A Mother at Heart

by Carolyne Aarsen

  I was just young, she appealed to a distant God who was tied up with this church and her past. I was finally free from obligations and a mother who never approved of anything I did. She clutched the keys tighter, their sharp ridges cutting into her palm, as if the pain would serve as penance for what she had done.

  “I don’t need this,” she said to no one in particular, leaning back against the seat. “I didn’t have to come today.”

  But she had.

  She had come seeking peace, but instead she was being faced with her past at every turn.

  Miriam had never been a quitter, and she wasn’t about to start now. She knew that people, once they found out she was back, would wonder why she hadn’t come to church the way she always had when she and her mother had lived here.

  So, straightening her shoulders, taking a deep breath, she stepped out of the car to finish this.

  She walked slowly up the front walk to the church. A flat, wide sidewalk led to two sets of double doors.

  Inside, a group of people stood in the foyer, chatting. They glanced at her, then smiled a polite smile before moving toward another set of stairs beside an elevator. Miriam didn’t recognize them and was sure, from their reaction, that they didn’t recognize her, either.

  The doors behind her opened again, sending a shaft of light into the foyer. Miriam took a step away, making room for the people.

  “Miriam,” a sweet young voice called out, and Miriam spun around.

  “Well, hello, Taryn.” She smiled at the young girl who came running up to her. Taryn wore a yellow dress covered with an old-fashioned pinafore. Her hair was braided this time and tied up with two white ribbons. One, however, had come loose and was trailing down her front.

  “You came to church.” The statement was made without guile, and Miriam couldn’t help but smile down at the adorable little girl. “Are you going to sit with us?”

  “Maybe Miss Spencer wants to sit with someone else,” Jake said to his daughter as he walked up to stand beside her.

  Miriam reluctantly turned her gaze to him. His white collarless shirt was a bright contrast to his tanned complexion. His dark, wavy hair was brushed away from his face, bringing his features into stark relief.

  Handsome as ever, thought Miriam with a stab of regret. His smoldering eyes, his full mouth. It was as if the man she had seen the other day, mud covering his face, his eyes sparkling—the man who had called her “Mims”—had been just a figment of her imagination.

  Taryn looked up at her father, then back at Miriam, her eyes sad. “Do you want to sit with someone else?”

  Miriam looked down at the little girl, her heart softening at the appeal in those eyes. Avoiding a reply, she squatted down and carefully retied the bow that hung loose. “There,” she said, giving the bow an extra tug. “I made it nice and tight. It won’t come loose again.”

  Taryn lifted the bow, tucking her chin in and almost crossing her eyes to see it. “That looks nice. Daddy can’t tie these very good. He says he has farmer hands.” She grinned up at Miriam. “Can you fix the other one, too?”

  Miriam didn’t dare look at Jake. She could sense his displeasure, yet something stubborn in her nature made her bend over and quickly tie up the other bow, then fluff it out.

  “Thanks, Miriam,” Taryn said, unabashedly catching Miriam’s hand in her own as Miriam straightened.

  Fred and Tilly were coming toward her, walking slowly to accommodate Fred, Miriam surmised.

  “Hi there, Miriam.” Fred walked up to her and patted her on the shoulder. “So good to see you here.”

  Miriam smiled at the approval on his face. At least in Fred’s eyes she had gotten things right.

  Tilly bustled up, greeting her with an enthusiastic hug. “I was so praying you would come today.” She smiled, stroking Miriam’s cheek.

  Miriam felt another knot of emotion at the sincerity in Tilly’s voice.

  “I’m glad I came, too,” she said softly, swallowing. She avoided looking at Jake, but was conscious of him watching them, fully aware of his disapproval. It shouldn’t have mattered, but Miriam felt it as strongly as she felt Tilly’s love.

  She wished she dared confront him, to try to explain, but her own emotions over Jake were too unstable, too vulnerable. She hated it, but it was a reality she had to accept. Once she was gone, it would go away, she figured. Once she was back at work, remaking her life.

  “You can come with us, Miriam. Please sit with us.” Taryn caught her hand. “Can she sit with us, Grandma?”

