Apparently taking the hint, he moved on towards his truck. “Bye, Megan. It was nice meeting you. Even nicer the second time.”
“You too.”
She sank down beside Sarah and tried to concentrate on the picture her daughter was drawing, instead of thinking about the man who was driving away—out of her life—just as she’d wanted.
Three
“Marshall, I understand your position. But you have to understand mine. I can’t vote against my constituents.” Holt shifted in his chair to face the man squarely.
Marshall rose and slapped his hands palm down on the mahogany finish of the desk. “Now, see here—”
“I do see here, Sir,” Holt said, careful not to raise his voice to one of the most influential men in Little Rock. He stood. “I’d like to help you, and I wish you the best of luck with your business, but I’m afraid that’s the most I can do.”
Instead of retreating, Marshall leaned in even closer to Holt’s face, his hot breath punctuating each menacing word. “You think you’d be in the position you’re in now if it weren’t for me, Holt? Sure, you were a little Podunk senator, but you would never have chaired committees like you have if it weren’t for my influence behind you.” His mouth twisted in a bitter snarl. “To borrow a phrase from those hillbillies you’re so fond of, it’s not very smart to bite the hand that feeds you. I’ve been patient with you, in spite of your callous treatment of my daughter, but if you won’t help me, I can get you out and get someone in who can.”
Thinking of the countless hours spent campaigning, and the months of his life sacrificed serving and chairing various committees in order to make Arkansas a better place to live, Holt felt his own ire rise to the surface. How could this man, who admittedly had mentored him, take total credit for his success? Especially considering he now knew for a fact how selfish Marshall’s—and his daughter’s—interest in him had been.
Determined to control the anger building inside him at the remembered betrayal, Holt remained calmly seated in his chair and dropped his gaze to the papers in front of him. His eyes didn’t see the print, though, as he prayed for God to keep him calm. When he finished his petition for patience, he slowly rose and walked to the door. “I’m sorry you see it that way, Marshall,” he said softly and opened the door.
The distinguished businessman straightened and turned, anger radiating from his body. “You’ll be sorry, all right,” he muttered and swept past Holt into the hallway.
Holt shook his head. What he needed right now was a big dose of sunshine. And he knew just where to find it.
❧
Megan pulled a clothespin out of her apron and fastened the corner of a towel to the sagging line. She was going to have to replace the middle post. It had rotted beyond redemption.
She preferred the softness of the dryer, but on sunny days like today, she’d hang a load on the line until they were almost dry then finish them in the dryer with a softener sheet. It was much more economical.
Besides when she put on Granny Lola’s apron with the big pockets for clothespins, it was almost like slipping back into an easier, more carefree time. Life became simple again. Hanging out clothes brought back happy memories that were even more precious than the dollars she saved on the electric bill.
“When we get our puppy from Aunt Irene, I’m going to name him Rascal. Don’t you think that’s a good name, Mama?” Sarah pulled on Megan’s apron.
Megan smiled. Sarah had been asking for a puppy ever since they were born. Even though she hadn’t gotten an affirmative answer, lately she always spoke of “when we get our puppy.” Holt McFadden’s admiration of Sarah’s persistence came to mind.
Why did everything these days remind her of that man? Even her prayers were filled with requests for God to help her forget him. If only his obvious integrity hadn’t spoken to something deep inside her heart. It would have been easy to stop thinking about a smooth politician. A man devoted to serving his country was proving harder to put out of her mind.
“Mama, somebody’s coming down the driveway.”
Megan spun around. It had taken him a week, but Holt McFadden had decided to prove his persistence.
He got out of his truck, and the first thing she noticed was his cowboy hat. The second thing was his toolbox.
“Hello,” he called across the yard.
“Hello.”
“Thought I’d drop by and fix that screen for you, if that’s okay.”
Megan nodded dumbly.
He stopped when he drew closer and just looked at her. When he grinned, she drew herself up to her full 5’1” and glared at him. “What are you grinning at?”
“You.”
“What’s funny about the way I look?” Even as she asked, she remembered the too big apron.
“Nothing funny. You just look. . . ,” he actually looked uncomfortable for the first time since she’d met him, then he recovered his grin, “. . .like a kid playing dress up.”
“Did you drive over here just to make fun of me?” She didn’t know why his appraisal had left her so breathless.
“No, I told you. I came to fix the door.” He glanced at Sarah who had stopped playing to watch the odd exchange between her mama and the man who’d obviously already won her four-year-old heart with coloring pencils and a drawing pad. “I sure could use a helper.”
“I’ll help.” Sarah fairly bounced over to where Holt stood on the porch. “Can I?”
“Sure can.” He looked at Megan. “If it’s okay with your mama.”
Megan put her hand up to shade her eyes and met his questioning gaze. They stood for a moment just looking at each other. His earlier comments about persistence pounded in her head. Finally, she nodded and looked down at the basket still half-full of towels. She had work to do herself. Trying to ignore the earnest conversation coming from the porch, as well as her own swirling emotions, she continued to pin towels on the line. Life had just become complicated again.
