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“Amy
and
Miss Hart?”

“Yes. I’m afraid the twins would be too much for Miss Hart alone. She is seventy-six, after all. Amy’s a great help, but she’s still kind of young to be in charge. So I thought the two of them…” She let the explanation drift into silence, unfinished.

He cupped the side of her face with his right hand. “Sounds like a good idea to me. I’ll check the
Press
and see what’s playing at the Apollo.”

The local weekly paper, the
Mountain View Press
, listed movie schedules for four weeks out. Although the Apollo Theater—which showed movies Friday through Sunday—rarely got first-run movies, most of the good films found their way to Hart’s Crossing eventually. There should be something worth seeing in the next couple of weeks.

Patti’s smile made her brown eyes sparkle. “Great.” She kissed him on the cheek. “I’d better check on the roast. I don’t want it to dry out.”

Al watched her go, then entered the family room and lifted his son into his arms. “Amy, would you like to ask your mom if you can stay for dinner? I’m sure there’s plenty.”

“No, thanks. I’m gonna spend the night at a friend’s house. I’ll have to leave pretty soon.” She set the empty bottle aside and lifted Sunni to her cloth-covered shoulder, softly patting her back.

“You’re getting to be a pro at that.”

“Thanks. I took a child-care class at the school this summer. I like helping Mrs. Bedford with the babies. They’re sweet.” She laughed. “Most of the time.”

Al chuckled as he settled onto the sofa. “Most of the time.” He pressed his nose into the curve of Weston’s shoulder and breathed in the baby softness. It was like a breath of joy, a reminder of how blessed he was, and how often he let the cares of the world make him forget it.

Thank you, Father, for trusting me with this family.

“Mr. Bedford?”

He opened his eyes to find Amy standing near the sofa.

“Do you want to hold Sunni too, or should I put her on the blanket? I gotta go now.”

“I’ll take her, Amy. Thanks.”

The girl placed Sunni in the crook of Al’s free arm, the two babies forming a
V
against his chest. “Did Mrs. Bedford tell you I’m writing for the school newspaper this year?”

“No, she didn’t.”

“She’s helping me with some of my stories. You know. With the grammar and stuff. I’m thinking maybe someday I’ll write a book and Mrs. Bedford could be my editor. Wouldn’t that be cool?”

“Sure would.”

She gave him a half wave, turned on her heel, and left, calling to Patti as she passed through the kitchen, “See you later, Mrs. Bedford.”

“Bye, Amy,” Patti returned. “Thanks for everything.”

Al glanced from one twin to the other and felt the joy of fatherhood well up in him again. “Either one of you planning to be a writer when you grow up?”

Weston blew bubbles from his mouth and wriggled in Al’s arm.

“Guess that means no.” He leaned his head against the back of the sofa.
I wonder what you will be.

His thoughts drifted to scenes from his own childhood. Warm summer days spent playing ball with friends or camping out in his backyard with his younger brother. Picnics with his mom’s famous fried chicken, baked beans, coleslaw, and corn on the cob. Helping his dad feed the livestock and the way hay got into his hair and clothes, making him itch. Learning to drive the old, beat-up, two-ton farm truck the summer he was twelve. Knowing just about everybody in town, neighbor helping neighbor. Strict but loving parents.

It was a good life that he remembered. He wanted his children to have a similar childhood
safe, happy, without want for anything they needed. He would do anything to make that happen.

“Al? Dinner’s ready.” Patti stepped into view. “Are they awake?”

“Sunni’s getting a little drowsy. Wes is wide awake, but I don’t think he’ll fuss if I put him down.”

“Maybe they’ll sleep while we eat.”

“Hope so.”

He rose from the sofa and carried the babies to the large blanket spread on the family room carpet, knelt, and laid them down. He waited to see if either would protest. They didn’t.

After washing his hands in the kitchen sink, he went to the table, where Patti stood beside her chair, waiting for him. He kissed her cheek. “Everything looks great.”

She gave him a tentative smile. “Sit down before it gets cold.”

Something about her manner had changed since he first got home. She seemed nervous or tense. He decided not to say anything though. Better not to make waves. He could tell she was trying hard to please him. He didn’t want to upset her by saying the wrong thing.

He held the back of her chair while she sat. Then he took his own place. He reached for her hand and bowed his head, and together they thanked God for all he provided.

* * *

Several times during the meal, Al said how good it was, but Patti tasted little of what she put in her mouth. Her stomach was tied in too many knots to enjoy the dinner she’d labored over.

When should she tell him? When was the right time? While they were still eating? Or should she wait until they relaxed on the sofa? Maybe after a little television. Was one of his favorite shows on tonight? Perhaps she should let him watch it first.

No. She needed to do it now. She’d waited long enough. Another few minutes and she would explode from the tension she felt inside.

“Al.” She set her fork on her plate. “I need to tell you something.”

“What’s that?”

Just say it. Just get it out and over with.
“There’s going to be a charge on the next credit card bill. It’s from a store called Sweet Baby Things. The amount’s pretty big, but I don’t want you to be upset when you see it.” She folded her hands in her lap, trying to hide her nerves. “My mom’s paying for it. She’s already sent the check. So you don’t have to worry about it.”

“What did you buy?”

“Remember when we had that discussion about adding formula to the twins’ diet? Well, I decided you were right, that we didn’t want to do that. The babies should stay on breast milk.” She drew a quick breath and hurried on. “Mom thinks it would do us both good to get out, but we need babysitters, and the babysitters need to be able to feed the babies if they get hungry. So that’s when I placed the order.”

She was prevaricating, telling the truth and yet not quite. Why should it matter, she asked herself, that these things happened in a slightly different order?

“I still don’t know what you bought,” Al said.

