by Lee McKenzie
He started his car and set off down the driveway to River Road. Rose needed to get some help, and he wasn’t taking no for an answer.
* * *
ANNIE HAD BEEN clearing away the breakfast dishes when Paul had shown up. She wished he had called first. She could have ignored that because she hadn’t wanted to talk to him, much less see him. As soon as she’d heard the knock, she had known it was him. She’d been tempted to ignore it but he would see the cars parked out front and would know they were home. Luckily, the rest of the family had been occupied when he arrived.
CJ had headed to the stable right after breakfast. If she had been in the house, she would have insisted Paul come in for coffee. Isaac had balked at the idea of spending the rest of the morning resting in bed upstairs, so his grandfather had volunteered to keep him entertained. The two of them were now in her dad’s room, playing a card game. Beasley was in there with them, otherwise his barking would have alerted everyone in the house that someone was at the door. Her father would have invited Paul to stay, and Isaac would have wanted him to come in and talk about dinosaurs.
Now he was gone and she was alone in the kitchen, except for Chester, who was sleeping peacefully on his bed.
So yes, she’d been lucky. She finished loading the dishwasher, wiped the counters, dried her hands on a towel. She leaned on the edge of the sink and stared through the window at the winter wonderland outside.
She didn’t feel lucky. She felt fear, anger, guilt. And she had never felt so alone, not even after Eric died.
The view went blurry. She swiped her eyes with the towel.
This was stupid. She was being stupid, crying for something she couldn’t have. She needed to focus on the anger. This was Paul’s fault. It was. He shouldn’t have stood by and allowed her to leave her son with an alcoholic. She tried to focus on the anger, but her own guilt and fear were already gnawing at the edges of it.
She hated this feeling of being out of control. Why couldn’t she be just plain angry? Why did all these other emotions have to get involved and make her feel like a crazy person? Crazier still...why did she already miss him so much?
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
BY THE FOLLOWING Friday, almost a week after the accident, Thomas had made a decision. Life was short—a life that currently had an incredible woman in it, he reminded himself—and it was time he started living it. Libby was, well...she was amazing. She had strong family values. She was community-oriented and she had a generous spirit. She was elegant and easy on the eyes, and he was completely in love with her. It was time to pop the question. He had already picked the place, now he just needed to find the right time.
Libby was still at school but he would send her an email, let her know he was thinking about her, extend an invitation to Sunday dinner. He would ask her to come early, invite her to go to the gazebo with him. He had the perfect place, the perfect time, the perfect woman. And then he could share the happy news with the family while they were gathered around the dinner table.
He rolled to his desk, turned on the computer and opened his email. Before he could compose one to Libby, he spotted a message from his friend Nate Benson. The header grabbed his attention.
Subject: Our worst fears
“No. No, no, no. Not Nate’s youngest son. Please, God. No.”
Thomas steeled himself and opened the email.
My dear friend,
I have feared writing this email since our boy enlisted. Matt’s unit ran into some trouble last night. There is good news with the bad. He’s still alive, which can’t be said for everyone in that convoy. We were told he was okay, helped get a few of his comrades to safety. He was going back to help one more when they triggered a land mine. Sound familiar, my friend? There’s always one more, isn’t there?
He’s been airlifted to a hospital ship. He’s going to make it, so we’re told. But one of his legs is bad, real bad. They’re doing what they can to save it.
This has hit us hard, especially Angie. He’s her baby, you know? She wants to head over there but that’s not going to happen. It’s hard, but all we can do now is wait for him to come home.
I apologize for putting this in an email but we’re not up to making phones calls right now. I know you understand.
Nate
Thomas covered his face with both hands. He hated these stories. Nate’s son had a long struggle ahead. His body could be nursed back to health. By the sound of things there would be scars, visible physical ones. The emotional scars ran deeper, took longer to heal. Sometimes they never did. Thomas felt like he’d been one of the lucky ones. Most of his emotional scars had been inflicted closer to home when he had been left to raise three little girls on his own. In spite of losing the use of his legs, he’d been lucky in a lot of ways. In fact, when it came to his daughters, he often considered himself three times lucky.
He wanted to call Nate, hear his voice and know he was okay, but he also had to respect his friend’s need for privacy. Instead, he clicked on Reply and started to type.
Nate,
There are no words. You know I’m here for whatever you and your family might need. If your boy needs a quiet place to recuperate, you be sure to send him our way.
The farm was quiet, relatively speaking. It wasn’t Texas, but there were horses and, maybe more importantly, solitude.
We’ve got plenty of space in the house, or he can bunk in the room in the stable, where the stable hand stayed back in the day when we had one. Whatever you and Matt need, don’t hesitate to ask.
Give my love to Angie.
Thomas
After sending the email, he opened a new message and selected Libby’s address from his contacts and typed “Sunday dinner” into the subject line.
Libby,
I hope you’ll join us and bring your mother with you. Come early. I have a proposition for you.
