by Janet Dean
Was motherhood, even to Robby, a role too big for her to handle? So much to do—the stories, the naps, the meals, the dishes, the diapers, the laundry—the list was endless.
“Don’t forget to wash them. I’m not doing it,” Anna announced.
Elizabeth fought the urge to stick out her tongue at the little girl’s bossy face. Instead she glanced at Henry, now exploring his nose with a finger. My, babies had the manners of Reginald Parks.
She scrubbed Henry’s hands then followed the toddler out of the room. As he staggered about the living room, darting from one thing to another, she held her breath, hovering, arms out, ready to grab him.
Barely missing hitting his head on the corner of the end table, he kept going and tripped over the rocker of a chair, landing hard on his bottom. Immediately he pulled himself to his feet then almost crashed into the desk. He yanked at the knob on the desk drawer. Her heart lodged in her throat as she made a grab for him.
When the drawer didn’t open, he tugged the corner of a magazine, pulling the entire pile to the floor, then plopped down to tear the cover from an issue of Prairie Farmer. Drool dripping on the pages of the magazine he ripped to shreds, Henry remained in one spot. That was well worth the sacrifice of a magazine. Elizabeth heaved a sigh of relief.
Then as if she’d conjured him up out of sheer panic, Ted appeared. Hair and forearms damp from washing up at the pump. Elizabeth could’ve hugged him. Finally, someone in the house who’d know what to do with a mischievous toddler.
Looking at his son, Ted gave a gentle smile, his face tender. “Hi, my boy.”
Squealing with joy, Henry scrambled on all fours to his father. Ted gathered his son in his strong arms and kissed his cheek, then turned to Elizabeth. “Where’s Anna?”
“She was here a minute ago.” Elizabeth looked around the room for Anna, her heart skittering like a crab. Had she run off somewhere? Was she hiding? Hurt?
“I’ll find her,” Ted said calmly.
Hinges creaked. Anna stood in the doorway of the living room, her face pinched, hands hanging limp at her sides, her soft blue eyes bleak, like the sky before a rain.
“I was about to look for you, Anna,” Ted said.
“I was in your bedroom.” In her fist, she clutched a handkerchief. “Was this Mama’s, Daddy?”
Ted passed Henry to Elizabeth then walked to Anna, knelt before his daughter and touched the corner of the hankie. “Yes, pumpkin.”
“Can I…can I have it?”
Ted tucked a curl behind his daughter’s ear. “Of course you can. Your mama would’ve liked you to have it.”
He pressed the linen to Anna’s hands, then kissed his daughter on the cheek. Anna’s lips trembled in an attempt to smile that failed, tearing at Elizabeth’s resolve to remain detached. Without a word, Anna carried the hanky into the bedroom she and Henry shared and closed the door.
Ted remained where he crouched, head bent, shoulders slumped, as if in prayer. The sight of that hurting child, this strong man’s dejection, seized Elizabeth’s throat. She choked back tears. She knew grief, had felt that blanket of pain. But she didn’t know what to do.
Finally Ted rose and turned toward Elizabeth, his forehead etched with worry. “Anna hasn’t been herself since Rose died. She loved her mother, misses her terribly,” he said, his voice hoarse, raw with emotion.
“I know how she feels,” Elizabeth said softly. “My mother died two years ago. I ached for her. Wanted her back, for one more talk, one more hug.” For one more chance to make amends.
Ted’s worried expression softened. “I’m sorry you lost your mom.”
How little they knew about each other. Yet the desire to help Anna united them. Ted’s daughter needed their support and compassion.
“I thought by now…” His words trailed off.
“It’s…something you never get over. Not really.” She cleared her throat. “Anna’s young to lose her mother. She misses her touch, her smile, her scent. Her very essence. No one else will do.”
Ted nodded. “Not even me.” Swallowing hard, he took the chair beside her, propping his forearms on his knees and hunching forward with his attention on the floor.
“You’re wrong. She loves you, Ted, so much she can’t stand sharing you.”
