by Arlene James
“Kinder,” he surmised.
“That’s it.” She flapped a hand happily. “Oh, you don’t know how long I’ve waited for this! See you then.” As she turned to go, he realized that he’d missed something important, and without even thinking, he reached out and snagged her wrist. A jolt of heat lanced up his arm. He instantly released her.
“Sorry. Uh, when?”
Her eyes grew even rounder, and apology was suddenly written all over her face. “I turned my head. Jemmy was about to crawl off into the bushes, and I didn’t even think.”
“It’s all right.” He brought his hands to his hips, just to be sure he didn’t accidentally reach out for her again. “Tell me when.”
“Monday’s my day off, so anytime Monday would be great for me.”
He nodded. “Monday.”
She smiled, and he drew back, that smile doing strange things to his insides. He wondered if her husband was going to be there, and hoped that he was. It would be best to deal with Cody. Perhaps he should suggest it, but she was already turning away again, calling the girl to her side as she went. Dan backed up and closed the door. Then he suddenly remembered something he’d seen.
She wore her wedding ring on her right hand and no ring at all on her left. Thinking quickly, he weighed the significance of that, and then he remembered something else. One day down at the store he’d seen two women standing in front of the deli case, watching John Odem carve up a ham. One had leaned close to the other and apparently whispered something that had stuck with him. What a shame about the boy.
He knew now what it meant. Cody Kinder had died. That explained why Dan hadn’t seen him around at all since his return, even why Becca had come to ask for his help. He thought of the boy he had known and felt a keen sense of loss tinged with shame. Cody had been younger than him, so they hadn’t been buddies or anything, but Dan had always liked the kid as well as his parents, who had fairly doted on their only child. And to think that all this time he’d been too busy feeling his own loss to even realize what they had suffered.
He sighed and bowed his head.
Okay. I get it. Lots of folks have lost lots more than me. The least I can do is help Becca Kinder with whatever repairs she’s needing. And I’ll try to be less prideful from now on, Lord. Really I will.
For the first time in a long while a real sense of purpose filled him, and it felt good. Really good. He went back to his lunch, walking down the hall to the kitchen, completely ignorant of a loud squeak at a certain spot in the clean, highly polished hardwood floor.
Becca couldn’t say why she looked for him to come into the store on Saturday, but she was disappointed when it didn’t happen. Ever since he’d admitted his deafness to her, she’d felt that they shared a bond along with the secret. And yet she felt torn about the secret itself. Whatever his reasons for not publicly acknowledging his lack of hearing, it served only to keep him isolated. Most people would gladly accommodate his condition, allowing him to get back into the swing of things around the community. Perhaps with him working around her house—and she couldn’t imagine that he wouldn’t be—God would give her the words to say to convince him to let people know about his disadvantage.
She didn’t see any reason to wait for Monday to speak to him, however, so on Sunday she kept an eye out, and sure enough he slipped in late and took up his customary spot on the back row. She didn’t signal to him to come up front, though there was space in the pew, but she did rush out at the first possible moment, leaving Jemmy in the care of the Kinders. With barely a nod for the pastor, she hurried through the narrow foyer and down the front steps, catching up with him beneath a big beech tree that grew near the sidewalk and overhung the dusty parking area.
He stopped and turned when she tapped him on the shoulder. She suddenly found herself smiling like a goose.
“What’s your hurry?”
He glanced down at the key in his hand and said softly, “Bean casserole.”
She waited until he looked up at her again before she said, “Guess there’s no point in inviting you to Sunday dinner, then, huh?” She’d meant to tease but realized belatedly that she was serious. At any rate, he missed the inflection.
“Nice of you.” He shook his head apologetically. “Not a good idea.”
“Because you’d be uncomfortable around John Odem and Abby,” she surmised.
He seemed a little surprised by that, but then he didn’t have any way of knowing that she routinely took Sunday dinner with the Kinders. “Yes,” he said, and she had the distinct feeling that it wasn’t exactly the truth—not all of it, anyway.
