Winter's End (19 page)

M
arc straightened his tie for the tenth time as he and Jess approached the white clapboard church.

At the moment, he had no idea what he hoped to gain. He’d tried to listen to their heartfelt minister the past few months. He’d made an effort to be a good brother, a churchgoing man, for Jess’s sake. He’d sat and stood shoulder to shoulder with a roomful of Christians, and felt nothing.

Maybe nothing was better than downright hypocritical like he’d been six months ago. Who would have thought of “nothing” as a step up?

Pathetic, DeHollander.

That was him, all right.

“Marc.”

Marc swung around. Sarah gave him a big hug. Her rounded belly made it awkward. He set her back and laughed. “You’ve blossomed.”

“Oh, yes.” Sarah’s quiet, deep tones were half joy, half lament. “I’m a whale.”

“You’re beautiful,” Jess proclaimed. She hugged Sarah, then looked around. “Where’s Craig?”

“Behind you.” Sarah motioned to the garden surrounding the church’s gazebo. “McKenna likes to ‘mell da fowers.’”

“That’s so sweet!” Jess laughed. “I love baby talk.”

Marc felt the familiar clench, half loss, half envy. “She loves flowers, huh?”

“She does.” Sarah confirmed. “Kayla walked her in the flowers from the time she was a newborn. She’d show McKenna the different leaves, the colors. McKenna sucked it up like a sponge.”

Kayla. Babies. Gardens. Marc swallowed a lump of self-pity the size of a small town.

It was easy to picture her among the blooms. Her eyes so blue, her cheeks fair. The narrow jaw, the quick smile.
My dream home,
she’d said, eyeing the picture of a small, thatched cottage.

It wasn’t the house she envisioned. He realized that now.

It was the tranquil setting, surrounded by faith, adorned with flowers, flooded with light.

Something tweaked inside him. Something warm and flowing.

Church bells pealed their call to worship. This time Marc went willingly.

“The wise woman builds her house, but with her own hands the foolish one tears hers down.”

The pastor regarded the congregation. “Proverbs is filled with abbreviated wisdoms. Ben Franklin used Proverbs as a basis for his early work.”

Marc’s heart quickened. He stared at the graying man.

“God grants us choices. We choose what food to eat, what deodorant to use, the toothpaste we apply to our brush.

“We choose whom to see and what to do. Where to dine, what to say.

“Free will allows us more than mundane choices,” the pastor continued. He paused, contemplative, his gaze gentle. “Free will allows us to accept God’s word or reject Him. To embrace His ways, or disparage them. To come to the altar, or sit in our seats, hating those who wronged us.”

His words seared Marc’s soul.

Was it that easy? Was it all about choices, his choices? Not those of the parents, but those of the son?

McKenna reached for Marc. She flashed him a dimpled grin
as he gathered her in. He held her, her softness warm against his chest, his cheek.

He wanted the peace he saw in Craig and Sarah. He wanted Jess’s simple conviction, the faith of a child. He began to understand Kayla’s withdrawal from a man who bore no belief system.

A candle flickered, its flame bright, inviting.

He wanted to be a better man than he’d been. Could he do it?

He wasn’t a man accustomed to failure. How much stronger could he be with faith to uphold him?

Come unto me, all who are burdened…

Could it be that easy? Could he lay down his burdens to God, to Christ Jesus?

A glow flickered within him.

Come unto me, all who are burdened…

Light flooded his soul. It started from the edges and worked its way inward, teasing and bright.

McKenna burbled in his arms, her baby voice bright and funny. “Wuv ooo, Unca Marc.”

His heart filled. He put his lips to her forehead, while a goofy grin spread across his face. “I love you, too. Shh…” He laid a finger to his mouth. “We’ve got to be good,” he whispered. “We’re in church.”

The toddler nodded sagely. “I be good.”

Jess fought a giggle. The baby’s antics were pure, a source of light.

I see miracles every day,
Craig had declared.

Marc wanted to recognize them. He wanted the assurance of his father, the faith of a child.

I’m yours, God. Give it your best shot. I’m stupid and stubborn, but I’m good with cattle.

His prayer might seem lame, but God understood cattlemen. Wasn’t he the original sower, the first farmer of all? God knew a farmer’s heart. He created a farmer’s soul. He’d understand the intent behind the words.

“Hey, Jess, can you load the dishwasher before we head out?”

“Sure. We have to leave in an hour, okay?”

“I’ll be ready.”

She’d made it into the finals the previous day. Luckily, this show was close enough to avoid an overnight stay. Heading toward the barn, Marc added, “I’ll talk to Jerry, make sure he knows what needs to be done.”

