A Hopeful Heart and A Home, A Heart, A Husband

by Lois Richer

  “Will you now? I’m sorry, Mr. Faraday, but I think, under the circumstances, that it would be against your client’s best interests to file anything at the moment. In fact, I have here a waiver against any such future spurious claims. If you’d care to sign.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous! Of course she won’t sign. What are you up to now?” Mr. Faraday’s eyes shifted around the table. “What is going on here?”

  “What has been going on is a little smear campaign by your client. I have just received word that Judge Ronaldson has dismissed all your actions against us and disallowed the restraints that were placed on Mr. O’Toole’s company. Shaughnessy’s is free to open up tomorrow morning and resume business as soon as possible. If you persist in further persecutions, we will be forced to take legal action against yourself and your client.” Harvey twirled his pen pleasantly, but his eyes were cold and hard.

  “This is preposterous! Why would the judge suddenly do this?” Faraday’s face was a comic mask. “Are we now to add bribery to the list?”

  Harvey’s voice was very quiet but there was a shaft of steel through it. “Perhaps you might wish to ask your client that, Mr. Faraday. It seems a witness has come forward. This witness swore to the judge that your client paid him sixty thousand dollars to falsify documents and spread heresay and rumor.”

  Harvey stood to his feet, gathered his papers and hooked his fingers under Grady’s arm. “We’ll leave you alone to discuss the matter,” he said kindly. “I’m sure you have some questions that need answering.”

  As he stood staring at a woman he’d mistakenly thought he loved, Grady felt only pity for the angry, bitter woman who glared back at him.

  “Why should you have all that money, Grady? You don’t use it, you don’t get any benefit from it. You just lock it away and pretend that it means nothing.” Her face had drained of all color now and she rose slowly to her feet. “I could have used that money and doubled, no, tripled it. I could have made you the richest man in North America if you’d only taken my advice.”

  “You gained that advice in underhanded ways by manipulating people, Fiona,” he told her quietly. “The money never meant that much to me. It’s a legacy from a friend who wanted me to use it on something special. Once you could have asked and I would have given it to you.”

  She stared at him, hate broiling in her eyes. “For a child, Grady? Would you have given me your money if your child had lived?”

  Pain came in waves then, rolling over him, almost knocking him down as he thought of the one thing he could never buy. Slowly he walked to the door, grateful for Harvey’s support under his arm. He stopped there, and turning, let her see the agony and tears rolling down his cheeks as he thought of the child he would never know.

  “Money is all you ever cared about, isn’t it?” he said. “Being pregnant didn’t stop you. You deliberately ignored all medical advice for the sake of a few more dollars. And it cost us our child, Fiona.

  “I wanted that child, Fiona, more than you imagined. I dreamed of playing ball with him, of teaching him to swim, of handing over the company someday.” The sheer pain of it made him stop and take a breath. He looked at her.

  “Why didn’t you stay in bed when you were supposed to? How much would it have cost you to leave the high-powered business deals behind? Why couldn’t you forget about money for a few short months? Why couldn’t you put the baby first?”

  She shrugged. “I had a job to do.” Her face held no remorse. “I never really wanted children anyway.”

  Grady winced. “I know that now. Too bad you didn’t mention it before we were married.”

  “I didn’t think it was important.”

  That one sentence said it all. There wasn’t any point in going over it all again. Not now. It was too late, for all of them. Grady turned and left them all behind: Fiona, her lawyer and Harvey. He walked out of the office and into the street. With a rush of footsteps he was across the intersection and up the wide steep stairs of an old stone church that stood empty of afternoon visitors.

  For a long time he sat, staring at the altar and the paintings of Jesus as a child, a young man and an adult. He knew he was crying, felt the tears dropping off his chin. But he didn’t care. All that mattered now was the little body he’d never hold, the little fingers that would never wrap around his. The little voice that would never say “Daddy”.

  “Why?” he demanded at last, staring at the stained glass window so high in the ceiling. “Why?” The words echoed round and round the empty sanctuary until once more everything was silent.

