by DiAnn Mills
Grant pointed to the right of them. “Over there is Jessica’s grave.”
Jenny’s attention followed his gesture. She felt strangely solemn, uncertain, and afraid of her emotions. Over the years, she’d built a wall between herself and Jessica. Apathy seemed the safest, most secure stand, especially when she saw how her older sister’s open rebellion affected their parents. She didn’t hate Jessica, but she didn’t think she loved her either. Most of her sentiments were based on utter contempt for her sister’s behavior. She honestly didn’t know what she felt anymore. Certainly nothing in the past had prepared her for this moment.
“Would you like to visit her grave by yourself, or would you like us to accompany you?” Grant’s voice sounded tender and soothing, as though he sensed her turmoil.
“I’d like for you and Rebecca to go with me.” His startling sea green eyes searched her face and unnerved her. “Oh my, I didn’t bring flowers. And I saw Rebecca with a rose.”
“We can bring them another time.”
“Flowers for Mama?” Rebecca tugged on Grant’s pant leg.
“Yes, sweetheart. Miss Jenny is your mama’s sister.” He glanced up at Jenny. “What would you like Rebecca to call you?”
Jenny’s heart raced. “Is Aunt Jenny appropriate?”
“I think it’s perfect.” He turned his attention back to his daughter. “Would you like to show Aunt Jenny your mama’s resting place?”
The title of “Aunt Jenny” brought all the uncertainty to the surface. Jenny wrestled with the awkwardness of the moment and believed she’d won. Mother and Father would be proud of her control. Rebecca ran toward a secluded spot. In her eagerness, she tripped and fell headfirst into a clump of grass. Before Grant could rescue her, she jumped up, brushed herself off, and hurried in the direction again.
“Becca fine,” she called to them, inciting a hearty laugh from Grant and a genuine smile from Jenny.
They strolled on slowly, and for that bit more of precious time, Jenny inwardly thanked him. “What was it like in the beginning with a tiny baby and your practice?”
“The hardest thing I’d ever attempted. The first night of feeding Rebecca every three hours opened my eyes to motherhood. Two ladies in town with new babies were a pure blessing, but I insisted on doing my part.” He laughed. “I can be real stubborn, so it took a few sleepless nights to convince me I needed help. Actually, it took two weeks before I knocked on my mother’s door. Even then, it was because of something she’d done instead of what Rebecca needed.”
“What did she do?”
“She’d stopped by my home and stolen the mountains of soiled clothes. I was angrier than a riled up hornet.”
“Where does she live?”
He pointed back from where they came. “At the parsonage. She’s married to the reverend. After my initial cry for help, it was easier to call on my sister and sister-in-law for advice. Mind you, my medical practice continued on.”
Jenny tried to form a mental picture of an exhausted Grant carrying a small bundle into his office. “Reality can be overwhelming,” she said.
“I agree. I had no idea how to take care of Rebecca properly and tend to my medical practice. All my fancy university training didn’t equip me for motherhood. And my own personal war with perfectionism didn’t help. Rebecca was a good baby, but she did inform me of her needs through an excellent set of lungs.”
Guilt washed over her. In Grant’s shoes, she’d have failed miserably. “I admire what you did—have done.” She started to add a comment about her taking over, but the memory of his anger the day before stopped her. “Grant, did any . . . did the father ever come forth?”
He hesitated, and she glanced up at him. “No.”
How insensitive for her to ask such a personal question. Jessica probably had no idea who the father was. “When did Mimi join you?”
“When Rebecca was three months old. Mimi’s a widow, and she just seemed to show up every morning. Later I found out that my mother had encouraged her. Before long, I realized I couldn’t get along without Mimi. I bought a larger home, and she moved in.”
“I’m glad it worked out well for you,” she said. The words sounded hollow, an afterthought to the sacrifices he had made for Jessica’s daughter.
“Here we are.” He stopped beside a grass-covered plot.
