Mrs. Miracle (21 page)

S
eth hated to turn Reba down, especially now. He knew he was already in her bad graces following the meeting with her sister. It hadn’t taken a crystal ball to read the pain in Vicki’s eyes or the anguish in Reba’s. She had to force herself to hold on to her grudge, had to work at feeding her anger toward her sister. Seth had sensed that all it’d take would be a few words of encouragement for her to give in to what she actually wanted.

While his intentions were good, he’d realized the minute he’d opened his mouth that he’d traipsed onto treacherous ground. Reba had closed up tighter than a bank vault. Almost im
mediately she’d withdrawn into another world, one that excluded him.

He debated whether to stop off at her office on the way home and decided against it. To do so would be to invite discussion, and as far as he was concerned, the subject was closed.

He’d told Reba early on in their relationship the reason he’d given up music. He hadn’t touched a piano since the day Pamela had died, and he wouldn’t. At the time she’d been so understanding, sensitive to his grief. She hadn’t lectured or offered him any bits of well-meaning wisdom, but had silently accepted his decision. She’d suffered a loss of her own and could empathize—until she had a reason to show him the error of his ways.

She’d gotten to him, Seth realized, frowning. He found himself wanting to help her and angry that she’d put him in an impossible situation. A vow was a vow. The music had gone out of his life, and he wasn’t going to let Reba talk him into doing something he knew he’d later regret. All for a silly Christmas program.

His heart was heavy as he drove home. He didn’t want matters to be like this between them. They were struggling, and this complicated everything.

His mind wasn’t on the road, and when he pulled into the driveway, the thirty-minute drive had completely escaped him. He could remember none of it. Early on after Pamela’s death, it’d been
like this. He’d find himself at the cemetery and not remember how he got there. It shocked him that this kind of thing would repeat itself at this late date.

Carrying his briefcase, he opened the door leading from the garage into the kitchen. Mrs. Merkle was busy with dinner preparations. Her meals were culinary masterpieces, but he had little appetite this evening.

“You have company waiting in the study. Ms. Maxwell,” the housekeeper announced, and then lowered her voice. “I thought you two could do with a bit of privacy.”

Seth smoothed the hair away from his brow. “I suspect you’re right.” He wasn’t looking forward to a confrontation with Reba, and there was sure to be one. He hated to disappoint her. Hated to let her down.

Reba was pacing the room and turned to stare at him when he entered.

“Hello, Reba.”

“Seth.”

Her eyes held his, and he felt the burden of her frustration, the weight of her disappointment. He longed to help her, but she didn’t seem to realize what she was asking. His stomach clenched with dread. He’d never expected to fall in love again. Finding her was one of the biggest surprises of his life. Love had taken him by storm, and it was all about to be ruined. And he’d have no one to blame but himself.

“I came because I had to talk to you once more about helping me out.” Her eyes implored him, and he found it impossible to look away. The urge to take her in his arms and soothe away her worries nearly overwhelmed him, and at the same time he found himself fighting his anger. He’d already told her no, and he resented her pressing the issue. This had to do with Pamela and him, not Reba.

“You don’t know what you’re asking.” He sat on the ottoman and buried his hands in his hair, holding on to his head. “Music was something I shared with Pamela.”

“She’s gone,” Reba reminded him gently. “But you’re still here.”

“You don’t understand.”

“The music didn’t go away with Pamela.”

“It did for me.” He struggled to keep from shouting.

“You’re using this thing with the piano to hold on to your grief. You’ve got to let go if you’re ever going to get on with your life.”

Her timing was damned convenient, he noticed. “So I can play the piano in some church program because you want me to? Isn’t that just a tad self-serving?”

She exhaled sharply, and he realized his words had hit their mark. “The Christmas program isn’t the only reason I’m asking.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“All right, all right. I wouldn’t have asked if it
wasn’t for the Christmas program, but—” She stopped abruptly, and he noticed that her hands trembled as she clenched them and raised them to her lips.

“You’re saying that I’m clinging to my grief.”

“Yes!”

