Family Stories

A dimple appeared in the smooth skin of one cheek, matching those on her rounded arms. “If you’re here to see the reverend, he isn’t in right now.”

Frank swallowed and forced himself to glance away from the bright sheen of her blue eyes. He lowered his gaze to her soft red lips, then wrenched it back to the relative safety of her eyes. “I’m looking for the lady of the house, ” he managed in a more normal voice. “Is she in?”

The lovely creature in front of him held the door open and took a step backward, her actions inviting him into the dark hallway beyond. “I’ll see. You can wait in here.”

She ushered him into a dimly lit room. Some sort of workroom, he guessed from the sparse furniture. He wasn’t offended. Salesmen weren’t high on the social scale and while he knew that his scruples were as high or higher than any of the store owners he met, he accepted society’s judgment for now. He wouldn’t be a salesman forever.

As he waited for the lady of the house to join him, he wondered if he should start thinking about more serious work now, maybe a job that didn’t require so much traveling. For the past five years, he’d lived on the road, leaving home when he was sixteen. Twice a year, he wired his mother and gave her his current address, waiting until she responded before moving on. Each time, she implored him to come home, at least for a visit, and each time he sent back a glib answer and most of his earnings.

The creak of the door interrupted his thoughts and he jumped to his feet, hat clutched in his hand. An older woman advanced into the room and Frank knew he was looking at the young woman’s mother. The same blue eyes, creased now by age, glanced at him before again studying the floorboards. The golden hair was peppered with gray and the smile was tight-lipped but he had no doubt. He’d just been bowled over by the minister’s daughter.

He bit his lower lip at the irony. The other salesmen might find the virtuous daughter of a minister intriguing game but he’d always been more cautious, flirting only with women who couldn’t go running home to papa. He didn’t want to end up shackled to some woman just because he’d let his eyes and hands roam.

The reverend’s wife offered him a chair and he sat down across from her. Her expression softened a bit when she smiled at him, and emboldened by that approval, he launched into his sales pitch, bringing out each item with a practiced hand. She nodded, listening carefully, before finally settling on several bolts of sturdy cloth.

He gathered up the rest of his merchandise and slid it back into his case. She pulled a small purse out of her pocket and slowly counted out the coins before handing the stack to him.

He nudged the coins with his thumb as he checked the amount. “You’ve paid me too much.” He held out several of them.

She shook her head, hiding her hands in her skirt as if he’d thrust the money at her. “No, keep it.” She lifted her head and gave him a candid look. “ Perhaps you could use the extra to call your mother. I’m sure she must worry about you.”

“She does. But I’m a grown man now.” He bent down and picked up the half-empty case.

“You’re never too grown-up for a mother’s love, ” the woman said softly.

He was suddenly aware of the homey aromas around him. The fresh scent of lemon mingled with that of a stew, reminding him of long-ago days when he’d rush in the front door, calling for his mother. She would come out of the kitchen and throw her arms around him in a hug, asking about his day at school….

He brushed the memories aside. He was twenty-one, a man in every sense of the word. His hat still in his hand, he paused at the open doorway and bent at the waist, sweeping the woman a low bow. “Thank you so much for your purchase, ” he said, “and for your advice, ” he couldn’t resist adding.

She blinked at the implied criticism and he instantly felt sorry. She’d only meant to be kind, he told himself, and quickly straightened, a contrite smile on his lips. “Perhaps I will call Mom. I might even visit.”

He was rewarded by a smile that took years from her worn face. Whistling, he tossed on his hat and headed down the steps, sparing only a brief thought for the lovely daughter who’d first opened the door.

Dusk had fallen while he was inside and he leaned his head back to take full advantage of the remaining sun. When he turned onto the road, he almost bumped into the slight figure that suddenly appeared in front of him.

“Quick, over here.” She grabbed his hand and pulled him down the lane, into a clump of bushes. He stumbled over a fallen branch, landing ungracefully at her feet.

She giggled and sat down on the log. “Oh, I’ve never had a man literally fall at my feet before.”

He didn’t speak, his eyes wide as he gazed at her, trying to capture her image in his mind. In later years, he decided, he’d remember her like this. I’ll tell my children and my grandchildren about the most beautiful woman I ever met. They won’t believe me because they won’t be able to see her like this, with the dusky light revealing her golden beauty. They wouldn’t understand how her smile could be serene while her eyes twinkled. Light and darkness, innocence and mystery.

