Patchwork and Politics

by Christine Lynxwiler

  “Thank you for including me.” Her voice was for his ears only.

  “You’re—” A beautiful fountain of gold exploded above them, cutting off his reply.

  Holt watched in fascination as the gold reflection played on Megan’s face. Her bow-shaped mouth formed a soundless O of surprise and delight.

  When the second explosion came, she looked back to him. “You’re supposed to be watching the fireworks, not me.”

  Holt shrugged. “Don’t forget. It’s a free country.”

  Her giggle was muffled by the rat-tat-tat of firecrackers.

  ❧

  “Will you brush mine?”

  Megan glanced in the mirror at Sarah and nodded. It was late, but Megan had been incredibly keyed up by the emotional night. When she sat down to brush her hair, she thought Sarah was already asleep in the guest bed they were to share.

  She pulled her daughter up on the vanity bench beside her and began to brush her hair.

  “I like Mr. Holt, don’t you?”

  “Yes, Sweetie, I do.” Megan wanted to say so much more. . .to tell her not to hope for too much, to warn her of giving her heart, but none of it was appropriate conversation with a four year old.

  “Everybody else is nice too, aren’t they?”

  “Um-hum.” Megan brushed Sarah’s long hair, and the rhythm was about to put her to sleep.

  “I like Amy. . .” Sarah stifled a yawn with her hand.

  Megan nodded.

  “She teached me to skip a rock. Don’t tell Lucy, but I think that makes Amy my very best friend. Don’t you?” This time she didn’t bother to raise her hand to cover the yawn.

  The question faded to silence, and within a minute, her small body molded against Megan’s side. A peek in the mirror revealed long eyelashes feathered across her rosy cheeks.

  Megan carefully lifted her daughter and placed her in the bed, then hurried to finish with her own bedtime rituals. After she turned off the light, she remembered thinking earlier that she would never be free as long as she lived. But when she looked at Annalisa and all she’d overcome, she found her heart yearning for her own Independence Day. Could God make that happen?

  Her prayers were jumbled but earnest, as she lay in the dark, alternately asking God for freedom from her past and begging Him to help her be strong enough to let Holt go.

  ❧

  The next afternoon, Megan turned to take one more look at the Circle M. She’d enjoyed every minute of her time there with Holt’s family. She was so thankful he’d talked her into coming.

  “Was it as bad as you thought it would be?”

  “I didn’t think—”

  “Oh, come on now, don’t say that. You thought it would be horrible. I could see it in your face.” Holt pulled the crew cab pickup onto the gravel road.

  “I liked everybody!” Sarah piped up from the backseat. “Especially Jake. He’s nice. He caught a frog for me. And he helped me put it down Tim’s back.” The last words were smothered by a yawn.

  “Was there another Jake there besides my baby brother?” Holt asked Megan in a whisper.

  She laughed. “Not that I know of.”

  “That comment I made earlier about him being a grown man? I might have been a little premature in that announcement.” He shrugged and maneuvered the truck down the bumpy road.

  “I thought he was nice too. I felt sorry for him that his girlfriend didn’t end up coming. I know he was disappointed, but it was really cool that he didn’t mind playing with the kids.”

  “Yeah, he’s always a good sport.”

  “I loved your parents. They remind me of my own.”

  “Really?” Holt’s shock was evident in his voice, in spite of his obvious attempt to cover it.

  “Yes, really.” Megan looked out the windows. “Holt, you should know. . .the problems I have with my parents. I may not have made it clear before. They’re my problems, not theirs.”

  “I find that hard to believe.”

  Megan was surprised how much Holt’s unconditional support of her meant. “My parents never acted like it was my fault that they lost their money in Barry’s investments, but I knew it was.”

  Holt nodded. “I see.” He glanced at her, and she was surprised to realize he really did see. “Your pride just won’t let you turn to them?”

  “That’s it.” Megan glanced at her hands. “That doesn’t make me much of a daughter, does it?”

