Chapter 17

“Remind yer mither that I’ll be helpin’ Gillam tonight,” Robert MacLachlan told his oldest son as they stood in the office of the quarry.

Tavin nodded. “I’ll remind her.”

“And ye’ll be goin’ right home?”

“Aye. The men invited me to come share in libations and games, but I’m not in the mood for such things. I’ll just head home and see what I can do to help Mother.”

His father’s expression changed to one of concern. “Yer sister isnae gettin’ any better.”

“I know.”

“Do ye ken the doctors want to put her away?”

“I do,” Tavin admitted.

“What think ye?” his father asked.

The frank question surprised Tavin. “I’ve been thinking on that very thing. Mother is so tired, and she’s often injured while caring for Fenella. She said that twice recently Fenella has escaped her and harmed the boys, as well.”

“Aye. I fear our lass is no more the Fenella we once knew.” The anguish in his father’s voice was so clear that Tavin had to turn his head away for a moment.

“Maybe the doctor is right,” Tavin finally said. “Perhaps they could even help her. Maybe she needs to be in a hospital or someplace where doctors can work with her all the time. Maybe something can be done that we’re unable to do here at home.”

“Aye. Mebbe.” Father gave Tavin’s shoulder a sorrowful pat. “It’s guid to have ye back, son.”

Tavin waited until his brother and father were on their way. He wanted to make certain the other men had secured the equipment and were off the premises before leaving the quarry. Despite an undercurrent of grumbling and rumors, there hadn’t been any additional vandalism or conflicts with the union—and Tavin wanted to be sure that it stayed that way.

Seeing nothing out of place, Tavin headed home. It wasn’t a long walk, but tonight it felt like it took forever. He couldn’t help but feel weighed down by the problems of his sister’s condition, as well as by memories of Emmalyne Knox. He thought of his mother’s comments last Sunday. She believed Emmalyne still cared for him, and if he was honest with himself, he thought as much, too. She had looked at him with the same expression that he’d once known so many years ago. The love and joy in her eyes might have been more subtle and guarded, but it was there nonetheless.

He was nearly to the back porch door when he heard a terrible scream. Running for the house, Tavin was through the porch and kitchen and up the stairs before the second ear-piercing sound. At the end of the hall, Tavin spied Gunnar squatting in the corner with his hands over his ears. He was crying and didn’t seem to notice his uncle.

Tavin had no idea of where Lethan might be, but he could see from the open doorway to his sister’s room that their mother was in the midst of an awful battle with Fenella.

“You need to take your medicine, Fenella,” his mother was saying in a calm tone, even as she wrestled with her daughter. “It will make you feel better.”

Tavin stepped into the room and called out, “Mother, let me help you.”

The sound of his voice caught Fenella’s attention, and she stopped struggling. She looked up at Tavin, appearing much like a little child caught doing wrong. “What seems to be the problem?” he asked, lowering his tone.

Mother relaxed her hold and straightened. “She needs her medicine and doesn’t want to take it.”

Tavin stepped nearer to his sister. “Maybe now she’ll be willing.”

Their mother nodded and retrieved a small tin cup. “I have it in here with a little cocoa. She seems to like it best that way. At least sometimes.”

Taking the cup in hand, Tavin lifted it to his sister’s lips. “Now, drink this like a good lass,” he instructed.

Fenella didn’t offer a single protest, quietly accepting the medicine. When she’d finished, Tavin smoothed back the hair from her face and kissed her cheek. “There, now that wasn’t so bad, was it?”

She didn’t say a word, but something in her expression seemed to suggest understanding. Mother gently but firmly took Fenella’s hand and led her to a small table and chair. “If you would see to the boys, Tavin, I’ll finish feeding your sister.”

He nodded and stepped back into the hall, where Gunnar was still crying. Lifting the boy into his arms, Tavin carried him downstairs, talking the entire time, assuring Gunnar that he was safe.

“My mama hurts me,” Gunnar told him, his lip trembling. “She twisted my arm and hit me.”

“Your mama is very sick. She doesn’t even know what she’s doing when she hurts you.”

The boy nodded. “She is sick. Grandma said she’s bad sick.”

Tavin wiped tears from the child’s eyes. “I’m sorry to say you are right, Gunnar.” He looked around the foyer, then into the front room. “Where’s your brother?”