Suddenly struck by how forward she was being, she looked away. That’s when Shep Marcum stopped by to shake Dan’s hand and invite him to the men’s Sunday-school class.
“Thank you for mentioning it, Mr. Marcum,” Dan said slowly and politely, but just a tad too loud. Then again, Shep was nearly John Odem’s age and hard of hearing. Maybe he wouldn’t notice. “I’ll think on it.”
“You do that, son,” Shep said, clapping Dan on the shoulder. “We’d sure be glad to have you.” He glanced at Becca and winked. “Looking mighty pretty again today, Becca. That’s a right attractive dress you’re wearing.”
Becca grinned. “Shep, it’s the same dress I wear every other Sunday, and you know it.”
“Well, it’s still a nice one,” he said jauntily, stepping off the sidewalk.
She laughed and slid a wry look at Dan. “He says that about the other one, too.”
“The other one?”
“My other Sunday dress.”
“Ah.”
He looked down at his feet, missing the greeting called out by the Platters—not that he’d have caught it, anyway. Becca nudged his toe with hers, and when he looked up said softly, “Wave at Bill Platter and his wife. To your left.”
Dan looked that way and lifted an arm in greeting before turning back to Becca. “Thanks. He coming over?”
“Nope. Heading for the car. They always go to her mother’s in Waurika on Sunday.”
Dan nodded, keeping his gaze glued to her face. “Graduated high school with Bill.”
She lifted her eyebrows. “He looks older than you.”
“He is. Held back, dropped out for a while.”
“Is that so? Then you’ll be surprised to hear that he’s a big man around here now. Pretty well-heeled. Owns an insurance agency in Duncan.”
His mouth quirked at the word hear, but she didn’t apologize, sensing that would compound the mistake. “Surprised he’s living in Rain Dance, then.”
“How come? You’re living in Rain Dance now.”
He looked away, mumbling, “Inherited my house.”
She stood silently until he glanced her way again. “Is that the only reason you came home, because you inherited your grandmother’s house?”
He turned away as if he hadn’t understood her, but then he turned back again and looked her in the eye. “Not sure. It is home.”
She smiled. “Yeah. I feel the same way. I couldn’t think of living anywhere else after Cody died.”
He asked gently, “Not long ago?”
“Twenty-one months,” she told him. “Just after I found out I was pregnant with CJ.”
His eyes widened. “Must’ve been tough.”
She nodded. “But we’re managing. I’m even finally going to get my house fixed up.”
He chuckled and tossed his keys lightly, signaling his intention to take his leave. “We’ll see. Tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow,” she echoed, adding, “Look left again and acknowledge Effie Bishop.”
Dan turned his head and smiled at the elderly woman, calling out in that same careful, measured way, “Good to see you again, Miss Effie.” He looked back at Becca as he moved into the parking area and mouthed the words “Thanks. Again.”
She smiled, waved and went in search of her family, marveling at how he handled himself. No one who didn’t know him well would realize his predicament, at
least not with her acting as his ears. She found a strange satisfaction in that, one she didn’t much want to ponder.
Dan brought his white pickup truck to a halt behind Becca’s old car and studied the sight before him. He shook his head and killed the engine, automatically pulling the keys. The truck was spanking new, with fewer than two hundred miles on it. He’d ordered it specially equipped as soon as he’d made the decision to move back to Rain Dance, but it had never seemed so plush or shiny as it did now, sitting in front of Becca Kinder’s shabby little house.
The house didn’t need repairs, he realized with dismay—it needed demolishing. The roof line was uneven, the shingles a patchwork of colors and type. Over the low porch it sagged dangerously, and he saw that one of the support poles had sunk through the rotted wood and past the untreated joist to the ground. The house itself was built atop a foundation of cement blocks placed about two feet apart, so the floor probably rolled like an ocean inside. Besides that, every inch of wood siding needed scraping and painting. Windowsills were buckled. The damage was such that he could tell she’d been living like this for a long time, and that knowledge pricked him, though he supposed that he should’ve expected it.
