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“Patrick, I don’t understand. Why must we hurry?” Amber looked into Patrick’s worried face and trembled.
“For the sake of the baby and both of us,” he said. “People are talking. It is becoming increasingly difficult to go out, and I thought if ...”
“It won’t change,” she said. It wouldn’t. She’d already been called every name in the book. There weren’t any left. Now, that would ripple over onto Patrick’s head.
“I can handle it,” he said. “Remember what I told you.”
“Yes. Yes,” she said, and she flipped her hand. “I don’t know why you’re out to prove yourself. I like you as you are—quiet and kind, dependable.”
“You make me sound like an old dog. Whistle and here I come.”
She smiled at that image. “No, you are not ‘an old dog.’ You are an incredibly handsome man.” She laid a hand on his cheek. “But between fistfights ...”
“It wasn’t a fight. I swung, and I left. He never did anything.”
“Fistfights,” she continued. “And this determination to measure up to some manhood ideal, I don’t know what to do with you. Why can’t I have at least a month?”
He stared back at her, a vein throbbing rapidly in his temple.
There was something else behind his urgency. He’d made that apparent by asking. But she was afraid to question him about it. A month seemed like a fair amount of time. She wanted to prepare herself for the idea of marriage and arrange in her thinking the truth about the father of the child.
“A month is too long,” he insisted.
“I embarrass you.” She hadn’t meant the phrase to sound harsh, but saw it did.
Patrick’s expression changed. “You do not embarrass me.” He took her hand and lifted it to his lips. “You need me to kiss you right here and prove it?” His mouth quirked, and a twinkle came to his eye.
But he was posing. She looked past him at the street where a girl near Grace’s age traipsed down the grassy verge.
“You wouldn’t do that,” she said.
His face became tender. “Amber, regardless of my reasons, will you trust me on this? Will Friday be sufficient?”
Friday? That was two days away. Two days until she stood beside him and promised to love and cherish. Words she’d never thought she’d say. Words she ought to mean.
Well, and didn’t she? She cared for him. But did she love him? The question returned. I want to. That must account for something.
“Amber.” He waited for her reply.
She sighed. What choice did she have? “Friday then. But Pat ...”
“Yes, Love?”
Love. That word again. Friday was too soon.
“Never mind.” She quelled her thoughts and offered a weak smile. “Friday is fine.”
She closed her eyes then, hearing his footsteps as he returned indoors and the other varied sounds of daily life that whistled around her. She leaped in place when a girl’s voice spoke in her ear.
“Miss.”
Amber threw a hand to her throat.
“I’m sorry, Miss. I didn’t mean to startle you.”
Amber calmed herself, breathing deep. “No, it’s quite all right. I was in another place.”
The girl cricked her neck at that. “My name is Ella Pearson. I was wondering ... you folks moved in for Mr. Jones?”
Amber studied the girl. She was around Grace’s age, though a mite taller with medium-brown hair and eyes. Rather common-looking and plain.
“We’re here temporarily while our house is being repaired,” Amber replied.
“The big white house? Won’t that take a while?”
It would take a while, especially since Patrick had been unable to find anyone to repair it. Michael indicated he’d tackle it, but he still couldn’t talk, and so it remained to be seen how he’d pull that off.
“I suppose it will,” Amber replied. “Do you live nearby?”
The girl nodded and pointed down the street. “Three houses thataway. But ain’t any other kids my age around here, not girls anyway. There’s Johnny. He’s in my class at school, but he’s a boy.”
Amber restrained her smile. A boy. A pox on all boys. “I see,” she said instead.
“I was wondering,” the girl said. “I saw when you moved in, and you had the hand of another girl. She your daughter?”
“My daughter? Oh, you mean Grace. No, she’s my dear friend though.”
The girl twisted her skirt and it flared out around her. “She don’t never come outside?”
Amber looked at the girl and debated. What exactly was the right thing to say? She’d thought all along Grace needed friends. No girl that age needed to spend so much time alone. This might be a good opportunity. On the other hand, she didn’t know this girl at all.
“Ella. Wasn’t that your name?”
The girl nodded, and her hair spilled about her face.
“Ella, you seem like a nice girl. If I tell you something important, can you keep it to yourself?”
The girl brushed her hair away from her cheek. “Is it about the girl?”
“It is, and I’m afraid it’s embarrassing to her. Have you ever been embarrassed?”
The girl lit on the topic. “Oh, yes ma’am. Johnny, he once put a tack on my seat at school just to make me holler. I was so embarrassed when I jumped up and people laughed.”
“Well,” Amber said, “Grace ...”
“That her name?”
Amber nodded, “Yes. Grace is embarrassed easily. You see, she never goes outside.”
