by Lois Richer
“You should be so proud. You’ve done a marvelous job with Lilly. And you’re writing—I think that’s really wonderful.” She sniffled and gave out a wobbly sigh. “I’m not much for kids, you know, but I really like Lilly.”
They did have some special connection, those two. “She talks about you all the time. You’ve made quite an impression.” It struck him, watching the tears glisten in her huge brown eyes, that he was talking about himself as much as Lilly. He’d kept telling himself Audrey was always in his thoughts at Lilly’s prompting, but that wasn’t true. He’d actually been frightened of how much he thought about Audrey. As if that were some sort of insult to Caroline’s memory. But here, talking about Caroline to Audrey, he felt the counterbalance he’d just described—new joys coming to live alongside the grief. The impulse to take her hand both surprised and frightened him. He’d held her in the barn on pure human instinct—disaster’s instant compassion—but this impulse was so unexpected and foreign he’d forgotten it could still exist inside him. He stared at her for a moment, baffled and cautious but unable to look away. She returned his gaze, and he thought he saw his own heart’s discord reflected in her eyes.
The teakettle saved them, and he bolted off the chair for the safety of the kitchen counter. The previous moment’s delicacy became lost under a mound of awkward hospitality. Suddenly they were avoiding each other’s eyes and staying calculated distances apart, and he didn’t know what to do with that. “You should call Dr. Vickers soon, let him know what’s happened.” He said it with entirely too clinical a tone.
“He had a cold earlier this week. I don’t know if he can come out. Does he need to, now?” The word now held so much weight when she said it.
“That’s up to him. But he needs to know, all the same. I could call the library for you, let them know. That is, if you want me to.” Paul wanted to whack his forehead for making such a lame offer. It was like all those people who said, “call me if you need anything” after Caroline’s funeral, none of them really meaning it. Still, he couldn’t seem to help himself. Suddenly he needed to get out of the kitchen, get away from this disturbing connection he felt with Audrey.
“No, I’m fine. I’ll be fine.” Her smile was a heartbreaking lie.
“I’ll take the…body…back with me if you want. You can’t just leave it.”
He watched her make up her mind. Literally, the decision to see this through played that clearly across her face. It tugged at him so strongly that a wave of panic flashed up his spine. “No,” she said unsteadily. “I need to deal with this. You’ve done so much already.” She reached across the huge gap between them—a few inches that felt like a canyon—and touched his arm. “I don’t know how to thank you, Paul. Really.”
He found himself unable to answer. Her touch shocked his mild panic into a blinding white dread. He managed a nod, some choking sort of grunt, and then let himself out the door.
He knew he should have stayed closer, offered more help during that next week, but he seemed unable to. Lilly went to Audrey’s place every day after school, and he knew from the volunteers that she’d shortened her hours at the library, but something told him if he went near her, he wouldn’t be able to handle it. It felt weak and cowardly.
He kept telling himself he was doing the wise thing, the safe thing for Lilly and him.
Yet, every night as he looked out and saw the light on in the barn, recognized the vigil she was keeping, he knew it was wrong.
Chapter Twelve
“They’re here.” Audrey nearly sang the words when Paul picked up the phone. “Two of the ewes gave birth overnight. I did it, Paul, they’re here. Come look at them—four of them are here!”
It didn’t matter that he had twelve other things he should be doing at that moment; the joy in her voice was irresistible.
Despite all his efforts to keep a distance over the last week, he would have gone out to her in a heartbeat. The week of distance had only brought him to one conclusion—he cared for her. The constant niggling in his chest wasn’t the itch to run away from the vet practice; it was a craving to be near her. Not her sheep, her.
It had felt like a betrayal at first—some sort of crime against Caroline’s memory—but during the week he’d realized his anxiety over Audrey’s lambs was really a fear of his own “rebirth.” They were connected, in one of those weird orchestrations only God creates; just as she needed the birth of the lambs to give a counterbalance to the loss of that first lamb, he could need what he felt for Audrey without taking anything away from what he felt for Caroline. At least that’s how he understood it—it was more of a heart knowledge than any kind of logic he could ever hope to explain.
“Why didn’t you call? I would have helped.”
“It was the middle of the night. You couldn’t have left Lilly. And it was okay. We were okay, Paul, the girls and I. The lambs are perfect—healthy and bonded to their mothers and absolutely beautiful. Come see!”
“Lilly got on the bus an hour ago. I’ll be there in five minutes.” He hadn’t showered or shaved—he’d gotten a great writing idea at breakfast and he’d spent every moment since Lilly’s departure at his computer. None of that mattered now—he didn’t even bother with a coat, just threw on a pair of boots and pushed out the back door.
She was a wild, wide-eyed wonder this morning, running up to the fence to let him in when he could have easily opened the gate himself. “Paul, they’re so wonderful. So amazing. Each of them. All of them!” Without hesitating, she grabbed his hand and pulled him toward the barn. And he let her, giving himself permission to be wrapped up in her joy this morning.
