Wanted: A Family (8 page)

Elise's eyes glistened. “I'm shaming myself. Not you.”

“Elise came for the same reason we all do, Mr. Langley. To hear God's Word, worship and have the support of the church family.”

“God's Word is clear. Honor your father and mother. By insisting on keeping your child, Elise, you're defying my authority.” He pointed a finger at Callie. “You've made that possible, Mrs. Mitchell, by inviting her in. I don't know how you live with yourself.”

Callie reached a hand, then pulled it back. “What's
happened can't be changed, but that baby you're disgraced by is your grandchild.”

Color drained from Mr. Langley's face, as if she'd struck him. “We're not staying,” he said. “I'll fetch your basket, Sarah.”

Eyes brimming with tears, Sarah wrapped Elise in a hug. “I've missed you, sweetheart. How are you? What does the doctor say?”

Elise's father pivoted back. “Are you coming?”

Mrs. Langley didn't answer, didn't move. Her silence lengthened—a mutiny of sorts. Then she heaved a sigh and followed her husband.

“It's almost time to eat.” Callie ushered Elise toward the tables. “You can help set out our food.”

Elise went through the motions of helping, but Callie could see that her heart was breaking. Callie longed to smack some sense into Mr. Langley's mulish head. He was hurting, but he needed to think of his daughter. She needed his forgiveness.

Why couldn't her father count his blessings? He had a family, a grandchild on the way, an innocent baby needing his love and protection. Callie would give anything if her parents could see her baby.

Signaling the group to silence, Pastor Steele bowed his head. “Lord, thank You for this food and time of fellowship. Open our hearts to visitors and members alike that our actions might be a pleasing offering to You. Surround us with awareness of Your love and the gift of Your grace. Amen.”

The unseasonable high temperatures of the past few days had eased, bringing a gentle breeze—a perfect day for a picnic. Even with the run-in with her father earlier, Elise relaxed and managed to eat. Parishioners came by to
say hello and wish her well. The pastor's pointed prayer a possible reason.

Several men stopped to talk to Jacob about the work at Callie's, a few asked his opinion on projects of their own. Jacob joined them in a game of horseshoes, tossing ringers almost every time. From the serene, even happy expression on his face, Jacob was having fun.

With her heart overflowing with peace, Callie walked to the dessert table. A piece of Mrs. Uland's chocolate cake would be a delicious finish to a lovely day.

Mrs. Sunderland, the corners of her mouth drooping like the bedraggled flowers on her hat, cornered Callie under an elm. “How could you bring a fallen girl to church? What kind of an example does that give our young people, to rub elbows with a sinner?”

“We're all sinners, Mrs. Sunderland.”

The woman sniffed. “Next thing you'll have a party for her and ask for baby gifts. Invite the whole church or some such nonsense.”

“Elise made a mistake. She's remorseful—”

“I didn't see her come forward at the altar call. No decent girl would grace this sacred building carrying a baby out of wedlock without begging forgiveness. She should've done that in front of the entire church.”

Callie couldn't believe her ears. “You and I are allowed to repent in private. Shouldn't we offer that same grace to Elise?”

“Her sin isn't some little white lie or a bad word voiced in anger. Her sin is fornication.
And
out there for all to see.”

Callie's hands balled into fists. “Would an altar call have made a difference to you? You're ranking sin, as if some deserve forgiveness and others don't. Elise needs our love, not condemnation.”

The woman smirked. “I'd say she's had all the love she can handle.”

“That's just cruel.” Unable to bear the presence of this judgmental woman a moment longer, Callie pivoted, tears flooding her eyes until she could barely see and hurried around the church where she'd have privacy. “Callie?”

She turned, colliding with Jacob. He grabbed her by the shoulders to steady her. With a callused thumb, he brushed away the tears sliding down her cheeks. “Don't pay attention to that battle-axe.”

At his caring touch, Callie's breath caught. She longed to step into his arms and accept the comfort of being held.

“I overheard,” he said. “I'd regret making a spectacle for your and Elise's sakes, but give the word and I'll deposit that woman's judgmental carcass on the lawn.”

At the image popping into her mind, Callie gave a shaky smile. “She probably deserves it, but she's just one person. Everyone else, well, except for Elise's father, has been kind.”

