“Shouldn't you be doing something about that call?” I asked, keeping my eyes on the mountains, my hands clutching my elbows. “Heading out to defend the innocent. Keeping Harland safe for carbon-based life forms?”
“I just needed to answer a question.”
“They keep you on call to answer questions? Sounds like the sheriff's office doesn't have enough to do.”
Jack didn't reply to my taunt, which made it sound like exactly what it was: the childish response of a defensive woman. A last-ditch effort to get rid of him. I was barely hanging on to my equilibrium. I wanted him gone.
To my horror, tears pricked my eyelids.
I clutched myself harder, ducking my chin, not caring anymore what my actions looked like, concerned only with getting through these next few moments with a spectator.
But if anything, his presence intensified my emotions, made them harder to keep in check.
Then, to my amazement and, yes, horror, I felt his hand on my shoulder. Large, gentle, and warm.
Connection. Contact.
Consolation.
The word gently teased out of my subconscious reminded me of what Father Sam had talked about. How could I find healing in church when I was continually reminded of how far I fell short of what Leslie's God required?
I shouldn't have come, I thought as my tenuous control unraveled. I mentally grabbed the ends, frantically trying to bring it all together again, but they slipped through my grasp, slowly pulled away by the faint sob that rippled through my chest.
Not here. Not in front of Jack. Please, God, not now.
And why was I calling out to God? He hadn't heard me then. He wouldn't hear me now.
“What's wrong?” Jack's voice grew quiet, comforting, almost drawing me out.
I concentrated fiercely on the grass at my feet. Green with a bit of brown. Twisted leaves, intertwined, reaching down into the dirt…
I was almost centered again when Jack's rough finger touched my chin and gently lifted it up, forcing me to look at him. Though he didn't have to force too much. My head willingly lifted itself. My eyes willingly drifted to his.
He knew nothing about me, nothing about my history. But still he looked at me as if I was important. I hadn't been looked at like that in a long time. And the compassion in his gaze was almost my undoing.
I pulled away as my history, the reality of my life, and Leslie's lecture stiffened my resolve.
“What's wrong, Terra?” he asked again, pressing gently against the walls I had hastily thrown up.
“Nothing…” I stumbled a moment, trying to find my normal voice, knowing that someone didn't charge out during church because of “nothing.” “It got a little stuffy in there.” That was dead-on the truth. Just depended on which truth one wanted to grab on to. “I'm just not one for church, I guess.”
He tipped his head to one side, studying me like he would a child. “I just thought I'd check.” He waited a beat, as if he knew I was hiding something. But I kept my lips tight. Finally, he retreated a step, turned, and left, taking his skepticism with him.
I waited as the door of the church opened and slowly sighed closed behind him, then allowed relief to wash through me. I had fooled him.
Oh, right, mocked my intuitive counterpart. He knew you were hiding something; he just knew he couldn't get it out of you.
Didn't matter. He was gone for now, and I had time to figure out what my next step was. I could wait for Dan and Leslie and put up with their questions. Or I could start walking.
Running away again, are we?
Just like Leslie said you would?
Just like Mom?
Chapter Fourteen
Are you sure you're okay?” Leslie asked me for the fourth time, her eyes doing that little-sister thing as she pulled out of the church parking lot. Dan had elected to stay behind for coffee, and Nicholas, big surprise, decided to stay with him. Anneke was going to a friend's for lunch. Once again, Leslie and I were alone.
“Just feeling woozy. I'm sorry.”
No sooner had the last notes of the last song died away inside the church, than the outside door flew open and I heard Leslie calling my name.
When I told her I wanted her to drive me back to Helen's, her disappointment made me thankful I didn't go with my first inclination to leave without telling her.
“I'm sad you missed Dan's prayer. It was really good.”
“I'm sure it was. Maybe you could give me a copy?”
“The way he had that thing marked up and rewritten—only he could have deciphered it.”
“Maybe next time.”
Leslie shot me a quick sideways glance. “What was Jack doing outside?”
The undertone of her question hit me wrong, and I reacted the way I shouldn't. “Trying to seduce me.”
“Terra!”
“He came out to answer a phone call, okay?”
“I'm sorry.”
“And I get the whole ‘he's not suitable for you’ thing, okay? You don't need to hammer it home with a sledge.”
“Again, I'm sorry. I am.” Leslie was quiet a minute. “So, are you going to come back to the farm again soon?”
“Do you want me to?”
“Of course I want you to. I want to have my sister around. I want to see you settle down.” The last comment held an unspoken note of longing that hooked into my heart.
I had hoped to rebuild my connection with Leslie while I was here, but it seemed that at every turn I was reminded how far our lives had shifted from any hope of convergence.
Besides, if getting closer to my sister meant getting involved with a God who, it seemed, knew everything about me, I wasn't sure I wanted to be here any longer than I had to. This morning in church was not something I wanted to repeat.
And yet…
The psalm the minister had read echoed in my mind. “If I settle on the far side of the sea, even there your hand will guide me, your right hand will hold me fast.”
The words held both fear and comfort for me.
