Troubled waters, p.34
Troubled Waters, page 34
“Don’t know. I was at my interview, so she may have gone then. She did seem preoccupied, but I didn’t make too much of it. Like I said, she’s been havin’ quite a week.”
Noah stood tall, stuffing his hands in his pockets and staring down at the tile.
“Not you, too?”
Noah glanced up. “What?”
“You have that same look about you. That same look Macey had. Is something going on that I should know about?”
“Evelyn, do you have any idea where Macey might be?” He looked as though he wanted to say more but thought better of it. After a long pause, he added, “Maybe she needs some company right now.”
Evelyn couldn’t help but smile at Noah, and she allowed herself to imagine, just briefly, him and Macey together, married, with children. It was a nice thought, one that fit into a perfect world. Then again, this was no perfect world.
Evelyn thought more about Noah’s question. “She said there was somethin’ she had to do. Didn’t mention what. It was like she didn’t want to talk about it. So I don’t know.” Noah sighed lightly. “But she did ask about the land.”
“The land?” said Noah. “You mean out on Farmer’s Market?”
“You know about that?”
A wide jovial grin spread across Noah’s face and he said, “I better go.”
“Now?”
“I’ll be back soon.” He then hurried to the front door, hollered a quick good-bye, and left.
Evelyn moved to a window and watched him hop into his truck and back out of the driveway in a rush, leaving only a ball of dust in the air. She sighed and went back to the kitchen to fetch her glass of lemonade. She sat down, and the emptiness of the house became instantly apparent. She tried to imagine the good Lord at the table with her, drinking His own brew of lemonade. She smiled at the thought and turned the cubes over in her glass as she pondered the ways of the Lord. In her sixty-five years of life, she’d seen Him move in mysterious ways. She’d seen faithful men and women die of disease. But she’d also seen children healed on their deathbeds. She’d watched marriages crumble. But she’d also seen barren women give birth. It was the cycle of life, which frankly, never did make too much sense to Evelyn Steigel. She had the rest of her life to live out alone, at least in this house. That didn’t make too much sense, either.
She took another drink of lemonade and pushed the glass away. It had a bit too much tartness to it this time, and she preferred her lemonade on the sweet side. Figuring it was best she didn’t just sit at the table the whole rest of the afternoon, Evelyn decided to tidy up the place, starting with the living room. She stacked magazines, arranged coasters, and then picked up the heavy old quilt from off the back of the sofa. It probably needed a good shaking out.
Her life seemed to be like a good quilt, passed down from generation to generation, faded, worn, yet still unique and special. That was her journey. It had its purpose. It had its stages and uses. Like the quilt, it was made special with caring hands. Occasionally it had to be patched up and was known to spend a season or two in a dark closet. But a good quilt can always be used for something. For the older it is and the longer it’s around, the greater its value, stains and all.
Evelyn laughed to herself, shaking her head at the thought of herself as an old quilt. She folded it up, not bothering to match the corners, and set it aside. She’d need something to do tomorrow.
She shuffled to the kitchen and stood by the sink, a spot where she’d probably spent half her life. She tried not to think about where the money was going to come from to keep things going. And she tried not to think of what was going to happen with Macey. Her daddy always told her that sometimes thinking too hard would just get you into trouble.
Hanging in the kitchen window by a suction-cup hook was a nice cross-stitch that Ruth Blair had made for her three Christmases ago. It said, Lord, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference. She’d always admired the beautiful handwork Ruth had done, but it was the words that were impressed upon her now. She made it her prayer, then went to the pantry for some sugar. She added it to her glass of lemonade until it tasted just right.
Taking a seat at her kitchen table, Evelyn sipped her lemonade and listened to the quietness of her very still house, wondering what in the world she was going to fix for dinner.
Epilogue
Macey wasn’t sure how long she’d been waiting on the hill. For a time she sat facing the road. But it was too disappointing watching car after car speed by without slowing. Her throat tightened with each one that passed, and each time she doubted even more that Harley was going to come.
It gave her time to think, though. With her back to the road, facing the western horizon, she had come to the conclusion that Harley’s attendance at the little service wasn’t going to bring closure.
She hadn’t realized this immediately. It didn’t dawn on her until after at least an hour of waiting, when she’d decided to go ahead without him. She began by tying the two sticks together with the shoelace, securing them tightly into the form of a cross. It was a little crooked, because the sticks weren’t perfectly straight, but it was a cross nevertheless.