Despite running the only grocery store in town, the Kinders had always been poor as church mice. None of them, Cody included, had ever seemed to mind. Dan remembered his grandfather saying that John Odem was a good man who had no head for business, that he gave credit to everyone who asked and probably collected only a fraction of what was owed him. That apparently still held true, and while Dan admired the generosity and pleasantness of the Kinders, he couldn’t help feeling a little irritated on behalf of Becca and the kids. No wonder she’d pressed him for help.
He got out of the truck and walked across the dirt yard to the porch, noting as he stepped up onto it that the floorboards were warped and broken. The whole thing would have to be replaced. The patched screen door opened and Becca stepped out, looking freshly scrubbed and smiling a happy welcome.
“It’s nearly ten. I was getting worried you wouldn’t show till after lunch.”
“Your morning off,” he pointed out. “Thought you might sleep in.”
She waved that away. “I’m a morning person, always up with the dawn.” She hugged herself. “I love it when the world’s still and quiet, like I’m the only person awake anywhere.”
He smiled, not because he identified—for him the world was always still and quiet, and he missed the bustle and racket of it keenly—but because she never bothered to police her speech with him. Becca was just Becca. Period. He liked that, admired it. In a funny way he was even grateful for it. She made him feel…normal. Whole. He reminded himself that he was neither.
“Come on in,” she said before leading the way inside.
He followed with some trepidation and found himself standing in a living room that couldn’t have been more than ten feet square. Poorly furnished with an old sofa, a small bookcase, a battered coffee table, a cheap floor lamp and a small television set on a wire stand so rickety that it leaned to one side, the place was shabby but spotless and cheerful.
Becca had obviously made a valiant effort. A colorful quilt covered the ratty sofa. Bright yellow ruffled curtains fluttered in the morning breeze. An oval, braided rag rug covered a significant portion of the torn linoleum floor, and sparkling beads had been glued around the edge of the yellowed lamp shade. The bookcase bulged with neatly stacked rows of paperback novels, children’s storybooks and Bible study materials. Best of all were the framed photos hung artistically on the wall, so many that they almost obscured the faded, old-fashioned wallpaper, along with a homemade shadow box of dried flowers and a variety of in-expert coloring-book pages pinned up at Jemmy-height. Jemmy sat on the floor industriously working on another while watching cartoons.
Becca waved him into another room. He glimpsed a sunny bedroom as he walked past an open doorway, then came to stand in the disaster that was her kitchen.
It looked like something straight out of the thirties, with a tired old propane stove, a tiny ancient refrigerator, peeling wallpaper that exposed its rough backing, a shallow tin sink and virtually no cabinets. The only work surface was an old table that obviously functioned as eating space and stood over the slanted entry of an old root cellar. A pair of unfinished shelves comprised the only storage, and a single naked lightbulb provided the only illumination, since the window and possibly a door had been boarded over. To top it all off, the baby sat in a rusty high chair in the very middle of the floor, naked except for a diaper, his hair, face and chest smeared and sticky. With one hand he clutched the remains of a banana while rhythmically banging a spoon on the metal tray with the other. When Dan caught his eye, the filthy little cherub offered him the piece of mushy banana. Dan pretended not to notice and quickly diverted his attention.
Becca reached out and removed the spoon from the baby’s hand with a patient shake of her head. “Sorry about the racket.” Realizing what she’d said, she put a hand to her head and, eyes twinkling, said, “Sorry for apologizing.”
He found himself smiling. Although the place was an appalling wreck and he was just beginning to realize what a job he’d let himself in for, he couldn’t do anything but smile. She was one of a kind, Becca Kinder, as natural and uncomplicated as a woman could get. Widowed much too young, she worked long hours at the store owned by her in-laws, obviously didn’t have a penny to spare, lived in appalling conditions and still managed to be happy and make a warm if humble home for her two children.
