Her Heart's Promise

by Carolyne Aarsen

  She still felt uneasy about him. Something about their relationship just didn’t seem right. Yet, she was loath to call it off altogether. What would she have then?

  And what do you have now? She reminded herself, rocking back in her chair. You’re all alone in this office. You were supposed to go out with him, and again he’s a no-show. Nadine sighed and pushed her chair away from her desk. She didn’t feel like writing up the Skyline story and didn’t want to go home.

  She got up and wandered around the deserted office. Even Clint was gone. The thought made her unaccountably lonely.

  Each step seemed to drag, each step echoing in the empty building, as if mocking her own lonely state.

  I’ve tried, Lord, she prayed, stepping into her small office. I’ve tried to be happy with what I have. What’s wrong with me?

  Wasn’t she supposed to be a liberated woman? Hadn’t she shown that she could compete with a man, could do the same job? Wasn’t that supposed to be enough for a woman these days?

  Nadine sat in her chair, letting her head fall backward, her eyes closed. Deep down, she wanted what her friends had: A husband, children; a home. She wanted to sit in church and frown at fidgeting kids, sing with her husband. She wanted to have windows to sew curtains for, laundry to wash. She wanted a house with an office that she could work out of, part-time. She wanted to hear a door open and close, feel a lift of her heart as her husband came into the house, feel the same sense of completion as when her own father would come home and fill up the man-space that had been empty since he had left that morning. And she wanted that man to be Clint.

  Who did she think she was fooling? She was frustrated with where her thoughts so easily went. She remembered all too well the contrast between her and Allison this morning, how Clint couldn’t seem to keep his eyes off Allison.

  She and Clint were obviously not meant for each other. Nadine figured she was destined to become one of those old newspaper ladies, who ended up heading to South America to do features on Mayan temples for travel magazines.

  Or maybe she would become a dedicated single missionary who would work in faraway mission fields, then come back and do church tours and slide shows, drumming up support for evangelism in faraway locales.

  Lately, she felt events slipping out of her reach, with deadlines always looming. They were shorthanded too long, and it had drained her.

  The sorrow from her mother’s death was still too fresh, and her guilt over being unable to find more about her father’s death still haunted her.

  Nadine pressed her hand against her chest as if to keep the sorrow contained. She pulled the Bible out of the drawer and laid it on her desk.

  She drew in a deep breath, then another. God had answered her scattered prayers about her search for justice for her father. The phone call yesterday was confirmation that she was given another chance to find out what happened to him.

  She idly flipped through the Bible, trying to find something to connect with.

  And then she found it: Isaiah 55.

  Nadine stopped, carefully running her fingers along the familiar lines:

  Come all who are thirsty, come to the waters.

  Why spend money on what is not bread and your labor on what does not satisfy?

  Seek the Lord while He may be found.

  You will go out with joy and be led forth with peace.

  Drawing in a slow breath, she read on, reading warnings and comfort and promises.

  She waited a moment to let the words settle into her worn and weary heart. Then she pulled in a deep breath, knowing she couldn’t stay here any longer.

  Time to go and face Grandma.

  The ring of the phone made her jump. For a moment she was tempted to let it ring, but her innate curiosity led her to answer.

  It was Trace, spilling apologies and promises to come over right away, but Nadine cut him off.

  “Doesn’t matter, Trace. It’s over.” As she spoke the words, she felt a momentary shaft of panic. Was she crazy? Was she deliberately trying to sabotage any chance she would have at a life’s partner?

  But, as she heard his protests and listened to his excuses, she realized that the longer she allowed the relationship to go on, the worse it would get. Trace wasn’t reliable, wasn’t the kind of man she wanted for herself.

  “No. I’ve thought it over,” she interrupted. “You’re just too busy and I don’t like being stood up.”

  “Nadine, don’t do this. Tonight was a blip, unexpected.”

  “Like your visit with your banker?” Nadine put heavy emphasis on the last word as if to tell him she didn’t believe his excuse of the other day, either.

