Homecoming (Sweet Hearts of Sweet Creek Book 1)

by Carolyne Aarsen

  Mark nodded. “I have to check them as soon as haying is done. My family usually organizes a pack trip in conjunction with that and escorts me and whoever is coming along, halfway there.”

  “Sounds like fun."

  “You can come if you want.”

  “Right.”

  “Serious.” Mark looked at her, his eyes wide. “I bet Elise will ask you, anyway.”

  “I don’t think I’ll be around by then.” Sheryl couldn’t imagine accompanying such a close-knit family on what was obviously a family event. Sunday dinner at Mark’s mother and father’s place had been difficult enough.

  “I see,” he said, grinning at her. “You’re one of these transient workers who just drifts in and out with the tide, looking for whatever work comes your way.”

  “That was Jason’s line,” she replied with a light laugh, trying to get caught up in his banter.

  Mark seemed to hesitate a moment, his wrist resting on the steering wheel as he frowned at the road ahead. “What exactly did Jason do for a living?”

  Sheryl tilted a wry look his way, puzzled at his interest. “You mean all the helpful gossips in the valley haven’t filled you in on Jason Kyle and his famous escapades?”

  “I haven’t lived here long enough. The only people who I’ve heard talk about Jason are Ed and Nate.”

  “I’m sure they had a lot to say about him."

  Mark shrugged, his eyes still on the road. “They didn’t like him. I gathered that much.”

  Sheryl said nothing at that. Hate was a more apt description than didn’t like, except good Christian men like Nate and Ed would never admit to feeling that way about another human being.

  “So what kind of work did Jason do?”

  “You really are persistent..

  “No, I’m an Andrews.” Mark tossed her a quick grin. “And I’ve learned everything I know about asking questions from my mom and sister.”

  “Well then, I’m out of my league.” Sheryl laughed, relaxing around his lighthearted manner. “Jason started out as a helper for a carpenter, and once he figured he knew enough, he started working for himself. And from there things went from worse to worser.”

  “How did that happen?”

  Sheryl sighed, clasping her arms across her stomach, not really wanting to talk about this, but unable to formulate a reason she shouldn’t.

  “Jason didn’t do really well at his business, and he started drinking.” She gave a short laugh. “And with the prices of liquor it doesn’t take much to drink away a week’s wages, especially if your buddies are thirsty, too.”

  Mark was silent at that. “I’m sorry, Sheryl. I didn’t know...”

  “That’s okay, Mark.”

  “Maybe.” He glanced at her, his expression serious. “I can’t explain it, but I have a need to know more about you, to know where you stand with God. It matters to me, but I don’t want you to feel that I’m pushing you.”

  Sheryl held his gaze a moment, touched by his honesty. “You’re some kind of guy, Mark Andrews,” she said with a rueful shake of her head.

  Mark pulled up beside the tractor and baler they used yesterday. The other tractor and baler was parked farther down the field, silent, waiting. Sheryl stepped out of the truck, inhaling the scent of mown hay that still lingered in the morning dew.

  The air held a slight chill this far down the valley, and Sheryl hugged herself against it. She took a few steps into the field, dropped her head back and looked around, turning a slow circle. The clouds were hard white against the sharp blue of the sky, the contrast almost painful to see. Purple tinged mountains, skiffed with a dusting of snow on their peaks surged down to green and brown hills. The shushing sounds of the river at their feet softened and lulled the vastness of the landscape.

  She took a deep breath and released it, as if cleansing herself. The years of living in the city had buried these pictures, blurred them. She couldn’t stop the smile that curved her lips as the familiar countryside became once more a part of her.

  “Ready for some more blisters?” Mark’s deep voice beside her made her jump, breaking the moment.

  She glanced up at him. His tall figure blocked the sun, casting his features in shadows. Unconsciously Sheryl took a step back.

  “Don’t be so skittish,” he said, holding out a hat. “I just wanted to give you this.”

