Heartsong (8 page)

A shiver danced over her skin, reminding her she was wet. She didn’t care to ponder the question of what exactly had caused her skin to quiver.

The bathwater steamed up the bathroom mirror. It was a luxury to linger in the tub. Skye could actually feel the hot water chase away her chill. Scooping the moisture over herself with the washcloth, her thoughts drifted back to her visit with Peggy. It was almost unbelievable that her sister-in-law would talk to her like that. And because the things Peggy said were so untrue, it hurt all the more. Skye had come so far, considering that the grief had been overwhelming at first. It was as if the pieces of her life had crumbled before her. But simply because she was a living, breathing soul, she found herself forced into a resilient, elastic world. Although others cared, they couldn’t know the emotional torture she had endured. Suddenly a gnawing pain swelled inside her until her eyes burned with tears.

Resting her head against the back of the tub, she stared sightlessly at the ceiling, tears streaming unheeded down her face. Could it be that Peggy was right? Had all this grief lain just below the surface, not really being dealt with at all? Skye examined the last eight years of her life. Had she really made a martyr of herself? Deflecting male
relationships and commitment to another man? But Glen had been so special. He was the only man she’d ever loved, ever wanted. Loving another would betray what they had shared. It had been cruel and heartless to take him from her.

It came to her then. Profound and deep. The shock raised goose bumps over her pale skin, although she lay in a tub of steaming water.
She blamed God for taking Glen
. Over the years she had yielded other areas of her life to her Lord but had stubbornly withheld this one facet of her Christian walk. Her faith had been smaller than a mustard seed. Instead of looking upon his death and all that followed as having worked together for her good, Skye had never forgiven God.

Rising from her bath, she wrapped a towel around herself and faced the bathroom mirror. With jerking movements she wiped away the steam to examine herself. Sally was right; her hairstyle—the coiled bun—was harsh and purposely unattractive. With troubled eyes and her heart hammering, she pulled the pins and watched her hair tumble down. It needed to be cut to a more manageable length. Her pale cheeks looked bloodless and waxen. How long had it been since she’d purposely made herself attractive? But perhaps she looked wan because she was seeing herself with new soul-searching eyes.

She dressed quickly, an urgency driving her. Throwing open the doors to her closet, she critically examined its contents. Her clothes were outdated and unappealing—beiges, grays, browns, and blacks. The exceptions were a few colorful outfits her family had given her for Christmas and her birthday.

Perhaps most profound was how she’d maintained her wit and sense of humor. Her natural good taste in clothes and style had wavered dramatically over the years, but not her enthusiasm and vitality. Instinctively she knew if she’d allowed this bizarre grief to infiltrate the core of her personality, she would have shriveled up and died in a unique form of suicide.

“Oh, Father,” her soul cried out, “forgive me, forgive me.” She fell to her knees beside the bed and buried her face in her hands. A peaceful silence filled the room as she surrendered this part of her life to her Lord. Time lost meaning as Skye poured out her heart, and when she rose she felt as if a heavy burden had been lifted from her, an eight-year-old yoke she had bound to herself. She was free to love and be loved … at last.

Later that evening she idly flipped through the pages of the
TV Guide
, a smile playing at the corners of her lips. She felt like a new woman and stood to examine herself again … A smiling stranger was reflected back. She had spent most of the afternoon on a one-woman crusade to create a new image for herself, and she was pleased with the results.

Her first concern had been her car. She had called the dealership expecting to do
battle, but the mechanic stumbled all over himself apologizing. He didn’t know what the problem was, but he would look into it immediately. He worked so quickly, Skye was stunned. He stopped at her house for her keys, had her car towed to the shop, and returned, all within forty-five minutes. It had been a cut wire, he explained with chagrin. There was no charge.

Her first stop had been at the beautician’s, who’d cut only an inch or two from the length of her hair. An overall treatment added body and vitality to the silky gold strands.

Now it curled beautifully around her shoulders like a gilded wreath highlighted by beams of moonlight. In her closet hung three new outfits in attractive colors. The old clothes were packed away in sacks, ready to be donated to charity. A warm smile quivered at the corners of her mouth as she remembered Sally’s reaction that afternoon.