  “Of course.” Tilly smiled down at her granddaughter. “Will you, Miriam?”

  Once again, Miriam felt stuck. She knew Jake was not pleased, yet couldn’t find it in herself to pull her hand away from Taryn, or to say no to her old neighbor.

  “Sure. I guess I can.”

  “Goody.” Taryn caught her father’s hand in her other one and started pulling the two adults toward the stairs leading to the sanctuary. “C’mon, Grandma and Grandpa,” she called over her shoulder. “We have to sit down.”

  Miriam felt the small, soft hand in hers, and something inside her melted. Suddenly she didn’t care what Jake thought, didn’t care what anyone else thought. This precious little girl wanted Miriam to be with them, and it felt wonderful.

  She tried not to read too much into the child’s actions. Taryn seemed naturally precocious, but as they walked up the stairs, two adults joined by a young girl, Miriam felt her throat thicken.

  She remembered walking precisely in the same formation with her parents. Her father on one side, her mother on the other, and little Miriam safe and secure in the middle.

  The memory was so vivid that she bit her lip, fighting an unexpected sorrow, the stairs wavering in her vision. Ducking her head, she quickly wiped her eyes, hoping Jake wouldn’t see.

  But she didn’t have long hair to hide behind anymore. And as she straightened, she felt Jake’s eyes on her. She couldn’t stop looking at him any more than she could stop Taryn’s excited bouncing.

  Once again, their eyes met and held. Once again, Miriam felt as if she were drifting toward him, unable to stop herself.

  But Taryn gave them both another tug, and the moment was broken.

  “Daddy has to get the bulletin,” she announced to Miriam, swinging her hand. “You stay with me and Grandma and Grandpa.”

  Miriam looked down at the crooked part in the little girl’s hair, and resisted the urge to run her hand over Taryn’s head, to bend over and gather this little girl in her arms.

  Instead, she blinked once more and looked ahead to the sanctuary, already three-quarters full.

  She knew the instant Jake returned. Out of the corner of her eye she saw him take Taryn’s other hand, almost felt his sidelong glance. She kept her eyes ahead, however, looking at the congregation, wondering where they would sit. A couple of people had already turned, then spun back around to whisper to a neighbor. This created a small ripple of movement among the people sitting in the back.

  “Well, Miriam. Ready to face your past?” Jake’s deep voice seemed to mock her, but when she turned to challenge him, she saw his soft mouth curved up in a hint of a smile. “You’re quite notorious, you know.”

  “Notorious?” she repeated, trying to inject a note of humor in her voice. “Disreputable notorious or distinguished notorious?”

  “Probably a bit of both,” Jake said, looking away.

  “Let’s go sit,” Taryn urged, looking up first at Jake and then at Miriam. “They’re going to start singing, and then everyone will look at us.”

  Judging from the number of backward glances they were getting, that was going to happen anyhow, thought Miriam. She squared her shoulders and looked down the long, carpeted aisle of the church.

  Just another catwalk, she thought, and a different audience. She rolled her shoulders, straightened her clothes and reminded herself not to strut.

  Tilly and Fred went on ahead, followed by Jake, Taryn and Miriam. The aisle was wide e
nough for the three of them. She was thankful, however, that Tilly stopped halfway to the altar.

  They settled in the pew—Miriam, then Taryn, then Jake; and beside him, Tilly and Fred. Fred calmly picked up the bulletin and started reading. Tilly leaned forward and started talking with the person ahead of them. Jake just crossed his arms and looked straight ahead.

  Taryn sat between them, her hands folded demurely in her lap, her short legs sticking almost straight out in front of her. She tapped the toes of her shiny black shoes together, then looked up at Miriam with a huge grin. Miriam felt an answering tug of emotion. Taryn was so accepting, so open. Miriam didn’t feel worthy of the obvious adoration that showed in the little girl’s eyes.

  The music from the organ stopped, then the organist struck the opening bars of a hymn. With a rustle and murmur, the congregation rose to sing.

