by Terri Reid
Taking a deep breath of the chilling air, he hurried up the steps and into the warmth of his home.
“Daddy!” Clarissa yelled and dashed across the room to throw herself into her father’s arms.
Bradley knelt down and embraced her, holding her there safely and securely, knowing another man would never be able to do the same with his own daughter. “I love you, baby,” he whispered to Clarissa. “With all my heart.”
“I love you, too, Daddy,” Clarissa replied, a touch of confusion in her voice. “Are you sad?”
Mary walked into the room just in time to hear her daughter’s question and see the bleak expression on Bradley’s face. Her heart ached for him, and she hurried across the room. “Bradley?” she asked.
He looked up at her, and with Clarissa in his arms, stood and pulled Mary into his embrace. “I’m so glad to be home,” he said simply.
“The McCredies?” Mary asked.
He nodded. “They are good people,” he replied, his voice catching. “And they loved their daughter. She was everything to them.”
“Oh, Bradley,” Mary whispered, tears filling her eyes. “I’m so sorry.”
He took a deep breath and nodded. “I’m good. I’ll be fine,” he finally said. “I just needed to hold my family.”
He leaned over and placed a kiss on the top of Clarissa’s head. “How was your day, sweetheart?” he asked.
She smiled up at him. “I had a great day,” she replied. “We got to draw hand turkeys and color them.” She held up a slightly paint-spackled hand. “See?”
“She decided to use permanent markers to paint her turkey,” Mary explained with a smile. “So, it’s going to take a number of hand washings to get all the color off.”
“I think your hand looks beautiful,” he said. “And I can’t wait to see the turkey.”
“My teacher hung my turkey up on the bulletin board,” Clarissa said. “But she said I can bring it home for Thanksgiving.”
Bradley squeezed her and then placed her on the ground. “Well, we will have to tape it on the front window so the whole neighborhood can see your turkey,” he said.
“Really?” Clarissa asked, looking from Bradley to Mary.
“Really,” Mary replied. “I was wondering how to decorate the front window for Thanksgiving, and your turkey is the perfect solution.”
Clarissa was thoughtful for a moment. “Maggie made a turkey, too,” she finally said. “Since her family is coming here for Thanksgiving, can she hang her turkey on the window, too?”
“Of course she can,” Mary said. “But she needs to be sure her mother doesn’t want it for their front window.”
“Can I call her and ask?” Clarissa asked.
Mary pulled her cell phone out of her pocket and handed it to Clarissa. “Sure, sweetheart,” she replied. “Just don’t take too long. Dinner will be ready in about ten minutes.”
Phone in hand, Clarissa dashed up the stairs towards her room. Then Mary turned to Bradley. “How are you doing? Really?” she asked.
“Telling the McCredies about Ruth was hard,” he confessed. “Even though I knew from the moment we walked in the house they realized she was dead, it was still hard to find the words.”
He shook his head. “How do you tell a mother and father that their daughter…” he paused and took a deep breath. “I know…” he began again and cleared his throat. “I know how it feels to have someone you love ripped away from you. One moment you’re a nice, normal family. The next moment, everything in your life is changed. The pain is real. And you will never be the same again.”
Mary laid her head on his chest and hugged him. “I’m sorry,” she whispered softly.
He wrapped his arms around her and placed his head on hers. “Her poor parents,” he replied in a hushed voice. “A parent should never have to bury a child. It’s not fair.”
“No, it’s not,” she repeated, trying to soothe him. “It’s not fair.”
Chapter Thirteen
Mary opened the door before Katie could ring the doorbell.
“Clarissa just fell asleep,” Mary said to her friend. “I don’t want her to wake up and find you here.”
“You are so sneaky,” Katie teased.
“Well, that’s why they pay me the big bucks,” Mary teased in return. “So, are you ready to take your life in your hands?”
Katie paused, her eyes wide. “Excuse me?”
Mary grinned. “Oh, you haven’t been told about my total lack of crafty prowess,” she said.
