Authors: Loree Lough
Running both hands through her hair, she expelled a long, shuddering sigh.
“Sweetie,” Noah said, a fingertip lifting her chin, “look at me.”
When she did, he pressed a light kiss to her forehead. “They’re…” He paused, as if groping for words. “You’ll…” His smile was forced. “You’ll like them.”
Oh, really? she asked silently. Then why do you look as though the hangman just slipped a noose around your neck?
“I’ll be right here.” He pulled her close and kissed the top of her head. “I promised I’d take care of you, and I will.” Releasing her, he headed for the door. “I think I’ll have a cup of coffee while you get ready for church.”
“Okay.”
“Want me to bring you a cup?”
“Sure.” She smiled shakily. “That’d be nice.”
He started down the stairs, then ran back into the room. “Dara?”
She was halfway to the bathroom by now. “Hmm?”
“Wear that red velvet thing-y.” He wiggled his eyebrows. “Brings out the bloom in your cheeks.”
Her smile grew; her heart fluttered. How could she refuse him such a small request? Get real, Dara, she thought. You couldn’t refuse him anything.
“All right…if you’ll wear your blue sweater.” She winked. “Brings out the blue of your eyes.”
“Deal,” he said. And then he was gone.
A glance at the clock told Dara she had just about ten hours to get ready for her unexpected, extended guests. Well, she told herself, adjusting the water temperature for her shower, life around here is going to be a lot of things, but boring isn’t one of them!
Francine alphabetized her spice rack.
Francine ironed the bedsheets.
Francine scrubbed the bathroom tile after every shower.
Francine grew prizewinning roses.
Dara had heard enough Francine accolades to last
her a lifetime, though Emmaline and Joseph had been in town only three days. But this last one, well, it was all she could do to hold her tongue.
“You’ve outdone yourself tonight, Dara,” Emmaline gushed, dabbing a napkin to the corners of her lipsticked mouth. “Even better than last night.”
Anyone with eyes could see that the woman didn’t approve of the meal, for it was written all over her narrow, pinched face. “Thank you, Emmaline,” Dara said stiffly.
Last night, Dara had whipped up a pot of Irish stew. Noah’s former mother-in-law took one bite and, clucking her tongue, said, “Mmm…different.” After which Emmaline pointed out that Francine’s stew contained sage.
The evening before, when Francine’s parents had arrived, she’d cooked up her specialty…stuffed shells. And what had Emmaline said?
“They’re quite tasty.…”
“I know that tone,” her husband had said. And with a wry smile, he’d added, “We won’t get a moment’s peace until she’s finished.” Grasping his wife’s hand, Joseph smiled. “Tell us, Emmaline.”
“Why, Joseph,” she’d sputtered, “whatever do you mean?”
“‘They’re quite tasty,’” he said, doing an almost perfect imitation of her. “I distinctly heard a ‘but’ at the end of that sentence. Out with it, dear. ‘They’re quite tasty…” He waved an encouraging hand in the air. “‘Bu-u-u-ut.…’”
Pursing her lips, she’d lifted her double chins, expelled a feigned maternal sigh. “You didn’t use fresh basil, did you, Dara dear?” She looked at Noah. “Francine always used fresh basil in her tomato sauce.”
She’d given his hand a squeeze. “She was such a wonderful cook, wasn’t she, darling?”
Wearing a strained smile, he’d said, “Yes. Wonderful.”
And now, as if to add insult to injury, Emmaline was crinkling her upturned little nose at Dara’s pot roast. “Noah, darling,” she said, “you saved Francine’s recipe box, didn’t you?”
“It’s in the pantry,” Angie offered.
“Thank you, darling,” she gushed, smiling at her granddaughter.
Then, aiming a thin-lipped grin in Dara’s direction, she added, “Perhaps Noah will let you have a look at it.” This time it was Dara’s hand that she squeezed. “I’m sure your heart is in the right place…that your intentions for Noah and the children are only the best, dear.” She tilted her head, as if to say, But you’re falling far short of the mark…
dear.
“A new bride can use all the help she can get, after all.”
Lord,
Dara prayed, gritting her teeth,
give me strength or I’ll
—
“Especially while she’s learning to become a good wife.…”
Dara had pulled out the battered old etiquette book her great-grandmother had brought over from England, so the table settings would be correct. And she’d pressed the damask tablecloth and matching napkins her mother had cherished. There hadn’t been a speck, not a single water spot, on the china or the crystal. And the silver had been polished to perfection.