After locating the hand, Marc headed back to the house, whistling.

He felt rejuvenated. Like he’d finally made a step toward the future meant for him.

In a house that looked bedraggled.

Marc frowned. He scrubbed a hand across his jaw and furrowed his brow deeper.

Time to paint escaped him, no matter how hard he tried to fit it in. Painting a big, old farmhouse was no easy task. Nothing to be undertaken lightly. The prep work alone was monumental. Scraping. Stripping. Caulking. Bleaching the two shaded sides that leaned toward mold.

But it was past time to prioritize the work. Marc tightened his jaw, considering.

He recalled the picture in Kayla’s living room. He drew a deep breath and angled his look.

The picture had been a garden print with light pouring from the front window, bathing flowers below. Her dream home, she said.

Marc narrowed his gaze, eyeing the walk, the grass, already scruffy from heat and sun.

An idea took shape in an ill-used corner of his brain. A ghost of an idea, a hint of what could be with a little time, a little care, some cold, hard cash and a bottle of Roundup.

“Hey, Marc? You want to wait until tomorrow to cull the herd since you’ll be gone today?” Jerry approached him from the far side of the barn.

“Yes.”

Jerry turned. Marc stopped his progress with a question. “Jer, is your brother still looking for work?”

“Yup. He’s got a spot at the market, but he’s looking for extra jobs. College tuition’s a killer.”

Marc understood that. His father had worked hard to pay his
way. He wondered now if he appreciated the sacrifices Pete made without a word of regret. Probably not. “Tell him to come around. I need to get the house painted and I’m running out of time. I’d like to get started on it ASAP.”

“I’ll call him right now.” Jerry grabbed his cell phone. “He’s good at that kind of stuff, too. Almost girly, he’s so fussy.”

“I won’t mention you said that.”

Jerry shrugged. “Nothin’ I don’t tell him every day. I’ll get those young ones moved back up the hill.”

“Thanks, Jer.”

Fresh paint. Hung shutters. Maybe a new porch light, one that bathed the front of the house at night. The kind that welcomed someone home after a long day at work. A light that beckoned.

And a garden. It was late to start a garden, but he had a hose. He could water things through the heat of summer. Lay down a thick bed of mulch. Come fall, the new plants would welcome the cooler days with strong root growth.

By next spring, this sweep of land could be lush.

Jess would help. She loved to get dirty. She’d help him pick plants that meshed shades of green with a host of color.

And those wavy grass things. There were lots of those in Kayla’s picture. He had no clue what they were, but he’d find them, one way or another.

He approached the steps, wrestling misgiving.

It could be for nothing. He knew that. He understood she hadn’t left a scarred-up house and a scrabbled yard. She’d left him, because he wasn’t what she needed.

Could he be?

He didn’t have that answer yet. But he knew one thing. A farm wasn’t built in a day. It took years of painstaking planning, stage-by-stage growth, a focus on tomorrow.

Why hadn’t he realized that life and love required that much time and respect?

Step by step. If nothing else, he’d have a farmhouse that looked good and a yard that said “welcome.” And maybe, just maybe, another chance at the gold ring he’d missed so completely that winter.

K
ayla waited for Sarah to pick up the phone, her toe tapping impatiently against the ceramic tile.

Didn’t happen. The Macklins’ answering machine greeted her in Sarah’s soothing tones.

Kayla headed outside, disgruntled. She strode into town, her soft-soled shoes no distraction in the Sunday afternoon quiet.

She didn’t want to spend another Sunday doing nothing. She wanted to visit friends, play with babies, romp through gardens.

She’d loved taking McKenna through the flowers. The baby’s eyes widened at the sight and scent of fragrant blooms. Kayla saw the wonders of the universe reflected in that childlike innocence.

She missed Sarah and Craig. She missed the baby. She missed her job in the North Country, the comfortable routine, the established trust relationships she’d earned.

She refused to dwell on Marc and Jess. Some chapters were meant to close. That didn’t keep her from missing the give-and-take at the diner when she’d grab her coffee. Or the tête-à-têtes with the nursing staff, the daily commiseration.

Why hadn’t she realized how different it would be to start anew?

Beautiful Virginia, green and majestic, the hills awesome in verdant splendor.

But it wasn’t home. Not hers, anyway.

That thought halted her progress. When had the North Country become home? Her plan had always been to leave at the end of her contract. When had her feelings turned around?

Marc’s face sprang to mind, the touch of field-roughened hands against her cheek, her jaw. Hands that tussled full-grown cattle grew tender around her.

