With Eyes of Love (Heartsong Presents)

by Linda S. Glaz

  Her eyes scoured him. Rivers of mud slopped down his arms. If anyone had told him this story, he would have laughed, but not today.

  “Can I help?” She offered a hand without leaving the car.

  A frown overtook his face until he feared he must look like one of the thunderclouds above them. He gritted his teeth. “I think you have helped quite enough.”

  * * *

  Barbara’s heart thudded with mortification. “I’m

  s-sorry.” Her fingers grew clammy as her face heated.

  He stared through her. Obviously he didn’t have much of a forgiving spirit.

  She heaved a harsh sigh. What a trip this had been.

  Barbara ducked back in and slouched against the backseat, fingers to her cheeks. Count to ten. Mama always says to count to ten. Then she recalled Dad’s words. “We’re going on a great adventure.” Another engineering site search for the VanDusen company. And Dad always took his family along. He loved excitement and even a trip to the store became an adventure to him. Well, this was turning out to be one Cracker Jack of an adventure. Besides, she was too old for these excursions into the unknown, and on her Christmas break no less.

  As far as she was concerned, life could limp along at a snail’s pace. All she desired at the moment was her ring from Elliott. Dreamy eyes could go home to whomever cared. She certainly didn’t.

  A shiver of remorse slithered through her when she remembered she didn’t know a thing about this stranger other than that he was saving her family. Only being alone with him next to the swirling water frightened her.

  A rap on the roof. She rolled down the window.

  “I didn’t mean to grouse. You all right in there?”

  “Y-yes,” Barbara said, chewing the edge of her lip. If truth be known, her heart beat like an African conga; her knees shook so that, if they were maracas, they’d be clacking a tune; and her mind was filled with thoughts of unimaginable horrors that might befall her. Why, this fellow could be a modern-day Jack the Ripper. She rolled the window back up a bit.

  Mama was right; she read too many novels. Searching for something to occupy her time, she lifted the suitcases to the seat and stacked them on top of each other. Then she slumped against the seat and tried to twirl a piece of straight brown hair into a fat sausage on her forehead. She’d inherited Mama’s straight, dark brown hair—the reason Dad called her his little China doll. Barbara let go of the coil; nothing.

  The man’s freezing to death for your sake. She rolled the window back down a bit. “Would you like to sit inside?” she asked politely.

  He glanced down the front of his clothes. “Probably not a good idea. I should keep an eye out in case...well, we don’t want any more surprises, do we?”

  Chapter 2

  More than an hour passed before Mr. Richardson arrived back at the car with the empty boat. Jackson didn’t envy him, limp arms dragging at his sides.

  The girl stuck her head out the window, but he noticed she didn’t open the door this time. “Dad, is there a place for us in town?”

  Mr. Richardson’s face smacked of exhaustion as he stretched his neck from side to side, but he didn’t show weakness when speaking to his daughter.

  “We met up with the mayor, Charles Judge. We’re staying with his family.”

  She stepped from the car and directed her question to Jackson. “Excuse me. Are the Judges nice people? I mean—”

  “Salt of the earth.” Jackson nodded and smiled. A quick once-over told him she wasn’t as young as he’d originally thought.

  She placed a hand over her chest. “But nice enough to spend the night with strangers?” Not waiting for an answer, she addressed her father. “Oh, Dad, it’s Christmas Eve. Aunt Ina and Auntie Pearl are expecting us. And my party.”

  Jackson stepped in when he recognized frustration in the man’s eyes. “Miss, you won’t be going anywhere for a few days. I’m not even sure your car will start again after inhaling all that water. Let’s get you out of the wet and cold. You can worry about parties later.” Leave it to a female to worry about parties at a time like this.

  Her father pulled her close. “We’re lucky to be alive, Barbara. And now a family’s been kind enough to house us. Let’s say no more.”

  Offering what Jackson hoped to be helpful reassurance, he looked her in the eyes. “They have a daughter about your age. Good people. Won’t mind at all that it’s Christmas. Just wait and see.” He offered his arm.

  She brushed it away and sought the headlight for support.

  Jackson shrugged his shoulders and addressed her father, “Sir, do you have any suitcases?”

