With Eyes of Love (Heartsong Presents)

by Linda S. Glaz

  But it wasn’t simple. Life meant dealing with people, accepting them and being accepted for who you were. He ached to have gone to the movies, Barbara on his arm, laughing, smiling at his stupid jokes. No way. The stares, the whispers, the steering around him in order to avoid conversation all played to his lack of confidence since returning from Pearl.

  He punched his pillow and slouched against it.

  His gaze drifted to the picture of the good shepherd on the wall. Where were You when I cried out to You? You left us to drown. The frightening part is, I know You’re real, God. That’s what makes me so angry. You are real, but You deserted us when we needed You most. How could You have allowed that poor kid to die? He was a baby, only slightly older than Will. Why, God?

  Why didn’t You save us? If only You’d saved Ollie. He didn’t stand a chance. Like my own kid brother, Ollie barely grown up, and still You took him.

  Noisy feet thundered over the floor downstairs.

  “C’mon, Will. Let’s see what’s leftover.”

  Barbara’s voice. The wedding party had returned. In his present state of antagonism, he figured joining them would make him the soaking-wet blanket. He unfolded on his bed, closed his eyes and pretended not to hear the laughter inviting him to play.

  * * *

  “I’ll beat you to the kitchen,” Will said.

  Hungry because they hadn’t stopped at the malt shop, Will and Barbara raced for the refreshments. Ted and Betty stayed behind on the porch, and Barbara didn’t care one whit what Mr. Hotsy Totsy planned to do.

  She marched to the refrigerator and poured tall glasses of milk for herself and Will while he cut small slices of the remaining cherry pie.

  Now over the shyness he’d shown at the movies, he gazed over his shoulder, mischief his middle name. “Remember, Barbara, I get to kiss the cook if I find a pit.”

  Unable to stop the grin from spreading, she said, “Okey dokey.” Then she leaned in close. “Just don’t forget one important detail, son. Molly made that pie.”

  “Ugh.” His face fell. “She’s older than Methuselah.”

  “Be nice.” Barbara chucked him under the chin, bringing a rosy-faced response that vaulted her smile to the surface again. “Say, how about you and I take these plates into the living room and play some Monopoly?” She glanced at the clock over the stove. “I’m getting my second wind.”

  Will pouted. “Didn’t you beat me bad enough before?”

  “No. I think with a little effort I could do a much better job of kicking your britches.”

  He loaded her with the tray of glasses and plates and strode directly to the cabinet that held the games. After rummaging a few seconds, he spun on his heel. “Think Jackson might be up to a game or two?”

  His brother’s name was no sooner out of his mouth, when he froze, not saying a word for the longest time. Slumping into a chair, he stared into Barbara’s eyes, his face downright pathetic. A low moan accompanied the lip he’d tucked between his teeth. “Do you think Jackson will ever be himself again, Barbara?” He looked away, but she saw his fist pounding into the other hand.

  She set down the tray and put an arm around his shoulder. “He has a lot on his mind, Will. None of us can know how terrible it was December 7. We can only guess at the horrors he experienced. I’m thinking it will take him as long as he needs to start to forget and to forgive.”

  “Forgive?”

  “Yes, Will. In time, he’ll have to learn to forgive the attackers. Forgiveness is the only way to move past the pain. And God’s the one and only true way to do that. If we don’t forgive, how can He forgive us?”

  “As soon as I’m old enough, I plan to join up. I’ll finish what Jack started!”

  * * *

  “Mrs. Judge, Jackson wasn’t in his room. I knocked twice.” Barbara awaited further instructions before plating the food for breakfast. If they didn’t hurry, the eggs would grow cold.

  Will entered and snatched a slice of bacon. “Don’t wait breakfast on my big brother. He left two hours ago.” The bacon crunched as he bit in. Talking with his mouth full, he added, “Up before the crack of dawn with a backpack full of food and a Thermos of water. Said he’d be gone a couple days. Not to worry, he’d be here before the wedding festivities started. Didn’t he tell you, Mother?”

  “He did not.” Will’s mother shoved fists against her waist. “And where was he going, pray tell?”

  “Along the lake I expect. That’s where he used to hike before...he went away.”

