A loud buzzer sounded, and the luggage conveyor belt began its cycle.
Sierra remembered Paul’s last words to her that day: “Don’t ever change, Sierra.”
I have changed, Paul. Something major has changed in my heart. I know now that it’s not enough to have all the right answers and obey all the rules. If I don’t have love, I’m nothing.
She wished she could tell that to Paul. If she ever had the chance, she decided she would apologize for her brash past. Not that it was likely she’d have the opportunity. The best she could do was learn from her experience and resolve to show love.
After all, she thought, love is supposed to cover a multitude of sins. Does that include a multitude of immature blunders?
“This one is yours, isn’t it?” her dad asked, reaching for Sierra’s luggage.
“Yes,” Sierra responded, returning to the present. “That one’s mine.”
When they got home, Sierra hugged her little brothers, kissed Granna Mae, and chatted with her family for nearly an hour.
“Did you bring us anything?” Gavin asked.
Sierra felt bad. She hadn’t been looking for souvenirs when she had shopped with Marti. “I think I have some German greeting cards. They’re a little bent but kind of funny. I didn’t really shop for souvenirs. The only thing I bought was some tea. I’ll bring some stuff next time.”
“You’re going again?” Dillon asked.
“I might. Does anybody want some jasmine spice tea?”
Sierra had no takers, so she made a steaming cup for herself. Then, saying good night, she went up to her room to crash, even though it was still light outside. “I think you’ll like the surprise you’re going to find up there,” Mrs. Jensen said as Sierra climbed the stairs. But she didn’t care what the surprise was. All she wanted to do was reacquaint herself with her fluffy pillow.
Sierra opened the door to a tidy room. Her mom must have gotten fed up with the clutter while Sierra was gone. The window was open, letting in a warm summer breeze. With all the mess cleared away, Sierra immediately noticed a piece of paper on top of her neatly made bed. The paper had been all crumpled but was now smoothed out. It was a letter to her with no envelope. The distinctive handwriting was in black ink, written in a mixture of printing and cursive.
“Paul,” Sierra whispered into the air.
Sierra eagerly snatched up the letter and quickly realized it was one Paul had written last spring. Sierra had been so frustrated with him that she had wadded it up and tossed it into the trash. Obviously, the letter never made it to the city dump. It probably was lost behind her dresser or something until her mom found it while cleaning her room. Sierra didn’t mind that her mother had probably read Paul’s letter. In a way she was glad her mom had found it.
Smoothing the wrinkles on her lost-and-found letter, Sierra carried it over to her antique dresser and tucked it into the top drawer. She glanced into the antique oval mirror to see how scruffy she looked from the long trip home. But instead of her own reflection, Sierra saw an envelope wedged into the bottom right-hand corner of the mirror. It was addressed to her, and the return address was Scotland. And, most important, the writing was in familiar bold, black ink.
Her hand began to shake as she reached for it. As a child, Sierra’s favorite adventure was having treasure hunts. On many birthdays and Christmases, her mother had written clever clues that had led Sierra all over the house and yard in search of her gift. It made her smile to think her mom probably had to clean her room just for the chance to place the “clue” letter, which would lead Sierra to the dresser drawer, where she would notice the mirror and the new letter. Sierra might never have found it otherwise.
With this newest correspondence in her hand, Sierra floated to the overstuffed chair by the window. It felt strange not to have to move the usual pile of clothes as she lowered herself into the chair. With her thumbnail, Sierra slit open the envelope and slowly took out the page of ivory parchment.
Dear Sierra,
This may come as a complete shock that I am writing you. I have to admit, it’s a little surprising to me. Something has been very much on my mind since I left Portland in June. That something is you.
The night before I left for Scotland, I went to your house for dinner as a favor to my brother. Ever since he started to date your sister, Jeremy had wanted me to have a meal with Tawni’s family and “be nice” to you. I fulfilled my promise to him and even took you out to coffee. To me, it was nothing more than a favor.
