remember when.”
That wasn’t quite true. The pinto beans and corn bread may have been the only items in their cupboards, but Merrilee had turned them into a farewell feast never to be forgotten the night before he’d reported to the Civilian Conservation Corps.
Merrilee continued to stand at the door. “I wondered if the kids would like it. Claire’s always been a little picky, but she seems to be growing out of it.”
“Kids go through that, grown-ups sometimes, too. Remember the first time you made me okra?”
The screen door banged softly shut as Merrilee took a half step toward him, a ghost of a smile playing along the corners of her mouth. “How in the world could I ever forget that ghastly look you gave me, like you’d rather starve than be forced to eat!”
The laughter in her eyes was doing strange things to his heart. “You would have, too, if you’d ever been forced to eat the pickled slime Mrs. Williams calls okra. It was like swallowing live earthworms.”
“At least she tried to help. That’s more than you can say for some folks.” The humor faded from her expression slightly, just enough for John to notice.
Yes, something was definitely bothering Merrilee. “As Ms. Aurora always says, be thankful for those willing to help and pray for those who can’t find it in their hearts to understand.”
“Ms. Aurora is a lot more forgiving than me.”
He didn’t believe that, not for one second. But something had been lodged in Merrilee’s craw since they’d left church, and he needed to figure it out. “Ms. Aurora is also a very wise woman.”
Merrilee blinked, as if she wasn’t sure where this conversation was going. “How’s that?”
John swung the swing slightly forward. “She would have sat down five minutes ago.”
The laugh he coaxed out of Merrilee filled the air around him like the most delicate music. “A few minutes of rest might do me some good,” she conceded.
“Merrilee, even the Lord took a day off every week.”
“That’s hard to argue with.” Her smile grew wider as she reached behind her and untied the apron, peeled it from her shoulders and slung it into a neat pile over the back of a nearby rocking chair. The fresh cottony white dress with blue trim she wore underneath complemented the lines of her lean curves. Her hair had been pulled back in a low ponytail at her nape, the reddish-blond curls rioting against the porcelain line of her neck. Her beauty didn’t need powder or paints, though he did find himself staring at her full, deep red lips on more than one occasion. No, Merrilee’s beauty came from within.
Beauty is only skin deep, but ugly goes clean to the bone.
A faint smile touched his lips. It had been one of Merrilee’s favorite sayings when they’d been dating. He hadn’t understood it at first, but the more he thought about it, the more time he spent with Merrilee, becoming familiar with her kindness and caring, the more he realized the powerful wisdom in those words.
The swing shifted slightly as she sat down, the skirt of her dress brushing against his pants leg, the faint scent of freshly baked bread and vanilla that she always carried with her filling his senses, making him wonder what might have been.
A peal of childish giggles dragged him away from his dangerous thoughts. He had no business dreaming about a life he couldn’t have. A jury of his peers awaited him. Maybe a prison term, too.
But remembering those facts was almost impossible with Merrilee sitting beside him, her face aglow with tenderness as she watched the children play. “Ellie really loves to swing, doesn’t she?”
“And play on the teeter-totter. But that takes two people, and I wanted Ellie to get a sense that she could do things on her own.”
His skin prickled with gooseflesh when she shifted toward him, her warm breath soaking into the skin beneath the thin sleeve of his shirt. “So you hung that tire swing to teach her a lesson?”
“No,” he admitted. “I saw her at the park that first day I came into town, and all she wanted to do was swing like the other kids. While I was digging up supplies to build the ramp at your house, I found an old tire and enough rope to make a pretty decent swing, and I couldn’t resist.” He shrugged a shoulder. “I’m just a sap for damsels in distress, I guess.”
“I think it’s kind of sweet.” She nudged him with her shoulder. “But you always were thoughtful like that.”
Her compliment washed over him. John cleared his throat. “I think swinging might be good exercise for Claire and Billy, too. Get the two of them working those muscles in their legs.”
Merrilee’s expression clouded over. “I don’t know. Claire hasn’t been on a swing since before the polio. It might be too much for her.”
“Or it could be just what she needs. If we get her working on that swing, it’s going to make our job that much easier when we get her in the lake. She will have built up some muscle and endurance.”
“I don’t know.” Merrilee bit the corner of her low
er lip. “Maybe I should contact the doctors at Warm Springs and ask them their opinion.”
