The Hand-Me-Down Family (21 page)

Callie led her to the kitchen and seated her at the table. “Now you sit here while I fix us a little treat.” She kept talking,
careful to keep her back to Emma, giving the child time to compose herself. “I believe we have a little cocoa left in the pantry and I think this is a good time to bring it out.” She retrieved two cups and filled them with warm water from the kettle on the stove. “The secret to a good cup of chocolate is to add a touch of vanilla and a touch of peppermint oil.” After she'd mixed the aromatic drinks, she carried them to the table.

“Before you say anything, I want you to understand that there is nothing you could possibly have done that will make me hate you. And no matter what it is, you know that God will forgive you and call you His beloved.”

“But you don't know what—”

“Then tell me.”

Emma placed her hands around her cup but didn't drink.

Finally she took a deep breath that sounded more like a sob.

“The fire was my fault.”

C
allie fought to keep her expression serene. What a terrible burden for a child to carry. “What makes you say that, sweetheart?”

“Because it's true.” Emma's voice trembled.

“Tell me what happened.”

Emma sniffed, then nodded. “Momma had bought some pretty new candles that smelled real nice. They were supposed to be used for special occasions, but I was grumpy about not getting the new colored pencils I saw at Mr. Dobson's store.”

She looked up with pleading eyes. “I was really careful about where I placed the candle, I promise. And it did make me feel better. Then Simon came in to say he was taking me and Annabeth over to see the new foal at the livery and I forgot all about the candle.”

Callie touched the girl's arm. “Oh, Emma, that's not what set that fire.”

The girl refused to be comforted. “You don't know that,” she insisted.

“But
I
do.”

Callie and Emma both turned as Jack entered the kitchen.

“Sorry to eavesdrop, but I heard y'all talking when I came inside.” He knelt down in front of Emma, taking one of her hands between his. “I talked to Mr. Wilson after I got here. They don't know exactly what caused the fire, but they could tell that it started in the kitchen.”

Emma's eyes filled with both doubt and hope. “It did?”

“That's right. And you didn't leave your candle in the kitchen, did you?”

She shook her head.

“So that means your candle had nothing to do with the fire.”

“Then it really wasn't my fault?” The weight almost visibly lifted from Emma's shoulders. With a sob, she threw her arms around Jack's neck and buried her head against his chest.

Callie wanted to throw her arms around him as well. The gift he'd just given Emma, the cleansing of her guilty conscience, was beyond price.

Instead of joining the embrace, she stood and went to the cupboard. “What do you say I fix your Uncle Jack a cup of cocoa so he won't have to just watch us drink ours?”

By the time Callie returned, Emma had finally released her hold on Jack.

Callie's heart swelled as she saw a peace in the child's expression that hadn't been there before.

Jack accepted the cup she brought him and she studied the way he watched Emma as he drank. The mix of satisfaction and concern in his eyes was so, well, so
parental,
that Callie was tempted all over again to give him a hug. Why had Julia's letters never mentioned this softer aspect of Jack?

Because, of course, Julia had been in love with Leland, and Leland and Jack had been at odds. But Callie didn't have that emotional entanglement to fog her vision of the man, and she
saw the tender protector, the concerned family man he could be.

He really did love these children—she could see it not just in his eyes, but in his whole presence. His life was now tied irrevocably to theirs, whether he realized it or not.

If only he felt as deeply about her…

Jack looked up and met her gaze. She lifted her glass, covering her emotion with a silent salute to his accomplishment.

He smiled back, his expression almost sheepish.

The three drank their cocoas in companionable silence. Then, as Callie carried the cups to the sink, Emma let out a jaw-stretching yawn.

Jack bent over and scooped up his niece. “Time to carry you back to bed, young lady.”

Without so much as a murmur, Emma wrapped her arms around Jack's neck, rested her head on his shoulder and closed her eyes.

