CHAPTER SIXTEEN
THE FUNERAL WAS quiet and dignified, just as Jared Thompson himself had been. The assistant minister at the Methodist church led the service. He spoke of Jared’s kindness, his love for his congregation, his love for the church.
There were songs, the ones Jared had loved most. When the choir sang “Amazing Grace,” Colie burst into tears. J.C. slid an arm around her shoulders and drew her close. Ludie, on his other side, was also pressed close. It was the nearest thing to a family J.C. had ever known. He missed her father. He’d turned J.C.’s life around with his quiet, patient counsel. Now, looking back, J.C. would have given anything to be able to start over with Colie, at the very beginning of their turbulent relationship, when he went to supper at the Thompson home and asked her out for the first time. But that wasn’t possible. He had to move forward, and do all he could to take care of her and his daughter.
Colie seemed to feel that regret in him. She looked up at him and smiled tenderly through her tears. He smiled back.
Her father had been a military veteran, so there was an honor guard and a flag, which was reverently folded up when it was removed from the casket. The officer handed it to her, with his condolences.
* * *
THEY BURIED JARED on a hill overlooking the distant peaks of the Teton Mountains, snowcapped and beautiful.
Little Ludie didn’t even fidget during the graveside service. She sat between her mother and father and listened quietly to the brief prayers.
The new minister, the former assistant pastor, Marvin Compton, paused beside Colie to offer condolences.
“He was a wonderful man,” he told her. “It was a privilege to be in his life.”
“It was for me, too,” Colie said with a sad smile.
“Gimpa in heaven,” Ludie said. She smiled at the minister, too. “Gimpa with Grandma.”
“That’s what I think, too, little lady.” He smiled back. “You two planning to come to Sunday services?”
“I am,” Colie said. “I don’t know about...” She looked at J.C. warily.
“I meant you and Ludie,” the minister chuckled. “J.C.’s in the front pew every Sunday,” he added, surprising Colie, who just stared at him.
“Second row,” J.C. corrected. “Your kids take up most of the front pew,” he teased.
Marvin chuckled. “Well, them and my wife and my mother and my mother-in-law,” he agreed. “We think it’s a great church.”
“So did Daddy,” Colie replied. “And, yes, Ludie and I will be coming with J.C. from now on. I joined the church when I was just fifteen,” she added.
“Your father told me,” the minister said. “J.C. joined two years ago.”
That was news. Faintly shocking news. She looked up at the man beside her with the surprise in her face.
He shrugged. “Your father was very persuasive,” he said simply.
She grinned.
There was a faint, ruddy flush on his high cheekbones, but he smiled, too.
“Then we’ll see you Sunday. And again, I’m so sorry, Colie,” Marvin repeated.
“Thanks, Reverend.”
The family left first, but they didn’t go far. There were friends and neighbors who wanted to express their own condolences. Among them were J.C.’s boss, Ren Colter, and his wife, Merrie, and their little boy, barely walking now.
“He was a fine man, Colie,” Ren said gently. “We all know where he went.”
“Yes, we do,” Merrie agreed. She grinned at Ludie and wrinkled her nose. “I’m painting you,” she said, “with your dad.”
“I know! It’s so pretty,” Ludie added to her mother. “She draws nice!”
“I knew that already,” Colie told the child. “I can’t wait to see it,” she said to Merrie. “It’s so kind of you. The one you did of J.C. is just awesome.”
“He was a fascinating subject,” Merrie said.
“Not on a par with the East Coast gangster, however,” Ren said, tongue in cheek. “Saved her life, painting that one.”
“I remember,” J.C. said. “Those were dark times.”
“So. Are we invited to the wedding?” Ren teased.
“You know you are. This Sunday, at 2:00 p.m. at the church.”
“Yes,” Marvin said, clapping Ren on the shoulder. “I’m officiating.”
“We expect half of Catelow to show up,” Ren added. “Nobody could believe that he was actually going to get married,” he said, nodding toward J.C.
J.C. caught Colie’s hand in his. “Instant family, just add rings,” he chuckled, looking down at his daughter, who was beaming at him.
“Where does she get that red hair?” Marvin wondered.
