From This Day Forward (Heartland Homecoming)

by Irene Hannon

  “Is that seat taken?” He gestured toward the other side of the porch swing.

  “No.” The night hid her expression, but he noticed that she scooted over as far as the seat would allow. At least she didn’t go inside.

  Settling down beside her, he set the swing swaying with a gentle push. As he propped one elbow on the back, careful to avoid brushing her shoulder, he noted that Cara had folded her arms across her chest.

  “Good display.” It had been a long time since he’d watched fireworks. And never with his wife. He hoped this might be the beginning of a new tradition.

  “Yes.”

  They swung in silence for a couple of minutes, the boom of the fireworks a distant rumble in the quiet air.

  “Did you stay for the band concert?”

  “Some of it.”

  “How did you get home?”

  “Marge dropped me off. Everything okay in Rolla?”

  “Mmm-hmm.” It was a simple, end-of-the-day conversation. The kind long-married folks might have. The kind he wanted back in his life.

  All at once the sky burst into a kaleidoscope of brilliant color as multiple fireworks exploded for the finale. It was stunning—but too brief. In less than twenty seconds, it was all over.

  “I guess I’ll call it a night.” Cara eased off the swing as the last bits of color faded from the sky. “See you tomorrow.”

  She slipped through the back door without waiting for him to respond.

  For another ten minutes, Sam stayed on the porch swing, gently rocking. The sky grew dark again, the brief dazzle of the fireworks already but a memory. Like his marriage.

  His life before Cara had been like the night sky, he reflected. Then she’d given him her love, illuminating his world just as the finale had illuminated the heavens. And when she’d gone, the darkness had somehow seemed blacker than before, just as the night sky did now, bereft of the glittering fireworks.

  With each day that passed, his determination to win her back strengthened. He couldn’t let her walk away again, taking the light with her and leaving him in darkness. He wouldn’t survive it.

  Closing his eyes, he turned to prayer, as he had been doing more and more often in recent days.

  Lord, please soften Cara’s heart toward me. I have a feeling she’s beginning to recognize that I’ve changed. I ask that You help that process along. And when—or if—she can acknowledge that, then I ask my biggest favor of all. Help her find the compassion to forgive me so we can have a second chance at love.

  Chapter Ten

  “Goodness, you’d think people in this town hadn’t had a decent meal in years the way the reservations are pouring in for the opening.” Marge bustled into the kitchen at the inn, waving a slip of paper. “Not that I’m complaining, you understand. The response just validates what I said all along. But the Fourth of July was what…five days ago?…and we’re booked solid for the whole opening weekend. Those flyers did the trick.”

  “Let’s just hope we can pull it all together by then. We only have two weeks.” Cara double-checked the supplies that had been delivered that morning as she responded to Marge.

  “I’m not worried in the least.” Marge shook out a linen napkin from the stack on the kitchen table and began to fold it into a rosette.

  “That makes one of us.”

  “My dear, if I’ve learned one lesson in life, it’s this. Never let fear keep you from seizing every opportunity. That’s how I became an innkeeper. And look how well that turned out.”

  “I’ve been wondering how you ended up in Oak Hill.” Cara paused in her methodical inventory and turned to the older woman. In typical Marge style, she wore a pair of hot-pink Capri pants and a psychedelic-patterned top in shades of pink, orange and lime-green, with a dollop of royal-purple thrown in for good measure. It was cinched at the waist with a heavy, silver-link belt studded with an array of flashy rhinestones.

  “It’s quite a story, but—” Marge surveyed the pile of napkins on the table “—I expect we have a few minutes while I work my way through this mountain.” She picked up another square of linen and proceeded to crease it into precise folds. “It all started eight years ago. My husband, Stan, and I had a nice life in Boston. He was an accountant, and I taught kindergarten. My, how I loved those youngsters. Stan and I never had children of our own, but my little ones in school helped ease that disappointment.