  “I was talking to Allan Andrews. Give him a call.” He sounded out of breath. “Please, don’t do this, Nadine. Please.”

  Nadine had heard his begging before and found it a little embarrassing. If she was to have a meaningful relationship, she wanted it with someone dependable and trustworthy.

  If she was to have a relationship. She closed her eyes as the words taunted and echoed in her mind. Being married wasn’t everything. She had a challenging job and lived in a good place, and she had her faith and her church community. As lonely as she sometimes felt, she wasn’t desperate enough to settle for a man who showed her such little respect. She respected herself far too much for that.

  She listened to more of his protests and false promises, waiting for a suitable time to end the conversation. It was a relief when she could finally say, “Goodbye, Trace,” and hang up the phone.

  As she did so, she shook her head. For a moment, she felt a pang of sorrow, but behind that, a feeling of empowerment. She—plain, ordinary Nadine Laidlaw, single woman—had broken up with a very handsome, eligible man.

  Nadine walked toward the front of the office. She might regret the impulse in the morning, but for tonight, she was in charge. She turned on the security, locked the main office door, and went back down the hallway to the parking lot, turning lights off as she went.

  Maybe Grandma would have fresh muffins made, Nadine thought as she pulled out the keys to her car. To sweeten her I-told-you-so’s.

  Headlights swung down the alley and momentarily blinded her. Nadine stepped back toward the office. An SUV pulled up beside her car, and with a start, Nadine recognized Clint’s vehicle.

  The SUV stopped and Clint got out, walking around to meet her. “Hi, there,” he said. “Going out?”

  Nadine shook her head, a sense of shame mocking her newfound confidence. “No, just home.”

  “I thought you had a date...”

  “I did.” Nadine shrugged, fully aware of her boss standing beside her, his height overwhelming. His hair was tousled and his tie was gone, causing Nadine to recall the way he looked the day they’d covered the FoodGrains Bank project together.

  “And,” he prompted, “he broke it?”

  Nadine shook her head, fiddling with the end of her scarf. “No, I did. I didn’t feel like waiting anymore.” She looked up at him, only to catch his gaze on her. She looked down again. “What are you doing here?”

  “Forgot some papers I needed.” He jingled the change in his pants pocket. “So, what are you going to do?”

  Nadine shrugged. “Go home. See if Grandma has any supper left for me.”

  “I see.” He made a move to leave, checked himself, and came back. “I, uh...” He stopped and cleared his throat. Nadine glanced up at him, puzzled. He seemed hesitant, unsure of himself. “I haven’t eaten, either. We could grab a bite.”

  “Because you feel sorry for me?”

  As soon as the words popped out, she wished she could take them back.

  Clint blew out a sigh.

  “I know saying I’m sorry about my apology only underlines the stupidity of what I said that afternoon, but I didn’t have a chance to explain.”

  Nadine frowned. “What do you mean?”

  “I was about to when...well...Trace called.”

  Her thoughts shifted backward, and she re
membered now.

  “I got interrupted, and I didn’t get to finish. So...can I try to make it up to you? By taking you out to dinner? There are a couple of things I need to talk to you about.”

  Nadine paused in surprise, her hands no longer fiddling with her scarf. “Okay,” she agreed, hardly knowing what else to say and wondering what he wanted to say to her.

  “Good.” Clint took a step backward and whacked his leg against the fender of his vehicle. He steadied himself, straightened, and held his hand up to Nadine. “Sorry.”

  She didn’t know what he was apologizing for, but his unexpected—and uncharacteristic—clumsiness gave him a sudden vulnerability.

  “So. Do you want to ride with me or take your car?” he said.

  “I’ll drive my car.” She wanted the option of being able to leave on her own. “I’ll meet you at the Inn.”

  He nodded and took another step back. “Okay. I’ll see you soon.” He jogged up the walk to the office, leaving Nadine to wonder what had come over her usually calm and collected boss.