“You might take a look in the mirror. You don’t have any right to talk. If anyone’s clinging to anything, it’s you. I saw the look in your sister’s eyes the other day, and it was a reflection of what you were feeling. Everything in you longs to make peace with Vicki, but you’re clinging to your anger with both hands, because heaven help you if you ever let go.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Reba insisted.

“You don’t have a leg to stand on,” he continued. “The truth is, if you settled your differences with your sister, you’d have to take a long, hard look at some things in yourself. Like maybe the real reason you agreed to marry John in the first place. You told me your sister made a play for him because he was yours, but admit it, Reba—wasn’t it more the other way around? That maybe you wanted him because of how your sister felt about him?…That was the big attraction, wasn’t it? Walking off with something just so your sister couldn’t have it.”

The blood drained from her face, and she knotted her hands into tight fists.

“For the first time in your life you had something your sister didn’t.”

“Stop it!” she shouted, and covered her ears. “That’s ridiculous. I didn’t come here to talk about Vicki, I came to ask for your help with the Christmas program.”

“You have my answer.”

She stiffened, grabbed her purse, and swung it over her shoulder. “You’re right, I do.” She started toward the door as if she couldn’t escape him fast enough, then stopped abruptly and glanced over her shoulder. Her eyes were bright with unshed tears, and she offered him a sad smile. “I apologize, Seth. I should never have come. Good-bye.”

The finality of her words didn’t strike him until she was gone. An immediate sense of sorrow seeped into his being, saturating his head and his heart. The pain was familiar, the feeling of loneliness, of facing life without friends, without a partner. Alone again. Terribly alone.

Part of Seth longed to run after her, take her in his arms, and tell her that he’d do whatever was necessary to make things right between them. But he didn’t. He couldn’t, because that would mean he’d have to give her something he wasn’t ready to relinquish: his grief. He was perfectly content to live with a foot in both worlds; the land of the living and the valley of death. Content to hold on to both women, refusing to release one and give his heart to another.

Fine. If that was what it took, then so be it. He’d loved Pamela first. She was his wife, the mother
of his children. His heart. Now she was gone, and giving up the piano was his testimonial to their love.

Reba had made it sound as though he were a candidate for therapy. It’d angered him, and rightly so. She had no room to talk. None whatsoever.

It was over. She’d said as much on her way out the door. That was the way he wanted it.

“Excuse me,” Emily muttered, standing in the middle of her kitchen, and raised her expectant eyes heavenward. “Is anyone listening up there?…Anyone?…” She didn’t anticipate a response, but she would have appreciated one. “We’ve got trouble down here. Real trouble, and I’m not talking about the gelatin not setting in my salad recipe, either.”

She reached for the wooden spoon and, tucking the bowl under her arm, whipped the cake batter with frenzied effort. There’d be high-tide warnings in Arizona before she’d agree to use an electric mixer. One didn’t get the feel of batter or gauge consistency with any newfangled machine.

“In case no one’s noticed, there’s been a major screw-up here,” she said. “Reba just walked out the door, and it doesn’t look to me like there’s going to be a piano player for the Christmas program, either.” She expelled her breath heavily. “There’s only so much one person can do.” Once again she glanced heavenward. “Housekeeping and cooking are one thing, but sorting out peo
ple’s lives, well, that’s an area I prefer to leave to the experts.”

The so-called experts seemed to be on coffee break. Wouldn’t you know it! She was going to be left to deal with this mess on her own, and by heaven, someone was going to hear about it.

“I don’t like this one bit,” she muttered, setting the bowl back on the kitchen counter with a bang. “I don’t play the piano,” she reminded the powers above, “so don’t expect me to step in and rescue the day.” She clamped her mouth closed. “You might have given me some warning, you know!”

Spraying the cake pans, she glanced toward the other room and caught a glimpse of Sharon. “I’m not entirely pleased with what’s happening with the Palmers, either. Not one bit. Forty years down the tubes. Something’s got to be done, I say, and fast before it’s too late. What’s going on up there, anyway?” She wiped her hands on a fresh towel from the drawer. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say the entire heavenly realm was out to choir practice.”

It seemed to her that what heaven really needed was a wake-up call. Well, she was just the one to give it!

