“No, thanks. I’m gonna spend the night at a friend’s house. I’ll have to leave pretty soon.” She set the empty bottle aside and lifted Sunni to her cloth-covered shoulder, softly patting her back.
“You’re getting to be a pro at that.”
“Thanks. I took a child-care class at the school this summer. I like helping Mrs. Bedford with the babies. They’re sweet.” She laughed. “Most of the time.”
Al chuckled as he settled onto the sofa. “Most of the time.” He pressed his nose into the curve of Weston’s shoulder and breathed in the baby softness. It was like a breath of joy, a reminder of how blessed he was, and how often he let the cares of the world make him forget it.
Thank you, Father, for trusting me with this family.
“Mr. Bedford?”
He opened his eyes to find Amy standing near the sofa.
“Do you want to hold Sunni too, or should I put her on the blanket? I gotta go now.”
“I’ll take her, Amy. Thanks.”
The girl placed Sunni in the crook of Al’s free arm, the two babies forming a V against his chest. “Did Mrs. Bedford tell you I’m writing for the school newspaper this year?”
“No, she didn’t.”
“She’s helping me with some of my stories. You know. With the grammar and stuff. I’m thinking maybe someday I’ll write a book and Mrs. Bedford could be my editor. Wouldn’t that be cool?”
“Sure would.”
She gave him a half wave, turned on her heel, and left, calling to Patti as she passed through the kitchen, “See you later, Mrs. Bedford.”
“Bye, Amy,” Patti returned. “Thanks for everything.”
Al glanced from one twin to the other and felt the joy of fatherhood well up in him again. “Either one of you planning to be a writer when you grow up?”
Weston blew bubbles from his mouth and wriggled in Al’s arm.
“Guess that means no.” He leaned his head against the back of the sofa. I wonder what you will be.
His thoughts drifted to scenes from his own childhood. Warm summer days spent playing ball with friends or camping out in his backyard with his younger brother. Picnics with his mom’s famous fried chicken, baked beans, coleslaw, and corn on the cob. Helping his dad feed the livestock and the way hay got into his hair and clothes, making him itch. Learning to drive the old, beat-up, two-ton farm truck the summer he was twelve. Knowing just about everybody in town, neighbor helping neighbor. Strict but loving parents.
It was a good life that he remembered. He wanted his children to have a similar childhoodsafe, happy, without want for anything they needed. He would do anything to make that happen.
“Al? Dinner’s ready.” Patti stepped into view. “Are they awake?”
“Sunni’s getting a little drowsy. Wes is wide awake, but I don’t think he’ll fuss if I put him down.”
“Maybe they’ll sleep while we eat.”
“Hope so.”
He rose from the sofa and carried the babies to the large blanket spread on the family room carpet, knelt, and laid them down. He waited to see if either would protest. They didn’t.
After washing his hands in the kitchen sink, he went to the table, where Patti stood beside her chair, waiting for him. He kissed her cheek. “Everything looks great.”
She gave him a tentative smile. “Sit down before it gets cold.”
Something about her manner had changed since he first got home. She seemed nervous or tense. He decided not to say anything though. Better not to make waves. He could tell she was trying hard to please him. He didn’t want to upset her by saying the wrong thing.
He held the back of her chair while she sat. Then he took his own place. He reached for her hand and bowed his head, and together they thanked God for all he provided.
* * *
Several times during the meal, Al said how good it was, but Patti tasted little of what she put in her mouth. Her stomach was tied in too many knots to enjoy the dinner she’d labored over.
When should she tell him? When was the right time? While they were still eating? Or should she wait until they relaxed on the sofa? Maybe after a little television. Was one of his favorite shows on tonight? Perhaps she should let him watch it first.
No. She needed to do it now. She’d waited long enough. Another few minutes and she would explode from the tension she felt inside.
“Al.” She set her fork on her plate. “I need to tell you something.”
“What’s that?”
