“What does it matter what kind of car I’m driving or where I work?” she asked. “Last December you mocked me because of my big-city, pampered-girl lifestyle. I’m not like that anymore, but I guess I should have realized that just because I’ve changed doesn’t mean you did. You still look down on me and think you’re so much better.” She stood and pushed back her chair. “You know what? I didn’t come here to argue.” She threw a quick glance to either side of the table, to Deb and Josh’s shocked faces. “Sorry.”
“Why did you come here?” Ben asked. He stood, facing her across the table. “What on earth possessed you to drive clear across the country—in an old, borrowed car?” His tone of voice told her he didn’t believe her story.
Does he think I’m down on my luck or something?
Tara felt tears building behind her eyes as she met his gaze. “Nothing,” she said quietly. “There was nothing on earth that could have done that. It was a much greater power. One that you hold.” She paused, not wanting to say this now. Not wanting to ruin what she had hoped would be a wonderful, remember-for-the-rest-of-her-life moment. But it was too late. She’d already ruined everything. Again.
“I had hoped you would use it to baptize me.”
Thirty-Nine
Immediately following Tara’s departure, silence descended on the kitchen. Even Josh had stopped eating, though he still held his fork aloft, clutched in his unmoving hand. They all stared at the empty doorway in a dazed sort of way. Deb was the first to recover and find her voice.
“You.” She pointed her knife at Ben. “Are a total jerk.”
“Baptized?” Ben was sure his face revealed the shock he felt. “Tara wants me to baptize her?”
“Not anymore, I’d wager.” Josh put down his fork, picked up a drumstick, and bit into it.
Deb wrinkled her nose and frowned at him. “How can you eat at a time like this?”
“Like what?” he mumbled through a bite of food.
“That poor woman is upstairs, crying, no doubt, and you’re stuffing your face like some—”
“Pig?” Josh grinned at her.
“She’s not some poor woman,” Ben said. “Don’t let her act fool you. She’s critical and bossy and vain, and I can’t believe she really wants to be baptized. There’s something else going on. She’s after something.”
“You?” Josh suggested.
Ben shook his head. “In the past, she’s made her opinion of farmers—or anyone vaguely related—clear. Very uncouth in the company she keeps.”
“What makes you so sure she isn’t telling the truth about getting baptized?” Deb asked.
“Because I know her,” Ben said. “She’s the complete opposite of what a Latter-day Saint is supposed to be. She’s selfish and worldly and temperamental and spoiled. I can’t imagine the things that would have had to happen for her to want to join the Church.
“She sure didn’t seem to be any of those things today,” Josh said.
“People can change, Benji.” Deb reached for his hand, but he pulled away. “You’ve got to stop letting your mom taint every relationship you’re in.”
“My mom has nothing to do with this,” Ben said. “And I never had a relationship with Tara.”
“He just kissed her.” Josh winked at Deb.
Ben glared at him. “That’s one mistake I won’t be making again.”
* * *
An hour later, when the dinner dishes had been washed, dried, and put away, and he’d swept the floor and wiped down the counters and done every other chore he could think of, Ben headed up the stairs to his room. Tara had not left the house, but she also hadn’t come downstairs again. He worried she’d sneak out sometime during the night, leaving him without a chance to apologize. And he wanted to apologize. While he still didn’t believe her, he also couldn’t deny that he’d been rude and unkind during dinner. He needed to tell her he was sorry. He wanted to feel as if he were in the right of things again.
He wanted to know what Tara was really up to.
Ben trod carefully on the steps, hugging the wall as he went, so as not to put weight on any of the squeaky boards. Maybe if Tara thought he was still downstairs, she’d get tired waiting to leave and fall asleep. Then, in the morning, he could figure out what this was all about. If she really did need help, well . . .
It won’t be the first time.
He thought of the ten thousand he’d emptied out of his bank account five months ago and all the promise for the future he’d felt when doing it. To this day he still didn’t completely regret the decision. McKenzie and her two children had needed help. And he’d been only too happy to give it. Too happy to fly them out to Ohio, to have them close by for a couple of months. To pretend for a short while that they belonged together.
