This Place: Holmes Crossing Book 3 Page 11

  As I prayed, my thoughts strayed to Duncan, the man who Esther and I had both agreed should take care of her. Would he do this for her? Would he guard her while she slept?

  I looked around the beautiful room, with its white, Pottery Barn furniture, the tasteful prints on the walls, the bookshelf with its vast collection of books and Jane's furniture—almost as expensive as Celia’s. As I stretched my legs out on the pink, lush carpet I knew I could never have given my daughter even one quarter of this.

  Would that matter? Did it matter to you?

  I couldn't help thinking of the tiny room I lived in at the Carpenters' house. It was barely large enough for a single bed. I didn't even have a dresser. All my clothes fit in a drawer I slid under my bed. The house itself was a jumble of box-sized rooms and garage-sale furniture.

  But to me it was a sanctuary. A home.

  Would Duncan provide that for her? He said he couldn't do it, but would that change if Esther got involved? And why did she want to be? Why would a single girl want to tie herself down with a child? Help her reluctant brother take Celia in?

  I closed my eyes, trying to still my troubled thoughts. Reluctantly returning to the place where I was when I first made that hard decision.

  I let Celia go for a good reason. For her own sake.

  I just had to do it again.

  Chapter 8

  Duncan stood at the back of the church, wondering as he did every Sunday what he was doing here. Why he had bothered getting up this morning to come to church.

  Out of need and out of custom.

  The words of an old hymn ran through his mind, as he shoved his hands in his back pockets.

  Well, today it was custom that brought him here. This morning, as he had for many years, he’d gotten up and the first thought through his mind was, No.

  But, as had happened before, custom kicked in, and he went through his Sunday routine. Clinging to routine got him through those dark days after Kimberly and his little girl's death. It would now get him through these grey ones.

  So he got up, had breakfast, fed the cows and horses, showered, changed and got in his truck. But this morning, though he was hesitant to pay it too much mind, something else had pulled him here. A tiny anticipation, a hope that Miriam would come.

  But he hadn't seen Jerrod and Francine's SUV in the parking lot, nor could he see Miriam and Celia from his vantage point back here.

  He felt a curious letdown. His mother had texted him, saying she and his father wouldn’t be coming. He may as well go. He was about to do exactly that, when the doors of the foyer opened, and Jack and Terra came into the church. And now he was too late. Leaving would create questions he wasn't about to answer, and Terra was never hesitant about asking them.

  His friends joined him at the back of sanctuary, nervous smiles and sympathy wreathed on their faces. Jack clapped him on the shoulder and Terra gave him a quick hug.

  "How was the birthday party?" she asked as she pulled away.

  Duncan shot her a frown. "How did you know about that?"

  "I heard Laine's mother talking about it at the diner after she dropped her daughter off."

  He should have known. Terra's diner was like a gossip black hole. All it took was a drink of hot coffee, a bit of tangy lemon pie, and every secret tucked away in your brain was sucked out.

  "The party was good." Spending time with Miriam was even better.

  "Is that a smile I see on your face?" Terra said, nudging him in the side.

  "I'm just happy to be in church," Duncan parried easily, not giving her an inch.

  Terra held his gaze, her lips quirking into a curious smile, but he didn't so much as glance away. She was the first to give in, turning to Jack. "We should go sit down."

  Then, just as he was celebrating his victory, the door of the foyer opened and in walked Miriam and Celia.

  Celia had her doll tucked under her arm and was frowning at Miriam, yanking at her coat to pull it off, muttering at her. Miriam's hair was pulled back in a complicated knot at the back of her head that gave her an exotic look. Set off the upward tilt of her eyes.

  Terra looked back at the same time. "Well, well, well. Look who's here," she said in a knowing voice.

  "Yeah. My niece." Duncan ignored her as Celia tried to unbutton her coat. Miriam looked as if she was urging Celia to keep it on. Not that he blamed her. If Celia was wearing the dress she wore last week, the poor kid would freeze in church.

  "She's pretty, isn't she?" Terra continued.

