Heart Land

by Kimberly Stuart

  Tucker interrupted. “You mocked me for praying?” He sounded confused.

  I nodded. “Not out loud, but in my head. I’m sorry about that.”

  Tucker raised one eyebrow, amused. “You are?”

  “Yes,” I said, turning back to my cards. “I’ve been praying some, and turns out, it’s not a total waste of time. Turns out,” I continued with a sigh, “it can be a kind of a lifeline. And God hears. That’s new to me, but I know it to the bottom of me that it’s true. He does.”

  My hands shook a bit when I pushed the card to the back of the stack, and I had to blink away the tears filling in my eyes so I could see the last card.

  “Finally,” I said, voice trembling, “I’m sorry I let you go. I have recently found out what it feels like to be made to feel like I’m easily replaced. It pains me so much—” I had to stop as I choked back tears. “It hurts me to know that I made you feel like that, not once, but twice.” I whispered the last words and then looked up, eyes filled with tears. “And even if you’re with someone else now, someone who won’t hurt you the way I have, I want to put all my cards on the table. I’m sorry, Tuck. I’ve learned a lot in the last week, but most of those lessons have hurt you in the process too. I hope you can forgive me.”

  Tucker barely let me finish the words before pulling me to where he sat on the porch railing. “There’s no one but you.” He kept his hands on my waist as he looked me in the eye. “And of course I forgive you.” He kissed me, gently, sweetly, a lingering kiss that made my head spin. When he finally pulled back, he used his hands to wipe away an errant tear still making its way down my cheek.

  “No more apologies, all right?” He spoke quietly, pushing a strand of hair away from my face. “And no more index cards.” He bit his cheek but the smile appeared anyway. “I really didn’t love AP English the first time.”

  I frowned. “The last time I made index cards and didn’t use them, I got in a heap of trouble. It’s good to be organized.”

  He kissed my cheek sweetly. “No, it’s weird.” Another kiss, along the line of my jaw. “But I’ll tell you one thing.”

  “What’s that?” I leaned into him, worrying that the lightness in my heart and head would soon prevent me from standing on my own two feet.

  “Pete is going to be very, very happy you’re back.” He pulled me close and looked over my shoulder. “You are back, right?”

  I followed his gaze behind me and saw a gaggle of workers standing in the picture window. When I turned, they started whooping and clapping, giving us the thumbs-up. Pete looked like he’d just won a heavyweight fight, all fist bumps and high fives to the men around him.

  I laughed and waved, totally embarrassed and totally, ridiculously happy. “Yes,” I said, still laughing. “I’m back.” I turned to face him. “And I’m totally, finally, all yours.”

  Tucker planted a kiss on my lips, his hands on my face, and grinned as the guys’ cheers escalated in volume.

  “Hey,” he said.

  “Mmm?”

  “Welcome home.”

  thirty

  I held her off for a few weeks, but Gigi was relentless. I pulled up the minivan to the back of the familiar tent and shifted into park, switching off the engine and the headlights.

  “And I’m back to the very beginning,” I said, but there was no rancor in my tone. I turned to Gigi and felt a sleepy smile start to form. “Shall we, then?”

  “Yep,” she said, and offered her palm for a high five. I complied and then shook my head.

  “I’m here, but I still object to the insane hour. I just want that to go on record.” I pulled myself out of the driver’s seat and stretched my arms to the still-starry sky. Along the far eastern horizon, the inky black was turning to indigo, but it was still ridiculously early in the morning. I gathered my small pile of dresses, fledgling but promising ideas that had taken shape over the last week, and I followed Gigi to the open flaps of the tent.

  “It’s not that early,” Gigi groused. “Any time after five o’clock in the morning is a perfectly reasonable time to start a day.”

  I muttered a rebuttal of that argument.

  Gigi was having none of it as she entered our little booth and started setting up shop. “You millenniums.”

  “Millennials.”

  “Millenniums, millennials, same difference,” she said, not looking up from her sales table. “People in your age group are utterly confused about how the world works. When you get up early, you get more done. And you don’t need to text message or electronic mail or social media every one of your friends every day, all day. You need to look up when you’re walking down a sidewalk or you’ll miss your life or maybe break a limb.”

