Your Dream and Mine (9 page)

“It’s Trace, Dee,” he said into the phone.

Deidre!
The daisies on the table bobbed their fickle heads. Thomasina caught a tight breath.

“It’s good to hear your voice, too.” Trace turned his back to her and put a hand over his other ear as if to block all that would distract. “We’ve got a bad connection. You’re on your way? Well, that’s great! Yes, I’m going to be around awhile. Looking forward to it,” he said, and laughed.

Thomasina argued with a little girl inside, the one who had trekked from home to home, learning to protect herself from the pain of not being wanted when others so obviously were.

“She’s standing right here. Mary? It’s Dee,” Thomasina heard him say as she slipped quietly out the door.

Trace saw Thomasina let herself out, but he was coping with a bad connection. It was Deanna, Milt and Mary’s oldest daughter on the other end. She was calling from an airplane.

Mary took the phone. Torn between following Thomasina and returning to Milt and Will, he heeded instinct and opted for the latter.

“Guess you boys are wanting to get started,” said Milt. “Rev up the electric scooter, and I’ll come along. Make sure you two don’t drop that tree on top of us. Mary and I don’t run as fast as we used to.” He chortled and added, “Say, Trace. I’ve got a farm for sale.”

“So I hear,” said Trace. “Kind of sudden, isn’t it?”

“Not really. I’ve been thinking it over for some time,” claimed Milt as Will helped him out of the chair to the battery-powered scooter. “Mary and me are going to steal off to the wild blue yonder. Catch up on a lifetime of vacations we’ve missed, milking cows.”

“It’s a nice piece of property.”

“Are you interested?”

“You bet I am,” said Trace.

“That’s good to hear. I told Mary you would be, and I like being right.” Conspiratorial tone creeping in, Milt steered the scooter with a single hand, adding, “Nothing’d please me more to see you get it. Be almost like keeping it in the family.”

“Thanks, Milt. That means a lot.”

“I’d sell it to you outright except for Jeb Liddle.” They followed him down the hall, Will bringing his portable oxygen. “He’s farmed it for ten years now, and done a good job. Wouldn’t be right not to give him a chance to bid. You understand, don’t you?”

“Sure, I do,” said Trace. “What about the girls?”

“Don’t think the girls are going to rearrange their lives just to make their old man happy. They’ve put down roots with families of their own.” Milt shot Will a wistful glance. “As for sonny boy here—well, there’s some you just can’t keep down on the farm.”

“I’m here now, aren’t I?” said Will good-naturedly.

Milt conceded it with a watery nod. He ducked his head and squeezed the bulb on the bicycle horn Mary had clipped to his scooter. “Time’s a-wastin’, boys. Let’s get those saws to buzzing.”

“I’m afraid that’s going to have to wait.” Mary hung up the phone as Milt and his entourage rolled into the kitchen. “Deanna caught an earlier flight than she’d anticipated.
Someone’s going to have to pick her up. Will, I hate to disrupt your day. But could you?”

“I’m feeling like getting out myself,” said Milt. “Let’s ride along to the airport. Want to, Mary?”

Will apologized to Trace for the inconvenience of rescheduling the tree cutting. He had no way of knowing Trace’s relief at having his morning handed back to him.

When he left the farmhouse, Thomasina’s car was still parked by the garden wall She couldn’t have gone far. Trace reached into the cab of his truck for the sack of doughnuts and set off to find her.

T
homasina dodged cows as she cut across the pasture to a path between corn and bean fields, reasoning that she was in no danger just because she responded to Trace’s kiss.

The path ended at a tree-sheltered creek. The water was muddy brown from yesterday’s rains. The canopy of trees flung a blanket of green shade upon a short strip of beach. Thomasina found an empty clam shell in soggy sand.

A dead log lay across her path, its top branches reaching into the water. The trunk was stripped of bark and bleached white by the sun. She sat down and turned the shell in her hand. A hard shell with nothing to protect.

