The Way Home (55 page)

“He meant every word of it, Mama. And you and I both know it.”

Ruth’s flush deepened, dark color flooding her thin face. “He’d just got word that the bank was foreclosing on the hotel and he was upset.”

“Please don’t defend him to me, Mama.” Meg’s tone was soft but held a firmness that surprised her.

“He’s my husband,” Ruth said painfully, as if that fact explained everything.

“Did he do this to you?” Meg reached out to touch gentle fingers to the bruises that marked her mother’s arm.

“He’d been drinking.” Ruth pulled her sleeve down with a quick nervous movement. “It’s been real hard on him to lose the hotel. He’s not a bad — “ Catching Meg’s look, she broke off, her eyes dropping to the wooden floor between them.

Meg stared at her mother’s downbent head. In the past year, the last traces of gold had faded from Ruth’s hair, leaving it a dull gray. The sweater she wore was one she’d had as long as Meg could remember, and the dress it topped was almost as old. There was a patch near the hem where Ruth had caught the garment on the edge of the chicken house. Meg could remember watching her mother patch the hole with fabric she’d taken from the hem, carefully matching the print so that the patch was all but invisible. That had been — six? seven? — years ago.

It occurred to Meg that she couldn’t remember the last time she’d seen her mother wear something new. There’d never been much money to buy things, but what little there had been, Ruth had spent on her children — always on necessities because there hadn’t been any money to spend on anything else. Most times there hadn’t been enough even to cover the bare essentials for the two of them, but Ruth had done the best she could with what she had.

Looking at her now, Meg felt a soft rush of love tinged by sadness. Her mother had made mistakes, some for which she and her sister had paid dearly. But she’d tried. No one could do more than that.

“Come and stay with us, Mama.” The offer was made on impulse, without taking time to consider the consequences.

Ruth’s eyes jerked to her daughter’s face, wide and shocked. “What do you mean?”

“I mean you should come and live with Ty and me.” Meg winced inwardly at the thought of what Ty would say, but she couldn’t back out now. “There’s plenty of room at the farmhouse.”

“Oh, Meg.” The color faded from Ruth’s face, leaving her so pale Meg worried that she might faint. “I couldn’t.”

“Why not?” Meg demanded, praying that Ty would forgive her.

“I couldn’t leave Harlan,” Ruth said, shaking her head slowly.

“I don’t see why not. What’s he ever done to deserve you staying?”

“He’s my husband,” Ruth said, as if that explained everything.

And Meg saw that, as far as her mother was concerned, it did. It didn’t matter what he’d done to her children or what he did to her, they were married, and that was all that need be said. Though Meg couldn’t deny a certain feeling of relief that she wouldn’t have to try to explain to Ty how Ruth had come to be living with them without him being consulted, she also felt frustration at her mother’s choosing to stay in an untenable situation. Meg appreciated the sanctity of the wedding vows, but surely, the lines about no man setting asunder what the Lord had joined had never been meant to apply to a man like Harlan Davis.

“You told me once, Mama, that a marriage was like a quilt and that it was up to me to build something good and solid with what the Lord had given me. Remember?”

Meg waited until Ruth nodded before continuing. “Well, you can’t make a quilt with fabric that’s rotten. No matter how small you cut the pieces or how careful you are, it’ll tear every time you slip a needle into it. When you’ve got fabric like that, maybe you just have to throw it away.”

In the silence that followed her words, Meg could hear Bill Fenton shifting things near the front of the store. She could hear a car drive by outside, the sound of someone hailing a friend across the street. She listened to the steady thump of her own heartbeat as she waited for her mother to respond.

“You always did have too big a heart, Meg.” Ruth’s smile was soft and her fingers trembled as she reached out to touch her daughter’s smooth young cheek.

“I didn’t know it was possible to have too big a heart, Mama. Only one too small.”

“You never did see why the world couldn’t be what it ought.”

