In a Mother’s Arms

by Jillian Hart

  “Hey, Luke,” he called. “Are you hungry?”

  “Nope.”

  So the boy wanted to play tough…Fine, Gabe thought. He was older, wiser and he’d once been a twelve-year-old boy with a bottomless pit for a stomach. Luke was armed with only a bad attitude. Gabe had an arsenal of meat loaf, mashed potatoes, gravy, corn and chocolate cake. He spoke to the boy through the bars. “Let me know if you change your mind.”

  He opened the basket, put the food on his desk and unwrapped the napkin from his plate. In the drafty jail, the aroma would reach the kid in seconds.

  Next he jangled the silverware. “If you get hungry, Luke, you need to wash up. There’s a full pitcher on the shelf and a washbowl under the cot.”

  His own hands were clean enough, so he sat down and took the first bite of meat loaf. He usually read the Guthrie Corners Gazette while he ate, so he snapped it open now, folded it back and set it down so he could eat and read at the same time. Three bites later, he heard the trickle of water from the pitcher, looked up and saw Luke filling the washbowl. The sight of the kid’s narrow shoulders and gangly arms filled Gabe with memories.

  I want kids, Cassie.

  Me, too.

  She’d looked solemn as she’d replied. He’d attributed her reaction to shyness at the thought of babies being conceived. Now he wondered if something else had made her reluctant.

  Fool!

  He had to stop wondering about the past. With Cassie’s son ten feet away, the challenge bordered on impossible. In order to help Luke, he had to get to know the boy. The effort meant listening to him, even asking questions.

  How did you like Chicago?

  Tell me about your friends.

  What happened to your father?

  No way would Gabe ask that last question. It was the most important, but the answers needed to come from Cassie, not a confused boy.

  When Luke finished washing, he faced Gabe. The boy had his mother’s dark hair, the shape of her face. His eyes, though, had come from his father. They were brown and held a glint. Judging by Luke’s age, it hadn’t taken long for Cassie to latch on to another man. Had O’Rourke charmed her? Or had she truly been in love? He didn’t know which would be easier to forgive—foolishness or sincerely loving another man.

  Gabe thought of inviting the boy to sit at the desk but decided against it. Freedom would taste sweeter after a full night behind bars. He put Luke’s meal on a tray—no cake yet—bent down and slid it through an opening in the grate at the bottom of the cell. The boy looked at the food on the floor and glowered. No man liked to bend down. Neither did twelve-year-old boys, but humility was part of Luke’s lesson. Even so, Gabe didn’t believe in embarrassing a man. To give the boy some dignity, he turned his back and walked to his desk. As he sat, he heard Luke lift the tray and carry it to the cot.

  Some jailhouses fed prisoners gruel as punishment, but Gabe didn’t see the benefit. He’d locked up men of the worst kind, but most were trail trash who hadn’t eaten a square meal in days. A full belly reminded a man of what he’d traded for thievery, whiskey and bad habits. He kept a Bible in the cell, too. More than a few hardened souls had cracked it open. One had wept like a baby and asked Gabe to pray with him. It had been a humbling experience for them both.

  As he ate his supper, Gabe scanned the newspaper. The words blurred into nonsense, mostly because he kept hearing Luke’s fork against the tin plate. Judging by the eager scrapes, silence and hunger had softened the boy’s attitude. Gabe had already told him about his “sentence,” but they hadn’t talked about putting in the window.

  He pushed his plate aside. “So Luke, what do you know about carpentry?”

  The boy shrugged. “Nothing.”

  “Ever build anything?”

  “Like what?” He sounded suspicious.

  “I don’t know.” Gabe had built lots of things. He’d been the man of the family from the age of ten. “I made a rifle rack when I was your age.”

  Luke scraped the last of his gravy, then looked up with a scowl. “I don’t know how to do nothin’ like that.”

  “Anything like that,” Gabe corrected.

  “I know.” The kid sighed. “My ma’s always telling me stuff like that.”

  “She’s a good woman.” He hadn’t meant to go down that road, but Luke had gone first.

  “She’s all right,” the boy said. “It’s just…”

  “Just what?” Gabe prodded.

  “I miss my pa.”

