by Irene Hannon
“But you found it.”
“Some treasures are meant to be passed on. Are you going any farther?” He motioned to the vast empty beach ahead.
“No. I have to get ready for tea.”
“In that case, I’ll leave you here.” A ray of light broke through the dark clouds overhead, and he lifted his face to the heavens. “It appears you’re going to get your wish. Sunny skies are ahead.” He touched the brim of his Ducks cap. “See you again soon, Jeannette. Have a wonderful day.”
She stayed where she was for another minute or two as Charley wandered down the beach, then pivoted and slowly retraced her route.
Everything the man had said rang true—and life without love was becoming lonelier by the day.
But how did you change course midstream?
How did you know if the door opening before you was the one you were supposed to walk through?
How did you banish fear?
If only God would write those answers in the sky for her.
Since that wasn’t how he operated, however, she’d have to seek guidance through prayer—and hopefully he’d give her some direction soon.
For Charley was right.
Doors didn’t stay open forever.
He was not looking forward to the rest of his Sunday morning.
As Logan pulled out of the parking spot in front of the Shabos’ apartment and Elisa and Mariam waved them off, he glanced in the rearview mirror.
Molly watched the two figures recede, nose pressed to the glass.
“Did you have fun?” He accelerated toward 101.
“Uh-huh.”
“What did you do?”
“Played.”
“What did you play?”
“Games.”
He blew out a breath.
This sounded like a replay of their conversation from weeks ago, during Mariam’s early days watching the girls at his house.
The taciturn Molly was back—and the news he had to share wasn’t likely to change that.
In fact, it could exacerbate the situation.
A depressing thought if ever there was one.
His attempts at conversation on the short drive to church earned him more monosyllable answers.
Likewise on the drive home after the service, until he finally gave up.
But once they pulled into the driveway and he was taking off her seat restraints, he set the stage for the conversation they had to have. “Let’s sit on the porch steps for a few minutes.”
“I want to say hi to Toby.”
“Okay. You can do that first. But don’t open the cage just yet.” He helped her out of the car and snagged her small overnight bag from the back seat.
“Why do you want to sit on the porch?” She squinted at him.
“Why not? The sun came out, and I have a cinnamon roll we can share.”
“From Sweet Dreams?”
“Yes.” He unlocked the back door of the house.
“I like those.”
“I know.” Even if the roll from last night hadn’t initially been intended for her.
Toby greeted them with an indignant howl as they entered the kitchen.
He cringed.
Thank goodness Thomma was about done with his fence training. In another day or two, the beagle should be able to stay outside with no supervision, where he could cavort and dig and chase birds to his heart’s content. No more leash—except on their trips through Jeannette’s lavender plants to the beach.
And Thomma had also managed to get the random barking under control. The beagle only yapped these days if he had a reason.
Like being confined in his cage.
“I’ll be back in a minute.” Molly raced down the hall.
A few moments later, Toby’s howls morphed to plaintive whines that almost sounded like “let me out, let me out.”
But he could wait a few more minutes. Having the inquisitive beagle underfoot while he talked to Molly about Button would be too distracting.
Tamping down his nerves, he nuked the roll, poured Molly a glass of milk, and went out to the porch. Hard as he’d tried to psyche himself up for everything from stoic silence to a meltdown, who knew how she was going to react to the news of the kitten’s demise?
But he was about to find out.
The door opened and closed behind him, and he scooted over to make room for her.
She chose the step above him instead, which ended up working better. It put them closer to eye level.
He held out the plate with the cut-up roll. After she took a piece, he set the plate down.
“Don’t you want some?”
“Sure.” He took a piece and forced himself to bite into it, but the sweet confection didn’t tickle his taste buds as usual.
Too bad he hadn’t brought out some water to keep the roll from sticking in his throat.
“What’s wrong?”
He shifted sideways.
Molly was watching him, trepidation sharpening her features. She’d only taken a tiny nibble of her cinnamon roll. The bulk of it had been squeezed flat in her fingers.
More evidence of her keen ability to pick up moods.
And now that she was tuned in to his wavelength, there was no sense delaying the task before him.
“While you were at the Shabos’, I went over to see Jeannette.”
“Did Button die?”
At the solemn, out-of-the-blue question, he blinked.
How in the world had she figured that out?
And how was he supposed to respond?
Just tell her the truth, West. What other choice is there?
He took a fortifying breath. “Yes, he did. Jeannette took good care of him, but kittens that tiny aren’t very strong yet. There are all kinds of reasons why they get sick.”
“Where is he?”
“I buried him in the back.” He motioned toward the rear of their yard, beyond the electric fence line. Out of Toby’s digging range.
“Can I see?”
“Yes. I was going to take you back after we talked.”
She set her mashed roll back on the plate and stood.
Apparently they were done talking.
Maybe they could continue the discussion in the yard, though.
