Father to Be (13 page)

“But—”

“You put the kids in my care. Now let me care for them.” He stopped beside the car and she almost ran into him. “Trust me on this, Ms. Malone. I can handle it.”

She looked prepared to argue, but he didn’t give her a chance. He got into the car, started the engine, and backed into the street. With the hasty directions Nathan had given him, added to all the looking he’d done before buying his land outside of town, he knew exactly where to find the bank of mailboxes Caleb was headed for. With any luck he would spot him on the way. If somehow he missed the boy, he would wait at the mailboxes.

He chose his route based on the direction Caleb had run off. Though he kept a sharp lookout, it was the mailboxes he saw first. Maybe Caleb had taken the shortest path as the crow flew, cutting across fields or through woods.

He drove past the boxes, looking for a place wide enough to turn around the Winchesters’ full-size car. When he came to a narrow road a few hundred yards down, he remembered the rest of Nathan’s directions.
In
case he goes to his house, it’s the first road on the left after the mailboxes, all the way to the end
.

All the way
was only another half mile. The rutted lane ended in a clearing with fallen fences, a ramshackle barn, and a dilapidated house. So this was where Ezra Brown, devoted father, had left his children to fend for themselves—on a broken-down farm in a shack not fit for animals. Oh, yeah, he was devoted, all right, to himself and to his own needs, and the hell with his kids.

Keeping his anger under tight control, J.D. turned around and returned to the county road. He pulled to the side a few yards before the mailboxes, shut off the engine, and waited.

The night was still, the breezes cool through the open windows. Darkness was settling, shadows deepening. He thought about the hall light and the open bedroom door at home and wondered if Caleb’s willingness to come out here alone meant he wasn’t the one who was afraid of the dark, or if it was merely proof of his desperate need to believe in his father.

He thought about the boy’s anger back there at Miss Agatha’s house when he had once again gotten caught saying something he shouldn’t have said, and he wondered if that was bad luck, timing, or something else. He wouldn’t hurt Caleb for the world, but Caleb was so hard to warm up to, so hard to show patience to. Was that because he was the oldest, the least cute, the least cuddly, as well as the most hostile and belligerent?

Or because he reminded J.D. of someone else? Another boy, two years older, also hostile, belligerent, also eager to see the last of J.D. in his life. Trey had good reason though. J.D. had damn near destroyed his life.

He was trying to help save Caleb’s.

For one painful moment he closed his eyes and let Trey’s image form in his mind. Dark hair, dark eyes, tall—
a good-looking kid with all the advantages in the world, and yet, through no fault of his own, his life had fallen apart. Maybe someday he would get it put back together. Maybe someday someone would undo the damage that had been done. But it wouldn’t be J.D. Trey had already paid enough for
his
mistakes.

J.D. could never pay enough. No matter what he did with the rest of his life, no matter how many people he helped, it would never be enough to make up for the ones he’d hurt.

Opening his eyes, he forced a deep breath in spite of the pain in his chest. He unclenched his fingers from the steering wheel, commanded the muscles in his jaw to relax, twisted his head to ease the tension in his neck. There had been a time when the guilt had almost destroyed him, a time when the grief had almost finished the process, but somehow he had survived. He had come to Bethlehem and made a new life for himself, made a new man of himself. But he could never let himself forget.

Carried on the breeze were sounds of movement in the woods to his right. J.D. studied the darkness, searching for the source, then suddenly Caleb was there, slipping between strands of barbed wire, eagerly approaching the battered mailbox. He grabbed out a handful of mail—junk, it appeared. Sale ads, catalogues, and flyers. Frantically, he sorted through it, discarding each piece on the ground, then jerking it up and looking again.

After the third check, he grabbed hold of the box, raised it above his head, rotted post and all, then slammed it to the ground. He kicked it, then with a great frustrated cry, heaved it over the fence and into the woods. When metal connected with rock, a clang rang out, seeming to reverberate through the air, through the car, through Caleb’s body as he sank to his knees in the dirt.

J.D. felt sick. They
need
you, Dr. Grayson, Noelle had
told him, but she’d been wrong. Caleb needed help, he needed love, he needed somebody who wasn’t capable of finishing the destruction his parents had started. He needed—God, he needed more than J.D. could ever give.