Just say it. Just get it out and over with. “There’s going to be a charge on the next credit card bill. It’s from a store called Sweet Baby Things. The amount’s pretty big, but I don’t want you to be upset when you see it.” She folded her hands in her lap, trying to hide her nerves. “My mom’s paying for it. She’s already sent the check. So you don’t have to worry about it.”
“What did you buy?”
“Remember when we had that discussion about adding formula to the twins’ diet? Well, I decided you were right, that we didn’t want to do that. The babies should stay on breast milk.” She drew a quick breath and hurried on. “Mom thinks it would do us both good to get out, but we need babysitters, and the babysitters need to be able to feed the babies if they get hungry. So that’s when I placed the order.”
She was prevaricating, telling the truth and yet not quite. Why should it matter, she asked herself, that these things happened in a slightly different order?
“I still don’t know what you bought,” Al said.
She told him about the pump, explaining why it was absolutely top of the line and how terrific it was and why it would make her life as a nursing mother of twins so much easier. “It’s what I used for those bottles Amy was feeding the babies when you got home.” She couldn’t tell from his expression what he was thinking.
“How much did it cost, Patti?”
“Three hundred and twenty dollars.”
He echoed her in a soft voice. “Three hundred and twenty dollars. That’s a lot.”
“Mom’s paying for it. Well, most of it. Three hundred is what she sent.”
“She shouldn’t have to pay for any of it.” He placed his napkin on the table beside the plate and rose from his chair. With three strides, he arrived at the window, his hands shoved into the pockets of his trousers. “I should be able to buy the things you need.”
Guilt twisted her insides.
“I should provide for my family.”
“You do provide for us.”
“Not well enough.” He turned to face her, defeat in his eyes. “Maybe it’s time I look for a position in a bigger school district. If I start now, I might have another job by the start of the next school year.”
Strange, she’d nagged him about that very thing for a number of months. But when he said it, it sounded awful.
“We don’t have to decide that tonight,” she said.
She wanted to go to him, put her arms around him, hold him tight, and tell him she loved him. Guilt kept her from doing so.
Chapter 9
“HEY, HON.” AL STOOD in the doorway to the garage, wiping greasy hands on a rag. “When I’m done changing the oil in the cars, how about we drive out to the farm.”
Patti looked at her husband. The distance between them felt much farther than the width of the kitchen. “Sure. If you’d like.”
“My folks haven’t seen the twins in a week or so.”
“I know. Your mom’s got that charity event coming up soon, and your dad’s getting ready for harvest.”
They were talking but saying nothing that needed to be said. It was like being in a line dance and not knowing the steps, afraid to move, afraid to stand still.
He nodded. “Okay then. I’ll give them a call and tell them we’re coming after lunch.” He looked as if he might say something more, then turned and stepped out of sight.
Seconds later, Patti heard the garage door close. The sound made her chest hurt. She went into the living room and sat on t
he sofa, closing her eyes, letting the temporary silence of the house envelop her.
She wanted things to be right between her and Al. She wanted things to be the way they used to be. She wanted to tell him all of her thoughts and feelings without hesitation. But how could she make that happen?
Perhaps with God’s help?
She smiled sadly. She was no better at being honest with God than she was with Al. When was the last time she prayed, really prayed? When was the last time she tried to hear his voice?
Months. Many months. Long before she could blame it on the busyness of motherhood.
“I’ve made such a mess of things, Father. I’ve hurt Al, and I don’t know how to undo the things I’ve done. Can you help me find my way? I don’t even know how to start.”
* * *
Al’s great-grandfather had moved to south-central Idaho in 1915, soon after a canal system brought irrigation to the area. He started with 160 acres, and as his circumstances improved, he acquired more land, as did his son and his grandson, Al’s dad. The Bedford farm today was nearly a thousand acres of apple orchards, corn fields, and row upon row of onions.
