Stand-In Mom

by Marie Ferrarella

  By the time he made it back to the Salty Saloon, Ike had long since stopped feeling his toes and his legs and arms were in jeopardy of going numb. It was a cold night, even by the standards he was accustomed to.

  It was the kind of night, he mused, throwing the switch that opened the door to his heated garage, that made a man long to have a woman beside him to keep him warm. And to help keep warm.

  He smiled to himself, thinking of Marta. Now there was a woman who looked very capable of warming a man’s blood. He certainly wouldn’t mind trying to keep her warm. And, after a bit, he doubted that she would have any objections.

  What would it take to make Marta thaw out? To make her stop being suspicious of him, just lean back and let things happen naturally?

  Ike was looking forward to finding out, he thought as he walked from the garage to the back entrance of the bar. His cheeks stung from the wind as he reached the back door. The lights from the Salty were all on, casting dim beams that burrowed their way into the snow.

  How many brave souls had pitted themselves against the elements to come out and share a drink with a few acquaintances when they could just as easily have the same drinks with a great deal less trouble at home?

  He smiled. The allure of gathering in a communal hall with friends was hard to resist, thank God. Otherwise, his first business venture might have proven to be his last. The Salty was the only establishment catering to the social needs of the people in and around Hades. It wasn’t unusual, when the weather was particularly nasty, for his patrons to spend the night sacked out on the floor. It went part and parcel with the philosophy behind running the Salty. You gave a man more than just a glass of ale when he came in, you gave him your friendship. If once in a while that included giving him a place to spend the night, that was fine, too.

  Ike nodded at a few of the regulars as he entered the bar, returning their greetings as he stomped the snow from the bottom of his boots. There were about twenty men scattered throughout the room and two more in the back, arguing over a pool table. He was within his rights to close up, but he hadn’t the heart. Besides, home was just a flight of stairs away, now that he lived over the bar.

  Hanging up his parka on the rack just beneath the antiquated moose head that the previous owner had thrown in when he’d sold the Salty to him, Ike made his way over to the bar. Jean Luc was at the far end, setting another tall one in front of Shawn McGuire. There were times when they would have sworn the man was hollow.

  His cousin was as fair as Ike was dark. It was hard to believe that their fathers were brothers and that they shared the same French grandmother. But while Ike’s mother had been one-third Inuit, one-third Native American and one-third black Irish, Luc’s mother had come from Sweden, and he had taken his blond hair and blue eyes from her. At times, it made Luc look younger than he was, evoking almost a paternal feeling from Ike, despite the fact that they were separated by only three years.

  Luc looked a little tired to him as Ike drew closer. He reached for the permanently stained half apron and tied it carelessly about his waist.

  “Why don’t you go on up to bed? I’ll take over. I’m too wired to sleep, anyway.” The way he felt right now, Ike thought, he’d probably be able to stay up around the clock. It wouldn’t be the first time.

  Though Luc had been serving McGuire when Ike crossed to him, his eyes had been fixed on the occupant of the booth in the rear. He shifted them now to Ike. He’d been waiting for Ike to return for the last half hour.

  “There’s a lady here to see you. She’s been waiting for a while now.”

  Ike took McGuire’s money and rang up the sale. The old-fashioned cash register sounded melodic as its drawer opened. He hadn’t noticed a woman in the bar. “Pretty?”

  Luc glanced toward the rear again. The booth was still occupied. “I don’t think that’s going to matter this time, Ike.”

  Ike laughed softly, rubbing away a ring of moisture on the counter. “It always matters, boy. To the lady, if not to anyone else.” He paused, the dish towel still in his hand. Luc was acting strangely. Women frequented the Salty all the time. “What’s the matter?”

  Rather than answer, Luc motioned him over to the other end of the bar. From there, Ike could see her. She was sitting alone, swaddled in a heavy gray parka that was partially unzipped. A scarf lay on the table beside her. She wasn’t having anything to drink. The face was unfamiliar to him.

  “Did you tell her the first one’s on the house?”

