This Time Forever Page 35

  There was an awkward silence, and Rebekka wondered if she had gone too far. She stood. “I really must go.”

  “When are you coming back?”

  “I don’t know.” She looked into the other woman’s eyes, and felt a need to confess. “I might not be coming back at all.”

  “Why?”

  “There’s a man in Cincinnati. He’s offered me a job.”

  “You like him, don’t you?”

  Rebekka’s voice must have given her away. “I do. I don’t know how it’s going to work out, but I think . . .” She shrugged. “I guess I’m taking my own chance now. I can’t pass it up.”

  “What about Belle? About her piano lessons?”

  “I don’t know,” Rebekka said miserably. “I’ll somehow make it up to her.”

  Mickelle’s eyes were sad, but she didn’t voice her disapproval.

  “I’ll call her,” Rebekka meant it, but her words didn’t erase the sadness in Mickelle’s eyes or the sudden worry line in her forehead. “Belle will be all right. She has you . . . and Damon.” Why did she feel like such a jerk?

  “Thank you for coming,” Mickelle said without reproach.

  Rebekka blinked back the tears springing to her eyes. She inclined her head briefly in farewell and then ran for her car.

  I can learn to like five-way chili, she thought.

  Only after she had pulled away from the curb did she let the tears fall.

  * * * * *

  Mickelle watched Rebekka leave, feeling oddly sorry for the younger woman. There had been a sort of desperation in her eyes. What could she have done to help? She bowed her head and offered a silent prayer.

  “You’re praying for Rebekka, aren’t you?” asked a soft voice.

  Mickelle lifted her head and saw Belle coming around the side of the house. “Yes, I am.” She sat down on the top step of the narrow porch, and Belle sat with her. Reaching out, Mickelle adjusted her sock—one of the pair Damon had given her. It didn’t need adjusting, but she enjoyed the soft, rich feel of the wool between her fingers. Even touching the fabric brought a warmth to her heart that she could not deny.

  “Her face looked funny.” Belle frowned. “Like she was running away. I think she does that a lot.”

  “She really loves you.”

  Belle thought for a moment, tracing Rebekka’s signature on her cast with a small finger. “I think you’re right. And she’s coming back. She’s going to give me piano lessons.”

  Mickelle tried to pave the way for an alternative, just in case. “I was thinking maybe you and I could take lessons together—until Rebekka gets back. There’s a high school girl next door who’s begun to teach, and she could help us learn a song or two. What do you think?”

  Belle grinned. “We could surprise Rebekka!”

  “That’s right!”

  “Only it’s going to have to be a one-handed song.” Belle tapped her cast with her good hand. “I can’t even play ‘The Entertainer’ now with my right arm broken. Do you think you can show me something else?”

  “Sure. I’ll show you some scales. You can do those with either hand.”

  Mickelle went inside with Belle, feeling happy. She enjoyed being with this little girl more than she could say. But the joy flooding her heart now had come not only come from Belle, but from Rebekka’s confirmation of Damon’s words of last night. She had also vouched for him as a person. Could loving him bring happiness after all? Was what she saw real?

  * * * * *

  “Thank you so much,” the young mother said profusely. “I’ve been looking everywhere for him! I was downstairs doing the wash, and I turned around and he wasn’t there. I can’t imagine how he got outside. If you hadn’t happened by when you did . . .” She buried her face in her little boy’s neck, squeezing him tightly, unmindful of the mud that now covered her jeans and pink T-shirt. “If I lost him, I don’t know what I’d do!” Tears glistened in her eyes. “Thank you again so much. It’s not everyone who would stop to help.”

  “We’re glad to do it,” Brionney said, touching the young mother comfortingly on the arm.

  Marc nodded in agreement, trying not to let his anguish show. He was grateful the toddler was all right—more than grateful. But in a few moments, Rebekka would be getting on a plane and flying out of his life again—perhaps this time forever. This had been the third house they’d tried when looking for the child’s mother, and with every passing second his agony had increased. Of course, he had no one to blame but himself. All these years, she had been right in front of him. If only he hadn’t been so blind and stubborn and stupid!

