Apprentice Father. Irene Hannon

be in this predicament.

      Giving him yet another reason to resent his old man.

      As the pallbearers began to roll the coffin out, Clay moved into the aisle behind it. Emily and Josh remained in the pew, watching him with big eyes. He motioned for them to follow, and Emily nudged Josh. But the little boy shook his head and burrowed closer to Emily.

      Stepping back into the pew, Clay crouched beside the children. “It’s time to go,” he murmured.

      “Josh is ’fraid,” Emily whispered.

      A lump rose in this throat. “Neither of you need to be afraid anymore. I’m going to take care of you. How about I carry you, Josh? That way, you can see the pretty windows in the back.”

      Clay held out his arms and, with a nudge from Emily, Josh edged toward him. Swinging him up, Clay was startled by how little the boy weighed—and reminded yet again of the children’s vulnerability…and the terrifying responsibility he’d inherited.

      As the procession moved down the aisle, a tentative touch on his hand drew his attention and he looked down. Emily was watching him, her expression uncertain, as if to ask: Is this okay? In response, he pasted on a smile and folded her small, cold hand in his with a gentle squeeze.

      The tremulous little puff of air she released, the sudden relaxing of her features, almost undid him. Clay knew Anne had tried her very best to shelter her children and create a real home. But in the few days he’d been in Nebraska, he’d discovered her best hadn’t been good enough. The children had seen too much. Heard too much. Their eyes told the story. Fearful, anxious, uncertain, haunted—they were old beyond their years. Especially Emily’s. The damage was clear. And he was afraid it would take a miracle to undo it.

      Clay didn’t much believe in miracles…except the kind people made for themselves through hard work and perseverance. In this case, however, he wasn’t sure any amount of work on his part would give these children back their childhood. Yet they were in desperate need of help.

      Since he doubted he’d darken a church door again any time soon, Clay figured he should use this opportunity to seek help from a higher source. Not that he expected much. But what did he have to lose?

      God, I don’t know why any of this happened. And I don’t know if You care. But if You do, please take pity on these children. They need more than I can give. I’ll do my best, but I’m not equipped to handle kids. If You’re listening, help me find a way to heal these children. Not for my sake. But for theirs. And Anne’s.

      Clay saw the familiar arches in the distance, a short drive off the interstate, and cast an uneasy glance into the rearview mirror as he pulled into the exit lane. Josh was dozing in the back seat, and Emily was staring out the window. Since leaving Omaha four hours ago after the funeral, she hadn’t said more than ten words. And the eerie silence was beginning to unnerve him. Weren’t kids supposed to be noisy and restless on long car trips? Weren’t they supposed to chatter and ask how much longer and want a drink of water and need to use the bathroom every ten miles?

      These two, however, hadn’t made one request or asked a single question during the entire trip. But they must be hungry by now. He sure was.

      “How about some hamburgers and French fries?” Clay tossed the question over his shoulder as he started up the exit ramp.

      No response.

      He checked the rearview mirror again. Emily’s somber gaze met his.

      “Are you hungry?” He gentled his tone.

      She gave a slow nod.

      “Do you like hamburgers and French fries?”

      Again, an affirmative response. “Josh does, too.”

      “How about a milkshake to go with them?”

      Her face lit up a little and she gave her brother a gentle prod. “Josh. Wake up. We’re going to have milkshakes.” It was the first touch of life Clay had heard in her voice.

      A parking spot near the front door of the fast-food outlet opened up, and Clay pulled in. By the time he climbed out of the pickup truck, Emily had unbuckled her car seat and was working on Josh’s, her lower lip caught between her teeth.

      “Do you need some help?” Clay offered.

      “No, thank you. I can do it.”

      Five minutes later, after he’d settled them in a booth, Clay headed for the counter to place his order, keeping them in sight. But he didn’t have to worry. Unlike the other children in the place, who were crying, shouting, throwing food or running around, Josh and Emily sat in silence waiting for him. While Clay wasn’t anxious for them to emulate their peers, he was struck again by the need to restore some semblance of childhood to their lives. Some laughter and spontaneity and just plain silliness.

      In light of all that had transpired, however, that seemed like a monumental task.

      “Here’s your change, sir.”

      Clay swiveled toward the counter and pocketed the money. “Thanks.” Juggling the tray, he wove his way toward the booth, slid in opposite the children and quickly dispensed the food.

      The first bite of his burger was wonderful, and he closed his eyes as he chewed, enjoying the flavor. At least, he was enjoying it until he opened his eyes and found Josh and Emily staring at him with solemn faces, their food untouched.

      He stopped chewing. “What’s wrong?”

      “We didn’t say grace yet,” Emily said.

      Trying not to choke, Clay swallowed his mouthful of burger with a gulp and wiped a paper napkin across his lips. He hadn’t said a prayer before meals since he’d left home at age seventeen. Racking his brain, he searched for the stale words his father used to say, but they eluded him.

      Emily studied him. “Do you want me to say it?”

      “Good idea,” he endorsed with relief.

      She reached for Josh’s hand, then for his. Josh inched his other hand across the table, and Clay took it. Their small hands were swallowed in his much larger grasp.

      Emily and Josh bowed their heads as Emily spoke. “Lord, thank you for this food we eat, and keep us safe until we meet. Amen.”

      “Amen,” Clay echoed after they gave him an expectant look.

      As the children began eating, devouring every last morsel, Clay realized how hungry they’d been. And how dependent they were on him. For everything. Food. Shelter. Security. Love. Like it or not, he’d inherited a family. Unless he sent them to live with his father.

      That was still an option. But not a good one.

      Meaning his life was about to change dramatically.

      And all at once he wasn’t hungry any more.

      “Don’t make any noise, Josh.”

      The childish, high-pitched whisper penetrated Clay’s light sleep, and he squinted at the illuminated dial of his watch. Four-fifteen. If he didn’t get some rest soon, he’d be a zombie in the morning. But the uncomfortable couch that had become his bed since Emily and Josh had claimed his room three nights ago wasn’t helping, either.

      An odd sound came from the bedroom, and he frowned. What was going on in there?

      Swinging his legs to the floor, Clay padded toward the bedroom door, his bare feet noiseless on the carpet. As he eased it open, two heads pivoted toward him and Josh and Emily froze, like startled deer caught in headlights.

      The seconds ticked by as Clay tried to make sense of the scene. The two children stood at the far corner of the bed. Emily had taken the blankets off and piled them on the floor. Now she was trying to take the sheets off as well.

      “What’s going on?” Clay scanned the room again, bewildered.

      Josh