“It can’t be that bad,” Katie said.
“Every time I use a sewing machine, I impale my fingers with the needle,” Mary confessed. “I can’t use a glue gun without getting a third degree burn. And my Pinterest attempts always look like fails.”
Katie bit back a laugh. “Come on, Mary,” she said. “I’ve tasted your cooking. You’re exaggerating.”
Mary shrugged. “Well, I guess you’re going to have to see for yourself.”
They walked upstairs to the nursery, and Mary pulled out the unfinished quilt to show Katie. “Oh, Mary, it’s beautiful,” Katie exclaimed, looking at the combinations of squares with vintage floral patterns. “It’s like something from a century ago.”
Mary stroked the face of the quilt softly. “It’s so soft and delicate,” she added. “I’m sure Jeannine picked out each piece of fabric knowing it would lay against her baby’s tender skin.”
Katie took a deep breath to clear the emotion from her voice. “Well, then, we’d better get it finished for Thursday,” she said firmly.
It took them about ten minutes to stretch the quilt over the frame. Then Katie sat down next to the frame and gave Mary a quick demonstration on how to hand quilt, pushing the needle and the cotton thread through all three layers of the quilt and then bringing it back up to the top only millimeters away from where it entered.
“Well, that doesn’t look too hard,” Mary said hesitantly. “Maybe I can do it.”
Katie slid out of the seat and offered it to Mary. “It’s not hard,” she agreed. “But it takes time, because you can’t hurry it or you’ll get a knot in the thread or create an uneven stitch.”
Mary sat down, positioning the chair so her belly didn’t hit the frame. She looked up at Katie and smiled. “It seems I’m at a disadvantage already.”
“Here, let me adjust the frame so it’s taller,” Katie suggested, moving around the frame and adjusting the legs to better fit Mary’s shape. “Now try.”
Leaning over, Mary inserted the needle into the layers slowly, then reached underneath the quilt and poked the tip of the needle up through the fabric. “Oh, it’s not where it’s supposed to be,” Mary said, pulling the needle back out. She tried again, but the needle was just slightly off the seam. “This is harder than it looks,” she confessed.
“Don’t worry,” Katie said. “Once you get the hang of it, you’ll be awesome.”
Mary grinned. “There’s that great mom attitude,” she chuckled. “A is for awesome. A is for— ouch!” Mary cried out when the needle pricked the end of her finger.
“No, Mary, O is for ouch,” Katie teased, handing Mary a piece of tissue paper. “Now make sure you wipe the blood off so it doesn’t get on the quilt.”
Mary accepted the tissue and blotted the small amount of blood. “Thank you,” she said. “Now, let’s try this again.”
Fifteen minutes later, Mary stretched, her back and neck muscles feeling tight, and looked at the relatively small progress she had made. “How long do I have to do this?” she asked. “A year, right?”
“You’re doing great,” Katie said. “And now that you’ve gotten the hang of it, I’ll pull up a chair and start on the other side.”
Just as she was sitting down, Katie’s cell phone rang. “What in the world…” she muttered, pulling the phone from her purse and answering it. “Hi. What’s up?”
After a few moments of listening to the other end of the conversation, Katie shook her head. “Wel
l, of course, I understand,” she replied and looked over to Mary with regret. “Yes, I’ll be home in a few minutes. Bye.”
She hung up her phone and shook her head. “I’m sorry,” she said. “Clifford just got a call from work. One of the systems went down, and he has to go in. So, I have to go home.”
Mary’s heart sank slightly, but she realized that Katie had to go home. “Of course,” Mary said. “Thank you so much for showing me how to do this. I’ll keep practicing, and you will be amazed at what I’ve accomplished.”
“I’ll be by to help tomorrow, okay?” Katie asked.
“Perfect,” Mary said. She started to push herself up, and Katie stopped her.
“I can see myself out,” Katie said. “You keep stitching.”
Mary relaxed against the chair. “Thanks,” she said. “I will.”