The girl’s mouth fell open. “Never? Like not to school or nothing?”
Amber shook her head. “Never. Not to school. Nowhere. But she doesn’t like people to talk about it.”
“Well, I reckon I can go in. Would that be all right? And I won’t say a word about her not going out.”
Amber stood to her feet and rubbed her aching back. “That would be perfect. Follow me and I’ll introduce you.”
“Everyone, this is Ella. She lives a few houses down.”
Michael raised his head from contemplation of his thumbs, namely twiddling them, as he was bored spitless, and the girl gave him what he could only describe as “the eye.” She screwed her face up tight on one side and loosened it on the other.
“You’re that singer-man. Ain’t you?”
Were that singer-man. Were. He tried not to scowl and instead gave a nod.
“He can’t talk.” This remark came from Anne, who was seated at his side, the baby in her lap.
“Can’t talk? What happened to him?” The girl swayed back and forth, her hands behind her back.
Michael looked at his wife with a smirk on his face only to see her not bat an eye.
“He decided to become a fire-breathing dragon.”
At this, he started to laugh, but that hurt, so he cut it short. The girl gazed at them both confused.
Amber tapped her on the shoulder. “They are teasing you, Ella. Stay around them long enough and you’ll catch on. Now, let me introduce you to Grace.”
The girl disappeared into the back of the house with Amber, and Michael looked at his wife. She wrinkled her nose. “You deserved that,” she said.
He held up his hands, palm upward on either side.
“Why?” She smiled. “Because going back into that house was foolish, and now look where it’s got you.”
He frowned and looked away. Got me into a mess. But the thought of all his hard work going down the drain had been too much. Had any of it survived or was it all a crispy mess?
Patrick emerged from the back of the house, and Michael gained his attention by drawing the shape of a house in the air.
“Oh, pantomime. I love this game,” Anne said.
Michael turned his back to her, effectively blocking her view. He then repeated the gesture. She jabbed him in the back.
“House,” Patrick said with a smile.
Michael nodded and holding one hand upside down, walked his fingers across his leg.
“You want to go to the house?”
Michael applauded and stood to his feet. To the house and away from Anne’s sarcasm for a few minutes. He grinned with that thought.
He moved out the door, Patrick falling in at his side, and looked up at the blue sky. A few puffy clouds trailed along the horizon. Ironic how the days continued, one leading into the next, the sun rising and setting exactly the same, yet things in their life had changed forever. The house was gone; Patrick was getting married, and now, he was unable to talk.
Michael eyed Pat in his peripheral vision. He’d seemed troubled lately. But being Patrick, he hadn’t said why. Maybe it was only the stress of the fire and the opinions of the public. People hadn’t been too kind, which was a shame because Patrick was the best man he knew.
They approached the remains of the house and his heart squeezed. It was a horrible sight. Jagged boards, blackened and cracked from the heat, leaned crookedly around the finger-like protuberances of the remaining chimneys. He sighed and laid a hand on Patrick’s shoulder.
“If I pinch myself, will it return?” Patrick said.
Michael grunted. Know what you mean.
He’d been at that place in the past, with a need to go in reverse and bring something unattainable back, with an inability to face the future. Trouble was the only thing you could do was go forward and trust God to get you to a better place because that was what He wanted for all of them.
Parting from Patrick, he walked through the remains toward the office, his shoes crunching over the scattered debris. It was hard to see it all this way, ruined. At the office door, he ran his fingers down the door jamb, and the images came swirling back at him.
His lungs closing. The lack of air. An inability to breathe. And the darkness that had taken over his mind.
He stooped and lifted the remains of a desk leg. Blowing the dust from it, he coughed in the resulting puff and waited for the air to clear. It was then he spotted something flattened to the floor. Sweeping away the debris, he gingerly peeled it from the ground.
The manuscript. His heart shoved into his throat. It was only the back cover and a handful of pages, but that was better than nothing. He riffled through it, and his pulse pounded harder.
What were the chances? Here was the page where he’d found the pattern.
Standing to his feet, he held it out before him. It had to mean something, it’s being here. It was his chance to finish interpreting what Patrick’s father said of his son. Gratitude whelmed through his being.
But he startled when it sailed to the floor. Staring down at his now empty hands, he brought his gaze up to Patrick standing before him.
“I’ll not live my life underneath his opinions of me anymore,” he said.
Michael moved past him and recaptured the papers. The corners, brittle from enduring the extreme heat, flaked away.
Patrick again attempted to remove it from his grasp. “Put it down,” he snapped.
But Michael stretched out an arm and pressed his palm flat to Patrick’s chest. Working his jaw, he scraped out one word. “No.”