  Duncan dragged his attention back to Terra and Jack, catching the mischievous quirk of Terra's lips, but didn't take the obvious bait. "Celia is, as always, adorable."

  "And I think we've overstayed our welcome." Jack gave Duncan an apologetic grin. "We'll be leaving you alone now. Come on over some time when things slow down in the bush. I’ve got a horse I wouldn’t mind some help with."

  "I'll do that," Duncan said, flashing his friend a smile, thankful for the reprieve.

  Then he heard Celia call out his name, and he knew he couldn't avoid the inevitable.

  "Dunkle. There you are," Celia called out, pulling away from Miriam and running toward him.

  Though her coat had stayed on, he could see that, once again, she wore the same unsuitable dress she had worn last week. The dress Esther had convinced him to buy for Celia, because it came with a matching one for the doll. And sure enough, the doll wore the exact same dress again too.

  Celia grabbed his hand, grinning up at him. "Hi Dunkle. I had fun at my birthday party," she said.

  Her enthusiasm was infectious, and he couldn't help but smile, happy to see her in good spirits. "That's good. But you still have some chocolate from your s'mores on your face."

  But Celia just grinned at his obvious teasing. "No, I don't, silly. Miriam washed my face all clean. I had a long bath and I had bubbles." She patted her hair. "And Miriam made my hair pretty. Just like Jane's. And yesterday we cleaned up my room."

  Then Miriam joined him and a different emotion took over. Her hair shone in the overhead lights and her dark lashes framed her brown eyes.

  "Good morning, Miriam," he said, swallowing down a visceral reaction to her beauty.

  "Good morning to you," she returned, a gentle smile on her lips.

  And for a moment he couldn't look away, nor did he want to.

  "Dunkle, I want to sit with you," Celia announced, grabbing his hand.

  Duncan's initial reaction was to pull back. But though his usual retreat was for his own protection, he knew he had to put that aside for the sake of his niece. So he kept her hand in his and tightened the grip ever so gently, and a familiar emotion seeped into his soul as she leaned into him.

  "Well, let's go find a place, then," he said, his voice sounding strange in his ears. Less harsh. Softer.

  He looked over at Miriam and caught a peculiar expression on her face. Her smile seemed to waver and in her eyes he caught a puzzling melancholy.

  "Are you okay?" he asked.

  Miriam blinked quickly, her gaze focusing on him, then gave a tight nod. "Yes. I'm fine."

  "Let's go sit down," Celia announced.

  But as Duncan let Celia take the lead, he shot another glance at Miriam, and in spite of her quick reply, he caught a troubled expression on her face.

  Mystery upon mystery, he thought as he came to an empty pew and stood aside to let Miriam and Celia sit down.

  The musicians at the front had played a couple of songs already, and Duncan sat back, looking up at the lyrics on the screen, but part of his attention was on the woman sitting beside Celia.

  He gave himself a mental shake, and forced his full attention to the song the group was singing.

  "His heart was broken for the brokenhearted, as he brings us now to the heart of life. He feels our pain and takes it on, and calls us now, arise."

  Duncan felt an answering throb of pain at the lyrics that so closely echoed his own experiences. He hadn't even completely dealt with Kimberly and
Tasha's deaths, and now he was faced with more loss.

  He swallowed down a sudden burst of anger with God, who had taken so much away. Had God been brokenhearted? Did he know loss?

  But no sooner were the words formulated when he felt a small, soft hand slip itself into his, wiggling its way past fingers pressed against a palm.

  He looked down at Celia, who was grinning up at him.

  Every time he saw her, it was like another wound, another nick on his soul, but right behind that came the words of the song's chorus—"He feels our pain and takes it on and calls us now, arise."

  A challenge to let go? A reminder that he didn't have to carry it all?

  He wasn't sure what to do with this knowledge, and he sucked in a breath, trying to calm his racing heart. Trying to find his bearings.

  And as he did, his eyes, as if seeking a homing place, landed on Miriam, only to find her looking at him.

  Their eyes met and held, and in that moment, he caught a glimpse, like a ray of light, of a possibility.

  Then the pastor arrived and as the service began a faint echo of it haunted him. With every passing minute, sitting with Celia and Miriam, he felt as if he were shifting between present and past.

