A Bride at Last (13 page)

He had gone into Nadine’s office hoping to talk to her about a compromise regarding Skyline. But when he entered her office and saw her, it was as if something else moved his feet, his hands. He started
reading over her shoulder, remembered what she had told him yesterday, heard the puzzled sorrow, felt her anguish at the loss of her father. Then suddenly he didn’t want to talk anymore.

Clint shook his head. He was acting like a high school kid. He had a paper to run. He couldn’t afford to get Skyline’s back up. He knew they had to run the article, but what he had read on Nadine’s computer did not bode well for her emotional detachment.

The anger that flowed from her fingers into the article had as much to do with her own unfinished sorrow as the recent accident that, he had found out, was not Skyline’s fault. The trucker was a subcontractor and therefore responsible for his own equipment and his own hours.

Ten minutes ago he had received this information from an old friend who worked with the trucker. The friend hadn’t wanted to talk to Nadine about the accident because he was afraid it would come back to Skyline and he would lose his own contract with them.

But how could Clint tell her this without making it look as if he was on Skyline’s side, which he wasn’t? His friend had told him enough that Clint himself could fill an entire newspaper with stories of graft, misappropriated government funds and fudged records. Only, no one would willingly confirm what he said. Jobs were scarce right now. No one was willing to put their paycheck or contracts in jeopardy.

And to top it off, his partner had phoned him early this morning, reading out a letter from Skyline informing their publishing group of an intent to sue should any more defamatory articles show up in the newspaper on Tuesday. He was leaving first thing Monday for Calgary. Which meant he had today and the weekend to either tone down Nadine’s crusade or get someone else to write the article.

Clint walked slowly over to his desk. He was stuck no matter which way he turned. If he let Nadine write what it looked as if she was going to, they would get sued for sure. If he asked her once again to back off, he knew she would freeze him out just as she had yesterday evening.

Clint sat in his chair, rested his elbows on his desk, dropped his face into his hands.

Okay, Lord,
he prayed,
show me what to do with Nadine. Show me how to manage this paper so that You are shown to a world. Help me balance what I want with what I need. Show me what to do with Nadine, Skyline, my work.
He prayed to let go, to trust that God would provide him with what he needed.

He wanted Nadine, he wanted his newspaper, and unless things changed, he wasn’t about to get both.

Nadine rolled over and glanced idly at the clock by her bed. He heart plunged. Eight in the morning! In a panic, she shoved the tangle of blankets aside. She was supposed to cover the high school volleyball tournament in Edmonton in half an hour.

Nadine stopped herself midstride, and with a satisfied smile crawled back into bed.

She had forgotten about Allison Edlinger, their new reporter. She would be doing the sports beat from now on.

Nadine snuggled farther into the covers, relishing the fact that she could lie there for another hour if she wanted.

She hadn’t told Grandma about her breakup with Trace, and there was no way she’d tell her about her dinner with Clint.

Sunday came with a sudden drop in temperature. Nadine spent an extra half hour in an agony of indecision choosing what to wear, how to do her hair, what to say when she saw Clint again, what he would say, but to no avail. Clint wasn’t in church. The heaviness of disappointment wouldn’t ease. Back at home, Nadine prowled around the apartment, restless and uneasy, all the while berating herself for acting like a teenager in the throes of a crush. By afternoon she changed into blue jeans and a sweater and retreated to her bedroom-cum-office. Once there she pulled up the Skyline file. She hadn’t gotten anywhere the day before, and the story would have to be done by Monday morning to be able to be put in place in the paper. She had it in mind for a front-page story, though she knew Clint wanted it second or third page.

She could give in on that, she conceded as she pulled up the file.

Ignoring the guilt that accompanied working on Sunday, she typed a few words, deleted them, rearranged some of the copy, but it didn’t seem to help. Somehow the words sounded stilted, harsh. She didn’t know if it was Clint’s words haunting her, or reality.

Had she lost her objectivity in regard to Skyline?

Frustrated, she fiddled with the words again. Nothing would come. She decided to check some of the previous stories, to see what she’d done with them.

A few clicks got her into her Skyline folder and then into all of the previous stories.

She highlighted them and opened them all at once. The first one came up on top and Nadine skimmed it, trying to read her reporting from a third-party point of view. It was easier to do now, this many years after the fact.

It had been written five years ago, a year after her father died and she had started working at the paper. She wrinkled her nose at the setup, the flow of the story. Obviously written shortly after her one term of journalism school.

