Wanted: A Family (16 page)

Amazingly, Grace sat on the edge of the bed and took a bite of the chicken and noodles. “You're a good cook.”

“I don't feel like much of a cook when you can't keep your feet under my table.”

Suspicion rode in her eyes. “So why are you doing this? What's in this unwed mothers' home for you?”

Perhaps Grace had seen through her and suspected that her motives weren't entirely selfless. “I thought I wanted this home because of what happened to a friend of mine.
But it's possible I want it so I can surround myself with people and forget the losses I've had, the loneliness.”

Grace's gaze darted to her plate. As if Callie's admission was a hot potato she couldn't juggle.

This young woman needed to share her wounds with someone. If she chose to confide in her, Callie prayed her response wouldn't make matters worse.

While she ate, Grace looked at Callie's wedding ring. “What happened to your husband?”

“He passed away last November.”

Toying with the band, Callie admitted that her marriage had been a disappointment. She'd been both wife and mother to Martin. Some days she'd felt more like a warden, trying to keep tabs on his whereabouts, his choices. He hadn't understood that she hated that role. Oddly, he'd never blamed her for taking it. She wondered why she still wore his ring. Maybe she saw it as a badge of legitimacy for her baby.

Grace took a sip of milk, then set down her glass. “That's tough. I thought maybe you and Jake… I noticed a spark between you.”

Callie gulped. Was the attraction between them that obvious? What did it matter? Nothing good would come from furtive glances, pounding hearts or stolen kisses. She wouldn't care about Jacob. She wouldn't care about another man who deceived. But even as that thought came to her, Callie knew it was already too late. She did care about Jacob Smith. But she'd never let him know.

“Jacob will be moving on.” She forced a smile. “But thanks to him, this house is livable. I have much to be thankful for.”

Grace took the last mouthful on her fork, wiped her lips then dropped the napkin on the plate. “I'm not interested in a list of your blessings.”

Grace used that sharp tongue of hers to keep people at a distance. If Callie hadn't cared about Grace, hadn't taken the time to look into her weary eyes laden with pain, she'd never have seen past that wall she'd erected. Grace was wounded. What could Callie do to help?

The young woman rose and set the dishes outside the door, as if unable to tolerate one tiny thing out of place, then walked back to Callie, her expression closed. “Thanks for the meal.”

Callie smiled. “You're very welcome.”

“I'm sure you have things to do.” She glanced at the door, an invitation to leave.

But Callie wasn't budging. Not yet. “What happened to your parents, Grace?”

As if her legs gave way, Grace sank to the mattress. “They died.”

Callie sat beside her. “What did you do then?”

“I lived on the streets, like thousands of immigrant kids.” Her brown eyes, dark as storm clouds, met Callie's. “No matter what Jake says, an orphanage is better than sleeping in alleys, huddling together for warmth, eating garbage.”

A huge lump formed in Callie's throat. Trying to clear it and the image Grace's words evoked in her mind, she swallowed convulsively. “That explains why you're upset with Jacob.”

She sighed. “I'm not. Not anymore. I haven't walked in his shoes.”

This young woman had endured a horrid life. Worse, Callie suspected that what Grace had told her revealed only the tip of the iceberg, that more was frozen below the surface.

“If we all did that, this world would be a better place.” Callie faced Grace and took her cold hand. “I want you to
know that you're a child of God. That makes you worthy. Servant and master, rich and poor, all are the same in the eyes of God.”

Tears sprang to Grace's eyes. She squared her shoulders, obviously fighting powerful feelings inside her. Callie waited.

Grace swiped at her eyes. “So what happened to that friend you mentioned?”

Changing the subject, another tactic Grace used to put the focus on anyone, anything, but her. Well, Grace deserved to know. She explained Nell's pregnancy and suicide.

“Some boyfriend.” Grace shook her head. “Women rave about the guys they love. But men get what they want then move on.”

“You're not an admirer of men.”

Grace motioned to her protruding belly. “Should I be? Prince Charming exists only in fairy tales.” She yawned. “I'm tired.”

“Sleep well, Grace.”

As Callie left the room, she thought about the make-believe castle of her childhood and the prince she'd envisioned riding up on a powerful steed to rescue her.