Thomas
* * *
ON SUNDAY AFTERNOON, Libby helped her mother out of the car and walked slowly beside her as she pushed her walker up the ramp to the door of the Finnegan farmhouse.
“I’ve been here before,” Mable said.
“I’m sure you have.” Her mother would have known Thomas’s parents and had no doubt been here on several occasions.
“Whose place did you say this is?”
“The Finnegans. Emily’s father, Thomas, lives here with his two other daughters.”
“Emily is a good girl.” Mable’s breathing had turned to a wheeze by the time they reached the top of the ramp. “She’s having a baby. Did you know that?”
“Yes, I did. Are you feeling okay, Mom?”
“I’m fine, dear. All I’m feeling is old.”
CJ greeted them at the door, took their coats, led them inside. The kitchen was abuzz with pre-Sunday dinner activities, and the whole place was filled with the scents of herbs and spices, roasting meat and the two apple pies sitting on cooling racks on the counter. Annie stood at the island with a mountain of potatoes in front of her and a paring knife in her hand. Emily and her husband, Jack, sat at the table with Thomas.
Through the French doors she could see Isaac in his bright blue parka, romping with his border collie. He was a bright, engaging child and the broken arm had hardly fazed him. If anything, it had made him something of a hero among his classmates.
Emily rose as quickly as she could, given the ever-increasing size of her belly. She gave Mable a warm hug and settled her at the table. “I’ll get you some tea, Mrs. Potter. I know just how you like it.”
“Thank you.” Libby squeezed the young mother-to-be’s hand. She smiled at Thomas. “Hi.”
As much as Libby adored his family, she still felt a little shy around them. He broke the ice by taking her hand and pulled her down to his level for a quick kiss.
“
We have that thing, remember?” he asked. “While it’s still daylight, Libby and I are going to take a stroll to the gazebo,” he said to everyone else.
His daughters exchanged “the look” she had come to recognize as their secret, silent communication. They were a close-knit family, as tight as three sisters could be, and they deeply loved and respected their father. If it was possible to miss something she’d never had, she missed this sisterhood.
Knowing her mother would be happy here with Emily and Jack and the rest of the family, Libby followed Thomas to the front door. “A stroll?” she asked.
He gave her the quirky smile she had come to love and reached for his jacket. “Hey, you’re looking at the guy who put the roll in stroll.”
She loved the way he made her laugh and feel so at ease. She handed his gloves to him, pulled on her own. “You said in your email you have a proposition for me. I’m curious to know what it’s about.” If she had to guess, she would say it had something to do with volunteering at the veterans’ retirement home.
“All in good time. I’ll explain when we get to the gazebo.”
“Why the gazebo?” Although last week’s snowfall had melted, the temperature still hovered around the freezing mark.
“It’s kind of a Finnegan family tradition. You’ll see.” And that’s all he would say.
They strolled down the driveway in companionable silence, save for the crunch of gravel beneath his wheels and her boots, and then crossed River Road to the gazebo on the riverbank. The river was still open, its gunmetal surface reflecting the gray, late-afternoon sky. It wouldn’t be long before the river froze over and winter would come to stay and stick.
Thomas took the ramp and joined her as she climbed the steps and sat, facing the river, on the bench.
Libby could see her breath as she looked out over the Mississippi. “It’s always so beautiful here, no matter what season we’re in. Even wintertime.”
“I loved winter as a kid,” Thomas said.
“I’ve always been more of a spring-and-summer gal.”
“No winter sports for you?” he asked. “Sledding, ice skating, cross-country skiing—I did it all.”
Back in high school he had always been athletic. Losing the use of his legs must’ve been unimaginably difficult. “I have no idea how you coped.”
“My daughters depended on me. I had to cope. Besides, the qualities that make a man a good man...those things are up here.” He tapped his temple with an index finger, and then placed his hand over his heart. “And in here. Not here.” He patted his thigh.
If she’d had any doubts about being with Thomas—and truthfully, she had—they were swept away by what he had just said. She had never loved anyone as much as she loved him. She held out her gloved hands and he took them in his.
“Thank you,” she said. “I needed to hear that, to be reminded it’s true.”
“I had an email the other day from my old army buddy, Nate Benson.”
“He’s the one with a son who is currently on a tour of duty overseas?”
“Yes, in the Middle East. His unit was hit hard this week.”
“Is he okay?”
“Badly injured but he’s alive.”
“Oh, Thomas. Your friend’s family must be devastated.”
He nodded. “It’s just about gutted Nate. The medics are fighting to save Matt’s leg and it looks like he’ll have a long recovery ahead of him.”
“I’m so sorry.”
“I’ve invited him to come here when he gets back to the States. He’s been around horses all his life and I think Cassie Jo’s therapeutic riding program might be good for him.” Thomas grinned. “Cassie Jo might be good for him, too.”
Libby narrowed her eyes at Thomas. “You’re not trying to be a matchmaker, are you?”
“Never. CJ would never let me get away with it. But she does have a way with horses and people.”