“I still don’t,” Meg whispered, feeling suddenly very young.

“Because things are the way they are,” Ruth said, as if stating an immutable law of nature. “Some things just can’t be changed.”

“They could be if you tried,” Meg said stubbornly.

But Ruth was already shaking her head. “Things are what they are, Meg. But I thank you for asking me to stay with you.”

Meg might have argued further, but just then the big grandfather clock that stood on the floor at one end of the counter in the front of the store began to bong the hour. Ruth jumped as if a lash had been laid across her shoulders, the brief moment of animation wiped from her features, leaving them worn and gray.

“I’ve got to go. Harlan will be wanting his supper.”

With a quick, uncertain smile, Ruth walked around Meg and hurried to the counter to pay for the packet of needles she’d selected. Meg stayed where she was, turning only when she heard the sound of the bell over the door. Through the big front window, she watched her mother walk down the sidewalk, her shoulders hunched, her thin fingers clutching the front of her sweater over her faded dress. Meg watched until she’d gone out of sight beyond the window and then blinked back the tears that burned in her eyes.

“I saw my mother today.” Meg spoke abruptly as Ty came into the bedroom, a towel wrapped around his waist, his torso still damp from the bath.

“You didn’t go to that house, did you?” The thought that she might have risked going to Harlan Davis’s house put an edge to his voice.

“No.” Meg shook her head. “I went to Lewison’s to get some thread and she was there, too.”

Ty studied her reflection in the mirror that hung over the squat oak dresser they’d found in an outbuilding and cleaned up enough to bring in the house. Her mood had seemed pensive all evening, and he saw that same expression now. It bothered him to see her upset.

“How is she?”

Meg shrugged. She held the silver-backed brush that he’d given her for Christmas, but instead of lifting it to her hair, she was stroking her thumb back and forth over the soft bristles, her eyes on the aimless movement. “The bank foreclosed on the hotel,” she said, by way of answer.

“I’d heard.” And felt nothing but satisfaction at the news. As far as he was concerned, the loss of his business didn’t even begin to compensate for Harlan Davis’s crimes. Tarring and feathering might have partially satisfied Ty’s desire to see the other man punished, but only partially.

“I — I asked her to come stay with us.” The admission came out in a rush, because Meg needed to get it out quickly or not at all.

Ty had just lifted a towel to dry the last droplets of moisture from his shoulders, but his hand froze as he stared at her in shocked silence. Sensing his gaze, Meg lifted her eyes to meet his in the mirror.

“I konw I shouldn’t have without talking to you first,” she said miserably. “I’m sorry.”

“No, that’s all right.” Ty struggled to keep the dismay from his voice. The last thing he wanted was another person moving in with them. “If you want your mother to live here, of course it’s all right with me.”

“It wasn’t so much that I wanted her to live with us. I just hate to think of her with him.”

Ty couldn’t argue with that. He wouldn’t have left a dog in Harlan Davis’s care. “Well, that’s fine, then,” he said, hoping his enthusiasm didn’t ring as false in her ears as it did in his. “There’s plenty of room.”

“She won’t leave him,” Meg said bleakly.

Ty was ashamed of the instant relief he felt. Meg was obviously upset. Tossing the second towel over his shoulder, he crossed the room to her, his bare feet silent on the wooden floors. He took the brush from her and set it on the dresser before putting his hands on her shoulders and turning her to face him.

“Your mother has to make her own choices, Meg,” he said gently.

“But how can she stay with him? How could she stay with him, knowing what he did to Patsy, what he tried to do to me?”

The mention of Patsy only confirmed something Ty had suspected for a long time. If Davis had attacked Meg, why not his older stepdaughter, too? Ty spared a brief thought for Jack, wondering if he knew, wondering if he had any idea what he was dealing with.

“I don’t know how she can stay with him,” he answered Meg honestly. “Maybe she feels she has no choice.”