  He took a step closer, and Sheryl steeled herself to stand still as he dropped the hat on her head. “Now you have your own.” She felt the warmth of his hands through the hat’s material as he set it at the correct angle on her head. “It should be straw, but this is all I could find.” His gray eyes glinted at her, and as Sheryl held his gaze, something indefinable held them and she couldn’t look away.

  “Feels good, thanks.” Her voice was shaky, and she swallowed, willing her legs to move. If she was smart, she would turn around right now, head down that road and keep going. She was crazy to think that she could keep him at arm’s length. Mark was attractive, decent, honest and far too compelling.

  “We better get going,” she said, trying to keep her voice light and carefree. She scrambled up the steps to the seat of the tractor and concentrated on the job at hand.

  Sheryl had picked up the rhythm of the tractor again, slowing down when the swaths were heavier, speeding up along the treeline. The hay didn’t grow as thick there because of the nutrients the trees took up from the soil. But everywhere else the swaths were dense and rich, the fragrant dust swirling around the tractor in an ever-present haze.

  In the distance Mark saw Rob and Conrad making their own tedious circles, the “chunk, chunk" of their baler and the chug of the tractor’s engine, muted by the distance.

  He stood easily on the drag, waiting for the baler to spit out another bale. He grabbed it, braced it on one thigh and using the weight of the bale and its momentum, turned and swung it around, dropping it neatly beside the other three so it sat like a square diamond between the pipes, the tops of the bales forming a zigzag pattern. He straightened, paused and grabbed the next one, dropping it neatly into the open triangle formed by two bales side by side, making the next layer. Ten bales to a triangular stuke, hit the release pedal, and the pipes lowered until the bottoms of the bales hit the ground and pulled away from the stuker.

  Mark glanced up at Sheryl who sat half-turned on the tractor seat, her long hair tied up in a loose braid, hanging beneath the battered felt hat. She pulled her shoulder up to her chin, wiping a trickle of sweat that reached her chin, leaving a track in the dust on her face. Mentally he compared her to the carefully coiffed and expensively tailored girls he once had squired around Vancouver, trying to imagine any of them perched on a tractor with a brown cowboy hat, two sizes too big shading a dusty face.

  The picture made him laugh. As he did so, Sheryl caught his eye, held it for a heartbeat, then blinked and looked away again, and Mark followed the direction of her gaze.

  The mountains.

  Whenever she had a chance, her gaze would fly to the mountains.

  He caught another bale, and when he had straightened, she was looking at him again. He smiled back, trying to coax a smile from her, and when she responded, the quickening of his own heart caught him by surprise.

  She was completely the wrong person for him, and she made that very clear with each word she spoke in anger against God.

  Yet...

  When her iron self-control slipped, her vulnerability showed. It was this girl that drew him.

  They made a few more rounds when the sound of a horn’s insistent honking penetrated the growling of the tractor’s engine. He caught sight of his mother, standing in the shade of the trees, her hands on her hips. Even from this distance he could sense her displeasure. Well she could grumble all she wanted. Sheryl seemed determined to finish this job and Mark wasn’t going to argue. He needed the help and, curiously, he enjoyed being with her.

  The next time Sheryl looked back, Mark pointed to his watch. She waited until the next bale w
as forced out and stopped the tractor.

  Mark dropped the bale into the stuke and pulled his already damp bandana from the release lever of the stuker, wiping his face with it.

  Sheryl paused a moment, her eyes wandering over the field, a soft smile teasing the corner of her mouth. Mark watched her, bemused at her obvious love for the land.

  He waited until she climbed down off the tractor and fell into step with her.

  “Tired?” His voice resonated with concern.

  “Yeah.” She took off the hat and handed it back to him. “I feel like falling into a tub of water and not coming up for air the rest of the day.”

  “I get the feeling you’re not looking forward to seeing Ed again?”

  “It’s the reason I made the trip out here.” She looked away, her feet dragging in the hay stubble as she rubbed her neck.

  “Do you want me to come with you?”

  She twisted her head around, her expression puzzled. “Why would you want to do that?”

  He didn’t know, himself, except that he felt she wasn’t ready to face Ed and whatever buried memories might surface, and he felt a curious protectiveness toward her. “I guess I’m not sick of spending time with you yet.” His tone was light, but the eyes that held hers were steady.

