by Dunn, Sharon
Mary bit her lower lip and looked at Tasha.
Damaris peered into the box. “It’s your mom.”
Mary did not take her eyes off Tasha. Tasha’s stomach tightened.
Damaris took the doll out of the box and placed it in Mary’s open arms.
Tasha knelt down on the carpet beside Mary. “Her arms bend so she can hold the Mary doll close.” Tasha placed the doll with the sweet face and brown curls in the mother’s arms. “I designed them that way.”
“Look, Mary, look.” Damaris rested a supportive hand on Mary’s shoulder.
Mary gazed down at the dolls.
“She’s holding me.” Mary’s eyes rimmed with tears. “Mama’s holding me.”
Philip sat down beside Mary. He wrapped his arm around his daughter. “You can put them on your dresser in your room. So at night when you can’t sleep, when you have your bad dreams, you can look up and know that your mother will always love you.”
Two steady streams of tears rolled down either side of Mary’s face. “She’s holding me,” Mary whispered. She shook her head. “Mama is holding me.”
Damaris stroked her cousin’s hair. “She loves you even though she’s in heaven with Jesus. She will always love you, Mary.”
Placing the dolls on the floor, Mary leaped into her father’s lap, wrapped her arms around his neck and sobbed on his chest. Philip closed his eyes and nestled close to his daughter’s face.
Grace tilted her head in the direction of the kitchen. “Come on, guys, let’s leave these two alone.”
Tasha could still hear Mary’s gentle sobbing as Grace closed the kitchen door.
Grace gathered Tasha into a big bear hug. Little arms wrapped around her legs. Gary patted her back.
Still holding her in the embrace, Grace spoke into Tasha’s ear. “Thank you. That child has not cried, really cried, since her mother’s funeral.”
Grace pulled back from the hug, but held Tasha’s hands in her own. “You don’t get past the sorrow until you let yourself feel it.” She sighed deeply. “Believe me, I know. I went through the same thing when Mom died. I thought I had to be strong for everyone, but what I really needed to do was cry like a baby. God can’t do His healing thing until you admit you are sad...and angry.”
Shawn still clung to Tasha’s leg. He stared up at her with those apple-red cheeks and fuzzy yellow hair and round eyes as brown as dark chocolate. Tasha swept Shawn into her arms. “You look cute enough to be made into a doll.” She kissed his smooth cheek. “I sure like this family.”
Grace stroked her youngest son’s hair. “I sure wish you could be a more official part of it.”
“Grace.” Gary poured coffee into his cup. “Let your brother take care of himself.”
Grace gave her husband a furled eyebrow/pursed lip look that only makes sense to married people. “I’m just saying—”
“Philip is needed in Denver.” Gary stirred sugar into his cup. The metal spoon made tink, tink noises against the ceramic cup. “You know that.”
A chill like a blast of cold air from an open window seeped into Tasha’s skin. She shivered and set Shawn back down on the floor. That was it. All those patients in Denver depended on Philip. What did she expect? That Philip would move here, take a drastic cut in pay and abandon his patients in Denver? She couldn’t be that selfish...that unfair.
Tasha leaned back against the counter. She and Philip needed to talk and stop this charade before it went too far. Before she fell totally in love with him.
Chapter 16
Grace’s family ate a huge brunch and then settled in the living room to watch a Christmas DVD. The opening credits of It’s a Wonderful Life hadn’t finished when Gary, arms folded across his chest, started snoring.
Grace, as well, looked a bit droopy eyed as she sat on the other end of the couch, resting her chin in her open palm. The children played by the tree with their new toys.
Philip took in a deep breath and tapped Tasha on the shoulder. “How about you and I go for a walk?”
“We probably should.”
As he slipped into his coat and boots, his stomach tied into a tight knot. There was no putting this off any longer. The dream had to end. She smiled faintly at him as he held the door open for her. Maybe she had an inkling of what he wanted to talk about.
The snow drifted out of the sky in soft, downy chunks. They walked side by side on a path that led to a grove of pine trees. He took off his glove and held her hand.
“Nice snow,” Philip commented.
“Yes, it’s beautiful.” Tasha’s voice sounded far away.
Philip clenched his jaw. Were they reduced to talking about the weather because they could not say what they both knew needed to be said?
Tasha stopped suddenly and tilted her head back. “Ever try to catch snowflakes on your tongue?”
Philip laughed, appreciating a break in the tension. “That’s what I love about you. You haven’t forgotten how to have fun, how to act like a kid.”
“I play with dolls for a living. What do you expect?” She threw her head back again. “Now, come on. Let’s see who can catch the most.”
“One.” Philip laughed but tilted his head, opened his mouth and kept counting. “Two. Three. Four.”
“I’m up to five.” She bent her head so far back, she wasn’t watching where she was going. With a thud, she bumped into Philip. “Oh, sorry.”
Philip touched her upper arm. His face was only inches from hers, his gaze unwavering. “We can’t play like children forever.” His voice was low, almost a whisper.
She gazed at him with those bright, beautiful eyes. “I know. I’ve gone over a thousand scenarios to try to make this thing work. I can’t afford to have a business anywhere near Denver. Mom is not going to leave Pony Junction. I need to be close to her. You can’t leave the city. People depend on you.”
