A Rush of Wings (40 page)

Daddy had gone to bed by ten, but she had John bring the car and drive her to Manhattan through the crowds to the cathedral for midnight Mass. She sat in the back, packed in with all the twice-a-year churchgoers. The archbishop said the Mass, but Father Mike assisted.

Last year it had taken all her resistance not to run screaming from the reality of God. Now the last of her resistance melted and she surrendered to the incredible love. The sadness was still deep inside her and the knowledge that she might never recover what she'd lost as a five-year-old child. But she no longer faced it alone. Rick had told her Jesus would never abandon her; she had to trust Him. Tears came, as they had every time she thought of Rick since Morgan's visit.
Please don't let him hurt, Lord
. But that, too, was in God's hands.

———

Rick was outside when Morgan arrived two days past Christmas. Probably he had his own reasons for not repeating last year's scenario. Rick watched from the doorway of Dad's stable as his brother drove up in a rental car, then went into the house. The girls would no doubt mob him, so Rick didn't go in.

Though he had considered leaving tomorrow, Morgan's arrival meant he'd have to stay another day at least, and it would be good to be all together without the tension they'd had last year. Rick almost smiled at the first silver lining he'd found. At least he was at peace with his brother, and Dad would have no need for lectures.

Sooner than he expected, Morgan joined him in the stable. “Just can't keep away from the horse scene, can you?”

Rick grinned. “Checking out the yearlings Dad got.” He peeled open the lips and examined the horse's teeth.

“Do you have to do that?”

Rick petted the tawny muzzle. “It's only teeth, Morgan.” He'd forgotten his brother's squeamishness where large animals were concerned. That had given him one of his only advantages growing up. If he couldn't beat Morgan any other way, he could always gross him out.

Morgan tucked his hands into the pockets of his black cashmere overcoat. “You'll never guess who I had dinner with.”

Rick ran a hand over the horse's withers and spine. “Then save me the trouble.”

“It would be worth your effort.”

Rick bent low and stroked his hand under the horse's belly. Dad had offered him his pick of the three, and so far he was liking this animal.

“No guess?”

“I've played enough games the last few days. Just tell me.”

Morgan said, “Noelle.”

Rick jerked his head up. “What?”

Morgan shrugged. “I was in New York on business, so I looked her up.”

Anger surged through him. Would God be so . . . Then he checked his thoughts. He should have expected an attack. He'd made a serious step forward, and that always wreaked havoc. Telling his heart that was another story.

“Aren't you going to ask how she was?”

His insides constricted. “How was she?”

“Gorgeous.”

It hit him low. Rick spun and grabbed Morgan by the collar, nearly lifting him from the floor. “What are you trying to do?”

“Take it easy, Rick! I'm telling you to get out there and fight for her—before I do it myself.”

Rick slowly released his grasp. His heart thumped in his chest. Fight for her? He had only just relinquished her. If Morgan wanted to make a play, it wasn't his place to stop him. So why was Morgan telling him this? Some sense of brotherly honor? Or was he just the snake in the garden, stealing the victory?

Rick shook his head. “I can't.”

“Why not?”

How could he make Morgan understand? “I stepped outside God's will before. I won't do it again.”

Morgan spread his hands. “Rick . . .”

Rick pulled his coat closed. “I don't expect you to understand.”

“How do you know it isn't God's will?”

“It's the Lord she needs. I only get in His way.” Rick shoved his hands into the sheepskin pockets, knowing the truth of it. They would still be unequally yoked, coming at life from two different worlds. He had thought he could bridge it with love, lead her to faith over time, but now he wasn't sure. His prayer last night had felt sure. “I have to be willing to live without her.”

Morgan pushed the horse aside and walked around. “Maybe you just had to be willing.”

“Morgan . . .” But Rick stopped. Was it possible? Had God only wanted his surrender? That would be a good kick in the pants after taking so long to get there.

“What are you afraid of?” Morgan asked.

“It's not that.” Rick leaned his shoulder to the wall. “She's been pursued enough. I won't go after her like Michael.”

“Michael didn't rape her.”

“What?”

Morgan rested his elbow on the stall. “It was some other incident, breaking through her subconscious. I'm guessing a child molestation when she was really small.”

Rick's stomach twisted. It had been hard enough to face the first. But to think of Noelle as a child . . . “How do you know?”

“She told me. Sort of.” Morgan slid his fingers into his hair. “She actually feels guilty for Michael's death.”

That hurt somewhere low in his stomach. “Why?”

“Because she accused him wrongly, thinks she pushed him over the edge.”

Typical Noelle, twisting things in her mind. He wished he could set her straight.

Morgan shook his head. “She loves you, Rick. I don't think she'll run.”

