Hearts Rekindled

by Patty Smith Hall

  “Yeah!” the child repeated, then took off in the direction of the slides. John stood. School must have let out for the day judging by the number of kids now crowding into the swing sets and seesaws. What kinds of things did Claire like to do? Did she like exploring the woods behind her house or was she more of a bookworm like her mother? He grimaced as the memory of his daughter leaning on her crutch lanced through him.

  “So did you talk to Merrilee?” Ms. Aurora sunk down into a nearby bench and settled her purse beside her. “She must have been as surprised as I was when you showed up on her doorstep.”

  “Things didn’t go like I’d hoped.”

  “Do they ever?” She nodded to the space next to her.

  “No,” John dropped down in the seat beside her. “I guess not.”

  Aurora reached over and patted his hand, reminding him of when she would comfort him as a small boy. “At least you’re back home.”

  Guilt flooded through him like a jolt of electricity at the thought of how long he’d been away. The truth was that losing Merrilee and his hope for the family they’d planned to build together had right near killed him. He couldn’t return to Marietta, not after the last time when he’d shown up for the divorce hearing only to be told Merrilee had sent her father in her place. Jacob Daniels had crowed like a rooster at sunrise, thrilled to let him know that Merrilee had moved on with her life. She was extraordinarily happy. There hadn’t seemed much sense in sticking around. He’d distanced himself from almost everything that had to do with Merrilee, including Aurora. The woman who’d been like a mother to him.

  “I’m sorry, Ms. Aurora. I shouldn’t have just left like that.”

  “You had a job you needed to get back to. Plus I figured God would bring you home when He was good and ready.” She lifted her face to his, her mouth quivering into a watery smile. “And here you are.”

  “Thank you.” John covered Aurora’s hand with his. The woman dished out love like she did everything else in her life, in abundance. “Aren’t you going to ask me why I’ve come back to Marietta after all this time?”

  “That’s your story to tell, son, and I figure you’ll tell it when you’re ready.” The steel-colored bun at the nape of her neck bounced slightly. “So are you going to tell me what happened with Merrilee?”

  With a glance to check on Ellie, John reached into his coat pocket for his daughter’s letter, then handed it to Ms. Aurora. “I got this two weeks ago.”

  The older woman read over the sheet of paper then glanced over at him. “I don’t understand.”

  “I didn’t know I had a daughter until I received this letter. Merrilee never told me.”

  Ms. Aurora’s mouth gaped open in disbelief. “That doesn’t sound like her.”

  He had to admit, it didn’t sound like the woman he’d known. But if life had taught him anything, it was that nothing ever stayed the same. “Nothing folks do surprises me anymore.”

  Aurora ignored his sarcastic remark. “But I know Merrilee. Are you sure she didn’t write you?”

  The only correspondence he’d received from his former wife in the months after he’d enlisted in the Civilian Conservation Corps was the letter from her father’s lawyer, informing him about the divorce. “She wasn’t one to keep up with correspondence.”

  The older woman chuckled softly. “Neither were you, son.”

  “I wrote.” Sparse letters to Aurora, just to let her know he still lived. But to Merrilee, he’d written pages filled with plans for the farm they hoped to settle one day, news about his days with the intricate work of building dams and planning new roadways he’d discovered came so easily to him, confessions of the aching loneliness he felt every night when he returned to the bunkhouse alone. His alarm had grown every day when it felt as if everyone around him had received some letter or package from their sweethearts or wives except for him. John ran a hand across his brow, his palm coming away with a fine sheen of moisture. “I know one thing. I would have been back a long time ago if I’d known about Claire.”

  “I know you would have.” She nudged him with her shoulder. “So did you meet her? Claire, that is.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” The memory of those few moments when his compliments had turned his daughter’s cheeks pink with girlish delight made him stretch taller. Paternal pride? “She’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen, Ms. Aurora.”

  “The spitting image of her mother.”

