A Mother at Heart (2 page)

Jake stared straight ahead, his expression grim.
“Paula died three years ago.” His words were clipped, his voice devoid of emotion.

Miriam stared at him, her hands numb, an icy cold gripping her temples as she tried to make sense of what he had said.

“What—Paula…dead?” She struggled to find the right words, to find some meaning in his words. Why didn't she know this? How come no one had told her?

The questions dropped heavily, one after the other, piling up in her mind as she tried to get her thoughts around this horrible information.

“She rolled her car on a gravel road and wasn't wearing her seat belt. The doctor told us she died right away.” Jake looked up again, his lips thin. “I'm guessing this is a shock for you?”

Miriam shook her head, still struggling over what to ask, what to say, looking at him as if to find answers to the questions. “I didn't know,” she said weakly. She pulled her hand over her face and then bit her lip, as disbelief fled and sadness welled up. After all, Paula had been her friend, even though Miriam had not contacted her once she found out about Paula and Jake's marriage.

Miriam swallowed the sorrow, a belated sense of guilt washing over her. “I'm so sorry, Jake. This must be so hard for you.” The words were inadequate, but protocol deemed they be spoken. “I'm sure it's been hard for Fred and Tilly, as well,” Miriam continued quietly.

“Mom and Dad had a really hard time with it.” His words were quietly spoken, and the silence of before settled once again between them.

“And how are Fred and Tilly?”

“Okay.” Jake hesitated, as if to show her she didn't deserve to hear anything about his foster parents, the same people that had been second parents to Miriam, as well. “Dad had a heart attack a month ago. The doctor said he sustained a lot of damage so he's still pretty weak.”

Miriam wanted to say that she was sorry. Again. How much apologizing was she going to be doing on this trip? she wondered. “Well, I hope he gets better.”

“So do I,” Jake said heavily.

In those three words Miriam could hear the love that she knew Jake held for his foster parents. Though he had moved to Fred and Tilly's place as a teenager, she knew that he had become like their own son.

Miriam swallowed again, staring straight ahead, battling the envy she felt. Jake, who once had nothing, now had everything—a family of his own, parents who loved him, a direction to his life.

Whereas she, who had once had it all…

The rest of the drive continued in silence, but now other emotions had been added to the mix, creating a tension in Miriam that built with each roll of the truck's wheels.

She was thankful when she saw Fred and Tilly's driveway, the same brightly painted horse-drawn plow at the end of it. Jake turned in.

“I'll just let Tilly and Fred know what's going on, and then I can bring you to your place,” he said, his words breaking the long silence. “You may as well come in and say hello.”

Miriam only nodded, clutching her purse as her own heart began to beat more quickly. It was a combination of nerves and fear and another kind of guilt at the thought of meeting Fred and Tilly again. She had spent many hours sitting at their kitchen table, had followed Fred around while he did his chores.

Miriam's father had died when she was ten and Edna had had to work. Saturdays had found Miriam either helping Tilly in the kitchen, or working alongside Fred—feeding cows, helping with the calves or helping with any of the myriad repairs required on the farm. The Prins's home became her second home, a haven from Edna's constant criticism and “big plans” for her daughter.

Miriam had had no big plans. All she had ever wanted was to stay in Waylen. When she was fourteen a social worker had brought Jake to Fred and Tilly's, and her plans changed to include marrying Jake.

When she first saw the dangerously good-looking teenager, she knew in her heart that she loved only him. Her mother, of course, made sure Miriam knew
her
opinion. “A foster child from who knows where.” Miriam could still hear her mother. “You stay away from him, Miriam. Boy like him is nothing but trouble,” Edna had said, contempt ringing in her voice.

Miriam had laughed at the notion. A girl who had been teased most of her school years for being skinny could hardly net the attention of someone like Jake.

But to her amazement, she had. Even Paula—beautiful, blond and curvaceous Paula—could hardly believe that Jake would prefer Miriam to her.

But he had. At least at first, Miriam reminded herself.

Miriam closed her eyes at a sudden surge of pain and sorrow. Paula, her one-time friend. Dead. She could hardly bear thinking about it.

Jake parked the truck and, without giving Miriam a second glance, got out. Miriam swallowed, rubbing her damp hands over her pants. What would she say to Fred, to Tilly? she thought, hesitating. Too much time had elapsed, and she had done nothing to bridge that gap.