While the rest of them slept, she’d scurried around the darkened, silent house, scrubbing, dusting, buffing—hoping and praying, as she straightened books on
the shelves and fluffed pillows on the sofas, that she might come close, at least, to measuring up to Francine…
Who’d ironed Noah’s socks and alphabetized the pantry and mowed the lawn…with a toenail clipper, no doubt!
But try as she might, she hadn’t measured up. Hadn’t even come close, to hear Emmaline tell it.
And it wasn’t likely that she ever would.
Slowly, deliberately, Dara scooted her chair back from the table. Standing, she began stacking dishes, salad bowls, bread plates.
“Heavens,” Emmaline said, “I haven’t offended you, have I, dear?”
Dara lifted a column of plates and, forcing a smile, said in cautious, even tones, “The Lord blessed me with the hide of a rhinoceros, Mrs. Brewster. There’s very little that can offend me.”
She didn’t wait for a response. Instead, Dara headed straight for the kitchen, where she deposited the dishes on the counter with a clatter. Then she trudged to the table, slumped into a chair and held her head in her hands. I
don’t ask for much, Lord,
Dara prayed,
just a little peace and quiet in this crazy life. I didn’t complain—did I?—when Mom got sick. You heard no whimpering from me when Dad had his first heart attack…even though You knew how afraid I was of losing him…of being all alone.
And when he died, she didn’t whine. She had accepted his death and continued to do His will. Even when she’d learned of the embezzlement, Dara hadn’t questioned God. Despite the humiliation, the anger, the pain, she had not doubted the Lord.
Her ego had never been put to such a test before,
and Emmaline, she feared, was more than she could handle. No, make that Francine.…
She thought she could handle knowing that Noah still cared so deeply for the woman. Thought she could deal with his quiet devotion, his missing her, his tribute to her memory. Because he had agreed, on their wedding night, to give her what she’d wanted more than anything in this world: a child. A child of her own! And that, she believed, would more than make up for the fact that she’d committed her future to a man who was in love with his former wife.
But she’d been wrong. So very wrong
. I don’t know if I have what it takes, Sweet Jesus, to live in Francine’s shadow.
What
did
they all want from her, anyway? Wasn’t it enough that she loved and cared for Angie and Bobby as if they were her own? And which was really better for them: no-nonsense discipline and a flawlessly spotless house, or a mother who loved them simply because they’d been born? Dara would never subject the kids to the disorganization and disruption of the topsy-turvy household she’d grown up in, but she refused to become the drill sergeant Francine had been, either! If that’s what they want, they’re in for a rude awakening, she thought, sniffing, because—
“Dara?”
Did he really think that nothing more than the weight of his hand on her shoulder would restore her, reassure her? She didn’t want his support now; she’d needed it at the table, while Emmaline had been ridiculing her cooking, her housekeeping skills, her laid-back “let them be children” mind-set.
“If I’d known it would be like this,” he said, “I never would have—”
She wiped her eyes on the backs of her hands. “Where is she?” Dara asked without turning.
“Upstairs. With Joseph and the kids.” He paused, rested both hands on her shoulders.
Joseph, Dara scoffed. Why not “Joe”? Who’s Emmaline trying to impress with this uppity nonsense? Noah had told Dara all about Emmaline’s background, about how she’d risen, like the phoenix, from her impoverished childhood, to become one of Baltimore’s rich and famous. But it hadn’t been by dint of hard work that she’d achieved her lofty status; her marriage to Joseph—whose family’s business had been a Maryland institution for nearly two centuries—had been the means by which she’d had access to Boca Raton real estate, a sprawling ranch in horse country, luxury vehicles and partying with the state’s most illustrious political and corporate leaders. God doesn’t love her any more or any less than He loves any of His children, Dara fumed, so where does she get off putting me down just because—
“Dara, look at me.”
She’d put out four place mats and cloth napkins after services on Sunday, then chose her biggest, healthiest African violet as a centerpiece, so that when Francine’s parents arrived, she could invite them into the kitchen for tea and cookies, make them feel warm and welcome and
at home.