His jaw tightened into a hard knot. So she still ran around getting everyone’s opinion on a subject rather than listening to his. Back during their marriage, she’d run home to Daddy, wanting to know how they should proceed with a problem or what crops to plant. The end result was always two against one, with him the odd man out.
Like he’d been most of his life.
“I’m sorry, John. Here you are, doing everything you can to get Claire up and walking again, and I go asking people who don’t even know her for their opinion.”
John jerked his head around to face her. There was a candor to her words, an earnestness, as if she was tired of playing the same old broken record and had exchanged it for a new one. Maybe he should meet her halfway. “I don’t know. Maybe we should run the idea by her doctor, just to make sure we’re not undoing all the hard work she’s done.”
Merrilee sagged into the swing. “I shouldn’t be so worried about what everyone else thinks.”
Was she talking about Claire’s treatment or something else entirely? “Did something happen after I took the kids outside at church this morning?”
Her gaze drifted down to her hands knotted in a loose fist in her lap. “I had a run-in with Gladys Davis.”
The name didn’t sound familiar to him, but he’d been gone a long time. “Do I know her?”
Merrilee shook her head. “Her husband was one of the engineers who designed the bomber plant. They moved to Marietta so that he could oversee construction. When he died, Ms. Davis decided to stick around. She joined our church a couple years ago.”
Didn’t sound like Merrilee welcomed this woman into the community with open arms. Knowing his former wife, there had to be a very good reason as to why not. “I take it she’s not on your hit parade?”
“Let’s just say I love her as a sister in Christ, but I’m not sure I like her too much.”
“That’s not like you. You always find the good in everyone.” Even your despicable father, he added silently to himself.
“Not this lady. Ms. Davis isn’t very...understanding toward people who are different than herself.” Merrilee shook her head slightly. “I shouldn’t have been listening in on her conversation but I just couldn’t ignore her when she started talking about our children.”
Our children. A slip of the tongue, he knew, but it still didn’t stop the warmth that flooded through his veins. This wasn’t the time to assess his response, not with Merrilee so upset. “What did she say?”
Merrilee glanced over the railing, her expression softening as she watched the children play for a few moments, then relaxed back into her seat. “She said that the children shouldn’t be allowed in church, said they were disruptive and...”
The tiny hairs on the back of his neck rose to attention. “And what?”
The stricken look she gave him made his gut twist. “That they were too damaged to understand anything about the Bible or the preaching, and we should just keep them at home.”
John fisted his hand, then released it. It wasn’t the first time someone had voiced their outdated opinions about Aurora’s children, and it more than likely wouldn’t be the last. Still the anger that flared through him burned as hot as it had the first time he’d heard James Daniels hurl those ugly names at Mattie.
Dimwit. Mush head. Retard.
He flexed his fist again, remembered the feel of James’s face beneath it, the explosion of blood that had shot out of the other boy’s broken nose, the pain that had shot up his arm with each new blow. But he hadn’t stopped, not even when his own knuckles bled, until the boy’s lips were too swollen to utter those filthy words again. Not the most Christian way of handling it, but it got the job done. James Daniels had steered clear of him and Mattie after that.
“What did you say?” He was almost afraid to ask, given her brother’s response all those years ago, even though he knew Merrilee wasn’t like that.
“Not much. What can you say to change someone’s opinion when they’ve made their mind up like that?”
Truer words were never spoken, but it still didn’t stop the vague sense of disappointment sliding through him. It never ceased to amaze him the cruelty of some people, particularly to those most fragile. “So does she expect us to stop bring the kids to services?”
“Nope.” Merrilee clutched the bottom of the swing and with her feet, pushed off, the swing lilting forward gently. “She pretty much got the message we’d be there every Sunday morning bright and early. I told her that whether or not they knew the Bible, they knew love, and that there was no better place for them to find it than in God’s house.”
He crossed his arms over his chest to keep from reaching for her. “Really? You said that?”
“You think I’m going to let those kids miss church just because someone doesn’t use the good sense the Lord gave them?” Her reddish-blond curls sparked into fiery flames as she shook her head. “Not on your life!”
