The Baby Tree (Christian Romance)

by Beverly Farr

  Michael stood on the front lawn after the photographer left. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. He had forgotten how seriously his mother took birthday parties. She'd always made a big deal about his birthdays, and as a kid, he'd loved it, but now with five grandchildren to spoil, the hoopla was exhausting. All he'd wanted to do was eat a little cake and take a few pictures.

  Just whom was she trying to impress, anyway? The kids couldn't care less. Miss Kate had taken a much needed vacation while his mother was visiting. He'd thought Alexis might stay for the festivities, but that evening, after helping all the kids get cleaned and dressed for the photographs, making sure each child had a left and a right shoe, she'd said, “I'll stay if you need me,” in a tone that meant, “But you'll have to pay overtime.”

  She was the smart one.

  As he turned to go back inside, he saw Olivia drive up in her red Honda. She saw him, stopped her car and lowered her window. “How was the party?” she called.

  Olivia. Just by seeing her happy face, he felt better. “It hasn't started yet,” he said. “Come on over.”

  #

  Olivia fed the cats, changed her clothes, rebraided her hair and was on Michael's doorstep in fifteen minutes. “Hello,” she gasped as Mrs. Claiborne greeted her. She should have taken a few more minutes to get ready. Her heart was racing and she was a little out of breath.

  Mrs. Claiborne took the large wrapped package from her. “What cute paper,” she said, and carried it into the living room. “Where should we put this so the kids don't tear it apart?” she asked Michael.

  Michael saw Olivia and smiled. She was glad she'd taken the time to change. “They're going to tear it apart anyway,” he said reasonably, “So why not now? If you don't mind, Olivia?”

  She didn't mind. She looked around and noticed that there weren’t any other guests. This must be more of a family party.

  Mrs. Claiborne set the package down in the center of the floor. Wash walked and the other children crawled over to investigate. Michael ripped the package at the top so they could get a hold on the paper and finish unwrapping it.

  Olivia watched as the children happily ripped away. They looked like sharks in a feeding frenzy. Bits of paper floated down to the ground.

  “Don't eat paper,” Mrs. Claiborne said, and pulled a piece of paper out of Linc's fist.

  Jeff started to gag.

  Michael automatically turned to Grant first, but he was fine. Jeff made another coughing, strangling sound. Michael grabbed Jeff, leaned him backwards and pried his mouth open with his finger. He reached into his small mouth and pulled out a damp strip of paper about two inches long and an inch wide. Jeff took a deep, gasping breath and cried.

  “No more paper,” Michael said firmly. He quickly finished unwrapping the present and crumpled up the scattered bits of paper into a tight ball.

  Mrs. Claiborne carried the paper to the kitchen trash can, while Michael hugged his son. “You're okay, Jeff,” he said. He ruffled his hair. Jeff smiled at him and babbled something incomprehensible. “That's right,” Michael said calmly, as if he understood. “Paper is not for eating.”

  Olivia's stomach felt tight with dread. If Michael hadn't been able to get the paper out of his mouth, Jeff could have choked. “I'm so sorry.”

  Michael reached over and took her hand. “It wasn't your fault. If it was anyone's fault, it was mine. I'm the one who let them unwrap the present.”

  “But it was my wrapping paper.”

  “There is no way to completely baby-proof their lives, Olivia. They put everything in their mouths. We do our best to vacuum regularly and pick up pieces we see. One day Wash had a small safety pin in his mouth. I have no idea where it came from. These things happen.”

  “But it's terrifying.”

  His gaze met hers. “Yes, it is. But that's all part of being a parent.” He smiled. “Look at them now.”

  All five children were playing with the toy she had bought. They chewed on the thick wires, scratched at the sturdy wooden base and patted the beads back and forth on the wires. They were happily enthralled. The crisis had passed. Michael said, “I think we all have guardian angels. Otherwise none of us would live to adulthood.”

  Olivia didn't say anything. Unfortunately, guardian angels didn't always do their job and accidents happened. She squeezed his hand.

