Return to Harmony (23 page)

“You can stop that right sharp, missie. That gloomy thinking won’t get you nowhere but down.”

“But you don’t know what he—”

Netty shushed her. “I’ll give you a bit of advice it took me years to discover. Don’t worry on what’s past and can’t be changed. When your mind tries to bring it up, turn yourself away, unless of course you’re looking for a solution. You can do that, you know, turn away on the inside. It ain’t easy, but you can do it. Dwelling on past wrongs does nothing but open old wounds when the Lord is trying to heal them up. What’s done is done, you hear what I’m saying?”

Jodie nodded once. She heard.

“Life’s full of injustice, specially to anyone blessed by being born a woman. You just have to make up your mind to let go whenever such wrongs are done to you. Just let them go, and look on to tomorrow.”

Jodie picked at a loose thread in her hem. “I don’t know as I would call being a woman
any
blessing. From where I sit, the injustices are winning out.”

“That’s your pain talking, not your head.” Netty propped two work-worn hands on her hips. “How would you like to go through life without a woman’s heart? Miss the joy of a sunrise, or birdsong, or a quiet moment of rest and prayer? You just remember what I’m telling you. A woman pays for her blessings by having a heart that stays wide open to both joy and pain.” Her eyes glistened with time-sharpened zest. “And friendship. And even love, though it must sound strange coming from the mouth of an old fogey like me. But it’s the truth. If the dear Lord chooses to bless your life with love, then be strong enough and
womanly
enough to open your heart and accept it. Take it in deep. Make it grow. Give it your all, as only a woman knows how to do.”

Bethan held on to control only because Dylan Junior and baby Caroline needed her strength. Being needed was exactly what the moment required. Otherwise she would be as broken as the little ones’ father.

Her brother Dylan made it to the grave site because his father and one of his best friends half guided, half carried him there from the church. It did not matter to any of them that the flu epidemic was all but over. Carol had caught it while still recuperating from childbirth and was gone before the family hardly realized how ill she had become. Her sudden passing had felled Dylan as squarely as an axe.

And Bethan’s mother. Moira was going through another of her bad spells, up much of every night with the pain, needing to have liniment rubbed into her swollen joints, taking pain medicine more and more often. It left her slack-featured and frail, not at all ready to handle a crisis like this.

Bethan walked behind the coffin, the tiny infant Caroline in her arms. Little Dylan kept hold of her skirt with one fist, the other grabbing tightly to one of Moira’s swollen fingers. The little boy was whimpering softly, but Bethan was not sure just how much his two-year-old mind truly understood. Still, a glance his father’s way was enough to paint fresh tears upon the little fellow’s cheeks.

A wave of grief, coupled with the additional burden of even more to care for, nearly overwhelmed Bethan. As they settled into the single line of chairs, she lowered her face to the sleeping baby’s cheek. She felt weak with pain and tired from constantly being needed. It wasn’t like her to feel sorry for herself. But she truly felt as though she had no life of her own at all. Moira required so much help, not to mention the housework and all the extra chores. And now this.

Bethan stroked the silky dark hairs from the baby’s forehead, then reached over and drew little Dylan closer to her side. Those two warm, round little bodies were enough to strengthen her resolve and lift her tired shoulders. She would cope. Though she wasn’t sure exactly how, what with only twenty-four hours to the day and just one set of hands. Still, her brother and the children were going to need her too in the coming days.

A tall form passed before her, blocking out the sun. She looked up into the face of the assistant pastor. Connor Mills was not smiling now as he lowered himself on a knee in front of Bethan’s chair. He reached forward, placed one strong hand on her arm, and said quietly, “You have my deepest sympathy in this moment of sorrow, Miss Keane.”

The genuine care and concern in his voice nearly did her in, and it felt as though the dams inside were about to burst. Bethan had nowhere to hide, not with the baby in her lap and little Dylan clinging to her side. So she blinked back the tears and managed to whisper, “Thank you, Pastor Mills.”

His gray-green eyes studied her from beneath the blond hair, so fine and light it looked almost permanently disheveled. He remained there in front of her, his eyes solemn and intent and asked quietly, “Will you manage?”

“I don’t see how,” she replied truthfully. “But I will—because I have to.”

He nodded, as though expecting nothing less. A moment’s hesitation, then more quietly still, “Will you let me help you?”

This time the tears could not be held back. But there was more than sorrow pushing them out. Bethan could not understand all the strange emotions that wanted to tumble forth, one behind the other. She raised the corner of the baby’s blanket, wiped her cheeks, and gave a slow nod. Sad as the day was, there was a note of hope to be found in the offer of Connor Mills’ strength.

NINETEEN

YAUGUST, EVERYONE
in Harmony was thinking of them as a couple. Connor was hale and hearty, his shock of white-blond hair blowing like straw in the faintest breeze. One hand was continually brushing it from his eyes, usually in the midst of an excited discussion with someone. He did everything with his hands, and everything with enthusiasm. Sometimes, when Connor was telling Bethan about a young person converted to Christ or some new program he was planning for the church, she felt as though she were the only thing holding Connor Mills to earth.

