by Arlene James
Verses from the fifth chapter of Galatians ran through his mind.
But the fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness and self-control.
Frowning, he examined that list of qualities. He had love, lots of it, the love of God and the love of family and friends. He could do without the romantic kind, which was why—he congratulated himself on this—he had peace. Although sometimes it actually felt as if he had too much peace, but then perhaps he was equating peace.
Patience he had in abundance. Mostly. About most things. He tried to be kind and others were, often enough, kind to him. Goodness brought to mind the aunties, which made him smile. As for faithfulness, no one, absolutely no one, could say that he was not faithful. Gentleness? Well, when it was called for, he supposed. And self-control was something upon which he prided himself.
Did that, he wondered, make it a sin instead of a blessing? He frankly didn’t know.
That left only…joy. Which was not, Asher reminded himself, the same as happiness, though he had both. Didn’t he?
Certainly, he enjoyed many things. But that was not the same, was it?
How, he wondered, could he enjoy so much in his life and yet not know for sure if he had joy? Had he missed something? He thought of Ellie, who had essentially lost both of her parents and was now effectively homeless, with no assurance that she would ever regain what she had lost. Yet, somehow, he sensed that she knew a kind of joy that he lacked. Maybe his “theology” was wrong or incomplete.
Good grief, she had him doubting his core beliefs. Why was it, then, that he couldn’t seem to hold her in anything but the highest esteem?
That question remained in the forefront of his mind as he arrived at the high school athletic field. The schools were good about sharing assets with the Buffalo Creek Youth Soccer League because so many of their middle and high school players came up through the system. He wondered if they’d be quite so cooperative, however, if the coaches and athletic directors ever got a load of a certain BCYSL coach’s teaching technique.
After parking the truck, he grabbed his black cap and cleats from the passenger seat. Skirting the home stands, he threw his legs over a rail to reach the grass. Several teenage boys were already involved in a scrum. Two more came loping across the field from another direction. One of them, Rob Holloway, was a fairly new recruit. He had lots of promise. Try as he might, though, Asher couldn’t seem to get the switch to flip inside that kid’s head.
An image of Ellie dribbling and booting the ball in her tutu and floppy-winged cap flickered in Asher’s mind. His hand went automatically to the yellow flags he had in his pocket, and an idea was born. Or rather, reborn, since it was Ellie’s to begin with.
He tore a flag into four somewhat equal sections, pinning one to the top of his cap with a safety pin from the stash he kept to repair the nets. He left the ends to drape down on either side of his ears. Gesturing to Rob, who wore a hooded sweatshirt, and two other boys who had caps, Asher took out his cell phone and handed it to one of the more trustworthy kids with instructions to film what was about to happen.
He helped the boys pin on the floppy cloths, then appropriated the ball and led them out onto the field to start a vigorous short-sided scrimmage. One of the boys comically tossed his head as if the scrap of fabric were actually a mane of luxurious hair. After a few minutes of play, Asher called a halt and had the boys follow him to the sideline, where he reclaimed his phone and took a look at the video.
“Here,” he said, tapping the tiny screen. “And here. Do you see what I’m talking about, Rob?”
“My head’s all over the place!” the boy exclaimed, watching his yellow cloth flop and flutter while the others remained somewhat stable.
“That’s what I mean by ‘core discipline,’” Asher explained, enjoying seeing the light go on in Rob’s mind.
He heard a lot of laughter on the field that day, and a good deal of it was his own. As they left the field at the end of practice and called out their farewells, they no longer addressed him as “Mr. Chatam.” He was “Coach” now. Maybe for the first time.
And he knew exactly whom he had to thank for that.
“I don’t suppose my granddaughter has put in an appearance yet?”
Odelia looked past Hypatia to find Kent standing in the doorway. He looked tired. In Odelia’s opinion, he ought not to be working at all. Yes, he went in to the pharmacy late and came home early, limiting himself to four days per week, but at his age he should have been enjoying a life of leisure and looking after his health, not counting pills and mixing syrups. He certainly shouldn’t have been dealing with house fires and insurance companies, which was why Asher had been called in.
