Ribbon of Years

by Robin Lee Hatcher

  She frowned as she watched Miriam. The girl sang, her expression innocent and sweet. But there was something going on in that pretty little head of hers, something not quite so innocent.

  If only Eliza knew what it was.

  Miriam lay on her belly, her arms hanging over the side of the bed as she stared down at the movie poster on the floor.

  Come to Hollywood, Garbo seemed to say to her. Come and be a star like me.

  She would have to make plans. She would have to start to work on Jacob. If she was careful and diligent, perhaps they could be on their way before August.

  A knock at her door caused Miriam to gasp. She hastily rolled up the stolen poster and pushed it under her bed, then sat up. "Yes?"

  The door opened, revealing her dad. "Don't you think you should be helping your mother in the kitchen?"

  "She said she didn't need me."

  He raised an eyebrow.

  "I guess I could set the table."

  "That's my girl." He held out his arm toward her and waited.

  Miriam slid off her bed, swallowing an impatient sigh. She had a million things to do, and she had to set the dinner table. Whatever happened to resting on Sunday? She'd bet Garbo never had to set the table.

  "I thought Pastor Desmond was particularly articulate this morning," her dad said as he draped his arm over her shoulders. They started down the hall. "Didn't you?"

  "Mmm-hmm." She wondered what the sermon topic had been.

  "It was a timely message. One we should take to heart."

  She nodded, pretending agreement and understanding.

  "You're young yet, pixie. Your life's been without serious storms. But they will come. They come to us all, sooner or later, because we live in a fallen, imperfect world. If you aren't anchored to the Rock, you'll be battered and bruised by the winds."

  Sure, Dad, I know. I know. I don't need any more preaching today.

  "I pray that your storms will be few and far between." He kissed the crown of her head.

  "I pray the same for you, Dad." She smiled at him.

  He gave her a squeeze. "Thanks."

  The two of them reached the dining room just as Jacob showed up at the front door. Miriam saw him through the screen before he had a chance to knock.

  "Hi, Jacob," she called. She looked at her dad. "Can Jacob join us for dinner?"

  "Sure. I'll tell your mother. You set an extra place."

  Miriam hurried to the door. As she pushed open the screen, she whispered, "We need to talk. Can you stay and eat? Dad said it was okay."

  She knew what his answer would be. Jacob was always hungry. Maybe he really did have a hollow leg, the way her mom said.

  A short while later, the Gresham family, plus Jacob McAllister, sat around the dining-room table. The pot roast, cooked with onions, potatoes, and carrots, filled the house with a delicious fragrance.

  Miriam's father said, "Amen," at the close of the blessing, and Jacob's stomach growled in unison. Everybody laughed, even Jacob.

  "You'd better start, son." Frank passed the vegetable platter to their guest.

  "I didn't have a chance to speak to your mother at church, Jacob." Eliza took a warm roll from the basket. "How is she?"

  "Fine, ma'am. Although she says her arthritis is acting up again. She's had to lay off her needlework for a week or so."

  Frank asked, "Did your father hear about that beef-packing job over in Nampa?"

  "Yeah, he heard." Jacob helped himself to a slice of roast beef. "He applied for it, but they hired somebody younger. He says nobody's interested in a man whose life's work's been on a farm." He glanced at Miriam, then away. "I'm gonna start work for Mr. Tucker pretty soon. I'll be clerkin' and learnin' to sell insurance."

  Selling insurance? To Miriam that sounded worse than farming. Maybe the hours weren't as bad, but it had to be boring. Poor Jacob. Besides, few people had extra money to use for buying insurance policies these days, so Mooney Tucker couldn't be paying much.

  Why, I'll be doing Jacob a favor, getting him out of River Bluff. Maybe I won't even have to say I'll marry him. Maybe he's looking for an excuse to get away.

  "I can't, Miriam," Jacob said, his gaze fixed on the river, where sunlight glinted off the water's surface. "Even if I wanted to—which I don't—I couldn't leave now. I've got to start my new job soon. I've got to help my folks out. The pay might not be much, but it's somethin'. Maybe next year, after my dad finds work, maybe then I could go."