  Miriam took her cue from Jake and pulled a hymnal from the pew in front of her. The song sounded so familiar, but she couldn’t place the title and didn’t know where to find it. She tilted her head to see if the number was printed on the song board at the front of the church, but the board was no longer there.

  She felt a hand on her arm, and, turning, saw Jake’s book tilted toward her; he was showing her the number. She nodded, a faint blush warming her cheeks when she saw the title. It had been a while since she had been in church, she thought with a measure of shame as she flipped through the pages. Too long, when she couldn’t even find one of her one-time favorites in the hymnal.

  The words sifted down through the past ten years of her life, through all her other experiences, the multitude of Sundays she had either been working or sleeping in because of a terribly late night. They pulled up old thoughts, old memories that Miriam had slowly buried under a deluge of new experiences that at first seemed exciting, and now seemed cheap.

  She stopped singing.

  Once again she felt as if she were a young girl standing beside her mother. A young girl whose every action was criticized and discussed at length within her hearing.

  Miriam closed the hymnal and dropped it back into the holder, ignoring Jake’s quick glance and Taryn’s puzzled one. Instead, she stared straight ahead, waiting for the song to finish, hoping she would make it to the end of the service. She had thought she and her mother had laid these regrets to rest. Yet how quickly the feelings came back with the sound of an old hymn.

  The song finally ended, and the minister strode up to the front and greeted them, his voice encouraging and hearty. He welcomed visitors, and Miriam noticed a couple of faces glance furtively at her. She ignored them.

  Then everyone sat down, and Taryn looked questioningly up at her. Miriam smiled down, then looked away. She hoped she could just get through this service without making it too obvious to the little girl beside her that she suddenly wished she were anywhere else but here.

  The organ struck up the first notes of the postlude, and Jake glanced at Miriam. She stood holding the pew, looking straight ahead, her short dark hair shining under the overhead lights. She hadn’t sung any of the songs and had sat through most of the service with her arms crossed tightly over her stomach, looking as if she’d sooner be anywhere else.

  She turned her head and caught his eye, her expression composed. It was as if the woman who had wiped her eyes a while ago didn’t even exist. He held her gaze, unable to stop his own reaction. This beautiful woman was a stranger, yet as he looked into her eyes and remembered her tears, he caught a glimpse of the girl he had once loved.

  He turned away.

  Taryn was chattering to Miriam behind him; Tilly was talking to someone else, signaling for him to go ahead. Jake ended up walking out alongside another farmer, chatting about the weather and the condition of the pastures. He tried not to be aware of Tilly introducing Miriam to her friends, not to listen to Miriam’s calm voice replying to breathless questions.

  Sunday was always a quiet day, a true day of rest. And usually he looked forward to it, but not today. He didn’t know if he wanted Miriam sitting across the table from him.

  “Can you walk with me to the car, son?” Fred laid his hand on Jake’s shoulder to get his attention.

  Jake glanced down at his father. Fred’s lips were edged with a thin white line and his complexion held a faintly grayish tinge.

  “You okay, Dad?” Jake asked, alarmed at how his father looked.

  “Just a little out of breath.”

  “I’m going to take you to the hospital.”

  “No, Jake. Don’t. The doctor told me this would happen once in a while. I want to get out of here. Fresh air is all I need.”

  “Okay,” Jake said, taking his father’s arm. But all the way to the car, he kept his eyes on the older man. It was hard not to look as if he was hovering. But by the time they reached the parking lot, Fred already looked a little better.

  At the car, Jake helped his father inside. Then he got in himself. “You’re sure you’re okay?” Jake asked one more time.

  “I’m just tired.” Fred laid his head back and then rolled it sideways to face Jake. He smiled and took a slow, deep breath. “And how are you? Are you okay?”

  “Yes.” Jake frowned, wondering what his father was getting at.

  “Doesn’t bother you to see her again?”

  “Her?”

  “Miriam. You used to like her quite a bit, didn’t you?”

  Jake raised his eyebrows, surprised at how perceptive his father was. “Yes, Dad. I did.”