“From my mother,” J.C. replied. “She was from Dublin. She had curly red-gold hair, just like Ludie’s, and pale gray eyes. I inherited the eyes.”
“Your father had dark hair, I presume?” Marvin asked innocently.
Colie braced herself for his response. J.C. didn’t speak of his father.
But J.C. didn’t blow up at the man. “He was Blackfoot,” he told the man. He hesitated. “I’ve blamed him for everything that went wrong in my life. Colie’s father taught me that vengeance is a dead end, that resentment is a wound that festers.” He shrugged. “I’ve had a private detective looking for him,” he confessed. “I’d like to mend fences, before he dies, if he hasn’t already.”
“My other gimpa got collar,” Ludie interrupted. “Got a collar.” She yawned.
J.C. shook his head. The child was tired and not making sense, either. “We’d better go. Somebody needs a nap.”
“I noticed.” Marvin shook hands with them. So did Ren. Merrie hugged everyone. “We’ll see you Sunday at church,” Merrie said, “and we’ll stay for the wedding,” she added with soft laughter.
“We’ll be there,” Colie promised. “All of us,” she added, looking up at J.C. with adoring eyes.
* * *
THE WEDDING WAS not only well attended, there was a newspaper reporter and a photographer there to record the ceremony.
Colie, in a neat white suit and a hat with a veil, was surprised at the coverage. She saw Ren Colter grinning and figured he had something to do with it. But she was too happy to care about any publicity. After all, they lived in Catelow. It was natural that the community would want to know that one of their own—two, if you counted J.C.—was getting married.
Lucy served as matron of honor, along with Ren’s wife, Merrie, and Ludie was the flower girl, precious in a lacy white dress carrying a basket of white rose petals. As Colie stood beside J.C., resplendent in a dark suit, she thought over the past few years of her life and how sad they’d been. She couldn’t help remembering the prophecy her grandmother had told her, the one that meshed so perfectly with the one J.C.’s grandmother had given him years ago. A long sadness, followed by great joy. She looked up at him and felt the joy, like a silky wrap around her body. It was reflected in the green eyes that met J.C.’s loving gray ones.
The minister pronounced them man and wife. J.C. bent and lifted the veil. He looked into her eyes for a long moment before he bent and kissed her reverently, one big hand caressing her rosy cheek.
Her fingers brushed over his. She smiled with her whole heart.
The strains of the “Wedding March” began again, the signal for them to leave the church, down the aisle, where a group of people were waiting to congratulate them. Colie couldn’t have stopped smiling to save her life.
“Happy?” J.C. asked on the way to the fellowship hall where the reception was being held.
“So happy,” she said softly. “It’s been a long, long road here, J.C.”
He nodded. “But a sweet rest at the end of it.” He glanced down at his daughter, grinned and lifted her up into his arms. “Instant family, just add rings,” he chuckled, echoing what he’d said before.
“My daddy.” Ludie sighed, and rested her little cheek on J.C.’s broad shoulder.
J.C. hugged her close. “My angel,” he replied, kissing her red-gold curls.
Watching them together, Colie could hardly believe the expression on the face of a man who’d sworn he wanted nothing to do with kids.
“Congratulations, you two,” Lucy said with a grin. She had her son in her arms. Her husband, Ben, beside her, was smiling as he echoed her sentiments.
“Thank you for everything, Lucy,” Colie said softly.
“You’re very welcome. I hope...” She stopped and looked past them at an approaching figure. It was Cody Banks, in his sheriff’s uniform. He looked grim.
“Oh, dear,” Lucy murmured.
Colie turned and ground her teeth together. She searched for J.C.’s free hand and held it tight.
“Sorry,” Cody said gently as he approached them. “It’s a happy occasion and I don’t want to taint it, but I’d rather you heard this from me before you saw it on Facebook, or Twitter,” he added.
“Shoot,” Colie said, steeling herself.
“We have your brother in custody.”
She grimaced.
“It’s not quite as bad as it sounds,” he added quickly. “He actually turned himself in, and he’s turning state’s evidence against Barry Todd.”
“Rod?” Colie exclaimed.