Mary ran her hand along the delicate row of tiny stitches she’d created. It had taken her another forty minutes, but she could finally see that she was making progress. “Sorry it took me so long, Jeannine,” Mary whispered. “But I’ll have it done by her birthday.”
She rolled her head and stretched, feeling the tension in her muscles. “But I think this is enough for tonight,” she continued. “Because I don’t think I can even see straight now.”
“Whatcha doing?” Mike asked appearing next to her.
Mary jumped and then sighed. “Mike, you really need to stop doing that to me,” she said. “You’re going to scare me into early labor.”
“Sorry, bad habit,” he admitted. He looked beyond her. “Pink? Mary, that blanket is pink,” he said. “Mikey can’t have a pink blanket; he’s going to be a manly baby.”
Chuckling, Mary shook her head. “It’s not for Mikey,” she replied. “This is the quilt Jeannine was making when she was pregnant with Clarissa. I promised her that I would finish it.” She shrugged slightly. “I thought it might be a good gift from her real mom on her birthday.”
Mike leaned over and placed a kiss on Mary’s cheek. She could feel the warm brush of air on her skin. “You are an amazing mom, Mary,” he said. “And I know this is going to mean a great deal to Clarissa.”
Mary shook her head. “Well, thank you, but don’t get too carried away,” she said. “You don’t realize that my sewing skills are less than abysmal. I’m just hoping that quilting will somehow fit into my lack of skill range.”
“Well,” Mike said with confidence, “if anyone can do it, you can.”
Chapter Fourteen
The hallway was dark when Mary stepped out of the nursery. She moved to click on the light, to be sure she didn’t trip over Lucky, but the sound of soft sobbing stayed her hand. She listened for a moment and then slowly moved toward the sound, her eyes adjusting to darkness as she moved forward. At the end of the hall, next to a window overlooking their backyard, Mary found Ruth.
“I’m sorry,” Ruth cried. “I didn’t know where else to go.”
“That’s perfectly okay,” Mary replied, sitting on the window seat near the ghost. “You are welcome here anytime you need me.”
“My parents…” Ruth began and then bent her head and sobbed.
“Bradley, my husband, went to see them this afternoon,” she said. “And told them they found you.”
Ruth nodded. “I know. I was there,” she said. Mary saw a blur of movement as Ruth wiped tears away and a small smile appeared on Ruth’s face. “He was wonderful. They both were kind, thoughtful and caring. I could hear the pain in their voices. And when Bradley went to the kitchen to turn off the water Mom was boiling, and took a paper towel to blot the tears in his own eyes before he went back into the living room, it brought me to tears.”
Mary nodded, her throat too thick with emotion to offer any words.
“They were so nice to my parents,” Ruth continued. “But it was still hard to watch Mom and Dad cry like that. I never meant to hurt them.”
“You didn’t hurt them,” Mary insisted. “The person who took your life hurt them. They miss you, and they are mourning the life you could have led. They would give anything to have you back, but they know that’s impossible.”
“Death sucks,” Ruth replied.
Mary bit back the urge to laugh at the irony of the statement and nodded her head. “My grandfather used to say that the only ones who mourn are the ones who were left behind,” she said. “But now I wonder if that’s true. I can see you’re sad, too.”
Ruth shrugged. “Well, yeah, I’m sad and more than a little pissed,” she replied. “I’d been working on my senior project for over a year. And after getting samples from that final field, I would have had enough information to not only finish the paper, but also probably get it published.”
“I wondered why you were out in the field,” Mary replied. “So, what kind of samples were you looking for?”
“Ears of corn that had been left behind after harvest,” Ruth explained. “I was taking samples from fields where I knew a new kind of seed had been used. My hypothesis was that the chemicals and the bio-engineering they were using with the seeds were transferred through the plant to the fruit and it was ending up in the food chain.”
“How did you know that farmer used those seeds?” Mary asked.