“So, is that the proposition you mentioned in your email? I’ll be happy to help if you think there’s anything I can do.”
“No, I have something else in mind for you.”
His slow, lazy smile made her wish he would kiss her. Instead he glanced outside the gazebo, checked the sky.
“Gets dark early this time of year.”
He removed his gloves and pulled a small, flat-black wafer out of his jacket pocket, angled it so she could see a row of little buttons on one side of it. He pushed one of them, and the gazebo glowed with dozens of tiny white lights.
“Thomas, this is beautiful. Did you do this for me?”
“I did, with a little help from my friends. Jack and Paul gave me a hand.”
“It’s stunning. It’s...wait. Is that music?”
He nodded.
“The Beatles?”
He nodded again.
She listened to the lyrics and laughed. “This isn’t really a proposition, is it?”
“More of a proposal.” He slipped the remote back into his pocket and brought out a velvet ring box.
Libby felt her eyes go wide.
“Libby Potter, like the song says, when I’m sixty-four—”
“I will still need you.” The words came out in a rush. “I’ll still feed you, too.”
They laughed in perfect unison.
Thomas reached for her left hand and pulled off her glove. Still feeling wide-eyed, Libby watched as he opened the ring box and took her breath away.
“Oh, Thomas.” Nestled in the box was the most beautiful ring she had ever seen.
“The stone is called a golden topaz,” he said.
“I love it.” He slid it onto her finger. It was a perfect fit. The smoky-gold stone set in a circle of small diamonds sparkled with the reflection of the twinkly lights decorating the gazebo.
“I hope you like it. You wear color so well,” he said. “A diamond on its own seemed too plain.”
She gazed at it, misty-eyed. “Thomas Finnegan, that is the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me.”
He held her hands. “Just to make it official... Libby Potter, I love you. Will you marry me?”
“Yes. Yes! Of course I will.”
He pulled her to him and she went readily, sliding onto his lap, slipping her arms around his neck, settling her lips on his.
When she raised her head, finally, and met his gaze, she saw the love in his eyes matched the love in her heart.
“Let’s go back to the house and share our news.”
The idea momentarily jangled her nerves. “How will your family feel about this? About me?”
“They already love you as much as I do. They’ll welcome you with open arms. And I have an idea that young Isaac will be pretty happy about his grandma being his second-grade teacher.”
Grandma. She was going to be a grandmother, a stepmother. She was going to be Thomas’s wife. “Where are we going to live? You have your home, your family. I have my mother and her place.” She hadn’t thought about any of this until now and the logistics looked insurmountable.
“Hey, slow down. We’ll take it one step at a time, work things out. I’m guessing a ‘spring-and-summer gal’ is going to want a spring or summer wedding, so there’s no rush.”
She stood and took Thomas’s hand. “I love you.”
He took out the remote and turned off the lights and music as they left the gazebo. “Come on. Let’s go home.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
AS THE WEEKS after the accident trudged by, Annie did her best to hold her emotions at bay while plodding through the motions of preparing for the holidays. Thanksgiving came and she busied herself by decorating the house and planning meals for their traditional family dinner. The next day she did it all over again for the guests who had checked in to spend the weekend kicking o
ff the holiday season with trail rides followed by hot cocoa by the fire. This was Annie’s favorite time of year, but this year her heart wasn’t in it.
Her only real distraction was helping Emily prepare the nursery for the baby, who was due at Christmastime. For the baby’s sake, Annie hoped it wouldn’t be born on Christmas Day. Every child deserved to have its own special day. Annie also wished Emily and Jack had been willing to find out if the baby was a boy or a girl, but both parents had wanted to wait. This meant the nursery had to be gender-neutral, although in the end that had worked out fine.
Isaac’s crib was given a fresh coat of ivory paint. They hauled a vintage dresser out of the farmhouse attic, painted it to match the crib and topped it with a changing pad so it could serve double duty. Emily had decided she wanted the walls done in a soft shade of gray, which had horrified Annie until the room was complete and then she loved it. They painted an old wicker rocker to match the walls and sewed ivory cotton covers for the seat cushions. The crib’s bedding and other accessories were in soft shades of robin’s egg-blue, with a few splashes of orange interspersed for contrast. The overall effect was calm and soothing, and Annie loved it.
Working on the nursery had also been good because it took her away from the farm and gave her something to think about besides how Isaac’s arm was healing, where Rose had disappeared to and how none of this would have happened if Paul had been honest with her. And of course, she had snapped photos every step of the way, knowing she could easily get a month’s worth of Ask Annie columns out of decorating the nursery.
They finished the room on an afternoon in mid-December. Annie arrived at the farm before the school bus dropped off Isaac and with plenty of time to start dinner. She glanced through the mail CJ had left on the kitchen table and found an envelope addressed to her. She didn’t recognize the handwriting and the return address in Madison wasn’t one she recognized. The sender wasn’t identified. Interesting. She sat at her desk at the end of the counter, slit the envelope and pulled out a sheaf of lined pages. She unfolded them, gave them a quick scan.