  Mrs. Claiborne came back to the living room. She smiled with approval as she noticed the hand-holding. “I remember the day I found half a grasshopper in one of Michael's diapers.”

  Michael was embarrassed. “Mom, please. No diaper stories.”

  Olivia laughed.

  “Excuse me,” the clown interrupted. “Are you ready for me to do my show now?”

  Michael looked up at him. “Sorry. While you were in the bathroom, I forgot about you. Go ahead.”

  Olivia helped clear the area by picking up the bead toy, ignoring the toddler protests, and carrying it down the hall to the children's bedrooms. She looked in each room, admiring the jungle print curtains and quilts on the cribs. There were a few plastic buckets on the floor, filled with toys. Each room had a high shelf with diaper supplies. The rooms were bright, clean and efficient. Olivia looked out each of the windows. Yes, it was just as she suspected. If Michael stood just right, he had a good view of her driveway, her back porch and some of her yard. She wondered if he watched her as much as she watched him.

  When she came back, she stood in the kitchen, away from the crowd, and watched the clown perform. He was a clever mime and good with the magic props, but the children were more interested in examining his costume. Linc and Washington hugged his legs. Michael sat on the couch with Amelia in his arms. She buried her face against his chest and refused to look at the clown.

  I don't blame you, Olivia thought. She had never liked clowns until she was teenager. Before that, they had always frightened her with their huge mouths. Logically, she knew that clowns were supposed to be a charming part of childhood, like Santa Claus, but there was a fine line between humor and horror.

  There's a story there. She picked up a paper napkin from the kitchen table. She looked around and found a pen on top of the refrigerator. For a few minutes she sketched a quick study of the clown, with the children at his feet. She took another napkin and drew a sketch of Amelia snuggled up against her father.

  Michael caught her eye and raised his eyebrows. “Another idea?” he mouthed.

  Olivia nodded, then folded the napkins and put them away in her pocket. She wanted to live her life, not just observe it. But since she’d started The Baby Tree, new ideas were bubbling up like a volcano. She didn’t know how long the creative juices would last.

  As the clown packed his props, getting ready to leave, she approached him. “I enjoyed your performance. Do you have a card?”

  He handed her a business card. “I do mostly children's parties, but I have routines for Christmas, weddings, anniversaries, divorces, even funerals.

  Clowns at a funeral? That sounded dreadful. “I'll keep that in mind,” Olivia said with a smile. “Thank you.” She took the paper napkins from her pocket and replaced them with the business card.

  “May I?” Michael's hand was by hers.

  “Here.” She handed him the napkins.

  He unfolded the napkins and looked at the pictures. “These are great. What's your idea this time?”

  She shrugged. “It isn't very detailed. Just an impression of a child frightened by a clown. Maybe the story will be about a child born into a professional clown family. I don’t know yet. I get ideas all the time, and most of them never become anything. But if an idea keeps coming back, that’s when I know it’s good.”

  “What about The Baby Tree?”

  “Some ideas come full-blown, almost complete like The Baby Tree, and others simmer for a long time. I got the idea for Put That Back when I was ten and helping my mom do the grocery shopping. It took more than a dozen years for it to come to fruition. It just depends on the story.”<
br />
  Mrs. Claiborne interrupted. “It’s time for the birthday cake.”

  She carried an elaborately decorated sheet cake to the table. There was a large carousel on top with cookie animals stuck into the frosting. “If you'd like to help, Olivia, you can help put the kids in their highchairs. Michael, I want you to film this.”

  “Yes ma'am,” he said, then whispered into Olivia's ear, “Heaven forbid they should take a bite without it being recorded for posterity.”

  Olivia startled. For a split second, his breath so close to her, reminded her of their kisses. “I agree with your mother,” she said with shaky composure. “You can't take too many pictures at this age.”

