Learning to Trust

by Ruth Logan Herne

  “Had I listened to my mother, I could have avoided a lot of things. Including that.” She made a face of regret. “Another lesson I learned too late. Will that old record mess up my chance to take care of the boys?”

  Jubilee shook her head. “Those records are sealed because kids are rightfully held to a different standard, so they shouldn’t be a problem at all. But,” she added, and a note of caution softened her voice, “while the system should be foolproof, loose lips can change things. The internet provides access to media coverage, so a lot can be uncovered without getting into the actual records. Not that we would have looked further. You’ve had no infractions since then?”

  Christa shook her head quickly. “None. It was a stupid mistake made by a stupid kid who grew up too fast. I never thought about the consequences of my actions, or how it would encourage others. I disappointed my mother, my teachers and myself. That was quite enough for one lifetime.”

  “They say there is only one thing worse than learning from experience, and that is to not learn from experience.” Jubilee tapped the notebook thoughtfully. “I’m glad you told me, but it shouldn’t be a factor, and it doesn’t change who you are now. And that’s what the report will examine.”

  Christa breathed easier.

  Her teenage infraction hadn’t blocked her from getting teaching assignments in California or Seattle. And she’d gotten the job here with no questions asked, letting her résumé and stellar commendations speak for her. But she hated that she was hiding something.

  Would it do any good to come forward with her sordid history?

  No.

  But it felt dishonest. As if she were misrepresenting herself.

  “And I hope you’re not beating yourself up over all of this.” Jubilee tucked the notebook into a carrying case. “In my line of work, I see all sorts of people, Christa. I face some grim situations, and I’ll share a grain of truth with you—the folks who’ve overcome the rough roads of life have a hidden strength that others might never know because it’s impossible to understand some paths if you’ve never traveled them. Frost’s ‘road less traveled’ option rings true, and while I’m sorry you had a rough go of it as a kid, you bring more to the table as an adult. And definitely as a teacher.”

  The kindness of her words eased Christa. “Thank you, Jubilee.”

  “You are most welcome. I’ll get things in motion. And have you made decisions about your aunt? A funeral?”

  “I’m meeting with the pastor of Hope Community Church after school tomorrow to plan a memorial service,” Christa replied. “Something warm and loving so the boys have closure, but I can’t afford an expensive funeral or cemetery plot. I hope that doesn’t sound harsh.”

  “It sounds heartfelt and sensible,” Jubilee declared. “I’ll be glad to help you with anything you need. I’m sure this wasn’t on your list of expectations.”

  “No. But sometimes what’s not on the list is what strengthens us.”

  “Wise words.”

  Christa walked Jubilee outside just as Tug’s car pulled in. He parked the car in the turnaround and hopped out quickly, hoisting a bag. “Ice cream. They didn’t have the kind Vangie wanted the other day, but it was back in stock, so I grabbed some. Who expected such warm weather this late in September? Eighty-four degrees?”

  “I’ll take the warmth as long as I can get it,” Jubilee told him. “The older I get, the longer winter seems.”

  “Did you guys get things taken care of for the boys?” he asked, his gaze seeking out Christa’s.

  Her silly heart did a schoolgirl dance and she had to tamp it down mentally. “Yes, the paperwork is all filled out. Have you figured out how those reporters got into the school the other day? Because I can’t pretend that kind of thing doesn’t worry me.”

  He started heading to the door to put the ice cream away. “Still under investigation. But right now ice cream rules.”

  “As it should.” Jubilee waved, climbed into her car and pulled onto the road before Tug returned.

  “Where is everyone?”

  “Playground.”

  “Let’s walk over.”

  A stroll through town with a handsome cop at her side.

  What sensible single woman would say no to that? One with a record.

  But when he started for the sidewalk, she fell into step beside him because they both had kids at the town park. Walking there together was nothing more than two parents heading after their kids.

