To Know Her by Name (24 page)

“Callie Jennings, this is my sister, Maureen Pile.” McKay introduced Pup the moment they arrived at the church.

“Hello, Callie,” Maureen said kindly, shifting the baby on her hip so she could hold out her hand.

“Hello,” Pup said in return, shaking her hand and thinking how much she looked like her mother.

“And this,” McKay went on, tickling the baby's exposed bare foot, “is Marcus. Are you going to come and see me, Mark?” he asked of his nephew, but was only watched suspiciously from his mother's hold.

“Not today, Mickey,” Maureen explained. “I think he's cutting teeth, and he wants only Luke or me. He wouldn't even go to Grandpa.”

“Now that
is
serious,” McKay said as he tried again to wring a smile from his nephew.

“Are you going to ride or stay here?” McKay asked his sister.

“I'll stay here, but Luke is driving one of the wagons.”

Maureen's eyes shifted to Pup. Although uncomfortable, Pup tried to think fast.

“How old is your baby?” she asked, and almost smiled at her own genius.

“Almost a year,” Maureen said proudly. “He was born June 29.” She looked down at her son now, and he managed a small smile for his mother before laying his head against her shoulder.

“How long are you here, Mickey?”

“All week—at least that's the plan right now.”

“A week—good. You've needed some time off. Oh, there's Luke waving at us. Come and meet my husband, Callie.”

McKay and Pup trailed after Maureen, and it was decided that they would ride on Luke's wagon. It was all done with little ceremony. The pastor and his two children were on the same wagon, so Pup met them, but so were a dozen other people whose names she couldn't have remembered if she'd been held at knifepoint. As she climbed aboard, she felt some concern that she would be jostled and lose her hair, but other than a few wiggly children, everyone sat still and enjoyed the ride. The area was beautiful, and Pup was content to sit and listen to the talk and singing around her.

It was a long ride—almost two hours—but the peaks of the mountains were even more beautiful when the wagons moved out of town. With McKay sitting nearby, his presence rather comforting, and no one trying to talk to her, the time flew. When they arrived back at the church she found that tables, some laden with food, had been set up for the meal.

A plate was pressed into her hand, and for the first time all evening she and McKay were separated. She felt a tickle at her neck and reached up to remove a piece of hay, but otherwise stood still. There were people before and after her in line, but no one spoke to her. Pup wasn't wounded by this. She was content to stand quietly and try not to scratch the back of her legs where she'd sat on the piles of hay. The line moved slowly, but all at once the food was before her. She filled her plate and, still not seeing anyone from McKay's family, found a seat at a long table and tucked into her plate, remembering just in time to drop into a role and keep the food on her plate and not on her dress. A young couple sat across from her as she was finishing, and although they both said hello, they started a private conversation.

It was swiftly growing dark when Pup rose, put her plate on a side table, and moved toward the bonfire that was well underway. People couldn't stand too close to the blaze, but it wasn't long before a huge circle surrounded the fire. From time to time Pup glanced around for a glimpse of McKay, but not until she changed sides did she find him standing with his mother.

“Here you are,” he said kindly when she approached. “Did you get something to eat?”

“Yes. I just finished.”

“Good.”

“Oh, Callie,” Liz spoke. “You got some straw in your hair.”

Pup bent her head a little, and Liz innocently reached up and pulled at the straw at the top of Pup's wig. She visibly started when one piece stuck and Pup's entire head of hair moved down her forehead almost an inch.

A moment later Pup found herself hauled into McKay's arms. He set his cheek against hers as if they were embracing, and with a quick hand to the back of her hair, righted the wig. The next moment he let go of her. It was all done in a matter of seconds, but time seemed to stand still for Pup. McKay's arms felt wonderful. Pup looked up at him in something akin to wonder. She could have stared all night, but a small noise made her glance over at Liz. There was no mistaking her expression of alarm.

“I'm sorry, Callie,” the older woman whispered. “I'm so sorry.”

“It's all right, Liz,” she said, and she meant it. All she could feel was McKay's arms. But then the reality of the situation—where she was, how the wig had moved, the reason for McKay's hug—hit her like a fist. She put up a front so quickly that McKay blinked.

“I'm sorry,” Liz was saying again.

Pup beamed at her and laughed a little. “It's fine, Liz.” Even her voice was different. “Did you get some coffee?”

“No,” Liz answered without hearing herself.

“I'll get you some, shall I?”With that Pup moved off.

Liz couldn't bring herself to look at McKay. She could feel her son's eyes on her profile, but she made herself stare into the flames. She didn't blink, not even when smoke drifted her way. She was glad for it. If someone asked, it would be easier to explain why her eyes were wet with tears.

