Eighteen
Holt sped down Megan’s driveway and came to a stop beside a shiny silver sedan. He grimaced.
Patience, Lord. Please.
The familiar prayer brought a half-smile to his lips. He was convinced God had brought Megan into his life. But maybe it was his own prayers that had persuaded God to introduce him to Megan. After all, he seemed to be practicing his patience every day since he’d met her.
The whole drive from Little Rock, he’d thought of nothing but holding Megan in his arms and declaring his feelings to her. He’d expected to have to distract Sarah first, but her parents? Obviously, those plans would have to wait. In spite of his impatience, he had to admit he was thankful she was working things out with her parents.
He got out of the truck, and before he could get halfway up the path to the house, Sarah catapulted into his arms. He grinned as he hoisted her onto his shoulders and carried her the rest of the way. When they reached the porch, he swung her to the ground, laughing aloud at her squeals of delight.
“Looks like you’ve got you a buddy there.”
Holt swung around. A distinguished-looking gentleman about twenty-five years Holt’s senior sat in one of the rockers. “Yes, Sir. We’re good friends, aren’t we, Sarah?”
“Uh-huh.” She studied Holt for a minute. “Most of my friends are ‘may-nay’ but you’re not.”
Holt pinched himself. “Ouch.” He shook his head. “No, I guess I’m real.”
Sarah giggled.
The man in the rocker smiled. “You must be Holt. I’m Ransom Jackson, Megan’s dad.” He stuck out his hand.
Holt shook the offered hand. “It’s nice to meet you.”
“You too. I’ve heard a lot about you.”
Holt grinned.
“From Sarah. . .”
Holt’s grin faltered.
“And Megan too, of course.”
Holt looked at the teasing glint in Ransom Jackson’s eyes and knew, he was going to get along just fine with Megan’s father.
❧
Later that evening, Megan stood beside Holt in the yard and watched her parents drive away. Even though she’d loved having them, she’d been waiting all evening for them to go. Megan’s mother had insisted on reading Sarah a bedtime story and tucking her in before they left.
“I really like them.” Holt’s voice sounded loud in the still night.
“Me too, but I thought they’d never leave.” She giggled.
He reached over with one arm and drew her up against his side. “I know what you mean.”
“Holt. . .” Her gut twisted, but she knew it had to be said. “Although we worked things out with Ivo, I’m still not sure it’s the best idea for us to get involved.”
Even in the moonlight, she could see the astonishment on his features. “Involved?” His chuckle was mirthless. “Is that what you call this? I think about you constantly. I want to be with you all the time. I’m so in love with you I can’t think straight.”
“Uh. . .that’s kind of my point.” She turned to face him, and he kept his arms at her waist. With one hand, she reached up and caressed his face. “You can’t think straight. That’s why I have to. God put you where you are.”
“Yes, Ma’am, I agree. God put me where I am. In your arms.”
She shook her head. “You know that’s not what I meant. I mean God put you in the senate, with a desire in your heart to be governor.”
“Now how did you know that?”
“I read between the lines.”
“You think you’re so smart.” He started to tickle her, but when she spoke, his hands froze.
“I think we need to wait awhile.”
“Wait awhile?”
“Yes. Let’s wait and see how things settle down after Ivo prints his retraction. See if any other reporter is going to take up where he left off. Let’s give ourselves some time and pray about our relationship. If it’s meant to be, God will work it out.”
“How do you know He hasn’t already worked it out?”
“I don’t know, but a little time isn’t going to hurt anything.” Was that really her voice saying those crazy things? A little time? Any amount of time away from him seemed like more than she could bear.
He stared down at her, and she watched the shadows play across his face. “Have it your way.” She cringed at his obvious irritation. He leaned forward and whispered in her ear, his warm breath sending tingles up and down her spine. “You’re definitely worth waiting for.”
