The Carpenter's Daughter (26 page)

Why would that heal or bring wholeness? Everything you heard on TV told you to make “me time” and to prioritize yourself. Why would acting the servant rather than the master give restoration?

My gaze slid to the house we were working on. Our restoration project. But the restoration wasn’t so that the house would continue to stand empty and useless. If it did, the work would not only be a waste of time and money, but the house would crumble.

Restoration has a purpose. To serve.

Whoa. Did I just think that? I wasn’t that smart or deep. Where did it come from?

The phone in my hand chimed again.

Mack took a step away as if he was going back to the house, and then he paused. “Chapman is something, Sarah. You both are. Seems only right…” His shoulders turned, and he continued up the walk.

Seems
right and
is
right weren’t always the same. Clearly there were things about Jesse that neither Mack nor I understood. A weight of sadness settled in my chest. I longed to understand.

I brushed the heaviness away and checked the phone.

Jesse:
Kicking back? Only if you count gutting my parents’ house as kicking back.

Me:
Yikes. That bad?

Jesse:
You’d be appalled. I’ve been negligent. There’s a story there…one I’ll tell you. Later.

When? Did that mean he couldn’t talk right now, and I was supposed to call him later?
Please quit shoving me into awkwardness!

One more chime.

Jesse:
Call you tonight.

I blew out a breath. Thanks for that.

Water break done, I met Sam back in the house, and we worked for another two hours, getting another span of opened wall structurally secured with a beam. The headers we’d placed allowed for six- to eight-foot openings, and the transformation to the house was impressive. From the front door one could see not only into the front room but into the kitchen beyond if they looked left.

On the right, another large room had been opened with a six-foot case to expose a fireplace on the far wall. The staircase in the middle had been stripped of its enclosure, and Mack had been working on a code-approved banister that would complement the open feeling of the new floor plan. The third header, which we hadn’t secured, would go on the backside of the staircase where we’d opened the wall that had separated the kitchen from the formal dining area.

An open concept in a traditional, loaded-with-character home.
Perfect. Ask the Browns.
Pride puffed in my chest as I walked through the progress.

We quit for lunch, and I actually stayed on site to eat along with Mack and Sam and three other men. Mack had ordered pizza, and some woman dropped off a bag of oranges and a pack of flavored drinks. It struck me as I was eating how a community could make a difference if its members chose to. Simple acts, like providing fruit and drinks, could make life mean more. Was this how it was supposed to work? Me serving with what I knew, the resources I had, and others doing the same?

That was how Jesse’s life worked. I loved that about him.

Uh-oh. There was a word in that thought that shouldn’t be there. I
admired
that about him. Better.

Mack’s voice drew me out of my mental slipup. “Will we have the structure sound by the end of the day, carpenter-girl?”

“Should. Sheetrock should start tomorrow.” A couple of days’ work, if we had a decent crew—but then the mudding might take more time. Depended on the humidity. Then the floors. Old oak. After a good sanding and a few applications of stain and poly, they’d be beautiful.

While I was making a mental checklist, Mack nodded, bit off another massive chunk of pizza, and turned away. I looked down to my food and grinned. A man of few words, unless it was really, really important. I could work with that.

If it weren’t for finances, which I did have some saved, I could see myself doing what Jesse and Mack did.

As quickly as the thought rose, it fell. Dad wouldn’t understand or approve. And as much as I was still mad at and hurt by him, I couldn’t handle the thought of his complete disapproval.

Call him.

Not now. I pushed off the tree I’d been leaning against and moved back toward the house, shifting my mind back to the list I’d made. Thinking about this project, seeing my vision come to life, was way more thrilling than contemplating the next conversation with my dad.

Why hadn’t he called me?

Forget it.
Work at hand, that was what I needed to focus on.

And so I did. By the end of the day, every header had been set. The stairway had been redone and was ready for stain. We’d even managed to get the cabinetry in the kitchen unhinged so that volunteers could paint cabinets while the drywall was being hung.

Mack caught me as I reached for the door to my truck at the close of our workday. “We’ll need a layout for the kitchen in the next couple of days.”

“I don’t know anything about that.” I didn’t cook. Me and a microwave were pretty good pals. Which meant kitchen geography was about as familiar to me as the Himalayan mountains.

“Learn.” One solid pat on my shoulder punctuated his demand. “You’re my girl.”

Well, glad I was somebody’s.

Guess I knew my plans for the night. I’d go back into my original structure plan and get the dimensions for the kitchen and somehow figure it out. How hard could it be? Kitchens needed what—a sink, a stove, and a fridge?

