“I’ll wash it,” I whisper.
“Yes,” she says. “You will.”
By the time I made it back down Pearl, I was already late for the church service, and I didn’t even know where the church was. I stopped the first person on the Circle I could find to ask—a burly man standing outside of the wood sculpture shop in a pair of camouflaged overalls, expertly shaping a tree stump into a grizzly bear with a chainsaw.
He pointed to the top of Clara Mountain—the tallest of the three by far—and I bit back the urge to curse him, God, and whoever the hell decided it was a good idea to build a church at the top of a damn mountain.
There’s no way I would have gotten here on foot before the service was over. Thankfully, the nice man with the chainsaw offered me a ride. All I had to do in exchange was flip through pictures of his favorite sculptures on his phone and ooh and aah over everything from life-size bears to delicate birds smaller than my thumb.
After only one morning in Jasper Hollow, I can already tell it’s not quite like any other place I’ve been.
“We thought you came early with Neil,” Melody hisses in my ear now. “You weren’t in the guest room.”
“I went for a walk.”
She has that look from last night again, the one that says, Bullshit, and I have the urge to stick my tongue out at her.
Before she can start another round of interrogation, Jill, sitting on her other side, pats her leg to ask where that Whitaker girl went to college, and isn’t it nice that she finally came home to visit her family?
I’ve been inside a handful of churches. Sometimes Mom would take me on Easter or around Christmas, but in the last few years, we’ve gotten bad about keeping track of the days and even worse about keeping track of our immortal souls.
This church doesn’t look much different from the others, with long, wooden pews and wine-colored cushions, a dark carpet stretching down the center aisle leading to the heavy, wooden pulpit with a cross carved into it. The only difference is that it’s huge.
I know from Mom’s stories that it used to be just as tiny as any other country chapel, and the congregation even smaller, sometimes less than twenty people. I can see the lines in the ceiling where the original structure was expanded on both sides, enough to fit about five hundred now. Even more than that, because when the seats fill up, more people line up along the back wall.
I see some of them craning their necks, trying to get a good look at the front row, where Ellis and his family and I sit. He pretends not to notice, his arm draped casually over his wife’s shoulders.
There’s something else that catches my eye—a massive slab of wood hanging down from the ceiling, over the piano. Mom told me about this. Just like the sign coming into town, it reads, Welcome, Weary Travelers. At least, it used to, but the words have worn down to indistinct grooves. Mom said it was carved by Will Jasper himself—the town’s founder—and that it’s a piece of history that everyone takes great pride in. It looks like an old tabletop to me.
I’m still studying it when someone plays a scatter of notes on the piano. I’m surprised to see Neil bowing his head over the keys. And then he starts singing in his deep, grainy voice.
Everyone stands to sing along, lifting their hands to the ceiling. I glance at Melody and watch her mouthing the words. I say right in her ear, so she can hear me over the crowd, “Shouldn’t the one with the musical name be onstage?”
Melody shoots me a glare and stops pretending to sing.
I’ve hit on something—the hard knot in her jaw makes me sure of that. And the fact that Neil is Neil. Being related to someone that perfect can’t be easy.
When the song ends, Neil smiles and gives a small nod to the roomful of applause. Some people throw amens and hallelujahs at him, and his cheeks blaze. I look past Melody and see Ellis making big, loud claps with his hands cupped. Jill puts her fingers in her mouth and whistles. Melody claps, too, and even if she is jealous, her eyes are warm on her brother.
As Neil exits the stage, a man in his thirties bounds up the steps two at a time in faded jeans.
“Welcome, welcome, welcome,” he says, rubbing his hands together and smiling down at us like we’re a rack of ribs. “Welcome to Jasper Hollow Methodist Church. My name is Matthew, your favorite pastor-in-training. We have an exciting message for you today about spreading the love and acceptance of Jesus Christ to everyone around you.”
I sink down in the pew to get comfortable for the long hour ahead.
