But if he did, he’d have to face her. He couldn’t.
After another look at the pile of gifts, he realized how happy he was for his sister. Happy for his friend Teddy. Jackson only wished...well, wishing did no good unless you were five years old and blowing out candles.
Ships were sinking, chunks of metal propelled through the air in all directions from another blast and then another. He wished the Japs would turn back before causing any more deaths. He prayed he’d be able to save his friend Ollie. But the metal shaft from the ship’s belly sliced across Jackson’s face, then cracked Ollie in the skull, sending him into the dark, smoldering water. Churning fuel and debris closed over the surface like a coffin lid.
Jackson pivoted on his heel, leaving his father’s struggles to sink along with his own memories. He sprawled across the bed and fell onto the soft pillow, arms over his forehead. How he longed to play a bigger role in Betty’s celebration. If only he didn’t resemble a gargoyle.
God, why did You bring her here? I could accept never having a wife, but to be forced to see her every day... It’s not fair. To know she’s just outside my door...sleeping feet from my room. Why are You torturing me this way? Didn’t You do enough to me at Pearl Harbor? You could have saved all of us, but You let so many die. Why? Why didn’t You at least save him? Jackson let the first tear since Pearl Harbor trickle over his scarred cheek and onto the pillow.
He swiped the tear away. Pity served no purpose. He waited for the noise to fade downstairs, put on his work boots and headed for the stairs.
There was work to be done.
* * *
Barbara tossed and turned on her bed. This was as good a time as any, though an excuse to talk with Jackson would help. She crawled out from under the covers. Quietly, so as not to awaken Betty, she slid into slacks and a sweater. She strode to the cedar chest and picked out the delicate linens her sisters had made for Betty. A little after midnight, down the stairs and across the entranceway to the kitchen, she slipped on cat-quiet feet. With pillowcases tucked under her arm, she pushed the door open. He needed a dose of reality. She was the woman to provide it.
No tall figure was perched on a kitchen chair sipping coffee and sulking. She glanced toward the back door. Cracked open. A moment’s uncertainty developed into determination. Barbara walked outside and into the backyard where Jackson was sanding the gazebo; gentle strokes with his hands smoothed the boards to a satiny finish. She hesitated, listening. The cicadas’ buzz competed with the soft grinding of sandpaper and stars glittered over her head.
Jackson stopped sanding, but didn’t turn. “What do you want, Barbara?”
She cocked her head. “How did you know it was me?”
He tensed sweat-soaked shoulders so tightly under his cotton shirt, she could see the well-defined muscles. A wrenching sigh followed. “I can feel when you’re near me.”
Barbara sucked back air, pulled her bottom lip in as her heart skittered.
He returned to the long steady strokes with the rough paper. Even in the poorly lit area, she could see how nicely the gazebo was coming along. “Beautiful.”
“Yes.” His head sagged, but just for a second. “Very beautiful.” Then he bent low, eyeballing one end of the board.
“I thought you might like to see one of Betty’s gifts. My sisters sewed these for her.” She held out her hands draped in the dainty linens.
He turned slightly. Barbara thought she saw a shudder before he returned to his task.
His deep voice spoke soft and low. “I’m sure Bets appreciates their hard work.”
Her face flamed. The air stilled. Even the cicadas quieted as if sensing her anger. He cared for no one but himself, and it was time someone told him how it really was. “It’s a shame you can’t be bothered to look at these.”
“Barbara, what do you want from me?”
What did she want from him? Certainly not this. Being treated as if she didn’t exist. “You really don’t care about anyone but yourself, do you? One of the most important days in your sister’s life and you can’t be inconvenienced to admire two of her presents. I can’t, for the life of me, understand the mean-spirited selfishness you cling to as if it were your god.” She dug a toe in the ground, welcoming the jolting pain.
Once again, his back to her, he stopped working. “Barbara, you shouldn’t have come. My family accepts that I don’t want to be around anyone. They just pretend I’m still away. That works for all of us. But you.” He slammed the sanding block against the board and spun to face her. “You come here and expect things from me, things a man should be able to give a woman. That’s more than I have in me.”