  He forced his attention back to the pastor, who was talking about sorrow. Duncan knew he was referencing the deaths of Francine and Jerrod. He knew their deaths had affected the community, and the presence of their orphaned daughter in the sanctuary underscored the tragedy. The occasional pitying glances back at them showed him how the rest of the congregation felt.

  "…we can pretend it doesn't exist, but as C.S. Lewis says, 'Pain insists upon being attended to. God whispers to us in our pleasures, speaks in our conscience, but shouts in our pains; it is his megaphone to rouse a deaf world.' And whether we want to admit it or not, it is in the hard, dark places of our lives that we draw closest to God. That we cry out to him the hardest."

  Duncan was tired of pain and grief and longed for ordinary.

  Then Celia shifted, leaning against him, her hand slipping into the crook of his arm, and he felt as if a crack opened in his grief-hardened-heart.

  He looked down at the little girl, who was swinging her feet with the obliviousness of youth. He knew she was also grieving, but it seemed she was more willing to take things as they came.

  Then he glanced over at Miriam, who was looking at the minister, her features twisted, as if she was fighting her own internal battle.

  He gave in to an impulse, reached across the pew, and laid his hand on her shoulder. He let it rest there a moment, let their shared grief act as a bridge between them.

  Her eyes shot to his, and for a moment he wondered if he had overstepped a boundary. But then she smiled, and then reached up and covered his hand with hers, strengthening the connection.

  They sat that way through the next hymn. The longer they stayed connected, the more reluctant Duncan was to let her go. At all.

  I stifled a yawn as I pulled a bag of cookies off the shelf in the grocery store, flipping it to one side to read the ingredients, but the tiny letters blurred before my eyes. I really needed more sleep, I thought, feeling as if I was on the verge of tears.

  Too many conflicting emotions. Too many confusing thoughts.

  Yesterday, in church, I had felt a few moments of peace. Hearing the pastor talking about God meeting us in the dark places brought me back to the darkest place and time I had ever been - after I gave up Celia.

  And yet, I knew that in that place, in that darkness, I found the God I had turned my back on. And in that unlikeliest of places, I found peace.

  I clung to that peace and when Duncan put his hand on my shoulder I felt, for the first time in years, that I had someone beside me.

  But all that fell apart when Celia found out, as we were leaving church, that Dunkle wasn’t going to be at Oma and Opas for lunch. So she wasn’t going either.

  The harder I pushed, the harder she fought back. So I drove home with a hostile child and my own puzzlement at Duncan’s decision. I had to admit to feeling let down as well. I had to admit to a sense of anticipation of spending time with him in a family setting.

  When we came home, Celia fell asleep on the couch and woke up in a funk, insisting that I get her boughten cookies. Which I didn't have, because we were still working our way through the baking we got from the funeral.

  Then, she sat up most of the night, unable to sleep, getting herself all worked up about the cookies though I knew it had as much to do with Dunkle as it did with the cookies.

  Mrs. Lansing wasn’t at work today so I couldn’t talk to her about the counselor appointment. So, after dropping her off at kindergarten, and staying a few moments to make sure she was okay, I hied myself to the grocery store to fulfill her majesty's demands. The only reason I did it was because the request had come from Celia herself, and not Jane.

  So here I stood trying to decipher cookie packages and failing.

  "I can save you some trouble," a voice said, making me jump. "Buy the ones with the most sugar and trans-fat if you want them to get eaten. Buying the healthy ones only makes you feel better. The kids won't touch them."

  Surprised, I looked up to see a woman with short dark hair, wearing scrubs, and pushing a cart half-full of groceries. She looked familiar, but I couldn't separate her face from the myriad countenances I had seen since I came to Holmes Crossing.

  "Excuse me?"

  She held her hand out. "Sorry to be such a know-it-all. I'm Leslie VandeKeere. We've met a couple of times, but you probably don't remember me."

  "I'm sorry. I don't."

  She waved it off. "No worries. You must have met over a dozen people already. It can be overwhelming. Trust me, I know." She laughed and pointed to herself. "Recent import. Still learning names and connections, and trying not to gossip about an aunt to her niece."