  “Yes,” he whispered under his breath, his stomach muscles clenching. If anything, Merrilee had grown more beautiful in the past twelve years. Of all the emotions he’d expected to feel today, he’d been surprised there was no anger left in him, just a deep disappointment over what might have been. And as much as he hated to admit it, he still felt the urge to shield her from the likes of people like that bum he’d found her with on the porch. Logical he guessed, this need to protect the mother of his child, only it didn’t feel rational or wise.

  “How did it go?” Aurora gave him an encouraging smile.

  “Okay, I guess.” He hesitated. “For a first meeting.”

  Her gray brows drew together in confusion. “I don’t understand.”

  Aurora wasn’t the only one. What could be wrong with a child knowing their father? Except he wasn’t sure how long he’d have with Claire before the navy settled his case. Was he being selfish for wanting to know his child, even if it was just for a little while? “Merrilee seems to think Claire isn’t up to knowing the truth about who I am just yet.”

  Songbirds filled the brief silence between them. “She might have a point.”

  “What? I thought you’d be on my side.”

  “I never pick sides between people I love.” Aurora glanced toward the playground where Ellie happily lifted a handful of sand and watched it sift through her fingers. “But Claire’s not the same little girl she was before she contracted polio, and not just because her leg doesn’t work the way it should. No, there’s a heartsickness in that child that has nothing to do with her injury.”

  John pushed back, flattening his spine against the wooden slants of the bench. “You’ve spent time with Claire?”

  “Merrilee used to bring her out to visit with me every so often but after Claire got sick, she didn’t come out as much.” The lines across the older woman’s forehead deepened with disappointment. “I figured Merrilee just couldn’t face seeing my Billy without wondering if Claire would end up with a limp like him.”

  Sounded like Merrilee was the one with the problem. “What has been done to help Claire?”

  “From what I’ve heard, she’s taken that child to every specialist in Atlanta and Claire’s not any better.”

  John rubbed the back of his neck. The thought of his baby girl hurting felt like a knife to his chest. Whether she walked without the help of a crutch or cane again didn’t matter but if Claire was still willing to try new treatments, he’d do everything possible to make them happen. “What about the treatments we did with Mattie? You know, swimming and stretching in the water. Do you think they might help, if we told her about them?”

  Aurora’s mouth drew into a straight line. “I don’t know, son. Merrilee’s not one to take help from anyone. In fact, some of the men from the church offered to build a ramp up to her front porch so that Claire wouldn’t struggle so badly with those stairs but Merrilee told them no.”

  “She must have changed her mind because I saw a ramp when I was out there. It needed a little more work to make it sturdy, but other than that...” His mother’s stricken look halted his train of thought. “What is it?”

  She waved a bony finger at no one in particular. “If the ramp is there, you can be sure Merrilee built it herself.”

  That would explain the exposed nails. She probably didn’t have the strength to pound them into the boards completely. John blew out a harsh breat
h. “Good to know she’s just as stubborn as always. Did anyone try to reason with her about letting people pitch in?”

  “Beau tried, but Merrilee wouldn’t hear of it.”

  “What about James?” John asked. “He always had some pull with his sister.”

  “James is in prison.”

  About time, John thought. He’d never taken a liking to Merrilee’s oldest brother. At first, it had just been a gut feeling, but he had downright despised the man from the first time Beau had shown up on their doorstep sporting a bruised lip and a black eye courtesy of James Daniels. John had wanted to go after him, but Merrilee had begged him to leave James be and to focus on getting Beau out of that house instead. Beau had been safe from his father for years, but John was still glad to hear that the man was locked away. At least in prison, that piece of trash couldn’t get anywhere near Merrilee or Claire.

  All he had to worry about now was Major Evans.

  He stared out over the activity of the playground. Two little girls hugged the border of the area, whispering back and forth between themselves, their peal of childish giggles causing an ache to settle around his heart. He’d missed so much already, almost all of Claire’s girlhood. And if the navy didn’t drop the charges pending against him, he’d miss the precious years he would have spent watching her mature into a young woman. He had to make the most of his time right now. But how did he get started? John needed a plan.