I pressed my fingers against the low-level headache pushing against my forehead with all the insistence of a siding salesman.
“You're not okay,” Leslie said, pulling the car into the parking lot of Albertson's grocery store. She turned sideways, brushing my hands aside as she rested her palm against my forehead, her fingers at my wrist.
“My sister. Always with her finger on the pulse,” I joked, trying to regain control of the situation.
“I'm sorry. Was the service hard for you?”
“A lot of things were hard for me,” I said quietly as another insistent thought pushed against me. Why not tell her everything? The quiet question hovered in the gloomy recesses of my mind, tugging on the old memories, trying to draw them to the surface.
“My frame was not hidden from you… All the days ordained for me were written in your book.”
A married couple walked past the car. In the silence that settled between Leslie and me, I could hear their muffled argument. It sounded halfhearted, as if they weren't completely committed to it but pride required that they carry it on.
I wondered about our mother and her relationship with our respective fathers, both of them men we knew nothing about. I had long suspected that our mother would have had a hard time picking either of them out of a police lineup. But that didn't change the connection between Leslie and me. Nor did it change my feelings about my mother.
According to all the birth-order books, as the oldest girl, I was supposed to be the responsible one. And prior to Leslie's getting married, I had been.
I got both of us to school on time, made sure Leslie wore the right clothes, and when there was money in the house, I bought the proper food. I was the one who made sure she did her homework. And when someone picked on her, they had to answer to me.
I turned my head slightly, studying Leslie as if seeing her for the first time. The only features we had in common were our long eyelashes and a vague similarity in the shapes of our noses and chins.
“For you created my inmost being; you knit me together in my mother's womb… See if there is any offensive way in me.”
“Does it bother you that I lived with Eric? That I wasn't married?”
Emotions tumbled across her features. “For your sake, yes. For me? I'm not going to judge you.” She slid me a sympathetic glance. “No one is perfect—especially not me.”
“I should have left him long ago. I don't deserve your sympathy.”
“I wish I'd known—I wish I could have helped you…”
“You were living the dream, Leslie. I was living the nightmare. You didn't need me messing up your life.”
“You wouldn't have messed up my life. You're my sister.”
In the once-dark center of my life, a faint glow began, brought to life by her approbation. “You know I love you,” I said quietly. Leslie grabbed me in a tight hug that fanned the faint ember to flames. We sat that way for a while, until I noticed a couple of young boys watching us, laughing. The reality of the outside world intruded, and I pulled away.
“You should get going,” I murmured. “I'm sure Dan won't appreciate waiting so long. You didn't tell him about last night, did you?”
Leslie shook her head. “Of course not. But I'd like to tell him, if I may?”
“Please. Don't.” I couldn't stomach the idea of Dan, or anyone else for that matter, knowing what I had told Leslie.
“I think he needs to know. It will help him accept what happened… last summer.”
I laid my hand on her arm and shook my head. “Dan comes from a different place. I'm sure the whole loose, abused woman thing wouldn't work with him.”
Leslie and I had grown up in a different circle of expectations and morals. We were raised by a single, unwed mother. We had absorbed this fact of our lives as easily as we accepted the color of our mother's eyes—clear brown, or bloodshot. Realities we accepted with a whatever shrug.
In spite of his own mother's divorce, Dan might not be accepting of our background or how it affected my life. I knew that his Christian upbringing might not stretch far enough to take in the reality of my life.
“But he needs to know.”
“Let me be the judge of that—”
“Dan cares for you.”
“I know he's not crazy about me. He never was. He puts up with me because I'm your sister, and your children's aunt. And I've messed up royally in that department, too, haven't I?”
Her silence underlined my comment.
“You should get going,” I said again, letting her off the hook. The last thing I wanted was for her to feel like she had to ping-pong between me and her husband, trying to defend one against the other.
“Are you sure you're going to be okay?” Leslie asked.
I caught her hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze. “I'll be okay. This didn't happen yesterday.”
“I'm going to call you every night. And stop in at the diner when I can.”
“That sounds ominous.” But it didn't really. It sounded comforting.
Leslie started the car again, and a few quiet minutes later we were parked in front of Helen's place.
“I'm glad you came and stayed with us,” Leslie said as she slipped the car into park. She left the engine running this time, though. “Next time, just give me a call. I can come into town, or pick you up after work, if it works out. Don't hitchhike again.”
“I got a ride from a very reputable person last time.”
“But there are a lot of disreputable people around here,” she said. “I don't like the idea one bit.”
I leaned over and gave her a quick sisterly kiss on the cheek, her concern touching a hidden chord. “Okay,” I conceded. “Until I get my own transportation, I'll call you or get a ride from someone. Maybe I'll buy a car,” I said with a bright smile, deflecting her anxiety.
“That would be great. You haven't had one for a while,” Leslie said, brightening.
“Like I said to Kathy—too many decisions.” I pushed open the door, half turned, and gave Leslie a quick smile. “Thanks, Sis. For listening.”
Just as I was about to close the door, she leaned forward, stopping it with one hand. “I'll be praying for you, Terra.”
