by Arlene James
“Ivy is your mother’s sister,” Ryan explained.
“No, she’s not.” Both boys shook their heads. “Grandpa Olie said so.”
“You must have misunderstood,” Ryan said, taking a firm grip on his temper. “I’ve known your mother and your Aunt Ivy my whole life, and they are sisters.”
Scott leaned into him, his sharp little elbow digging into Ryan’s thigh. “How come we never knowed her before?” he asked.
“You’ve never met your Aunt Ivy before?”
“Nope.”
“Never,” Hunter confirmed. “On account of she’s a tramp.” He screwed up his face. “What is a tramp?”
Rocked, Ryan could only demand, “Where did you hear such an ugly word?”
“Grandpa said it,” Scott tattled, “when him and Mama shouted one time.”
“No one should use that word,” Ryan counseled, mentally gritting his teeth, “not even your grandfather, and I want you both to promise that you won’t say it again, especially not in front of your Aunt Ivy.”
Hunter promised. Scott sat up, relieving the pressure on Ryan’s thigh, and confessed, “That’s what Mama told us.” He went on, obviously repeating words he had tried to memorize. “Don’t talk what Grandpa Olie says front of Ivy.”
“Your mother is right,” Ryan said.
“Grandpa don’t like Aunt Ivy,” Hunter said, “but Mom does, and I do, too.”
“Me, too,” Scott chimed in. “She gives us cookies and her lap’s got no belly there.”
Ryan had to bite his lip to keep from laughing. “Well, that makes all of us then,” he said, “because I like Ivy, too. Now, what’ll we do until she gets back?”
“Wrestle!” Scott yelled, popping up onto his knees and launching himself at Ryan’s head.
Ivy didn’t stop to figure out what to take, just tossed everything back into the bag and zipped it closed. The idea of dropping in to tell Hap Jefford what was going on crossed Ivy’s mind, but she really wanted to get back to the boys and relieve Ryan as quickly as possible. Besides, she reasoned, Ryan would tell his family about Rose’s situation soon, if he hadn’t already. She would mention it to him when she got back to the house. The more people who were praying for Rose and the baby, the better, to Ivy’s way of thinking.
She’d been sending up quick, desperate prayers from the moment Rose had first doubled over in pain, so she took her time to do a little better job of it on her way back across town.
Dear Lord, please take care of my sister and her baby. Losing a child is the worst thing, but You would know that, wouldn’t You? That’s what I tell myself when I think about Chelsea. You gave up Your Son to the cross, willingly allowing His sacrifice to pay the sin debt for all the rest of us. I gave up my daughter for her own sake. I was too stupid and selfish to be the mommy she needed. But Rose hasn’t done the kind of things I have, Lord. She’s a good mother. She doesn’t deserve to lose her baby. Please, please take care of them, for Rose and Daniel and everyone who loves them. And thank You for not letting me chicken out today. I’m so glad I was there when Rose needed me, and thank You for Ryan being with Dan, too. I know, I know, You’ll take care of my sister and her baby. In the name of Jesus, amen.
She parked her car behind Rose’s minivan in front of the single-bay garage, grabbed her bag and hurried around to the front door. Laughter greeted her, the mindless, joyous, giggling mirth of two small children at play.
Correction, she told herself a moment later, smiling as she stood in the doorway of the family room. Make that two small children and one overgrown boy.
All three rolled across the floor in a tangle of arms and legs. Ryan landed flat on his back with the boys sprawled across his green-clad legs and broad, yellow-shirted chest. He had removed his jacket and left it draped over the back of the overstuffed chair that matched the sofa. His boat-sized white athletic shoes stood neatly against the wall beside the doorway. Suddenly he jackknifed, catching both boys in his arms, and flipped, pinning them to the floor with his weight levered onto his forearms and knees.
“Now I gotcha!”
They howled in protest, laughing and squirming with delight. “No fair! No fair! You’re bigger than us!”
