A Mother at Heart (9 page)

“Sure,” Miriam said, unsure of what she was expected to do with a little girl all day. “I'll take her.”

“Thank you so much,” Tilly breathed, and as Miriam saw some of the strain leave Tilly's face, she knew she had done the right thing. She would just have to take her chances with Jake.

“Oh goody, goody.” With quick movements, Taryn unclipped her seat belt and jumped out of the car.

“You behave, now,” Tilly said with a warning
frown. Of course Taryn nodded. She turned back to Miriam. “Thanks again, my dear. You've really helped me out a lot.” Tilly smiled with relief, put the car in gear, then paused. “I don't know how long I'm going to be, but if I'm not home by suppertime, can I ask another favor of you?”

“Anything, Tilly,” Miriam said with heartfelt sincerity.

“Jake is going to be working your fields sometime today, and I usually bring him supper so he can keep going. If I don't come back on time, I made a casserole for him. Can you see that he gets it?”

Miriam felt her heart slow at the thought of seeing the very man she hoped to avoid.

“I'll probably be home,” Tilly said, acknowledging her hesitation. “But just in case.”

“If you're not around, I'll see that he gets something to eat.” Miriam shrugged fatalistically.
What would be would be.

“Thanks again, Miriam.” Tilly smiled at Taryn, then back at Miriam, and with a wave, drove away, dust billowing up behind her.

Miriam and Taryn stood on the road, waving back as the cloud receded farther and farther, until it disappeared around a curve.

Miriam felt Taryn slip her hand into hers. She couldn't stop her own from tightening around the smaller one as she looked down at Jake's daughter. For a moment she indulged in a dangerous “what if.”

What if…she and Jake had stayed together? What if…this precious child had been hers and Jake's?

“Do you want to keep walking?” Taryn asked,
grinning up at her, swinging her hand. “I like walking.”

“Then let's keep going.” Miriam gently eased her hand out of Taryn's. She felt uneasy pulling back from Taryn's obvious affection, but knew it was better if she didn't allow this young child to get too attached to her.

Just as Jake had warned.

“M
y daddy is workin' on the tractor today and then he has to move the cows.” Taryn hopped across a puddle and flashed a grin at Miriam. “He's gonna be busy, he told me. But when he's done, we're going to go to the city and buy me some pretty gloves. He promised me.”

“You really love your daddy, don't you?” Miriam asked as she strolled along, hands in her pockets. She knew she shouldn't pry, but some part of her wanted to know more about Jake and his relationship with his daughter.

“I love my daddy the bestest. I love my mommy, too, but she died,” Taryn stated in a matter-of-fact voice. “My friend Suzy Adams has two mommies and two daddies.”

“That's a lot of mommies and daddies,” Miriam said with a shake of her head, wondering how often poor Suzy Adams was shunted from place to place.

“I just want one mommy,” Taryn said, as if this were the most reasonable request in the world.

Miriam instinctively knew she had to change the subject. “Do you want to make a water wheel?” she asked, scanning the area for some cattails. She saw some on the other side of the road, their brown heads tilting slightly in the breeze.

“What's a water wheel?”

“You make it out of two cattail stems.” Grinning, Miriam walked over to the cattails and reached into her back pocket for a pocketknife.

“Oops,” she said, laughing and looking sheepishly back at Taryn. “I don't have a pocketknife.” Funny that she would do that, she thought. “I forgot I don't carry one anymore.”

“That's okay. My daddy always has a pocketknife. It has a tweezer and a scissor. It's a red pocketknife and has J.S. on it. That means Jake Steele. He told me that. He got it as a present from someone special—not from my mommy though.” Taryn chattered on as she bent over to look at a rock, poking it with one finger.

Miriam's feet slowed, a spark kindling within her. After all these years, Jake still had the pocketknife she had given him, the one she had saved up her meager allowance for. She allowed herself a moment of wondering why.

Don't be silly, girl. Miriam pulled her thoughts up short. He's always been careful with the things he has, that's all.

“We should probably go back. It's quite some ways to walk yet,” she said to Taryn, who now had three rocks clutched in her hands.

Though Miriam didn't encourage her, Taryn chattered while they walked, bringing Miriam up to date on what was happening in her life, her father's life and Tilly's and Fred's lives. It was a bittersweet pleasure to Miriam to hear about Jake—how much he was at home, how often he slept in the recliner in the evening, how he liked to read Taryn stories.

They had come to the top of the hill, just a few hundred feet from her driveway, when they heard the familiar growl of a tractor coming down the road. Her heart skipped. Tilly had said Jake was coming to work the fields by her house. It was probably him right now.

“My daddy,” Taryn called out as soon as the tractor topped the hill. She grinned up at Miriam. “That's my daddy. Let's run and we can catch him.”