He leaned close to her and touched her hair. “I’ve gone over it in my head, too. I don’t want you to give up your business. You would resent me for taking your dream away. What you do is important.”
“Just my luck. I finally meet a guy who respects my work and he may as well be living on Mars.” Her eyes glazed. “Let’s just walk together one last time.” She held out her hand to him. “I like you more than I can say.”
“Me, too.” He wrapped his hand around hers.
Dried branches crushed beneath their feet as they entered an evergreen grove.
“One of the other doctors is going on a missionary trip. I’ll be picking up his patient load.”
Tasha closed her eyes. “That means even less time for you to come visit Grace and the gang.”
“I’ll have time off at Easter,” he said.
They were both having a hard time letting the idea of being a couple go. “Let’s not torture each other. We can’t make this work. We’ll only end up hating each other.”
“Sometimes I wish you weren’t so wise, Tasha.”
They trudged forward, both of them staring at the ground. The heavy canopy of trees did not allow much light in. Tasha shivered as the temperature dropped. She squeezed Philip’s hand even tighter.
“Tasha, there is something I want you to know. Something you need to know.” He stopped, shifting his weight from foot to foot. “This isn’t easy for me.”
“Go ahead.” Her expression was open, without judgment.
He kicked the snow with his boot. “The way Mary reacted when she saw those dolls...” He glanced at her and then looked upward. “That’s the same way I reacted. Grief is such a private thing.” He looked right at her. “Your dolls do offer healing.”
“Thanks,” she said.
“You’ve done more for Mary and me than anyone,” he whispered. “Thank you for understanding our sorrow.”
Tasha melted into his embrace. As he held her, he found himself wishing the moment could go on forever.
The citrus scent of Tasha’s hair enveloped Philip. He closed his eyes. Everything she had said was true. God was sending them in opposite directions, and they would only end up hating each other if they pretended it wasn’t true.
He drew her closer, reluctant for the hug to end. He listened to their steady breathing and the rush of wind that creaked through the top of the trees.
With his gloved hand he touched her hair, her temple, her cheek. She drew back from the hug and gazed at him. He pulled his glove off and touched her cheek. He kissed her gently on the lips and then on her forehead. He would lock away this moment forever. Every time he smelled citrus or saw a redhead, he would be reminded of her. He kissed her again.
Slowly she eased herself from the kiss and then from the hug. “We should get back to the house, Philip.”
“Yes, the wind is picking up a bit.”
“Don’t tell me we are reduced to talking about the weather again.” She stepped in front of him and moved toward the house.
He laughed, but offered no other comment.
“I’ll ask Grace to drive me back to my place. So we don’t have to try to come up with small talk.”
He memorized the way her curly red hair draped over the soft pink fabric of her coat. The way she would take small careful steps over the icy patches on the trail and then return to that easy, confident stride. Here was a woman who knew who she was and where God wanted her to be. She didn’t need a man to affirm her. That was what made her so attractive—and so out of reach.
He watched her enter the house. She offered him a faint smile and a wave before going inside. The door closed behind her with a shattering echo.
He stood for a long time with the chill wind stinging his skin and the snow jabbing him with icy needles. He listened to his own breathing. He clapped his gloves together to shake off the snow.
Not wanting to go into the house and see her again, he trudged to the back of the house, picked up a log from the woodpile and placed it on the chopping block. He raised the ax and swung it down on the piece of wood with an earsplitting intensity.
By the time Grace’s car roared to life and pulled out of the driveway, he was breathing heavily and surrounded by a pile of split logs. He slammed another log onto the chopping block.
Out of his peripheral vision, he saw Grace’s car as it eased out onto the main road. He raised the ax, took a deep breath and dropped the ax on the log. The log, rotten on the inside, split into a thousand pieces.
Philip could see his breath as he exhaled. The ache inside, like a vise clamping over his heart, made it even harder to breathe.
He listened for a long time, his face tingling from the cold, until the rumble of the car’s engine faded into the distance.
Chapter 17
Leaves budded on the trees as Tasha drove toward Pony Junction. The sky was robin’s-egg blue with big puffy clouds. This was why God made winter—so you could appreciate spring.
She glanced over at the pile of dolls she’d boxed and stacked in the passenger seat. She was one of the featured artists at Pony Junction’s tenth annual spring craft fair. Not exactly the craft fair at the Four Winds Hotel, but not as stressful, either. Business had picked up since Christmas. Her customers were at little craft fairs and in the grocery stores that also served as post offices and gas stations in the rural parts of the Northwest. She’d also found her niche selling dolls on the internet.
Tasha rolled her window down and took in a deep breath of fresh air as she turned into a parking lot by Main Street. The whole downtown area had been sectioned off so vendors could set up on the street and the sidewalk. She pushed open her door, hopped down and raced to the back of her van.
“Let me give you a hand with those.” Eli came up beside her.
“Never refuse free help, I always say.” Tasha opened her van doors, pulled out more dolls and placed them in Eli’s arms.