And obviously written from the perspective of a very angry and bitter young woman. Nadine sighed as she read through it, realizing how this must look to Clint and anyone else who read it. Long words, lots of rhetoric and sprinkled with exclamation marks. With a click of her mouse button she closed it and skimmed through the next one and then the next.

Clint was right. Her emotions had guided her writing. When she compared it to other stories she had done, the Skyline articles held a measure of shrillness.

On a hunch, she printed them all out, including her most recent story, and brought them to her grandmother, who sat on the couch knitting socks, humming along with the CD of hymns playing softly on the stereo.

“Can you do me a favor, Grandma?” Nadine asked, handing her the rough draft of her most recent article. “Can you read this and tell me what you think?”

Danielle took the paper and slipped on the reading glasses hanging from a delicate chain around her neck. When she was finished she looked at Nadine, then back at the paper.

“Tell me the truth, Grandma,” Nadine urged, sitting down on the couch beside her.

Danielle pursed her lips, glanced over it again and then handed it back to Nadine. “It sounds very angry. You make it look like the accident is all Skyline’s fault, without coming right out and saying that, of course.”

Nadine bit back a rebuttal. She had asked for an objective statement and she had gotten it. That her grandmother’s words mirrored so closely what Clint had said was not collusion or a conspiracy.

“Okay. What about these?” Nadine handed her a few of the other articles she had written. “These are some old articles I’ve written over the years.”

Danielle looked them over as well, her frown deepening with each one. “Funny that I don’t remember reading them.” Danielle shook her head and pushed her glasses up her nose again as she continued. The room was silent except for the rustling of papers as Grandma laid each one down beside her. When she was finished, she looked up at Nadine. “Why did you want me to read these?”

“I wanted a second opinion.” She looked away, choosing her words carefully. “Clint is having trouble with Skyline Contractors. In the past few years, each time I’ve written an article about them, they’ve threaten to sue us.”

Danielle gasped. “What? I don’t remember reading anything about it in the ‘Court Docket.’”

Nadine resisted the urge to laugh. “It wouldn’t end up in there, Grandma. That’s for minor stuff. The major stuff gets handled very neatly and tidily between lawyers who charge an arm and a leg to write threatening letters and file important documents back and forth.” She picked up the articles, riffling through them absently. “They always threaten, but never follow through. The trouble is that it costs the newspaper each time this happens.”

“And this latest story…”

“Is newsworthy. I don’t know if they’d sue over it”

“So why did you want me to read it?”

“Because I wanted to know if my boss was right.” Nadine hesitated. It was difficult to admit
that she might have been wrong. “I wanted to know if I’ve let my emotions rule my reason.”

“I think where Skyline is concerned, you have never been able to be completely objective.” She stopped, picking up her knitting again.

“And…” prompted Nadine.

Danielle finished off the stitches on the needle and lowered the sock to her lap. “I know there was more to the story of your father’s death than what we were told. There was never a more careful and cautious boy than Jake Laidlaw. When that—” Grandma pursed her lips angrily “—that slimy little man came to the door, trying to tell me that my son had done something unsafe and illegal…” Danielle glared at Nadine. “I was ready to go into battle. To prove them wrong. And I know you felt the same.”

Nadine nodded, surprised at this side of her dear Grandma. Meddling, yes, but confrontational?

“But,” Danielle continued, picking up her knitting again, “going into battle wouldn’t bring your father back, trite as that may sound. Perhaps it was God’s will. No one can say for sure.” Danielle knit a few more stitches, her needles flashing. “Your mother wasn’t content to let things lie. She fought, battled, argued, spent hours on the telephone. When she got sick, she needed someone to continue, to be her hands and eyes, and the job fell to you.” Danielle paused, frowning at her needles. “I think your mother filled you with anger toward this company.” Danielle looked up at her granddaughter with a sad smile. “I think your mother took all the anger from
her grief and poured it into you. I know you had your own anger, but you have never been one to mope and feel sorry for yourself.” Danielle shook her head. “Your dear mother had a tendency to cling to righteous wrath. And when I read these pieces, I hear her anger, feel her pain.” Danielle reached over and squeezed Nadine’s shoulder. “I want to know, too, the circumstances surrounding my son’s death. But it happened six years ago, Nadine. I’ve seen you spend a lot of time on the phone, writing letters to the government, talking to government officials, the police, other Skyline workers. It was easing off just before your mother died, but I sense that you think you’ve failed her by not finding out after all this time.” Danielle slid over and slipped an arm around Nadine’s waist. “Don’t take on a burden that isn’t yours to carry. You really have to let God take care of this one. Let Him comfort you, let Him carry that weight.”