  “I’ll be okay.” She pushed her hair back from her face, tucking the sweat-dampened tendrils behind her ears, turning away from him, shutting him out. But the trembling of her fingers belied the firm tone of her voice.

  “Then why do you look scared?”

  She clenched her hands into fists and stared ahead. “I’m not scared,” she replied, her voice hard.

  Mark only sighed. Why did he keep trying? The precious little she gave away was only what slipped past her control. Nothing was relinquished willingly.

  Rob and Conrad were already sitting down eating, by the time Sheryl and Mark came.

  “It took you long enough,” Lenore scolded. “Come sit here, Sheryl, I’ve brought a lawn chair for you. Just pull up beside Dale.” Lenore handed Sheryl a plate of food, an assortment of cold cuts, a bun and some fruit slices.

  “And what about your own son?” Mark complained, an unexpected irritation flickering in his voice.

  “My own son is perfectly capable of bringing his own lawn chair in his own truck.” Lenore said briskly.

  Lunch was quiet, the talk desultory in the energy-sapping heat.

  Dale, Mark and Lenore exchanged idle chat, Rob and Conrad dozed and Sheryl said nothing.

  Mark tried to catch her eye, but she kept them either on her food or tilted up and away from him, toward the hills that cradled the river. He tried to analyze what it was about her that kept drawing him back to her. She made him feel both frustrated and content, sad and yet peaceful. She seemed to belong here, yet she made it very clear that she would leave once her obligations were fulfilled.

  When Lenore got up, Sheryl followed suit, picking up the empty plates, gathering up the remnants of food and repacking the picnic cooler.

  “When do you expect to be back?” Mark asked as he tugged on the blanket, waking Rob and Conrad. They stretched and got up, grumbling about slave-driving bosses. He shook the leaves and bits of hay off it and folded it up.

  “I thought Sheryl could have supper with us. Then Dale can take her home.” Lenore closed the cooler and brushed her hands off on her blue jeans.

  “Okay. Just drive carefully.”

  Lenore shot Mark an oblique glance. “Actually I thought I might go flying through the valley as fast as you usually do.”

  “Rob and Conrad almost hit a couple of deer close to the bend by Hudson’s place.” Mark lifted up the cooler with a grunt. “That’s why I was telling you to be careful.” He carried it back to the car, waiting for his father to open it.

  “Point taken, son.” Lenore smiled at him. “Sheryl, you just sit in the car and take it easy. I’ll be there in a minute.”

  Sheryl hesitated, and Mark saw it again. That brief flash of fear. He took a step toward her, then stopped himself. Why did he always fall for those few scraps of emotion that she allowed to eke out? Why did it take so precious little on her part for him to try so hard to connect with her. He turned back to his parents’ car, slamming the trunk closed just a little too hard.

  “Easy on my car, son.” Lenore frowned at him but he didn’t reply. “Are you going to bring your father home? Because if you are, then you can have supper with Sheryl and us.”

  “Naw.” Mark tossed a quick glance at Sheryl, who still hesitated by the door of the car, then turned resolutely away. “Dad can take the old brown truck home. Rob can get it when we need it.”

  He shouldn’t try to spend any more time than he had to with Sheryl. She didn’t need anyone. She certainly didn’t need him.

  “I thought I would give you a chance to visit with Ed for a while, by yourself.” Lenore pulled into an empty spot in the parking lot and left the car running.

  “Okay.” Sheryl put her hand on the door’s handle, hesitating.

  “Ed has been very eager to see you.” Lenore turned to Sheryl, touching her shoulder lightly. “He isn’t always the easiest person to be around, but I can assure you he has changed.”

  Sheryl nodded as the words that whirled around her head all afternoon increased their tempo and finally slipped out. “He told me he loved me,” she said, her voice bitter. “The whole time I lived with him and my mom, he never said that to me. Why now?” Sheryl bit her lip, rubbing a trembling finger against her temple, her eyes closed.

