Loving Hearts (17 page)

While admiring the engagement ring, her father had accepted the inevitable and kissed Rachel’s cheek, giving her his blessing. She and Jeff had invited him for dinner that evening to celebrate.

Esther wasn’t celebrating. She sat alone, tormented by memories and pervaded with longing. Disbelief pressed against her heart. She knew Ian had been hurt and angry, but she’d prayed he would call or drop by again. He hadn’t.

She rose, headed for the kitchen and turned on the kettle. Pulling a cup from the cabinet, she dropped a tea bag into it and leaned against the counter, waiting for the water to boil.

The house droned with silence and loneliness. She
strode to her office doorway and looked at the chair where Ian had sat…it seemed too long ago.

It had taken forever to admit feelings for him, even to herself. Yet, looking at the empty chair, the empty room, she could barely remember her life without Ian. Being without him seemed impossible.

As she turned back to the kitchen, the doorbell jangled. Gooseflesh rose up her arms. Sunday afternoon. It wouldn’t be a door-to-door solicitor. Rachel had plans. It had to be Ian. Her heart rushed to her throat as she darted for the door.

She flung it open, and her heart sank to her toes.

“Hi,” her neighbor from across the street, Annie O’Keefe, said, holding a florist’s package. The woman had a jacket over her shoulders, and the wind whipped it back, nearly taking it to the ground. She grasped her wrap with one hand and balanced the bouquet with the other. “This was delivered this morning. You weren’t home, I guess.”

Reeling with disappointment, Esther urged her voice to sound pleasant. “Thanks.” She reached out to take the package. “I was at church.”

“Well, enjoy,” the woman said, tightening the jacket around her and stepping from the porch.

Watching the woman return to her home, Esther waited at the door, clutching the bouquet, the fragrance wrapping around her senses. Jeff, she thought. A thank-you bouquet from Jeff for supporting Rachel.

She looked up at the sky. The sun now hid behind a cloud…a dark cloud…and a brooding wind gusted against the dried leaves along the ground.

She pushed the door closed and heard the kettle whistling in the kitchen. Hurrying toward the sound, she pulled the kettle off the burner, poured the water into the cup to steep and carried the flowers to the kitchen table.

Pulling back the paper, she tore it from the bouquet. Mums, asters and roses embellished with dried autumn leaves. Jeff had good taste. Her thoughts went back to the silk arrangement she’d seen at the craft show. This arrangement looked similar.

As she carried the bouquet into the living room she saw a note card and pulled it out after she’d placed the blossoms on a table. Guessing what Jeff might say, she tore open the card. She expected a single word. “Thanks.”

Instead, as she read the neat penmanship, the card—with Ian’s signature scrawled at the bottom—trembled in her hand. Tears blurred her eyes, and she followed the misty letters. “Love makes us do strange things. I’m sorry.”

Love makes us do strange things.
The word
love
leaped from the page and rang in her ears. Did he mean he loved her?

Love. Love. Love. The word multiplied, as did the tears in her eyes. She’d been so quick to blame. So quick to ignore her own part in the charade. So quick to send Ian into the night.

She loved him. She had for months, and, too afraid to admit it, she’d acted like an idiot. She hugged the vase, burying her nose in the flowers’ sweet perfume. Ian’s citrus-scented aftershave gradually encroached on the aroma and filled her heart.

Reality shot through her. She needed to beg Ian’s forgiveness. He’d given her so much in these past months. So much joy, good company and kindness. She’d given him only doubt and fears dragged from her past.

And worse, she’d blamed him totally for the charade. He’d only mentioned it, and she’d captured the idea like a bright butterfly. The ruse had given her opportunities to be in his company, to hold hands, to pretend he loved her, and all the while she’d given him her heart for real.

Shame filled her. She’d acted horribly and longed to ask for his forgiveness. The flowers were his apology—his way of letting her know he loved her.

Esther looked at her wristwatch. Early afternoon. He should be home. She headed back to the kitchen, took a sip of her cooled tea and dialed his number. Counting the rings, she hung up before the answering machine took over.

