Winter's End

by Ruth Logan Herne

  Kayla sighed, dejected. The hills rose in pictorial splendor, green and lush, their shadows cooling the streets of the quaint town.

  She didn’t care for that. She liked hills well enough, but she liked sunshine more. Even in the dead of winter, the sun was a regular visitor to St. Lawrence County, its rays bright and slanted.

  Cold, Kayla, she reminded herself. Bitter cold, windswept tundra-land. Have you forgotten?

  She scrunched her face, then relaxed her jaw.

  She hadn’t forgotten. She just hadn’t minded the cold as much this past winter. Caring for Pete, letting the warmth of the DeHollander house seep into her bones…

  Nope, the winter hadn’t seemed all that bad.

  “Looks good, Mike.” Appreciation tinged Marc’s voice as he surveyed the paint job. “Real good.”

  Mike Broom grinned from the scaffold. “What color did you pick for the shutters?”

  “Dark green,” Marc answered. He looked to Jess for confirmation.

  “I should have them done by the weekend,” Jess replied. She turned to Marc, her eyes bright. “And the new front door looks great. I love the side windows.”

  “Sidelights.”

  “Oh.” Jess grinned. Her expression sized him up. “Sidelights, huh?”

  Marc headed inside. He had no intention of explaining himself. It was time to spend a little money on this old place, give the worn surfaces a more inviting look.

  What did it matter that the new door and its flanking windows resembled the cottage in Kayla’s print? Pure coincidence.

  Part of Pete’s insurance money was invested to ensure Jess’s future. College didn’t come cheap, and Marc had every intention of making sure Jess could concentrate on her studies. Paying the shot out of Dad’s insurance fund would help.

  But there was enough to help upgrade the house, maybe redo the kitchen and spiff up the floors.

  Winter stuff, Marc decided. He refused to dangle hope that he might have a vocal second opinion as to what should be done. Women were particular about their kitchens, and he wanted this to be just right.

  If the woman was interested.

  He poured coffee despite the heat and surveyed the entry from the kitchen. The look fit his vision of fresh paint, evergreen shutters and the sweep of a garden he had yet to create.

  He’d treated the grass to kill the roots, but he wouldn’t be able to till the soil until Mike finished the front of the house. He felt pushed to hurry, but held himself in check.

  Barely.

  Jess came through the front and headed for the living room. Marc poked his head in. “I’ve got some work to do upstairs. Can you make sandwiches?”

  “Work? Upstairs?”

  “On the computer.”

  “Sure. Tuna good?”

  “Fine.”

  Once upstairs, he stared at the computer, thoughts jumbled.

  Maybe he should handwrite his letter to Kayla. Or call her. Would she pick up the phone, seeing his number? Maybe. Maybe not.

  Stop shilly-shallying and just do it, moron.

  Marc sank into the chair, worrying he’d say too much, too fast.

  Or too little and she’d brush him off.

  Should he pour out his heart, lay it all on the line, or just tell her of his growing faith and let her fill in the blanks?

  “Marc? Sandwiches are ready.”

  So soon? Marc stared at the computer screen, its blank image a taunt. He sighed and backed away.

  He hated writing. Always had. Hadn’t he picked some of his university courses because they didn’t have much written content?

  Pretty much. And there was too much riding on this letter to mess it up.

  He gave a reluctant last look to the computer screen, his Hereford desktop picture a reminder of farm life.

  Would she be happy here? Could she be happy here? The fear of a solid “no” pushed him toward the stairs, unsure what to say. What to do.

  He was better. Stronger. Definitely more faithful than the jerk who met her at the door seven months ago.

  But not strong enough to handle the possibility of rejection. Not yet.

  “You sound lonely, Kayla.”

  Kayla fought the emotion Sarah’s words evoked. “A little. Things are different here.”

  “Sure they are,” Sarah agreed. “And you don’t have friends like you did up here. Are you sure this is what you really want?”

