by Linda Ford
She lay in the gloom of the half dark, her eyes wide and hollow. At a noise outside the window, she jerked to her feet and dashed to the door. But it was only a tree branch shifting in the dark. She crawled back under the covers, shivering despite the warm air. When another sound startled along her nerves, she pulled the covers over her head and forced her eyes closed.
The sun blared through the window, already well up in the sky when Irene sat up, instantly awake. Zach was not in bed. She dashed from the room. He was not in the kitchen. She skidded into the front room. It echoed with emptiness. She trudged back to the bedroom and dressed.
She made coffee as usual and prepared breakfast, all the time wondering what had happened to Zach. All sorts of visions filled her mind—Zach lying injured on the road, Zach bloodied and hurting after a bear attack. She squeezed her eyes tight, trying to block out the pictures and prayed God’s protection on Zach. “And bring him back safely,” she murmured.
“Where’s Dad?” Harry demanded.
She turned slowly, smoothing her expression. “He’s not here.”
“Didn’t he come home?” Two pairs of eyes bored into her, demanding the truth, begging for reassurance.
“No, he didn’t.”
Harry’s face crumpled. “He’s gone. He’s gone, too. No one wants to stay with us.” He sobbed in little gasps as Donald’s eyes grew rounder and the sucking noises stronger.
Irene rushed to the children and pulled them into her arms. “That’s not true. Your dad will be back, I promise.”
Harry clung to her. “For sure?”
“He will always come back. He loves you.”
Harry nodded into her shoulder. “He came back from the war even though Mommy said he wouldn’t.”
Irene closed her eyes against the pain. How could a mother fill her child’s mind with such terrors? “Besides, now you’ve got me. In fact you’re stuck with me. I won’t be leaving even if you get tired of my funny face and my English accent.”
Harry leaned back to smile at her and touched her face. “You have a nice face.”
“Thank you.” She squeezed the words past the lump in her throat.
“And I like the way you talk.”
She hugged him close, too overwhelmed to speak. This dear little boy was worth whatever pain her love for Zach caused her. She edged back to a chair, pulling Donald to her lap.
“We won’t get tired of you,” Harry murmured, resting against her shoulder.
“And I will never get tired of you.”
They hugged together, the warm little bodies bringing comfort to her tortured soul.
They were still huddled together when the door opened and Zach stepped in.
Irene jerked her head up, her heart pounding with alarm at his sudden appearance.
Harry flew from her arms, launching himself at his father. “Dad, Dad, where were you? She said you’d be back.”
Irene set Donald down so he could run to his father.
Zach hugged Harry and scooped Donald into his arms. His gaze skidded past Irene. “I’ll have a cup of coffee, please.”
The boys were content to have their father back without explanation and tucked into their breakfast with hearty appetites.
Irene could not so easily forget his absence and poked at her food.
Zach ate slowly and steadily, pushing his plate away when he finished. He downed the last of his coffee, then stood. “Harry, come help me with the chores.” And he left without a word of explanation or apology.
Irene stared after him, her thoughts hopelessly tangled.
11
She waited until the milk had been strained and set to cool before she spoke quietly to Harry. “Take Donald outside to play for awhile.” Harry gave her a questioning look, then seeing her little nod, took Donald and led him away.
Zach headed toward the door, but she blocked his escape, facing him squarely. “I wanted to be able to help you and the boys.” Her chest ached so hard it hurt to speak, but she forged ahead, ignoring the pain. “I wanted to live up to my name; Irene, bringer of peace.”
He faced her, arms at his sides, a cautious look on his face.
She continued past the tightness in her throat. “Instead I’ve driven you away. Away from your own home. I’m sorry.” She caught her bottom lip in her teeth, her nose stinging with unshed tears, but she was past the point of caring whether her eyes glittered, giving away the depth of her emotion.
He drew his mouth back, trying to smile. “I know. You promised all buttons and bows, and it hasn’t worked out that way, has it?”
She shook her head and swiped the back of her hand across her nose.
He sighed. “Don’t blame yourself. It isn’t you. It’s stuff that happened before you came. You couldn’t know what you were getting into.”
She swallowed hard, the lump in her chest swelling to unreal proportions.
He lifted his hands imploringly. “I’ve been thinking.”
She nodded. “So have I.”
He gave a crooked grin. “I’m sure of that. But let me say what I have to say first.”
She wagged her head, unable to speak for fear of crying.
“I’ve been up all night.” He paused.
She longed to ask about it, but waited, letting him find his own way of telling her.
“I rode for awhile. All the way to town.” His gaze grew dark, and he looked past her, to a place she couldn’t go. “I went to Esther’s grave, and I sat and thought a long time.” His gaze returned to her, sharpening as he focused on her. “You’re right. I need to talk to the boys.”
She jerked like someone had yanked on her hair. She didn’t know what she expected, but his sudden capitulation surprised her, and she stepped aside as he reached around her for the doorknob.
“Boys,” he called out the door. “Come here.”
The boys hurried inside.
Zach sat down. “Come here.” He drew the boys to his knees and faced them squarely, looking at each solemn face for a long time.
