第 24 页

Then, together, they walked toward the schoolhouse.

Savannah heard the door open and she cringed. The townspeople had mistrusted her daddy ever since the July Fourth picnic last year when he'd gone crazy. Every head turned as Mama and Daddy walked through the open doorway.

Her parents stood close together?closer than she'd ever seen them. The congregation scrutinized them, eyeing Daddy suspiciously. Sunlight streamed all around them, making them look golden and beautiful.

Neither of them batted an eye, as if they didn't even notice the people studying them. Then Mama did the most amazing thing. She slipped her hand in his.

Daddy jumped at the contact, but he didn't pull away. Instead, he looked down at her. His eyes were wide with wonder. She smiled up at him.

At the front of the schoolroom, the reverend pounded hard on his makeshift pulpit. "Welcome, worshipers," he intoned in his nasal voice. "Today's sermon will be on forgiveness." One by one the townspeople turned away from the couple at the back of the schoolroom and gave their full attention to the sermon.

The preacher launched into a fevered lecture on the merits of forgiveness, but Savannah couldn't concentrate on his words. She kept thinking about her mama holding her daddy's hand. It gave her a warm, cozy feeling. Every last scrap of doubt about Mama disappeared. If Mama could change, then anything was possible.

Maybe they could even become a real, loving family. Smiling, she closed her eyes and prayed.

Jack stared at the open Bible lying in his lap. The small, yellowed pages should have looked old and dingy against the rough brown wool of his trousers, but somehow they didn't. Quite the opposite, in fact. As he studied the dogeared, worn pages, he felt a thin strand of hope wending through his thoughts, leaving in its wake the sparkling promise of maybe.

He squeezed his eyes shut. For years he'd been praying for help and guidance, but never once in all those times had he believed. The words he'd spoken were meaningless shells, devoid of emotion or hope or trust. Simply the vague, formless longings of a man who'd given up.

Now he wondered if it took more than empty words and end-of-the-line pleas to engage the Almighty. Maybe God, like human beings, demanded more of a man than desperate, soon forgotten prayers. Maybe belief, honest belief, made the difference.

He brought his work-callused hands together, threading his fingers tightly. Resting his clasped hands on the open Bible, he bowed his head.

But the prayer wouldn't come. There were so many things he wanted, so many mistakes to be rectified and sins to be forgiven. The magnitude of it all swallowed his feeble sense of hope and overwhelmed him. Frightened him.

His breathing quickened. Despair sucked him in, pulling his thoughts into the blackness that so often clouded his mind. A man like him, a cowardly, crazy shell, had no right to ask for forgiveness, no right to say, "I need."At first he hardly felt a thing, but gradually he became aware of warmth seeping into his cold fingers. Then the pressure, gentle and yet firm.

He eased his eyes open and saw his wife's pale hand curled tightly around his own, touching him, protecting him. Wordlessly, without even a glance, she was telling him that she was there. Beside him.

A calmness unlike any he'd ever known spilled through his body, cocooning him in warmth. His fear began to ebb away and was replaced by a quiet, firm belief that his wife had somehow changed. It was real, and he was ready to believe in her.

There's always a beginning, he thought suddenly. Always.

He closed his eyes again, and this time there was no jumble in his mind, no confusing morass of fear and desperation and despair. There was only the soul-deep, heartfelt desire of a man to begin again. A man who was ready to believe again in God, and in his wife.

Jack had no idea how long he sat there, head bowed, eyes closed, hands clasped in prayer, seeking help from God. Time dwindled and became unimportant.

It seemed like hours; it seemed like minutes.

"Jack?"

Lissa's quiet voice brought him out of his trancelike state. He lifted his head and opened his eyes. The unexpected light made him blink.

Her hand eased off of his. He immediately felt a sharp stab of loss.

"The sermon's over," she said, standing.

Suddenly it was gone. The calm he'd fought so hard for disappeared, leaving him feeling betrayed and more alone than ever. He strove to find that thread of hope once again, to make himself believe.