  Luc shook his head. “She didn’t come here to drink, Ike.”

  There was something in Luc’s voice that made him a little uneasy, though for the life of him, Ike wouldn’t have been able to say why. “Then why did she come?”

  Luc had no answer. “She said she’d only talk to you.”

  “Well, then I’d better go see her.” Tossing the towel aside, Ike rounded the bar and crossed over to the small booth at the rear of the room.

  He was less than two feet away when he finally realized that the stranger, a woman he judged to be in her mid-twenties, wasn’t alone. She had a baby sleeping in a basket on the seat beside her.

  He curtailed an impulse to upbraid her. It wasn’t his place to tell her what to do, but what would possess a woman to venture out on a night like this with an infant? Ike wasn’t so divorced from his own upbringing that he didn’t know the answer to that one. Hard times. Maybe she was down on her luck and looking for a place to stay. The only thing that passed as a hotel in Hades was boarded up for the season. It wasn’t profitable to keep it open in the dead of winter. The quarters upstairs over the Salty were small by some standards, especially since he and Luc shared them, but he figured that something could be arranged for the night.

  In the morning, he’d see if there was someone in the area who could take her in until she got on her feet. In hardship cases, Reverend Hathaway and his wife were usually good for a week or two.

  The entire thought process had taken only a split second. Just long enough for Ike to reach her booth.

  The woman looked tired, stressed. The smile he offered her was one of sympathy as he leaned over her table. “Is there something I can get you?”

  “Are you Klondyke?” Even as she asked, a look of relief began to take over her features.

  “Yes, ma’am.” He inclined his head, then peered a little more closely at her. “Do I know you?” He knew he didn’t. It was his gift never to forget a face, and this one had never crossed his path before.

  “No.” The woman shook her head. “She said you’d be tall. And that you had the kindest eyes she’d ever seen.” She struggled to remember, to get the wording just right. It was important. “When there wasn’t a wicked gleam in them.”

  Well, that certainly didn’t narrow the playing field. The observation could have come from a lot of women. “I’m afraid you have the advantage, Miss—”

  “Ruth,” the woman said quickly. “Ruth Jackson.”

  Like the face, the name meant nothing to him. “If you don’t mind me asking, should you have brought your baby here?”

  “I didn’t bring my baby,” she corrected. “I brought yours.”

  Was she going to claim that the sleeping infant was the result of some torrid night he didn’t remember? He was willing to take an oath that he had never touched her. Even more than the faces of his customers, Ike remembered the face of every woman he had ever made love with. And she was not among them.

  Ike shook his head, trying to respond as delicately as possible. “I don’t—”

  He never got the chance. Ruth moved forward, her hand on the basket to keep it from falling. “Her name is Celine. Celine LeBlanc. Your sister named her after your mother.”

  The mention of his sister had him looking around, half expecting to see her step out of the shadows. “Junie? This is Junie’s baby?” The woman nodded.

  He could hardly believe it. His little sister had a baby. Closer scrutiny had him seeing Junie’s mouth, her cheekbones and her dark
hair. “Where is she? Why didn’t she come herself?”

  “She can’t.” Ruth hesitated. She seemed nervous, sympathetic, as she placed a hand over his. “Mr. LeBlanc, I really don’t know how to say this to you, but—”

  She didn’t have to tell him. The moment he saw the look in Ruth’s eyes, he knew. Knew beyond a shadow of a doubt. They’d said his great-grandmother on his mother’s side had been a seer, and a hint of the gift occasionally came over him. As it did now.

  The pain was staggering, robbing him of his breath, pressing so heavily on his chest that he felt himself go numb from head to foot. His heart froze mid-beat. His little sister was dead.

  “How?”

  “There were complications during the birth. Internal bleeding. They thought they got it all, but…” Ruth sighed. “She died a week after having Celine. I came to see her in the hospital. She asked me to bring the baby to you if anything happened.” Ruth looked over to the sleeping baby. “Said you’d take care of Celine the way you had her.”