  Lenore’s hand tightened on her shoulder as anger and sorrow contended with each other. She looked sidelong at Lenore. “I wasn’t the easiest daughter, I know that, but was I so unlovable?”

  “I wish I knew, honey,” Lenore said softly. “You should ask Ed.”

  Sheryl blinked, her finger still pressed against her head as if to draw out the questions that begged answers. “I know I should.. .But where do I start?”

  “With the question you ask yourself the most.” Lenore smiled softly at her. “You won’t be going there on your own strength, I’ll be praying for you.”

  “For what that’s worth,” Sheryl said as she opened the door.

  Lenore leaned over, catching the door before Sheryl shut it. “God has the power to change people, Sheryl.” Sheryl held the open door, looking down on Lenore and the assurance she saw there. For a moment she believed her. Just for a moment.

  “Thanks, I think.” She gave Lenore a wan smile, turned and walked up the sidewalk to the hospital, a soft breeze cooling the heat of her cheeks, teasing her freshly washed hair, enveloping her with the soft fragrance of the shampoo she had used at Lenore’s.

  As she approached the glass doors, she stopped. What was she doing here? she thought, her hand resting on the sun-warmed handle. It wouldn’t change anything, either in the past or present. She could just turn around and go back.

  Just then brisk steps sounded behind her and a work-roughed hand reached around her to open the door. Sheryl spun around, the bright sun blinding her. All she saw was a tall figure wearing a hat.

  Mark.

  Her heart skipped, she began to smile in greeting, surprised to see him here.

  “Do you need some help?” The figure spoke, and Sheryl felt the keen edge of disappointment.

  She stepped back as the man opened the door and waited for her to go in. The singular smell of the hospital assailed her nostrils, and she hesitated.

  “Well, if you won’t go in, I will,” the man growled, stepping past her. Sheryl caught the door on the backswing, berating herself for her foolish notions. Mark was in the field, baling, and she was on her own. Taking a fortifying breath of fresh air, she stepped into the darkened hallway.

  Ed sat by the window when the nurse ushered her into his room. The loose hospital gown was covered with a brown bathrobe that hung loosely on his large frame, and he wore leather slippers.

  He looked like an old tired man, and as he turned, Sheryl swallowed.
For a fleeting moment she thought she saw pain in his eyes.

  “How.. .are you?” he asked, his words slurred by his misshapen mouth.

  “Fine.” Sheryl sat down in the hard vinyl chair across from him, the daylight from the window further illuminating the ravages the stroke had wrought in this once-proud man. The droop of his eye was more noticeable in the unforgiving light of the sun, the gray in his hair more pronounced. His entire body listed to one side, propped up by pillows.

  Sheryl leaned back, crossing her arms as she faced the man she had so many questions to ask. It was easy for Lenore to encourage her to start with the one she asked herself most. It was also the one that caused the most anguish.

  “How are you feeling?” she asked, opting for safe ground even though the question sounded trite in the face of his obvious decline.

  “I.. .wanted so bad.. .to see.. .you.” Ed shifted his weight, trying to lean forward, his one good eye piercing, probing. “How are you? Are you…happy?”

  “What does it matter to you. Dad?” She hadn’t meant to call him that, but the situation hearkened so strongly back to her past the name slipped out.

  “It matters.” He reached out to her looking distressed, his hand barely lifting off the arm of the chair. “It matters…to God?”

  Sheryl closed her eyes, wishing she could as easily shut out the all-too-familiar words. “I’ve been in deep and dark places since I left, Dad, and God hasn’t found me in them. So I don’t think my happiness matters.”

  “What...places?” he asked.

  Sheryl shook her head. Tell him, her thoughts urged. Let him know what it’s been like for you.

  “Sheryl...! wish...I could...help you. I was...so wrong.”

  She sat up at that, leaning forward now, his confession bringing questions to the fore.

  “Why did you turn me away. Dad? Why did you let me down when I needed you?”

  Ed shifted, trying to move, as Sheryl got up, her arms wrapped tightly around her middle, wrinkling her T-shirt. Slow down, she warned herself. You’re all alone, no one will help you through this. She took a deep breath to still the voices and her beating heart.