Mack shook his head. “Didn’t hear that part, but I can do some digging around, see if I can come up with a day.”
“I’d appreciate it,” John answered.
“We both would,” Merrilee added.
“Sure thing.” Mack lifted his hat and placed it on his head. “I’d better get back to town before anyone misses me.” He started down the steps, then turned back. “If you need anything, just let me know, okay?”
“Thank you, Mack.”
Color rose in the sheriff’s cheeks. A smile answered the one Merrilee had given him, only his held a hint of masculine appreciation. A lawman probably would have ranked higher than a dirt farmer with Jacob Daniels. Well, the man could pursue Merrilee later, out of his view. “Yes, thank you, Sheriff. If you’ll excuse us now, the kids are probably hungry and we need to get started on the chores.”
If Mack Worthington thought he was being rushed off, he didn’t show it. He took the steps two at a time. “I’ll see y’all later.”
Merrilee waved to the man one last time as he got into his car. “He turned out to be a nice boy.”
“A man doesn’t like being referred to as a boy.” Especially by a woman as beautiful as Merrilee.
“Well, Mack will always be that little boy who used to get into trouble with Beau.” She gave one last look to the sheriff’s departing car before turning toward the front door. “Give me about thirty minutes and I’ll have breakfast ready.”
“I’ll check on the kids and Ms. Aurora.” So Merrilee wasn’t interested in the good sheriff. The knowledge brought a smile to his face, though why, he wasn’t sure. Merrilee deserved to be loved by a good man, a man who appreciated a woman like her, kind and considerate, gracious to a fault. And beautiful—very beautiful. He swallowed past the hard knot in his throat.
He only wished it could have been him.
“After breakfast, maybe we could sit down and make a list of things to do to get ready, just in case we get a visit from the social worker,” Merrilee said as she opened the door.
John shook his head slightly. He had to focus if he wanted to keep Aurora’s family together, and that would mean keeping a nosy social worker at bay. No more daydreams of what could have been. Not now. Not ever.
* * *
Merrilee pushed open the kitchen door and stood, allowing her eyes a moment to adjust to the near darkness. A small lantern sat as the centerpiece on the table, a box of matches purposely left at the base. A soft scratch of wood against flint, the sharp smell of chemicals and a soft glow chased the darkness away.
Merrilee glanced around the space. Dish towels hung in a tidy row along the stove handle, an old but clean coffeepot resting in its place on the back burner. The cabinet tops were made of scarred wood and pale yellow curtains served as doors, the material so thin, the neatly arranged items on the shelves showed through. A mason jar of bacon grease sat alongside the salt and pepper shakers near the stove.
None of these things had looked anywhere near this clean and tidy by the time she’d left last night. Clearly John had been hard at work.
How Aurora ever fit all the children she’d had over the years into this kitchen was astonishing. There’d just been six children last night, and she and John had eaten their dinner over the sink. And the mess! With all the elbows and hands flying around, by the end of the meal there seemed to be more food on the floor than in the kids’ bellies. Today, she’d tackle that dining room so that by this evening, they could all sit together like a family should.
Merrilee sighed, a whisper of discontent sliding through her. She hadn’t thought much about having more of a family than Claire, figured she had been blessed to even have her. But listening to the children bustle around the table, mopping up Ellie’s spilled milk, even cutting up the twins’ carrots had made her realize how much she enjoyed a bigger family, with plenty of children around the table. She wasn’t old, just turned thirty, so the possibility for more children still existed. But conceiving them required a husband and marriage, and she wasn’t sure she wanted to dip her toes in that pond again.
The image of John wiping Ellie’s creamed-potato-covered hands floated through her thoughts. The man had jumped in and helped her and the others, pouring milk, refereeing disagreements. He had a knack with the kids, an understanding that he used with gentle authority. Even Claire had fallen victim to his charm, her laughter a sweet memory Merrilee had locked away in her heart after a year of grief. How would she react when she learned John was her long-absent father?
All this woolgathering was just a waste of time. She’d have to work fast if she was to take inventory of the pantry and root cellar before everyone else in the house woke up. John had brought in all the supplies she needed to make dinner last night, but she wanted to take a look for herself—and not just to help her plan meals. The stock Aurora had or didn’t have would give Merrilee enough information to start her investigation. She lifted the lantern from the center of the table and slipped out the back door.
She hiked the lantern over her head, the early morning suddenly darker as she scanned the ground near the back porch. An old weathered door sat at a slight angle on the ground almost as if it had been discarded there. Merrilee bent down and tugged, the coarse wood scratching her fingers as the door lifted only slightly before slamming back into place. A length of rope around the handle would give her leverage, but that would mean she’d have to wait until she could get out to the barn. Still, it was better than explaining to John how she got a handful of splinters.
We need to be completely honest with each other for this to work.
Her stomach tightened. All right, she’d agreed with him—for the most part. But the country was at war, keeping the home front safe was her patriotic duty and her work had to be done in secret in order for it to be effective. Surely John would understand her reasons for keeping him in the dark about this. And he wasn’t without his secrets, too. Like what was taking him away from Marietta again, away from her and Claire.
