Livvie's Song

by Sharlene MacLaren

  “Well?” she said, peering at his chiseled face. She forced her shoulders back to preserve her sense of control and clasped her hands tightly together in her lap. “Are you going to start talking, or do you want to answer my questions one at a time?”

  Sober as a stick, he blinked twice and cocked his head. A loose lock of hair fell across his forehead, so he brushed it away with one hand, then clasped his ankle again. He lowered his gaze, his eyes trained on something off to her side—a chair? A book? She couldn’t be sure. Then, he cleared his throat. “Those fellas you heard tonight…I used to run with them several years ago, and one of them…well, you’ve seen him before.” He let his eyes connect with hers again.

  “I have? Where? When?”

  “The guy with the gash on his face who spooked you the other night—he’s been hanging around town, first to find my whereabouts, and then to watch what I’ve been up to and scope out the place.”

  She held her breath. “Who is he, and who are those other men?”

  “You want the plain truth?”

  She nodded slowly.

  “They’re crooks.”

  “Crooks? Then, that would make you—”

  “The same thing, yeah, but in the past tense. Livvie, I served time in jail. Correction: a state prison. Welfare Island State Penitentiary, to be exact. It’s in New York.”

  “And the restaurant…?” she asked, unable to control the sudden quivering in her voice or tamp down the deep sense of dread pounding in her head.

  “…was not a restaurant at all but the prison kitchen.”

  She pressed her mouth shut, drew her brow into a deep frown, and breathed in several gulps of air before letting them back out, her hands leaving her lap and grabbing hold of the arms of the chair. “Prison?” she whispered. “For how long?”

  “Ten years. Ten long years.”

  “So”—she could hardly speak the words—“you actually stole some jewelry?”

  “Afraid so.” With the back of his hand, he wiped his brow, which glistened with beads of sweat. “I went along with those goofs on a number of petty crimes. I had little to live for back then—no sense of purpose—and I found a sense of belonging with those guys. Fact is, I’d considered different ways of ending my life before I met that gang of no-goods. Once, I tried to jump off the roof of a five-story building, but, even then, I failed like a soaked match.” He cut loose a hollow chuckle. “I didn’t have the courage to go through with it.”

  Livvie’s shock silenced her for a moment. “Well, of course you didn’t,” she finally managed. “And it’s a good thing. Everyone has some reason or another to go on living. Life is never completely without purpose.” Had she truly said that? She couldn’t even count the times she’d tried to search for meaning, herself, after Frank had died. Yes, she had her precious boys, but the deep pain of her loss had sometimes gripped her so hard, she’d found it nearly impossible to drag her limp body out of bed, even for the sake of her sons. She’d never confessed this to Margie, but, for several weeks following Frank’s accident, her boys had had to rouse her from sleep and plead with her to go downstairs to work. Thankfully, Joe, Cora Mae, and the other waitresses she’d employed then had always seen to it that the restaurant opened on time. As far as she knew, folks saw her as staunch, strong, and stable, never suspecting otherwise! She was struck with the realization that she’d had fewer and fewer bad days since Will’s arrival. Why, he’d even handled that tiresome pair, Charley Arnold and Roy Scott. Granted, they hadn’t been dining at her place nearly as often, but the new customers who came to check out the handsome new cook more than made up for their business.

  “I learned the purpose of life in prison, of all places, thanks to Harry Wilkinson,” Will continued. “He was the head cook there, and I wouldn’t be a Christian today if he hadn’t told me about God’s love and forgiveness. The way he presented the gospel message made it seem so appealing. I mean, after my little sister drowned, I’d pretty much lost all sense of being loved and accepted, let alone forgiven. But with God, I had this chance at a clean slate. That sounded good to me. And surrendering my heart did something else: it took away my anger and resentment. For years, I’d blamed God for not preventing Joella’s death, when, really, it wasn’t His fault, or even mine, and it certainly wasn’t my sister’s. It was simply her appointed time to leave this earth. Once I started looking at it that way, my whole attitude changed, and my behavior took a turn for the better. Only God gets the credit for that.”