“I've noticed. Several men welcomed me to the community. All and all, this is a nice little town.”

The exact words Callie hoped to hear. Perhaps that welcome he'd felt would bring Jacob to church. And in time, he'd find his way to God.

“Now that you've seen that most Christians are compassionate and loving, maybe you'll like Peaceful enough to settle here.”

The smile on Jacob's face ebbed. A guarded, unreadable expression clouded his eyes. She took a step back.

What made a man look ready to run?

What secret was Jacob Smith hiding?

T
he fishing poles were a ruse. Not that Jake would admit it to Callie. Standing on her stoop, holding the two rods he'd borrowed from the large stash in the barn, he waited for her to answer his knock with the impatience of a kid waiting his turn in a candy store.

The door opened. In Callie's eyes, he saw weariness he hadn't seen before. As if something with the weight of an anvil were perched on her shoulders, sapping her of the energy to take a step. He'd been right. Callie needed to unwind, to dangle a line. Take time for her. And him.

He smiled. “Nice afternoon for fishing.”

A spark of interest lit up her eyes. “Yes, it is. You'll find plenty of earthworms in the garden if you're looking for live bait.”

“Got them right here.” He pointed to the bait box.

“Good, hope they're biting.” She turned to step back inside. Away from him.

“Why not find out for yourself?”

She cocked her head, looking as puzzled as if he'd spoken in a foreign tongue.

“I'm asking you to go with me.”

“Fishing? With you?”

“Yep, why else would I have two poles?”

“Martin always propped a number of poles along the bank.”

“Keeping all those lines straight must've made casting complicated for you.”

She fiddled with her collar, averting her gaze. “He never… Well, he never asked me to go along.”

“Why's that?”

“I asked him once. He said…he just said he needed time away.”

Her words banged against his heart, penetrating his defenses as if they were made of putty, instead of bricks and mortar. “With that patience of yours, I'm guessing you're an excellent fisherman,” he said, struggling to keep his tone even.

A sudden smile came to her lips. “I used to be. When I was little, my dad took me fishing. And a friend and I went as kids, every chance we got.”

Callie's deceased husband knew she liked to fish and never once took her. The man hadn't appreciated what he had. All the more reason Jake wouldn't take no for an answer. He intended to erase that exhaustion from her face and give her some fun, especially after that biddy's attack at the church picnic.

He could do that much for her.

“I'd like to spend time with you, Callie, doing something besides work. Fishing will be fun.”

A sparkle lit her eyes. She glanced inside. “I should probably stay with Elise.”

Jake bit back a sigh. “Elise is welcome to come along.”

A lie.

He wanted Callie to himself. He wanted to hear her soft laughter again. He wanted to see the delight in her face
when a nibble jerked her line. Most of all, he wanted to be an ordinary man out with an ordinary woman.

“I'll ask her.” Callie whirled away. “Be right back.”

Kneeling, Jake opened the tackle box at his feet to an impressive array of floats, hooks and manmade bait and flies. Mitchell hadn't spared any expense with his fishing gear. Jake had always done fine with a worm dangling from a hook.

A moment later, wearing a straw bonnet and a dazzling smile, Callie appeared with a basket. “Elise dislikes worms and fish, alive or dead, and wants no part of our adventure. She's curled up in the parlor reading a book.”

The news that he'd have Callie to himself exploded in his chest and pumped through his veins. “Guess we'll have to manage without her.” He'd tried to sound disappointed but from the way Callie's cheeks turned rosy, he'd failed.

“Would you like me to make sandwiches? I always did for Martin. He said fishing made a man hungry.”

The only hunger Jake had was for time with Callie. This woman captivated him like no other, made him want to please her, to protect her, to—

He told himself to pull back. This was a fishing trip, not a lifetime commitment. No one's getting hooked here, except a bluegill.

“I'm still stuffed from the church picnic.”

“Me, too.” She indicated the basket. “Just in case, I've brought cookies.”

“What kind?”

“Snickerdoodles.”

“Mmm, sugar and spice.”

“And all that's nice.”

He tapped her chin. “That's what little girls are made of.”

“I hope I have a girl.” Her mouth formed a circle of surprise. “Oh, what if it's a boy and he heard that?”