  Mr. Richardson indicated the backseat and Jackson opened the door. “Hey, stacked and ready to go. Let’s see if we can fit these between us in the boat.”

  As her father assisted her, it crossed Jackson’s mind that a good dunking might do her some good until he recognized that fear had probably birthed her cold behavior.

  He settled onto the center seat of the boat and paddled, giving Mr. Richardson’s arms a rest. Once the water grew more shallow, the men stepped out and pulled hard to hoist the boat onto firm ground. Miss Uppity looked ahead, staring wide-eyed at the house.

  With a groan her father helped her out of the boat. “Here we are. Past the worst of it, sweetie. The town sits high and almost dry.”

  “I’ll get your suitcases, sir.” Jackson retraced his steps. He hefted first one and then the other to Mr. Richardson. With only one bag remaining, he stretched and pulled it from the far end of the boat. Turning toward Mr. Richardson, Jackson reached forward, but lost his footing in the mud for the fourth time that day. Arms flailing for balance, the suitcase slipped and soared through the air.

  Miss Richardson froze. “No, no, no, no, no!”

  Clothes, colorful and personal, straddled mounds of muck like flags waving in the wind, announcing her arrival.

  Drawing himself off the ground one leg at a time, Jackson’s lip quivered, a grin struggling not to cut loose. “Sorry. I sure didn’t...”

  Every clean and dry thing from her suitcase lay covered in slimy mud. Jaw tight, the girl rushed to gather the personal items he’d exposed to the world. Eyes darting left and right, she scrambled after the garments.

  She popped the personal items under her arm with the speed of a lizard snapping a fly.

  Once she had managed to snatch the last of her clothes from the ground, she loaded the suitcase and drew herself up. Though her chin tilted high, she listed toward her father. “Shall we go?”

  “I can get those cases for you.”

  Her expression dared him to move before she addressed her father. “Where are we going?”

  Jackson captured her gaze and nodded ahead. She stared at the house with the winding porch. Her eyes closed, and he sensed with a heaviness in his bones how horrid she felt waiting to face a house full of strangers.

  * * *

  A great deal had occurred since they’d left Georgia that morning: heavy breakfast, horrible storm, flooding, and now, here they were stranded with no other choice than to stay with people they didn’t know. Some adventure.

  Hand grasping the handle tightly, Barbara lifted the suitcase. Water drained from the cracks in pirouetting streams as she narrowed her eyes on the incorrigible man beside her. So much for dreamy eyes.

  Drawing herself up, ignoring the brown sludge stuck to her bag, she started the trek toward the house, wet shoes sucking in the smelly mud. If her friends at home could see her, she would never live this down. A trickle on her cheek. She swatted with her free hand and transferred a blob of dirt to her face. Was there no end to the humiliation?

  She must look a horror. Hi, I’m Barbara Richardson. Nice to meet you. No, I don’t generally get mud facials in the middle of the day. This is just a special occasion. The peculiar thought brought an unexpected smile.

  Over her shoulder she heard his voice. “May I help?”

  Smile gone, Barbara gritted her teeth, civility far fro
m her voice. Keeping her gaze straight ahead, a familiar comment came to mind. “I think you have helped quite enough.”

  “Touché.”

  A chuckle?

  Dad offered his arm and hurried her up the slope. He must have read her thoughts, because one more minute and that man would have been some parent’s faded memory.

  She focused ahead where a chubby teenager lounged on the steps of the large colonial. A green-and-gold striped long-sleeved shirt strained over his frame and his hands continued nonstop plunging from his pockets to his mouth. Fourteen? Fifteen years old? About Abigail’s age.

  He mucked his way toward them. “Hey there,” he shouted. “I’m Willie Judge. C’mon in. My sister’ll be out in a minute. She’s helping Mother ready things.”

  Empty peanut shells flickered over his feet like a shower. Of course. Peanut country. Now that she thought of it, the earthy smell of wet dirt and nuts filled the air as if she had a bucketful in her hands. She sniffed; her stomach growled. When she glanced to the left, she spied the end of a long building in the distance, smoke curling from the top. A huge sign on the road read “Judge’s Homegrown Goober Peas. Pick a pile and see ’em smile.”

