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Kris fell silent, but Angie knew there was more to come. The evidence of that was sitting on Bill’s lap as well as playing with dolls on a blanket next to Kris’s chair.

“It took a while for me to work through the pain and confusion I felt. And all the guilt. I carried around a load of it for a long time before I laid it at the foot of the cross like Jesus tells us to. And then he sent these little ones into my life to love and to love me in return.”

“You’re not really their aunt,” Angie said, suddenly remembering Kris was an only child, same as she was.

Kris stroked Ginger’s hair. “No, I’m not. That’s just what the kids call me. I became friends with Susan, their mom, in a Bible study we were in together, and later I took care of her when she was dying of cancer. She had no other family to see to her, and she wasn’t married to their father. Besides, he took off when she got pregnant with Tommy, and nobody knew where he was. After they found her cancer, the doctors wanted her to have an abortion, said it would improve her chances of surviving longer, but she wouldn’t do it. Susan said she wouldn’t take his life to save her own. She went home to be with the Lord when Tommy was about five months old. Long enough for her to take care of arrangements for her children to stay with me. After we buried Susan, the kids and I moved back here, to the house Mom left me in her will. It’s a miracle, really, the way God’s provided for us all.”

A miracle? Wouldn’t a miracle have been for Susan to live instead of die of cancer? Wouldn’t a miracle have been if Kris hadn’t been scarred in that accident or had never run away from home in the first place?

As if Kris heard Angie’s thoughts, she said, “I didn’t have anybody. They didn’t have anybody. But together, we make a family. That’s God’s miracle. All things work together for good for those who love God and are called according to his purpose.”

Angie was incredulous. “You’re saying you think this all worked out for the best?”

“For the best?” Kris shook her head slowly. “No, I’m not saying that. Lots of bad, hard things happen to people, and plenty of it isn’t the best. The best won’t happen until this world is free of sin, once and for all, and God’s will is done on earth the same way it is in heaven. But for now, he takes what the devil means for harm against us, and he turns it into something beautiful in the lives of those who trust Jesus. That’s what he’s promised in his Word.” Kris leaned forward in her chair, her gaze so filled with peace it pierced Angie’s soul. “That’s how much the Lord loves us.”

The old Angie—the one who’d arrived in Idaho on that small plane thirty-one days before—would have scoffed outright. She would have accused Kris Hickman of sermonizing or, at the very least, being simpleminded. But today, seeing something in this woman’s eyes, hearing it in her voice, she neither scoffed nor accused. She listened, and she tried to understand. She wanted very much to understand where that sort of peace came from…

Because she knew she didn’t have it.

Chapter 12

ANGIE TOSSED AND TURNED on her bed that night, unable to fall asleep, unable to shake the voice in her head and the memory of Kris Hickman and those three children, unable to ignore the peace she’d read in Kris’s eyes, despite the painful nature of her story.

 “I was way more than my mom could handle.…So I laid there in that hospital bed, knowing I was never going to be pretty again.…Jesus was standing there, saying, ‘Look what I have for you, Beloved, if you follow me.’ So I followed him.…I never got to tell her how sorry I was for what I put her through. People think there’ll be plenty of time to make amends with those we love, but that isn’t always true.…It’s a miracle, really, the way God’s provided for us all.…He takes what the devil means for harm against us, and he turns it into something beautiful.…That’s how much the Lord loves us…

“That’s how much the Lord loves us…

“That’s how much the Lord loves us…”

At 3:00 A.M., Angie gave up and got out of bed.

Tucking one leg beneath her bottom, she sat on her desk chair, opened her laptop, and turned it on, determined she would seriously begin her job search. Surely that would help cure whatever ailed her. Getting back to the real world was what she needed. Getting back to the hustle and bustle of the newspaper business.

Only instead of clicking the Internet link on her desktop, she opened her word processing program. She sat there a while, staring at the cursor blinking on the screen, and then she typed: Kris Hickman is an unlikely heroine in a very different kind of love story.

It wasn’t a bad lead. Maybe not the best, but not bad either. And it didn’t matter one way or the other since she had no intention of writing the article. It was an interesting story but had nothing to do with her. Maybe she simply needed to jot down a few things in order to clear it from her head.