Ironic, she thought dismally, but it worked so well that Emmaline feels it’s well within her rights to belittle me in front of Noah, and Angie, and Bobby.
Sometime during her pity fest, she must have mussed a napkin. Standing, Dara straightened it. “I guess I’d better get the dishes from the dining room. Mashed
potatoes set up like concrete if you don’t rinse them before—”
“I said look at me.”
If I do, she told him silently, I’ll lose control.
And that, she believed, was the biggest mistake she could make right now. For better, for worse, she had vowed. Did you mean it? she asked herself.
The answer, of course, was yes.
Then you’d better find the strength to live in Francine’ s shadow, because it’s painfully obvious that that’s where you’re going to spend the rest of your life!
Dara took a shaky breath and squared her shoulders.
He turned her to face him. “You’re my wife. I don’t like the way she’s treating you.” If she had read insincerity in those sea blue eyes, things would have been different. But he’d meant every word, and his simple, straightforward honesty shattered the last of her composure. His brawny arms slid around her, supporting, consoling, uplifting.
She’d always had plenty of pity for others, when tears crumpled their reserve; for herself, though, weeping seemed pointless and self-centered. Far better—and more productive—to spend that energy seeking out ways to solve whatever problem had brought on the self-pity in the first place!
But standing in the protective circle of his arms, clinging like a needy child, felt strangely fitting and proper, because her weakness had enabled her to draw from his strength.
“I’ve made up my mind. She’s out of here. They’re going to be leaving early, because I won’t allow
anyone
to talk to my wife that way. I’m so sorry for putting you through this.”
The slight hitch in his voice made her ache. How
self-centered of her, how narrow-minded, not to have seen it before: the Brewsters were the only family Noah had ever known. For better or for worse, she reminded herself. She had the love of his sweet children, for the “better,” and Francine’s parents for the “worse.” “No,” she said, “
I’m
sorry.”
He frowned. “For what?”
She sighed. “For behaving like a spoiled little brat. You can’t make them leave, the kids would be so disappointed. They’re the only grandparents Angie and Bobby will ever have. Besides, I can’t blame Emmaline…she misses Francine, and I imagine I pose quite a threat to her, being the woman to take her daughter’s place and all.” She tidied his shirt collar, brushed a speck of lint from his shoulder. “I’ll be more understanding from now on. The rest of their visit will be fun-filled and spectacular. I’ll see to it. I promise!”
She didn’t know how much time passed as he stood there, studying her face, but if it had been in her power, Dara would have stopped every clock in the world indefinitely. Because for those few moments, as he held her close and looked deep into her eyes, it felt an awful lot as if he loved her.
“You’re a piece of work,” he said, smiling.
Raising one eyebrow, she smiled back. “I’m not sure I know how to take that.”
“Take it to mean there’s not another one like you, not anywhere in the universe.”
“Which is probably a good thing, and before you try and argue with that, too,” she said, a hand up to forestall his reply, “may I remind you the mashed potatoes are turning to cement as we speak?”
Noah chuckled. “All right. Get your riveter out if it’ll make you feel any better.”
Actually, standing here like this for the rest of her life was what would make her feel better.
But Emmaline was sure to have a barbed commentary about that, and Dara had only just given her word to try to be more understanding of the woman’s feelings. “Thank you,” she said as she started for the dining room.
“For what?”
Hard as it was, Dara tore her gaze from his and shook her head. “For being you.”
She said a little prayer that he wouldn’t follow her, and thankfully, God answered it. It was as she stood at the sink, wrist deep in warm foamy dishwater that Dara’s memories gripped her.…
For a moment there, the other night as they’d clung to each other in the wide, white-sheeted bed, she’d felt a bit sinful for having expressed her wish to have his children, despite the fact that he hadn’t fully committed to her. His eyes had blazed in the dim light when he’d said, “A baby?”
He’d wanted a baby, too. She had sensed it so strongly it was as though God had sent an angel to sigh it into her ear. And the knowledge warmed her like August sunshine.
Gently, oh so gently, he’d combed his fingers through her hair. “You’re so beautiful,” he’d whispered. And then his mouth had covered hers with an insistent, yet achingly tender kiss that touched Dara’s very soul. She loved him, wholly and completely, and wanted to prove it with everything that she had, with everything that she was.