by Lyn Cote
She suppressed a sob that hovered just below the surface. She breathed in and out, calming herself. I can’t show weakness. I can’t let anyone see that I am bothered, feeling weak.
A hopeful thought came to her. Maybe very few people had heard the new gossip yet. After all, it had only been twenty-four hours since that woman had glimpsed her and her mother in the courthouse. But this did little to settle Patience’s nerves. She closed her eyes and recited the Lord’s Prayer, letting it soothe and strengthen her, too.
A sudden pounding of feet on the carpeted aisle ricocheted around her. “Miss Andrews! Miss Andrews!” Darby squealed. “We came to your church today.”
Laying a hand on his shoulder, Patience welcomed Darby whose pink-cheeked face beamed at her.
Gil, with his father breathing down his neck from behind, faced Patience and greeted her. The drawn look she wore cut Gil to the heart. “Good morning, or should I say, Merry Christmas?”
“Merry Christmas,” she returned, her lovely though pensive face scanning his.
He took the soft hand she offered him and squeezed it. Her warmth made his chilled hands feel colder. He let go with regret.
“Can we sit with you?” Darby’s voice carried throughout the sanctuary as he bounced on the balls of his feet.
Gil’s dad gave a sharp sound of displeasure.
Gil ignored it, waiting for Patience’s reply.
She studied Gil as though weighing his motives.
“If you don’t mind,” he murmured. That’s why we came.
“No. No.” She moved farther along the pew, making room for him and his dad.
His father reached around Gil and grasped Darby’s shoulder. “This young man,” he said in a harsh voice, “better sit between you and me, so we can make sure he behaves.”
Resentment spurted inside Gil. He gripped his father’s rough arthritic hand on Darby’s shoulder, restraining him. “That’s okay, Captain. Darby can sit where he wants.”
Patience watched this, but voiced no comment.
His father flashed him an irate glare, but released Darby.
“I want to sit by my teacher.”
Smiling, Patience held out a hand to Darby.
Grinning, Darby scrambled up on the seat beside Patience while Gil and his father sat down on Darby’s other side.
The Captain’s displeasure radiated like hot sparks around Gil.
“What’s that?” Darby pointed toward the Advent wreath.
Patience explained it and told Darby to watch for the last candle to be lit during the service.
In Gil’s ear, his father growled, “I hope you’re going to make the boy behave himself. He needs to learn to be quiet here. This isn’t a playground.”
Gil nodded, but did not trust himself to say more. How many times had he suffered through church under his father’s rigid discipline and disapproving glare?
Why did he insist on coming with us this morning? He never attends church. I shouldn’t have let it drop that we were going to services when he called at breakfast. I should have known better.
Patience was now showing Darby the attendance card and small pencils on the back of the pew in front of them. Placing a card on top of a hymnal, she was having Darby print his name on it.
It had been a scramble getting here today. But his fears that Darby might cause a disturbance in church ebbed.
Last night, Gil had received a call from a juror from Dan Putnam’s trial asking him if he knew that Patience Andrews’s mother was on parole. He’d gritted his teeth and given a noncommittal reply. But the news that others had discovered the truth about Patience’s mother had impelled him to make the effort to get Darby up and into his suit for church. Perhaps, his being seen, sitting beside Patience in church, would dampen the gossip about her mother being an ex-con.
Certainly, this was what had prompted him to come, nothing less than that could have forced him to appear in this church where he hadn’t felt welcome for many years—firstly, after his “outlaw” marriage, and more so, after his unwanted divorce. He’d been the prodigal son who’d married the woman everyone thought beneath him and then in the end, she’d divorced him.
And no doubt everyone in the quickly filling pews around them would have heard by now about Coreena being arrested last weekend in a melee at that bar at the edge of town. If anyone says anything to me about that in front of Darby…
But the service unfolded without a hitch. Darby sat beside Patience and turned to her occasionally for explanation as if she were on duty as his teacher to explain church to him.