Rick met his eyes, then looked away.
Lord?
He'd meant his prayer; as hard as it was, he'd truly meant it.
Jesus, show me
. Was God speaking through Morgan? Unlikely—no, he had to stop thinking that way. Morgan's lifestyle may not reveal it, but he'd been almost . . . noble through it all. God could surely use him if He chose to.
I'm the one who's been pigheaded and rebellious. Show me, Lord
.

First peace, then hope; Rick's heart swelled to accept them. Just as swiftly fear tried to choke it out. What if he was wrong? He couldn't go through it again. Neither of them could. He wouldn't do that to her.

He banished that fear with a sharp, silent command. The risk was worth it, as long as he stayed in God's will.

Morgan squeezed his shoulder. It had been a long time since Rick had felt that close to his brother, longer still since he'd trusted him in a spiritual matter.
If I'm wrong, Lord, stop me now
. His hope increased. Rick clasped Morgan's hand, then headed for the house.

“And Rick,” Morgan called, “lose the beard.”

Rick rubbed his hand over his whiskers and grinned.

With a patchwork combination of airline tickets he could arrive at JFK by late afternoon. On each of the flights that jockeyed him indirectly to Noelle, Rick prayed,
Let me know your will, Lord
. His Bible lay open across his lap. He scrutinized the Scriptures. He had to do it right this time, but he kept coming back to the same verse from the first letter of Peter.
“Above all, love each other deeply, because love covers over a multitude of sins.”

Why would God give him the same words, when he'd gotten it wrong before? If he wasn't supposed to love her, but to share his faith, then . . . He searched other passages, but he was sure he had the one he needed. Had something changed? Something besides him? Was a
door open now that had been shut before? Was his heart ready in a way it hadn't been? Or was Noelle's?

He turned to the Psalms, found the verse that had come to his mind.
“See, I have refined you, though not as silver, tested you in the furnace of affliction.”
Rick looked up at the seat back in front of him. The furnace of affliction. He closed his eyes, and the new verse that came to mind brought an ache so poignant, he paused before turning to the page. He knew it without looking, but he read it anyway. First Corinthians 13:
“Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres. Love never fails.”

Rick leaned his head back and closed his eyes.
I'll take the chance, Lord. I just pray I've heard you right
.

W
illiam pressed the intercom. “Yes, Margaret?”

“Rick Spencer to see you. No appointment.”

Rick
. William strode quickly and pulled open the door. From the look of him, young Spencer had grown up some this last year. It was in his carriage and in his eyes. Not quite as cocky, but definitely as determined. “Come in.” He offered him a chair.

Rick followed him inside but didn't sit. “I won't stay long, Mr. St. Claire.”

“William.”

Rick nodded. “I wasn't sure I'd catch you here between Christmas and New Year's.”

“I have work to do these days the same as any others.”

Margaret slipped in with two cups of coffee on a small enamel tray. She set them on the desk and went out.

“My secretary shows up to play Cratchit to my Scrooge.” That won a smile from Rick, but that wasn't why he was there. “What can I do for you?”

“I've come to take Noelle home.”

William raised his brows. “Has she agreed?”

“I haven't seen her yet. I came here first in case your mind had changed.”

“I see.” William was amused. “You're removing obstacles.”

Rick ducked his head sideways.

No, he wouldn't be so bold as to say it. But that was it, nonetheless. Don't get in my way, William St. Claire. But he had no intention of doing so. William sat on the edge of his spacious desk. “Your brother was here.”

“I know.”

“Did you send him?”

“No.”

William hadn't really thought so. Morgan's visit had been a surprise, and even more Noelle's reaction. He'd thought Morgan might hang around. But he had only come once. And she'd been more pensive and mysterious since, though also less irascible. Still, it wasn't a promising picture for Rick Spencer. “Noelle is . . . slow to heal. I don't know how she'll respond to you.”

“I have to try.”

Hearing the depth in his voice, William nodded, thankful and . . . hopeful. He stood up and gripped his prospective son's hand. “I hope you succeed.” He walked him to the door. “Oh, by the way, I'll be working late tonight. Tell Noelle I won't be home for dinner, will you?”

Rick smiled, then left with slightly more spring to his step.

William looked down at Margaret at her desk. “Do you pray, Margaret?”

“Why?”

“That man was Noelle's fiancé.”

———

Noelle crossed the entry and opened the door. She froze as her eyes met the ones she had tried so hard to forget. And Morgan was wrong. Rick didn't look bad at all. Thinner, but then, so was she. Food had become so incidental. But he had strength, the strength she remembered; the line of his jaw, the hollow beneath his cheekbones more pronounced than before. His Rocky Mountain face. No beard.

