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"The candy bar?"
"No, the Milky Way in the sky. Do you want to hear it?"
"Do I have a choice?"
"Not if you want my company."
"Okay, shoot."
"You have to promise not to laugh or be cynical."
He shot her an amused look, and she shook a finger at him. "That is
exactly the expression I am not looking for."
"Ail right. I'll be serious," he said in a deliberately low voice.
"Proceed."
"Okay." She tilted her head toward the sky, letting the stars weave
their magic spell over her. Her father's star lore had
always fired her imagination. And there was a design in the back of her
mind, a design for a wedding dress with tiny shimmering sequins that
would look like stars dancing in the moonlight. Someday maybe she'd
actually draw it, or make it, but it would have to be for the right
bride, someone who could appreciate pure and utter romance.
"I'm waiting," Matt said. "Or have you fallen asleep?"
"No, just trying to remember the right way to tell it. There are a
couple of versions, but this is one. Once upon a time there was a
weaver fairy who lived in the sky. She used to weave silken robes for
the other fairies, but one day she fell in love with the buffalo boy—"
"The buffalo boy—doesn't sound like a good match for a fairy."
"Sh-sh," she said. "Anyway, the buffalo boy lived on the earth, herding
buffalo and playing his flute all day. For a time, the weaver fairy
lived on the earth with the buffalo boy, but she was forced by her
father, the Jade Emperor to return to the sky. She pleaded that the boy
be allowed to stay with them.
Her father finally agreed, but only if
the boy tended the herds of buffalo that lived in the sky and she
returned to weaving silk robes. For a while, they were happy, but so
wrapped up were they in each other that they began to neglect their
duties. The emperor punished them by putting the fairy and her loom on
the east bank of the Silver River and the boy and the buffalo on the
west bank. They begged for one more chance. The Jade Emperor
reluctantly allowed them to meet once a year, on the seventh day of
the
seventh month. Every year they do so, and they are so happy that their
tears of joy fall to the earth. That's why the two stars Vega and
Altair come together during the summer months, and sometimes there is a
summer rain, but the rest of the year
they are kept apart by the Milky Way." She glanced over at him. "What
do you think?"
Matt's face was turned toward the sky, his profile strong, sexy. Then
he looked at her, and her heart flipped over.
"It just goes to prove opposites attract, but they can't live
together," he said.
She knew she was treading in dangerous waters, but she couldn't stop
herself. "Do you think we're opposites?"
"Don't you? If I were speaking celestially, I would say you're the
bright-eyed smiling face of the sun and I'm the dark, dangerous side of
the moon."
She smiled. "Not a bad analogy for a man of the earth, but I'm not sure
either one of us is all one or the other. You think I hide from the
truth, but I think you do, too. You want to be tough and uncaring and
cynical, but there's a part of you that really liked my romantic story.
Come on, admit it," she prodded.
He gave her a reluctant grin. "I would never admit that."
"And I am much more dark and dangerous than you could even imagine."
"Oh, yeah, bad to the bone, huh?"
"I fed coins into the parking meter without moving my car today, even
though you're not supposed to
do that."
"No way. I am shocked, Ms. Devereaux."
"See, I told you."
"You're not like other women," he said, surprising her with his comment.
"Is that a good thing?"
He shook his head as if he hadn't quite figured it out. "I'm not
completely sure. I guess I haven't taken
the time to really get to know
a woman in a while."
"In a while or ever? Because I get the feeling that your mother did
such a number on you that you don't really feel comfortable letting
another woman into your life. You're not sure you can trust another
female."
"What about you? Are you afraid deep down that no guy will ever love
you more than his job?"
"Why are we being so philosophical all of a sudden?"
He laughed. "I have no idea, maybe because conversations at two in the
morning are half incredible insight and half utter nonsense."
"But which is which?"
"Beats me. I liked your story, Caitlyn. I especially liked the way your
eyes got all dreamy when you
told it."
She punched him lightly in the arm, careful not to disturb Emily. "You
sound like a fifties song."
"But. . ." He paused, waiting until she looked into his eyes again. "I
have to tell you, after listening to
your tale, that if I wanted a
woman, I wouldn't let anyone keep us apart, not even a Jade Emperor."
Her breath fled her chest at the suddenly purposeful look in his eyes.
"Uh, I, well.. ."
