In a Mother’s Arms

by Jillian Hart

  “I apologize.” Sam hesitated, taking the weight of the door, close enough that she could see the texture of his morning stubble whiskering his lean jaw. “Calamity finds them.”

  “Those two are catastrophes in calico.” And the dearest. She steeled her mother’s need to love those girls, refusing to catch a glimpse of the two through the window, where they waited on the boardwalk for their father.

  “If the money I left with you doesn’t cover all the damage, you will have Mrs. Kraus bill me?”

  “She isn’t going to be happy about it. Just a warning.” Molly forced her thoughts to the incident, a safe topic, one that would not tear her emotions apart. “I’ll do what I can to calm her.”

  “I appreciate it.” Again, it seemed as if he was saying more as he tipped his hat. “I would hate for the girls to be banned from the bakery.”

  “I would, too.” They shared a smile, but it felt like more. It felt like a tender recognition, like two lonely souls finding their match. “Goodbye, Sam.”

  “Goodbye, Molly.” When he said her name, his tone deepened, as if with great meaning, with high regard. No longer reserved, no longer frosty, no longer keeping his distance, Sam brushed by her, and she felt the weight of his shadows and the spark of hope.

  You will not fall in love with him, she ordered. She closed the door, watching as the man she did not want to love caught each girl by the hand. They walked toward his awaiting horse and buggy together. Their shadows trailed behind them, as if there was nothing but sunshine and good days ahead.

  Alone, Molly turned her back, feeling every drop of emptiness in her soul and every impossible wish.

  The image of Molly kneeling before his daughter and tending her wound stayed with him through the afternoon. So did the picture she had made in the bakery’s window, with her arms wrapped around her middle, forlorn and lost as he’d untethered Stanley from the hitching post.

  Sam set two glasses of lemonade on the table next to the back porch swing. It had been a good day. He had read to the girls early on. His afternoon rounds had gone well, and if no one needed a doc for the rest of the day, he would have a quiet evening at home. “Mrs. Finley says that’s all you get before supper.”

  “Pa?” Penelope’s toy horse, clutched in her good hand, froze in mid-gallop on the flowered cushion. “Do you know what?”

  “We’ve got it all figured out,” Prudence added, all innocence as she trotted her wooden mustang across the arm of the swing.

  “I’m afraid to know what you girls have planned now.” He leaned against the porch railing and crossed his arms over his chest, braced for the details of their next scheme. “Does this have to do with the Nevilles’ pony?”

  “Well, we would like to have Trigger as our very own—”

  “—we surely would.”

  “But this is more important.”

  “—a lot more important.”

  More than the Nevilles’ pony? This ought to be good. He braced himself for it. Perhaps it had something to do with how doting they had been to Molly’s mare. Most likely the girls wanted a little more excitement than a placid old pony could bring to their lives. What else could make the girls study one another, as if silently bolstering up their courage to ask? They had never had a problem asking for what they wanted before.

  Penelope squirmed, put her horse down and laid her bandaged hand on her lap. She looked vulnerable, as she had after the bakery display table had come crashing down. “Miss Molly was awful nice to us.”

  “She didn’t yell.” Prudence swiped the flyaway strands from her braids out of her face with a nervous brush. “Not even once.”

  “And when I almost cried, she wiped away my tears. She didn’t even scold, because I’m too big to cry.” Penelope’s voice thinned, and on her dear face showed a world of hurt. Of need. “She’s awful nice, Pa.”

  “And she gave us cookies after—”

  “—after I wrecked everything.” Tears pooled in Penelope’s eyes.

  Prudence’s lower lip trembled.

  A terrible feeling gathered behind his solar plexus. A tight coil that would not relent. His daughters were hurting. So little and delicate. “What are you two trying to say?”

  “We like her, Pa.”

  “A whole bunch.”

  “We want you to marry her.”

  “With a ring and everything.”