The ground was hard, void of moisture, and so she spent ten minutes chipping away at the dirt with another stick just so she could put the cross in the ground and make a small symbolic grave. By the time she had an adequately sized hole dug in which to anchor the cross, her hands, knees, and shirt were stained with dirt, mixed with the sweat that ran from her brow.
She tried to poke the stick-cross deep into the earth so it stayed upright, but it was useless. It kept falling to one side or the other. The ground was just too hard and she too weak to dig anymore. She sat on the ground breathing hard, angry at herself that she couldn’t even get the grave right.
Holding the cross in her hand, she was about to fling it down the hill in frustration when a thought jolted her mind, one that surprised her in its depth. Her eyes widened as she stared at the jagged sticks, and she realized that this cross wasn’t for the baby.
It was for her.
Her baby was gone, in heaven with God. But Macey Steigel was still here, still very much alive. And still very much in need of being saved from herself and who knew what else. She clutched the sticks in her hand, staring fiercely at them, determined to find out what all this meant for her life.
Suddenly, from behind her came a crunching noise, footsteps on dry brittle grass. Harley! She jumped to her feet and dusted herself off before turning around.
“Noah?” Her mouth hung half open.
“Hi there,” Noah called as he walked up the hillside toward her.
Macey glanced around. “What are you doing here? How did you find me?” She looked down at herself and added, “I must look like—”
“A pig farm.”
“Excuse me?”
He grinned. “That’s why I’m here.”
“To tell me I look like a pig farm?” Macey swiped the dirty sweat from her forehead.
Noah turned, gazing at the land. “Because of all this. Your father’s land.”
Macey shook her head. “I’m confused. What are you talking about?”
“Not long before your father died, a company approached him about buying this land for a pig farm. I handled a lot of your father’s business after he became sick. But your father turned them down.”
“Why? This land is good for nothing else. In fact, it’s perfect for a pig farm. It’s away from everything.”
“True. Only that’s not how your dad saw it. This land was your inheritance, and he wasn’t going to give it to anyone but you.”
Macey stared up at Noah. “Why? I hadn’t seen or spoken to him in years. He didn’t even know where to find me.”
“I guess that tells you a lot, doesn’t it?”
Macey surveyed the property. “But why are you here? Telling me this now? It’s too late, isn’t it?”
“I don’t think so,” Noah said. “They called me a couple of days ago, asking if the property was still available since your father had died. I told them I would get back to them. I didn’t talk to you or your mother about it yet because I thought it would be better to wait until things settled down and life got back to normal. It didn’t seem appropriate to bring it up in the midst of all the grieving.” He looked at Macey. “I didn’t know your mom was having financial problems. That’s why you wanted her to go for that interview. It all makes sense now, but I didn’t know then. I’m sorry. I would’ve said something sooner.”
Tears of relief came to Macey’s eyes, and she said with a smile, “No. I think your timing is perfect. How much do you think the land would go for?”
“I suppose around $150,000. It was appraised not too long ago.”
Macey almost stumbled backward. “That much? I thought it was just a worthless patch of dead grass.”
“Well, I guess it is if you’re not a pig,” he said with a grin.
“If I’d thought it was worth anything I would have looked into it instead of making Mom go through that interview. But . . . where’s the deed? It wasn’t in the lock box at home or at the bank.”
“Your dad gave it to me along with a few other documents when he sensed he didn’t have much time left.”
Feeling overcome by the news, Macey lost her voice momentarily. They stood for a while, neither one saying anything. Macey looked out at the prairie surrounding her, letting it all sink in. Then she noticed Noah eyeing the cross of sticks in her hand.
“I saw Harley today,” she said. “Told him everything.”
“How’d it go?”
Macey shrugged. She didn’t know how to answer that. It certainly hadn’t ended up like any fairy tale, although she did feel as if she’d seen an end to a long nightmare. Maybe because she’d at last fessed up, faced her fears, and asked forgiveness, even if Harley chose not to grant it.
Noah was still staring at the cross.
“I made it. I was going to have a service, like a funeral or something, for my baby.”
“Oh. Do you want to be alone?”
