A Mother at Heart Read online

  She smiled then, running her thumb over the worn red plastic. “I remember saving up to buy it for you.”

  Once again Jake suppressed the urge to touch her hair, to curve his hand around her neck. To pull her close.

  He took a step back, as if afraid he had already done so. “I better get back to work,” he said abruptly. “Did Tilly say what time she would be back?”

  “I’m not sure,” Miriam said. “She asked if I could bring you supper if she didn’t get back on time.” She chanced another glance up at him, adding, “If you don’t mind, that is.”

  Jake felt a nudge of sorrow at the uncertainty on her face. It made her look vulnerable. Not an emotion he would have associated with her at any time in her life. Not as a young girl, not as a woman. “No, that’s okay.” He waited as time seemed to drift away. Once again they were young and in love. Once again she smiled up at him, her eyes shining.

  But he remembered the pictures in Paula’s book: a girl made up and expensively dressed. He could pretend all he wanted, but this Miriam was far removed from him. He called a quick goodbye to his daughter and climbed back in the tractor.

  Then he put the tractor in gear and turned into the field. Dropping the cultivator down, he adjusted the depth and half turned to look behind him.

  Miriam and Taryn stood on the road, watching him.

  His past and his present, side by side.

  For a moment he wondered what his life would have been like had he and Miriam stayed together. Would that little girl have been theirs? Would they have had more?

  “Don’t be ridiculous, Jake,” he said, switching on the radio. “She’s in another realm now.” And her leaving meant this land he now worked would be sold.

  His day chugged along, punctuated by hourly news and weather reports. The songs melded one into the other, country songs usually, or classical music when he bothered to change the station. Jake worked his way up and down the quarter of land, each time on his return watching out for Miriam and his daughter. He caught sight of them once, walking down the road, heading out, he suspected, to make the water wheel Taryn had spoken of. The sun gave off a sharp spring brightness, creating a feeling of expectation and promise, and he wished he could be with Taryn and Miriam, diking up the spring runoff, doing little family things.

  He tried to concentrate on his work, but found his eyes straying to the two figures as they made their way down the road, looking for all the world like a mother and daughter.

  The next time he came back to the road Miriam and Taryn were gone, and he felt as if the day had lost a measure of that brightness and expectation.

  The sun moved inexorably across the sky. By 5:30, Jake once again began watching the road for Miriam. It was because he was hungry, he told himself. But when he thought of spending another mealtime with her, he felt a burst of pleasure.

  “You’re a strange man,” he said aloud, turning the wheel of the tractor at the end of the field. “And a very stupid one.” He got the tractor straightened around and lined up, then dropped the cultivator again. The roar of the tractor’s engine was the only sound he heard as he worked his way down the field. He was up and over the rise when he saw a car parked on the road. His spirits lifted in spite of his previous castigation.

  He could just make out Miriam’s slim figure, her hand up, shading her eyes against the lowering sun, watching him, waiting for him. It felt good to know she was there.

  He parked the tractor and walked over. “Where’s Taryn?” he asked as he approached.

  “Playing in the ditch. We ate already. I’ve got your supper in the car,” she said, walking over to it and opening the door. “I hope it’s still warm.” She pulled out a hamper.

  Jake walked around the car, and when she straightened, he was there to take the hamper from her. Startled, she took a step back and almost lost her balance. Jake caught her by the shoulders, and her head came up. Once again their eyes held. Awareness arced between them. Jake didn’t let go of her shoulders, and she didn’t let go of the hamper.

  Her eyes were the same deep brown that he remembered, fringed with silky lashes, tilted up at the corners exotically. She still had a tiny mole at one corner of her eye; her cheek still sported the barely discernible scar from the time she bumped it on his truck door. The same light freckles were sprinkled across her forehead, and her lips still held…still held… Jake couldn’t keep his eyes off her mouth. The way she nervously wet her lips. The way she swallowed. The way they parted slightly as her breath quickened.

  “Please, Jake,” she said quietly.