“Why?” It was a simple question, self-explanatory, but John longed to hear her answer. They were partners, united, she’d said. And standing united with Aurora and her children would pit Merrilee against social conventions, against the very people she’d grown up with and admired. He knew she could be a crusader for those she believed in, but had Aurora’s children made it onto that list? How far was she willing to go for these kids?
“That’s why you didn’t tell me about Mattie,” she whispered, pain lancing her voice. “You thought I’d think less of you if I knew the truth about your brother.”
“Of course I didn’t. Where did you get that from?”
“Your questions over the past few minutes.” The icy glare she shot him froze him to the spot. “It’s almost like you couldn’t believe I’d stand up for the kids.”
His temper rose. How in the world could she twist his meaning? “I never said that.”
“You didn’t have to.” She poked a finger into his chest. “Let’s get one thing straight. I love to hear about Mattie. I would like to think I would have loved him because he was your brother and he meant the world to you.”
John choked on the hard knot in his throat, his thoughts scrambled. Was she right? Had he kept Mattie from her, fearing Merrilee would wonder if he was as damaged as his brother?
The swing swayed as she stood. John reached out for her hand, but grasped at air as she walked across the porch. “Merrilee, I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry, John.” She picked up the apron and laid it over her arm. “The truth is I might have backed down to Ms. Davis years ago, not because I agree with her but because I wouldn’t have wanted to make a fuss or embarrass myself and my family by standing up for the kids. And that makes me ashamed.”
The screen door slammed shut as Merrilee walked into the house.
Chapter Fourteen
“Lord, thank You for the beautiful weather You’ve given us over the past few days. It’s been a blessing working this land You’ve provided for us.”
John drew off his hat and slapped it against his leg, a cloud of red dust engulfing him like one of those misty fogs he’d seen roll into San Francisco Bay. The air was filled with the sweet fragrance of freshly plowed soil. He grabbed the handkerchief out of his pocket and swiped at the moisture beaded around his neck, satisfaction shifting through him as he glanced over the straight plowed rows—the last of Aurora’s fields.
Tomorrow afternoon, he’d start work on his own farm. Growing things had always been in his blood; the idea of a few acres to call his own had been a dream he’d clung to for as far back as he could remember. A dream deferred until now—and maybe longer if the charges against him stuck. It didn’t matter. God had blessed him with an extra dose of patience.
He could enjoy the fruits of his labor for the mom
ent. Neat rows of turned dirt stood out like the stripes on the American flag, the Georgia clay just a shade lighter, a tad more orange than patriotic red. It had sliced easily under his plow, moist, ready to be planted. This afternoon, he would pick up his order of white, half-runner beans from the feed store and soak them overnight before planting this last field in the morning.
“You look thoroughly pleased with yourself.”
His pulse quickened as he turned to watch Merrilee walking toward him, a mason jar of water in her hand. “I’d figured I’d have to leave this section unturned, especially after we got the corn and tomatoes planted early.”
She glanced over the field, her lips curving up into a smile that reached her eyes. “You’ve always been good with the soil. Remember that year when nobody could get anything to grow? But you—you gave Daddy a bumper crop in beans that year.”
Merrilee sure remembered a great deal about their time together. Probably for Claire’s sake. He knew their daughter had wanted stories about her father. But even that knowledge couldn’t dampen the satisfaction he felt in Merrilee’s memories. John pointed to the jar in her hand. “Is that for me?”
“Oh—” she stammered, a delicate shade of pink blooming in her cheeks. “I noticed you forgot your water bucket this morning and thought you might be getting thirsty.” She shoved the jar toward him. “Anyway, here.”
“Thank you.” He took the jar, uncapped the lid and brought it to his lips, the cold water sliding smoothly down his throat, the sweet earthy taste teasing his taste buds with memories of his childhood living in Aurora’s house.
“I’ll be leaving in a few minutes to take Claire into town, if that’s all right with you.”
John’s gut tightened. She’d shied away from him since that evening on the front porch, avoiding him whenever possible, which wasn’t easy in a house with nine people in it. But he’d still been aware of her, weeding out the flower beds while the children played nearby, reading to Claire and Billy as they sat side by side on the front porch swing, rocking Ellie after she thought everyone had gone to sleep. Watching her care for the children and Aurora had awoken a need he hadn’t even known he’d had. “Maybe next time we could get Maggie to come out here and watch the kids so I could go with you.”
Hearts Rekindled Page 16