Mended Hearts

by Ruth Logan Herne

  Megan shrugged, but still looked delighted. “We agreed to wait until we got to three months along because my mother miscarried twice. We just wanted to be as sure as we could be that things were okay.”

  Totally understandable. Hannah looked at the wall calendar. “And?”

  “Three months tomorrow.”

  “Yee-haw!” Hannah spun her around, gave her another hug, then headed back to the kitchen, laughing. “I knew it, of course, but I’m glad you finally owned up.”

  “Oh, I figured you did.” Megan nodded ruefully. “Something about morning sickness and pasty white skin says so much.”

  “Yup. So. End of March?”

  “Thereabouts. And Danny’s family is over-the-top excited. My parents are dancing in the streets and Grandma Mary…” Megan grinned, her face a telltale sign of her great-grandma’s approval. “She’s hoping for a girl, named for her, of course.”

  “Mary.” Hannah smiled. The sound of the soft, Biblical name was a whisper on the wind, hinting new life, new beginnings and established roots. Wonderful things. “I love it.”

  “Me, too. Danny was a little goofy about it, thinking the name was kind of forced on me, but I love tradition and family heirlooms. And what’s a better gift for a newborn child than a timeless name?”

  “I agree.” Hannah headed for the door. “I’ll be back in a few minutes. Anything you want? Need?”

  Megan shook her head, her look of satisfaction born from within. “Nope. I’m good.”

  Pure delight pushed Hannah’s steps. Just shy of the post office, a voice called her name. She turned and spotted a certain science teacher. “Miss Dinsmore, hello.”

  “You remembered.”

  “Of course.” She smiled and put a hand out. “Nice to see you.”

  “And you.” Miss Dinsmore half smiled, half frowned at Hannah’s left cheek. “Been working with pink frosting today?”

  “Oh, no. Seriously?” Hannah scrubbed her hand over her cheek and sighed. “Wouldn’t you think I’d know enough to check my face in the mirror?”

  “Well, it’s fine now,” Miss Dinsmore assured her, falling into step alongside. “And my car is parked around the corner, so I’ll walk with you, if you don’t mind?”

  “Not at all.”

  “Lovely day. A nice hint of cool and crisp, tinged with warmth, the sun still high enough to toast the air.”

  “For a few weeks yet.”

  “Yes.” Miss Dinsmore breathed deep, her gaze trained on the kaleidoscopic hills that backdropped Wellsville. “I love fall.”

  Hannah was just about to agree, the words on the edge of her tongue, but then she realized it was an old feeling, now abandoned.

  She had loved fall. And she never minded winter. As an athlete she’d embraced cooler days for multiple reasons, but fall’s show of color, the chilled starlit nights, the wanton winds of change, tempestuous storms pummeling trees and homes… She’d loved it all.

  “Fall’s hard for you, I expect.”

  Hannah’s suspicions were confirmed. Miss Dinsmore knew who she was. “How did you know?”

  “Two ways. I was on the hiring committee for the library and your background check offered your history at Ironwood.”

  Hannah knew it would, but no one had said a word. Not to her at least. “And the second way?”

  “I kept a scrapbook with my class back then of what you and your class accomplished. Your classroom projects on the effect of mood-altering meds on the human psyche were wonderful.”

  But not wonderful enough, Hannah thought, a wellspring of emotion surging upward.

  “And the fact that so many of your students came to an understanding of the cooperative inner workings of the human brain and of nature versus nurture were just wonderful. Were they all honors students?”

  “No.” Hannah took a breath and paused, seeing the sights and sounds of Wellsville while her brain wrapped itself around memories of Ironwood High. “Most of them were regular students, although a lot of them were overachievers in things that may or may not have been school oriented.”

  “I’ve had my share of those.” Miss Dinsmore nodded, agreeable. “We always called them late bloomers, and it’s not a bad analogy in retrospect. Sometimes we tend to overanalyze what history has taught us are simple aberrations of the norm.”

  “Which is exactly what our study showed.” Hannah sent her a look. “But then we learned the hard way that nothing is really simple.”