 “I never got to tell her how sorry I was for what I put her through. People think there’ll be plenty of time to make amends with those we love, but that isn’t always true…”

Perhaps those were the words that troubled Angie most of all. What if something far worse than knee problems had affected her mother? What if she’d died without Angie seeing her again? She’d neglected her mother for so long. Oh, she’d made those occasional visits and had called on a semi-regular basis, and her day planner had helped her remember to send flowers on Mother’s Day and birthday gifts every February, items purchased in haste and without much thought for whether or not they were things her mother would want or need.

But what about the one thing that really mattered? What about giving of herself, of her time? No, that she hadn’t done. But what was a career woman to do? Angie had to have a job, didn’t she?

Of course, Bill had offered her employment at the
Press
. The pay couldn’t be much, but if she sold her house in California, she would have a nice nest egg to see her through for a long spell. Despite her dire expectations, she hadn’t found these weeks in Hart’s Crossing onerous. Maybe she’d even enjoyed them.

She thought of Kris Hickman again and the strength of the faith that had been revealed as she related her story. A strong faith shared by Angie’s mother, Bill Palmer, and Terri Sampson, to name only a few of the people she knew. For the first time in her life, Angie wanted to know
why
they believed what they believed. Perhaps if she stayed in Hart’s Crossing a while longer, she would find the answers to the questions that plagued her.

Angie swiveled her chair around 180 degrees, thinking that her life had been a good deal simpler when she wasn’t so bent on self-analysis and spiritual discovery.

* * *

Francine awakened to the smell and sound of bacon sizzling in a frying pan. Turning her head on the pillow, she looked at the red numbers on her digital clock. Six-forty. What on earth? Angie rarely ate breakfast, let alone this early in the morning.

Francine sat up and reached for her robe. A short while later, aided by her cane and moving slowly, she made her way out of her bedroom, down the hall, and into the kitchen. The table had been set with the bright yellow plates Francine favored. The clear-glass tumblers had been filled to the brim with grapefruit juice.

“My word,” she said. “Are we expecting company?”

Standing at the stove, her back toward the kitchen entrance, Angie glanced over her shoulder. “Morning, Mom.” She smiled at Francine as she pulled the skillet from the burner. “I thought I’d get a jump start on breakfast. Are you ready for your eggs? I can fry them now that you’re up.”

“Thank you, dear.” Francine wasn’t nearly as hungry as she was curious. “Just one egg, though.” She took her usual seat at the table.

“Okay.” Angie removed the strips of bacon from the frying pan and placed them on paper towels to drain before taking the eggs out of the refrigerator. “I couldn’t sleep last night, Mom. I was thinking a lot about the meeting Bill and I had with Kris Hickman.”

Angie hadn’t said much to her mother when she returned home the previous afternoon, and Francine had been careful not to press for details. She’d sensed Angie wasn’t ready to talk. Now it appeared her daughter was ready to open up.

“I was thinking maybe I—” Angie stopped abruptly, pulled the skillet from the burner a second time, and turned toward Francine. “Mom, I love you.”

A lump formed in Francine’s throat. “I love you, too, dear.”

“I…I need to tell you how sorry I am.”

“Sorry? For what?”

Angie came to the table and sat down. “I love you, Mom, but I haven’t shown it the way I should. I’ve been so stingy with my time. I’ve loved you when it was convenient for me and my schedule. That’s a selfish, self-centered kind of love. All these years, you’ve never chastised me for my selfishness, even though it must have hurt you.” Tears brimmed in her daughter’s eyes. “I’m so sorry.”

Francine took hold of one of Angie’s hands and squeezed. “You’re forgiven, my darling child. I’ve always understood how important your career is to you.”

Angie shook her head, as if denying her mother’s statement. “Last night I kept thinking of how Kris never got to tell her mom she was sorry, never got to spend time with her as an adult. She never got a second chance with her mom after she ran away from home. I don’t want that to happen to us. I want to be close to you, Mom.”