  His expression was stony as he struggled with the shock. “If I’d taken care of her, she’d be here telling me about the baby herself, instead of you.”

  There was compassion in Ruth’s eyes. “June said you’d blame yourself. She told me to tell you not to. That she knew what she was doing, or thought she did.”

  When you’re eighteen, you feel you have all the answers. There hadn’t been any way to stop her. But he should have. He should have found a way. “Who’s the father?”

  “Roy Watkins.”

  The name made him curl his fingers into his hands, wishing he could have wrapped them around the boy’s throat instead. If it hadn’t been for Roy, Junie wouldn’t have run off. She would never have left by herself, and maybe, in time, she would have chosen to stay.

  “Where is he?”

  Ruth shook her head. “Nobody knows. He took off right after June told him she was pregnant.” She must have seen the question in his eyes. “She was too proud to come home and ask for your help. She wanted to make it on her own. She would have, too,” Ruth added loyally, “except that she just wasn’t strong enough.”

  The baby stirred, making a small sound in her sleep. Snaring his attention. “How far did she get?”

  “Excuse me?”

  He looked at the young woman again. “June wanted to get as far away from this place as she could.” Like so many others here, she’d talked incessantly of going to Los Angeles or New York, or somewhere equally as exciting and thriving. “How far did she get?”

  “Fairbanks. That’s where he left her. We both worked at the makeup counter in Wilcox department store.” There was fondness in Ruth’s voice. “She was a good person.”

  “Yes, I know that,” he answered quietly. Emotion choked him as he came around to stand beside the baby. Celine was sleeping despite the din in the bar.

  A baby. His baby sister had had a baby. Even looking at the infant, it just didn’t seem possible. He raised his eyes to Ruth, forcing himself to function. “Have you got a place to stay tonight?”

  She nodded. “I made arrangements before I came. One of my uncles went to the seminary with a friend of your minister. I’m staying with them until morning. I have to be getting back to my job,” she apologized.

  As if to back up her words, the door to the Salty opened and the minister’s eldest son, Conrad, walked in. Seeing him, Ruth rose from the table. She hesitated a moment before leaving. “If you’d like, I could keep Celine until morning…”

  For one brief moment, he was tempted to let her. Tempted to keep this painful reminder of his sister’s demise out of his sight for as long as he possibly could. But denying Celine’s existence wouldn’t bring Junie back.

  “You’ve already done more than enough, Ruth.” He began to pick up the basket, then stopped. “Who took care of the funeral arrangements?”

  “June had a little money put by. Enough to cover a cremation. I scattered her ashes when the wind was blowing east. It’s where she was heading.”

  “Thank you.” It was fitting, he supposed. At least a part of Junie would wind up being where she’d wanted to go. But that left him without even a grave site to visit. He felt cheated somehow. In a way, it was as if his sister had never existed, except in his mind.

  A small noise, louder this time than before, caught his attention. He wouldn’t need a grave to remind him of his sister. He had Celine.

  Grief hammered at Ike’s soul, trying to break down the barriers he was so hastily constructing all around him. The moment the woman left, giving him the bag filled with formula she’d brought with her and agreeing to see him again before she left Hades, he’d thrown himself into preparations to make conditions livable for Celine. He deliberately rejected Luc’s offer to help, ignored the handful of questions that came his way as he crossed the floor of the bar with Celine, and went upstairs to try to pull something together.

  The thing he most needed to pull together, himself, he ignored. Ike figured putting one foot before the other would take care of that eventually. He just had to remember to keep moving.

  He still didn’t believe this was happening. Surely, he would wake up tomorrow morning to discover that Junie was still alive and that this had all just been a very bad dream.

  As if reading his mind, Celine gurgled from her basket on the floor beside the bed, kicking to free her trapped legs from beneath the layers of blanket tucked around her. Sitting on the edge of the bed, his face in his hands, he looked down at her.

  “Don’t start struggling. That’s how your momma started out, struggling to be free. And look where it got her.”