Still clutching her rocks, Taryn took off, her ponytail bobbing with each step. She was heading straight for the lumbering tractor.

Miriam's heart jumped, and she sprinted after the little girl, catching her by the shoulder. “Don't, Taryn. What if he can't see you? He'll run right over you.”

Taryn frowned up at Miriam. “Not my daddy. He sees everything.”

As the tractor came closer, Miriam realized from Jake's glower that Taryn was right.

Jake slammed the throttle lever back, hit the clutch and braked. Why was Taryn with Miriam? And where was Tilly? He put the tractor in park, took in a deep breath and climbed out of the cab.

“Daddy, Daddy, look at the rocks I found.” Taryn
came running up to him, waiting, as he had taught her, a safe distance away from the wheels of the huge tractor.

He walked closer, pointedly ignoring Miriam as he took a moment to squat down and look at the rocks in his daughter's dirty hands. “They are very nice,” he said, turning one over in his hand, then handing it back to Taryn.

“And Miriam was going to make a water wheel, but she didn't have her pocketknife.” Taryn bestowed an innocent smile on him, clutching her rocks back to her chest. “I said you have one. Can we use it?”

“Sure you can,” Jake said absently as he straightened, finally looking over at Miriam, who stood a distance away. A safe distance away, he thought, reaching automatically into the front pocket of his jeans to pull out his pocketknife. He walked over and handed it to her. “Taryn said you needed this?”

Miriam took it, avoiding his gaze. “We were going to make water wheels just after Tilly met me on the road.” Miriam looked down at the knife, then up at him. “Fred isn't feeling good, and Tilly had to bring him into town. She asked me to watch Taryn for her.”

Jake heard Miriam's words, his heart tightening. Fred, sick again? It must be serious if Tilly was taking the time to bring him in, and Fred was letting her.

He closed his eyes briefly, sending up a quick prayer.
Please, Lord. Don't let it be serious.
He opened his eyes and caught Miriam looking at him with that same wistful expression he had seen before.
He felt a sudden desire to touch her, to reassure her himself. He had to stop himself from pulling her into his arms.

“You still have this,” she said quietly, holding up his pocketknife. She looked up at him again, the spring breeze lifting strands of her hair.

“Yeah. It was the first birthday present I had gotten in a few years.” He shrugged, willing away the attraction he felt for her.

She smiled then, running her thumb over the worn red plastic. “I remember saving up to buy it for you.”

Once again Jake suppressed the urge to touch her hair, to curve his hand around her neck. To pull her close.

He took a step back, as if afraid he had already done so. “I better get back to work,” he said abruptly. “Did Tilly say what time she would be back?”

“I'm not sure,” Miriam said. “She asked if I could bring you supper if she didn't get back on time.” She chanced another glance up at him, adding, “If you don't mind, that is.”

Jake felt a nudge of sorrow at the uncertainty on her face. It made her look vulnerable. Not an emotion he would have associated with her at any time in her life. Not as a young girl, not as a woman. “No, that's okay.” He waited as time seemed to drift away. Once again they were young and in love. Once again she smiled up at him, her eyes shining.

But he remembered the pictures in Paula's book: a girl made up and expensively dressed. He could pretend all he wanted, but this Miriam was far re
moved from him. He called a quick goodbye to his daughter and climbed back in the tractor.

Then he put the tractor in gear and turned into the field. Dropping the cultivator down, he adjusted the depth and half turned to look behind him.

Miriam and Taryn stood on the road, watching him.

His past and his present, side by side.

For a moment he wondered what his life would have been like had he and Miriam stayed together. Would that little girl have been theirs? Would they have had more?

“Don't be ridiculous, Jake,” he said, switching on the radio. “She's in another realm now.” And her leaving meant this land he now worked would be sold.

His day chugged along, punctuated by hourly news and weather reports. The songs melded one into the other, country songs usually, or classical music when he bothered to change the station. Jake worked his way up and down the quarter of land, each time on his return watching out for Miriam and his daughter. He caught sight of them once, walking down the road, heading out, he suspected, to make the water wheel Taryn had spoken of. The sun gave off a sharp spring brightness, creating a feeling of expectation and promise, and he wished he could be with Taryn and Miriam, diking up the spring runoff, doing little family things.

He tried to concentrate on his work, but found his eyes straying to the two figures as they made their way down the road, looking for all the world like a mother and daughter.

The next time he came back to the road Miriam and Taryn were gone, and he felt as if the day had lost a measure of that brightness and expectation.

The sun moved inexorably across the sky. By 5:30, Jake once again began watching the road for Miriam. It was because he was hungry, he told himself. But when he thought of spending another mealtime with her, he felt a burst of pleasure.

