Bookends

by Liz Curtis Higgs

  Her pet disasters quickly forgotten, she froze in place. They’d found it! She was right on this one after all. Right as rain! And it seemed they’d found it in the very spot she’d earmarked.

  Surely Jonas would let her dig to her heart’s content, now that they knew beyond a shadow—

  Wait. What was Jonas saying? That … that what?

  No. She stood there, stunned, looking at his broad-shouldered back, listening to him admonish that real estate—that hussy—to keep the news to herself.

  Jonas had said it loud and clear: “Not a word to Emilie.”

  Her spirit snapped in two at that.

  Jonas Fielding, how could you?

  Her throat clutched into a tight knot. Everything made sense now. Horrible sense. The pets were to keep her busy, keep her away from her research.

  And his kisses, what were they? Designed to melt her heart and her gray matter as well? To keep her so off-kilter she didn’t care about things like a career. Or a future.

  Jonas would never do such a thing!

  Jonas did do such a thing.

  Heartsick, barely able to keep her balance, Emilie tiptoed back through the house. She slipped out the kitchen door, being careful not to let it bang behind her, then sought out Trix for a quick head scratch to keep the retriever’s barking to a minimum.

  “Good girl,” she managed to choke out, realizing she needn’t have worried about keeping her voice down. The stiff breeze muffled Trix’s joyous barks. Her clandestine visit would remain a secret.

  Suddenly, she heard footsteps behind her. Whirling around, she threw her chin up, ready to do battle with Jonas for being such a cad.

  The man behind her lifted his hands in surrender. “Dr. Getz?”

  “Oh! Nathan.” Despite her misery, she found a laugh somewhere deep inside and tossed it out, hoping it might relieve the tension that stretched around them both.

  “Emilie, what’s the matter?”

  He said it so tenderly it triggered the tears that had been threatening for two minutes. “I beg your pardon,” she murmured as she dug in her purse for a tissue.

  Before she could find one, Nathan graciously extended a handkerchief in her direction. New, by the look of it, and blessedly unused. She pivoted around to mask her unladylike honk, then turned and handed it back to him with a grimace. “Sorry.”

  His half-smile was melancholy at best. “ ‘Tears, such as angels weep.’ ”

  Her mouth dropped open. “John Milton?”

  “Paradise Lost, I think.”

  “You know … Milton?”

  Tucking the handkerchief in his pocket, he offered a cool shrug. “One of the few things I remember from freshman English.”

  “Really.” Merely talking about academics calmed her spirit a bit. “Where did you study?”

  “Stanford.”

  Well. “A fine school, Nathan.” She blotted the last vestige of tears with the back of her hand. “What is your degree?”

  The lines around his mouth tightened. “It would’ve been economics. I made it into my junior year, then … ah, pursued a career in professional golf instead.”

  Dry-eyed now, she merely nodded, noticing that though Nathan certainly favored his older brother, he had a hardness about him that Jonas did not. “And has golf been a successful venture for you?”

  His eyes darkened. “Not particularly. I’m hoping that … that God will have something for me here in Lititz.”

  How uncomfortable he seemed! A new relationship with the Lord, a new town, no job yet. It had to be difficult for him. Wanting to offer a reassuring word, she patted his arm. “I’m sure Jonas could put you to good use at Carter’s Run.” Just saying the words made her spine stiffen. “Then again, there are several other courses in Lancaster County. Private ones, I dare say.” Nicer ones. Ones without a Gemeinhaus on them.

  Glancing at the kitchen door behind them, she felt a strong urge to press on toward home and avoid a confrontation she was simply not prepared to handle. “Nathan, I must run, but I have a favor to ask of you.”

  “Oh?” He looked interested, maybe more so than fitting.

  “Would you mind terribly keeping our little visit here to yourself? I was just … walking by and wouldn’t want Jonas to think I was making a nuisance of myself. Do we … have an understanding?”

  His eyes glowed like embers. “I believe we do, Emilie.”

  Her sigh was a flutter of relief. “Wonderful. I hope your future here will be … everything you desire.”

  “Everything I desire,” he repeated, his eyes trained on hers, his smile more than a little unnerving. “I hope so too.” He patted her arm, just as she had his, though it felt more like a caress. “Your visit will be our secret, Emilie. That means you owe me one.”

