An Accidental Woman

by Barbara Delinsky

  Oh, she knew what he was doing. He was showing her what he could bring to her life. And doting wasn’t all; he respected her needs. He was patient and encouraging. Take sex. He didn’t just make love to her while she lay back and enjoyed it. He knew her disabilities—but he also knew her abilities, and he egged her on. Where there was potential, he urged her to meet it, which meant that she was as often the aggressor as the recipient. From the start, he had made her feel like a woman. In this, he made her feel like a consummate one.

  She was fine as long as he didn’t start talking about marriage again.

  Mercifully, he didn’t—not at any time during the impromptu party at Charlie’s Café the night before, not when they returned to the house and made love, not when they woke up together knowing that Heather was coming home.

  “One way to look at this,” Griffin proposed as they got ready to leavethe house, “is that my tipping Randy off was actually good. Heather is free now. She isn’t haunted by the fear of discovery.”

  Poppy agreed with him, but only in part. “Legally, she’s okay now. Emotionally? We’ll have to see. She’ll have to reconcile who she was with who she is.”

  “No problem there. Micah loves her. That won’t change.”

  “She pushed the past out of her mind. Now she’ll have to deal with it.”

  “No problem there,” Griffin repeated, holding her gaze. “Micah loves her. That won’t change.”

  The message was for Poppy, of course. And she loved Griffin for sending it. But there was something she still had to work out, a reconciliation of her own.

  Not today, though. Today was for celebrating.

  * * *

  Micah had stopped by the café the night before, but only because Camille came to sit with the girls and practically kicked him out. He only stayed in town long enough to thank the people who had done so much for him, though, before heading home. At such an unsure time, he wanted to be with his daughters.They were his life—the girls and sugarmaking. The girls gave him love, and his trees gave him their sweetness. He was a lucky man, having both. It was more than some people had.

  That was what he told himself, because thinking about Heather terrified him. He spent most of the night lying awake in bed, feeling her beside him, remembering the wholeness of it, and when he wasn’t doing that, he was drifting in and out of an uneasy sleep.

  He hadn’t told the girls about Cassie’s deal. It was cowardly of him, perhaps irresponsible, but he hadn’t wanted to deal with the questions about when she would be home. He didn’t know when, because Cassie didn’t know when. She had mentioned magistrates, paperwork, and hearings. She had mentioned a confidentiality agreement to be drawn up and signed. She had mentioned a possible return to California.

  Besides, Heather coming home was one thing. Her staying there wasanother. Micah wouldn’t know which she would choose until the moment arrived. He didn’t want to get the girls’ hopes up.

  Star wanted Momma back. She was frightened of being abandoned again, frightened that Heather would choose another life and another child. Missy, conversely, didn’t know if she wanted Heather back at all. She was angry that Heather had left, and she had put up walls to protect herself. Micah knew how that was. He had done it himself earlier on. Missy was his daughter in that sense. And Star? Star was Heather’s in so many ways that it was eerie. If Heather chose to leave, Star would be devastated.

  And so Micah’s thoughts churned through the night. When morning came, he gave the girls breakfast, dressed them warmly, loaded them in the tractor and took them up the hill into the sugarbush. There was no phone here, no television, no chance of unwanted guests. There was nothing foreign here. He knew every inch of this land. It was safe. It was eternal. That was what he wanted the girls to see and feel.

  Stopping the tractor, he lifted them down and led them through the snow to a boulder. It was one he had gone to as a child when he wanted to be alone. Glimpses of blue tubing could be seen through the trees, but this was evergreen territory. It was quiet, untouched, peaceful land.

  He lifted the girls onto the boulder one at a time. Then he climbed up between them. He didn’t say anything, just sat, looked, and listened. The trees were tall here—mossy pines, deep green hemlocks, and blue firs—and the snow more sparse where their limbs sheltered the ground. A startling number of limbs lay fallen under the weight of ice, but the trees didn’t look any worse for it.