“When I decided to marry, all I could think about was keeping the children near, making sure they had good care. I didn’t consider how that would affect Anna.” He ran a hand through his hair. “That’s not true. I did, but I chose to ignore it. I thought I had a good reason, but—”
“What choice did you have, really?”
He lifted his gaze to hers, holding it as if the link was a lifeline. “You see that I never wanted to hurt Anna or you?”
She gave his hand a squeeze. “Of course.”
“I’m sorry the brunt of her anger falls on you.” His expression turned wary. “How did it go this afternoon?”
Elizabeth refused to add to his load. “Good,” she said brightly.
The grim smile he gave suggested he knew she’d tempered her response. “Once she’s gotten used to you…”
“My presence upsets Anna. She sees me as trying to take her mother’s place.”
“But only for a while, until she feels more comfortable.”
His words might ring with confidence, but his eyes held the unspoken fear he might be wrong. Ted was a good father. He did all he could to meet his children’s needs, even marrying a stranger to give them a mother.
The truth settled around Elizabeth’s shoulders, as heavy as chain mail. That solution had blown up in his face.
So why did Ted keep looking at her with such hope in his eyes? He’d have about as much success with pinning his hopes on her as seeing rain in a fleeting, fluffy cloud during a drought.
She couldn’t fix the unfixable. She wouldn’t even try.
Chapter Nine
Ted tucked his children in for the night. Not easy with Anna clinging to him, tattling about Elizabeth’s every move, no doubt hoping he’d toss his wife out like a busted toy. He’d tried talking to his daughter about her attitude, but the stubborn tilt of her chin told him he’d wasted his breath.
At last Anna’s eyelids drooped and she slept, still hanging on to Rose’s handkerchief. Ted tucked the sheet under her chin, then rested his elbows on his thighs and lowered his head to his hands.
Had he made a mistake remarrying? Had he misread the freedom of choice God gave His children, seeing Elizabeth as God’s will for them? And added to Anna’s unhappiness? Made Elizabeth’s life miserable? The fear of failing his children and his new wife weighed him down, all but crushing him.
“Lord, mend Anna’s broken heart. Help my children accept Elizabeth,” he whispered. “Bless this marriage.”
As he laid his burdens at the foot of the Throne, several Scriptures came to mind, precious promises of God’s gift of wisdom, of His provision. The Father could bring good out of bad. Buoyed by renewed hope, the burden on his shoulders lifted.
God would help them, was helping them even now. He’d expected too much too soon. Establishing harmony in his house would take time. Adjustments had to be made. He’d keep his expectations on an even plane, his usual course, and the wisest.
He and Elizabeth might not be the typical couple, might never fall in love, but with God’s help, they could make this family work.
With one last glance at his children, their faces peaceful in slumber, Ted left the room, prepared by his time with God to bolster his wife. This surely had been a difficult day for her.
In the living room, he found Elizabeth at the desk, leafing through a cookbook. Her hair had pulled loose from the pins and curled around her face. At odd moments like this, he’d glance her way and that beauty would sock him in the gut.
The dejected look on her face now tore at him. Anna wasn’t the only miserable person in this house. He hoped, in time, Elizabeth would find contentment.
But life had taught him happiness wasn’t a guarant
ee in this world. He’d give anything if he’d been able to protect his children from that truth, but Rose’s passing had introduced them to the harsh reality of death. He’d explained to Anna that her mother now resided in Heaven, but that assurance didn’t stop her from missing Rose on earth.
Time. Healing would take time. Accord would take time.
He dropped into a rocker near the potbelly stove, stretching out his legs toward the warmth of the fire. As he stared into the window at the flames, thinking how difficult childhood could be sometimes, his mind catapulted back.
Fire and brimstone. Exactly what his father had preached at those revivals. Men and women rushed to the altar to lay down the load of their sins. But behind his father’s fiery demeanor lived a liar. Even as young as five, Ted had known his dad pocketed the offering, laughing at the stupidity of those he bilked. Not a preacher at all, but a charlatan who stole money to gamble.