“I expected you to have lost a great deal, but not your manners. No matter how hard I try to believe in you, you aren’t the man my family met a year and half ago.”
“I didn’t ask you to believe in me.”
* * *
Barbara yawned, pulled the quilt over her head. “Betty. Stop those bells. Aren’t they louder than usual this morning?” When she poked her head out, they both laughed at the absurd question.
“You don’t have to go to church if you’d rather stay here and sleep in. But you’ll scandalize the whole town. At least the folks in New Hope.” Betty, already dressed and arranging her curls into wavy sausages on her forehead, gestured toward the clock. “If you are going though, you’d best hurry. We leave in half an hour.” She checked the clock once more. “A short half an hour.”
Barbara sat up, stretched, reached for her robe. “You couldn’t keep me here. I’m anxious to meet all the people who were so kind that Christmas. I figure most of the town had a hand in the presents we received. We still talk about our Secret Santas.”
Blotting her red lips on a tissue, Betty smiled at her through the mirror. “Oh, you think so, do you?”
“Secret or not, I’m sure I’m right about who the combs were from, and I’ve never thanked you properly, Betty. I use them on special occasions. I had actually planned to wear them in my hair for my wedding, but we know how that worked out.”
“The combs...from me?” Betty stopped primping in the mirror, turned and stared at Barbara, eyes wide enough to pop. “Oh, no. I’m not so ritzy as all that.”
“Then who, your parents?” Barbara rose and crossed the floor.
“Are you kidding?” Betty asked. “I thought you knew.”
Barbara rubbed sleep from her eyes as if seeing better would give her a hint. “Knew what?”
“The combs were from Jackson.”
* * *
Sun fought through the stained-glass window in the front of the church where a beautiful carved cross appeared, rays shooting from each end. There was a strange, uncanny peace surrounding her this morning, filling her with hope. Church always did that to Barbara, but today was different. She bowed her head when the families prayed for their loved ones.
Father, I know You love Jackson. Please help him. He needs a reason to live again, to hope. I know it’s easy for me to tell him to stop feeling sorry for himself. I wasn’t there when he lost his friends, but I’m here now and I want to help. Shove him out of bed so he can start living again.
Barbara was so caught up in prayer that when the choir started, she jerked upright. Betty cracked a smile. She probably thought Barbara had fallen asleep. Not for a second. Listening to the words reminded her that no matter how difficult the situation, He walked with her, spoke to her heart, held her in His loving arms. An ache shot through her heart when she thought of Jackson. He didn’t seem to believe in anything anymore. How empty he must be.
Greeters pumped her hand on the way out and welcomed her back to New Hope.
A plump lady in a huge orange-flowered hat crowed, “Elizabeth has talked about nothing but you coming to visit. Welcome back to New Hope, child. We’re happy to have you here.”
Barbara’s head spun at all the good wishes heaped on her. And she knew in her heart that Jackson would receive the same welcome if he allowed these good people the chance to show
him. These weren’t phony, fair-weather friends.
With the day so bright and warm, she and Betty decided to forego the car and walk home from church. Barbara’s stomach growled and that brought laughter to their lips.
Betty lifted her face to the sun, her cheeks like round lady apples. “You should have crawled out of bed earlier and walked with me in the garden. So much is blooming now just in time for the wedding.” She peeked at Barbara from the corner of her eye and offered a calculating smile. “But I s’pose you were tired, being out so late and all.”
“You knew I was outside last night?”
Betty laughed. “You’re about as subtle as a freight train roaring into the station. And not much quieter. Did you penetrate Jackson’s thick skull?”
Barbara shook her head, powerless to stop the defeated expression she felt covering her face. “Not a bit.” She wished she could say yes. “Jackson isn’t blaming the Japanese or the navy for what happened to him. He’s blaming himself. And God.”
Betty breathed out a sigh from somewhere deep inside. “Time will tell.”
Another rumble from Barbara’s stomach reminded them they ought to hurry home to help with the meal. She pictured Mrs. Judge climbing out of the car and into an apron.