"Kiss me," he whispered.
"I don't think so," she whispered back.
"One kiss. I can't even touch you, not with Emily in my arms. Just your
mouth on mine."
"Why?"
"Because I want you."
It was wrong, it was foolish ... it was inevitable. She leaned over and
pressed her mouth against his, closing her eyes, losing herself in his
warmth, in her need, in his want. The cool night air surrounding them
made the heat between them only that much hotter. She didn't touch him
anywhere but on the mouth, but she could feel him all over, in every
nerve ending, in every part of her body.
She forced herself to pull away from what was fast becoming an
addiction. He was under her skin. He was in her blood. He was becoming
too big a part of her life, too fast.
"That was the last one," she said firmly. "We have to be sensible."
"That doesn't sound like a sentence that should be delivered by a woman
who believes in fairies and their star-crossed lovers."
"That was a story. This is real life." Getting to her feet, she said,
"Time for bed." She shook a finger at the gleam that flitted through
his eyes. "Don't even say it."
"Are you sure Emily will stay asleep?"
"I'm not sure of anything, except that I have to get up in a few hours
and it's time for us to call it a night."
"I appreciate the help—again," he said, carefully getting to his feet,
making sure not to jostle Emily. "You've been a lifesaver. I just wish
I could do something for you."
A sudden terrible idea occurred to her. She couldn't possibly ask him.
Still.. . Matt would be an incredible distraction, not to mention
Emily. "You really want to help me?" she asked impulsively.
He gave her a wary look. "I think so. What do I have to do?"
"Come to brunch at my parents' house with me tomorrow."
"Oh, no, I don't think so."
"You owe me, Matt."
He groaned. "Why would you want me there anyway? I'm no egghead."
"You can run interference. My mother has the ability to steaniroll me
into doing anything. I need a blocker. With you and Emily there, she
won't be able to push me into Brian's arms."
He frowned at her. "You could just say no. And besides, I thought you
were considering actually getting into Brian's arms."
"I need more time to think about what I want to do. And you haven't met
my mother. No one just says no. What do you say? Will you come to
brunch?"
"I should stay home in case Sarah comes looking for me."
"We can leave a note on your door."
"What if Emily cries the whole time?"
"Then we can leave early," she said, feeling even more optimistic.
"It's the perfect plan. My mother
won't be able to pressure me with you
there. Of course, if she thinks Brian is out of the running, there
is a
remote possibility that she might consider you husband material, but—"
"But what?" he asked in dismay.
"You can always just say no," she told him sweetly. "Tomorrow you'll
see just how easy that is."
he finished his Sunday sermon for the ten people in the church and the
group of teenagers in his choir. Where was everyone? He looked to the
altar for guidance. Why am I here, Lord? he asked silently. What
possible good can I do when so
few people come to hear me, to hear
you'.'
His father's churches had always been filled to the rafters with life,
crying babies, young families, the
old faithful. They'd sung out every
hymn with the choir, rejoicing in the word of the Lord. His father
had
a gift for creating a passion for prayer, a gift he had not passed on
to his only son.
Mrs. Mclnerny's cane hit the floor with a bang, jolting awake Mr.
Mclnerny from the slumber he'd
fallen into shortly after entering the church. It seemed as good a time
as any to
end the service, and
with a final blessing Jonathan dismissed the
congregation.
Pauline stood up and followed him out to the front of the church, where
they said their good-byes.
"That was good, Reverend," she said, patting him on the shoulder.
"Every Sunday you get better and better."
He felt like a young boy being encouraged by his mother to finish the
race, when they both knew the
race was long over. "Thank you," he said
anyway, appreciative of her support.
"Mary dropped off a casserole for your Sunday supper," Pauline said.
"If I can't convince you to join
my family . . ."
"I'll be fine."
"I don't like to think of you eating alone. You need a family,
Jonathan, a wife, children."
"I haven't had time for all that. And with my job, a woman would have
to understand lhat the church comes first." How many women could accept
that? His own mother had complained endlessly about the constant
pa-iade of people through their house, the late-night phone calls from
the sick and the troubled, until she'd finally called it quits.
Jonathan didn't think she'd ever reconciled with the fact that her
husband was loved by so many people while she was barely loved by two.
"There's a woman out there who will understand your devotion, and
she'll love you for it," Pauline said. "You're young. You have time."