  "You won't go even if . . ." She took hold of his hand. "Even if I promise to marry you when we get there?"

  He couldn't believe she would make such an offer. He turned his head and looked straight into her eyes. "Not even then, Miriam," he answered, his voice thick with longing.

  "But . . . but you love me, don't you?"

  Jacob knew it wouldn't occur to Miriam that he could love her and not do what she wanted him to.

  "Don't you love me?" she persisted.

  "Yeah, I love you. You know I do." He shoved his hands into his pockets. It was the only way he could keep himself from touching her, from trying to take her into his arms and kiss her, the way he'd wanted to kiss her for too long. "You're barely fifteen, Miriam. You're too young to get married and definitely too young to strike out on your own. You're not thinking straight. The whole world is out of work. What makes you think you can get a job in Hollywood? There's plenty of pretty girls down there already. Prettier girls than you who can't get work in the movies."

  Her eyes widened and her cheeks flushed.

  He felt an unexpected spark of anger for the hurt she'd caused him, for making him say something that would hurt her in return. "Can you tell me that you want to marry me, Miriam? Tell me you love me. Tell me you want me to kiss you. Tell me you want to be my wife."

  "Jacob, I . . . I . . . of course I love you."

  He knew what she added silently: as my best friend. "If you loved me, you wouldn't force me to choose between your silly dream and my family."

  Miriam took a step back from him. "Well then, you can go to the devil for all I care, Jacob McAllister. I'm going to California, with or without you. I thought you were my friend." Tears fell from her eyes. "I believed you when you said you loved me, but it was just a lie."

  "Miriam—" He reached for her arm.

  "Don't!" She jerked away. "Don't ever try to touch me again." She spun on her heel. "I hate you. I'll hate you forever." Then she ran away from him.

  For the rest of his life, Jacob would feel a sharp pain in his chest whenever he stood beside that river and remembered.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  THE DRIVER OF THE PICKUP TRUCK AND HIS WIFE WERE SHOUTING AT each other in Spanish. Having daydreamed through her foreign language classes for the past two years, Miriam couldn't understand what they said. Besides, she had a splitting headache, a condition made worse by the squawking chickens in the crates that shared the truck bed with her. The intense heat, glaring sun, and swirling dust didn't help matters either.

  And she was hungry. Miserably hungry. Why hadn't she brought along more food?

  Tears welled in her eyes, and she bit her lower lip to keep them from falling. She could almost hear Jacob saying, "I told you so."

  But she was determined not to think about Jacob. Not him or her father, her mother, her brother, or anybody else in River Bluff. She was pursuing her dreams. She wouldn't get stuck in a nothing little town, living a nothing little life, like the rest of them. Not Miriam Gresham. No, indeed.

  Last night had been her first on the road, and though she hated to admit it, even to herself, she'd been terrified. She hadn't slept a wink. Every shadow cast by the first-quarter moon had promised to be a ravenous wolf—or something much worse!

  At least she'd managed to catch a ride this morning. While sitting in the bed of this truck wasn't luxurious, it was better than the alternative. Yesterday she'd walked for miles and miles without seeing a single automobile.

  She wiped the tears from her cheeks, disg
usted with herself for letting them fall. She had no cause to complain. She wasn't walking at the moment, and if she was careful, she had enough money in her pocket to see her to Hollywood. By her calculations, she must be in Nevada by now. California was just one state to the west. She was almost there.

  "I'm not too young," she muttered, glaring at the nearest chicken. "Shirley Temple's already a star, and she's only a little girl. For pity sakes, there's girls my age who're married and having babies." She crossed her arms over her chest and squeezed her eyes tightly shut. "I'll show Jacob. I'll show 'em all. I'll be famous. My life's gonna be one big adventure. They'll see."

  The right rear wheel dropped into a rut in the road, throwing her to the side and smacking her head against the cab. The back of the truck fishtailed, slamming Miriam's shoulder against one of the crates. The driver's wife screeched, as did the majority of the chickens.