Within moments of Al bringing the minivan to a stop in front of the house, his mom appeared on the porch. “We’re so glad you came,” she called as she descended the steps.
Al got out of the van and hugged his mom. “Hope we’re not intruding.”
“Don’t be silly. Seeing you and your family is the best part of any day.” She kissed his cheek. “Now, let’s get those babies into the house before they catch a chill.”
“A chill? It’s seventy-five degrees out.”
She batted at his shoulder. “Don’t argue with your mother.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he said with a laugh.
His mom rounded the minivan and hugged Patti. “How are you, dear?”
“I’m fine, Carolyne. Thanks.”
“What can I do to help you?”
“If you’ll carry Wes inside, I can handle Sunni and the diaper bag.”
Al knew better than to get between grandmother and grandchildren. “Where’s Dad?”
“Behind the barn. He’s working on that old tractor he found at the auction last week.”
“I’ll see if I can give him a hand. Looks like you’ve got things under control here.”
“Tell him there’s pie when the two of you are ready to come in.”
“What kind of pie?”
“Strawberry rhubarb.”
“Mmm.” Nobody made a better pie than his mom, and strawberry rhubarb was his favorite. “I think I’ll tell him to hurry.” He waited a moment, watching as the two women removed the infant seats from the backseat of the minivan. Then, seeing they wouldn’t need his help, he strode toward the barn.
Mark Bedford farmed with modern equipment, but he had a penchant for antique tractors. He loved to buy, refurbish, and display them at the county fair. Tinkering with his collection brought him pleasure and relaxation.
Al found his dad lying on his back beneath a faded green John Deere. He stopped beside the large rear tire and leaned down. “Got yourself a new toy, I see.”
“Hey, son. You here already? I thought I had another hour.” His dad slid from under the tractor. “She’s a beauty, isn’t she? A 1953 Model 50. Runs pretty good. Won’t take much to restore her.” He stood and gave the machine an affectionate pat. “I got a good deal on her too.”
“What does Mom think?”
His dad laughed. “Carolyne’s just glad I’ve got a hobby that keeps me out from underfoot.”
“But she might prefer model tractors to the real thing. They’d be cheaper and take up less space.”
“True enough.” He patted the antique tractor a second time before saying, “I imagine your mother’s commandeered the grandkids. Suppose I ought to try to wrestle one of those babies away from her?”
“Not unless you want a broken arm. But she did say to tell you there’s strawberry rhubarb pie ready for the eating.”
“Well, what’re we standing out here for?”
“My thoughts exactly.”
“Help me put these tools away, will you?”
“Sure thing.”
Within a matter of minutes, the tools were back in the toolbox and the toolbox was back in the barn. Then the two men started toward the house.
“Dad, I’ve been thinking about looking for a teaching position in one of the larger school districts. Maybe over in Boise.”
His dad stopped walking. “You’re not serious.”
“Afraid so.” He turned to face his father.
“But why?”
Al sighed. “Money.” He shrugged. “My paycheck doesn’t stretch far enough these days. Not with four of us.”
“Do you need a loan? If you do, I can”
“No, Dad. Thanks, but this is something I’ve got to work out for myself.”
“When would you move?”
“Probably not until the next school year. I’ll have to see what’s out there. I guess it could be sooner than next fall, if a position opened up somewhere midterm, but that’s not likely.”
His dad raked his fingers through graying hair. “It’ll break your mother’s heart if you move away. Especially now that she’s got grandchildren.”
“Let’s not say anything to her. It hasn’t happened yet. It’s just something I’m thinking about.”
And the thinking weighed heavy on his heart.
* * *
Standing at the open back door, Patti observed her husband and father-in-law as they talked outside the large weathered barn. After a few moments, Mark placed a hand on Al’s right shoulder. A gesture of comfort? Of sympathy?
Tears stung her eyes.