  Jake looked up into her eyes again, his fingers tightening, his thumbs caressing her arms through the thin material of her sweater. Then, with a deep breath, he dropped his hands. What was wrong with him? He was acting as if they were both still teenagers. Still in love.

  “Sorry,” he said, taking the cooler from her. There was a moment of awkwardness as their hands meshed; she tried to let go and he tried to take hold.

  “Look at what Miriam made me,” Taryn trilled, skipping up to his side.

  Jake put down the cooler, thankful for the diversion. “Wow. A willow whistle.”

  Taryn nodded. “Listen.” She put it in her mouth and blew lightly. It gave a definite tweet and Taryn grinned her pleasure. “Miriam made it for me outa piece o’ wood from the bush. She just cut it and made it. She said when the bark dries it won’t work anymore. You try it now.” Taryn handed it to him, and Jake dutifully blew on the willow whistle.

  The spicy smell, the smooth texture of the bark and the faint bitter taste all took him back to other springs.

  Other springs with Miriam. She was the only one he knew who could make these. He had asked her to teach him once, but she had played coy, telling him that it was one of her few talents and that she needed to keep some secrets.

  He had never learned how to make them. He had one he had kept but as Taryn said once they got older they didn’t work. He hadn’t blown on one since then.

  Miriam was setting up lawn chairs beside him, and he handed the whistle back to Taryn, who gave it another tweet and ran off back to the ditch for more treasures. Jake shifted to face Miriam.

  “You still remember how to make those.”

  Miriam nodded. “I didn’t think I’d remember, but once I started, it all came back. My dad taught me well.”

  Jake watched as she snapped open her chair and set it on the gravel. “I’ve never heard you talk about your father.”

  Miriam bent over the cooler again. “I don’t really remember much about him. I was only ten when he died. But I do have a few good memories.” She looked up at him, and ventured a half smile.

  Jake felt it again—the awareness, the realization they had known each other in a different time and place, as different people.

  They shared a past, memories and an intimacy that he had never really felt with anyone else, even Paula.

  And for the first time since Miriam had come, he wondered if she had ever cared for anyone else. Had ever been close to another man.

  He realized in the next moment that he didn’t want to know.

  Jake bent his head and slowly relaxed, letting his thoughts rest, settle and separate from the awareness of the girl sitting beside him.

  Thank you for this day, Lord, he prayed, for my daughter and my family. Please let Fred be okay. He stopped, almost afraid to pray too hard for Fred, to acknowledge too deeply his own fears about Fred’s health. It was as if he didn’t quite trust God to take care of him. Help me to let go, Lord. Help me to know that You love us perfectly. Help me not to build my life on my family. He stopped again, thinking of Taryn, Tilly and even the girl sitting beside him. I give them all to You, Lord. I give You each member of my family. Take care of them. Then he asked for a final blessing on the food and lifted his head, a gentle peace surrounding him.

  “I should tell you, Tilly phoned,” Miriam said quietly.

  Jake lowered his fork, almost afraid to hear what she had to say.
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  Miriam frowned lightly. “Fred is still running a high fever. If it doesn’t go down, they’re going to send him to Calgary for some more tests. He’s a strong man, Jake,” she said reassuringly. “I’m sure he’ll be okay.”

  “I pray he will,” Jake replied, toying with the rest of his casserole. He took a few more mouthfuls, then set it aside, his hunger gone.

  “Tilly told me that Fred had a heart attack a while ago.” Miriam’s comment broke the silence. “I’m sure you’re quite concerned about him now.”

  Jake leaned back in the chair, nodding. “I get afraid when I think about his health. Anything could happen.” He looked out over the field, his legs stretched out in front of him.

  “How old is Fred now?” Miriam asked.

  “About sixty.” Jake sighed lightly. “Which used to seem very old when I was younger.”

  “Parents aren’t supposed to get old or sick.”

  Jake glanced sidelong at Miriam, who leaned forward on her chair, elbows on her knees, her chin resting on her hands. She was staring out over the field, but Jake suspected she was thinking of her own mother.