Well, she was here now. She had to start this homecoming sooner or later. She slung her bag over her shoulder and climbed out of the truck.

“Thanks for the ride, and the help,” she said to Jake, lifting her head to look confidently up at him.

“You're welcome.”

He stood back, allowing her to go first. The yard was still muddy and wet in places, and Miriam had to pick her way across. Jake stayed beside her, probably to make sure she didn't fall, she thought wryly.

They had just made it to the cement sidewalk by the house when the door burst open.

“Daddy, Daddy, you're home.” A little girl, her braids flying out behind her, came running up to Jake and launched herself at him. Miriam felt a lump in her throat.

A little girl. Jake had a little girl.

Jake caught the girl, swung her around. For the first time since Miriam had seen him, she noticed a heartfelt and sincere smile on his face.

“Hey, Pipper,” he said, hugging his daughter tightly. He straightened, holding the little girl on one
arm. Her arms were wrapped around his neck, and as they turned to Miriam, she felt a harsh clutch of jealousy. She could see Jake in the deep brown of the little girl's eyes, Jake in the thick waves of her hair—but Paula in the coy smile.

“Hi,” the girl said. “My name is Taryn. What's yours?”

“This is Miriam,” Jake interjected, settling Taryn on his arm. “Her car broke down on the road, and I gave her a ride here.”

Taryn nodded, staring at Miriam as if studying her. “Has she been here before?”

“No, Pipper, she hasn't.” Jake turned to Miriam. “Why don't you come in a minute? I'm sure Mom and Dad would like to see you.”

Miriam nodded, feeling very much the outsider. Taryn continued to stare at her, and Miriam couldn't keep her eyes off Jake's daughter.

She looked so much like her father, it made her heart hurt.

Miriam followed Jake up the walk, suddenly hesitant at the thought of meeting Tilly and Fred again. Guilt and shame vied with one another as her steps followed the old familiar pathway. She had skipped up this walk as a young girl, she had run up it as a teenager. She had always come here with a happy heart, the feeling that someone who cared for her lived here. This had been a home.

Jake pushed the screen door open and set Taryn down on the floor. “Take your socks off, missy,” he said. “They're all dirty.”

Taryn dropped down, and, lifting her foot, yanked off the once-white sock. “I was waiting for you,”
she said, grinning up at him. “You didn't have supper.”

Miriam dropped her bag on the chair that had always been there, without even realizing what she was doing. She had to catch herself before she kicked off her sandals and ran past Jake up the steps to sit at the kitchen table. This porch was so familiar.

But the presence of a much older Jake and his daughter showed her all too clearly how much had changed.

Taryn got up, still looking at Miriam with a puzzled expression. “Did you know my mommy?” she asked.

Jake turned to his daughter, his surprise evident. “What did you say?” he asked her.

Taryn turned to him, still frowning. “I saw her picture in my mommy's book.”

“What book?”

“The one with that Miriam lady's pictures in it.”

“Is that you, Jake?” Tilly called from the kitchen, interrupting the moment. She came to the door, wiping her hands on a towel, smiling at her son. “How was your day, dear?”

Miriam felt her throat tighten at the sight of Tilly. The woman's face held a few more lines; her short, straight hair was now completely gray. But she wore the same glasses she had worn ten years ago, and the soft blue eyes were the same, the smile still welcoming.

“Good,” Jake said succinctly. “I brought someone back.” He stepped aside, gesturing toward Miriam.

Tilly lifted her hand up to readjust her glasses, and
she squinted at Miriam, who tried not to fidget. “My goodness,” Tilly said as she recognized who it was, her lined face breaking out into a large smile, her arms opening. “Miriam? Little Miriam Spencer?”

Tilly walked past Jake straight to Miriam, and en-folded her in a warm embrace. Miriam inhaled the familiar scent of Tilly's perfume, pressed her cheek against the well-known softness of Tilly's cheek. She swallowed a knot of sadness mixed with nostalgia. She had missed this, she thought, this enveloping affection that welcomed you back, that showed you were missed.

She hadn't felt a mother's arms around her since she had left this place, her home.

Miriam squeezed her eyes against the sudden pain as more memories returned, and hugged Tilly as tightly as she dared.