Ruth paused and looked away for a moment. Then she turned back to Mary. “I have an internship with Granum,” she admitted, naming a large, bio-tech agricultural company in Stephenson County. “I’m working on my degree in bio-engineering. When I was working in the lab, I discovered that the properties they said were water soluble and would eventually be leached out of the plant into the soil actually remained within the plant.”
“So people who ate the corn…” Mary began.
Ruth shook her head. “No, most of the corn grown around here is either field corn, which goes into feed for animals, or we use it for ethanol,” she interrupted. “And, you know, with the ethanol it’s no big deal. Another chemical in a gas tank, who’s going to know? But with feed, that’s another story. People are eating meat that’s laced with chemicals that could make them sick.”
“Did you tell anyone?” Mary asked.
Ruth shrugged. “Yeah, my direct supervisor in the lab,” she said. “But he just told me that they had already tested the lifespan of the chemicals in the seed and found them to be a negligible risk.”
“Was he right?” Mary asked.
Shaking her head, Ruth rolled her eyes. “No, he was just patting me on the head and telling me to behave like a good little intern and toe the line,” she said. “But, you know, my family uses that feed. My parents eat that meat. I thought, screw you. I’ll do research on my own.”
She paused, her eyes widening, and she turned to Mary. “Do you think that’s what got me killed?” she asked. “Do you think they found out that I was about to blow the lid on their seeds?”
“Were you?” Mary asked. “About to blow the lid?”
Ruth nodded. “Yeah, I just needed those last samples to corroborate the tests I’d already run,” she said. “The proof was already there. I had corn samples, soil samples and meat samples. It was an amazing research paper.”
“Where are all your samples and research?” Mary asked.
Ruth smiled. “In my backpack,” she replied. “I didn’t trust anyone, so I carried everything with me.”
“What backpack?” Mary asked.
The smile dropped from her face. “The backpack I had with me when I got shot,” she said. “It was right there next to me.”
“I didn’t see a backpack,” Mary replied. “But there was snow on the ground, so it could have been covered over and we just didn’t see it.”
“Mary, you have to find that backpack,” Ruth said.
Mary nodded. “I agree,” she said. “And we’ll start looking first thing in the morning.”
“I’ll start looking now,” Ruth said as she began to fade away.
Mary watched Ruth disappear from sight and then stood up to find her husband. She had a feeling Bradley wouldn’t wan
t to wait for the morning either.
Chapter Fifteen
When Mary opened the door to her bedroom she saw Bradley propped up on pillows, his hands tucked behind his head, chest bare and his cotton pajama bottoms slung low on his waist. His smiled at her, and his eyes sparkled with desire. “I’ve been waiting for you,” he said, his low voice scraping over her nerves, causing her body to shiver. “We have an appointment.”
Lust, pure and simple, washed over her body. She could feel her heart accelerating and heat blossom in her body. But then she felt regret as she sighed and shook her head.
His smile dropped. “What’s wrong?” he asked, sliding around the bed and sitting on the edge to meet her.
She stood between his legs and placed her hands on his strong, bare shoulders. “Ruth was out in the hallway,” she said, remorse accenting her words.
Bradley’s hands were slowly unbuttoning Mary’s shirt and pausing to caress the silky skin underneath. “So?” he asked softly, leaning forward and pressing his lips to her skin.
Mary shuddered and inhaled sharply, feeling her knees weaken. “So…” she repeated mindlessly. She shook her head. “So, she was in the field working on a report that could have cost Granum a lot of money.”
He continued to nibble on her skin, tracing just above her bra line. “Um, hmmm,” he whispered.
Her hands strayed from his shoulders, up his neck and buried themselves in his thick hair. She lifted her head up, eyes closed, and let the heat wash over her as Bradley slipped his hands underneath her shirt and unhooked her bra. “She…,” Mary gasped. “She said she had a backpack with her that contained all of the information.” She moaned softly as she felt his hands slowly glide across her skin. “She was sure she had it when she was shot.”
His hands stopped, and he lifted his head. “What did you say?” he asked, his voice still hoarse.
