“Go right ahead, honey. Take a walk. I’m fine here.” I heard the anger in her voice. I knew it wasn’t directed my way.
As I stomped out the door, my father called my name, but for the first time in my life, I ignored his orders and just kept on walking. The screen slammed behind me as I headed for the woods that flanked our house. A small path led between trees and rotting logs, and I followed it, unseeing and unhearing for the first few minutes.
My hands were shaking with a rage I never remembered feeling before. How could he do that? My own father, trying to talk a reluctant man into taking me off his hands, like I was some piece of livestock. And right in front of me, like I wasn’t even there and couldn’t speak up for myself.
“I’m twenty-two years old, for the love of Pete.” My voice echoed in the forest. “I can run my own life. I can make my own decisions.” I reached the small brook that had been my favorite hiding spot since I was a little girl. Twisting my skirt with a fisted hand, I climbed onto a large flat rock hidden between two bowed trees and settled back, lying flat and looking up through the leaves.
Twenty-two. Lord in heaven, how had I gotten to be this old and still under my father’s thumb? I arched my neck and closed my eyes, letting the tension in my shoulders run out. When I was little, I’d lay on this rock during hot summer afternoons, when Gram declared it was too hot to do anything but sit or play. My father had a strong belief in the benefits of keeping busy, but when he wasn’t home, Gram gave me a little latitude. She herself had an equally powerful conviction about the importance of play for children.
I used to dream of growing up and leaving the farm, traveling the world. I wanted to see all the wonderful places Gram and I read about during our lessons, find some freedom from the house and farm where I’d spent all my life. And then in my teen years, the dreams had changed. In the youth group at church, we were taught the importance of perfect obedience, of listening to our parents and striving for holiness. Boys and girls could talk to each other, but only in the company of an adult. Even the older single people in church avoided being alone together; dating was done in groups, if it was done at all.
So when I began to entertain thoughts of romance, it was within that framework. I daydreamed about the day one of the boys from church would ask my dad if he could court me, and he’d sit with me during services, and he’d come to supper every Sunday at my house. After we ate, we’d sit out on the porch and talk about the future we were going to share. Then, when the time was right, there’d be a wedding and my life would really begin.
A leaf drifted down and landed on my face. I held it to the light, examining the tiny veins that ran through the green as my mind rambled. I never thought I’d get to be this old and not be married. Or at least about to be married. When Gram had finished homeschooling me, I’d been at loose ends, with no husband on the horizon and nothing but empty years stretching before me. Most of the kids from the youth group had ended up going away to college or leaving town to work, and none of them had met my father’s strict criteria anyway. Dad wouldn’t hear of me attending traditional college far from home, so when Gram told me that she’d read about classes on-line, I’d jumped at the opportunity.
Maybe Dad thought I was going to end up an old maid anyway, so I might as well have some sort of degree. He didn’t necessarily approve of my education, but he didn’t forbid it, either. We’d fallen into a rhythm of farm work, the classes I worked diligently to complete and church until two years ago, when Pastor Shand announced that he’d hired a young man fresh out of Bible college to see to our youth.
The group I’d been active with in my teens had dwindled to few kids in the church. But with a new crop of adolescents coming up, Pastor decided we needed someone who could devote himself fully to guiding them. So he’d brought on Jonathan Hunt.
When I’d met our new youth pastor, my first impression was intensity. He was zealous and single-minded. A few weeks after he started working at Burton Community, he stopped me after service one Sunday and asked if I’d consider helping him with the youth.
“The young women in the church need a godly role model. Someone who isn’t running around with boys and taking up with the world. I think they’d really respond to you.”
I’d agreed, mainly because my father encouraged me and there didn’t seem to be any good reason to say no. Jonathan and I worked well together, in that he told me what he thought I should do and I made it happen. I gave him a few suggestions for activities the group could try and books we could read; a few he took, but most of the time, he nodded, smiled and said he’d pray over it. And then I’d never hear anything about it again.