“Sleepin’. In his bed upstairs.”

“Good. Then we can have some fun.”

Gunnar perked up at this. “What kind of fun?”

“You’ll see.” Tavin put the boy down and went in search of the newspaper he’d seen. His father often brought a paper home to read, and Tavin didn’t figure he’d mind if Gunnar made use of it just this once.

Once he found it, he motioned Gunnar to sit down at the table. “When I was away, I spent my days working hard at a great many jobs. One of my jobs was on a freighter that sailed the Great Lakes.”

“What’s a freighter?” the boy asked.

“It’s a big ship that carries supplies.” Tavin unfolded the newspaper.

“What kind of supplies?”

“Just about anything—food, lumber, coal, and lots of other things,” Tavin explained. “There were a lot of men who worked on the ship, and I was one of them. Sometimes storms would come up, and we had to keep the freight from getting damaged or falling into the water.”

Gunnar seemed to have completely forgotten the earlier scene with his overwrought mother. “Did you ever go in the water?” he asked, his eyes wide.

“No, but I saw other men who did. Some we never could get back, and others we were able to rescue.” Tavin began folding the paper first one way and then another. “The water is a dangerous place to work. Many a man has lost his life to the sea.”

“My papa died, but not in the sea,” Gunnar declared.

Tavin was sorry the conversation had gone in such a direction. He didn’t want to pretend the death hadn’t occurred, but neither did he want the boy to dwell on sad things just now.

“I know he did. There are a lot of dangerous jobs that need to be done,” Tavin admitted. He hurried on with his story. “I liked being on the big ship even though it was dangerous. Our captain was a big man, and he always wore a very big hat.” Tavin finished his folds and held it up. “It wasn’t exactly like this hat, but I thought you might like to pretend you’re a sea captain.”

He opened the bottom of the triangular hat and placed it on the boy’s head. Gunnar reached up and carefully touched the paper, his face full of delight. “I never saw a big ship, Uncle Tavin. How do they go in the water?”

“Steam powers the engine, like it does for the trains. Maybe one day I’ll take you to see the steamboats on the river.”

“Maybe I can go on one?” the boy asked hopefully. “And wear my hat?”

“Maybe,” Tavin said with a smile and a pat on Gunnar’s head. “It’s hard to say. Maybe one day you will be the captain of a ship.”

“I want to blow up rocks like my papa did,” Gunnar countered. “But I can still wear this hat, can’t I?”

Tavin laughed. “Of course.”

Later, when Tavin’s mother appeared with Lethan, Gunnar was full of stories that Tavin had told him. He danced around the room in an animated fashion while Tavin’s mother put supper on the table.

“And then Uncle Tavin had to hang on to the rope, or he was gonna fall into the water,” Gunnar exclaimed, eyes wide as he finished his version of one tale.

“Goodness, that sounds a wee bit frightenin’.” Morna had already placed Lethan in the high chair and turned to Gunnar for inspection. “Are your hands clean, lad?”

Gunnar nodded and held them up. Unfortunately he’d handled his newsprint hat so much there was ink on his fingers. Tavin rubbed his head. “Come on, we’ll both wash up.”

They quickly tended to the task, Gunnar mirroring Tavin’s every move as he washed and dried his hands. “I like you, Uncle Tavin.”

Tavin smiled. “I like you, too, Gunnar.”

They joined Mother and Lethan at the supper table. “Father told me to remind you he’d be helpin’ Gillam tonight,” Tavin said to his mother. “I all but forgot to mention it.”

“I remembered,” his mother replied. “Let us offer thanks for the food. Tavin, would you care to say grace?”

He looked down at his hands, then up at her. “Ah, well, I can’t say that God and I have exactly been speaking much.” He looked away again, feeling rather embarrassed. He hadn’t really meant to say that aloud.

His mother offered the prayer herself without further comment, then saw to the boys’ plates before taking a portion of the potatoes and cabbage dish for herself.

Tavin felt uncomfortable in the silence and tried to think of something to say. Apparently Gunnar did, as well. He touched Tavin’s hand. “I know how to pray,” the little boy said. “If you want, I can show you.”