She sank into a kitchen chair. Now what? Could he be working? He did sometimes on Sundays. Not very often, but it was worth a try. She rose and punched in his direct extension. The line rang and rang, then kicked into voice mail. Esther disconnected.

Pulling out her personal phone book, she flipped to the
B
s. Bay Breeze. She dialed the registration desk. Two rings and a male voice answered.

“Jeff?” she asked.

“No,” he said, his voice filled with curiosity. “This is Jim Mason.”

Memories flooded back. “Hi, Jim, this is Esther Downing. I wondered if you’ve seen Ian today?”

“Ian’s not working today, Esther.”

“Oh.” She heard her voice ring with disappointment.

“Just a minute,” Jim said.

She heard the muffled sound of his hand over the telephone.

“Esther,” he said into the mouthpiece. “When he dropped by last night, Leslie said he mentioned sailing today.”

Her heart skipped. “Sailing? Thanks, Jim.” She pushed the phone onto the receiver and pictured the growing cold and the darkening clouds.

Fear shot through her. Ian may have planned to sail, but surely, if he saw the troublesome weather, he’d have changed his plans. Maybe she’d hung up too quickly. She redialed Ian’s number and let it ring until the answering machine picked up. Though she opened her mouth to speak, no words came. She disconnected and dropped into the chair.

A prayer filled her heart. A prayer for Ian’s safety and a prayer for God’s guidance. She pressed her face into her trembling hands and waited for an answer. What should she do?

With tension mounting, Ian looked into the sky. Dark storm clouds billowed in the north. He’d been distracted, his mind on Esther rather than the weather. It had been a grave error.

He’d left midmorning in the bright sunshine. Though the weather had cooled since the day before,
Ian had felt optimistic. He’d worn a heavy jacket and brought along canvas gloves. But the wind had picked up coming from the north, and the boat had already reached seven knots.

Knowing he’d gone farther than he’d intended, Ian came about, tacking toward the shoreline, only a black line on the horizon. Earlier he’d estimated that he’d passed the city of Holland. Calculating again, he hoped to find the channel at Saugatuck before the storm broke, to wait it out.

With the sky burdened with black thunderheads, darkness came fast, and in the distance lightning zigzagged across the sky, darting into the churning water.

Ian understood weather, but it had changed too quickly, as it often did in Michigan. He feared a squall. Appraising the ominous sky, he wanted to make port before the storm arrived.

The waves swelled, and the boat pitched with the roll of the deep green mountain. An icy spray burst over the deck, and Ian clung to the wheel praying the thunderous front slowed.

When another swell rolled above him and the wind gusted, slapping against the hull, Ian locked the wheel and hurried to the mainsail, attaching himself to a harness and tethering it to a jack line. Reefing early seemed better than waiting until it was too late. Concern pervaded his mind while he shortened the sails, knowing it was worth sacrificing speed for safety. What had he been thinking? He’d always been a good sailor, yet today his mind had been everywhere but on sailing.

The wind had reached gale force, he guessed—at least thirty knots. Another blast howled, whipping the waves higher while the boat rolled and tossed like a roller-coaster ride.

Having shortened and secured the sails, Ian steadied himself, making his way to the cockpit, clinging to the line. When the boat yawed, he lost his footing, but clung to the line to keep himself from falling overboard.

He paused and collected himself. He’d been in storms before. Boats were made to ride out storms. Keeping calm and using safety measures, he’d be okay. The words pierced his thoughts. He pictured Esther’s fear and remembered her sorrow over losing her uncle. He wouldn’t let that happen to her again.

He stepped forward toward the wheel, but before he reached it, a wall of water rose above him like a black mountain and, with unexpected fury, washed his feet out from under him. As Ian tumbled to the deck, the boat dipped her starboard rail toward the water, and he rolled across the boards toward the angry lake.

E
sther paced the floor, not knowing what to do. Pausing, she stepped to the window and stared up at the gathering clouds. Though the morning had been pleasant and filled with sunshine, now she watched the treetops bend and flutter in the growing wind.

Crossing to the foyer, Esther wondered if Ian had returned to land. Perhaps he had already tied up at the marina. Who could she call? No one. No one at the marina had time to walk the pier to see who was there and who wasn’t.