  “I imagine your parents would beg to differ.”

  “Who knows? I guess I haven’t really given them a chance. Deep down they’re probably glad. There’s a lot less shame to deal with when I’m not around.” Though the words stuck in her throat, she forced them out. “You should probably remember that.”

  “I think you—”

  “Cade and Annalisa are absolutely wonderful, aren’t they?”

  He raised an eyebrow at her interruption, and she stared at him, pleading with her eyes for him not to pursue the subject.

  “Yes, they are.” He spoke softly. “They give me hope. Don’t they you?”

  “Your Aunt Gertie was really fun too. I can see why you love her so much.”

  Holt gave her a wry grin at her management of the conversation and nodded.

  “And Clint. . .” Megan remembered how she’d felt almost a physical kick to the stomach by the pain she’d seen in Clint’s eyes. “He’s really a gentle giant, isn’t he? He was obviously upset about something, but he still worried about whether his mama needed another glass of lemonade.”

  Holt filled her in briefly on the cause of Clint’s distress.

  “It must be a difficult job—holding someone else’s life in your hands.” Megan looked over at Holt and was struck by a foreign thought. “As much as I give you a hard time about politics, you hold people’s lives in your hands too.”

  “Whoa.” Holt pretended to pull back on the steering wheel. “Was that really an almost-positive thing you just said about politicians?”

  She laughed. “Maybe. But don’t get used to it.”

  “Don’t worry. I won’t figure on getting one of those comments from you more than once a year.”

  In spite of the heat, a shiver ran up her spine. She distinctly remembered telling him that when they got home from the family reunion, their relationship was over. But he talked as if a future together was a foregone conclusion. “Once a year, huh?”

  He cast a sideways glance at her as he pulled off the gravel onto the highway. “You mean I might get compliments from you more often?”

  She glanced at the backseat. Sarah had already fallen fast asleep. She’d played hard at the Circle M. “You know what I said before we came. . .” She swallowed against the telltale lump in her throat. “Holt, nothing has really changed.”

  Without warning, Holt whipped the truck into an empty church parking lot. When they stopped moving, he turned to her. “Megan, everything has changed.” He reached up to reposition his cowboy hat, a habit she found endearing. He grinned sheepishly when he realized he didn’t have it on, then ran his fingers through his hair instead. “Did you hear what I said to you on Cade’s porch yesterday morning before he opened the door?”

  “Yes.” She spoke softly so as not to wake Sarah, but her voice trembled.

  “Don’t you feel anything for me?”

  “Oh, Holt. You know I do. But if you and I. . . If I allow you. . . Being with me is suicide for your career.” The tears that had been hovering fell onto her cheeks in big hot drops. “We can’t do it.”

  “Don’t you trust God?”

  “You know I do.”

  “Don’t you think He can handle my career?”

  She knew where this was going, but she had to nod.

  “Then why don’t we let Him do His job?”

  Silence filled the cab, broken only by the gentle snoring of Sarah from the backseat. Megan’s mind whirled. Could she do it? Could she give Holt’s career and her past over to God?

  “Please, Megan.”


  Her jumbled bedtime prayers came to her mind. She had to try. “Okay, Holt. I’ll give it my best shot.”

  He put his arm around her shoulders and pulled her close. She looked up into his dark eyes and thought she would drown. He leaned down, and she held her breath.

  “Why are we stopped?”

  Megan jumped with a nervous giggle and looked in the backseat. Sarah’s eyes weren’t open, but she’d awakened just enough to realize the vehicle had quit moving. Megan frantically motioned for Holt to start the truck and pull back on the road.

  He started the motor but paused with his hand on the gearshift. “A promise is a promise whether it’s sealed with a kiss or not, right?” he asked softly.

  “Definitely,” she whispered.

  Apparently satisfied, he eased back onto the highway and headed home.

  Fourteen

  Holt carried his cup of coffee outside. Standing on his porch, he breathed in the fresh air and thanked God for blessing him in so many ways. The moments just before sunrise were his favorite time of day. The sky was like an untouched canvas just waiting to see what wondrous images God would paint.

