Free Hidden Mercies by Serena B. Miller Page B

it’s his job to take care of her. Grace is about as likely to give over total financial control of her money as she is to cut off her own leg. That’s for starters. I could go on.”
    “It’s a shame.” He was barely listening. The news that Claire was a widow had changed everything. All this time he thought he was coming home to make his peace with a woman who was long married.
    “It’s foolish—that’s what it is,” Elizabeth said, heatedly. “Those two have no idea how brief life is, or how much they’ll regret fighting over such petty things when one of them is standing over the other one’s grave or the grave of one of their children. Trust me, I know. I’ve had to endure both. Then the career and the pride and the precious hours they spent fighting with each other will feel like such a ridiculous waste of time.”
    “No doubt.”
    “Take it from an old lady who has made her own mistakes,” she said. “There are only two things that matter in life—those you love and those who love you. Nothing else, except the good Lord, Himself, is worth a hill of beans.”

chapter S EVEN
    A s Tom slowly walked the quarter mile to Claire’s, Elizabeth’s words rang in his ears.
    There are only two things that matter in life—those you love and those who love you.
    He did not yet feel strong enough to risk his father’s rejection, but he could at least go talk to Claire if she was home.
    The little white handmade signs at the end of Claire’s driveway took on a new meaning to him as he thought of the children behind them: Fresh Eggs. Homemade Fudge. Wild Sassafras Root. Greeting Cards. Honey. Pot Holders. How industrious Claire’s children were!
    The little girl in the wheelchair was not outside on the porch when he arrived. It occurred to him that even though he’d been up for several hours, it was still quite early. She was probably still in bed.
    He would have turned around and gone back, but the walk had been a little longer than he’d realized, and he needed to rest a bit before he attempted to go back.
    At that moment, Claire walked around the corner of the house with an empty clothes basket on her hip. She stopped the moment she saw him.
    “Well, hello,” she said. “It is good to see you up and about. How are you feeling today?”
    She was so very lovely in her light green dress that looked like it had been made especially for spring. Her choring kerchief was a bright white against the early morning sky. Her feet were bare in spite of the dew-drenched grass. He wished he had a painting of her as she was right now—timeless.
    She had no husband. The thought flooded back into his brain. Loving her was one of his earliest childhood memories. But even if it were at all possible for her ever to care for him, the weight of a five-hundred-year-old culture stood between them. He knew she would never leave it, and that he knew he could not endure it.
    Should he tell her who he was and why he had come? He dreaded it. He dreaded finding out if she hated him.
    Not yet, he told himself. Not yet.
    “I’m much better, thanks,” he said. “I thought I’d give walking here and back a try, but I’m even more out of shape than I realized. I hope you don’t mind if I rest a few minutes before I go back.”
    “Of course not. You look like you could use a drink of water, too.”
    “I would appreciate that.”
    “I will be right back.”
    She returned with two glasses of water and sat down on the porch steps a few feet away from him.
    “Thank you, Claire.”
    Early morning. No children stirring yet. It was the perfect opportunity to tell her who he was and why he had come.
    He had almost convinced himself to speak when the phone rang.
    “Excuse me.” Claire ran to the end of the driveway where a phone shanty stood.
    He could not hear the conversation, nor did he want to. Her life was none of his business.
    “One of my mothers-to-be had to change her home checkup appointment,” Claire said as she came