  Gabe did not want to hear about the man who’d given Cassie this child. Anger coursed through his veins—at her, at O’Rourke—but he tamped it down. Only Luke mattered. If he had to bear a few lashes from the whip of jealousy, so be it.

  “What happened to him?” he said quietly.

  The boy shrugged. “I don’t know.”

  As much as Gabe wanted to let the subject drop, he couldn’t leave Luke twisting in the wind. The boy had a haunted look that Gabe knew all too well. The “whys” of life couldn’t always be answered, but neither could they be forgotten. For Luke’s sake, he decided to push.

  “Did he leave you and your ma?”

  The boy shook his head. “We left in the middle of the night. I didn’t get to say goodbye.”

  So Cassie had left her husband the same way she’d left him, suddenly and secretly. He wondered how long ago she’d left, but he had no business quizzing Luke about his parents’ marriage. On the other hand, Cassie had answers…all of them. She also had a son who bore scars. Luke, he decided, had been in jail long enough.

  Gabe shoved to his feet, fetched the key and opened the door. “We’ve got chocolate cake for dessert. Want some?”

  “Yeah!”

  Just as he’d hoped, he’d taken the kid by surprise. Even four hours in a cell was enough to make freedom sweet. Luke put his plate on the tray and carried it out of the cell. He could have been at home clearing the table after supper. Gabe had no doubts about Cassie’s commitment as a mother. Luke was a troubled boy, but he knew right from wrong. He had good manners and spoke as if he did his homework.

  Gabe indicated the chair across from his own. As the boy sat, Gabe passed him the cake and a fork. As they ate, they talked about hammers and nails, glass, glue and how to use a saw. Gabe had a good time, but he knew that tonight, as he dozed on the cot and listened to Luke’s soft snores, he’d be thinking of Cassie. Until now, he’d denied his need for answers. He’d learned to live without them, but for Luke’s sake, he needed to ask about her husband.

  For his own, he had to know why she’d left him at the altar. This Sunday after church, he’d ask.

  Chapter Three

  The last place on earth Cassie wanted to be on Sunday morning was the church where she’d jilted Gabe, but she had to bring Luke to the service. As part of his “sentence,” he had to put away the hymnals and sweep the floor under Reverend Hall’s supervision.

  Getting Luke up for church had been a battle, but she’d had an even harder time getting herself ready. After Friday’s embarrassment at the café, she’d stayed hidden in her store. Today she’d have to face Millie, Maude and worst of all, Gabe. She had to thank him for helping Luke. She dreaded getting a cold shoulder, but it had to be done. By doing the repair on Saturday, he’d spared her the humiliation of sitting in church with a broken window covered by boards.

  As she and Luke walked into the sanctuary, her son pointed to the window he’d repaired. “There it is.”

  Cassie knew the value of praise. “You did a good job.”

  “Gabe showed me what to do.”

  Cassie could have wept at the pride in her son’s voice. Even if Ryan O’Rourke had been a decent human being, he wouldn’t have taken the time for Luke. He’d been obsessed with his stage career…not to mention young actresses. In an afternoon, Gabe had given her son more than Ryan ever had.

  With her head high, she guided Luke to the pew next to the new glass and sat. Sunlight fell across her green dress, turning it as pale as dr
y grass. The warmth loosened the muscles in her neck and she wondered if someday she’d feel forgiven for her mistakes. As she studied the altar, she saw a heavy table carved with grapevines and an empty cross high on the back wall. If she hadn’t been desperate to avoid hostile stares, she’d have looked away. It was too easy to picture Gabe in a suit, standing in front of the table with a ring in his pocket…her ring.

  Her cheeks flamed with the memory. What would it be like to hold up her head without an effort? To stop being Cassiopeia pinned to the sky with her neck bent in shame? Her throat tightened. She wanted to pray but didn’t know where to start. Instead she listened to the murmur of voices as the congregation took their seats. Behind her, she heard the tap of boots coming down the aisle between the pews and the window. She didn’t dare look up for fear of the man wearing them. She wanted to be composed when she faced Gabe, not struggling for an even breath.

  The boots stopped at the edge of the pew. As a shadow fell across her lap, she heard Gabe’s deep voice. “Good morning, Luke. Hello, Cassie.”