  I rolled my eyes but my smile was definitely making a liar out of me.

  “Did you know,” she continued, poking the air with a pair of scissors as she talked, “that in Australia they are having an election by mail for some referendum or another, and everyone is worried that the millenniums won’t be able to figure out how to mail a letter?” She trained feisty eyes on me. “They don’t know how! I read all about it on the World Wide Web.” She shook her head, turning back to a stack of blank order forms. “They’ve made all sorts of instructional videos about what those big red boxes on the street are really for. Can you imagine?” She harrumphed in disgust and I giggled.

  “At least you don’t sound angry at progress,” I said, and was rewarded with an eruption of a sigh.

  “Progress?” she huffed. “Progress will be when twenty-three-year-old people can place their own prestamped ballots in the mail without needing their phones to show them how.”

  I was fully snort-laughing now, which was only making Gigi’s tirade increase in volume. Right about when she settled into the abominable condition of network TV, I was attacked by a group hug smelling of lavender, hair spray, and cinnamon toast. The girls had found me.

  Goldie was in the inner circle of the hug and was cooing the loudest, but I glimpsed Edna, the twins, and even Myrna within the wash of permed hair and nylon tracksuits.

  “All right, now, give the girl room to breathe,” Myrna snapped, but I caught her eye and saw her grinning. “She’s used to crowds in the Big Apple, but there’s no need to suffocate her in Silver Creek.”

  I was surprised to feel my eyes stinging with tears as I gathered in their faces, lined with years and full lives, but still soft and open and brimming with care for me. “Ladies,” I said, “I’m so sorry things didn’t work out the way we wanted.” My voice caught at the end and Goldie and Edna each grabbed one of my hands, squeezing them as the group faced me, tsking.

  “We are so proud of you, Grace,” Goldie said with resolve. “You do not need to apologize.”

  I raised my eyebrows to question how deeply she meant those words.

  “All right,” she conceded. “It’s true you could have called more and sent more selfies. But other than that, we think you should feel proud of yourself for not putting up with that man and his idea of what your company should be. It wasn’t right, and it wasn’t you.”

  “Bullies have no spine,” Myrna said, chin lifted in defiance to James, who, I was sure, wouldn’t care a whit about Myrna Hopkins, but who really, truly should. “I can just imagine that man with his crocodile shoes and his smarmy smile.” She wrinkled her nose. “Not half the man of your Tucker, I’ll say that.”

  The ladies cast quick, nervous glances at one another, and I smiled. “I like the sound of that, Myrna,” I said reassuringly. No need to worry about where I stood with Tucker Van Es. I was no longer the biggest fool in town. “ ‘My Tucker.’ Sounds lovely.”

  The ladies nodded, but their smiles were tense. I looked at Gigi for explanation but she had her head down and was industriously organizing a basket of scarves that already looked perfect to me.

  I narrowed my eyes at the women and was just about to ask why they were acting so cagey when Goldie’s face lit up. She was looking just past my right shoulder and w
hen I turned, my heart flipped.

  “We were just talking about you,” I said, my pulse quickening just from seeing him. Tucker Van Es was a lot of things. And I was pleased to note, even at an unspeakable hour of the day, one of those things was very, very good-looking.

  He zeroed in on the women behind me. “You were, were you? I hope it was all good, ladies.”

  I looked back at the semicircle of white and gray hair and saw every last one of them nodding, eyes big. I laughed and turned to Tuck. “They’ve suddenly gone silent, which is a bit worrisome to me.”

  “Don’t worry,” he said, pulling me to him and kissing me softly on the cheek. “Good morning,” he said, his voice low in my ear.

  “Oh, well, that’s a little timid, don’t you think?” Goldie was scolding us from behind. “That’s the best kiss you can dredge up, Tucker?” She tsked. “And people think we’re the old people around here.”

  He locked eyes with me, his face showing mock disbelief. “Is she baiting me? I feel like she’s baiting me.”

  I nodded, suddenly serious. “I believe she is. However will you respond?”

