by Linda Ford
“Would you mind singing it as I play so I can hear the words inside my head?”
His voice seemed to come from a long tunnel, taking its time to reach her brain.
She jerked away and turned back to the piano keys. She must guard her heart. And thoughts. Hadn’t she learned that lesson already?
So she played. He played. And she sang.
And despite her constant mental warnings, she let the music wash over her, numb her caution. She knew a height of pleasure so new and unfamiliar she didn’t even know what to call it.
It was the music. That was all. Nothing more.
He stopped. “Wait. What was that last phrase?” He joined her on the piano bench so he could read the words himself.
She repeated the tune and they sang together. They finished the hymn. She paused, her hands in her lap. He grinned at her, his eyes sparkling with what she could only describe as pure, unfettered joy. Entangled in the music, she let his smile slip right past her reservations straight to her heart where it stirred together enjoyment and bliss into a surprisingly, delightful happiness. All the things that kept them at odds with each other vanished like dew in the morning sun. She allowed it.
Only because of how much she loved the music. Nothing more.
He flipped the pages of the hymnal. “Do you know this one?”
She chuckled. “I know all of them.” She played it for him. Again they made music together. Song after song they played on, wrapped together in the melody and words, united in their enjoyment. She paused to turn the page.
“I remember when you said the songs were like God whispering in your heart. Now I know what you meant.” His voice reverberated through her as if someone had struck the lowest key on the piano. At that moment, her defensive walls teetered.
Colby turned his attention back to the hymnal. “It’s so dark I can hardly see the words anymore.”
Anna looked around. The last golden rays of sun slanted through the window, sending bright lines across the pew, filling the rest of the room with shadows.
What was she thinking sitting here into the evening with this man? How could she consider trusting him again? Every time she thought he might be staying, he left. Every time she trusted him, he let her down.
She scooted off the bench. “I had no idea it was so late.” No hiding the edginess in her voice.
“We were having too much fun.”
She relented slightly at his quick smile. It wasn’t his fault she’d let the music make her forget. “I enjoyed playing and singing together.”
“I hope we can do it again.”
At the invitation in his voice, she hesitated. In the fading light, she studied him. Who was he? Colby of her youth who shared the secrets of her heart? Or Colby of a year ago? Four years ago? Something hard and heavy lodged beneath her rib cage at the memory of being alone after Rose’s death. The heaviness increased as her thoughts cleared. Only this moment did she realize she’d waited for his return, hoping and praying, only to have her heart scalded when he’d returned with a wife. He couldn’t have made it any clearer that he did not share the feelings she had for him.
“I don’t think that’s wise. I must go.” She scurried out the door, not slowing her steps until she slid into the silent kitchen. She padded into the front room. Father slept in his chair and she shook him awake. “It’s time to go to bed.”
He stirred. “I was waiting for you to come home.”
“I was playing the piano.” She often lost track of time as she practiced, but this time she hadn’t been alone. Her cheeks stung with heat. What was she thinking to be with Colby all evening? She could imagine Mrs. Percy’s comments if she knew. Thankfully there was no way she could.
She tiptoed in to check on Dorrie. The baby slept with her bottom in the air, a finger inserted in her mouth.
Anna clamped her hand to her lips to keep from crying out. Colby seemed changed—everything she’d always hoped he’d be—everything she knew he could be. She’d enjoyed his company more than she wanted to but the longer he hung about, the worse it would be for all of them. She couldn’t see his presence being a cause for anything but disappointment and sorrow for Dorrie, though she guessed Dorrie was young enough to forget Colby when he left.
It was her heart that would be shattered yet again.
She doubted she’d survive the torture.
She hurried to her room and sat on the edge of her bed, her troubled thoughts tumbling around inside her head.
Lord, help me. Guide me to be wise. I don’t want to be hurt again. I don’t want Dorrie or Alex hurt. Oh, Lord. Help me. Protect me.