“But before we get started,” Matthew continues, “I’d like to invite someone up here to say our opening prayer. Someone who’s written a few bestsellers.” There’s a ripple of laughter through the crowd, and I roll my eyes, not quite internally.
“But around here, we know him for his generosity and his love for this town and his family.”
Ellis stands and straightens his suit. Jill, Melody, and I shift our legs to let him pass.
“Please join me in welcoming Ellis Bowman!”
Everyone claps, so I clap, too. But Ellis pauses in the center aisle for a long moment. And then he looks down at me and holds out his hand.
I stare at him blankly. He grabs my wrist and tows me behind him to the stage.
Pastor Matthew’s smile falters when he sees me, which makes it clear that I wasn’t part of the plan. But he hands Ellis the microphone and trots offstage.
Ellis is no stranger to crowds. He doesn’t blush like his son.
“What a pleasure it is to be here with you all.” He rests his arm around my shoulders. I search the sea of people under the bright lights, and when I find Melody’s eyes, I hold her gaze. She only raises her eyebrows at me—she doesn’t know what’s going on either.
“Before I lead us in prayer, I want to dedicate it to this young lady right here.” He pulls me in closer, and I have to hold my breath and clench my teeth to stop myself from cracking my elbow against his nose.
“I won’t embarrass her by making her tell her whole story right now, but suffice it to say, she’s been through a lot. She’s had the courage to leave her old life behind and build a new one here in Jasper Hollow. And it’s a wonderful place to start, if I do say so myself.”
Broad smile. Laughter and cheers from the audience.
But he gets serious suddenly, biting his lip and looking down at the stage before he glances back up at the audience, earnest as could be. Mom’s taught me plenty about controlling my face when I’m about to sell someone a whole lot of bullshit, but I think even she could learn a thing or two from Ellis.
“She’s not the only one who needs a new beginning,” he says.
A solemn hush falls over the church. He has to be talking about the accident.
“That’s why I’m proud to say that Phoenix will be staying with my family and me as she sets out on this new journey. In the short time I’ve spent with her, she’s already taught me so much about moving forward with courage and heart. Please join me in welcoming Phoenix to Jasper Hollow, and into my family.”
Family. Jesus. Nobody was tossing that word around last night.
The congregation erupts in a frenzy of applause and amens. For all they know, he dragged me out of a prostitution ring or adopted me from a war-torn country or cured me of a heroin addiction.
When I find Melody’s face again, her confused expression has morphed into pure, spitting outrage.
My brain is a few steps behind hers, and it takes me another minute with the hissing static of applause in my ears to figure out why she’s so mad. And then, all at once, I understand.
It can’t be easy recovering a public image after killing a kid, even if it was an accident. And then, like a gift from the clouds, another kid shows up to his house. One who needs help.
He could have sent me to a hotel, but he took me into his home so he could come on this stage and prove to Jasper Hollow and the rest of the world that he’s still the same big-hearted gentleman he’s been selling them for years. Melody said he was done with al
l the press and the interviews, but I’ve got a feeling he’s hoping for a whole new round of articles in the next few days. Articles that will tip the scales of public opinion back in his favor.
He’s helping me so he can use me. And honestly, the realization is almost a relief. Because this is the Ellis Bowman I was promised—self-serving and manipulative. And now, I know what he wanted in exchange for his generosity. The price is laid out clearly on the table.
And with a winning smile at the audience, I accept.
Finally, Ellis bows his head to God, and there’s a shuffling as everyone else does the same. Everyone except Melody, who glares at me like this is all my fault.
Just when Ellis starts to speak, Neil steps quietly through the doors in the back and slides into the pew beside his sister. Completely oblivious to his father’s scheme or Melody’s rage or my sudden, dark urge to laugh at how this has all turned out, he gives me a quick thumbs-up before he bows his head to pray.
I close my eyes, too, and Ellis begins, thanking God for the beautiful day, this beautiful town, and beautiful new beginnings.