What I didn’t count on was the way you got to me, Sierra. As I think about it even now, I feel something I have never felt before. You said something about God’s having His mark on me, and that He’s going to do something with my life. I believe He already has done something. He’s brought me here, to the land of my kin. Spiritually, some would consider this to be a dark place where so many people are without hope. But in the short time I’ve been here, I’ve come alive.
I know God, Sierra. It’s different from knowing about Him. I talk to Him, all the time. I go for long walks in the Highlands, and I sing out loud to Him. I can’t believe I’m telling you this, except somehow I feel as if you, of all the people I know, will understand what’s going on in my life.
How did you know God had “marked” me? Why did you pray for me all those months, like you said? Where does your zeal come from, Sierra? For the first time in my life, I’m beginning to desire the same things.
I don’t know if any of this makes sense to you. If you don’t want to write back, believe me, I’ll understand. But I’d like to ask you if you would start a correspondence with me. I’m not sure that you and I got off to the best start when we met in England. I think I was a different person then. Do you believe in second chances? I’d like a second chance at our relationship.
It’s with great pleasure that I can tell you this … I’ve been praying for you, Sierra. And I will continue to, whether you write to me or not.
Sincerely yours,
Paul
Sierra read the letter again—slowly this time, moving her lips. It was sweeter the second time. And after the fourth time, she felt overwhelmed with tears. She blinked them back and read it a fifth time.
Paul is praying for me. I’ll have to tell him about the train and about Alex, and I wonder if Jeremy told him about Doug and Tracy’s wedding? Oh, and the Highland House. He’s going to want to hear how things are going at the homeless shelter his uncle runs. There’s so much to tell him.
Her mind raced with all the possible things she could write to him about. The words lined up inside her head and began to multiply until they smashed together in her jet-lagged mind.
I can’t write anything until I sleep.
Going over to her bed, Sierra folded the treasured letter and placed it under her pillow. Kicking off her shoes, she curled up in her inviting bed. Exhaustion pulled its invisible blanket over her and passed a dark hand over her heavy eyelids. A contented smile curved across her lips.
She might not know exactly how to enter into this wonderful new relationship with Paul, but Sierra definitely knew she was ready to open her heart.
one
SIERRA STOOD IN THE PARKING LOT and nervously nibbled on her thumbnail. She felt chilled in her shorts, T-shirt, and sandals. Leaning against her friend Amy’s old Volvo, she waited for the back door of the restaurant to open.
Amy usually got off at eight. Sierra checked her watch: Eight-twenty. Where was Amy?
Gathering her courage, Sierra made her way to the front door of the Italian restaurant and opened it cautiously. She had planned that Amy would come to the parking lot and they could sit in her car to talk things through calmly. The last thing Sierra wanted was a confrontation in the lobby of Amy’s uncle’s restaurant.
Glancing around, Sierra noticed Amy wasn’t at her usual spot behind the hostess podium. No customers were waiting to be seated. It was quiet. Exactly what Sierra had expected for a weeknight in September. That’s why she had be
en certain Amy would get off at eight.
Sierra’s buddy, Randy, was busing tables near the hostess station. Sierra sneaked up behind him, leaned over, and said, “Boo!”
Randy turned around, his crooked grin proving that her shock tactics had no effect on his composure. “What’s up?” he asked.
“I was hoping to catch Amy. Do you know if she has left?”
“She and Nathan left together. I think he said they were going down to The Beet.”
The Beet was a new teen club that had opened that summer in downtown Portland. It featured local bands and served only nonalcoholic beverages. Sierra had heard all about it the first week of school from Randy and the other guys in his band. They were on the alternate list for October, which meant their band had a slight chance to make their big debut.
“I didn’t see them come through the parking lot,” Sierra said.
“They left through the front door. They’re probably going to walk over. All the free parking near The Beet is taken by this time of night.”
“Oh,” Sierra said quietly.
“How long have you been waiting?”
“About half an hour.”