Jenny hadn’t been conscious of where they’d been walking. She’d been too engrossed in their conversation. Suddenly, remembrances of two small sisters at play overcame her. In all of her preconceived ideas of what she’d experience when standing by Jessica’s grave, none had alluded to the immense grief and tears. She bent to touch the withered roses lying in front of the headstone. Rebecca’s contribution glistened in the sunlight as though it had been dew-kissed. Through blurry vision, she read the marker:
Jessica Martin
Died January 10, 1893
An angel at the feet of Jesus
Her fingers trembled as she traced her sister’s name and the date of her death with a gloved finger.
“I didn’t know her birthday or middle name.” Grant kneeled beside her. “A friend of hers didn’t know, either.”
“It’s January 22, 1870, and her middle name was Kathryn.” Jenny lightly brushed the wetness from her cheeks. “Did you put the stone here?” She choked back a sob. “Yes, of course you did.” When he failed to respond, a sense of wonder and bewilderment for this man arose in her. An enigma. A part of her wanted to understand him. Another part was afraid of him. “Why?”
“Why wouldn’t I?”
“Aunt Jenny cry?” Rebecca stared up at her father.
“Yes, sweetheart,” Grant said. “Aunt Jenny loved your mama.”
“Me, too,” Rebecca said. “And Jesus.”
Have I really loved Jessica all these years when I believed I despised her?
“Jesus takes care of Mama in heben.” Rebecca reached out and cradled Jenny’s face in her hands. With a tilt of her head, she kissed Jenny’s cheek. “Dat’s a kiss from Mama.”
The tears were harder to stop. This precious, beautiful child was a part of Jessica, and her views of Jesus and heaven sounded real—believable. Father would forbid a mention of deity. He’d insist Rebecca find her answers in science, and so would Jenny. She looked deep into Rebecca’s face, as though seeing the child for the very first time. Images of a much younger Jessica danced across her mind. She and Jessica had been little girls the last time they expressed their love for each other. Closing her eyes to block the disturbing reminder, sorrow and regret moved her to uncontrollable weeping. She felt Grant’s arms encircle her shoulders, and a tiny hand patted her back.
“Thank you . . . for everything you did for her,” she managed. “I wish I’d been here to help.” And the strange realization puzzled her.
The unbridled grief was not the way she’d been taught to handle life. How terribly disappointed Mother and Father would be. More than once since coming to Kahlerville, she’d felt their presence criticizing Grant, Rebecca, and their life. Mother and Father seemed so distant, but their values hammered into her very core.
Grant pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and placed it in Jenny’s hand. “You might want to visit with Ellen Smythe. They were good friends. I think the only one your sister had. Jessica’s death changed Ellen’s life.”
“I’d like to talk to her,” Jenny said without thinking through the implications of how Ellen and Jessica became friends. She felt drained, weak, and filled with a deep yearning to make up for the closeness she’d missed with her sister. Reaching out to grasp one of Rebecca’s rose petals, she swallowed hard. “I want to do something other than bring flowers tomorrow. I’m not sure what.”
“Flowers are a beginning. We usually bring some from home or from my mother and Reverend Rainer’s garden.”
Jenny remembered the charming two-story home beside the church. Everything there looked peaceful, as though it depicted something from a book—not particularly real, but a fantasy
. She smiled at Rebecca picking wild daises and running to place them on her mother’s grave. The child appeared so happy. If she stole her away from Grant, could Jenny make her equally as content?
“Have you decided to attend church with us?” Grant seated himself on the grass beside her. “We have Sunday dinner at the parsonage every week, and I’d really like for you to join us.”
“I question the logic of accompanying you. I’m not exactly here on a mission of goodwill.”
“You aren’t? Maybe you don’t understand the real reason why you’re here.”
She startled. “Whatever do you mean?”
“God has a purpose for everything. I haven’t any answers for you. But He does.” He captured her gaze with his almond-shaped eyes. “My family is very loving, and you are family. We aren’t without our share of problems, but we support each other.”