When he drew back, his mouth was inches from hers. He used his thumb to wipe away a tear she hadn’t even realized she’d shed. He gently lowered his lips to hers. The chirping crickets faded away, and the sweet taste of promise sang through her soul. He drew back and dropped a light kiss on her forehead. “I’ll try to be patient, but don’t forget me.”
She touched her lips, still warm from his kiss and shook her head, tears flowing in hot streams down her cheeks. Before he could say anything, she turned and ran into the house. She refused to watch him leave even one more time.
❧
“Why don’t you just call him?” Aunt Irene asked.
Megan shook her head and continued to freehand stitch around the baskets. “I can’t.”
“Yes, you can. You’ve got a perfectly good telephone over there, and as far as I know, your hand’s not broke.”
Megan stopped the machine for a second and cast her gaze heavenward. “You know what I mean. This is probably for the best. I’m not a hermit anymore, but I still was associated with scandal. That’s not the best person for an aspiring politician to mar—Er, to become involved with, I mean.”
“Go ahead and say it. Marry. Cause you know, and I do too, it’s what you want. You’ve got it bad, Child. All your quilts have got tearstains on them. And I thought you were through being a martyr.”
“Aunt Irene, I’m not being a martyr. I’m being a realist, but in the meantime, I’m praying. So far, I’ve yet to see a way not to be a hindrance to Holt’s career. If I figure it out, you’ll be the first to know.”
“No, Missy, I’ll settle for second to know. You put that senator out of his misery first.”
Megan glanced up from her quilting. “Just pray.”
“I already am.”
❧
One week later, Holt stared in the mirror. The man in there was barely recognizable. He couldn’t sleep. He couldn’t eat.
Lord, please, if it’s not Your will for me to be with Megan for the rest of my life, to take her as my wife, then take this desire of my heart away and give me peace in its place or at least acceptance. Please, Father.
Without God’s help, he couldn’t accept it. They’d come so far. Overcome so many obstacles. Only to foul out in the bottom of the ninth with two outs and the bases loaded? Could it be this was God’s will?
He stumbled from the bathroom and walked numbly through the house. The coffeepot gurgled happily, and Holt stopped long enough to pour himself some coffee. He’d forego the cream and sugar. Black suited his mood today.
He set the mug of coffee on the porch railing and walked out to get the newspaper. The action was so reminiscent of the day he’d walked out to get the papers only to have his world crash down around his ears that he shivered.
Both papers lay on the ground, and Holt just stared at them for a minute. Finally, he scooped them up and carried them back to the porch. Would Pletka’s retraction be in today’s paper? How many people would read a little correction? Ten percent of those who read the original story? Twenty?
He flipped open the free paper, and his mouth dropped open. The front page had a huge picture of Megan with Sarah.
WATSON’S WIDOW SACRIFICES TO REPAY HIS DEBTS
The headline was extra-large font. As Holt hungrily read the story, he realized Pletka had used everything he’d told him that day at the newspaper office and much, much more. He’d interviewed most of the investors, and they’d all told in their own words how much Megan’s actions
meant to them.
When he’d finished, he hugged the article to his chest and tossed the statewide paper to the side, then did a double take as it fell open. The same article, with the picture and headline slightly smaller was on the front page of this one, as well.
Holt’s hands trembled. Full realization dawned on him. All of Megan’s fears were laid to rest. There was nothing standing in the way. He fell to his knees on the board porch right there in the morning light.
Thank you, Lord. Thank you for hearing my prayer about Ivo Pletka and giving him a contrite heart. You truly are my rock and my fortress and my deliverer. Without You, I am nothing. You are worthy to be praised, Lord, and my faith lies completely in You.
When he finished, he rose and went into the house and showered, shaved, and dressed. With the newspapers tucked under his arm, he hurried to the truck and sped away.
Nineteen
Megan breathed in the scent of roses. She smiled at Holt who sat next to her on an elegant, but amazingly comfortable, park bench. Water sparkled like diamonds in a beautiful fountain nearby. The brilliant green of the budding trees framed out the magnificent garden. She leaned against Holt, contentment filling her soul.
