Her Heart's Promise

by Carolyne Aarsen

  Barbara got up and pulled the piece of paper out of Nadine’s limp hands. She held the letter at arm’s length, squinting irritably at it. She slipped on the reading glasses hanging around her neck. Her mouth moved slowly as she read the words, and when she finished, she looked at Nadine.

  “Who is this from?”

  Nadine blew her breath out, her bangs fluffing up as she did so. “Believe it or not, it’s a suicide note from a young man who worked with Dad the day he died.”

  “Suicide?” Grandma pressed one hand to her chest, the other reaching out blindly for some support. Nadine jumped to her feet and caught her arm.

  “It’s okay, Grandma. He didn’t kill himself. And this is just a photocopy.” Still holding the letter, Nadine led her back to the couch. She helped her grandmother sit down and then smoothed the now-crumpled piece of paper. She glanced over it once more, rereading about her father’s death.

  Gordon Hayward had been training as a hand-faller. He had been sent out into the bush totally green. He made a mess of the trees, and a few days later Sam Laidlaw had been sent in to help. Sam told Gordon to wait in the truck where it was safe while he cleaned up. Then a Skyline foreman came by and sent Gordon, over his protests, back to falling. Gordon got too close to Sam, and a tree he was cutting went the wrong way and fell on Sam. When the foreman came by again to check on Gordon, he found him crouched in front of the pickup, crying. The foreman told Gordon that he was liable and could end up paying a fine. His family counted on his paycheck, and other jobs were scarce, so Gordon signed a written statement made by Skyline saying that he’d heard the foreman warn Sam about his work. They were going to say he was careless.

  Gordon worked for them until he found another job. But Sam’s dying cries haunted him. The knowledge that he had implicated and killed an innocent man stayed with him, and he couldn’t bear the burden any longer.

  “How did you get it?”

  Grandma’s quiet question jolted Nadine back to the present. She pulled her scattered thoughts together. “His sister, Chantelle. I met her at the gym tonight.” Nadine folded up the letter and laid it on the coffee table. “I got a letter from her a while ago, telling me that she had something I should see. We finally connected a few days ago and had made arrangements to meet tonight at the gym.”

  “I wish I could say I was glad,” whispered Barbara, her fingers resting on her lips. “But to think of Sam lying there...” Her words were choked off, and she began to cry.

  Nadine pulled her close, hugging her fiercely, her own emotions unstable.

  Six years of speculation, finally answered. Her father, killed by the carelessness of an inexperienced logger, covered up by an irresponsible company. Nadine clenched her teeth thinking of Gordon listening to the dying cries of her father.

  Her father, dying alone.

  She choked down a sob, struggling for self-control.

  Barbara straightened and brushed her tears off her wrinkled cheeks. She turned to Nadine and touched her cheek lovingly, her eyes still bright with tears. “I’m sorry you had to be the one to find this out, Nadine. You’ve worked so hard on this, done so much.”

  Nadine shook her head. “I didn’t do anything. Nothing has changed. Dad is still dead.”

  “Yes, but it is good to know he wasn’t at fault.” Barbara sniffed and got up to get some tissues.

  Nadine slouched against the couch, her hands clasped over her stomach. Her mind drifted back over the years. She easily imagined her father sitting in his leather recliner in their old house, a wreath of aromatic pipe smoke surrounding his head as he worked his way through the Sweet Creek Chronicle. Her mother would be bustling in the kitchen, putting the final touches on dinner, and she and her sisters would be sprawled over furniture and floor, books spread around them as they pretended to do homework. Home was a comfortable haven then. What would have happened if he lived?

  “I have to write something up on this.” Nadine snatched the letter off the table and strode past her grandmother. She had to do something, anything, instead of dwelling on might-have-beens, thinking about her father left to die. She hadn’t intended to write a story, but now she realized she had nothing to lose that she hadn’t already lost.

  Clint had talked to Chantelle. He knew what Nadine knew. Knew that she would be angry at Skyline.