  Grady leaned back against the padded seat and breathed in and out slowly, focusing on drawing fresh air into his tight lungs. As he did, his eyes fell on a picture of Jesus standing on a mountain, with crowds around. Underneath, words were printed, in a stylized hand, that he couldn’t read from this far away. Slowly, unsteadily, Grady got up and walked over to the painting. Blinking to clear his vision, he focused on the script and then read it out loud in wonder.

  “Who has known the mind of God? Or who has become His counselor? Oh, the depths of the riches both of the wisdom and knowledge of God! How unsearchable are His judgments and His ways past finding out.”

  “’His ways past finding out,’” Grady repeated to himself, thinking of all the things that had gone wrong without seeming reason. “You mean that I’m to trust that whatever happens, You’re in charge?” he asked softly, staring straight ahead.

  An image rolled through his mind, that of Maggie sitting in the boat listening to the smug, self-righteous words he’d offered, telling her that God was there, directing everything.

  “Oh, I see.” He sighed. “Practice what I preach, in other words.” He gathered up his thoughts and once more focused on the beautiful picture hanging nearby. “’The depths of the riches of His wisdom and knowledge,’” Grady repeated, grinning now in spite of himself.

  “I guess that means I can safely leave things up to You, right? Okay, God.” He sighed again. “I’ll try to let it go and focus on the future. I don’t know what the plan is, but I trust You to handle it.”

  Satisfied, he walked to the door and stood staring at the city he’d lived in for so long. Suddenly he turned, walked back down the aisle and bowed in front of the cross.

  “If it fits Your plans at all,” he murmured softly, “could You somehow work things out for Maggie? I love her, God. And if this feeling is from You, You’ll have to work through the situation for both of us. I’ll trust You to do that. Amen.”

  And with a distinctly lighter heart, Grady walked out into the late-summer heat to head back to the one place where he still felt comfortable and at home. Maggie’s farm.

  But first he had a stop to make at a jewelry store. A very important stop. One that he fully intended would affect his future. If God willed.

  Chapter Nine

  “Anyone here?”

  Grady could hardly believe it. There was no one home. He’d driven straight back to the farm, skipping supper in his urgency to return, and there wasn’t a single soul waiting for him. Ironic, really.

  “Trust,” he repeated to himself as he changed out of the restrictive blue suit to his comfortable jeans and cotton shirt. “You’ve got to trust that all things work together for good for those who love God.”

  He grabbed three cucumbers from Maggie’s garden and made himself a sandwich to accompany them inside the trailer while stifling down the worry that tugged on his brain. Where was she? It was getting dark and there was no sign of Maggie or the girls. That relic she relied on for transportation could have stopped anywhere between here and Timbuktu for all he knew. He decided to give her mother a call.

  “Hi, Mrs. Davis? It’s Grady. Have you talked to Maggie today?”

  “Hello, Grady!” Kayleen’s warm voice carried clearly across the line. “How are you, dear? It’s lovely out tonight, isn’t it? I was just telling Herman that it’s the perfect night for a campfire. Perhaps you and Maggie could bring the girls for a
n hour or so?”

  Grady swallowed, forcing himself to speak calmly. He didn’t want to frighten Maggie’s parents. Especially since he had nothing concrete to tell them. It was more a feeling, a nagging uncertainty.

  “She’s not here, Mrs. Davis. I was wondering if you had any idea when she might be back?”

  “Grady O’Toole, I’ve told you more times than I can count to call me by my Christian name!” There was a short silence. “Not there? But I thought you had planned—no, wait a moment.” There was some discussion that he couldn’t quite hear and then Kayleen came back on the line. “Herman says she and the twins went to Calgary. To see Brian apparently. They’re staying over.”

  The words were like a dagger through his heart. Grady thanked the woman and hung up, his mind unable to accept the reality of what this decision meant.

  He had no future with Margaret McCarthy. She’d made her choice and it didn’t include him. Well, then, he’d have to learn to accept that. But he couldn’t help asking why. Why now, when he’d finally faced Fiona and all the pain of the past, and come out feeling almost whole?