Suddenly, a small squirrel with a hammer popped out of the tree nearest Megan and began banging on the park bench they were sitting on. She jumped up and tried to grab him, but he dodged her attempts and continued to bang.
She squinted one eye open, then the other. No park. No park bench, comfortable or otherwise. So, why was the squirrel still here? She sat straight up. It was someone at the door. . .someone very persistent. As soon as she thought that word, she knew who it was. She leapt to her feet, slipped into her fuzzy houseshoes, and grabbed her pink terry cloth robe. Her pajamas were totally decent, but her mama had always taught her that a lady wore a robe when a gentleman was present.
Of course gentlemen don’t bang on doors like a psychotic squirrel with a hammer either, she thought, cinching the belt and hurrying down the hallway. His mama must not have taught him that.
She threw open the door, and Holt picked her up and spun her around. As the room tilted and twirled, Megan held on for dear life. “Have you lost your mind?” she finally yelled.
He laughed and set her down on her feet with a thud. “I’m crazy about you. Does that count?”
“Holt, I thought we were going to wait.”
“That’s right, and wait we did. But guess what? The waiting is over.” He spread open two newspapers on the coffee table.
Megan stared at her picture in shocked silence for a second, then slowly reached to pick up a paper. As she read, great gulping sobs shook her shoulders. Holt moved over and put his arm around her.
“Mama! Why are you crying?”
Megan grinned at Sarah, but she was still sobbing too hard to speak. She looked at Holt and cried harder because she could see he knew instantly she wanted him to explain.
He released Megan and squatted down to hold Sarah. “It’s something kind of strange that women do sometimes. Even you will someday.” At Holt’s idea of an explanation, Megan tried to frown at him. But like one of those little collapsible puppets, her tearful grin popped right back into place. “She’s crying because she’s happy, Honey.”
Sarah looked doubtful. “I guess you’re right ’cause I don’t smile when I’m crying and neither does Lucy, but Mama sure is.”
Megan nodded. Her sobs had subsided to a shuddering hiccupy one every once in awhile, so she bent down to hug Sarah. “I’m okay, Sweetie.”
Sarah quickly lost interest and ran back to her room to play.
For an awkward moment, neither Megan nor Holt seemed to know what to say. Megan had worn the mantle of bondage so long that this unfamiliar cloak of freedom made her feel almost undressed.
“Stay right there. I have something for you.” She turned and ran down the hall into the sewing room. She grabbed the red, white, and blue lap quilt. As she spun to hurry back, she paused for a second to survey the room that had been her haven for three years. She wouldn’t have to give up her quilting business, but if she and Holt—assuming that’s what he had in mind—attempted a future together, she would probably have to give up this room, where she’d felt so safe and secure.
Trading this room, no matter how warm and cozy, for the security of Holt’s love reminded her of trading this life for the security of heaven. There was no comparison. She turned out the light and hurried down the hall.
❧
As Holt waited for Megan to come back, he couldn’t keep from tapping his toe lightly on the floor.
When she came down the hall with something in her hands, she stopped. “Don’t tell me.”
“Don’t tell you what?” he asked.
“That you’re a toe-tapper.” She tilted her head and examined his demeanor. “You are, aren’t you?”
He started to deny it, but he knew it was true. “Yes, I am.”
“I’m going to have to work on your problem with impatience.” She grinned saucily.
He shook his head. “Believe me, you already have. More than you know.”
She walked toward him again, and when she grew near, she leaned up to whisper in his ear. “Anything worth having is worth waiting for.”
“Waiting for you has been an adventure I wouldn’t have given up for anything, Meg.” He leaned toward her, but she stepped back.
“Well, since I’ve taught you a thing or two about patience, it’s only fair to admit that you’ve taught me something too.”
“About persistence?”
She grimaced. “We won’t even discuss that. About freedom. It really is a state of mind.” She unfolded the lap quilt in her hands and held it up for him to see. “This is to keep you warm on those cold winter nights.”
