Hearth Song

by Lois Greiman

  “You’ve got to learn to control her.”

  She tugged her gaze from the pair. “Who? Lily?”

  “You can’t let her run around like a wild Indian when …” He glanced to the right as someone approached and shifted his features into a more congenial expression.

  “Hey.” Sydney Wellesley placed a gentle hand on Vura’s arm. “How are you holding up?”

  “Fine. I’m fine,” she said, but Dane shook his head. All traces of negativity had disappeared, replaced by an expression of exasperated sympathy.

  “She’s exhausted,” he said, and placed a comforting hand on Vura’s waist. “Between the funeral and Lily and work …”

  “I’m fine,” Vura repeated and Dane smiled.

  “You’re a dynamo,” he said, and rubbed her back. “We all know it, Vey. But you’ve got to ease up some.”

  “Would it help if we took Lily for a while?” Sydney asked.

  “That’s not necessary.” Vura felt relief and dread mix like a toxin at the thought of being parted from her daughter again. “I’m going to—”

  “Keel over if you don’t relax,” Dane said, and turned his winning smile back on Sydney. “I think it’d be great if you could take Lily Belle for a bit.”

  “It’s a deal then,” Sydney said, but Vura was already floundering, searching madly for arguments or excuses or thanks.

  “I don’t want to bother you again,” she said, but Sydney was already shaking her head.

  “Look at him,” she said, and glanced toward her fiancé. Vura followed her line of vision.

  Hunter Redhawk stood as still as a butte, every iota of attention directed at the child in his arms.

  “Does it look like she’s bothering him?”

  Perhaps Vura would have argued, would have insisted that Lily stay with her, but there was such warmth in her sister’s voice, such reverent adoration in Hunter’s expression.

  “Okay,” she agreed.

  “All right. We’ll see you later then,” Sydney said and, tugging her gaze from the pair, settled her attention back on her sister. “Call if you need anything.”

  Even the cemetery seemed to be in mourning, but the church basement, where they gathered later, was noisy with conversation. A young couple approached Vura, hand in hand. She was dressed in a modest skirt that reached midway to her shapely calves. He wore a conservative suit.

  “You must be Randall’s granddaughter.” The man had basset hound eyes and a melodious voice.

  “Yes.” Vura reached out to shake hands.

  “I’m Steven Hayward and this is my wife, Lyndsey.” He waited a beat, but the names were unfamiliar. “From Eagle Butte.”

  Understanding dawned a bit belatedly. “Oh, hi,” Vura said, and shook his wife’s hand. “Thank you for coming.”

  “Eagle Butte?” Dane asked, and Vura turned a little to include him in the conversation.

  “The Eagle Butte Kids’ Ranch is a …” She shook her head, not sure how to describe the organization she had heard about for as long as she could remember. “I guess you’d be better equipped to explain it,” she said, and turned toward the couple again.

  “We like to think of the ranch as a refuge,” Lyndsey said.

  Dane shook his head, smiled prettily. “For …”

  “Kids who have lost their way.”

  “Lost their way?”

  “Difficult kids, some people call them.”

  “Oh, well, we have one of those,” Dane said, and grinned as he nodded toward Lily.

  Vura felt her gut tighten, but Lyndsey was already speaking. “Is that little charmer your daughter?”

  “That’s our Lily Belle,” Dane said and, dropping his arm, gripped Vura’s hand in his. “But I was just kidding. We’re crazy about her, aren’t we, Vey?”

  Vura pulled her gaze from her daughter’s animated features. She was chattering like a mynah as Hunter carried her from the room. “My grandfather often talked about the time he spent at Eagle Butte.”

  “Your granddad was a lost kid?” Dane’s tone was amused. The couple went silent. Dane grinned into the quiet. “Sorry. Randall Murrell always seemed like he didn’t think he had any … like he didn’t have any faults.”

  “Did he?” Lyndsey asked. “I guess we didn’t see that side of him. For us he was nothing short of a gift from God.”

  “Did you see him a lot?” Dane asked.

  “He usually stopped in a couple of times a year with gifts for the children.”