  Kayla swallowed hard. “What other choice is there? I loved what I was doing in Potsdam, and how everything progressed, but after last winter…” She paused and tried not to envision what she left. The offer from a man of honor but no faith. “I couldn’t stay.”

  “I understand.” Sarah’s voice had its usual calming effect. Kayla felt cared for when she talked to her friend. Loved. “And of course, change begets change.”

  Kayla paused, hearing a hidden message. “Such as?”

  “The domino theory. Ripple effect. Remove one cog from the wheel and others bear the strain.”

  “Quit the riddles and tell me what’s going on.”

  Sarah laughed. “Marc and Jess are coming to church with us. He answered the altar call last week.”

  “Really?” Warmth spread through Kayla. “Oh, Sarah, I’m so glad.”

  “Us, too. He went through a tough time, but I think he’s crested the hill.”

  “Good.” Relief swept Kayla. “It’s not good to hold that bitterness in check so long.”

  “Words of wisdom, my friend.”

  Kayla bit her lip. “I don’t cling to old things, Sarah. It’s just not possible to really forget them. They creep up, unexpectedly.”

  “Give them to God, Kayla. What’s done is done and He’s opened a future for you. Don’t blow it off because you think you’re undeserving.”

  Kayla’s heart crunched.

  That was exactly how she saw herself. Despite all she’d done to make herself whole, she was still the little girl who listened to her mother’s screams and did nothing. “I’ve got to go, Sarah.”

  “We love you, Kayla. We miss you. Hang on a minute, would you? McKenna wants to talk.”

  “Wuv oo, Kawa.”

  Kayla’s throat constricted. “I love you, too, baby girl. I’ll come see you soon, okay?”

  “’Kay. Wuv oo.”

  Kayla hung up and stared at the wall.

  She was a centrifuge, spinning her way through life, not stopping long enough to let the contents sort themselves.

  Why was that? Why was she more concerned with where she was going than where she’d been?

  Marc had made a serious step toward peace. She was happy for him. Happy for Jess.

  But he hadn’t called. That omission said she didn’t make the short list. Why should that surprise her?

  She sucked in a knowing breath. She’d dumped her life in his lap that cold April evening. Knowing what he did, no wonder he chose to avoid her. Despite his newfound peace, Marc was still a man whose emotional mother left after bearing someone else’s child. Women with issues weren’t high on his priority list.

  Still, she was happy for him. She’d prayed for his peace, his salvation. She would focus on the joy of that and not on how much she missed the man. She turned and walked back to the waiting basket of laundry.

  That’s it?

  Kayla dropped the cotton T-shirt.

  You dip your chin and fold some clothes? Haven’t I taught you better than that?

  The nudge of conscience made Kayla look around. With a sigh, she reached into the basket of pastels once more.

  What more do you want from him?

  Once again Kayla’s hands quieted.

  He’s embracing his faith, caring for his sister, working two jobs and living life to the full. What are you waiting for?

  His call, she realized. A letter. A message. Something that said he cared despite what he knew.

  What he knows? The voice within flooded Kayla with knowledge. He knows a young girl forged a life of worth after many false st
arts. He knows you’re willing to meet him on even ground, regardless. He knows you’ve blessed the poor and the lame, the sick and dying. What more do you think he wants, my child?

  That answer was simple. Marc wanted someone normal, someone who didn’t weigh him down.

  Define “normal.”

  That nudge inspired a grin. Normal was pretty subjective these days.

  “See! The winter is past; the rains are over and gone. Flowers appear on the earth; the season of singing has come…”

  The verse from Songs brought heat to her cheeks. She pressed cool palms against her face, remembering the chapter, its song of ardent love.

  “…Arise, come, my darling; my beautiful one, come with me.”

  No way. It would be foolish to head back north. Hadn’t she promised herself a respite from winter? A haven from hurt, promises that couldn’t be kept. Marc DeHollander couldn’t possibly want her as his life mate, his helpmate.

