Texas Miracle

by Mae Nunn

  “I was listening to that song and thinking about why I like it, and I guess it’s weird because it has always kind of described me, and in a way made me feel more comfortable about my rootless existence.”

  “Which you are now changing.”

  “Right. Because I found you, even though I wasn’t exactly looking.”

  “Just got lucky.”

  Jacqueline poked him in the ribs. “Something like that.”

  He grabbed her finger and kissed it. “I’m the one who got lucky. But go on.”

  “Well, you know how the song says—” and here she sang the lyrics “‘—the less I seek my source for some definitive, the closer I am to fine’?”

  “Is that what they’re saying?”

  “Yes.”

  “Okay.” Mac grinned naughtily. “So what does this have to do with Pap and me?”

  “Just hear me out.”

  “I am. I can’t wait to see where this is going.”

  “You know how you can’t get a peace about Pap—can’t get closure? And it’s been worse since you went out west with Joiner and couldn’t find his grave?”

  “That’s true,” Mac admitted.

  “I want you to know I support you in whatever you need to do, and I’ll help you search the rest of our lives if that’s what it takes.” Jacqueline rested her hand on his thigh. “But is there any way you could just accept the uncertainty? I mean, live with the question of his grave unanswered? For your own good?”

  Mac squirmed in his seat. “I don’t know.”

  “Why not?” Jacqueline prodded. “You’ve learned to do that, I think, with us. And based on what I saw back at the shelter, you seem to be moving in that direction with the children’s home.”

  “How are those related?”

  “It’s all life and it’s all messy. Not clean and neat and controllable.”

  Mac blew out a long breath. “I don’t know.”

  “It’s just something to think about. I want you to have peace—and I hate to think that depends on you finding Pap’s grave and marking it, hate for that to have any control over you.”

  Mac frowned when she said this, but Jacqueline continued. “In the scheme of your life, what difference would it make? You can make peace with his legacy without it. Or, I hope you can, for your own sake.”

  “Jacqueline, do you think God put you on this earth to challenge me in every area of my life?”

  “Maybe. I believe He put us here to challenge and help each other,” she said sheepishly.

  They rode along in silence for a while. When Jacqueline spoke up, her voice was gentle. “Mac, it’s like we’re two sides of the same coin. For me, letting go means giving stability, commitment, family, roots—all of that—a chance. It means that no matter how jaded I am or independent or whatever, I want you. I want the freedom and peace of home.” He might think she was giving him a speech, but she was determined to continue. “And for you, it seems like freedom and peace may demand that you give up some of your illusions of control, about having everything figured out. Maybe just trusting that things are going to be okay—that you’re going to be okay.”

  “Jacqueline, I’m trying to do that.”

  “You know what I think? I think since you lost your parents, and then Hope, that you have PTSD. I’ve studied it some in my work with KARIS.”

  “Oh, so you’re a psychologist now?” Mac’s tone was joking but his eyes were serious. “I thought that was what soldiers get when they are in war.”

  “It is, but it can happen to anyone who goes through a trauma. We have psychologists at KARIS who treat children for it when they’ve lost their parents, or home, or whatever. Many of the girls I worked with in Afghanistan had it because of abuse, and I plan on having all of the kids who come to my home evaluated. With everything they’ve been through, I’m sure some of them will have it.”

  “What do they do for it?” Mac sounded curious.

  “Some people need medicine while others can learn how to cope without it.”

  “So you’re trying to help me learn how to cope. I’m like a KARIS mission.” Mac smiled.

  “Pretty much. And I think you’re doing quite well.” She patted him on the leg.

  Mac rubbed his forehead as though his brain hurt. “That’s interesting. I’ve never thought about it that way, but you know each one of my brothers has had issues dealing with my parents’ death. I always thought I was the one who was the least affected.”

  “Why on earth would you think that?”

  “I guess because I was the oldest. And I’ve always been really responsible.”