“Skye?” Sally had asked in a questioning tone, almost as if she didn’t recognize her friend. “I like it, I like it.” Enthusiastically she circled Skye, nodding approvingly. “Holy mackerel, what happened to you?” Sally laughed gaily. “No, there’s no need to answer that, I already know … Jordan Kiley happened to you. I knew it was coming someday, I just never thought I’d live to see it.” She clapped her hands with the enthusiasm of a young child.

“Come on, you’re embarrassing me,” Skye said, grinning. “But
no
”—she waved her hand to press her point—“it’s not Jordan Kiley.” It was only a partial lie. The transformation had come as a result of her talk with Peggy, Skye told herself.

“Oh?” Sally sounded skeptical. “Is there someone else I don’t know about?”

“Have you met John Dirkson, my neighbor?” Skye asked coyly, instantly regretting the implication.

“You know darn good and well I haven’t.” Sally wrinkled her nose in suspicion. “Tell me about him.”

This was becoming more than a half-truth, and Skye lowered her head guiltily, hoping to hide her discomfort by picking up one of the puppies chewing at the toe of her shoe. “There isn’t much to tell.” She prayed for a nonchalant, devil-may-care attitude. “The reason I stopped by is to tell you I would be taking one of the puppies. It’s Janey’s birthday soon, and I thought this fluffy little rascal would make an excellent gift.”

“My dear friend, you know the path leading directly to my heart,” Sally noted dramatically. “Are you certain you wouldn’t care for another one as well? It would be a shame to separate these brothers. Besides, if you took both of these well-behaved, royal-blooded mutts, all my problems would be solved.”

“Dreamer,” Skye said pointedly, and laughed as Sally hung her head in despair.

Several hours later, the apartment felt lonely and lifeless. Loud rock music blared
from the party across the hall. Involuntarily Skye tapped her foot to the beat of the slower ballads, which blared in equal volume. For the first time in years her feet yearned to dance. Without warning the image of dancing with Jordan rose to her mind, and she bit her lip at the appeal the image conjured.

When the phone suddenly began ringing, Skye jerked around, caught off guard by the unexpectedness.

Two rings.

It had to be Jordan. He’d said he was going to phone, and he was a man of his word.

Three rings.

She stared mutely at the ringing phone, frozen in her chair.

Four rings.

She had made such a fool of herself this afternoon.

Five rings.

How could she have ranted and raved like that?

Six rings.

How could she have said those things?

Silence.

Skye breathed again.

Hauling her guitar, Bible, and purse from the parking lot to the church, Skye found Peggy waiting for her in the foyer.

“Skye,” Peggy said, looking troubled and uncertain, “I like your hair. When did you have it cut?” she asked haltingly.

“Yesterday afternoon … And thanks, I like it, too.” She accepted the compliment but wondered how long it would take Peggy to notice the real change.

Tears shimmered in Peggy’s eyes. “I want to apologize for yesterday. I was blunt and rude. Will you forgive me?” It was apparent from her hurried speech that their conversation had weighed heavily on her mind.

Tears misted Skye’s deep blue eyes as well. “Of course I will, Peg. But there’s no need to apologize. Most of what you said was true.”

“Perhaps, but there were nicer ways of saying it.” Her fingers wiped away the moisture from her cheek, and she gave a half laugh. “We better get to class before we turn into Water Works, Incorporated, right here in the church foyer.”

Skye was touched by the thoughtfulness of her sister-in-law. “I’ll talk to you later.” Impulsively she set her guitar down and gave Peggy an affectionate hug before making her way to the Youth Department downstairs.

Working with the youth Sunday mornings offered Skye a challenge completely different from her kindergartners, one Skye enjoyed. She was the Sunday School teacher for the eighth-grade group and was also in charge of the opening Sunday services.

She was met in the large room by several enthusiastic hoots and a couple of wolf whistles. The youths had always been known for their liveliness, and Skye responded with a ready smile.

The songs she led were some of the standard ones the teens enjoyed. She wandered around the room, her fingers moving agilely over the guitar strings. She paused, seeing two of the younger teen girls passing notes. Past experience had taught her that if she brought pressure from within their own peer group, any behavior problems cleared up quickly.