  Miriam didn't try to fight the tears any longer. It was time for a good cry.

  Small-town life fit Del Tucker like a glove. Plenty of his boyhood friends had taken off for the cities as soon as they could, but not Del. He planned to stay in River Bluff for the rest of his life.

  His aunt Theodora, who'd raised Del after his folks died, hoped he would marry the Farnsdale girl. He'd lost count of the number of potlucks and church socials Aunt Theo had dragged him to this year where—by some "stroke of luck," as his aunt put it—Nancy Farnsdale was also present.

  Poor Aunt Theo. Her matchmaking had gone unrewarded. As nice as Nancy was, Del had no romantic interest in her. He figured he'd know the right gal when he saw her, and he hadn't seen her yet.

  Del leaned back in the desk chair and fanned himself with a wanted poster. The police station was a regular sweatbox today. Del had opened the windows on the outside chance a breeze would come up. So far, none had.

  "You got that report finished for the mayor?" Wyatt Jagger, the police chief, called from the back room.

  "Yes, sir. Finished it an hour ago."

  Chief Jagger appeared in the doorway. He smoothed one side of his handlebar mustache between index finger and thumb, then with the opposite hand, patted his soft belly where it protruded over his silver belt buckle. "I'm going to the Bluff Diner to git me a bite to eat. Hold down the fort 'til I git back."

  "Yes, sir."

  Chief Jagger plucked his felt hat off the coatrack. "Won't be long."

  "Take your time."

  That was another thing Del liked about small-town life, he mused after the chief left the station. Police work in River Bluff was slow and easy, more about helping the good folks hereabouts than about hunting down hardened criminals destined for the state penitentiary.

  Of course, there was the matter of the stolen movie poster. Petty theft, perhaps, but still . . .

  As if summoned by his thoughts, the door opened, and Frank and Eliza Gresham—parents of Del's main suspect—entered. Immediately noting the distraught look on Eliza's face and the frown wrinkling Frank's brow, Del stopped fanning himself and straightened in his chair.

  "Del," Frank began, "Miriam's run away."

  Del stood. "When?"

  Frank glanced at his wife, who answered, "Yesterday morning, we think. She told me she was going to the river to read where it was cool." Eliza twisted a handkerchief between her hands. "She does that a lot in the summertime. I had no reason to worry."

  "Of course not." Del motioned toward a couple of chairs, but neither of the Greshams bothered to sit.

  "She didn't come to the drugstore for the lunch hour like she usually does," Frank said. "We assumed she'd lost track of time. I wasn't happy about it, but—" he abruptly concluded his sentence with a shrug.

  "What makes you think she ran away? Did she leave you a note?"

  "No," her parents answered in unison.

  Del didn't mention that occasionally tramps camped along the river when they were passing through the county. He didn't say that some of them were unsavory characters who might take advantage of a pretty young woman, were they to chance upon her.

  "It was something she said to her brother," Eliza continued.

  "And what was that?"

  "She told him it was high time he started helping out more at the store because she wasn't going to be around to do it."

  Del frowned, thinking it wasn't much to go on.

  "A few of her things are gone," Frank said softly, then sighed. "There's money missing from my cash register, too." He glanced at his wife. "And . . . and we found this under her bed." He held out the stolen movie poster.

  "She talks all the time about wanting to be an actress." Eliza sniffled, then pressed her head against her husband's shoulder. "We hoped she'd outgrow it."

  The pickup was gone.

  Miriam stared at the empty spot where the truck had been only a few minutes before. The farmer had stopped arguing with his wife long enough to pull into a filling station for gas. Miriam had taken the opportunity to dash into the nearby restaurant to use the rest room. When she came out, the truck and its squabbling inhabitants had disappeared.

  They left me?

  She glanced around, but the truck was nowhere to be seen.

  I don't know where I am.

  This wide spot in the road couldn't be called a town. It was only a few buildings where two state highways intersected. The gas station and restaurant were more or less one business. There was a tiny mercantile across the street and a bar kitty-corner from it.

  From here, Miriam could look for miles in any direction and see nothing but flat country covered with silvery green sagebrush. Empty, desolate, lonely. A wasteland without trees, water, or civilization.