What’s sauce for the goose is sauce for the gander, right? Merrilee smirked. Even she wasn’t buying that line. The truth was she couldn’t tell him about her investigation, at least, not until Aurora was cleared. Maybe not even then.
“Ms. Merrilee?”
She jerked around. Billy stood in the doorway, his tousled hair falling over droopy eyelids, thumbprint bruises turning the pale skin under his eyes purple. “What are you doing out of bed?”
“Couldn’t sleep.” He leaned heavily on the broken stick he used as a cane. “Couldn’t get my brain to stop thinking.”
Poor thing. She’d had nights like that. “Would you like a glass of water?”
Nodding, he stepped back and held the door until she was safely inside. Aurora had done a fine job with Billy, with all of the kids. It would be a shame if Adams convinced the state to rob these children of the home she’d made for them here.
Wood scraped against the floor as Billy pulled a chair out, slumped down at the table and lay his tousled head against his arms. Poor kid looked as if he carried the weight of the world across his young shoulders. Merrilee lifted a glass from the dish drainer, filled it with water and walked over to where Billy sat.
“So you want to talk about it?” She pulled out the chair next to his and sat down, putting the glass in front of him. She needed to uncover what was bothering the boy. “Your leg’s not hurting, is it?”
“No, it’s just...” He hesitated, his hands wrapped around the glass. He shook his head again.
Merrilee understood. Some things were just too hard to talk about. Maybe a little time would help Billy be able to put his feelings into words. “Well, if you need someone to talk to, I’m here, okay?”
She stood then, but she could feel Billy’s gaze following her around the room. She grabbed the empty coffeepot and headed for the sink. What kind of burd
en could Billy be carrying? And why was he so reluctant to talk about it?
Not that anyone had ever given these children a voice, save Aurora. Merrilee uncapped the pot, pulled the metal filter free and placed the container under the lip of the water pump.
“Is she going to be okay?”
The boy’s question pulled Merrilee’s thoughts away from her work. “Ms. Aurora?”
“She is going to be okay, isn’t she?”
Merrilee grabbed a dish towel, dried her hands then leaned back against the counter. “She’s going to be fine. She just needs a little rest, that’s all.”
“But I heard the doctor say it was her heart.”
Oh, dear. Why hadn’t Dr. Adams realized there were little ears listening? She crossed over to the table, then crouched down beside Billy, her gaze level with his. “You’re right. It is her heart, but the doctor gave her some medicine to help her. That, along with some rest, should leave Ms. Aurora as good as new.”
“Are you sure?” His voice held a note of wariness.
Merrilee didn’t blame him. Doctors were only human, and made miscalculations just like everyone else. She’d learned that the hard way. She slipped her arm around his shoulders. “No, but John and I are going to do everything we can to give Ms. Aurora a chance to get better and back to taking care of you guys.”
“But what if something happens to her?”
How could she answer that? She brushed his hair back off his face. “That’s a hard question.”
Billy’s face scrunched in confusion. “I thought grown-ups knew all the answers.”
She shook her head. “Not really.”
He fell quiet for a moment. “Then I guess it’s like Ms. Aurora always says. We’ve got to trust that God knows what He’s doing and just keep praying on it.”
Sounded like Aurora. But what happened when your prayers go unanswered? When everything going on around you didn’t make sense?
“Could we pray about it?”
Merrilee blinked. “Now?”
“Ms. Aurora always says no time like the present.” Billy reached for her hand, laced his fingers between hers and bowed his head. “You go first.”
Her mouth suddenly dry, she licked her lips. “I’m a little rusty.”
The boy tilted his head, one eyebrow cocked high on his forehead. “If you don’t use it, you lose it.”
Another one of Ms. Aurora’s sayings, she guessed. She bowed her head; her eyes slammed shut. She might as well try, not that her words would be heard. God had stopped listening to her prayers a while back.
“Dear Lord, Billy and I come to You this morning to ask that You heal Ms. Aurora. Give her strength and rest in the coming days. And help Billy and the other children to have peace about the situation. In Christ’s name—”
Billy gave her hand a squeeze and she glanced over at him. “I want to say my piece.”
“Oh, okay.” She lowered her head once more and waited.
“And, Lord, thank You for sending Ms. Merrilee and Mr. John to help us,” the boy said so earnestly, tears began to burn behind the back of Merrilee’s eyelids. “They didn’t have to help us, but You brought them here, and I thank You. In Jesus’s name, amen.”
“Amen,” she whispered and lifted her head.
“That was a fine prayer, Merrilee and Billy. From the heart, but to the point.”
Her heart skipped a beat, then sped up. John stood in the kitchen door, one strap to his denim overalls hanging loose over his well-developed shoulder. Merrilee stood, holding on to the back of Billy’s chair.
“Come on, sleepyhead.” Merrilee helped the boy to his feet. “Go crawl into bed for another hour, okay?”
Billy nodded, his steps heavy as she walked him to the kitchen door. John gave the boy a concerned look, then lifted his gaze to hers, a tiny line carved between worried blue eyes. “I’ll put him back to bed, okay?”