❧
Holt hammered on the frame that was stubbornly refusing to stay in place. The noise was loud, but at least it covered the sound of his heart banging in his chest. When he first saw Megan standing by the clothesline in her white apron, the light breeze playing in her long blond hair, he’d thought his heart was going to stop. Instead, it had started this incessant hammering.
The clothesline spoke of a simpler time, and standing next to it, Megan looked like the picture of wholesomeness—all that was fresh and innocent and wonderful personified. Even though he understood the danger she might inadvertently be to his career, she’d literally taken his breath away. He just prayed he’d have the strength to stand against any criticism that might come her way.
“Are we done?”
Holt looked up. Sarah pointed to the frame. He couldn’t believe it. He’d been daydreaming. “No. I just needed to think.” That was true.
He pulled out the cordless drill and tried the stubborn screw one more time. He smiled with relief when it eased in. Sarah held the frame, and he quickly spun the other screws into place. They soon had it mounted back in the screen door.
“I can’t believe how long I let that go like that.”
He spun around. Megan stood with an empty laundry basket on her hip.
“Not very many people hang out clothes anymore.”
“No, I guess not. Did you know the dryer takes more electricity than most of your other appliances?”
“Yeah, I’d heard that.” He was struck by how frugal she was compared to most women her age. He knew she’d been through some tough times, but he’d thought she came out okay financially. Was money that tight? Or did she just try to be frugal?
An uncomfortable silence stretched across the porch.
Sarah tugged on his belt loop. “I’m going to name my puppy Rascal.”
He looked down at her with a smile. “Oh, really? When are you getting a puppy?”
Megan grinned and tousled Sarah’s hair. “Nobody knows, but Sarah has apparently decid
ed if she talks about it as a fact, it will happen.” Sarah said something about telling her friend, Lucy, about Rascal and ran on inside. Megan glanced up at him. “Persistence, you know.”
“Hey, sometimes it works.”
“And sometimes it doesn’t.” She opened the repaired screen door and looked at it admiringly. “I appreciate you fixing that. How much do I owe you?”
“A cold drink of water?”
“Sure.” She bit her lip, and he could almost see her mind working. “The water hose is right over there. It comes straight out of the well, so it’s as cold as it gets.”
She turned to go in, then pivoted back around to meet his gaze. “That screen was there for a reason. There were things outside that were dangerous to Sarah. Persistence isn’t always a good thing.”
Before he could reply, she went into the house, leaving him staring at the closed screen door he’d just repaired.
He could wait until he got home to get a drink.
❧
Holt hated staying inside on a beautiful day. Still, he’d promised himself he would make five calls today to drum up support for the bill he was planning on introducing to provide more benefits for the elderly. He’d hit a lot more opposition than he’d expected, but he was still determined to meet his goal. Thankfully, he’d saved his good friend, Chad Reynolds, for last. He was pretty sure Chad would give his support. He shared Holt’s concern for senior citizens.
“Hello?”
“Chad, how are you? This is Holt.”
“I can’t complain. How about you?”
“I’m doing fine, Chad. You probably know why I’m calling. I was hoping I could count on your support for my bill.”
“Well. . .I’m not really sure.” The uncomfortable note in his friend’s voice raised Holt’s hackles. He’d noticed the same thing in the others voices but hadn’t known them well enough to be positive.
“Be straight with me, Chad. Someone lobbying against me?”
“Uh. . .you might say that.”
“Did Marshall Whitmore call you?”
“Yeah, he did.” Relief filled Chad’s voice. “I wanted to call and tell you, but I hated to.”
“What did he say?”
“He’s had an accountant do some figuring on your plan. He says your numbers are off, and we just can’t afford it.”
“There’s nothing wrong with my numbers.” Holt fought to keep the anger out of his voice. If he acted irrational now, that would play right into Marshall’s hands. “I’ll be glad to come by and go over them with you sometime soon.”
“That sounds good. I couldn’t believe he was right about you not researching it well enough, but he was convincing, I’ll tell you that.”
“I understand. I appreciate your being honest with me, Chad.”
“No problem.”
Holt hung up the phone. If Marshall thought he was that easily intimidated, he had better think again. He was thankful that was the last phone call. All he wanted was to get outside, and in spite of their less-than-perfect good-bye yesterday, he had at least one more thing to take care of at Megan Watson’s.
❧
The following afternoon, Megan stared out the kitchen window. Holt McFadden was replacing the center support to her clothesline. As she watched, he vigorously drove a large punch bar into the ground around the rotten post. Even from here, she could see his shirt was wet.
Thankfully, Sarah was taking her nap, so Megan didn’t have to worry about her begging to go out and see Holt. Her daughter talked about the man regularly in her conversations with her imaginary friends. There was no way she’d allow Megan a moment’s peace if she knew he was outside.
Unfortunately, Megan wasn’t allowing herself a moment’s peace anyway. All she could think of was how awful she’d felt when he left the last time without even a cold glass of water. What kind of person was she? She’d been trying to protect him from her past, but surely, she could have given him a drink first.