  She switched on her computer, found the Skyline file, started a new document, and began typing. Her fingers flew over the keyboard, the keys clacking her anger and determination, a pinnacle of years of seeking the truth. Words flowed across the screen, angry and frustrated and demanding justice.

  An hour later she looked up from the screen and rubbed her neck, now tight with tension. She saved the article, e-mailed it to her computer at the office, and pulled in a long, slow breath.

  She leaned back in her chair with her eyes closed, wondering how she would work the article into the paper. Editorial? Tie-in with the accident of last week?

  Nadine dragged her hands over her face and sighed deeply.

  Why do it at all?

  She leaned over and clicked the mouse on the print command. She needed to hold it in her hand and to read it as words on a piece of paper.

  She read the pages as they printed, the editor in her pleased with what she had written. The article had bite and punch and flowed smoothly, a perfect culmination of all her articles and editorials on Skyline.

  She lowered the papers with a sigh. She had a wonderful article written with emotion and good cause. After six years her own instincts about her father’s death were proven correct. Tonight all the questions were answered and all the i’s dotted.

  Then she read it again, thinking of Chantelle’s anger—the way her eyes glowed, the fierceness in her voice—wondering if she had spoken to Clint the same way. Wondering what Clint thought of her now, after she had promised she would lay off Skyline.

  She opened the e-mail again, and horror dropped on her shoulders as she read the top.

  She had mistakenly sent it to everyone in the office.

  Clint included.

  What have I done, Lord, she prayed, dropping the papers on her desk and falling into her chair. I gave up something precious just to prove myself right. She spun her chair back and forth with recriminations filling her head and fighting with memories of Clint smiling at her across a table, holding and comforting her.

  All she had wanted as a young girl had been given to her as a gift, and she had just thrown it all away.

  Chapter 18

  Clint wearily rubbed his eyes. This day had been one of the longer days of his life. All the way back from Cranbrook, he’d been happy and eager and looking forward to seeing Nadine. When he got to her apartment and she wasn’t there, he chit-chatted with Grandma. Until Allison called Nadine’s apartment, wondering why Nadine was at the gym. He wondered too, but figured he would just meet her there.

  And then some woman named Chantelle waylaid him and he discovered exactly what Nadine was up to.

  With a sigh, he reread the e-mail he’d received from his lawyer. Skyline had filed nothing yet, but their lawyers were still threatening.

  He didn’t know whether to ignore the threat or worry about it. The accountant’s report and Matthew’s letter dealt with different aspects of the business, but they both said the same thing: A prolonged battle with Skyline would put the newspaper so far into the red that Clint stood to lose everything.

  Clint dropped his head against the back of the chair. From the sound of the e-mail he’d just seen, Nadine was bound and determined to bring Skyline to justice, regardless of his wishes and needs. He thought he had laid out the consequences for the newspaper, thought he had given her enough reason to back off. Obviously it wasn’t enough.

  Did you think she was so in love with you that she would give up a six-year battle just because you asked her to?

  What could he possibly think he meant to her after spending a few evenings together? Nadine had made it clear what she thought of him from the f
irst time he met her.

  Surely he hadn’t imagined the way she’d looked at him when they’d shared a meal, the way she seemed to drift back against him when he came to her office? Too vividly, he remembered how she had willingly gone into his arms that evening in the car. Surely her reaction was more than gratitude?

  The timing of this week’s meetings was terrible. How badly he had wanted to stay and reinforce the fragile bond begun the evening before. He and Nadine had had no chance to solidify their relationship, if indeed they had a relationship.

  Clint got up and pulled his tie off, threw it into a corner, and rolled up the sleeves of his shirt. Hands in his pockets, he walked to the window, staring past his blurred reflection to the meager light of the streetlights. Was it only a few months ago he stood here with a sense of eager expectation, a realization that his life had come, if not full circle, then at least to a point that he knew it should be? It was as if God had been pushing him here by cutting off some opportunities and opening others. His job at the city newspaper had become unsatisfying. Uncle Dory, out of the blue, had offered him his share of the business.

