by Susan Page Davis, Darlene Franklin, Pamela Griffin, Lisa Harris
Each stabbing word inflicted a wound in Clemmie’s heart. Now she understood why he’d made no contact, and that hurt almost as much.
“He wouldn’t even contact my parents to tell them?”
“He didn’t want handouts.”
“Handouts?” Upset, Clemmie repeated the word forcefully.
Thea lightly grazed her teeth along her lip, as if uncertain she should answer.
“There’s more, isn’t there? Please, tell me.”
Thea searched her face then nodded. “There’s an operation that could relieve the pressure of whatever is pushing against his optic nerve, but it costs a great deal of money.”
When she paused, Clemmie filled in the rest, her anger at Joel’s mule-headedness rising to the fore. “So he decided it was better to stay blind than to tell my parents what happened and ask for a loan? The fool man,” she muttered under her breath.
“I take care of him as much as I’m able,” Thea continued. “Doing his laundry, straightening up after him, bringing him meals. That sort of thing.”
“It must be difficult, taking care of your family and your home, too.”
Thea glanced into her coffee, her solemn expression making it clear.
“Let me help.”
“What?” Thea’s head jerked up in shock.
“I can do all those things. I have some free time on my hands, and that would give you a needed break.”
Thea smiled, uncertain. “You’re kind to offer.”
“Nothing kind about it. Actually I’m selfish. Joel needs someone not just to tidy up after him and feed him, but to … be there.” She had difficulty explaining her feelings when even she didn’t understand them. “I want to do whatever I can to help him.”
“He’s changed, Clemmie.”
“We’ve all changed.”
“No, you don’t understand.” Thea fidgeted. “He’s … different. Hard. Angry at the world. At God most of all.”
The news didn’t surprise Clemmie, though it did distress her.
“He takes it out on anyone within reach of his voice. He can be cruel.”
“Violent?” Clemmie whispered in dismay. “He hasn’t struck you?” Joel often had been the mastermind behind pranks at the Refuge when he was a boy, but she’d never known him to initiate physical violence. At least not that she remembered.
“No no. It’s just that he’s so … caustic. With his words.”
Clemmie exhaled in relief. “If you’re worried about me—don’t be. I’m not afraid of anything Joel might dish out. I really want to do this.”
“Don’t you think he’ll feel threatened and angry when you tell him who you are? That someone from his past has learned the truth of the misfortune he’s tried so hard to hide?”
“You’re right.” Clemmie heaved a sigh. “Knowing him—at least based on what I once knew of him—he’d be furious.”
“He hasn’t changed in that regard.”
Clemmie frowned, again not surprised. His foolish pride had prevented him from contacting those who loved him, who would have cared for him. After hearing Joel’s story from Thea, Clemmie knew him well enough to be certain that if she were to reveal her identity, it would end her plan to help him.
“And he won’t be mad at just you. He’ll blame Herbert and me as well.”
“All right. So …” Clemmie carelessly shrugged one shoulder. “We won’t tell him.”
“What?” Thea looked at her as if she’d suggested they take a torch to his walls and burn down his home. “You can’t be serious.”
“Marielle is my middle name. He’d never remember that, even if he did once know it. Which I doubt anyone told him. Mama wasn’t in the habit of speaking it. Only when she was really upset with me. And if Joel ever did overhear, I highly doubt he would connect the two. Not like he would if I introduced myself as Clemmie.”
“Tell me you’re not actually going to pretend to be someone else.”
“Only for a little while. Just until Joel feels comfortable having me around. I’ll tell him eventually.”
Thea frowned in disapproval. “I don’t know….”
“You said your hands are full. This will give you extra time to take care of your family. I’ll take full blame should he find out. But there’s no reason he should. I’ve changed over the last three years, my voice included. I was little more than a child when he last saw me.”
