You are? Desperate to know if this was only her overtired imagination, Tara practically slid from the chair then crawled over to the couch, where she buried her head in her arms.
“Father?” she spoke out loud, not caring if she sounded ridiculous—not feeling ridiculous but desperate for the answers she sought. “I need Thee,” she pled. “I believe in Thee. Please, please bless me with Thy Spirit . . .”
Thirty-Three
Tara felt a nudge, and the next thing she knew, Maddie was sneaking beneath her arm—still folded across the couch.
Sunlight streamed through the patio doors, warming the room and making everything seem far better than it had been the previous day. Tara moved her head and realized she’d been kneeling at the sofa all night. Or what was left of it after Peter’s call.
“Tara?” Maddie laid her head sideways on the couch and looked into Tara’s eyes, her own features watchful with childish concern. “Are you still crying?”
Tara blinked rapidly, trying to clear her vision and come fully awake. She sat up straight and then enfolded Maddie in her arms.
“Are you still sad?” Maddie asked.
“Not anymore.” Tara considered the question, and her answer so readily given. She didn’t feel sad. The oppressive weight of yesterday—of all of her yesterdays—had lifted. In its place there was a new feeling inside, wrapping her in comfort and love and peace.
“I’m not sad, either,” Maddie said. “Can we have waffles for breakfast? We could bring some to Mommy at the hospital.”
Jane. Worry for her rushed to the front of Tara’s mind, yet even that wasn’t enough to overcome the peace and . . . lightness . . . enveloping her. Tara was almost afraid to move, afraid that if she got up and started her day, the feeling would vanish.
She chose her words carefully. “I don’t know if your mom is well enough to eat waffles this morning.” But she is well.
All is well.
Tara didn’t know how she knew this, but she did. She hugged Maddie briefly then got up on stiff legs, exercising her faith that the goodness she felt wouldn’t disappear but would follow her to the kitchen.
“I’ll call the hospital and ask.” Tara grabbed her cell phone from her purse and called the direct number she’d added yesterday. The nurse who answered was the same one who’d been on duty when Tara had left around one in the morning.
The news wasn’t as heartening as Tara had hoped. There was little change in Jane’s condition, though she was stable now. Her bleeding had finally stopped.
She just needs to wake up, Tara thought, then she explained the situation to Maddie exactly that way.
“Your mom is really tired. Having those babies wore her out, so she’s going to sleep today.” As she spoke the words, Tara thought they really did make sense. She could almost believe them herself. She hesitated, waiting to see Maddie’s reaction to hearing that she couldn’t see her mom.
“O-kay,” Maddie said after a few seconds. “Can we draw her a picture? And make cupcakes for Ella and Easton?”
Tara nearly laughed. “Yes. Absolutely.” To be like a child echoed through her mind again. She felt almost like a child this morning—free, somehow, from the cares of the world, though she knew they were still there.
Maddie was already hauling out the waffle iron and the cupcake tins.
“One thing at a time,” Tara said, taking the heavy iron from her and putting it on the counter. “First we need to—”
“Pray,” Maddie said.
“You’re right.” Tara stared at her across the counter, remembering a day, not so many weeks ago, when she’d looked across that same counter and told Maddie that she didn’t pray.
“We need to thank Heavenly Father for the miracle,” Maddie said.
Tara nodded then smiled through her sudden tears. “We need to thank Him for a few of them.”
Thirty-Four
Maddie carried the shoe box carefully across the patio. “I’m going to miss you, Fran.”
I won’t, Tara thought, feeling liberated at the possibility of not having a bird to feed almost around the clock. She hoped Jane was right, and it really was ready to be on its own. Though she was glad it had survived this long and guessed it was probably Maddie’s tender heart and care that had seen the creature through.
“You saved Fran’s life.” Tara knelt beside Maddie at the edge of the patio. Kind of like your mom saved mine. Telltale moisture formed in Tara’s eyes. For the past week and a half, it seemed she’d done nothing but cry.