“That’s the Rod I knew overseas,” J.C. said quietly. “He lost his way. But it seems he’s found the path again.”
“Yes, he has,” the sheriff agreed. He smiled at Colie. “He’ll still have to serve time,” he told her, “but he’s sure to get a reduced sentence. It will help us get Todd off the streets for good.”
“What a lovely thought.” Colie sighed. She smiled at Banks. “And I didn’t get you anything,” she teased.
“I love chocolate pound cake,” he suggested.
“That will be the first thing on my list after my job interview tomorrow,” she promised.
“What job interview?” J.C. asked.
“Lucy’s bosses are going to try and fit me in doing my old job,” she explained, as Lucy nodded enthusiastically. “Their other administrative assistant has an aging mother in Montana and wants to go and take care of her. That will leave a job available.”
J.C. smiled. “You can stay home, if you want to,” he told her. “It wouldn’t work a hardship on the family budget.”
“You’re sweet, but I’ve always worked,” she pointed out. “It makes me feel useful, to do a job like I do. People who come into law offices are usually scared or sad or angry. I like helping them get through the process.”
“She’s very good at consoling terrified people,” Lucy said.
“Whatever you want to do, honey,” J.C. said gently, smiling down at her. “I’m behind you, all the way.”
She leaned against him and rested her head on his broad chest. “That goes double for me,” she replied.
“Want cake, Mommy,” Ludie said. “Please?”
They all chuckled. “Okay, sprout, let’s see what kind they’ve got,” J.C. agreed, leading the way into the fellowship hall.
* * *
IT WAS A NOISY, joyful reception, even with the sad news about Colie’s brother.
“At least he’s finally doing something right,” Colie mentioned to J.C. as they were sipping champagne for photographs.
“I like the idea of Todd going away for a hundred years or so,” J.C. said icily.
“Me, too, but it’s probably going to be more like ten.” Colie sighed.
“I wish we could go back and start over, sweetheart,” J.C. said with heartfelt emotion. “I’d give anything to start over with you.”
She touched his chin with her forefinger. “We’re starting over right now,” she pointed out. “One day at a time.”
He sighed and drew her close. “I wish we had time for a honeymoon...”
“Every day will be a honeymoon, for the next forty years or so,” she interrupted. She smiled up at him. “Honest.”
He laughed. “Okay, then.”
* * *
IT WAS LATE when they got back home. Snow was falling lightly. Ludie was asleep in the back seat and had to be carried inside. She woke only briefly, when Colie was changing her into a gown before she slid the sleepy child under the covers.
“Gimpa got collar,” Ludie repeated sleepily.
Colie had no idea what she meant. She just smiled and kissed the rosy little cheeks. “Sleep tight, my baby.”
Ludie smiled and went right back to sleep.
* * *
A FEW WEEKS LATER, when she was released by her doctor after the surgery following the gunshot wound, Colie was steeling herself to cope with what was going to happen next.
In spite of the tender kisses and caresses that accompanied her path to healing, she was still a little apprehensive when the lights went out in J.C.’s bedroom. She loved J.C., but this had been an unpleasant part of their relationship, just the same.
“It’s okay,” he said softly as his mouth found hers. “You have to trust me, this once.”
She felt stiff and unresponsive, but she forced her rigid body to relax. “It won’t hurt?” she blurted out.
He laughed softly. “I told you. I’ve been reading books...”
She gasped as he touched her in a new way.
“Just relax,” he whispered. “Come on, now, honey. Relax, that’s it.”
The things he was doing to her made her body sing. She’d never even read about some of them in her romance novels. Of course, the books she liked weren’t the wild permissive ones with graphic details. She liked sweet romances...!
Her body arched off the bed and she made a sound she’d never heard come out of her own throat. She writhed under the slow, deep caresses. All the while, his mouth teased hers, coaxed it open, penetrated it in slow, deep thrusts.
It echoed what his body was already doing to hers. She felt the cool air in the room on bare skin. Closer, she felt the heat and power of his body, warm and muscular where his skin brushed against hers, abrasive where the thick hair on his chest and stomach dragged against hers.
By the time he finally went into her, she was writhing on the sheets, arching up to him, begging silently for an end to the slow, sweet torment of tension that built suddenly to flash fire.