  “And that no one teacher, one school, one community has all the answers,” Miss Dinsmore replied, matter-of-fact. “I trained myself to recognize that when I get a student at age fourteen, I have four limited years of influence on his or her life. The family has had fourteen years to mess the kid up or strengthen him.” She stepped closer, stopped Hannah’s progress with a firm hand and looked deep into her eyes. “In other words, it’s not our fault. Rainbows occur because of a finite grouping of events dependent on time of day, angle of light, prismatic function and saturation. If it takes all those accidents of time to make such a natural occurrence, how much more must it take to twist a child’s thinking into total lack of conscience?”

  “You’re saying it wasn’t my fault.” Hannah tilted her head back, eyeing the sky, visualizing Miss Dinsmore’s arced covenant in her head. “And I know that fundamentally. But I can’t silence the cries. Or the sounds of the gun being fired repeatedly while I did nothing to stop them.”

  “You kept safe those you could,” Miss Dinsmore offered, empathetic. “No one could have saved them all, not in a human context. That’s why we’ve got God.” She shifted her gaze, then brought it back, an air of quiet satisfaction marking her expression. “I’ve worked here a long time. I’ve made a difference. I know that. So I’m doubly glad you’ve come along now. I don’t believe in fate, Hannah, but I put great stock in God’s plan. His timing.”

  Hannah smiled, a bit of her gloom slipping away with this open discussion. Funny, she hadn’t realized that not talking about Ironwood kept the memories closer at hand. Somehow sharing this information and testimony made her heart and soul feel lighter. “Megan was telling me the same thing at the candy store just minutes ago. I’m going to trust that you’ve both been put in my path to knock some much-needed common sense into me.”

  Miss Dinsmore grinned. “Oh, I think you’re well equipped with common sense, but when our emotional well-being gets broken, it’s hard to rebuild. It takes time. Prayer. Patience. And a good-looking guy is never a bad thing.” A look of female appreciation brightened Miss Dinsmore’s aging features.

  “A—” Hannah turned, saw Jeff approaching them looking both surprised and pleased, then tried to contain the blush of pleasure she felt at his approach, his presence, his easy but purposeful gait. “Hey.”

  “Hey, yourself.” Jeff stopped short of them and angled them a look of mock suspicion. “This isn’t an impromptu committee meeting, is it? With no quorum? No reading of the minutes? Aren’t there rules about such things?”

  “Would it bother you if there were?” Miss Dinsmore’s fond expression marked him as a favorite, but that was no surprise. Jeff had charm.

  Or was he just another glib schmoozer, standing on the backs of whomever, wherever, to get where he wanted to be? Hannah’s past record said her judgment in men might be off.

  “Not in the least, especially with such lovely ladies.”

  Hannah made a choking sound and stepped back, only half faking. “Is that the best you’ve got?”

  He settled a look on her that said plenty. “I’m saving the best I’ve got for our date tonight.”

  “And on that note—” Miss Dinsmore winked at Jeff, smiled at Hannah, patted her hand and gave it the lightest squeeze of understanding “—I’ll leave the antics of youth to the young. Nice seeing you, Hannah.”

  “And you, Miss Dinsmore.”

  “Jane, please. For most of the area I’ll always be Miss Dins more, but I’d love for you to call me Jane.”

  “T
hen I will, Jane.” On impulse, Hannah reached out and hugged the older woman. “Thank you.”

  “No thanks needed.”

  Oh, but there were. They both knew it. Hannah appreciated Jane’s gentle compassion for what it was. God-sent. Perfectly timed. They exchanged smiles of understanding.

  Jeff turned her way, his expression quizzical, inquiring and totally good-looking. “You girls were discussing…?”

  “Men.”

  “Ha.”

  Hannah grinned, turned and continued toward the post office just to see if he’d follow.

  And he did.

  “Any special men?”

  “I don’t know any special men.”

  He faked a shot to the heart. “‘Teach not thy lips such scorn, for it was made for kissing, lady, not for such contempt.’”

  Hannah laughed. “You like Shakespeare?”

  “Some, not all. Great quotes, though.”

  “I’m a Franklin fan myself.”

  “Sage, science and certainty. Your Philadelphia roots are showing.”