“Good-bye, Fran.” Maddie’s own voice sounded teary as she lifted the bird from the box. “Fly and be happy,” Maddie whispered. She uncovered the bird and held her palms flat and steady.
Fran hesitated a half second then spread her wings and took off, soaring into the air, flying across the yard to the tree where her life had begun.
Maddie waved, and a smile lit her face. “She flew!”
“Yes, she did.” Tara hugged Maddie a little tighter. A new feeling, another new feeling—one that had been building for the past several weeks—seemed to burst from her chest. Sudden understanding filled her mind, accompanied by one simple word.
Joy.
* * *
“Mommy’s coming home today. Mommy’s coming home.” Maddie skipped ahead of Tara, toward the hospital entrance. Peter had left earlier to take care of paperwork at the hospital and to help Jane dress the twins, who were also being released. Tara had promised to bring Maddie so she could be part of their homecoming.
Tara had to hurry to keep up with Maddie as she skipped toward Jane’s room. After having her mother gone for nearly two weeks, the little girl was more than ready to have her home again. Tara was eager for Jane to return too, though she knew that the magical time they’d shared together the past few months was over. Peter was home, and Jane—and her time—belonged to him and their children.
Lingering purposely behind, Tara watched Maddie run into her mother’s hospital room. Tara readied the video camera for the grand exit then stole forward and peeked inside, hesitant to intrude yet also wanting to witness the reunion. Jane sat on the bed with Maddie beside her. Each of Jane’s arms held a baby. Peter stood behind them, his hand beneath Maddie’s arm, supporting little Ella’s head.
Something that she could only guess was longing hit Tara hard as she turned on the camera and tried to focus the lens. The feeling surprised her. She didn’t want what Jane had. The thought of being responsible for two babies was terrifying. Yet she did want what Jane had. She wanted someone who loved her, the way Peter loved Jane, and she wanted someone to love. She’d learned that thinking of others before herself, serving them, wasn’t such a bad thing after all. When it came down to it, she had to admit . . .
I’m really going to miss that kid.
Tara knew she needed to find something to fill her life. Maddie was going to leave a pretty big void.
Jane caught sight of Tara at the door and waved her in. Tara paused the camera and entered the room.
“I hear Fran made it.” Jane’s smile was triumphant.
“She flew beautifully,” Tara confirmed.
“Success all around, or so I hear,” Jane said, handing Easton off to Peter. “Congratulations on the new business.”
“Well, it’s only a start,” Tara said. “But I am officially licensed and legal now.” After selling her old wardrobe on eBay last month, and making quite a bit of money, she’d realized what potential there was in the used clothing market—especially designer labels that many people liked and were familiar with but couldn’t necessarily afford to buy in this economy.
She’d done some research, placed a couple of ads, and before she’d even fully developed the idea, she had clients on both ends, some wanting her to sell their items, others looking to purchase specific things. She’d become a broker again, this time of used clothing, purses, shoes, and the like. The potential was endless. Already she was thinking about other markets she could expand to. And to be fair, she ha
d to admit that the idea had begun with a trip to Deseret Industries in Utah.
The correct term is secondhand, Ben had first informed her. Tara couldn’t help but grin as she remembered that shopping trip and the ill-fated jeans.
“What are you thinking about?” Jane asked.
“How Ben would laugh if he knew I now sell secondhand clothing for a living.”
“You should tell him,” Jane said. She turned sideways on the bed so Peter could put on her shoes. He knelt in front of her and carefully slipped each foot into a sandal.
In just watching that simple act, Tara felt her eyes start to moisten again.
“Look, I have ankles again.” Jane raised a foot and pointed her toe.
“You look great,” Tara said. And Jane did. After emerging from a coma three days after she’d given birth to the twins, she had surprised everyone by how well she seemed to feel, both mentally and physically. Only a few setbacks with recovering from her hysterectomy had kept her in the hospital this long.
Jane returned the compliment. “You look great too, Tara. Ben really should see how you’ve changed. Call him,” Jane prodded. “Invite him to your baptism.”