Harriett Foster had rarely been more miserable. Her jaw was wired closed and her left arm sported a thick white cast. Her niece had spent the better part of an hour with her, but Jayne had
family and other commitments and couldn’t be expected to hang around the hospital with a sick old woman.

This certainly wasn’t the way Harriett had intended to spend the holidays. Now she’d miss the Christmas program, and Reba would be left to find a last minute replacement for the piano. She closed her eyes and let her mind wander over a list of possibilities. It would be tough finding someone, almost impossible. She was irreplaceable and knew it. The entire Christmas Eve program would need to be canceled.

“All things are possible with God.”

Harriett’s eyes flew open. She looked around to see who’d spoken, but no one was there. It was the medication, she decided. She was hearing voices. She’d heard others speak of such matters, and she’d scoffed, but this was very real, drugs or no drugs.

“Trust.”

This time her eyes were wide open, and it most definitely was a voice. One loud and clear. Precise. There could be no dismissing it.

Next time I won’t be so quick to judge others claiming to hear voices, she thought.

“Exactly my point—don’t be so quick to judge others.”

Although it caused her considerable discomfort, Harriett twisted her head to look about a second time. It was uncanny, as if someone were standing in the room, reading and commenting
on her thoughts. Someone who—“Here you are.” The hospital door banged open and Emily Merkle sauntered into the room. “My oh my, you’ve gotten yourself into a fine mess, haven’t you?”

Harriett had never been fond of the other woman, but she was grateful for a familiar face. Perhaps now the voice would fade, and she could bask in the glow of well-deserved sympathy. Every part of her body ached, despite the pain medication.

“I only have a minute,” Emily said, coming closer to the hospital bed. The housekeeper sighed and tucked a stray strand of hair around her ear. “I needed to escape, so I thought I’d drop in and visit my friend Harriett.” She dropped herself down on a chair next to the bed. “I take it Pastor Lovelace told you about Ruth’s brother?”

Ruth’s brother? Harriett didn’t know Ruth had a brother.

“Matters are in a tither at the house. I don’t understand it, either,” she said, and Harriett wasn’t sure she was speaking to her. Her eyes held a faraway look. “I suspect I’ll be missed if I don’t get back soon. I’m sure you’ll be feeling better before long, so don’t you fret.” She frowned. “But then, the way matters are developing at the Websters’, I might be speaking too soon.”

The woman actually planned to leave. Swoop in, make a few candid comments, and then leave? With her one good arm, Harriett reached out and grabbed the other woman’s sleeve, then stopped.
Because she was unable to speak, she reached for a tablet and pen.

Ruth has a brother?
she wrote out quickly.

Emily Merkle grinned from ear to ear. “Lyle Fawcett.”

Harriett felt as if someone had hit her along the side of her head with a two-by-four. Lyle was related to Ruth. They were brother and sister. No wonder Pastor Lovelace had reacted the way he had. Her heart sank at the memory of what she’d said and done. Of the things she’d been thinking about Ruth.

“Don’t worry about it, we all make mistakes,” Emily said. “It comes with having to deal with the human side of ourselves. A real nuisance, if you ask me.”

Frustrated because she couldn’t speak, Harriett waved her good hand about, not even sure what it was she wanted to say. She wasn’t sure if Emily was reading her thoughts or the expression in her eyes. As far as she was concerned, there’d always been something peculiar about the Websters’ housekeeper.

“You okay?” Emily asked.

The answer was far too complicated, so Harriett penned the words
As well as can be expected,
but when she glanced down at the tablet she found the words
I feel like an old fool.
She looked at the sheet again, certain there must be some mistake. Perhaps more was wrong with her than just a few broken bones.

Emily chuckled and patted her hand. “Don’t worry. Most of us are guilty of making assumptions now and again. It helps when we decide to resign as general manager of the universe. Personally, I don’t need the headache.” She laughed again and was gone.

This time the door didn’t so much as open. Harriett was sure of it. The door didn’t budge an inch, yet Emily had disappeared.

One moment the Websters’ housekeeper was there and the next she was gone.