He’d do what he could, of course. He wouldn’t be able to live with himself if he didn’t, though he realized in that moment that he would be getting something important out of it, too. Because just by being herself and by treating him as if he wasn’t handicapped, as if he was someone to depend upon, as if he had something of genuine value to offer, she made him understand that it was so. Plus, he could make a real contribution. He could help her. To what extent he wasn’t yet certain, but her life and the lives of her children would definitely be better once he was through here. She couldn’t know what a gift that was, and even if he’d had the words to tell her, he doubted that he could express it sufficiently, so he just looked her in the face and asked, “Where were you wanting to start?”
She gave him a bright, brilliant, happy smile that lightened his heart. Then he felt something brush his hip and looked down to find his jeans decorated with mashed banana.
Chapter Three
“Oh! I’m so sorry! CJ, stop that!”
Becca grabbed a dishcloth from the edge of the sink and rushed to scrub at the banana smeared on Dan’s jeans. He jumped back. She followed and scrubbed at him anyway, and he could tell that she was speaking but not what she was saying, as she was bent over, concentrating on the stain. He tapped her on the shoulder, and she suddenly looked up.
“Work clothes,” he said with a shrug. “No big deal.”
She frowned, but it turned into a smile as she turned to scrub her son. Dan thought it a wonder the little tyke’s skin didn’t come right off. She looked at him over her shoulder. Apparently she had enough experience at this sort of thing that she didn’t need to see what she was doing in order to do it.
“This is all my fault,” she said. “He didn’t really want that banana, but I was trying to keep him occupied. He tends to hang all over me when I’m not working.”
You should stay home, he thought, and then realized from the look on her face that he’d spoken aloud. He hastily added, “If—if you could.”
She nodded. “But I can’t. They stay with the woman who lives next door to John and Abby, so they’re close to the store, and by juggling our schedules we make sure they aren’t there more than a few hours a day. That’s why the butcher counter isn’t open all the time anymore.”
Dan had actually wondered about it, and had decided that John Odem wasn’t getting any younger and had probably cut back his hours for that reason. Now he knew that John wasn’t taking it easy s
omewhere while his wife and daughter-in-law ran the store. These Kinders were a wonder, with all their good-spirited hard work and caring.
“When CJ’s older,” Becca went on, “I’ll take them both into the store with me. John Odem’s going to set up a playroom, and Jemmy can help watch her brother.”
Dan smiled lamely. “Good plan.”
“CJ’s still clingy, though,” she said. “He’s at that stage, you know.”
Dan didn’t know. He didn’t have the slightest notion about kids. He’d always imagined that one day he’d find some girl and settle down to parenthood, but soldiering had kept him too busy to do anything about it, and then one day it had taken the possibility away from him.
He knew that he couldn’t be a fit parent. His own childhood experience told him that. When he thought about all the times he’d been awakened in the dark of night by some bad dream or frightening noise and how his mom and dad had rushed to his side at his call, he understood his own inadequacy. Thinking about the times he’d tried some silly stunt and injured himself had forced him to admit that his inadequacy could put a child at real risk.
No, he didn’t know about kids, and he probably never would know more than the basics, even though his baby sister was planning a fall wedding and would, presumably, one day make him an uncle. He had to believe that God had a reason for the way things had turned out, and maybe Becca was showing him what that reason was. The skills he’d learned at his grandfather’s and father’s knees seemed to be playing an important role in it. Carpentry had always been an enjoyable pastime for Dan. Working with his hands gave him a certain satisfaction. Maybe it was meant to be more.
A small, delicate touch fell on his shoulder, and he realized with a jolt that Becca was speaking to him, but he hadn’t been paying attention.
“I thought we’d start in here with some plasterboard. If you could just get it on the walls for me, I think I could get it plastered and painted. I’ve been reading up on how to do it.”