All the cuteness aside, newborn animals were always one of the best parts of Paul’s vet practice. Something deep and powerful always settled in his chest as he witnessed life renew itself. Creation held such fantastic powers to soothe the soul; he could go through hours of a traumatic labor with an animal and still feel completely thrilled when the newborn stumbled up onto its legs for the first time. He knew—had always known—it was why God gave him Lilly to get through Caroline’s departure. Youth and birth and growth were his touchstones, the things that energized him and renewed his faith.
He did not let go of her hand as they walked into the barn to view the morning’s miracle. Mary and Esther had given birth, each to twins. The mothers and their babies were happily tucked into the individualized pens Audrey had set up. He felt Audrey squeeze his hand, let his eyes fall shut for the briefest of moments as a long-lost pulse unwound in his chest. She’d done beautifully, and he was startled at the sense of pride that swelled inside him at the sight of the pairs of snowy, wobbly lambs.
“They’re so beautiful,” she said in an awed whisper. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything so beautiful, ever.” One of them looked up at her voice and bleated, a tiny, toy-sheep sound that made him smile and her laugh. Audrey pulled away from him to kneel down into one of the pens. A lamb bumbled over on its knobby legs to stare at her with adorable eyes. Of all God’s newborns, lambs had to be among the most charming, all pink ears and black eyes and velvet noses. This particular velvet nose was bonking up against Audrey’s arm, producing a giggle he felt tumble down the back of his spine. “Oh, look at her,” she called back, her eyes big pools of wonder, charming him even more than the lamb’s.
He crouched down beside her, smiling himself. “Actually, I think this is a little fella,” he said as the black nose took a turn bumping up against him. “Hey there, little guy.” Paul ran his hands expertly over the animal, assessing its overall health. He was in great shape. She’d done everything needed for the animals, and he knew that success would mean so much to her in light of Martha’s stillborn birth. “You’re looking just fine,” he said to the lamb. “Happy birthday.”
Audrey laughed, clearly taken with the idea. “It is, isn’t it?” Audrey moved over to the other pen, singing “Happy Birthday” as she did. He let himself enjoy her voice, relish her delight, slightly startled at how ha
ppy he was. As he watched her move among the lambs, singing to them, he felt his heart unfold. He knew his own rebirth had begun. The thought—a ridiculously frilly thought for a man of his years and experience—rendered his legs as wobbly as the lambs’ as he walked toward her.
His realization would show the minute she turned to him. He knew he’d be powerless to hide it—some part of him was that thirsty to care again. Why on earth had he tried to deny it?
When she finally turned, Paul thought his legs had given way. Guys don’t swoon, he thought, feeling young and foolish. He was right; she felt it, as well. It showed instantly in that transparent face of hers. The gentlest of smiles curled up the corners of her mouth under lashes that were wet with tears. When was the last time he saw tears of joy? It seemed a tiny miracle, a wonder that stole his breath and lodged a lump in his own throat. “Oh, Paul,” she said, walking toward him. “Everything’s starting new, isn’t it?”
She couldn’t have picked words that would undo him more.
Audrey couldn’t help but stare at Paul, wildly, acutely aware of what was transpiring between them. They weren’t talking about the lambs anymore, and they both knew it. Especially when he choked out “They’re amazing,” without even looking at the animals. “I’m glad they’re finally here.”
She’d been so cautious, so hesitant. They’d drawn a careful line between them for so long. No longer. Audrey took a deep breath and forced herself to say, “I’m glad you’re here.” She wanted them to cross that line. She’d thought about him so much since that horrible morning with Martha’s lamb and how tenderly he’d treated her. He’d stolen her heart that morning, but they’d pushed each other away. Why are human hearts so foolish when it matters most? Never mind—today was a day for new beginnings. Today was the day to start over. Or maybe just to start. She held his eyes until she thought her knees could go out from underneath her.
His smile came slowly, gaining ground as he closed the distance between them. “I am, too.” Where had all the air suddenly gone? She realized, as he took yet another step, that hearts really did pound—it wasn’t just a figure of speech. “I wasn’t. Not at first. I kept so much distance between us.”
“No.” She rushed to contradict him. “You were careful.” You were hurting, she wanted to say, but such negative words seemed wrong for the moment.
“Too careful. But you can be persistent, you know that?”
“About the lambs, maybe. But…” He was so close she couldn’t finish the sentence. They were going to cross that line and there was no going back. She was terrifyingly happy, her breath coming in gulps as he reached up and brushed a piece of straw from her hair.
He didn’t move his hand away. “You care,” he corrected softly. “And thank God for that.” His eyes told her he meant it.
“Paul,” she said, wringing her hands. “You don’t need to…”
“Shh.” He moved his hand from her hair to place a single finger onto her lips. “I’m okay. Really.” The finger moved from her lips to her cheek, a featherlight touch that would have stolen her heart if it had not already been his. In that moment, that excruciatingly long moment before he leaned his face toward her, Audrey thought him the most handsome, gentlest man God ever created. And when he kissed her, an exquisite, careful kiss that spoke of all he’d been through and all the future held, Audrey knew that hearts really did burst and people really did fall in love. She could have rolled every romantic cliché the library held into one long sentence and never come close to describing that kiss.
