Because, at the moment, her biggest concern was Martin.
Despite the fact that the boy had enjoyed his outing to the orchard and seemed to get along with the other children, his behavior when he returned to the shelter hadn’t improved. Mrs. Shaughnessy was losing patience with him, since he continued to get into trouble—not only at the shelter but at school as well. After several attempts to discipline Martin for disrupting the classroom, the principal had requested he be tutored at home, so as not to interrupt the lessons of the rest of the hardworking students.
Which left Jane in a predicament.
She had no funds to hire a tutor and the other staff members, both at the shelter and in the office, were already overworked. In the end, it fell to Jane to become his temporary teacher. Each morning, Martin would walk over from the shelter and report to Jane. She would then set him up in the staff lunchroom with some books, notepaper, and pencils. She’d spend half an hour going over the lesson for the day and leave him with work to do on his own. During her lunch hour, she would look over his work and give him an assignment for the afternoon.
To her relief, Martin seemed to love his time away from the shelter and hadn’t tried to run off. Part of the reason, Jane surmised, was Martin’s new hero worship of Garrett. Ever since the trip to the orchard, Martin talked nonstop about Mr. Wilder, his dog, and the farm. The fact that Garrett made a special point of checking in with Martin several times each day only added to the boy’s idolization.
As if her thoughts had conjured the man, Garrett knocked once and entered her office.
“Any thoughts on what we’re going to do about Martin?” He pulled over a chair. “He can’t stay in the lunchroom indefinitely.”
Jane looked up from the papers on her desk and attempted to ignore the flutter in her belly. “I’m working on a new placement. I still believe that if we find him a permanent home, he’ll feel secure enough to stop misbehaving.”
She lowered her gaze. Lately, she’d been having a difficult time keeping herself from staring at Garrett. His compassion toward her since she’d received the awful news about Brandon and the time she’d shared with him on his family’s farm had only enhanced her opinion of him, leading her to entertain all kinds of silly fantasies.
She pulled out a folder. “I’ve narrowed it down to three possible families.”
“Mind if I take a look?” He held out his hand.
“Not at all.” She passed him the file. “Though I’m surprised you’d want to dive into the minutiae of the organization this soon.”
He glanced up. “I’m here to analyze everything, Jane, minutiae and all. Might as well take it as it comes.” He studied her. “Come to think of it, I’m surprised you’re involved in this. Shouldn’t this be the job of Martin’s caseworker?”
She removed her glasses and folded them. “Technically, I still am Martin’s caseworker. I suppose I should reassign him, but since he trusts me—and believe me, he doesn’t trust easily—I felt I should handle this one personally.”
“That makes sense.” He removed the papers and scanned the details about the three potential families.
Jane fiddled with a pen while she waited. She’d gone over them again and again but couldn’t decide which one would be the most suitable. After her misjudgment of the McElroys, her confidence had slipped a little. Frankly, she welcomed Garrett’s opinion.
He closed the folder with a frown. “None of these are ideal, are they?”
“Not really. But as I’ve said, with the war on, we’ve lost a great number of foster families and have to choose from the ones we have left—ones who haven’t already rejected Martin, or who don’t want an older child, or who only want girls. That leaves very few candidates.”
“Which family are you leaning toward?”
Jane hesitated, strangely reluctant to share her opinion. “I think I’d probably eliminate the Harrisons. They’re an older couple, and my instincts tell me they only want someone to do work on their property. I don’t believe they’re really interested in creating a family for a child.”
One dark brow rose. “How do you know?”
“I’ve been to their place. It’s a rather large farm. When the Harrisons’ last foster child reached the age of eighteen, he left to pursue a job out West. I feel they’re merely looking for a replacement.”
“That might not be a bad thing.”
“Perhaps not. But I can’t help but wish for a real family for Martin. With parents who would treat him as their own child. Nurture him, help him grow into the wonderful young man I know he could be.” Her throat cinched shut. She was breaking one of the cardinal rules by becoming emotionally involved with a child she was trying to place. But how could she not after the promise she’d made to Martin’s mother? And the guilt that, six years later, she was still trying to fulfill that vow?
“Ever the optimist, I see,” Garrett said.
“I can’t help it. I want every child to feel loved and safe.”
“An admirable goal.”
His approving gaze did funny things to her stomach.
“So, which family do you think might give Martin this idyllic life?” His words had a teasing quality that Jane chose to ignore.
“I would pick the Jeffersons. They’re in their early forties and have had success with foster children in the past. I think they could provide Martin with the stability he needs.” She pulled over one of the sheets of paper. “On the other hand, the Blackwood family might work out too, except they’ve never had a foster child before, and it would be risky to place a potentially difficult case with an untried couple.”
“Or it could be a perfect fit. They indicate that they’re hoping to eventually adopt. This could be the permanent family you want for Martin.”
“Possibly.” She bit her lip. “But something tells me that being so new to the foster care system, they wouldn’t be prepared for a child with special needs.”
A sudden shriek sounded from the front of the building, followed by the slam of a door.
“Martin, come back here!” a woman shouted.
“That sounded like Melanie.” Jane jumped up from her chair. “What’s Martin done now?”