  Almost moved to tears, she chewed her lower lip, trying to decide how to respond. It was amazing how, in a few short minutes, his admission of his past sins had prompted her to think about her own short-

  comings. In the course of Will’s brief yet candid confession, she had recalled all the times she’d blamed God for Frank’s accident, never once considering that she might be wallowing in self-pity and neglecting her own sons. Additionally, her once-strong faith had all but disappeared. Lord, forgive me, she prayed. I’ve been a terrible example to my sons. When I should have been praising You in spite of my grief and looking for ways to honor and bless Your name, I let my trust in You wither and wane. Please, help me find my way back.

  “I can be gone tomorrow, if you want,” Will went on. “I don’t want to cause any problems for you. I’m pretty sure if I left town, Clem and his sidekicks wouldn’t hang around. I misled you, Livvie, and I’m eternally sorry about that. Believe me, if I’d suspected for a second that they’d come looking for me, I never would have taken this job. I just hope you and your boys will forgive—”

  “Will,” she interrupted him.

  “Yes?”

  Her fingers fidgeted with a little tear in her apron hem as she scrambled to find the right words. “You’re not going anywhere,” she heard herself say.

  “I’m not? I honestly think it’d be best for everybody if I did.”

  “At first, I thought the same,” she admitted, “but I don’t see what that would accomplish. I’d have no cook, and do you know how long we looked for someone to replace Joe? Weeks. If you left now, I might be forced to close down.”

  A thoughtful expression washed over his face, tanned bronze from the few afternoons he’d gone down to the river to fish with one of Frank’s casting rods. “You do make a point. And what would become of the Family Feasts?”

  “Exactly. I received nothing but glowing remarks about the meal, and I would hate for the plan to die overnight.”

  “I just hope Clem and his cronies don’t come back seeking revenge. That’s my only concern. It wouldn’t be good if news got out about my prison term, either. I’m afraid there’d be plenty of talk, not that I’m worried about my reputation, but I don’t want folks thinking ill of you for hiring me.”

  “I appreciate that, but I don’t think you have to worry too much about those fellows. Two of them said they were going back to New York on the next train.”

  “That’d be Rudy and Hank.”

  “Yes, those were the names I heard. The other seemed determined to stay. Said he wouldn’t be sharing the pie with the rest of them.”

  “The pie.”

  “He’s certain you hid the stolen goods somewhere, and he wants his fair share.” She paused, chewing her lip again. “And there’s something else, Will. He flashed a gun.”

  “Guns always did give Clem a false sense of security. I’ll stay on guard, but, chances are, he’ll head out with those guys in the morning. One thing about Clem Dodd—he’s a lot of talk, minus the gumption.”

  Livvie looked at her lap and pondered her next words. “There’s something I have to ask you.”

  “Ask me anything now. It’s all out on the table, Liv.”

  She raised her chin and examined his face. “Do you still have those jewels? I mean, I want to believe you, but….”

  He sat forward in the sofa and let his eyes roam over her face, as if searching out every detail. “No, Liv, I don’t have the jewels, but I don’t fault you for doubting m
e. The truth is that I threw them down a sewer drain. I know, sounds stupid, but that’s exactly what I did.”

  “Two of those men said the same thing, but the other fellow didn’t sound convinced.”

  “Clem Dodd’s determined to get what he thinks he deserves for the small part he and the rest of them played in the robbery. Fact is, I was the one who did the deed—broke the lock, smashed the glass case, scooped up a fistful of diamond rings, ruby necklaces, earrings, and the like, and ran off with them. Meanwhile, the store had an alarm at the police station, and, before we knew it, we heard sirens. Clem and the other fellows hightailed it out of there in the ‘getaway wagon’ before I knew what was happening.” With creased brow, he gave his head several fast shakes. “You don’t know how many times I’ve regretted that stupid act, and to throw away those precious gems was even dumber. The jeweler had replacement insurance, but I should have just handed the bag over to the cops when they caught up with me. Fool that I was, I thought they wouldn’t be able to prosecute me if I came up empty-handed, but there was a witness who’d seen me run out of the store, bag in hand.”