“Oh, little girl, we sure missed you. We did.” Tilly rocked her lightly then pulled away, unabashedly wiping her eyes. “Look at you now. What a beautiful girl you've turned out to be.” Tilly shook her head and reached up to wipe tears from her eyes. “You're so tall. So old.”

Miriam blinked her own tears away, far too conscious of Jake watching them. It shouldn't have mattered, but she felt his disapproval as strongly as she felt Tilly's love.

She knew she had been in the wrong, keeping herself from this dear person. This dear second mother who had dried her tears and hugged her even more than her own mother had.

Miriam felt ashamed. She had known this was going to be a difficult trip. She just hadn't counted on the guilt that would come with it.

“Y
ou smell like dirt, Daddy.”

Jake smiled down at his daughter as he washed his hands, then bent over at the waist to wash his face and neck. “I was working in lots of dirt, sweetheart,” he said, drying off. “I was working on the tractor.”

“Your hair is dirty, too.”

Jake glanced at his reflection in the mirror, shoving his hands through his thick wavy hair. It needed to be cut. He paused, looking at himself critically, trying to see himself through Miriam's eyes. Then he wondered why he should care.

Miriam Spencer. He drew a deep, tired breath, wishing away the jolt he had felt when he had first realized the identity of the very elegant woman standing on the side of the road. Now she sat in his kitchen, chatting to Tilly and Fred, who, even though she hadn't even bothered sending them so much as a postcard, were delighted to see her.

He felt like the prodigal son in the parable. He should be glad she was back, but he just wished he knew why she had come. He doubted it was to settle on the farm to raise wheat and barley. Miriam wasn't a country girl any longer. And it wasn't hard to see. Though her clothes were casual, they had an elegance that quietly stated their cost.

High.

He remembered the first time he had seen the new Miriam. Paula had shown him a fashion magazine, and Miriam was on the front—her tip-tilted eyes gleaming with gold eyeshadow, her full mouth glistening with coral lipstick. Her once unruly hair cropped and artfully tousled. Neither that person, nor the casually elegant girl now sitting in his kitchen were the Miriam he knew.

They weren't the Miriam who would sometimes wear a T-shirt backwards, who wouldn't care if her jeans were ripped or patched.

The Miriam he had once loved.

“What's the matter, Daddy? You look sad.”

Jake pulled himself back to the present, and, squatting down, put himself level with his daughter. “I'm just tired, Pip. And hungry for some of Grandma's supper.”

“That sure is a pretty lady that is here,” she said solemnly, her hands on her father's shoulders.

Jake remembered a comment Taryn had made while they were standing on the porch. “What did you mean when you said you saw that lady's picture in Mommy's book? What book?”

“Mommy's book. You know.” Taryn shook her
head at her father's obtuseness. “Me and Grandma found it in the attic.”

“Well, you'll have to show me the book when I tuck you in.” He was curious, but knew it would have to wait.

Jake gave her a quick hug, and, holding her tiny hand, walked back down the hallway.

“Your supper is on the table, son.” Tilly smiled at Jake as he sat. “Taryn, you should run and get your pajamas on. It's getting late.”

Taryn dropped her head, her fingers fiddling restlessly with each other, her lip beginning to curl in a classic pout. “But I wanna talk to the lady,” she mumbled, lifting her eyes briefly to her father.

Jake frowned at his daughter. She got the unspoken command, and, sighing, turned and left.

Miriam was already ensconced on the bench against the wall, a cup of tea in front of her. Fred sat beside her, bringing Miriam up to date on what had happened in Waylen while she'd been gone.

“Here you go, son.” Tilly set a plate of warmed-up food in front of him—fried chicken, creamed peas, mashed potatoes, and applesauce on the side. His mouth watered at the sight. “And here are your messages.” Tilly set an assortment of papers in front of him with scribbled names and numbers. “I should charge you secretarial fees,” Tilly joked. “Melissa Toews phoned three times. Said it was important.”

Jake stifled a groan. Melissa could never be accused of being coy, he thought, flipping through the messages.

“Do you want the cordless phone?” Fred asked, reaching behind him to take the phone off the cradle.

“I don't feel like phoning anyone tonight.” Jake set the papers aside. He often took care of his business during supper, but tonight he didn't feel like it. All of them could wait. Especially Melissa.

“Are you sure you don't want any supper, Miriam?” Tilly asked her, setting a cup of coffee in front of Jake.