When the gaming tables had taken his last dime, he’d put down the cards and pick up the garb of a preacher again, until he’d swindled another stake from trusting souls in another town.
The flames flickered, but Ted barely noticed the dancing oranges and yellows. He saw an endless parade of towns, filled with faces his father had betrayed. Ted had sat on the front row, throat tight with shame, and waited…fear crawling up his spine, sure God would strike his father dead on the spot. But God never did.
The flames began to ebb, but the heat remained. Much like God’s love. God didn’t kill sinners—He loved them. Even men like his father.
Even men like him.
“Ted.”
“I’m sorry, what?”
“How long…since Rose…?” Elizabeth glanced away, evidently too uncomfortable with her question to finish it.
“Rose died thirteen months ago, one month after Henry’s birth.”
“I’m sorry. I can’t imagine the joy of a baby shattered by his mother’s death.”
“Rose had one goal, to give our baby life.” He swallowed hard. “If only we hadn’t decided to have another child—”
He refused to finish. Elizabeth had enough to deal with, without taking on Rose’s death and the guilt he’d felt but had finally released to God.
He got up from the chair and walked to the side door, eager to change the subject, searching for a way to lighten the mood. “Clear sky tonight. Lots of stars. A full moon.”
Keeping her distance, Elizabeth peered out. “It’s serene.”
He turned toward her. Her eyes widened, filling with uncertainty. “More serene than you.”
“Why would you say that?”
“You tiptoe around me like you’re afraid I’ll bite.”
She lifted her chin. “I do no such thing. I’m not the tiptoeing sort.”
“Is that right?” To prove his point, he reached out a hand and she jumped. He grinned then sobered. “Things are difficult now, but once Anna adjusts, we’ll find an even keel, a way to coexist amicably.”
Elizabeth’s brow wrinkled. “Is that your goal, Ted? To just coexist?”
She made accord sound dull, boring. But to him, a tranquil life sounded perfect. His father’s example of Bible-thumping preaching, his zeal for gambling, had taught Ted to shun fiery passion. When he’d left the riverboat and his “Hold ’Em” Logan existence, he’d promised God he’d make a new start. From that point on, he based his life on God’s Word, not on unreliable feelings and bursts of emotion.
“Calm waters, a cool head, looking to God for wisdom—that makes for a happy home.”
She gave him a wan smile. “If so, we’re failing.”
“Don’t underestimate God’s authority in this, Elizabeth. Give it time. Pray about it. God is faithful.”
“No doubt God listens to you, a churchgoing man.”
The words she didn’t say spoke volumes. “You don’t believe He’s listening to you.”
“I don’t rely on God to solve my problems.”
If God intended Ted to heed His call, why had He given him a wife with shaky faith? Or was that somehow part of God’s plan? “Perhaps He already has,” he said, studying her.
Looking unconvinced, Elizabeth merely shrugged.
Somehow Ted suspected his wife’s problems referred to more than Anna. Was she talking about him or something else? “No one besides God is worth relying on.”
Their eyes locked. All those unnamed problems fell away, leaving just the two of them. Something wounded and raw in Elizabeth called to him. He wanted to protect her. To give her whatever he possessed. Whatever she needed. But he dared not push her. Though he’d pray for her daily, she’d have to find her way. With Anna. With him. With God.
Standing this close, alone in the quiet house, sent his skittish wife to the couch. “Where did Anna and Henry stay last year during planting and harvest season?” she said, deftly changing the subject.
“After Rose’s parents returned home, the children stayed at the Harpers’ during the day and here in the evening. Anna hated being separated from me.” He sighed. “She’d like to follow me around the place while I’m doing the chores. It’s not safe.”
“Anna’s lost one parent. Naturally she wants to keep an eye on you.”
He rubbed the back of his neck, stiff from hours behind the plow. If only he could soothe his hurting daughter as easily. “I’m sure you’re right.”
