Wings of a Dream (23 page)

Of course I would be. Wouldn’t I? The reality of Frank’s homecoming slammed into my chest. He’d snatch the children away from me. I’d lose them just as I’d lost so many others I loved.

Tears spilling from my eyes, I pushed past Sheriff Jeffries and ran from the store. Past the churchyard where Aunt Adabelle lay. Past the schoolyard where James had fallen in the old well. I ran until my boot caught on a clod of dirt and I fell to the earth, my tears mingling with the dead grass and the dust. Angry tears. Relieved tears. Jealous tears. Tears of exhaustion and confusion and grief and disappointment.

“Why? Why did You make me love them?” I flung the words toward heaven.

But it was Irene’s voice that answered back in my head.
“ ‘A man’s heart deviseth his way, but the Lord directeth his steps,’ ”
she’d said.
“Sometimes the Lord directs us away from our own plans and towards His.”

I thought of Aunt Adabelle’s plans. And Will’s. Even Frank’s and Clara’s. None of their plans for life had worked out as they’d expected. Will had accepted that. He’d chosen to live the last of his days as best he could. What would Frank do? Would he want me gone the minute he arrived, with no warning, no time to adjust? Would he cling to his children or hold them at a distance? Would he muddle along alone or begin searching for a new wife right away? And if he did marry, would she love her instant family?

“Oh, God. Help me know what to do.” Then all I knew were sobs, my heart crying out prayers my mouth didn’t know how to utter.

A buzzing sounded from above. I lifted my head. An airplane whizzed across the cloudless expanse, its wings suspended on nothing but air. I drew my knees close to my chest and watched it soar. When Arthur’s airplane rose into the sky, how did he know it would stay up there and not come crashing down?

He didn’t. He simply trusted that the airplane would work the way it had been designed. Is that what God wanted from me? Just to trust that He’d hold me up, take me where He wanted me to go?

I kept my eyes on the heavens. “I want to go Your way, Lord—whatever that means, wherever You lead.”

T
wo days later, a host of noises from the yard sent me flying to the frosted window. I rubbed a spot clear. Two men in overalls disappeared behind the storage shed near the hog’s enclosure.

“What in heaven’s name?” Who was roaming our property without speaking to me first? My fury rose like bread dough in a hot kitchen as I charged into the barnyard.

I rounded the corner of the shed and slammed into a body. Wet sloshed down the front of my dress. The overall-clad man stepped back and raised his head.

“Sheriff!” I’d never seen him in anything but a suit before. My mouth gaped, but I managed to shut it. Then I noticed the almost full milk bucket hanging from his hand.

He handed me the pail and stuck his hands in his pockets, leaving a ratty hat firmly atop his head. “There’s your morning milk. And I brought some help to butcher your hog.”

I swallowed down a yelp as I turned to see the large black pot sitting beside a smoldering fire. I looked back at the sheriff. All I’d ever done at butchering time was make dinner for all those who came to lend a hand. I’d never made headcheese or cracklings or put up lard or readied meat for the smokehouse. Mama did that herself.

Another man in work clothes stood beside us now. “Miss Hendricks”—the sheriff turned formal all of a sudden—“meet Elias Tate. His brother is over yonder, sharpening the knives.”

I nodded at the Mr. Tate. He tucked his fingers around the straps of his overalls and rocked back on his heels.

Sheriff Jeffries pulled me aside. “The Lathams will arrive soon, as well. Give each family a few pieces of meat for their trouble and they’ll be mighty grateful.”

He must have read the panic in my eyes then, for he laughed. “The women will take care of everything. You just need to feed everyone.”

I sighed. That I knew how to do.

At the end of the day, the sheriff lingered behind the others, making sure, he said, that the fire had been completely doused. I stood with him, shivering beneath my coat, my breath visible puffs of white in the moon-dimmed dark.

“Thank you.” I hated feeling indebted to him, but I took great comfort in the hams and bacon slabs soaking in the curing syrup.

He shrugged. “Nothing one neighbor wouldn’t do for another.”

“I think you are more neighborly than most.”

He poked a stick into the cooling ash. “It isn’t hard to want to help you.”

I sucked in the smoky night air, its cold stinging my nose and chest. Though that night with Arthur on the front steps of the schoolhouse in Downington hadn’t been cold, suddenly it seemed too similar to this one. All alone. In the dark. Words that could mean so many different things.

“Thank you,” I said.

His shoulder raised and lowered as he stared into the distance. I wondered what his life was like, a single man in this small town. No family to speak of. Prater’s Junction didn’t seem to have many girls of an age for him to be interested in. So why didn’t he go elsewhere? Nothing held him here that I could see.

He threw the stick on top of the fire pit. “I did it.”

I pulled my coat closer around me. “Did what?”

“Asked to be considered for a Texas Ranger.”

I shoved my hands into the pockets of my coat. “Congratulations. I hope they accept you.”

He stepped closer, so close that I could see every inch of his face, in spite of the cloak of night. “I’d never have dared, but for you.”