“You're a strange man,” he said aloud, turning the wheel of the tractor at the end of the field. “And a very stupid one.” He got the tractor straightened around and lined up, then dropped the cultivator again. The roar of the tractor's engine was the only sound he heard as he worked his way down the field. He was up and over the rise when he saw a car parked on the road. His spirits lifted in spite of his previous castigation.

He could just make out Miriam's slim figure, her hand up, shading her eyes against the lowering sun, watching him, waiting for him. It felt good to know she was there.

He parked the tractor and walked over. “Where's Taryn?” he asked as he approached.

“Playing in the ditch. We ate already. I've got your supper in the car,” she said, walking over to it and opening the door. “I hope it's still warm.” She pulled out a hamper.

Jake walked around the car, and when she straightened, he was there to take the hamper from her. Startled, she took a step back and almost lost her balance. Jake caught her by the shoulders, and her head came up. Once again their eyes held. Awareness arced be
tween them. Jake didn't let go of her shoulders, and she didn't let go of the hamper.

Her eyes were the same deep brown that he remembered, fringed with silky lashes, tilted up at the corners exotically. She still had a tiny mole at one corner of her eye; her cheek still sported the barely discernible scar from the time she bumped it on his truck door. The same light freckles were sprinkled across her forehead, and her lips still held…still held… Jake couldn't keep his eyes off her mouth. The way she nervously wet her lips. The way she swallowed. The way they parted slightly as her breath quickened.

“Please, Jake,” she said quietly.

Jake looked up into her eyes again, his fingers tightening, his thumbs caressing her arms through the thin material of her sweater. Then, with a deep breath, he dropped his hands. What was wrong with him? He was acting as if they were both still teenagers. Still in love.

“Sorry,” he said, taking the cooler from her. There was a moment of awkwardness as their hands meshed; she tried to let go and he tried to take hold.

“Look at what Miriam made me,” Taryn trilled, skipping up to his side.

Jake put down the cooler, thankful for the diversion. “Wow. A willow whistle.”

Taryn nodded. “Listen.” She put it in her mouth and blew lightly. It gave a definite
tweet
and Taryn grinned her pleasure. “Miriam made it for me outa piece o' wood from the bush. She just cut it and made it. She said when the bark dries it won't work
anymore. You try it now.” Taryn handed it to him, and Jake dutifully blew on the willow whistle.

The spicy smell, the smooth texture of the bark and the faint bitter taste all took him back to other springs.

Other springs with Miriam. She was the only one he knew who could make these. He had asked her to teach him once, but she had played coy, telling him that it was one of her few talents and that she needed to keep some secrets.

He had never learned how to make them. He had one he had kept but as Taryn said once they got older they didn't work. He hadn't blown on one since then.

Miriam was setting up lawn chairs beside him, and he handed the whistle back to Taryn, who gave it another
tweet
and ran off back to the ditch for more treasures. Jake shifted to face Miriam.

“You still remember how to make those.”

Miriam nodded. “I didn't think I'd remember, but once I started, it all came back. My dad taught me well.”

Jake watched as she snapped open her chair and set it on the gravel. “I've never heard you talk about your father.”

Miriam bent over the cooler again. “I don't really remember much about him. I was only ten when he died. But I do have a few good memories.” She looked up at him, and ventured a half smile.

Jake felt it again—the awareness, the realization they had known each other in a different time and place, as different people.

They shared a past, memories and an intimacy that he had never really felt with anyone else, even Paula.

And for the first time since Miriam had come, he wondered if she had ever cared for anyone else. Had ever been close to another man.

He realized in the next moment that he didn't want to know.

Jake bent his head and slowly relaxed, letting his thoughts rest, settle and separate from the awareness of the girl sitting beside him.

Thank you for this day, Lord,
he prayed,
for my daughter and my family. Please let Fred be okay.
He stopped, almost afraid to pray too hard for Fred, to acknowledge too deeply his own fears about Fred's health. It was as if he didn't quite trust God to take care of him.
Help me to let go, Lord. Help me to know that You love us perfectly. Help me not to build my life on my family.
He stopped again, thinking of Taryn, Tilly and even the girl sitting beside him.
I give them all to You, Lord. I give You each member of my family. Take care of them.
Then he asked for a final blessing on the food and lifted his head, a gentle peace surrounding him.

“I should tell you, Tilly phoned,” Miriam said quietly.

Jake lowered his fork, almost afraid to hear what she had to say.

Miriam frowned lightly. “Fred is still running a high fever. If it doesn't go down, they're going to send him to Calgary for some more tests. He's a strong man, Jake,” she said reassuringly. “I'm sure he'll be okay.”