He found it, buried deep but still intact. He sighed with relief. It hadn't all been a figment of his worthless mind. For once, he'd found something of value within him. All he had to do now was cling to the kernel of hope he'd found. Nurture it. It wouldn't be easy; he'd undoubtedly fail, but for once he wanted?wanted desperately?to try. Lissa sidled closer, touched his arm. He could smell her scent, wildflowers and promise. Turning, he looked down into her huge, earnest eyes and felt like a man who'd just been let out of jail. He smiled. "Thank you.""I didn't do anything, Jack," she said quietly. "You did."Hours later, Jack curled his fingers around the swing's thick, scratchy ropes and planted a booted foot on the plank seat. The wood creaked and groaned. In the falling darkness of night, he stared at the house. Pale light emanated from the open window, carrying with it the scent of roasting meat.

He'd come home. Finally, after all the years of searching and emptiness and doubt, he felt as if he'd come home at last.

A smile spread across his face. Today in church he'd let himself believe in Lissa. In that instant all the emotions he'd hoarded and hidden for years surged to the forefront of his heart, and he'd fallen in love with her all over again. He was scared?damned scared?but he was excited, too. He felt as if he were perched on the edge of a brand-new life. All he had to do was take a single step forward. He let go of the swing and sauntered across the yard. From far below came the echoing whoosh of the sea, and the unexpected cry of a hungry gull. The moon shimmered behind a filmy purple cloud.

He bounded up the steps and eased the kitchen door open. The aroma of beef, cooking carrots, cinnamon, and sweet dough greeted him. No one seemed to notice his arrival. Quietly closing the door behind him, Jack glanced around.

Katie was sitting with her back to him, her small body hunched over the kitchen table. In a hesitant voice, she was calling out letters. Savannah sat beside her, drawing pictures of the letter in the air. Caleb was gurgling playfully in his cradle.

Every now and then, Lissa, who was busily checking something in the oven, would gently correct Katie. "No, sweetheart, the word is w-a-s. Was, not saw. Put your finger right under each letter and see if you can tell the difference."Lissa straightened. The oven door banged shut. "Well, supper's just about ready. Now all we need is your father." She turned and saw Jack standing at the door. Smiling, she wiped her hands on her apron and walked toward him. "And here he is."Savannah's head jerked up. "Daddy!"Katie lurched to her feet. Her feet tangled in the chair and knocked it over. The book she was reading skidded across the table and thumped to the floor.

Lissa stopped in front of him, apparently unaware of the bedlam going on around her. She tucked a curly, sweat-dampened lock of hair around her ear and smiled up at him. "You'd better get washed up for supper."The softness of her voice was almost more than Jack could handle. He had a swift, terrifying urge to take her in his arms and never let her go.

"Jack?"

He cleared his throat. "Sorry. I'll be right back."He ran for the bedroom and slammed the door behind him. It took him five minutes to change out of his sweat-and-dirt-stained work clothes and five more to calm his racing heart. He paced restlessly back and forth, then sat lightly on the bed's very edge.

He had to get control of his emotions. This thing had to be taken slowly, one step at a time. God knew he didn't feel like humiliating himself again.

"Jack?"

Her voice slid through his turbulent thoughts. He snapped to a board-straight sit and shot a glance at the door. She was peeking just around the corner.

"Supper's ready."

Supper. Sitting together as a family, holding hands, talking quietly. The images made him sick with longing. And suddenly he was afraid. Trusting in her was one thing; rejoining the family, being a father, that was another. He wasn't strong enough to do that. He loved his children too much, too desperately, to ever let them down. And sooner or later he let everyone down. "I'm not hungry."She breezed into the room in a swirl of marigold yellow skirting and dropped to her knees directly in front of him. For one terrifying moment he thought she was going to touch him, but she didn't. She clasped her fingers together and looked up. "I made the supper myself?most of it, anyway. Savannah told me it was your favorite."Jack tumbled into her deep brown eyes and was lost. "You made it for me?" She nodded. Waited. Don't do it. Don't? "All right." "Great!" She got to her feet and offered him her hand. He stared at her pale fingers, remembering with crystalline clarity the silky softness of her skin. A numbing coldness crept along his flesh and made him shiver. Trembling, he stood up. God, how those hands had once set him afire....

He swallowed thickly but couldn't look away.

"Jack?" She wiggled her fingers to get his attention.

Slowly, as if every motion were fraught with danger, he reached out and touched her hand. Their fingers threaded together, curled tightly. The moist warmth of her palm made him think of other things, other places.