She hesitated, deliberating her earlier decision to be agreeable coupled with the sadness and regret over her sister’s untimely death. “Will others be there?”
“My brother and sister with their families.”
She glanced back at the tombstone, the one Grant had erected for her sister. Maybe he was Rebecca’s father. Maybe he had loved Jessica.
“I haven’t said a word about why you’re here,” he said.
Jenny continued to study the grave while indecision raced across her mind. She shouldn’t get herself involved with his family. It would only be difficult later, yet something about Grant moved her to comply with his request—not for selfish gain, but for a deeper need that she didn’t quite understand.
“I’d really be nervous.” She wrung her hands and ignored the doubts that dulled her better judgment. So many questions with so few answers.
“There is no need to be. All of them will make you feel welcome.”
Maybe it was his gentle persuasion or the way he smiled or the sweet kiss from Rebecca. In any event, she ignored her inklings. “All right, I’ll go.”
*****
Saturday night, alone in his office, Grant leaned back in his massive leather chair and listened to the grandfather clock chime midnight. More than just physically tired, he bordered on mental exhaustion. Still, his mind continued to reflect on this morning’s happenings. For the first time, he’d seen Jenny emerge from her shell. Not once did he hear a condescending word or a demeaning tone in her voice. She spoke neither tersely nor with reproach, and most assuredly, she had been pleasant company. Even the spillage of tears at the cemetery seemed surprisingly genuine.
Who is this woman who wants my daughter?
Rebecca adored her. She’d wiggled her way unto Jenny’s lap and reached out to hold her hand. And the kiss. Something Mimi had done for her many times, but he’d never seen Rebecca imitate her. Grant smiled. His little daughter should develop a relationship with Jenny. She was her aunt. He still wondered why Jenny’s parents had not made the trip with her. Wouldn’t they want to see their daughter’s grave and their grandchild, even if Grant had no intentions of turning over their granddaughter to them? Perhaps they were ill. This revelation had not entered his mind before this evening. Failing health could also be a motive for Jenny’s desire to take Rebecca back with her. If this were indeed the case, he’d gladly travel to Ohio so they could spend some time with their granddaughter. Tomorrow he’d ask Jenny about her parents.
Grant wondered why she never mentioned Aubrey Turner. Obviously, Jenny didn’t want it known that she’d traveled with the man. Perhaps that topic was better left alone. After all, Jenny’s personal life had no bearing on his purpose of showing how Rebecca was well cared for and loved.
Chapter 7
Jenny willed her nerves to settle. Apprehension. Dread. Why ever did she agree to attend church and spend Sunday afternoon with Grant’s family? She recalled the unpleasant times when an unhappy parent confronted her at school or when her parents displayed their annoyance over something she or Jessica had done, but not one unpleasant memory compared to the mounting anxiety of meeting Grant’s friends and family.
Consider one problem at a time. Conduct yourself properly in church, then leave it behind for dinner afterward.
Grant may have changed his mind and told his family why she came to Kahlerville. How horrible—a whole family of Andrews ready to pounce on her! Not that Jenny could blame his family, for she still planned to take Rebecca home to Cleveland. Yesterday she’d been touched by a morsel of sentiment, but not today. Could her noble design be wrong? How could it be? The more time she spent with the child, the more she wanted her. At the cemetery, Jenny realized how desperately she desired to keep a reminder of Jessica alive. Rebecca could provide exactly that, but this time things would be different—and better. The little girl needed her real family.
Mother and Father will adore her. Rebecca will certainly bring laughter into their lives. And they will have me to thank.
Jenny struggled to keep her attention on the reverend. Normally, she paid the utmost attention to every word of a lecture, but today her mind kept slipping back to the incidents of the week. To make matters worse, Father had forbidden her from ever attending church. She glanced about as though Archibald Martin might be lurking in some corner. He contended that the weak and ignorant used God as a crutch. Odd, Grant didn’t appear lacking in intelligence or strength. Quite the contrary.
