In His Dreams (9 page)

She bounded on ahead carrying her new sketchbook and watercolors and, when they reached the road, Jeff felt moved to take Marsha’s hand as he steered her to the lighthouse.

Marsha didn’t resist, and he clasped her hand more firmly, weaving his fingers through hers and feeling the wonderful closeness of a woman, her perfume filling his senses.

The white structure stood at the tip of Whiskey Point near the old Coast Guard boathouse and the city hall. The lighthouse was always the first thing Jeff noticed from the car ferry as he approached the town of St. James.

Bonnie darted to the lone picnic table and plopped down the bag holding her new painting equipment. “Can I paint?”

He eyed Marsha, and she gave an agreeable shrug.

“For a while,” he said. “Let me get your water.”

He took the water tray and dipped water from the lake, then set it beside her. “Don’t get paint on your clothes.”

“Okay,” she said, already organizing her brushes and paper.

“We’ll be nearby,” Jeff said, grasping Marsha’s hand again and heading for the nearby monument that honored those lost at sea. They studied the monument talking about a sailor’s life, then walked to the old Coast Guard pier and around the far side of the building. Alone, Jeff paused. “Thanks for thinking of the watercolors. I always wonder where you get such good ideas.”

“I read some articles at the library about emotionally impaired children.”

He drew back. He knew she cared about Bonnie, but he had no idea she’d taken time to read articles about her disability. Her effort touched him. “You’re a good woman, Marsha. A wonderful person.”

She gazed at him, her eyes searching his, and he leaned forward and brushed his mouth against her warm lips. He startled himself by his action, but he’d wanted to do it for so long.

Marsha’s hand flew to her mouth and her face flushed.

Disappointment charged through him. “I’m sorry, Marsha. I don’t know why I did that, except it seemed right.”

Her hand dropped, but the surprised look remained on her face. “I’m not angry, Jeff, just…”

She faltered, as if not knowing what to say, and he didn’t know what to say, either, except to tell her the truth. She seemed to fill his mind and his dreams. Yet, it seemed out of place. She’d always been Marsha, his sister-in-law, but now it was different, and he couldn’t seem to keep a grip on his emotions.

“Please forgive me. I won’t do it again.” He didn’t want to say that, but it came out.

Marsha’s expression shifted from surprise to a frown. “I’m not angry. Really.”

She wasn’t angry, but she’d been startled. He’d been stupid to kiss her, even a small kiss. She’d accepted his hugs and hand-holding, but a kiss was too intimate. He had no right without making sure that she would be willing.

He stepped away from the building and headed back to the picnic table, wishing he hadn’t been so presumptuous. He needed to control himself and, if that meant staying away from Marsha, then so be it. If he saw her as he’d been doing, he feared he would kiss her again, but this time fully, a long lingering kiss that had already happened in his dreams.

M
arsha stared at the telephone. She wanted to call Jeff and tell him she’d loved his kiss, but she couldn’t allow herself to be romantically involved with a man unsure of his faith. She believed if Jeff would only open his heart, the Holy Spirit would nest inside and relieve his bitterness and frustration.

But she stopped herself. She’d already told herself over and over that forcing Jeff to church, manipulating him to say he believed, was not the answer. If he really cared about her, and she knew she cared about him, he had to allow his heart to accept the truth. She could not use her will to force his decision. She wanted to trust Jeff, to know that he’d chosen the Lord of his own free will.

Two days had passed since the kiss and Jeff had only called once to say he was busy and wouldn’t be over. She’d heard the tension in his voice and she wished she could back up time and replay the kiss so she would have responded differently.

But how could it have been different?

Barb sat outside at the picnic table, this time writing her novel instead of reading one.

Marsha longed to sneak another peek at what she’d written. Barb’s story had created word pictures that settled in Marsha’s mind and wouldn’t budge. Why that kind of dark story? She pulled herself from the sofa and slid open the screen door.

The sun felt warm against her skin, but a lake breeze spun the flavors of the air past her, leaving her feeling refreshed. A cottage could mellow a person. It certainly had Barb.

She closed the screen and sat beside Barb on the picnic-table bench facing away from her. “How’s the writing going?”

“Good. I’m surprised it’s coming so easily.”

“What’s it about?” Marsha’s chest tightened.

“A woman with problems.”

Leaning back, Marsha glimpsed at the page. “What kind of problems?”

“You know. Problems. Issues. We all have them.”

Her back pressed against the sharp edge of the table. “I guess we do.” Jeff’s face filled her mind.

Barb shifted and turned over the legal pad so Marsha couldn’t see the work. “I’ve been concerned about something.”

Jeff. Marsha knew she would notice. “Concerned?”

“About Bonnie.”

Marsha felt her eyes widen. “Bonnie?”

“Why are you surprised? You’ve been concerned about her, yourself. I’m agreeing with you.”

