Janet Dean - Wanted - A Family

Callie rose and came around the table, wrapping her arms around Mildred’s shoulders. “Remember the spring after I came to live with Aunt Hilda? I picked your tulips.” She kissed her cheek. “I still can’t believe you forgave me for ruining your front flowerbed.”

“You were only seven and meant well, wanted to give them to Hilda on her birthday. You weren’t the brightest vandal I’ve come across.” Mildred grinned up at her. “You left a trail of petals clear to her house.”

“You followed that trail. Carrying a bouquet of tulips you’d picked from your flowerbed out back, claiming I’d missed a few. Then you helped me put together a bouquet, though you surely wanted to paddle my behind.”

Tears flooded Mildred’s eyes. “No, dear girl. You’d lost your brother and your parents. I lost only petals.”

A sudden spasm seized Callie’s throat. Her baby brother, Ronnie, just starting to walk. Mama and Papa going about their routine with no warning that the dam was about to give way. All gone.

When she could finally speak, Callie said, “Where would I be if not for Aunt Hilda and people like you, who took a frightened little girl into your hearts?”

“You’d be fine. You were born with all the strength you needed, just like your mother. She’s up in Heaven chatting with that inconsiderate husband of mine.” She patted Callie’s cheek. “That faith of yours will see you through. I’m proud of you, Callie Marie Mitchell.”

Callie’s smile trembled. “You’ve been my rock. I’m happy I can do something for you now. Writing this history will be fun. Imagine, Peaceful’s past at my fingertips.”

Mildred removed some bills from her pocket. “This’ll get you started.”

At the generous sum, Callie shook her head. “I can’t accept this.”

“You’ll soon have four mouths to feed.” Mildred said, then left through the back door and disappeared between the shrubs separating their houses.

In Callie’s hands was enough money to meet their needs for months, maybe more. As she tucked the bills into her purse, the weight of obligations she’d had no idea how she’d pay fell from her shoulders. And she knew—

A naughty little girl’s petal trail had brought Mildred Uland into her life, a very special friend. God had seen Callie through her troubles every step of the way. He’d given her this home. He’d sent Jacob Smith to make repairs. And Mildred with an offer of much-needed funds. Ensuring that she’d be able to take care of her baby and keep the promise she’d made to Nell, a desperate young girl who’d believed she had nowhere to turn.

With her heart filled to overflowing for the good fortune God had brought into her life, Callie could barely contain the unfettered joy pounding through her. A walk would help expend some of that energy.

She opened the screen door and jerked her foot back. Most of the porch floor was missing. The boards had been stripped away, revealing support timbers underneath. Thankfully, they appeared solid and wouldn’t need to be replaced.

Jacob Smith turned from tossing another plank to the lawn.

Callie smiled. “I’m amazed at the progress you’ve made while Mildred and I have been visiting.”

“I don’t believe in wasting time.”

Truer words had never been spoken. Jacob might not be an open book but he could be trusted to do a good job in a timely manner.

“If all those newspapers your neighbor brought get in your way, I could haul them to the barn.”

“They’re fine where they are.”

“I’m curious why Mrs. Uland dumped them on you.”

“Mildred’s—” She wouldn’t spoil her neighbor’s surprise. “Asked me to handle a project for her. I have plenty of room.”

“Might make interesting reading. I like looking into the history of old houses. When you’re finished, I’d like to take a look, see what I can find.”

“I won’t be done anytime soon.” She cocked her head at him. “Are you planning on staying in town that long?”

“Only long enough to…repair your house. Then I’ll move on.”

Exactly as she’d thought. She wouldn’t get involved with Jacob Smith or the problems she felt lurking beneath his polite, standoffish exterior. Why, he could walk out of her life as quickly as he’d walked in and never finish the job. She straightened her spine. Another reason to steel herself against this strange attraction she had for him.

“You might want to lock the screen so you and Elise don’t use that door and fall through the floor joists.”

Nodding, Callie closed the screen, hooked it, closed and locked the wooden door, and then found a red ribbon and tied it around the knob. Satisfied that Elise wouldn’t miss the warning to avoid the porch, she left for her walk by the back door.

A warning she’d take to heart. The truth was Jacob Smith could hurt her. Not physically. She’d never think that. But hurt her nevertheless. She’d lock her heart against this drifter. And focus on making a family with her baby, with Elise and her child and focus on her dream. She’d have a full life.

The excitement bubbling within her like an effervescent underground spring sputtered and died. In truth, she’d been lonely for years—most of her life. Marriage to Martin hadn’t filled that aching void.

Hadn’t she learned anything? Attraction meant nothing.

Jacob Smith was the last man on earth she wanted in her life.

In a matter of hours, Jake had torn the planks off the porch. He’d found ample lumber in the barn to replace them, the boards covered with a layer of dust and mice droppings, evidence that the intent to make repairs exceeded Martin Mitchell’s follow-through.

As Jake pounded in another nail, he cringed at his rush to judgment. If he’d been married when he’d ended up in jail, he’d have no doubt left some things undone. Not everyone was suited for restoration. The poor guy lost his life trying.

Still, Martin’s widow lived in a house all but unfit for human habitation. Jake couldn’t let a woman endure such conditions. Not that he blamed the house. Time and effort would bring this place back to its former grandeur. Though enough work was here to tether a man indefinitely, a sentence without parole.

Yet to walk away, when he’d witnessed Mrs. Mitchell’s relief and joy at the house’s revival would be cruel. In the time he remained, if possible, he’d see the task to completion.

His heart lurched. Was the pull more the woman than the work? Either way, he doubted he’d get the job done. Someone was sure to discover his jailbird past.

The aroma of something sugary drifted on the air. Jake pulled the tantalizing scent of home into his lungs then released it in a gust.

Who was he fooling? This wasn’t home—at least not his.

He grabbed the length of lumber he’d cut. Grasping another large nail between thumb and forefinger, he pounded it into the pungent pine, the perfume of Jake’s life. Far better than the stench of prison, but nothing like the aromas floating out of Mrs. Mitchell’s kitchen.

A shadow fell across the porch floor.

He turned to face a man and woman standing on the flagstone walkway. Offering a tentative smile, a round-faced, sturdy woman wore a feather-adorned hat atop her salt-and-pepper hair.

The burly man’s brow furrowed beneath the brim of his hat. “Who are you?”

Jake laid the hammer down and rose. “Jake Smith,” he said offering a hand.

The visitor didn’t take it. “The name means nothing to me.”

“Doubt it would. I’m new in town.”

“What are you doing to our daughter-in-law’s porch?”

So these people were Callie Mitchell’s in-laws.

The screen door opened and Mrs. Mitchell stepped out on the solid boards he’d laid, looking fresh as a summer morning after a rain. She glanced at Jake, then at her in-laws. Her bright smile slipped. “I see you’ve met Mr. Smith, the carpenter who’s fixing up the place. I’m sure you’re pleased to see I’m taking action to ensure our safety.”