Heart to Heart

by Meline Nadeau

  As it became lighter, Jane sat up in her bed and looked about her. Not much had changed since she’d left the house she’d grown up in, the house her mother had struggled to keep and repair. Her old room was simple. The old oak flooring was worn, but clean. It was darkened near the perimeter and lighter where traffic had worn the finish off. Her old bureau, with the finish that had blackened with age and the claw feet, the one she’d regarded as a pathetic relic when she was fifteen, now struck her as a lovely old piece. She would not ask her mother if she might have it. It didn’t seem right to ask. But Jane coveted it now. Her bed was a small four poster with turned legs and posts and a simple headboard. Her mother still kept the white chenille bedspread on it along with flannel sheets, which Jane hated because they got nubbly, though she’d been grateful for them last night.

  The paint, which Jane had been allowed to choose when she was twelve, had been a cornflower blue, not far off the color Nora had chosen for her farmhouse living room. But with age, the brightness of the blue had faded down and had acquired an almost wedgewood patina. Clean lace curtains atop the darkly stained wood moldings around the windows, a few pictures of horses, and a cross above her bed completed her room along with a small oval night table that stood next to the bed.

  She’d not spent a night in this room since she’d left for college. What an austere child she must have been to have inhabited this room. There was a quiet beauty in the simplicity of it, but nothing of the gaiety of her friends’ rooms. No frills, no girlish bursts of pink, no posters of rock stars. It was as if she were being raised for the solemnity of the veil.

  Jane checked her watch on the small side table near her bed: seven thirty. She did not want to disturb her mother, but she couldn’t bear to lie in until her mother got up. She’d already stayed in bed two hours longer than usual. Jane decided to sneak downstairs and make tea. As the kettle heated, Jane looked out the window of her mother’s old house. Mark had been irresponsible. Now he would be a father. Jane had no doubt but that he would do what was required in every way. He wanted children, and he would have one sooner than he’d planned and not with her. How would she fit in, she wondered. She did not for a moment think that Mark would offer himself to Veronica sacrificially, but a baby complicated things. And, even though this child was another woman’s, she would still have to deal with it — him or her. Was she ready to help Mark? Was she ready to be a parent? Could she love another woman’s child? What kind of mother would she be?

  As her tea steeped, she heard her own mother coming down the stairs and braced herself. Expecting her to appear with grumpy disapproval for having had her sleep interrupted, Jane was surprised when her mother, fully dressed and looking energetic, cheerfully called out, “Good morning, Janey! Did you sleep well, dear?”

  “Like a rock for all three hours.”

  “What would you like for breakfast, sweetie? Are you big hungry or little hungry?” Jane had not heard that phrase since she was ten years old. Her mother always asked that on the weekends when her father was still alive. Hearing her mother so cheery and using that particular phrase brought Jane back to the last time she’d been a carefree, happy, safe little girl. And she burst into tears. Her hands flew up to try to force them back, but they spilled through her fingers anyway.

  “Jane! What is it, sweetie? You’re here like a sparrow with a broken wing. What is it? What can I do,” she asked softly, her arm around her daughter’s shoulder.

  “Ma!” she blurted. “Stop being so nice to me. I’m not used to it.”

  “What on earth do you mean? I’m always nice to you. What’s going on?”

  Jane’s tears let up, but she didn’t know how to talk to this cheery, caring woman, who looked like her mother but was obviously an alien implant.

  Her tears abating somewhat, she looked at Emily as if for the first time. “Ma, were we close when I was little?” she finally worked up her nerve to ask, her voice quavering.

  “Well,” her mother sighed and smiled, as she bustled about the kitchen, “you were always Daddy’s little girl. From the time you could walk, you preferred your dad, Jane. I guess that’s how it’s supposed to be. But we were close too, until … ”

  “I’m sorry, Ma. I don’t mean to dredge up the past,” Jane interrupted, “but I’m such a … I’m such a mess.”

