Easter Blessings
Authors: Lenora Worth
“The Lily Field” by Lenora Worth
Mariel thought this man was
different from the corporate types
she was used to.
Heath worked with flowers, for crying out loud! And he did look like a character from a historical romance novel. Intrigued, Mariel gave him a sharp stare. “So what were you doing standing out in the middle of the lily field?” she asked.
“I was listening to the lilies.”
Okay, I’ve got a live one here
, Mariel said to herself.
“The Butterfly Garden”
by Gail Gaymer Martin
Emily pictured the butterflies
flitting among her flowers and
she yearned for the past.
She wanted to enjoy her garden again and be free like those fragile creatures. Her eyes shifted from the lovely banners to Greg, and she caught him looking back at her. A mixture of embarrassment and pleasure spiraled through her chest.
Emily drew in a deep breath of the pungent spring air. As if the day were blessed, sunshine had turned the sky a gorgeous cerulean blue and heated the budding flower beds. New growth. New life. New hope.
grew up in a small Georgia town and decided in the fourth grade that she wanted to be a writer. But first she married her high school sweetheart, later settling with her husband and daughter in Shreveport, Louisiana. After the birth of her second child, a boy, she decided to pursue her dream of writing full-time. In 1993 Lenora’s hard work and determination finally paid off with that first sale.
“I never gave up, and I believe my faith in God helped get me through the rough times when I doubted myself,” Lenora says. “Each time I start a new book I say a prayer, asking God to give me the strength and direction to put the words to paper. That’s why I’m so thrilled to be a part of Steeple Hill’s Love Inspired line, where I can combine my faith in God with my love of romance. It’s the best combination.”
lives with her real-life hero in Lathrup Village, Michigan. Growing up in nearby Madison Heights, Gail wrote poems and stories as a child and progressed to writing programs for her church. When she retired, she tried her hand at her dream—writing novels.
An award-winning novelist, Gail is multipublished in nonfiction and fiction. Her Steeple Hill Love Inspired romance
Upon A Midnight Clear
won a Holt Medallion in 2001 and was a National Readers Choice Award finalist. Besides writing, Gail sings with a well-known Christian Detroit chorus and enjoys public speaking and presenting writers’ workshops. Visit her Web site at www.gailmartin.com. She loves to hear from her readers. Write to her on the Internet at [email protected], or at P.O. Box 760063, Lathrup Village, MI 48076, U.S.A.
ASTER
B
LESSINGS
L
ENORA
W
ORTH AND
G
AIL
G
AYMER
M
ARTIN
Lenora Worth
Gail Gaymer Martin
Dear Reader,
Easter blessings! This time of the church year is so important to all of us as we celebrate our greatest gift—the death and resurrection of our Savior, who gave His life for us. We are both thrilled to be a part of this two-in-one book from Steeple Hill Love Inspired.
I’ve enjoyed writing with my friend Gail Martin. Together we wish all of our readers a blessed Easter. One of my favorite parts of this holiday is the Easter lilies. They are so beautiful and they smell so wonderful.
In “The Lily Field,” Heath knew that the natural lilies growing in the field were far more precious than those that had to be forced in a greenhouse. Yet he also understood the importance of those forced lilies to the people who would buy them. Mariel was like a forced lily in that she wasn’t ready to blossom. When she realized the Lord had been watching over her even in her darkest hours, she knew she could experience something just as precious and wonderful as a lily blooming in the field. On to you, Gail…
When Lenora and I agreed to do this book, my first thought was the butterfly, the symbol of rebirth, for my story. They visit my flower garden, and my home is decorated with them—in wallpaper, stained glass, on pillows and throw covers. But the concept of rebirth has a more personal meaning for me. A few years ago I experienced what Emily did in “The Butterfly Garden.” My knees had been damaged by osteoarthritis, and after spending a few months in a wheelchair, I underwent two knee replacements. I thank God for the technology that allowed me to walk again without pain. This story of trust in God is a blessing to me, and I hope it has been for you.
We hope you have a happy spring filled with butterflies and lilies. And God’s redeeming love. And until next time, may the angels watch over you—always.
Lenora Worth
To my sister-in-law, Kathy Baker.
Consider the lilies, how they grow: they neither toil
nor spin; and yet I say to you, even Solomon in all
his glory was not arrayed like one of these.
—
Luke
12:27
S
he saw him standing in the lily field.
Mariel Evans lifted a hand to her eyes, shading them from the bright springtime Louisiana sun, then blinked just to make sure she wasn’t imagining things.
The tall man was still there among the rich green of the lily stalks. He stood with his back to her, hands on his hips, in a lightweight plaid flannel shirt and faded jeans, his dark blond shaggy hair gleaming with sun-washed shimmers as he surveyed the rows and rows of almost-budding Easter lilies.