  He hurried down the three short steps on the woman’s front porch, looking anxiously toward the van. Brionney followed. “Thank you again so much,” the woman called out from behind her screen door.

  “You’re welcome,” Brionney returned as they sprinted toward the van. Both knew they could never make it to the airport in time, but once in the car, Brionney sped toward the freeway anyway.

  “We can pray for a miracle,” she said softly in French.

  He nodded, not admitting that he was doing just that.

  Their drive to the Salt Lake airport was the longest of his life. They made good time, however, and the traffic wasn’t as terrible as he had expected. Would it be enough?

  Marc had faith; he believed in the Lord and in His ability to somehow prevent Rebekka from leaving Utah. But he didn’t know the Lord’s will in this matter. Did Marc deserve Rebekka? Was she meant to go to Cincinnati and to Samuel? Had his blindness over these past years been the Lord’s way of protecting her?

  I love her! he thought. I’ll do anything to make her happy. Please, Lord, give me that chance.

  What if that chance only lasts a short time?

  Marc didn’t understand where the thought came from, but he knew the answer. There is always eternity. Because that was how long he wanted to be with Rebekka. He’d already lived nearly half the span of an average life without her; one moment more was too long. I will take whatever time I am given with her. And gratefully.

  Brionney let him off outside the airport. “I can find it,” he assured her, not wanting to wait for her to park. He prayed as he sprinted into the building, running the length of the airport until he found the correct airline and a video monitor listing the flights to Cincinnati. The plane leaving at six forty-five was still boarding. The line of flight information blinked rapidly, as though urging him on.

  He bought a ticket at the counter, though the attendant was doubtful she could hold the flight for him. Then he ran. Just like in Paris, when he’d been so desperate to find Rebekka before she left. If only he’d known his feelings then! He would have begged her to stay, pleaded with her to give him a chance, to love him.

  He ignored the quizzical gazes of those he ran past. Once he went down the wrong corridor, berating himself for the delay. I have to get there in time, he told himself. I have to. Rebekka, please wait! He knew exactly what he would do when he found her. He would fall to his knees and beg her to forgive him. Beg her to marry him. Would she say yes? His heart ached to find out.

  Out of breath, he finally arrived at the gate, only to see the door closed and another flight number being posted at the desk. “The plane—it is gone?” he asked the young blonde woman at the computer.

  “What flight number?” she asked kindly. He showed her his ticket, and she shook her head. “I’m sorry. That plane is out on the runway. Already on its way. It’s that one there.” She took a few steps with him to the window and pointed. Marc saw a distant plane rise into the air, as though lifted by an invisible hand.

  “If you’ll let me take this ticket, I can try to put you on the next flight.” Her gaze strayed to his pants, and then up again to his face.

  Marc glanced down and saw that his slacks were spattered with mud, and his shirt had a large smear where he’d carried the toddler. He remembered the gratitude on the young mother’s face as she cuddled her son. Even though his good deed h
ad cost him Rebekka, he knew he would do it again. There’d been no other moral choice. Rebekka would have understood . . . if she’d known.

  “You will find new flight?” he asked awkwardly.

  She nodded.

  Fighting tears, he let her take his ticket. I’m too late.

  Of course he would go after her. Knowing how he felt about Rebekka, he could do nothing else. But would he be too late even then? After everything Damon and Brionney had told him about Samuel, he suspected Rebekka would be committed to him before Marc finally caught up to her. She might even be married.

  Marc couldn’t blame her. If what Brionney had told him was true, Rebekka had already waited too long for him to wake up and notice her. Why should she expect him to suddenly change?

  He still had to try. If she was already committed to this Samuel and happy, he would back off and hide his secret love rather than cause her more pain. But at least he would try.