  “I’m sorry about your mother.” Jake shifted to face her, resisting the urge to touch her, to comfort her.

  “It’s been difficult….” Miriam stopped, her lower lip pulled between her teeth.

  Jake didn’t know what else to say so went back to his meal. He had never cared for Miriam’s mother, but he knew that Edna had been a strong force in Miriam’s life. Now Edna was dead, and what had happened was long ago.

  There were questions he wanted to ask Miriam, things he wanted to know.

  And what would that accomplish? he thought, turning away again. Do you want to find out how quickly she forgot you? Do you really want to know? His ego was as fragile as the next man’s. Better let it sit. Once she left, and the farm was sold, he would probably never see her again.

  He finished his meal and got up, setting the plates inside the hamper. “Thanks for supper.”

  Miriam nodded and got up, as well. She had been quiet, very unlike the Miriam he knew. Once again he wondered what had happened to her and whether he would find out while she was here.

  Miriam closed the lid of the hamper and turned, just as Jake moved to pick it up. She stepped aside and watched as he put it in the car. He came back, and she turned to politely thank him, only to find him staring down at her, his expression unreadable.

  “Have a good evening, Miriam,” he said quietly.

  His deep voice touched a memory. He towered, overpowering, his eyes delving deep into her, searching. He shifted his weight, coming closer to her. For a heart-stopping moment, Miriam thought he might kiss her, the way he would have ten years ago.

  Then he stepped back, making way for her to pass. She felt an illogical twinge of disappointment, then walked past him to Taryn.

  “I’ll be home in about an hour,” Jake said behind her. “If Tilly isn’t there, do you mind waiting?”

  “No,” she said without turning. “I don’t mind.”

  A beat of silence, then, “Thanks so much. For everything.”

  She chanced a look over her shoulder, but avoided his eyes. “You’re welcome,” she returned, just loud enough for him to hear.

  “Bye, Daddy. I’ll see you later,” Taryn called out.

  By the time they got in the car, Jake was in the tractor. As they drove away, Taryn turned around to watch her father as they drove away from each other.

  Tilly wasn’t at the farmhouse by the time they got there, so Miriam ran the bathtub for Taryn and helped her get ready for bed, listening to the child chatter about the cows, the baby calves and how much she loved her daddy.

  A few minutes later, Taryn was kneeling on her bed, pulling a scrapbook from under her pillow. “This is my mommy’s book,” Taryn said, eagerly holding it out to Miriam. “You want to look? There are pictures of you in it.”

  Miriam hesitated.

  “Please look,” Taryn said, pulling Miriam down onto the bed. She set the book on her lap and started turning the pages.

  Miriam watched Taryn’s small fingers quickly flip through until she found the place she wanted. Miriam wasn’t eager to see what Paula might have put in the book, yet it held a strange fascination. Why did Paula want to know what her friend was up to? Why did she go to the bother of cutting out pictures of her husband’s old girlfriend? Miriam wasn’t naive enough to think that Paula kept them because of some sentimental attachment. The last phone conversation they had ever had was full of Paula’s crowing over the victory she had achieved.

  She had gotten Jake to take her to the prom.

  “Here. They start here,” Taryn said with a note of triumph.

  Miriam looked down at a picture of herself on the arm of a well-known actor. She was leaning against him, clad in a shimmering sheath she had taken on a loan from a struggling designer.

  Opposite it and on the next page were advertisements she had done. These were followed by more of her at a charity function escorted by a well-known fashion designer.

  Miriam felt a moment of shame, thinking that Taryn, this sweet innocent child, had seen this part of her life. A part that Miriam wasn’t proud of and had spent the last few years trying to live down.

  “You had lots of boyfriends, too,” Taryn piped up. “You still have lots of boyfriends?”

  “Not friends,” corrected Miriam sardonically. She closed the book and placed it on the side of the bed. “You don’t need to keep this, do you?” She hated to think that Taryn had been exposed to a part of life that no girl of five should know about.

  Taryn looked up at her, her expression hurt. “It was my mommy’s.”