How many times in those early days, when Claire was just a baby, had she dreamed of moments like this? Of sharing the joys and the burdens of child rearing with John, of knowing what the other needed before any words were spoken? “I’ll get the coffee going.”
John nodded, took Merrilee’s place behind Billy and walked him out of the kitchen. She stopped at the doorway and watched, John’s long shadow filling up the hallway, his muscled arm draped around Billy’s shoulders as they made their slow trek down the corridor. If they were still married, would she have borne John a son by now? He’d want one, of course. Every man that she’d ever known had. But John wasn’t just any man.
And he wasn’t her husband anymore. With a sigh, she turned and headed toward the sink.
Chapter Twelve
John leaned against the door frame, his arms crossed in front of him, enjoying the sight of Merrilee meticulously measuring out the coffee grounds and dumping them into the metal filter. The dusty-rose light of the new morning cast an ethereal glow around Merrilee’s head, sparks of fire dancing along the reddish-gold strands every time she tried to blow the wayward curls off her brow. He’d always loved her hair, the way her curls framed her face, the silky softness that caressed his fingertips when he’d gently tilted her head to move in for a kiss.
John swallowed; his heart slammed against his ribs. What was he thinking? He was no better a candidate for Merrilee’s hand than he had been twelve years ago. In fact, he was a worse marriage prospect now if the charges for helping the Oahus weren’t dropped. He’d best remember that. “What was that all about?”
A spoonful of coffee rained down across the white countertop as she jumped. She pressed a hand to her chest. “I almost wasted a day’s ration jumping like that.”
“I’m sorry.” The words came with more of an edge than he’d have liked. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”
“I guess I was thinking a little too hard.” She grabbed a nearby dish towel and carefully dusted the grounds into her opened hand, then threw them in the pot. “Is Billy okay?”
John straightened, then crossed over to the cabinet where Aurora kept her cups and saucers. “Was asleep the moment his head hit the pillow.”
“Good, I was worried about him.”
“Is that why you were praying?”
Her whole body stiffened. “He asked me to. It must have worked. He’s back in bed.”
John lifted two cups out of the cupboard, perplexed. Praying, reaching out to God had always been second nature to Merrilee—as constant and certain as the rising and setting of the sun. When they were married, her faith had lifted him up, made him embark on his own walk with the Lord. But she had seemed uncomfortable praying, “rusty” she’d told Billy, as if she wasn’t sure why she was even doing it. That didn’t make sense. Had the burden of caring for Claire during this past year made her question her faith? Or was it something else? Lord, use me to help Merrilee through this dark valley she seems to be in.
“Has Aurora made any arrangements for the children if something happens to her?” Merrilee turned the knob on the stove, adjusting the flame before setting the pot on to percolate.
“No.” He set the two cups side by side on the table. “She can’t. She’s not their legal guardian.”
“How can that be?”
John scrubbed his jaw with this hand. Now came the tricky part—explaining. “Most families who have kids like Aurora’s children admit them to a ‘home,’ an institution, but if they don’t have the funds to do that...” He hesitated, his throat closing around the words. How could the emotions from that day—that moment he’d realized their father had abandoned them in the middle of Cooper’s Drugstore—still elicit a response all these years later?
“They dump them on the street, Merrilee. Leave them to fend for themselves. And if the state finds out about the kids, that Aurora hasn’t adopted them, they’ll send those kids
to the state institution.”
“Milledgeville?” she whispered. “But how has she kept the children this long without having legal guardianship? Everyone in town knows she has kids out here. Hasn’t anyone ever asked any questions?”
“Not when I was here. Most people assume Aurora’s adopted all her kids, and she just lets them go on thinking that way.”
Merrilee leaned back against the cabinet, her slender arms crossed in front of her, a thoughtful expression on her face. “How does she get the kids’ ration books?”
Odd question, John thought. Must be the mothering instinct, that need to ensure that kids are being fed properly. “I don’t know that she does. Probably makes do with what she has.”
“That doesn’t seem right. Those kids need to eat like everyone else does. How can they if she can’t get their rations?”
This time, her honest concern for the children might be asking for trouble. “We have to be careful, Merri. We can’t go demanding ration books for the kids, not when there’s no legal reason for them to be here with us. Last thing we need is for the state to find out Aurora’s taken in these kids without adopting them.”
“But it’s not fair, John. It’s just not.”
The urge to take her in his arms, whisper words of comfort, stroke her hair, almost overwhelmed him. He gripped the back of a chair. “You’re right. If the children aren’t getting ration books, then it’s not fair. But I’d give up fairness to keep them safe and out of an institution, wouldn’t you?”
“Yes, but...”
He interrupted her. “Trying to convince people to give these kids their fair share when they already think they belong in an institution is going to be nigh impossible.”
“Nothing is impossible with God,” she snapped, then blinked a couple times as if the words had surprised her.
Something most definitely had caused Merrilee to doubt God’s faithfulness, but what? An idea niggled its way into his thoughts. Would it work? It had to. John walked over to where she stood. “You’re right. But before you go at whoever, headlong, I think we need to pray about this, don’t you?”
Hearts Rekindled Page 12