“I don’t know,” Tara said. The idea of calling Ben was equally terrifying and exciting. “That’s not really something I can ask on the phone. I don’t think he’d believe me.” She sighed. “I was so awful last December.”
“So show him you’re different. Go see him,” Jane said.
Tara shook her head. “No way. I can’t even fly from one state to another without having a panic attack. I can’t afford a first-class ticket right now, and I’d never make it across the country in coach.”
“You could drive,” Peter suggested. He finished putting on Jane’s shoes and stood. He held his hand out to Jane, helping her from the bed. “Trust me. Guys love coming home and finding strange women in their backyard.” He pulled Jane close and hugged her.
“Kiss her, Daddy,” Maddie said, looking up from her post, sitting between the babies in their car seats.
“I think I will.” Peter bent his head and brushed his lips to Jane’s.
Tara looked away, feeling the intruder again. Yearning hit her once more, and this time she indulged it, reliving Ben’s kiss, wondering what it would be like if she saw him again. If she shared with him all that had happened this summer, the way she felt, her desire to be baptized.
“I could ask Ben to baptize me.” She spoke the thought out loud.
“That’s a great idea,” Jane said. She and Peter stepped apart as a nurse with a wheelchair entered the room.
“Ben’s the one who first . . . piqued your interest, right?” Peter asked.
“Yeah.” Tara put the video camera away and stepped out into the hall while everyone got ready to leave. She wondered how many miles it was from here to Ohio. How many days of driving that would be, how long it would take.
I must be crazy. She couldn’t believe she was even considering it. A trip like that would cost money. It would take planning. It would be—
Amazing. She’d never done anything like it before, had never really traveled anywhere other than big cities. Yet she loved Bainbridge—the space, the fresh air, visiting Jane’s home.
But this is Jane’s home, not mine. Long ago, Jane had taken her own leaps of faith that led her here. She had worked to make her own happiness.
The nurse wheeled Jane out to the hall. Peter followed, a baby carrier in each hand. Maddie took up the rear, cooing at the twins. Tara followed, a smile on her face as she remembered, all too well, a time she’d told Jane she was the crazy one.
Perhaps there was something to be said in favor of following her example.
Thirty-Five
Tara pulled the blanket close around her and lay back on Jane’s roof, gazing at the sprinkling of stars overhead. A few feet away, Jane had her eye pressed to the telescope as she studied the night sky.
“Dinner was great,” Tara said. “Thanks for having me over.”
“I figured a farewell dinner was a good way to make sure you really left on your trip tomorrow,” Jane said. “And as a follow-up, I’m going to expect a full star report from Ohio.”
Tara laughed. “I’m going to have to see how strong the farm aroma is there before I commit to hanging around outside.”
“Well, I’m glad it’s clear tonight,” Jane said. “It’s been forever since I’ve been up here.”
“The sky is beautiful,” Tara agreed. The heavens, she thought, wanting to know more about them and excited because—finally—she knew where to turn for answers. “What do you think heaven is like?” she asked, when Jane had left the telescope and was making her way toward her.
“Like Bainbridge,” Jane answered without hesitation. “It’s beautiful, and I’m surrounded by the people I love.”
“Guess I’ll be lonely there too,” Tara said, feeling disappointed.
Jane turned to her. “You won’t. Because heaven is also a place where we’re free from our sorrows. It says so in the scriptures. You won’t be lonely. We’ll be free of care, and any physical or other ailment we suffer on earth is also lifted from us.”
“You sound so sure,” Tara said. Her own testimony felt fragile. She longed for Jane’s security, for her years of learning and understanding.
“I’m not sure about everything,” Jane said. “But this . . .” Her voice trailed off, and she lay back on the roof beside Tara. For a few minutes neither spoke.
“I saw Mark,” Jane said suddenly.
“Who?” Tara turned her head to look at Jane.
“Maddie’s twin—our little boy.” She brought a finger to her lips and swallowed. In the dim light, Tara could see the tide of emotion rippling across Jane’s features.