  He did the chores mechanically, barely noticing the soft nuzzles of the animals. All Grady could think about was the fact that Maggie was leaving the farm behind for the “good life” of the city. Keeley would get her piano and ballet lessons and Katy would rejoice in the variety of sports once she got over the initial shock.

  And Maggie? Maggie would get a home with a man who could support her so that she wouldn’t need to slave away thanklessly on this farm anymore. She would have the security she’d always craved.

  “But she won’t have love,” he murmured, staring at the night sky in all its glory. But maybe he was wrong. Maybe she did love this Brian fellow and would be perfectly happy in her new life. Grady was surprised how much that thought hurt him.

  When the chores were done, Grady finally sank into one of the big scooped-out patio chairs he’d purchased from a local welder. The wrought iron was hard and cold against his back but he welcomed that. There wasn’t any point in fetching a cushion. No need to try and soften things. Reality was harsh and it was time he faced it.

  “I’ll buy the farm,” he murmured to himself, staring round at the freshly painted house and neatly mowed lawn now visible in the yellowish glare of the yard light. “It’s the perfect place to get back to what’s really important in life.”

  There were two quarters of land adjoining Maggie’s that Grady had noticed For Sale signs on last week. If he added those to what she already had, the property would be more viable as an independent operation. And they were already producing.

  “Alfalfa would make a good cash crop,” he considered, remembering the dehydration plant just a few miles away. The plans whirled through his mind with surprising rapidity, and he fell to daydreaming about this new turn in his life.

  But the videotape of the future stopped cold when he remembered that Maggie wouldn’t be there. No lilting laugh to welcome him back from the fields, no mocking grin when the twins covered him with straw, no flush of appreciation when he brought home a bouquet of wildflowers from the back forty.

  “How can I do this, Lord?” he murmured as the air rustled through the trees. “How can I plan a future alone?”

  Like a refreshing drink of water, the words memorized so long ago floated through his brain, full of calm and reassurance. “Trust in the Lord with all your heart. And lean not on your own understanding. In all your ways acknowledge Him and He shall direct your paths.”

  “It didn’t take me long, did it?” he chastised himself. “This afternoon I was going to trust You and here I am tonight, doubting again.” He got up and shuffled toward the camper door, knowing that Maggie wouldn’t show up tonight.

  “Well, then, Lord,” he mumbled, getting ready for bed. “I’m leaving it in Your hands. You brought me here for a reason and I’m ready to be used however You desire.” Grady shut off the lights and climbed into the small, hard bunk. He felt better after saying that, but sleep did not come easy.

  Saturday turned out to be long and tiring. Slim Tattersall came out to help him work on the combine and Grady couldn’t avoid the questions.

  “Maggie away?” Slim’s eyebrows curved upward comically. “S’ pose she and them girls deserve a little holiday. They been stuck out here on their own for a long time. Do them good to get away.”

  “Yes,” Grady agreed quietly. “It will. Do you think this thing is going to run without breaking down? I’d hate to be in the middle of swathing and have to stop because a belt breaks or something seizes up.” The red herring seemed to work.

  “Most everybody has a breakdown during harvest,” Slim muttered, yanking on the tired old belt. “Best thing would be to replace what you can and have extra belts on hand. Be Prepared—that’s my motto.” He spared a glance for the farmyard. “Cleaned things up a fair bit around here, haven’t you? Makes a change. Herman used to keep a nice yard when he was here, but when the younguns took over, things got pretty run-down.” He fingered the rusty metal hood of the tractor and frowned.

  “Don’t know how Maggie kept it going. Roger was a nice enough fellow but pigheaded as the day is long. Wouldn’t take my advice about buying that last quarter along the river. Said he had to expand. Then up and dying like that! Sure left his wife in a fix.” He shook his head sadly.

  Grady vaguely remembered Kayleen talking about how Maggie’s husband had spent his insurance money on something nonreturnable. Was this what she’d meant?

  “Surely she had some savings?” Grady suggested, slipping the oil cover back into place. “Everybody puts a little bit by, don’t they?”

