Miriam took a quick breath and got up. She wanted to get out of the house and away from its emptiness. This wasn’t a home.
And neither is your eighteenth-floor condo, she thought, stepping outside. She had lived there for six years, often stopping only long enough to send her dirty clothes to the cleaners, sleep and then return to the airport for another flight to another destination.
Then the last two years, she had spent most of her time at her office, or running around looking for suppliers and markets for her new clothing company. When she was trying to find a way to keep her company solvent, she spent many evenings in her office, as well, catching a few hours’ sleep in her chair, or on the couch.
No, the condo wasn’t home, either.
The only real home she had known was Fred and Tilly’s. The truest love from a mother she had received was from Tilly.
Not from her own mother.
Her mother had cast a long shadow on her life, Miriam realized, settling down under the old maple tree. Her steady criticism, her constant griping about Jake, her threats to him…
Miriam’s teeth clenched at the thought, and once again she wished her mother was alive so she could confront her with this.
And again Miriam struggled to forgive. Forgiveness was so difficult to grant when there was no physical person to talk to, to get angry with.
Just the memory of a broken woman who struggled to tell Miriam why she had done what she did.
Miriam laid her head against the rough bark of the tree, hearing once again her mother’s halting words, reminding Miriam that even though her love as a mother was weak and impure, God’s love wasn’t.
But Miriam felt she had strayed so far from that love, it was no longer hers for the taking.
She flipped through the pages and found the silk ribbon at Ecclesiastes. “Generations come and generations go, but the earth remains forever,” she read. Miriam looked around at the land, ready for planting. She thought of Jake working it, and knew he counted on the revenue from her own land. The land would remain forever, but it would go to different hands. She wished she could change that, wished she could give it to him. A gift.
But she needed the money. She had obligations. Debts to pay.
She wished she knew what to do and wished this Bible would show her.
But she hadn’t read it in so long, she didn’t even know if the promises in it were for her. Once, she could have looked at her life and said, yes, this was a life sanctified by Christ.
She could say that no longer.
The sun beat down on Jake’s head as he clucked to Pinto. The horse flicked its ears, looked back, and then started walking back down the trail to the road. He slowed the horse down, reluctant to be drawn back into the rush and pressure that exemplified planting season. Fred had often told him that somehow it always got done. Seed time and harvest, the ebb and flow of the cycle, always happened. And the few times it didn’t, it was often because of measures beyond their control.
Jake drew a deep breath and sent up a prayer of thanksgiving for this beautiful day. Then, he came to Miriam’s driveway.
He pulled his horse to a stop, his hands resting on the pommel of the saddle, Dane’s words ringing through his head. He was unable to dispel the memory of Miriam in his arms.
Courtship. He and Miriam had missed out on that when they started going out. They had had to keep their relationship a secret, and thus had never indulged in the fun stuff that came with dating.
Did he dare open himself up to her like that?
What would he gain and what would he lose?
Pinto shook her head, her bridle jangling, and snorted as Jake sifted through the reasons for and against.
It would be so much easier just to keep on going. But to what? He loved Taryn. He loved Fred and Tilly.
But he also knew that deep inside he yearned for a helpmeet. Someone who would be his partner in many senses of that word. Someone who would miss him and whom he would look forward to seeing at the end of the day. Someone who would sit with him on the couch and talk to him about her day. Listen to him talk about his.
All those roles were filled in one way or another by his daughter and his parents. Yet Tilly had Fred, and Taryn was slowly growing up and away from him. That was nature.
He was all alone in a family.
Yet, if he were to give in to the love he felt for Miriam, and she left anyway, how would he manage? He had been desolated when she left the first time. He was older and less flexible now. It would be harder this time.
Because whether he liked to admit it or not, his love this time around was deeper and stronger.
He closed his eyes, letting the memories of the other night drift around him, hold him, as Miriam’s arms had held him. He knew that she cared. Something held her back, and the only way he would find out what, was to spend time with her.
Starting now, he thought, pulling Pinto’s head around.
The horse trotted down the driveway. When they got to the maple tree, he stopped.
Miriam sat underneath it, a book open on her lap, her eyes shut.
Jake wondered if she was sleeping, but then he saw her shake her head. “Hey, there,” he said quietly, hoping he wouldn’t startle her.
Miriam looked up, her hand on her chest, her mouth and eyes wide open. “Oh, my goodness. You scared the living daylights out of me,” she said weakly.
Jake dismounted and tied Pinto to a nearby tree, walked across the lawn to her. Miriam stayed where she was, her hand still on her chest.
“I didn’t even hear you coming,” she said, avoiding his gaze.
“I thought at first you were sleeping.”
“No. Just sitting and thinking.” She moved to get up, but Jake stopped her with a hand on her shoulder. He sat down beside her, his legs crossed. He pointed to the book on her lap. “A little light reading?”
“It’s the Bible. Hardly light,” Miriam replied, her fingers fiddling with the pages.
Jake watched her hands’ restless movement, the way she looked as if she had pulled herself back and away from him. It was as if she didn’t want him here.
