A Home Of Her Own. Cathleen Connors
with the loam of her beloved mountains rather than boxing her into a formal ceremony constrained by four walls, he knew that the community needed the chance to publicly mourn the passing of one of their most faithful members.
He intentionally arrived early so that both he and Melodie could say their private farewells to the woman who meant so much to each of them.
Once inside, Melodie drew a sharp breath at the sight of the coffin positioned at the front of the church where she had been both baptized and confirmed. Inexplicably exhausted by the miles she had traveled, she had been in no shape to stop by the funeral home to pay her respects yesterday.
Buck squeezed her shoulder in sympathy. “You okay?”
Eyes wide with pain bespoke Melodie’s trepidation at the task before her. Though Buck’s presence beside her was reassuring, she nonetheless flinched at his touch. How could he be so kind to her in light of the way she had treated him?
The flash of hurt in his chiseled features indicated that her aversion to his touch did not go unnoticed.
“I’ll give you a moment alone,” he murmured, turning away before she could stop him.
For the sake of her sanity, Melodie concentrated on details of her surroundings as his footsteps faded away. Gathering clouds outside let little light through the stained-glass windows, lending gloominess to an already dismal day. She noticed that a soft green Berber had replaced the ugly gold shag carpet she remembered so well. Compelling herself up the center aisle one step at a time, she stood at last before the open coffin.
A suffocating sense of déjà vu grabbed her by the throat. Other than the fact that Randall’s casket had been closed because of the manner in which he’d chosen to die, the scene itself was horribly familiar. Peering timidly over the side of the casket, Melodie struggled to keep from screaming, What have you done with my mother?
The withered body lying before her bore little resemblance to the vibrant woman Melodie remembered. She reached out to touch those loving hands folded so peacefully as if in prayer. And instantly recoiled from the icy contact with death.
How sad it was that she had nothing to give this woman who had given so much of herself. Not even her tears. Years of stoically keeping her feelings to herself had dried up any public display of emotion. Had she any faith left in God, Melodie could have offered her mother a prayer, but she knew only too well there was nothing she could do now to make up for the pain she had caused this dear woman.
No amount of pleading over a dead body would buy her the forgiveness Melodie was seeking.
Staring at her mother’s age-blemished hands, it occurred to her that she did have a token to offer Grace after all. Years ago, her mother had expressed the desire to be buried with her wedding ring. Even in this small request it seemed circumstances had conspired against her. Ultimately the ring had been pawned to pay bills. With a sudden ferocity of intent, Melodie wrenched the gold band from her own finger and slipped beneath the hollow of her mother’s folded hands the only thing of value Randall had left her.
“Rest in peace, Mamma,” she whispered. “Nobody deserves it more than you.”
The ceremony was brief and poignant, the small church filled to overflowing. A carry-in sponsored by the local church ladies followed in the basement that was as dark and drafty as Melodie remembered. Apparently recent attempts to raise money for a new parish hall had been met with complaints about the economy and flagging cattle prices. The good news was they had enough money in the fund last fall to do the groundwork and pour the foundation. Concerned members left the rest in God’s hands. The condition of her surroundings mattered little to Melodie who was anxious to express her appreciation to those present for taking the time to pay their respects. Despite the sad circumstances of her homecoming, it was good to be back in the tight-knit community where she had been raised, and she was looking forward to reestablishing ties with old neighbors and friends.
Extending a hand to the woman who had been her mother’s closest neighbor—a mere three miles down the lane—Melodie tried to keep her emotions in check. “It was very kind of you to come, Mrs. Linn.”
As if fearing she would somehow be contaminated by Melodie’s touch, the old woman pulled her hand away.
“I’m surprised you could be bothered to come home for your mother’s funeral,” she rasped. “I never held out any hope you’d get back here before they laid poor Gracie in the ground. As far as I’m concerned if you hadn’t treated her so abysmally, your mother would have likely found the will to outlive us all.”
Too stunned to respond, Melodie gasped at the outrageousness of the accusation. She fought the impulse to bend over double from the impact of the blow. How could a professed Christian be so cruel?
As Cora Linn limped away, Melodie felt other angry eyes upon her. Did everyone present interpret her extended absence as intentional neglect? Could she expect that her lack of tears would brand her an unfeeling monster as well? Her mother had always maintained that just because there weren’t any teardrops on the outside didn’t mean it wasn’t pouring on the inside. Whatever her personal demons, Melodie wasn’t about to display them publicly. She supposed that after so much time away she shouldn’t have expected to be accepted back into this community as anything other than an outsider.
Cora’s verdict that she was a negligent daughter wasn’t anything Melodie hadn’t already labeled herself. Like the virulent Mrs. Linn, she too suspected that had she only been there to offer support, her mother might still be alive today. Nonetheless the thought of Grace actually confiding her disappointment in her daughter to her outspoken neighbor made Melodie bite her lip so hard it caused a drop of blood to appear.
Buck didn’t know what Cora Linn said to upset Melodie, but from her reaction he guessed it shied away from being charitable. The instant the cantankerous old biddy turned away, he saw the slump of Melodie’s shoulders as she wavered by the dessert table. Unexpected feelings of protectiveness knifed him. Cursing himself as the world’s greatest masochist, he crossed the small reception area in a few long strides and slipped an arm around Melodie’s waist.
She heard someone behind them gasp.
“What do you think you’re doing?” Melodie demanded through clenched teeth.
“You look like you’re about to faint. Why don’t you let me help you to a chair?”
As compliant as a block of marble, she whispered bitterly, “You’d better be careful what you do. It might be socially precarious to be seen with me.”
Precarious indeed!
Buck had felt temporarily safe in Melodie’s presence only as long as there was some distance between them. The instant his arm went around her slender waist, he could no longer allow himself to pretend that he was anywhere near being over this woman.
Faking an imperturbability he did not feel, he asked, “What did old lady Linn have to say?”
“Nothing I haven’t thought myself.”
Though her face remained a perfect mask of composure, Buck could feel Melodie tremble. The piercing look he gave her coaxed an abbreviated explanation from her.
“Let’s just say she wasn’t glad to see me.”
The good manners Grace had taught him did not desert Buck now. It hadn’t been all that long ago when the fine folk of this town had ostracized him. He recalled how Grace and Melodie had both stood beside him, stubbornly refusing to listen to the rumors people circulated about him. Labeled a born troublemaker, he remembered only too well how it felt to be treated like an outsider. It had taken three full winters of shoveling Cora Linn’s sidewalk for free before she finally accepted that he wasn’t going to slit Grace’s throat in her sleep and run off with all her valuables. Not that she had any.
“I’ve charted these waters before,” Buck told Melodie with a wry smile as he scanned the room for approaching sharks. “Why don’t you let me help you navigate them today?”
Stiffening