  He took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. Trying to gather his scattered thoughts together. Trying to send his scattered emotions away.

  Celine started to cry.

  “Oh, now, don’t do that, little one. I’ll take care of you.” Very gently, he picked up the baby. “I didn’t mean to make you feel like you weren’t wanted.”

  For a second, the whimpering died away. Celine’s huge brown eyes seemed to delve right into him, as if she were absorbing the sound of his voice.

  “You do look like her, you know. And you could do worse than grow up to be the spitting image of your momma.” The whimpers returned as she began to gnaw on her tiny fist. “Oh, now, don’t cry again. I didn’t mean you wouldn’t be your own person. I just…I just…” He could feel his own tears starting. “Oh, hell.” The word echoed in his head, making him ashamed. “I didn’t mean that. I promise I won’t swear once you’re old enough to understand, but you’re going to have to give me a little time to get used to this. A little time…”

  He pressed his lips together. “She won’t be coming home anymore, will she? She won’t be coming back to either one of us.” He felt the tears begin to slip down his face as he mourned the loss of a life too soon ended. Celine wriggled against him. “Nothing’s ever going to hurt you, little one,” he whispered to the baby. “I promise.”

  “Talk about your pioneer spirit,” Marta said, standing in the kitchen doorway. The aroma of freshly brewed coffee drifted seductively through the bright room.

  Surprised, Sydney turned around from the counter. “What are you doing up so early?”

  Marta crossed to her and took quick inventory. There was a carton of eggs, a package of bacon, bread, waffle batter. It looked like a full-size breakfast to her. “I thought I’d surprise you with breakfast. Looks like I should have come down earlier.”

  Sydney opened the cupboard, looking for the frying pans. “Couldn’t sleep, huh?” Sydney smiled at her, remembering. “I had trouble sleeping here, too, in the beginning. But you get used to it.”

  “I’m not planning on living that long.” Marta began cracking eggs against the bowl, emptying them into it. “But you certainly seem to have gotten used to it.” Although God only knows how. “You look very happy.”

  “That’s because I am.” Sydney drew the toaster closer to the work area. “I don’t think I’ve ever bee
n happier in my life. Shayne’s a wonderful man, we’re doing a lot of good out here, and the kids—well, you’ve seen the kids.”

  “Yes, they’re great. And Shayne’s great. You’re all great,” Marta pronounced, then looked at Sydney with a touch of wistfulness. “But couldn’t you be just as great in, say, Omaha?”

  Sydney placed her hand on Marta’s shoulder. Leaving Marta behind had been the only thing she’d ever regretted about her move. “This is where Shayne belongs. And you know, I think I do, too. You build stronger ties here. People need one another here.”

  Marta pitched the last of the eggshells into the garbage.

  “Yes, to form a human chain so they can get from one place to another when it snows.” She bit her lower lip. Maybe she wasn’t being fair. But it didn’t seem fair that her friend was buried up here, either. “I just always thought we’d wind up taking some place by storm, I guess. Not having the storm take us—or in this case, you.”

  Touched, Sydney looked at Marta. “Be happy for me, Marta.”

  “I am. You know I am. I guess I just miss you, that’s all. I guess I was hoping that maybe you’d exaggerated in your letters about being happy here. That you’d actually missed Omaha.” One look at her in the airport had told Marta that her hopes were misplaced. “But you don’t.”

  “No, I don’t. Just you.” Rummaging through the drawer, she found the wire whisk. Marta took it from her and began beating the eggs. “So tell me all about everyone at the school. Who did they get to take my place?”

  Marta made herself comfortable on the stool as she continued beating the eggs. “Her name’s Vera MacKenzie, and she’s quite an adjustment after you—”

  She stopped beating and listened. There was someone knocking on the door. It wasn’t even 7:00 a.m. Marta looked at Sydney. “Visitors start coming early around here. Guess they can’t stand the solitude, either.”

  “At this time in the morning, they’re coming to see the doctor, not looking for company.” Sydney looked around for a dish towel to wipe her hands.