“I'm fine, thanks.” Miriam smiled gently at Tilly and rested her elbows on the table, avoiding Jake's look. “This kitchen looks the same as I remember it.”

He wondered why she had come. Then, pushing aside his own thoughts, he bowed his head in prayer. He pulled in a slow breath, willing the negative thoughts away. He slowly let himself be open to God, thanking him for the food, for the day. He paused a moment, his thoughts turning to the girl sitting at the same table, and he sent up a prayer for Miriam, as well.

Praying for her put everything into perspective. Praying for her changed her from an old girlfriend whom he had often thought about to just a person from his past. And as he prayed for her, he felt peace.

He opened his eyes and unconsciously sought her out. She was watching him, her soft brown eyes full of a sorrow he hadn't seen there before. But with a blink of her long eyelashes, it was gone.

“And how is your mother?” Tilly asked, leaning forward. “We haven't heard from her, either, since both of you left.”

Jake stopped chewing, his own curiosity piqued by Tilly's straightforward, but softly spoken question.

Miriam looked down, running her finger along the
handle of the earthenware mug in front of her. “She died six months ago in Toronto. She'd had a stroke and was just getting worse. I think death was a relief for her.” Jake felt sudden empathy. He had never cared for Miriam's mother, but he knew that Miriam had loved her. He wanted to catch Miriam's gaze, to tell her he understood, but after his barely restrained hostility toward her in his truck, he felt he had no right.

“Oh, dear.” Tilly reached across the table and caught Miriam's hand in her own. “I'm sorry to hear that. We never heard a thing…” Tilly let the sentence trail off. She paused, then asked, “How are you doing with it?”

Miriam reached up and carefully wiped her eyes. “It's still hard, but I think she was glad to go.”

Jake heard the hint of sorrow in her voice and wondered who had comforted her when it happened. Was there someone important to her who had been with her? She was only twenty-seven years old. Old enough to be independent, yet quite young to be without either parent.

“So now you're here for a visit?”

Miriam nodded again. “I'm only here for a while, but it's nice to be back.”

“And now your car is broken down.” Tilly shook her head, clucking sympathetically. “Well, don't you worry. Fred and Jake will make sure it gets fixed.”

“What are you going to do about Miriam's car?” Fred asked, looking up from his paper.

“It's okay where it is right now,” Jake said, pushing his potatoes around on his plate. “Tomorrow we
can tow it into town and bring it to Denny's Auto Parts. All it needs is a new radiator, I'm assuming.”

“It was leaking already in Winnipeg,” Miriam said quietly. “I think all they did was put some stop-leak stuff in it.”

“Do you want me to take care of it, Jake?” Fred offered.

Jake shook his head. “You're finally out of bed. I don't think you should overdo it.”

“But you'll fall behind in the field work,” Fred said. “You won't have time to run around.”

“Look, I can call a tow truck,” Miriam interrupted. “I don't want to put anyone out.”

“It's not a problem,” Jake said, trying to sound nonchalant. Actually it
was
a problem. He was nicely on top of the field work, and taking Miriam's car to the garage would use up a good half day. He didn't really have the time, but knew it would look churlish not to help. People called a tow truck in the city, not in the country.

He just prayed that everything would work out.

Miriam tried once more to protest, but Fred insisted that it would be no problem.

“Do you want any dessert?” Tilly asked, when Jake was done.

“No thanks, Mom. I'm full.” He smiled up at her. “It was delicious, though.”

Tilly stroked his hair the way she always did, and for a moment Jake was conscious of Miriam's deep brown eyes watching them. He felt a little foolish. Not too many twenty-seven-year-old men had mothers who still stroked their hair. But he had never protested, not even as a young man.

Whenever his brother Simon would come for a visit from the stricter home he'd been placed in, Tilly naturally treated him exactly like Jake. Like they were both Fred and Tilly's own sons. Neither he nor Simon had received much of a mother's love growing up. Their natural mother had given them up when he was five and Simon four after their biological father had died. They never did find out where she was, although Simon was now actively looking. Simon had been looking most of his life. He had run away from his last foster home at sixteen and wanted Jake to come. But Jake knew he was in a good place with Fred and Tilly and refused to go. Simon said that Jake would never hear from him again.

And Jake hadn't. Until five months ago when Jake got a phone call from a nurse named Caitlin Severn who had Simon as a patient.

