A Family For Tory And A Mother For Cindy. Margaret Daley

the child to ride this afternoon after the three o’clock lesson. Every day Mindy was improving, self-confident when she handled the new mare.

      When Tory thought about the little girl eagerly handing her the nails for the fence, Tory’s heart swelled. She wanted children so badly—her niece and nephew weren’t enough. Even the children she taught didn’t fulfill the void in her heart. It was that simple and that complex. She released a long sigh and finally took a sip of her drink.

      A scream rent the air. Tory bolted to her feet, the glass crashing to the wooden planks of the porch. Leaping over the mess, she rushed for the door and wrenched it open as another scream vibrated down her length.

      In the living room Mindy sat ramrod straight on the couch with her eyes so huge that was all Tory could focus on. She was at the child’s side in an instant that seemed to take forever.

      Hugging Mindy to her, she murmured, “What’s wrong, baby?”

      “I—I—” The child tried to drag air into her lungs, but she couldn’t seem to get a decent breath.

      “Take it easy. Relax. One breath at a time, Mindy.” Tory willed her voice to stay calm while inside she quaked, the beat of her pulse roaring in her ears.

      Finally Mindy managed to inhale and exhale a deep breath, then another. But the fright remained in her eyes as the little girl looked at Tory.

      “I—I—heard—” Mindy started to hyperventilate.

      “Nice and easy, baby. Heard what?”

      “Mom-my—cry.”

      Tory wanted to say the right thing. Her mind went blank. Oh, Lord, please give me the strength to help her, to soothe her pain. “Did you have a bad dream?”

      Tears welled in Mindy’s eyes as she nodded. Tory framed the child’s face and tugged her toward her, laying her head on her chest and pressing her close.

      “It was only a dream, baby. Not real.”

      “I—know.” Mindy hiccuped. “Still—” A shudder rippled down the child’s length.

      “It seemed real to you?”

      Mindy nodded, her breath catching. “I didn’t—” Again the child fought for her next words. “Say—bye.”

      Tory wrapped her arms tighter about the little girl, wanting to hold her and never let her go. “Did you go to the funeral?”

      Mindy shook her head. “In hosp-it—” She didn’t finish the word.

      “I’m sorry, baby. Have you talked to your dad about this?”

      “No.” Her muffled reply came out on the end of a sob.

      “He should know. Do you want me to talk to him for you?”

      Mindy pulled back, tears still shining in her eyes. “Plee-ze.”

      “Are you sure?”

      “I—can’t make—him sad.”

      Mindy’s own sadness tore at Tory’s composure, leaving it shredded. In that moment she would do anything for the child. Was this how mothers felt about their children? “Then I’ll talk to him.”

      Mindy’s stomach rumbled.

      “I think a certain little girl is hungry. You did a lot today. Why don’t you help me with dinner? When your father comes to pick you up, I’ll see if he would like to stay and eat.”

      Mindy labored to her feet with her good hand reaching out to grasp Tory’s. “Good. Dad-dy—doesn’t—uh—cook.”

      “What have you two been eating since Mrs. Watson left?”

      “Piz-za—take—” frustration pinched Mindy’s features into a frown “—out.”

      “Well, then tonight you two will have a home-cooked dinner. I pride myself on my cooking skills.”

      Tory rose and walked with Mindy into the kitchen, a large, cheerful room with plenty of sunlight and floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked the pasture behind the house. Blue, yellow and orange wildflowers littered the meadow as though a painter’s palette had been dumped there. A huge oak tree with a tire swing stood sentinel over the backyard.

      “Do you like spaghetti?” Tory asked, going to the sink to wash her hands.

      “Yes!” Mindy followed suit and used a paper towel to dry them.

      “Then that’s what we’ll have. I’ll chop up the onions while you man the skillet and brown the ground beef.”

      “I’m—the cook? I’ve—never.”

      “You’re eight. It’s about time you started. I can teach you.” The second Tory said the last sentence she realized she might not be able to carry through with her promise. She was assuming more than she should and wished that were different. Since Mindy came into her life, she’d found an added purpose that had been lacking before.

      “Wait—till—Dad-dy sees—this.” Wearing an apron, Mindy stood on a stool to brown the meat using a wooden spoon and a gloved hot pad.

      An hour later the doorbell rang. Tory left Mindy to finish setting the table while she hurried into the entry hall. She opened the screen door to admit Slade, looking tired but with a smile of greeting on his face. Stepping into the house, he drew in a lungful of air, peppered with the scents of onion, ground beef and baking bread, and licked his lips.

      “What do I have to do to wrangle an invitation to dinner out of you?” he asked as he made his way back to the kitchen where Mindy was seated at the large oak table in front of the bay window.

      “I—picked—these.” Mindy pointed to a glass vase full of multicolored wildflowers from the meadow behind the house.

      “Does this mean we are staying?” Slade asked, eagerness replacing the lines of exhaustion on his face.

      “Unless you have somewhere else you need to be.” Tory removed the loaf of French bread from the oven and placed it in the center of the table. “Mindy didn’t think you would mind since you’re probably sick of take-out.”

      Slade walked to the stove and peered into the large pot of simmering spaghetti sauce. “I must have done something right today. This smells divine.”

      “You’d probably say that about anything you didn’t have to fix or order at a fast-food place.”

      “True. But this exceeds anything I could have imagined.”

      Heat scored her cheeks. She was always uncomfortable with compliments. “Have a seat next to Mindy,” Tory said, and dished up the food.

      After placing the bowls on the table, she sat across from Slade and said, “Mindy, do you want to say the prayer?”

      The little girl clasped her hands and bowed her head. “Thank—you, Lord, for—” Mindy lifted her head, her brow wrinkled in thought “—for this.”

      The simple but effective prayer brought a lump to Tory’s throat. Every day, Mindy’s bravery was a wonderful example to her. The child had to relearn so many things, but not much got her down. Tory was sure the girl’s frame of mind was part of the reason for her fast recovery.

      After dishing up his food, Slade slid his forkful of spaghetti covered in the thick meat sauce into his mouth. He closed his eyes, a look of contentment on his face. “I can’t believe it, but it tastes even better than it smells.”

      “Mindy was the best little helper I could have.”

      The eight-year-old straightened her shoulders and announced, “I put—spa—this—in the water.” Mindy gestured toward the spaghetti. “Salt—too.”

      “I didn’t realize you could cook, sweetheart. I’ll have to get you to fix something for me.”

      “Real-ly?”