  “Is a flight soon?” he asked.

  The blonde woman nodded. “The next flight I can get you will be in two hours, but it won’t be from this gate. You’re lucky, though. At least there’s an opening. If you sent your luggage on that last fight, I can have them hold it at the airport for you.”

  Marc had little idea what she said, except the mention of luggage. He glanced down at his soiled clothing. There was no time to return to American Fork to retrieve his luggage. Each moment he delayed meant a greater chance of never seeing Rebekka again. “I have no luggage,” he said.

  After putting the charges for the ticket change on his credit card, Marc slumped to a chair at the terminal, too upset to do anything else. Agony stole over his heart. He should find a gift shop and buy a bag and a change of clothes before the flight. Maybe get something to eat. He should also find a phone and call Brionney to let her know what he was doing, but everything seemed like too much effort.

  A gentle hand touched his shoulder.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  Mickelle opened the door to see Damon standing there. The moment she saw him, her fear from last night returned. His presence was too forceful. She was too aware of him, too afraid she would drown in her own love. Better to keep at a distance. To stay cool.

  “Uh, there’s something on your pants.”

  Her eyes strayed to the mud and grass stains coating her right leg and the seat of her blue jeans. She’d been playing with the kids in the backyard and had slipped on the edge of her freshly watered garden and fallen in the mud.

  He looked amused. “Did I come too soon?”

  “Right on time, as usual,” she said dryly.

  His grin became a laugh. “Kelle, it’s good to see you. I always feel like laughing when—” He suddenly became serious. “Well, not always.”

  Mickelle knew he was thinking of last night. She was thinking of him, too. For just a second, she wanted more than anything for him to take her in his arms and proclaim his love again. What would she say? Would she push him away?

  Her heart started pounding erratically and she turned away quickly, moving toward the kitchen. “I’ll call the children.”

  He followed her. “Kelle, wait. I brought you something.”

  She glanced down at the socks on her shoeless feet, and then away again. He followed the movement and smiled at her warmly. Mickelle felt her face flush, and prayed he didn’t notice. “More socks?” she said with a hopeful expression. “Please, oh, please. Because these are just wonderful.” She looked at her feet again, wiggling her toes for emphasis.

  He laughed and looked chagrined. “Actually, it’s not socks. Sorry.”

  She snorted. “Damon, you don’t have to bring me gifts all the time. If you do, I’ll feel guilty about charging you for watching your children.”

  “Hey, anyone who’s as good with Belle as you are is worth her weight in gold.”

  “Then I’d better start eating more.”

  He laughed, reaching for a box under his arm. She knew it said a lot about her frame of mind that she hadn’t noticed it before.

  The box was a dark red, about three inches wide and a foot long. He handled it carefully, as though it held the finest crystal. “I saw it yesterday at the mall after I found the socks. I bought it because it seemed like something you should have, something you would enjoy. But I didn’t . . . I wanted to give it to you, but I thought you might think me too forward. Then after last night . . .” He paused before hurrying on, “I know what you said last night, and I respect your feelings, so please don’t read anything into this. It’s just something I know you’ll like, and if you accept it, I swear I’ll only give you socks from now on. Sale socks.” They both grinned at this, and she didn’t fight the tenderness swelling in her breast.

  She was also dying of curiosity. What was in the box?

  Finally, he handed it to her. Through the plastic window that covered a portion of the box lid, she saw what looked like a once-living gold rose plucked from King Midas’s garden. She felt her eyes widen. Below the window was a black oval sticker with a thick gold border and gold lettering that read Real Rose Dipped in 24 kt Gold.

  With Damon close behind, she turned into the living room, sat on the couch, and then carefully removed the lid. Inside, the gilded rose gleamed, reflecting the light. She’d never seen such a bright, beautiful gold color. The rose itself was perfectly formed, from its petals and leaves to the thorns on its stem, frozen forever in its encasement of precious metal. In awe, she removed the flower, felt its weight. This was no garage-sale rose.