  “God’s pruning?” Missy asked, and he nodded.

  Star whispered, “Shhhhh. Listen.” The woods were alive with snowmelt, a gentle dripping that came from different directions, different sections of nature’s orchestra, each with its own tempo and tone, all harmonizing. Head cocked as she continued to listen, she looked up at him. Her eyes were as large as ever, but rather than being haunted now, they held the light of excitement. “Snow songs.”

  God’s pruning. Nature’s orchestra. Snow songs. They were all Heather’sexpressions. She put into words what Micah felt but couldn’t say. Her words would live on in all of them this way, regardless of what she did herself.

  He didn’t say anything then, though not through any desire for silence so much as sheer inability. His throat was tight with emotions that he couldn’t begin to deal with. So he swallowed them away, breathed deeply of the fertile March air, and focused on the moment.

  They sat that way for a long time, the girls seemingly as content as he was. Finally climbing down from their rock, they walked through the woods for a while. Missy ran from one fallen log to the next, balancing her way down each, while Star crouched to peer into nooks and crannies for glimpses of tiny forest creatures.

  Micah alternately watched them, and watched the blue tubing that was bit by bit filling with liquid as the sap started to flow. Eventually, he herded the girls back to the tractor and drove them down the hill. By the time they reached the sugarhouse, the storage tanks had filled with sap enough to boil, and the driveway was lined with trucks.

  Lake Henry had come to make sugar.

  * * *

  Poppy arrived at Micah’s well after the first of the other trucks had pulled in. Squeezing past them, she drove up to the house. Once she had parked, she and Griffin unloaded the huge pot of chili that they’d picked up at Charlie’s. The problem was finding room in the kitchen, which was even more packed with food and people than it had been after the ice storm.Taking it all in, she felt an intense pride. This was her town; these were her people. They did this each year to celebrate the sap harvest—picked a day when the sun was out, the air was clear, and the children had no school, because, like Christmas, sugar on snow was best with kids. The settling of Heather’s case only made it better.

  Micah surely felt that way. He smiled more in the ten minutes he spared for lunch than he had in all of the last twenty-four days. Then he headed for the sugarhouse with dozens of people in tow. This was the fun part. A packed sugarhouse made the syrup sweeter faster.

  A packed sugarhouse makes the syrup sweeter faster.

  Heather had said that, Poppy realized as she whipped out the front door and down the ramp. Griffin was already at the sugarhouse, bringing wood in from the shed on the old iron flatcar. She pushed her wheels through the last of the ice that was melting on the gravel drive, and reached the back of the house in time to join the procession.

  Far ahead of her, at the foot of the hill, Micah opened the sugarhouse door and turned to hold it for those behind him. In the process, he glanced toward the road.

  His body went still. Only his eyes moved, following something down the drive.

  Heart pounding, Poppy looked that way. It was a dark red car, late model, not from Lake Henry, rather sedate for its color. She doubted it would be Heather so soon, and it didn’t look like FBI. This looked like a rental car, perhaps a reporter coming straight from the airport?

  Poppy shot a look back at the sugarhouse door just as Griffin joined Micah. John was nearby as well. Media could be handled.

  The red car moved slow
ly, making its way past the long line of larger vehicles. It pulled up just shy of the house. Even before the driver opened his door, the pounding of Poppy’s heart increased.

  “Oh God,” she whispered. She pushed herself forward, separating from the others just as Norman Anderson straightened. He caught her eye right away and did a little something with his own while he let out a burst of air. The look said that he wouldn’t have shown up here unannounced if his headstrong fourteen-year-old daughter hadn’t forced the issue.

  Sure enough, Thea had left the passenger’s seat and was rounding the front of the car. She wore jeans, boots, a camel hair pea coat and a matching beret that was striking against the long, shiny waves of her hair. Her hands were in her pockets. Her face spoke of both excitement and terror. When she caught sight of Poppy, she seemed relieved.