  “Life was good until Stan up and died on me. Heart attack. By the time I got to the hospital, he was almost gone. He only had time to say six words. ‘I love you, Marge. I’m sorry.’” She cleared her throat and continued to fold. “It was quite a shock, I must say. The second biggest one of my life.”

  “The second biggest?” Cara ventured.

  Selecting another napkin, Marge nodded. “The biggest one came after Stan died, when I figured out what his deathbed apology was all about. Turns out he was a compulsive gambler. Had been for twenty years. I’d always trusted him to handle the finances, so I had no idea we were hocked to the hilt when he died. Took every penny I could scrounge up—and then some—to pay off the debts.”

  Stunned, Cara stared at the affable innkeeper. Her husband had betrayed her, as surely as Sam had betrayed Cara—in intent, if not in deed.

  “You think you know a man, but…” Marge shrugged. “We all have our secrets, I guess. And Stan was perfect for me in every other way. I did a lot of research about gambling after he died, trying to understand what drove him. Came to find out it’s an addiction. Like alcohol or drugs.

  “Anyway, not long after Stan passed, my aunt here in Oak Hill died. She’d never had any children, either, and she left me this place. I looked into selling it, but there wasn’t much of a market for a pink elephant. So I prayed about it, and after a while I figured maybe the Lord was offering me an opportunity to start over. I had enough years in at my job to retire, and I was going to lose the house Stan and I had lived in anyway because of the home equity loans he’d taken against it. Long story short, that’s how I ended up as an Oak Hill innkeeper.”

  Marge continued folding napkins while Cara processed her startling disclosure—and tried to figure out how to discreetly ask the questions zipping through her mind.

  As if sensing her dilemma, Marge gave her a smile. “Ask away, my dear. I can see the question marks all over your face. I trust your discretion or I wouldn’t be in business with you.”

  A faint hint of color tinged Cara’s cheeks. “I don’t want to be nosy.”

  “Nosy.” Marge gave an unladylike snort. “Honey, it isn’t being nosy when someone gives you permission to ask questions. What would you like to know?”

  “I guess I’m trying to figure out why you don’t feel any resentment toward your husband. You trusted him to handle your finances, and he betrayed you.”

  “Now don’t go painting me as a saint, Cara.” She shook out a napkin with a bit more force than necessary. “Of course I was angry at first. That’s only natural. When someone you have faith in violates your trust, it’s a shock. You feel deceived. And hurt. But I knew that Stan was a good man at heart. And the fact is, circumstances can often drive people to behave in uncharacteristic ways.”

  She picked up another napkin. “From what I could determine, his gambling didn’t reach the out-of-control stage until the year before he died—when he got a new boss who was making his life miserable. Stan never told me that, but I found out about it from his coworkers after he died. I suspect the excessive gambling was his way of coping with the pressure at work. It was a release valve for him. Not a healthy one, of course. But stress can drive people to do things they later regret.”

  Cara folded her arms across her chest and leaned against the counter. “I admire your ability to overlook that kind of deception and maintain such a positive attitude.”

  “I’m not excusing Stan, Cara.” Marge stopped folding and faced the younger woman, her usual lighthearted demeanor absent for once. “But after a lot of research and a lot of prayer, I came
to understand what drove him. That understanding helped me forgive. That, and the certainty that Stan felt remorse for what he’d done—and never stopped loving me. Bottom line, he was a good man who made mistakes. As we all do. If love was contingent on perfection, this world would be a pretty lonely place.”

  It was hard to argue with Marge’s reasoning, Cara admitted. The little kitchen philosophy lesson rang true. And it was consistent with Reverend Andrews’s sermon. Love should be unqualified. And because people weren’t perfect, forgiveness had to be part of it.

  In theory, Cara accepted all of that. Putting it into practice was another story, however. That took courage and faith and a willingness to trust, even after trust has been compromised. She wasn’t sure she was up to the task.

  “I appreciate your sharing all that with me, Marge.”

  The innkeeper added another folded napkin to the long row on the table. “No sense keeping it a secret if there’s a chance it might help someone else.” Without giving Cara a chance to respond, Marge inclined her head toward the dining room. “What do you say we play around with the table arrangement a bit?”