  “Maybe that was how you coped. Numbers. Solving problems. Fixing things.”

  “You may be right.”

  * * *

  WHEN THEY ROLLED into Mac’s driveway just outside Kilgore, it was late.

  “Too late,” Mac said, “for you to drive this Prius home by yourself.” He turned off the motor.

  “Oh, good Lord. If you only knew how many times I’ve driven myself home much later than this. I’m a big girl.”

  Mac cocked his head on one side. “Uh, uh, uh, Miss Psychoanalyst. Maybe you did that before. But that was before you were mine.”

  Honestly? Was he trying to pick a fight at this hour? “Mac, I love you, but I’m not yours. I’m not anyone’s. You’re not the boss of me—well, except at work.”

  Mac leaned back his head and roared with laughter. “You’re not the boss of me! I haven’t heard that since grade school.”

  Jacqueline held out her hand. “Give me the keys.” She was unamused.

  Instead of obeying her, Mac jumped out of the car and ran around to open her door. “You have two options. You can either, one, stay here, and I promise not to take advantage of you, or two, drive home and I will follow you and make sure you are safe.”

  “This is ridiculous.”

  “Check the box. One or two.”

  “Well, it has to be two, because I have to see about Nemesis. But it is absolutely unnecessary for you to drive across town and back. I can call you when I get there.”

  Mac went down on one knee so he was eye level with her in the glow of the car’s interior lighting. “Jacqueline, when I say you are mine, I don’t mean I want to boss you. I mean that I feel responsible for you. It’s not just about me anymore. And your safety, well, it’s not just about you.”

  Jacqueline sighed, resisting the urge to roll her eyes. After all, he was only proving what she had preached on the way home. They were two sides of the same coin.

  “Give me the chance to love you?”

  How could she not? She leaned in and kissed him as he handed her the keys.

  * * *

  WHY WOULD HER mother be calling her at six thirty in the morning? Jacqueline wondered as she pressed Accept Call on her phone.

  “Hello?”

  “Jacqueline? Honey? Is that you?”

  “Yeah, Mom. It’s me. Is anything wrong?”

  “Are you alone?”

  Jacqueline felt a lightning bolt—a cold one—electrify her body. “Yes, why?”

  “Oh, honey. I’m sorry to tell you this when you’re by yourself. Grandma Violet has passed away.”

  Jacqueline placed her hand over her mouth to stifle a sob. Tears immediately gushed from her eyes, rolling in rivers down her cheeks. “How? When? What happened?”

  “They think it was about midnight. Her friend Hazel called us a few minutes ago. She went to pick Grandma up—they were going to have breakfast and go garage-saling. That’s why it was so early. When Grandma didn’t come to the door, Hazel let herself in and found Grandma in her bed. She wasn’t breathing. Hazel said she looked like she was asleep.”

  After Jacqueline hung up with her mother, she called M
ac and told him. All she could do was spit out the words. He said he’d be right there.

  She lay down in the half-light on her bed and buried her face in her pillow. Her Grandma Violet, gone? How could it be? During their visit such a short time ago, she had shown no signs of ailment. They had worked in the flower beds and garden, and talked till late into the night. In fact, as far as Jacqueline was concerned, there was no one more alive than her grandma. But now she was gone? Forever?

  Jacqueline’s body ached all over as she tried to process the news. Nemesis came and licked her tears with a tongue that felt like sandpaper, but it was some comfort nonetheless. She’d never felt so utterly alone. Why didn’t she just stay at Mac’s last night? Jacqueline needed him to get there.

  Mac must’ve sped like crazy, and he let himself in with his key. These were the thoughts that registered in Jacqueline’s mind, along with the sweet scent of him and the tenderness of his touch when he curled himself around her, wrapping her in a cocoon of warmth. She stayed in the fetal position, her back to him. He held her in his strong arms, kissing her head while she shook the bed with her sobs.