Something heavy lodged in my stomach. The Browns had been so pleased with what I’d done so far. What if I messed it all up with a half-baked kitchen? Pun intended.

I had to get it right. This was where more architect and design classes would have come in handy.

As I eased up to the red light ahead, my phone rang. An actual call.

What if it was Dad? My muscles bunched tight. I checked the ID.
Jesse.
Even while I smiled, because I was glad he called, disappointment sagged through me.

Did Dad really hate me now?

I brushed away the question and answered my phone. “Hey.”

“Finally.”

“Finally?” Had he been trying to call me?

“Yeah, finally,” he said. “Couldn’t wait to talk to you.”

Hmm. Could have called last night. This morning. At lunch…

“Did you go to that link I sent you?”

Oh, so that was what this was about. “No. I was working. Just got done and am heading to the hotel. What is it?”

“Oh yeah. I forgot about the time difference.” He paused. “Be sure to go to it tonight, okay?”

Weird. “Why? What is it?” I repeated.

“A song. I needed to hear it today, and I wanted you to hear it too.”

Very weird. “Are you okay?”

He laughed. “I’m good. Have a ton of work down here—the place is a huge mess. But I’m good.” Again, he stopped talking, and the air between us hung. “I decided some things this morning. Some stuff that has been dragging on me. I’m selling my parents’ house and my dad’s business.”

The light, which took forever, finally turned green. “You’re not leaving the country or anything, are you?”

“No.”

His chuckle made me smile.

“Why sell?”

“Because neither the house nor the business are a part of who I am anymore, and I’ve neglected them both. If I don’t need them, someone else should enjoy them.”

He sounded almost giddy. “You’re not sad?”

“I’m relieved.” I could hear him take a long breath. “I don’t know if this will make sense, but I’ve been afraid to let go because they were a part of my mom and dad, and I thought they’d be disappointed in me. I wish you could have known them—they were amazing. But all this time, part of me has been afraid that I’d live in their shadow forever. But I don’t have to.”

Wait. Jesse Chapman was afraid he wouldn’t measure up? He had to be kidding.

“Jesse, you’re the best person I’ve ever met.” Oh boy. I said that. Out loud. My ears began to burn. Did I need to qualify it? “I mean, why would you think you stood in someone else’s shadow?”

Again, he chuckled, only this time much softer. “Everyone struggles with inadequacy, Sapphira.”

They did? How about those women at Subway who sat like perfect little peacocks, scorning the undignified slobs? Did they struggle with inadequacy?

“Are you there?” Jesse said.

“Oh.” I sniffed—which I found annoying that I would need to. “Yeah, sorry.”

“Do you believe me?”

No.
“Yes.”

“About to the hotel?”

Nice shift? “Pulling in right now.”

“Call me after you shower. We’ll have supper.”

“We will, huh? How’s that going to work?”

For some reason I felt his smile over the digital air. “Talk to you soon.”

Jesse

It probably wasn’t right how much I enjoyed making Sarah wonder what I was thinking.

With a grin, I sprawled across the bed in Shane’s basement guest room. Interesting. It’d been a long time since I called Tennessee home. For the first time in a while, that didn’t bother me. I was free to seek a life of my own.

Phone still in hand, I scrolled through Chrome looking for a Jimmy John’s. Of course there wouldn’t be one in Lexington, Nebraska. Closest was Kearney. At least twenty miles. Not gonna happen. I glanced to the wrapped sandwich still waiting for me on the side table.

Still, worth a shot. I tapped the phone link and waited.

No. They couldn’t deliver to Lexington. Yes, there was a manager on duty. Groan…I suppose you could talk to her
.

I sorted through my brain for a reasonable explanation for my ridiculous request. They all sounded dumb. Or cheesy. Or desperate. By the time the woman’s voice touched my ear, however, I decided I had nothing to lose.

“I’m in Tennessee, but…” And I plunged in.

She listened politely until I finished with a definitively desperate, “Please? Help a guy out here?”

The line paused in awkward silence.

“You want me to send a delivery a half hour away because you can’t be there to take this woman out to dinner?”

“Right.”
I. Am. Pathetic.

A soft laugh rustled over the phone. “Wow. That’s really sweet.”

I grinned. “So…”

“Don’t advertise it—I can’t be doing this all the time.”

“You’ll do it?”

“Tonight. Because it’s sweet.” She paused, and I could hear rustling in the background. “Wish I’d meet such a nice guy. Okay, give me your order.”

I took a stab at what Sarah would like. Should be fairly easy—she wasn’t picky. “Charge me whatever you need to, and put a sandwich on there for the delivery person too.”