To start to believe he could fall in love again.
To remember that women—his adoptive mom and sisters being the only exceptions he could think of—were not to be trusted. Ever.
Especially one he’d seen in action before. Tara had been able to turn on the tears at will last December. The months since then would have only given her time to perfect her technique.
Ben’s face was grim as he passed her door. He wasn’t going to fall for it, for her. No matter how much he’d thought about her—and that stupid kiss—since last December, he wasn’t going to let himself be used again. He’d find out what she needed, and then he would help—or not—on his terms.
On my terms. He liked the sound of that, the thought of being in control again. Exactly what he hadn’t felt all afternoon since seeing Tara seated at his kitchen table.
Forty
Deb returned from showering and flopped onto her bed. She glanced over at Tara, lying perfectly still in the bed across the room beneath the eaves. “I’ve never seen Ben like this. I’m sorry he was so rude tonight.”
“I bring out the worst in him.” Tara rolled to her side, facing the wall. She hoped Deb would take the hint and leave her alone. She didn’t feel like talking to anyone right now. She would have gone somewhere else for the night, but she didn’t trust herself not to get lost this far out in the country in the dark.
“Why is that, do you suppose?”
“I’m lucky that way,” Tara said sarcastically. What does she expect me to say to that? “I seem to bring out the worst in just about every man I’ve ever known.” Maybe if I’d had a dad around, things would’ve been different. I’d have had a role model, someone to help me figure men out.
“Do you?” Deb asked. “Do you have other guys scattered around the country who are as madly in love with you as Ben is?”
Tara made a sound somewhere between a snort and a sob. “Ben isn’t in love with me. You don’t need to worry. I’m leaving tomorrow morning. You’ll never see me again, and you guys can go on and have your wedding and your happily ever after.”
“What?” A few seconds later the mattress sagged, and Tara rolled over to find Deb sitting on the edge of the bed. “Ben’s my brother.”
“That’s not funny,” Tara said. “In fact, it’s sicker than naming a pig Ham.”
Deb threw her hands up in the air. “All this time—today—you thought I was marrying Ben. Eeww.”
“You were grocery shopping together,” Tara said. “And there was that whole bit about you touching Ben and the pig being jealous. You’ve got that rock on your finger. You live here.”
“Like I could do that if we were engaged,” Deb said.
Tara stared at her, realizing she told the truth. Ben isn’t engaged. For a brief second she felt almost giddy. Only Deb’s eyes narrowing suspiciously kept Tara from laughing out loud.
“If you were a member of our church or had investigated it, you’d know two unmarried people can’t live together.” Deb’s voice was accusatory.
“I’d forgotten,” Tara said. “To the rest of the world, living with someone is perfectly acceptable. I forget everything that’s taboo sometimes.”
“That’s kind of a big one,”
Deb said, still skeptical. She rose from the bed, bent over, and removed the towel from her hair.
“It is, isn’t it?” Tara said, disturbed by how easily she’d forgotten. If she’d thought about it, then much earlier she might have realized Ben wasn’t engaged, and her emotions might not have been running so high. I might not have blown my one opportunity to ask Ben to baptize me and to make amends for the way I acted last December.
Though Ben had been rude, Tara felt the most disappointed with herself. I should have waited. Should have tried to explain things better.
Twelve days and 2,400 miles for nothing.
“But you are engaged?” she asked, hoping to change the subject and take her mind off her misery. “Or are diamonds that size standard accessories for farmgirls in Ohio?”
Deb was still towel-drying her hair, but she turned her head to the side so she could see Tara.
“I’m engaged to Josh. I’d have thought that was pretty obvious. I kissed him on the porch in plain sight this afternoon, and we were flirting shamelessly during dinner. I guess you didn’t notice those things?”