“Hey, two against one,” Ryan pointed out, folding himself into a sitting position. He scooted until his back came up against the foot of the sofa. Panting slightly, he raked his hands through his wavy hair in an effort to smooth it. Scott got up and threw himself at Ryan, screaming like a banshee, but Ryan easily caught the boy and sat him in his lap. “Match over. Your aunt’s home.”
Hunter dragged himself over to lean against Ryan’s shoulder. “Hoo, boy, that was a good one,” he said. “Dad could get some lessons from you.”
Ryan ruffled the boy’s thick hair. “He’s taught you some pretty good moves.”
“I’m gonna be a coach, too, when I grow up!” Hunter proclaimed.
“Best job in the world,” Ryan said, putting back his head to smile up at Ivy. At the same time, Scott curled up and stuck his thumb in his mouth, clearly exhausted.
She felt her heart turn over, and it hit her suddenly how very much she had missed with her unconventional life. She might have had a marriage, a family. She might have had it all, everything that Rose and Daniel had, everything that Brand had proclaimed banal and senseless.
He actually believed that “the breeders,” as he called parents, were damaging the planet by overpopulating. He claimed to champion a “new” lifestyle, a “free” lifestyle, the “true” existence that nature had designed, where self-interest meant survival and “selfish” was just a label assigned by a public twisted and browbeaten by religion.
“Live now,” he had preached, “for today, this moment.”
He had really meant, Take what you need, do what you want, and don’t let anyone make you feel guilty about it.
Ivy looked at Rose’s life and suddenly knew the full value of what she had given up, of what she had traded for “excitement” and ratings. Perhaps she had never really bought into the FireBrand Phillips philosophy, but she had told herself that she wouldn’t have been a good mother, anyway, that she didn’t truly need what Rose and countless other women had.
Now she knew.
She had given up marriage and family for lies, not for the lies Brand had told her but for the lies she had told herself. As she glanced at Ryan, she felt a sharp pain deep in her heart.
Chapter Seven
The clock over the door had never sounded so loud to Ryan, but he ignored the constant expiration of seconds as well as he could. A little ticking should not bother a lifelong resident of Eden, Oklahoma, where pumps constantly sucked oil, the blood of the local economy, out of the ground. Why, they had a pump jack at work in the parking lot of City Hall, for pity’s sake. It had been said that babies elsewhere slept to the comforting beat of their mothers’ hearts, but that here in Eden they slept to the steady thump of the oil well.
The thought of babies led to thoughts of the Halseys, which in turn led to thoughts of Ivy Villard…again.
Ryan turned away from the computer screen where he had been devising questions for a test. Pinching the bridge of his nose, he sighed. He had not slept well last night, troubled with thoughts of Rose, Daniel and their unborn baby, Ivy and the boys, Olie and his hostility. None of it could really be called his concern, and he had more than enough to do already; yet he could forget the troubles of that family and the troubles of one dark-haired, dark-eyed lady in particular.
Had the tests turned out well? Was Ivy coping okay with the boys? How could a father hate his own daughter?
The jangling telephone on his desk brought welcome respite from his thoughts. He punched a button and answered without picking up the receiver.
“Mr. Jefford here. How can I help you?”
“Ryan, it’s Matt.”
Ryan winced but covered his discomfort with a jovial tone. “Hey, Matt, what can I do for you on this Tuesday morning? If it’s about the recommendat
ion, I’m afraid I haven’t had a chance to actually pray about it yet.”
“I understand, but a job’s come up that I’m really interested in. It requires two recommendations, and one must come from someone in our field. A single paragraph would take care of it.”
“I, um, haven’t gotten anything on paper.”
“You can do it online. In fact, that’s the preferred method. It just has to come from your e-mail address.”
Ryan dropped his head into his hand, elbow braced against the top of his desk. “Online, huh? Guess that’s the modern world we live in. Just let me pray about this, Matt, and I’ll see what I can put together.”
“Listen, I don’t mean to pressure you, but there aren’t that many opportunities around just now, and this is one I really don’t want to miss out on. If you could just go take a look at the Web site, I’d appreciate it.”
“Okay, yeah, sure, but wouldn’t it be better, um, coming from someone you’ve actually worked with?”