  He had found out that Nadine was still single.

  Clint leaned his forehead against the glass, the coolness soothing his tired head.

  For a few days, he’d thought his life was coming together and was finally getting some kind of cohesion: He had a business he loved and the affection of a woman who had been on his mind for years. It was as if all the things he had been seeking were there in one neat package.

  Now it looked as if he would lose it all.

  Skyline was at fault for Nadine’s father’s death, at least according to the scanned letter Nadine had attached to the e-mail. Clint guessed this was the letter Chantelle was referring to when she cornered him at the school gym.

  Could he blame Nadine for wanting to bring this company to justice? When he read the letter, it bothered him as well.

  Skyline is getting an itchy trigger finger.

  Matthew’s warning rang through his head.

  Surely it wasn’t wrong to want to run a healthy business and take all necessary steps to make sure that his employees kept their jobs? He tried to keep the newspaper in perspective and to keep a balance with his faith and his work.

  Yet could he blame Nadine for wanting to run this?

  He straightened, shoving his hand through his hair, thinking of his father, and how his lawsuit had taken over his life.

  He had warned Nadine not to fall into the same trap, but was he protecting her? Or his paper?

  Clint shook his head and rubbed the back of his neck. He didn’t want to judge Nadine. He wanted to love and take care of her. He wanted to show her that love yet didn’t know how to do it.

  Yes, you do.

  Clint paused, the voice pulling him up short. It had come from his own conscience. On a hunch, he walked over to his briefcase and opened it. He hadn’t unpacked it after his meeting and brought it in after his aborted date with Nadine tonight.

  In one corner of it lay his Bible. Clint took it out, closed the briefcase, and straightened.

  Still standing, he thumbed through the New Testament until he came to Corinthians. With one hand in the pocket of his suit pants and the other holding the Bible as it lay open, he read the words that had struck him so many years ago.

  “Love is patient, love is kind, it does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It is not rude, it is not self-seeking...” Clint paused at that one. Was it self-seeking to want to see his newspaper post a profit? John, his previous lawyer, and now Matthew warned him against a battle with Skyline because of the cost, not because of its morality.

  Was it right of him to deny Nadine this chance to expose Skyline via her article?

  It’s your paper. She shouldn’t use it as a vehicle for her vendetta.

  Yet, he said he loved her. If this Chantelle was right, if her brother had truly been coerced...

  What? Another lawsuit that dragged on and on?

  Clint dragged his hand over his face, wishing he could figure out what to put first and trying to find a neat solution that would satisfy everyone.

  Skyline would sue him if Nadine ran the piece, and then what?

  Sure, you’re running a small-town newspaper, but you still have a responsibility to expose the truth.

  He sat down and leaned back in his chair, his thoughts and emotions warring with each other.

  Nadine sighed and rolled over. Six o’clock: The sun was barely up, and she was wide awake, had been since five o’clock. Since five, she’d been trying to find a way out of going to the office today. It would be so much easier to stay home and avoid Clint.

  Again and again she relived yesterday, imagining different scenarios: cutting Chantelle Hayward off, coming home on time, and sharing the letter with Clint. Or not going to the gym at all and spending a delightful evening with Clint.

  Even more, not sending the article she wrote in the heat of angry passion to everyone in the office. Especially Clint.

  Finally she threw the blankets back in frustration and stalked to the bathroom. She had to do something instead of lying in bed castigating herself for being so narrow-minded.

  Her anger at herself simmered through her shower and continued to simmer as she got dressed. She took extra care, pulling out an outfit that Sabrina and Leslie had chivied her into buying last spring—narrow, gray corduroy pants and a snug T-shirt, also in gray and topped with a collarless tunic in an unusual shade of apricot that complemented her brown hair. Nadine finished toweling off her hair and blew it dry, deciding to let it hang loose.

