by Arlene James
She began to cry out silent apologies to God, her tears flowing into the space created by her folded arms.
I’m so sorry! I didn’t realize how hard it would be to lie, but what can I do now? Holt will report me, and even if he doesn’t, I don’t want to involve anyone else in my problems. I only want to make a good home for my son. Help me! Oh, please help me! I shouldn’t have done it. I just didn’t know what else to do. I’m so sorry. Please don’t let Holt and the others hate me. At least if it all comes out, then You can forgive me, and I want that, but please, please don’t take my son. Please don’t let them lock me away and take my son. Oh, God, I’m so sorry!
She all but forgot about the others around her, until Holt jolted her into awareness by speaking aloud. With simple, homespun eloquence, he praised God for His mercy and kindness, addressed each request, mentioned several concerns of the wider church and even touched on some national issues.
Then he broke Cara’s quivering heart, saying, “Lord, there’s a lady in Duncan, Mrs. Poersel, who’s about reached the end of her road. I ask You to ease her way, and I thank You for this touchstone to Cara Jane’s past and pray that her visit will bring Mrs. Poersel the same measure of joy that she and Ace have brought to my grandfather and me.” He went on to seek blessing for everyone in the room and their families. He asked God to use the church for His purposes and, as other voices in the background fell away, closed in the name of Jesus.
Cara hastily dried the last of her tears but kept her gaze averted as Holt’s hand curled beneath her elbow, lifting her to her feet. He held her back with just a squeeze of his fingers as others began to move away. Some spoke to him, and he replied in jocular kind, until the two of them stood somewhat apart from the dwindling group.
Tilting her face up with a finger pressed beneath her chin, he looked down worriedly into her eyes. “Are you all right?”
She rubbed her nose, trying to hold back a sniff, and put on the best smile she could muster. “O-of course.”
He frowned down at her, obviously not buying it. “I don’t know what’s eating you up inside, Cara Jane, but you’ve got to realize by now that my family and I will do everything in our power to—”
“You can’t help me!” she declared, pulling away. Realizing what she’d said, she tried to cover. “B-because I don’t need help. Besides, the Jeffords have already been generous enough.”
Mouth flattened, jaw working, he shook his head. She could see his frustration, knew he bit back words he’d prefer to spew.
“I’m sorry, Holt,” she whispered, daring no further explanation.
After a moment, he slipped an arm around her, turning toward the nursery wing. “Let’s get Ace and go home.”
Home, she thought bleakly. But only until Sunday.
She knew that she wouldn’t run. She didn’t have the heart. At least not before she’d seen Mrs. Poersel. After that, she didn’t know what would happen, but she felt she owed that visit to her aunt’s old neighbor. And Holt.
Over the next three days, Cara kept as much distance between herself and Holt as possible. By mutual agreement, they decided not to “repeat the mistake,” in Holt’s words, of their previous Saturday night out together. Both stayed in, Holt whiling away the evening with Hap and Ryan, Cara watching television with Ace in their room.
Work helped distract her mind from the agreed-upon visit with Mrs. Poersel, but it did not stop Sunday from coming. Cara skipped church, saying truthfully that she hadn’t slept well the night before. What was the point in going when doom hung like a pall over everything and confession remained impossible?
All too soon, she found herself riding in Holt’s big truck, Ace happily babbling to himself in the rear seat, as the miles fell away and her secret dread built. With no comfort to be found from any other source, Cara prayed in silence almost incessantly during that long drive, but as the truck turned off of 81 onto Bois D’Arc Avenue on the south side of Duncan, she lost the concentration required even for that. Morbid curiosity and desperate longing mingled with her dread as they made the familiar right onto 10th Street.
They crossed Highway 7 and drove past West Stephens Avenue. Much remained the same, but a new brick house had replaced the old Downing home. She marked another notable change as they passed West Duncan. The hues were different. Once all the houses had been painted basic white. Now there were subtle shades of tan, gray and gold in the mix and even a smattering of more vibrant hues.
Holt parked the truck in front of Aunt Jane’s house. Cara stared for long seconds at the dark, ugly door and cold concrete slab that had replaced the front porch. She much preferred the old wood porch and the door with the big window in it. The drab gray paint of the siding seemed to reflect her mood and confirm that this was not the same place she had known.