  Today was even more special than most. Megan had agreed to go beyond friendship. His feet barely touched the ground as he walked out to the end of the driveway to get the newspapers.

  Around here, a person got two for the price of one. There was the well-respected statewide paper, then there was what Holt considered the advertising one. It was disguised as a newspaper, with a few news stories, but was mainly a vehicle for advertising. Holt had a daily subscription to the statewide paper, but the other one came once a week and today was the lucky day.

  Careful not to spill his coffee, he bent down and scooped them both up and walked back to sit in his glider chair on the porch. He scanned the headlines of the one he paid for, then finding nothing of great interest, flipped open the other one.

  Of their own volition, his arms flew out—one knocking the coffee to the wooden floor where the cup shattered – and the other one dropping the offending paper on the floor beside the broken pieces. His heart pounded against his ribcage. How had this happened?

  He laid his head against the back of the chair and prayed as he never had before. He hoped the Lord could make sense of the pleading of his soul, because he knew his anger was making his words irrational. After a few minutes, still shaking with fury but able to at least think, he picked up the paper again. A skillfully taken picture of him and Megan was above the lead story.

  The photo had to have been taken when they were leaving The Fish House. Holt had put his arm protectively at her back, and she’d turned to say thank you. But in the picture, her eyes had taken on a seductive slant and his arm appeared to be draped in more of an amorous embrace than one of protection. Aunt Irene and Sarah had been flanking them, but in the picture, there was no evidence of others. The headline read “Senator Holt McFadden—Champion of the Elderly?”

  The article stopped barely short of libel as it recanted Megan’s past. After mentioning Holt’s very public stance of being on the side of the elderly, the reporter said an “unnamed source” close to the couple had confirmed they were definitely “an item.” The words “conflict of interest” and “ulterior motive” were tossed around like the bad clichés they were. The piece ended with an assurance that this reporter would make sure the public was informed if it looked like Megan planned to start seeking investments for any new venture and was aided by the senator.

  Holt went hot, then cold, then hot again. He was shaking with a fury deeper than any he’d ever known.

  Oh, Lord, give me Your heart. Allow me to see this reporter with your eyes.

  Love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you. The familiar verses resounded in Holt’s head.

  Father, please be with the writer of this article and help him to see the pain his untrue words have caused. Give him a contrite heart.

  Each word, though not spoken aloud, still seemed to be forced through gritted teeth. Holt wanted to pray such different things for the man who had ruined his chances of having the woman he loved.

  He had to get to her. Maybe he could keep her from getting her paper. Maybe he could convince her to go away with him until it all died down and she’d never even have to know it had been printed. Maybe. . .

  He stepped inside the front door and kicked off his slippers, then hurriedly pulled on his cowboy boots. Cramming his hat down on his head, he ran out to his truck. Loose gravel spun out behind him as he gunned the accelerator and rushed to Megan’s.

  As he drove, in spite of the rage, a sense of exhilarating freedom rang through his soul. The moment he’d been afraid of had come, and just as he’d prayed, his concern was for Megan and Megan only. He didn’t care what people said about him, but she shouldn’t be dragged through the mud on his behalf. And he knew now, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that he would give up his career in a heartbeat if it would make things easier on her, as long as he thought it was God’s will.

  When he pulled into her driveway, he forced himself to slow down so she wouldn’t be suspicious. He would stop out at the front and pick up her papers, shove the one under the seat and take the other to her. She’d think it was odd, him being there so early, but hopefully she’d chalk it up to his excitement at her decision.

  He was happy with his plan until he saw the dewy grass beside her mailbox. Empty. There were no newspapers where they should have been, and that could only mean one thing. He yanked open the truck door and ran up to the house.

  No longer caring what she thought about him being there, he banged on the door and called her name. “Megan.”

  There was no reply. He banged again. “Megan!”

  After five minutes, a little voice answered. “Mr. Holt?”

