The Heart's Voice. Arlene James
person, always up with the dawn.” She hugged herself. “I love it when the world’s still and quiet, like I’m the only person awake anywhere.”
He smiled, not because he identified—for him the world was always still and quiet, and he missed the bustle and racket of it keenly—but because she never bothered to police her speech with him. Becca was just Becca. Period. He liked that, admired it. In a funny way he was even grateful for it. She made him feel…normal. Whole. He reminded himself that he was neither.
“Come on in,” she said before leading the way inside.
He followed with some trepidation and found himself standing in a living room that couldn’t have been more than ten feet square. Poorly furnished with an old sofa, a small bookcase, a battered coffee table, a cheap floor lamp and a small television set on a wire stand so rickety that it leaned to one side, the place was shabby but spotless and cheerful.
Becca had obviously made a valiant effort. A colorful quilt covered the ratty sofa. Bright yellow ruffled curtains fluttered in the morning breeze. An oval, braided rag rug covered a significant portion of the torn linoleum floor, and sparkling beads had been glued around the edge of the yellowed lamp shade. The bookcase bulged with neatly stacked rows of paperback novels, children’s storybooks and Bible study materials. Best of all were the framed photos hung artistically on the wall, so many that they almost obscured the faded, old-fashioned wallpaper, along with a homemade shadow box of dried flowers and a variety of in-expert coloring-book pages pinned up at Jemmy-height. Jemmy sat on the floor industriously working on another while watching cartoons.
Becca waved him into another room. He glimpsed a sunny bedroom as he walked past an open doorway, then came to stand in the disaster that was her kitchen.
It looked like something straight out of the thirties, with a tired old propane stove, a tiny ancient refrigerator, peeling wallpaper that exposed its rough backing, a shallow tin sink and virtually no cabinets. The only work surface was an old table that obviously functioned as eating space and stood over the slanted entry of an old root cellar. A pair of unfinished shelves comprised the only storage, and a single naked lightbulb provided the only illumination, since the window and possibly a door had been boarded over. To top it all off, the baby sat in a rusty high chair in the very middle of the floor, naked except for a diaper, his hair, face and chest smeared and sticky. With one hand he clutched the remains of a banana while rhythmically banging a spoon on the metal tray with the other. When Dan caught his eye, the filthy little cherub offered him the piece of mushy banana. Dan pretended not to notice and quickly diverted his attention.
Becca reached out and removed the spoon from the baby’s hand with a patient shake of her head. “Sorry about the racket.” Realizing what she’d said, she put a hand to her head and, eyes twinkling, said, “Sorry for apologizing.”
He found himself smiling. Although the place was an appalling wreck and he was just beginning to realize what a job he’d let himself in for, he couldn’t do anything but smile. She was one of a kind, Becca Kinder, as natural and uncomplicated as a woman could get. Widowed much too young, she worked long hours at the store owned by her in-laws, obviously didn’t have a penny to spare, lived in appalling conditions and still managed to be happy and make a warm if humble home for her two children.
He’d do what he could, of course. He wouldn’t be able to live with himself if he didn’t, though he realized in that moment that he would be getting something important out of it, too. Because just by being herself and by treating him as if he wasn’t handicapped, as if he was someone to depend upon, as if he had something of genuine value to offer, she made him understand that it was so. Plus, he could make a real contribution. He could help her. To what extent he wasn’t yet certain, but her life and the lives of her children would definitely be better once he was through here. She couldn’t know what a gift that was, and even if he’d had the words to tell her, he doubted that he could express it sufficiently, so he just looked her in the face and asked, “Where were you wanting to start?”
She gave him a bright, brilliant, happy smile that lightened his heart. Then he felt something brush his hip and looked down to find his jeans decorated with mashed banana.
Chapter Three
“Oh! I’m so sorry! CJ, stop that!”
Becca grabbed a dishcloth from the edge of the sink and rushed to scrub at the banana smeared on Dan’s jeans. He jumped back. She followed and scrubbed at him anyway, and he could tell that she was speaking but not what she was saying, as she was bent over, concentrating on the stain. He tapped her on the shoulder, and she suddenly looked up.
“Work clothes,” he said with a shrug. “No big deal.”
She frowned, but it turned into a smile as she turned to scrub her son. Dan thought it a wonder the little tyke’s skin didn’t come right off. She looked at him over her shoulder. Apparently she had enough experience at this sort of thing that she didn’t need to see what she was doing in order to do it.
“This is all my fault,” she said. “He didn’t really want that banana, but I was trying to keep him occupied. He tends to hang all over me when I’m not working.”
You should stay home, he thought, and then realized from the look on her face that he’d spoken aloud. He hastily added, “If—if you could.”
She nodded. “But I can’t. They stay with the woman who lives next door to John and Abby, so they’re close to the store, and by juggling our schedules we make sure they aren’t there more than a few hours a day. That’s why the butcher counter isn’t open all the time anymore.”
Dan had actually wondered about it, and had decided that John Odem wasn’t getting any younger and had probably cut back his hours for that reason. Now he knew that John wasn’t taking it easy somewhere while his wife and daughter-in-law ran the store. These Kinders were a wonder, with all their good-spirited hard work and caring.
“When CJ’s older,” Becca went on, “I’ll take them both into the store with me. John Odem’s going to set up a playroom, and Jemmy can help watch her brother.”
Dan smiled lamely. “Good plan.”
“CJ’s still clingy, though,” she said. “He’s at that stage, you know.”
Dan didn’t know. He didn’t have the slightest notion about kids. He’d always imagined that one day he’d find some girl and settle down to parenthood, but soldiering had kept him too busy to do anything about it, and then one day it had taken the possibility away from him.
He knew that he couldn’t be a fit parent. His own childhood experience told him that. When he thought about all the times he’d been awakened in the dark of night by some bad dream or frightening noise and how his mom and dad had rushed to his side at his call, he understood his own inadequacy. Thinking about the times he’d tried some silly stunt and injured himself had forced him to admit that his inadequacy could put a child at real risk.
No, he didn’t know about kids, and he probably never would know more than the basics, even though his baby sister was planning a fall wedding and would, presumably, one day make him an uncle. He had to believe that God had a reason for the way things had turned out, and maybe Becca was showing him what that reason was. The skills he’d learned at his grandfather’s and father’s knees seemed to be playing an important role in it. Carpentry had always been an enjoyable pastime for Dan. Working with his hands gave him a certain satisfaction. Maybe it was meant to be more.
A small, delicate touch fell on his shoulder, and he realized with a jolt that Becca was speaking to him, but he hadn’t been paying attention.
“I thought we’d start in here with some plasterboard. If you could just get it on the walls for me, I think I could get it plastered and painted. I’ve been reading up on how to do it.”
He blinked and looked around the room. She’d been reading up on tape and bedding. “I can take care of it,” he said, bringing his gaze back to her face. “All.”
Her relief