  Briefly she recalled his touch yesterday, his concern. With a laugh, she dismissed her foolish thoughts. He said he had a couple of things he wanted to talk to her about. She was afraid one of them was Skyline.

  But, as she backed out of the parking lot behind the Sweet Creek Chronicle, she couldn’t help remembering his grin when she’d said yes.

  Clint settled himself behind the table and glanced across to where Nadine sat. Her gaze roved around the restaurant as she looked everywhere but him. For a moment, he regretted asking her. She seemed ill at ease, even though she had agreed to come.

  He couldn’t get her off his mind lately. Each day he tried to seek her out, tried to connect with her in some way.

  “Menus or just coffee?” Tess Kraus stood by the table, grinning as she looked from Clint to Nadine, giving him a knowing look. “Or time alone?”

  “Coffee and menus,” Clint said, slanting her a warning look.

  Tess Kraus was one of those waitresses who seemed to know everything and loved to keep it that way.

  “Eating it is,” she said, pouring them both a coffee with one hand and laying the menus in front of them with the other. “I’ll give you two a moment, and then I’m coming back.”

  Why did she make that sound like a warning?

  “I guess it’s orange hair streaks for Tess this week,” Nadine said, taking the menu and glancing at it.

  “She’s a character, that’s for sure.”

  “I wonder if I could pull colored streaks off.” Nadine fingered her own thick, brown hair, now hanging loose, framing her face and softening her features.

  Not at all unusual. Nadine never seemed comfortable whenever he was around; that in turn created a measure of tension within him. He didn’t like it. He wanted her to be as relaxed around him as she had been around the people on the afternoon of the FoodGrains Bank project. He wanted her to look up at him with a smile brightening her eyes, the way her smile had that day.

  “I can’t think why you would want to,” Clint said, giving her a smile that he hoped would alleviate the tension.

  He wasn’t that hungry and had asked Nadine out for supper on an impulse—partly because he wanted to explain about that stupid moment when he made that lame apology for kissing her.

  But, he also had another important reason. Skyline. Again. He wished she would just lay off, wished she would stop poking them. Each time she did, he had to pay the price, and he hated being in conflict with her. And now, after the accident that involved a Skyline employee, he was afraid she would go on one of her editorial rants.

  “So. What will it be for you two?” Tess returned as promised, her smile still holding a faint smirk.

  “The chicken burger and potato salad,” he said.

  “I can highly recommend both,” Tess returned. “And for madame?”

  “I’ll have a bowl of beef barley soup,” Nadine said, granting Tess the kind of smile Clint wished she would give him.

  “Also excellent.” Tess took the menus then left.

  “So, all you’re ordering is soup?” Clint asked, trying to keep his conversation with Nadine light and casual.

  For now.

  “Not really hungry,” she explained, tapping her thumbs against each other, then looking around the restaurant.

  They sat in a strained silence that Clint knew would be up to him to fill.

  He didn’t want to talk about her sisters. Not after the last time he got hammered for dropping Leslie, despite the extenuating circumstances.

  “Do you think Allison will work out for the paper?” he asked, shifting to a safer topic.

  “I think she will. She’s smart and quick and eager.” Nadine fiddled with the cutlery in front of her. “I have her covering the livestock show in Eastbar tomorrow. If that’s okay with you.”

  “You’re the editor,” Clint said, holding up his hands in a gesture of surrender. “It’s your call.”

  “Glad to know.”

  He wasn’t sure if that was a sarcastic tone in her voice, so he ignored it.

  He unrolled his own utensils, wishing he knew where to go from here. Straight to Skyline? Or the mangled apology he gave her after he kissed her?

  “So, how long was your mother sick?” he asked, hoping he could get her to talk about her, and from there, he could explain why he said what he did without making himself look too foolish.

  After he had left her that afternoon, he couldn’t forget that kiss and how she responded to him. If he could get the awkwardness out of the way maybe...