Nadine closed her eyes and let her grandmother hug her. At the moment, Nadine felt as if Danielle Laidlaw was taller and stronger than she could ever hope to be.

She straightened and picked up the papers. Shuffling them into a neat pile, she stared at them without really seeing them. “Was I wrong, Grandma? Was I wrong to write this? Was this a wrong thing to do?”

“I don’t think so, dear.” Danielle patted her on the shoulder. “You are a very good writer, very eloquent and very emotional.”

Nadine laughed shortly.

“I think it might be wrong to have kept your anger going so long.” Danielle stroked Nadine’s hair tenderly. “You are a wonderful, caring girl. I’ve never heard you complain, or grumble, even though I know you’ve had to carry some heavy burdens.” Danielle smiled at her granddaughter. “I’ve always been proud of what you have done in your life. Proud of the things you write, the way your faith shines in your stories and articles. Maybe what you need to do is read over what you have written once again, for yourself, and see if what you know of God’s love is shown in these articles.”

Nadine nodded, realizing that no matter how much she thought she knew, she could always learn something from her dear grandmother.

Her grandmother stroked her hand carefully. “But more than that I want to say that I love you, Nadine.”

Nadine looked at her grandmother and caught her soft, wrinkled hand in hers, pressing it to her cheek. “I love you, too, Grandma. I love you, too.”

N
adine gathered up her papers, stood and bent over to drop a kiss on her grandmother’s head. “Thanks, Grandma,” she said softly as she straightened. Her fingers feathered over her grandmother’s gray head affectionately and, smiling, she turned and walked down the hallway.

Inside her bedroom she stopped beside the computer, tapping the sheaf of papers against the top of her desk, chewing her lip. She still had all her notes at the office. Most of the groundwork had been done. The story had to be told.

But not by me, she reasoned, looking down at the articles she had poured so much emotion into. Too much emotion. Her grandmother was right.

Allison could do it. It would be a good lesson in working under the pressure of a deadline.

Nadine dropped into her chair, pulled out the keyboard and with a few quick strokes, deleted the story
she had just finished. For a moment she stared at the white screen, wondering what she had just done.

As the cursor blinked silently back at her, she sat back, a sigh lifting her shoulders and dropping the weight she had been carrying since she had first heard of the accident a couple of days ago. Her anger had been ignited, and all the stories of Skyline’s misdeeds had swirled around her head. She wanted to right what she saw as a wrong.

But now it was as if the anger had been swept away, the burning need she felt to see justice done quenched under a blanket of peace that surrounded her. She bent her head, her fingers pressed against her face.

Thank you, Lord,
she prayed softly,
thank you for my grandmother and what she teaches me, thank you for my job and what I can do in it. Help me to make wise decisions. In all of my life.

Then, as she lifted her eyes, she felt a smile tease her lips. It was going to be all right. She knew she didn’t need to be the one to personally see that Skyline was brought to justice as she remembered a poem that Grandma was fond of quoting: “Though the mills of God grind slowly, yet they grind exceeding small;/Though with patience He stands waiting, with exactness grinds He all.”

She didn’t need to wield her words to take on what God could easily do himself and in his own time.

Nadine got up and stood by the window, her hands in her pockets as she stared out at the darkened
street. The town looked exactly the same as it had a few minutes ago, but now it seemed to Nadine that she could look at it with more benevolent eyes.

A car drove slowly down the street, its headlights swinging around as it turned into their driveway. Puzzled, Nadine leaned closer, drawing aside the light curtain to see who it could be.

The car stopped and the driver got out. Trace.

What was he doing here? What did he want?

She dropped the curtain and, turning, ran out of her room, determined to get to the door before Grandma. But as she got to the kitchen, she realized she still wasn’t as fast as her grandmother.

“Come in, Trace,” Grandma was saying. “I’ll tell Nadine you’re here.”

I should have told her, thought Nadine, but now it was too late.

She stepped into the kitchen just as Grandma came in from the entrance. “Oh, there you are, Nadine. Trace is here.” Grandma wasn’t smiling and neither was Nadine. No help for it, she thought. She was going to have to do this with witnesses.

“Hi, Nadine.” Trace stood framed by the kitchen door, his eyes on her. He held out his hand as Nadine unconsciously stepped back. “You left this behind a couple of days ago,” he said, showing her a cellular phone. “I thought I would return it.”

“Thanks,” Nadine said, reaching past her grandmother to take it from him. “I was wondering where it was.”

