Maggie finally spoke. “You mean for now, right?”
“I don’t know.” Merrilee pressed a hand to her forehead. “I fully expect the man to be gone this morning.”
“But he’s come all the way across the country and he said he wanted to know Claire. That’s a pretty strong incentive to stick around for a while.”
John said he wanted to make a life with me, but that didn’t keep him from leaving and breaking my heart. The mistakes she’d made with John were too painful, even now. Claire’s heart was too fragile to take another disappointment. No, as her mother, Merrilee had to protect her daughter. “Maggie, the only way John Davenport is going to stick around Marietta is if someone nails his feet to the ground.”
The two sat quietly for a moment, then Maggie leaned toward her and wrapped her arms around her. “I’m so sorry, Merrilee.”
“Me, too.” And she was, for Claire and her hopes for a real father in her life. For herself and what could have been if John had stayed true to his vows.
A light tap at the kitchen door caused both women to look up.
“Who would be coming to call this early in the morning?” Maggie asked as she went to the door.
“It’s not a telegram from the War Department, is it?” Merrilee turned in her chair and leaned across the table, anxiety pooling in the pit of her stomach. With two nephews still in battle, dread hung in the air at the thought of a missive from Western Union.
The light oak door blocked any view Merrilee might have had of the visitor. She waited, her hands fisted into tight knots in her lap, any words between her niece and the unknown visitor lost in the thumping of her heart in her ears.
But when Maggie peeked around the edge of the door at her, the impish grin and a hint of mischief that sparkled in her sea-green eyes put Merrilee on alert.
“John Davenport’s here, and he’s got a hammer and some penny nails with him.”
Chapter Four
John, here?
But he was supposed to be gone, fled once he learned the depth of Claire’s physical problems. The wooden legs of the chair scratched against the brick floor as she stood, then hesitated. “What does he want?”
“I don’t know. Why don’t you ask him yourself?” The words were innocent enough, but her niece’s glance spoke volumes.
Coward!
Merrilee pursed her lips. Who was her niece calling a coward? The only time she’d backed away from a fight, she’d been five months pregnant and on bed rest. No, if John wanted a fight, she’d be happy to give him one. She rounded the table and walked to stand next to Maggie. “I’ll just do that, then.”
The question stuck in her throat as she looked at the man standing on the concrete slab just outside her kitchen. Wearing a white T-shirt and a pair of overalls that had seen better days, the broad expanse of John’s muscular shoulders seemed to brush against the brick border on either side of the doorway. His hair was combed back neatly, shorter than he used to wear it, drawing attention to the granite cut of his jaw. She dropped her gaze, only to find herself staring at his hands, one holding a metal toolbox while the other held a rusted bucket, which contained the nails Maggie had mentioned.
Merrilee drew in a deep breath. What on earth was she doing, gawking like some lovesick schoolgirl? This man had walked out on her and Claire, and he’d do it again. She needed to send him away before he did any real damage. “What are you doing here, John?”
The dark blue of his eyes suddenly sparked with mayhem. “Good morning to you, too.”
She braced herself against his crooked smile even as her toes curled inside her shoes. “Is it?”
“Merrilee!” Maggie whispered sharply beside her.
But John just chuckled, a deep throaty sound she still remembered in the mist of long sleepless nights. “Someone hasn’t had her cup of coffee this morning. I know your daddy taught you better manners than that. Snapping at a person, particularly one who’s here to help, isn’t a very attractive quality in any woman, much less a Daniels.”
She mashed her lips together in a painful line. Oh, her daddy had taught her plenty all right, mainly that she wasn’t worth much if she didn’t do his bidding. But Daddy had been dead almost five years now, and she could finally do as she pleased, even ask questions and demand replies. “You still didn’t answer me.”
Merrilee’s jaw tightened as one side of his mouth curled upward in that same crooked grin she’d seen on her daughter’s face for the past eleven years. It had hurt at first, watching the child she loved smile that smile, but all that remained now was a slight ache.
“I thought I’d work on that ramp you’ve got out front. It wobbles quite a bit whenever Claire uses it.”
He’d been here long enough yesterday to see Claire struggle up and down the ramp? “I noticed that myself, which is why I planned on fixing it today.”
“You?”
The way he said it, so condescending. Just like a man. “Yes, me,” she snapped.
“Then you don’t have to worry about it now.” He tightened his grip around the handle of the pail, penny nails winking back at her. “I’ll take care of it.”
She didn’t need any favors, particularly from this man. “That’s all right. I can handle it.”
John’s gaze hardened for an instant before focusing on a point just over her shoulder. “She’s always been this stubborn. Did you know that?”
“Family trait,” Maggie answered with a chuckle. “Daddy says all the Daniels women are as stubborn as mule’s teeth.”
Merrilee shot her niece a venomous look. Traitor!
John’s warm laughter brought her attention back to him. “Aren’t you going to introduce me?”
She hadn’t planned on it, but he’d left her no choice now. “John, I don’t know if you remember Jeb’s daughter, Maggie Hicks. Maggie, this is John Davenport.”