He said, “Can I come in?”

Her heart leapt at the sound of his voice. How could he do that? She moved aside, and he stepped in. Suddenly her home seemed like the set of a movie, an illusion. Rick didn't belong there.

“Do you mind if I take off my coat?”

She released her breath and closed the door. “I'm sorry. Yes. I'll hang it for you.”

He gazed around him. “This is nice.”

She nodded. He would appreciate the workmanship, the quality of the house's design and construction. It was four generations old, and the carpentry was excellent. She tried to think of a response. Why was it so much harder than with Morgan? Then, the words had been released; now each one seemed torn from her lips. “Would you like something to eat or drink?”

“No thanks.” He turned. “Can we talk, Noelle?”

Direct. To the point. She remembered that look. Her lungs constricted. “We can sit in there.” She led him into the scarlet-walled living room and sat stiffly on an ecru wing chair. Instead of taking the matching chair or the striped divan across the room, Rick perched on the large square table directly before her, a position all too familiar. She sent her gaze around the room, on anything but him.

His was fixed on her. “I hear you had dinner with Morgan.”

She hadn't expected that opening. She shrugged one shoulder. “Morgan and I both eat.”

He nodded slowly. “But why have dinner with Morgan, when you wouldn't even take my call?”

Was it jealousy that had brought him? Yet she sensed no anger. She waved her hand. “He came here, and . . . I was glad to see him. That's all.”

He leaned forward. “Are you glad to see me?” There was an edge to his voice, a shadow of pain, but also hope. And it was the hope that scared her most.

“I don't know.” She didn't want to hurt him. Why would he risk it again? If it had been as bad as Morgan said, threatened even his faith in God . . . She knew now how destructive she could be.

He reached out and wrapped her hands in his. “I love you.”

“I know that, Rick.” It was so evident it hurt.

“I told you that wouldn't change, no matter what you think you're responsible for.”

What she knew she was responsible for. “Morgan told you?”

He nodded. “You were right to fear Michael. He was violent and unstable.”

“But not what I thought.”

“That wasn't your fault either.”

She started to shake. “I've put together the pieces. All those fragments I didn't understand.” But understood now too well. “I had buried it so deeply, what happened when I was little. But it affects me; my
need for safety and control, the panic attacks and delusions. It made me see Michael as a monster.” Unspoken was that she had seen Rick that way as well, if only for those moments on the shale. Didn't he understand? Her voice broke. “I'm not sure it'll ever be gone.”

“I believe Jesus will restore you.” He held her face and made her look. “In this world there's trouble, but Christ has overcome it.”

Father Mike's words.

“We just have to trust. Sometimes you get thrown so many times there's no part of you that doesn't hurt. But you have to get up and try again.” He raised her to her feet. “I want to take you back with me, help you find faith, help you heal.”

Was that all he wanted? She couldn't expect more after hurting him the way she had. But she could give him something now. “You don't have to help me find faith.”

A shadow passed over his face. “Oh, Noelle. It's the most important part.”

“I know.” She smiled.

He stared at her. “You do?”

“I should have listened before. Surrendering to Jesus gave me the only hope I have.” His face was such a mixture of surprise and joy, tears sprang to her eyes. “How else could I face the rest of my life without you?”

He caught her hand and pressed it to his heart. “You're not wearing my ring anymore. But I gave it to you with a promise. I don't break my promises.”

“I don't know that I can—”

“If we never share physical love between us, I still want you for my wife.” He drew her close. “I love you.”

She sank into his arms, felt them close around her.
Oh, Lord . . .
Was it possible? Heart racing, she looked up, caught his face with her hands, and stared into the brown depths of his eyes. She pulled his face down and kissed him.

He kissed her deeper and whispered, “Marry me.”

Where was the fear, the fury?
Oh, Lord my God
. She had felt the peace of her surrender, known her soul was safe, but she hadn't guessed until now there could be healing. Rick placed her face between his hands and turned it up, waiting for her answer.

She smiled, a little shaky, then said, “Okay.”

His breath expelled sharply, and he pressed his jaw to her forehead.
“We'll have to fly back to Iowa for the truck, but I can have Pastor Tom waiting . . .”

“Or . . .” she said, “We could see Father Mike, right here in New York.”

Tears filled Rick's eyes, and he crushed her to his chest. They held each other so long, exulting. She could feel his emotion but guessed he couldn't find words. He didn't need them.

At last she loosened her arms. “Daddy will be home soon.”

“No, he won't.”

She looked up.

Rick laughed. “He's making sure I have plenty of time.”

“You saw him?”