With an inward sigh, she decided to listen to the message if for no more reason than that this was a part of Rebecca’s life. Each time she found herself centering on an event or conversation with Grant, she’d quickly chide herself, for it solved nothing. The source of her distress sat beside her, his presence creating a sensation that she did not welcome. Distraction. That’s what Dr. Grant Andrews was, and she had better tasks to attend to. She wished Mimi were nearby, but the older woman occupied a pew with her own family.
Rebecca seized Jenny’s attention. The little girl nestled against Grant’s chest, and as if on cue, she lifted her head and planted a kiss on his chin. Oh, how Jenny longed to be the recipient of Rebecca’s devotion.
Music began to play on a sadly out-of-tune piano, and she realized she hadn’t heard a single word spoken by the reverend. Horrified, she nearly choked. Would Grant or his family question her about the sermon?
Once the service was over, Grant politely introduced her to curious onlookers who blocked their path to the door. She warmly greeted little old ladies with cloud-colored hair peeking out from elaborate hats and bonnets and a host of women seeking information about the young woman accompanying Dr. Andrews to church. Then there were the poison arrows cast Jenny’s way from a few young women. He chuckled.
“What’s so funny?” she said.
“I’m not so sure you’d find it humorous.” His warm breath was dangerously close to her neck.
“I think I might.”
“Glad to see you’re perceptive.”
My, she had flirted with him. She should be ashamed. Why, he was clearly the enemy, the one person keeping her from Rebecca. Don’t lose sight of why you’ve come all this way.
A couple approached with three children trailing behind them. The man reminded her of Grant. He had turquoise-colored eyes, something she’d never seen before and found rather intimidating.
“Jenny, this is my brother, Morgan, and his wife, Casey.” He finished the introductions. The striking woman was fairly tall with beautiful auburn hair. Morgan must be the lawyer who had finalized Rebecca’s adoption. At least, that is what the Pinkerton had told her parents. Before she had time to think about the man being a threat to her carefully laid plans, she met nine-year-old Chad, seven-year-old Lark, and two-year-old Daniel. The youngest had inherited his mother’s auburn curls and longed to be held.
Close behind them was a muscular man and a petite woman with flaxen hair. Grant introduced them as his sister and brother-in-law—Ben and Bonnie Kahler. Right behind them were two young boys: Zachary, age eight, and Michael Paul, age five. Jenny noted the couple also expected a third child.
&n
bsp; For certain, she’d rather face Father during one of his tirades than the afternoon ahead. Would Grant’s family confront her about her plans? Jenny shuddered at the thought of yet another argument. One episode with Grant had been more than enough.
She must have been insane to accept this invitation. Her thoughts juggled with whether she should endure dinner or politely decline. Already her stomach began to protest the ordeal ahead. Mercy, would the confusion ever end?
From the recesses of her heart, she recalled one of her father’s favorite sayings: Sentiments are foolish when there is a job to do. She stared at her gloved hands and could almost hear his booming voice. Nothing matters but the task at hand. Let no one get in the way of your goals.
Father knew best. Jenny didn’t dare question him.
Before they reached the back of the church, a woman approached Grant concerning her feverish son. “Can you take a look at him now? I’m sure it will only take a few minutes, and I live close by.”
“I’ll watch Rebecca.” Jenny smiled.
He returned the gesture and motioned to a slender woman standing beside the reverend. She must be his mother. “Mama, this is Jenny Martin. Would you keep her and Rebecca company? I have a sick little boy to see.”
“You didn’t have to ask.” The woman extended both hands to grasp Jenny’s. “It’s a pleasure. I’m Jocelyn Rainer, and I understand you’re joining us for dinner.”
Jenny nodded, wanting ever so much to run.
“Hi, Grandma,” Rebecca said. “Can I stand by Granddaddy?”
“Of course, darling.” She took the little girl’s hand and wove through the crowd of people with Jenny following like a poor animal on its way to be slaughtered. This was going to be a nightmare.
With Rebecca deposited beside her grandfather, the two women stepped out into the bright sunshine.