  “A little.” Hannah shrugged. “Since my father works for the university, my tuition was reduced, and he’s got a pair of rental properties near campus so I didn’t have housing expenses.”

  “That’s a huge plus right there. Sweet education, Hannah.”

  “It was.” She stopped just shy of the post office and turned his way, determined to keep this light. “So, about tonight—”

  “Wear the blue. Please.”

  “Whereas I was thinking of canceling.”

  “Nope.” Without a moment’s hesitation he leaned in and scraped a gentle kiss to her cheek, his lips grazing ever so slightly. The spontaneous gesture tweaked everything she’d put on hold a few years before, sedated emotions resuscitated by his gaze, his voice, his touch. “No chickening out. Promise?”

  A part of her wanted to do just that, but another part longed to push aside old pain and shadowed loss. “I’m not a chicken.”

  “Then don’t act like it.” He said the words lightly, but the challenge shone through his eyes and the set of his jaw. “I’ll pick you up at seven-thirty.”

  “Eight.”

  “Nope. I’m not losing a half hour with you if I don’t have to. Grandma Mary’s closes at six on Saturdays—that’s plenty of time for you to get home and do whatever it is women do. And since God gifted you with good looks, I’d say your prep time is minimal. Seven-thirty. And dress casual. In the blue top.” He stepped back, raised a hand in salute and strode away, leaving her watching. Waiting. Wondering.

  But smiling.

  And when he turned at the corner, he caught her watching his retreat. He grinned and winked, his confident attitude part bane, part blessing.

  But sometimes confidence equaled selfishness, and she didn’t dare let herself mistake one for the other again. Since she was obviously drawn to strong, successful types, men not unlike her father, she needed to be careful in matters of the heart. Her parents got along quite well despite their failed marriage, and their second marriages had both worked out so far.

  But the little girl inside Hannah wanted the happily ever after, a knight in shining armor.

  She finally felt like she belonged in Allegany County. She loved Wellsville; its gradual resurgence sparked all kinds of new business ventures. And Jamison was too sweet for words, the historic town embracing its past to provide for its future.

  One broken heart could taint all that. When she was on her own, she could drum up a gazillion reasons why exploring this attraction to Jeff Brennan made no sense at all.

  Ten seconds in his presence chased them all away.

  So, okay. She’d go out with him tonight. Spar with him. Laugh with him. Have an easy conversation with a sharp, good-looking guy who made her heart jump at a simple word or a long, slow look.

  But no way was she wearing the blue.

  Chapter Eight

  “You wore it.” He hoped his look of appreciation said more than his lame words. “Thank you.”

  “It was the only thing clean.”

  “I don’t believe you for a minute, but I refuse to gloat because good guys don’t do that on a first date.”

  She shifted her position to meet his gaze. “I told you that other fiasco wasn’t a date. So now you agree.”

  “Now that I’ve got you in my car for a real date, I concur. But it got you here, and that was not an easily won battle.”

  “Nothing’s been won, Jeff. We’re just…going out. Tonight. On one single date.”

  “Honey, every long-term commitment starts with one single date, doesn’t it?”

  “Or a guilty verdict by a jury of your peers,” she shot back, her look saying she wasn’t sure which was worse, dating him or serving a long-term sentence in a federal penitentiary.

  He laughed out loud. “Either way, I’ve got you here. Now what am I going to do with you?”

  “You said casual, so that limits your possibilities. And don’t tell me you don’t have every minute of tonight planned out. Guys like you always do.”

  “Guys like me…” he mused, keeping his eyes on the twisting road, but letting his voice weigh her word choice. “Who hurt you, Hannah?”

  “Off topic.”

  “Call it a change of subject.”

  “Then consider it off-limits.”

  “For now.”

  “Jeff, I—”

  She twisted in her seat. Once again he knew not to push. “How do you like your steak?”

  “I’m a vegan.”

  “Wrong answer.”

  “I don’t eat meat for humanitarian purposes.”

  He lifted a brow. “Since this morning when you wolfed down a bacon, egg and cheese muffin?”

  “You’re stalking me?”