  “You’re not a mess, honey. We should talk. There’s so much I’ve wanted to tell you, Jane, but I could never find the right opening.”

  Jane held her hot tea to warm her hands up, while Emily made coffee for them. “Okay, Mom, I’m willing if you are.”

  And so Jane took a leap of faith that her mother, whom she felt had never been there for her emotionally throughout the years, would somehow have magically transformed into the mother she’d always wished her to be. Jane told her about things she’d never discussed with her, about how hard she felt her life had been and how piercingly lonely she’d felt. How difficult graduate school was, and how hurt she’d been when her relationships with men didn’t work out. She told her about the Hannons, and the farm, and her job, and Mark. The only thing she withheld was the baby.

  She finished, saying exhaustedly, “I’m sorry, Ma. I know you always did your best. I’m just a bad daughter.”

  Her mother jolted her with an emphatic, “No, you are not a bad daughter, Jane. I could not have asked for a better daughter than you. It’s me that was weak. Oh sweetie, when your father died, it was like a curtain went down in front of me. I went cold inside, and I stayed that way for such a long time. When I finally came out of it, you were all grown up, or so it seemed. And, I didn’t think it was fair to try to talk to you about my failures.”

  Jane looked at her mother sympathetically, wondering if it were better not to speak of the past. But as if reading her daughter’s mind, Emily continued: “Your father was everything to me, Jane. He was my anchor. When he died, I got so lost. Thank God I had you kids,” she smiled warmly at Jane, “especially you, baby.” She did not notice Jane’s surprised expression.

  “Your brothers were older, and they were boys. They were such a help to me. They stepped up to the plate, didn’t they? They were my little men.” Emily smiled sadly.

  “You were the one, Janey, who had every right to take it so hard. You were the baby. The first man you ever looked at with stars in your eyes was gone and so suddenly,” Emily looked at her with such sadness. “If anyone loved Ray as much as I did, Janey, it was you. He was your first love. I have never stopped feeling guilty that I couldn’t put my own grief aside long enough to hold you and rock you in my arms, so you could keen your little heart out to me. I’m so sorry, baby. I should have put you first, before my own grief. But I couldn’t. I failed you, sweetheart.” Emily said, her eyes welling with tears as she recollected that devastating time in both of their lives, “I don’t know if you can ever forgive me for that.”

  “Oh Mama!” Jane’s floodgates broke as she reached for her mother’s hand. “I know you did the best you could. We both were in the same boat: grieving for the same man. Isn’t that kind of bizarre?” she asked with a choked laugh.

  “Have you ever thought,” Emily said as they sat at the table under the window, drinking their coffee, “how funny it was that we managed our grief so similarly? I mean, we both clammed up and went to work — me waitressing, and you! You went to work with all those big horses. That used to scare me silly. I wanted to stop you from going to the horses, but then I could see what a difference they made for you. They were your reason to keep going, and no matter how scared I was for you, I couldn’t take that away from you.”

  Jane had never considered before that she was like her mother. Certainly, they physically resembled one another, but Jane had to admit now that they were temperamentally alike as well. Emily interrupted Jane’s thoughts.

  “Oh my God, I used to worry about you so much — do you remember the time you roa
d in your first Point to Point race? I thought I’d die of fright for you — did I ever tell you what your brother Tom said? He said, ‘Janey’s got guts, Ma, don’t she?’ Yah, his grammar’s no better now. And we were all so proud of you going to college and then graduate school. You made yourself into something so special.”

  “I appreciate that, Ma. And I appreciate that you worked double shifts to keep us together and in food. Geez, Ma, do you know what a hero you are? Single mother with three kids in the worst grief of her life, and you go out and get a tough job like that. You’re pretty amazing! You know that?”

  “It was tough times all around. But we made it, and we’re still here.” Emily smiled warmly, as she got up and went to the refrigerator. “So, big hungry or little hungry?”