What had gotten into him? These were his father’s words, something Patrick had previously called his life’s work.
“I’m asking you to leave it,” Patrick said. “I’ve let go of that dream. It was impossible anyhow, and moved on. I must consider Amber now. We’ll be married on Friday.”
Friday? Michael drew a question mark in the air. That was so soon. Why the rush?
Patrick simply stared at him, his face blank, not offering any explanation. “It simply has to be that way,” he said.
Michael formed his reply with his lips. Time. You have time.
“No. I don’t,” Patrick said, “and please don’t give me trouble about this.”
He turned, but Michael grabbed his shoulder. He wrenched away. “I know she’s part of your past, but she’s part of my future. If you’re going to give me a hard time, then don’t bother to come. I’ve had enough grief from everyone else in this town and don’t need it from you.”
Michael stared after him. What was crawling underneath his skin? In all their time together, he’d never seen him this way. He was always so calm and undisturbed. He greeted each obstacle with a level head.
Was it his being in love? Love did strange things to you, caused you to make choices, say things, you wouldn’t otherwise. Yet that didn’t seem like the sole factor either.
Michael tucked the manuscript to his chest and stepped after Patrick, catching a view of him as he crossed the street. He stopped in place, his thoughts turning in a million directions.
Patrick had so much to shoulder, most of it of his own making. He, like Amber had said, always felt obligated to fix things for everyone else. No one expected that of him. Instead, it was more that he expected it of himself. Patrick Finnegan was his own worst enemy most times.
But what had set him off today? And why, for goodness sake, did he have to marry so quickly? Even with the baby coming, he could wait a little while. Nothing about this made any sense.
With a heavy heart, Michael trailed after him.
Patrick fled to the bungalow, regret sitting hard in his gut. He shouldn’t have spoken to Michael that way. But sight of the manuscript sparked something in him, that same restless feeling he’d had the day he looked his father in the eye and declared he was going into the ministry.
He remembered it vividly, the anger on his father’s face, the twitch of his mouth as he’d restrained his words. His father had wanted to berate him, tell him what a mistake he was making, but in the end had simply said, “I don’t like it.”
Four words as sharp as a sword.
He’d come to hear his first sermon though, sitting himself prominently on the first pew, scowling up at him. Intimidating to say the least. But had that been pride on his father’s face or disappointment?
You’d think I’d know the difference. But he hadn’t. Twenty-five years living with his father and he’d been as hard to read as ever.
His argument with Michael resurfaced in his mind. How could he talk to his best friend like that? And now he couldn’t look him in the eye. Like his father so long ago, he felt inept and awkward.
He sighed. He was no good at keeping secrets. His seeing Joe and Joe’s subsequent revelation was proving too hard to bear. Plus, Amber still hadn’t mentioned it. Why? One thing he’d learned about her. When something made her uncomfortable, she excelled at avoiding it.
He let himself into his bedroom and closed the door. More prayer. He needed to spend more time seeking God’s face and find peace again. His wedding approached and that mattered to him, whether or not anyone else understood it.
He couldn’t wait for Amber to be his wife, but he couldn’t be her husband without having his heart right with God again. He had to be the one strong in their relationship, and strength came from the inside.
“I’m sorry, Father,” he prayed. “Forgive me for my weakness, and make me the man you want me to be, the man Amber needs me to be.”
Because he’d never settle for anything else.
The girls chattered around her about nonsensical things, causing Amber to smile.
Grace had taken to Ella right off, and this surprised her in some ways, yet didn’t in others. Grace was very accepting by nature, but her fear often held her back.
Ella, on the other hand, seemed the sort to say what she meant without thinking.
Amber tilted her head. That made her a lot like Grace.
Except Ella was enamored of some boy named Johnny, and whoever he was, he seemed to be the bane of the neighborhood, maybe the entire schoolyard.
It seemed to her, however, that Ella had a private crush on him. A school girl’s crush. Something I never had. Never had the opportunity to have actually. Her father’s actions had moved her from being a child into being a woman.
As had the first time she’d realized she was expecting a baby. She’d been, what? Sixteen.
She’d gone to Sam about it, trying to sound confident, but all the while, her insides had churned. A baby. She wasn’t old enough to have a baby.
Sam had hardly looked up from his work long enough to even consider the problem. “What would you have me to do?” he’d asked.
Do? She’d wanted advice. Getting rid of the child was risky, often fatal, but keeping it was worse. What kind of life was this to raise a child in? She barely fed herself, much less had enough for a baby.
In the end, nature had taken care of it for her. She’d lost the baby a month later. Sam had allowed her a few weeks to mend and then she’d returned to work.
Her hand absently rubbed over her expanding waistline. She’d lost another baby in the same manner when she was eighteen and resolved afterward to never lose the next.