His son’s eager curiosity didn’t bother Gil. In fact, it made him regret that he’d not brought Darby to a church service since the day he had been christened as a baby. Still, Gil sensed his father’s mounting restless displeasure. The Captain barked the responsive reading, his critical gaze never leaving Darby.
Gil kept his focus on Patience and his son while she concentrated her attention on Darby. But did she sense his father’s growing censure?
Gil’s muscles tightened till he felt like a stick figure, but he didn’t betray this by so much as a glance toward the Captain.
Finally, the organist struck up the postlude, “Joy to the world, the Lord is come. Let earth receive her King.” Gil rose and caught Darby as he leaped into his arms with an exuberant shout.
“Darby,” the Captain scowled and scolded, “don’t yell in church.”
Darby turned a puzzled expression toward his grandfather.
“He didn’t yell—” Gil began.
“It’s the time he spends with that worthless mother of his.” The Captain’s words poured out like infection from a wound. “He’s her son all right. I warned you about bad blood—”
“My mommy doesn’t have bad blood.” Darby stuck out his lower lip.
“This is an adult conversation,” the Captain snapped. “Children should speak when spoken to.”
“Leave him alone,” Gil warned his dad in an undertone as he urged him into the aisle. Let’s get out of here before we make a scene. That’s the last thing Patience or I need.
“My mommy doesn’t have bad blood,” Darby insisted, his face scrunched up with indignation.
His grandfather turned away and stalked up the aisle.
“My mommy doesn’t have bad blood!” Darby yelled after him.
That evening, ahead through the late-December night, Patience glimpsed the front-porch light glowing on Gil’s ranch home. Hugging the shadows, she’d walked all the way to Gil’s house, almost two miles from Bunny’s through an unexpected wet snowfall.
This morning’s scene at church had haunted her all day. She had to do something to help distract Darby from his grandfather’s name-calling. The Captain’s cruel words in church had turned every ear within hearing distance toward them. He’d humiliated his son and grandson in public. I know how that feels.
Icy wind whipped around her as she reached the front door. Standing in the shadows away from the coach light, she waited for Gil to answer the doorbell that she could hear trilling through the house.
She stamped her feet and admitted she’d put off buying new snow boots too long. Melting snow had seeped into her heavy socks. She shuddered with cold.
The door opened. Gil gawked at her. “Patience?”
“May I come in?” She shivered again.
“You must be frozen.” He stepped back and ushered her inside. “What are you doing out on a night like this? Who dropped you off?”
“I walked.” My feet are freezing. She bent and began tugging off her sodden boots on the entryway rug. Keeping her head bent gave her an excuse to resist looking at him.
“Walked? In this mess?”
“I wanted to give Darby his Christmas present early.” And I had to see you again.
“You should have called,” Gil continued scolding. “I’d have been glad to come and pick you up.”
“I’m used to walking.” Her last boot released her foot and she stared down at her s
opping-wet and frigid socks, still avoiding eye contact with this man who could move her like no other.
“Take those socks off, too.” He left her and jogged down the hall toward his room. “I’ll get you a pair of mine to wear. We’ll put those in the dryer.”
“I hate to put you out like this,” she called after him.
Darby stepped out of his room, and into the hall. “Who’s here? Mommy?”
“No, it’s Miss Andrews,” Gil replied as he entered his bedroom.
Darby brightened and raced down to her. “Miss Andrews! Hi!”
“Good evening, Darby.”
Hearing her warm welcome to his son melted some of the lingering pain—a stiffness, an ache—from the scene this morning at church. Gil snatched a pair of socks from the fresh laundry in a basket on his bed and hurried back down the hall to his son.
“Yesterday, we finally got our tree up,” Darby informed her. “Look.”
Patience looked through the doorway to the living room. “It’s a big one. You did a great job decorating it.”
“What’s that in the bag?” Darby asked, his gaze fixed on the cloth bag over her arm.