  “How was Vangie today? She asked me this morning about those reporters again. I put her off because there wasn’t much I could tell her, but I don’t want her worrying about it.”

  Kids were generally a safe topic of conversation. “She didn’t bring it up,” Christa replied. “Her current focus is embracing her ancestors, it seems. We were discussing local community and government today, and how the plateau was settled by pioneers, and how that flourished once the railroad came through. Vangie shared the Moyer family history of fruit and orchards. She is now determined to make applesauce like the pioneers did, so your mother has promised to teach her. But I’m still concerned how those people got into the school. Who let them in?”

  “They’re claiming there was an open door.”

  Christa rolled her eyes, because the days of open doors and schools were a thing of the past.

  “I did find a doorstop about ten feet down the hall. Just lying there.”

  “Someone wedged the door open for them? Deliberately?” She stopped walking and stared up at him. “Who would do that? Did they pay someone who works at the school to do that?”

  “I don’t know yet. They denied it. They claimed they didn’t realize the school had a one-door access policy, that they stumbled onto the open door—”

  “That just happened to be on the corridor we use for gym class.”

  “And they were surprised to see Evangeline right there, as if it was meant to be.”

  “You’re not falling for that, are you?”

  Grim, he shook his head. “Someone set this up deliberately. Why were they that vigilant to get an eight-year-old’s story that’s already been aired millions of times on the internet?”

  They were about to cross the road leading to the park, when Christa spotted a sign for Tug on the corner. But this sign was alongside another one, with his opponent’s name. “Tug, what if they weren’t after just another cute story about a precocious kid?”

  He followed the direction of her gaze and hummed softly. “Ross’s campaign? He’s already insinuated that I set this whole thing up for publicity.”

  “Nothing like words right out of the kid’s mouth to use in a sound bite or simply to add fuel to the fire. At the right time.”

  “You’re into politics?” Her idea had sparked him, but his question surprised her.

  “Not politics as much as history. I like to think of it as the making of a nation. But politics and ploys played a huge part in everything from the explorers to expansion, so it all comes together. Not always for the right reasons.”

  “You could be right.” Kid voices drew his chin up. He spotted the kids and grinned as if dirty politics were instantly downgraded to second place. “They’re having a blast, aren’t they?”

  Darla had Jonah in a baby swing. He was kicking his feet and shouting “More! More!” with every push of the swing. Totally carefree.

  Vangie was on top of a monstrous climbing apparatus that combined primary toned metal with pressure-treated lumber to form a castle-like shape, and Vangie wasn’t climbing the inside of the castle. She was nimbly scaling the outside of the structure. Christa was pretty sure she was about to fall to her death, but no one else seemed the least bit concerned, so she remained silent. Nathan was pulling himself along a rope wall, fighting for his foothold, trying to avoid the fake alligators in the pseudo pool below.

  And Jeremy was o
ff on his own.

  Other kids ran around, weaving between the equipment, laughing with Vangie and shouting to Nathan.

  But Jeremy had curled himself up on the far side of a twisty slide, gaze out-turned. She approached him quietly and took a seat beside him. “Hey.”

  He didn’t look up. His eyes were down, and she saw his lower lip quiver. He fought to control it, but it quivered again.

  “Did you get hurt, honey? Did you fall down?”

  He didn’t answer. Chin down, he swiped a dusty hand to his face. The action left muddy streaks of gray across his caramel-toned cheeks.

  She wrapped an arm around his shoulders and drew him in. “I’ve got you, sweetie. I’ve got you.”

  He tucked his head against her shoulder.

  His little shoulders shook. And when he sobbed softly, she wanted to cry right along with him.

  She didn’t.

  She held him, letting the other kids laugh and play around them, leaving them alone in a secret sea of sorrow. When he finally stopped crying, he kept his head there, right there, tucked between her heart and her shoulder. “I miss my mommy.”

  Four simple words she couldn’t change or erase. “I know.”