Saddened not to feel the tug of home, Cara opened the truck door and slid out. Oddly, despite the obvious changes, Mrs. Poersel’s house seemed as familiar and solid as Cara’s memories. Preoccupied, she didn’t even realize that Holt had taken Ace from his car seat until they joined her.
“Her mind doesn’t seem to wander so much as skip all over the place,” Holt warned. “Don’t be concerned if she doesn’t recognize you right off.”
Cara’s lips curved wryly. The possibility of Mrs. Poersel failing to immediately recognize her counted as the least of her worries.
Holt’s big hand came to rest in the small of her back, propelling her forward without actually applying pressure. Within moments, admitted by a competent and friendly private nurse, Cara found herself standing in Mrs. Poersel’s hot, crowded living room.
It felt like a sauna, albeit a cluttered one. Yet, even the clutter retained something of Mrs. Poersel’s natural elegance. Cara had always known that the kind neighbor’s bric-a-brac items were the cheapest to be found, but that had not prevented them from assuming a certain dignified, even magisterial, ambience once placed by Mrs. Poersel’s graceful hand.
Gladys, the nurse, arrayed in flowery purple cotton and athletic shoes, put her hands to her ample hips and smiled at them, her teeth white in her dark face, her many short, beaded braids clacking cheerfully.
“Well, now this is fine. Ya’ll come on back. It’ll make her day.” She patted Ace’s back, addressing Holt before moving away. “It’s sweet of you to bring your family by, hon.”
“Oh, we’re not—” Cara began, only to break off as Gladys disappeared into the dining room, or what used to be the dining room. It had become, Cara quickly saw, a sick room, complete with four-poster bed, dresser and, lamentably, IV pole. Holt frowned at that IV pole, even as Mrs. Poersel—a smaller, frailer, more wisened version than the one Cara remembered—beamed at them from the bed.
“Sugar, that nice young man’s come back with his wife and baby,” Gladys announced, going to plump the pillows at her charge’s thin back.
“Oh, actually, he’s not my husband,” Cara said quickly. Gladys turned a surprised look on her, prodding Cara to add, “He’s my boss.”
Holt turned his frown on Cara, stating flatly, “I’m not her boss. Cara Jane works for my grandfather.”
Gladys chuckled. “Okay. Whatever you say.”
At the same time, Mrs. Poersel reached out a cadaverous hand, asking, “Did you say Cara Jane?”
Cara put aside her embarrassment and stepped forward, announcing forthrightly, “It’s Cara Sharp, Mrs. Poersel. Remember me? From next door?”
“Cara? Little Cara?”
Her face wreathed in a smile, Mrs. Poersel reached out for a hug with both arms, one of which trailed an IV line. Cara stepped forward, gingerly enfolding the fragile old lady. She felt less substantial than Ace, like autumn leaves swirling in the breeze. Cara straightened, tears clouding her vision, and heard Holt quietly ask the nurse, “How is she?”
“Not long for this world,” Gladys announced baldly. “She’ll soon be going home to Jesus. Won’t you, old darlin’?”
Mrs. Poersel lay beaming against her pillows. �
�Not soon enough,” she rasped. Then she moved her hands together weakly. “Cara. Oh, my child, you’re here in her place. I can’t thank you enough.”
Cara bowed her head, cringing inside, wishing she hadn’t come, so glad now that she had. She reached out to lightly clasp a finely knobbed and veined hand. “Can I do anything for you?”
Before Mrs. Poersel could answer that, Holt asked, “Are you in pain, ma’am?”
Mrs. Poersel looked at Gladys and actually laughed.
“Ain’t modern medicine grand?” Gladys quipped. It had obviously become something of a joke between them.
“Not with this contraption,” Mrs. Poersel said in cheerful answer to Holt’s question, waving the IV line. “Mostly what I am is old. And glad to see Cara. So glad.” Her gaze shifted to Ace. “Is it your baby?”
Cara glanced at Ace. Big-eyed, he stuck two fingers into his mouth and warily looked around him. Holt had, thankfully, stripped him of his hoodie.