About six months after Jonathan’s arrival, my father came home from an elders’ meeting with an unusual bounce in his step. Gram and I’d been in the kitchen, peeling apples for a pie, and Dad grinned as he closed the door.
“Well, Marilla Grace, I have some news that I think will make you happy.”
I glanced at my father and then at Gram, who shrugged.
“Jonathan pulled me aside tonight and asked if I would consider letting him court you.” He spoke as though I’d been waiting on tenterhooks for this announcement.
“Um ...” I put down the knife and the apple. “Really? What did you tell him?”
Dad frowned. “I told him yes, of course. He’s a good man, and he’ll be a good husband for you.” He paused, and his eyebrows drew together. “You seem surprised. You didn’t know Jonathan was going to speak to me?”
I shook my head. “Dad, the most personal thing Jonathan Hunt has ever said to me was about the brownies I brought for the bake sale. We only talk about the youth group. I didn’t have any idea he was thinking about this.”
Gram hmphed just under her breath, but she didn’t look at me.
Dad recovered, and though he didn’t smile again, his forehead smoothed out. “That’s because he respects you. He knew to approach me first. Now that I’ve given him permission, he’ll probably be more comfortable with you.”
Maybe Jonathan was more comfortable with me after his talk with my father, but it couldn’t be proven by me. He continued to treat me with the same slightly detached deference he did every woman in church. I fell into an odd world where at home my father acted as though I were almost engaged, while the man he assumed I’d be marrying never gave me so much as a sideways glance. It was bizarre.
When I broached the subject with Gram, she only shook her head, shrugged her shoulders and growled, “Men.”
The wind blew again, and tiny bits of pollen fell over me. I closed my eyes and tried to remember what it’d been like to dream. Somewhere along the way, I’d lost the belief that my life could ever be any different or any better than it was. Working with the Reynolds at the farm stand had been an eye-opening experience, and suddenly what I’d been willing to settle for a few months ago seemed lackluster and almost repulsive. There was so much more to the world than I’d imagined, and I wanted to see it all.
Even if it meant defying my father.
“READY, DADDY!”
I turned as my daughter clamored down the steps, her blonde curls bouncing around her small face. Her bright eyes met mine, and I saw the challenge only seconds before I had time to respond. She stopped on the fourth step from the bottom, crouched and leaped into the air.
My arms shot out of their own volition, and I caught her—barely. My heart thudded painfully against the walls of my chest as I clutched her tiny body to me.
“Piper Susannah, how many times have I told you? You can’t just jump like that. Daddy wasn’t ready for you. You could’ve been hurt.”
She pulled away, and those hazel eyes that matched my own held not one ounce of contrition. “Daddy, I never get hurt.” She wriggled until I put her down, and then stood before me, hands her hips. “Are we going? I want to go to the farm.”
I bit back a sigh. This kid was out of control, and I honestly didn’t know how I was going to change that. I offered her my hand. “Ye
ah, we’re going. Let’s go give Nan a kiss first, and make sure she’s okay.”
Piper tugged on my arm as she skipped toward the downstairs office that we’d transformed into my mother’s room since her illness. She was sitting in the recliner today, with a book in her hand and an old black and white movie on the television. As we came in, she laid the paperback in her lap and smiled.
“Look at you, Miss Piper. Pretty as a picture!” She buried her face in the crook of my daughter’s neck, closing her eyes and sniffing. “And you smell like springtime. Are you and your daddy going on an adventure?”
“Yes! We’re going to Mr. Farmer Fred’s farm and we’re going to see the horses and I’m going to ride one and go so fast—”
“Whoa, there, princess.” I stuck my thumbs in the front pockets of my jeans and rocked back on my heels. “I said we’d see the horses. You’re not going to ride on them. Maybe when you get bigger, we can see about some riding lessons, but not today. Got it?”
Her lower lip jutted out in a pout I was all too familiar with, but I was standing my ground here. No way my little baby was going up on one of those big horses. Not this year.