  “I just miss her so much. When is she coming back? Soon?”

  Christa had never been one to pray spontaneously. She was an end-of-the-day prayer girl, but she changed that strategy instantly because if ever a situation needed the Lord’s guidance, it was this one. Right here. Right now. What does one say to a small child who’s lost his mother?

  “I know you miss her. She loved you so much. You and Jonah. And she must have been so proud to have two beautiful boys. Strong and wonderful boys,” she added, with a squeeze to his shoulders. Then she drew a breath and waded forth with the truth. “But, darling, Mommy can’t come back. Not this time. She’s gone to Heaven, and Heaven’s not like other places. It’s beautiful and wonderful and marvelous, but people can’t come back from there.”

  “Ever?” His whole face—his entire countenance—begged her for a different answer, but how could she lie to him?

  She couldn’t. “No, but that’s why God put me in your life. And Darla and Glenn and Nathan’s daddy. Because he knew you would need to be loved and protected every single day and we can do that for you.”

  “But you’re not my mom.” Disbelief underscored the tragedy of his simple words.

  Her heart stilled.

  She couldn’t mend the tragic reality on his face. “No,” she told him softly. Very softly. “But your mom was my best friend when I was a little girl just your age. She loved me. I loved her. And even though I can’t talk with your mom or laugh with her or share things with her anymore, I get to love you and your brother. And that’s the very best gift she could have ever given me.”

  “She gave us to you?” Confusion darkened his gaze. “Like a present?”

  “Exactly like a present. The best one ever,” she whispered to him.

  “Jemmie!” A happy voice hailed them from across the bright-toned play area. When Jonah hurried his speech, Jeremy’s name lost a syllable. He must have spotted them from his spot on the swings, and he yelled his brother’s name again. “Jemmie, I go so high! To the sky!” Jonah threw his arms skyward. “I flyin’, Jemmie! I flyin’!”

  Jeremy swiped his dusty hand to his cheek again. He studied his little brother, then swept a quick look over the playground with an expression that went beyond his tender years. “I always wanted to come here. When I was little.”

  As if four years of age was so very old. “To this playground?”

  He dropped his chin and scuffled his left foot. “Yeah.”

  “So you lived nearby?”

  He frowned as he considered that. Then he glanced around. “We would drive by and I would ask Bud to stop. He always said no. And then we didn’t drive by here anymore.”

  Bud was a nickname for Marta’s latest male friend. What a life her choices had brought to these two innocents. And what a wretched ending for her, but Christa couldn’t dwell on that now. She tickled his chin with a loving hand. “Then I’m glad we can play here now.”

  “It’s not as special as I thought. You know?” He peeked up at her.

  “Things will feel special again,” she promised him. “In time. I promise.”

  “Do we have to keep moving places? Like all the time?”

  “Not once we find a place to get settled,” she told him. “We’ll find a place to call home and put down roots together.”

  “Like a flower?”

  “Yes.” She smiled down at him and passed the palm of her hand across his sweet tearstained face. “Just like a flower. And we’ll blossom together. You. Your brother. And me. I’m just real glad that God put me right here so when Miss Jubilee came looking for me, I was close by. Have you tried that twisty slide?” she asked in a lame attempt to change the subject.

  He scanned the tall, broad red slide. “Twisty slides bump.”

  A blonde little girl came down the somewhat awkward slide just then, proving Jeremy right. She kind of thumped and bumped her way down, and the whole thing didn’t look like that much fun.

  “There’s a slippery slide at another place. It’s so fast. Too fast for Jonah, but not too fast for me.”

  “I like a fast slide myself,” she told him. “Fast slides are like flying.”

  “And sometimes there was a puddle at the bottom and my feet splashed and that was the most fun of all.”

  “Jemmie!” Jonah shrieked his name again. Not for any particular reason. Just to connect with his big brother.

  Jeremy stood up. He didn’t hurry. He didn’t smile. He looked around thoughtfully, then sighed.