  The way Clint liked it.

  The kitchen was still dark when she tiptoed into it. She pulled out an apple, poured herself a glass of milk, and ate her breakfast leaning against the counter behind her. Nadine was thankful that Grandma still slept; the last thing she wanted right now was a postmortem on last night. It was bad enough that she would see Clint in a few hours.

  She drove to the office, and as she parked her car in her stall in the back of the building, she noticed with a thump of her heart that Clint was already in. With apprehension, she unlocked the back door and walked down the darkened hallway past the cubicles of the copy editors. One of the computers was on, the screen saver bouncing around on the monitor. Frowning, Nadine walked over to it and hit one of the keys. The e-mail program was on, and the article she had written last night was on the screen.

  She looked around, wondering where Clint was now. She walked to her office. Pausing at the door, she glanced up the hallway toward the front entrance and Clint’s office. His door was open, but the room was dark. Puzzled, Nadine stepped closer.

  A figure was slouched over the desk, one arm flung out.

  In the early morning light filtering in through the window she could see it was Clint. His head moved, disturbing the papers underneath him.

  He was asleep.

  Had he been here all night?

  Clint shifted and Nadine turned to leave, but he only sighed and settled again. Feeling like an intruder, she stepped into the office, closer to his desk. She watched him a moment, his hair falling across his forehead, his soft lips slightly parted. His jaw was stubbled, the collar of his shirt open. His one arm was flung across the desk, and his other hung inches away from her. He looked vulnerable and utterly appealing. Nadine felt a gentle ache in her heart as she thought of all that she could have had, and then, without thinking, reached over and brushed his hair back. Her hand lingered on his cheek.

  She didn’t expect his eyes to open, and she froze as the hand that hung down caught hers.

  “Hey, Nadine,” he murmured as he blinked and sat up, still holding her hand. He smiled blearily. “Come here,” he said, his voice husky from sleep as he rose from his seat and tugged her toward him.

  Surprise and shock threw her off balance as he pulled her into his embrace. His arms surrounded her, his chin rested on her head, and she felt his chest rise and fall in a protracted sigh.r />
  She thought he would be angry, but he didn’t seem upset.

  “Don’t say anything,” he murmured, holding her close, rubbing his chin on her hair. “I like this dream better.”

  You have to go, Nadine told herself, cherishing the feel of his arms holding her, being surrounded by his warmth. You can’t stay here, this isn’t right, she thought. He’s still dreaming.

  Instead, she closed her eyes, allowing herself this one moment of wish fulfillment, this brief taste of might-have-beens. She let her hand slip around his neck, allowed her fingers to touch his hair as she finally relaxed in his embrace. She felt so secure, so accepted, and so cherished simply being herself.

  She loved him.

  The words began as a small thought, but then as she closed her eyes, they grew until they were so close to her lips, she had to say them. “I love you,” she whispered in a voice so soft, she wasn’t even sure she had spoken them aloud.

  She swallowed the lump in her throat and then, turning her head away from him, slipped out of his embrace and stood in front of him.

  His hand still held hers. Puzzled, she turned, only to see him staring at her with alert eyes, no sign of sleep clouding their piercing gaze.

  Unnerved, she pulled on her hand again, but Clint held fast.

  “What’s happening, Nadine?” he asked.

  She could only stare at him, aware of what she had just done. “I’m sorry,” she whispered finally.

  “For what?”

  His quiet question hung, echoing in the silence of the office.

  “Everything,” she said, looking down at their intertwined hands, unwilling to pull hers free as she realized he had been fully awake when he’d held her so close a few moments ago. “Standing you up last night, not being honest with you, writing the article about Skyline...” She stopped, unable to say more.

  His hand lifted her chin, cupping it. His eyes met hers, his mouth curved in a half smile. “You’ve done nothing to be sorry for.” He stepped closer, then, with no warning, he bent down and touched his lips to hers.