Garrett beat her out of the office. They both ran out the front door and found Melanie on the lawn, staring out toward the road.
“Martin! Get back here now!” The girl’s mouth was pinched, her arms crossed.
Jane rushed past her down the walkway, the brisk fall air biting through the thin fabric of her blouse.
Martin knelt in the middle of the road beside a black furry heap.
Jane’s heart stuttered. What was he doing? She looked both ways up the street as she ran toward him. “Martin, you need to get out of the road.”
“Mrs. Linder!” He raised his head, his face awash with tears. “This dog is hurt. He needs help.”
She peered down at the lifeless-looking animal and her heart squeezed. From the blood matting its hindquarters, it was likely he’d been hit by a car. “I’ll call for help, but first, you need to come inside.”
“I’m not leaving him.” Martin jutted his chin out. “A car might run over him.”
“A car might run over you!” Anxiety raced through Jane’s system as she tugged on his shirtsleeve.
Martin wrenched away and threw his arms over the dog. “No. I’m staying here.”
Garrett strode into the street and bent over the injured animal, quickly running his hands over its body, murmuring soothing words while feeling its limbs. The dog appeared to be unconscious, since it didn’t move when Garrett touched its broken right hind leg. Likely the animal had internal injuries as well, but only a vet would be able to determine the severity.
“Is he dead, Mr. Wilder?” Martin’s voice quavered.
“No, but he’s in rough shape. We’ll need to take him to a veterinarian to be checked out.” Garrett laid a hand on Martin’s shoulder. “You go in with Mrs. Linder. I’ve got my car here so I can take him. We just need to
find the nearest clinic.”
A defiant light shone in the boy’s eyes. “I want to go with you.”
“Martin,” Garrett said in a firm voice. “Mrs. Linder is in charge. You need to listen to her.” He glanced at Jane, wishing he knew what she was thinking. “Maybe Martin could help you look up the nearest veterinarian office?”
She nodded. “I have a telephone directory in my office.” She held out her hand, which wasn’t quite steady, and waited, an expectant look on her face.
Reluctantly, Martin took her hand and stepped onto the curb, his focus never leaving the animal.
As gently as possible, Garrett scooped the dog into his arms. “My car’s just down the street. I’ll put him inside and come back for the address.”
Jane nodded again and led the boy back inside the building.
Garrett let out a long breath. Poor Martin. He couldn’t seem to help but find himself in the midst of trouble. Yet Garrett had seen by the boy’s reaction to Jett how much Martin loved animals. Could anyone really blame him for trying to rescue this one?
He opened the back door of his Ford and laid the dog on the back seat. “Hang in there, buddy. I’ll be back soon. We’re going to get you some help.” He felt around for a collar but found none. But the dog looked too well fed to be a stray.
No matter. First, they needed to make sure he would live. The rest of the details could be sorted out later.
17
The next morning, as Jane made her way to the office, she couldn’t shake the cloud of worry that had kept her awake a good portion of the night. Had she made the right decision in allowing Martin to go with Garrett and the dog to the veterinarian?
Part of her could admit she was often too lenient with the boy, yet forcing her authority only seemed to make him dig in his heels even more. Over the years, she’d learned to pick her battles with Martin, and other than missing an hour of school time, no real harm had been done.
Except she was letting Martin get attached to a stray dog—a severely injured dog, at that. Jane knew the boy was setting himself up for a huge disappointment, but aside from cruelly banning him from seeing the dog ever again, there wasn’t much she could do.
The offices sat hushed in an unnatural stillness as Jane let herself into her office and flicked on the light switch. She closed the door behind her, needing a brief time of solitude before the workday began, with its host of phone calls and meetings, paperwork to go over and problems to solve. She took her seat and rubbed the bridge of her nose, the start of a headache already brewing. For some reason, she couldn’t seem to muster any enthusiasm for the issues requiring her attention. Had she lost her passion for the directress position? Or did she simply miss the more hands-on job of being a caseworker?
Maybe Olivia was right. Maybe the directress position wasn’t for her. Jane really didn’t care about paying the plumber for unclogging pipes or dealing with her employees’ constant complaints. Nor could she summon the motivation to solicit private donations to keep the agency afloat. But if she wanted to effect any real change in the way the Children’s Aid was run, this was the price she would have to pay. As a caseworker, she had no power over policy.
A knock sounded on her door. So much for her moment of peace and quiet.
“Come in.”
Garrett sailed through the door. “Good morning, Jane.”
“Good morning.” Her lackluster greeting had the smile fading from his face.
“What’s wrong? You look like your dog just died.”
She speared him with a flinty glare.
“Okay, bad joke, given yesterday’s events.” He dropped into her guest chair. “That’s why I’m here, actually. With an update on Blackie.”
“You named him Blackie?”
Garrett leaned back in the chair, waving aside her question. “I called the vet this morning, and it looks like Blackie’s going to make a full recovery. He’s malnourished as well as dehydrated, so they want to keep him until he’s stronger.”
At Jane’s sigh, Garrett frowned. “What? I thought you would be happy for Martin. He’ll be glad to hear the good news when he gets here.”