  The idea that came to him was almost too simple. Merrilee might fuss a bit, but he’d made a living using a hammer and nails. And if that wasn’t enough to keep Merrilee quiet, well, it didn’t matter. He was Claire’s father and it was his job to keep her safe. “Ms. Aurora, do you know where I can get hold of a good hammer and some nails?”

  Her gray brows furrowed together. “What are you up to, John Davenport?”

  He smiled at her, the tension in his shoulders relaxing for the first time in days. “Going to build my daughter a solid, sturdy ramp, whether Merrilee likes it or not.”

  Chapter Three

  The gray shadows in the brief moments before the sun rose mirrored Merrilee’s mood as she made her way across the backyard to the kitchen. A yawn snuck up on her, a tender ache weighing down the muscles in her arms and legs, her eyes burning from countless hours of staring at the ceiling in the inky darkness of night, her mind reliving every moment of her time with John.

  Or was it my heart reminding me of what I’ve lost?

  She pushed the silly notion aside. Whatever feelings she had for John Davenport should have petered out a long time ago. No, it was just his sudden reappearance that had her feeling things she’d shelved away years before. It meant nothing that her heart had somersaulted when he’d been with Claire, looking at her as if she were the most perfect precious thing on this earth. He was right, Merrilee agreed silently. Their daughter was the best thing that had come out of the disaster that had been their brief marriage.

  The rich scent of brewed coffee wafted through the crisp morning air, spurring her forward. The last time someone else had beat her to the kitchen... Well, no one had ever beat her to the kitchen since her daddy had stood her up on a chair and told her she was the lady of the house when she was barely five.

  Lantern light flickered through the screen door. Merrilee peered inside. “Maggie?”

  Her niece lifted her head, her gaze glassy as she looked Merrilee over. “Why are you dressed like Rosie the Riveter this early in the morning?”

  Merrilee glanced down at her roomy one-piece coverall. “I noticed the ramp to the porch was a little wobbly so I thought I’d work on it. What about you? You’re up with the chickens this morning.”

  “I woke up feeling kind of sick to my stomach. Figured some dried toast would help.” A cotton sheet held more color than Maggie’s cheeks at the moment.

  Pulling open the door, Merrilee stepped inside, then made a quick turn and headed straight for the small pantry just off the kitchen door. “Soda crackers are good for morning sickness, you know.”

  Maggie gave her a weak smile. “Did you feel this sick when you were expecting Claire?”

  “How do you think I knew about the soda crackers?” Merrilee opened the tin and shook a few crackers onto a plate. Walking to the table, she set the dish in front of her niece and sunk down in the chair beside her. “Have you told Wesley?”

  “Are you kidding?” Maggie gave the crackers a wary glance then pushed the plate away. “He’s the one who told me! I had to make him pinky promise he wouldn’t tell anyone about the baby until we talk with Dr. Adams this afternoon.”

  “So I take it he’s excited by the news?”

  “Just like a kid on Christmas morning, waiting to see what Santa’s brought him to unwrap.” Maggie’s expression softened. “And he’s been so sweet. I mean, he’s always been wonderful but yesterday, he asked one of the ladies in the plant lunchroom to make me a pot of her homemade soup just because he knows how much I love it.”

  Sounded like something Wesley would do. The man was always looking for small ways to pamper his young wife, like the loving husband he was. The dull edge of some emotion—jealousy?—caught Merrilee by surprise. She was happy for her niece, really she was, but in moments like this, even with a houseful of people, Merrilee couldn’t help feeling, well, a bit lonely.

  “You two are going to make great parents,” Merrilee finally said, lightly squeezing Maggie’s fingers before letting them go. “It will be good to have a little one in the house again. Claire’s growing up so fast.”

  “How was Claire last night? Did she keep you up late as usual?” Maggie broke off a piece of cracker and popped it into her mouth.