  “Yes, Sarah! Let me in. I have to see your mama.” Instead of the expected unlocking of the door, there was nothing. Total silence. “Sarah?”

  Finally, he heard her speak again. “She said to tell you to go away. She doesn’t want you to come here anymore.”

  “Sarah, Honey, listen. Your mama needs me.” Holt hated to try to convince the child to disobey her mother, but he knew Megan wasn’t thinking clearly.

  “She made me promise not to unlock the door. And I never break a promise.” The last was said so proudly that Holt knew there was nothing more he could say.

  “Okay, I’m going to go, but tell your mama I’m not giving up. Can you do that?”

  “Uh-huh. I’ll tell her.”

  He turned toward the truck.

  “Mr. Holt?”

  He spun around and put his mouth back to the door.

  “Yes?”

  “Mama threw up. She’s sick, isn’t she?”

  “Maybe. But don’t worry, Honey, she’s going to be okay.” He could only imagine how heartsick Megan must be.

  “If she’s sick, then we need to pray.”

  “You’re right, Sarah, we do.”

  There was no more noise at the door, and Holt called Sarah’s name a couple of times, but apparently, she’d gone back to be with her mother. He turned slowly and shuffled out to the truck, kicking every loose rock he could find.

  When he pulled out of the driveway, he didn’t turn toward his house. At first he wasn’t sure why, then he saw the familiar red mailbox. Of course, he’d go talk to Aunt Irene. The elderly lady had known Megan a long time. If anyone could help him make her see reason, she could. In the meantime, he’d take Sarah’s advice and pray.

  ❧

  Sarah handed Megan a wet rag. Megan gazed into the worried face of her four year old and tried to smile. She knew she looked like a wreck. But unfortunately, even standing up was impossible right now. She still sat in the bathroom floor leaning against the vanity. When she first saw the picture, she’d been in the kitchen. She’d cried until she almost hyperventilated, then rushed to the bathroom to lose her breakfast. Sarah had apparently heard the noise and found her there.

  Holt had come. She’d know
n he would. She’d tried to warn him about his persistence, but he refused to see the truth. Sarah had gone back and forth delivering messages, finally coming back with the last one. Holt would be praying for her.

  When she heard that, for the first time since she saw the paper she thought of praying. Though she was still sure she had to give up Holt, peace covered her like a blanket when she was talking to God.

  Funny how something like this made a person want their mama. She’d long ago alienated her mother, though, by constantly rebuffing her offers of help.

  Megan wished it had been different, but surely her mother could see that pride wouldn’t allow her to seek comfort from someone she’d inadvertently betrayed. Besides, this morning’s paper had proven her right.

  Anyone associated with Megan would be tainted by her past. Sarah slipped her small hand into Megan’s and leaned against her.

  Father, please give me strength to go on, for Sarah’s sake. Help me to remember that You won’t give me more than I can bear. I know that my suffering is nothing compared to what Jesus suffered on the cross or what You went through allowing Him to be put there. Forgive me for my weakness. Lord, be with Holt. Please keep him from harm and use him to do Your good work just as he desires for You to. In Jesus’ name, amen.

  Just as she finished praying, a knock sounded on the door again. She squeezed Sarah’s hand. “Honey, would you please go tell Mr. Holt one more time to go away. Tell him I’m not going to change my mind.” Sarah stood and started toward the door. “And Sarah? Whatever you do, don’t let him in.”

  Though she couldn’t make out the words, she knew Sarah was talking through the door, but suddenly she heard an unmistakable sound. Sarah had unlocked the door.

  Megan bit back a cry and stumbled to her feet. A glance in the mirror confirmed she looked as bad as she felt.

  Suddenly, her eyes fell on the heavy wooden bathroom door. She reached out and slammed it, throwing the slide lock into place just as she heard footsteps coming down the hall. A quick rap on the door sent her back to sit on the edge of the tub. One more knock. “Go away, Holt. I’m not coming out.”