She knew God was all she needed but a great loneliness pushed at her insides until she feared it would consume her. Why had Colby come back? Why couldn’t she simply forget him?
Chapter Eight
Anna worked at breakneck speed the next day as if she could outrace her troubled thoughts. She swept the floors until not even a hint of dust lingered. The mats had been shaken to within an inch of their lives. Every window ledge gleamed from a thorough washing. Even the stove had been blackened and polished. It was almost a shame to ruin the finish by cooking on it but knowing Mrs. Booker was still ill, she set a pot of soup to cook. Later in the morning, she poured the thick soup into jars and gave it to Father.
“Take it to the Bookers.”
“This will be a real blessing to them. It will relieve her worries, too.” He paused as if considering his words. “I’m sure you know what it’s like when the woman of the house is ill or… Nothing has been the same since Rose died.” With a resigned sigh, he left with the jars balanced in a shopping basket.
Her throat closed off so she couldn’t bid him goodbye. She understood what he meant, yet it made her feel as if she could never measure up to Rose’s standard. Not that she expected to.
Poor Father. He must be so lonely.
With a start, she realized she, too, was lonely. And despite her best efforts to pretend otherwise, her loneliness had a Colby shape to it.
Once they had discussed their dreams of families of their own. Anna always thought it was a shared dream—the two of them creating home and family together. She sighed. This was old business. He obviously didn’t share the same hopes she did. She had learned to accept that and move forward.
Except his return had brought the dead dream back to life.
Only she and Dorrie remained at home and she spoke her thoughts aloud. “I’m so confused.” The baby babbled away as excitedly as if Anna had promised her a trip to visit Laura. “And it’s your father’s fault. I don’t know what to make of him.”
Last night they’d spent two sweet hours playing and singing hymns together. At such times it was easy to forget her caution. To dream about the Colby who had once been her best friend, her confidant and the one she continued to hold close to her heart. But she didn’t dare trust him.
She wanted to. She ached to. But she couldn’t.
What did Colby really want? Why had he returned? Would he stay or leave again at the first hint of difficulty? And would he want to take Dorrie when he left?
She tried to reassure herself that he couldn’t manage a baby girl on his own but it failed to still her doubts.
Anna scrubbed the soup pot with unusual vigor as her thoughts rocked back and forth between a renewed longing and too many uncertainties.
Father returned with news that Mrs. Booker sent her thanks for the soup. “She says her sister is coming to help while she regains her strength.”
“That will be a blessing.”
“Indeed.” He went to his desk and pulled his Bible close.
Anna pressed her lips together. Father had never said Anna was a blessing for taking over after Rose’s death.
She was only doing her duty and shouldn’t expect praise for it but a word or two of acknowledgment would assure her she did a good job.
Enough feeling sorry for herself. God had given her a task and she would gladly do it, rejoicing she had the
strength and ability.
She hummed as she returned to her work. It didn’t pay to let her thoughts stray too far from God’s goodness. Yet she wandered so often to the window, hoping for a glimpse of Colby that she began to wonder if she needed a tonic.
When Colby joined them for dinner, Anna could hardly look at him for fear he would see the confusion in her eyes. Why did she have this longing to be around him, to know he was nearby?
She must be overtired. And with well-honed self-discipline, she pushed cold hard steel into her thoughts.
She’d needed him before. Each time he had left. Now her life centered on Dorrie and Alex and running Father’s house.
Dorrie went down for her nap and Father settled at his small desk in the front room. Since Colby had started repairs at the church, Father spent more time studying at home.
Anna looked at the pile of clothes to mend. She didn’t want to tackle the job. She pulled out a bowl to mix a cake and put it back in the cupboard without measuring one ingredient. She heated some water and filled a basin, grabbed a couple of rags and washed the window behind the table. It gave her an unobstructed view of the church.
There was a time when her thoughts troubled her this way she would slip across and make her way to the front pew to sit and pray, her eyes open and focused on the cross. She always found what she needed—peace, wisdom, strength, courage….