But at that moment he was all the boy had. It wasn’t much, but just maybe it was better than nothing.

He got out of the car and was only a few feet away when finally Caleb heard him. He jerked back and looked up at J.D. with such hatred. His question was little more than a snarl. “Did you take them?”

“Take what?”

“The letters from my father.”

“There aren’t any letters, Caleb.”

“I don’t believe you!”

Unmindful of the dirt, J.D. sat down nearby. “Why would I lie?”

“Because that’s what you do. You’re a liar.”

“No. If I had letters from your father telling where he is, I would put you in the car, I would get your brothers and Gracie, and I would take you to him.” And that was the truth. He could give Ezra Brown enough money to buy his loyalty to his children for the next thirteen years until they were all grown and needed a parent less than they did now. He would much rather do that than try to fulfill that parental need himself.

Caleb flung a handful of dirt into the air. “He
didn’t
abandon us.”

“Yes, Caleb, he did.” J.D. spoke harshly, earning a sharp look from the boy. “Whatever his reasons, he
did
abandon you. He left, and he didn’t come back.”

“He
will
come back!”

“It’s been a long time, Caleb. Maybe he will come back, I don’t know. But you can’t spend your days waiting for it to happen. You’ve got to get on with your life.
You’ve got to make sure there’s something left for him to come back to.”

Caleb’s gaze narrowed as it focused on him. Though J.D. couldn’t read his expression in the dark, he felt the scorn in it. “I
hate
you.”

“You’re allowed that. You’re allowed to be angry and hurt—”

“I’m
not
hurt!” But in spite of his strong words, his voice quavered and he sounded as if he might cry at any minute.

J.D. wondered if he had ever cried, if he’d taken five minutes from caring for the younger kids to sneak off someplace private and sob out his fears. He doubted it. It might do him a world of good if he would. J.D. was a big believer in the healing power of tears. God knows, he’d cried plenty himself.

Caleb drew a couple of ragged breaths, sniffled once, and wiped his sleeve across his face, then said stubbornly, steadily, “My dad would never leave us. If you knew him, you wouldn’t say he would.”

“So tell me about him. Help me to know him.”

Moment after moment ticked by while Caleb considered—or ignored—the request. An owl hooted in the woods. Way off in the distance a gunshot echoed. A plane passed overhead, carrying some lucky soul to someplace else, then finally he spoke. “He
loves
us.”

When nothing else came, J.D. said, “Most fathers do love their children. There’s nothing in the world my father wouldn’t do for me.” He would even help with this if J.D. called and said, Come to Bethlehem, Dad.
I need you
. He would be gentle and patient with the kids. He would never say anything hurtful for anyone to overhear. No matter how much they frustrated or disappointed him, he would never let them know.

He had never let J.D. know.

“He never finished school, but he done all right for himself.”

J.D. thought of the house down the road. Whose definition of
all right
did it fit? Caleb’s? Or Ezra’s?

“He taught me to hunt, and he read to us every night. He believed in the Bible, but he didn’t have much use for church. Said it was nothin’ but a bunch of busybodies.”

“It must have been hard for him after your mom left.”

The few moments of peace fled. “No, it wasn’t! It wasn’t different at all. All he had to do was take care of the farm. We pretty much took care of ourselves.”

Meaning Caleb took care of them. No wonder he seemed older than his years. He’d been raising himself and his siblings for two years. He’d shouldered more responsibility by the age of twelve than many men faced in a lifetime.

He stood up and brushed the dirt from his jeans. “I’ve got to get home,” he said with a scowl. “It’s almost the kids’ bedtime.”

J.D. stood too and followed him to the car. On the way back into town, he tried to think of something to say, something to do. He came up empty on the first, but did think of something they needed to do. Instead of turning onto Fourth Street, he followed Main downtown, where he pulled into a parking space in front of dimly lit buildings closed for the day. “Come on.”

Caleb looked perplexed, but he followed.

The post office lobby was quiet. Lights shone on the wall of boxes with their numbers painted in gold flourishes, and another light illuminated the display rack of forms bolted to a scarred oak table. He found a change of address form, made sure the pen chained to the table worked, then set both in front of Caleb. He looked at the form, then at J.D., then fiddled with the pen.