  “Damon, you shouldn’t—” Mickelle tore her eyes away from the rose and looked at him.

  “But you had a collection, and all those rose bushes outside. I thought it belonged with you.”

  He sat beside her, his amber eyes more earnest than she had ever seen them. At that moment, staring at him over the gold rose, she knew she loved him. Not because he’d noticed her passion for roses, or because he’d bought her an expensive present, and not even because of the vision she had seen of herself as Belle’s mother. She loved him because he was good and kind and caring. She loved him because their souls had touched, and in that instant she knew—knew—she had to give him a chance. Or spend the rest of her life wondering what might have been.

  “Kelle.” His voice was a whisper, almost a question, filled with yearning and uncertainty. “I know you’re afraid to trust me, but I swear you won’t have to do anything you don’t want to. I want you to be happy, please believe that. All I ask is a chance. You can have as much time as you—”

  “Shut up,” she said, her voice low. Before his eyes could register surprise, she added, “Shut up and kiss me before the kids find out you’re here.”

  She set the rose on her lap as he reached for her. His kiss was tender and full of promise, and Mickelle felt her heart soar. Yes, Damon would demand complete devotion, but he would give it as well. He would love her enough to give her space, cherish her enough to let her go free in the end, if that was what she wanted.

  For right now, she wanted nothing more than to feel his lips trace the contours of her face, eyes, lips. A delicious tingling rippled up her spine. Maybe getting to know Damon wouldn’t be as frightening as she had expected.

  She moved into his kiss, and without warning the golden rose slid down her leg and tumbled to the floor. Mickelle pulled away from Damon, trying to save it. For a brief moment, she envisioned the long-stemmed Capodimonte rose that Riley had given her and later crushed into the carpet that terrible day in May.

  Damon quickly scooped up the rose from the carpet. “No damage,” he said, examining it. He laid it carefully in her waiting hands.

  Mickelle stood and moved to the curio cabinet. She still hadn’t replaced the glass, but decided her collection looked fine without it, especially with this new addition. She caressed the smooth metal once again before facing Damon.

  “I love it,” she said, suddenly shy. “Thank you.” How should she act around him now? She might be in love with him, but she still di
dn’t know him very well. And she was more than a little afraid of the tempestuous emotions in her heart.

  He held out his hand, as though reading her thoughts. “Come on, let’s go play ball with the kids. You’re so beautiful, and I think right now I’m in desperate need of four loud and obnoxious chaperones.”

  Mickelle smiled and placed her hand in his.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  The moment Rebekka entered the plane, she started crying and couldn’t stop. She told herself at first that the liquid seeping from her eyes wasn’t tears, but that her allergies were acting up as they had when she was a child.

  Her heart felt as heavy as lead. Ever since she’d left Mickelle’s, the heaviness had grown. And grown. Was it because she felt so guilty about leaving Belle?

  She tried to concentrate on imagining how joyful Samuel’s face would be when he met her at the airport, but all she could see was Marc as he had been that morning—so alive and . . . so Marc.

  Sighing, she took her scriptures from her carry-on bag. Reading the sacred words always had a calming effect on her, but lately she hadn’t been giving them the attention they deserved. Lovingly, she fingered the leather cover. These battered scriptures were special to her for more than one reason. They had accompanied three Perrault missionaries: first Marc, then Josette, and finally André, who had given them to her when she’d received her call. There were teeth marks in them where Marc had once fended off a mad dog, and the pages were well-marked and worn, but she treasured them more than any other set she possessed.

  As she opened the scriptures, a bookmark fell out. It was from Marc. She picked it up, remembering the day he’d given it to her at church almost a year ago. As president of the Sunday School, he’d prepared one for each teen—well, she suspected he’d enlisted his sisters’ help for the actual production—and he’d given her one because she was a teacher in the Sunday School. Bubble letters across the front read: Did you think to pray?