  She pondered his words, a part of her wanting to sympathize, another part wishing she could wash her hands of him here and now, and still another part knowing she needed him in order to keep Livvie’s Kitchen open. And then, there was the matter of that dread gun. Oh, Lord, what was she to do? She certainly couldn’t ignore the lurking possibility of danger. Not with two young sons to protect.

  As if he’d read her flurry of thoughts, Will brushed his hands together and inclined his head toward her. “Livvie.” He spoke in a near whisper. “I meant what I said when I told you I’d leave. I don’t want to put you or those dear boys of yours in any sort of danger. And, while I’m sure I can take care of myself with regard to Clem Dodd, I don’t want to put your business or your clientele in jeopardy. If you are the least bit concerned about that, and you want me—”

  “I’ve already told you, I want—need, rather—you to stay.” She couldn’t afford to let on that she’d grown accustomed to seeing him every day, that she enjoyed his company. Heavenly, merciful days! Whatever would Margie say if she discovered her little sister’s attraction to an ex-convict, Christian or not? “You’re staying, and that’s that.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  “For I know the thoughts that I think toward you, saith the Lord, thoughts of peace, and not of evil, to give you an expected end. Then shall ye call upon me, and ye shall go and pray unto me, and I will hearken unto you. And ye shall seek me, and find me, when ye shall search for me with all your heart.” —Jeremiah 29:11–13

  Will was amazed at the recent turn of events. First, Clem and his thugs had shown up at the restaurant with their loud talk and empty threats, and then, after overhearing their crass blabber outside her window, Livvie had come marching across the hall to confront him about it. He’d long known that the day would come when she’d discover his shocking past; he just hadn’t pictured it happening quite this way, with Clem, Hank, and Rudy spilling the beans. Oh, but he’d seen lightning in those blue-green eyes when he’d opened the door, broom at the ready to clobber whoever had forced his way inside. And then, after she’d divulged what she’d heard, he’d fully expected her to give him the ax. Instead, here she was, insisting he stay on as cook, even though she knew about his past, as well as the potential for trouble in his future. Granted, she had a point about needing a cook, but, surely, another Joe Stewart would come forward if she advertised her immediate crisis.

  “Livvie, I could jump on the morning train tomorrow and remain an enigma for the rest of Wabash’s days—no doubt to everyone’s benefit,” he heard himself saying.

  She stood, so he followed suit, watching her brush the wrinkles out of her cotton skirt. In the sticky air, her coppery hair had coiled into tiny ringlets around her temples and fell in soft swirls over her proud shoulders. What he wouldn’t give to reach up and test its texture! To stay on the safe side, he clasped his hands behind his back.

  “It would not be to everyone’s benefit, Will,” she said. “In the short time you’ve been here, you’ve already impressed a good number of folks with your excellent cooking skills. If you suddenly disappear, you’ll be more than an enigma; you’ll be a source of suspicion and mistrust. Would you really want to leave the fine folks of Wabash in that kind of quandary, especially in light of your Christian testimony?”

  He could now add “smart” and “sensitive” to the long list of Olivia Beckman’s attributes. “You’re right; I don’t want people thinking I had to run to save my skin or protect my reputation. Maybe I should just come clean with folks, tell them about my sordid past.”

  “And what would be the point in that? Why deliberately give people a reason to doubt you or find fault, not to mention spread senseless gossip? If and when they discover the truth, you can let them make up their own minds about you. By then, most of them will have gotten to know the real Will Taylor, so your past won’t matter.”

  Genuinely warmed by her words, he dared to inch forward. To his surprise, she didn’t retreat. “You make several interesting points, Livvie Beckman.” Some kind of citrus scent wafted off of her, whether from her skin or hair, he couldn’t be sure, unless he leaned closer. “Does it matter to you?” he asked. “My past, that is.”