She dragged him away from his thoughts with an embarrassed laugh. “I don’t think you should look at me like that. I’m not sure it’s proper.”

He jumped up, his eyes wild. She was an innocent, a babe. He knew better than to be in a secluded setting with a young girl. He didn’t even know her name.

She reached out and touched his fingers lightly. Her smile was gone and in her seriousness, she looked more beautiful than ever. “Please, sit back down. I shouldn’t have said that. I’m sorry.”

He wanted to take her in his arms until her eyes held their delicious sparkle again. He was surprised by the mixed feelings she aroused in him. He’d slept with his first woman only a week after leaving home, a neglected wife eager to fill her bed with any able-bodied man. He had listened to women moan about their men, holding those same women in the quiet of their houses, letting them ramble so he could reap the benefits of their sorrow.

But this was the first time he’d truly wanted to comfort, to protect a woman from whatever problems could cloud her life.

“They’re probably worried about where you are, ” he finally said. “You should go home.”

The smile returned. “So you can speak, after all. I thought you could since you’re a salesman but I was beginning to wonder.”

His own lips curved upward at her infectious tone. “You should go home, ” he repeated as much for his own sake as for hers. But he sat down on the log next to her, careful to keep a safe distance between them. His fingers tingled with a desire to see if her skin felt as silky as it looked.

“No, it’s all right.” At his questioning glance, she grinned. “My parents trust me and let me have my own way. The townspeople would tell you I’m a bit spoiled.”

She leaned back. He was fascinated by her long, white neck exposed by the soft summer dress. Several loose curls danced around her face and her hands fluttered with each word.

“Have you ever heard of Abraham and Sarah?”

He frowned, trying to follow her lightning change of topic. “I’m not from around here.”

“They’re in the Bible, silly, ” she said.

He dug in the dim recesses of his mind. Church on Sundays had been a regular part of his growing-up years, walking the few blocks with his mother and two sisters. Their dad always stayed home to read his paper in peace and quiet.

“An old couple who wanted a baby?” he ventured.

She nodded. “My parents see themselves as Abraham and Sarah. They had decided it was God’s will that they never have children. And then, just like Abraham and Sarah, they found out I was on the way.”

“They must’ve been very excited.”

“They were. Mother was sick a lot but they were so happy, she didn’t care. She couldn’t go anywhere with my father, even to church. She sewed clothes for me, lovely clothes for this precious baby she was expecting.”

Frank watched the changing expressions on her face. She spoke about babies and birth as if they were the most natural things in the world. Maybe she’s right, he thought, touched by her candor.

“And here you are, ” he breathed when she stopped, vowing to start praying again. If God could create a vision like the one sitting next to him…

“I almost wasn’t.”

Frank caught her hand at that horrible possibility, staring at the sight of her delicate fingers against his much larger palm. She smiled at him and he was ensnared in the spell of her eyes. Sapphires, he told himself, even though he’d never seen the actual gems. Her eyes must look like sapphires. Bright blue rimmed with dark lashes.

She tugged her fingers out of his tight hold and folded her hands in her lap. “My mother suffered complications just before I was born. She told the doctor and my father that if a choice had to be made between her and the baby, then the baby must live. Father argued with her but she wouldn’t listen. Finally, he gave in, hoping a miracle would happen.”

“And a miracle did.” He felt his own faith rekindling at her simple story.

“That’s what my parents believe. I still think it’s because my father can speak to God so easily, or maybe God finds it easier to understand a minister’s requests.”

She laughed at his look of surprise, a throaty trill that spun cobwebs down his spine. “Oh, you mustn’t mind what I say. Really, I do believe in God but living with people who praise God whenever you walk into a room can be tiring.”

She wrapped her arms around her bent knees and rested her head on her arms, her face turned away from him. A delicate pink ear was visible among the disorder of her curls and he clutched his hands in his lap. When a light breeze brought the fresh scent of her soap to him, he closed his eyes. Help me, God, he prayed for the first time in years. She’s too young, too innocent. She doesn’t know what her mere presence does to a man.

He opened his eyes and saw her sitting up, watching him with a mixture of longing and worry.

“You won’t go away, will you?”