The tip of a thin but wide package, wrapped in green foil, peeped out of the top. “It’s an early Christmas present for you. But, Darby, you mustn’t mention this at school. I don’t want the other students to think I’m playing favorites. They might not understand that you, your dad and I are friends. See what I mean?”
“We’re friends?” Darby marveled.
“Of course we are.” Gil reached Patience and offered her a pair of his white sport socks. “But you still need to obey Miss Andrews at school—”
“I know that,” Darby said, loudly and clearly insulted.
“I thought you would.” Patience sat down on a chair at the edge of the living room and slipped on the too-big socks.
Gil watched her every move.
“That feels better. Thanks.” She sighed.
The sigh whistled its way through him.
Baby-vulture-like, Darby hung over her shoulder as close as he could without touching the package. “What’d you bring me?”
Gil wondered the same thing.
She slipped the gift out and handed it to him. “Go ahead. Open it.”
With gusto, Darby ripped open the foil wrapping paper. “A book!”
“Yes, one of my favorites.” Patience stroked the book’s slender spine.
“Mine, too,” Gil said, glancing at the black, red and white cover. Just the kind of book Darby loved. It had a machine on it.
“I hope I didn’t buy a book he already has.” Patience looked worried.
“No, no,” Gil said, hurrying to reassure her. “I didn’t even remember this story until I saw it right now.”
“Read it to me.” Darby pushed the book into her hands and then scurried over to the sofa. “Sit here beside me.” He patted the couch cushion.
Patience chuckled. Padding silently over the carpet in Gil’s white socks, she sat down next to Darby.
Gil sat down on his son’s other side. Her coming tonight was a gift in itself.
Patience pointed to the book’s cover. “Let’s sound out the title, shall we?”
“Okay. Mmm-ike,” Darby started.
“Right. Now.” Patience pointed to the second word of the title.
“Mmmm-uuu-li-gun.”
“Right. Mike Mulligan,” Patience repeated. “Great. And now what has Mike got?”
“A…st…st…” Darby paused.
“Eem,” Gil prompted.
“Steam,” Darby repeated.
“Well done,” Patience murmured.
“Sh…sh…ooo…vellll,” Darby finished.
“Great. Mike Mulligan and His Steam Shovel. A classic.”
“You read it now, okay?” Darby pushed the book toward her, rocking with excitement.
She glanced at Gil with a question on her face.
“Yes, you read it to us, Teacher,” he said with a grin. He longed to slip his arm around her and gather her close, the three of them together. Like a real family?
She opened the book and began reading.
He barely heard the words. Her voice, that rich voice that wrapped itself around his nerves like black velvet held sway over him. He drew closer to her, not wanting to miss a syllable that purred from deep inside her throat.
She’s doing it again. She’s caring for Darby. No wonder I can’t help myself. I try to keep her from my mind, Lord. But she keeps slipping under my defenses. She’s filled with love and it overflows from her. But how can it be? I know the truth about her awful childhood. How did she become a loving woman like this?
As he looked over her shoulder down at the book, he watched her face as she read, resisting the urge to stroke her pale cheek. I can’t give in to the temptation.
It was a tough battle. But by the time she read, “The End,” Gil had pulled his self-control together. “What do you say, Darby?” he prompted.
“Thanks for the book and for reading me the story.” Darby hugged the new book to his chest. “I’m going to bring this to school.”
“Perhaps it would be better if you kept the book in your room.” Patience stroked Darby’s dark waves. “You might forget and tell a classmate that I gave it to you. Remember, they don’t need to know we are friends away from school.”
“Okay,” Darby agreed. “I won’t forget. Promise.”
“Time for bed, pal.” Gil ruffled his hair. “Say good-night to Miss Andrews.”
“I’ll be going then.” Patience rose, obviously ready to bolt.