“No.” Tara grimaced. Now that we’ve established I am an unobservant, forgetful idiot. “Congratulations,” she said sincerely. “When’s the wedding?”
Deb finished drying her hair and stood up. “We haven’t decided on a date yet. We’d like to get married soon, but . . .”
“What?” Tara asked, knowing full well that Deb wanted her to ask.
“I’m worried about leaving Ben all alone. It’s bad enough he talks to the pigs when I’m around. If he’s here by himself, I’m afraid things will get even worse.”
“Worse—how?” Tara asked. She leaned up on one elbow and gave Deb her full attention.
“I’m worried his depression will come back,” she said. “Summer was rough, and I’m not sure he’s completely recovered. Which is why Josh and I haven’t set a date.”
“Why was summer rough?” Tara asked. Bad crops? It couldn’t be the pigs. Josh had as much as told her that Ben had the best around here.
Deb tossed her towel on the back of a chair and climbed into her own bed. “It’s not my place to say anything. If Ben wants to tell you, he will.” She twisted the knob on the hurricane lamp on her night table, leaving the room in darkness.
“I’ll be surprised if Ben tells me so much as good-bye tomorrow morning,” Tara said.
“We’ll see,” was Deb’s only reply.
I wanted to see, Tara admitted to herself. I wanted to see Ben again, to see if my changing made any difference at all. She frowned into the dark as a new, unwelcome thought crossed her mind.
Maybe that’s why everything went so wrong tonight. Had she wanted Ben to baptize her just to show him she’d changed, that she was better than she’d been when he last saw her?
Yes, a tiny voice inside admitted. Tara stared up at the ceiling, hating the guilt she suddenly felt. All this being honest with herself all the time was hard. Especially since herself wasn’t always such a great person—like right now.
“Daa-rn it,” she muttered under her breath. It’s more than that. I know it. Everything I felt this summer. The things I read and learned. It’s about something much more, much bigger than Ben or me.
Tara flipped back the covers and quietly got out of bed. Kneeling beside it, she bowed her head, folded her arms, and closed her eyes.
Heavenly Father, she began then poured out her heart, thanking Him for every blessing she could think of. That she was healthy, she had good friends, she’d made it here safely. That she’d seen Ben again and asked him what she had planned to. Tara stopped, taking a moment to gather her thoughts and her courage. Now came the hard part.
Please forgive me if my motives were wrong. Forgive me for confusing Thy love with—other feelings. I’m sorry. Again. At least she was getting good at that. Since she’d started praying every night, she’d yet to have a day when she hadn’t made mistakes—usually in multiples. And please bless Ben that whatever was rough about his summer will get better.
She ended her prayer but stayed by the side of the bed, her head on the mattress while she listened. The missionaries had told her this was the most difficult part of prayer and communicating with Heavenly Father. They’d said that most people, when it came to praying, forgot that a conversation went two ways—that part of the time you had to listen.
Tara never forgot. This was her favorite part, the quiet moments after her prayer when a spirit of peace and comfort filled her soul. It was then she felt that someone—a Father—was listening to her.
Bless Ben, she thought again. Help me be better than I am. Help me have better motives.
The floor was cold, so Tara climbed into bed, determined to do the rest of her listening there. Just before she dropped off to sleep, she felt the comforting warmth of the Spirit envelop her again, just as surely as she was tucked in the folds of the quilt. The faintest whisper seemed to brush by, an answer to all of her earlier pleas.
I will.
Forty-One
Tara carefully pushed her easel and canvases aside and loaded her suitcase into the back of the Jeep. She reached up to close the hatch and discovered Ben’s hand already there—stopping hers.
“Hi.” She looked up at him, squinting against the early morning sun.
“I thought you didn’t ever get up before ten,” he said.
She shrugged. “I usually sleep better these days.” In spite of yesterday’s turmoil, she’d slept like the dead last night.
“Good thing I was up early myself.” Ben kept his stance, hand braced against the Jeep’s hatch.