For a time, neither woman spoke. Neither was able. They sat in silence, holding hands, and allowed forgiveness to flow between them. Finally, Angie sniffed, rose from her chair, and went to retrieve the box of tissues on the kitchen counter near the telephone. After wiping her own eyes and blowing her nose, she brought the box to the table so Francine could make use of the tissues, too.

Francine was still dabbing at the corners of her eyes when her daughter said, “Mom…I think maybe I’d like to stay in Hart’s Crossing a while longer. What would you say to that?”

“Oh, honey. I’d love it more than anything. You know I would.”

Angie sat down again. “I don’t know for how long. But I…Well, I need to figure out some things about myself. I need to change some of my priorities. I think I could do that better here, without the pressures of my career pulling me this way and that.”

Thank you, Jesus. Oh, thank you.

“I thought I’d talk to Bill later this morning. He mentioned I could do some work for him at the
Press
. I doubt he could pay me much, but the money isn’t an issue right now.”

Francine had the almost irresistible urge to jump from her chair and shout “Hallelujah!” while dancing about the kitchen, bum leg or no. But she managed to maintain control of her emotions, pretending calm. “You do what you think is best, dear. You’re welcome to stay with me for however long you wish.”

“Okay, then.” Angie grinned. “Guess I’ll fix the rest of our breakfast now. I’m famished.”

* * *

Angie chose to walk into town later that morning. Sunlight filtered through the leafy tree branches to cast a latticework of light and shadows upon the sidewalk and street. The buzz of lawnmowers came to her from several directions. Three boys, about the same age as Lyssa, rode their bikes past her, going in the opposite direction, and all of them said “Hey” as if they knew her.

Hart’s Crossing never changes.

Just a month ago, she’d thought the same thing with derision. Now she was glad for it, even while knowing it wasn’t entirely true. Her hometown had changed. People had moved away. Others had arrived to make this place their home. The high school had been remodeled. The Lamberts had built their dental clinic. Hart’s Crossing Community Church had a new pastor in John Gunn, and Dr. Jeff Cavanaugh had taken over the practice of old Doc Burke when he’d retired.

But Angie could still count on the wisdom of Till Hart and the juicy hamburgers at the Over the Rainbow Diner and the folksy news included in the
Mountain View Press
. She knew kids would still ride their bikes down the middle of the street and the police chief would know most folks by name and neighbors would go to hospital waiting rooms to sit with family members, whether asked or not.

Maybe in the weeks and months to come, however many that might be, she could add to her list of things that had and had not changed about Hart’s Crossing.

And about herself.

Seeing the “open” sign in the door of Terri’s Tangles Beauty Salon, she stopped there first. She found her friend seated in her salon chair, sipping a cup of coffee.

“Hi, Terri,” she said as bells tinkled overhead.

“Well, hey. Didn’t expect to see you this morning. What’s up?”

“Not much.”

Terri’s eyes narrowed. “Then why do you look like the cat that swallowed the canary?”

“Do I?” Angie sat in a blue hard-plastic chair. “Maybe it’s because I’m happy.”

“Why? What’s happened?”

“Maybe it’s none of your business.” She tried to sound irritated but failed.

“Everything’s my business. I’m a hair stylist. People tell me as much as any therapist or bartender might hear.” She wiggled her fingers in a spill-the-beans fashion.

Angie pushed her hair away from her face as she turned her head to look out the window. Across the street was the Hart’s Crossing Municipal Building and the city park with its white gazebo near the river.

“Ang?”

Without looking at Terri, she said, “You know how lots of towns put speed bumps on certain streets when they can’t get traffic to slow down the way they’re supposed to?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, I feel like somebody installed a giant speed bump in my life this spring.” Angie turned toward her friend again. “I’m going to slow down and take a look at the neighborhood I’m passing through. Maybe I’ll discover I like it more than I thought I would.”

Terri leaned forward in her chair. “And that means what, exactly?”

“It means I’m not in such a hurry to return to the rat race. It means I want to figure out what matters in this world. It means I want to spend more time with my mom so we can get to know each other again. It means I want to see more of you and Lyssa, too.”
And more of Bill Palmer
, she thought, but she couldn’t bring herself to speak those words aloud just yet.