  #

  The children didn't know what to think about the birthday cake. They were mesmerized by the candles -- one for each of them. Olivia and his mother sang “Happy Birthday.” Grant, with a sudden lunge forward, reached for the cake and grabbed a handful of frosting. Instead of licking his fingers, he played with the sticky substance. “What's this?” he seemed to be asking.

  Jeff cried because he wanted frosting, too.

  Michael focused the video camera on Olivia. “Blow out the candles,” he prompted.

  She leaned forward, across the table and pursed her lips. She started to blow, when Grant grabbed her braid. Olivia laughed, blew out the rest of the candles, then wiped at her hair with a paper napkin. She held the end of her braid like a paint brush and rubbed the tip over Grant's face, making him close his eyes and smile. She walked down the table, brushing each child's face.

  Michael watched her through the camera lens. She was lovely. He wondered how he was going to feel years from now, when Olivia was no longer in his life, and the kids wanted to watch home movies. “Who's that cute babe, Dad?” they'd tease.

  He turned off the camera. “Time to cut the cake,” he said brusquely.

  #

  Eventually the excitement of the day caught up with them. Wash, Grant and Jeff started crying and nothing would console them. They were changed, washed off and put to bed. Amelia and Linc, tired, but in better spirits, got full baths before they went down. Olivia helped Michael with bath duty while his mother wiped off the kitchen table and swept the floor.

  They knelt on the bathroom rug, working side by side. Olivia held the children steady while Michael washed them. Then she watched them while Michael went to get clean pajamas. Amelia sucked on a wet wash cloth until Olivia offered her a plastic hippo in exchange.

  This is what family life is like, Olivia thought as she wrapped Linc in a hooded towel. Washing babies at the end of a long and happy day. She hugged Linc tightly. He felt so sturdy and healthy and smelled so sweet. With the hood on his head, his eyes looked huge. He leaned forward. She thought he was going to kiss her, but he bit her chin instead. She laughed and lifted him so he could stand on the bathroom counter and smile at the baby in the mirror. He patted the glass and jabbered something. “Do you think he thinks his reflection is one of his brothers?” she asked.

  Michael didn't look at her. He was busy drying Amelia. “Who knows?”

  #

  Michael was surprised when Olivia offered to help get the kids to bed, but he wasn't going to refuse. He enjoyed her company. He liked the way she talked to the kids, the way she looked in their eyes, trying to understand what they were thinking. She was gentle and patient.

  But as he reminded himself, anyone could enjoy playing house for an hour or two. That didn’t mean she’d be up to coping with it full time.

  After helping put Linc down in his crib, she stood in the doorway, watching his children with a serious expression on her face. What was she thinking?

  He gathered up the wet towels from the bathroom floor. “Would you please check the washer and see if it’s full?” He motioned with his head toward the closet doors that hid his washer and dryer.

  She opened the door and lifted the lid on the washing machine. “Full.”

  “Wet or dry?”

  She felt the clothes. “Damp.”

  “Do you mind moving them over to the dryer?” he asked. “My hands are full.”

  She hesitated, then systematically moved the clothes over to the empty machine. “I don’t like clothes dryers,” she said quietly, looking at the control panel as if it were incomprehensible.

  “Why not?” He reached over her shoulder to push the different buttons that turned on the machine.

  She stepped back into the hallway as the dryer started. “I don’t think they’re safe. If lint gets trapped in the vent, it can start a fire.”

  Michael was surprised. “Yes, it’s possible, but highly unlikely. That’s like saying, ‘if you go outside you can get hit by a --’” He was going to say ‘car,’ then remembering her fiancé’s death, he quickly changed it to “a bolt of lightning.”

  “You’re right.”

  “And if you’re not hit by lightning, you could get bit by a brown recluse spider.”

  “That’s why I wear gloves when I’m gardening.”

  “Do you own a dryer?”

  She shivered. “No.”

  “Then how do you get your clothes dry?”

  “I hang them up on a line in my house. And if I have to, I go to a Laundromat.”

  “So other people’s dryers are fine; you just don’t want one yourself.”

  “That’s right.”