“Milking your cows, I suppose,” Tara said then grimaced inwardly. Somehow that comment had sounded snarky. Why was it so hard to be nice around him?
“No cows. Just pigs,” Ben said.
“You milk pigs?” That one had been too much to resist.
A corner of his mouth quirked up. “Haven’t tried that yet. Don’t think I want to, either. Not with Persephone’s temper.”
Tara glanced at the hatch. “Do you mind?” she asked, after several awkward seconds had passed without either of them speaking.
“I do, actually,” Ben said. He released the hatch but reached in the Jeep to retrieve her suitcase. One corner caught on the easel, and he moved it aside. He turned to Tara. “Do you draw?”
“Paint,” she corrected. “Though this trip is really the first time I’ve done much in years. I’m pretty rusty.”
“Let me judge?” Ben lifted her suitcase from the back of the Jeep and set it on the ground.
She shrugged. “Go ahead.” Her work was far from perfect, and of course she’d yet to finish any of the paintings she’d started this trip, but it didn’t really matter what Ben thought. He’d made his feelings clear last night, and she didn’t think anything else he said could hurt any more.
Ben picked up the closest canvas. He took it from the car, turned it over, and stared at her painting of the Nauvoo Temple.
Tara watched as, once again, fleeting expressions crossed his face. Surprise—obviously. She’d known he hadn’t believed her last night when she’d asked him to baptize her. Something akin to remorse or chagrin followed his surprise, and then . . . respect?
He looked up. “I owe you an apology.”
“Yes. You do.” She folded her arms across her chest as her eyes met his. “It would have meant more if you’d offered it before you saw that painting.”
Instead of continuing with his apology, Ben leaned into the back of the Jeep, put the canvas inside, and grabbed another, this one her rendition of Parley Street in Old Nauvoo. “You’re good,” he said after he’d studied it a minute.
“That one is my favorite.” Tara’s eyes flitted from his face to the painting. “I imagine you know the history, but when I was there last week, I learned they used to call that street the Trail of Tears but changed it to the Trail of Hope. Yet there were an awful lot of tears shed there.”
“Did you read all the signs
?” Ben asked.
“I did.” She knew exactly what he was talking about. All along Parley Street, down to the waterfront, where the pioneers had crossed the frozen river, were plaques that told of the people who’d left their homes and possessions behind and with faithful hearts had followed Brigham Young to an unknown West.
“Reading them was heartbreaking—and inspiring. Those people had so much faith.” Right after she’d finished, she’d gone to her car, gathered her art supplies, and spent the rest of the afternoon and much of the next day down by the river, sketching and then painting that street as she imagined it looked when the pioneers walked it for the last time. Just remembering the feelings she’d felt there brought her fragile emotions to the surface again.
She was grateful that Jane had convinced her a day at Nauvoo would be well worth a few hours’ detour and her time. Tara had kept her promise to stop there, intending to spend an afternoon. Four days later, she’d finally left, only the thought of seeing Ben able to tear her from the overwhelming spirit she’d experienced in that sacred place.
Ben put the painting back in the Jeep and closed the hatch. Her suitcase was still on the ground beside the car.
“I think you forgot something,” Tara said, nudging the bag with her toe.
“I’ve forgotten a lot of things.” Ben shoved his hands in his pockets and looked at her. “Like the fact that people can change and the gospel is for everyone and you’re a nice person who I had a lot of fun with last December.”
“Mmm. That last one might be stretching it a little.” Tara made eye contact, wanting him to believe her this time. “I was telling the truth last night, Ben. I drove all the way here to ask you to baptize me. And—” The truth. The whole truth, and nothing but the truth so help me— “Because I wanted to see you again,” she admitted. “When I moved back to Seattle, I ended up staying with my friend Jane—the one I mentioned to you last December. She’s a great person, and a member of the LDS Church. She started teaching me, and then I spent four months taking the missionary discussions. During that time some things happened—Jane had her babies early. She was in a coma and almost died. It was a rather life-changing experience.”
My Lucky Stars Page 25