A Tailor-Made Husband. Winnie Griggs
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I know that was a lot of work to drop in your lap.”
Hazel’s expression softened. “You’re more than welcome. I was honored to be able to do this for Bethany.”
Would she be up to doing him one more very large favor? Having her take Meg in until he could come up with a more permanent solution for the little girl seemed an ideal solution, at least from his perspective. There was no one he’d trust with Half-pint more. And she, of all people, would likely agree that he wasn’t the best caretaker for a child. After all, she’d been there when Bethany had had her accident, the day everything changed.
When they reached the churchyard Ward could see the small crowd gathered for the funeral. He was surprised by how many were there—he hadn’t realized so many people remembered his sister.
As they reached the graveside, he steeled himself once more against the flood of emotions threatening to break free. He knew his sister was in a better place now, but the guilt he felt for having made her last twelve years in this world so troubled was something he’d never be able to forgive himself for.
He tried to focus on something other than the yawning hole in the ground. Jacob White stood to one side, softly playing his fiddle—a hymn that Ward couldn’t quite place. There were flowers on the closed casket—mostly irises, which had been Bethany’s favorite. He had no doubt Hazel was responsible for those little personal touches. He would have to remember to thank her again later.
Hazel stayed at his side during the service, which seemed fitting. She was almost as much family to his sister as he had been. And there was no one in his life he felt closer to.
Throughout it all, he maintained a rigid control over his own expression, not daring to look anywhere but at the casket and that yawning hole in the ground that lay waiting to swallow up what was left of his little sister’s earthly remains.
Reverend Harper, who had known Bethany before her accident, gave a touchingly personal eulogy. The words of God’s love and promise of everlasting life were a balm to his own troubled spirit.
Once the service ended, Hazel touched his arm for a moment, the gesture oddly consoling. Then she withdrew with a restless Meg to one of the benches that were tucked under an ancient oak near the edge of the cemetery.
Strange how he missed the comfort of her presence.
As the mourners disbanded, many of them paused to offer condolences. Among them were Enoch Lawrence and his daughter, Hortense. Enoch’s voice was overly loud and gruff as he assured Ward he would hold him in his prayers. The man’s hearing loss seemed to be getting worse by the day and he compensated by raising the volume of his own voice.
Then Hortense, or Tensy as she preferred to be called, spoke up, her eyes moist with emotion. “It was a lovely service,” she said. “Just the sort your sister would have wanted.”
Tensy was closer in age to him than his sister, so the words were probably mere platitudes, but he appreciated the thought. “Thank you, I believe she would have as well.”
“Please, if there is anything at all I can do for you over the coming weeks, don’t hesitate to let me know.”
“Thank you.” He’d received many such offers today. While he was certain they were all sincerely meant, he didn’t intend to take anyone up on them.
After all, what could anyone do to ease his guilt?
Hazel helped Meg hop up on the sturdy but worn bench. Meg had been remarkably well behaved during the service, fidgeting much less than Hazel had anticipated, but by the end it had been clear she needed something to distract her.
It warmed Hazel’s heart to see so many folks gathered for the service. Did Ward realize they were all there to support him?
The soft strains of “What a Friend We Have In Jesus,” Bethany’s favorite hymn, had added an air of reverent sweetness to the gathering. Had Ward felt it too?
But she could tell that he’d withdrawn into himself. There was an air of rigid control about him, as if he were trying to hold back some unwanted emotion. It was his way, of course. But she couldn’t help but wonder if it wouldn’t have done some good for him to mourn outwardly as well.
What was he feeling? Grief, of course—but there was more to it than that. Guilt? Sorrow for what could have been? A touch of relief that his sister was at peace now? Probably a combination of all of them. She knew because she felt some of that as well.
Meg swung her legs and chattered away to her doll, pointing out a squirrel scampering up a tree, a butterfly flittering around and any number of other things that caught her eye.
Earlier, when the three of them had walked through town, Hazel had imagined that they must look the very picture of a happy family. Oh, how she wished that were true.
But she had to stop thinking like that. She looked around and realized she and Meg were on the receiving end of a number of curious glances but thankfully no one approached them. She had no answers to give them where Meg was concerned.
The questions she had about just who Meg was and what the future had in store for the little girl were growing. Could Ward really find Meg’s brother if the youth didn’t want to be found?
Hazel had briefly considered questioning the little girl herself earlier but that just hadn’t felt right. So far Meg seemed to be adjusting to the situation remarkably well, but there was no sense in needlessly stirring up potentially painful memories.
She’d have no such compunction with Ward, though. As soon as she could get him cornered, he would definitely have some explaining to do.
Then she glanced his way and her resolve faltered. He looked so weary, so weighted down. Maybe she wouldn’t press him today.
Tomorrow would be soon enough.
* * *
When the last of the townsfolk had left, Ward turned to see Hazel and Meg already heading his way. The two of them made a sweet picture together, a welcome contrast to the dreariness of his thoughts.
“Have you had anything to eat today?” Hazel asked as they reached him.
Ward’s lips turned up slightly. She was bound to be near-to-bursting with questions about Meg, but leave it to her to focus on more immediate needs.
“We had breakfast before we boarded the train this morning,” he answered.
She shook her head with pursed lips. “That’s what I thought—you skipped lunch. Come along, let’s get you something to eat.”
He shot her a questioning look. “Come along where?” Hazel herself was the first to admit she wasn’t the world’s best cook. When the church held the annual picnic hamper auction fund-raiser, hers was usually one of the last baskets bid on.
“Daisy’s restaurant. I haven’t had time to do any cooking of my own.”
“All right. But I’m buying.”
She raised a brow, as if that was a given. “Of course.”
“And then we’ll talk.” Though he wasn’t certain how he would give her the full explanation with Meg listening to the conversation.
“Yes, we most certainly will.”
Then she smiled down at Meg. “You should know, this restaurant we’re going to is very special.”
“It is?”
Hazel nodded solemnly. “Do you know what a library is?”
The little girl shook her head.
“Well, a library is a place that’s full of books, all kinds of books—” her tone changed as if revealing a great secret “—including picture books.”
“I