“C’mon. We’ll be late and Mother needs all the help she can get. Besides, Teddy’s supposed to arrive with his brother today.” As soon as the words left her mouth, she blushed almost as red as her blouse and quickly shifted gears. “I’ll race you home.”
Barbara hoisted her skirt, pumped her arms and ran as fast as her legs would carry her, passing Betty easily.
* * *
Jackson peered around the edge of the hallway window, one of his favorite spots to observe the world racing by. Barbara’s hair had loosened and heaped onto her shoulders in thick masses of soft brown curls. Her hair had been straight as a level and almost to her waist when they had first visited, but not now. Now it was curly, thick and shoulder length. His hand tightened on the window frame until it trembled. If only he could touch her hair, smell the fresh scent of shampoo he’d noticed that night in the kitchen. He shook his head; he had no right to touch her. No right at all.
Betty squealed and laughed as she and Barbara sprinted to the doorway. What a tomboy Barbara was. He liked a girl with a hearty appetite for life. And plenty of spunk.
Had liked that kind of girl. Now, he didn’t care. Not at all.
Truth lured him away from his watching place. Who was he fooling? He cared all right. Cared so much he actually thought about joining the family for dinner for the first time since he’d returned from Pearl. Hurting his sister and stealing her joy at a time when she should abandon herself to the wedding celebrations didn’t sit well inside. Only he could change the circumstances.
Jackson crossed the floor of his room where a long look in the mirror stood witness to how far he’d fallen. That couldn’t be him. Without sprucing up, he’d scare his worst enemy. Not that all the scars and burns could be covered, but at least he should clean up. He ran his tongue along the rough edge of his lip where the chunk of metal had sliced soft tissue. Couldn’t very well walk around with his tongue over his lip. Like it or not—and he didn’t—the red scar had to show.
His clothes hung in the closet, pressed, starched, neat and crisp as the day his mother had hung them there. But he stayed in Levi’s and flannel shirts all the time. Even his boots had muddy clumps on them from his working in the backyard at night. The gazebo was shaping up nicely. But time had passed to step up and really help Father. For this to come together in less than three weeks, Father and Will would need Jackson’s assistance around the clock.
With a close shave and clean clothes, he braved a step toward the door. The pants slopped at the waist. How much weight had he lost these last couple months living on disappointment and coffee?
The door squeaked when he opened it. The sounds and smells of kitchen-work-in-progress grew stronger with each step toward the stairs. Would Barbara be in the kitchen helping Mother and Betty? He stopped and ran tense fingers through his hair.
Coward. You can do this.
He dared the inner voices to taunt him again. One step. Then another. Finally at the stairwell, he gazed down. Betty stood at the bottom, her jaw nearly unhinged.
“Jack? Is that you?”
The first wooden riser didn’t announce him, but that second rascal squeaked for the entire household to hear. He halted. Betty shrieked, “Jackson’s here. C’mon, everybody.” No sense hesitating any longer.
Barbara poked her head around the corner just as his foot found the bottom stair. A cautious smile tipped the edges of her lips. “Well, look who’s returned to the land of the living. I’ve been here an entire week and you never came to welcome me.”
He rubbed his jaw where bristles had been. “We talked.”
“You call that a welcome? This is a welcome.”
She moved forward on soft, fluid legs; he couldn’t steal his gaze away. Her skirt ended below her knee in a swirl of color that looked like a peach from Father’s grove. No pant legs to obstruct the view this time. His glance rose to hers, and like the shining blue marbles he’d played with as a kid, her eyes invited him closer. Slender arms reached out and enclosed him in a hug. Her surprising strength sent shudders through his body. Towering above her, his chin came to the top of her head. She smelled so good. His arms twitched to keep from wrapping her up like a knot. But restraint lasted only so long. He pulled her to him.
“There now, much more of a welcome,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.
What was he doing? He let go faster than if she’d been fire. His arms tingled where she’d hugged him to her. And that clean, soapy smell in her hair left him weak and exposed.
She looked up at him, grinning—breathless with the same self-assured grace he’d fallen in love with that first day when she had glared at him through the car window, almost daring him to be fresh. That was a long time ago when he had had something to offer a woman.