“It’s nice to finally meet you, John. I’ve heard so much about you.”
Gracious gravy, what was Maggie trying to do? Stir up a pit of rattlesnakes? This meeting with John was already uncomfortable as it was.
But if John sensed the daggers she was shooting at her niece, he didn’t show it. “How is your father doing?”
Maggie pushed in close behind Merrilee. “Good. He’s still running his crop-dusting business out of his farm in Hiram.”
“I remember when we cleared out that field on the north side of your house to make the runway.” John nodded. “Good man, your dad.”
Merrilee blinked. Had John truly said something nice about one of her male kin? The world must have fallen into mayhem. Or maybe John had finally changed his opinion on the matter.
She knew she had.
“Would you like a cup of coffee?”
Merrilee glared at her niece. Had pregnancy caused Maggie to take leave of her senses? Even now, the room seemed to shrink around her at just the thought of John sitting at her table after all these years.
“That’s mighty nice of you, Maggie, but I’m already looking at half a day’s work just getting the boards measured and cut for the ramp.”
Why wouldn’t he let that go? “The ramp is fine, John. Or it will be once I work on it.”
“The wood is rotted. Claire could put the tip of her crutch down wrong and go right through the board,” he answered matter-of-factly, his words clipped as he turned his dark blue glare on her. “She could get hurt.”
Merrilee’s stomach turned sour. She’d known the wood wasn’t in the best condition but with building supplies rationed like sugar, she’d been forced to use what she had on hand. “At least let me help you pay for the boards.”
His expression turned stormy, his jaw clenched so tight, she feared for a second the bones would shatter. “I don’t need your daddy’s money to do something for our daughter. Is that und
erstood?”
She hesitated for a moment before nodding. What would John say if he knew the Daniels money was just a memory now, like the Charleston dance or silent pictures? Or that the only way she could acquire Claire’s treatments was to spy on her friends and neighbors? A new fear lanced through Merrilee. What if he found out the truth—that she was about to lose the house he’d bought her—and decided Claire would be better off living with him?
“It was nice meeting you, Maggie.”
“Nice to meet you, too.”
John turned away from the door and headed across the yard, the morning dew clinging to the legs of his overalls, darkening the denim cuffs to pitch-black. As if he knew she was watching, he glanced over his shoulder, the harsh line of his mouth making her heart sink even more. If John chose to fight her on which of them was better suited to provide for their daughter, she’d give as good as she got.
Even if it broke her heart again.
“He’s a handsome fellow, isn’t he?”
In her musings, she’d forgotten her niece standing nearby. “Well, you know the old saying. Beauty is only skin deep, but ugly goes clean to the bone.”
Maggie scoffed. “You didn’t come off too pretty yourself this morning, drilling him like he was one of Mack’s suspects down at the police station. He only wanted to do something any father would do for his child.”
“Maybe, but why now? Why, after all these years, after all those letters I sent him despite never getting any reply, does he show up to make some claim on Claire now?”
“I don’t know. But aren’t you always the one who says God reveals His plans when we least expect it?”
“Yes,” she answered grudgingly. That was before Claire had come down with the polio, before Merrilee had mortgaged her house to pay for Claire’s treatments, before she’d had to barter her soul to the army for a cure to heal her daughter’s leg that might not ever come.
No, if she could get Claire into Warm Springs, there was a chance her baby could be whole again.
“I just wonder where he got those new boards from.”
“New boards?”
“For Claire’s ramp. Weren’t you listening?” Maggie chuckled as she walked back to the table. “Wesley’s been talking about making a crib for the baby, but Mr. Drummond down at the hardware store says it would take an act of Congress to get enough wood in the near future.”
“And John said he had new boards?”
Maggie nodded. “Yes.”
Maggie was right—that didn’t make any sense. So where would he have gotten new boards for Claire’s ramp?
Only one place. Aurora’s.
* * *
John held the four-by-four flush against the stud, the penny nail secured between his fingers, a light dusting of rust covering his thumb and forefinger. It had taken half the night to sand down the three old boards Aurora had had stashed in the barn, but he’d wanted them to look nice as well as be sturdy for Claire. A lot of work, maybe, but he’d do it again in a heartbeat. Anything for his little girl.
And he wouldn’t take a penny for it, no matter what Merrilee thought.
He lifted the hammer and banged it down against the nail head. Why had Merrilee flung her family’s money in his face? Was she cruising for a fight? Or had she learned about the deal he’d made with her father some twelve years before?
John grabbed another nail from the bucket. He’d been a fool back then, trying to negotiate with Jacob Daniels. But it was the only way he’d ever imagined he could give Merrilee the home she deserved. Now she was living in the Daniels’s homestead, and he was on the outside looking in, hoping for a glimpse of his daughter.
