Now she’d opened her eyes and there he was, a stranger she knew. The shock and delight in his eyes clouded with disbelief when she asked him who he was. She wanted to ask who she was, for that matter, but he looked like he’d shatter if she asked that particular question.
“I don’t understand.” He sat back down in the golden chair with a thump and stared at her. His silvery eyes were wide in sunken cheeks. His brown hair needed to be cut and he was thin, way too thin. She also noted his hands shook as he clasped them in front of him. “Are you saying that you don’t know who I am?”
She tried to push herself up to a sitting position but found her arms didn’t work well. He seemed to notice what she was doing, because he popped out of the chair and helped her. As he leaned over, his scent enveloped her and she breathed in deeply. That, too, was familiar.
“Here, let’s put some pillows back here.”
He was skinny but strong, pulling her forward as if she weighed no more than a feather and getting her situated on fluffy pillows. When he let her go, a small smile appeared on his face.
“I still can’t believe you’re awake.” He ran his hands through his too-long hair and sat back down in the chair. “I’ve heard stories of folks not remembering things after they got hit in the head, but I never expected it to happen to you. I mean, you were shot in the shoulder.”
“Shot? I was shot?” She reached up to feel both shoulders, grateful to find nothing but a cotton nightgown.
“Eppie, honey, it’s been three years. The bandages are long gone.”
Three years? Three years? She understood what a year was, even what being shot or a bandage was, but it seemed she didn’t remember anything about herself or how she got there. Three years was such a long time. Had he taken care of her the entire time?
“Who are you?”
His smile was so sad, it could have made an angel cry. “My name is Micah Spalding. You and I, well, we fell in love four years ago. Then something got in the way and you saved my life, got shot, and you’ve been in that bed ever since.”
A very confusing and cryptic response, to be sure. She didn’t know if she believed a word of it or understood half of it, but there was definitely an earnestness in his gaze. She tried out his name on her tongue.
“Micah.”
He nodded. “Yes, it’s me. Do you remember now?”
She didn’t want to disappoint him, but she wasn’t going to lie, either. “No, I’m sorry, I don’t, but I do know your voice.”
He seemed to deflate before her eyes. “I’ve been talking to you since your accident. I took care of you and our da—your daily care. I guess deep inside that hole you were in, my voice must’ve come through.”
“Yes, that’s what I remember. Sounds and smells floating around me.” She tried to explain more, but a pounding started in her head. “I’m afraid I don’t feel very well.” She put a hand to her forehead and could almost feel the pulsing behind the skin.
“Then I think you should sleep.” He started toward the night table to turn down the lamp when the door burst open and a little girl came rushing in.
She had hair like Micah, long wavy brown locks that looked towel dried. Her skin was a beautiful creamy tan color with a slight rosy tinge as if she’d been in the bath. Her little nightgown was white with small pink flowers along the collar. When she caught sight of what was going on, she stopped in her tracks, bare feet squeaking on the floor.
“Daddy?” She glanced up at Micah, uncertainty and downright fear on her face. “Is Mama ’wake?”
Eppie’s stomach flip-flopped inside her as she realized the little girl was talking about her. The girl didn’t look even remotely familiar, but again her voice was. Could she have forgotten her own daughter?
The color drained from Micah’s face as he looked back and forth between them. “Miracle, go to your room, honey, and I’ll be there shortly.”
“But Daddy.” She pointed with a trembling hand. “She looked at me. Her eyes open.”
The girl was probably no more than three, still struggling to put all the words together to make herself understood. Somehow after waking from a long slumber, Eppie could already do so with ease. She had trouble thinking of herself as Eppie, though, and wondered if it was a nickname.
“Miracle, go to your room now.” Micah sounded like a daddy right about then, using a firm tone that signaled he meant business.
Miracle stuck out her lower lip, but she minded her daddy and stomped out of the room. A red-haired plump woman stood in the doorway, her mouth open.
“Sweet Jesus.” She looked at Micah with wide blue eyes. “Is she awake?”
Micah ushered the red-haired woman out of the room. “I’ll be there in a few minutes, just put Miracle to bed, please.”
The little girl protested all the way down the hallway, at the top of her lungs, but she went just the same. Micah leaned against the doorway and took a deep breath before he went back into the room. As he closed the door he looked at Eppie and shook his head. His gaze roamed her up and down, sending a shiver through her. There was much more than emotion coming off him and it confused her.
“If you weren’t sitting up in that bed right now I’d think the whiskey had done its job on me.” He came back to the chair and sat down, taking her hand in his. “I am fairly certain you’re scared right now, confused and in need of a break from the insanity of our home. Before I let you sleep, tell me if you’re hungry or thirsty.”
She didn’t know exactly how she felt, but it wasn’t thirsty or hungry. “No, I’m not.” She pointed to the quilt at the end of the bed. “I’m a bit chilly, though.” Anything to get the sad-eyed man out of sight so she could think clearly. Something about him confused her.
He jumped up as if someone had pinched him, pulling the quilt up and over her in seconds. She didn’t know whether to be flattered or afraid of him. He was obviously as confused as she was.
“Better?”