  He squeezed his eyes shut, attempting to hold more emotions than he could handle. Oh, Lord, help me say the right thing. Please guide me now because I’m afraid I will make a mess of this. His girls, for all their bluster and charm, were frail at heart, as anyone was. Love made everyone vulnerable, especially children. He opened his eyes, trusting that God would help him find a way to make this right.

  “We were praying too, Pa.”

  “So that maybe you would like Miss Molly.”

  “Really like her.”

  “So she could be our ma.”

  This is where he had always failed before. Sam pushed away from the railing and knelt before his daughters. The wind chose that moment to gust, sending the most lyrical scent of lilacs, as soothing as any lullaby. A few stray purple petals floated by.

  He had spent so much time keeping everyone at an emotional distance. Necessary for a doctor, but it had become his way of coping. First when his marriage felt like a battleground and second when he’d found himself a grieving widower with a pair of three-year-olds to raise. He’d been terrified of failing again. Of letting his girls down. Of not raising them right.

  But something had changed. Someone had changed him. He thought of Molly and her loss, the richness of her heart that had known great love and great sorrow. He brushed a tear from Penny’s cheek and a stray curl from Prudy’s face. “I thought you two understood. I’m not likely to get married again.”

  “But it’s what Mrs. Finley says you need.”

  “She says it all the time.”

  He saw right through their words to the needs of two motherless girls. They were the ones who needed him to marry. They were the ones in love with Molly McKaslin. How did he handle that? He couldn’t deny the woman’s beauty and kindness or the fact that he liked her.

  Truth be told, he more than liked her. But marriage? The tightness coiling in his gut twisted taut. No, he could not build a marriage on love again. His heart hadn’t recovered from the last attempt.

  At a loss, he dug deep for the right answer. He felt the Lord’s reassurance like a touch to his soul, and understood. He gentled his voice, although it remained scratchy, letting his shields down instead of putting them up, letting the wash of emotions hit him instead of denying them. “Do you really want to do that to Miss Molly? Look at me. I’m old.”

  “Not that old, Pa. You don’t have gray hair yet.”

  “Or wrinkles.”

  So sincere. He tried again. “Sure, but I’m hardly handsome. Molly might not want to marry an almost-homely man.”

  “Nun-uh. Your nose isn’t too big.”

  “And you have all your teeth.”

  “That I do.” He bit his lip. His adorable girls. “I’m sure Molly wants to marry someone with all his teeth. But you know I tend to be surly.”

  “You don’t scowl nearly as much, Pa.”

  “You only got cross once today.”

  “But I work all the time. A lot of nice ladies don’t like that in a husband. They want them around to have supper with and to read alongside in the evenings.”

  “You could find another doctor to help you, Pa.”

  “That way you could have more suppers at the table.”

  “You girls have this all figured out, don’t you?”

  “We’ve got a list, Pa.”

  “Not just for us, but for you, too.”

  A list. He should have expected that. They had always been precocious for their age. Perhaps he would leave the rest of the argument for another time. “I’m going out to help Abner with the barn work. You girls want to come—”

  He
didn’t get to finish his question. A cow mooed behind him near the fence, perhaps announcing a newcomer. The squeak of a wheel and the clop of horse hooves brought him to his feet. He was already striding through the garden without thought, expectation filling him. The rising dust obscured the driver from his sight, but he didn’t need to see her face to know it was Molly. He knew because of the rise of emotion moving through him like the tide through the ocean.

  “Miss Molly!” The girls clamored behind him through the garden gate and onto the lawn. Sukie rushed up, charging on all four feet, mooing in delight. The excitement was nothing compared to the riot of feelings within his heart for the woman who gave her first smile of greeting to him.

  Chapter Seven

  “Miss Molly! You came!” In unison, footfalls padded against grass. With Sukie tailing them, Penelope and Prudence hurried toward the cart, bright and shining.

  “I had to come see how you were, Penelope.” Molly didn’t bother to hide her delight as she eased Ruth to a stop in the Frosts’ driveway. “How’s your hand?”