The pair of them made people smile, and she liked that. She was happy that those who liked Connor were genuinely relieved he had found her, someone so stable and calm and dependable. And he did care for her; Bethan did not doubt that for a moment. One look into those gray-green eyes, and she had no question that the church’s assistant pastor had fallen head over heels in love. With
her
. Bethan could scarcely believe it was really happening. To someone beautiful and talented and smart, certainly. But not to her. Then a look into his face would confirm in her heart what her mind could not.

The first evening in September found Bethan curled up on the porch swing, surrounded by the night. Indian summer had arrived early. The days generally were clear and only warming around noon, while the nights held a chilly note. She pushed herself back and forth with one toe, her shoulders protected by a fine shawl. The swing’s gentle creaks were echoed by crickets in the nearby shrubs.

Bethan breathed in deeply, enjoying the time of blissful relaxation from the cares of the day and the duties of the coming night. For now, blest relief, her mother rested quietly.

The night was awash in silver from a brilliant moon suspended within a heaven-wide swath of stars. A shadow flitted from one dark pine to another, followed by the hooting call of a night owl. Bethan drew the shawl closer about her, content and peaceful.

She had nothing specific she could identify as the reason for feeling as she did. But the mood was too powerful to be denied, too pleasing to be questioned. She sighed and pushed the swing as gently as she could and still be in motion, not wanting anything to disturb the graceful wonder of this night.

Off in the distance a train gave its plaintive call, and it reminded Bethan of Jodie. Yet instead of being filled with the sorrow of her friend’s absence, of the terrible rift between them, tonight was somehow different. She had never envied Jodie her hungry heart and questing mind. Her friend was far more intelligent, and would most likely rise much further, and would do important things in the world. But would she ever know the peace of a quiet autumn evening shared with a sleepy country town and her Lord?

Bethan raised her face to the stars, inhaled a fragrance wafted upon the faintest of breezes, and prayed again for her best friend, for she still thought of her as such. “Lord,” she whispered more with her heart than her lips, “please wrap your arms around Jodie.…”

“Miss Bethan?”

Bethan stopped her swinging and peered out into the darkness. “Connor? Is that you?”

“Yes, ma’am, it surely is. May I join you, please?”

The thrill at the sound of his voice made every fiber of her being come instantly more alive. “Of course you can.” There was not the ending of her peace, but rather a shifting, as though the inner gift were making room for him as she did herself upon the swing. “What has you talking so formal tonight?” she teased lightly. “You’d think we’d never met, instead of sitting in church together just yesterday.”

Connor climbed the front stairs, passing into the soft glow of light sifting through the screen door. He wore his best dark suit. His blond hair was carefully brushed. His hands held a hat in front of him and made a continual nervous revolution as he approached.

Bethan inspected the tense features, the overbright eyes, the set to his shoulders, and felt her pulse quicken. She stopped her swinging, settled both feet down together upon the porch, and whispered, “Oh, my.”

“Miss Bethan, I’m here to tell you how much I care for you,” he said, speaking in an uncharacteristic monotone, as if he had practiced so often the words had been drained of all feeling. Despite the evening’s chill, perspiration made his forehead gleam in the soft light. “How much I care for you,” he repeated, this time his heart filling each word with emotion. “I am asking you to be my wife, Bethan Keane. Will you marry me?”

“Oh, Connor.” Her voice was suddenly as light and soft as the evening breeze. “Of course I will.”

“What?” Connor’s own voice had fallen to a level matching her own.

For some reason Bethan could scarcely catch her breath. She whispered, “I said yes, Connor. I would—”

A voice with a faint Welsh accent was heard from the secondfloor window. “Speak up, daughter. I can’t be hearing what your answer is.”

“Momma?” Bethan scrambled to her feet, hurried to the side of the porch and looked up. “What on earth are you doing out of bed?”

“I’m waiting to hear if you’ve got the good sense to tell that gentleman what he ought to be hearing.” Moira pushed up on the window until it surrendered and opened far enough for her to put her head out. “Now answer the good fellow so we can all get our rest.”

“I already did, Momma.” Bethan laughed and looked back over to a confused-looking Connor. “I told him yes.”

“Well, glory be.” Moira’s head disappeared, and the curtains flicked back into place. “Bid the gentleman a gracious good evening from me as well,” she said.

“Yes, Momma. Good night, Momma.” Bethan smiled and walked back to where Connor stood stock-still and bewildered. “It’s all right. She won’t be bothering us any further.”

“Maybe… maybe I should be leaving,” he stammered.

“Nonsense. Come join me on the swing.” She graced him with a smile from the heart. “After all, how often does a girl get a proposal from the finest man in town?”

“I’m not that,” Connor said, settling down beside her. “But just being with you makes me feel that way.”

She took his big hand in both of hers. My husband, she thought, and felt as though her heart would break free of her ribs. “I think my heart has been waiting for you to come all evening.”

“I’ll try hard as I know how to make you a good husband.”

She looked into the face she had come to love over the months, and she saw that same love mirrored in his eyes. She was amazed at her own calm. All her life she had dreamed of a fine young man telling her those words. Now that it had happened, she felt surrounded by a certainty, a peace, so strong there was scarcely any room for nerves. “I know you will,” she assured him. “Your heart is too good to do anything else.”

In the faint distance the train whistle echoed yet again, and suddenly the earlier whispers carried by the wind came clear to her mind. Bethan shivered. Perhaps this would be the answer she had prayed over for so very, very long.