  Then she grabbed a bag of sugary, chocolate-covered cookies off the shelf and dropped them in my cart. "Celia will thank you. And I absolve you of any guilt."

  I laughed, enjoying her breezy manner. "That makes everything so much better."

  Leslie settled her elbows on her cart, as if getting ready for a chat. "Have you gotten through all the food yet? From the funeral? I know my sister, Terra, said you were drowning in lasagna, soup, and chocolate cake."

  "I froze a bunch of the casseroles."

  "Good thinking. So, you getting settled in?"

  I lifted my one shoulder in a vague shrug, hoping she would interpret it as a positive. I wasn't really 'settling in', so to speak, because I hadn't counted on staying here.

  The thought hit me deep and hard, but I ignored it. Stick with the plan, I reminded myself.

  "This must be difficult for you," Leslie continued. "Being stuck here and not knowing anyone."

  "I've managed to keep myself busy," I said.

  "It can still be lonely. So, in light of that, I was wondering if you would be interested in joining me at my sister's café. A group of us ladies usually meet there Monday mornings. I'm just coming off of night shift, and they're just coming off the Bible study, and you're welcome to join us."

  I hesitated, not sure I would fit in with Bible study ladies, but the thought of visiting with other women held an appeal.

  "We're ordinary women," she continued. "All trying to find our way through Pinterest boards and Facebook lives." Her grin was infectious, and I figured, why not? Wasn't like I had a full social calendar.

  "Sure. I can do that."

  "I have to finish up, and I'll meet you there. Do you know where the Holmes Crossing Café is?"

  "Just off Main Street, by the bakery?"

  "You got 'er." She flashed me a smile, then grabbed a couple of bags of the cookies she had just put in my cart and put them in hers, then gave me a broad wink and left.

  Ten minutes later, I parked on Main Street and was walking down the sidewalk, my shoulders hunched against the cold, head down in an effort to keep warm. A nasty wind was zipping down the street, swi
rling snow and knifing through my jacket.

  I slipped into the café, shivering in the sudden warmth. In the far back, I saw a group of women gathered around a couple of tables they had pushed together. A few of them dandled babies in their arms, a couple of toddlers sat on the floor, playing.

  Then I saw Leslie wave to me, calling me over.

  I took in a deep breath, then walked toward them, feeling a raft of second thoughts as I approached the group who, from the laughter and myriad conversations, all knew each other well.

  "Girls, this is Miriam. Jerrod's sister," Leslie said as I joined the ladies, who all looked up at me with curiosity.

  This created an immediate moment of silence, sympathetic faces, then murmurs of 'I'm sorry', 'so sad'. The woman closest to me, a heavyset young woman with long, red hair pulled back in a thick braid, caught my hand and squeezed. "That is the saddest thing ever," she exclaimed, then looked around at the rest of the girls. "Isn't it? I just cried when I heard about those two."

  I tried to gently extricate my hand, but she would have none of it. "You just sit down here, girl. We're going to have a quick prayer for you."

  I wasn't sure how to deal with this. Was it right to turn down prayer? But she pulled me down close to her in a one-armed hug.

  "My name is Rita, by the way. You'll meet the rest of these lovely ladies in a minute." Rita looked around, her smile taking in everyone there. "I know we've already prayed a bunch, but I think we could do this one more time?"

  Everyone nodded, as if this was the most normal thing to do in a café. Rita had my one hand captive and, as Leslie took the other one, everyone bowed their heads.

  "Dear Lord, we don't know Miriam well, but You know her heart and her needs. You know she is hurting now. You are watching over her all the time. Be with her as she takes care of her niece. Give her strength and courage and mountains of love. Help us to support her with our prayers and a hug now and then."

  Everyone muttered a low Amen and then, after a beat, the conversation began again.

  "So I heard that my girl, Laine, had a great time at Celia's birthday party," Rita told me as she peeled the paper from the oversized muffin on her plate. "It was all she could talk about. Her favorite part was the sleigh ride. She said it was just like a Christmas card."