With a hard swallow, I stepped away. Away from the reach of his arms, his lips. I had no intention of falling for a man I didn’t really know. Not again. Besides, though the sheriff had endearing qualities, my heart didn’t leap at his nearness.

“Rebekah?” Ollie’s voice, from the house.

Sheriff Jeffries touched his hat, stepped back, and nodded. “See you at church on Sunday, Rebekah.”

I watched him walk away, this sheriff dressed as a farmer. Was he the reason God had brought me here? Was I missing His plan? Out of sight, the engine of the sheriff’s car roared to life and his door slammed shut. He might be on his way to a bigger place, maybe even one filled with the adventure I longed for, but could my heart come to love him?

Only after hearing the gears grind into place and the tires spew earth did I take myself into the warmth of the house.

A blue norther swooped in the next day. Not just cold. Frigid. With the wind howling around the windows as if seeking refuge from itself. I had plenty of time to ponder my future as I huddled under quilts in front of the parlor fireplace, playing games with the children, reading from newspapers and magazines.

Then I heard something that didn’t sound like the wind. Untangling myself from the quilt tucked around my knees, I peered through the dingy glass. A large automobile sat in front of the gate, its occupant bundled into obscurity behind the windscreen.

The engine coughed itself still. The driver climbed from the seat.

“Wait here,” I told the children as I hurried to let the stranger in out of the biting wind. Icy air swirled in with his stamping feet.

“Arthur.” His name came out in a whisper, a breath I’d been afraid to breathe for weeks. My hand searched behind me for the banister, something solid to anchor me upright.

“Hello, Rebekah.” Arthur removed his hat, his gloves. Unbuttoned his coat. Gas fumes and cigarette smoke wafted from his outerwear. The smell of leaving and staying all mixed up together.

As he arranged his things on the small table opposite the stairs, his gaze darted around the hall, searching, it seemed, for whoever else might be privy to our conversation. “I’m sorry,” he said finally. His eyes hadn’t landed on mine in spite of the fact that I stared directly at his face.

I tried to swallow moisture into my mouth. “Where’s your fiancée?”

“I don’t know.”

James stomped into the hall, fists clenched, face blotched with fury. “Rebekah! Dan’s cheating!”

Arthur’s eyes locked on mine. I sensed his fear. Fear in the fearless aviator.

“I taught them to play checkers.” I trilled the words as if we bantered the light conversation of a social gathering. But I wondered at his manner. Did children in general frighten him—or just these, at this moment?

I put my hand on James’s shoulder but didn’t look down. “Go put the game away now, James.”

“But I don’t want to. I’m winning.”

I pursed my lips and counted to five. “You and Dan can put on your coats and go outside and swing.”

“It’s too cold outside,” came the whining reply.

Sensing Arthur’s impatience, I leaned near James’s ear, words hissing out of my almost closed lips. “Then find something to do, but don’t fight with your brother.”

I tried to make my voice sound normal as my hand pinched James’s shoulder. “Now, James, I need to talk with my . . . a friend of mine. In the kitchen. You and Dan behave.”

James sulked his way back into the parlor, but at least he went. I swept past Arthur and heard him follow. I moved the coffeepot to the hot front burner and tried to think of a way to fill the awkward silence.

Arthur stood by the table. I motioned him to sit. When the coffee had warmed, I filled two cups. “Do you still take cream?”

He nodded. I added a dollop of Ol’ Bob’s offering and sat across from him, preparing myself to hear what he had to say.

He swallowed down half his coffee before he spoke. “I came to see if we had any chance of starting over.”

I flinched and caught my breath, his audacity slapping me with the force of an open hand.

“Start over?” I felt Mama’s face fit over mine like a mask. That haughty look she reserved for those who addressed her in a manner less than respectful. “A fiancée ends things quite thoroughly.” And yet my heart lurched at the thought that he wanted me again.

He leaned back in his chair, a tad more confident, it seemed. More like the Arthur I’d fallen in love with. “She and I were thrown together during the quarantine. It wasn’t like I went looking for another woman.” He shrugged. “Besides, with the war over, I’ll be discharged. We can be together much sooner than we thought possible.”

“Be together? As in, get married?” Something in his manner alarmed me. I wasn’t sure what. The return of his arrogance, perhaps?

Again his gaze skittered away. “Eventually.”

The word barbed at my heart. “But you were going to marry her right away, weren’t you? You told me you were engaged.”

He stared at the door that led outside. “She didn’t have any reason to wait. You have—” He swatted his hand toward the front of the house, where the children remained quiet.

I stiffened. “I have responsibilities at the moment, yes.”

“We’d have to wait, then. Until you get rid of them.”

My eyebrows lifted. “Get rid of them? What do you mean? Are you saying you don’t want children? Or that you don’t want these children?”

“We have our own life to lead, Rebekah. Children would . . . complicate things. Their daddy will be home soon, right? And then you’ll be free. Besides, I don’t remember you being eager for babies before.”

I chewed the edge of my fingernail as I considered how to reply. “You’re right. I wasn’t. But things have changed. My mother has been ill. My brother is dying. I haven’t heard back from Fra—the children’s father. But it’s more than that.”