The screen door squealed open, the soft thump of wood against wood causing John to stop what he was doing and look up. A smile lifted his lips as he regarded the young girl who had him so neatly twisted around her little finger. The blue-and-white-plaid dress she wore hit her a few inches about the knee—too short in his opinion, but then, he was her father. What would he know about dresses and such? “Well, hi there.”
“You’re back.” A smile hovered around her lips, but didn’t move up into her jade-colored eyes.
“I told you I would be.”
“I just figured...” she started to say, taking a little step closer, then hesitated, her gaze shifting to the hammer and nails. “What are you doing?”
It troubled him, this uncertainty on his little girl’s face. Didn’t Claire have any idea she was perfect just the way she was, limp and all? “I noticed this ramp was wobbling a little bit when I was here yesterday, and decided to fix it.”
“You know how to build stuff?”
Was that a note of excitement in her voice? What would she do if he told her he’d helped build Boulder Dam? He checked himself in time, remembering that Beau had told her about their adventures there. As smart as Claire was, she’d probably put two and two together and figure out who he was. “Yes, for the most part.”
“Who taught you how to do it?”
He leaned back against the railing and studied the wonder that was his daughter. “You’re a nosy little monkey, aren’t you?”
“Mama says you won’t ever find out the answers if you don’t ask the questions.” She stretched her crutch out to the side and slid her heavily braced right leg forward, crumbling against the crutch as she tried to maintain her balance.
Part of him wanted to lift her up in his arms and promise she’d never have to use the cumbersome crutch and brace again, but that wouldn’t be doing her any favors. No, the only way she’d grow strong was in the struggle. Mattie had taught him that.
But he could give her help. “Can I ask you something?”
“Okay.”
“Is that crutch you’re using comfortable when you walk?”
Dark red lashes hugged the upper slopes of her cheeks as she closed her eyes. “None of this stuff is comfortable.”
Poor girl. He held out his hand. “Can I look at it for a minute?”
Her eyes flew open. “Why?”
Again with the questions. Just like her mother! “I think the reason it’s more uncomfortable than usual is because you’ve grown a couple inches since you started using it.”
“So it’s too short for me?” She handed him her crutch.
“For now,” he answered, studying the wooden arms. “But I’m going to unscrew these wing nuts and pull it out a bit to fit your height, and looky there.” He slid the leg up a couple inches, then lined up the two holes before retightening the screw. “We’ve fixed the problem.”
She took the crutch from him, shoving it under her left arm. “Hey, that is better.”
John bowed his head slightly. “I aim to please, ma’am.”
He watched as she hobbled around the porch. She moved across the floor better now, without as much of the limp he’d noticed yesterday at the wedding. Why hadn’t one of the doctors Claire had been visiting for treatment noticed something as simple as lengthening her crutch? Why hadn’t Merrilee?
“You know, Mama says I’m not going to need a ramp or crutch real soon,” Claire said, her gaze sliding to the floor.
John frowned. He’d seen that look before reflected back at himself. Their daughter wasn’t convinced of Merrilee’s assurances, not for one second. But why? Had she given up hope? “When you don’t need the ramp anymore, I’ll come over here and tear it down.”
A faint smile returned. “Really?”
“Then you’ll have to help me pull out every last one of these nails and straighten them out so that we can build something new.”
“Like a doghouse?”
He glanced around the yard. “Do you have a dog?”
Twin pigtails shook from side to side. “No. Mama says it’s hard enough to feed a house full of people without having to wor
ry about taking care of a dog, too.” Holding her braced leg out in front of her, Claire climbed down her crutch until she fell a short distance to the step beside him.
“I’m impressed,” John said. “Not everyone can do that.”
A shadow fell over her face. “I’ve had lots of practice.”
His poor baby girl. No telling how much longer she’d be struggling to regain the strength in her leg. Merrilee had sought treatment for Claire, but where and with whom? What if there is nothing else anyone could do? How could he help this precious girl understand she was loved, no matter how her body failed her? Help my baby girl, Father. And if she’s to remain like this, give her the strength to handle it.
He watched Claire study the hammer and the other tools he’d brought to fix her ramp. Healing her might be out of his control, but he could teach her how to be more independent. “You want to help me out here?”
Claire’s eyes widened. “How can I? I don’t know how to do anything like that.”
“It just takes a little practice, that’s all.”
“But,” she started, her expression somber, “what if I mess up?”
“Honey, everybody makes mistakes when they try something new. That’s how you learn.” He twirled the hammer around in his hand until his fingers closed over the metal head, the handle stretched out to Claire. “And I figure if I can do it, someone as smart as you won’t have a problem at all.”
“You think so?”
He nodded. “You can do anything you put your mind to. Now, grasp the handle, like you’re shaking someone’s hand.”
She slid her delicate fingers over the wood and tightened her grip around the base of the handle. “Like this?”
“Good, good.” John made a note to himself to run by Drummond’s Hardware Store and see if they had a smaller hammer he could buy for Claire.
“It’s a little bit heavy.” She lifted the head of the hammer toward her, eyeing the claw hook with some suspicion. “What does this end do?”
Hearts Rekindled Page 5