Side by side, they trekked to the tiny grave in silence.
Once they reached the flat stone he’d laid on top, Molly squatted to touch it. “We should put his name here.”
“I agree.” He dropped to one knee beside her. “Why don’t we do it together?”
No response.
After a moment, she stood. “Did you say a prayer?”
For a kitten?
“Uh . . . no.”
“They said a prayer for Nana.”
If a prayer made her happy, what was the harm?
“We could do that now. Do you want to say it?”
“A grown-up should do it.”
Scrambling to come up with some appropriate words, he rose too and bowed his head. “Dear God, we commend our friend, Button, to your care. We know you created all the creatures on the earth and that you love them. We loved this kitten too. We ask you to comfort us—and Jeannette—as we say good-bye, and we ask your blessing on Button. Amen.”
He checked on Molly.
Her expression was somber, but there were no tears as she walked to the edge of the yard and plucked a few of the yellow wildflowers that had sprouted past his property line.
She returned to the small grave and bent to arrange them next to the stone. “Is Button in heaven?”’
He stifled a groan.
How was he supposed to answer that one?
“Um . . . I don’t know, sweetie.” But he doubted it. After all, animals weren’t created in the divine image, like humans. Yet he needed to comfort this child who’d endured too much loss. “God wants all his creatures to be happy, though.”
“I hope he is in heaven. I hope he’s with Nana.”
She touched the flowers again, rose, and beg
an walking back to the house.
“Sweetie.” This wasn’t how he’d expected—or wanted—the conversation to end. They should discuss what had happened.
But Molly had other ideas.
She turned at his summons but didn’t rejoin him or respond. She just waited for him to speak.
“Why don’t we sit on the porch for a while?”
“I want to play with Toby.” She started forward.
“Molly.”
She stopped again and half-turned toward him.
“Do you want to talk about Button?”
“Why?”
“Sometimes talking helps if we’re sad.”
“It won’t make Button—or Nana—come back.” She toed a divot of grass Toby had no doubt unearthed. “When people you love die, they’re gone for always.”
He couldn’t argue with that.
“But you have me.”
She lifted her head . . . looked at him . . . and walked away.
Pressure built behind his eyes as he watched her plod back to the house as if the weight of the world rested on her tiny shoulders.
She was too young to carry such a heavy load. To be perennially glum. A girl her age should be skipping and chatting and laughing.
Yet in all the months she’d been with him, he’d never once heard a little-girl giggle.
That wasn’t normal.
He rested his hands on his hips and exhaled.
Perhaps it was time to arrange for some counseling.
She circled around the plate with the cinnamon roll they’d left on the porch and disappeared inside.
He followed more slowly, bending to retrieve the uneaten treat as he passed.
Ants had already moved in to stake a claim, but several had gotten stuck in the gooey icing. They were attempting to extricate themselves from their sticky dilemma, but the harder they tried, the worse off they were.
He could relate.
A ray of sun peeked through the gray clouds scuttling across the sky, dispersing the gloom and revealing a patch of blue—suggesting the hours ahead would be bright despite the lingering effects of the storm that had raged last night.
If only that was true of his relationship with Molly.
An excited bark sounded inside as Toby celebrated his release, and Logan continued toward the door.
At least one occupant of this house was happy.
Hand on knob, he paused as a line from Reverend Baker’s sermon this morning replayed in his mind.
“It’s easy to get discouraged in the midst of life’s storms. But God has our back—and when the raft we’re clinging to begins to sink, he’s always ready to extend a hand. All we have to do is trust him enough to take it and let go.”
Could that be his problem?
All along, he’d been holding fast to the hope he could fix everything himself if he muscled through, instead of putting his troubles in the hands of the Almighty.
And he was getting nowhere—with Molly or Jeannette.
So why not add prayer to his daily agenda, see where that led?
It couldn’t hurt.
Besides . . . he was out of ideas. None of his go-it-alone attempts to wedge open a door to their hearts had been successful.
But perhaps with God’s guidance, he could find a way to help his niece and neighbor step out of the darkness of fear and grief and into the sunshine of hope and love.
23
She missed Logan.
Molly too.
And her conversation on the beach four days ago with Charley, along with that kiss from her neighbor last Saturday, had left her more confused than ever.
Keeping one hand on the wheel, Jeannette kneaded her forehead with the other as she drove through Hope Harbor.
If she listened to her heart, she’d scrap all the rules she’d made for her life when she’d moved here and take another chance on love.
If she listened to her brain, she’d add a moat to the tall hedge around her property and let no one in but paying customers.
Which was the right course?
Only God knew—and he wasn’t sharing his thoughts, despite all the prayers she’d dispatched his direction.
Either that, or she was missing the still small voice of his response, as Elijah had.