"Maybe not enough time." And he wasn't talking about marriage, he was
talking about the church.
"We need a congregation."
"Folks around here don't venture out much, even in the daylight,
especially to church. The neighborhood has been going down for years.
You came in at the wrong time, I'm afraid.
It might not be the worst
thing for you to get reassigned. It might be
better for your career to be in a place where you can get recognized
for your efforts."
"But it wouldn't be better for the neighborhood. I feel like a
failure." And he hated that feeling.
"Some mountains are just too high, Jonathan," she said with a shrug of
her world-weary shoulders.
"For some men," he murmured.
"You'll find a way to make a difference. I have faith in you."
"Thank you. That means a lot."
After seeing Pauline safely to her car, Jonathan returned to the
church. As he entered the sanctuary, the sun came in soft shining beams
through the windows, creating a heavenly light, and it made his nerves
tingle. He wasn't alone. The Lord was with him.
"I'm trying," Jonathan said out loud. "I'm trying to save this church
for the community." Even as he said the words, he felt a tiny stab of
guilt. Was he trying to save the church for the neighborhood, or was he
trying to save it for himself? Deep down he knew that a failure here
would give everyone yet another reason to wonder if he could live up to
his father's reputation.
But whatever his personal ambitions, he couldn't put them ahead of what
was right. He had to find a
way to succeed.
"Reverend?" The halting voice spun him around, but he knew who it was
even before he saw her.
"Sarah," he said softly. Her name had run around in his head all night
long. He'd wondered if she'd found the shelter and if he'd see her
again. He'd hoped that she would trust him enough to come back, and
here she was. Maybe he was doing something right.
"I. . ." She hesitated, clearly uncomfortable with her need. "I don't
know why I'm here."
"I'm just glad that you are." He walked toward her and waved a hand
toward a nearby pew. "Will you
sit down?"
Sarah did as he asked, sliding down, leaving several cautious feet
between them as he joined her on the bench.
"Can you tell me what has gone wrong in your life? What has brought you
such pain?" he asked.
She didn't say anything for a long moment, her face turned toward the
ground, her long hair providing a curtain to guard her expression.
Jonathan didn't move. He didn't press. He just waited, hoping the quiet
of the church, the spiritual strength of their surroundings, would give
her the courage to speak.
"I made a big mistake," she said finally.
"What kind of a mistake?"
"My baby."
A sense of dread filled his soul. He prayed that he wouldn't hear she
had harmed her child. For how
could he protect her from the
consequences of such a horrific deed?
"What happened to your baby?" he asked slowly, trying noi in let anv
emotion show in his voice. He didn't want to scare her or threaten her;
he wanted her confidence.
"I left her with someone without even asking, I couldn't stand her
crying, and I wasn't sure I could keep her safe or provide for her.'"
Jonathan let the breath out of his chest with a feeling of relief that
ihe baby was alive and, he hoped,
well. "Why don't you start at the
beginning. Sarah?"
"Where is that."' she asked in bewilderment, raising her head to look
at him.
He saw the confusion in her eyes and a hopelessness that touched him
deep inside. Sometimes he wondered how he could counsel those who had
suffered so much more than he had suffered. How could he understand
their pain? How
could he reach them when he'd never been to that place where they
lived, that bleak, despairing, hopeless place? He was a minister who
had grown up in the suburbs, who had never known hunger or thirst,
never had to wonder where he came from or where he was going. Sometimes
the responsibility of his ministry overwhelmed him with feelings of his
own inadequacy. But he couldn't give up. He had to try, even if it
meant floundering like a bull in a china shop.
"Start wherever you want," he said to Sarah, hoping it was the right
thing to say. For he wanted to help this young woman, wanted to help
her more than he'd ever wanted to help anyone.
She looked away from him toward the altar where the candles from the
service still burned brightly. She seemed suddenly mesmerized by the
flames.
"Fire," she murmured. "I think it started with the fire."
"What fire?"
She started at his question, a shutter coming across her eyes, closing
him out, and he silently cursed his own impatience.
"It doesn't matter," she said.
"Is your baby safe, Sarah? That's the most important thing. You must
tell me if the child is all right."
She nodded tightly. "She's safe."
"A girl?"