  His little shoulders curved inward, but then he squared them up and took a deep breath. “I’ll go swing with Jonah.”

  “Sounds good. Do you want a swing like his?”

  Jeremy eyed the bucket-style safety swing and slanted a dubious look her way. “Those are okay for babies.”

  He settled himself onto a standard curved rubber swing. She pushed him to get him started, and by the time the height of his swing matched Jonah’s, his face had softened. He didn’t grin or even smile as he soared into the air. He didn’t pretend to be happy.

  That was going to take a while. Christa understood the reality of grief.

  But he didn’t look tragic, either, and to her that was a big step forward.

  Tug came their way. Evangeline skipped alongside. She peered up at her father, said something and raised a brow. Then Tug burst out laughing.

  He was still grinning when they reached the swings. “Hey, guys. Anybody here want to go super-duper fast and high all at once?”

  Jonah responded instantly. “I go so high! So high!” His excitement encouraged Darla’s smile as she kept pushing the back of the black vinyl swing.

  “Clearly his level of satisfaction has been met,” noted Tug. He angled a look at Jeremy as the swing came forward. “Ever have an underdog, kid?”

  Jeremy shook his head, but a quirk of his cheek showed interest. “I don’t know what it is.”

  “It’s when Dad makes you go so super high and fast that you think you’re going to fall off but you don’t!” declared Vangie. “They are the best pushes ever!”

  “Can you hang on tight?” Tug persisted, and the boy’s eyes widened in anticipation. Then he nodded.

  “Real tight. I’m strong.”

  “Well, you need to be for one of my underdogs,” Tug told him. He came around back, winked at Christa, then took hold of the swing when it came back toward them. “Ready?”

  “Yes.” A quiver of anticipation wiggled Jeremy’s reply.

  “Here we go!” Tug didn’t just push the swing. He raced beneath it, across the depression in the wood chips, a hollow formed by the scraping toes of children, and when he
gave Jeremy’s swing one final thrust, the swing flew high and fast, fast enough that the boy rose up from the seat, just a little, and then settled back into the seat as it came backward again.

  Jeremy didn’t just look delighted. He looked amazed.

  “Again! Again! Can you do it again?”

  “I can do it all night, but we do have to eat at some point, so five more. Okay?”

  “Okay!”

  The sober face had disappeared. The boy’s grin showed perfect little teeth. Nathan raced their way and fist-pumped the air. “I want underdogs, too! They’re my favorite!” He jumped onto one of the available swings. “And my dad gives the best ones!”

  In the space of moments and several underdogs, Tug had wiped the look of sorrow from Jeremy’s face. It would come back. She knew that. But for this moment, the presence of a big guy who could create a really great underdog had wiped the slate clean.

  The presence of a father.

  She’d never known her father. She had no idea who he was, but if she could design a picture-perfect father to help raise two little boys, he’d look like Tug Moyer.

  And while that was a dangerous image to foster, it was also a beautiful one. One that wouldn’t be easily erased.

  Chapter Eight

  Overtime tended to happen more often during apple season. The increase of traffic, the influx of people, motor vehicle accidents and having him monitoring the school on weekdays maxed out Tug’s work schedule. By the following weekend, Evangeline must have realized he wasn’t about to slow down and she shared her disapproval when he dropped the kids off at his mother’s on Saturday morning.

  “See, Dad, this is exactly what I mean.” She faced him in his mother’s kitchen and ticked off her fingers. “You’re working all week, you’ve been busy every night and now you’re working the weekend, too. This is why you need my help. We’re never going to get anywhere if you don’t take some time off. These women won’t wait forever, Dad.”

  No deputies got time off this time of year except for family emergencies. He put a bag of extra clothes inside the small porch closet before he turned to face her. “Vangie, it’s autumn in the apple capital of the world. The sheriff’s department is busy right now, honey. Give it a rest.”