“Well, don’t you have anything to say?”
Words filled his throat but a lump stuck halfway, wouldn’t budge. His family stared. Finally a croak pressed through dry lips. “Welcome, Barbara.” He shifted his face away, as he had learned to do to keep people from seeing the worst of his scars, but her gentle hands reached up, took his face in her palms and turned him to look at her.
“Thank you. I had hoped to be welcomed by you.” She giggled. “Now, I’m afraid all this hospitality has left me famished. I don’t mean to be rude, Mrs. Judge—” she glanced her direction “—but I lollygagged so long this morning, I missed breakfast. I can’t wait to taste that heavenly roast I’ve been smelling in the kitchen since we came home.” Her hands stayed on Jackson’s cheeks.
His mother tidied the edge of her apron and blushed, tears in her eyes. “Soup’s on! Let’s go, Will. Hurry along, all, we’ve got a starving waif in our midst.” Her plump hands pulled Barbara to her, away from Jackson.
Barbara glanced over her shoulder and winked in his direction. His mouth opened and closed, wordless.
Chapter 7
Sitting in his chair for the first time since he’d left for boot camp, Jackson relished the way his muscles relaxed. He leaned against the seat back, crossed his legs at the ankle and bowed his head out of respect for his father when prayers started. Nothing like the rushed gobbling of food once they sat to eat on ship. There had been a sprinkling of prayers, but mostly hand-to-mouth wolfing down of the worst food anyone could imagine. Lots of Tabasco sauce had doused eggs, meat, sandwiches, soup; even an occasional dessert.
Jackson opened his eyes to enjoy the sight of his family sitting at the table. As he scanned the row to the left, he gulped. Barbara stared at him. She immediately dropped her gaze and finished praying.
Father ended just as the doorbell rang. Betty said, “Amen,” and flew to the front of the house without excusing herself. “It’s Teddy. It’s Teddy. He’s early.” She stopped l
ong enough to address her mother. “Can you put two more plates out and add a little water to the stew, Mother?” An embarrassed grin followed her out of the dining room.
Add a little water to the stew. He smiled, remembering Grand’s expression.
If Jackson meant it about changes for his sister’s sake, he’d be forced to go all the way. Playacting wasn’t exactly his forte, but he’d do his best. A test of his endurance.
Ted entered, Betty tugging his arm. Jackson rose to shake hands. “Good to see you.” No chance hiding the scars. “Where’s Teo? I heard he was coming with you.”
“He’ll be along in a couple days. He couldn’t take so much time off work as I could. After all, I’m the groom. Who’d want to try and stop a groom?” He squeezed Betty to him unable to hide the love in his eyes.
A couple more days reprieve from the older brother; for that, Jackson was grateful.
Betty glanced toward Barbara. “This is my fiancé, Teddy. Actually, I’d like you to meet Theodore Barrymore the Third.”
Barbara’s eyebrows shot up. Impressed, was she? Wait ’til she heard the whole story. He surprised himself by repressing a chuckle.
Teddy leaned forward, pecked Barbara on the cheek, and said, “Nothing so ostentatious, I’m afraid. My father, for whatever reason, named my brother Theodore Jr. and apparently thought it would be clever to name me Theodore the Third. Rather gauche, but you have to know my father. So my brother goes by Teo. We had a great grandfather from France, and Teo thinks he’s all French and swanky. But everyone calls me plain old Teddy.” He slugged Jackson’s shoulder. “Except the big guy here, who insists on calling me Ted. Trying to make me more manly no doubt.”
He made a face and Jackson waited for Barbara’s reaction. As he thought, she had a good laugh over Ted’s antics. How he appreciated her sense of humor. Of course, in a few days, she’d have the real test. Teo Barrymore would arrive and then she could decide whether he really was everything he thought.
Barbara had every right to be enamored of the handsome, dashing Frenchman. In school, Jackson hadn’t known one girl who didn’t blush when Teo passed by. Until they got to know his groping nature better.
With Eyes of Love (Heartsong Presents) Page 6