“If he did, he'll no doubt make you regret saying it by living up to his reputation.” He grinned. “Let's see, frogs and snails and puppy-dog tails, that's what little boys are made of.” Unable to take his eyes off her, he offered the crook of his elbow. “Girls are wonderful, especially the grown-up variety.”

“Thank you, kind sir.” She took his arm as they started down the walk. “Boys are special, too.”

“Not according to the girls at the orphanage. They never let us forget our less than impressive makings.”

She giggled, looking young, carefree and beautiful.

As they strolled along, the distance between the Victorians lengthened until they reached the edge of town. Across the way, between the trees, Jake spotted a strip of flowing water glinting in the afternoon sun. The scent of loamy soil mingled with the hum of gurgling water. Birds chirped, leaves whispered in the breeze. A sense of peace settled over Jake, as pleasant as the scent of Callie's fragrance.

He helped Callie descend the bank, guiding her toward a large rock at the water's edge. At their approach, a frog, nose barely above water, leaped out of reach. Down the way, the deep drone of a bullfrog geared up for his nightly serenade. Everywhere Jake looked, creatures took part in the mating dance of spring, building homes, re-creating their kind. A deep ache of loneliness throbbed anew inside him.

He dusted the rock off with his hand. “Have a seat, fair lady.”

Then he joined her, sitting on the edge, barely on the rock at all, and baited the hooks.

Callie watched, smiling. “You've done this before.”

“The orphanage wasn't too far from a pond. We'd sneak off to fish whenever we could. If we cleaned what we
caught, the cook would fry them. Nothing's better than a mess of fresh-caught bluegills.”

“Bluegill is my favorite. Catfish was Martin's.”

How often had Martin considered Callie's likes and dislikes? If at all? If Jake were married to Callie, he'd bring home a bucket of bluegills every week. But he wasn't. He needed to remember that.

Jake handed Callie a pole. “You know how this is done.”

“Well, it's been a while.”

“Watch the float. If it goes under, yank the pole up to set the hook. Then reel it in. Simple unless the fish aren't biting and all you catch is a twig or an old shoe.”

Callie laughed, the melodious sound mingling with the serenity of their secluded surroundings, charming Jake down to his toes.

“To cast, just whip the tip of the pole back, then forward toward the river. As you do, put your finger on the spring to release the line.”

Fingers posed hesitantly over the mechanism, she gave him a quizzical look.

“Would you like me to cast for you?”

“Let me try.” She rose, swung the rod back, the line shot out…and snared on the undergrowth behind them. Jake untangled the line and asked her to reel it in. Absorption in the task easy to read on her face, she tried again. Again, the line caught in the bushes.

As he worked to free the line, she shook with laughter. “Maybe you'd better show me.”

He came around behind her and laid his hands over hers, wrapping her in the circle of his arms. Aware of the proximity of her body, the warmth of her skin, Jake longed to pull her against him, to nuzzle her soft nape, kiss her.

Callie glanced over her shoulder at him, bringing her face mere inches from his and dropped her gaze to his mouth. Just one step and he'd feel those soft lips beneath his. His grip tightened and he lowered his head.

She spun away, facing the river. “How, uh, how do you do this again?”

With yearning mounting within him, he guided her hands through the motions. The line sailed through the air. As soon as it hit the water, Callie moved out of his arms.

He watched the float drift in the current, aching to pull Callie back in his arms. But she held herself apart, her grip tight on her pole, as if her life depended on it, avoiding the attraction sizzling between them.

How could he blame her? He had nothing to offer her and her baby except a past that would surface one day and suck them into a maelstrom of trouble.

“This is fun,” she said, keeping her gaze glued on the float and off him.

The float dipped under the water, Callie yelped with surprise, then whipped up the tip of the rod, cranking with all her might, the line growing tauter with every spin of the reel.

A fish emerged, skimming through the water toward her. “I got one!”

Jake grabbed the net, skidded along the bank and scooped up her catch, a bluegill. “It's a beauty,” he said, smiling.

As he strode the bank to show her, she laughed again, her face alight with delight. She was having a good time, exactly what he wanted to give her.