Mariel stood at the edge of the field, afraid to move. The man seemed so deep in thought, she didn’t want to disturb him. Glancing around, she wondered where her grandmother was, wondered why exactly she’d been summoned here to White Hill in the first place.
She’d parked around front, then when she couldn’t find anyone at the house, she’d walked down the meandering lane past the gift shop and nursery, past the rows of greenhouses, heading toward the fields. Only to find them deserted, too.
Except for him.
She glanced back toward the man. And he turned to look right into her eyes.
The beauty and intensity of his classic, chiseled features stopped Mariel in her tracks, leaving her awestruck with wonder while her heartbeat accelerated. He looked like a proud lion standing watch over his domain, his nostrils flaring with awareness as he lifted his head. That awareness, that alert attention, only made her
more
aware of him. And made her a bit nervous, too.
Get a grip, Mariel silently told herself. But that advice was hard to take, considering the way the man stood there assessing her with a head-to-toe look. Deciding to take matters into her own hands, she advanced toward him, ignoring her suddenly breathless state. “Hi. I’m Mariel Evans. I’m looking for my grandmother, Sadie Hillsboro.”
The man moved toward her, a slow, lazy stride that showcased his long, muscular legs. When he got about two feet away, he tipped his head sideways, causing his longish hair to fall across his eyes. “Hello. Sadie told me you’d be arriving today.” He extended a hand. “I’m Heath Whitaker, the new manager.”
“Oh, hi,” Mariel said, her gaze locking with his. She was immediately taken again, this time by exotic, slanted eyes so deeply blue and sparkling, they reminded her of a 3:00 a.m. sky. She took the hand he offered, her fingers tingling from the warmth of his firm grip. “Granny mentioned she’d hired a new manager.”
“That’s me,” he said, his smile soft and tight-lipped. “
Granny’s
mentioned her favorite granddaughter a time or two to me, too.”
Mariel let go of his hand, then tossed her long chestnut-colored hair off her face. “I’m the oldest of her five grandchildren. I’ve had more time to work my charm on her.”
“She thinks highly of you,” he replied. “Always brag
ging about how smart you are, how you paint these pretty pictures on computers—graphic art, I believe?”
“That’s my job.” Mariel glanced around again. “Where is she, anyway?”
“She’s at the doctor,” Heath said, touching her arm to guide her back to the wooden white house up on the hill.
Alarm coursed through Mariel. “Is she sick?”
Heath nodded. “Your grandmother hasn’t been well lately at all. We had to convince her to go in for a checkup. Dizzy spells, fatigue, no appetite. Your two uncles had a time getting her to go.”
“She can be pretty stubborn,” Mariel said as they walked up the gravel-covered lane, the vanilla-like scent of lilies wafting through the air after them. “Is that why she called me to come home?”
“Partly,” he said, pushing a hand through his thick hair. “I’ll let her explain everything to you when she gets back.” Then he stopped, his work boots crunching against pebbles. “So you’re here for a long stay?”
“About a month,” Mariel replied, worry making her impatient. “I took a leave from my job in Dallas.” At his questioning look, she added, “I had some comp time coming anyway, and Granny sounded so firm in her request…. Well, let’s just say I thought it was a good time for a vacation. She never mentioned she was in bad health, though.”
Heath nodded. “You know your grandmother. She’s proud and tough, just keeps on keeping on.”
“
You
sure seem to know her very well.” That he did bothered Mariel for some unnamed reason. After all, this man was a stranger.
“I’ve been here since last fall. Hired on at a very crucial time, right when the lily bulbs had to be transferred into the greenhouses for the Easter schedule. Been working
hard at it since, but I do take a minute here and there to visit with Sadie. After all, this is
her
bulb farm.”
“She knows everything there is to know about growing Easter lilies, that’s for sure,” Mariel said, her gaze lifting toward the rambling white Victorian house that she’d come to love over the years. “White Hill is famous for its lilies.”
Heath nodded. “Tell me something I don’t know. That’s exactly why I signed on here in the first place. And I’ve worked in Oregon and California, even in Del Norte County.” He paused, as if waiting for Mariel to acknowledge this information.
Since she didn’t understand the significance, she lifted her brows. “I take it Del Norte County should mean something to me?”
He grinned, shook his head. “It’s the Easter Lily Capital of the world,” he explained. “You don’t have a clue about Easter lilies, do you?”
“Not even a smidgen,” she admitted. “I spent summers here with Granny and worked in the fields and the store, but all I really remember or know is that the field we were just in is the original White Hill Easter lily field, started with a few bulbs my grandfather gave her long ago, right after he came home from World War II.”
Heath nodded. “She loves to tell that story. Highly romantic, don’t you think?”
Mariel
thought
this man was different from the corporate types she was used to being around. He worked with flowers, for crying out loud! And he did look like a character from a historical romance novel.