Callie followed close behind as they exited the room, enjoying the picture they made. As they reached the stairs, Emma's eyes opened the merest crack and she reached behind Jack to stroke Callie's cheek.

“Annabeth was right,” she said drowsily. “Your angel's kiss is beautiful.”

 

“Looks like you boys are doing a good job.”

The hammering paused and Gil's freckled face peered down at Jack from the unfinished platform above. “Hi, Mr. Tyler. Is it lunchtime already?”

“Not for another hour or so. I just decided to come back a little early today. Is Simon up there?”

“He went out to the tool shed to fetch a crowbar.”

Jack made a quick survey of their progress. “You having some problems?”

“No, sir. We just decided to move a couple of our bigger boards to a different spot.”

“Sounds like you have it under control then. Once I talk to Simon's Aunt Callie I'll come back by and lend a hand.”

Gil gave a friendly wave and disappeared back behind the tree house's floor. A moment later the hammering began again with renewed force.

Jack headed toward the back porch. Might as well let Callie know he was home.

He'd spent most of the afternoon yesterday working with Simon and Gil on the initial foundation, setting several stout hickory posts for support and laying some of the cross beams that would provide the base for the floor. They'd also fashioned a sturdy ladder and nailed it securely to the tree.

He'd then given them a stern lecture on safety and teamwork issues. Once he was certain they were clear on the rules, he'd told them they could work on their own whenever they had the time.

He'd spent another hour dealing with Callie's concerns, assuring her that at less than six feet off the ground, the boys would be okay. He'd survived tumbles from greater heights than that when he and Lanny had run free around this place.

Jack stepped inside the house to find lunch simmering on the stove but no sign of Callie. Following the sound of muffled conversation, he moved to the dining room.

He paused in the doorway. Callie and the girls were gathered around the table, intent on something Emma was sketching.

“Oh, that's lovely,” Callie said. “What color should we make it?”

“Pink and purple.” Annabeth's response was immediate and confident. “Oh, and with lots of lace,” she added.

Jack found himself smiling, both at the assurance with
which Annabeth made her pronouncement and at Callie's attempt to hide a smile.

“Those are lovely colors, sweetheart, but perhaps they're not quite right for a tree house.”

Annabeth's lips tightened into a pout. “Why not?”

“Well, because this is supposed to be a home built in the middle of nowhere by a shipwrecked family. I don't think they had a lot of pretty things to work with.” She put a finger on her chin, as if giving it careful consideration. “I tell you what. We'll wait until we get to town and look at what fabrics are available at the mercantile, and then we'll decide.”

“Yes, ma'am.”

Jack stepped farther into the room. “Sounds like you ladies have been doing some serious planning.”

Callie put a hand on one hip. “You didn't think we'd let you fellows have all the fun, did you?”

“Hi, Uncle Jack.” Annabeth jumped down from her chair and ran to greet him. “We're going to make curtains and rugs and some big pillows to sit on and—”

“Don't spoil all the surprises,” Callie admonished.

She turned to Jack. “Emma has been sketching out ideas. She's quite the artist. In fact, she's come up with one idea we'd like to get your thoughts on.”

“Oh?” Jack turned to his niece. “And what might that be?”

Emma slid one of her drawings out of the stack and passed it to him. The tree and tree house were lightly penciled in with a few strokes that nevertheless conveyed their form perfectly. The main focus of the drawing, however, was a contraption that hung from one of the limbs.

“It's a basket on a rope that we can use to lift and lower things with,” Emma explained. “That way we won't have to climb the ladder one-handed.”

“That's mighty smart thinking on your part.” He sat down
next to Emma. It was amazing how much the child had come out of her shell since the discussion of the fire two nights ago. “I see you have the rope pulled over this tall limb and then tied down on a lower one.”

She gave him an uncertain glance. “Don't you think that will work?”

“I think it'll work just fine. I have some rope in the barn that's probably long enough.” He studied her drawing closely. “And I even have an old pulley out there. What do you think about me and the boys rigging that up while you ladies find us a sturdy basket to use?”