  Could he?

  A little tough to answer that one from here. You sent him packing pretty firm, remember?

  Oh, she remembered. She’d told him to have a nice life and shut the door in his face.

  Heat suffused her. She’d hurt him, but he’d stepped back, as well. Hadn’t he?

  She knew where Marc was, where he always would be. He was a North Country man. Strong. Vibrant. Sturdy. A man among men, solid and sure.

  And now a man of faith.

  Kayla contemplated her choices. She hated rejection. Feared it more. But the words of Scripture offered hope.

  What could she possibly lose that she hadn’t lost already?

  Not a thing.

  What could she gain?

  Acceptance. Love. A chance for the home and family she longed for, the chance to do it right. Hands trembling, she picked up the phone and set new wheels in motion.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Marc shifted his gaze to the large pond.

  Three swans rippled the surface, the arc of their necks majestic. Pigeons roosted on the boathouse, enjoying an afternoon siesta. Ducks foraged, flapping their wings to gain advantage.

  The outline of the new garden lay evident along the walk. He’d swept the curve of the garden up and away, keeping the line unstructured and free. He and Jess had purchased plants suitable for part sun, part shade. Some small bushes, some perennials, and a bunch of that grassy stuff.

  At least, that’s what the nursery lady said. They’d grabbed breakfast at Hosler’s and drove the truck full of potted wonders home at gentle speeds. Now the pots stood under the tree to avoid the crush of summer sun. He’d ordered mulch to top dress the site, and slow-release fertilizer spikes for the evergreens.

  A fool’s dream, he told himself as he set pots around. His big hands were cumbersome clutching the small, plastic vessels. The silly things kept tipping, messing with his visual.

  Jess would have helped, but she was working at Nan’s, preparing for a regional show, late summer.

  He refused to interrupt her focus. He’d noticed an equestrian coach from St. Lawrence University at their last contest. That had been a firm heads-up. The possibility of an equestrian career for Jess wouldn’t surprise him. And scholarship money was never a bad thing. With her grades and proficiency, collegiate equestrian programs would vie for her.

  He refused to think of how alone he’d be with her gone. The house had seemed quiet after Pete’s death. How much more would it be with Jess away?

  The house doesn’t have to be quiet, an inner voice chastised. Just go call the girl. Write the letter you’ve been whining about. Do something!

  He was doing something. He was working night and day, running both businesses, making significant improvements on the house, taking care of Jess the best way he knew how and sleeping here and there.

  And he liked himself, finally. He liked the person he was becoming. The man who didn’t try to handle it alone, unafraid to lean. He felt richer, and the feeling had nothing to do with a bank account.

  Call her. Go to her. You could fly there and back in a day, have your say and see what happens. Get a move on, Farmer Boy.

  The crunch of wheels against stone sounded behind him.

  Pensive, he didn’t look up. The feed store was staffed and he had a garden to plant.

  He eyed the rich soil, assessing. Laying a flower garden was nothing like planting vegetables with their straight rows. This was…

  Disordered. If he worked his way in, he’d kneel on baby plants. If he went the opposite way, he’d compact the soil. Sitting back, he surveyed the path of least destruction and frowned.

  “Need help, Farmer Boy?”

  His heart leaped. A smile stuck square in his throat. He swallowed hard. “It appears I do.”

  Light footsteps sounded along the drive. She squatted next to him, her gaze forward, smelling of flowers and spice, of yesterday and tomorrow. He breathed deep, her scent spinning him back to a winter of growth, death and hope. He waved a hand and tried to hide the slight tremble of his fingers. “I’m kind of big to carry this off without crushing things.”

  “I see that. Whereas I’m lighter.”

  He swallowed again and nodded. “You are.”

  “And my hands are smaller. See?”

  Oh, he saw. Long, slim fingers tipped with bright pink polish. “You might chip a nail.”