  “And now? She’s still single, I gather.”

  “She’s also come to sell her farm and then go back east.”

  Jake glanced at Fred again, trying to gauge his reaction.

  “You going to put an offer in on it?”

  “I don’t know. I really don’t know.” Jake knew he wouldn’t be able to bluff his father. Fred knew the precise financial situation of the farm.

  “It would be a shame to lose it.”

  “But I would be doing it with your money. I’m not a risk-taker.”

  “The price of cereal crops will go up again,” Fred reassured him. “You’ll make your money on the land. Sometimes you have to take risks, Jake…in various parts of your life.”

  Jake knew Fred alluded to more than just the farm, but decided to leave it be.

  “You might want to consider it. Have something to maintain, to pass on.”

  “I don’t have a son, Dad,” Jake said with a smile.

  “That’s okay, Jake. Neither did your mother and I.” Fred returned Jake’s smile. “And look what happened to us. God brought us you.”

  Jake felt a surge of tender warmth at his father’s comment. “And I’m so glad he did.”

  Fred only nodded and then laid his head back, closing his eyes again. Jake could tell he wanted to go home, and he got out of the car to find his mother and Taryn.

  Just as he did, he saw them with Miriam, walking over to the graveyard.

  Jake watched, realizing what they were up to. Tilly had Miriam’s arm tucked in hers and was talking, her head bobbing. Taryn skipped ahead of them, her braids bouncing with each step, her arms held out straight from her sides.

  They walked directly to Paula’s grave, and Taryn bent over to trace her mother’s name. Running back to Miriam, she caught her arm and pulled her along.

  From his vantage point, Jake couldn’t read Miriam’s expression. He wondered what she was thinking. Miriam and Paula had been friends for years, yet Paula had never seemed to have the same devotion to Miriam that Miriam had held for Paula. Of course, thought Jake, Paula always took care of Paula first.

  Miriam stopped in front of the stone and clasped her hands in front of her, her head bent.

  Jake felt a stab of guilt at the sight. Taryn and Tilly occasionally went to Paula’s grave. He never did. When Paula had died, his sorrow had been tempered by a guilty measure of relief. Paula had been difficult to live with. In the last years of their marriage, she had hardly been around. Even after Taryn was born, Pau
la had managed to find all kinds of reasons to be gone. It was on one of her many trips away that she was killed.

  The little group stood still for a moment, and Jake was surprised to see Miriam reach up to palm her cheeks.

  Taryn, never able to stay still too long, started running to other stones. Tilly and Miriam tarried a moment, moved on, then stopped again. Jake guessed they were looking at her father’s grave.

  Once again Miriam paused. Tilly put an arm around her shoulder, and for a moment Jake felt sorry for Miriam. He had stood beside the grave of a beloved foster father. He knew what it was like to lose a loved one. Miriam had no parents at all, now. Her father was buried here, and her mother out east.

  At least he still had parents whom he loved. And somewhere on God’s good earth, a biological mother whom his brother Simon was determined to find.

  For a moment Jake wondered about his mother. Wondered if she was still alive, if she ever thought about them.

  Then he dismissed the thought, feeling as if he were betraying Fred and Tilly. They were enough family for him.

  Taryn saw him and came running over. “We saw my mommy’s grave,” she called out cheerfully. Tilly looked up and saw him, then said something to Miriam, who nodded and then left.

  As Tilly walked across the parking lot, she waved at a few people, called out greetings to others. Then she saw that Jake and Fred were waiting, and hurried her pace.

  “Sorry,” she said, puffing as she opened the back door of the car for Taryn. “Miriam wanted to visit the graveyard.”

  “She was sad again,” said Taryn, scrambling into the back seat.

  “Seat belt,” warned Jake as she settled in.

  “That poor girl. I’m glad she agreed to come over now,” Tilly said, cinching her own belt. “She can seem so strong, but inside she’s hurting. She used to be so strong in her faith—I just pray she finds some peace here.”

  Jake started the car, his eyes on Miriam, who now walked back to her car, alone. For a moment he, too, prayed for her.