Now that the shock of finding him—and in such a tragic state—had partially worn off, Clemmie wasn’t sure why it felt so important to try to reconnect with Joel again. But at least this way she could share in his life without being considered the intrusion he might think her if he knew the truth.
She was pathetic.
She was walking a thin line, and she knew it.
But this was Joel. Not some stranger. And he was in clear need of help, help she was only too willing to give.
“I’ll talk it over with Herbert tonight,” Thea said at last. “I can’t give my consent without him knowing the facts.”
“Fair enough. Ring me at Hannah’s when you reach a decision.”
Whatever the two decided, Clemmie grew firm in her resolve to remain in Joel’s life, somehow. Now that she’d found him, she wasn’t about to lose him again.
Chapter 3
The air blew cold, moist. It would rain. Again. The skies for him were always dark, but so was the earth and everything in it. Only in strong sunlight could Joel discern vague shadows—all of them a darker shade of gray than the black that continually filled his world.
Day.
Night.
It was all the same to him. The same void, the same darkness.
All that was left of his life.
With a grimace he stepped out onto the porch and wondered for the umpteenth time why he bothered. Why leave his four walls to visit the outdoors when he couldn’t see the grass or the skies or the hydrangea bushes that rimmed Herbert’s home? Where his eyes failed him, his other senses had sharpened, and before he found his way to his chair, he picked up an aroma different from the fresh soil near his porch that Loretta had dug up in her play or the clean scent of rain coating the air.
The scent of lilacs.
He scowled, crossing his arms over his chest, and turned toward the whisper of footsteps he heard over the breeze.
“You again. What do you want this time? Didn’t get enough entertainment ogling the blind man the other day?”
“How did you know …?”
Her voice, quiet and lovely with a throaty huskiness, trailed off in shocked confusion.
His lips curled into a hard smile. “I told you. I may be blind, but I’m no fool.”
“I never said you were. But I could have been anyone. How did you know it was me?”
He decided not to answer. “You haven’t stated your business for coming here again. Does the term trespassing mean nothing to you?”
“My business?” A hint of amusement laced her tone. “I suppose you could call it that. But for your information, I’m hardly trespassing.”
He didn’t like this sudden turn, as if she had the upper hand. It made him feel even more vulnerable and at a loss than he already was. To bring things back to his control, he relied on his acerbic behavior. His jaw hardened.
“State it, then beat it. I don’t want you here.”
“Well, Joel, that’s just too bad. Because here is where I’ll be staying.”
Her casual use of his name and stubborn response threw him for a moment.
“That’s ‘Mr. Litton’ to you. And no, you’re not. Not anywhere near here. Go back to the house and visit Thea, since you’re her friend. Or if you’d like, I could bodily remove you from these premises.”
Silence answered, and he could tell he’d addled her. He smirked in his victory, small though it was.
“Very well, Mr. Litton. If you prefer such a silly formality in title, so be it. There’s no need to be so rude. And you may call me Marielle.”
Irate, he u
nclasped his folded arms and took a swift step toward her. “I won’t call you anything! Except gone from my home. Now! Scram!”
“My, we did wake up in a grumpy mood this morning, didn’t we?”
Joel blinked with shock at her wry words and heard her approach. He took an involuntary step back. The thud of her steps hit the planking, the smell of lilacs assaulting him. He felt the air stir as she breezed past—then heard the door he’d left ajar swing fully open.
“Whatta ya think you’re doing?” he demanded, moving her way. He just prevented himself from following through with his threat of reaching out to find and grab her arm and throw her off his porch. “Don’t you know a direct order to go when you hear one? I haven’t given you any invitation to invade my privacy.”
“Oh, I’m sorry. Didn’t Thea tell you?” Her tone shifted from utter brashness to mild chagrin. “I’m your new housekeeper and cook.”
“My what?” The breath escaped his lungs as if he’d been punched in the stomach.
“I’m going to take care of you.”
Over his dead body! Her words rankled, stiffening his pride. “I don’t need anyone looking after—”
“Thea looks after you.”