She felt one big, warm hand catch her upper thigh and position her. But he was teasing more than taking in the heated seconds that followed.
“Oh...please,” she pleaded in a hoarse whisper. “Please!”
“Yes.” He moved down against her, slowly impaling her. He was more formidable than she recalled, but no longer rushing or impatient. He made sure that she went with him every step of the way, feeling her shiver and cling as he intensified the heated power of his thrusts.
Tears were rolling down her cheeks as she strained up to meet each downward motion of his hips. Her nails bit into his hips. She sobbed, finally, as the fever of it caught her up and made her shudder every time he thrust down into her body.
And then, so suddenly, there was no time left. She was dying. She couldn’t live if the tension lasted much longer. She pleaded with him, twisted up to him, bit his shoulder in her agony of passion.
He indulged her then, his body pressing her hard into the mattress as the rhythm and fever caught them both up in a whirlwind of ecstasy and dashed them into infinity for a space of exquisite, anguished seconds that, all too soon, fell away.
* * *
SHE WAS WET with sweat. She couldn’t get a single breath. She lay against his damp body, quivering in the aftermath. She felt a shudder go through him and her arms pulled him closer.
“Better?” he asked at her ear.
“Oh...gosh...!” she ground out. She shivered again. “I never knew...!”
“Neither did I, honey,” he said quietly. He smoothed her dark hair. “I only knew one way, you see. The women I had were very experienced, demanding, wildcats in bed. They didn’t want tenderness, so I never learned it.” He drew in a long, satisfied breath. “But I think I’m getting the hang of it now,” he added on a chuckle.
“I’ll say!” she exclaimed.
He kissed her damp hair. “We haven’t discussed birth control,” he said after a minute.
“I like little boys,” she said simply. “We should have at least one, while we’re still young, don’t you think?”
He laughed softly, delighted. “We’ll take whatever we can get. But, I agree. A boy would be nice.” He kissed her closed eyelids. “I’m sorry about Rod,” he added tenderly. “We’ll get him a good attorney and do whatever we can for him.”
“Yes. I’m sorry, too. But I’m so proud of him,” she whispered, and her voice broke.
“Me, too,” he said.
He held her close, in the warm silence of the dark room. Outside, snow was falling harder.
* * *
THEY WENT TO see Rodney at the county detention center. He was quiet, contrite. For once, he looked like the brother Colie remembered from their childhood.
“I’m so sorry, sis,” he said as they spoke over telephones on either side of a glass partition.
“I’m sorry for you,” she replied. “I’m so proud of you!”
He flushed a little. “Too little, too late. I’ve done so much harm...”
“You’re my brother,” Colie said. “I love you. It doesn’t matter what you’ve done. I just want to help you, however I can. You saved my life, Rod.”
He grimaced. “I should have stayed. I just ran.” He made a face. “It’s what I’m best at—running. But I’m going to try to turn my life around. Daddy would have wanted that.” He fought tears. “I’m so sorry. He’d be ashamed of me!”
“He’d understand, Rod,” she returned. “You know how he was. He never looked down on people, no matter what they did.”
He nodded. “He was one of a kind.”
“Yes.”
They shared the grief of the loss of their parents. After a minute, Rod glanced behind her at J.C. “I’m sorry for the lies I told you, too, J.C.,” he said. “If it hadn’t been for me, you’d have been in your daughter’s life the whole time.”
J.C. put his hands on Colie’s shoulders. “Your father turned my life around,” he said. “He had this great attitude, that everything happens for a reason. He’d say that things happened the way they were meant to.”
“He would,” Rod agreed. He managed a smile. “At least Barry won’t be gloating,” he added. “They’ve got him in solitary confinement. He hit a guard.”
“Bad move,” J.C. observed.
“Very bad,” Rod agreed. “And it’s just the beginning of his troubles. He was skimming off the profits. By now, someone’s surely noticed. Even in prison, he won’t be safe from retribution.”
“I’ve read about that sort of thing,” Colie replied. “He may not even get to trial.”
“You never know,” Rodney replied.