  “Lots better. I can’t believe we get to see you twice—”

  “—all in the same day!” Prudence finished breathlessly, wrapping her fingers along the top rail of the cart. “Did you come to see me, too?”

  “Absolutely. I can’t adore one of you without adoring the other.” Molly laughed when Sukie skidded to a halt behind the girls, and Ruth gave a low nicker of disapproval. What decorum! She patted Ruth’s flank reassuringly. “It’s very good to see you, too, Sukie.”

  The bovine lowed, lifting her head to sniff and gaze dotingly at the bakery box on the seat. Smart girl.

  “You smell cinnamon and apples, don’t you?” Aware of Sam staying back against the white garden fence, she handed the bakery box to Prudence. “I made this during my lunchtime just for you all.”

  Penelope leaned against the cart, careful of her bandaged hand. “Apple crisp. I can smell it.”

  “It smells good.” Prudence carefully took the box. “Thank you, Miss Molly.”

  “Do we have to wait for dessert time—”

  “—or can we open it now?”

  “It’s up to your pa.” She allowed her gaze to find him and to linger, and offered a small smile. He clung to the shadows against the house, looking stoic and reserved and handsome. Decidedly handsome. Without a hat, his thick black hair swirled over his forehead to fall at his collar. His pensive look made his angled face appear stronger and deeply masculine. Gone was the morning’s stubble, and his smooth jaw was set as if in stone. Her fingertips tingled with the urge to trail the cut of his jaw line.

  You are not going to fall for this man, remember? She steeled her spine, determined to be strong. Just because her emotions for him had changed and her regard for him deepened did not mean she had to be sweet on the man. She did not intend to set her cap for him. She could hold back her need to be a part of a family again, to love and the hope to be loved.

  “You girls take that into the kitchen first, so you don’t spill whatever it is.”

  “Pa, we’ll be careful.”

  “Real careful.”

  “Sure, but look at what happened this morning. Calamity strikes when you two are near.” He stepped into the fall of sunlight, coming closer. “Go to the kitchen and have Mrs. Finley help you.”

  “Yes, sir.” The two trotted off the way they came, and Sukie trailed them through the garden gate and disappeared from sight.

  “Is she going to follow the girls into the house?”

  “It’s been known to happen.” He held out his hand to help her down. “When Sukie was a calf, I would find her in the house at least once a day. She would find her way in through a door or a window.”

  “She does love your daughters.” Molly placed her fingers on his palm, the lightest of brushes. This time it felt significant, like a bolt of lightning in a blue sky. As she swung off the seat, the sensation jolted through her spirit and soul, and for one brief moment she was airborne, buoyed as if by love. Then her shoes touched the ground, Sam withdrew his hand and yet the feeling of lightness remained.

  “One morning I came in from a late night call, and there she was, sleeping in the kitchen next to the warm stove.” Sam did not look in the least affected as he walked slowly at her side. “Sukie was curled up looking as pleased as could be with herself, and the cinnamon rolls Kathleen had baked for the morning were gone and the pan on the counter licked clean.”

  It took all her discipline to focus on the words of his story. Her hands had gone damp. Her limbs tremulous. Her entire being quaked as if she would never be the same again. “And what was your reaction?”

  “I lit the stove, boiled a pot of tea and took the calf outside. She was back in the house by the time Kathleen started breakfast.”

  “She was letting herself into the house?”

  “A mystery that was never solved.” Sam appeared different. Warmer, less guarded. He stopped at the gate and held it open, but shook his head when she went towards it. A hint of dimples framed his grin. “It’s my theory the calf used the pass-through hatch for the coal. She grew bigger and couldn’t get in anymore. I thought letting the girls get a pet cow would teach them responsibility, but I was wrong. You already knew that, didn’t you?”

  “Maybe because I grew up in the country. I’ve had a few pet cows of my own.” Yes, that was it. Concentrate on anything except Sam Frost.

  “So, you’ve always lived in the country?”