  He winked at the ladies and took my hand. “There will be plenty of time for other kinds of kissing,” he said with a nod to our peanut gallery. They murmured their approval as I was pulled away by Tuck’s strong hand.

  “Wait,” I said, looking over my shoulder. “Shouldn’t I be helping Gigi set up?” But Gigi grinned and waved.

  “I already cleared this with her. We’re good,” he added quietly, and pulled me closer to him as we walked side by side down the lane of booths. He nodded at people he knew, and I could feel them stopping to watch as we passed.

  “Good gravy,” I said. “I feel like I’m walking with royalty. Guess I’m not the only one smitten with you around here.”

  He smiled, eyes ahead. “There’s just nothing else going on in this town, you know that. Quiet place we live in, Grace Kleren.”

  “Sometimes quiet is just perfect,” I said, and meant it.

  I looped my arm around his waist and felt him slow our pace as we neared the entrance to the tent. “Where are we headed?” I craned my neck to try to glimpse the darkness outside. “It’s still nighttime out there, you know. Nobody’s making doughnuts quite yet.”

  I looked up at him. He bit his lower lip and met my gaze. “We’re going for a walk.” He was suddenly very serious, and I felt my heart jump.

  “All right,” I said, feeling my stomach sink. “You’re not breaking up with me, are you?” I meant it as a joke, but my somber tone didn’t quite pull it off.

  His smile was crooked. “Not exactly.” Lifting the flap of the tent aside, he held it for me to walk through.

  I breathed in the sweet smell of the last days of summer and waited for my eyes to adjust to the darkness. And then my breath caught in my throat.

  “Tucker.”

  Along the path that wound away from the tent, trees were lit up with sparkling lights. Hundreds of lights, beautiful and lively and dispelling the darkness around them. I started toward them slowly, my footsteps quiet along the thick grass. The lights were coming from within lanterns hung from branches all along the path. The effect was ethereal, and I felt a lump in my throat. I looked at Tucker, who had come to stand beside me and was watching my face.

  “You did this for me?”

  “I did.” His voice was deep and quiet.

  I saw movement behind us and realized a crowd had gathered outside the open flaps of the tent. A slow smile spread across my face and I nodded toward the onlookers.

  “It appears you’ve stopped set-up.” I shook my head. “Quite a feat with the Midwestern work ethic around here.”

  He tipped his cap to our fans and then tugged me toward the path. “Like I said, nothing happening in this sleepy town.”

  I settled my hand in his, feeling the warmth from it spread. The lights above us danced, flickering and winking as they lit our way. Tucker walked in silence for a bit and I followed his lead, starry-eyed at the transformation of the long line of trees, their full branches lit up and magical against a deep cobalt sky.

  “You did this for me,” I said again, shaking my head in wonder. “It’s beautiful, Tuck.”

  He cleared his throat, glancing at me quickly before returning his gaze to the path ahead. “I’m glad you like it.” His shoulders were hunched a bit and he’d jammed his free hand into his jeans pocket.

  “Hey,” I said, pulling him back a bit. “Slow down, champ. I want this to last a long time. You’re walking too fast.”

  “Oh. Sorry,” he said, and made it about three strides before resuming his pace.

  “Listen, speedster, it’s not every day a girl—” I stopped my protests abruptly when we rounded the bend, finding ourselves back at the footbridge where we’d stood only a few months before. Small lanterns lined the bridge’s walkway on both sides, and more candles and lanterns dotted the shore along the creek. I stared.

  “Oh good,” he said, relieved. “I was worried the breeze would have done some damage.” He smiled at me and pulled me, walking backward as I followed him to the bridge. “I like the look on your face. You’re not easy to surprise, Kleren. That control issue and all.”

  My eyes were roaming, hungry to take it all in. “I’m ignoring that unfounded comment and just basking. Let me bask.”

  “Bask away,” he said. We came to a stop at the top of the bridge’s arc. The night was starting to lift and the ocean blue of the sky was a breathtaking counterpoint to the wash of flickering candlelight.

  “Really early last spring,” I said, “when I’d just gotten back to Iowa, we walked here. Do you remember?”