“Yes, thank you.” The warmth of the quilt settled over her and tugged her toward sleep.
“Even the way you talk is different. You know, you sound just like me now.” He frowned.
She didn’t understand what he meant, so she didn’t answer. Instead, she closed her eyes and listened as he set the room to rights and lowered the lamp. Then sleep claimed her.
Micah leaned against the door outside Eppie’s room and tried to catch his breath. Blood thundered through his veins as he controlled the nearly insane urge to run back in the room and shake her. Make her recognize him and remember everything. She loved him, he loved her. They were supposed to be together.
Yet she didn’t remember him and it was a knife in his already battered heart when he should be rejoicing and shouting. Micah had so many dreams about what would happen when she woke up. This was not one of them.
It wasn’t the worst possible thing that could happen. She might never have woken up, or woken up and been unable to speak or function. However, having her there but not there hadn’t entered his mind. She looked at him as if he were a complete stranger and when Miracle came in, she’d looked horrified.
He slid down to the floor and wrapped his arms around his knees, then pressed his eyes into them. Stars swam behind them, giving him something tangible to grab on to as he flailed around inside.
She didn’t remember him.
She didn’t want her daughter.
She looked at him as if he were crazy.
He’d been holding out hope she’d wake up and everything would be perfect. Maybe it would take some time for her to get completely well, but it was supposed to happen. Instead, it was a nightmare he hadn’t imagined would happen.
A small hand patted him on the head. “Don’ cry, Daddy.”
He opened his arms and Miracle filled them. Her soft baby scent surrounded him, giving him the strength to get himself under control. Her little arms wrapped around his neck and hung on.
Micah definitely had an unusual family, but it was his and he vowed
to hang on to it and make it all right. If he loved Eppie, it was a forever kind of love, one he would stay true to forever, through the good and the bad. Or the unthinkably bad.
After a few minutes of absorbing his daughter’s goodness, he felt control returning and patted Miracle back. She was natural medicine to a man caught in the throes of a shattered soul and a broken heart.
“Let’s get you to bed, sweetheart.” He stood, scooping her into his arms, and carried his daughter to bed.
Her room was decorated in yellow because she loved sunshine. The ruffled curtains Candice had made blew gently in the breeze from the window. Miracle snuggled into the fluffy bed, barely making a lump under the blanket, her long hair displayed on the pillow beneath her. Her brown eyes looked up at him, so much like Eppie’s.
“’Night Daddy,” she mumbled on a sigh.
“Good night, Miracle.” He sat on the edge of her bed, his hand on her back feeling her breaths, her heartbeat. Once again, he would likely not sleep that night, particularly when he knew Eppie had finally woken from her endless sleep.
After an hour of watching Miracle, he finally rose and left her room. The house was eerily quiet with only the sound of ticking clocks and the squeak of the floorboards beneath his feet. He slipped off his shoes and left them by his door. The urge to check on Eppie grew too strong and he couldn’t wait any longer.
He pressed his ear to the door and listened with his eyes closed. No sound, not even a peep, came from within. He should let her sleep, leave her in peace, but he couldn’t. His heart thumped with a regular rhythm and it still whispered “Eppie.”
With his hand on the knob, he waited again while perspiration dotted his brow. After a few minutes of wrestling with his conscience, he finally gave in and opened the door. The moonlight coming through the curtains dotted the room, painting everything a silvery glow.
He’d entered her room so many times over the last few years and the same sight always greeted him. Eppie lay on her back, still, yet alive. This time she lay on her side with one leg out of the covers and her right arm flung over her head.
The vision made his knees wobbly and he sat down in his chair while he drank it in. She really had woken up and spoken. Even if she didn’t remember him, she came back to the land of the living and survived almost being dead. That meant more to him than losing her. A truly unselfish person would revel in the fact that the woman he loved hadn’t died.
Micah wasn’t that unselfish, unfortunately. He wanted all of it—the woman, the child, the marriage and the future. As the moon moved across the sky, he sat and watched her sleep. As he watched her, she moved in the bed, shifting positions and sighing, occasionally even grinding her teeth. Each sound was like music to his ears because she was sleeping normally, not caught between life and death.
As the first rays of the sun crept into the room, Micah rose with his stiff body and stretched. Although she hadn’t needed them, her clothes hung in the armoire in the corner, waiting for her. He took out her favorite purple dress and underclothes and laid them on the chair by the bed. Then he tiptoed out of the room to make breakfast.
Today had to be the day she remembered him.
This time when she woke, it was instant. The fog of yesterday’s wakening had cleared and she saw everything clearly. The same room, the same bed and even the same skinny body beneath the covers. The man, Micah, was gone, however, giving her a chance to get her bearings.
A lovely purple dress lay on the chair, almost blinding in its vibrant color. He must have laid it out for her while she slept, a fact that didn’t please her. No matter what he thought, she didn’t remember him, and he didn’t need to be sneaking into her room while she slept. When he appeared, and she had no doubt he would, she could give him a piece of her mind about it.
When she swung her legs around and gingerly touched the floor, her feet felt odd, almost spongy. It took a few minutes to get herself upright and she was tired almost immediately. She sat back down and tried to get her breath back. Maybe he’d been telling the truth and she had laid there for three years. No wonder her body felt out of sorts; it didn’t remember how to work.