  “Good morning,” she said.

  “Hi, Gabe.” Luke scooted over to make room for him. The boy had assumed Gabe wanted to sit with them. Cassie had no such presumption. Instead of moving closer to her son, she looked at Gabe.

  He indicated the pew. “May I?”

  “Of course.” As she slid across the wood, Gabe lowered his tall body on to the seat. He had a well thumbed Bible in hand, the same one he’d owned for years.

  He leaned forward and spoke quietly to Luke. “The window looks good.”

  “Yeah,” said the boy.

  Cassie searched for something hopeful to say. “It’s a lot cleaner than the others.”

  Luke grimaced, but Gabe smiled. “Luke’s next job is cleaning the rest of them. Isn’t it, partner?”

  The boy groaned. “I need a ladder.”

  “I’ll get you one,” Gabe said easily. “Rags, too.”

  Could reaching Luke be this simple? She’d known for years that he needed a father, but she’d learned a valuable lesson from Ryan’s abuse. No father was better than a bad one. Sometimes she thought about remarrying for Luke’s sake, but how could she? Deep down, she still loved Gabe. She always would, but she’d learned another lesson from her marriage. Never again would she depend on anyone. People changed, sometimes for the worse. Sometimes, like her mother, they died unexpectedly.

  As the pianist struck the first chord of a hymn, Gabe tipped his head to the side and murmured so only she could hear. “I’d like to speak with you, Cassie. Right after church.”

  “About Luke?”

  “No.” His breath touched her ear. “It’s about us.”

  Her stomach did a flip. At last she could apologize to Gabe. She couldn’t think of a more fitting place for making amends than the church where she’d left him waiting. She nodded, then faced straight ahead. So did Gabe. The hymn, an old one called “Peace In The Valley,” calmed her nerves. She had no hope that the slate could be wiped clean, but maybe today she could find peace of her own. Maybe they could be friends.

  Gabe sang the hymn and read the Bible verse aloud with everyone else, but he didn’t hear a word of Pastor Hall’s sermon. It could have been about the weather for all he knew. Sitting next to Cassie had shot him back in time to the day she’d left. He’d stood in the church for an hour before Pastor Hall pulled him into his office and told him Cassie had gone missing. When the Reverend left to tell the congregation, Gabe’s best man, a fellow deputy, had offered to buy him a drink. Gabe had said no. Whiskey numbed a man’s misery, but it didn’t cure it. Instead he’d gone alone to their future home where he’d found the note she’d slipped under the door. Sitting next to her now, he thought of the question he’d wanted to ask for fourteen years.

  Why, Cassie? What made you leave?

  Soon he’d have his answer, but what happened then? Her presence stirred the embers of an old dream, but he’d be a fool to breathe life into those feelings. If she ditched him again, he’d be the town laughingstock. Gabe had his pride, but he also loved Cassie and always would. He cared about Luke, too. They’d worked shoulder to shoulder fixing the window and he’d enjoyed himself. At times, he’d felt as if Cassie had never left and Luke were his son.

  When Reverend Hall gave a loud “Amen,” Gabe came to his senses. He’d made arrangements with the Reverend to watch Luke while he spoke with Cassie in the man’s office. It seemed fitting.

  At the end of the last hymn, the three of them remained seated until the crowd cleared. When the sanctuary was close to empty, Gabe stepped into the aisle. Cassie, looking nervous, passed him. He put a hand on Luke’s shoulder. “Reverend Hall will show you where the broom is.”

  The boy furrowed his brows but didn’t fight.

  Cassie paused and murmured to Luke. “I need to speak with Deputy Wyatt. I’ll find you when we’re done. Don’t leave without me.”

  “All right, Ma.” The boy turned and rolled his eyes at Gabe, as if to say, See, she treats me like a baby.

  Disrespectful or not, the gesture was an improvement over outright rebellion. Gabe knew boys. They reached an age where, now and then, they needed to be treated like men. He clapped a hand on Luke’s thin shoulder. “I know how it is,” he said. “But mind your manners.”

  Grinning, Luke followed his mother.

  Cassie reached Reverend Hall first. After praising the sermon, she thanked him for helping Luke. The Reverend clasped her hand. “My pleasure, Cassie. Please come back.”