“How long have you lived in New Harmony?”
“Nine years.” She looked at him expectantly, clearly fishing for information. Maybe if he gave her some, she’d be satisfied. “We moved here right after Rose and I married.”
“That’s when you bought the farm.”
He nodded. Rose had desired nothing beyond a simple existence living off the land. Exactly what he wanted…or so he told himself every day. Though at times the life chafed against him like new wool long johns in winter.
“The work is endless, but I’d appreciate it if you found time to read and play with the children each day. That was Rose’s way. They’re used to some attention.”
“Anna’s the little mother around here.” Elizabeth laughed but Ted didn’t miss the lack of humor in the sound. “Not me.”
Ted cringed. He hadn’t missed his precious daughter’s bossy, belligerent behavior with Elizabeth. “Anna’s conduct will improve once she gets to know you,” he said with all the assurance he could muster.
“Are you trying to convince me or yourself?” She smiled. “Don’t worry. I can handle Anna. I wasn’t an easy child. I know all the tricks.”
“Why doesn’t that surprise me?” He chuckled, and then sat beside her on the sofa.
Close enough to notice the curve of her cheek, the length of her lashes and the silky texture of her skin. Though she’d tried to tease about her behavior as a child, the pain of her admittance clouded her pretty blue eyes.
Lord, please free Elizabeth from whatever’s bothering her. Help me to make her feel at home here.
Though, surely his stinginess at the mercantile yesterday hadn’t helped matters. “If I acted like I begrudged you the fabric and garments, I apologize. I hate to go into debt but that’s the way of life for farmers. If the harvest’s good, the bills get paid. If not…”
“If not, you work harder the next year.”
“That’s farming.”
“It’s honest work,” she said. The admiration in his citified wife surprised him.
“Yes, and that’s what matters. But some days I feel like a mule pulling a plow through the mud, that I’ll never reach the other side of the field.” He paused, forcing a laugh, then sobered. “But I do. I have to.”
“What did you do before you took up farming?”
The kitchen clock struck the hour. “This and that,” he said, rising. “It’s late. If Anna or Henry wakes, don’t hesitate to fetch me.”
Elizabeth hugged the armrest like a long-lost friend. “My presence is inconvenient. You probably won’t sleep well in that drafty barn.”
“No, your being here mean
s I can plant and keep my children with me. That’s all that matters.”
A flash of something he couldn’t read streaked across her face. She quickly smoothed her expression. Had he hurt her? If so, he hadn’t meant to, but even if the truth hurt, it didn’t change the facts. Anna and Henry were his priorities.
He hadn’t lied when he’d called their marriage a business arrangement. Perhaps in time, they’d come to mean more to each other. Ted felt far more comfortable in the world of friendly coexistence—two people living together, working toward a common goal—than in strong attraction. Though every time Elizabeth came near, she made him question that opinion.
Worse, she questioned him. Tried to figure out what made him tick. He couldn’t let her unearth his past and risk his children’s future.
He ambled toward the door. “Before I turn in, I’ll find those boots. Can’t have you working in your party best.”
“Even a mule deserves to be well shod.” Elizabeth’s steely eyes held not one shred of humor.
“I hoped you knew that taking care of my household wouldn’t be easy. I didn’t try to mislead you.”
She glared at him. “Just once, try putting yourself in my place, Ted Logan. Stick your feet in those boots you promised and see if the fit’s comfortable.” She left the room in a huff.
He’d intended to mend the fences his daughter had broken, but instead he’d driven a wider wedge between him and Elizabeth.
Perhaps that was for the best.
If they got close, she might discover the truth about him, and soon the whole town would know. All havoc would break loose.
And destroy the way of life he’d made for his children.
Ted must be feeding his hens molasses or something equally sticky. Their eggs stuck to a pan like shy debutants wedged together at a ball. When Elizabeth tried to turn one over, half the white stayed behind while the yolk spewed out, a yellow stream navigating the cast iron, as if two hens went to war in the pan.