  “A bit, I suppose.” Her answer drew him up short, yet not to the point of making him step back. “But everyone deserves a second chance. Goodness, how could anyone live to see twenty if he’s never given a chance to redeem himself after making a mistake?”

  “I’ve made some big mistakes in my lifetime,” he confessed.

  “And now you’re different. You said yourself that God gave you a clean slate.”

  “He did, indeed. Thanks for reminding me of that.”

  Her gaze connected with his, and he couldn’t help himself. With nerves jangling, he unlocked his hands from behind him and lifted one to her forehead. “These few strands here look like they need tending.” He lightly fingered the loose tendril, looping it around his index finger as he toyed with the idea of kissing her, especially when she closed her eyes and expelled an airy, shaky breath. A quick calculation reminded him that it had been eleven years since he’d kissed a woman, and the last one had been some floozy whose name and looks he couldn’t recollect.

  As he’d studied the Bible in prison, the Lord had convicted him of many things, including the importance of treasuring a woman in the way God intended. Not that he didn’t still possess those old longings that made him purely male, but he’d finally figured out how to curb his instincts and desires before they led to outright sin. If she wanted to be kissed, she’d have to send him a clear message before he took the next giant step. So, he released the tiny curl and brushed his knuckles gently against her cheek. For weeks, he’d marveled at that lightly freckled skin, and he delighted now in its warmth and utter softness. A muscle flicked at the corner of her mouth, making his throat go as dry as hot sand. Lord, she’s a beautiful woman—too beautiful for someone like me. What am I even thinking? But, even as he questioned his sanity, he raised his other hand and cupped her cheeks, as he might a fine crystal vase. Blast, it sure would simplify matters if she’d jerk away from him about now. He could apologize all over the place, promise never to come so close to kissing her again, and then see her to the door.

  But she stayed firmly grounded, with her face tilted upward, almost like an invitation. So, with pounding pulse, he leaned closer and, ever so gently, touched his mouth to hers. It wasn’t an exploratory kiss, by any means; just a slow, tender, feathery one that made his heartbeat skitter out of control. He moved his hands to her shoulders and pressed gently, but she kept her arms at her sides, while her long eyelashes fluttered against his cheek. As their breaths tangled in the velvet warmth of their first kiss, only one word came to mind: magnificent.

  ***

  Heavens to Betsy! What was she doing? To say that her eager response to Will’s kiss shocked her would
be putting it lightly. Why, it flat-out flummoxed her! She was still mourning Frank, for goodness’ sake, and kissing another man—an ex-convict, of all people—seemed to smack of betrayal. Yet, even as these thoughts tripped through her mind, she allowed the brush of his lips to continue. The rapturous sensation sent the pit of her stomach into a wild swirl, and she couldn’t hold back the sigh that rushed out of her. Gracious! Any second now, she’d be wrapping her arms around his neck. If ever there was a kiss to melt her tired soul, this one fit the bill.

  Time, place, and all that he’d confessed just moments ago fell away like broken shackles as Will’s hands left her shoulders and slipped around the small of her back, drawing her closer. She gladly leaned into him, moving her hands behind his waist and looping her thumbs under his leather belt. It had been months and months since she’d been touched so tenderly. Oh, but she missed Frank, even as she lost herself in Will’s warm kiss, and wished for just one more chance to hold her husband. They had shared a precious love, Frank and she, but busy lives and active boys had often interfered with intimacy. Quick embraces and pecks on the cheek would tide them over for days at a time. Sudden regret washed over her for not loving him deeper, longer—fuller. A tear ran down her cheek. “Frank,” she whispered.

  Will instantly pulled away, frowning, and dropped his hands to his sides, his beautifully shaped lips still wet from the intimate moment. “You called me Frank,” he stated.

  At a loss for words, she stood there, dazed, wondering if it was true. With all her might, she struggled to recall, but overwhelming emotion clouded her memory. At last, she whispered, “I didn’t really, did I?”

  “Yes, you really did.” She detected no animosity in his voice, just a hint of hurt.

  “I’m sorry. I—I don’t know, I must have been—”