by Brenda Novak
“Word won’t get out,” he said. “After ten years of loving my son, I’m not about to lose him.”
* * *
THE WIND ROSE up that night, tossing branches clack, clackety-clack-clack against the cabin. Hope had awoke a couple of times, but she heard the blustering and buffeting mostly in her subconscious and later blamed it for her dreams.
“What’s wrong?” Faith asked, shuffling into the kitchen in a pair of slippers they’d bought after leaving the birthing center yesterday.
Hope stirred another spoonful of sugar into her coffee. “Nothing.”
“You look tired. Didn’t you sleep last night?”
“A little. I dreamed a lot.”
“About what?”
She’d dreamed about Arvin pressing his face to the glass of the cabin’s front window and then using his shoulder as a battering ram, trying to get inside. But that dream wasn’t the one that bothered Hope most. The dream that bothered her most had been about Autumn.
“A lot of things,” she said. “You know how piecemeal dreams can be.”
“It’s probably because of all the recent changes in your life. Since I came back to St. George with you, you’ve lost everything.”
She’d lost her home and her job, but Hope wasn’t nearly as sad about those losses as she’d expected to be. Now that she had Faith with her, she realized that, emotionally at least, she’d been treading water all those years in St. George. She’d been anesthetized by routine and determination. Now she knew hurt and worry and loss again, but she was also glad to find she could still care.
“I like it here,” Hope admitted, pushing her bad dreams to the back of her mind. A few dreams, no matter how unnerving, were a small price to pay to keep Faith and her baby safe. “What about you, Faith? Are you okay in Enchantment?”
Her sister took a seat at the table, rested her arms on her round belly and stretched her slipper-shod feet out in front of her. “You know I feel guilty for leaving Mama and Charity and LaRee and Sarah behind. But the more days I spend away from Arvin, the more I’m experiencing this—” she shook her head, wearing an expression of wonder “—almost intoxicating sense of freedom. More and more, the thought of going back makes me feel…ill.”
“You can’t worry so much about what the people we meet are going to think of you, though,” Hope said.
“What do you mean?”
“Yesterday you didn’t have to tell Lydia that your baby isn’t illegitimate.”
“My baby isn’t illegitimate. I was married before I went to Arvin’s bed.”
“It wasn’t a legal marriage, Faith.”
“It was to me.”
“I realize that. But you can’t go around explaining that you’re from a polygamist colony in Superior.”
“Why not? You just said I shouldn’t care what other people think.”
Hope’s spoon clinked against her cup as she stirred a little more cream into her coffee. How could she make Faith understand that it was better to leave the past behind completely? “For the most part that’s true,” she said. “But you also have to protect yourself. You don’t want to be treated like a freak, and you don’t want the taint of your upbringing to spill over onto your baby.”
“Because my baby might be tainted in some way is exactly why I don’t want anyone to think he or she is illegitimate.”
“Most people these days don’t shun illegitimate children, or even unwed mothers.” She put her spoon down. “Let’s make this simple, okay? There aren’t a lot of divorced eighteen-year-olds, but I suppose there are a few. Why don’t you tell everyone you’re divorced?”
Faith leaned forward. “You’re saying I should lie?”
Hope wondered how she could make this more palatable to her sister. “Not really,” she said. “I just don’t think you should mention Arvin or your background to anyone. If someone asks, you should have a story already prepared.”
Faith toyed with the empty place mat in front of her. “A story. That’s lying.”
Evidently, there was no way to sugarcoat it. “I guess it is.”
“Lying is a sin.”
“I know that.”
“You don’t think it matters?”
“It matters more that you erase what’s happened to you in the past and clear the way for a better future. Superior is really nobody’s business.”
Silence. “Faith?”
“It isn’t anybody’s business,” Faith admitted after a few seconds.
“Why don’t you say you’re from the Salt Lake area? That isn’t such a stretch, since you’ve been there. If anyone probes deeper, you could tell them you just graduated from Murray High.”