Jake had overcome his own wounded pride at Simon's silence and traveled to Vancouver to see him. Now Simon was happily married. But he still wanted to find their mother.

Jake wasn't as interested. Each time he saw Taryn, he wondered anew how his mother could give up her own children and not even leave them with a name to track down. It was as if she wanted them swept out of her life.

“Hi, Daddy. Here I am.” Taryn stood in front of him, her face shiny from washing, her hair still damp. She twirled around in her new, frilly nightgown, the ruffle on the bottom dragging on the floor.

“You look beautiful,” Jake said, pulling her on his lap, tucking her under his chin.

“Not as beautiful as her—” Taryn pointed to Mir
iam with a giggle. Jake couldn't help but look at Miriam, who was now gazing wistfully at Taryn. He didn't acknowledge Taryn's comment—at least not out loud. And as he watched the play of emotions on Miriam's face, he wondered if she had any regrets. If the fame and fortune she had acquired satisfied her.

He turned back to his daughter, his heart full of gratitude, thankful that in spite of how things had turned out, he had this precious child.

“So, Pip, it's bedtime,” he said quietly. “Kiss Grandpa and Grandma good-night, and I'll tuck you in.”

“Okay,” she said, lifting her shoulders in an exaggerated sigh. She slipped off his lap and walked around the table to kiss Tilly and then Fred.

For a moment Jake was afraid she was going to give Miriam a kiss, but shyness won out. Instead, Taryn just waggled her fingers at Miriam.

“Good night, Taryn. Sweet dreams,” Miriam said softly, waving back.

“Okay,” Taryn said with a smile. Then she turned and flounced off through the hallways, toward the stairs, Jake right behind.

When Paula and Jake had first married, they had lived in a mobile home on the property. However, after Paula had died, Jake had brought Taryn here so often that she'd ended up getting her own room. Eventually Jake had started eating supper here, and soon the mobile home had been sold.

Now they all lived here in a house that was getting too big for Tilly to clean. But she refused to move
to a smaller house in town, and Jake had to admit that it worked better for him, as well.

At the bottom of the stairs, Taryn stopped, holding up her arms for the first step in their bedtime routine.

He loved this house, he mused as he walked slowly up the broad stairs holding his little girl. As a foster child, he'd been blessed to end up here, and he knew it.

Though his mother had given Simon and Jake up, he was always thankful that they had been adopted by a single man, Tom Steele. He had given them a safe and secure home for seven years. His death had been a severe blow, and Jake knew that the loss of Tom tended to make him overprotective of Fred. He didn't want to lose another father.

“Stop, Daddy. I want to see the pictures.”

Jake smiled and did as his daughter commanded. The Prins had a veritable gallery on the wall, and Taryn always had to stop. Jake didn't mind. He was so thankful for the legacy his daughter received through Fred and Tilly that it was doubly important to him that she knew where she came from. His vague memories of his mother didn't include a father, let alone grandparents. At times he still resented that, but realized that in Tom Steele, and later in Fred and Tilly, God had made up the lack.

“There's my mommy.” Taryn leaned forward, pointing out their wedding picture. Taryn always lingered the longest here, even though she barely remembered Paula. Taryn had been only two when Paula died, and unaware of the circumstances surrounding her mother's death. Paula had been an inattentive mother at best, and hadn't spent a lot of
time at home. Jake often regretted his marriage, but he had never, ever regretted Taryn.

“And this is Uncle Simon and Aunty Caitlin—” Taryn pointed with a pudgy finger to a smiling couple, their arms around each other. The picture had been taken outside against a backdrop of trees. The filtered sun highlighted their features and only seemed to enhance the love that radiated from them.

“When I get bigger—” Taryn stopped as her mouth stretched open in a big yawn “—I want to be a nurse, just like Aunty Caitlin, and help her in her hospital in Na…Nomimo,” she continued, snuggling into her father's neck.

“Nanaimo,” Jake corrected, giving his daughter a tight hug. “That's a good thing to be, sweetie. But if you don't get your sleep, you won't grow, and then you can't be a nurse.” He jogged up the stairs to miss the rest of the pictures, aware of his daughter's penchant for dawdling. And tonight he didn't feel like indulging her. Much as he disliked to acknowledge it, he wanted to be downstairs with Miriam.