“I’m glad the dog is going to be all right,” she said, “but it does bring up a concern I have.”
“What’s that?”
“I don’t want to encourage Martin’s interest in the animal.”
Garrett’s frown deepened. “Why not? After all, he did help rescue him.”
She twisted a pen between her fingers. “Well, first off, Martin’s focus today is going to be all about the dog and not on his schooling. But mostly I’m afraid he’ll get too attached. It will only hurt him in the long run.”
“Well, I was thinking, if they can’t find the owner . . .” Garrett gave a sheepish shrug, his expression reminiscent of Martin’s. “I might take Blackie. We can always use another dog on the farm.”
She set her jaw and removed some papers from her briefcase. Why did that idea annoy her even more? “That’s your prerogative. But my request stands. Please don’t encourage Martin to bond with this dog.”
“Jane.” The gentle insistence of his voice stilled her fingers on the files.
She tried to keep her features intentionally blank as she looked up.
“Everything is going to be fine.”
She shook her head, a ridiculous lump of emotion tightening her throat. “You don’t realize how easily Martin gets his hopes up, only to have them dashed time and time again.” She swallowed. “Please don’t make him any promises you can’t keep.”
“I understand.” He leaned across the desk and laid a hand on her arm, his warmth seeping through her sleeve. The look of sympathy on his face made her want to crumple like a used tissue.
“If you’ll excuse me,” she said in a strangled voice, “I need to get to work.”
He removed his hand and nodded. “Me too.”
With that, he walked out of the office, leaving Jane’s stomach churning with a confusing mix of emotions—worry over Martin, doubts about her passion for her job, and an unwanted attraction to her co-worker.
She pressed her fingers to her temples. She was tired of being strong all the time. Tired of the constant weight of responsibility with no one to share it. Garrett made her want to lean on him in ways that just weren’t possible. Or practical. She gave herself a mental shake, slid on her glasses, and opened the folder on the top of the pile.
Half an hour later, Jane checked the clock on the wall, sudden alarm rippling through her. Martin should have been here ages ago. Perhaps she should—
The telephone on her desk rang. She snatched up the receiver. “Yes, Melanie.”
“I have Mrs. Shaughnessy on the line for you,” Melanie announced.
“Put her through.”
A few seconds went by, then Mrs. Shaughnessy came on.
“Mrs. Linder.” The woman sounded out of breath. “You need to come over right away. Martin is in a state, and I’m at my wits’ end. I need your help.”
Jane’s lungs seemed to stop working. Oh, Martin. What have you done now? She drew in a breath and let it out. “I’ll be right over, Mrs. Shaughnessy. Try to stay as calm as you can.”
She hung up without waiting for a reply and shot out of her chair. Grabbing her jacket, she rushed into the hallway, where she slammed into something solid. A grunt escaped as strong hands gripped her arms to keep her upright.
“Whoa.” Garrett’s amused voice sounded by her ear. “Where’s the fire?”
“Sorry.” She stepped back, not looking at him. “I have to get to the shelter. There’s a problem with Martin.”
She scooted around him toward the front door, stopping to tell Melanie where she was headed. Only after she was partway down the sidewalk did she realize that Garrett was right behind her.
A ridiculous sense of relief rippled through her at the thought of having his steadying presence there, should she need it. As soon as they reached the shelter, she entered the front door. Right away, s
he could hear loud voices coming from the second story and headed directly up the stairs.
Utter chaos met her eyes as she entered the playroom. Toys were scattered across the rug, many of them broken. Dolls with missing limbs, cars without wheels, stuffed bears with their eyes or ears torn off. Several younger children sat in the corner, crying, with Miss Tate doing her best to console them.
Mrs. Shaughnessy stood with her arms folded near Martin, who was on top of a desk, wielding a small baseball bat like a sword.
“Mrs. Linder. Mr. Wilder. Thank goodness.” The matron turned, relief edging her features. “Maybe you can get this hellion to come down.”
Jane took one look at the wildness in Martin’s glassy eyes and fresh anxiety cinched her throat. She’d seen him in this state before, and it hadn’t ended well. Stress, she’d learned that day, was one of the triggers for his seizures. She sent up a silent prayer for guidance as she approached the boy.
“Martin,” she said in her calmest tone, “please give me the bat and come down from there.” She held out a hand toward him.
He shook his head, frozen in his battle stance.
“Are the other children all right?” Jane asked the matron, her eyes never leaving Martin.
“Other than terrorized, they’re fine.”
Jane took a breath and forced her taut muscles to relax slightly. No one had been physically hurt. The destruction of property could be dealt with later. “Miss Tate, please take the other children from the room.”
The woman nodded and, with remarkable speed, whisked the younger, inconsolable children into the hallway and down the stairs.
“If you come with me now, Martin, we can talk about whatever is bothering you.” Jane only prayed he’d take the lifeline she was offering.
But he didn’t move. Didn’t even acknowledge her words.
“Remember what I told you before. We don’t solve problems with violence. We talk about what’s bothering us and come up with reasonable solutions.”
To Find Her Place Page 13