She might not know who she was, but she did know she was no quitter. No siree. After a few minutes of rest, she stood again and raised her arms above her head, stretching until muscles screamed at her. Then she bent over, trying to reach her toes, but that was even harder. She could only do that for a minute before she had to sit again with her head swimming.
At this rate, she could make it downstairs by supper.
A small knock at the door had her grabbing for the quilt to hold in front of her. She was still in her nightclothes and had a sense of modesty even if Micah didn’t.
“Mama?”
The little voice certainly didn’t belong to him, but the girl scared her more than the man did. She decided not to answer, a cowardly thing to do, but perhaps the child would go away. After a few moments of holding her breath and watching the door handle, the pitter-patter of feet walked away. She took a deep breath and let it out.
It was going to be a very long day.
Miracle appeared in the kitchen doorway, a forlorn expression on her tiny face.
“Mama sleepin’.” She plopped down in her chair and looked up at Micah.
“Do you want a biscuit?” At her nod, Micah took the biscuits out of the oven, still amazed at how much he’d learned about cooking from Candice. He put one on a plate and blew on it before placing it in front of his daughter. “Let that cool a minute before you eat it.”
“Mama waked up yesterday.” She was obviously not going to drop the subject until he acknowledged what she already knew.
“Yes, she did.” Micah sat down and thought for a minute on how to explain to a three-year-old that her mother didn’t remember her. Not an easy task. “Your mama was hurt very badly. She was sleeping very deeply, but her body took care of you until you were born.”
“She got a owie?” Miracle picked at the biscuit, popping tiny pieces in her mouth.
“Not anymore, but her head had an owie we couldn’t see. It made her forget some things.” Micah cupped his daughter’s chin and looked into her chocolate brown eyes. “She didn’t know you were inside her when she was hurt, so Mama doesn’t know you yet.”
Tears rolled down Miracle’s cheeks. “Mama don’t know me?”
“No, sweetheart, but that’s okay because she doesn’t know me, either. It’s our job to help her remember and then she’ll know how much she loves you.” Micah’s throat closed up, unwilling or unable at the moment to consider the possibility that Eppie might not ever love them. He wasn’t ready to entertain that notion.
“’Kay. Can I give her hug?” She swiped at the tears, showing Micah that his baby was growing up, way too fast in his opinion. She was always a strong-minded girl, and independent to boot.
“Not yet, but soon. Maybe we can just help her by bringing her warm water to wash and good food and drink. What do you think?” He pointed to the invalid tray on the top shelf. Madeline had used it with her father when she owned the house. “There’s a tray up there we can take upstairs.”
Miracle clapped her hands together. “I carry it!”
“No, sweetie, I’ll carry it because you have to go pick some flowers and bring those.”
She scrambled off the chair so fast it fell over backwards. Still dressed in her little nightgown, Miracle ran outside to pick flowers for her mother. Micah took a deep breath and thanked God again for such an amazing child. Even he didn’t understand what was happening, but Miracle accepted it at face value. It was a lesson she could teach most adults.
Micah got the tray down and washed it off before Miracle came bounding back inside, with muddy pawprints on her nightgown and a handful of flowers.
“I pick flowers for Mama.” She held them up for inspection. “See?”
“They’re lovely. You did a wonderful job.” Micah pointed to the half-eaten biscuit. “Now put the flowers on the counte
r and wash up so you can finish your breakfast while I get Mama’s ready.”
Miracle did as she was bade, and climbed up the little steps he’d made for her at the sink. She ended up getting more water on the floor than her hands, but she was clean enough to eat. Micah buttered a few biscuits and put a pot of jam and a cup of coffee on the tray. He wasn’t sure what Eppie was up to eating, but it was a start. After he put some warm water in a pitcher, the tray was ready to go.
The girl practically inhaled the biscuit with crumbs hanging all over her chin and announced she was done. She grabbed the flowers and the vase from the counter. Micah saved the glass vase before it hit the floor by snatching it out of her pudgy little hand.
“Let me get the water for you.” He pumped it full, then let her stick the flowers in there, so full they barely squeezed in the narrow neck.
“I carry.”
“Be careful, honey.” He wanted to take it from her, but didn’t. It was damn hard to let your child start growing up. He’d had no idea just how hard it was until he had to stop himself from doing everything for her as he had all her short life. She was smart and capable for a child and he had to let her make her own mistakes, no matter how hard it was on him.
He picked up the tray and followed her as she climbed the steps, the vase firmly stuck under her left arm and hugged to her chest. She made it up the steps with only a small trail of spilled water behind her.
Miracle stopped with her hand on the knob and looked back at Micah.
“Knock first.”
She frowned, but knocked twice and waited, her face alight with anticipation.
“Who is it?” came the voice from within. It unnerved him to hear his accent, his inflection, and his vocabulary coming from Eppie. The only explanation he could come up with was she listened to his voice while she was in the coma. Perhaps with her memory of things gone, it was the familiarity of his voice that she did remember.
The Redemption of Micah Page 2