  He smiled, amused. “If stalking means I passed you on the street as I was heading to my mother’s place, then, yes, I guess I am.” He eased the car onto the entrance ramp for I-86 and headed west. He shifted the car, then his attention. “I didn’t mean to put you on the spot, so food seemed a safe change of subject. Okay?”

  “Maybe.”

  “Pretty please?”

  “You’re such a little boy inside. How did your mother resist your charms?”

  “Didn’t. Still doesn’t. You’ll find that out when you meet her. She’s doing a double Austen sponsorship for the library and she’s agreed to head up the food organizing for the Harvest Dinner.”

  “Wow.”

  Jeff frowned. “You didn’t ask why a double Austen? I did.”

  Hannah noted the quizzical look and had to remind herself to take a breath. Even in profile the guy was a stunner. Great hair, strong forehead, laugh lines edging his eyes, perfect nose, square jaw. Jeff Brennan was every woman’s dream choice to father their children. She cleared her throat and the imagery of two Jeff Brennan “Mini-Mes” wearing matching polos in her head. “She picked two Austens because Jane Austen was an amazing female novelist who set the bar for great romantic comedy and women’s fiction. Do you know anyone who reads Fitzgerald?”

  “Lots of people.”

  “Anyone you’d like to spend more than five minutes with?”

  He grinned. “There you have me.”

  “Exactly.” She pressed forward to make her point, humor coloring her tone. “Your mother sounds quite astute to me. And I like my steak medium rare. With onion rings.”

  “The only way to eat it.” He reached out a hand to cover hers, just for a moment, but long enough for her to feel the blanket of warmth and zings of attraction rolling through her system.

  Why him?

  Why now?

  When I was waiting quietly for the Lord, His heart was turned to me, and He gave ear to my cry. The sweet psalm enveloped Hannah, words of promise and patience.

  Part of her felt undeserving, but these last few weeks had diminished the old negativity somewhat. Without the shadow of guilt looming like a gathering storm, she saw possibilities with greater clarity, the prospect
of a future she’d denied herself to this point. “And do they have baked potatoes?”

  Jeff smiled. “Idaho or sweet?”

  “Either.”

  “They do. Are they on your training regimen?”

  “I don’t have one.”

  “Anyone who runs daily has one whether they recognize it or not.”

  “Not true.” Hannah settled back into the seat and watched him. “I run to pray. To think. To absolve.”

  “Penance?” The tiny clench to his jaw said he had read too much into her statement. Or maybe just enough.

  “I prefer the term therapy. I keep it controlled because I know I’m a little OCD. I like to do my best at everything and that can become obsessive. So I don’t allow it to.”

  “Hence the onion rings and baked potato.”

  She grinned in agreement. “And don’t forget dessert.”

  His smile said more than words could. “I’m looking forward to it, Hannah.”

  She waved a hand as they angled onto Route Sixteen. “I’ve never been to Olean.”

  “Seriously?” He glanced her way, the quieter road allowing him more leeway. “How long have you lived here?”

  She hedged. “Three years.”

  “Where do you shop?”

  “Wellsville. Jamison. Online.” His expression said her response surprised him again, prompting an explanation. “I don’t shop much.”

  “Another anomaly.”

  “Not true. I just have simple needs.”

  His appreciative look dispelled her twinge of concern. “In your case, simple says style.” He pulled into a parking spot, climbed out, rounded the car and opened her door, the action old-fashioned and sweet. As she stepped out, he reached for her hand and held it overlong, his warm expression smiling into her eyes, her heart, thawing a corner she’d kept on ice for too long. He winked, grinned and tugged her toward the Millhouse. “Let’s eat. I’m starved.”

  She couldn’t help but smile back. He tugged her closer and swept a gentle kiss to her cheek. “You’re amazing, Hannah.”

  Right then she felt amazing, invigorated by his attraction. For tonight she’d put aside concerns that echoed from her disaster with Brian. For tonight she’d dwell in the here and now, a move that seemed easier in Jeff’s presence. For tonight, she’d be Hannah Moore, librarian and fundraiser, out on a date with a delightful man. For this one night, it would be enough. And it was, for about thirty seconds, right up until they stepped inside the gracious and updated eatery in the former grain mill storage facility.