The comment threw Marsha for a loop. “You convinced me to back off, and I did. So what happened to change your mind?”

Barb pulled one leg over the bench and straddled it. “Observing her. Thinking about that neighbor who told her she was pretty.”

“She is pretty if she learned to take care of herself. It won’t be long and—”

“That’s what I mean,” Barb said, her arm flailing outward as if she were at a loss for words. “To take care of herself.”

“I’d hoped to influence her a little—teach her some grooming, but I’m not sure—”

Barb scowled. “I’m not talking about that kind of taking care of herself. I mean, protecting herself.”

“Protecting herself? Why would you say that?”

“Because it happens.” Barb lifted her pop can and took a drink.

Marsha recalled Bonnie’s naiveté. “I know she needs social skills, and she needs to look more—”

“You don’t get the picture, Marsha.”

She studied her sister’s face. “I guess I don’t.”

“Protect herself from men. Boys. They take advantage of girls as they blossom, especially ones who can’t defend themselves.”

Marsha drew back. “Why would you even think that? I can’t imagine anyone hurting Bonnie in that way, Barb. They can see she’s not—”

“That’s just the kind they do hurt. Kids who are shy or different. Don’t think she’s safe from anyone. Some people can’t be trusted, and it’s difficult to know the difference.”

Her remark jolted Marsha. “I suppose someone might try to take advantage, but Jeff keeps a good eye on her. She’s never too far away from him.” Marsha had always felt more concerned about the impression Bonnie made in public. She pictured Bonnie’s messy hair, her bangs usually hanging in her eyes and her unkempt clothing. Barb’s fear seemed such a stretch. “I know Jeff’s trying to do his best, but Bonnie needs to learn about grooming and keeping her clothes neat. She’s capable of doing that. She just needs guidance.”

“You think that’s her only problem?”

“Jeff tries to teach her those things, but—”

Barb plonked her drink on the table and leaned closer to Marsha. “Jeff has a job. He sends Bonnie to school. She’s vulnerable at school. I’ve heard all kinds of horror stories of things that happen to kids at school.”

“I know some kids make fun of her, but she’s in a special program. The special-ed teacher doesn’t let her go off alone.”

Barb shrugged. “Let’s hope.”

Marsha didn’t respond.

Barb slipped her other leg over the bench. “If anything happens, remember I warned you.”

Marsha studied Barb’s taut expression. “What brought this on? That neighbor hasn’t been in the picture for over a week and a half. Why did you think about that now?”

“It’s been on my mind. I didn’t want to…”

“Want to what?” Marsha’s face tightened with a scowl.

“Want to start anything.” She swung her arm away from her body. “Start something like this. You asking me why I’m concerned. I just am.”

“Okay. Let’s not argue about it.” She rose and stood there, not knowing what to do or say. Finally, she stepped off the porch and headed for the beach. Barb’s worry had left her with an unpleasant edginess.

Jeff stood behind Bonnie at the kitchen table and watched her paint with the new watercolors. He couldn’t help but gawk at what she’d drawn. Somewhere she’d learned about shadow and light, learned about blending colors by washing them with lighter or darker shades, techniques he couldn’t imagine where she’d gotten.

“That’s beautiful, Bon. I think you’ve found your calling.”

“Calling?” She gazed up at him, her eyes filled with question. “Are you calling Aunt Marsha?”

He winced, knowing he’d confused her by spending so much time with Marsha and then pulling away again. He’d done it before, but now he avoided her for a different reason. This time a reason in his heart. He’d lost control of his emotions, and spending time with her made it all the harder.

Her reaction to the kiss hadn’t been what he’d expected. What had he expected? His head swam with questions and answers, but none made sense. The island, the summer sky, the newness of being together, it led people to behave differently. Those sunny feelings would fade just as they did in winter. Today his heart felt like winter.

And Bonnie, he’d been unfair to her. She needed his attention. Instead, his mind and dreams were focused on Marsha.

“Are you calling, Daddy?”

Bonnie’s persistent question echoed in his thoughts.

“Maybe later.” Jeff turned away and wandered into the living room, then aimed for the sliding door to the deck. He strolled outside, his gaze scanning the beach. What was Marsha doing today?

Bracing his arms against the railing, Jeff drew in a lengthy breath. Rain had fallen during the night and today the flowers and wild grasses glistened with droplets not yet burned off by the sun. A sparkling day. He wished he could feel the same sparkle.

Marsha. He felt a bond to her. Yet she apparently didn’t feel it. If she hadn’t been upset by the kiss, as she’d said and, if it had nothing to do with Bonnie, then what was it?

He’d assumed his edginess had caused their distance when she’d started nagging about talking with Bonnie, and he still needed to do that. He’d avoided it more than he avoided cleaning windows. The reason seemed clear. He felt inadequate. What did he know about womanhood? A son he could have talked with, but a daughter?