All at once, I feel a presence beside me, someone who wasn’t standing there a moment before. I peek through my lashes.
But then I open my eyes all the way and stare.
The head pastor towers over me with a face as stiff and joyless as stone. His gray hair is combed neatly, and he wears a navy-blue suit with a jacket and tie. His eyebrows are heavy enough to cast shadows on his face, thick and dark as storm clouds. And when he speaks, his voice is a cold, quiet thunder.
“Welcome to Jasper Hollow, Phoenix,” he says.
I knew I would run into him, sooner or later. But somehow, I’m still not prepared.
I thought he would have retired after the cancer diagnosis. But now that I see him in person, I can understand why even a deadly disease would have a hard time humbling a man like him. The only outward indication he gives that it’s affected him at all is the cane he clutches in his right hand.
“I’m Pastor Holland,” he says.
Mom’s father.
Chapter 15
ELLIS INTRODUCES ME TO a lot of people after the service, too many to keep track of, but I notice a pattern of last names—the McCormicks, the Snyders, the Perkinses, the Walshes, the Whitakers, and the Corcorans. Jill tells me that they’re the ones who were born and raised in Jasper Hollow, who lived here before Ellis made it popular. I notice that they all seem to carry an air of superiority toward the newcomers, even though the influx of new people is what breathed life back into their town.
“You can tell who’s a McCormick by the red hair,” Jill whispers to me. “The Snyders all have those bright green eyes. The Walshes—well, if you meet anyone who acts too big for their britches, they’re a Walsh.”
Matthew—the pastor who’s training to take over Pastor Holland’s position whenever he finally retires—gives me a personal welcome, pumping my hand on the lawn just outside the big double doors. He does a good job of pretending not to notice the state of my dress.
When I stepped out of the church, I could understand what possessed Will Jasper to build something all the way up here. It’s the highest point in Jasper Hollow, and the other mountains roll away in more shades of green than I ever knew summer could hold. The town pools in the valley below. Looking down on the rooftops, I think it might not be so hard to have one of those spiritual epiphanies that make people sell everything they own so they can chase a space between the clouds.
But I’ve always been chasing something else. I look for her in the faces that mill around the church lawn, until Melody jabs me in the ribs with her elbow and I realize Pastor Matthew is speaking to me.
“What?”
“How do you know the Bowmans?” he repeats.
Ellis steps in to answer. “Neily found the poor thing passed out in the woods. Gave him quite a shock.”
“Sounds like there’s a story there!” Matthew says, bouncing on the balls of his feet.
Jill squeezes my shoulder and says, “I’m sure there will be plenty of time for that later. I think Phoenix is still a bit tired. We should be getting her home.”
The quick look she turns on her husband is my first clue that she isn’t happy with the way he hijacked the church service to show off his charity.
“Right,” Matthew agrees. “Of course. Just one thing I wanted to ask before you go, Jill. Eleanor was signed up to make a hundred cookies for the Dawn Festival, but her oven stopped working. Think you might be able to step in? We’re trying to finish up the funding for our mission trip to Uganda. It’d be a real big help.”
Jill’s strained smile gets even tighter. “You know I would love to, Matt, but I’ve been very, very busy with the restaurant, and—”
“I can do it.”
I turn and see Melody peering over my shoulder.
Matthew raises his eyebrows. “That’s a lot of cookies, Mel. Are you sure you can handle all that on your own? But I guess Neily is a whiz in the kitchen, so if he can help you—”
“I don’t need Neil’s help.”
She made sure to smile when she said it.
Neil probably would have volunteered himself if he hadn’t gone to pull the car around. The rest of us walk toward the parking lot, and Ellis puts one arm around Melody’s shoulders and the other around mine. “Who’s hungry?”
But before either of us can answer, we all stop short.