Irene quietly sat down, unashamedly interested in the proceedings.
Zach touched Donald’s face, running his hand under the boy’s chin, pressing his thumb to the blunt little nose. “It’s time we had a family talk.” He turned to Harry, his big fist closing over the thin shoulder. “Some bad things happened to the three of us, and we need to talk about them to make sure you’re all right.”
Harry pressed closer to Zach’s knees. Irene could feel the tension in him. Donald’s gaze, dark and unblinking, bored into his father’s.
Zach nodded as if they had spoken. “I know it must have scared you when your mama died.”
Harry shuddered.
Zach continued. “I want you to know it wasn’t your fault. It had nothing to do with you.”
Harry looked like he would explode if he held himself any tighter. Donald’s eyes were far too large for his face.
Irene edged her chair closer and pulled Donald to her lap, holding him close, letting him face his dad as Zach continued to talk.
“Your mama got very sick, and no one knew in time to help her.” He sought Irene’s gaze as if begging for help. She nodded encouragement. He continued. “Maybe she said or did things when she was sick that made you think she didn’t love you anymore.”
Donald shuddered. Irene closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Had Zach suspected this all along?
“But she loved you right to the end.”
Silence hung around them, filled with tension and unanswered questions.
“She made us stay in our room,” Harry whispered.
Zach pulled the shivering boy into his lap. “Why did she do that?”
“Because we were bad. We made too much noise.”
Irene could bear the child’s pain no longer and edged closer, so she could wrap one arm around him.
Zach gave her a desperate, pleading look, silently begging for help in dealing with this child’s confession.
She gave a tiny nod. �
��Can you remember what she said, Sweetheart?” Irene asked the shivering child.
“She said she was too tired to look after two noisy boys and said to stay in our room and play quietly.”
“Don’t you see? She was so sick she couldn’t take care of you properly. Poor Mama.”
Harry digested the information. “She was mad at us.”
Irene shook her head. “I don’t think so. But she was too sick to be able to tell you. I think she made you stay in your room because she wanted you to be safe.” She pressed her face to his hair, tears stinging her eyes.
“Why did she throw out Donald’s bear?”
Irene drew back, studying the demanding eyes. “I don’t know. You’ll have to tell me what bear you mean and what happened.”
“You know, Donald’s bear?”
“You mean the stuffed toy he brought me to fix?”
He nodded. “He took it to her when she was so tired.” He and Donald looked at each other. The little boy on her lap tensed as he and his brother shared a secret memory, then Harry tipped his face to Irene. “He wanted her to feel better.”
Irene nodded, squeezing the boy she held. “What happened?”
“Mommy shouted at him to leave her alone.” He struggled with his thoughts and shuddered again. “Then she threw it out the window and told him to never bring it in again.”
Zach groaned.
Irene blinked, unable to meet Zach’s eyes, barely able to contain the pain that went on and on like a great, wild wind inside her.
“But how did Donald get it?”
Harry shrugged. “I don’t know.” He studied his brother then smiled slowly. “I guess he sneaked out and hid it somewhere.” He took Donald’s hand. “Pretty smart, Donald.”
Harry struggled with another question. “Do mommies and daddies always get sick?”
“Not very often.”
“Your mommy died.” His eyes accused her.
“Yes, but my daddy is still alive. And most of my friends still have a mommy and daddy, and they’re all quite grown-up now. In fact, most of them have children of their own, and still their parents are alive and well.” No need to tell the child how the war had upset many a home with losses, often of sons and young husbands.
“Will you get sick?”
Irene managed a little chuckle. “I don’t imagine I will. I haven’t been sick a day in my life.”
He nodded, apparently satisfied, and turned to demand of Zach, “Will you get sick and die?”
Zach grunted. “Not if I can help it. I hate being sick. Yuck.”
Harry giggled.
Irene stroked his hair. “Things happen that none of us plan. We can’t promise you we will never get hurt or sick, but I promise if we do we’ll be sure to explain it to you so you know it’s not your fault.” She met Zach’s eyes over the child’s head, silently making him agree to the promise.
Harry sighed. “I guess that’s all right then.” He touched her face. “I’m glad you’re my new mommy.”
“Me, too,” she managed around the lump in her throat. A tear trickled down her cheek as she hugged the boys closer. Zach’s muscular arms wrapped them all together in one big hug. Donald squeezed in tight against her chest as they all enfolded him.
“Too squishy,” a thin voice protested.
Zach loosened his grasp as Irene drew back. All of them stared at Donald.
“Did you say that, Son?” Zach demanded.
Donald nodded.
Zach jumped to his feet, tossing Donald high over his head. “That’s my boy!” He shook Donald until a deep-throated chuckle escaped the boy. Zach held him in his arms, and father and son, dark eyes matching, stared at each other. Donald’s expression remained solemn, but his twinkling eyes gave him away. Zach grinned widely. “Donald Marshall, it is so good to hear your voice again.”
The little boy nodded solemnly.
Zach turned to face Irene. “Thank you,” he whispered.
Her eyes brimming with tears, she shook her head. “You did it. You allowed them to be free.”