  “Whatever you say, Nathan.” She stepped back, oddly uncomfortable, and headed pell-mell down the sidewalk.

  “Owed him one,” did she? She sniffed at the mere suggestion. His brother owed her an apology, an explanation, and a quarter acre of land, in that order.

  Nathan watched her hurry down the street, chuckling to himself. Pretty enough woman, but the jittery type. Yeah, he’d keep her dumb little secret—and cash in that chip someday, no doubt.

  Strolling into the house, he threw his jacket over a peg in the hallway and wandered into Jonas’ office, where his brother was finishing up a phone call.

  Jonas groaned. “Phillip, I know this is unorthodox, I know it throws a monkey wrench in your design—I know all of that.” He cupped the mouthpiece and waved Nate in the door. “The thing is, if we don’t do this voluntarily, some historical society will make a fuss and force us to do it after the fact. This way you’ll be a hero, okay? Haven’t you always wanted to be a hero, Phil?”

  Laughing at the man’s response, Jonas sat up and leaned on his desk, apparently winding things up. “Great. You’re a pro, my friend. The best. We’ll make headlines with this unusual eighteenth hole, I guarantee it. I’ll see you at the course Monday at ten. Remember what I told you. Mum’s the word.”

  Jonas hung up and leaned back, throwing his arms out as if to embrace the world and everything in it. “What a day, man. How are you doing?”

  Nathan spread out his hands. “I’m breathin’.”

  Gathering together the messy array of papers on his desk, Jonas stacked them aside, then glanced up, a look of curiosity on his face. “Did I hear you talking to somebody outside?”

  Nathan didn’t bat an eye. “Just a neighbor. So, Jonas, what’s the situation with Carter’s Run?”

  His brother looked at him with a puzzled expression. “Situation? You mean, are we on schedule? That kind of thing?”

  “Nah, I know you gotta be on schedule. You wouldn’t have it any other way, bro.” Nate tried to keep the resentment out of his voice but wasn’t sure he succeeded.

  My perfect big brother. Sometimes it got old.

  Jonas rocked to his feet and grabbed his car keys. “If you mean what were Phillip Nuss and I just talking about, trust me, you don’t wanna know. No offense, but the fewer people in on this one the better. You can keep whatever you heard a secret, right?”

  “Oh, sure. I’m good at keeping secrets.” Better than you know, brother Jonas.

  “That’s great. Let’s go scare up some lunch. Mornings like this can wear a guy out.”

  Nate followed him out to the garage and they climbed in the Explorer, both seats pushed back all the way to accommodate their long legs. The vehicle roared to life and the CD player along with it.

  Nate pitched his voice above the din. “Is that the band from Maryland you were tellin’ me about?”

  “Yeah. Aren’t they great?”

  Banging his hands on the dashboard to the lively bluegrass rhythm, Nate merely nodded. Maryland. One of the many states he’d traveled through last week. Georgia, the Carolinas, Virginia, then Maryland, and finally here. Nice little town, Lititz. Quaint. Kinda sleepy for his taste, but it’d do for the time being.

&nbs
p; One month. Thirty days. Twenty thousand dollars.

  He couldn’t earn it golfing. Couldn’t win it gambling.

  There was only one option left.

  Emilie fumed all the way home, straight through the weekend, and well into Monday, using her outrage as fuel for her writing project.

  The sooner she finished the commemorative book, the sooner she could leave Lititz—and Jonas the fickle-hearted—behind. At the rate she was cranking out pages, she’d complete the project in a total of three months instead of six. Come April 1, with a generous check from the church in hand, she would buy another set of much-used wheels and point them south, toward Winston-Salem, with nary a regret.

  The phone rang several times a day. She ignored it.

  She went to the early service Sunday morning. Alone.

  Her only companions were Olive—who, in truth, was settling down and turning into a perfectly agreeable cat; the ever-quiet Clarice and Clyde; and Victor, who’d also mellowed a bit and only squawked “Naughty cat!” when threatened by a curious paw.

  Tuesday morning when the phone jangled in the kitchen, Emilie barely noticed until she heard Beth’s voice on the answering machine.