“Got it.” She rattled the bill, which wasn’t that bad, considering. “Should get there in about thirty minutes.”

Thirty minutes… Tick. Tick. Tick. Twenty-six minutes. Tick. Tick. Tick.

Time was torture.

At twelve minutes till touchdown, my phone rang. Smiling like a schoolboy, I rolled to my stomach and answered.

“Hey.”

“Hi. So, how’s this going to work?”

Delay tactics. I didn’t have any of those. Surely I could make some up. “How was your day?”

“Huh?”

“Your day. What’d you do?”

She didn’t answer right away. I imagined her eyebrows drawing inward, which made me laugh silently. I was ridiculous.

“We put in Lam beams for all the expanded openings. Mack worked on the stairway.” Her voice sounded hesitant, like she thought I was a nut.

Not far off the truth.

“Who’d you work with?” I felt comfortable with that question because Mack assured me that Troy would be gone.

“Sam.”

I’d met him. He’d helped strip the roof Saturday.

“Nice guy, in the reserves—Air Force, I think.” I reached for the soda that was sweating down the sides of the cup, leaving a ring of moisture on the napkin beneath it.

“How do you know these things?”

I almost snorted out my soda. “I talk to people, Sarah. They’re actually interesting—and not that scary.”

“Except Troy.”

Why’d she go there? “There are some exceptions, I guess.”

“Yes. Always, it seems.”

What did I say to that? This girl, she had a fun side. I’d seen it. How did I pull out the warrior woman who’d taken the laser arena by storm the other day?

“I wish you were here…” she said.

I nearly dropped the phone.

“Why?” Did I dare ask that? Guess I did. “Something up?” There, that should lighten it. Maybe.

“I’m supposed to get a layout for the kitchen done tonight. I don’t have a clue about kitchens.”

I snorted. “Like I could help there. I live in hotels, remember?”

Her long draw of air wisped softly over the phone, as did her exaggerated exhale. “I might be in over my head.”

“Nah.” I sipped my Coke and then set it aside. “You did a great job with the overall plan. You’ve got skills, carpenter-girl.”

“Not in this.”

Why did this little bump throw her like this? One little challenge shouldn’t bum her out quite this much. “What’s really eating you?”

She left me with silence for a few breaths.

“Sapphira?”

“I had an idea—a plan.” The words tumbled from her in a rush. “Now I’m not so sure.”

A hint of direction for her life? That was a good thing. “What’s the plan?”

“Well…” Her voice trailed off. “Never mind. Forget it.”

“Nope. Talk.”

She growled. Which I thought was adorable.

“I’m waiting.”

Two more beats of nothing, then she let her guard down. “There’s a place not too far from home that is looking for bids. An old mansion that the new owners want to turn into a bed-and-breakfast. I was going to…”

“Do it.” I pushed off my stomach and came to my feet. Her own reno project—she’d be perfect. “Pitch a bid. Why not?”

“It’s on my dad’s bid list.”

Oh. That was why not. “Have you talked to him?”

Nothing.

“Sarah…”

Something in the background rustled.

“Hang on,” she said.

I grinned and kept listening, though the sounds had been muffled. Probably by her hand over the speaker.

More movement. The door, I think. Then, “I didn’t order…”

A man’s voice drifted to my hearing, but I couldn’t decode the mumbling.

“But…”

More male speak.

“Jesse?” Her voice carried loud and clear.

I choked back a laugh. “What?”

“Did you order me Jimmy John’s?”

Okay, how to play this… Own it with a confident
Yep
? Roll out evasion and make her drag it out of me? Or let silence answer.

“I can’t believe you did that. There’s not a Jimmy John’s for…wait.” Her voice was muffled again. “Where did you come from?”

The man answered. My smile stretched—silence was a good choice.

Sarah

I stared at the guy standing outside my door. “Come again?”

“Kearney.” He tugged his hat. “And I’ve got to go back. Have a nice night.”

If stupid had a face, it was mine in that moment. I stood with my mouth hanging open, my phone hovering somewhere near my ear, staring at the delivery guy’s back as he retreated down the ugly green hall.

“Hello?” Jesse’s voice beckoned me back from shock.

“You bought me dinner? From Tennessee?”

The smile I couldn’t see penetrated the silence over the phone. My insides warmed, then turned to mush. Who knew there were men in this world like Jesse Chapman? Some girl would be a lucky woman someday…

But she wouldn’t be me. I reshaped my puddled insides, wrapped them with dignity and resolve, and shut the door to my room. “That was really…”

Nice? Way more than nice. Thoughtful? How impersonal did that sound? Amazing? Yeah, but if I said that, the heart I’d just stood upright would melt into goo all over again.