He stared at the beautiful flag quilt, obviously intended to commemorate his love for America. “Megan, it’s beautiful. Did you make it?”
“Yes, Sir. With my own two hands. . .and my sewing machine and quilting machine.”
He took it in his hands and admired the work, neat and precise like everything else about her. The caring that had gone into the simple blanket was almost tangible. “I love it. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
“I have to admit I’m a little disappointed, though.”
She glanced up at him quickly. “You are? Oh, no. I knew better than to give a man a quilt, but I thought. . .”
He reached out his finger and placed it gently on her lips. “Shh. . .”
“But I. . .”
He took her in his arms and pulled her closer, smashing the quilt between them. “I’m disappointed because I was hoping by winter I would have something else to keep me warm during those cold nights.”
Her eyes widened with understanding, and he thought he might drown in their crystal blue depths. He gently caressed her cheek with his thumb. “Megan. . .” He stepped back and carefully placed the quilt across the back of a chair. Then he took her hand and lowered himself to one knee on the hardwood floor. “Would you make me the happiest man in the world and agree to be my wife?”
Tears flowed down her cheeks. “On one condition.”
He stood and took her in his arms. “What’s that?”
“That you throw your patience out the window when it comes to setting a wedding date.” She threw her arms around him. “I’ve had all the waiting I want.”
He laughed. “I agree. Let’s ask our little flower girl how soon she can be ready and go from there.”
❧
Megan knew Holt was right. They’d have to give Sarah time to adjust to such a big change. She had a horrifying vision of Sarah crying and refusing to share her mother with anyone. Sure, the little girl liked Holt, but she’d had her mama’s undivided attention for so long. “When do you think we should tell her?”
“Well, since—thanks to your ‘one condition’—my patience is currently residing out the window, I’d say now.” He squeezed Megan’s hand. “However she reac
ts, with God’s help we can deal with it together.”
Megan nodded, silently praying already. “Sarah,” she called.
Seconds later, Sarah skipped into the room, her long blonde ponytail bobbing behind her. “Yes, Ma’am?”
“I need to talk to you.”
“Mama, has Mr. Holt been making you happy again?” she asked sternly, nodding at the tears on Megan’s cheeks.
“Actually, yes, he has.” Megan sank down on the couch and pulled Sarah up on her lap, then nodded for Holt to sit too. When they were all settled, she continued. “You know your daddy died when you were a baby?”
Sarah nodded.
“We’ve made it fine by ourselves since then, but sometimes it’s a little lonely, isn’t it?”
Sarah shook her head. “Not anymore. Not since I have my ‘may-nay’ friends and you have Mr. Holt.”
Megan glanced over Sarah’s head at Holt. He offered a reassuring grin. “Yes, well, that’s sort of what I wanted to talk to you about. Mr. Holt has asked me to marry him.”
“Really?”
“Yes, really.”
“Would he live with us like they do on TV when they get married?” Sarah’s brow was furrowed.
“Yes, Honey, or we would live with him. We haven’t worked that part out yet, but we would all live together as a family.”
“And you’d have a wedding?”
“Yes, and we thought you might want to be a flower girl.”
“When would the wedding be?”
Megan sighed, grateful that Sarah hadn’t balked. . .yet.
“Well, we thought we might leave that up to you. If you’d like for us to take some time so you can get used to Mr. Holt. . .”
Sarah slid down off Megan’s lap and ran over to Holt. She put her little hands on the side of his face. “When you marry my mommy, will you be my daddy?”
He nodded.
“Can we have the wedding today?”
Through her own blurred vision, Megan saw suspicious moisture in Holt’s eyes. Neither of them could speak.
“Can Lucy be a flowery girl too? Will there be lots of people there? Will we have chocolate cake? Can Grandma—” Sarah’s seemingly endless stream of questions was cut off as Holt stood and scooped her up into his arms. As her giggles filled the air, Megan rose and joined the embrace. Their gaze met above the small blond head.
Patchwork and Politics Page 14