He would have left, but the Bible on her lap kept him beside her.
Please, Lord, show me what to do. Give me the right words. I’ve never done this before. There’s so much I want to tell her, but right now she needs to be shown Your love, as well.
He tried. “So what have you…” He hesitated, cleared his throat and tried again. “What have you been reading?”
“Nothing.”
“What are you looking for?”
Miriam shook her head as she flicked through the pages. “I don’t know,” she whispered. “I used to read this more often. I remember at night, before I went to bed, I read a passage.” She smiled a bittersweet smile and looked up at him. “I worked my way through the whole Bible that way. Even through all the laws and all those prophets. Now I realize they weren’t just talking about Israelites. Those prophets were talking about me.”
“What do you mean?”
Miriam shook her head. “Nothing. Sorry I brought it up.” She made a move to get up, but Jake put a hand on her shoulder, stopping her.
“Miriam, you know I love you—”
“Don’t, Jake,” she said, holding out her hand to stop him. “Don’t even bring that up—”
“I have to, Miriam. I don’t have a lot of time with you, and you need to hear this.”
“I want you to stop. You’re making this too hard.”
“What am I making too hard?” Jake let his hand linger on her shoulder, his fingers lightly caressing her neck. He didn’t dare let go of her, but didn’t dare make more than this light connection.
She drew in one shaky breath and then another. “I’ve fought this feeling of unworthiness many years. I don’t like feeling this way, but I do. I do around you.”
Jake heard her words, felt the pain pouring out of her. He didn’t know what to say, or how to say it.
Gently he took
the Bible from her lap and paged through it until he found what he was looking for. Romans.
“‘There is no one righteous, not even one,’” he read. “‘There is no one who understands, no one who seeks God. All have turned away, they have together become worthless; there is no one who does good, not even one.’”
“See what I mean?” Miriam said, pulling her knees up to her chest.
“That was written for me as well as you,” Jake replied. “Let me keep going.” As the soft spring wind caressed them, rustling through the leaves of the tree above, and as the sun filled the day with brightness and warmth, Jake read to her of the law, of judgment, then of Christ’s intercession and love. Then he read, his own voice growing with conviction, “‘For I am convinced, that neither death nor life, neither angels nor demons, neither the present nor the future, nor any powers, neither height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation will be able to separate us from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus our Lord.’”
Jake paused, letting the words diffuse through his own life, praying that Miriam would take them for herself.
“This isn’t a battle you have to fight, Miriam. All you have to do is take what is given. God is waiting for you to stop the struggle, to let Him give.” He leaned forward, touching her again, praying that his weak words would be imbued with power from God. There was only so much he could do; accepting God’s love, accepting his love, was up to her.
Miriam laid her head on her knees. “It sounds too easy.”
Jake heard her words and fought his own disappointment. He was just a messenger, he knew that, but he had hoped that the words that had given him so much comfort would do the same for her. He loved her deeply, but he also knew that unless she accepted and believed the same thing he did, it would come to naught.
“It is easy. God made it easy for us because we can’t come to Him any other way.”
Miriam said nothing, gave no sign that she had heard.
Jake lay the Bible at her feet, pausing a moment as he watched her sitting at his feet. He bent over and lightly touched his lips to her exposed neck.
“I love you, Miriam,” he whispered. “Always remember that. And always remember that God loves you more.”
And then he left.
Chapter Ten
Miriam waited until she heard the soft footfalls of Jake’s horse receding down the driveway.
Only then did she dare lift her head. Jake’s words resounded in her mind. God’s love. His love. The two seemed intertwined.
And she still felt as if she couldn’t accept either one.
Miriam saw the Bible lying at her feet and reluctantly picked it up. She could still hear Jake reading from it, his voice resonating with conviction.
She had known God’s love, had sung countless times the song “Jesus Loves Me”—one of the first songs learned by children being introduced to faith.
But it was too much for her to accept. She didn’t feel worthy.
She got up, still holding the Bible, and glanced at her watch. My goodness, she had been sitting out here for a couple of hours. She wondered how long it had been since Jake had left.
Jake.
Miriam’s heart plunged, then began to race at the thought of him, at the memory of his lips touching her neck. The peace fled, replaced by confusion.
He had offered her his love. And she knew she couldn’t take it. She had nothing to give him. Nothing.
She clutched her Bible closer. Then she went into the house. She wanted to talk to Tilly, but she had to make sure Jake wouldn’t be there.
A quick phone call told her that Tilly was home. Jake was gone. Miriam jumped in her car and sped over. She could think of no one better to talk to than the woman who had been more than a mother to her.
Tilly was rolling out pie crusts on the kitchen counter when Miriam came into the house. Taryn was playing with scraps of leftover dough on the kitchen table—much as Miriam used to when she was younger. It looked so delightfully normal, and was a welcome contrast to the turmoil she had just felt.
“I made a duck,” Taryn announced to Miriam, showing her a roll of dough. “And some snakes. They’re easy.”