  “He brought Christmas presents?” His tone was nothing short of stunned.

  “Sometimes,” Lyndsey admitted. “But he came more often in the summer.”

  Why hadn’t she known? Vura wondered.

  “People tend to forget about those in need once the holidays are past,” Steven said.

  “But your grandfather never did.” Lyndsey smiled. “He was extremely generous.”

  “He was a good man,” Dane said, though his grip tightened a little on Vura’s as if to convey his surprise at Randall Murrell’s generosity. “And I know he’d be glad you stopped by. Thank you.” He shook their hands again. “It was very nice to meet you, but I suppose we should make the rounds.”

  “Of course,” Lyndsey said.

  “Maybe we can talk later,” Steven suggested.

  “I’d like that,” Vura said, but Dane was already steering her toward a pair of elderly women who chatted near a rubbery-looking ficus.

  The rest of the day was a muddle of solemn faces, dark clothes, and mind-blurring details.

  “You doing okay?” Dane asked, and slammed the door of the Viper, effectively shutting the world outside. He had been a great deal of help to her, strong and somber. She should be grateful, Vura thought, but she was too numb.

  “I’m all right.” She wondered vaguely if it was true.

  “You look tired,” he said and, putting the car in Drive, rolled out of Trinity Lutheran’s parking lot. In the cavernous church basement, sandwiches, punch, and lemon bars had been served.

  Such a strange tradition, Vura thought, feeding the survivors.

  She glanced out the window. Darkness was settling in. The moon was on the rise, bright as a sunflower as it drifted over smoky-lavender hills.

  “I wish I’d had a chance to get to know him better,” Dane said.

  Vura’s mind drifted vaguely. “Who?”

  He grinned at her tone. “Who do you think, silly? Your grandfather.”

  “Why?” She turned fully toward him, trying to focus. “You didn’t even like him.”

  His grin twisted, looking sad and a little wounded. “He didn’t like me, Vey. There’s a difference.”

  “That’s not true,” she said, and knew she was lying. Even after they had learned of her pregnancy, Gamps had been against the idea of marriage.

  “He never thought I was good enough for his little princess.”

  “Princess?” she repeated and raised her brows at the stark ridiculousness of the notion, but Dane shook his head.

  “Master builder, then,” he corrected. “Whatever. He thought the sun rose and set on you. Wasn’t enough of a reason to give us a loan, though. Not when your name was connected to mine.”

  Vura glanced out the window again. She had never been comfortable with asking for money. But Dane had insisted that ten thousand dollars was all they needed to give them a leg up on their future. “Gamps was a big believer in making it on your own.”

  “Didn’t have anything against giving a small fortune to a bunch of delinquents he never met, though, did he?”

  She scowled. “You mean the Eagle Butte kids? How do you know how much he gave them?”

  “You think those two Bible thumpers would have come a hundred miles if he’d doled out a couple measly bucks?”

  Memories settled in, mellow with age. “Gamps met Gamma Rosie there.”

  “Your grandparents met in the pen?”

  “It’s not a penitentiary.”

  “I’m just kidding,” he
said and, reaching across the console, took her hand in his. “Trying to lighten the mood.” He squeezed her fingers. “You look so sad.”

  She didn’t argue. Miles sped away beneath the Viper’s tires. Highway 385 was nearly devoid of traffic, a fact that wouldn’t change much until tourist season.

  “Your grandma Rosie was a nice old lady, huh?”

  Vura exhaled softly, letting her mind retreat to a thousand quiet scenarios. “She made sweet clover soap just like her mother did.” She glanced toward the cottonwoods that grew in a cluster beside a nearby field. Their leaves were bright as silver dollars in the moonlight. “Right up to the end.” Tears threatened, but she held them back. “She knew I loved the scent, so she …”

  He squeezed her hand again. “I guess it makes sense that the old man supported the Ranch then, since he met his girl there, but …” He shook his head. “Maybe it wasn’t the money at all.”

  “Maybe what wasn’t the money?”