Trace glanced over at Danielle, but when she
made no move to leave, he squared his shoulders and faced Nadine. “I’m really sorry about the other night.”

Nadine shook her head. “Don’t bother, Trace,” she replied. “We don’t have anything to say to each other.”

“But we do. I need to talk to you. I have something to tell you that changes everything.” Trace plunged his hand through his hair, his expression pleading. “Please, Nadine. I was hoping to come to church this morning and then come here after, but something came up.”

As it always did, thought Nadine.

“Please come with me. Please hear me out,” he continued.

Nadine didn’t answer, but she suspected that if she didn’t go with Trace he wouldn’t leave until she heard what he had to say. And she didn’t want to cause a scene in front of her grandma. She turned to Danielle. “I’m going with Trace for a short drive.” She put heavy emphasis on the word
short.
“I’ll be back in a while.”

Her grandmother frowned up at her, as if questioning her wisdom, but Nadine shook her head.

As she walked past Trace, she caught a coat off a hook in the entrance and stepped out the door before he could open it for her. She was at his car before she realized she still carried her cell phone. Shoving it in the pocket of her jacket, she opened the car door and got in.

Trace started the car and drove slowly down the
street. In the dim glow of the streetlights Nadine could see that he hadn’t shaved, his face looked haggard, heavy shadows circled his eyes.

“Where are we going?” she asked as he turned left toward the highway instead of right toward downtown.

“I just want to get away from town, just go for a drive,” he replied. “I have a lot to tell you.”

“Can you start?”

Trace glanced at her, biting his lip. “I don’t know where to.”

She frowned at that. “What do you mean?”

Once he turned onto the highway, he sped up. The lights of town receded behind them and Nadine felt a moment’s apprehension. Trace seemed distraught, and she wondered at the wisdom of going with him in his car.

“I’ve had a lot on my mind lately,” Trace said after a while. “I’ve had to make some hard decisions and I haven’t been able to tell you about them.” He looked at her again, reaching out for her hand.

But Nadine shook her head and kept her fingers wrapped around her jacket. A week ago she would have responded, but that was before Clint had comforted her, had taken her out, had been there when Trace wasn’t.

Had kissed her.

“What haven’t you been able to tell me about, Trace?” she asked.

Trace hesitated, his hands wrapped tightly around
the steering wheel. “When we met, there was an emptiness in my life that I couldn’t fill.”

His words echoed thoughts that had tortured Nadine as well, and for the first time since he had started the car, she looked at him fully.

He glanced at her and smiled carefully. “I really care for you, Nadine. I do. I’ve never met anyone like you, someone I could laugh with…” He paused and looked ahead again. “Someone who has a strong faith. Someone I could admire and love.”

“But…” she prompted, sensing that there was much more that needed to be said.

Trace shook his head as if to deny what he had to do. “I’m married.”

Married. She had been going out with a married man, spending time with him, laughing with him, keeping him away from a wife, maybe even children. “How…” she began, then stopped, unable to articulate her confusion, her anger. “How could you do this?” she whispered, clenching her jacket. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“My wife and I have been living apart for a few months already.” Trace laughed shortly. “I had left Tina a couple of months earlier and moved into a hotel in Derwin. I started buying the paper regularly, and would read your articles. I could tell that you had a strong faith, that you had a strength that I was looking for. When I read the article about us I knew I had to come to the office. Then when I saw you sitting there, I was stunned. You were, are…” he corrected “so beautiful.”

“Why were you and your wife separated?” Nadine interrupted him.

“Tina and I are incompatible. She didn’t want to go to church and I did. She didn’t want to raise our children to go, either….”

“You have children?” Nadine asked weakly. She dropped her head against the back of the seat, a nausea filling her stomach. How could he not tell her?

“That’s why I haven’t always been able to keep our dates. ‘Cause of my kids. But it’s not as bad as it looks,” he continued hastily. “I’m getting a divorce. I’m going to try for custody of the children. Tina and I have already been living apart. I came to Derwin to make a new start, and then I met you.” He sped up. “Can’t you see? It was meant to be.”

“No, it wasn’t,” she said vehemently. “It was a very bad mistake.” Nadine felt like screaming. “You have a wife, children…” She couldn’t get past that. “You went out with me when you should have been with them…” Nadine couldn’t continue, couldn’t think. “Turn around,” she said suddenly.

“Nadine, you don’t understand. I did visit them when I wanted to be with you. But once the divorce is final and we’re together, with the kids…”

“Stop the car. I want you to turn around and take me back home. We have nothing more to talk about.”