  “No. Scarlet fever took my baby daughter four years ago. Then it took my husband, and I fell sick. My mother came to tend me and she died. After that, I couldn’t keep the farm running by myself. I lost the house and the land, so Ruth and I moved into town. All the hustle and bustle made me forget. It was the noise. I was always reminded I was among other people, that my old life had vanished and things were different. Somehow it made it easier to move on. At least partly.”

  “I’m sorry for your loss, Molly.” Rich, his words, deeply intimate his tone. His sympathy touched her, as if they shared that in life and more. He moved closer, and not merely physically. “I pray there will be more children for you one day.”

  “I had a very hard time having Merry, and my doctor assured me there would be no more babies. Now you know why I think your twins are a blessing. I don’t understand why God chose to take my only child, but in losing my daughter I know the value of a child’s life and the richness of a child’s love.” She changed the subject. “How did you lose your wife?”

  “Cancer. I did a similar thing when Paula died. I moved from the town into the country. I worked so much, so I could stay numb from any more pain life had to offer.”

  “It’s no way to live. Eventually you have to rise to the challenge of living and loving again, or miss what is greatest in life.”

  “Wise words.” He had recently come to understand that.

  Kathleen’s voice carried from the open window. “Get out of my kitchen! Shoo! You girls take that cow outside right now.”

  “But she loves us, Mrs. Finley—”

  “—she wants to be with us.”

  “Honestly! Does my kitchen look like a barnyard to you? Shoo!”

  Beside him, Molly’s laughter was part amusement, part tears. Was she remembering her losses? He wanted to ask her about what had happened, about her buried child. But he could not hurt her in that way.

  “What a good life you have, Sam.” Amusement chased away the traces of sorrow from her lovely face, the loveliest he’d ever seen.

  “I know that, too.” She made him different. He wanted to thank the Lord for sending the lustrous sunlight because when it glowed, it turned her blond hair to pure gold. He wanted to give thanks for the way his heart came to life, full of melody and harmony and notes in between. For the frightening vulnerable feeling of trusting a woman again.

  A clatter arose in the flower garden. A lilac bush rustled and Sukie emerged on the path, a daisy hanging from her mouth. Liquid brown eyes twinkled
with mischief as she loped just ahead of her little girls. Molly hopped out of the way, bringing her dangerously close to his chest and to his arms. She smelled like sugar cookies and icing and spring. Being near her was like waking up and finding a dream.

  The girls dashed past, pink sunbonnets hanging down their backs by the strings, their black braids bouncing with their gaits. “Sukie!”

  The heifer, as if eager to play tag, took off into the field, her tail swishing. Penny and Prudy followed, their laughter like merry bells.

  “As you can see, neither is worse for the wear. Everything is back to normal.” Everything except him. He sidestepped, resisting the urge to pull her against his chest, to hold her sweetly enfolded in his arms. She definitely appeared more beautiful than when he had last seen her and somehow ever more precious and wholesomely feminine. Stubborn tenderness took root within him, refusing to do anything but flourish.

  Don’t love her. That would be an enormous mistake. But what he heard was his daughters’ pleas. We were praying, too, Pa. So that maybe you would like Miss Molly. Really like her. So she could be our ma. What he felt was their unquenchable need. It could not be his own need to love and care for her that made him reach over the picket fence and pluck one long stem of fragrant lilacs.

  His voice was raw and gruff when he spoke, his throat oddly aching as he picked another spray. “Was Mrs. Kraus very upset?”

  “I believe she will recover once she receives the rest of the payment for the bill she intends to send you.”

  “In other words, yes.”

  “I’m glad Penelope is feeling well enough to play. It could have been more serious.” She grew radiant, lustrous from the inside out. The sunshine followed her and the wind moved just to caress her hair and rustle her skirt hem. “Your twins are—”

  “—trouble?”

  “No. I’m searching for the right word.”

  “—calamitous?”

  “Perfection.” She almost won his heart with that one pronouncement.

  “I think so, too.” He plucked one more cone. Do not fall in love with her. Do not read too much into this. Do not start making a list of all her amazing attributes. No doubt, a woman like Molly wanted more than he could give.