“Piper, baby, I bet Mr. Fred and Miss Ellen will have apples for you to feed the horses. And maybe even some sugar cubes. How about that? Won’t that be fun?” Mom smoothed her thin white hand over Piper’s hair. I tried not to notice the slight tremor in her fingers.
“Okay.” Piper’s shoulders slumped. “I guess.”
I ignored the display of despondency. “Mom, you okay? Can I get you anything before we go? Or while we’re out?”
She shook her head. “I’m good, darlin.’ Thanks. Mrs. Murphy’ll be here any minute.”
As if on cue, there was a rattle at the kitchen door and the telltale squeak of the screen door hinge. Piper disentangled herself from my mother’s hands and took off in the direction of the noise.
“Mrs. Murphy! I’m gonna see horses!”
“That child never does anything slow, does she?” Mom closed her eyes and laid her head back against the chair. “Always in a hurry. What I wouldn’t give to have a tenth of her energy.”
I rubbed the back of my neck. “I know, Mom. But pretty soon you’ll be feeling better.” I turned my head, listening to Piper chatter away to the caregiver. “As for the pip squeak ... Mom, I don’t know what I’m going to do with her sometimes. I tell her stuff over and over, not to do something, what she should be doing, and she just looks at me with those big eyes and smiles, and does whatever the hell she wants anyway.”
My mother’s lips curled into a grin. “Why, son, where on earth would she get that kind of behavior? I can’t even imagine.”
“Yeah, I don’t know either.” I rolled my eyes, ignoring her sarcasm. “I mean, I was the best behaved, most obedient child ever known. Quiet, calm, serious—”
“I think the word you’re looking for here is ‘willful.’ Maybe ‘wild.’ And as for how she charms you to get her way? Oh, honey, I remember you’d just look up at me with those huge hazel eyes, and I’d melt. So did Grandma, and every other female you ever came across. So maybe you need to keep that in mind. The apple, the tree—it never falls far.”
“Thanks, Mom. That helps a lot.”
“Anything I can do, honey, you know that.” She opened her eyes. “I’m glad you’re taking her out to Fred and Ellen’s place. It was nice of them to invite y’all. Is that sweet-talking son of theirs going to be there?”
“Yeah, Alex is in town. That’s why we’re going today.” I worked my jaw back and forth.
“Son, it’s okay to take a little time off work. The world won’t come crashing down, I promise.”
I lifted one shoulder. “Yeah, I guess, but it’s a Saturday, and we got a new band playing tonight. They’ll be coming in for sound check before opening.”
“I thought you said Rocky was handling it.” Mom leaned up a little to pull her sweater closer around her bony shoulders. She had trouble staying warm anymore.
“He is. It’ll be fine. I’m just not used to not handling every part myself, you know?” I bent to help her draw the cardigan closer. “I hate that I can’t be here with you all the time, helping you get well. And I hate that I’m not a better daddy to Piper. I wish I could be with her more. But at the same time, I know I have to make a living, and I get antsy when I’m away from the club too long.”
“I know, honey. But you’re doing good. I’ve got Mrs. Murphy taking care of me and watching Piper, and you couldn’t have found anyone better. You’re doing the best you can, and that’s just fine. Try not to be so hard on yourself.”
Footsteps sounded down the hall, and Piper skidded into the room. “Is it time now, Daddy?”
“Yes’m, it’s time.” I scooped her up and tickled her sides until she giggled. “I have my phone, Mom. We’re going to stop at Sam Reynold’s farm stand, too, while we’re out there.”
“Oh, really? Picking us up something fresh for dinner?”
“Maybe. But I’m mainly going to talk to that girl they hired to do their PR. Sam wants me to see about having her do some work for us at the bar. I’m thinking she could do something for the new lunch hours we’re starting next week.”
“A girl?” Mom raised one eyebrow.
“Yeah. Emmett Grant’s daughter.” When her other eyebrow went up, too, I shook my head and set Piper back on the floor. “Stop. She’s just out of school, needs a job. That’s it.”