20

McKay's light was out, but he was not asleep when his mother opened his bedroom door. She held a lantern in one hand and the front of her robe with the other. McKay immediately scooted up against the headboard and reached for the lantern in order to set it on the night table. Liz sat on the edge of the mattress. Not until he turned the flame higher however, did he see his mother's tears.

“Oh, Mom,” he said compassionately, his voice low.

“Has she been ill, McKay? Just tell me that,” she whispered.

“No, Mom. It's nothing like that.”

She drew in a shuddering breath.

“Please tell me you're taking good care of her, McKay, please.”

“I'm trying to, Mom, but it's not as easy as you might think.”

She was shaking her head. “I don't know why I said that. I can see it's not a simple thing, and I've tried never to intrude, but there's something about that girl that just wrings my heart dry.”

McKay could well understand. He remembered the way he felt when he left her cabin that first time. He'd been sick with pity for her. He had thought her the most pathetic creature he'd ever encountered. But to explain all of that to his mother would entail a huge breach of confidence; he had to find some words to help her.

“Mom, this is going to sound cold, but you mustn't pity Callie. I did at one time, but the truth is—” Here he stopped. What was the truth? That she was the most intelligent and capable person he'd ever met? That she was a brilliant spy for the U.S. Treasury Office?

As a matter of fact, Pup had been very upset by the wig incident. She'd maintained the facade of a polite stranger until she retired for the night, but she was not someone to be pitied. McKay took his mother's hand.

“I simply can't go into it, Mom, but I will see to it that she's all right. Don't be upset about this the rest of the week. Pu—.” McKay stopped and began again. “Callie is a very private person, but get to know her as much as you can. I know you'll enjoy her.”

Liz nodded. She knew she couldn't expect any more, but it was so unsettling. She stood, and McKay handed her the light.

“I'm sorry, Mom.”

“It's all right, McKay. I'll just take your advice and be myself tomorrow. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight.”

She exited on that note, and returned to her own bedroom. She blew the lantern out, but when Harry felt the bed move as she climbed in, he came up on one elbow.

“You just coming to bed?” He didn't remember falling asleep without her.

“Yes. I had to talk to McKay.”

Harry heard the tears in her voice.

“Are you all right?”

“No.” There was a distinct quiver now.

“Well, come here and tell me about it.”

Harry's offer was sincere, but once in her husband's arms, all Liz could do was cry. It wasn't long before she was asleep. They had a chance to talk about it briefly the next morning, but since Harry had no more answers than Liz did, they knew they would have to take McKay at his word and act as normal as possible.

“You're going to drop the act, Pup,” McKay said firmly, his face close to Pup's. “And you're going to drop it now.”

McKay could have howled with frustration when her brows rose in question and she only looked at him. Breakfast, eaten an hour past, had been without a spill or upset. Liz and Harry acted as normal as ever, and even though Harry was headed into town where he was a druggist and ran a small office, Liz had given McKay her list and asked him to go to town for a few things. McKay had
told
Pup, not asked her, to join him, and even though they were now alone in the barn, the perfect mask of composure was still in place.

Praying for calm, he turned away and finished hitching the horse to the wagon. Without so much as a missed step, Pup took McKay's offered hand and climbed aboard the wagon. McKay swung into the seat, his whole being praying for wisdom in this situation.

They had just moved onto the road from the drive that led to the house, when he said, “I was reading in chapter ten in the book of Mark this morning, where the children ran to see Jesus but the disciples wouldn't allow them to get close.”

McKay forced himself not to look at Pup.

“Jesus rebuked the men and told them to let the children in. And the little ones ran to Him and were blessed by Him.”

“Jesus actually said that—that the children should come close?”

McKay had to stop from closing his eyes in relief. She was back. She was even leaning forward in the seat to better see his face, bumping his arm in the process. McKay now allowed himself to look over. Her eyes were soft with question. A tenderness so strong and poignant that he could hardly speak filled him.

“I didn't know that,” Pup said when he didn't answer her. She sat back on the seat. “I wonder if Jesus ever wanted children of His own? I mean, He never married, did He, McKay?”

“No, He didn't.” It was a nice, normal question, and McKay was able to get his reply out. He thought fast and went on. “Jesus was very single-minded in His purpose for being on the earth, and He knew He was going to die. I think His compassion and tenderness toward women was evident every time He dealt with them, but clearly a wife and family of His own did not figure into the picture.”

“I can't believe how much there is to learn. I read a lot that one summer, and snatches are coming back, but it's all so huge. Did you say you read your Bible in the morning, McKay?”

“Yes.”

“Could I possibly borrow it tonight?”

“Certainly. I'm sorry I didn't offer it to you. Was there something in particular you wanted?”

“Just more,” she said quietly, and McKay let it be. Five minutes later they were outside Longmont's general store.