“Let me introduce you.” Cara reached out, and Holt delivered the boy into her arms. She shifted him near the bed. “This is my son, Ace.”
Mrs. Poersel studied him longingly. “Isn’t he beautiful? Reminds me so of Albert.”
“How is Albert?” Cara asked just to be polite. She only vaguely remembered Mrs. Poersel’s rotund son.
“Waiting for me in heaven with his daddy,” came the winsome reply. “Heart attack. Never did take care of himself. Cara Jane always said I spoiled him.” Mrs. Poersel giggled and shrugged her delicate shoulders as if it were a great joke.
Cara was almost afraid to ask about the daughter, but she couldn’t not do so now. She remembered Linda the best, though both Poersel siblings were decades older than her. “And Linda?”
“Very well. Retired.” One gnarled, ivory hand wavered slightly. “Traveling the world.”
“She just went to the church to drop off a cake for the fellowship supper,” Gladys corrected with a smile, “but she’s done some traveling all right. You name it, she’s been there.”
“Married well,” Mrs. Poersel went on complacently, looking to Holt. “I hope she comes before I die.” She fixed her gaze on Cara then, asking plaintively, “Will you pray that she comes home before I die?”
“I will,” Cara said softly, glancing at the nurse, who merely shook her head. When Cara looked back to the bed, the sight of Mrs. Poersel with her hands folded and her snowy head bowed shocked Cara. Did the old dear expect her to pray at that very moment? Cara looked helplessly to Holt. He stepped up beside her an instant before his large, heavy hand covered her nape.
“Gracious heavenly Father,” he said, his deep voice gentle and strong, “I thank You for Your loving kindness. Thank You for the place You’ve prepared for Your servant, Mrs. Poersel. I know You will welcome her with open arms in the company of her loved ones, but not until her daughter returns to this bedside. Thank You for Your generosity and patience in this, Lord, and for giving us this visit with an old and beloved neighbor. In the name of Your holy Son, amen.”
“Eddie!” Mrs. Poersel exclaimed the moment Cara raised her head. “His name’s Eddie, isn’t it?”
Cara sneaked a glimpse at Holt, who seemed to accept this bizarre pronouncement with stoic calm. “Oh. Uh. My brother, you mean?”
“Cara Jane would be so proud of you both,” Mrs. Poersel said. She smiled at Ace then, seeming to sink in on herself. “He’s so beautiful. Makes me think of Albert.”
Gladys sent them a meaningful look. Gulping, Cara nodded. “It was very nice to see you again, Mrs. Poersel.”
“I miss her so,” Mrs. Poersel sighed, her eyes closing. “All of them. I miss them all.”
Holt slipped an arm around Cara, turning her toward the doorway with Ace. They navigated the crowded living room with Gladys trailing.
“Thank you all for coming,” she said, standing patiently while Cara wrestled Ace into his hoodie. “You’ve made her last hours a little brighter.”
Suspecting that Gladys had been nothing short of a Godsend to her old friend, Cara impulsively hugged the other woman, who surprisingly teared up.
“She done nothing but talk about your auntie since he’s here last,” Gladys said, waving a hand at Holt. “It’s just the Lord’s pure blessing that y’all came when you did. Now don’t worry about her none. She’s going straight to the mansions.”
They parted with smiles and banked tears.
It hadn’t been nearly as bad as Cara had feared. Sad, yes, and yet oddly uplifting, too. Glad she had come, unbearably relieved, she stepped out into the chill day.
“In my Father’s house are many mansions,” Holt said softly.
Cara faced him, the January temperature quickly cooling her overheated skin. “What was that?”
“It’s from John 14,” he told her, looking down into her eyes, “the very words of Jesus to His followers, the King James version. ‘In my Father’s house are many mansions: If it were not so, I would have told you. I go to prepare a place for you.’” He looked back to the house. “I’m glad to know her mansion is ready.”
Cara marveled at this description of heaven. She could almost see Mrs. Poersel gliding through halls of marble and gold as if made for them, her earthly keepsakes replaced with valuables beyond description. Was Aunt Jane now living in one of those mansions that Jesus had prepared? A simple woman with simple tastes and simple wants, did she now enjoy unimagined luxury?