In answer to his question, she laughed. “My grandmother has always been a romantic at heart.”
“But you’re not?”
She shrugged. “I’m too practical for hearts and flowers.”
He made a little noise that sounded suspiciously like a grunt. “We’ve got our work cut out for us, then.”
“What on earth are you talking about?”
“I’ll let Sadie explain.”
Confused, but intrigued, Mariel gave him a sharp stare. “So what were you doing standing out in the middle of the lily field?”
“I was listening to the lilies.”
Okay, I’ve got a live one here,
Mariel thought. He was probably one of those tree-hugging nature lovers—after all, he’d said he’d lived in Oregon and California.
“So…part of your job is to, uh, listen to the lilies?”
Heath’s eyes went a shade darker, as if he knew she was teasing him. “Yes. You see, I
love
that field. Do you know it’s one of the only naturally growing lily fields in this country, maybe in the world for that matter, other than the wild lilies on some tropical island somewhere? I mean, all those beautiful lilies got there strictly from propagation—and your grandmother’s loving hands, of course.”
“Of course.”
“We’re lucky we have a late Easter this year,” he said, waving a hand. “Normally, we don’t get many bloomers in this field until May. But this year…I just have a good feeling that we’ll see some blooms on Easter morning.” He shrugged, gave her a sheepish grin. “This field can’t be rushed or forced, you know?”
Mariel studied his features. He was so earnest, so intense, so…nice looking. Mentally shaking herself out of her stupor, she looked back down the lane toward the main field.
“I only know this. When those flowers start blooming, so white and pure, the scent makes me think of an exotic island somewhere far away.” She felt the childhood memories rising up, but pushed them back to a safe distance. “I love that field, too,” she said, surprising herself by the
admission. “When I was a little girl, I used to run through the rows, pretending it was my wedding chapel. The blooms would be over my head…and the smell—” Realizing she’d been rambling, she shut up.
“Like no other perfume in the world.” Heath finished, amazement in his eyes, that soft smile on his face. “You
do
feel it, too, then?”
Shocked, Mariel shook her head. “Feel what?”
“The power of the lilies.” He lifted a hand in the air. “The power of God’s beauty.”
“I don’t know about God,” Mariel replied, flushed with awareness and hugely embarrassed by having shared some of her most treasured memories with this handsome stranger, “but I think one of the reasons Granny lets that particular field grow wild is because it reminds her of how much she loved my grandfather. It brings her so much comfort. And I guess, yes, I felt something running through those rows as a child. It brought me comfort so many times.”
“That’s what I’m telling you,” he said, taking her by the arm to lead her up onto the wide wraparound porch. “Easter lilies bring people joy and peace. They represent what faith is all about—being reborn, being resurrected through God’s grace. When you stand in that field, you can feel that. That’s why I love growing lilies.” He took a breath. “And that’s why I love
listening
to the lilies.”
“I believe you,” Mariel said, thinking this man took his job way too seriously. “No wonder Granny hired you.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Oh, nothing. Just that…my grandmother is a very devout woman. She lives by faith. And apparently, so do you.”
“Don’t you?”
“I—I just live,” she replied, a trace of bitterness in the statement. “One day at a time.”
“So you don’t see the joy?”
“What kind of question is that?”
“Simple enough,” he said as he leaned back on a porch railing carved with intricate grape leaf designs and curlicues.
“I have…joy,” Mariel said on a defensive lilt, wondering why his sure, steady gaze made her want to squirm away. Maybe because he seemed so direct and honest, two things she’d never mastered. “I’m relatively happy with life.”
“Okay.”
“Okay.” She whirled to go inside. “I guess I’ll go unpack while I wait for Granny to get home. Do you want to come in?”
He heaved off the rail. “No. I’ve got things to do. Another couple of weeks and we’ll be real busy around here, shipping out the hothouse lilies.”
“Then I won’t keep you,” Mariel said, glad to be getting away from him. “It was nice to met you, Heath.”
“You, too,” he said with a grin. “I’ll probably see you for supper.” He shrugged. “Sadie likes to make sure I get at least one hot meal a day.”
Mariel watched as he took the steps two at a time. Probably in a hurry to get back to…listening. “I’ll see you later, then.”
He turned on the tulip-lined path. “I’m sure we’ll be seeing a lot of each other around here. That’d be nice.” Then he gave her that soft smile again.
Mariel leaned back against the door frame, then brought a hand to her heart. “That one’s different,” she mumbled to herself. And so very interesting. Where on earth had her grandmother found him?
“Granny, what are you up to?” she wondered aloud as she headed into the cool darkness of the big house. “And why was it so urgent for me to come home?”
She had a sneaking suspicion Heath Whitaker had something to do with all of this. And as soon as her grandmother got back, Mariel intended to find out just exactly what was going on around here.