"Yes. Her name is Emily." Sarah's face softened with the love that
filled her eyes. "She's a beautiful
baby. I never thought I could have
anything so perfect."
He smiled gently. "Emily is a lovely name."
"I used to have a doll named EmmaLou. She was my best friend. She
wasn't a doll really, just a stick with a doll face on the end of it.
Mattie made it for me one day when I was crying because I wanted a
dolly, and we didn't have any
money to buy a real one." She jerked again, hugging her arms around her
waist, as if afraid she had told him too much.
Jonathan had the urge to touch her on the shoulder or the hand, a
gesture of comfort, but he held back, afraid even the simplest touch
would send her running. She reminded him of the animals at his
grandfather's farm, the skittish horses, dogs, and cats who had been
mistreated elsewhere, then rescued by his grandfather and protected at
his farm. Saving people and animals was a family tradition. His
grandfather had had the touch with animals, his father with people. And
Jonathan was still trying to find his touch, his way.
"I'd like to talk to you some more, Sarah. Why don't you come next door
with me? We can have lunch.
I promise it will be good, because I didn't
make it."
Sarah didn't respond at all to his encouraging smile. Instead, she bit
down on her bottom lip, which he could see she'd already worried into
tiny red blisters. "Will anyone else be there?"
"Just me."
"I don't know. I don't even know why I came here. I can't seem to stay
away."
"That's why I'm here, Sarah, to talk to people who need to be here. You
can trust me. I won't hurt you."
"I don't trust anyone," she said quickly.
"I'm sorry to hear that. Will you come anyway?"
Her face suddenly crumpled and tears slid down her cheeks in quiet
agony. "I'm so tired and hungry
and scared. I don't know what to do. I
don't where to go."
"I can take care of the hunger and the tiredness," Jonathan said
decisively. "And I can promise you that you'll be safe." He stood up
and held out his hand to her.
"Come with me, Sarah." He had to help her. He had to save her. If he
could do that, maybe he could be worthy of his calling.
She hesitated, then slowly took his hand. Her palm was ice-cold, and he
felt chilled at the touch. At the same time, her hand felt completely
right in his. She needed his warmth, and he needed, God help him,
he
needed her soul.
"No, the Milky Way in the sky. Do you want to hear it?"
"Do I have a choice?"
"Not if you want my company."
"Okay, shoot."
"You have to promise not to laugh or be cynical."
He shot her an amused look, and she shook a finger at him. "That is
exactly the expression I am not looking for."
"Ail right. I'll be serious," he said in a deliberately low voice.
"Proceed."
"Okay." She tilted her head toward the sky, letting the stars weave
their magic spell over her. Her father's star lore had
always fired her imagination. And there was a design in the back of her
mind, a design for a wedding dress with tiny shimmering sequins that
would look like stars dancing in the moonlight. Someday maybe she'd
actually draw it, or make it, but it would have to be for the right
bride, someone who could appreciate pure and utter romance.
"I'm waiting," Matt said. "Or have you fallen asleep?"
"No, just trying to remember the right way to tell it. There are a
couple of versions, but this is one. Once upon a time there was a
weaver fairy who lived in the sky. She used to weave silken robes for
the other fairies, but one day she fell in love with the buffalo boy—"
"The buffalo boy—doesn't sound like a good match for a fairy."
"Sh-sh," she said. "Anyway, the buffalo boy lived on the earth, herding
buffalo and playing his flute all day. For a time, the weaver fairy
lived on the earth with the buffalo boy, but she was forced by her
father, the Jade Emperor to return to the sky. She pleaded that the boy
be allowed to stay with them.
Her father finally agreed, but only if
the boy tended the herds of buffalo that lived in the sky and she
returned to weaving silk robes. For a while, they were happy, but so
wrapped up were they in each other that they began to neglect their
duties. The emperor punished them by putting the fairy and her loom on
the east bank of the Silver River and the boy and the buffalo on the
west bank. They begged for one more chance. The Jade Emperor
reluctantly allowed them to meet once a year, on the seventh day of
the
seventh month. Every year they do so, and they are so happy that their
tears of joy fall to the earth. That's why the two stars Vega and
Altair come together during the summer months, and sometimes there is a
summer rain, but the rest of the year
they are kept apart by the Milky Way." She glanced over at him. "What
do you think?"