  * * *

  “YOU CAN’T GO,” she told him later, sitting at the table in her kitchen while he fixed her tea. Her mother had texted that the funeral would be held on Monday at her grandmother’s church at two o’clock.

  “I’m going.”

  “You can’t. And I understand that. We can’t keep closing the office.”

  He set her tea down in front of her, already doctored with the right amount of honey and cream. She stared at it, unblinking.

  Mac touched her face, lifting her gaze to meet his. “I’m the boss, remember? At work? And there’s no way I’d miss your grandma Violet’s funeral.”

  * * *

  INSTEAD OF DRIVING, Mac bought them tickets to fly to Iowa. Jacqueline tried to protest, but he insisted, saying he thought it was torture she didn’t need to ride in a car for ten hours on the way back and forth to her grandma’s funeral. And of course, he was right. She didn’t need it. But she could have handled it, especially with him by her side.

  Jacqueline’s mind was full of fog, but she worried about the money he was spending and the money he was probably losing by closing the office again. If she had more clarity, more control over her emotions at this moment, she might have asserted herself more in order to protect him—to not take advantage. But she didn’t. And so at some point, she let it all go and let him love her. She was getting better at that.

  By the time they arrived in Iowa at Shenandoah Municipal Airport and Mac rented a car, they had just enough time to grab a bite to eat and drive the thirty minutes to Red Oak. They met her parents at the funeral parlor first. Following the traditional protocol, the plan was to ride together through town behind the hearse to her grandmother’s church. Though she was proud to introduce Mac, Jacqueline felt numb as she hugged her parents and they exchanged small talk with Mac. They were far more interested than she was to discuss his purchase of the land and their work with wild horses. After what seemed like hours, the funeral director ushered them into the waiting car.

  The service was short. A “celebration of her life” as the preacher framed it. Jacqueline guessed her grandmother had wanted it that way. And the service did have beautiful music. Some of the songs they sang, especially “Amazing Grace,” triggered body memories in Jacqueline, of her grandmother’s hugs, the feel of topsoil, and the sounds of pots and pans clanging in her grandma’s kitchen.

  The congregation of Grandma Violet’s little country church turned out for her funeral, along with a handful of dear, lifelong friends. Something interesting to Jacqueline, however, was how few people there were her grandmother’s age. There was Hazel, and a lady named Grace, and another named Edith. Only Edith, of the three of them, came with a husband. After the service, Hazel squeezed Jacqueline’s hand, blotting her eyes with the other hand, which held an embroidered white handkerchief. “It’s hard to see your friends pass,” she told Jacqueline. “It’s the worst thing about getting old—so hard to say goodbye.”

  Grandma Violet had requested her body to be buried in the Red Oak community cemetery, and everything had long been arranged. Since her husband, Jacqueline’s grandfather, had passed before Jacqueline was born, Grandma had bought the plot beside his and purchased a stone with both of their names. All that was needed was the date of her death, which would be added.

  After the minister spoke, but before the casket was lowered into the ground, Jacqueline took a violet from the spray Mac’s family had ordered and sent for the occasion. Later, she would press it in her grandmother’s Bible, which was the only possession Jacqueline cared to take home. “Goodbye, Grandma,” she whispered through a veil of tears.

  Jacqueline’s brother, Sam, had not been able to come to Iowa for the service. He was out on a missions boat in the South Pacific. As Grandma’s siblings were all deceased, and Jacqueline’s mother an only child, the group staying at Grandma’s house was very small. It was only her parents, Mac and Jacqueline. Two of her mother’s cousins who lived in Red Oak came to visit and ate dinner with them—assembled from the bounty of roasts, casseroles and meat trays the community had provided. But later that evening, the cousins returned to their homes, and at bedtime, it was just the four of them. Her father sat in the living room playing guitar.

  “That’s pretty, Dad.” Jacqueline and Mac sat down on the couch adjacent to where he sat by the unlit fireplace.

  “Thanks. Just messing around.”