  He shrugged, ran his thumb across her knuckles. “I could never make my own dad happy. Maybe I just wanted to know someone believed in me enough to”—he shrugged, chuckled at his own foibles—“to invest a few bucks. Truth is …” He gazed into the distance. “I’m going to miss the old man.”

  “Gamps?” Dane had called him Captain Scrooge on more than one occasion.

  “I’ll never have the chance to prove to him that he was wrong about me.”

  “You don’t have to prove anything.”

  He gave her a wistful smile, a knowing glance from the corner of his eye. “You really don’t understand, do you?”

  “Understand what?”

  “What it’s like to play second fiddle.”

  She shook her head, and he breathed a quiet laugh.

  “Look at you, Vey,” he said. “The cherished granddaughter. The perfect mother. The successful businesswoman. The adored daughter.”

  “That’s ridiculous.”

  “I know I was wrong to leave you for the fracking field, but I guess …” He sighed, slowed the Viper, and pulled into their drive. The house looked old and sad beneath the endless, star-studded sky. “I didn’t know how else to prove I was good enough for you.”

  “All I ever wanted was to be with you. I don’t need you to make a fortune,” she said, and wondered if it was true. Maybe she had pushed him too hard. Pushed him away. Guilt slid sneakily into the cracks around her heart.

  He turned off the car and twisted toward her. “Maybe I thought that if I could make him proud, I’d make you proud.”

  She stared at him. Were his eyes welling up?

  “I am proud of you,” she said.

  “Are you?” he asked and, leaning in, squeezed her fingers in his.

  “When we were dating …” She sighed, thinking back, feeling her stomach clench at the memory of the turmoil he had caused in her. “I thought I was the luckiest girl in the world to be noticed by Dane Lambert.”

  “How could I not notice the girl who set fire to Lizzie MacKenzie’s hair?”

  “That was an accident.” It really had been. Just an unfortunate incident involving beakers and an open flame in Mr. Peterson’s chem class. Purely coincidental that Lizzie had been disparaging of Vura’s braids just days before.

  He laughed.

  “And if I remember correctly, you still took Lizzie to the prom.” Albeit with a somewhat truncated hairstyle.

  “I don’t deserve you,” he said. “But that didn’t stop me from marrying you, and it’s not going to stop me from doing everything I can to make that marriage work.”

  Emotions flooded her, and he smiled.

  “Come on inside, baby. Let me make it up to you.”

  A dozen practical duties nagged at her, but she let him draw her inside and up the stairs.

  Chapter 23

  Vura awoke in her husband’s embrace. Their lovemaking of the night before had been slow and sweet and strangely reverent.

  “Good morning, beautiful,” Dane said. He was nestled up behind her, spooning her, arms a gentle band around her heart.

  Outside their far-seeing window, a mourning dove cooed in the predawn stillness.

  “What are you thinking about?” His words were a gentle caress against the curl of her ear. “And don’t say Mrs. Washburn’s kitchen.”

  She smiled and tilted her face toward his. “You think I could think about something like that at a time like this?”

  “I am a stud.”

  “Yeah. Meanwhile, I was trying to figure out how to install the Hillers’ solar panels for maximum sun exposure.”

  He tickled her. She squirmed wildly, then fell silent in his arms again.

  “Are you happy, baby?” he asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Glad I’m back?”

  “You know I am,” she said, and turned in his arms.

  “Me too.” He kissed her. “I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else, or with anyone else.” His eyes met hers, held. “And someday I’ll be good enough for you. I promise.”

  “Don’t say things like that, Dane. You’re wonderful.”

  “Well … I could have been.”

  “What are you talking about? You can be anything you want to be.”

  He smiled, but the expression was tinged with sadness. “Not without an education, Vey.”

  “An education …”

  “You know I always wanted to be an attorney.”

  She opened her mouth, but he placed a finger on her lips, effectively shushing her.

  “But I’m a father now. So the family comes first.”

  “Dane …”

  “I’m not complaining,” he said. “Lily’s great, and it’s not as if it was your fault. Not like you were trying to trick me into marrying you or something.”

  She blinked at him and eased back a little. “Is that what you think?”