  “Emilie? Are you there? Are you okay? I wish you’d call me. I miss you … we all do. All of us.”

  Humph. Emilie had a good idea whom the all might include.

  “Will you please call? I’ve left several messages …”

  Emilie sighed and grabbed the phone before Beth could hang up. “Hello, dear. I’m here.”

  “Thank goodness! I really have been worried, Em.”

  The exhaustion in Beth’s voice made Emilie’s ears perk up and a chill run along her arms. “Beth, now I’m worried. You sound so … weak. Are you okay?”

  “Yes, I’m just … tired. So tired. In fact, I couldn’t go to work this morning.”

  Something was wrong. Emilie glanced down at her frumpy attire and ran a hand through her unkempt hair, then reminded herself that Beth was a friend and didn’t mind about such details. “Look, I’m coming over. Don’t pick up a thing around the house, don’t scrub the watercolors off Sara’s hands, just sit in a comfy chair and leave the door open for me, okay? And I’m bringing lunch. Egg salad work for you?”

  It was then she realized Beth was crying in soft little hiccups. “Y-yes, that w-would be great.” Beth gave a sniff. “I’m sorry, Em, it’s just been so … h-hard lately.”

  Emilie murmured every comforting thought she could come up with while she worked her way around the kitchen, the phone squashed between shoulder and ear. Praying while she listened, she threw together half a dozen sandwiches, grateful for the tray of hard-boiled eggs she’d fixed that morning, never dreaming how soon they’d be put into service.

  The weather felt more like January than March. A bitter wind nipped at her scarf as Emilie made the four-block trek to Spruce Street, praying with each step. Lord, let her be okay. Help me get my eyes off myself and my own pity party and fill me with compassion for my weary friend.

  By the time Emilie pushed open the front door of Beth’s house, her cup was running over with peace and a sense of purpose. She was needed here today, that was certain. The feeling of rightness was remarkable.

  “Beth?” she called out, then spotted her and grinned. “Good for you.”

  As ordered, the young woman was sitting on the couch with her legs propped up. Seated on the floor beside her was Sara, cutting scherenschnitte with her round-tipped scissors.

  “I can do this like Mrs. Bomberger,” Sara said proudly, holding up her white paper design. “See?”

  “A fine job.” Emilie overlooked the oddly-shaped edges and nodded her approval. “Mrs. B. will be very pleased when she sees it. Did you know that Mrs. B. taught me to do that, too, when I was a little girl about your age?”

  Sara’s eyes widened and her body grew unnaturally still. “You were a little girl, Em-ee-lee? When?”

  She laughed. “Ten thousand years ago. Even before your Mama was a little girl.” Emilie perched on the end of the sofa and patted Beth’s feet affectionately. The woman looked wrung out, her eyes drooping, her skin pale. “In fact, when I was a girl, your Mama was just a baby.”

  Sara shook her head with exaggerated swings. “No. My Mama could never be a baby. She’s gonna have a baby.”

  Beth gasped, then frowned. “Sara!”

  The little blond’s cheeks turned as pink as her sweater. “I forgot, Em-ee-lee. That’s a secret.”

  Tears swam in Emilie’s eyes, making it hard to see if Beth was pleased or not that Sara had spilled the beans. “Beth, I had no idea. I’m so happy for you.”

  And she was, truly. Thrilled to her toes. It was her heart and the cold knife of envy thrust deep in its center that were giving her trouble at the moment. She didn’t have a man in her life anymore, let alone the prospect of children.

  Why, when it had never mattered before, did it matter so very much now?

  Emilie smiled through her sheen of tears. “How wonderful, Beth. When will the baby arrive?”

  Beth laughed, in spite of her own spate of tears, and flapped her hand dismissively. “Don’t mind me, I cry at baby food commercials these days. Hormones, you know.” She blew her nose in a handy tissue, then sighed. “I’m four months along. For most women, the first trimester is the most tiring, but for me, I just stay wiped out. More so with this one than with Sara. ’Cause I’m older, I guess.”

  Emilie wrinkled her brow. “Four months? I’m surprised you could keep it a secret so long.”