“As we’ve just told Dallas, we haven’t seen Ellie this evening,” Magnolia told Kent, passing a cup of tea to their niece, who occupied the gold-striped wingchair.
Dallas had practically become a fixture at Chatam House since the Monroes had moved in. Odelia appreciated the frequent visits, though probably not for the same reasons as her sisters. She loved having family around, of course, just as they did, but these days she appreciated the distraction even more. Despite her best efforts, her gaze wandered back to Kent, who openly stared at her.
“What a lovely ensemble, a harbinger of the bright spring days ahead.”
Knowing that her mood had affected her appearance, Odelia had made a concerted effort to punch up her appearance that morning, choosing a grass-green skirt and flowered blouse, along with a headband sporting a pink daisy and yellow daisy-chain earrings that hung almost to her shoulders. Kent noticed, even if no one else seemed to have done so.
Her cheeks heating with ridiculous pleasure, Odelia thanked him while pretending a great interest in the hem of her full skirt. What a goose she was to let a simple, polite comment set her heart racing!
After a moment, Kent excused himself and went upstairs, remarking that he needed a nap before dinner. Odelia let herself relax a bit, only to note a wry, knowing smile curling one corner of her niece’s lips. Dallas sipped her tea and ate a cinnamon cookie, obviously biding her time. Blessedly, before she could comment on Kent’s compliment, Ellie came in.
“Sorry I’m late. It was an eventful practice.” She crossed the room, wearing shorts with knee socks and a vibrant yellow T-shirt, the only portion of her outfit that Odelia could truly approve. The yellow cap was fun, too, though. Its black wings flopped forward and back, like a pair of clapping hands, as Ellie collapsed onto the chair before the fireplace. “I am so out of shape!”
“Interesting hat,” Dallas remarked, amber eyes dancing.
Ellie groaned and swept the thing off, leaving her curly hair in disarray. “Teaching aid,” she explained tersely, tucking it beneath her.
“Oh?” Hypatia said brightly. “What subject, dear?”
“Soccer, Miss H. Didn’t I say? I’m coaching a soccer team for six-and seven-year-olds now.”
Dallas plunked down her cup and saucer, jostling the other contents of the tray. “Get out of here! You never mentioned that.”
Ellie grimaced. “Didn’t I? It came up unexpectedly not long ago.”
“Puh-leze,” Dallas drawled. Grinning at her aunts, Dallas added meaningfully, “And I suppose the fact that Ash is the soccer commissioner has nothing to do with anything.”
Odelia immediately brightened at that reminder. Trading looks with Magnolia, she smiled. “So he is. Well, well. I had forgotten all about that.”
Hypatia lifted her eyebrows, and Odelia knew that the sisters were all thinking the same thing: whenever anyone came to stay at Chatam House, a romance inevitably followed. But Ellie and Asher?
“Who’d have thought it?” Odelia chirped happily, distracted for the moment from her own problems.
“Who’d have thought what?” Ellie asked.
Hypatia shrugged. “I suppose it was inevitable.”
“What was inevitable?”
“That a roman
ce would be brewing,” Magnolia declared jovially.
Smiling over the rim of her cup, Dallas leaned back into the corner of the armchair and crossed her long, slender legs.
Ellie glanced at Odelia, smiling slightly. “O-kaay. And the ‘brewing romance’ that we are discussing is…”
“Why, yours, dear,” Odelia answered brightly.
“Mine?” Ellie yelped, sitting forward. “Whatever gave you the idea that I’m having a romance?”
“Oh, just the facts,” Dallas said nonchalantly. “First, you were alone out in the greenhouse with Ash the other evening—”
“You arranged that!”
“So? I was told by someone who would know that it was a lengthy tryst.”
Ellie glanced from Dallas to Odelia and back. “Who would that be?”
“Garrett Willows, as it happens.” She slid a look at Odelia from beneath her lashes, adding, “In fact, I heard there was quite a bit of traffic in the greenhouse that night.”
Odelia felt hot spots blossom high on her cheekbones. They had been spotted, she and Kent! Oh, no, no. It couldn’t be.