“I wasn’t saying anything about you, silly. It’s just that I didn’t remember Emmett having a daughter. He used to be part of the Guild, when your father was on it. He must’ve kept the girl on a pretty short leash, because I don’t think I’ve ever seen her.”
“Sam said something about that—okay, Piper, okay.” I let her pull me to the door. “Call me if anything comes up. We’ll be back before dinner.”
We went back through the kitchen, Piper chattering away about horses. Mrs. Murphy was putting together a tray, adding toast and a cup of tea to take to Mom.
“You all have a good time and don’t worry about your mama. We’re going to have us some tea and watch a movie. Enjoy the horses.”
I grimaced and opened the door to go out. “Thanks, Mrs. Murphy. I appreciate it. Don’t know what we’d do without you.”
She waved us away, and I lifted Piper into the backseat of my truck, buckling her into her booster seat. After I climbed into the driver’s seat, I hit the button to turn on the radio and turned it to my favorite satellite station, one that featured new acts and up-and-comers out of Nashville. Some old habits die hard.
I cruised until we got to the edge of town, then I opened her up and picked up speed. On the radio, a guy I’d never heard of before crooned a cover of Johnny Cash’s Ring of Fire, and I grinned when I heard Piper’s thin, clear voice singing along. She’d been raised on this music, and she probably knew more songs than people ten times her age.
The land out here was wide open, with large family farms separated by occasional sections of forest. I tried to imagine what it would be like growing up out here rather than in town. Back in high school, I’d had a few friends who lived on farms, but we usually hung out in Burton. Every now and then, someone would throw a big party in one of the fields, but that only happened once a year or so. I’d never thought about how it would feel to be bused to the school every day, or not to be able to walk over to the library or the pizza shop when the urge hit.
We turned down the dirt road that led to the Nelson farm, and Piper shrieked when she spotted horses. By the time we reached the house, she was bouncing up and down in her seat.
“Now listen.” I pulled the keys from the ignition and turned around to give my daughter what I hoped was quelling and fatherly stare. “You need to be on your best behavior here. Mr. Fred and Miss Ellen invited us here, and I expect you to be respectful.” I paused. “Do you know what that means?”
She frowned. “No.”
“It means you need to not run around the house, n
ot interrupt when adults are talking and wait until you’re offered something to eat or drink. Don’t ask for it. Oh, and we need to thank the Nelsons for asking us over. And be polite to Alex, too. He’s one of my friends.”
“Okay. I’ll be ‘spectful.” She nodded, her face serious.
“Good.” I opened the door and unbuckled Piper, swinging her down to the ground. She took my hand as we climbed the two steps to the porch. Before we reached the door to knock, the screen door creaked and Alex leaned out.
“Who is the ravishing creature approaching my house? Why, is that Cinderella? Or Sleeping Beauty? No, couldn’t be her, since you’re wide awake.” Alex rubbed his chin, his eyes narrowing as he gazed down at my daughter.
“I’m not a princess today. I’m a cowgirl, ‘cause I’m seeing the horses.” She slid her eyes in my direction. “Was that ‘spectful, Daddy?”
“Yep, it sure was.” I stuck out my fist to my friend. “Dude.”
“Bro.” He pounded it, smirking. “Come on in. Mom made cookies, and I actually left a few for the company, as she calls you.”
The Nelson home was very much what I expected. We walked into a large open living room with furniture that looked as though it might’ve belonged to Alex’s great-grandparents. Family pictures filled the walls, including one huge section devoted solely to Alex himself. He caught me checking it out and nodded.
“Miracle baby, you know. They never thought they’d have a kid, then I came along. Surprise! So I’m pretty sure they snapped pics every time I sneezed.”
“We weren’t quite that bad.” Mrs. Nelson wandered into the room and cuffed her son on his arm. “But you were a pretty cute baby, so maybe we got a little carried away.” She bent to smile at Piper. “Hello, little lady. I hear you’re going to visit with our horses.”
Love in a Small Town Box Set 1 Page 49