“I wouldn’t have done it without your prodding and your help. Thank you from the bottom of my heart.”
Zach’s happiness colored the day. He whooped, sweeping Donald into the air every time he entered the house. Irene knew he did it for the sheer joy of hearing Donald’s chuckle.
When they sat down to supper, Zach bowed his head and added a special prayer of thanks to his customary grace.
He grinned at the boys as he passed them the bowl of tiny new potatoes cooked in their skins. “This is the best day I’ve had in a long time thanks to you two.”
Irene smiled as she watched Harry wriggle under the warmth of his father’s wide grin. The boy seemed to have shed a layer of worry before her eyes.
Donald watched as Zach spooned three tiny potatoes on his plate, then lifted his face and demanded, “More.”
Zach roared with laughter. “Have you been starving to death all this time rather than say something?”
Donald nodded solemnly, his little pink tongue licking his lips as Zach added several more potatoes to the child’s plate.
By bedtime, Irene knew the children were exhausted, the emotions unleashed this day having drained them.
“What would you like me to read to you tonight?” she asked them.
Donald ran and got her favorite book.
“You like this one, do you?”
He nodded as he handed it to her.
She ruffled his hair. “I think you’ll remain a man of few words.”
He nodded again.
Harry grinned at his brother. As they played outside this afternoon, Irene had stood at the window, watching and listening. As usual, Harry carried on a one-sided conversation, but occasionally she caught a word or two uttered by Donald. And her heart overflowed.
Shortly after the boys were tucked in, Irene stifled a huge yawn. The day had left her exhausted. “I think I’ll go to bed.”
Zach sat reading and nodded as she left.
In the bedroom, she leaned against the window, looking out at the garden, now barely discernable in the dark shadows of the trees. A bird called a note then fell silent. The first of the sweet peas filled the evening air with a heady scent that left her feeling empty. It was stupid. Considering all that had happened today, she should be supremely happy. And she was. She rejoiced that the boys had faced their memories. She wasn’t naive enough to imagine they wouldn’t have to deal with their past again and again, but today they had taken the first step.
And to hear Donald talk and laugh—she held the joy of the moment to her heart. It was the dearest thing she could have asked for.
Except for one thing—one selfish thing. She wanted Zach’s love with a hunger that edged over her joy.
She pushed herself away from the window and prepared for bed, knowing Zach must be tired and waiting to get to sleep. She crawled under the blankets and opened her Bible, then looked up, startled when the door edged open and Zach came in.
Irene felt her eyes grow wide with shock.
Acting as if his actions were perfectly normal, he flopped down atop the covers.
She watched him, nervousness ticking inside her chest. What did he want?
But he lay staring up at the ceiling. “I can’t begin to tell you how good it was to hear Donald speak again.”
She could feel his barely contained tension.
He laughed low in his throat. “I feel a bit like Donald. Like I finally found my voice.” Suddenly he turned and impaled her with his dark gaze. “I think it did me as much good to talk about what happened as it did the boys.”
She nodded, her voice trapped inside the tightness that had become her body.
“And I have you to thank for it.”
“I didn’t do anything,” she protested, her voice breathless.
He touched her cheek. “You made me face a few facts. You made it possible for me to realize I needed to let go of some things and let God fill those p
laces with His love.” His finger trailed down her cheekbone and around her chin.
His eyes darkened. Then he tweaked her nose and turned on his back. “What are you doing?” He nodded toward her Bible.
She pulled together her scattered thoughts. “Reading my Bible.”
“Read a chapter to me,” he demanded.
She wet her lips and focused her skittish brain on the words before her. At first her words were stiff, almost stammering, and then her voice smoothed out, and she read steadily to the end.
“Thanks for everything.” He squeezed her hand then jumped up and strode from the room, murmuring, “Good night,” before he pulled the door shut.
She lay staring at the door, speechless at his behavior. For a minute she had thought he was going to kiss her, declare his love—but all he did was thank her for forcing him to talk to the boys. “Anyone could have done that,” she muttered to herself. She pressed her fingers to her cheek, following the tingling trail Zach had left. She soared at the memory of his touch, crashed again as she contemplated his sudden departure. The whole thing was far too unsettling.
She pulled her hands from her face. It was no use fooling herself. He had made his decision plain from the very beginning. It was she who had changed. And she might as well change right back. A marriage of convenience was what she had agreed to, she reminded herself. Why couldn’t she just be satisfied with the arrangement instead of longing for more? But even as she argued the point, the ache deepened until she groaned. She turned the lantern off, grateful Zach didn’t return until she had calmed herself and was able to lie still and quiet when he finally crawled under the covers.
The next morning, Zach grabbed Donald and plunked him onto a chair. “Ready for breakfast, big man?”
“Unhuh.”
Donald’s grunt elicited a shout of laughter from his father. He caught Harry in his arm and swung the boy off his feet, landing him on the chair next to Donald. “So did that little brother of yours keep you awake all night with his chattering?”
Harry grinned, amused at his father’s nonsense. “He’s still a man of few words,” Harry said and nodded.