“No,” Matt said flatly. “No, it wouldn’t. If you must know, they wouldn’t offer, and I wouldn’t ask.”
“I see,” Ryan muttered, not seeing at all. “Would you care to elaborate?”
“Look, Ryan,” Matt went on, dropping his voice, “I wouldn’t have come to you if I didn’t have to. You don’t know what we’ve been through here, and I’ll admit that I’m still angry about the whole thing, but I’m trying to get past it. I just need a few lines of recommendation from a respected individual in my field. And they’re going to want you to attest to a few statements, but that’s it. Nothing you can’t do with a clear conscience, I guarantee. Just go the Web site and take a look. Please.”
Ryan recognized desperation when he heard it. Even as he jotted down the Web link and promised to take a look, he knew that he would have to pray long and hard before he decided what to do, and he knew, too, that he had to have more information than Matt seemed willing to give him. The way Matt had just spoken discouraged Ryan from asking point-blank why and how Matt had left his last job, but he felt that he had to have that information. Something was just not right.
As soon as he hung up the phone, he bowed his head and folded his hands. He needed guidance—and information. After a brief prayer, he asked the secretary in the outer office to get him the number of a coach he knew who worked at Matt’s former school.
Class schedules intervened, so it was late in the day when Ryan and the other coach finally connected. Both had after-school practices to oversee, so Ryan did not mince words. He asked for a full accounting of why and how Matt Barston’s employment had been brought to an end at Hilltop.
“Off the record?” the other man asked.
“If necessary.”
Ryan had expected some reluctance if not outright refusal. School districts could be touchy about personnel matters, as well they should. He found himself shocked when the fellow eagerly launched into a monologue laced with salacious rumor and innuendo, most of it concerning Matt’s wife, Devony. In disbelief, Ryan heard the words drug addict, nude photos and, most shocking of all, prostitute.
“And she admits it,” his informant told him, “talks about it in public. Even went on the radio.” Ryan cringed, remembering that he saw Ivy and Devony together at the reunion. The other fellow rushed on, saying, “You can imagine the talk around here. Quite a few parents went to the school board to complain, but the end came when the photos showed up.”
Mentally reeling, Ryan listened to a brief description of explicit pictures posted on the Internet before he interrupted. “So they fired Matt?”
“Technically he resigned, but if you ask me it was just a matter of time before the school board would have been forced to act. They were under a lot of pressure.”
Ryan sighed, thanked the fellow and got off the phone. Heartsick, he thought over all he’d been told. If anything, this only made matters worse. Ryan put no stock in gossip, and he certainly would not be checking out any photos of Matt’s wife, but if any portion of what he had just heard was true…. To say that he was having great misgivings about writing that recommendation would be a gross understatement.
And what, he had to wonder, did Ivy have to do with Devony’s situation?
After a second restless night, Ryan made a point of attending the Wednesday prayer meeting at his church. He tried always to do so but managed to attend only about twice a month. The time had been when no school activity was scheduled in deference to the midweek service, but the pressure of expanded academics and additional student interests had made it difficult to maintain that standard, so on the occasional Wednesday evening Ryan found himself called upon to supervise some school group. On other evenings, especially since Charlotte had married, he manned the motel desk so Hap, Holt and now Cara could attend the prayer group. Tonight, however, he felt the need to be present with others in prayer. Thankfully, Cara and Holt had volunteered to watch the desk.
Ryan found it odd that they both intended to stay behind, but Hap laughed it off saying, “They’re in love. Of course they want to be together.”
“But they’re together so much already,” Ryan pointed out. “Guess it’s that newlywed thing.”
Hap just smiled and shook his head. “The way it worked for your grandma and me,” he divulged huskily, “the longer we were together, the more we wanted to be. And the longer she’s gone, the more I miss her.”
Ryan nodded, silently commenting to himself that not many marriages were so blessed. Happily, those of Charlotte and Holt seemed to be, and certainly Dan and Rose Halsey were devoted to one another, though Ryan couldn’t help wondering what the crisis they were going through might mean for their marriage. He had called the hospital earlier, and Daniel’s fear had been obvious.