That was unexpected. I gave her a feeble smile. “Thanks. I think.”
She held my gaze. “I mean it. There is power in prayer. I know it from personal experience.”
I wanted to make a joke, to push away the intensity she was projecting, but as my throat closed up, I felt the brush of something ethereal. As if Jesus had laid a hand on my shoulder.
Chapter Fifteen
Cow paste on whiskey, down with a cowboy, Adam and Eve on a raft, blowout patches, zeppelin in the alley,” I called out as I punched in the order.
A smile teased the corners of Mathilde's mouth as she nodded an acknowledgment of my order. That almost-smile still felt like a major triumph.
“What did you think of the church service last Sunday?” Cor DeWindt asked me as soon as he got settled into his usual booth, his booming voice drawing its normal attention. I poured him his coffee, and while I waited for the other order to come up, continued with my side work.
This time of day the café was quiet, so I figured it would be more pleasant to fill sugar containers by his table than to drag them all back to the workstation. But if I had known he was going to come at me with both barrels blazing, I might have opted for working behind the scenes.
“It was… okay.” I watched carefully as the white stream of crystals slid into the jar. Then as I screwed the lid on, wondered if I was creating a temptation for Cor.
Cor leaned in, narrowing his eyes and flicking his finger downward—a signal for me to come closer. I set down the sugar container, brushed my hands, and leaned over.
“Why did you walk out?” he asked, lowering his voice.
What a surprise. Cor, being discreet.
“I wasn't feeling well,” I whispered back. And that was all I was going to tell him. Monday was my day off, so today was the first chance he'd had to quiz me.
“Jack said something like that,” Cor whispered again. He sat back with the expectant look of a proud father. “I heard you met Jack at the VandeKeeres' place.”
This was going to get awkward. “He gave me a ride. When I was hitchhiking.” I stressed the last word, hoping to distract him.
A frown beetled his brows. “I thought I told you not to do that anymore.”
Bingo.
“Well, Cor, this may come as a shock to you, but I am all grown up and”—I grabbed the sugar container off his table—“you're not my father.” I frowned at the five grains of sugar in the bottom, then at him. “And where did all this sugar go?”
He ignored my question. “Well, your father's not around.”
“Truthfully, Cor, my father probably doesn't even know I exist.” I filled the container, gave the lid an extra twist, and set it as far away from him as I could without making it look obvious.
Cor frowned at the placement of the sugar dispenser, then at me. Busted.
But he got the hint as, with a sigh, he ripped open a couple of packets of artificial sweetener and dumped them into his coffee. He took a sip, pulled a face, then sat back, his arms folded over his bright yellow suspenders and purple shirt. A Crayola storm if ever I saw one.
“A father should be with his children. Should be interested. That's wrong.”
“That's my life.”
“Order up!” I heard Mathilde say, glad for the distraction. I didn't want to talk about a father I never knew and, I had to confess, sometimes wished would come rolling into my life full of remorse. Money wouldn't hurt either.
I brought the order to the three men sitting close to the kitchen, honored the now-standard request to translate my diner-speak, then returned to Cor's table to collect the sugar container.
“So your father has never contacted you?”
Can you say persistent? “Never,” I said, adding a smile to show I didn't care
that much.
Cor's glower took over his forehead. “What was your mother like?”
I wiped the last sugar container down and set it on the tray to dry. “I guess free spirit would about cover her description.”
Cor's direct gaze bored into me. “You ever hear from your mother?”
“Not for the past six months or so.”
“And you don't know where she lives?”
“She doesn't know where I am, so it goes both ways.”
“And you probably couldn't go see her even if you did.”
“Why not?”
He held out his thumb. “No car. But I have a car you might be interested in. I've got my truck, so I don't need two vehicles.”
“I'm not really in the market for a car right now. I have debts to pay.” And money to save up. I was getting closer to my goal, but I still hadn't heard about a court date.
“I'll give it to you cheap,” Cor said, continuing his campaign to prevent me from thumbing rides on the roads of Harland County. “Don't even have to get a loan. I'll finance it. You should come have a look.” He slapped his hand on the table. “Could you come tonight? And stay for supper. That would be nice.” The faintly wistful tone of his voice snagged my attention.
I knew he spent so much time at the diner because he was lonely, and going to his place to look at a car wouldn't kill me. Looking didn't mean buying.
“I could come for supper. But let me bring something.”
“Why don't you bring dessert?”
“Dessert I can do.”
“You don't have to go to a lot of trouble. The co-op has a special on black forest cake. You could just pick one up.”
Or not. I was thinking fruit platter. A healthy alternative and possibly a chance to teach him some better eating habits. “What time should I come?”
Cor pulled one corner of his mouth down as he thought. “How about seven o'clock? That would give you time to change, and I could come pick you up—”
“It's gorgeous weather. I'll walk.”
He frowned and waggled a finger at me just as the jangle of the doorbell announced another customer. “You won't hitchhike?”
“Hard to do in town.” I glanced over my shoulder and smiled at Father Sam.
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