Randy gave her a sympathetic look. “You and Amy haven’t talked yet?”
Sierra shook her head. “I’ve tried. All week at school she had someone else to talk to or someplace to go right after class. I’ve called her, I’ve left notes in her locker, and now …”
“And now you’re waiting for her in the parking lot,” Randy said, shaking his head.
His straight blond hair had grown out over the summer, and he had to wear it pulled back in a short ponytail when he worked. He had already received a notice at the private Christian high school they attended advising him that his hair exceeded the acceptable length as stated on page 14 of the Royal Christian Academy Student Handbook.
“I know. You think I’m pathetic, the way I’m stalking her,” Sierra said. “It’s just that I’m not ready for our friendship to be over until we at least have a chance to talk about it.”
“And Amy doesn’t feel that way,” Randy surmised.
Sierra shook her head and her turquoise-beaded earrings brushed her jawline.
“Don’t give up,” Randy said, giving her a quick squeeze on the shoulder. “Remind yourself of that verse you kept telling me when you got back from Switzerland.” Randy seemed to have suddenly lost his memory. He looked at Sierra. “What was it you kept saying?”
“Love each other deeply, because love covers over a multitude of sins.” Sierra recited the verse like a bored kid at vacation Bible school.
“That’s the one. Keep telling yourself to love Amy like that. She’ll come around.”
Sierra sighed. “I don’t know.”
An older couple got up from their table, and Sierra moved to let them pass.
“I’d better let you get back to work,” she said.
“Okay. I’ll see you tomorrow at school,” Randy said, heading for the table the couple had just vacated.
Sierra slipped out of the restaurant as quietly as she had slipped in. She climbed into her car and drove home with the windows rolled up and the heater on. It was too cold for this time of year, especially when it still looked like summer all around. Sierra wasn’t ready for summer to be over. Without a doubt, this had been her best summer yet, full of travel, friends, adventure, and even a little brush with romance. In the same way she wasn’t ready for summer to end, she knew she wasn’t ready for her friendship with Amy to be over.
It had been a simple misunderstanding. Amy had taken an interest in Nathan when he came to work at her uncle’s restaurant at the beginning of the summer. Nathan asked Amy out, and when she called to give Sierra an account of their first date, Sierra had jumped all over Amy for making out with Nathan in his car. Amy had hung up, and since then they had spoken no more than a few sentences to each other.
Sierra was gone for several weeks, and when she came back, it was a mad rush to get everything ready for school. It had been almost five weeks now since Sierra and Amy had talked, and from the looks of things, Amy and Nathan were still very much together.
Pulling into the narrow driveway of her family’s old Victorian home, Sierra turned off the engine in the old VW Rabbit her parents had given her the week before. It was a mixed blessing to have her own car. Last year she had shared the Rabbit with her mom, which meant her dad paid for her insurance. Now that it was her car, the insurance bill was hers also. As long as she kept up her grades, her rate would stay the same, and her part-time job at Mama Bear’s Bakery should cover her expenses. It didn’t leave much money left over for exciting adventures such as the one she had spent her savings on this past summer.
Sierra sat in the warm car a few minutes. Is it me? Am I making too big of a deal out of this face-to-face with Amy? Should I let it go? I want to prove to her I really am her friend, no matter what. How can I prove that to her if she won’t respond?
Locking the car door, Sierra shuffled through the damp grass to the front porch, where the amber light glowed above the door, welcoming her home. Amy had once accused Sierra of having the perfect family and the perfect home. At this moment, it felt perfect. Her parents were still in love after twenty-seven years of marriage. Granna Mae lived with them, or rather, they lived here with her—it was her house. And Sierra’s four brothers and one sister were all living happy lives.
Sierra wiped her feet on the welcome mat before she went in. She thought back to when she had stood here a week and a half ago with tears streaming down her cheeks as her favorite brother, Wesley, had driven off to college in Corvallis in his fixed-up sports car. She loved her brother and had relied on him more than she realized this past summer.