“But I offered her a choice,” she said, tilting her head back to look up at him. “I asked her to come stay with us. And all she said was that he was her husband and she couldn’t leave.”

“Well, that’s her decision, then.” Ty brushed his fingertips over Meg’s cheek. “You can’t force her to do what you think she should.”

“I know.” She brought her hands up to rest on his chest.

“I just wish — “ She broke off with a sigh, unable to put into words what it was she wanted.

Ty kissed her forehead, wishing that he could take away the hurt she was feeling, wishing that he had an explanation for why things were the way they were. Unable to find the words he wanted, he settled for feathering soft kisses down the side of her face, seeking to distract her from thinking about things she couldn’t change.

Meg’s response was hesitant at first but Ty persisted, his hands sliding under the soft white cotton of her nightgown to find the warm curves of her, his kisses stealing her breath until she was clinging to him, her mouth opening under his, her body leaning into his strength.

Ty picked her up and carried her to the bed, the idea of distracting her completely forgotten, only the hunger and need left behind. Their lovemaking was fiercely tender, an emotional and physical coming together that left Ty exhausted yet more alive than he’d ever felt in his life.

Holding Meg afterward, listening to her breathing slow and steady as she fell asleep, it occurred to Ty that his life seemed more complete than it had ever been before. He still missed flying, would probably always miss it. Yet the aching emptiness he’d felt when he first realized he was going to have to give it up was gone. The work on the farm had helped fill that emptiness, but it was Meg who’d made everything whole again, who’d made him whole again.

The thought made him frown but he was asleep before he could give the idea any more consideration.

“You’ve made it a real home, Meggy.” From her seat at the kitchen table, Patsy smiled at her sister.

“It was already a home. I’ve just put in a little elbow grease.” Meg gave the bread dough a few quick strokes with the heels of her hands to drive the air from it, then patted it gently to flatten it for cutting into rolls.

“You always wanted a home like this, didn’t you? You’re happy here.” There was a trace of wistfulness in Patsy’s eyes as she watched Meg cut the dough with the top of a water glass.

Meg paused a moment, looking out the kitchen window to the fields, already showing the crisp green of newly sprouted com. She could just make out Ty and Jack at the far end of the field, their figures attenuated by distance.

“I’d be happy anywhere with Ty,” she said finally. She transferred the rounds of dough to a baking sheet, giving each one a quick brush of butter before folding it over on itself.

“You love him a lot.” The words were a statement rather than a question, but Meg answered anyway.

“More than life,” she said simply. She flipped a clean tea towel over the rolls and dusted her hands on her apron as she turned to join her sister at the table.

Patsy’s visit had been unexpected but welcome. She’d called that morning to say that her neighbor was going to be heading that way and, if Ty wouldn’t mind driving her home, she’d like to come and spend a few hours with Meg. The neighbor had dropped Patsy off an hour ago, and Meg had enjoyed the chance to show off the farmhouse, which was still sparsely furnished but beginning to look as if someone actually lived in it.

With the preparations for lunch well in hand, Meg studied her older sister across the table. Something was wrong. There were dark circles under Patsy’s eyes and lines of strain bracketing her mouth. When they were children, Meg wouldn’t have hesitated to come right out and ask what was wrong, but she didn’t feel as if she could do that now.

“How is Eldin?”

“He’s fine.” Patsy stirred one finger through a small spill of sugar on the tabletop. “He travels a lot, you know.”

“You must miss him.”

“Yes.” But there was no emotion behind the agreement.

Meg groped for something else to say, but Patsy suddenly lifted her head and looked directly at her, so much pain in her eyes that Meg almost cried out with it.

“I envy you, you know,” she said slowly. “It must be wonderful. Being married to the man you love.”

She’d inadvertently touched a nerve; the one dark cloud on Meg’s horizon. Meg flinched, thinking that “wonderful” was not exactly the word she’d have used — not when Ty didn’t love her in return. But that was her problem and not one she was willing to share with her sister.