“But I already told Lydia the truth.”
“That’s okay. I’ll talk to her. Just don’t tell anyone else, okay?”
Another long pause.
“Do you understand?” Hope prodded. “Are you with me on this?”
Finally, her sister nodded and Hope felt the beginnings of a smile. Faith was stronger and more mature than she’d ever dreamed, even if she was a bit of a Goody Two-shoes. “Thatta girl.” She knew she was pressing her luck, but she couldn’t help adding, “And I think you should wear the clothes I bought you in St. George, instead of that dowdy dress all the time.”
“Maybe.”
Her response prompted Hope to go one step further. “And have your hair styled and maybe wear a little bit of makeup, too.”
This time Faith’s eyes widened. “Oh, no. I couldn’t.”
“It would help you find that man you’ve been talking about.”
“What man?”
“The man of your dreams.”
Faith stared down at her slippers. “Mama wouldn’t like it. She’d tell me I sold my soul to the devil.”
“Arvin’s the devil,” Hope said. “And Mama’s not around anymore.”
* * *
LYDIA HADN’T ANTICIPATED seeing Hope again until after Faith’s ultrasound appointment, so when Trish rapped softly on her open door, she was surprised to hear the receptionist say, “Hope Tanner’s here. She wants to talk to you for a few minutes. Shall I send her back?”
The fact that Hope had returned so soon caused a nervous flutter in Lydia’s stomach, reminding her she’d forgotten to eat lunch—again. She often became so engrossed in her work that the noon hour passed unnoticed. Especially since Devon was no longer working at the center, always nagging her to eat and bringing her sandwiches or salads from the popular cafés in town.
Devon…
“Lydia? Did you hear me?” Trish asked.
Lydia schooled her face into a calm mask. “Sorry.”
“Do you want me to tell Hope you’re too busy?”
“No, go ahead and send her back.”
Trish disappeared, and Lydia pushed away from her desk, bracing for the next few minutes. She didn’t relish staring into the face of the woman she’d wronged so many years ago. Seeing Hope again was like putting the imperfections of her own soul under a magnifying glass, the same imperfections that had chased away her beloved granddaughter.
Lydia had insisted on repaying Congressman Barlow the money he’d given her for Dalton, but it hadn’t changed anything. She’d finally reconciled herself to the truth—that a simple exchange of funds was never going to redeem her. Not to Hope. Not to Devon. Not to herself. Her only consolation in the whole nasty affair was that she saw Dalton often and knew he was a healthy, happy boy, even without a mother.
At least Parker had been honest when he told her all those years ago that he’d give the child everything he had. He loved that boy more than life itself.
Lydia adjusted the wooden blinds on her window to look outside. A ray of sun cut through the branches of the surrounding pines, nearly blinding her. Ducking the harsh glare, she toyed with an idea she’d never considered before: what if she finally confessed, came clean and admitted the whole affair? She’d destroy her good reputation, which mattered more to her than almost anything else. But
she was willing to sacrifice that to be as honest and forthright as she pretended to be. What she wasn’t willing to sacrifice was what the truth would cost others—like Parker and Dalton and all those who worked at the center.
“Hi, Lydia.”
Lydia swallowed, her throat suddenly dry, and turned. “Hello, dear. What brings you back to the clinic so soon?”
“I—I wanted to talk to you about some of the things my sister told you yesterday.”
“Like…”
“That business about her…her husband and who he is.”
“I won’t tell anyone,” Lydia said, immediately understanding her desire for privacy.
“I’d appreciate that. We’re going to say she’s from Salt Lake and she’s divorced.”
“Then from now on, I’ll say the same, if it ever comes up.”
“Great.” Hope switched the manila envelope she was carrying to the other arm, obviously a little uncomfortable. “And there’s something else.”
“What’s that, dear?”