Wes was the one she had told about Alex, the tall Russian she had met on her trip to Switzerland. Sierra also had confided in Wes about the letter she had received from Paul three weeks ago. Paul, her mysterious friend with the blue-gray eyes, was going to school in Scotland. She hadn’t shown Wes the letter, but she did describe to him how Paul said he went hiking through the Highlands of Scotland, singing aloud to God. Wes hadn’t laughed. Instead, he had folded his arms, nodded, and said, “Now there’s a brave heart for you. Keep praying for that one, Sierra.”
She had taken his advice and not only continued to pray for Paul but had also written him—twice. He hadn’t written back.
As Sierra opened the front door, her mom poked her head around the corner from the kitchen. Sharon Jensen had a worried look on her face and the phone to her ear. She waved at Sierra with a flutter of her fingers.
Sierra headed for the study, her favorite room in the house. It was also her dad’s office and Granna Mae’s old library. Sierra liked to retreat there to do her homework and smell the mixed scent of leather and old books. She had left her backpack in the den that afternoon while doing homework. When she pushed open the door, she saw that her father was at the desk, also on the phone. He didn’t look up when she came in.
Quietly gathering her textbooks and stuffing them into her pack, Sierra heard her dad say, “Okay, honey, we’ll talk again in a few days. You do know that Mom and I support you in this decision, don’t you?… Okay.… Good. Call us and let us know what you decide.… Bye-bye.”
There were only three women Howard Jensen called “honey,” and two of them were in this house at this moment. The other “honey” was Sierra’s sister, Tawni, who had been living in Southern California for the past few months so she could be closer to her boyfriend, Jeremy. As her dad said good-bye and hung up the phone, Sierra began to feel a little nervous about Tawni.
“Is everything okay?” she asked when her dad turned to her.
“Tawni has a big decision ahead of her.” Mr. Jensen’s usually happy eyes were clouded over.
Just then Sierra’s mom stepped into the den. She didn’t notice Sierra sitting in the corner chair. “Oh, Howard, I don’t know about this. What do you think?”
Mr. Jensen glanced at Sierra, and
his wife followed his gaze.
Mrs. Jensen pursed her lips, working up a smile for Sierra. “I didn’t see you there, Sierra. How did your time go with Amy?”
“We didn’t talk,” Sierra said. “She’d already left. I’ll try again tomorrow, I guess.”
“That sounds like a good idea.”
Sierra could tell her mom wasn’t thinking about Amy.
“Is Tawni all right?” Sierra asked tentatively.
“Yes,” Mrs. Jensen stated, looking at her husband.
Neither of them offered any more information.
Rats! Sierra thought. Something is going on, but they’re not going to tell me. Is it something to do with Jeremy?
Sierra glanced at the clock. She looked back at her parents and caught them sending each other the silent message Don’t say anything.
“I’ll get out of here,” Sierra said. She felt like adding, “So you can have your big, private conversation about Tawni without me hanging around.” But she held her tongue and slipped past them, closing the door behind her. She knew she should appreciate that her parents kept Tawni’s situation confidential. If it had been she, Sierra would want to count on them to keep her news quiet.
Trudging up the stairs to her bedroom, Sierra muttered to herself, “This is so frustrating. All I can do is wait. Wait for another chance to talk to Amy. Wait for Paul to write. Wait to see if Mom and Dad will include me in Tawni’s problem. Wait, wait, wait. I hate waiting.”
Sierra opened her bedroom door and tossed her backpack into the corner by the closet. Her relaxed attitude about cleaning up expressed itself all over the room, making it hard for her to find a place to flop down and have a decent pout party. Sierra had to admit her room was a startling sight. Clothes, books, bags, socks, plates, CDs, hats, papers, and a crazy variety of “stuff” covered her large upstairs bedroom with no semblance of order. She could usually find what she wanted, and she believed more important and interesting things were to be done than sort and organize belongings.
Sierra Jensen Collection, Volume 3 Page 12