"Let's go," he said gruffly.

Smiling, she plucked up her skirts and led him out of the bedroom. Through the doorway and down the hall, they walked. She chatted gaily about something?he had no idea what. Nothing got through the jumbled confusion in his mind except the exquisite warmth of her touch.

And then it was gone.

"Here you go, Jack," she said, pulling out his chair.

Jack's trancelike state snapped as clean as a whistle. He watched her bustle toward the stove, then turned his attention to the carefully laid table. In the center of the white-clothed surface was a small, chipped lightning jar filled to overflowing with daffodils and bright red tulips. Each place setting consisted of a blue crockery plate, blue and white napkin, and newly polished silverware. All in all, it looked like a perfect family dinner table.

"I set the table, Daddy. Ain't it?I mean, isn 't it pretty?" Savannah said shyly as she pulled out the chair next to him and sat down.

Jack turned to his eldest daughter. She was staring at him through eyes that concealed nothing. She loved him. Still, after everything. Please God, he prayed, don't let me disappoint her. Not again ...

He swallowed thickly and nodded. "It looks great."Surprise widened her eyes and crawled in a wash of pink across her cheeks. "Thanks, Daddy."Lissa set down a huge platter. A small roast was ringed by fried potatoes, carrots, and onions.

When they were all seated, Lissa poured four glasses of milk, then set the pitcher down. "Shall we pray?" she said, placing a hand on either side of her plate. The girls eagerly placed their hands in their mother's.

They were not so quick to hold Jack's hand. Two small heads turned hesitantly toward him.

"Daddy?" Savannah ventured softly. Jack's heart did a painful twist. Without meeting his daughter's gaze?he couldn't bear to see the uncertainty in her eyes?he brought his hands to the table.

Savannah was the first to take his hand. Warm, slim fingers slid along his upturned palm and slipped between his. Rough, bitten-down nails prickled his flesh. She gave his hand a squeeze, and it was a moment before he realized that she was reassuring him.

He stared at the flowers, feeling a sharp sting behind his eyes. He swallowed the thick, bone-dry lump of emotion that lodged suddenly in his throat. God, how he loved them. Sweet Christ...

"Daddy? Is it okay if I hole your hand?" Katie's quiet voice crept into Jack's thoughts and brought his head up.

Jack looked at his baby girl. She gave him a shy, hesitant smile. Love curled around his heart and squeezed so hard, his chest ached. "I ... I'd like that."Katie's mouth dropped open. "You would?" He nodded, unable to speak.

Katie's pink hand moved across the white tablecloth and slipped into Jack's. His long, brown fingers slipped between her pudgy ones and curled tightly.

"Dear God," Lissa began softly, "we thank you for the many gifts you've bestowed upon this family. And for what we are about to receive, may we be truly grateful."Jack started to lift his head, but she wasn't done. He quickly dropped his chin again.

"Savannah," she said, "why don't you tell God what you're thankful for.""I'm thankful for Katie learning to read." "Katie, honey?"Katie shifted uncomfortably on her chair. Moisture seeped from her tiny hands and dampened Jack's palms. He detected a tremor in her fingers.

"I-I'm thankful we're eating supper together.""It's my turn," Lissa said. "I'm thankful for having such bright, beautiful, loving girls to call my children, and such a darling baby boy. Jack?"r Jack flinched. His hold on the girls' hands tightened.

The silence expanded, turned vaguely awkward as everyone waited to hear his answer.

He cleared his throat. "I'm?I'm thankful for my children." Jack blurted out the damning confession, and waited for Lissa to laugh. When she didn't, he cautiously looked up, and found her staring at him. For a second, there was no one sitting at the table except the two of them.

"Amen," she said softly, and the prayer ended. Only this time, they kept holding hands. Everyone looked up. Gazes slid from face to face around the table, and for once, there was no looking away, no awkwardness.

It was Lissa who withdrew her hands first. "So, who wants some of this delicious supper?" she said, reaching for the platter.

"Wait!" Jack said without thinking.

They all glanced up at him, and Jack immediately felt like an idiot. He couldn't imagine what had prompted him to speak. "I ... uh ... I mean I'm the father. I'll carve the meat."He took the carving knife from her and stood up. Towering over the small table, he carefully began slicing the roast.