“Well…I’ve been out all morning searching for a job. But everywhere I went, I kept thinking how much I’d rather work here, with you. The clinic’s not far from the cabin, and it has such a wonderful atmosphere. So I thought I’d stop by to see if you could use a good obstetrics nurse. I updated my resumé before I left St. George and I have one here just in case,” she said, withdrawing a sheet of paper from the envelope.
Lydia covered her mouth and coughed to hide her surprise. She typically shied away from people trained in childbirth by the medical profession. They tended to treat pregnancy as some sort of medical problem. But that aside…
“I know you think I’m crazy for coming back to Enchantment,” Hope added quickly, handing it to her, “but I’m well. I’m much stronger than I was. I’m fine with everything.”
Lydia gazed down at the resumé. She wasn’t sure how anyone could be fine with what Hope had endured in her life, but she was too busy trying to come up with a way to let her down easy to focus on that. “I’m afraid working here at The Birth Place would be very different from the clinical atmosphere you’re familiar with, Hope. We believe that childbirth is a natural, healthy process, and we encourage mothers to choose what they—”
“I understand all that,” Hope interrupted enthusiastically. “And I’m completely supportive. I witnessed each of my sisters being born at home.” She hesitated. “The only time I wouldn’t be supportive is if a midwife refused to transfer a client to the hospital when and if problems arose.”
Lydia walked back to her desk and perched on the edge of it. “I’m not supportive of that, either. But it’s not only the difference in disciplines, Hope. Besides, I’m not sure we have anything that would be as temporary as you’d probably need.”
“It doesn’t have to be temporary,” Hope replied. “I’ve decided that I’m willing to commit to a year.”
Lydia had had a bad feeling ever since she’d heard Hope was in town. Now that feeling—an odd combination of dread mixed with inevitability—sank a little deeper, into her bones. “You’re planning on staying for a whole year? But Faith mentioned there might be some danger of her husband finding the both of you. Do you think it’s safe to put down roots?”
“I doubt he’ll bother tracking us down once he realizes we’ve left the state. It would take entirely too much effort. And—” she folded her hands in front of her “—Enchantment is the closest thing I have to home.”
The wistful note in Hope’s voice made Lydia’s chest tighten. Because of her own past, the baby she’d had to give up at a similar age, she’d always identified with this girl. She’d ached for her pain, felt a fierce anger against the father and uncle who’d wronged her so terribly. And she’d tried to help. Only, she’d ended up betraying her, instead, and by doing that, she’d failed herself and everyone who depended on her.
“We’re…uh, pretty well staffed at the moment,” she said. “I’m afraid—”
“Of course.” Hope’s interruption was an obvious effort to save them both the awkwardness of a rejection. “I completely understand. I just thought I’d ask.” She plucked the resumé from her hand and smiled bravely, and Lydia felt as though she’d just stabbed the poor girl—young woman, now—in the back a second time. Hope needed her again, and instead of being there for her, Lydia was trying to cover up the sins of her past.
“Thanks for seeing me,” Hope was saying, edging toward the door. “I’m sure I’ll find a job soon. Nurses are in demand all over the place. And thanks for arranging for Faith to see Gina. I know—”
“Wait.” Lydia knew she was going to regret this as soon as Hope walked out the door, but after what she’d done, she felt she owed the girl something. “Come to think of it, we’re going into our busy time. What with the cold winters here, significantly more babies are born in the spring and summer. I could probably use someone with your experience, but your duties might be quite varied at first, until we work you into the system. Are you interested?”
Hope didn’t look as though she trusted this sudden about-face. “Sure. I guess. What will I be doing?”
“You’ll answer the phone if Trish, our receptionist, is busy. You’ll escort clients to a room and get them started if whatever midwife they’re seeing isn’t available right away. You’ll keep in touch with Dr. Ochoa’s office. As you know, we transfer any high-risk patients to him and need to monitor their progress. You’ll make new information charts, file or assist Parker with any special projects he’s got going. Basically, you’ll be a Jill-of-all-trades, at least initially. But if you’re okay with being so flexible, why don’t we see how things go?”
