Page 83 of Calling on the Matchmaker
Gritting his teeth, he swung his legs and let go of the roof, propelling himself toward the open door. A moment later, hecrashed onto the rough wooden planks that lined the rafters and were used for extra storage for livestock feed.
He attempted to roll and soften the landing. But his head slammed into something, and the world went black.
Pain pounded in Riley’s temples. He groaned and tried to lift a hand to ease the pressure, but someone else gently situated a warm heating pad against his head.
“Finola?” he whispered, sudden need swelling so that he pushed himself up. A mattress and bed creaked beneath him, and as he opened his eyes, he found that he was in the main bedroom on the first level of his uncle’s farmhouse.
The room was dark with the shadows of the evening, but a lantern on the bedside table revealed the cluttered interior—pieces of cut material for clothing, colorful quilt squares, a half-finished braided rug, and a sewing basket.
He shifted his gaze toward the person at his side, only to find his dad seated upon a stool next to the bed. His dad’s brows were creased and his blond-brown hair in disarray. “It’s me,” he said gravely. “Finola’s not here.”
Closing his eyes, Riley fell back against the bed and the pillow, the roaring in his head unbearable again. He pressed his lips together to keep from groaning.
“How are you feeling?” His dad shifted the warming bag.
“Like I got kicked in the head by a mule.”
“After knocking your head against the rafter the way you did, the doctor said you’re lucky you didn’t crack your neck right in half.” His dad’s voice had lost all concern and was now filled with reproach, as were his eyes. “What in the name of all that’s holy were you doing getting a cat off the barn roof?”
“The children asked me—”
“Balderdash, Riley.” His dad stood and crammed his handthrough his hair. “Your excuses aren’t worth a drop of water in a horse’s trough.”
Riley couldn’t argue. He’d been stupid to go up. “I’m sorry—”
“I don’t give a straw if you’re sorry.Sorrywon’t keep you alive the next time.”
His dad paced to the closed door and stood staring straight ahead.
The loud voices and the clink of dishes mingled with the scent of pork, which, thankfully, meant everyone was eating supper and not paying attention to their conversation.
“You’re a good man, Riley. And people love you for your willingness to jump in and help when no one else can. But you take too many chances. And one of these times you won’t survive.”
“Maybe not. But at least no one can say I didn’t try.”
“Try at what?” His dad turned and stared at him. “What are you trying to prove?”
Finola’s words came rushing back from the other night.“Maybe you’re trying toprove yourself worthy of living when nearly everyone else in your family drowned.”
What if she’d been right?
What if all these years, he’d been rescuing everyone else the way he hadn’t been able to rescue his family?
What if all these years, he’d been attempting to show God He hadn’t made a mistake in letting him live when everyone else had died?
He closed his eyes, wanting to avoid answering the question. But after he’d encouraged honesty from Finola, he’d be a hypocrite if he didn’t acknowledge the truth hitting him square in the face.
“You’re right.” He forced himself to open his eyes and meet his dad’s gaze. “Maybe I’m trying to prove that you made the right choice when you jumped into the river and helped me instead of Ma or one of the boys.”
His dad leaned back against the door, almost as if the words had physically hit him. Pain etched lines into his face, and tears sprang to his eyes. “Saints above, Riley. I never knew you felt that way.”
“I never thought about it either until just a day or so ago.” A deep, dark chasm opened inside Riley’s chest. “But it makes sense. Maybe if I do enough, someday I’ll finally feel worthy of living when everyone else died.”
His dad started toward the bed with heavy steps. When he dropped onto the stool, he reached for Riley’s hand and bowed his head. His grip was tight, and he didn’t speak. Instead, he pressed Riley’s hand to his lips as tears bathed Riley’s skin.
Riley never cried and had never seen his dad cry. But at this moment, he blinked back tears as the heartache that had been buried inside began to work its way up—the heartache that had tormented him by saying he wasn’t enough.
His dad looked up, his cheeks wet, his eyes glassy. “Son, I want you to know that I love you, and you’ve never had to prove anything to me.”