  Miriam felt instantly contrite. “Of course. That makes it special, doesn’t it.” Miriam sat on the bed beside Taryn, determined to prove herself worthy of this young child. “But you know what? Those pictures of me aren’t who I am. And they aren’t the kind of pictures a little girl like you should see. They are all pictures of big people doing silly things. Things you don’t need to see.”

  “Is it a sin?” she asked, her eyes wide.

  Miriam repressed the urge to laugh, yet realized she had never considered her life in such a harsh glare before. Was it “sin”?

  She wasn’t sure that she was ready to categorize it so bleakly. It certainly was far removed from the life she had lived here in Waylen—that much she was willing to concede.

  “It isn’t a sin to look at those pictures,” she said, neatly sidestepping Taryn’s question. “But maybe we could take these ones of me out. Then it can be just a book about your mommy.”

  Taryn considered this a moment. “But I like you. And I want a picture of you.”

  “You know what?” Miriam said. “I have other pictures of me. I could send you some of those.” She had enough comp cards—surely, she could find a recent one that made her look like a normal person instead of the party-hardy girl she used to be.

  “Okay.” Taryn smiled and snuggled down into her bed. “Now you have to say my prayers with me.” She closed her eyes, her hands folded on her chest, and began singing.

  The young voice breathlessly singing the familiar words of “Jesus Tender Shepherd” touched a chord deep in Miriam’s heart. If she closed her eyes, she could remember the smell of fresh laundry, and her mother sitting beside her on the bed, singing the song that asked Jesus to stay with her through the darkness, thanking Him for His care during the day.

  Miriam swallowed a lump of emotion, suddenly unable to sing along.

  Taryn finished on her own and peeked up at Miriam. “You have to help me.”

  “I forgot the words,” Miriam fibbed, sniffing lightly. “Now say the rest of your prayers.”

  Taryn closed her eyes and launched into a list of “please be with,” and named Fred, Tilly, Jake, a few friends from play school, and then, to Miriam’s surprise, Taryn asked God to be with Miriam, asked Him to make her happy and not so sad.

  Miriam bit her lip, st
ruggling against an unexpected wave of sorrow. To be prayed for, to have someone concerned about her—when had that last happened in her life?

  Stop being so maudlin, she told herself.

  Ah, the strong voice of reason. Miriam surreptitiously wiped her eyes, took a steadying breath and waited for Taryn to finish her petitions.

  When the child was done, she grinned up at Miriam again. “I always pray for you.”

  “That’s nice,” Miriam said with a smile. “Now go to sleep.”

  “Are you going to kiss me good-night?”

  Miriam saw a danger in that. As Jake had said, Taryn too easily became attached to people. In spite of Tilly, Fred and Jake’s unwavering love, Miriam could see Taryn was hungry for the affection of a mother.

  She knew this was her chance to let Taryn know her stay was temporary and to reinforce what Jake had asked of her. “You know what I’ll do instead,” she said, her heart aching at the poignancy of the moment. “I’ll give you a kiss in your hand and you can use it whenever you want. Okay?” Miriam didn’t wait; she lifted Taryn’s small hand and carefully placed a kiss in it. Then she curled her fingers around it and laid it beside the child on the bed. “There. Now you have a kiss from me that you can use when I’m gone.”

  “Where are you going?”

  “I don’t live here. I’m only staying for a few more days. Then I have to go back to New York. That’s where I live.”

  “But couldn’t you stay? I want you to stay. I want you and my daddy…”

  “Miriam doesn’t live here, Pip.”

  Jake’s deep voice from the doorway made Miriam jump. How much had he heard? She glanced up at him, unable to stop her reaction to his presence.

  He stood, leaning in the doorway, his hands tucked in the pockets of his jeans, his shirtsleeves rolled up, his shirt open at the neck. The light from the hallway threw his face into silhouette. In that moment Miriam could see so clearly the difference between the young man she had loved and the man who now stood before her. His shoulders were broader, his chest deeper, even his relaxed stance showed her a level of confidence that only comes with age.