She yanked open the refrigerator door and grabbed some lemons from the crisper. As soon as she’d squeezed them into a pitcher, she added sugar and water. She stirred the mixture briskly, then poured in some ice cubes for good measure. She couldn’t get involved, but she could at least be polite. Holt McFadden wouldn’t leave here thirsty this time.
She peeked out the window again. The center post had broken off about halfway down, the rotten part lying in pieces at Holt’s feet. He leaned hard against the remaining stub. She watched him reposition himself around it, pushing, until at last it folded onto the ground.
Now looked like a good time for a break. She clipped the monitor onto her belt and grabbed two glasses from the cabinet. With them in one hand and the pitcher of lemonade in the other, she made her way out to the clothesline.
“Hello.”
He turned around. “Hey.” His gaze took in the lemonade and glasses. “Something wrong with the well?”
She flinched at his sarcasm, but she knew she deserved far worse. “Thank you for doing this. I thought you might want some lemonade.”
“Sure.” His brief flare of irritation seemed to have disappeared.
She poured him a drink, and by unspoken agreement, they moved up to the shade of the porch and sat in the side-by-side rockers.
“Why’d you do this after the way I treated you last time?”
He took a big gulp of his lemonade. “I wanted to see you again.”
“It would be best if you didn’t.”
“Is that what you want?”
Her pulse quivered as his deep blue eyes regarded her closely. “It would be best.”
She stood, her full glass of lemonade in one hand and the pitcher in the other.
“Wait.” He motioned for her to stop.
“What?”
“When are you going to stop running?”
It was an honest question from an honest man. He deserved an honest answer. “Probably never.” She turned back toward the door. The best thing she could do for him would be to quit worrying about whether he was thirsty or not.
“Megan.”
She paused with her fingers on the door handle. “Yeah?”
“A person can’t have too many friends.”
She spun around to meet his gaze. “You want to be friends?”
He nodded, and it was impossible to doubt the sincerity in his eyes.
Her legs were trembling, but surely, he couldn’t be hurt by a simple friendship with her. What would it be like to have a friend close to her age to visit with? She’d been lonely for so long, and after years of living under the cloud of Barry’s deceit, Holt’s honesty was like a refreshing rain shower.
She looked at him again. Still damp from the physical labor on her behalf, he’d proven himself a friend whether she accepted his offer of friendship or not. You have to say no. “Okay.”
He didn’t speak for a minute, apparently surprised by her consent. Little did he know he wasn’t nearly as shocked as she was.
Finally, he found his voice. “So how about we go for a walk after awhile—you, me, and Sarah—and watch the sunset?”
She started to agree, but suddenly, she remembered the work she was supposed to have finished during Sarah’s nap. “Actually, I have some quilting that has to be done by tomorrow.”
“I see.” Disappointment flashed in his eyes, and she knew he thought she was still playing games.
“Then I’ll be free.” She cringed as her words hung in the air, a desperate plea for a rain check if she’d ever heard one.
“If I come by about this time Thursday, would you and Sarah show me the farm?”
“We’d love to.” Not a smart answer, but certainly the one her heart favored.
He pushed to his feet, and apparently sensing that she wasn’t ready for him to come into the house again, he set his empty glass on the rocker arm. “I’d better get back to work. Thanks for the lemonade.”
“Thank you for fixing my clothesline.”
He tipped his ha
t to her, then shoved it back on his head and headed back to his job.
Megan remained on the porch for a few minutes, watching Holt work. She felt like she could stand there forever.
Friends, just friends, she reminded herself. A cricket chirped in the distance, and the bellowing of a tree frog offered a forecast of much needed rain. “Come on, rain. Come tonight, but just let the sun shine Thursday,” she muttered, as she slipped into the house and let the screen door slam behind her.
Four
Thursday afternoon Holt hurried into the hardware store for the third time in the past week-and-a-half. He nodded at a ruddy-faced man who was stacking cans of paint on an aisle display. “Good morning, Josiah.”
“Senator. It’s so good to see you again.” In spite of the fact that Holt had just been in the store two days ago, Josiah Barclay hurried over to shake his hand. “I heard something a mite interestin’ yesterday.”
“You did?”
“Yes, Sir. I heard you might be running for governor after your term for senator is up.” The store owner’s beady eyes scrutinized Holt’s face. “Any truth to that?”
“Well, Josiah, I don’t have any plans in place for that right now. I’ll let you know, though, if I throw my hat in the ring.”
Of course, that wasn’t promising much since he’d let the whole state know if he threw his hat in the ring. Then again, probably the best way to let the whole state know would be to tell Josiah. He and his wife, Barbara, could spread news faster than a forest fire—and were just as dangerous at times.
“You be sure you do.” The man looked over his shoulder, and Holt had the distinct feeling Josiah’s wife would likely torture him if he missed a juicy piece of gossip like their local senator running for governor.
“Senator McFadden, how good to see you.” Holt turned around to find Barbara Barclay smiling at him.
“Hello, Barbara.” Normally, he’d call her Mrs. Barclay, but the age-conscious woman had told him long ago to use her first name.
“LaWanda is home from college for the summer. . .” She peered through her long black eyelashes at him. “Maybe you can come over for supper some night.”
Patchwork and Politics Page 3
