Dry Creek Daddy

Both men just grunted in response to her observation.

Mark opened the door on his side of the cab and she did the same. She was relieved to step down onto the hard-packed ground. Maybe things would be friendlier now that they were home.

She startled herself by even thinking of this place as home. But she took a good look around. It had been twilight when she arrived at her father’s ranch last night and dark when she left this morning. Now, seeing the place in full light, she noticed signs of neglect. Weeds had long ago overtaken her mother’s old garden space. The buildings needed new paint. Every fall her father had hired a local man to grade the road from the house to the barn, but it hadn’t been done in what looked like years.

She heard her father slide across the seat and step down from the pickup.

In spite of everything, she had some warm memories of living here. She hoped she would be able to do a few things to fix it up in the time she’d have.

“It’s good to be home,” she said softly.

Her father gave her a long look. Then he nodded curtly and started walking toward the house.

Hannah watched him make his way to the porch. She wondered if she could ever make her peace with this man. She’d heard sermons about forgiveness and figured her adoptive father was high on the list of people she needed to work on in that area.

She’d need God’s grace to do anything like that, she thought to herself as she followed her father over to the house.

She walked up the steps behind the older man. Mark was right behind her.

Her father paused as he stood in front of the door to the house.

“There’s no need for you to come in,” he announced as he reached for the knob. He kept his back toward Hannah.

“Mark will need something to drink,” she finally said, figuring the words must have been addressed to him. “Water, at least. Maybe iced tea. Operating that combine is dusty work.”

She sensed Mark stopping next to her. She never had understood her father’s grudge against the Nelson family. He’d had it before she’d been adopted and it seemed to be still active in his mind.

Her father turned then. His eyes narrowed as he looked at her directly. “I meant you, too. I can take it from here. I’ll bring out a gallon of water if you both just take a seat on the steps.”

His words caught her by surprise. She felt them slice through her like a knife. Mark moved closer.

Then, as her father started to push the door open, she realized what he was doing.

“Oh, no, you don’t,” Hannah protested as she reached out and touched his shoulder. He turned, but didn’t meet her gaze. “I promised that nurse—the doctor, too—that I would keep an eye on you. You need to let me in the house or we are both sitting out here.”

Her father hadn’t invited her inside last night, either. Instead he came out on the porch to tell her that she and “that boy of yours” could stay in the small house by the barn.

“The doctor knows best,” she added. “He said I was to check you out every fifteen minutes for the first few hours. I can’t do that if I can’t see you.”

Hannah could tell her words were not convincing him.

“She’s right. You have to cooperate,” Mark said firmly.

Her father stood there, blocking their view of the inside of the house.

“My place is a mess,” he finally mumbled as he went inside.

“That’s not a problem.” Hannah stepped into the doorway after him. She was glad to understand his hesitation. He was embarrassed. That could be fixed.

It was dark inside and it took a moment for Hannah to see everything.

“Oh.” She looked around in dismay. The living room was not just cluttered; it had been dismantled. Ragged shades covered the windows and the curtains had been ripped off their rods.

“Mom and I made those drapes,” Hannah exclaimed as she surveyed the empty rods. Her mother had carefully selected the deep-blue-and-gold floral brocade. She thought it made the house look happy. Hannah had run the sewing machine because her mother was so weak by then. Hannah looked over at her father. “She wanted to give you a place of comfort. An oasis.”

Mark was standing behind her father and, when her father didn’t look up at her, she raised her questioning eyes to him instead.

Mark shrugged. “Maybe he was too busy out in the fields to do much housework. It happens.”

It didn’t happen in this house, Hannah thought. Her father had been as meticulous about things as her mother had been.

For the first time since Hannah had come back, she was glad her father didn’t want her and Jeremy to stay in this house. Her son needed sunshine and cheer if he was going to beat his illness. The house by the barn, even with the boarded-up window in the one bedroom, would be better than this.

Her father still wasn’t meeting her eyes and Hannah felt sorry for him. “When we get the crops in, I might be able to sew up some new curtains for you.”

Her father looked at her then before he shook his head.

“I’m fine,” he said.

“How could—” Hannah started but then saw Mark give a slight shake of his head. She swallowed. “No matter. Let’s see about getting a cup of tea made for you.” She looked at her father. “I’m assuming you still like hot tea.”

He nodded.

“No cream, extra sugar?” she asked. “English Breakfast?”

“Yes,” he said. “I’ll take it in the kitchen at the table.”

Her father walked into the kitchen and closed the door.

Hannah looked over at Mark, wondering if he’d understood how hard it had been for her to find some common ground with her father. But Mark wasn’t focused on her. Instead, he was staring at the wall behind the sofa.

She turned around.

“Oh,” she gasped. What had gone on in this room after she left here four years ago? “My pictures are gone.”

Her mother had set up the photo wall to display the annual school pictures that Hannah received. There’d been seven large photos displayed in gold metal frames. She had gapped teeth in the first when she was ten years old and smooth curls in the last photo when she was seventeen. Those photos made her feel she belonged here. The only things left on the wall now were the nails from which they’d hung.

“He had no right to do this,” Mark said fiercely as he walked over to stand beside Hannah.

He knew what those pictures meant to her. Her mother had been so proud when she’d hung each one.

“I need to forgive him,” Hannah said as she looked up at Mark. She blinked back her tears. “The Bible says so.”

“But you’re his daughter,” Mark protested. “This is your home.”

“Mrs. Hargrove told me he’s stopped going to church,” Hannah whispered. She’d not thought much about that revelation, assuming her father was just catching up on ranch work. Now she wondered.

“He has no one to blame but himself if he’s lonely,” Mark said as he took a step closer to her. She longed to lean into him like she would have when she was much younger. But she needed to stand strong herself these days and she might as well start now. She couldn’t trust anyone to prop her up.