  Beth nodded, then bent over and whispered loudly in Sara’s ear. “I’ll bet if you take that brown paper bag of Emilie’s in the kitchen, you’ll find something good to eat inside.”

  Sara squealed and grabbed the bag, planting a sticky kiss on a surprised Emilie’s cheek before skipping off to the back of the house.

  “She really likes you, Em. In fact, she watched the Wizard of Oz last night and ran around the house all morning saying, ‘Auntie Em! Auntie Em’!”

  “ ‘Auntie Em,’ is it? I like it. And for the record, I very much like Sara, too.” Loved her, in fact, though it felt odd to say so. It astounded her to realize how her opinion of children had shifted completely, from mild distaste to major delight. Only you could work such a change, Lord. Only you.

  “Emilie, now that Sara’s in the kitchen …”

  Beth’s expression had an intensity that made the hair on Emilie’s neck rise. “What is it, sweetie? Why the secrecy?”

  “I’m being extra cautious because I … I’ve lost two babies.”

  “Oh, Beth! I had—”

  “No idea.” She nodded. “I know. It’s not something I talk about very often. Sara knows about Clayton and Timothy, but we don’t dwell on it. We don’t want her to worry about me or the baby. God’s in charge, and I’ll be fine.”

  Emilie sat speechless. To have conceived and lost a child—twice—was beyond her comprehension. At a loss, she simply took Beth’s hand and held it tight, trying to communicate with touch what she couldn’t put into words.

  “I was in my fourth month with Timothy when we lost him.” Beth ran her other hand lightly over her tummy. “That’s why I’m not taking any chances with this little one. I pushed too hard with Tim, didn’t understand my body’s need for rest.”

  “Don’t blame yourself.” Emilie squeezed her hand gently. “Remember your own words: God’s in charge.”

  “Mmm, right. With Clayton, it was harder still. He was born full term, but lived only five days.” She waved at the calendar, then drew her hand to her mouth, as if holding something inside. “Last Saturday would have been his seventh birthday.”

  All at once, Emilie was overwhelmed with a sense of sorrow. It seemed every drop of Beth’s grief had been poured into her own cup. When she’d prayed to be filled with compassion, she had no idea it would hurt this much.

  “Beth, I’m so sorry.” It was all she could say and everything she felt. “Thank you for telling me. I
… I treasure our friendship.”

  Nodding, Beth squeezed her hand. “Me too. With Drew gone on business so much, I’ve been lonely. Knowing you these last two months has really helped.”

  “You need to let me do more for you, though. Lunch, for example.” Emilie stood and offered her hands to help Beth ease up off the couch, then teased, “Can’t wait to see you do that all by yourself in the ninth month.”

  Beth waved her hand. “Uh-uh. You do not want to see such an awkward mess. Meanwhile, before I get to the waddling stage, let’s eat. I’m ravenous.”

  Emilie started toward the kitchen, but her heart stopped. I won’t be here for Beth’s ninth month. The baby was due in August, but she hoped to leave town in a month, in April. An unfamiliar sadness washed over her. She’d put down roots again in Lititz so quickly, never realizing how it might feel to yank them out of the ground come spring.

  She needed to make the most of this month, then. Do everything she could to help Beth, mend some fences with her mother, pour her heart and soul into her writing for the church. Without a car to tempt her away from her work—or Jonas to tempt her, period—she would surely have time for the things that mattered most.

  Joining Beth and Sara in the kitchen, she bit back a giggle. Sara had set the table herself, using three different patterns of plates, Winnie-the-Pooh juice glasses filled with vivid grape Kool-Aid, and paper towel napkins. The sandwiches sat on the plates, carefully torn in half by little hands that obviously had done their best. Emilie applauded with genuine delight. “What a charming table you’ve set, young lady!”

  Sara beamed and pulled out a chair, waiting for Emilie to take her seat. “Daddy does this for Mama, but only in restaurants.”

  Both women laughed and sat down to lunch, a lively affair made more so by Sara’s incessant chatter about what she was drawing these days, her expectations about kindergarten, and her vast collection of stuffed animals.

  Emilie had to know. “Are they all girl animals?”

  Sara looked at her askance. “No way! You need boy animals too or you won’t have any babies.”