  “We’re in a new millennium, Farmer Boy. They’re replaceable. In fact there’s a great nail place in Malone, this side of the Market Barn.”

  “Yeah?” He turned now.

  She was so beautiful. So perfectly wonderful. Her eyes searched his, her head angled as she tried to read his face, his expression. He cleared his throat, searching for his voice. “How about if I offer to pay for damage incurred by my soil?”

  She considered that, then nodded. “Deal.”

  He eyed her outfit. “You’re not going to plant in that, are you?”

  She stood and brushed off her knees. “Jess will have some overalls I can wear, right?”

  “Right.”

  He stood, as well, facing her. “You’re back.”

  She nodded again.

  He wanted to touch her. It was all he could do to hold himself back, keep his hands at his sides. “To visit?”

  “To stay.”

  His heart soared, but he couldn’t take credit for her decision. He hadn’t called, hadn’t written, hadn’t taken the slightest step forward. “Why?”

  Marc wasn’t sure he wanted to know the answer to that question, but knew he had to ask.

  Kayla eyed the improvements to the house. She noted the scaffolding alongside the barn. Mike stood atop the piped supports, busily working for more college money now that the house was complete. She shrugged. “I missed the North Country.”

  “Yeah?” He stepped closer. He hoped his proximity was having the same effect on her that hers was having on him. “Just the North Country?”

  She edged back. “And my friends.” She turned slightly. When she did, one strap of her tank top slipped, leaving her throat delightfully bare. She shoved it into place and looked beyond him. In an unusually perceptive moment, Marc realized she was nervous.

  He put a gentle hand to her shoulder. “Come inside.”

  She glanced up, then away, as if weighing choices, then let out a breath. “Okay.”

  He took her hand once they crossed the new threshold and led her up the stairs. He drew her into the back bedroom that doubled as his office area. The computer’s blinking light winked green.

  She turned, puzzled.

  Marc leaned over the desk and drew up a Word document. “There.”

  She leaned down. A smile curved her lips as she surveyed the long column of half-finished letters. She turned and met his eye, her gaze teasing. “Writing isn’t exactly your forte?”

  “No. Which is why they’re still sitting in my computer.” He reached out a hand and drew her away from the humming PC. “I’m better in person.”

  Those words made her draw a breath.
Or maybe it was the look he gave her, the one that said he’d missed her. He loved her.

  “I wanted the house to be right.”

  She did the face crunch he remembered so well. “It’s beautiful, Marc. It always was. You guys filled it with love and that’s what’s important.”

  He nodded and looped his hands around her back. “I agree. But a girl needs a place that welcomes her home. That reaches out to her. A place flooded with light.”

  She blinked back tears. “You remembered.”

  “Oh, yeah.” He dropped his mouth to hers and gave her a kiss, reveling in the feel of her in his arms. “How could I possibly forget?”

  “Marc—”

  “Will you marry me, Kayla?”

  “What?”

  He leaned back and brought her chin up with his thumb, stroking, caressing. “Will you marry me? Be my wife? Live on a crazy North Country farm? Break some nails? Have my babies? Grow old with me?”

  She smiled. “You’re right. You’re way better with words in person.”

  “Is that a yes?”

  She tilted her chin, teasing, contemplating. “It is.”

  “Really?”

  She waved a hand toward the window. “You did get the garden ready.”

  He nodded.

  “And painted the house.”

  He sighed. He couldn’t lie. “I hired it done.”

  “But signed the check, so it’s the same thing,” she assured him. “And you put in a beautiful new door.”

  “With sidelights. And a front porch light.”

  “Well, then.” She stretched up and drew him down. “That seals the deal.”

  “I love you, Kayla.”

  The simple declaration overwhelmed her.

  He sandwiched her hands between his and dropped to one knee. “I love you, Kayla,” he repeated. “Everything about you. Marry me. Please?”