Matt's face was turned toward the sky, his profile strong, sexy. Then
he looked at her, and her heart flipped over.
"It just goes to prove opposites attract, but they can't live
together," he said.
She knew she was treading in dangerous waters, but she couldn't stop
herself. "Do you think we're opposites?"
"Don't you? If I were speaking celestially, I would say you're the
bright-eyed smiling face of the sun and I'm the dark, dangerous side of
the moon."
She smiled. "Not a bad analogy for a man of the earth, but I'm not sure
either one of us is all one or the other. You think I hide from the
truth, but I think you do, too. You want to be tough and uncaring and
cynical, but there's a part of you that really liked my romantic story.
Come on, admit it," she prodded.
He gave her a reluctant grin. "I would never admit that."
"And I am much more dark and dangerous than you could even imagine."
"Oh, yeah, bad to the bone, huh?"
"I fed coins into the parking meter without moving my car today, even
though you're not supposed to
do that."
"No way. I am shocked, Ms. Devereaux."
"See, I told you."
"You're not like other women," he said, surprising her with his comment.
"Is that a good thing?"
He shook his head as if he hadn't quite figured it out. "I'm not
completely sure. I guess I haven't taken
the time to really get to know
a woman in a while."
"In a while or ever? Because I get the feeling that your mother did
such a number on you that you don't really feel comfortable letting
another woman into your life. You're not sure you can trust another
female."
"What about you? Are you afraid deep down that no guy will ever love
you more than his job?"
"Why are we being so philosophical all of a sudden?"
He laughed. "I have no idea, maybe because conversations at two in the
morning are half incredible insight and half utter nonsense."
"But which is which?"
"Beats me. I liked your story, Caitlyn. I especially liked the way your
eyes got all dreamy when you
told it."
She punched him lightly in the arm, careful not to disturb Emily. "You
sound like a fifties song."
"But. . ." He paused, waiting until she looked into his eyes again. "I
have to tell you, after listening to
your tale, that if I wanted a
woman, I wouldn't let anyone keep us apart, not even a Jade Emperor."
Her breath fled her chest at the suddenly purposeful look in his eyes.
"Uh, I, well.. ."
"Kiss me," he whispered.
"I don't think so," she whispered back.
"One kiss. I can't even touch you, not with Emily in my arms. Just your
mouth on mine."
"Why?"
"Because I want you."
It was wrong, it was foolish ... it was inevitable. She leaned over and
pressed her mouth against his, closing her eyes, losing herself in his
warmth, in her need, in his want. The cool night air surrounding them
made the heat between them only that much hotter. She didn't touch him
anywhere but on the mouth, but she could feel him all over, in every
nerve ending, in every part of her body.
She forced herself to pull away from what was fast becoming an
addiction. He was under her skin. He was in her blood. He was becoming
too big a part of her life, too fast.
"That was the last one," she said firmly. "We have to be sensible."
"That doesn't sound like a sentence that should be delivered by a woman
who believes in fairies and their star-crossed lovers."
"That was a story. This is real life." Getting to her feet, she said,
"Time for bed." She shook a finger at the gleam that flitted through
his eyes. "Don't even say it."
"Are you sure Emily will stay asleep?"
"I'm not sure of anything, except that I have to get up in a few hours
and it's time for us to call it a night."
"I appreciate the help—again," he said, carefully getting to his feet,
making sure not to jostle Emily. "You've been a lifesaver. I just wish
I could do something for you."
A sudden terrible idea occurred to her. She couldn't possibly ask him.
Still.. . Matt would be an incredible distraction, not to mention
Emily. "You really want to help me?" she asked impulsively.
He gave her a wary look. "I think so. What do I have to do?"
"Come to brunch at my parents' house with me tomorrow."
"Oh, no, I don't think so."
"You owe me, Matt."
He groaned. "Why would you want me there anyway? I'm no egghead."
"You can run interference. My mother has the ability to steaniroll me
into doing anything. I need a blocker. With you and Emily there, she
won't be able to push me into Brian's arms."
He frowned at her. "You could just say no. And besides, I thought you
were considering actually getting into Brian's arms."
"I need more time to think about what I want to do. And you haven't met
my mother. No one just says no. What do you say? Will you come to
brunch?"
"I should stay home in case Sarah comes looking for me."
"We can leave a note on your door."
"What if Emily cries the whole time?"