She wondered how Jess was faring, but didn’t call. That would reopen a door best left closed, despite her affection for the teen. Jess didn’t need an occasional friend. She needed someone willing to go the distance.

A soft gust shifted Kayla’s hair as she surveyed the small town nestled in the mountain’s crook. She turned into the breeze, basking in the cooler air.

She knew why she had to leave Potsdam. Avoiding Marc had been next to impossible those last weeks, but she’d done what she needed to do.

Marc DeHollander knew more about her than any other person on the planet. She didn’t like that, but accepted it. At least he’d come to understand what had been clear to her. Two people harboring their problems should never consider happily ever after. Life wasn’t a Disney presentation, and she had no interest in becoming a statistic in the column of broken homes. She’d do it once, she’d do it right, no qualifiers allowed.

Kayla sighed, dejected. The hills rose in pictorial splendor, green and lush, their shadows cooling the streets of the quaint town.

She didn’t care for that. She liked hills well enough, but she liked sunshine more. Even in the dead of winter, the sun was a regular visitor to St. Lawrence County, its rays bright and slanted.

Cold, Kayla,
she reminded herself.
Bitter cold, windswept tundra-land. Have you forgotten?

She scrunched her face, then relaxed her jaw.

She hadn’t forgotten. She just hadn’t minded the cold as much this past winter. Caring for Pete, letting the warmth of the DeHollander house seep into her bones…

Nope, the winter hadn’t seemed all that bad.

“Looks good, Mike.” Appreciation tinged Marc’s voice as he surveyed the paint job. “Real good.”

Mike Broom grinned from the scaffold. “What color did you pick for the shutters?”

“Dark green,” Marc answered. He looked to Jess for confirmation.

“I should have them done by the weekend,” Jess replied. She turned to Marc, her eyes bright. “And the new front door looks great. I love the side windows.”

“Sidelights.”

“Oh.” Jess grinned. Her expression sized him up. “Sidelights, huh?”

Marc headed inside. He had no intention of explaining himself. It was time to spend a little money on this old place, give the worn surfaces a more inviting look.

What did it matter that the new door and its flanking windows resembled the cottage in Kayla’s print? Pure coincidence.

Part of Pete’s insurance money was invested to ensure Jess’s future. College didn’t come cheap, and Marc had every intention of making sure Jess could concentrate on her studies. Paying the shot out of Dad’s insurance fund would help.

But there was enough to help upgrade the house, maybe redo the kitchen and spiff up the floors.

Winter stuff, Marc decided. He refused to dangle hope that he might have a vocal second opinion as to what should be done. Women were particular about their kitchens, and he wanted this to be just right.

If the woman was interested.

He poured coffee despite the heat and surveyed the entry from the kitchen. The look fit his vision of fresh paint, evergreen shutters and the sweep of a garden he had yet to create.

He’d treated the grass to kill the roots, but he wouldn’t be able to till the soil until Mike finished the front of the house. He felt pushed to hurry, but held himself in check.

Barely.

Jess came through the front and headed for the living room.
Marc poked his head in. “I’ve got some work to do upstairs. Can you make sandwiches?”

“Work? Upstairs?”

“On the computer.”

“Sure. Tuna good?”

“Fine.”

Once upstairs, he stared at the computer, thoughts jumbled.

Maybe he should handwrite his letter to Kayla. Or call her. Would she pick up the phone, seeing his number? Maybe. Maybe not.

Stop shilly-shallying and just do it, moron.

Marc sank into the chair, worrying he’d say too much, too fast.

Or too little and she’d brush him off.

Should he pour out his heart, lay it all on the line, or just tell her of his growing faith and let her fill in the blanks?

“Marc? Sandwiches are ready.”

So soon? Marc stared at the computer screen, its blank image a taunt. He sighed and backed away.

He hated writing. Always had. Hadn’t he picked some of his university courses because they didn’t have much written content?

Pretty much. And there was too much riding on this letter to mess it up.

He gave a reluctant last look to the computer screen, his Hereford desktop picture a reminder of farm life.

Would she be happy here? Could she be happy here? The fear of a solid “no” pushed him toward the stairs, unsure what to say. What to do.

He was better. Stronger. Definitely more faithful than the jerk who met her at the door seven months ago.

But not strong enough to handle the possibility of rejection. Not yet.

“You sound lonely, Kayla.”

Kayla fought the emotion Sarah’s words evoked. “A little. Things are different here.”

“Sure they are,” Sarah agreed. “And you don’t have friends like you did up here. Are you sure this is what you really want?”