  “Sure.”

  As Cara followed Marge into the inn’s dining room, she added two more sterling qualities to the list of attributes that the gregarious innkeeper possessed.

  Insight and generosity.

  And she prayed that the Lord would help her find the strength to emulate them. Especially when it came to forgiving Sam.

  “Cara? Sam. I hate to bother you, but I could use a favor, if you have a few minutes.”

  Since the Fourth of July nine days ago, Sam had been calling Cara at least once a day with some sort of question. Could he pick up anything in Rolla for her while he was there? Would she like him to swing by at lunchtime with an ice-cream sundae from the soda fountain on Main Street? Would she mind sharing that recipe for beef burgundy with the patient he’d seen that morning, who’d asked for it after Sam had raved about the dish? It was almost as if he was searching for excuses to talk with her. But this was the first time he’d asked a favor.

  Surprised, Cara checked her watch. She’d planned to run into town and drop off some menu ideas with Marge, but there was no rush. It was Saturday afternoon, and the innkeeper had said that most of her guests were out sightseeing. She was available anytime. “Sure. What do you need?”

  “I’m on my way back from Rolla, and I just had a call from the sheriff. His daughter fell off her bike and cut her chin. He’s meeting me at the office. I know she’s allergic to a couple of things, and I’d feel better if I had her chart in front of me when I treat her. But I brought it home last week to finish some notes after I saw her for a virus, and I think it’s still on my desk.”

  “It’s Jenna Lewis, isn’t it?”

  “Yes. How did you know?”

  “I met them at church. Hang on and I’ll check.”

  It wasn’t hard to find the chart in Sam’s tidy home office. A couple of minutes later, she was back on the phone. “Got it.”

  “Great. Now here’s the real favor. Is there any chance you could bring it by the office? It would save me a few minutes.”

  “No problem. I was going into town anyway.”

  “Thanks. I’ll see you there.”

  His clipped, professional tone was familiar to Cara, but it was the first time she’d heard him use it since her arrival in Oak Hill. It was how Sam always sounded when he was concentrating on a medical issue. In some ways, it was reassuring to know that he’d been able to hold on to that little piece of his past. His singular focus and thoroughness had been legendary, and those qualities seemed to have translated to his new specialty.

  Ten minutes later, when Cara pulled up in front of his office, she found the sheriff and his tearful young daughter waiting.

  “Hello, Sheriff,” she greeted him when she drew close. “Sam left Jenna’s chart at home and he asked me to bring it by.”

  “Sorry to put you out. But I think this needs immediate attention.”

  “It’s always better to err on the side of caution.” Cara transferred her attention to the little girl who was clutching Dale’s leg. Her ponytail had slipped, and a large, lopsided piece of gauze had been taped to her chin.

  As she took in the tear tracks down the youngster’s cheek, a rush of tenderness washed over Cara. Children had always held a special place in her heart. Often, during the past couple of years, she’d wondered if a child would have helped her and Sam refocus their priorities on family and each other. But she’d heard that instead of shoring up a flagging marriage, a child served only to magnify the stress.

  Besides, pregnancy had always eluded them, despite a battery of tests that had revealed nothing amiss. When at last they’d given up hope, Cara had begun to consider adoption. But by then, Sam had lost interest. His schedule was already packed and he’d told her he didn’t see how he could squeeze in the duties of fatherhood.

  Cara hadn’t pushed the issue. And eventually, she’d come to believe that they weren’t meant to have children.

  But all it took was an encounter with a youngster like this to remind her how much she’d always wanted a family.

  Pushing aside her regrets, she dropped down to the little girl’s level and forced her lips into a smile.

  “Hi, Jenna. It looks like you had an accident.”

  “I f-falled off my bike. D-Daddy says I might need st-stitches.”

  “That happened to me once, too. Except I cut my forehead. I had to get six stitches. If you look real close, you can still see a tiny white scar.” She moved her hair aside and pointed to a spot near her scalp.

  Curious, the little girl edged closer. “D-did it hurt when you got the stitches?”