"Then we can leave early," she said, feeling even more optimistic.
"It's the perfect plan. My mother
won't be able to pressure me with you
there. Of course, if she thinks Brian is out of the running, there
is a
remote possibility that she might consider you husband material, but—"
"But what?" he asked in dismay.
"You can always just say no," she told him sweetly. "Tomorrow you'll
see just how easy that is."
* * *
He was preaching to the choir, literally, Jonathan thought cynically ashe finished his Sunday sermon for the ten people in the church and the
group of teenagers in his choir. Where was everyone? He looked to the
altar for guidance. Why am I here, Lord? he asked silently. What
possible good can I do when so
few people come to hear me, to hear
you'.'
His father's churches had always been filled to the rafters with life,
crying babies, young families, the
old faithful. They'd sung out every
hymn with the choir, rejoicing in the word of the Lord. His father
had
a gift for creating a passion for prayer, a gift he had not passed on
to his only son.
Mrs. Mclnerny's cane hit the floor with a bang, jolting awake Mr.
Mclnerny from the slumber he'd
fallen into shortly after entering the church. It seemed as good a time
as any to
end the service, and
with a final blessing Jonathan dismissed the
congregation.
Pauline stood up and followed him out to the front of the church, where
they said their good-byes.
"That was good, Reverend," she said, patting him on the shoulder.
"Every Sunday you get better and better."
He felt like a young boy being encouraged by his mother to finish the
race, when they both knew the
race was long over. "Thank you," he said
anyway, appreciative of her support.
"Mary dropped off a casserole for your Sunday supper," Pauline said.
"If I can't convince you to join
my family . . ."
"I'll be fine."
"I don't like to think of you eating alone. You need a family,
Jonathan, a wife, children."
"I haven't had time for all that. And with my job, a woman would have
to understand lhat the church comes first." How many women could accept
that? His own mother had complained endlessly about the constant
pa-iade of people through their house, the late-night phone calls from
the sick and the troubled, until she'd finally called it quits.
Jonathan didn't think she'd ever reconciled with the fact that her
husband was loved by so many people while she was barely loved by two.
"There's a woman out there who will understand your devotion, and
she'll love you for it," Pauline said. "You're young. You have time."
"Maybe not enough time." And he wasn't talking about marriage, he was
talking about the church.
"We need a congregation."
"Folks around here don't venture out much, even in the daylight,
especially to church. The neighborhood has been going down for years.
You came in at the wrong time, I'm afraid.
It might not be the worst
thing for you to get reassigned. It might be
better for your career to be in a place where you can get recognized
for your efforts."
"But it wouldn't be better for the neighborhood. I feel like a
failure." And he hated that feeling.
"Some mountains are just too high, Jonathan," she said with a shrug of
her world-weary shoulders.
"For some men," he murmured.
"You'll find a way to make a difference. I have faith in you."
"Thank you. That means a lot."
After seeing Pauline safely to her car, Jonathan returned to the
church. As he entered the sanctuary, the sun came in soft shining beams
through the windows, creating a heavenly light, and it made his nerves
tingle. He wasn't alone. The Lord was with him.
"I'm trying," Jonathan said out loud. "I'm trying to save this church
for the community." Even as he said the words, he felt a tiny stab of
guilt. Was he trying to save the church for the neighborhood, or was he
trying to save it for himself? Deep down he knew that a failure here
would give everyone yet another reason to wonder if he could live up to
his father's reputation.
But whatever his personal ambitions, he couldn't put them ahead of what
was right. He had to find a
way to succeed.
"Reverend?" The halting voice spun him around, but he knew who it was
even before he saw her.
"Sarah," he said softly. Her name had run around in his head all night
long. He'd wondered if she'd found the shelter and if he'd see her
again. He'd hoped that she would trust him enough to come back, and
here she was. Maybe he was doing something right.
"I. . ." She hesitated, clearly uncomfortable with her need. "I don't
know why I'm here."
"I'm just glad that you are." He walked toward her and waved a hand
toward a nearby pew. "Will you
sit down?"
Sarah did as he asked, sliding down, leaving several cautious feet
between them as he joined her on the bench.
"Can you tell me what has gone wrong in your life? What has brought you
such pain?" he asked.
She didn't say anything for a long moment, her face turned toward the
ground, her long hair providing a curtain to guard her expression.