She told him about the pump, explaining why it was absolutely top of the line and how terrific it was and why it would make her life as a nursing mother of twins so much easier. “It’s what I used for those bottles Amy was feeding the babies when you got home.” She couldn’t tell from his expression what he was thinking.

“How much did it cost, Patti?”

“Three hundred and twenty dollars.”

He echoed her in a soft voice. “Three hundred and twenty dollars. That’s a lot.”

“Mom’s paying for it. Well, most of it. Three hundred is what she sent.”

“She shouldn’t have to pay for any of it.” He placed his napkin on the table beside the plate and rose from his chair. With three strides, he arrived at the window, his hands shoved into the pockets of his trousers. “I should be able to buy the things you need.”

Guilt twisted her insides.

“I should provide for my family.”

“You
do
provide for us.”

“Not well enough.” He turned to face her, defeat in his eyes. “Maybe it’s time I look for a position in a bigger school district. If I start now, I might have another job by the start of the next school year.”

Strange, she’d nagged him about that very thing for a number of months. But when he said it, it sounded awful.

“We don’t have to decide that tonight,” she said.

She wanted to go to him, put her arms around him, hold him tight, and tell him she loved him. Guilt kept her from doing so.

Chapter 9

“HEY, HON.” AL STOOD in the doorway to the garage, wiping greasy hands on a rag. “When I’m done changing the oil in the cars, how about we drive out to the farm.”

Patti looked at her husband. The distance between them felt much farther than the width of the kitchen. “Sure. If you’d like.”

“My folks haven’t seen the twins in a week or so.”

“I know. Your mom’s got that charity event coming up soon, and your dad’s getting ready for harvest.”

They were talking but saying nothing that needed to be said. It was like being in a line dance and not knowing the steps, afraid to move, afraid to stand still.

He nodded. “Okay then. I’ll give them a call and tell them we’re coming after lunch.” He looked as if he might say something more, then turned and stepped out of sight.

Seconds later, Patti heard the garage door close. The sound made her chest hurt. She went into the living room and sat on the sofa, closing her eyes, letting the temporary silence of the house envelop her.

She wanted things to be right between her and Al. She wanted things to be the way they used to be. She wanted to tell him all of her thoughts and feelings without hesitation. But how could she make that happen?

Perhaps with God’s help?

She smiled sadly. She was no better at being honest with God than she was with Al. When was the last time she prayed, really prayed? When was the last time she tried to hear his voice?

Months. Many months. Long before she could blame it on the busyness of motherhood.

“I’ve made such a mess of things, Father. I’ve hurt Al, and I don’t know how to undo the things I’ve done. Can you help me find my way? I don’t even know how to start.”

* * *

Al’s great-grandfather had moved to south-central Idaho in 1915, soon after a canal system brought irrigation to the area. He started with 160 acres, and as his circumstances improved, he acquired more land, as did his son and his grandson, Al’s dad. The Bedford farm today was nearly a thousand acres of apple orchards, corn fields, and row upon row of onions.

Within moments of Al bringing the minivan to a stop in front of the house, his mom appeared on the porch. “We’re so glad you came,” she called as she descended the steps.

Al got out of the van and hugged his mom. “Hope we’re not intruding.”

“Don’t be silly. Seeing you and your family is the best part of any day.” She kissed his cheek. “Now, let’s get those babies into the house before they catch a chill.”

“A chill? It’s seventy-five degrees out.”

She batted at his shoulder. “Don’t argue with your mother.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he said with a laugh.

His mom rounded the minivan and hugged Patti. “How are you, dear?”

“I’m fine, Carolyne. Thanks.”

“What can I do to help you?”

“If you’ll carry Wes inside, I can handle Sunni and the diaper bag.”

Al knew better than to get between grandmother and grandchildren. “Where’s Dad?”

“Behind the barn. He’s working on that old tractor he found at the auction last week.”

“I’ll see if I can give him a hand. Looks like you’ve got things under control here.”

“Tell him there’s pie when the two of you are ready to come in.”

“What kind of pie?”

“Strawberry rhubarb.”

“Mmm.” Nobody made a better pie than his mom, and strawberry rhubarb was his favorite. “I think I’ll tell him to hurry.” He waited a moment, watching as the two women removed the infant seats from the backseat of the minivan. Then, seeing they wouldn’t need his help, he strode toward the barn.

Mark Bedford farmed with modern equipment, but he had a penchant for antique tractors. He loved to buy, refurbish, and display them at the county fair. Tinkering with his collection brought him pleasure and relaxation.

Al found his dad lying on his back beneath a faded green John Deere. He stopped beside the large rear tire and leaned down. “Got yourself a new toy, I see.”

“Hey, son. You here already? I thought I had another hour.” His dad slid from under the tractor. “She’s a beauty, isn’t she? A 1953 Model 50. Runs pretty good. Won’t take much to restore her.” He stood and gave the machine an affectionate pat. “I got a good deal on her too.”

“What does Mom think?”

His dad laughed. “Carolyne’s just glad I’ve got a hobby that keeps me out from underfoot.”

“But she might prefer model tractors to the real thing. They’d be cheaper and take up less space.”

“True enough.” He patted the antique tractor a second time before saying, “I imagine your mother’s commandeered the grandkids. Suppose I ought to try to wrestle one of those babies away from her?”

“Not unless you want a broken arm. But she did say to tell you there’s strawberry rhubarb pie ready for the eating.”

“Well, what’re we standing out here for?”

“My thoughts exactly.”

“Help me put these tools away, will you?”

“Sure thing.”

Within a matter of minutes, the tools were back in the toolbox and the toolbox was back in the barn. Then the two men started toward the house.

“Dad, I’ve been thinking about looking for a teaching position in one of the larger school districts. Maybe over in Boise.”