* * *
IN FACT, BARRY TODD was found dead in his jail cell three days later of an apparent opioid overdose, despite the known fact that he never used the drugs he distributed. It was thought that he’d run afoul of some very dangerous people in the organization he’d belonged to. But nobody missed him.
Colie got her job back at the law firm, sharing administrative chores with Lucy. She and J.C. took turns dropping Ludie off at pre-K and picking her up after classes. Colie was so happy that she radiated joy. Marriage suited her. It seemed to suit J.C. as well, because he never stopped smiling. He loved to show his small family off, everywhere from church to the grocery store. Even people who’d been critical of him years before now found things in him to admire. He was a tireless worker with the soup kitchen and the homeless shelter. So was Colie. They carried on the work her father had started.
The story of the marriage was in the local paper, but it was a slow news week and it was picked up by one of the larger dailies up in Montana a week or so later. Where it would eventually be seen by an unexpected reader.
One Saturday afternoon a couple of weeks before Christmas, a sedan drove up in J.C.’s front yard and stopped just as J.C. and Colie were getting Ludie into the house after a Christmas shopping trip to the nearby Walmart.
Wary, J.C. motioned Colie with Ludie onto the porch. He waited while a tall, white-haired man with dark olive skin got out of the car. He was wearing a black overcoat. He looked both dignified and solemn.
“Can I help you?” J.C. asked, standing unobtrusively between his family and the visitor.
The old man cocked his head and looked at J.C. for a long time. He managed a terse smile. “You don’t know me.”
J.C. frowned. The voice was oddly familiar, but he couldn’t place it. “No,” he said tersely.
The old man moved a step closer. His eyes went to the porch and he smiled suddenly. “I read about the wedding in an old Montana paper that a parishioner brought by. It had a story on a missionary. But there was a story about you and your new wife, as well. That’s where I live, up in Billings. You’d be Colleen, I suppose?” he said to Colie. “And that would be Beth Louise. Ludie?”
“Gimpa!” Ludie called out, laughing. “Gimpa got collar!”
J.C. felt the blood draining out of his face. That was his father? After all the long years of neglect, of anguish, of pure hell in foster homes...!
He started to speak, but before he could, his father unbuttoned his overcoat. It was there. The collar. The mark of a Roman Catholic priest.
J.C.’s jaw actually dropped.
Colie came closer with Ludie by the hand. “She said you had a collar, weeks ago,” she told the old man, almost in a daze.
The man looked down at the pretty little girl. “You look like my wife,” he said softly. “She had curly red hair and gray eyes. She was beautiful.”
“Gimpa!” Ludie exclaimed and pulled away from her mother, to hold her arms out to the newcomer.
He picked her up and hugged her, fighting tears. “Beautiful child,” he whispered brokenly.
J.C. was still standing there, lost for words, fighting hatred and rage and curiosity, all at once.
Donald Six Trees looked at him from serene dark eyes. “I have so much to say to you,” he began. “I hardly know where to begin. I feel that I should apologize for ten minutes before I even try to explain the wrongs I’ve done you.”
J.C. was rigid, but he didn’t order the old man to leave. He just looked at him.
“Your father was a minister, yes?” he asked Colie.
“Yes,” she said with a sad smile. “I lost him—we lost him,” she corrected, “a few weeks ago.”
“I heard a lot about him, from a mutual friend, a Methodist minister who lives in Billings. I’m very sorry for your loss.”
“Would you like coffee?” Colie offered with a wary glance at J.C.
“I would,” the old man said. “If it’s all right with you,” he added, looking into J.C.’s turbulent eyes.
“Remember what Daddy said,” Colie told her husband.
He drew in a long breath. “I remember,” he said after a minute. He averted his eyes. “I could use a cup of coffee, as well.”
“Come in,” Colie invited, and she smiled.
The old man, still holding Ludie, followed her and J.C. into the cabin.
* * *
“MY FATHER-IN-LAW SAID that people have motivations for every single action,” J.C. said when they were sipping coffee at the kitchen table.