  She wanted to cry, but she determinedly swallowed her tears. She wouldn't feel sorry for herself. So help her, she wouldn't.

  Miriam turned toward the restaurant. She was starving. She supposed this was as good a time as any to eat. Then she would ask which was the road to California.

  Surely she'd be able to find another willing farmer to help her out. One without a screaming wife and crates full of squawking chickens.

  "Well?" Officer Tucker prompted, looking imposing in his police uniform, his brows pulled together in a demanding frown.

  "I don't know where she is," Jacob answered.

  "But you do know where she's going. Don't you?"

  Jacob glanced at the ground. Should he lie to protect Miriam, or should he tell the truth in order to protect her from herself?

  "Her parents are worried sick, Jacob. Is she on her way to California? That's what she had in mind, isn't it?"

  She already hated him because he wouldn't go with her. How much worse would it be if he told where she was going?

  "Jacob." Officer Tucker's hand alighted on his shoulder. "If she's on the road alone, she could get hurt. There's all sorts wandering the highways these days. Miriam's young and she's pretty and she isn't thinking straight. Help us find her."

  The man's words struck deep into Jacob's soul. "All right." He nodded, then lifted his gaze. "Yes, she was headed for California. To Hollywood. But I don't know how or when. We . . . we had a falling-out over it 'cause I wouldn't go with her."

  The officer muttered to himself.

  "You'll find her, won't you?"

  "I'll do my best, Jacob."

  "You might be able to hitch a ride with some of the Echeverria boys in the morning," the waitress told Miriam after hearing how she'd come to be there on foot. "I heard Zigor sayin' they were drivin' down to San Francisco. I think they're goin' tomorrow." She set the plate on the table, then turned toward the kitchen and shouted, "Mikolas, are your brothers headed for Frisco in the mornin'?"

  "Yeah," came a deep voice from the back.

  "They willin' to take another passenger?"

  "How would I know? Why? You leaving me?"

  "I just might, you keep mouthin' off to me that way." The waitress patted the back of Miriam's hand. "You eat. I'll see what I can find out 'bout gettin' you a ride outta here."

  "Thanks
," Miriam whispered.

  "Don't worry," the woman added with a kindly smile. "There's a cot in the back room. You can sleep there tonight. Keep you away from the rattlers."

  Miriam swallowed a lump in her throat. She was hungry and dirty, tired and scared. She didn't know whether to be relieved by this woman's offer of help or wish someone would send her packing for home.

  Eliza came out of the kitchen, drying her hands on a dish towel. She stopped when she saw her husband. He was sitting in his favorite chair, leaning forward, his elbows resting on his thighs, the Anna Karenina poster held between his hands. His expression revealed a tortured heart.

  "Del will find her," she said as she approached him.

  Frank glanced up. There were tears in his eyes. She couldn't remember the last time she'd seen him cry. Was it the night Arledge was born?

  "She did something foolish, but she's got a good head on her shoulders, too." Eliza sat on the arm of Frank's chair. "She'll be okay."

  "I should have seen this coming. You tried to warn me, but I wouldn't listen."

  She wanted to tell him it wasn't his fault, that he'd been a good father to their children, but he was all too ready to cast recriminations at himself at the moment. Later, after Miriam was home, Frank would see . . .

  The breath caught in her throat, a strangled sound of fear. What if Miriam never came home? She pressed a fist to her mouth, fighting sudden panic.

  Frank tossed the poster aside, then drew Eliza from the arm of the chair and onto his lap. He held her close, his face pressed into her hair.

  "Father in heaven, keep our little girl safe," he whispered. "Del doesn't know where she is, but You do. Help him find her. Put Your angels around and about her. We're asking for Your mercy and grace to be shed upon her and this situation, in the name of Jesus." His arms tightened around Eliza. "Please, Father God, hear my heart's cry. Protect our little girl. Keep her safe and bring her home to us. Amen."

  There was no window in the storeroom at the back of the restaurant. Actually, it was little more than a broom closet.