  As Emily cooked up a moderately big breakfast, Jane stared out the window. The morning was well along now, and the sun had burned off the earlier dawn haze. There were no clouds in sight. It was a perfect fall day, the first day of November, All Saints’ Day.

  After breakfast, Jane and her mother went out shopping. They had some major girl time to catch up on. At the mall, Jane looked appraisingly at Emily: they were the same height and about the same weight. Emily’s hair was no longer strawberry — it had gone significantly gray, peach actually — “God’s peroxide,” she called it.

  Looking at Emily, Jane could see exactly what she would look like in twenty-five years. “Geez, Ma, look at us! I’m like your clone! I guess I know what I’ll look like when I’m your age. Could be worse!” she smiled.

  “Excuse me?!” Emily laughed, “It could be a lot worse!”

  After they shopped, Emily took Jane to a nice coffee shop in Clinton. She told Jane that having worked in kitchens for the past twenty-five years, she happened to know that this particular establishment kept a very tidy back kitchen. Jane poured out all of her heart regarding Mark, how fast the relationship had gone, and her fears about the future.

  Emily merely said, “Jane, if you love this man, it will all work out. You don’t have to be afraid — look at me: I raised three kids, and I was catatonic for five years. Love is all you need. It’s all that matters.”

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  When Mark left Rachel, he went directly to the barn. He wanted to do what he could for Jane, so he took care of the morning chores as she had asked. He didn’t expect Mac at the barn. It must have been after three in the morning when he’d called Mark for a car. Mark should have felt relieved that Mac recommended he send Manuel, he supposed, but he didn’t. He knew he’d have to talk to Veronica and today — later, after she had time to recover herself. It was best that at least one of them got some rest.

  Since it had been Halloween, Jane had decided to blanket all the horses and leave them out overnight, not her usual practice, but they’d be fine in the field for once. She had said, so full of happiness yesterday — my God, was it only yesterday — that if they left the horses out, that they’d be able to sleep late.

  He felt his chest ache at the memory of her so happy. Unbelievably, it would only have been their second night together, yet Mark could not imagine ever sleeping without her, now. He slid the large door open on the north side of the barn, and turned on the lights. He went up into the loft and tossed down twenty bales of hay. Then he went out and pulled the truck around and loaded half the bales in the back. Jane had put the horses in various pastures, all farther away from the barn than the near pasture — the one she’d finally succeeded in seeding, thanks to Mac’s tractor repairs. She was resting that pasture until spring. The Hanoverian stallion greeted him nickering and tossing his head, eager for the hay. Mark tossed him and his companion donkey six strands and checked their water trough.

  He tossed hay to the rest of the horses in their pastures and paddocks and checked their troughs as well. He looked at them to be sure no horses were down, and that they were all grazing. The sun was brightening and warming the morning as he raked the yard and stacked the remaining hay in the aisle of the barn and then swept up all of the loose hay that had blown about. He went into the office and checked messages for Jane. He wrote everything down for her. There was nothing urgent, and when he finished, he threw his head in his arms and sobbed on the desk.

  He collected himself, and went to the feed room to get the grain ready for the night feeding. If Mac were still tired, Mark would take the horses in tonight. He knew Jane would want it that way, and he’d check them, just as she would have, against any injuries they might have incurred in the field. As he finished prepping the night rations and was closing the feed room door, Mac walked into the barn.

  “Mac,” Mark started, “you didn’t have to come to the barn today. I meant to tell you that last night.”

  “It’s not a problem. I thought you’d like to know, Veronica is fine, just a bump on the head. Mark, I have to tell you something. Maybe we could sit down in the club room for a minute.”

  The two big men went up a small flight of stairs to the club room. It was designed for fancier guests to observe their kids’ lessons and for VIP guests to enjoy an unobstructed view of the horse shows and clinics Nora and now Jane hosted. At the far end, there was a neat galley kitchen and a well-stocked bar, where Mark now ambled. “Can I offer you a drink, Mac? I know it’s still early in the day.”

  “Whatever you’re having is fine,” Mac said.