Hope blinked. “Are you sure you really—”
“I’m positive.” Lydia smiled in spite of the knots in her stomach and the fact that she wasn’t “positive” at all.
“I might want to become a midwife someday,” Hope said. “Maybe I’ll apprentice.”
“That’s always a possibility. You certainly have the training for it.”
A brief knock sounded on the door, then Parker Reynolds breezed into the room. He was staring down at some papers he carried in one hand and didn’t see Hope at first, but he forgot about whatever he was reading the moment he glanced up.
His gaze eventually settled on Lydia and not Hope, but she could tell it was not without significant effort. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize you were with someone.”
Lydia motioned to Hope. “You know Hope Tanner.”
He nodded in Hope’s direction, almost imperceptibly, and his stilted movements told Lydia how difficult it was for him even to greet her. And she’d just hired her to work at The Birth Place!
“Is Faith okay?” he asked.
It was Hope who answered. “She’s fine. I’m here about a job.”
“A job?” His carefully blank expression slipped into surprise and dismay as he eyed the resumé she held out to him.
“Hope is an obstetrics nurse,” Lydia explained, trying to draw Hope’s attention so she wouldn’t notice. “I think she’ll be a valuable addition to our staff.”
“No kidding.” Parker shot her a look that said, Are you crazy?
“No kidding.” Lydia straightened her spine to let him know she was still the owner of The Birth Place and would make whatever decisions she deemed fit. Two wrongs did not make a right.
His dark eyebrows lowered into a solid slash above his brown eyes. “Did you check with Kim? We have an operating budget, remember?”
“I remember very well, not that this is the time to remind me.”
“Better now than later.”
Hope’s gaze shifted from Parker to Lydia. “If there’s some sort of problem, I understand—”
“There’s no problem, dear,” Lydia broke in the same moment Parker said, “Why don’t you leave your resumé with us, and we’ll give you a call in a couple of days?”
“That won’t be necessary,” Lydia said, even though he’d already taken the resumé. “You’ll start
next Monday, Hope, if that’s okay with you. We’ll pay you what you were making at the hospital.”
Hope hesitated, obviously unsure how to respond. “I didn’t come back to cause trouble.”
“You’re not causing any trouble,” Lydia assured her.
“Then, thank you.” She reserved her gratitude for Lydia alone. “I’ll be here.” She tossed Parker a look of pure disdain, turned on her heel and marched out.
Lydia almost laughed despite the predicament she’d just landed them both in. Since his wife’s death, Parker had grown quite accustomed to getting his way with women. He was always in control, usually right, and good at everything he attempted. Lydia liked him. She knew he was a real asset to the center, but just now, she felt like giving a little cheer for womanhood in general.
“Is this supposed to be funny?” Parker said.
The temptation to laugh quickly disappeared. “No.” She reclaimed the seat behind her desk.
“Then what the hell did you just do?”
“She came here asking for a job, and I gave her one, okay?” Lydia raised her brows at him. “We owe her that much, don’t you think?”
He scowled at Hope’s resumé, then scrubbed a hand over his face as though he had so much surplus energy he didn’t know what to do with it all. “We might owe her,” he said, “but I’m pretty sure we can’t afford to give her anything.”
“I couldn’t say no.” Lydia went back to reading the mail Trish had brought in just before Hope arrived.
“Lydia…”
She carefully placed a letter from the Pediatric AIDS Foundation on the corner of her desk. “You’re overreacting, Parker. She’s only going to work here. That doesn’t mean anything. We don’t even know how long she’ll stay.” I’m willing to commit to a year….
“It means I’ll have to see her every day.”
“So will I.”
“She could destroy this clinic, destroy you.”
“I know.”
“She could take Dalton away from me,” he said, his voice gruff with emotion.
“She’s not going to take Dalton away. She doesn’t suspect anything. She just needs a break.”