She pulled open the front storm door, feeling a blast of cold wind envelop her in an icy chill. Once more she studied the sky. In the distance dark clouds rolled above the trees, drawing nearer. Ian? If he were sailing, he could be in danger.

After closing the door, she grabbed her coat from the foyer closet, pulled down a scarf from the shelf and found her shoulder bag in the kitchen. She couldn’t sit here wondering. For her own peace of
mind, Esther knew the marina would be her only source of comfort.

Source of comfort.
The words struck her. How easy it was to forget the Lord. How easy to carry the burden of fear on her own shoulders when the Lord had offered to bear the weight.

With her hand fumbling in her purse for her keys, Esther paused. Her prayer rose with the wind, asking God for Ian’s safety and for her own trust in Him.

She locked the door and slid into her car. The sunlight had dimmed to a dusky afternoon, like winter when darkness fell over the city before evening. Her hand trembled as she slid the key into the ignition. “Lord help me to trust in You,” she said aloud.

Turning the key, she heard the assuring sound of her engine kicking in. She turned on her headlights, shifted into Reverse and backed out to the street. Curious about the weather forecast, Esther snapped on the radio.

Music drifted from the speakers and, frustrated, she punched the buttons, trying to keep her eye on the road. She had no success with the radio, so she gave up and waited. In a moment her favorite station took a break for local weather.

A calm voice sounded over the speaker. “Heavy winds and falling temperatures are expected for Muskegon County. Small-craft warnings have been issued for boats on Lake Michigan. Severe thunderstorms are predicted from Whitehall to Loving until seven this evening.”

Esther’s legs trembled with the news. Not just high winds, but an electrical storm. Only a hurricane could
be worse on the Great Lakes. Her pulse galloped as she followed the highway toward the lake. When she spotted the marina, her eyes sought the slips along the pier. She prayed to see Ian’s sailboat secured and safe.

The wind sock snapped with unpredictable gusts as Esther left the car and rushed toward the pier. Her heels slammed along the wooden planks, and in the middle of the lengthy wharf she halted, bringing her hands to her mouth to hold back her anguished cry.

Lady Day
was gone.

The gusts threw her off balance, and she struggled to retain her footing. Holding back her hair, which was blowing in her face and distorting her vision, she peered toward the impenetrable horizon, praying to see Ian’s cutter heading toward the marina.

Red and green channel markers bounced in the distance, riding the billows and plunging into the waves’ valleys. Shaking with cold and fear, Esther wrapped her coat around herself and shoved her hands into its pockets.

The first drops of rain hit her like ice shavings, and before she could decide what to do, a shaft of lightning cut through the sky accompanied by a boom that shook the pier and exploded a cloudburst of rain from the black sky. Fear tightened in her chest.

She pulled the hood of her coat over her wet hair and squinted through the downpour, her hopes as damp and dismal as the storm.

“Oh Lord, please. Not again.”

“She’s not home,” Rachel said, clinging to the handle of Jeff’s passenger door, her coat fluttering in the growing wind. “Do you think she went to the marina?”

Jeff shrugged. “I don’t know, but get back in the car.” He patted the seat.

She slid inside, hugging herself from the sudden chill. “Turn on the heater. Okay?”

He adjusted the car heater and turned on the radio. “There’s definitely a storm on the way. I can’t believe Ian took the boat out today.”

“It was nice this morning,” Rachel said, defending him. “Anyway, he’s probably back and safe.”

“So what should we do? I thought Esther and Ian weren’t seeing each other. Why would she be at the marina?”

Rachel drew up her shoulders in disbelief and gave him a how-stupid-are-you look. “When you and I weren’t seeing each other, where would you be if you suspected I was out sailing today?”

He gave her a defeated look. “Okay. You’re right. I’d be at the marina. Should we go and check it out?”

Rachel thought a moment. Why did she think Esther would be there? Maybe she had gone to the library today. But she suspected that wasn’t the case. Not on Sunday. She nodded. “If she’s there and worried, I want to be with her.”

“Women,” Jeff said. “I’m trying to learn this stuff, but I hope you give me a little time.”

Hearing his words, Rachel chuckled. “That line sounds familiar.”