An image of Jacob popped into her mind. He was a far cry from her vision of Prince Charming. True, he was handsome, strong and capable. He'd made the house safe, helped with chores, did whatever he could to make her life easier. All things she appreciated. But when it came to giving his heart—

This prince hid his past. Had no interest in sharing a castle.

She'd go through life caring for her baby, handling this home and steering clear of men. Grace was right. Prince Charming existed only in childhood dreams.

Her baby thumped against her belly. She laid her hand on the spot. This precious baby growing within her deserved a father. A father to toss a ball. A father to demonstrate how to pound a nail. A father to give piggyback rides on his back. No matter how much Callie wanted to believe that she could be both father and mother to her child, the absence of a father would leave a void in her child's life.

She'd come to Grace's room to see that she ate and help however she could. And she'd left burdened with her troubles, problems she didn't know how to solve.

She'd never felt lonelier.

T
hat morning, Callie had taken Grace to see Doc Wellman. After the visit, Doc had taken her aside. “Give Grace understanding, love, your time,” he'd said. “Something is wrong. Very wrong, but she won't talk to me. I feel she's slipping away, as if she doesn't want to live.”

Back at the house, Callie poured Grace a glass of milk and set out the wheel of cheddar she'd bought at the grocer and slices of homemade bread. “I always treat myself after a doctor's visit. The baby and I like cheese.” Callie grinned, cutting off a slice.

Ignoring the food, Grace sipped the milk.

“You barely eat enough to keep a bird alive.” Callie cut another slice and offered it to Grace.

Grace turned her head away, as if the sight made her sick to her stomach.

“Don't you like cheese? It's good for you.”

Grace looked at her. In the depths of her eyes, Callie saw something that made her shiver. Something so horrible she said a quick prayer.

“I hate cheese.”

“Oh.” Surely that didn't explain the horror she'd seen in Grace's eyes. “Does the smell bother you?”

Grace swallowed convulsively. “It…makes me…remember.”

Barely able to swallow the bite she'd taken, Callie rose and put the cheese in the icebox.

Grace lurched from the chair and staggered to the window, turning her back to Callie. Callie moved closer, put a hand on her shoulder. The seconds became a minute. A minute became two.

Just when she'd decided that Grace wouldn't explain, the young woman turned to her, perspiration beaded on her forehead, her face pale as paper.

“I've never told anyone.” She lowered her eyes to the floor.

With a strong sense of foreboding tightening every muscle, a desire to run slid through Callie. But she held her ground. Whatever Grace had to say, Doc Wellman believed it needed to be said.

Callie's breathing grew shallow.
Lord, help me. Help Grace. Help us both.

“My employer's husband…asked me to store some clothes in the attic. While I was putting the last of the things away, he…” She took a breath, as if the effort of saying that much had winded her. “He came in and locked the door behind him.”

The air left Callie's lungs.

“He said—” She pivoted to the window. Callie heard a sob. “He said his wife was visiting her mother for a couple of days.” She lowered her forehead, rested it on the glass. “He'd given the staff the time off.” She gave a strangled laugh. “I wondered if it was with pay.”

She began to sway back and forth, back and forth in front of the window. The chill in Grace's voice and that rocking churned in Callie's stomach.

She put an arm around Grace, grasping her cold hand
and turned her away from that window. “You're here with me. You're safe.”

Grace fastened her gaze on the far wall. “I fought…but…couldn't stop him.” She tore her hand from Callie's and clasped it over her mouth. A sob. “He dragged me to the floor.” Another sob tore from her throat. “And…raped me.”

Callie laid her cheek against Grace's face. Their tears mingled with the pain of her gut-wrenching admission.

“He came back time and time again. For three days, he…returned to the attic. At the end of each day, he'd bring water and—”

A moan escaped Callie's lips. “Cheese.”

Legs giving out from under her, Grace slid down the wall to the floor, leaning back, eyes closed, as if trying to shut out the images. Images burned into her soul with the branding iron of brutality.

Callie sat beside her, held her trembling hand. “I'm sorry, so sorry.” Yet nothing she could say or do would erase the horror of those days in the attic.

Birds chirping, Mildred's Sandy barking next door, the whistle of a distant train—ordinary sounds drifted in through the open window. As if this day were like any other. But Callie, a woman who'd never been mistreated, and Grace, a woman who'd been subjected to every cruelty, wounded to her core, clung to each other, and knew innocence was gone forever.