Her hands found their way to his shoulders, feeling the same sigh escape him that tumbled inside her. She could sense his discovery, taste the wonder in his deepening kiss. Bliss was the word that echoed through her mind as she tried to stay standing even though the barn seemed to be spinning around her.
Ruth bumped up against them, ending the kiss in a peal of laughter. “We’ve got chaperones,” he chuckled, his eyes warm and joyful.
“Or matchmakers. My girls are very smart.”
“They are,” he agreed, threading his fingers through hers. “But you’re going to need to switch to calling them ‘your flock.’ You’ve got rams now, not just ewes.”
“And we all know what happens when you get rams and ewes together.”
She didn’t think his smile could get any broader. “Good things.” He slipped his hands around her waist and kissed her forehead.
Audrey settled her head onto his shoulder and thought she might really die of happiness. “I want Lilly to help me name the lambs.”
Paul pulled back to look at her. “She’ll love that. But you might regret it.”
“I said ‘help.’” She feigned a stern expression. “I plan to retain full authority.”
“Let me know how that works out for you,” he said, laughing again. “I’m not sure I’ve ever succeeded at that.”
Audrey reached out and swept a lock of hair from his eyes. “You’re a wonderful father.” She kissed his cheek, reveling in the texture of his face, the strength of his chin, the way his hair waved in certain places. He was such a good man. “How should we tell Lilly?”
“About us? Oh, she’s even smarter than your girls. She’ll figure it out soon enough.” He raised an eyebrow. “The grinning dad is always a giveaway.”
“Baaa.” Martha and Mary echoed their agreement.
Chapter Thirteen
“I’m glad for the business, really I am,” said Janet Bishop, who owned the hardware store, when Audrey stopped in the morning after Palm Sunday. “But I’ll be glad when this parade craziness is over. I’ve had panicked people in here looking for gizmos to fix mistakes, people bickering over the last can of blue spray paint and Vern had to actually break up a fight between two guys over a tub of papier-mâché mix yesterday.” She shut her cash register drawer with a weary thud. “Why is it Howard’s ideas for town joy always result in king-size stress for the rest of us?”
Audrey didn’t answer. She was feeling the crunch worse than anyone—or ought to have been by rights—but just couldn’t muster up any misery lately. No one’s complaints could make a dent in her happiness. Ruth had successfully delivered her lambs three days after Mary and Esther, which meant more sleepless nights, but even that failed to weary her. Howard’s constant micromanagement couldn’t get under her skin, which was probably why Janet was looking at her with a whopping dose of suspicion.
“Only our Parade Chair doesn’t look too frazzled, even with her new mouths to feed. Congratulations, by the way. All six delivered safe and sound?”
“Two rams, four ewes, all happy and healthy.” Audrey’s chest swelled with pride as she pulled the photos from her purse. “They’re adorable, aren’t they?”
“Cuties. But that smile goes a little deeper than Little Bo Peep finding her sheep if you ask me.” Janet arched an eyebrow. “Rumor has it you get along really well with your neighbors.”
Audrey shot Janet a shocked look.
“Second graders don’t have a lot of tact, and Ms. Madison doesn’t keep a secret very well. That, and the fact that you sat together at church on Sunday.”
Audrey didn’t know what to say. One second she was bursting to tell everyone the news, the next it felt fragile and private. She felt as though she should apologize for every judgmental thought she’d ever had about the crazy ways Janet, Emily and Dinah had all acted upon falling in love—she was surely worse then all of them put together.
Janet, who shared a practical nature closest to Audrey’s, put an understanding hand on Audrey’s arm. “I’m thrilled for you, really I am. Too long in coming, if you ask me.”
Audrey felt as if her face turned five shades of red. “He’s so wonderful. I’m just so flustered. I feel like an idiot.”
“Well, you don’t look like one. You look like a happy woman fixing to fall for the perfect guy.” Janet pointed at Audrey with a ruler she pulled off the counter. “I knew God had someone special lined up for you one of these days.”
“Speaking of days, I just hope I can hold up long enough to finish the last two final parade float inspections. I have to fit them in between shepherding tasks and, well, not everyone’s been cooperative.”
“Oh, I know,” Janet said, putting a can of spray paint back on the shelf. “The men’s basketball league guy came in here all fired up last week because they’d been told to reinforce the backboard on their float.”
“Cameron should know better,” Audrey replied. “You can’t just throw a portable basketball hoop up on someone’s flatbed like that. It might fall over if the guy driving the truck stops too fast. Honestly, you’d think people’s common sense flew out the window just because we said the word parade.” She leaned in. “And what’s basketball got to do with Easter, anyway?”
“If you ask Cameron and Dinah, basketball has something to do with everything. Did you know she wanted to put ‘Hoopy Easter’ on the side? Cameron only barely convinced her not to.”
“Believe it or not—” Audrey raised an eyebrow “—I’ve seen worse.” She checked her watch. “Gotta get back to the barn. The rest of that feed will be in on Tuesday, right?”