Miriam stopped to admire the handiwork, unable to stop herself from stroking Taryn’s head. She felt a connection with Jake when she spent time with his child.
Then she joined Tilly. “Need any help?”
Tilly smiled up at her. “You can get the filling ready. I’m making some lemon pies for the picnic tomorrow. Are you going to go?”
“Yes I am.”
“I’ve got all the things ready for the filling. You can start making it for me, if you want.” Tilly pointed with her chin as she formed the pie crusts.
Miriam pulled out a pot from one cupboard and a wooden spoon from the drawer. While Miriam worked, Tilly slid the pie shells in the oven, set the timer and began cleaning up.
“My goodness, I feel like quite the domestic,” Miriam said with a grin, as Tilly wiped the counter. The filling was just starting to boil, and she turned the heat off.
“You know,” Tilly said, turning and leaning back against the counter, “it seems like just a short while ago the last time you were standing at that stove, helping me make pie.”
“I certainly came over here a lot,” Miriam said, carefully licking the warm filling off the spoon. She set the pan aside for the filling to cool.
“Can I lick the spoon?” Taryn asked, looking up from her ducks and worms.
“Oops.” Miriam looked at the now-clean wooden spoon and then at Taryn’s crestfallen face. She had started licking the spoon completely out of habit. Turning, she washed the spoon, stuck it in the filling again, and brought it over to Taryn. “Be careful, honey. It’s still a bit warm.”
“Thanks, Miriam.” Taryn took the spoon from her, touched her finger to it and put it in her mouth. “I love lemon pie.”
“So do I. It’s still my favorite, and your grandma makes the best.”
When the crusts were done, Miriam poured the filling into them, while Tilly whipped up the egg whites. Soon the counter held four tempting lemon pies.
Fred joined them then, still looking haggard.
“How are you feeling, Fred?” Miriam asked, concerned at his lack of color.
“Not great, my girl. Not great.” He eased himself into his usual chair and caught his breath. “Whew. I guess I won’t be running any sack races at the church picnic tomorrow, hey, Pipper?” he asked Taryn.
“Oh, Grandpa, you’re silly,” Taryn said, lining up her dough ducks. She showed her grandfather what she had made, and he was suitably impressed.
Tilly had made tea, and soon they were sitting around the table, talking about all the wonderfully inconsequential things that make up a day.
Miriam felt herself relax in this comfortable home. It did that to her, she thought, taking a sip of her tea. Every time she came here, it was like coming home. She could pretend that Tilly was her mother, Fred her father.
And Taryn…
Miriam glanced sidelong at the little girl, who was busily playing with her dough animals. She resisted the urge to smooth the child’s hair, to pull her close.
Jake’s child.
Jake, who had told her he loved her. Told her that God loved her. And what was she supposed to do about that? What could she do? She had obligations, responsibilities.
Her debt on the business was adding up each month as the interest mounted. She needed the work Carl had lined up for her. It wouldn’t get rid of all the debt, but it would be a good start. The sale of the farm would make the biggest difference. But it didn’t look like that was going to happen real soon. So, she really needed the work Carl had found for her and more, which meant she needed to be thinking about going back to New York.
Not yet. Not yet, she thought.
When it was time for her to leave, it was time for her to think about all of that.
“What’s the matter, Miriam?” Tilly asked. “You look troubled.”
She forced her thoughts to the present. Forced herself to ask Taryn if she learned anything new in play school. Forced herself to ask Fred how the seeding was coming, hoping that maybe they would talk about Jake.
They didn’t disappoint her.
She knew it was foolish to put herself through this, but she couldn’t stop herself.
Eventually, the gentle chime of the grandfather clock in the living room reminded her of the time.
“Stay for supper, Miriam,” Tilly said, frowning at her. “You don’t have to leave right away.”
But she did. Because if she stayed, she would see Jake, and right now her emotions were too fragile to deal with him.
So she got up and promised Taryn again that she would come to the picnic.
“Can you take me in your car?” Taryn asked as Miriam was putting her shoes on the porch. “I never had a ride in your car.”
“Yes, you did,” Miriam said, pulling on her jacket. “I gave you a ride when we brought supper to your dad.”
“But can I have another ride? Please?”
Miriam was about to say no, but could really find no reason.
“Okay. I’ll pick you up in the morning. You be ready, missy.”
Taryn frowned. “Missy? I’m not missy. I’m Pipper. You’re missy.”
Miriam felt her throat catch at that. It was true. Fred always called her Missy. It would be like Taryn to notice that.
“Okay, Pipper. I’ll come tomorrow. On time.”
“Okeydokey.” Taryn flashed Miriam a grin, and Miriam couldn’t help but smile back.
She stuck her head through the doorway to say goodbye to Fred—
He was lying back in his chair at the table, his eyes closed, his mouth slightly open.
“Are you okay, Fred?” Miriam asked, panic slicing through her.
“Yeah, I am. Just resting,” he said, lifting his head. He gave her a smile, but it looked forced.
“You sure?”
A Mother at Heart Page 13