  “Of course not! I mean, I was a catch.” He grinned and kissed her nose. “But it doesn’t matter anymore.”

  “Dane …” she began but he shook his head, disgusted with himself.

  “I’ve done it again, haven’t I? Made you feel guilty. I’m sorry, Vey. You didn’t do anything wrong. I mean, yeah, a little birth control might have been in order, but you were so damn sexy. I couldn’t control myself. Still can’t where you’re concerned, so I’ll just bite the bullet.”

  “What bullet?”

  “Listen, manual labor is great for some people. But for me …” He sighed and pulled her closer, but she felt stiff now, cold.

  “It was good enough for Gamps. For Dad.” She didn’t add that it was good enough for her.

  “That’s just it,” he said. “I’ll never be able to compete with them.”

  “It’s not a competition.”

  “Isn’t it?” he asked, then shook his head as if driving away any uncharitable thoughts. He found her fingers, entwined them with his own. “Baby, I could make four times more money practicing law than I could”—he breathed a disparaging laugh—“pouring concrete.”

  “Maybe so, but we’d also have to spend thousands of dollars we don’t have on tuition.”

  “I know. You’re right.” He gritted his teeth. “I’m just being selfish … again.”

  She scowled. Guilt melded with frustration and a dozen other volatile emotions. “Maybe you never really wanted to be a lawyer. I mean …” She fiddled with a fold in the pillowcase. “Maybe that’s why you let yourself get caught.”

  He scowled. After graduation, he’d received a football scholarship to the University of South Dakota. As it had turned out, however, the administration there took a dim view of the use of marijuana in their newly renovated auditorium.

  “You think I’d blow my chance again?”

  “I didn’t say that.”

  “I was just a kid then, Vey. A stupid kid. But I’ve changed. Can’t you see that?” he asked, and touched her face. “Having you … Lily …” He shook his head. “I know what’s important now. I could do some good.”

  �
�I know you could, Dane, but—”

  “Environmental law maybe … I know how you love the wild places.”

  “That’d be great,” she said. “And you’d be fantastic at it,” she hurried to add. Dane had always been convincing, passionate, likeable, and bold. Besides his prowess on the football field, he’d been captain of the debate team. “But I just don’t see how we could afford it.”

  “Well, we couldn’t, baby.” His tone was effusive, his face bright with hope. “Not before. But things have changed.”

  “What are you talking about? What things?”

  He chuckled softly. “No wonder your grandfather was so crazy about you.”

  She shook her head, baffled.

  “You honestly never considered your inheritance?”

  “What inheritance?”

  He laughed.

  “Dane …” She scowled at him. “I have no idea what Gamps had or who he left it to.”

  “Well, I don’t think he gave his entire fortune to those Eagle Butte con artists, do you?”

  “Fortune! What fortune?”

  Exasperation seemed to lie just below the surface, but he remained patient. “Randy Murrell was a pretty smart cookie, Vey. You think he didn’t invest in grain futures or gold or something?”

  “Gold?”

  “Then there’s his farm. The land alone’s got to be worth five hundred thousand.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “I’m just saying, the man wasn’t exactly a pauper.”

  “Even if that’s true, the money will go to Dad or his sister or—”

  He laughed. She felt the muscles across her shoulders, so recently relaxed, tighten.

  “Baby, I love you, but you’re just being naïve. Auntie Lou is like … a hundred years old. What’s she going to do with three quarters of a million dollars?”

  Was he just pulling these figures out of the air? The numbers baffled her. Tugging the sheet to her chest, she sat upright. “That’s not the point, Dane. The point is, the money’s not ours.”

  “Not ours, baby. Yours! But, hey …” He braced himself on an elbow to catch her gaze. “I understand if you don’t want to share.”

  Frustration melded with tenderness. “It’s not a matter of sharing. I would if I could, but the money’s not mine. I’ve got nothing to share. Nothing but a tumbledown house, a struggling business, and a little girl who …” For reasons unknown, the thought of Lily made her want to cry suddenly. “Who would like to spend more time with her daddy. I was hoping that would be enough for you, too.”