Kayla swallowed hard. “What other choice is there? I loved what I was doing in Potsdam, and how everything progressed, but after last winter…” She paused and tried not to envision what she left. The offer from a man of honor but no faith. “I couldn’t stay.”

“I understand.” Sarah’s voice had its usual calming effect. Kayla felt cared for when she talked to her friend. Loved. “And of course, change begets change.”

Kayla paused, hearing a hidden message. “Such as?”

“The domino theory. Ripple effect. Remove one cog from the wheel and others bear the strain.”

“Quit the riddles and tell me what’s going on.”

Sarah laughed. “Marc and Jess are coming to church with us. He answered the altar call last week.”

“Really?” Warmth spread through Kayla. “Oh, Sarah, I’m so glad.”

“Us, too. He went through a tough time, but I think he’s crested the hill.”

“Good.” Relief swept Kayla. “It’s not good to hold that bitterness in check so long.”

“Words of wisdom, my friend.”

Kayla bit her lip. “I don’t cling to old things, Sarah. It’s just not possible to really forget them. They creep up, unexpectedly.”

“Give them to God, Kayla. What’s done is done and He’s opened a future for you. Don’t blow it off because you think you’re undeserving.”

Kayla’s heart crunched.

That was exactly how she saw herself. Despite all she’d done to make herself whole, she was still the little girl who listened to her mother’s screams and did nothing. “I’ve got to go, Sarah.”

“We love you, Kayla. We miss you. Hang on a minute, would you? McKenna wants to talk.”

“Wuv oo, Kawa.”

Kayla’s throat constricted. “I love you, too, baby girl. I’ll come see you soon, okay?”

“’Kay. Wuv oo.”

Kayla hung up and stared at the wall.

She was a centrifuge, spinning her way through life, not stopping long enough to let the contents sort themselves.

Why was that? Why was she more concerned with where she was going than where she’d been?

Marc had made a serious step toward peace. She was happy for him. Happy for Jess.

But he hadn’t called. That omission said she didn’t make the short list. Why should that surprise her?

She sucked in a knowing breath. She’d dumped her life in his lap that cold April evening. Knowing what he did, no wonder he chose to avoid her. Despite his newfound peace, Marc was still a man whose emotional mother left after bearing someone else’s child. Women with issues weren’t high on his priority list.

Still, she was happy for him. She’d prayed for his peace, his salvation. She would focus on the joy of that and not on how much she missed the man. She turned and walked back to the waiting basket of laundry.

That’s it?

Kayla dropped the cotton T-shirt.

You dip your chin and fold some clothes? Haven’t I taught you better than that?

The nudge of conscience made Kayla look around. With a sigh, she reached into the basket of pastels once more.

What more do you want from him?

Once again Kayla’s hands quieted.

He’s embracing his faith, caring for his sister, working two jobs and living life to the full. What are you waiting for?

His call, she realized. A letter. A message. Something that said he cared despite what he knew.

What he knows?
The voice within flooded Kayla with knowledge.
He knows a young girl forged a life of worth after many false starts. He knows you’re willing to meet him on even ground, regardless. He knows you’ve blessed the poor and the lame, the sick and dying. What more do you think he wants, my child?

That answer was simple. Marc wanted someone normal, someone who didn’t weigh him down.

Define “normal.”

That nudge inspired a grin. Normal
was
pretty subjective these days.

“See! The winter is past; the rains are over and gone. Flowers appear on the earth; the season of singing has come…”

The verse from Songs brought heat to her cheeks. She pressed cool palms against her face, remembering the chapter, its song of ardent love.

“…Arise, come, my darling; my beautiful one, come with me.”

No way. It would be foolish to head back north. Hadn’t she promised herself a respite from winter? A haven from hurt, promises that couldn’t be kept. Marc DeHollander couldn’t possibly want her as his life mate, his helpmate.

Could he?

A little tough to answer that one from here. You sent him packing pretty firm, remember?

Oh, she remembered. She’d told him to have a nice life and shut the door in his face.

Heat suffused her. She’d hurt him, but he’d stepped back, as well. Hadn’t he?

She knew where Marc was, where he always would be. He was a North Country man. Strong. Vibrant. Sturdy. A man among men, solid and sure.

And now a man of faith.

Kayla contemplated her choices. She hated rejection. Feared it more. But the words of Scripture offered hope.

What could she possibly lose that she hadn’t lost already?

Not a thing.

What could she gain?

Acceptance. Love. A chance for the home and family she longed for, the chance to do it right. Hands trembling, she picked up the phone and set new wheels in motion.