  Willie smiled all right...and stuffed more in his mouth.

  A giggle cracked through her sour mood. Like a chubby panda bear, he ate and ate.

  Now that the clothing debacle was over, she needed to make the best of the situation. That meant being grateful—extremely grateful they had a place to stay. She stopped the briefest second and closed her eyes. Thank You. Forgive me for whining. I know You brought us through what could have been a horrible disaster.

  Soiled clothes could always be washed. Barbara frowned. That foolish man should clean them for her. No, on second thought, having him handle her clothes again wouldn’t do at all. Her cheeks warmed anew.

  Nearing the house, she spied a young woman. At least he’d been right about that. Barbara guessed her to be eighteen or so. She had come out on the porch, sliding one hand to her brow and waving them in with the other.

  As they drew closer, the girl smiled. “I’m Elizabeth Judge.”

  Dad stepped forward. “Hello, again, young lady. This is my daughter, Bunny.”

  Barbara intended to offer her hand, and started to, but dirt covered her fingers. She drew back and apologized. “Sorry, nice to meet you.” Wiping the mud on her blue gabardine skirt, she breathed out a sigh. “Oh, well, it’s already so filthy, one more smudge isn’t going to make much difference. I’ll have to sponge it.”

  Elizabeth shook her head. “Don’t worry. We’re a mess, too. I’ve been scrubbing floors all morning.”

  Barbara quaked inside. How ghastly, moving into their home bag, baggage and mud. “And we impose.”

  Pulling a face, Elizabeth said, “Oh, pfft. We love having company.” Her grin told Barbara they’d found a welcome refuge. “Here, let me take that for you.” Elizabeth wrinkled her nose as mud slid off the sides of the suitcase. “You’ll be needing some soap and water and Mother’s clothesline.”

  More than you realize. “Thank you.”

  With her free arm looped through Barbara’s, Elizabeth pulled her up the steps, avoiding the slippery spots. Willie dashed around them like a bouncing ball.

  In no time, Elizabeth leveled a correcting glance in the teen’s direction. “William, I’m sure Miss Richardson doesn’t need your antics. Go in and tell Mother the rest of our guests are here.” She returned her attention to Barbara. “Just call me Betty or Bets, everyone does. We’ll get you settled as soon as we can. Mother’s in the other room starting a fire to dry your clothes.”

  Barbara and Elizabeth wiped their feet, though wet feet were the least of the problems. Then they entered a large foyer where wreaths and boughs of greens with bright red bows circled the walls. The smell of pine filled Barbara’s nose and elicited pleasant memories, bringing a smile. A long Persian runner, covered with three smaller rugs to catch the mud, ran the length of the hall.

  Elizabeth touched her hand. “Bunny?”

  “Please. Everyone else calls me Barbara except my dad. Bunny has been his nickname for me since I was little—whether I liked it or not.” She glanced over her shoulder to be sure her father had retrieved the last of the luggage. The man with the boat was nowhere to be seen.

  Tripping down the hallway toward them, Willie halted. “Bunny? Did you say Bunny?” And with a startled expression, asked, “Like a rodent?”

  “William.” An older female voice rose sharply from the other room and he stopped pestering Barbara.

  “Now you’re going to get it.” Betty turned back to Barbara. “Forgive my brother.”

  He stopped. “Hey!”

  Betty looked at Barbara’s wet feet. “I’m sorry. I’m chattering away about my foolish brother and you’d no doubt like to change into something dry.”

  “You’re all very kind.”

  Betty squeezed her arm. “Nonsense. I know this sounds silly—” she glanced at Willie’s retreating footsteps “—but I always wanted a sister. I just didn’t know I’d be getting one for Christmas.”

  Barbara liked Betty immediately.

  “Don’t look so sad. This will be fun.” Betty’s eyes sparkled. Barbara couldn’t help but smile.

  Just how pleased would the VanDusens be if uninvited guests showed up on their doorstep as a holiday surprise? Barbara shook her head. That was there and this was here. Two entirely different places, two entirely different circumstances. No fair comparing her future in-laws to anyone else. But still...