  “I reckon so, if they can spare it.” Slim scratched his almost bald head and then slapped his cap back on. “But those two took out a loan to buy out Kayleen and Herman. Said they wouldn’t be beholden to them. Bank payments come due a lot sooner than you think.” Slim’s eyes were astutely studying the old farmhouse. “Then when you gotta pay a hired hand.” He shrugged. “Maggie worked in town at the supermarket for a while but her help out here kept quittin’. Not much of a loss. Most of ’em weren’t worth a plugged nickel, anyway.”

  “There now. I think that should do it. Want to try?” Grady slammed the cover down and watched his neighbor swing up into the old worn seat with an ease that amazed him. “Give it a bit of gas,” he offered helpfully.

  Slim fiddled with the choke and then pressed the starter but nothing happened. He clenched his jaw and tried again, finally eliciting a spark of interest on the fifth attempt. The motor spluttered indignantly for a few minutes, spewing out blue smoke in a huge cloud and then died.

  “Thing’s a pile of junk,” Slim informed him curtly, climbing down. “Should have been retired ten years ago.” He kicked one tire viciously. “Gonna take a pile of work to revive that hunk of scrap.”

  “I planned on that,” Grady told him, grinning. “Want to help me out?” He waited for the older man’s decision, ignoring the look of surprise.

  “Didn’t figure you’d be interested,” Slim drawled, his eyes narrowed. “Big-city guys like you usually just buy what they need.”

  Grady stared. How did he know? “I, uh, that is, I’m not what you think.”

  “Sure y’are! I had some dealings with your company before it got shut down. Followed things real close.” Slim chewed on the stem of wheat methodically before tipping his head back to grin at Grady. “Heard it’s gonna be reinstated on Monday.” When Grady didn’t say anything, he continued. “S’pect you’ll be moving on then.” It wasn’t a question but Grady answered anyway.

  “No, I don’t intend to go anywhere as long as Mag—Mrs. McCarthy needs help. I was raised on a farm and I’ve missed it.” He opened the hood again and peered in at the rusted old motor. “I guess I’ll have to lift this thing out, won’t I?”

  Slim shrugged. “Yep.” His tone was quiet. “How come you don’t just buy a new one? Seems to me you could afford it.”

  Grady stopped
hooking the chain on the bumper, turned and met the older man’s clear-eyed stare. Slim was concerned about Maggie, he could see that. And appreciate it.

  “It’s Mrs. McCarthy’s farm, Slim. And she’d be offended if I bought something she couldn’t afford. So I’m going to fix this machine if it kills me.” He turned back to his work, hoping the man wouldn’t threaten to expose him. He wanted to tell Maggie the truth himself. Sometime.

  “Stubborn old thing probably will. Kill you I mean.” Slim grinned from ear to ear, displaying a set of white, perfectly even teeth. Obviously there was more to the man than Grady had imagined. Slim’s hand came out in a gesture of friendship.

  “If we’re gonna tackle this brute, I’d better call Buster McLean. He’s the only one around here who’s still got parts for these old clunkers.” His hand was firm and reassuring as it gripped Grady’s. “I don’t aim to be telling anybody else’s secrets,” he added quietly. “I reckon you’ll do the best you can for Mrs. McCarthy. Like you did with the spraying.”

  “Yes, I will.” Grady met the older man’s searching glance head-on. “The very best.” After a long moment, Slim nodded. Then he was on the radio to his old chum, ordering him out to the farm.

  “Now, Buster,” Slim murmured half an hour later. “I don’t want you taking any shortcuts. Me and Grady aim to fix this thing proper. And in time for harvest.”

  “By the look of that barley, that’s gonna be pretty soon,” Buster muttered, pulling on the chain that lifted the engine out of the combine. “Either pull or get out of the way, Slim. I got things to do.”

  “Like what?” Slim’s disparaging look slid over the filthy overalls. “Change clothes, maybe?”

  “Yeah! Give me that wrench, Slim.” He smacked the tool against the metal several times, and when nothing happened, laid a solid blow against it. Something shattered and lay in rusty disarray at their feet.