J.D. understood his reluctance to fill it out. Now that
the family’s mailbox was gone, he could always have an excuse to explain the lack of mail from his father. But if he turned in a change of address, directing their mail to J.D.’s house, and no letters came, then there was no excuse. Just a painful truth.

Looking reluctant and frightened, he finally began writing. Any other foster parent in the county could have reassured him—hugged him, sympathized with his fears, made him understand that he was doing the right thing. If he’d been any other kid in the county, J.D. probably would have done all those things. But he wasn’t any other parent and Caleb wasn’t any other kid, and so he did nothing but stand and watch.

They returned to the Winchester house. Emilie Bishop had taken her kids home, but Nathan waited on the porch with Kelsey, the sisters, and the younger Browns. The kids ran to Caleb as J.D. returned the keys to Miss Agatha. “Thanks for the dinner. We’re going home now.”

Of course, it wasn’t that easy. Kelsey followed him to the sidewalk. “Is everything okay?”

“Not particularly. I take it I failed my first test as a foster parent.”

“No, not really.”

He smiled faintly. “Your enthusiasm for my abilities overwhelms me, Ms. Malone. It’s been a long day, and it’s past the kids’ bedtime. Can we continue this later?”

“Sure.”

He continued walking, but she didn’t. Once they reached the corner, he glanced back, but she was gone.

It was only another block to his apartment, but Caleb was already carrying Gracie and Noah was dragging his feet. J.D. scooped him up, only to have Caleb glare at him. “He don’t need you to carry him.”

“He’s tired, and you can’t carry both of them.”

“Yes, I can. Give him to me.” Caleb shifted Gracie to one hip, then reached out for Noah.

“This is ridiculous,” J.D. protested even as Noah reached for his brother. It was a silly sight—thin Caleb struggling to carry two kids who together probably weighed as much as he did. They were far too heavy a burden for him to carry, but carry them he would, for as long as they wanted, as long as they needed.

“Let’s skip their baths tonight,” J.D. said as he unlocked the apartment door. “We’ll put them to bed—”

“
I’ll
put them to bed.” Caleb’s sharp look said what his words didn’t.
Your help isn’t needed or wanted
.

J.D. stood back, leaving Caleb room to shepherd the kids inside and to the bedroom. A moment later he followed, but he stayed in the hallway, where he could see without being seen. As efficiently as any mother, Caleb got the kids undressed, into their pajamas, and into bed, then he sat on the edge of Gracie’s bed while she murmured a prayer.

“Now I lay me down to sleep. I pray the Lord my soul to keep. I don’t like that part about dying ’fore I wake, so I’m leaving it out.” She stopped for a big yawn. “God bless Caleb and Jacob and Noah and Gracie—that’s me. And God bless our daddy wherever he is, ’cause we love him very much and we miss him.”

As all four kids said amen, J.D. moved away from the door and into his room. Ezra Brown may not have finished school. He may have been poor and pretty much a failure at everything, but he had four kids who loved him dearly. By anyone’s definition, he’d done all right for himself.

K
elsey sat at her desk and gave a quiet sigh. It was Thursday afternoon. Her work week was almost over, and her office was almost organized. One
more day here, and next Monday she would report to the Howland office and find out what other duties Mary Therese had to keep her busy.

Today’s work wasn’t quite finished though. She owed J. D. Grayson the first of several home visits. It was five o’clock, and he said he usually left the hospital then. She would give him time to pick up the kids from whoever was watching them that day and get home, and then she would drop in. In the meantime she could just sit here and relax or run by the drugstore to pick up a few things or maybe even go by the apartment and change—

A scowl wrinkled her forehead. There was nothing wrong with the way she was dressed. Her ivory shirtwaist and khaki jacket were perfectly suitable for anything she might do, from court appearances to home visits, from church to dinner out. She’d dressed for her job in exactly the same way for twelve years, and no one had ever complained before. J.D. had just been trying to get under her skin … and he’d succeeded. What woman wanted to be told by an attractive man that her clothes were ugly?