  Barbara laid a hand on Will’s arm. “What does he do at the lake?”

  “Camp, swim, eat, read, hike. I dunno. Just spends time where it’s quiet. Nobody to bother him.”

  Barbara didn’t understand Jackson. Probably wouldn’t even if she lived to be as old as Mrs. Judge. “You’d think he would have had enough of being alone,” she said.

  Will’s jaw twitched.

  After breakfast, Barbara, Mrs. Judge and Betty sat at the table putting finishing touches on the scoops of netting that would be tied onto the gazebo. Barbara held a bouquet in front of her. “Well, do I make a beautiful bride?”

  “You’re going to be a very beautiful bride, Barbara.” Bets snatched the netting clusters from her hand. “Someday. Maybe if Jackson—”

  “Don’t, Bets.” Barbara meant to smile, but a combination of trembling lip and quivering chin overpowered her as she slumped back into the chair.

  “You girls finish up here. I’ll get started on the dishes.” Mrs. Judge shook her head and walked from the room.

  “I’m sorry.” Betty put a hand on Barbara’s arm. “I just thought. Well, never mind what I thought.”

  “Am I that transparent?”

  “Sweetie, like a clean window after a squirt of ammonia. Ever seen little kids with their noses pressed to the glass at a candy store? My brother seems to be a creamy piece of divinity. And I’ve seen how he looks at you. All starry-eyed.”

  Barbara’s arms hung limp at her sides. “You’re reading too much into whatever you think you’ve seen. Jackson doesn’t want anything to do with me.”

  “Oh, there you’re wrong. You remember how Jack was. Confident, a little too much maybe, but still he knew his way around the ladies. Now, he perceives himself as some kind of creature that no woman would want. Don’t you see that?”

  Thoughts percolated and ideas bubbled to the top. One scheme that kept surfacing questioned how far she was willing to go to force Jackson’s hand. How scandalous would it sound to the Judges? Jumping to her feet, she hugged Betty and ran from the room.

  “Barbara?” But Barbara was already in the kitchen discussing her plan with Mrs. Judge.

  Mrs. Judge turned from the sink, her face showing how flabbergasted she felt by the request. When Barbara asked if she could prepare a couple sandwiches, pack a bag and go find Jackson, the color had drained from the woman’s cheeks like sand streaming from an hourglass. But amid Mrs. Judge’s complaints, Barbara saw a flicker of hope in the tired eyes. As if she put stock in Barbara’s ability to convince him to return home. Well, wasn’t that what she was counting on—her finesse to encourage him to come back?

  “All I can do is try,” Barbara said.

  Salt-and-pepper hair drooping in her face, Mrs. Judge pushed a curl from her forehead, the skin ruddy. “Now, you’re sure your parents would allow you to go traipsing around the countryside if they were here?” She picked up a dish towel and wrung it in her hands as she spoke. Barbara thought if the towel were a chicken, they’d be having the poor thing with dumplings for dinner.

  How could she say this and still be truthful? “Of course. We girls go hiking all the time when we’re on the road with Father’s work. I’ll be fine.” She had hiked that one time, years ago, when Mama’s best friend had escorted them into the woods and back hunting for morel mushrooms. And she and her sisters had walked the woods whenever Father had worked near a wooded area. That was hiking, wasn’t it?

  “Very well then. You t
hrow a bag together in case it should rain—” they both knew it wasn’t supposed to

  “—and I’ll make you two roast beef sandwiches, toss in a couple sour pickles, apples and...”

  She was still listing the menu when Barbara left to borrow a backpack from Will. Barbara wasn’t even sure how to put one on, let alone hike with the weight.

  * * *

  A breeze blanketed the air along with the noisy crickets and grasshoppers. Water slapped the edges of the lake. Life should be so clear-cut. Each living his own way, minding his own business. People needed to learn the same rules as nature.

  In his hand, an apple from last year’s crop begged for Jack’s attention and he bit in. Crisp. In no time at all, the orchard would be producing a fresh crop, continuing the cycle. Twelve peach trees, twelve apple, twelve cherry and five plum. Whatever happened to the other seven plum trees? He’d climbed them as a child. No matter. Plenty of trees survived to feed the family for a year and beyond. This apple represented hours of work, winter and summer. Spraying, pruning, culling the fruit so that each piece would be large and firm. Lots of work he and Will had done in the hot sun. He bit in.