  Mark pulled down two snifters and poured his father’s favorite Louis XIII Rémy Martin cognac.

  “You don’t mess around, do you?” Mac observed, holding his snifter up to Mark, “Cheers.”

  “Yah, I’ll probably regret this,” Mark said leaving off the “too” at the last instant.

  Mac swirled the cognac in the snifter, and took a small sip, and sharply eyeing Mark, he observed, “Well, there’s one thing you won’t have to regret, Mark. Veronica ain’t pregnant.”

  Mark looked at Mac with his eyes popping and his jaw dropping, “What do you mean she’s not pregnant?” he exclaimed.

  “She ain’t pregnant. The home pregnancy test was defective. The doctors did a blood test. That’s it. There ain’t no baby.”

  He should have felt relieved. He did feel relieved. But as suddenly as he knew his life was back on track, Mark also knew he did not want to run out on anyone any longer. He wondered how many women he’d known who had felt just like Veronica — just as angry and upset, but elected to lick their wounds on their own.

  “Jesus,” he thought, “was Jane one of them?”

  He downed his brandy.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Rachel was relieved when Mark stopped back at the farmhouse with the news that Veronica was, in fact, not pregnant after all. “It’s a pity Jane isn’t here, Mark, and of course she doesn’t have her cell. Do you want me to tell her the news when she gets back? Or would you rather?”

  “Whichever of us sees her first — I don’t want her not knowing the truth a second longer than necessary,” Mark said firmly. “And Rachel, tell her … tell her … ” he trailed off, “tell her to call me, if she would, please.”

  After Mark left, Rachel tried to stay awake, but she was so sleepy, she dozed off. She heard the kitchen door open, awakening her from the most astonishing dream … She was in an arena in Jane’s barn, and she turned to look toward a lighted doorway. In trotted the most magnificently, startling white horse — so white, in fact, the rising sun shone pink on it, like Alpine glow on the peaks of the Dent de Midi she’d once seen in Switzerland.

  The white horse would have been a terrible beauty to behold, but seemed at the same time too wise and wondrous a presence to frighten her. She saw Jane in her Queen of the Damned costume and Veronica in her Morticia costume standing on either side of the white horse. And Mark, Abby, Ben, and Mac were also there, and she too was swept into their circle. The white horse nickered to them in what appeared to Rachel a most loving recognition. And
then he danced among them, nuzzling them in turn. Rachel awoke weeping from the sheer weight of the love she felt, just as Jane walked into the kitchen and closed the door behind her.

  • • •

  Rachel went to the kitchen to see who had come in and was relieved to find Jane back. She put the kettle on to make her some tea and plunked down at the kitchen island. As the tea was steeping, she told Jane the news that Veronica was not pregnant after all. “Evidently, the home pregnancy test gave a false positive — note to self, always buy two,” she warned mirthfully.

  Jane was stunned at this turn of events. “Not pregnant? That’s great! Although,” Jane confessed, “I had made up my mind to be the best stepmother a child could want.”

  “So you determined you’d stand by Mark,” Rachel smiled, “good on you, Jane. Go talk to Mark, sweetie. He’s ragged about you,” Rachel advised.

  “I will. I’m bone weary, but I’ll go to him.” Jane finished her tea and fixed herself up a bit. She brushed her teeth and splashed cold water on her face. Rachel hugged her as she left and told her not to worry. Everything would be fine.

  Jane walked slowly to the house. The bright day had become a clear evening. It was so dark near the farmhouse, she craned her head back to look at the stars. She could see the great wheel, the Milky Way. Just then, someone must have turned on the Halloween lights, and the Hannon’s house rose in the distance, glowing like a castle in a fairy tale. How warm and inviting the house looked, its orange glow against the cobalt, star-filled sky. Jane wondered what they would do for Christmas.

  Phillips admitted her, just as Mac, who nodded to her, was leaving. “Good evening, Jane,” Phillips said. “Mark is in the library. I know he wants to see you.”