The old man laughed, and they made their way past the booths to where Tasha was set up. Andrea and Eli had their booths on either side of Tasha’s. Andrea had worked all winter painting soft watercolor landscapes, fields of flowers and children playing. Eli had an assortment of carved animals and people, ornate wooden shelves and children’s toys in his booth.
Tasha carefully placed each doll on a shelf and then checked her watch. She still had half an hour before the bell rang and the shoppers were officially allowed in. Of course, all the crafters had already been around to each other’s booths to buy things. Tasha smiled. Would the shoppers wonder why there were sold signs on so many items even before the booths were open?
Tasha took out the mail she’d grabbed on her way to the show and rifled through it. Across the street, several workers carrying boards and wearing yellow hard hats filled the door of the Pony Junction Hotel, a two-story brick structure built around the turn of the past century.
“What’s going on over there?” Tasha tossed the junk mail on the counter.
Eli placed a carved duck on his display table beside a child’s wooden airplane. “I guess some hotshot from out of town is remodeling to put an office in there. He’s taking up the whole third floor.”
“Anyone we know?” She stared down at an envelope with an unfamiliar address.
“I haven’t heard one way or the other.” Crossing his legs at the ankle, Eli settled into the rocking chair he always brought with him. He pulled a piece of wood out of one pocket and a knife out of another. He whittled while they visited.
Tasha stared at the envelope. The address was from a place in Oregon. The handwriting, with the printed letters evenly spaced, looked vaguely familiar. She ripped open the letter and unfolded it. Quinton’s signature was at the bottom.
Tasha,
I’m writing this letter to thank you. You said my faith was only ankle-deep.
And you were right. Newburg kept making one bad business decision after another.
She insisted on the expansions. Newburg Designs went under. The last time I saw her she was muttering something about going back to Idaho and opening a quilt shop. I lost everything—and then I learned to trust God.
You won’t believe what I am doing. I am a counselor at a camp for at-risk boys. I came out here for a job interview with an ad agency. I didn’t get that job, but I saw an ad in the paper for this one. I was desperate for money, and I thought, “How hard could it be?” We teach these boys how to hike, rock climb and kayak, and somewhere in there we tell them about Jesus. I even get my clothes dirty once in a while. Thank you for the courage to speak the truth to me. It took a long time for it to sink in.
I’ve met a wonderful woman who manages the kitchen at the camp.
All of this wouldn’t have happened if I’d clung to my old life.
Thank you,
Quinton
Warmth spread through Tasha. She folded the letter and put it away in her cash box. That was one worth keeping. Taking in a breath of fresh air, she closed her eyes and basked in the heat of the sun on her face.
The shoppers had begun to gather at the ropes on either end of Main Street. The big clock above the bank chimed nine times. Craft fair organizers unhooked the ropes. Like chicks scampering toward pieces of cracked corn, people flooded into the fair, snatching up items at the booths.
“Oh, my, this is just adorable.” A woman with plastic-rimmed glasses and hair a shade of red that occurred nowhere in the natural world held up one of Tasha’s fairy dolls. The woman touched the transparent wings attached to the doll’s back.
“She is pretty, isn’t she?” The doll stood about ten inches high and wore a short circle skirt made of shimmering fabric. It had taken Tasha several tries to paint the mischievous look on the doll’s porcelain face. Once she’d perfected the arch
ed eyebrows, almond-shaped eyes and pursed lips, she was able to create a whole series of them.
“I collect fairies.” The woman readjusted the enormous purse she had slung over her shoulder. She held the doll up and rotated it in her hand. “How many of them do you have?” She set the doll back on the shelf.
“I did a collection of fifteen.”
The woman clapped her hands. “I’ll take five.”
While Tasha boxed up the dolls, the woman browsed through Tasha’s booth.
“Now, this—” the woman pointed to a doctor doll in a white coat “—looks like something out of a Norman Rockwell painting.” The doctor was bent over a patient, a little boy, encouraging him to open his mouth wide through demonstration. A teddy bear was tucked in the little boy’s arm. “I see you’ve called him Dr. Phil. That’s funny. Not the Dr. Phil from the television. Wherever did you get such an idea?”
“Just out of my own head.” Tasha placed the last top on the fifth box. Out of my own lovesick head. If she could use the dolls for therapy for other people, she could do the same for herself. The treatment had been only partially effective, though. Dr. Phil was a hard man to forget.
“Can I leave these here until I’m done shopping?”
“Sure. I’ll set them under the counter and put your name on them.”
The woman wandered over to Andrea’s booth. “Do you have any paintings of fairies?”
This lady was going to need a shopping cart. Tasha’s fairies had inspired both Andrea and Eli. Tasha glanced over at Eli, who was pulling the carved fairies from a back shelf and placing them front and center. He winked at Tasha.
Andrea laid four fairy paintings out for the woman to look at. The woman’s hands fluttered up to her mouth and she emitted an audible gasp.
Tasha tried to picture what a house full of fairies looked like: fairy wallpaper, fairy salt and pepper shakers, a toaster cover made out of fairy fabric. She listened to the woman’s oohs and aahs over Andrea’s paintings.