“Yes, but it’s her place to—” To what? Wait on him hand and foot? It wasn’t her place. But this irritating woman’s logic stymied him, and his words came out jumbled. “What I mean to say is, it’s her home.”
“And I offered to help. She’s looking a bit peaked, and I thought it would ease her workload, since I have plenty of time on my hands.”
The news that Thea wasn’t well concerned him, though he didn’t show it. Was taking care of him as well as her family such a trial? It must be. He certainly hadn’t made her task any easier. Before he had time to think up a reply, he heard the woman intruder’s footsteps move away and realized she’d entered his home.
Grimacing, he followed but remained on the threshold.
“This isn’t necessary.”
“I think it’s very necessary. Tsk, you quite obviously need help keeping order around this place.”
“Maybe I like it sloppy. It’s not like I can see to know the difference.”
“Well, I can. And it’s just not healthy to live in such disorder.”
“Put those down!”
She gave a shocked gasp at the same time he heard the buckles of his suspenders hit the planks and the rumple of his slacks follow. It unnerved him for her to touch his personal items.
“H–how did you know I was holding anything?”
“I have very acute hearing. There’s nothing you can get by me.”
“I wasn’t trying to.” She released a tired little sigh. “Look, can we at least try to give this a go?”
“I didn’t ask you to come here or invite you inside. You’re not here by mutual agreement.” Remembering what she’d said about Thea being exhausted, he gave in with a grumble. “Trial basis. One day. If I’m not happy with your work here, you promise to leave and never come back.”
“One week. And if you’re pleased with my work, you agree to keep me on the rest of the summer.”
He smiled wide, showing his teeth, sure he’d found the winning hand. The clinks of the dishes and silver she was gathering abruptly stilled, and all went silent, except for her slightest indrawn breath. He wondered what had happened; apparently something had occurred to make her react with such shock. Had she seen a mouse? He’d heard the rodents scuttling over the floor at night when he couldn’t sleep.
“I can’t pay you.” He tossed his trump card at her. “Not one red cent. I haven’t got the money.”
“Th–that’s all right. I don’t need wages.”
Irritated that she’d pulled an ace from her sleeve, he scowled. “Ridiculous! What kind of woman are you that you’d want a job and not get paid for it? Especially in these hard times.”
“I only want to help,” she practically whispered.
“I don’t need your pity!”
“I’m not giving it. I mean I want to help Thea.”
He couldn’t argue with that logic, which made him all the more disgusted. “I still don’t like the idea. And I don’t take charity.”
“All right. How about this: I’ll think up a way you can pay me back.”
He scoffed a laugh. “Sorry, not able to do much manual labor these days.”
“Doesn’t matter. I’ll think up something you can do for me, if you’re so insistent not to let me volunteer. Something to which you’ll be agreeable and which won’t make you feel you’re taking charity. Is it a deal?”
He thought her proposition over, wondering what she might come up with as substitute payment. He probably wouldn’t have to worry; he doubted she would last two days.
“Okay, one week. First rule: hands off my private things. Second rule: Leave me alone.
Got it?”
“Yes.”
“Swell.” With nothing more to say, Joel walked back outside.
His shed had never felt so confining.
Clemmie blew out a long breath, as if she’d just escaped being the unwitting target of a firing squad or, better to describe her situation, fought hand-to-hand combat with cutting vocabulary. His tongue was as sharp as Thea had warned, but Clemmie had been raised at the Refuge and had learned to spar with words while growing up among young scalawags or risk getting sliced to smithereens. Joel would find himself matched to a worthy opponent.
She chuckled at how her mind compared their conversation to battle. And in this, their first skirmish, she had come out the victor.
“Be prepared, Joel Litton,” she whispered, looking at the door he’d left ajar. “You’ve met your match this day. I’m not about to let you wallow in that pit of self-despair you’ve dug for yourself. Clemmie Lyons has come to town.”