  Not so Poppy. She had been proud of herself to have instantly connected with Heather’s daughter. It struck her now, though, that the connection might well have been responsible for bringing Thea here at such a bad, bad time.

  She wheeled quickly forward. She couldn’t begin to think of whatwould happen if Heather arrived just then. It was enough trying to gauge the impact that Thea alone would have on the town.

  Norman met Poppy halfway. “I’m sorry,” he said in a low voice. “If I’d said no, Thea would have come here on her own. I couldn’t let her do that. She wanted to meet Micah. She wanted to take a look at the town. I thought we could do it without anyone knowing who we are.” He shot a dubious look at the crowd. “I guess not.”

  Thea put an arm around Poppy’s shoulder and kissed her cheek. While she was there, she murmured, “Did I do an awful thing?”

  They didn’t know about the plea agreement, Poppy realized with a start.

  “Don’t know that yet,” she said in a high singsong. “Let’s see.” She was thinking that it was going to be the three of them—Norman, Thea, and her—against Lake Henry, when Griffin materialized beside her and offered a hand.

  “Mr. Anderson, I’m Griffin Hughes. Welcome.”

  “Thank you,” Norman said.

  Poppy imagined that he was as relieved to see Griffin as she was.

  * * *

  “Relieved” wasn’t a word Micah would have used. He felt just the opposite. He wanted Heather back there and choosing this life before any child of hers appeared, but he could tell it was too late for that. He didn’t need an introduction to know that the young woman with Poppy was Heather’s daughter. She was a young, elegant version of Heather. Micah imagined that Heather would look every bit as elegant if she lived in California instead of Lake Henry.The thought, of course, gave him no comfort.

  Needing to hold what was his, he looked around for Missy and Star. He saw Missy first—saw the back of a dark, wavy head of hair as she headed for the house. When Maida went after her, he looked around for Star. It was a frightened minute before he saw her emerge on the far side of the crowd from him and walk slowly toward Poppy.

  “Star?” he called.

  She kept going.

  Swearing under his breath, unable to think of anything but that he was losing everything that mattered to him, he followed.

  * * *

  Poppy didn’t see Star at first. Thea was talking, taking the blame for the trip, saying that they wouldn’t stay long, insisting that she had only wanted a little look—Norman was trying to explain to her that they couldn’t have come at a worse time, perhaps ought to leave, could drive west to ski in Vermont for the weekend—and all the while Griffin was giving Poppy looks that said he didn’t know whether to acknowledge the Andersons by introducing them to Micah, or ignore them by getting on with the sugaring.The first Poppy was aware of anyone else nearby was when Star leaned against her chair. “Oh! Star!”

  Star wasn’t looking at her. Those big, dark, solemn eyes were focused on Thea.

  “Uh,” Thea said in surprise. “Okay.” She smiled and stuck out her hand toward Star. “Hi. I’m Thea. You’re Star, aren’t you?”

  Star nodded.

  “I saw your picture,” Thea explained. “You look just the same.”

  “You look like Momma,” Star said.

  Micah emerged from the crowd and was beside them in a few long strides. He stopped behind Star, with challenging eyes on Norman, and Poppy had a sudden fear that he would lash out. That would mean backtracking at a later point, making amends and mending rifts, because the fact was that Thea had been found. She was here. She was strong-willed. She wanted to connect with her roots.

  Poppy gave his arm a squeeze through his flannel sleeve, then another until he looked at her. “The timing may be off,” she said quietly, “but the sentiment is right.” Still holding Micah’s arm, she turned to Thea. “This is Micah. It’s an emotional day for him, because we don’t know when Heather will be getting back. So we’re keeping ourselves busy by celebrating the sugar season. Micah has sap to boil. Maybe you’d like to watch?” When Micah’s arm tensed, she tightened her grip.

  Thea’s eyes widened. She smiled at Micah and said softly, almost timidly, “I would really like that.”

  Poppy looked up at Micah. This was his house, his land, his sap. Heather might be the one to decide whether she wanted an ongoing relationship with Thea, but he was the one to decide, here and now, whether the girl and her father stayed.

