He had a busy schedule today. There wasn’t enough extra time in his day to ponder the qualities that made Miss Quinn a good teacher. “I’ll be back around four-thirty this afternoon,” he stated matter-of-factly.
“All right, Mr. O’Hara. We’ll look for you then,” Julianne replied and smiled at the tall man who stayed near the door as he watched his kids play. His hair was combed casually to the side and slightly windblown, Julianne noticed. She had this unexplainable urge to reach up and smooth it back into place. The thought startled her, and she glanced nervously away from Luke. Maybe she’d been listening to too much of Maggie’s rhetoric. “Enjoy your day, Mr. O’Hara,” she added in a very businesslike tone. “Don’t worry about your children. I’m sure they’ll be fine here at the center.”
Something had changed her mood abruptly, Luke was aware by the tone of her voice, but the cause of the change eluded him. Then again, women quite often were hard to understand as far as he was concerned. Kimberly certainly had been, and even his own sister was, at times. But he didn’t want to think about that now. The work he had lined up with several branches of a bank in Minneapolis awaited him, so Luke thanked Miss Quinn for her help and turned to leave the room. He was halfway down the hallway before he missed that fragrant flower scent that had lightly hung in the air in Julianne’s classroom. He recalled that Nora had remarked yesterday that her teacher “smelled good.” Now that he thought about it, he realized he agreed with his daughter.
But that second day in Miss Quinn’s classroom didn’t go quite as well as the first for the O’Hara twins. Things seemed fine and all six of her children were busy and content until late in the afternoon when the skies outside turned stormy. They were in the activity room playing ball when a tornado siren unexpectedly sounded, upsetting all of the kids in Julianne’s group. Especially Nora and Todd O’Hara. Julianne sent her teaching assistant down to Betty Anderson’s office for help, and soon Betty was filling in for Maggie Wren with her group of newborns while Maggie hurried to her niece’s and nephew’s sides. It took the comfort of Aunt Maggie’s hugs to stop their crying and settle them down enough to get through the remainder of that day.
Fortunately, Luke finished his work early due to the inclement weather and came to pick up the twins ahead of schedule. Nora, Todd and Julianne were all relieved to see him walk through the classroom door just as another clap of thunder crashed outside. The children ran into their father’s arms with fresh tears and stories of the awful siren that had frightened them and how Aunt Maggie had come to “save” them.
Julianne gathered up Nora’s and Todd’s art projects they’d worked on in the morning and slid them carefully into the backpack they’d brought with them. Her assistant continued reading to the rest of the children, who were all seated in a circle, while Julianne spoke with the twins’ father.
“I’m sorry, Mr. O’Hara,” she offered quietly, frustrated and overly apologetic about not being able to console the twins by herself. She’d tried every way she knew to soothe their fears but had failed, and it discouraged her. She realized she’d underestimated the difficulties she might face with these two youngsters who had lost their mother. Her disappointment showed in the downward turn of her mouth, and Luke saw for the first time something other than confidence in the young teacher’s expression. It looked a little like insecurity. Now, there was something he could identify with.
“Nora and Todd are fine, Miss Quinn. No harm done,” he remarked while picking up his daughter, who had finally stopped crying. Todd’s arms remained wrapped securely around one of his father’s legs as Luke continued. “We can’t…I mean, I don’t expect things to go perfectly. Just do the best you can with them. That’s all I’ve ever managed to do,” he stated. “And Maggie’s available when you need her. She’s the reason we moved here.”
Julianne caught her lower lip between her teeth and nodded her head, grateful for his understanding words. “I guess we should both thank God for Maggie.”
But the straight line of Luke’s mouth didn’t give a fraction of an inch in either direction. “You’ll have to thank Him for me, Miss Quinn.”
“I will for now,” she answered, remembering Maggie’s mention of Luke’s lost faith…and ignoring the warning that it was a subject better left alone. “And, maybe, someday, you can do so for yourself again, Mr. O’Hara.”
Luke’s blue eyes lit with what Julianne fully expected to be irritation. But if she’d have known him better, she’d have recognized it for what it was—simple surprise that this young woman, who couldn’t be more than a few years out of college, would be so frank in her remarks to a man at least a decade older—a man in his position in life.
And just what was his “position in life,” Luke suddenly wondered as he and the twins said goodbye to Julianne Quinn and made their exit from the center. He was…what? A father, the owner of his own business, a good provider for his family, a successful landscaper with excellent references, a widower. And, he had to admit, a man who only listened to his children’s bedtime prayers instead of joining in.
That thought stung him as he lifted Todd into the extended cab of the truck. Nora scrambled in behind her sibling, and Luke helped them with their seat belts while his mind raced with discontent. Life had changed in so many ways this past year. But they were here, now, in Fairweather, Minnesota, close to his sister where he felt they belonged. This change was a good one, the right one. It had to be. He needed it to be.
Luke climbed into the pickup just as he noticed how dark the skies looked for so early in a summer evening. His wife had loved gray, dreary days. The cooler, the better. She said they reminded her of her childhood in New England, where she’d grown up. Home, she’d called it—regardless of the many years she’d lived in Chicago. That had bothered Luke. He’d wanted home to be where he was, where they were making a life for themselves, raising their children. He hadn’t asked her to move to Chicago. She was already living there, managing several dress shops, when he first met her. So, why had her homesickness for New England made him feel guilty? The answer to that question, he’d not found; but he’d taken some comfort in the fact that he’d arranged to have her buried there. At home. In the space next to her mother and father, both of whom had preceded her in death.
He started the truck and headed toward Olaf’s Deli where he needed to buy milk and bread—necessities for breakfast in the O’Hara household.
“Daddy, can you get us some pickles?” Todd asked when his father pulled into a parking spot in front of the deli.
“Sure, son. C’mon,” Luke answered, helping both kids out of the vehicle. “Let’s go. Don’t run.”
The children ran through the front door toward the huge jar of whole pickles kept on top of the meat case. Luke bought several, together with the other items on his mental list. Maybe a scrap of paper and pencil would have been more reliable, but he hadn’t taken the time to jot anything down. He rarely did. That also reminded him of Kimberly, almost as much as stormy days did. She’d been a chronic list maker, systematically marking off the numbered items as she completed them. All of that organization had disappeared from his life with her departure. And where had God been during all of that? Where was He now, Luke wondered.
“Can we eat the pickles now?” Todd was begging while Nora was busy reaching for the plastic bag that held their snack.
“Wait until we get home, you two,” Luke answered. “You’ll want drinks, too, and I don’t have any in the truck. Come on, we’ll be there in five minutes.”
The kids didn’t seem to mind another night of frozen dinners in their small utilitarian kitchen filled with only the basic appliances. They ate their fish sticks, French fries and peas, and then rushed into the living room to watch a favorite cartoon while Luke cleared the table. It was when he was adding today’s dirty silverware to yesterday’s in the dishwasher that he suddenly noticed the mostly bare counters. The only homey touches were a basket of now wilting flowers that Frank and Maggie had sent and a large ceramic cookie jar with a comical cat painted on the front that Maggie had purchased, filled with homemade goodies and delivered on moving day. Luke had meant to