The Wedding Quilt. Lenora Worth

      Kirk glanced at Rosemary. She looked uncomfortable, but he thought maybe if he could get Clayton involved, it would take some of the heat off her. “I just thought, since you’re retired now—”

      “You thought wrong,” Clayton said, scraping his chair back with a clatter. “Rosemary, bring my cobbler and coffee to the den.”

      “All right.” She rose to do her father’s bidding, her eyes centered on Kirk. “I’m sorry,” she whispered as she rushed by.

      She sure did apologize a lot, when it really wasn’t necessary.

      “Me, too.” He looked over at Danny. “I didn’t mean to upset him.”

      “It’s okay,” Danny said. “But you have to understand something about my dad. He hasn’t been back to church since the day of Mom’s funeral. He’s turned his back on the world and on God. He can’t understand why God would do this to him, after he tried to be faithful and loyal to the church all his life.”

      Kirk leaned forward, his voice low. “I don’t mean to sound insensitive, but hasn’t your father missed the point entirely?”

      Nancy sighed and leaned in, too. “Yes, he has. But Reverend Clancy says it takes longer for some people than others. We’re supposed to be patient and go about loving him no matter how he treats us.”

      Kirk ran a hand through his tousled locks. “I feel for all of you, but especially for Rosemary. And I think it’d be best if I go on back to my little trailer.”

      “Don’t,” Rosemary said from the kitchen door. “I mean, you haven’t had your dessert yet.” On a shaky voice, she added, “Now, my blackberry cobbler isn’t as good as my mother’s was, and granted, these aren’t fresh blackberries, but Aunt Fitz herself helped me can them last year and, well…” Her voice trailed off as she brought a hand to her mouth. “Excuse me.”

      She turned and rushed back out of the room, out of the house. The kitchen door banged after her.

      Danny rose out of his chair. “Maybe I should go see about her.”

      Nancy put a hand on his arm. “No, honey. Let’s you and I get these dishes cleaned up.” She looked at Kirk.

      He was already standing. “I’ll go to her,” he said, meeting Nancy’s gaze head-on. “I enjoyed the meal. Sorry if I dampened the evening.”

      Danny shook his head, his eyes dull with resignation. “Don’t worry, buddy. This isn’t the first time something like this has happened.”

      Well, it would be the last for him, Kirk decided as he stepped out into the cool spring night. The scent of a thousand budding blossoms hit him full force, the tranquillity of the peaceful evening clashing with the turmoil he’d just set off inside that house. Searching the darkness, he spotted Rosemary on the bench inside the church grounds, sitting where she sat every day watching the children.

      He wanted to rush to her, but instead, he took his time, wondering what he’d say once he got there. Kirk wasn’t used to offering words of wisdom or comfort. He usually dealt in small talk, or technical discussions. Every now and then, he’d get in a heavy philosophical discussion with someone he met, usually involving religion. But for the most part, he steered clear of offering up his opinion on a continuous basis. People didn’t like to have their values questioned, and he wasn’t one for questioning God’s ways.

      His mother had taught him simply to accept the daily miracles of life. Kirk firmly believed in God’s grace, but he wore his own faith in an unobtrusive fashion, preferring to live and let live. Because he did move around so much, he’d learned to mind his own business.

      Yet, his mother, Edana, a wise woman with strong religious convictions, had warned him many times about his nonchalant attitude. “One day, my fine son, you’ll come across a situation that will demand more than you’re willing to give. You’ll learn all about being tested. Then, my lad, you’ll start taking life much more seriously. And maybe then, pray God, you’ll stop roaming the earth and settle down.”

      Was this his test then? If he got involved with Rosemary, he would be going against his own rather loosely woven convictions. How could he comfort this woman? Better yet, should he even try?

      She looked up as he approached. He heard her loud sniff, saw her hurriedly wiping at her eyes. Oh, that he’d caused her any further pain—it tore at his heart, exposing him to something deep within himself, some strange sensation that tingled to life and pulsed right along with his heartbeat. He’d not let this happen again.

      “Rosemary,” he said, sitting down beside her to take her hand in his. “I’m so very sorry.”

      She didn’t pull away, but she looked away, and then up, at the steeple looming in the darkness. “We both seem to be doing a lot of apologizing.”

      “You don’t owe me an apology,” he said, meaning it. “You’ve been through a terrible tragedy, and apparently, I’ve come in the middle of it and made it worse.”

      She let out a sob, then gripped her fist to her mouth. “People tell you it’ll get better,” she stated on a tear-drenched voice. “They pat you on the arm and say, ‘She’s at peace now, dear,’ and they keep going. They don’t want to see your grief. It makes them uncomfortable, you see.

      “During the funeral, everyone was so compassionate and understanding. It was such a shock—it happened so fast. One minute she was there, standing in the kitchen, laughing, talking, making plans for my wedding. Then, the next, she was simply…gone.”

      She didn’t speak for a minute, and he heard her swallow hard. “But then, life goes on, as they say. After a while, you become this robot. You go through the motions, you behave as if everything is back to normal, but you know that something is terribly, terribly wrong. When you see people on the street, you smile and you accept—dread—the sympathy in their eyes, but they don’t want you to speak of it.”

      She stopped, taking a gulp of air, another sob escaping. “But inside, inside you have this silent scream that never, ever goes away, never stops. And you just keep on moving through each minute, each hour, each day. And that scream keeps following you until you think you’ll go stark raving mad from hearing it. It…it never ends.”

      Unable to bear any more, Kirk gathered her into his arms, rocking her gently, whispering soothing words into her ear. Remembering the days when his own mother would try to comfort him, he said something in Gaelic to her, unaware that he’d even done it. He held her close, letting her sob quietly into the night, letting her purge herself against his strength.

      How long had she carried this pain? How long had she been the one to be strong while her brother and her father depended on her to become a surrogate for her mother? How long had she struggled to become that perfect replacement, knowing she could never be the one they all longed for, the one she longed to have back in that little kitchen?

      And, what had happened to those wedding plans she said her mother had been working on?

      He had so many questions, but he didn’t ask for any answers tonight. Tonight, he held her, and with a silent prayer, he asked God to give His strength over to her, and her suffering family. He asked God to give her the comfort he wasn’t sure he could bring.

      And in the asking, Kirk offered up the only thing he did have to give. He offered up his heart.

      “Kirk,” she said at last, her voice raw, her words muffled. “What did that mean, what you said to me in that beautiful language?”

      He pulled her tight against him. “It means, ‘I am here, little one.’” He swallowed the lump in his throat. “I am here.”

      She leaned her head against his chest, her cheek touching on the steady beat of his heart. “For a little while at least,” she whispered.