Reality struck him. He needed a woman, a mother figure for Bonnie, yet he’d rejected Marsha’s help. She would have been willing to give Bonnie some feminine pointers, but he’d snapped at her too often. Now she never said a thing.

So that led him back to the same question. If Bonnie or the kiss wasn’t the problem, then what was? Why had Marsha withdrawn? He’d come on too strong, he guessed. She wasn’t ready for romance, and—

Neither was he, he’d told himself. Marilou had only been gone a little more than two years. Two long years. She would want him to find love again.

Love? Was it love he felt for Marsha, or was it familiarity and comfort? She stirred him. He thought of her all the time when they weren’t together. He dreamed of her at night. He couldn’t escape her and, yet, here he was trying to hide.

Foolish.

Jeff turned and entered the house, settling into a chair and leaning back his head. If Marsha weren’t on the island at the same time he was, what would he be doing now? Moping the way he was today? He’d be sightseeing, swimming with Bonnie, maybe even fishing, although he’d have to put the bait on the hook. Bonnie would probably need help with that. Not Marsha. If Marsha went fishing, she’d want to be in charge…though she’d been true to her word. She’d backed off lately.

So what was it?

He lowered his head, his fingers twiddling in his lap. Here he was with quiet time while Bonnie was preoccupied, time he could be reading or…or what? His gaze drifted to the bookshelf and settled again on the navy book with gold letters. Holy Bible.

Was that it? Was it his faith that kept her backing away? He knew Marsha thought her faith could move mountains as the Bible said, but she’d never pushed him. She’d encouraged him to read some chapters. What was it? First something. First Peter.

He ambled to the shelf and grasped the book in his hands, then settled down again, tracing the gold letters with his fingertip. How often had he seen Marilou sitting at breakfast or in the evening reading from the Bible? He’d been a believer, too, but he hadn’t delved into God’s Word as she had.

Truth be told, he still believed or he wouldn’t be fighting God. He wouldn’t be trying to get even. The whole idea seemed ludicrous. How could anyone get even with God? The Lord could snap him in half with a breath.

So why hadn’t He?

Jeff pictured himself bungling along, trying to be father and mother, trying to earn a living and still make time for Bonnie. He’d let his own life crumble to dust. Ashes to ashes. Dust to dust. A ragged breath escaped him. He wasn’t dead yet. Marilou had died. So why was he living a ghost life?

He turned the Bible over in his hands, lifted the cover and closed it again. First Peter. How could one book of the Bible make a difference to someone who’d given up on God?

Fingering the pages, he looked at the gold letters on the navy leather before he flipped open the cover. First Peter. New Testament, he said to himself, remembering that much. In moments, he found the spot and scanned the opening chapter. Words popped out at him, places he’d never heard of—Galatia, Cappadocia, Bithynia. The Bible seemed to be for people who’d vanished from the earth. He lived in the United States. Michigan. He’d never seen that listed in the Bible.

His foolishness disgusted him. Marsha had asked him to read First Peter. If he cared for her as much as his heart told him, he could respect her request. What was he afraid of?

Jeff lowered his eyes and read the next line.
Grace and peace be yours in abundance.
He snorted at the words. Peace in abundance? He hadn’t had peace for longer than he could remember.
In His great mercy He has given us new birth into a living hope through the resurrection of Jesus Christ from the dead.
Living hope. What was that? He scanned the paragraph until his eyes settled on a sentence that nailed him to the seat.

In this you greatly rejoice, though now for a little while you may have had to suffer grief in all kinds of trials. These have come so that your faith—of greater worth than gold, which perishes even though refined by fire—may be proved genuine.

He’d failed miserably. He hadn’t proved his faith genuine. He’d given up at the first defeat. The day stood out in his mind as vivid as if it were yesterday. A few weeks after Marilou had died, he’d let down his guard. Before that, he’d been staunch, determined he would survive, determined he would be a good father no matter what. Yet like a defeated warrior, he’d dropped his shield and inserted the arrow into his own chest.

Jeff closed the Bible, unable to read further. He’d become a failure by his own doing.

“Daddy.”

He set the Bible on the lamp table and headed for Bonnie. “What, sweetie?”

“Can we go back to the lighthouse so I can paint a better picture?”

“You mean, the one by the toy shop?”

She nodded. “With Aunt Marsha.”

He ran his hands through his hair, then slipped them into his pockets, feeling overwhelmed. “How about a different lighthouse?”

“With Aunt Marsha?”

“Maybe she’s busy.”

“She’s not. Call her.”

Marsha swiped the dust cloth across the table and wandered to the dropleaf table, crouching to dust the legs, then rose to run the cloth over the top. She’d dusted yesterday, and she could see no dust, but it gave her something constructive to do. She felt useless sitting around on a Saturday when she should be enjoying the island, but somehow the joy had drifted.