Jeannette slowed as she drove past St. Francis church. From the street, a tiny sliver of the meditation garden in back that Father Murphy lavished with care was visible.
Might the serenity she’d heard people say could be found there quiet her mind and help her tune in to any guidance from above?
Dare she drop in for a visit, even though she wasn’t a member of the congregation?
Jeannette eased back farther on the gas pedal.
It couldn’t hurt to pull into the parking lot and take a peek at the garden from the car. Father Murphy wasn’t the type to make anyone feel unwelcome.
She hung a left, rolled past the church and attached rectory, and swung into a parking spot near the garden.
From here, she could see the sign beside the rose-covered arbor at the entrance.
All are welcome.
The invitation couldn’t be clearer.
And since no one else was about on this Thursday noon hour, why not stroll through the beckoning archway and let the peace and tranquility seep into her soul?
She set the brake, picked up her purse, and left the car behind.
One step into the garden, she found herself immersed in a piece of heaven.
Lips curving up, she surveyed Father Murphy’s handiwork.
A stone path followed a circular route through the well-tended space, where colorful flowers shared space with restful greenery. The soft tinkle of water from a fountain in the center provided a soothing background refrain that enhanced the harmony of the setting. A bird feeder hung from the sheltering bough of a towering Sitka spruce, and two wooden benches were placed along the path.
She ambled toward the one beside the small statue of Francis of Assisi and sank down, letting the peace envelop her.
Jeannette had no idea how long she sat there, but the faint hum of an approaching car engine at last prompted her to check her watch.
Wow.
Had she really zoned out for half an hour?
Hard to believe.
And while she was no closer to an answer than she’d been when she arrived, at least her soul felt refreshed.
She rose and returned to the parking lot, where Father Murphy was removing his golf clubs from the trunk of his car.
“Jeannette! I wondered who was enjoying my tiny slice of paradise.” He beamed at her.
“That’s an apt description for it.” She dug her keys out of her purse. “I hope I wasn’t trespassing.”
“Not at all.” He closed the trunk and slung his bag over his shoulder. “As the sign says, all are welcome. The beauty of nature is nonsectarian.” He winked at her. “And the garden is a wonderful spot for contemplation and reflection. I often come out here to work on my homilies.”
“I can see why. How was your golf game?”
He grimaced. “Sad to say, your fine minister won today’s round. However . . . there’s always next week. I can’t change the past, but I have hopes for the future. That’s the beauty of tomorrow—it offers you the possibility of a better day.” He motioned toward the garden. “I hope I didn’t run you off.”
“No. I have to get home. But I enjoyed my visit.”
“I’m glad. Come anytime. In general, you’ll have the place to yourself.” Hefting his clubs into a different position, he lifted his hand in farewell and sauntered toward the rectory.
She continued to her car, and as she took her place behind the wheel and slid the key into the ignition, the priest’s comment about hopes for the future replayed in her mind.
It was kind of the same message she’d heard from Charley on Sunday.
Were those two kindly souls perhaps heaven-sent messengers? Was God giving her the guidance she’d requested via a taco-making arti
st and a priest?
Or was that a stretch? After all, the conversations she’d had with them could be nothing more than coincidence.
Yet it didn’t feel like mere happenstance.
Whatever the precipitating factors, however, the end result was the same.
They’d forced her to think hard about the opportunity on her doorstep—literally—with Logan . . . and to reconsider the plan she’d outlined for her life.
But unless she could tame the paralyzing fear that gripped her in a choke hold, she’d never be able to risk taking the leap to love.
“You are being a good dog, Toby—yes?”
Mariam paused in her weeding of the overgrown flower bed behind Logan’s house and reached out to pet the hovering pup.
He sat on his haunches, cocked his head, and gave her a goofy dog grin.
“I will take that as a yes. And you stay out of this garden, or you will have to answer to Thomma.”
The pup might not have a clue what she was saying—but it was the same warning she’d given him every day since she’d started the project, and so far he’d left the plot alone.
She sat back on her heels and surveyed the garden. It had been long neglected, but someone in the past had planted it with care. Under the tangle of weeds, she was unearthing botanical treasures.
Not that Logan expected her to do this kind of labor. While he’d assured her he appreciated her efforts, he’d reminded her often that this wasn’t part of her job description.
But the task kept her busy while the girls napped, and the fresh air was invigorating. The exercise was also beneficial. Even back home, she’d always loved to tend her garden. And while the flowers here were different than the ones that flourished in Syria, digging in the earth and watching plants thrive gave her joy and fed her soul.
The rest would have to wait for another day, though. It was time to get the girls up, prepare a snack, and play some games with them until Logan returned from the urgent care center.
Also a joyful task.
Who wouldn’t enjoy interacting with the two delightful girls?
Other than her granddaughter’s own father.
A pang echoed through Mariam as she pushed herself to her feet and steadied herself on the chair she’d placed beside her.