“I don’t care what you heard,” Ellie said emphatically. “There was no ‘tryst,’ as you put it.” Odelia allowed herself the tiniest bit of relief.
“No?” Dallas scoffed. “And I suppose it’s just a coincidence that you’ve now gone from client to coach in my brother’s soccer association?”
“Yes! That’s exactly what it is, a coincidence.”
“Oh, my dear,” Hypatia said with an indulgent shake of her head. “There are no coincidences for God’s children.”
“It’s a concept young people seem not to grasp anymore,” Magnolia said, tsking.
“Wow,” Dallas exclaimed, sitting up straight as if an idea had struck her. “A twofer.”
Odelia blinked at that, horrified. “A what?”
“A twofer. You know, it means two for the price of one.”
“I’m sorry, dear. I don’t understand,” Hypatia said.
“If there are no coincidences,” Dallas explained, “then it can’t be a coincidence that Mr. Monroe is in residence here at Chatam House, either.”
Hypatia shrugged in confusion, while Odelia’s face flamed hot. “I suppose.”
“Well, then,” Dallas went on, nodding at Odelia as if encouraging her to confess all.
Odelia felt the color drain from her face. “Y-you can’t possibly mean…”
Dallas glanced around the gathering. “Oh, come now,” she said with some exasperation. “Ellie isn’t the only Monroe staying here.”
“What does that have to do with anything?” Hypatia demanded.
“All I’m saying is that if Ash can fall in love, anyone can, even…” She looked pointedly to Odelia.
Gasping—squeaking, really—Odelia lurched to her feet. Only belatedly, as she was juggling them, did she realize that she still held her teacup and saucer. Somehow, she managed to get them safely onto the tray, but by that time, everyone was gaping at her.
“Excuse me,” she said, lifting her chin. “I have to…”
The thought trailed off. She couldn’t think of a single thing that she had to do just then. Except escape. Which was exactly what she did. She quite literally turned tail and ran, and she didn’t stop until she was locked safely in her room in the suite that she shared with her sisters.
Whatever could Dallas be thinking? she wondered, wringing her hands as she paced the floor. Obviously, Garrett had seen Kent follow her to the greenhouse that night, or perhaps Asher had mentioned something about their discussion afterward. No, no, she couldn’t accept that. Ash was the soul of discretion. Yet, what Dallas had said could not be entirely dismissed.
“No coincidence,” she muttered. “No coincidence.”
But no romance, either.
Not for her.
Not for a foolish old lady who had missed her chance long ago.
Chapter Ten
Glancing at her sister’s rapidly retreating back, Magnolia frowned at her niece. “Whatever has gotten into you, Dallas Chatam?”
“Surely you’ve noticed—” Dallas began, only to break off at the sound of the door knocker.
“Who might that be?” Hypatia murmured, casting a curious look over one shoulder.
“Whoever it is,” Magnolia said, setting aside her teacup with a huff, “you’ll have to entertain without me. I don’t have time for any more nonsense today. Spring will not wait for my repotting.” Casting a frown at Dallas, she rose and hurried away, leaving Hypatia to reluctantly answer the door.
Ellie seized the moment to hiss at her friend. “I agree with Magnolia. What is wrong with you?”
“Just stating the obvious,” Dallas retorted defensively.
“The obvious, my foot! Making them believe there’s something between your brother and me.”
“Well, isn’t there?”
“No! Besides,” Ellie went on, realizing that she ought not to dwell on the subject of her own nonexistent romance, “you practically had Odelia in tears.”
“Oh, please,” Dallas protested in a harsh whisper. “Auntie Od in tears? I may have embarrassed her a little, but—”
“A little? You think that was a little embarrassing? Sometimes I think you’re certifiably insane.”
“That’s harsh,” Dallas muttered with a frown.
“Not harsh enough,” Ellie scolded hotly, “not if you—” She broke off as Hypatia reentered the room. Hypatia, however, was not alone.