He grinned and backed out onto the street.

Lightning split the sky and sent a cascade of rain washing along the streets and bending the trees. Rachel kept her hands buried in her coat pockets to hide their trembling. Jeff had made a valiant effort to be more gentle, but tears and emotion seemed to make him uneasy.

Her thoughts shifted to Esther and Ian. In her mind, they seemed a perfect couple—both bookish, both serious and both quiet. Though she knew they had argued, Rachel sensed that the two would solve their differences. She couldn’t imagine Esther without Ian at her side. Not anymore.

As Jeff drove, Rachel lifted a prayer heavenward. Though she prayed for Ian’s safety, she added a petition for Ian and Esther’s reconciliation. God’s will would provide.

The rain fell in dark sheets, and Jeff slowed along the road as they approached the marina. Thunder rumbled overhead and lightning ripped the sky in two.

In the parking lot Jeff pulled into an empty spot close to the building. He tugged an umbrella from beneath his seat and hurried around the car to shield Rachel.

She laughed at his attempt to block the rain sailing nearly sideways on the gusts of cold wind that came off the lake. “Forget it,” she said, darting from under the protection and heading up the sidewalk toward the pier.

Jeff followed, lowering the umbrella as he ran.

When they reached the pier, Rachel’s heart sank.
Esther stood alone in the downpour, a sodden hood clinging to her head like a bathing cap and her arms hanging at her sides.

“Esther,” Rachel called as soon as her feet hit the planks. Realizing the rain covered her voice, Rachel gave up the effort and dashed toward her sister.

Esther must have felt her coming, rather than heard her. She spun around, rain soaked and shaking with cold.

Opening her arms, Rachel sped to her side and wrapped her in an embrace.

“Why are you here? Is something wrong?” Esther asked, her voice trembling.

“Nothing’s wrong. I guessed you were here.” She kept her sister close at her side, remembering so many times that Esther had given her support and comfort. What would she do without her?

Jeff stood nearby, the umbrella once again raised above their heads—a useless activity. He watched in silence.

“Let’s go home,” Rachel urged. “Standing here isn’t doing Ian any good, nor you.”

Esther shook her head, sending a spray of rainwater from her hair. “I want to wait for him.” She pointed into the darkness toward the faint lights behind the sheet of rain.

Rachel tugged at her arm. “You’re shaking from the cold. Please, let’s go home. We’ll check with the Coast Guard and see if they know anything. Please.”

In resignation, Esther faced her, tears streaming from her eyes with the pouring rain. “I want him to know I love him. That’s all.”

“He’ll know soon enough,” Rachel said. “And he’ll never know if you die from cold.”

She placed her arm around Esther’s shoulders and eased her along the pier to the warmth of the car. As they reached the end of the pier, Rachel looked over her shoulder, praying along with Esther for Ian’s safe return.

Drenched by the frigid lake water, Ian skidded across the pitching deck even though he was tethered to the jack line. The black abyss loomed in front of him while he scrambled to cling to something—lifeline, railing, anything—to keep him from going over the edge toward the inky depths. In the lake he would die in the cold. Alone.

As he flailed, he grasped the tethered harness and caught the rail—saved from the lake for the moment—while Esther’s image flashed through his mind. If he survived this horrible storm, he’d rush to her and beg her forgiveness. Pride, rejection, the past. Nothing could stop him.

“Lord, help me,” he called into the hellish sky as the boat lurched once more, dipping against the churning waves that washed over him and tearing his aching hands from their hold. As his frozen body swept along the deck, Ian’s numbed fingers again grasped the rail while frigid water flooded past him.

He caught his breath, thanking God for His mercy, then, rising to his knees, he clung to the lines and lifted himself to his feet. Nearing the cockpit, he saw the footwell immersed in water from the last angry wave while the bilge pump worked overtime. The
water spilled over the deck and past his drenched feet with every roller that lifted the boat and dropped it again.

Ian looked into the dark, stormy sky. Jesus had calmed the sea with two words.
Be still.
The same words struck him. The answer came to him. Stop fighting the wind. He’d never maneuver through the storm and survive without God’s help. His only hope was to heave to and wait until it calmed. Better to let the boat make leeway than to resist the wind and rain.