  Another bite. Sweet, like honey. Sweet—like Barbara. With a flick of his wrist, he threw the core and hit a rock, but juice continued down his chin.

  Where did that thought come from? He was spending way too much time thinking about her. For what? No woman would look at him like he was a real man. A moan from deep within reminded him that none of that mattered.

  He leaned over the edge of the lake and scooped icy water into his hands and over his face. Cold and refreshing. One more scoop and he was tempted to go in even though his mother’s words echoed from childhood. Can’t swim in a lake until after the first of June.

  There was probably a good reason, but with the sun so unusually hot this time of year, the water called his name, enticing him to jump in. Maybe he’d float along the top for a few minutes and then take a nap. Checking to be sure he was alone, he stripped down to his shorts and stretched like a fat, lazy cat in a window box. So out of shape. Well, it didn’t take a lot of stamina to float, or swim.

  Once he started arm over arm, he couldn’t stop. Kicking, pushing the water behind him, digging in, proving to himself he still had strength. In the deeper section now, he plunged beneath the frigid water, the air held low in his belly. Deeper and deeper he dove until he couldn’t hold his breath any longer. This must have been how Ollie felt. Had he simply given up, pulled the tainted water into his lungs and willingly died? Or did he struggle, fight the water that rushed into his mouth, forcing him to breathe the fetid water-oil mix?

  But they didn’t mix. How was it that day they had? The oil and water and debris had turned into a swirling, angry pandemonium, choking the strongest swimmers in their unit.

  Chest seizing, Jackson kicked to the surface, gasping for air. The swim to shore tested his muscles with burning pain. The shore seemed miles away. Jack’s arms became heavy lead objects with each stroke. If he wanted, he could lean back, close his eyes and end his misery. No. Bets would surely cross from earth to the hereafter and rip him back for the wedding.

  Now that brought a smile to his lips as he finished his swim to shore.

  Chapter 10

  He’d stretch out on the grass, listen to the water softly slapping the sand and sleep a while. Last night Jackson had done nothing but toss in bed after the wedding party had returned. He’d listened as long as he could tolerate Barbara’s laughter. No doubt having a smashing time with Teo Barrymore. And why not? Handsome and rich as he—beautiful and intelligent as she. The perfect couple in every way. Together, Teddy and Betty, Teo and Barbara would be family and best friends forever. The thought turned his stomach bitter. In fact, the idea of Teo and any decent young lady drew acid to his throat until he strode back to the chilly water and drank enough to choke the burn down.

  He knew better than to believe the phony show of good from Teo. Teo liked to love ’em and leave ’em. He’d made a career of breaking hearts at school and Jackson didn’t have any reason to believe he’d changed.

  Under the weeping willow that bordered the water, Jackson slid into his dry jeans and shirt and fell belly first onto the spring grass. Blue flowers—he couldn’t think of their name—poked through, looking like...no! Uh-uh. Wasn’t gonna do it. He flipped over and put the blue eyes out of his mind.

  * * *

  What had she been thinking? Barbara didn’t know her way around the lake! Sure, the family had camped plenty when they had traveled with Father for his work. Father had built roads all over the country and she’d hiked some, but this was different. And the last time she had seen this body of water, it was in flood stage. She stopped and listened. Sounds wouldn’t tell her whether or not she was going the right way. She didn’t have survival skills. Didn’t know what side of the tree the moss grew on or what that even meant. She wouldn’t know a poisonous berry if she made jam out of it. How foolish to have come here alone.

  She held a hand to her eyes to shelter them from the sun. The pack grew heavier, she grew hungrier, and the day grew longer. Soon she’d have to stop and nibble on one of the sandwiches jammed in the bottom of her bag.

  This wasn’t all her fault. Jackson’s stubbornness had caused most of the problems she’d endured today. If he hadn’t snuck away so early, she might have convinced him not to go at all. But that didn’t seem likely. Jackson was the type of man to do exactly what he wanted.