She smiled at her private declaration.
Just like Christian in her favorite allegory, Clemmie felt like a pilgrim about to embark on a journey. A masked pilgrim, in withholding her identity, which made her goal to get through to Joel trickier, but as Darcy always said, “Where there’s a river too wide, somewhere there’s bound to be a bridge, and if not, it’s up to you to make one.” She’d proven that when a person’s will was strong, success ultimately followed. What Uncle Brent coined as her “harebrained schemes” always worked out in the end. So why couldn’t Clemmie do the same and cross her own devised bridge to reach Joel?
She set down the cleaning tools she’d brought and planted her hands on her hips. In the dim light from the doorway she took quick inventory of what still looked very much like a shed. Next time she would need to bring a lantern to see well.
The area was less than half the size of the bedroom she’d been given at Hannah’s. A single cot sat in the corner, a table and chair stood at the foot, and an old-fashioned, big-bellied, small cookstove took up the opposite corner, most likely to provide heat in winter. Two shelves were mounted to a wall. They bore odd and sundry items, including one single place setting of dishes and silverware. There were no windows, and ugly dark siding of some coarse nature covered the walls. She assumed it was put there to insulate the room in colder months. Not one decorative embellishment cheered the place, not a picture, not a colorful rug, not even a small memento.
Not that Joel would be able to see them if they were there.
Her vision swam, the room going wavy as her eyes watered. The first night she had returned to Hannah’s, she’d enclosed herself in her room and thrown herself across the bed, bawling like a baby over Joel’s tragic circumstances.
Not this time.
She pulled her lips in a thin line. She would not pity him. Joel could have chosen to have that operation, to call her parents and get a loan, though she knew they would never ask for recompense, but his stubborn pride had gotten in the way. Infuriating! Nor could she bring up the subject without revealing her identity, and that would guarantee he’d throw her bodily from his home and slam the door in her face. No questions asked; no explanat
ions allowed.
“Drat it all!” She whisked the dish towel with unnecessary force along the table she’d cleared, scattering a shower of crumbs to the floor.
Her endeavor to help would most likely try her patience to a worn frazzle, but as she’d told Herbert on the phone when he finally rang Hannah’s two nights after her initial visit, she not only wanted to do this for Joel, but also needed to. As a youngster he had championed her when he didn’t tease, and she wished to return the favor of being a friend to him.
The thought of not seeing Joel again was unacceptable. After she rang off with Herbert, she emphatically assured a concerned Hannah that she was long over her schoolgirl infatuation. Hannah had been sympathetic and encouraging, relieved after hearing Clemmie’s plan, since she had her hands full for the next month helping her mother prepare things for the bazaar.
“Maybe God had a hand in this all along,” her friend had surmised, sounding much like her wise mother, before she had giggled like the fifteen-year-old she was. “Well, of course He did. Silly me. He always does have a plan, doesn’t He?”
Clemmie glumly reminded herself of that nugget of encouragement as she fetched the broom she’d brought and took out her frustrations with vicious swipes along the boards.
One thing could be said about trapped irritation—it made cleaning go by a great deal faster.
With her work done, she gathered her supplies and walked outdoors. Joel sat rigid in his chair, in profile to her and facing the woods. The small orange tabby of the other day wove a loving arc around his ankles. Joel didn’t acknowledge Clemmie’s presence, but she did see him flinch the moment she walked out the door.
“I did what I could,” she began, “but that floor could use a good scrubbing. I’ll bring the items tomorrow and do it then.”
“That’s not necessary.”
She ignored his curt response.
“Also, just so you know it, I took your clothes to be laundered.”
His hand gripped his knees hard, his knuckles whitening.
“I told you not to touch my personal things.”
“Unless you plan on becoming a poster child for ‘bum of the century,’ I found that gathering your soiled laundry was even more essential than cleaning the floors, which, by the way, are also darkly spotted. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ll be seeing to your lunch.”