  Before he could say anything, Star slipped out from in front of him. She moved around the wheelchair, looked up at Thea, and slowly, carefully, put a hand in hers. Seeming utterly sure of what she was doing, she raised her eyes to Micah.

  * * *

  After that, of course, Micah had no more say in the matter than Norman had when Thea had threatened to fly to Lake Henry by herself. Micah did not want Thea there. He did not want Thea to exist. But she was and she did—and he understood what Star felt. Thea exuded the same basic goodness that Heather always had. Even if Star hadn’t led the way, he doubted he would have been able to ask her to leave. She was part of Heather, whom he loved.He also loved Missy, and Missy was upset. Needing to see to her, he motioned the others on to the sugarhouse while he went back into the house. He found Missy in her bedroom with Maida, the two of them sitting side by side on the edge of the bed.

  “We were just talking about things,” Maida said with a little smile. “Missy needs to vent.”

  “She kept secrets,” Missy charged, scowling.

  Micah squatted in front of her. “She had no choice.”

  “She had another family.”

  “No. Not really.”

  “Then who’s that out there? She didn’t tell us about her. And if she didn’t tell us about her, what else didn’t she tell us about?”

  Micah didn’t know what to say. Missy had a point. But there was another side to all of the things Heather had kept to herself. The fact was, he hadn’t asked about them. He hadn’t wanted to know. He had built alife with Heather and had gone right along with the idea that the past didn’t matter. He had let it happen. So maybe he was at fault, too.

  Feeling the weight of that knowledge, he pushed himself up. “We’ll talk about it once she’s back.”

  “I don’t want her back.”

  “I do. I love her. We all make mistakes—you, me, Star. If Heather’s made some, we have to forgive her.”

  Missy’s chin trembled. “I don’t.”

  “Then you lose her. Is that what you want?”

  Missy didn’t answer.

  He went to the door. “We’re doing sugar on snow. Don’t you want some?”

  That eased her pout a bit. “I don’t know. Maybe.”

  “Well, I’m going to go make it.” He held out a hand. When she simply stared at him, he dropped it. It struck him that she would be a handful when she got older, and that he needed Heather’s help here, too. For now, he did his best, which was to be nonchalant, which was probably cowardly, because he was avoiding the issue, but the sap called. “Okay. Come over when you’re ready.”

  * * *

  Micah began bo
iling the syrup that had just run, and it took concentration. He didn’t think about Heather. He didn’t think about Thea. He knew that the sugarhouse was packed with people, and that others—kids and parents—were outside packing snow in plastic soup bowls, pie plates, and foil pans. Totally aside from the feast in the house, there was coffee. There was hot chocolate. There was hot cider. There was a buzz of conversation that had a festive feel, and Micah couldn’t help but catch it.The first batch of sap quickly became syrup. Taking it from the finish pan, he poured it through the filter press. He filled pitchers directly from that and had no sooner put them on the canning table by a stack of paper cups when people started to pour and drink. Returning to the evaporator, he focused on the second batch of sap. This time, though, he didn’t take it off when it reached the crucial seven degrees above boiling pointthat would render it syrup. Rather, he let it boil, constantly stirring and scraping so that it wouldn’t scorch as the temperature rose. Shortly before it reached the point where it would be high and dry enough to beat into granular sugar, he poured it off into buckets—two for him, two for Griffin. Leaving Billy and Amos at the evaporator, they went outside.

  How not to feel good then? Most everyone he cared about was here—Poppy and Lily and John, Cassie and her family, Charlie and Annette and those of their kids who weren’t at the store, Camille, the Winslows, Heather’s friends—Sigrid, Marianne, Leila Higgins—along with folks from the other side of the lake and from the Ridge, even Willie Jake, who had laid low after his role in Heather’s arrest. Micah felt no animosity toward him, nor toward Norman Anderson, who was being shown proper Lake Henry hospitality by Maida, who looked charmed.