After they'd estimated its length, he removed the hook from the bluegill's mouth, put it on the stringer he'd tied to a sapling and eased it into the water. With his stomach
flopping like that bluegill had in the net, Jake fought the truth. He was falling for Callie. And he couldn't. But he'd enjoy this day. Wrap it in his memory to take out again and again.

As they fished, he and Callie munched cookies, swatting at an occasional mosquito, exchanging fishing stories and talking about their love of nature.

“Imagine how much fun God must've had making all this.” She swept her hand. “And Adam, too, when he got to name all the creatures God created.” She laughed. “I can't even decide what to name one little baby.”

Looking at her face, aglow with enthusiasm for life, for her God, for her baby, Jake wanted what she had.

“Keep seeking God, Jacob. If you do, you'll find Him.”

She must've seen that longing on his face. But she hadn't seen him reading Scripture every night. Nothing had changed. He switched the subject and they moved on to other topics. The time passed quickly, with each of them pulling in several bluegills. Jake even caught a good-sized bass.

“I'll fry them, if you'll filet them,” Callie offered.

“It's a deal.”

Callie gathered the basket as Jake corralled their catch and fishing gear. “Thanks for bringing me, Jake. I couldn't have a better friend than you.”

The smile on his face faltered. She didn't want a romantic relationship. Wasn't that what he wanted, too? So why did her words hook his heart with a painful sting?

On the walk home, the sounds of approaching night enveloped them. Birds called to one another in the trees. Insects hummed, joining the bullfrog chorus, a cheerless chatter that to Jake spoke of endings, not beginnings.

No matter how much he pretended otherwise, he'd been
fooling himself about wanting to give Callie only a fun afternoon. Or that he cared one whit about fishing. He cared about this woman. She charmed him, like no other. Yet he had no hope of reeling her in.

She needed a husband, a father for her child. A jailbird wouldn't do.

He'd seek information about his birth mother and forget this foolishness. He was meant to walk through life alone.

As he always had.

 

Callie stood as far back from the stove as she could and still keep an eye on the fish sizzling in the large iron skillet. Another skillet of fried potatoes and onions was set to the side. Once Jacob finished stowing the gear and washed up at the pump, he'd be in. He'd sit at her table and eat with the gusto of a man who loved home cooking. And fill the emptiness in her heart.

Across the way, Elise set the table for three. “You actually had fun?”

Her incredulous tone made Callie chuckle. “I did. Catching fish is fun. The river was peaceful. Jake ate a slew of cookies. The man has a hollow leg.”

“Did you bait your own hook?” Elise wrinkled her nose with displeasure.

“He insisted on doing it for me, though I could've.”

“I feel sorry for the worms. Fish, too.” She gave a wry grin. “Guess that makes no sense, since I'm looking forward to supper.”

“Me, too.”

“So what was it like to spend time alone with Jake?”

Fishing might have been the goal. And they'd caught quite a few, but nothing had prepared Callie for her reaction to the man. Perhaps it had been the solitude, the two
of them alone surrounded by the beauty of God's creation and an ever-deepening awareness of each other.

God created man and woman, planting within them a yearning for intimacy, a desire to walk through life two by two. Surely that was the reason, the only reason, she'd had that response to him.

“He's attentive, thoughtful.”

Elise grinned. “And a hard worker. He's perfect for you.”

But Callie knew Jacob Smith wasn't the right man. God knew that, too. Jacob didn't have faith. He was a mystery. She wouldn't allow herself to get entangled with a man who kept his past and his future hidden.

She sighed. His future wasn't hidden. From the moment he'd arrived, he'd spoken of leaving. For her baby's sake, she would not get wrapped up in this man. She'd keep it impersonal. Avoid being alone with him. Surely with Elise in the house, that would be easy enough to do.

The back door banged shut and Jacob stood in the kitchen, his hair wet from a dousing at the pump. Her treacherous heart leaped at the sight of him. He shot her a smile, his gaze meeting hers with an absorption that suggested he had eyes only for her. Some compulsion lured her closer.

What was wrong with her? Where would this attraction lead?

To yet another loss.

Loss had permeated her life, each one leaving her battered, clinging to God.

She whirled to the stove and checked the fish, crispy on the outside, flaky within. “I'm sorry. I need to lie down. Would you serve, Elise?”