  Instead of replying, she stepped into the vestibule. Reverend Hall greeted Gabe with a handshake, then led Luke to a closet to fetch a broom.

  Gabe pointed Cassie down the hall to the Reverend’s office. When they reached the closed door, he opened it and guided her inside. He’d been in the room a few times since their wedding day—when a man stumbled, he did well to admit it and move on—but today the space looked exactly as it had all those years ago. Dust motes floated in the light coming through the window, and the bookcases were still bursting with odds and ends in addition to leather-bound volumes of wisdom.

  Gabe indicated one of the two chairs in front of the desk. “Have a seat.”

  With her back to him, Cassie touched the arm of the chair. As he moved to pull it out for her, she turned abruptly. Their eyes met across a distance of inches. Neither moved. Neither breathed. Fourteen years melted like ice in July.

  “Why, Cassie?” The words rasped from his lips. “Why did you leave like that? Not even a word—”

  She pressed her hands to her cheeks. “I’m so sorry, Gabe. What I did to you is unforgivable. It was the worst mistake of my life. I—”

  “Don’t do this,” he said with a rumble. “I just want an answer.”

  “But—”

  “Why, Cassie? What did I do wrong?

  “It wasn’t you, Gabe. It was me. I…” She dropped down on the chair and looked at the rug. “I was stupid.”

  “That’s not good enough and you know it.” He didn’t mean to sound harsh. He’d promised himself he’d be matter-of-fact, but looking at Cassie now—smelling her hair, seeing the tiny mole high on her cheek—his blood pounded in his ears.

  As she knotted her hands into fists, her knuckles turned as white as his anger. If he’d been alone, he’d have punched the wall. Instead he walked to the window and looked at a field of swaying grass. He thought of the Shepherd’s Psalm and lying in green pastures by still waters, valleys and shadows, and finally goodness and mercy following him all the days of his life. At the moment, he felt neither good nor merciful.

  Behind him Cassie took a breath. “I didn’t plan to leave. It just…happened.”

  Gabe clamped his jaw. “I need more than that. I deserve more.”

  “Yes, you do.” Her skirt rustled as she stood. He felt her eyes on his back but didn’t turn as she cleared her throat. “The night before the wedding, I was so scared.”

  He’d been scared, too. “Everyone gets cold feet.”<
br />
  “Mine had turned to ice.” Her voice wobbled. “What happened next didn’t help. My father gave me my mother’s diary. I felt as if she’d walked into the room, but then I started to read.”

  They were getting somewhere. “What did it say?”

  As she peered over his shoulder, the glass caught a faded image of her face. She bit her lips, but they stayed gray as she spoke. “When I opened the book, I expected to hear my mother’s voice in stories, maybe prayers. Instead she’d written in verse. Poems I guess, except they weren’t pretty. She wrote about how much she regretted her life. She poured her misery into that book.”

  Gabe frowned. “That diary was personal. Your father had no business giving it to you.”

  “Maybe not, but he meant well.”

  “So you read the book and got scared,” he said simply.

  “Not exactly.” Her eyes found his on the glass. “I read the book and realized I was seventeen years old. I’d lived here my whole life. Like my mother, I felt trapped. I had dreams, silly ones but they mattered at the time. Getting married felt all wrong. It was too soon, too…everything.”

  Gabe dragged his hand through his hair. How many times had Cassie suggested they wait a year? At least three that he recalled. Instead of listening to her worries, he’d cajoled her into a short engagement. And why? Because he’d been tired of waiting for the privileges of marriage. Like most celibate men, he knew all about the burning coals in the book of Proverbs. Instead of waiting twelve months, his impatience had cost him fourteen years.

  “I should have told you to your face,” she said. “But I was afraid you’d talk me into staying.”

  He turned and looked into her blue eyes. “I would have tried, that’s for sure.”

  “And I’d have crumbled.”

  In more ways than one…She’d have stayed and felt forever trapped. She’d have stopped being Cassie and he wouldn’t have understood.

  Standing straight, she held his gaze. “Thelma expected me to get dressed at the parsonage. My father wanted to walk me to the church, but I told him I was meeting my bridesmaids first. Instead of going to Thelma, I left that horrible note at the house and took the next train.”