  Betty giggled and hauled her up the long staircase. “Mother said you’ll stay in my room, your parents in the guest room and your sisters can stay in Father’s library on the love seats. Grand’s in the other guest room, but we have plenty of pillows and quilts. ’Nuff to go ’round.”

  * * *

  Now Jackson understood the expression looked like a drowned kitten. Because that snooty little thing surely had. He’d bet the bedraggled kitten had claws, too, but he wasn’t about to find out firsthand. She’d looked madder than a riled rattler when he had lifted her clothes from the ground. It wasn’t like he had tried to fall and drop her suitcase. Just the thought brought his hands to the seat of his pants and he wiped dirt out of the back pockets.

  In spite of the long, tedious day, he whistled “We Wish You a Merry Christmas” as he returned to the rowboat. Time to rescue another creature from the swamp. Maybe this one wouldn’t be so haughty and unappreciative.

  Ignoring the cold fingers of exhaustion gouging his back, he pushed the boat down the slope and into the water. Two fellas waved—the Redfield brothers. Jackson cupped his hands and hollered, “You manage to get those folks out of their car all right?”

  John leaned to the edge and shouted back, “We got ’em. They’re stayin’ with our parents. Mother, father, a baby and an old lady, the mother-in-law, I guess. Ugly enough to be your old hound dog, Simon.”

  Jackson smiled, remembering that patched-together dog of his youth.

  He raised his voice a notch or two. “Well, you treat her like a queen, you hear? Show some charity, boys. It’s Christmas.”

  “Aw, we’re always nice, Jack. You’re just a Goody Two-shoes. Mama Judge’s little boy.”

  “Yeah, yeah. Merry Christmas. Tell your folks I said hey.”

  “Will do. By the way, the sheriff says everybody’s accounted for. We can go home and enjoy some spiked eggnog.”

  Not in the Judge house. Mother saw to that.

  Jackson sighed with relief. His arms were sore enough for two men. With the last of his strength, he guided the boat along the edge of the water and headed around the west side, where he could tie the boat, climb the hill and check on the factory. As manager, he’d have to keep checking on the building.

  Entering by the end door, he spied Ophelia, the barn cat they kept to control the ever-increasing rat and mouse population. She dashed over, purred and rubbed against his leg. “Hey there, girl.”

>   Tall ears, long tail. Good mouser.

  Pretty little thing. Bright eyes. Mischievous personality. Whoa. Wait. Barbara Richardson fit that mold. He shouldn’t be thinking about her.

  He straddled a crate, dissecting the last five hours and scratched Ophelia’s ears. She flipped on her back and he rubbed her soft, furry belly. That girl might have the slimmest reason to be angry. When he picked her camisole up from the ground, he thought her eyes would bug clean out of her head.

  His hands tightened on Ophelia’s tummy and she screeched. “Sorry, girl. Didn’t mean to be so rough.” The petulant princess flipped to her feet like a log in water, lifted her tail and strutted away. He pictured Barbara Richardson: head in the air, suitcase covered in mud, feet slopping up the incline and he laughed—petulant princess is right.

  Show some charity. His words to the Redfields rushed back to haunt him. All right, all right. I’ll show some charity. I’m gonna have to, Lord.

  Chapter 3

  Barbara breathed in luscious smells. Cinnamon—one of her favorites.

  Betty’s grandmother brought a tray of tea and cookies from the kitchen and placed them on the side table. Her hands fluttered as she set out plenty of cream and honey for the hot cinnamon tea. “Here we go. Fresh from the oven.” Then she disappeared again without saying another word.

  “That—” Betty giggled “—was Grand. Grandmother Delaney. She’s a wonder. Just taste these warm gingersnaps.”

  A loud ruckus rounded the corner in the forms of Willie, Abigail and Dot, who sprinted straight for the treats. Hands grabbing, all three dug in.

  “Girls!” Mama and Mrs. Judge entered from the hallway. Mama’s hawk eyes honed in on Abigail and Dot and without another word, they replaced the cookies, sat down, crossed their hands in their laps and waited patiently for the refreshments and Mama’s chastisement to be served.