“You will not.” Gil touched her elbow. I can’t let you go yet. “I’m going to get this guy to bed and then we’ll share a cup of coffee before I drive you home. My neighbor, a grandmother herself, always helps me out by coming over when I have a quick errand to run. Relax.” He didn’t wait for a reply, but left her curled up on his couch.
Within minutes, he returned to the living room. “Why don’t we go into the kitchen.” She padded behind him until he waved her forward through the hall to the kitchen. Soon he had the coffeemaker gurgling and brewing decaf caramel-vanilla coffee. The three aromas filled the kitchen. But Patience distracted him more.
He sat near her chair at the table as he had so recently on the night they’d ended up at the county jail. It might fit her mother but not her. “Thank you again.”
“What for?” she asked, her head tilted slightly.
“For caring about my son.”
She cast her eyes downward. “He’s an easy little guy to care about.”
“His kindergarten teacher and Sunday-school teacher don’t share your assessment.”
“That’s unfortunate,” she murmured, still not meeting his gaze.
The coffeemaker hissed to a finish and he rose to fill two mugs. From the fridge, he brought half-and-half to the table and then the mugs. He sat again, reining in his attraction to this woman. “I was in the room when the sheriff questioned your mother.”
“She told me her fingerprints were there because she had gone upstairs to get something Mrs. Carmichael asked her to get,” Patience inserted, stirring cream into the coffee.
“Yes, and when we talked to Mrs. Carmichael, she remembered asking your mother to get her inhaler from the drawer in her bedroom.” He poured a generous shot of cream into his coffee, too. The creamy white disappeared and then swirled the dark brown into tan.
“So, suspecting and questioning my mother was just a waste of time,” Patience said in a starched tone.
“In a majority of cases, most leads are a waste of time, but we have to follow up each of them no matter what.” He took a cautious sip of the hot brew.
“I know,” she admitted. “What about the other pair of prints?”
“We still haven’t identified them.” He watched her, admired her over the rim of his mug.
For a few moments, they sipped coffee in silence, the topic of the fingerprints finished.
As the silenc
e stretched, he noticed everything about her—a small scar on her forehead half hidden by her hair, a dainty mole beside her lower lip…. Stop noticing. He couldn’t.
She sipped her coffee, staring into her mug. “If you were going by past record, you might have wanted my prints.”
He started to object.
“You already know about my mother’s problems. Well, because of them, I had my troubles with the law as a child. I started running away when I was thirteen,” she went on as though he weren’t there, not looking at him.
He sat back in his chair.
“I didn’t run away far or for long, just when my mom’s drinking made it unsafe for me to be at home. I usually took refuge at my uncle Mike’s house.”
“Why didn’t he try to get custody of you?” Gil asked, hating to hear what she’d suffered.
“He did in the end, when my mom married again. I was fifteen and couldn’t face two alcoholic parents. I ran away for real. This time I left Chicago. It took Uncle Mike two weeks to find me…on the streets of St. Louis.”
“Anything could have happened to you.” Gil couldn’t conceal his shock. Anything!
“Well, the angels were watching over me, and except for my being incredibly dirty and starving, I was unscathed.”
“We all do stupid things when we’re young.” I married Coreena Tucker, the most notorious girl in town, believing everyone was just prejudiced against her.
But all he said was, “So you went to live with your uncle?”
“Yes, he is a wonderful man. Everything I am or hope to be is due to Aunt Mary and Uncle Mike. If not for their love and care, I’d probably have followed my mother’s example. But they taught me about love and God and I decided to take a different path.” Her face glowed with emotion, with love for her uncle.
“You’re a wonderful person.” He felt an incredible joy to be able to say this to her at last. “You’ve done more for my son—”
“Why did your dad act like that this morning?” she said, deflecting his praise. She won’t even let me thank her.
“Being a retired captain, my father insists on proper decorum and discipline.” He grimaced. “Sometimes I wonder if I should let him spend as much time with Darby as I do. But I…”