  Well, she was known to get what she wanted, as well.

  Thinking back, she realized Jackson was one of the reasons she’d been so eager to break her engagement to Elliott. One of the reasons? He was the reason. Once he’d winked at her through the window, once she’d realized he wasn’t the big flirt she had first thought, once he had smiled at her, she knew Elliott VanDusen didn’t stand a chance. Elliott desired a beautiful wife to wine and dine his business partners. And to think, she’d nearly married him. Her desires had meant nothing to him.

  She sighed, let out a breath so loud it startled a mallard bobbing on the lake. Jackson, don’t you know how crazy I am about you? She watched the mallard as he skimmed over the water toward his mate. Even the stupid duck had a girlfriend.

  Another hour and her feet hurt, her lungs burned from exertion, her skin tingled with sweat; she’d had enough hiking. Hands brushing against her pants, she took in the sand, rocks and trees just off the water, looking for a pretty spot to spread the shawl Mrs. Judge had tucked in. The sand looked too hot to sit comfortably. A shady place would be nice. That willow offered the best shade. And the ground was covered in wild violets. She opened her bag, drew out the shawl, and plopped against the tree. A sandwich would taste good right about now. She nibbled at the bread—tasteless. Pickle juice seeped out of the waxed paper and when she bit the end off, the juice trickled over her chin. There was a napkin in there somewhere. After dabbing at her face, she put the sandwich back. She wasn’t that hungry after all. For now, she plucked a few of the violets and tasted their sweet mellowness.

  Bark dug into her head as she leaned against the giant trunk. She’d close her eyes for a second. Soft lapping of the water filled her ears. Until...deep breathing startled her. An animal? She didn’t see any. She crawled hand over hand and peered around the tree. A man slept on the other side. What had possessed her to come out here alone?

  Barbara stood up—took a good look at the sleeping figure. Tall. Well-muscled shoulders strained against the fabric of his shirt. Dark hair, wavy. He almost looked like...Jackson? It was Jackson. Like Goldilocks, here he was.

  Afraid to move for fear of awakening him, she tiptoed around, then sat against the other side of the tree again. Her heart rate ratcheted, breaths coming rapid and shallow. If she thought he had frightened her before with his behavior, she was petrified now.

  Untying her sweater from her waist, she dropped it on the ground and eyed her watch. Ten-thirty. She’d been walking for over three hours. The sweet smell
of spring captured her. She breathed deeply of the fragrance, allowing the scent to calm her, wishing she could capture the aroma in a bottle to take home to Indiana when the time came. But more than just the smells of spring enticing her, Jackson’s nearness fascinated her. She could look all she wanted without him jumping up and storming to his room. He couldn’t stop her from staring, taking in his wounds.

  Barbara gazed around the side of the tree for another peek. Jackson’s hands. Strong, callused, a workman’s hands. With his sleeves rolled to the elbow, and his hands crossed on his forehead, his scars were visible, vulnerable to her probing stare. At the house he’d been so careful to keep his arms covered and often wore work gloves. She imagined how hot the water must have been when he had reached in to save those men. At least he’d tried. Even though they didn’t escape, he’d made the effort.

  She cringed, remembering when she had told him it was his turn to wash dishes. And he had shoved his hands into the hot dishwater without complaint. Way to go, Barbara.

  Her gaze traveled over his face. Thick black lashes lay above the swell of his cheeks. The jagged cut through his forehead peeked around his hand and still rose red against his skin. But it wasn’t ugly. Oh, how she wished he could see himself the same way she did.

  God, I asked You to let Jackson see himself through Your eyes, through my eyes. Please, Father. He needs You now more than ever. You’re the only chance he has for a normal life.

  She lingered, staring another three or four minutes before inching closer. If only she were brave, she might move right next to him. But in doing that, she wouldn’t be able to resist laying her head on his chest, listening to the beat of his heart. Proof he’d survived Pearl Harbor.

  Barbara sighed and leaned her head against the tree, hoping for a drop of wisdom to seep from the gnarly aged bark into her brain. What could she do to convince him that he was more handsome than any other man she knew? Had ever—would ever—know.