Before Nathan and Flo, she had been growing in that direction, trying by retreat to hide whatever it was that made her so dispensable her own mother would leave her behind. The string of foster homes that followed had reinforced the belief that she was irreparably flawed. But God used Flo and Nathan to show her that that wasn’t so, that she was dying inside, protecting
what?
Her right to shrink in mistrust and fear? It was a hard habit to quit, the urge to retreat when someone touched a nerve by kindness, by
callousness, or by crowding her comfort zone. As was Trace.

He loves Deidre.
Did he? It shouldn’t matter to her for she was not attached even to the idea of
being
attached. She had plans to pursue, goals in which he played no part. She heard him coming, whistling through the trees, and she turned, tummy tipping at the bluntness of his blue gaze.

“Want some company?” he asked.

“What about your tree?”

“Canceled again. Will’s sister Deanna called, needing a ride from the airport.”

Deanna? That was whom he’d called Dee? “She’s coming here?”

Trace nodded and held up the doughnut bag. “A little worse for the wear, but a chocolate fix all the same.”

She would not have Flo and Nathan if she had not gone over the fence,
her mind said. Thomasina patted the log in wordless invitation. He sat down beside her, and resumed whistling as he opened the sack.

“What’s that tune?”

“Something I made up.” He inclined his head, voice dropping as he confided, “It’s a safety measure for jumpy people. Wouldn’t want you falling off your log.”

“Just for that, I’m taking those doughnuts back.”

“Careful!” warned Trace as she reached for the sack. “You’ll wrinkle my apology. I don’t get many. And never in peach lipstick.”

“Apricot Frost. I didn’t have a pen.” Thomasina ducked his smile, her cheeks warm. She helped herself to a doughnut and gave him the sack. “So when are you cutting the tree?”

“Can’t until I have a ground man.”

“Which is?”

“I tie off the branches before I cut them. Someone on
the ground guides them down so they don’t stray off course and go through the roof.” Loose curls spilled over his forehead as he angled his cap farther back on his head. “Are you offering to help?”

“That would make me an accessory.”

He shook his head. “What was I thinking?”

Holding back a smile, Thomasina closed her eyes to savor the taste of chocolate. “Mmm. Emmaline’s wasting her talent in Liberty Flats.”

“Keep it under your hat. Wouldn’t want anyone stealing her away,” said Trace.

Thomasina noticed a razor nick on his chin as he chewed. The small, tear-shaped scar on his left temple dappled sunlight on the arch of prominent cheekbones. He turned, mouth curving as their eyes met. Suddenly the log seemed too short and the moment, too long. Thomasina narrowed her thoughts to the acreage surrounding them, and got to her feet.

“How big is the farm?”

“Two hundred and forty acres,” said Trace. “Some in cultivation, some in pasture and twenty in pine trees. Milt helped Will and me plant them as a 4-H project.”

Thomasina wondered aloud what that would be in city blocks. He smiled at the question, and translated it as best he could. She surveyed her surroundings, trying to envision a campground with cabins, a chapel and an assembly hall.

“The idea was to sell Christmas trees,” Trace explained about the pine trees. “But by the time they were big enough, we were in high school, and busy with other things. So the trees went uncut. Looks like a forest now.”

“It does? I’d like to see that,” said Thomasina. “Or do you need to get back to town?”

“I’m in no hurry,” he said.

They followed the creek a short distance, crossed on a
log and skirted a freshly mowed hay field on their way to the pine trees. The pine branches were snugly innerlaced, the lower ones having been cut away for easier walking. Unlike the hardwoods lining the creek, Thomasina noticed that the trees were evenly spaced and fairly uniform in size. “There aren’t any seedlings,” she said.

“No. Takes a fire for them to reseed themselves.”

“They’d have to burn down to start over?”

“The heat burns off the resins and frees the seeds in the cones. Tough way of propagating, isn’t it?” said Trace.

Thomasina strolled along at his side, sifting his words. She stopped as he tipped his head and looked up through the trees.

“This is about the middle of the pine woods. Too small to get lost in.”