Her only regret was this was his child. The thought wound through her and wrapped itself around her heart.
A cough at the door broke into her thoughts and she smiled back at Anne, who stood there, a gown draped over her arm.
“I want you to try this on,” she said.
The creamy fabric seemed too fragile for the dusty house and too fancy for her nuptials, though it was beautiful.
“Oh, Anne, where did you find it?” she asked.
“Funny story about that,” Anne said. “It belongs to Barbara Thompson.”
Amber followed Anne into her bedroom and posed while Anne held the fabric to her.
“I think it’ll work just fine,” she said.
She helped Amber remove her clothing and fit the dress over her head. It fluttered around her, a perfect fit.
Amber stared at herself in the tiny, square mirror beside the bed. “She was expecting?” she asked.
Anne chuckled. “No.”
The gravity of the moment sank in and Amber fell onto the bed. “Anne, might I ask you a question?”
Anne nodded. “Of course.”
“This might seem strange for me, of all people, to ask. But the wedding night, I ...” The words caught on her tongue. I don’t know what to do.
Anne sat down beside her and took her hand.
“I’m afraid,” Amber said. “I swore off men when I left New York. I like Patrick ... no, more than that, I care for him, and I know what this marriage means to him. But I can’t think beyond that promise to myself, to abstain, to not do that anymore. This is all happening so soon and so fast.”
“Amber, if you have any doubts ...”
Amber swallowed. “I’ll never get past all my doubts.”
Anne wrapped an arm around her shoulders. “I’ve told you this before, but you need to turn them over to God. Ask Him to live in here.” She placed her palm on Amber’s chest. “He’ll help you move away from your past. I can see how Patrick affects you, and I know right now you’re unsure how you feel about him. But God can make of this marriage exactly what you need.”
She lowered her hand. “Michael and I have been through a lot. I’ve never told you our story. We were forced to marry. I had a gun to my back, a crowd of drunken men around me, and only my nightdress for a gown.”
Amber startled at this admission. “Why?” she croaked. “Did Michael ...?”
Anne smiled at her. “No. Michael was a pawn in a bigger game.” She flapped her hand. “That is a longer tale than I can tell today. But to put it simply, our first two weeks of marriage he protected me, but we never ... you understand?”
Amber nodded.
Anne continued. “He said he wouldn’t do that to me, and so he didn’t. But I was naïve. Though I knew his growing feelings, I didn’t understand the struggle he had until one night he walked in on me changing into my nightdress. At that moment, his physical troubles were written plain on his face, and I had to ask myself which was more valuable, my virtue or the sanity of this man who cared for me. He was my husband, yet I denied him the completion of our marriage.”
“Wh-what did you do?”
“I asked him to make me his wife.”
Amber gulped. “I didn’t know. The hard time I gave you ... what I did ...” What I thought.
Anne patted her. “That’s not why I’m telling you this. I’m telling you so you can see what God has done between us. If we can overcome those obstacles, then I know God can work on the ones between you and Patrick. All you have to do is ask.”
Ask God? God, who she wasn’t sure she believed in, to help her love this man who would become her husband. Well, it would either succeed or fail, and if it failed, she’d be exactly where she was. But if it succeeded then what?
What do you want, Amber Dawes? Do you want to love him or not?
Her unanswered questions hung around like specters through all of Thursday and into Friday. Early that morning before dawn, unable to sleep and unwilling to disturb Grace, Amber rose and escaped the house.
The morning air clung moist and sticky with yesterday’s leftover heat, forming overnight dew in sparkling pearls on the uncut lawn. She followed the movements of a tiny, brown bird as it hopped across the ground.
Anne’s words came back to her. Ask God. But how do you ask God? She couldn’t speak in a fine language; she couldn’t quote Scripture verses. Why would God listen to someone like her?
The little bird stopped at the base of the steps and stretched his wings, then tossing back his head pelted out a marvelous song. He was boisterous and strident for such a small bird. To look at him, you’d never know he was capable of making a sound that size.
Was that how she looked to God?
Overlooked, disregarded, and forgotten by society, she was the refuse people tried to rid themselves of. Insignificant. Yet if she spoke from her heart, would the sound of it be big enough for God to hear her?
She opened her mouth to speak, but her voice remained silent. Surely, she was being presumptuous. God had better things to do than hear a girl like herself and more important tasks to tend to.
No, she was alone in this. She’d say her vows today, and she’d honor them. She’d be a good wife to Patrick and hope with all that was in her that Joe didn’t tell anyone.
It was better that way.
The sun creased the tree limbs in splintering rays of light, and she shaded her eyes in the glare. From somewhere distant, a rooster crowed.