Rick nodded. “I'm doing it right, Noelle. Love the Lord your God with all your heart, mind, and strength. Honor your parents . . .” He smiled. “And love one another as Christ has loved you. Christ gave His life, Noelle.” He held her again, and her heart swelled. That was the love he had for her. She could hardly take it in.

———

Though he had anticipated it, the phone call still sent a jolt to his system. William gripped the receiver. “Yes, Rick?” It was too soon. Did he want to hear that Rick had failed to bring Noelle back from the brink? He could only imagine the depths her grief would take this time.

“William, could you meet us at the cathedral?”

He sat silent a long moment. “Are you saying what I think?”

“Someone's got to walk her down the aisle. And if Ms. Cratchit's there, we could use another witness.”

“We'll be there.” He hung up, giddy as a schoolboy in true Scrooge fashion. Had he missed something all these years? He whisked his coat from the rack and stopped at Margaret's desk. “Margaret, grab your coat. We're going to a wedding.”

———

Rick stood with Father Mike at the altar in a side chapel of the massive cathedral as William walked Noelle in, radiant in the soft white dress he had bought her last Christmas. Her eyes glittered as William placed her hand in Rick's, and he fought tears of his own.

He could see her love, and now she shared his faith. He would help it grow. They'd grow together, linked by more than their hearts. Yes,
God had chosen Noelle for him, but not the way Rick had tried to make it. God had a bigger plan, a better plan. He turned her to the altar.

There were no guests, no music, no flowers; only the two of them and Noelle's father, his secretary, and the priest. In the suit he'd packed for midnight Mass with his family, Rick said his vows. His heart swelled with Noelle's response. They exchanged wedding bands purchased on the way to the church. Rick slid the gold band next to the diamond on her finger and listened to the priest pronounce them man and wife. Then he kissed her, catching her up into his arms.

He let her down when William approached and put a key into his hand. “What's this?”

“The key to the cottage on the shore for your wedding night. And if I make it yours, maybe you'll come visit now and then.”

Rick looked from the key to Noelle, felt her smile deep inside him.

William stepped back. “Noelle knows the way.”

“Thank you, William.”

“It's Dad.” William smiled.

They took a taxi to the shore. Rick unlocked the cottage door, lifted Noelle, and carried her in. The place was well appointed. He stood with her balanced in his arms, remembering the first time he'd held her that way, then gazed around. “Not exactly your backwoods cabin, is it?”

She tipped her head. “Do you mind?”

He set her on her feet and took her hands in his. “No, I don't mind, Noelle.” It was a generous gift, but he supposed that came with the territory. There'd been no talk of prenuptial agreements this time. Hand in hand they walked through the cottage, then stopped at the floor-to-ceiling windows to watch the breakers on the shore. “If it weren't December, I'd say let's have a swim.”

“We could sit on the porch and watch the moon rise.” Her voice was soft with no tremor.

“Yes, we could.” He wrapped her silver fox fur around her, and she nestled against him on the wooden bench. His wife. The breakers surged and ebbed, and she was warm and real beside him.
Lord!

“Morgan said you had a beard.”

“I did.”

She ran her finger over his jaw. “Why did you take it off?”

“I didn't know how you'd like it.” He'd needed every detail in his favor.

Her finger traced his lips with a light, electric touch. “I've never kissed a man with a beard.”

Smiling, he controlled the surge. “I'll grow it again, and you can have at it.” If that was all it took for her to want to kiss him, the Lord was good indeed.

She threaded her fingers through his. “He also said you lost your faith.”

“It was pretty black until I stopped fighting.” Had his stubborn resentment kept them apart longer than God intended? That was a lesson learned. Trust—no matter the circumstances, the bleak appearances. He stroked her fingers.

“Father Mike said nothing can happen to a child of God that isn't in His perfect will.”

Rick nodded. “It's all for a reason.” Though he might never conceive why Noelle had suffered what she did. To think his intellect could grasp God's wisdom was pride at its worst.

“Rick . . .”

He turned.

She wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him. “It's really cold out here.”

His heart hammered his chest. “You want to go inside?”

She nodded. “I liked the way we did the front door.” Her lips traveled to his earlobe, sending a message he could hardly ignore.

“Noelle . . .”

Her lips came back to his. “You could build a fire in the fireplace.”

Breathing grew difficult. “Do you know what you're doing?”

The length of her kiss was answer enough. He lifted her into his arms and carried her inside.

———

Noelle fretted as Rick banged on the door. How would they receive her? They must blame her for the pain she'd caused Rick, caused them all. Would she be excluded, judged? A knot tightened in her stomach.

Rick hollered through the wind, “Hope they're not gone somewhere for New Year's Eve.” He pulled her into the shelter of his arm, but in a
moment the door opened. Hank's surprised mouth spread into a broad smile as he looked from her to his son.