Jonathan didn't move. He didn't press. He just waited, hoping the quiet
of the church, the spiritual strength of their surroundings, would give
her the courage to speak.
"I made a big mistake," she said finally.
"What kind of a mistake?"
"My baby."
A sense of dread filled his soul. He prayed that he wouldn't hear she
had harmed her child. For how
could he protect her from the
consequences of such a horrific deed?
"What happened to your baby?" he asked slowly, trying noi in let anv
emotion show in his voice. He didn't want to scare her or threaten her;
he wanted her confidence.
"I left her with someone without even asking, I couldn't stand her
crying, and I wasn't sure I could keep her safe or provide for her.'"
Jonathan let the breath out of his chest with a feeling of relief that
ihe baby was alive and, he hoped,
well. "Why don't you start at the
beginning. Sarah?"
"Where is that."' she asked in bewilderment, raising her head to look
at him.
He saw the confusion in her eyes and a hopelessness that touched him
deep inside. Sometimes he wondered how he could counsel those who had
suffered so much more than he had suffered. How could he understand
their pain? How
could he reach them when he'd never been to that place where they
lived, that bleak, despairing, hopeless place? He was a minister who
had grown up in the suburbs, who had never known hunger or thirst,
never had to wonder where he came from or where he was going. Sometimes
the responsibility of his ministry overwhelmed him with feelings of his
own inadequacy. But he couldn't give up. He had to try, even if it
meant floundering like a bull in a china shop.
"Start wherever you want," he said to Sarah, hoping it was the right
thing to say. For he wanted to help this young woman, wanted to help
her more than he'd ever wanted to help anyone.
She looked away from him toward the altar where the candles from the
service still burned brightly. She seemed suddenly mesmerized by the
flames.
"Fire," she murmured. "I think it started with the fire."
"What fire?"
She started at his question, a shutter coming across her eyes, closing
him out, and he silently cursed his own impatience.
"It doesn't matter," she said.
"Is your baby safe, Sarah? That's the most important thing. You must
tell me if the child is all right."
She nodded tightly. "She's safe."
"A girl?"
"Yes. Her name is Emily." Sarah's face softened with the love that
filled her eyes. "She's a beautiful
baby. I never thought I could have
anything so perfect."
He smiled gently. "Emily is a lovely name."
"I used to have a doll named EmmaLou. She was my best friend. She
wasn't a doll really, just a stick with a doll face on the end of it.
Mattie made it for me one day when I was crying because I wanted a
dolly, and we didn't have any
money to buy a real one." She jerked again, hugging her arms around her
waist, as if afraid she had told him too much.
Jonathan had the urge to touch her on the shoulder or the hand, a
gesture of comfort, but he held back, afraid even the simplest touch
would send her running. She reminded him of the animals at his
grandfather's farm, the skittish horses, dogs, and cats who had been
mistreated elsewhere, then rescued by his grandfather and protected at
his farm. Saving people and animals was a family tradition. His
grandfather had had the touch with animals, his father with people. And
Jonathan was still trying to find his touch, his way.
"I'd like to talk to you some more, Sarah. Why don't you come next door
with me? We can have lunch.
I promise it will be good, because I didn't
make it."
Sarah didn't respond at all to his encouraging smile. Instead, she bit
down on her bottom lip, which he could see she'd already worried into
tiny red blisters. "Will anyone else be there?"
"Just me."
"I don't know. I don't even know why I came here. I can't seem to stay
away."
"That's why I'm here, Sarah, to talk to people who need to be here. You
can trust me. I won't hurt you."
"I don't trust anyone," she said quickly.
"I'm sorry to hear that. Will you come anyway?"
Her face suddenly crumpled and tears slid down her cheeks in quiet
agony. "I'm so tired and hungry
and scared. I don't know what to do. I
don't where to go."
"I can take care of the hunger and the tiredness," Jonathan said
decisively. "And I can promise you that you'll be safe." He stood up
and held out his hand to her.
"Come with me, Sarah." He had to help her. He had to save her. If he
could do that, maybe he could be worthy of his calling.
She hesitated, then slowly took his hand. Her palm was ice-cold, and he
felt chilled at the touch. At the same time, her hand felt completely
right in his. She needed his warmth, and he needed, God help him,
he
needed her soul.
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