  “Not very much. And Dr. Martin will be very careful. He tries hard not to hurt people. Besides, you’re a big girl. I bet you’re very brave. How old are you?”

  “Four.” As they spoke, Jenna’s grip on Dale’s leg eased. “You have pretty hair.”

  “I’m glad you like it. When I was little, all the kids teased me. They said it was the color of a fire truck, and whenever they saw me they made a sound like a siren.” The little girl’s unexpected giggle warmed Cara’s heart. “I always wanted blond hair like yours.”

  “Daddy says my mommy had blond hair.”

  At Jenna’s wistful expression, Cara recalled Marge’s running commentary as she’d introduced congregants during that first coffee hour. Dale was a widower, the innkeeper had said.

  She was saved from having to reply by Sam’s arrival. When he emerged from the car, the little girl once more tightened her grip on her father’s leg.

  “It will be okay, honey,” Cara soothed, brushing a few strands of Jenna’s silky hair back from her cheek.

  “Sorry to keep you waiting.” Sam addressed his comment to the group, then dropped down beside Cara and spoke with the little girl. “Hi, Jenna. Did you fall off your bike?”

  “Y-yes.”

  “How about if we go into my office and take a look?”

  “W-will it hurt?”

  “It might hurt a little bit, but not for very long.”

  Tears welled in her eyes again as Jenna turned to Cara. “Could you stay with me?”

  Taken aback, Cara looked from Jenna to Sam. She’d planned to hand him the chart and head out. But it was hard to resist the little girl’s plea.

  “If you have the time, it might help calm her,” Sam said.

  Rising, Cara kept one hand on Jenna’s shoulder as she spoke to Dale. “Is that all right with you?”

  “I’d appreciate it very much. Dads are great, but nothing replaces a woman’s touch.” A brief spark of pain flared in his eyes, come and gone as quickly as the fireworks on the Fourth of July.

  “I’m happy to do it.” Cara reached for Jenna’s hand and smiled at the youngster. “Let’s go with Dr. Martin and see what he thinks.”

  As they crossed the waiting room, Cara noted that the space appeared to have undergone a recent update.
It was modern but impersonal, and she was left with an impression of quiet but sterile elegance.

  The inner office consisted of a reception area, two examining rooms and Sam’s office. Sam led the way to the second examining room, and Dale lifted Jenna onto the table. Sam washed his hands and withdrew a few supplies, then began to peel off the bandage in silence.

  When Jenna’s sudden whimper echoed in the quiet room, Cara decided diversionary tactics were in order. She tried sending a silent message to Sam, but since he was focused on Jenna’s injury she stepped in.

  “Do you go to school, Jenna?”

  The youngster sniffled. “Just preschool. In the morning.”

  “I bet you meet a lot of nice boys and girls there.”

  “Y-yes. Leah’s my best friend. She has a dog.”

  While Cara engaged Jenna in conversation, she watched Sam’s progress out of the corner of her eye. After the bandage was off, he cleaned around the gash, his touch gentle. Jenna winced once or twice, but Sam paused while Cara once more engaged her in conversation, waiting until the child was distracted again before resuming.

  When he straightened, Dale stepped close. “What do you think?”

  “It’s not as bad as it looks,” Sam replied. “It’s long, but only the center part is deep. I think three stitches will take care of it. It shouldn’t leave much of a scar, if any.”

  “That’s good news.” Relief flooded Dale’s features. Then his gaze dropped for a brief second to Sam’s right hand. “Can you do it here, or do I need to take her to Rolla?”

  A humorless smile twisted Sam’s lips. “I think I can handle it. I used to be a surgeon.”

  He angled away, and Cara saw the flicker of surprise on the sheriff’s face, suggesting that Sam had never shared his past with his patients. Dale’s next words confirmed that.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t know that.”

  When Sam turned back, his face was more composed. “No problem. I don’t talk about it much. Okay, Jenna, this won’t take long at all. Can you lie back for me, and turn your head a little bit so I can see your chin?”