  Nadine pursed her lips, picking up her napkin and playing with it. “Most ALS sufferers live anywhere from one to three years after diagnosis. In my mother’s case, it took a little longer.”

  “How come?”

  Nadine pleated the napkin as if weighing her answer. Then she looked up at him, holding his gaze. “My mother’s mission to discover what happened to my father kept her alive longer. That mission included Skyline Contractors being brought to justice.” Nadine stopped abruptly and bit her lip.

  Clint absorbed this piece of news with a heavy heart. Looked like he would deal with his apology and Skyline in one fell swoop.

  He reminded himself that he was her boss, and that Matthew was pushing hard at him to rein her in. That another lawsuit would cost too much, and that this time, Skyline would do more than threaten.

  “I know your father died while working for Skyline, but I’ve never heard how it happened.” Even as he spoke the words, Clint thought he might be fashioning his own noose. But, he wanted to find out what drove her to keep up the battle for so long.

  “Didn’t Leslie tell you?”

  “She only told me that he died at work.”

  “Do you want to hear the official line we got or what I think?” She looked away, then at him, her expression troubled.

  “Tell me both.” He leaned forward, wishing he could forget about his paper, wishing he dared give in to a sudden and intense need to protect and support her. Wishing he could kiss her again.

  She unfolded the napkin again. “The line we got from the company was that my father was out in the bush by himself. He was working on a nasty hill that was too difficult for the mechanical logger to get to. They claimed he was using a practice called domino felling. That means cutting a tree so that it hangs up on another standing tree. Then the faller cuts that tree until it leans against another, and so on. Then you cut the last main tree, which falls all the way, and because all the trees are leaning against each other, the rest come with it. It’s illegal according to many labor standards and extremely dangerous but very effective. Lots of hand-fallers have gotten killed that way. According to Skyline, this is what my father did, and he was killed by a hung-up tree coming down on him.” Nadine stared up at Clint, her brown eyes intense. “My father was the most careful man I know. He would never do anything as dangerous as that. He’d gotten many safety commendations from the company.”

&nb
sp; “What do you think happened?”

  Nadine held his gaze a moment, then looked down again. “That’s what I’ve been trying to find out. I’ve talked to as many employees who will talk to me, other subcontractors. I’ve heard rumors that my father went in behind another young guy to clean up the mess he had made and they were working together. And I’ve heard that my father’s death was just a tragic fluke.” Nadine held up one hand, ticking off her fingers with the other. “I haven’t gotten any names, any times, any sign of other vehicles, or any verification of the rumors, at least not from anyone who was willing to commit. Nothing.”

  “The bush is a pretty wild place.”

  Nadine released a harsh laugh. “Not when there’s a logging show or two in an area. You go out there, it’s like a little community. If my mom wanted to bring my dad supper, and we made a wrong turn, all we’d have to do is drive up some logging roads until we saw a skidder or Cat operator. They always knew who was working where. But in my father’s case...nothing.”

  Clint didn’t know what to say. Nadine’s voice took on a note of authority that showed him that she knew of what she spoke, and how important it was to her.

  “How did you find out about his death?”

  “My father didn’t come home that night, and my mother called my dad’s supervisor. He went back up the mountain to the cut block he was working. It took a while because he wasn’t working in the block he had been assigned to. At least, not according to the supervisor’s information.” Nadine folded the napkin again, her eyes intently focused on it. “He was found lying underneath a tree. Dead.”

  Clint covered her hands with his, squeezing them, wanting to pull her close and to comfort her. “I’m so sorry to hear that. You must have cared for him a lot.”

  Nadine looked down at their hands and tightened her grip on his. “I did. I was especially close to my father.” When she looked back up at him, her eyes were clear but pensive. “Seems kind of wrong,” she said with a soft laugh. “I had my mother around longer than my father, but sometimes it’s as if I miss him more.” She shrugged, then pulled her hands away from him.