  “No, she went down pretty early.” Which was odd, Merrilee thought. Since the evening the virus had struck, Claire had fought sleep as if she feared what the darkness would bring. Dr. Adams had assured Merrilee her daughter’s fear would pass, but it had been going on for a year now and only seemed to be getting worse. But last night, for the first time in ages, Claire had fallen asleep almost as soon as her head hit the pillow.

  “She seemed in a better frame of mind last night,” Maggie said, pushing away the plate of crumbs. “I figured she’d still be upset about you forcing her sit out the wedding procession.”

  Merrilee’s head jerked up. “You make it sound like I tied her to a chair.”

  “Well, you did in a way.” Maggie covered her aunt’s hand with her own. “You’ve got to let Claire live, even if she risks falling. It’s the only way she’ll learn to pick herself up and try again.”

  Easy for Maggie to say. Her child wasn’t crippled. “What if she does fall but can’t get up? What if she gets hurt? She’s already suffered enough, Maggie. I couldn’t stand for her to suffer any more than she already has.”

  “I know.” Her niece’s shoulders lifted in a sigh. “I don’t want to see her hurt any more than you do. But I can’t stand seeing you in pain, either. You’ve got to give this situation with Claire over to the Lord.”

  “I have,” Merrilee snapped, pulling her hands from Maggie’s grasp and settling them in her lap. She’d lost count of the times she’d prayed, begging for God to intervene, to heal Claire. But God hadn’t answered, at least not in any voice she understood. So until He did, she had to keep doing everything in her power to get Claire well again. “Sweetheart, I appreciate your concern, but let me deal with this, okay?”

  Maggie slumped slightly back into her chair. “Fine.”

  An awkward silence fell across the kitchen. Finally, Merrilee stood and, grabbing a cup from the strainer, walked over to the coffeepot on the stove. The warmth radiating from the metal doing nothing to chase the chill clinging to her soul. Why did everyone feel they had the right to tell her what to do? Did they believe she’d made such a mess of her life that she couldn’t figure things out for herself? Was that why God wa
s so quiet, because she’d failed Him in some way?

  “I meant to ask you,” Maggie said quietly. “Who was that man you were talking to after the wedding? I didn’t recognize him.”

  Merrilee cringed. Out of the frying pan, into the fire. “I talked to a lot of people yesterday.”

  “You couldn’t miss this one. Good-looking, blond, wearing a gray suit. He looked to be in his early thirties.”

  Thirty-one next month, Merrilee corrected to herself, though John still had a boyish charm about him, at least where his daughter, and it seemed, her niece were concerned. “That was John.”

  “John? I don’t believe I know anyone...” Maggie’s brows tightened into a perfect line, then released over wide green eyes. “Wait a minute. You mean your John?”

  Merrilee pressed her lips together. “He’s not my anything.”

  “But he was once, and he’s still Claire’s father.” Maggie crossed her arms over her waist, a pale rose faintly coloring her cheeks as if the news of John’s arrival had cheered her in some way. “Why didn’t you tell me about this last night?”

  “Because I was busy washing dishes after the wedding reception,” Merrilee said. “And paying bills and prepping for breakfast.” And if she were completely honest with herself, the fewer people who knew John was in town, the easier it would be for her when he left.

  And he would leave again.

  “Okay, you were busy and couldn’t tell your only niece that Claire’s daddy had come for a visit.”

  “Well, put that way, I sound like a thoughtless ogre.”

  “As long as you understand that.” Maggie gave her a lopsided smile. “So what did he want?”

  Merrilee hesitated for a brief moment, wondering how much to tell her niece, then figured she might as well spill the whole story. She told Maggie about Claire finding her father’s address in Beau’s room and sending him a letter over a year ago, about how John had only recently received it and immediately come to Marietta, about how she’d begged John not to reveal himself to their daughter. Merrilee finished with, “Once John realized just how bad things were with her, he decided not to tell Claire who he is.”