“Some are more painful than others,” his father returned. He set down his cup. “There was a reason that I was drinking, when I wrecked the car and your mother died,” he said heavily. “I’d been working in the mines with my brother. I set off a charge too soon. There was a cave-in, and he died.” His face was set in hard lines. “I’d been drinking before that. But I really tied one on after I saw my brother’s body. His wife was collapsed on his body. She looked at me and called me a murderer.” He grimaced. “It was no more than what I’d been calling myself, but words have power. I left work and started drinking in a local bar. I was stoned when I got home. Your mother was very big on school meetings. I didn’t want to go, but she insisted. I told her that I was too drunk, but she said it was only two miles, it wouldn’t matter. She’d sprained her ankle two days before, and she couldn’t drive.” His eyes closed. “I was too drunk to reason. I just got behind the wheel and started driving. I missed the turn and went off the bridge.” He shook his head. “I ran. I ran and ran and ran some more. I knew she was dead at the scene and that I’d go to jail if they caught me.” He looked up at his son with agony in his face. “Running never solves a problem. It only makes it worse. It took me years to face what I’d done, to admit fault. I’d not only killed your mother, I’d deserted you at a time when you needed me most. I did go looking for you, after I sobered up, but they said they’d already placed you in a good home...”
“Good home.” J.C. said the words with icy contempt. “Sure.”
The old man saw more than J.C. realized. “I headed East. I worked at laboring jobs for a long time, until I was taken in by a Benedictine priest. He got me back into the church, taught me that I had to forgive myself before I’d be of any use to anyone else. He made me realize that all my life it had been me, what I wanted, what I needed. I’d never put anybody else first.” He grimaced. “Needless to say, it was a painful adjustment. But I made it. I trained as a priest and started working in the parish with the priest who’d saved me. He died last year and I took over his duties. But I never stopped looking for you,” he added, his dark eyes steady on J.C.’s strained face. “I’d given up until I saw a photo of the two of you in the paper, in the wedding announcement. I knew it was you when I saw you.” He shrugged. “You’re the image of me, when I was your age. Your mother named you John Calvin, and your mother’s father was a Calhoun. The newspaper said you’d lived in the Yukon Territory as a child.” He smiled sadly. “It wasn’t much guesswork to puzzle it out, after that.”
J.C. started to speak, stopped, tried again.
“You have to make up, Daddy,” Ludie piped up, leaning against her father’s long legs. “Gimpa’s my only gimpa, now.”
“She does have a point,” Colie said softly, smiling at him.
He looked torn. But after a minute, he smoothed his hand over his daughter’s curly head. “She has a point,” he agreed finally. “Hatred serves no purpose, except to propagate itself,” he added.
The old man smiled. “And forgiveness is divine,” he added.
“Divine.” J.C. looked at the man he’d spent his life hating, and realized that the only person he’d hurt was himself. As Jared Thompson had said, everyone had reasons for the way they behaved, for the hurtful things they did. “Well, it’s a start,” he said absently.
“The longest journey begins with a single step,” the old man replied. He hesitated. “I’ll try, if you will.”
J.C. thought about it for a minute. Finally, he nodded. “I’ll try, too.”
The old man’s dark eyes lit up, like fires on a cold night.
IT TOOK TIME, but J.C. and his father finally reached an accord. As Ludie said, she had only one grandparent living. The old man wasn’t the same person J.C. remembered from his fraught childhood. It was obvious that this priest had found redemption, and that he loved his son. J.C. agreed with Colie that forgiveness was more important than retribution. The old man, like J.C., had paid a high price for his past. It was time to let it go.
* * *
A FEW WEEKS after they were married, Colie met J.C. at the door when he came home late one night and excitedly held his hand to her still flat stomach.
She didn’t say a single word, but J.C. knew what had happened immediately. He gave a whoop and whirled her around and around before he stopped and kissed her until her mouth was sore.
“Gonna get a baby brother!” Ludie piped up nearby. She was grinning from ear to ear.
“It will probably be another girl,” J.C. teased. “I love girls.”
Ludie shook her little head. “Gonna be a boy!” she said, and giggled.
* * *
EIGHT MONTHS LATER, J.B. and Colie Calhoun announced the birth of a new family member: a little boy, whom they named Jared Rodney Thompson Calhoun. Ludie didn’t even gloat.
* * * * *