A Memory Between Us by Sarah Sundin Page A

her daily bread, her brothers and sisters fed and clothed and cared for. Lord, help me see the blessings.
    “Does the watch bother you?”
    “Excuse me?” Ruth swung her gaze to Jack.
    “You keep fiddling with it. Does it bother you?”
    She glanced at the watch, a reminder of Jack’s protective, giving friendship. Was it—yes, it was a blessing, and for once she didn’t want to give him a sassy answer. “No, I like it. I like how it feels. I can’t tell you how much it means to me.” She forced herself to look him in the eye, to let him know he had restored a piece of what she had lost.
    “Does it keep good time?” He took her hand, stretched out her arm, and checked her watch against his.
    Heat streamed up her arm, straight to her heart. She sucked in her breath, and her mouth and eyes flew open. She had to pull back, but his grip was both firm and strangely welcome.
    “Does it?” He cocked an eyebrow at her.
    Ruth clamped her mouth shut and nodded.
    “Good.” As if his touch weren’t enough, he had to grin. “Your watch says it’s time to dance.”
    “Dance?” she gasped.
    “Can’t celebrate without dancing. We even have that violin playing over there.” He got to his feet and engulfed her hand in his. “Besides, this rock wall is killing me. Have pity.”
    “I—I don’t know how to dance.”
    “Yeah, it’s been a long time since cotillion, but—”
    Ruth shook her head and wished she had the resolve to pull her hand free. “I didn’t go. I had—odd jobs. After school—had to earn money—odd jobs.”
    “Then it’s time you learned.” With tender eyes and a tug on her hand, he led her to a level spot in the grass.
    She struggled to breathe. “I—I—I don’t—”
    “Nothing to it. Put your hand here.” At arm’s length, Jack placed Ruth’s left hand on his shoulder and set his hand on her waist. “Basic position. How’s that?”
    “I’m okay.” White sparkles appeared before her eyes. She took a slow breath and concentrated on a button on Jack’s khaki shirt.
    “Just follow me. Nothing fancy. But I’ll need to hold you closer.”
    The sheltering wall of his chest rose before her, the protective curve of his arm encircled her, and the button bobbed and blurred as through a glass of water. Pa used to hold her like this, so large and powerful and gentle. The button faded in the blur, Ruth’s throat tightened, and a tear burned down her cheek.
    She was crying? Oh no. She couldn’t let Jack see, and she couldn’t wipe her eyes without detection. Without thinking, she pressed her face to his shoulder. Oh, why did she do that?
    Jack drew her closer with a deep murmur.
    She fought for composure, but her tears ran unseparated onto his shirt. When was the last time she’d been held? Pa had been confined to bed. Ma and the children hugged her, but they didn’t hold her like this, like a refuge.
    Jack’s muscles twitched under her face. “Say, you’re not crying, are you?”
    She shook her head, burrowed in his thick shoulder.
    “Look at me and tell me that.” He pulled back slightly and ducked his head to look her in the eye. “I knew it. I stepped on your toes.”
    “No.” She released a strange sound, halfway between laugh and sob. With his face so close and accepting and encouraging, she had to tell the truth. She took a ragged breath. “My father—he was paralyzed when I was twelve. It’s been twelve years since anyone held me, really held me.”
    Jack sighed, ran his hand up her back, and pressed her head to his chest. “Shirt’s cotton. Washes easily.”
    He was giving her permission to cry? How long had it been? She was the strength in the hard times to ease her parents’ burden. She was the support for the children when Pa and Ma died. Never once did she allow herself to cry.
    Now the tears flowed in an unrelenting stream. Folded in Jack’s arms, she could be weak, she could grieve, she could be nurtured.
    Eventually the stream reduced to a trickle and