Page 16 of If the Boot Fits

“There are things you don’t know about him, Samantha. Reasons for the choices he’s made. I might not agree with all of his decisions, but I can promise you, they were never made from a callous heart. That man loves you more than his own life.”

“Then why . . . ?”

Aunt Regina held up a hand. “I can’t share secrets that don’t belong to me. You need to talk to him. More than that, Samantha, you need to listen to him. Listen not with the ears of a child, but with the ears of a woman, one who understands how complicated this world can be.”

Complicated enough that a man who broke into her house seemed less a thief and more the heroic savior of overzealous boys. Perhaps there were complications with her father that she’d never considered. But why would he hide them from her?

“After you finally wrote to him,” Aunt Regina continued, “he carried your letter in his billfold for weeks. I lost track of how many times I witnessed him pull it out when someone at church would ask after you. He’d beam with pride as he unfolded your missive and shared a few tidbits about your life in Boston. I wouldn’t be surprised to learn he carries it with him still.” She reached for the teapot and poured a stream into her cup. “That letter didn’t just contain idle tittle-tattle from a girl in boarding school, it contained proof that he hadn’t lost you.”

Samantha’s chest throbbed as she extended her own cup for a refill. “If he was so worried about losing me, why did he constantly push me away?”

Silver clinked against porcelain as her aunt stirred sugar into her tea. “He thought he was doing what was best for you.”

Why would he think cutting her off from the people and place she loved would be best?

“I can see you’re struggling to accept the idea,” her aunt said as she handed Samantha her teacup, “but not everyone sees things from the same perspective. Your mother and I certainly didn’t.”

“How so?” Samantha’s memories of her mother had faded over time. The large portrait hanging in the front parlor kept her physical image alive, but the rest was rather hazy. She remembered admiring her mother’s beauty and her ability to handle any household crisis that arose. The cattle king might have mastered the business of ranching, but his queen managed everything else—including him.

“Victoria’s aspirations were far grander than mine,” Aunt Regina explained. “Even from the time we were children. My favorite toy was a rag doll that I could hold and carry about, while Vicky favored paper dolls that she could dress in elaborate costumes and use to practice proper conversation. I rolled about in the hay with barn kittens, while your mother preferred playing the piano. I read dime novels. She poured over fashion magazines. I loved people and wanted to make friends with everyone. She analyzed people and maximized their potential. If you needed a task accomplished or an event organized, Victoria would work her fingers to the bone to ensure its success. Those who needed cheering up or who wanted someone to share their troubles with gravitated more toward me.

“God created us with very different personalities and interests, which led to us viewing the world through very different lenses. One wasn’t better or worse than another. Both had value. And both had pitfalls.”

Her aunt dipped her chin, no longer meeting Samantha’s gaze. “I gave my heart too easily.” Her soft admission bore the heaviness of regret. “To a handsome young man who knew how to spin a sympathetic tale. I was so determined to prove my devotion to him that I nearly sacrificed my devotion to God. Had my conscience not stopped me that night, I don’t know where I’d be today.” She looked up to the mantel where a small wedding photograph stood in a place of honor. “Likely, I’d not be married to a man who puts the Lord first in everything he does and who loves me with such selfless affection that he’d sooner lay down his life than cause me one moment of physical or spiritual harm.”

That was what Samantha craved. A marriage built on love where both parties cared more about the other’s well-being than their own.

Had her parents enjoyed such a marriage? She wasn’t sure. She couldn’t recall a single time her mother’s eyes had gone soft and misty like Aunt Regina’s just had when speaking about her husband. Respect had abounded between them, but affection had only been expressed behind closed doors.

“Your mother’s weakness was that she trusted a little too much in chariots.”

Samantha scrunched her forehead. “Chariots?”

Aunt Regina smiled. “Proverbial ones, of course.”

“Of course.” Samantha waited for the epiphany to descend upon her, but it must have gotten hung up in the rafters because after a long thoughtful moment she still hadn’t a clue as to what her aunt referred.

“Psalm 20:7. ‘Some trust in chariots, and some in horses: but we will remember the name of the Lord our God.’ Your mother valued social status and judged herself on her ability to achieve it. So when it came time to marry, she discouraged any suitors who lacked wealth or significant prospects. Eli Dearing had both. And even more important, he possessed a willingness to be molded into the man of standing she wished him to be.”

“She didn’t love him?”

Aunt Regina set her tea aside and captured Samantha’s hand. “Perhaps not at first, but love grew in her heart. I know it did. And your father . . . well, he fell head over heels for Victoria the first moment he saw her. He held her up on a pedestal so high I sometimes worried what would happen if she slipped off. Not only to him but to her. She placed so much pressure on herself to succeed. Then you came along, and new dreams were born. Your parents were so full of plans for you.”

“But I wasn’t a boy.”

“That didn’t matter. You were theirs, and they loved you.”

Samantha frowned. “Daddy wasn’t disappointed? When I was little, Mama talked a lot about giving me a little brother, about how daughters were the apple of their daddy’s eye, but sons were necessary to build a legacy. I didn’t know what that meant, exactly, but I knew I wasn’t enough.”

“You listen to me, Samantha Jane Dearing. You are more than enough. You are exactly who God intended you to be. If your parents had failed to see you as such, it wouldn’t have made it any less true. But, dear heart, your parents were not blind. They adored you. They bragged about you all the time. How smart you were, how fearless. And that didn’t stop after Clint was born.”

Samantha stared at her aunt, her proclamation crossing swords with every long-held insecurity banging around in her head. Hard to tell which side was winning.

She really needed to have a hard, honest conversation with her father. Not so he could give her value or shape her identity—she’d found that in her Lord and in his work—but to gain a better understanding of his thoughts and motives. Perhaps it would heal old wounds and help them find a path to reconciliation.

“I love you, Aunt Reggie.” The name she’d called her aunt as a young girl slipped out, but it felt right for the moment.

Moisture glistened in her aunt’s eyes as she squeezed Samantha’s hand. “I love you, too, Sammy girl.” She sniffed a bit, then released her niece’s hand, giving her arm a pat before scootching back on the settee and taking a deep breath. “Enough talk of the past. Let’s turn to the future. What do you plan to do with yourself now that you’ve finished school?”