Tavin felt like his heart was being squeezed with the emotion of the moment. He met his mother’s gaze. She was smiling. “‘From the mouths of babes,’” she said. “Sometimes I think the wee ones have more sense than we have ourselves.”

“No doubt.” Tavin looked at the boy and tousled his hair. “And Gunnar is extra smart.”

The boy beamed proudly. “Did you know that Uncle Tavin worked on a big ship, Grandma?”

“I believe you did mention something about that,” she said as she buttered a piece of bread and looked at her son. “Still, I have a feeling there’s a great bit I don’t know about him. But I’d like to hear it all.”

“I wanna hear it all, too. He tells good stories” was Gunnar’s enthusiastic comment.

Tavin laughed in spite of himself. “There’s a good bit of it I’d just as soon forget.”

“You seem to work very hard to do that with a great many things,” his mother noted with a knowing glance.

“Sometimes,” he countered, “it’s the only way to get by.”

“And sometimes it’s good to face what has been and look forward to what can be.”

“Some things were never meant to be,” Tavin shot back, hoping his mother would just let the subject drop. But of course she didn’t.

“Like your love for Emmalyne Knox?”

Tavin swallowed hard. “I’d really rather not discuss it.”

“I ken that.” She had the audacity to smile at him. “But that doesnae mean you shouldnae. Tavin, you’ve battled this beastly anger of yours for over ten years. Donnae you think it’s time to let it go—give everything over to God?”

“As I said, God and I aren’t exactly on good terms.”

“So you think that means He’s ignorin’ you? Forgotten about you?”

Tavin clamped his mouth shut. He pretended to focus his attention on cutting Gunnar’s pork into pieces.

“Do you remember when you brought home a stray dog,” his mother said, obviously not daunted by his irritation, “and I widnae let you keep him? You widnae speak to me for days. You thought by ignorin’ me, I would just go away and leave you alone. But, if anything, your actions only made me think on you all the more. I figure if humans are that way, God must be even more so. You may think you’ve been hidin’ from Him by ignorin’ Him, but I’m bettin’ you’re all the more on His heart because of it.”

Gunnar looked up at Tavin. “Are you ’norin’ God, Uncle Tavin?”

Tavin looked at the boy for a moment, then lifted his gaze toward the ceiling. “It doesn’t appear I can ignore anyone. Mother, I think we’d better get to eating this very good meal. I’m hungry, even if the rest of you are set on keeping me uncomfortable.”

To his surprise, Mother laughed. When she did so, little Lethan thought it something he should do, too, and joined in, clapping his hands. Gunnar looked around at the other three and grinned. It only served to make Tavin feel all the more foolish.

“Son, I think maybe your discomfort is God’s way of tryin’ to get your attention. Mebbe it’s time to have a wee talk with Him and see what it is He wants to say.”

Tavin blew out a breath and lifted a bite to his mouth. He knew she was right. The only conversation he’d had with God in the last months was to accuse Him of not caring or to beg to be taken from this world.

“You ne’er ken, my son. He might’ve brought you and Mr. Knox here near the same time to mend the past and set a new path for the future.”

This shook Tavin out of his morbid thoughts. “That’s the last thing that God could ever bring about,” he muttered.

His mother raised her eyebrows and smiled in a most indulgent manner. “Aye. I suppose you would ken best what God wants. What with you spendin’ so much time with Him and all.”

“Sarcasm from my own mother? I really hadn’t expected that of you,” Tavin said, trying his best to sound nonchalant.

Morna met his look with one of her own. “There’s often a great deal we dinnae expect in life, son, but sometimes the unexpected is exactly what we need. I just dinnae want you to close your heart to the possibilities. God has a way of comin’ to us in most unusual ways, and I think you may be in for a surprise.”

“I’ve had enough surprises to last a lifetime,” Tavin said, his frustration growing once more. “I would think you have, too.”

“Aye,” his mother replied. This time all hint of amusement was gone from her face. “But God has sent blessin’s in those surprises, too. After all, you’re here sharin’ our table. That’s somethin’ I’ve prayed a guid many years to see come true.” She looked at the boys and smiled. “And my grandsons are one of the best blessin’s to be set at my door.”

She turned back to Tavin and gave him a sympathetic nod. “I think if you open your heart to what God wants to show you, you’ll find a blessin’ or two, as well.”