Macey shook her head. “No. I realized . . .” She tried to think of some way to put it, some way to describe what had happened in what seemed a blink of an eye yet had spanned more like an eternity. “Well, let’s just say I ended up burying a lot more today than I thought I would.” She smiled at him. “And to my surprise there was a resurrection or two, as well.”
He nodded. “Boy. I never knew so much could happen on a little hill in the middle of Kansas.” His hands found his pockets, and he rocked back and forth for a moment as if wanting to say more. Finally he looked at her, his eyes radiant. “Stay here.”
Macey let out a nervous laugh. “What?”
“Stay here. In Kansas. Stay here . . . with me. Not since Emily passed away has a woman made me so much as glance in her direction. Not until you.” He attempted a smile. “I want to take care of you. And God knows,” he said with a laugh, “you need someone to do that.”
She laughed, too, and wiped her own tears away. She’d never met anyone like Noah, and she knew without a doubt that she would most likely never meet anyone like him again. Still, there was something holding her back. Maybe it had to do with the epiphany she’d just experienced. Maybe, for once in her life, she felt strong enough to be alone. She couldn’t say for certain. But she knew, at least for now, she would have to say good-bye to Noah.
“I need to go back to Dallas,” she whispered, unable to meet his eyes with hers. Part of her hoped he hadn’t heard it. “I have to process all this, to take the time to . . .” She finally looked at him and smiled. “It’s not you. You’re amazing. You’re a pain in the behind, but you’re amazing.”
“Well, it’s good to know we feel the same way about each other.” He laughed and pulled her near, hugging her tightly. “I understand,” he said, his lips close to her ear. “Just promise me you’ll come visit your mom a lot.”
“Not just my mom,” she said, then took his hand and held it.
He took a few steps back and gave her a warm smile. “So what do you think the chances are that I can come over for a home-cooked meal tonight?”
Laughing, Macey answered, “I think the chances are, oh, around a hundred percent.”
“Good.” He started walking down the hill and then abruptly turned back to her. “You coming?”
“I’ll be home in a little bit. I’ve got to do one more thing. Tell my mom I’m on my way.”
Noah nodded and walked back down to where his truck was parked. Macey wanted to say thank-you to him, but the words stuck in her throat, and by the time she found her voice again he was too far away to hear. It was all right, though. She knew he understood.
She watched him drive away, waving once, hoping he would look back. When his truck was out of sight, she took out the pad of paper and pen she’d brought with her and turned to a clean page. It was a medium-sized steno pad, the kind she’d used time and time again to jot down notes and quotes and facts all throughout her career. But this time she was going to use it for something different. It was time to write to her father.
Dear Dad . . . she began. The words flowed easily, and everything she had to say spilled onto the paper faster than she could write it. She allowed her pen access to every corridor of her heart and, without shame or regret, laid bare her soul. As each thought and idea formed on the page, Macey Steigel couldn’t help but entertain a single overwhelming thought, one that kept her smiling and glancing skyward, sure at any moment she was going to see a hawk gallantly circling the clear expanse far above.
She was free.
Acknowledgments
I would like to express my sincerest thanks to:
My mom and dad, Susan N., Amy G., Cheri G., Sonja G., and Crystal D. for baby-sitting so I could have extra time to write. Amy, thanks as always, for a first read-through.
Laurie Ballweber and Heather Unruh for research help.
Fred and Carol Southern for a special gift that has made this whole process so much easier. Thank you.
Luke Hinrichs, my editor. Your talent on this project was astonishing. Thanks for pushing me and encouraging me all at once. And Dave Horton, an always knowledgeable, friendly, and available voice on the other end of the phone.
Janet Kobobel Grant—thanks for always believing, brain-storming, and just being you. I’m glad we’re partners in this wonderful pursuit to write with passion and purpose. Randy I. and Susanna A., and the rest of the Mt. Hermon gang, for keeping me encouraged.
Sean—you keep me sane! Endless hours of baby-sitting, listening to me whine, and telling me I can do it. Thanks for helping me get this project completed through some difficult times. You’re the absolute best ever. John Caleb—thanks for not having a clue as to what I do when I go and shut my door, turn on the computer, and tell you I’m working—and still loving me. To Cate for making 2002 a GREAT year!
And thank you, Lord, for all the reasons nobody else knows but you.
Rene Gutteridge, Troubled Waters