Was it? The sense of isolation beneath the towering pines made size irrelevant. What a wonderful place to bring children wounded in fiery circumstances not of their own making. She could tell them what Trace had just told her so that they might understand that by the Creator’s design, new life came of firestorms, and not just in trees.

Long brown needles shifted underfoot. Thomasina closed her eyes and breathed the scent of pine as the breeze whispered in the branches. “It’s a beautiful place.”

Trace nodded in agreement “I spent a lot of time here as a boy. Milt would put Will and me to work, then go about his business. We’d play at it, then sneak off to fish and swim in the creek or climb trees until Milt came looking for us and sent us back to the field. Don’t know why he put up with it. Together we weren’t worth shooting.”

Enlightened, Thomasina slanted him a smile. “You’re as attached to the place as Milt, aren’t you?”

“You could say that. I still don’t understand why Will isn’t. But he never was. Not even as a boy. He couldn’t
wait to get to town, and I couldn’t get enough of the country.”

“So what are you doing still in Liberty Flats?”

“In a factory, no less,” he said, and grimaced as they resumed walking. “Not forever, though. If Milt goes through with the auction, I’m bidding my all.”

“You, too?” blurted Thomasina.

“Milt told you about Jeb Liddle, I guess.” He shrugged and said, “It’s no more than I expected. Jeb and his boys have been farming for Milt since Milt’s health started going downhill. Naturally they have a strong interest.”

Realizing he had not understood her meaning any more than she had anticipated his interest in making the land his, Thomasina picked a pine frond off a low-hanging branch. If the auction came to pass, they would be bidding against one another. “Would you farm it?” she asked.

“I would if I could. But that would mean a big cash outlay for equipment and livestock over and above the land. I couldn’t swing that. Not for a long time,” he said.

“So what would you do?”

“First things first. Milt’s daughters haven’t had their say yet—that could change everything. And even if it doesn’t, I’m not all that confident my pockets are deep enough to make the top bid.”

“But if you do…” Thomasina pressed.

“I’d let Jeb and his boys do the farming, and use the income to put up cabins here and there.”

Thomasina looked at him in surprise. “What kind of cabins?”

“Vacation cabins. City people will put out a chunk of change for a week away from it all.”

“A place to unwind.”

Trace grinned and caught her hand in his. “Close your eyes and use your imagination. See the vacation cabin
along the creek. Little kids are playing on a raft while Mom and Pop fish on the bank. And tucked back back in those trees is a honeymoon cottage.”

His callused palm was snug against hers. His eyes glowed with purpose as he spoke of having waited for years for a place like this. His jawline, his long upper lip, even his stride bespoke resolute determination.

“But I never once thought that it could be
this
place,” Trace finished. He looked at her then away, a telltale shyness crowding out the spontaneity with which he had shared his dream.

She should tell him, avoid misunderstanding later. Yet Thomasina let the moment pass, opting to tell him later, beyond this sanctuary of pine boughs and blue sky.

“To dreams,” she said, and squeezed his hand.

He returned the pressure and smiled.

They walked on. Thomasina shrugged off her overshirt and tied it about her waist. Her bandanna fell from her hair. Trace stepped behind her and picked it up from the bed of pine needles. His fingertips brushed her neck as he retied it for her.

“Thanks.” She reached back to smooth the tickle he’d stirred with his touch. Her fingers tangled briefly with his. He scattered more stardust, brushing a pine needle off the mock turtleneck of her ribbed knit T-shirt.

“Tommy Rose?”

She caught her breath, turned her head and met his eyes over her left shoulder.

“About last night…”

Color rose, flooding her throat, sweeping up her cheeks. “You don’t have to say anything. I was out of line.”

“No you weren’t. Not entirely.” Trace’s hands lighted on her shoulders. He turned her to face him and let his hands fall away. “What I meant to say was that I’d had
my share of go-nowhere relationships, and that if you were spoken for, there was no point.”

“I’m not. Are you?”

“Free as a bird.”