“I won’t, Nadine, until you listen to me.” Trace twisted his hands on the steering wheel, his jaw clenched. “My marriage to Tina was a mistake…”

“Don’t even start trying to explain away what
you have done. You made vows and promises. You broke them each time you went out with me, and I helped….” Nadine couldn’t help the catch in her voice as she thought of the time they had spent together. “You made me an unwitting part of that, and I can’t forgive you. Not now.” She bit her lip, unable to articulate the anger and frustration that flowed through her. “I want you to turn around and bring me back home, Trace. Now.”

He slowed down, and Nadine breathed a sigh of relief. But when he pulled in to a field and stopped, she became frightened. Trace turned the car off and turned slowly to her. Panic shot through her as she kept her eyes on him while fumbling for the door handle. “What are you doing?”

“You don’t have to be afraid of me, Nadine.” He shook his head, reaching out to touch her hair. “I’m not going to hurt you. I wouldn’t do that to you.”

Her fingers scrabbled at the handle.
Please open, please open,
she prayed. With a quick jerk she yanked on the handle. She jumped out of the car, stumbled as her coat fell out of the car and tangled around her legs. The interior light of the car shone feebly on the freshly plowed field. She tried to run, tripped on a lump of dirt and regained her balance.

Trace got out of the car, and she tried to increase her speed.

“Nadine, don’t run. You’ll hurt yourself,” Trace warned.

She kept moving awkwardly, her feet unable to respond to her head. Hurry, hurry, she urged, her
ankle twisting as she hit another furrow, unable to find even ground.

“I’m not coming after you, Nadine. Just stop.” His voice came from farther away and she spared a glance over her shoulder.

The car was well behind her, and she could see Trace’s figure silhouetted against the open door of the car.

“Come back, Nadine. I’ll drive you home.”

Still she hesitated. She was too far away from town to walk back, especially in the dark. But she had to get one thing straight before she would sit in the vehicle beside him. “What about your wife?”

“What about her?” he called back, his voice impatient. “We’ve been over that already. I’m getting a divorce. I told you it happened before I met you.”

Nadine couldn’t believe he could be so obtuse. “Doesn’t matter,” she replied, still facing him, the lights of the vehicle shining in her eyes. “I won’t go out with you, Trace.”

Suddenly he banged his fists on the roof of the car, startling Nadine. “You have to change your mind, you have to,” he yelled. Nadine took another step back, ready to run again. Trace sounded out of control, and she was frightened.

“Trace, calm down. You don’t know what you’re saying,” she replied.
Please, Lord, keep me safe. Send him away,
she prayed.

He jumped into the car and slammed the door shut. He started it up, threw it into Reverse and
gunned the engine. Dirt flew as he backed out onto the road. Her prayer was about to be answered.

Nadine watched the glow of his taillights as they receded in the distance, the roar of his engine slowly growing fainter as the chill of the evening finally made itself known.

What had she done? What had she prayed for? He was gone and she was alone.

But even as the quickening breeze sucked warmth away from her, even as she looked around growing more and more confused and frightened, even with that, she had the conviction she had done the wiser thing. Trace was out of control, totally unreasonable.

Her eyes slowly became accustomed to the dark. A pale crescent moon hung in the sky above her, shedding a faint illumination on the land.

For now, all she could see was that she was walking in an open, plowed field. Across the road, another open field. To her left a row of trees marking the quarter line, and beyond that some more bush.

“Don’t panic, and don’t cry,” she told herself as she carefully picked her way along. The furrows were deep and hard and the lack of light made it doubly difficult to walk.
Now what do I do, Lord?
she thought.
I know I did the right thing. I know I did Please help me out of this.
She closed her eyes and continued her prayer for courage, strength and wisdom and anything else she might need to figure out how she was going to get back home.

She shivered in the chill wind and wished she had
her coat on. Then she remembered that it had fallen out of the car when she opened the door.

Nadine hurried as best as she could to the place the car had been parked, and in the thin light she saw a lump of material on the ground. “Thank you, Lord,” she said, gratefully picking it up. Something heavy flew out of the pocket and clattered on the hard ground.

Her cell phone. “And thanks again,” she prayed with gratitude. She picked it up and shrugged into her coat.

When she opened the phone the display showed three bars, indicating barely enough reception to make a call. And the Battery Low sign was on. “Okay, Lord. I guess it’s just little miracles tonight.”

She punched in the numbers to her house and lifted the phone, wincing as the static crackled in her ear. The phone at her home rang again and again. “Please answer it, Grandma, please,” she pleaded. Finally she heard “Hello?”