Garnering confidence, Ian worked his way to the winch and dropped the sails as they snapped and fluttered in the wind. Let the cutter find its own position in the waves, he thought, squinting into the rain as he bared the mast, leaving only the storm sail to stabilize the boat. Wave after wave rose and smacked against the hull, spewing water over the deck as he fought to tie the sails securely, fearing they’d be ripped by the wind.

A gust struck the boat as he headed for the cabin. The cutter dipped, but Ian closed his mind to the movement for a moment and inched toward the companionway, his limbs aching and numb.

He dropped down the steps, trembling from the cold, and closed the door. His heart thundered beneath his water-soaked jacket and he pulled it off, then pulled his foulies from a duffel bag. Stepping into his bibbed pants, he lost his footing and clung to the galley counter for balance. When he regained control, Ian slipped on the boots and hooded jacket,
then sank to a berth to catch his breath before calling the Coast Guard.

Like a bronco, the cabin pitched and tossed. In his temporary solace from the rain and wind, he prayed a calm would come soon.

“Can’t sleep?” Rachel asked.

Esther stopped in the bedroom doorway. “I don’t think I’ve slept at all. I thought I’d try calling Ian again…just one more time,” she whispered, not wanting to wake Jeff sleeping on the living-room sofa. Her body ached with exhaustion and fear.

“What time is it?” Rachel asked.

Esther pointed to the glowing clock dial. “Nearly four. Sounds like the storm’s let up a little.”

“Thank the Lord.” Fully clothed, Rachel sat up and slipped her legs over the edge of the bed. “I think I’ll make some coffee.”

Esther sniffed the air. “I smell coffee. Do you think Jeff’s up?”

Rachel chuckled. “He’s probably been awake all night. He thinks the best of Ian, and…” Her voice faded.

“I know.” Esther lowered her face to her open hand, pressing at the fear and sorrow that pounded in her head. “This is too much like our past, Rachel. Way too much.” Her voice trembled as her uncle’s image rose in her mind. She drew a quaking breath into her lungs to steady herself.

Rachel reached her side, and they headed for the tempting aroma floating down the hallway.

Esther rounded the corner first into the kitchen.
Jeff sat at the kitchen table, his face strained with a sleepless night, his eyes bloodshot.

“I hope I didn’t wake you,” he said, his voice rasping with lack of sleep.

“You didn’t. I haven’t slept much, either,” Esther said, heading toward the coffeemaker. “Thanks for making this. I need something to rouse my spirits.”

He nodded and took another sip. “There’s no news from the Coast Guard.”

She swung around to face him. “Did you call again?”

“A few minutes ago. This time I gave them your phone number…just in case they heard something.” His face was strained with emotion. “No news is good news. Remember that.”

She nodded, knowing the saying could easily have two meanings. No news could mean Ian was safe…but it might also indicate Ian hadn’t had time to send an SOS before… She couldn’t bear to think the words.

She filled her cup and took a sip before shifting to the phone. “I’ll try calling him again.” She punched in the telephone number and waited until the answering machine picked up. She disconnected and turned toward them, shaking her head. “No answer.”

Rachel patted a kitchen chair. “Come and sit.”

Esther crossed the floor and slid into the chair, her thoughts jarring through her mind. When she focused on Rachel, then Jeff, their fearful expressions unsettled her, and her own fright surfaced, causing her cheek to quiver with unspent tears.

“Let’s talk about something else,” Rachel said.

Talk? No matter what they talked about, Esther’s mind was with Ian, but she appreciated Rachel’s concern and sent her a faint grin. “You start.”

Jeff chuckled, helping to ease the stress for a moment.

“The wedding.” Rachel slid her hand over Jeff’s. “Let’s talk about that.”

“That sounds so good to me.” He lifted her hand to his lips and kissed it.

“We decided on a spring wedding.” Rachel turned to Esther. “Naturally, we want you to be our maid of honor, and Ian…” A deathlike pause fell over the room until Rachel lifted her shoulders with renewed spirit. “Ian will be an usher if Jeff’s brother can’t make it. He’s working out of the country right now.”