  Tucker nodded, watching me.

  “I was so nervous,” I admitted. “You were so perfect and handsome and strong, and irritating.”

  He made a face. “I liked the way that started but the ending was pretty poor.”

  “You wouldn’t even tell me if you were single.” I raised one eyebrow in reprimand. “You weren’t exactly making it easy on me. Of course,” I added, wincing, “you had good reason.”

  “Grace.” He turned me to him and put his hands on both sides of my face as he kissed me, long and sweet. I murmured, “Goldie would have approved of that,” and raised myself on my tiptoes for another.

  “Wait.” He kept his face next to mine. “I need you to hear me.”

  I stepped back a bit, searching his eyes with my own.

  “Here’s the thing.” His eyes were intent, shining. “I’m not single.”

  I laughed and the sound rang out in the hush of the creek side. “I’m glad.”

  He pressed on, his words tumbling out. “I love you, Grace. With a crazy, reckless, exhausting love. I’ve loved you since I was a kid, when we’d play tag and all I’d want was for you to catch me so I could make Gracie Kleren smile. I’ve loved you as a moody, heartsick teenager who couldn’t hear any pop song or see any movie without getting angry that no girl alive was as beautiful and smart and funny as you. And now.” His voice became gravelly, rough. “I love you as a man. A man who can’t sleep well when you’re miles away. A man who drives his coworkers nuts because nothing and no one compares to the promise of seeing you when the day is done. A man who builds a house, intending it for a buyer . . .”

  He paused and I caught my breath as I followed his thoughts.

  He shook his head. “But finally having to admit I put every part of it together with your face and laugh and happiness in mind.”

  My tears were falling freely when he went down on one knee and looked up at me, eyes trained on mine.

  “Grace Kleren, I will love you until I take my very last breath. Will you marry me?”

  I didn’t wait for him to slip the ring on my finger. I didn’t wait to say yes and yes and yes, a word I would never tire of saying for the next weeks, months, and years. And I certainly didn’t wait for him to ask again. I pulled him to his feet, wrapped my arms around him, and kissed him through my tear
s. Because, I reasoned as he lifted me from my feet and turned me slowly, his strong embrace holding me fast, I figured a lifetime of waiting was more than enough.

  thirty-one

  Tucker used his shoulder to make the heavy front doors of the church give way, and we stepped into the fall sunshine. Myrna was at the organ, pounding out a raucous version of “Great Is Thy Faithfulness” that we could hear even when Tuck let the door shut behind us.

  “Hurry and kiss me before all those people find us,” he said, framing my waist with his hands and pulling me toward him. “So.” Kiss. “Many.” Kiss. “People.” Kiss on my laughing lips, along my jawline, the tender skin of my neck.

  I pushed him gently and made him look at me. “I love you. So much, it’s pretty much taking over my life.”

  He rolled his eyes and starting kissing again. “I already know that part, but thanks. Now stop talking.” He commenced kissing and said into my neck, “What do you say we skip the reception? We’ve seen that barn plenty of times. No need to waste another afternoon there, even if it does look pretty good with all those flowers and lights and stuff.” Kiss, along my collarbone.

  I pushed him, not as gently, laughing at his insistence. “We might be missed,” I said, pointing to my dress, his suit. “And I didn’t make this dress just for a forty-five-minute ceremony. The dress is made for dancing too.”

  Tucker took me in, head to toe, taking his time. I had to admit it: the dress was a stunner. The design process had been an emotional rush. On several occasions, I’d found myself giddy and humming as I made the fabric come alive from my sketch and to my measurements. Ivory, strapless, with a soft A-line, the dress had a fitted bodice and a lace skirt with pretty, feminine lines. The peplum accent was made of lace from my mother’s wedding gown. Gigi had cried when I’d put it on.

  Tucker ran his hand along my waist, his strong fingers careful and deliberate on the delicate fabric. I felt a shiver down my spine as he spoke, a wicked twinkle in his eye. “It would be a shame not to get to see you in this dress any longer today.” He cocked his head, thoughtful. “Unless, of course, the other choice is to see you out of this dress.”