Al was unhappy, and it was her fault. She’d nagged at him. She’d lied to him. Worst of all, she’d made him feel like a failure as a husband and provider. What if she’d gone too far? What if he fell out of love with her?
“Is something wrong, Patti?”
Her mother-in-law’s gentle voice drew her around. She opened her mouth to say nothing was wrong, but instead said, “Do you remember my dad?”
“Yes, I remember Grant. I never knew him well, of course. We didn’t move in the same social circles.”
“Do you think he ever loved my mom?”
Her mother-in-law rinsed the mixing bowl in her hand and set it in the dish drainer. Then she dried her hands on a towel before turning toward Patti. “That’s a question you should ask your mother.”
“She doesn’t like to talk about him. Even after all these years. I remember how hurt she was when he left us. And then she got angry and stayed that way for a long time.”
Carolyne leaned a hip against the counter, arms crossed over her chest. “What’s this about, dear? Why are you asking about your dad?”
The unwelcome tears fell from Patti’s eyes, tracing her cheeks. “Sometimes I think Al must be sorry he married me.”
“Gracious. What a thing to say!”
“I’ve made him miserable lately.”
Carolyne hurried to her side. “Come into the living room and sit down.” With an arm around Patti’s back, her mother-in-law steered her toward the sofa. “Now, tell me what’s troubling you.”
She wanted to comply. She wanted to pour out her heart, but doing so would feel like another betrayal of her husband. She’d done too much of that already. She’d hurt Al in too many ways.
“Patti”—Carolyne’s voice was gentle and low“are you afraid Al might do what your father did?”
There it washer greatest fear, out in the open. What if he left her because of the things she’d said and done? What if he decided he couldn’t live with her tears, her moods, her spending?
What if I’ve made him so unhappy he turns to someone else? She drew a shallow breath. Someone like Cassandra Coble.
She closed her eyes, wanting to shut out the pain in her heart.
“Al is nothing like Grant Sinclair.” Carolyne placed the palm of her hand ag
ainst Patti’s cheek. “He isn’t the type to walk out on his family. He loves you, and he loves those two precious babies. He isn’t going anywhere without the three of you. I can promise you that. No matter what the trouble is, he’ll go through it with you.”
Patti looked at her mother-in-law, hoping she was right, wanting desperately to believe it.
Carolyne gave her an encouraging smile. “Every marriage goes through rough patches. Living with another person, no matter how much you love them, can be hard at times. And when you throw young kids into the mix…” She rolled her eyes. “When we were newlyweds, Mark and I used to fight like cats and dogs.”
“You did?”
“Gracious, yes. That man was as stubborn as the day is long, and I was every bit as bad. My, we could butt heads. We still do, every now and then. And over the silliest things too.”
Patti couldn’t imagine her in-laws speaking a cross word to each other.
“Our biggest problem in the early years of marriage was I thought he should know what I felt, and he thought I should be able to read his mind. I’ve never known a single couple that worked for. It takes words to communicate.”
Footsteps announced the arrival of the men on the back porch.
Carolyne stood. “Why don’t you go wash away those tears? Then you and I can get ourselves a piece of that pie before those two eat it all.” She smiled again. “And Patti, put away those worries. It’ll turn out right. You’ll see.”
* * *
Al slid the empty plate into the center of the table.
“Would you like another slice?” his mom asked.
“Better not. Two was more than I needed.” He pushed his chair back from the table and patted his stomach. “I should’ve stopped at one.”
His dad rocked Weston on his thighs. “When you get to be my age, you’ll have to stop at one. If I didn’t limit myself, I’d weigh three hundred pounds by now.”
Al smiled as he tried to picture an overweight Mark Bedford. Impossible to do. His father, now in his mid-fifties, still wore the same size trousers as when he graduated from college. Al knew this because his parents had renewed their wedding vows on their thirtieth anniversary, and his dad was able to wear the suit he got married in.
Home to Hart's Crossing (4-in-1 Edition) Page 25