Emma nodded.

“Aunt Callie's going to teach us how to make braided rugs,” Annabeth added.

“That sounds like a good idea, Little Bit.” He leaned closer and said in a mock whisper, “Maybe you can sneak a little pink and purple in the mix.”

Annabeth put a hand over her mouth to muffle her giggle.

Callie stood. “I'd better check on lunch. Emma, why don't you show your Uncle Jack some more of your ideas.”

Jack watched her leave, not at all fooled by the excuse she'd given. This was her way of providing the girls time alone with him.

 

Callie stirred the pot of stew simmering on the stove.

Why was Jack home early today? Had he really taken her words to heart about spending more time with the children?

He came in a few minutes later and stood behind her. Peering over her shoulder at the food on the stove, he placed his hand on the small of her back as if to anchor himself. It took a concerted effort on her part not to lean back into him.

She cleared her throat. “Things going well in town?” she asked as casually as she could.

“Yep. Why?”

“Just wondering what brought you home before midday.”

“Disappointed?”

“Of course not. I only wondered, that's all.”

“Actually, I wanted to check on the boys and make sure they remembered my lecture on working safely. I'll go back to my regular schedule tomorrow.”

He removed his hand and reached around her to swipe a biscuit from the platter on the back of the stove. Dodging her playful swipe with a dishrag, he headed toward the door. “Think I'll go back out and lend the boys a hand.”

“Just a minute.”

Jack paused, giving her dishrag a wary glance.

This was more like it. She could handle bantering with him more easily than those intense, confusing emotions.

Callie grabbed a small basket from the counter. “The boys have been working out there most of the morning,” she said. “Here's a jar of sweet tea and two slices of last night's gingerbread to tide them over until lunch.”

Jack gave her a woebegone look. “Only two slices.”

But he wasn't winning any sympathy from her. With an exaggerated sniff, she pointed to the half-eaten biscuit in his hand. “You, sir, chose your treat already.”

Jack placed a hand melodramatically over his heart. “Undone by my own greed.” Then he gave her a wink. “But for one of your biscuits, it was worth it.” Saluting her, he made his exit.

 

Jack chuckled as he strolled toward the oak. Callie was learning to give as good as she got in the teasing department. He enjoyed these exchanges as much as their evening talks after the kids were in bed.

He was still grinning when he halted next to the tree house ladder. “How's it coming along, boys?”

Two heads popped out above the platform this time.

“Hi, Uncle Jack.” Simon gave him a confident smile. “Don't worry, we're laying the boards just the way you showed us yesterday.”

“I can see that. Looks like y'all are doing a mighty fine job.” He lifted the basket. “Your Aunt Callie thought you two might be ready for a little snack.”

“Yes, sir!” Gil's freckled face split in a smile.

Jack handed the basket up. “Go ahead and help yourselves. I'm headed to the barn to look for something the girls need.”

“Thanks, Mr. Tyler.” Gil already had a sizeable portion of gingerbread in his mouth. “Mmm-mmm.”

With a wave, Jack moved on.

“You sure are lucky, Simon.”

“What do you mean?”

Jack slowed his steps, then bent down to remove a nonexistent stone from his boot. He was as curious as Simon to hear what Gil had to say.

“I mean I wish I had an aunt like Mrs. Tyler.”

“Just cause she sent us out some old gingerbread?” Something in Simon's tone got Jack's back up.

“Hey, this is really good gingerbread.” Gil sounded affronted. “But it's not just what a good cook she is. You know what I mean. She can read an adventure story so dramatic-like that you get all caught up in it. And it was her idea for us to build this tree house.”

“True.” Simon drew the word out as if agreeing in spite of himself.

“Just imagine, a woman doing all that. You wouldn't catch my ma or my Aunt Dora doing anything near as fun, that's for sure.”