  Michael thought it strange that Olivia found the world such a dangerous place. But then, some people were like that, imagining all the things that could go wrong. But it didn’t seem to affect her much. She was usually cheerful. “Well, I can’t live without mine,” he said, and patted the vibrating machine. “Sometimes we need to run it 24/7.”

  Olivia gasped. “Whatever you do, please don’t run it at night when you’re asleep. And get your vents cleaned once a year.”

  She was so serious, he couldn’t joke about it. Besides, he remembered her advice about the sycamore tree that he had ignored. She was probably right, and he should be more cautious. “All right. I will.”

  “Thank you.”

  For a few seconds, they were both silent, then he said, “I’m thinking of ordering pizza. Do you want to stay?”

  “No. Sorry.” She looked at her watch. “I can't believe I stayed as long as I did. I have to get up early in the morning. Work's been crazy. Thank you for the invitation, though.”

  Of course. She was a busy woman. He understood that. He walked with her to his front door.

  His mother, who had been cleaning the kitchen, joined them. “Thank you so much for all your help,” she said and gave Olivia a hug.

  As she stepped back, Olivia looked sad for a second.

  “Is something wrong?” Michael asked.

  Olivia smiled, recovering quickly. “No. I was just reminded of my mom’s hugs.”

  His mother said, “Don’t you have any family nearby?”

  “No.”

  “Then you get another hug,” she said and matched her actions to the words. “I read somewhere that for optimal health, everyone should get at least three hugs a day.”

  Michael noticed that Olivia closed her eyes and held onto his mother for several seconds before letting go.

  “Thank you,” Olivia said quietly as they separated.

  “Well, just don’t stand there,” his mother prompted meaningfully and motioned him towards Olivia. “She needs one more.”

  Michael frowned at his mother, but held his arms open.

  Olivia hesitated, then must have decided not to make the situation worse by declining the offer, because she stepped towards him. Their hug was brief, stiff and awkward.

  “Thank you for inviting me to the party,” Olivia said politely and left.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Olivia unlocked her back door, stepped inside and closed the door behind her. Crick tried to welcome her, but she didn’t bend down to pet his head. Instead, she leaned back against the door and slid down until she was sitting on the kitchen floor. She cradled her head in her han
ds and cried.

  She sobbed a minute or two, maybe five, until she ran out of tears. She lifted her chin and leaned back, resting her head against the door.

  The problem with old sorrows was that they sometimes revived. She’d felt a melancholy lurking for the past few days, and tonight it had burst forth like a geyser, making it impossible to completely enjoy herself at Michael’s house.

  Lord, she prayed. Help me. I’m so alone.

  She thought of the 23rd Psalm and said it quietly, under her breath. “The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want. He maketh me to lie down in green pastures . . .” Her voice faltered when she got to the part about walking through the valley of the shadow of death, but by the time she said, “surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life” she felt calmer.

  She took a deep breath and finished the psalm.

  Thank you, Lord.

  She knew other people had lives more difficult than hers. She wasn’t Job. She’d never had skin covered with sores and her friends had been much more supportive than his were. If she wanted, she could call Shannon, who would listen, but it was late, and she didn’t want to bother her tonight.

  Belatedly, she noticed Crick sitting on her lap, purring.

  She petted him for a minute, then stood. Usually after crying, she felt worn out, and tonight was no different. Work had been stressful for the past few weeks, reducing her emotional reserves. She needed to get more sleep, and then she wouldn’t take things so hard.

  But first she was going to eat some chocolate ice-cream and watch a little North and South.

  Margaret Hale would make a good friend right now, Olivia thought. She’d understand how she was feeling.

  In the beginning, the familiar DVD distracted and soothed her. But by the end of the second hour, the plot began to irritate her. She found herself watching the tall dark handsome mill owner with his top hat and gleaming cravat, wishing that Michael was more like him. Thornton took emotional risks, proposing to Margaret when he didn’t think she’d accept him. But Michael was determined to play it safe.