She stopped the song. “All right, girls.” She didn’t mention names but pointedly fixed her gaze on the offending class members. “This isn’t the
Woody Woodpecker Hour
.”

The whole class burst into laughter.

“Yeah, girls, shape up,” one boy shouted, and several girls responded by sticking out their tongues.

Skye resumed the song before things got out of hand, and soon everyone was singing again. And there was no more note-passing.

Skye left church feeling elated and cheerful. The pastor’s sermon had reinforced the insights revealed the day before, and she was amazed at how persistent her blindness had been.

The aroma of meat and vegetables slowly cooking in a Crock-Pot met her as she entered her apartment. Skye usually ate her main meal at lunchtime on Sundays, a tradition her family had followed. Sundays were centered on the morning and evening worship services, and it was convenient to eat the main meal of the day at lunchtime.

Skye had lingered over the morning paper and was changing her clothes when the phone rang.

“Hello,” she said cheerfully, expecting Peggy.

“Good afternoon,” Jordan responded.

Instantly her heartbeat accelerated. She needed to explain yesterday’s outburst, and it wasn’t going to come easy. She so seldom lost her temper like that.

“Hello, Jordan.” She hardly knew where to start. “I’m glad you phoned … I feel I owe you an apology.”

“Good.” His crisp voice seemed to mock her. “I’ll take you to lunch, and you can tell me all about it. I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”

The connection was broken, and Skye was left listening to the hum of the dial tone. Skye shrugged. He hadn’t even asked her. Jordan Kiley could be the most infuriating man. What if she had already made plans for the afternoon? She often did with her niece, Janey. Apparently any arrangements she’d made were of no consequence. She wasn’t angry, but bemused. Jordan’s personality was commanding and forceful, as if he was accustomed to giving orders and having them followed. What an enigmatic man he was.

The doorbell rang well within the allotted twenty minutes. His smile was warm and lazy when she opened the door.

“Are you ready?”

“Ready?” Her round blue eyes feigned ignorance.

“I thought we were going out to eat.” His gaze narrowed slightly.

“I don’t remember your asking,” she said matter-of-factly.

Catching a glimpse of the table set for two in her tiny kitchenette, Jordan expelled
his breath. “You’re expecting someone.” It wasn’t a question but a statement of fact.

“Yes, I am. You.”

His gaze swiveled back to her, his thick brows knit in confusion.

“If you’d have asked me, Jordan, I’d have told you I had a meal ready in the Crock-Pot. You’re welcome to join me if you like.”

He seemed to relax. Had the suspicion she was expecting someone else bothered him? The pleasure this bit of evidence brought overrode any sense of outrage at his presumptuous behavior.

His free hand gently caressed the soft flesh of her upper arm before he placed a tender kiss on her forehead.

“I’ll be right back. I have a car and driver waiting.”

Skye watched him leave. She didn’t know what it was about his touch that brought her senses to life. A kiss, the feather-light stroke of his hand, gave her undeniable pleasure.

Steaming bowls of Irish stew had been placed on the table by the time he returned. The smell of fresh sourdough bread filled the apartment as she drew it from the oven.

“Lunch is ready,” she said, feeling awkward.

Once they were seated, Jordan paused, waiting for Skye to begin eating.

“Do you mind if we pray?” she asked unsteadily.

He arched his brows expressively. “I suspect you want more than the prayer my father taught me.” His eyes were smiling. “You know the one:
Good bread, good meat, good God, let’s eat
.”

Skye couldn’t help laughing. “Yes, I guess I do.”

“You do the honors then.”

Skye bowed her head, her hands folded. “Father, thank you for this meal and for abundantly supplying all our needs. Bless Jordan and the time we spend together. In Your precious name. Amen.”

When she lifted her head, she discovered Jordan was watching her intently, and she shifted uncomfortably under his scrutiny.

“Before we eat,” she began haltingly, “I think I’d feel a whole lot better if I could explain about yesterday.”

The smiling sparkle returned to his smoky gray eyes. “Bothers you, does it?”

She lowered her gaze, pretending to study the thick bowl of stew. “The car breaking down was a culmination of several other things. I’d had a rather disconcerting conversation with my sister-in-law, and I got caught in that cloudburst … and, well, I
feel I overreacted. I don’t often blow up like that, and …”