“I told you we’d have supper tonight.”

Yes, he’d said that. Another extraordinary Jesse move that made him unbelievably attractive, even if he didn’t mean for it to.

“Will you pray with me?” he asked.

I bowed my head and squeezed my eyes shut, even though it occurred to me that doing so was stupid, because who was there to see it?

Jesse said amen, and I heard the wrapper, on what I assumed was his own sandwich, crinkle in the background.

“Why do people bow their heads when they pray?”

“Huh?” His
huh
sounded like it came out around a mouthful of bread and meat.

Okay, so it was left field. But with Jesse, nothing was dumb, usually. “Bowing and shutting your eyes. Why is that a rule?”

He swallowed—I knew because I could hear it. “It’s not a rule. I don’t always bow. Or shut my eyes. I’ll talk to God right out loud on top of the roof while I’m nailing down shingles, if there’s something on my mind.”

He did? Did that qualify him as crazy? “But I’ve seen you—when you pray over the food. Does it guarantee good digestion or something?”

He snorted. “No. You’re hilarious.” A pause hung between us—I think so he could take a drink.

I took the moment to rip into my own dinner. Turkey, beef, and ham. No way he’d known that I didn’t like ham. I opened my sandwich, peeled off the yucky stuff, and put the bread back together. Perfect.

“I think we bow because it’s a way to show God honor. He is the King, you know.”

No, I didn’t know. “King of what?”

“Everything. All of life, everything we know and don’t know. All of it is His.”

Someone that big and important wouldn’t be interested in one confused, minuscule woman.

Jesus loves you.

Strange how echoes whispered at such moments. Jesus, this carpenter’s kid Who was apparently God—which I didn’t get—was also the King of everything…and yet He loved me? Not likely.

Jesse’s voice, clear of food garble, drew me out of myself. “What are you thinking?”

He didn’t want to know. Pretty sure. Maybe he did. Would he be offended?

Huh. That thought demanded a pause. The only time I’d seen him offended was by Troy, which still kind of baffled me. But even when he thought I’d slept with the creep—and I was sure that was exactly what he’d thought—he wasn’t offended by me. Was that hypocrisy or something else?

“Sarah, in this kind of situation, you have to use your words, because I can’t see you, so I have no way of guessing your thoughts.”

Cute. I wasn’t sure he’d be able to guess my thoughts if he was sitting across from me.

Actually, probably he could. He was keen like that. So why not? “Why would a king care about my little life?”

I spit the question out like I’d just tasted vinegar. But not because the idea of that sort of love was sour. The opposite—the idea was too sweet, and it made the reality of it being impossible bitter.

“Because He made you.”

Jesse’s words cut through me like fire and landed in my chest. Was it possible that he was right?

“Think about this,” he continued. “That house you’re working on—are you happy with it?”

A smile poked my mouth up. “Yes.” This project was turning out to be one of the most thrilling jobs I’d ever done.

“And even though someone else will live there, own it, will it matter to you what happens to it?”

Yeah, it would matter. A whole lot, it would matter. They’d better take care of it. Love it. It’d break my heart to see it neglected and run down again.

Guess my silence gave him his answer.

“Do you think it’ll be any different with that mansion you’re going to bid on? Or any other project you put your hands to?”

Probably not. My work—I put myself into it. This house would have part of me in every corner. Indifference didn’t come with an investment like that.

“Why would you think the God Who created you—designed you according to His delight and plan—would feel anything less?”

That burning sensation stirred in my chest again. But he was operating on assumptions here—the first of which was, did I believe there was a God?

Yes.

Two months ago, I wasn’t so sure, but meeting Jesse… I was changing. Everything about me was changing.

Who am I, and is that who I want to be?
That had been the question that had launched this whole journey. For the first time since that day, I felt like maybe the answer to the second part of that question could tilt closer to yes than no.

Maybe because I believed there was a God. And was he King? Did He have a name?

Did He love me?

“Sapphira, did you go to that link I sent you?”

He probably had his whole sandwich gone in the space of my reflection. Didn’t seem to mind though.

“No, I didn’t have a chance.”

“Promise me you’ll pull it up tonight and listen, okay?”

Now we were making promises…this was the strangest relationship ever. Not that I’d had many to base that claim on.

“Okay.”

“Promise.”

I laughed. “Okay, okay, I promise.”

I felt his grin in his pause. “Good. One more thing.”

I looked to the food he’d bought for me, shut my eyes, and pictured him sitting there beside me, his fingers brushing my arm. Tingles rushed over my skin, and my head felt light. I’d promise anything to this quirky, amazingly good man.