  Her mother shuffled into the room and slunk down in Grandma Violet’s chair. She looked as exhausted as Jacqueline felt, and Jacqueline wondered what thoughts might be going through her mother’s head. How must she feel with Grandma gone? Did she have a soul full of regrets?

  “So, what’s next for you guys?” Jacqueline asked. “We’re flying home tomorrow, but I can drive back up over the weekend if you need me to.”

  “I don’t think there’s any need,” her mother said. “Your dad and I are going to meet with the lawyer tomorrow to settle everything with her will. After that, we’ll pack up everything here and donate most of it. There’s not that much of any value. Just need to get it out so we can sell the house.”

  Jacqueline blinked back tears. “I’d like to have her Bible, if you don’t mind.”

  “Sure. Take anything else you want.”

  Same old Mom. Easy come, easy go.

  Her mother turned to Mac. “It was really cool of you to buy that land. I’m sorry there turned out to be no oil on it for you.”

  “That’s okay. I was glad I could buy it, anyway.”

  “You’re Kilgore born and bred, aren’t you? You’ll find something to do with it.”

  “Actually, we have plans for it.” Jacqueline spoke up, taking Mac’s hand.

  Her mother turned her head to the side, obviously curious. “We?”

  “We’re going to build a home for displaced children—refugees, basically—who are coming over the border into Texas seeking asylum.”

  “Well, bravo.” Her dad looked up for the first time. “I’ve read that’s quite a bad deal.”

  “It is. I believe it’s an international crisis.”

  The lines around her mother’s eyes deepened. She folded her hands as though to keep them still. “That’s great, Jacqueline, but are you sure you want to commit yourself that much? I mean, surely KARIS is involved in some capacity. But taking on a home in Kilgore—that could really tie you down.”

  Jacqueline looked into Mac’s loving eyes. “I know, Mom. I think I’m ready to put down some roots.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  MAC WAS SO glad to have things back to normal, or at least more normal than they had been in a while. The office was open, had been for two weeks, and there were no trips north, south, east or west planned for hi
m in the immediate future that he knew of. Joiner’s baby was fat and healthy, which in turn meant Joiner and Stella were happy. Cullen’s and Hunt’s families were doing well, too. Work was steady but not stressful, just the way he liked it. Most of all, Jacqueline was doing great. She was still mourning her grandmother, of course, and as Mac well knew, a part of her would be forever. But she seemed to be pouring all she could of that sad energy into her work with the home. And she was good, so good to Mac.

  Because of Jacqueline, he had come to an important decision about Pap’s life and death. Mac believed he was finally able to make peace with Pap’s legacy and its place in Mac’s own story. He had decided to let it go. But to put it to rest and claim his own closure, Mac had arranged what he hoped would be something special for his family. It was to take place that evening at Temple Territory.

  At sunset, with Jacqueline by his side, Mac assembled Alma and Felix, and his brothers and their families under the enormous white oak tree that was the crowning jewel of the native flora adorning Temple Territory grounds. When Pap built his thirty-eight-room mansion, there had probably been many more trees like it on the property, but they had since been cut down or killed by disease. This towering beauty was a survivor. It stood proud and tall, stretching out its branches like a grandfather’s arms, covering and shading all who stood underneath its shelter.

  Mac cleared his throat. “As you all know, our family has a complicated legacy. Our father struggled with how to reconcile himself to the memory of his father, the very human, very flawed Mason Dixon Temple. When he and our mother died, they were searching for Pap’s grave. Dad’s plan for bringing closure to this painful part of his life was to find and mark Pap’s grave out west.”

  Alma dabbed at her eyes and Felix bit his lip.

  “I guess after our father died, my way of honoring Dad and of coming to terms with Pap’s legacy was to try to accomplish that vision. For some years, I’ve endeavored to find Pap’s burial place, as recently as Joiner’s and my trip in March, scouring every possible lead. But everything I’ve pursued has led me to a dead end.”