Thomasina took him at his word and chased away the specter of Deidre. “A fresh page, then. Okay?”

“Okay,” he agreed, and took her hand again.

Thomasina followed Trace back to town a short while later. She watched from the porch as he traded tree cutting tools for building tools, then climbed in his truck and headed across town. She owed him a turnabout for helping her move. But it was roof work he was doing, and she’d be no help up there. Anyway, she needed to call Nathan and Flo.

True to their word, the phone company had turned on her line. The house phone was working. Thomasina doodled on a notepad while the call rang through, then had a nice chat with Flo. Nathan returned from an errand while they were talking. He picked up on an extension, and listened to her description of the farm and what she planned to do if she could make it hers.

“That’s pretty ambitious, Thomasina. I assume you’ve done your homework?” Nathan asked.

“That’s why I’m calling you.”

“I’m not talking about funds. I’ll look into that, and get back with you regarding fair market value and what you can afford to put down on it, should you decide to follow through.”

“It isn’t a matter of deciding,” Thomasina replied. “It’s a matter of winning the bid. God knows what I want to do. If He wants it, too, I’ll get the bid. If I don’t, I’ll know that the time and the place isn’t right.”

“Wait a second, honey. You’re getting ahead of yourself,” Flo inserted gently. “There’s a lot to consider.”

“She’s right, Thomasina. You don’t launch a business without a thorough investigation of all the possible pitfalls along the way,” agreed Nathan. “Networking is a good first step. Who do you know that has experience in this sort of thing?”

“No one. Not yet, anyway,” Thomasina admitted.

“You need to project what your expenses over and beyond the property will be,” said Nathan. “You intend to file for nonprofit status, of course. That means finding a solid base of mission support.”

Flo spoke up again, pointing out Thomasina’s lack of experience in social work or Christian family service. Nathan mentioned permits and regulations and the ever-present red tape of government fingers, small and large. Back and forth it went, like a game of table tennis, until Thomasina felt less like a player, and more like the ball taking the whacks. She was overwhelmed by the time she hung up the phone.

And they were her staunchest supporters! The ones who’d taught her to step out in faith. The ones she owed it to to succeed! Thomasina collapsed on the front porch swing. But before she could sort it all out, Winny trotted up the steps, a baby doll in her arms.

Thomasina made room for her on the swing. “How is your grandpa this morning?”

“Momma says he’s better. She’s lyin’ down now. She has to work later, so we got to be quiet.” Winny sighed. “She always says that.”

Thomasina patted her knee. “Everyone needs a little sleep now and then, Winny. Where’s Pauly?”

“Playing in the rocks.” Winny leaned forward in the swing and pointed to her brother. He was lying on his back
on the carriage house driveway sifting a handful of small pebbles over his face.

“Go get him before he sucks a rock up his nose,” said Thomasina.

“Hey, Pauly! Get up out of the rocks,” hollered Winny.

“You’re not my boss!” he called back.

“Why don’t I get the dollhouse and we’ll play,” said Thomasina.

It proved a good distraction. Pauly joined them on the porch. He and Winny gave up their quarrel, as Thomasina played “pretend” with them. Noon came with no sign of Antoinette. The phone rang as Thomasina was fixing the children a sandwich. It was Mary calling. With her daughters at home to help, she wanted to see if they could manage on their own without a night nurse.

Thomasina wasn’t surprised. Milt was fragile, yet he was much better than when she had taken the case. She reassured Mary, then fed the children a picnic lunch on the porch. They were still playing when Trace arrived home a while later to get ready for work. He saw the remnants of their lunch, arched a brow and stirred a loose curl spiraling over Thomasina’s ear with a whispered “Didn’t anyone warn you what happens when you feed stray kittens?”

“I’d take them in a heartbeat,” she whispered in return.

“You poor sap,” he teased, and hunkered down to tug Winny’s braid.

“We’re playin’ house, Trace,” said Winny, looking up into his face. “I’m the mommy, Pauly’s the grandpa and Thomasina’s the Avon lady. What do you want to be?”