“On Monday, the day the staff and his wife were due back, he came in before dawn. He said he'd kill me if I told his wife or the police.” She gave a harsh laugh. “Then he raped me one last time, unlocked the door and told me to clean myself up. Said not to worry, he wouldn't touch me again.” Her chin quivered. “I was…used goods.”

Inside Callie, anger raged. She wanted to hurt that man.
To make him pay for what he did.
Oh, Lord. Oh, Lord, help us.

“His wife and the staff returned within hours. He never bothered me after that. I needed that job. Entering that house each morning took everything I had. Fear kept me silent until the morning I knew I was pregnant. I saw him leave for work and followed him outside. When I told him, he said, ‘Who's the father? Or do you even know?'” Grace beat a fist on the floor. “I hate him! I'll hate him till the day I die.”

Callie tugged Grace into the circle of her arms. “He should be shot.” And she meant it. That frightened her even more.

“I can't bear to see the face of this baby I'm carrying.” Tears slid down her cheeks. “Yet as often as I thought about it, I couldn't end its life.”

Callie shuddered. That baby, that poor baby, would always be a reminder of the violence of its conception.

Grace's trembling fingers found her lips. “What if… What if it resembles him? What if looking into that face the rest of my life is a reminder of everything he did to me? And I grow to hate the child, as much as the father?” She turned her face away. “Don't you see? Putting my baby in an orphanage would be a kindness.”

Callie thought of Jacob. There were so many reasons a mother might abandon her child.

“I'd hoped I'd feel better once I told someone. But…” She sobbed. “I feel worse.”

“I wish I could take away your pain.”

“You won't despise me if I can't keep my baby?”

“Oh, Grace, I have no idea how I'd react if I had to endure that horror. I'm proud of you. Whether you keep your baby or not, you're giving him life, a chance. If you
decide to let him go, I know a couple here in town who would love your baby and would give him a good home.”

“What if… What if my baby is evil? Like him?”

Callie shook her head. “God is merciful. Your baby will be gentle, sweet.”

A sob escaped Grace. “I can't keep it. I'm too filled with hate to be a mother.”

Again thoughts paraded through Callie's head that she dare not examine, couldn't admit out loud. She wanted to track that evildoer down. She wanted him to pay for what he'd done. She understood in that moment the hate Grace carried.

Yet that hate festered, destroying Grace's future. Hate meant that brute would be victorious. “Don't let him win, Grace. Don't let hate destroy you.”

“It already has.”

“No! You're not destroyed. You're strong. That's why you didn't harm your baby. That's why you're here. That's why you will survive. You're battered and bloody, wounded, body and soul.” She tucked a strand of hair behind Grace's ear. “We're going to clean, anoint and bind your wounds. With God's help and His power, you'll heal.”

“I've been so ashamed.”

“Of what? Not being able to stop a monster far stronger than you? God knows what happened. He knows your innocence. The suffering you endured. He hasn't left you. He loves you.”

“I feel dirty.” She sobbed. “I washed and washed, but I can't get rid of his hands on me. His mouth.”

Callie laid both hands on Grace's shoulders. “You're not dirty! The love of God covers you. That man who raped you is dirty. He'll have to answer for his crime. One day he will. If not here on earth, then in eternity.”

Grace twisted a hand in the folds of her dress. “Don't tell anyone. Promise me.”

“I promise.”

But someone should tell. What if he did that to another woman? Callie shivered. Perhaps he was doing it now?

“Thank you for trusting me enough to tell me what happened. But you need to tell someone else. Doctor Wellman. Or Pastor Steele. Someone who knows how to help.”

Grace swallowed convulsively and let out a soft groan.

Laying her hands on either side of Grace's jaw, Callie peered into brown tormented eyes. “You've done nothing wrong. You've done nothing to be ashamed of.”

A sob. Two.

In silent entreaty, Callie opened her arms. “Let it go, Grace. Let it go.”

Burrowing into her arms, Grace wept. Callie wept with her.

God was faithful. Callie prayed that He would restore Grace, give her a new beginning as only He could do.

Callie hoped God would forgive her desire for vengeance. Perhaps Nell's suicide contributed to that. Nell had kept her pregnancy secret.

Grace had kept the crime against her secret, too. Letting it eat at her, nibbling away at hope, joy and love. Secrets destroyed.