Pastor Holland is a lot like a wall. His broad shoulders block out the sun. “A word, Ellis,” he says in his deeply resonant voice, which was perfectly suited for his lengthy sermon today. I notice that he leans a little more heavily on the cane than he did before, like it tired him out.
Ellis lets out a little sigh that I might not have heard if his arm weren’t around me. Then he lets go of me and his daughter and follows Pastor Holland to the edge of the church lawn.
I climb into the back of the Bowmans’ SUV behind Melody. Neil is at the wheel, and he sighs, too, putting the car in park. “Think he’ll be long?”
Jill massages her temples between her fingers. “He always is.”
“What are they talking about?” I ask.
“You,” Melody says.
“How do you know?”
“He stared at you the whole sermon with that sour look on his face.”
“Pastor Holland’s face never looks anything but sour,” Jill argues. But then she sinks low in her seat. “Oh, God, he’s coming over here.”
And then a pair of blue-black eyes peers through her window.
Jill cringes over her shoulder at Melody and me before she rolls the window down. “Hello, Pastor Holland, it’s nice to—”
“I was just talking some sense into your husband,” Pastor Holland says, his voice even, a slight smile on his face, like he’s talking to a toddler. “I just want to make sure we’re all on the same page.”
“Mason, I—”
He cuts her off again with a shake of his head and a crooked finger, like he’s beckoning her to a secluded corner so he can discipline her without anyone overhearing.
Jill lets out a deep breath, clearly struggling to keep her cool. “I have to get back to the restaurant, so if you’re going to give me a scolding, just say whatever it is you need to say.”
He glances at me again, then back at Jill. “Fine,” he says, leaning his forearms on the window frame. His voice is still calm and steady, but there’s redness under his skin, like something is boiling just below the surface.
Whenever he hugged me, Mom told me once, her voice soft and wistful, his cheek against mine was burning hot. I could always smell cigarette smoke on his clothes. Even after he promised me he quit.
That’s why Mom used to steal packs of cigarettes whenever she could—just to light them. Just to sit in an empty parking lot, legs swinging out the van’s open back door, and watch the red tip burn down to her fingers. She wanted to smell the smoke.
The same smell wafts through the open window when Pasto
r Holland leans closer to Jill. “Fine,” he says again. “I didn’t want to embarrass you in front of your children, but if that’s the way you insist on doing things.”
Ellis stands behind him, scratching self-consciously at the back of his neck. “Now, Mason—”
“Inviting a stranger off the street into your home is—quite frankly—reckless. You don’t seem to know a thing about her.”
Jill throws an apologetic look back at me, then gets quickly out of the car and leads Pastor Holland a few feet away with a hand on his shoulder.
But she forgot to roll her window back up. Neil, Melody, and I all glance at one another, waiting to see if someone else will push the button to give them some privacy. But none of us do.
“I understand your concern,” I can hear Jill saying levelly, her back to us. “But Phoenix needed help. So we had to help her.” She adds for good measure, “Aren’t you the one who read the Good Samaritan story to us when I was in Sunday school?”
Pastor Holland waves her words away like gnats in his eyes. “It’s a nice story, but you’re missing the point. You’re going to give this town a reputation for taking in strays. Do you want homeless people camping out on every corner? How’s that going to affect tourism? Now, normally I’d bite my tongue—”
Neil makes a tiny, involuntary sound, almost like a laugh. I get the feeling that Pastor Holland never, ever bites his tongue.
“But this decision affects your children, too.” He leans in closer to whisper the next part, but we can all hear loud and clear. “As pleasant as she may seem, you don’t know what kind of influence she could be on them. And I remember having a discussion with you on being more careful about who you let the twins associate with.”
And for just a second, I see his eyes flick over Jill’s shoulder to Melody, who quickly averts her gaze, her skin flushing an even darker shade of red than his.
Apparently, Pastor Holland thinks she’s got a weakness for bad influences.
I can see Jill’s fists clench at her sides, but she says as calmly as she can, “That’s enough, Mason.”
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