Lois Richer - Mother's Day Miracle and Blessed Baby

“Really?” Clarissa frowned. “Like what?”

“You have this,” one finger trailed across her jaw where it curved up to meet her ear, touching the hairline scar, “because, at age six, you helped get Johnny McCabe out of a tumble-down barn. You broke this arm when Petey Somebody dared you to jump off a granary, and Sarah Kingsley stopped being your best friend when she stole all your doll babies in grade two.”

Clarissa gaped at him, nodding her head as he spoke.

“Mercy, they must be serious,” she whispered. “The townsfolk haven’t told anyone that stuff since Harrison.”

He frowned. “Harrison? Harrison was the man you were engaged to. He dumped you when your old friend came back to town. He married her instead of you.” Wade’s voice held a hint of sympathy. “What a jerk!”

“Harrison wasn’t a jerk,” she murmured, staring into Wade’s knowing gaze. “He was just confused. I wasn’t what he wanted, but Grace was. She was very beautiful, just like a model. I couldn’t compete with that.”

“He was a fool. Beauty goes a lot deeper than the skin.” Wade’s hand dropped away from her face as he took a deep breath. His eyes hardened. “But don’t get any ideas, Miss Cartwright. I’m not in the market for a wife. And I am not Harrison’s replacement. Not in a million years.”

The pain he inflicted with those words bit deep and it was all she could do not to burst into tears. She didn’t want someone to replace Harrison! She wanted someone better than him, a man who would think she was as wonderful as Harrison found Grace; she wanted a storybook kind of love.

Clarissa walked out of his yard, crossed the alley and yanked her own gate open. She stopped, turned and stared at him, only then realizing that he’d followed her.

“No, you’re not him,” she agreed quietly. “I don’t think anyone could ever replace Harrison in my life.” Then she closed the gate, walked across the yard and into her big empty house.

“Harrison was a sign,” she whispered as she stared out the window at the falling rain. “A sign that I’m supposed to be alone. And you, Wade Featherhawk, just confirmed it.”

She forgot all about the pails as tears, hot and bitter, coursed down her cheeks. How it hurt, to have those children there and not to be able to love them as she wanted, to mother them.

“It doesn’t matter,” she sobbed to the Lord, determination setting her jaw. “I’ll be their mother in my heart. He can’t stop me from loving them. No one can.”

But as the tears dried and her heart calmed, Clarissa couldn’t help remembering the look on Wade’s face. He’d wanted to let her help, wanted to let her in. She’d seen that.

So why didn’t he? Why was he so afraid to trust, let her into his world?

Eight weeks to the day after he’d moved to Waseka, Wade pulled up to the curb in front of his house at five minutes to six, and parked, grinding the gears as he hadn’t done since he was thirteen. He forced himself to open the truck door, even though every muscle in his body begged him to just sit there and vegetate.

Man, he was tired. He couldn’t ever remember being this bone weary before. His eyes were bleary and unfocused and his hand wasn’t steady. Maybe if he put his head down, just for a moment, maybe then he could get his second wind. Or third.

“Wade?”

Oh, no, not her again! Wade huffed out a great puff of air, his brain groaning. What now?

“Wade, I think you’d better open your eyes and listen to me.”

Clarissa’s soft voice sounded deadly serious. He blinked his eyes open. Her face was white. Of course, it was always pale, but now it had lost all color. Her eyes were red and her hands blackened, as if she’d been playing in the dirt. There were the smudges all over her long floaty skirt.

How many times had he dreamed of that skirt?

“Wade? There was a fire.”

He jerked awake, his brain revving into high gear. “The kids?”

“They’re fine. They’re at my place.” She took a deep breath. “That’s not all.”

Not all? Wasn’t that enough? What else could there be? He tried to focus on what she was saying. “Huh?”

“Rita was here today, doing another inspection. She’s, um, pretty steamed.”

“Why?” He eased himself out of the truck, knowing he had to move but wincing at every budge of his smarting muscles. “What happened?”

“You’d better look for yourself.”

Her delicate hands helped him stumble to the sidewalk and up the path. She pushed open the front door and guided him inside.

The living room was littered with stuff, as usual. Smoky, water-soaked stuff, he noticed. Dishes cluttered the kitchen counter and food sat on the table as flies buzzed over it. A huge black spot covered the ceiling, most of the stove and a section of the floor.

He shuddered, immediately alert to the fact that he could hear no children’s voices. “What happened?”

“Tildy was frying. The oil caught on fire.”

That woke him up. He gulped at the idea of his lovely young niece covered in burns.

“She was trying to help Pierce and forgot to pay attention. Jared saw it start and thought he could put it out with a dish towel. That caught on fire too.” She pointed to the corner. “The oil set the cloth alight and when he tossed it to the floor, it caught onto the laundry Lacey was going to wash. I saw smoke and came over. By the time I got here, Pierce had finally found a fire extinguisher and put it out, but by then Rita had already arrived.”

“But where was Mrs. Anders?”

“Apparently the hospital called to say her husband had a heart attack. She told the kids to call me when she couldn’t reach you, but they didn’t want to be a bother. I think Tildy was afraid I’d make her wait to fry. She’s desperate to get an A in that class.”

It was clear to Wade by the glint in her eyes that Clarissa felt the children were reciting his precise words. He clenched his fists, drew a breath and summoned all his courage.

“And? You might as well spit out the rest of it.” His heart dropped to his boots as he surveyed the damage and considered how much worse off they could have been.

“Rita told me to take the kids. I wanted to call you but no one knew where you were.” There was a hint of censure in her voice. “I tried to stall her, but she’d already made her decision by then.”

Wade saw her swallow, heard her voice drop, and knew the worst had happened.

“I think she’s going to recommend foster care, Wade.”

“She can’t!” He couldn’t bear the thought of it, his sister’s kids split apart, separated, living with people who wouldn’t understand them. His own life, empty and barren of the joy they brought, the small glimpses of his sister he caught in each child. Worst of all, the promise would be broken.

He shook his head, refusing to accept it. “She can’t.”

“Yes, Wade. She can. I just wanted to warn you.” Clarissa didn’t meet his glance, but stood staring at her feet, her head bowed in sadness.

Wade stared at the mess he’d made of things. “I should have been here, should have been nearby. Why did I have to pick this afternoon to run to the city for supplies?”

“It doesn’t matter now.” Her head lifted as if she’d come to some decision. She studied his face for a long moment, then tugged at his arm. “Come on, Wade.”

“It does matter.” He felt the responsibility and almost bowed under it. “It’s my fault. It’s all my fault. They could have died. I should have managed better. No matter how hard I try, I never seem to get it right. I messed up here. Again.” He couldn’t look her in the eye, knew he’d see condemnation.