Her breath caught. Jacob Smith kept a secret. She saw it when his eyes grew wary. Felt it when he held others at arm's length. Heard it when his tone turned guarded.

Whatever Jacob hid, when that secret came out, there'd be consequences. Callie suspected that she'd also pay a price. Better to confront him now, with her defenses firmly in place, then wait for that secret to catch her unawares.

 

Bent over the hoe, sweat dripping off his nose, Jake hacked at the weeds in Callie's garden, exposing their roots to the sun. Freed from the soil that fed them, the weeds would wither and die. If only he could as easily cull the debris choking his heart. With every passing day, the tension between him and Callie intensified. How long could they go on like this?

“Looks like you could use a cold drink.”

Jake pivoted. Callie leaned on the fence watching him, tendrils of her chestnut hair teasing her neck. A crisp white apron covered her skirt, the ribbons fluttering in the breeze.

She took his breath away.

With his forearm, he swiped the sweat off his face and smiled. “Nothing would taste better.”

“I'll bring a glass of iced tea to the gazebo. We'll have a chat.”

The afternoon sky encasing her silhouette brought out the startling aquamarine of her eyes, yet… The softness he usually saw in those eyes had grown watchful, conveyed a warning. A chill snaked through him.

“Sounds good. I'll meet you there.”

As he watched her go, Jake wondered what Callie had on her mind. That somber demeanor of hers suggested that she intended to uproot him as he had these weeds. Only instead of a hoe, she'd remove him with a swift, sharp spoken word.

Across the way, Grace left the henhouse carrying the egg basket. She waved at him and he returned the gesture. He couldn't help smiling at the new spring in her step. Callie hadn't told him what had transpired between them, except to say that Grace had shared her story. Everyone had a story. Perhaps sharing that story with a trusted friend was the first step to healing.

When he finished the last row, he strolled to the gazebo. Inside, Callie sat on the swing, a cold drink on the table at her side.

“Thanks,” he said then swigged half the glass. “Hits the spot.” He pulled up a chair and sat across from her. “You always know what I need.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Are you willing to do the same thing, Jacob? For me?”

“What do you mean?

“I need something from you.”

“I'd do anything for you, Callie.”

“Anything?”

An alarm went off in his head. “If I can.” His mind scrambled for footing. Where would this lead?

“You can— I'm sure of it. But the question is, will you?” She folded her arms across her middle, as if shielding her baby. “From that very first day you arrived looking for work, I sensed that you carried a secret. Hid something you didn't want anyone to know.” She clenched and unclenched her hands in her lap. “I've tried to tell myself that you're just a private man, but…” Her eyes clouded. “Lately I've realized that keeping secrets isn't beneficial. Not for the one holding the secret. And not for the one taken by surprise.” She met his gaze. “You see, secrets have a way of coming out.”

From the very beginning, Callie had suspected that he hid something, yet hadn't pushed him for answers until now. The hard shell around his heart softened. That proved she cared about him, about their relationship. He could trust her with his past.

“Some things are hard to talk about, but you're right. I have kept something hidden.” He took her hand. “I want to tell you.”

As if his tension became hers, the spark in her eyes
dimmed. “From your expression, what you're about to say is bad news.”

His gaze dropped to her small hand, the feel of her calluses rough against his own. “I'm hoping you won't see it as bad news. But, even if you do, you deserve to know.” He took a deep breath and met her eyes. “I thought once I'd found love. Love of a woman I met in Bloomington.”

Callie lowered her eyes to their clasped hands. “What happened to her?” she asked, so softly that Jake could barely hear.

“Susan's actions proved that she didn't…love me. Never had.” How could he find the words? Would she believe him? “I was accused of stealing from a jewelry store. Lloyd, a man I considered a friend robbed the store.” His throat convulsed. “He left my wallet behind to…” his voice grew raspy, harsh “…make it appear I'd committed the crime.”

She squeezed his hand. “Why would a friend do such a thing?”

“He wasn't a friend at all. He wanted someone else to take the blame. He picked me so he could have Susan.”

“I don't understand.”

“The woman I thought loved me didn't believe in my innocence.” He gave a chilling laugh. “She turned to Lloyd for comfort, exactly as he'd planned, while I cooled my heels in jail.”