“It’s all up to God now,” Dan had said. The doctors felt they had to induce labor or risk Rosie’s health, but no one could predict whether the baby would make it. Despite Rose’s size, the baby had been deemed smaller than she should be. “The boys and I can’t lose Rose,” Dan had whispered, “but I hate to think what losing the baby would do to her, so I’m just trying to believe that everything will be okay.”
Ryan hoped that what they were going through now only strengthened their bond, even as he prayed for the survival and health of both mother and child.
He tried not to think about Ivy or how she might be feeling, but then Olie showed up. It wasn’t unusual for members of the Magnolia congregation to show up at the larger midweek prayer service at First Church, given the relationship between the two organizations. Olie came in late, just as the short general service was breaking up into small groups. His long, narrow face looked positively ravaged, and despite the ugliness he’d spewed earlier, Ryan pitied the man—until his prayer request veered from concern for his younger daughter to something else entirely.
“Rosie’s a good girl,” Olie declared, his voice trembling, “not like…some. I keep wondering if God punishes us for not casting out the immoral from our midst. Isn’t that what Corinthians tells us to do?”
“I think that passage in Corinthians that you’re referring to has to do with gross sexual immorality,” the pastor, Grover Waller, pointed out.
“All I’m saying is maybe they got it right over in Hilltop,” Olie said. “Barston married up with an immoral woman, and basically they run him out of town.”
Several of the men seated in the circle of folding chairs shifted uneasily in their seats.
“Scripture also tells us not to judge and to love others as Jesus loves us, Olie,” Hap pointed out gently.
“That’s right,” Ryan said. “Matt Barston’s situation is between him and God.”
“Of course, you would say that,” Olie retorted sourly.
Shaken by the implication, Ryan glanced around the circle of men who had gathered to pray. Most averted their gazes, but whether from discomfort due to Olie’s venom or something more personally ominous, Ryan did not know. He gulped, anger simmering just beneath the calm surface that he som
ehow managed to maintain.
Ryan never mentioned his own concerns. He suddenly didn’t know what to ask for. He truly did not want to judge Matt, whom he’d always believed to be a fine Christian man and educator, but he had a certain responsibility to the community and his calling. He felt trapped between that proverbial rock and hard place. For the first time in his adult life, he was confused about what to do. Right and best no longer seemed to be the same thing.
Instead of the peace and certainty that he had come there seeking, he came away at the end of the evening ashamed without being quite certain why and more baffled than ever. For a third long night, he tossed and turned, his thoughts veering from the Halseys and their unborn child to Matt and Ivy and the individual they seemed to have in common, Matt’s wife, Devony.
God in heaven, he prayed, whatever am I to do?
The answer came, at least in part, the next afternoon when Ivy called, weeping, to say that Rose had delivered a stillborn daughter.
“Ivy, I’m so sorry,” he said. After several moments of unbroken sobbing on the other end of the line, Ryan did something he had never done before. He walked out of his classroom in the middle of a lesson. Some situations just took precedence over everything else.
Within minutes, he stood outside the Halsey house. As usual, the inner door stood open, presumably to let light into the dark, narrow hall, leaving only the glass storm door between him and entry. He reached out a hand to press the doorbell and caught sight of Ivy standing with her back to the wall, silently keening. Just far enough inside to be cloaked by the shadows that seemed to permeate that space, she had covered her face with both hands, but her entire posture, the hunch of her shoulders, the way she had shrunk in on herself, proclaimed a measure of grief that rattled him.
Trying the door, he found that the latch had been released and walked inside. Instinctively, he reached for her. She came into his arms blindly, her slender body racked with strangled sobs. As troubling as he found her sorrow, an unusual calm settled over him. He held her without a word, her face in the hollow of his shoulder, his arms tight about her. Long minutes passed before he felt her gulp and shake her head. Sensing that she had at last asserted some control over her emotions, he turned her and guided her gently down the long passage and into the family room.