Behind her strode an attractive, boyish-looking fellow with neatly groomed nut-brown hair. Dressed in a dark blue button-up shirt with a somehow familiar logo embroidered in white above the breast pocket, he smiled benignly, his sharp gaze tracking from Dallas to Ellie and back again. Not much taller than Hypatia, he carried a simple dark blue folder in his left hand. In other words, he seemed utterly harmless—until Hypatia pointedly said, “Ellie, dear, this gentleman would like to speak to you and your grandfather.”
Ellie stared hard at that logo and gulped. “I…h-he…”
“I’ve explained that Mr. Monroe is taking a much-needed nap,” Hypatia went on helpfully.
At that point, the fellow dodged around Hypatia and went straight to Ellie, putting out his right hand. “Jared Lawrence, Miss Monroe, with Insurance Nation.”
“In-insurance. I see.”
He seemed unconcerned when she failed to immediately take his hand. “I have some questions about the fire at 1001 Charter. But first…” He plucked a sheet of paper from the folder. “I’ll need you to sign this interview document. It’s just to fix the time and date of our conversation and attest to the validity of your stateme—”
“Y-you’ve caught me at an in-inconvenient moment,” Ellie interrupted, sliding sideways out of her chair. “Please excuse me.” Her gaze followed his as he looked down at the crushed, winged cap that she had left behind on the seat of her chair. “While I change,” she improvised quickly, snatching up the thing and tucking it beneath one arm.
With a sharp nod, she bolted for the door. Behind her, she heard Hypatia stiltedly offer Jared Lawrence a cup of tea. Ellie didn’t catch his reply as she hurried across the foyer to the gear bag that she’d left on the floor. Dropping down onto her haunches, she reached into the bag for her cell phone before darting up the stairs.
By the time she’d made the turn in the broad, sweeping staircase, she’d located Asher’s phone number and hit Send. She hurried into the small apartment that the Chatam sisters referred to as the East Suite. Seeing that her grandfather’s bedroom door was closed, she crossed the sitting room to stand before the fireplace.
“Answer. Answer,” she pleaded as the phone rang on the other end.
Just when she thought all hope was lost, she heard a click, then a cautious, “Hello, Ellie.”
She didn’t bother with a greeting, just blurted, “You said not to talk to anyone unless you were here, but he’s downstairs in the parlor right now!”
“Who?”
“Jared Lawrence. From Insurance Nation. He wants me to sign a paper and talk to him.”
“Sign nothing, say nothing,” Asher instructed sternly. “I’ll be right there.”
He ended the call before he could hear her say, “Thank God!”
Glancing gratefully toward her grandfather’s closed door, she hurried toward her own bedroom at the opposite end of the suite. Without waiting for the water to heat, she quickly rinsed off beneath a cold shower, managing to keep her head mostly dry in the process, then changed into jeans and a sweater. After stepping barefoot into leather clogs, she dragged a brush through her unruly hair and headed back downstairs. Asher was shaking hands with Lawrence when she reached the parlor.
“I believe we spoke on the phone not long ago,” Asher said, looking as if he, too, had just stepped out of a shower, his chestnut-and-champagne hair plastered sleekly to his head.
“I believe we did,” Lawrence confirmed genially.
“And I thought it was understood that I would serve as point of contact for the Monroes,” Asher went on.
“Ah,” was the noncommittal reply.
“I don’t appreciate the end run,” Asher stated flatly.
Jared Lawrence just smiled. “Noted.” Taking an ink pen from his shirt pocket, he flipped open the folder in his hand and asked, “So when and where exactly would you like me to conduct the interviews?”
Obviously, this man was not going to be put off indefinitely. Ellie chewed her lip and caught Asher’s eye as he glanced in her direction.
“Perhaps,” Asher said slowly, “it would best serve everyone’s purpose if the interviews were to take place at the Monroe house.”
Jared Lawrence nodded his agreement. “Very well. Visuals are always appreciated.”
“I’ll arrange to have the house opened and let you know when we can meet.”
Lawrence closed his folder and pocketed his pen, saying, “I look forward to hearing from you soon.” Lawrence smiled at Ellie. “Give my best to your grandfather when he wakes.”