“When I was in the coma,” Jane said. “I was with him—with Mark.”
Tara’s eyes widened. “Is that—normal?”
Jane made a sound that was half-laughter, half-choking. “Not that I know of. But I was with him. Really. And he was well.”
“What else?” Tara asked, eager to hear and believe what Jane was telling her. “Did you see Peter’s brother? Where were you? What—”
“I didn’t see anyone else,” Jane said. “Just Mark.” Her voice grew wistful. “I couldn’t even tell you where he—we—were exactly, but I was with him.”
Tara wasn’t sure what to say to this, though she could tell Jane spoke the truth. “How amazing—what a miracle.”
Jane nodded. “I’ve had more than my fair share, it seems.” She smiled. “I’d better be careful from here on out.”
“I should say so,” Tara agreed. Above them a universe of stars twinkled, making miracles seem a real possibility. “Who says there has to be a limit?” The past few months flew before her in a blur. Stepping back to look at them, she saw miracles too—many of them.
She’d arrived, just when Jane had needed someone to stay with her. All the things Brother Bartlett had taught . . . Just for me. The way the missionaries had been so in tune with her feelings and needs.
Miracles had happened with Jane and her babies. An ambulance had been nearby, returning from another call. Sister Sheffield had felt prompted to check on Jane. Brother Sheffield’s blessings. Tara realized that all of it had helped build her fledgling faith. She knew she would cherish this time, this summer, for the rest of her life. It was when she had first read about King Benjamin, had first discovered she had a Father in Heaven.
All because I happened to meet a good man named Ben.
Tara hugged herself, feeling both warm and shivery at the same time. “I know one thing.” She spoke with as much conviction as Jane had moments ago. “We’ve both been blessed, and we ought to thank our lucky stars.”
Autumn
“Good fortune often happens
when opportunity meets with preparation.”
—Thomas A. Edison
Thirty-Six
Tara watched the odometer turn over another mile as the Jeep bumped along a dirt
road. She glanced at the GPS again, hoping once more that the computer knew what it was doing. In the rearview mirror she saw a cloud of dust forming in the wake behind her and wondered how long it had been since it had rained. Certainly not that long. The October air smelled crisp and clean, and the lush, green hills were dotted crimson, pumpkin, and gold. Leaves stirred in the slight breeze as they sailed toward the ground.
“Arriving at your destination,” the GPS announced after she’d passed a third farm. Tara slowed as she came to a sturdy-looking wooden mailbox with Whitmore stenciled across it. The flutter of nerves that had been building inside since she’d crossed the Ohio border now seemed to erupt in her stomach, and for a split second she felt a wave of suffocating panic, though the windows were down and there was space all around her.
Through her mind scrolled the many possible scenarios she had imagined about her reunion with Ben. Now that she was here only one seemed a real possibility—that he’d think she’d completely lost her mind when she explained that she’d driven over two thousand miles to ask him a question.
A really important question, the Spirit reminded her, and Tara felt her newfound peace return along with a boost of courage. She drove past the mailbox and followed the long gravel drive toward a nondescript white two-story farmhouse. Resisting the urge to back up and turn the Jeep around so it would be facing the road, ready for a quick escape, she parked, shut off the engine, and said a silent prayer.
A quick glance in the rearview mirror showed what she had suspected—her windblown hair looked nothing like the long, shiny locks displayed by models. And the face staring back at her seemed almost foreign. Her new less-is-best look still surprised her sometimes.
Automatically her hand went to her purse on the seat. In the past it had always held an array of products she could cover up with and hide behind at a moment’s notice. Not so anymore. Of course, cutting her daily makeup routine in half didn’t really have anything to do with her new religion—she’d seen plenty of women at church who believed strongly in too much eyeliner and bright lipstick—but was more about her new belief in herself. She was Tara Mollagen, thirty-five years old, been kissed way too many times, with a few too many freckles for her liking. But that was okay.
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