Yes, Cara believed she did.
And Addison? Her mother?
Cara closed her eyes, unable even to think the answers or to form the question that laid most heavily on her heart, the question concerning herself.
“When she speaks of Cara Jane, she means your aunt, doesn’t she?” Holt asked, jerking Cara back to the moment.
Limp with relief, her emotions raw and her heart heavy, Cara could not lie to him again. “Yes,” she answered simply.
“And Sharp is your maiden name.”
“Yes. My maiden name.”
Nodding, he ushered her down the steps and along the sidewalk, Ace snuggled against his chest.
“Thank you for bringing me here,” Cara said once they reached the truck. She looked back at the house standing next to the Poersels’, admitting, “I thought it would feel like home, but it doesn’t.”
“Is that why you were afraid to come?” he asked. Then, before she could even begin to formulate an answer, he mused, “Our fears never have as much power as we think they do.” He tilted his head, as if listening to the sound of his own words again.
In that moment, she could almost, almost, believe them.
Holt was as disappointed as everyone else that Charlotte and Ty had not, after all, made the much-anticipated trip from Dallas for the big football championship game. Tyler had apologized profusely.
The family made do with an impromptu get-together of Hap’s friends at the Heavenly Arms. Marie Wallace, Grover’s wife, supplied her famous chicken lasagna, and Teddy Booker came with a Crock-Pot full of hot apple cider. It helped that Cara and Ace joined the party, with Ace happily beginning to lurch from lap to lap as soon as they arrived.
“Just like a real kid,” Justus declared.
Cara blushed at this impolitic statement, compelling Holt to squeeze her shoulder. She’d been through a lot, seeing her old neighbor at death’s door that afternoon. Receiving a smile for his efforts, he trailed her to the sofa and sat down next to her, remembering only as he settled himself how Charlotte and Ty had done the same thing and how everyone had known that they were drawn to each other even then.
He didn’t want to be drawn to Cara. It hardly mattered now, for drawn he was. Once again buoyed by a visit with Mrs. Poersel, Holt lodged another tiny piece to the puzzle, a maiden name, and then put the whole mystery away to enjoy himself. Why not?
No one really cared a fig about the Super Bowl game except Ryan, but it gave them all something to do, something to celebrate, a reason to come together. Holt felt strangely content, oddly hopeful, and final
ly he faced the truth he’d been avoiding.
He wanted to let go of his suspicions and just trust Cara.
Cara Jane Sharp Wynne. He smiled, thinking of that little girl and the lightning bugs.
She seemed to enjoy the game, though she obviously knew next to nothing about football. Ryan proved only too happy to enlighten her, and she allowed him to do so with quiet indulgence. When Ace dropped off to sleep against Holt’s shoulder, she rose, intending to take the boy out to their room and call it a night.
“You stay and enjoy your game,” she urged, but with the boy already asleep in his arms, Holt wouldn’t hear of it.
After carrying Ace out to the room, Holt worked quietly and efficiently with Cara to get the boy into bed. Then she turned, before he did, to move back into the outer room. Suddenly they stood face-to-face in the near dark, and somehow his arms were around her, those dainty hands of hers resting just above his elbows. He felt his heart stop beating and his head lowering toward her upturned face. At the last moment, Ace flopped over in bed, bumping against the wall, destroying the moment and restoring sanity. Holt cleared his throat as Cara glided away.
He took his leave quickly after that, and during the long night that followed, he pondered what he’d learned. It should not have been so important to him that her veracity had been proven, at least in this one area, by their visit with Mrs. Poersel. His relief felt entirely too profound, almost guiltily so, which meant that somehow he’d allowed himself to become attached to her.
Suddenly Holt could no longer be certain whose secrets were more dangerous, Cara’s or his own.
Chapter Twelve
H olt finally found the time to take a look at Cara’s car on Tuesday. Due to predicted precipitation, he parked the little foreign job beneath the drive-through at the motel for protection while he worked on it. He need not have bothered as the day turned bright and clear, if chilly. A quick adjustment stopped the clattering of a lifter arm, but he found another, more troubling issue that, had it manifested itself while Cara had been driving, could have resulted in disaster.