Margaret Daley - A Family For Tory And A Mother For Cindy

Mindy labored to her feet with her good hand reaching out to grasp Tory’s. “Good. Dad-dy—doesn’t—uh—cook.”

“What have you two been eating since Mrs. Watson left?”

“Piz-za—take—” frustration pinched Mindy’s features into a frown “—out.”

“Well, then tonight you two will have a home-cooked dinner. I pride myself on my cooking skills.”

Tory rose and walked with Mindy into the kitchen, a large, cheerful room with plenty of sunlight and floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked the pasture behind the house. Blue, yellow and orange wildflowers littered the meadow as though a painter’s palette had been dumped there. A huge oak tree with a tire swing stood sentinel over the backyard.

“Do you like spaghetti?” Tory asked, going to the sink to wash her hands.

“Yes!” Mindy followed suit and used a paper towel to dry them.

“Then that’s what we’ll have. I’ll chop up the onions while you man the skillet and brown the ground beef.”

“I’m—the cook? I’ve—never.”

“You’re eight. It’s about time you started. I can teach you.” The second Tory said the last sentence she realized she might not be able to carry through with her promise. She was assuming more than she should and wished that were different. Since Mindy came into her life, she’d found an added purpose that had been lacking before.

“Wait—till—Dad-dy sees—this.” Wearing an apron, Mindy stood on a stool to brown the meat using a wooden spoon and a gloved hot pad.

An hour later the doorbell rang. Tory left Mindy to finish setting the table while she hurried into the entry hall. She opened the screen door to admit Slade, looking tired but with a smile of greeting on his face. Stepping into the house, he drew in a lungful of air, peppered with the scents of onion, ground beef and baking bread, and licked his lips.

“What do I have to do to wrangle an invitation to dinner out of you?” he asked as he made his way back to the kitchen where Mindy was seated at the large oak table in front of the bay window.

“I—picked—these.” Mindy pointed to a glass vase full of multicolored wildflowers from the meadow behind the house.

“Does this mean we are staying?” Slade asked, eagerness replacing the lines of exhaustion on his face.

“Unless you have somewhere else you need to be.” Tory removed the loaf of French bread from the oven and placed it in the center of the table. “Mindy didn’t think you would mind since you’re probably sick of take-out.”

Slade walked to the stove and peered into the large pot of simmering spaghetti sauce. “I must have done something right today. This smells divine.”

“You’d probably say that about anything you didn’t have to fix or order at a fast-food place.”

“True. But this exceeds anything I could have imagined.”

Heat scored her cheeks. She was always uncomfortable with compliments. “Have a seat next to Mindy,” Tory said, and dished up the food.

After placing the bowls on the table, she sat across from Slade and said, “Mindy, do you want to say the prayer?”

The little girl clasped her hands and bowed her head. “Thank—you, Lord, for—” Mindy lifted her head, her brow wrinkled in thought “—for this.”

The simple but effective prayer brought a lump to Tory’s throat. Every day, Mindy’s bravery was a wonderful example to her. The child had to relearn so many things, but not much got her down. Tory was sure the girl’s frame of mind was part of the reason for her fast recovery.

After dishing up his food, Slade slid his forkful of spaghetti covered in the thick meat sauce into his mouth. He closed his eyes, a look of contentment on his face. “I can’t believe it, but it tastes even better than it smells.”

“Mindy was the best little helper I could have.”

The eight-year-old straightened her shoulders and announced, “I put—spa—this—in the water.” Mindy gestured toward the spaghetti. “Salt—too.”

“I didn’t realize you could cook, sweetheart. I’ll have to get you to fix something for me.”

“Real-ly?” Mindy’s eyes grew big and round.

“Yeah. Maybe Mrs. Watson will let you help her in the kitchen and teach you some dishes.”

“Have you heard from Mrs. Watson?” Tory asked while breaking off a slice of buttered bread from the warm loaf.

“She called last night to tell me her niece and baby boy are doing fine. She’ll probably be back by the first of next week. She’s going to stay a few days longer than planned.”

“Well, if you need me to watch Mindy at the first of next week, that’ll be fine with me.”

“Yip-pee!” Mindy clapped and bounced in her chair. “We—could—cook—again.”

“That would be great,” Tory said, her regard resting on Slade, waiting for his answer to her offer.

“How can I say no, especially if I can get another dinner out of it?”

“Are you wrangling for another invitation to dinner?” Tory grinned, responding to the teasing light in his blue eyes.

“You’re a sharp lady.”

“I have my moments. What do you like to eat?”

“Anything that doesn’t move.”

“My, that leaves the door wide-open. Are you sure you don’t want to narrow it down some?”

“I’ll put myself in you two ladies’ hands. After all, you’re doing me a favor so I can’t be too demanding.”

The word demanding sent a chill down Tory’s spine. She clenched her fork and dropped her gaze to her half-empty plate. “Mindy and I will come up with something.”

“Our—uh—secret,” Mindy said with a giggle.

For the next few minutes while everyone finished their dinner, silence dominated the large kitchen except for the ticking of the clock over the desk by the phone. Mindy finished first, dragging the napkin across her face.

“Can I—swing—on the—tire?” the little girl asked Tory.

“Sure, if it’s okay with your father.”

“I’ll walk you out there.” Slade rose.

“No, Dad-dy—I can—do it—by my-self.” Mindy pushed to her feet and started for the back door.

Slade took a step toward his daughter.

“She’ll be all right. She went by herself to pick the flowers for the table. She wanted to surprise you with them.”

Slade peered at Tory, worry in his gaze. The door opened and closed, its sound emphasizing Mindy’s need for independence.

“I’m letting her do some things alone. It’s important to her.”

“But she still falls sometimes.”

“All children fall. In fact, earlier today she fell in the barn, but she picked herself up and continued with what she was doing.”

Slade stared out the large window that afforded him a good view of the oak tree with the tire hanging from it. He watched his daughter wiggle her body through the hole and lie on her stomach. He scrubbed his hands down his face and forced his attention away from Mindy. “Can I help you clean up?”

“I’ll get—” Tory saw Slade’s need to keep busy and said instead, “Sure. I’ll rinse. You put the dishes in the dishwasher.”

“I think I can manage that.”

While Tory put the leftover food in the refrigerator, Slade cleared the dirty dishes from the table and stacked them beside the sink. A couple of times his gaze strayed toward the window, his mouth pinched in a frown.

“It’s hard letting go.” Tory turned the water on to rinse off the worst of the food before handing the dish to Slade.

“Yes. Mindy’s been through her share of pain and then some. I don’t want her to have to suffer anymore.”

“All parents feel that way, but suffering is part of life. In fact, it probably makes us stronger people.” At least, that’s what I keep telling myself while going through my own ordeal, Tory thought.