She wished she could go to that place again, find what she needed.
She polished the glass slowly, not checking for streaks.
The cross no longer hung from the back wall. It leaned in the corner of the cloakroom. Perhaps she could slip in the front door without detection and recreate a special place of prayer near the cross. She needed so badly to feel God’s assurance and direction right now.
She dropped the rag on the cupboard and hurried to the front room. “Father, I’m going out for a little while. Can you listen for Dorrie while I’m gone?”
Father waved acknowledgment without looking up from his notes.
She left the house through the front door and crossed to the church. Carefully she turned the knob and cracked the door only enough to allow her to duck through. She closed it soundlessly and tiptoed into the cloakroom. The cross leaned into the corner, so scarred and damaged she knew she would have to abandon hope of fixing it. No doubt someone would donate a new one. But for now she found comfort in this place of prayer—at the foot of an old rugged cross.
She sank to the floor facing it and let her thoughts roam freely until they grew quiet. Only then could she pray and bring her doubts and fears to God. Lord, I feel like life is spinning out of control. I need Your wisdom. She paused as more doubts and concerns sputtered to the surface. I don’t understand my feelings toward Colby. Part of me cares about him— has always cared about him. In fact— Her thoughts stalled. I have always loved him. But how is it possible when I’m not sure I trust him? Lord, I ask for You to give me a sign of what I should do.
She heard a sound behind and glanced over her shoulder. Colby stood in the doorway.
“I heard something and thought I should investigate.”
“I came here to think and pray.”
“I won’t interrupt then.”
“I’m done.” Though she had hoped God would speak in the stillness of her heart and she’d understand her feelings.
Colby crossed the small room in two strides and plunked down cross-legged on the floor beside her. “It means a lot to you, doesn’t it?”
She knew he meant the cross. “It does.”
Neither of them spoke but the silence was companionable.
Anna’s heart filled with unutterable cries. “When Rose died I had to take over running the house and caring for Alex. I learned not to show my own grief in front of anyone. The only place I could acknowledge my sorrow was in the church. I would sit on the front pew, look at the cross and cry. I was so scared.” She turned to confront him, doing her best to keep the accusation from her eyes as well as her voice. “I was so alone. I needed someone. Of course, I had God but I wanted more. Colby, where were you? Why did you leave?” She clamped her lips tight to stop the cry clinging to the tail end of her words.
Colby leaned closer. For a moment, she thought he meant to drape an arm across her shoulders, perhaps pull her against his heart where she wondered if she would find the release she longed for. And then he settled back. She told herself she wasn’t disappointed but a part of her longed to bury her face against his chest and cry out the years of disappointment.
“Anna, I didn’t think you would need me.”
“How can you say that? I’d just lost Rose and baby Timmy. Suddenly I had to take Rose’s place. How could you not realize how difficult it was for me? I thought we were friends.”
“We were. I hope we still are.”
“Friends don’t abandon each other when things get tough.”
Colby flinched. “How could I have helped?”
“By being here.”
“You would have been disappointed in me. Besides, Rose’s death hit me hard, too. She was like a mother to me.”
They’d both been hurt by Rose’s death and too young to know how to cope. Still… “I had to find my own way. Alone. I spent hours praying for wisdom and peace and strength to carry on.” Her lips softened with the calm she reclaimed from that experience. “I found all I needed praying before this cross.”
“You’ve managed very nicely.”
“No thanks to you.” She recalled another time she’d been frightened and uncertain how to face the task handed her. “Then you thrust Dorrie into my arms. I was so scared. I knew nothing about caring for a newborn. I used to come here when she was sleeping and beg God to guide me so I wouldn’t kill her.”
Colby jerked back. “Why would you think of killing her?”
She snorted at his shock. “I didn’t plan to, but I feared I might make some colossal mistake. What if I fed her the wrong thing? What if she choked? What if she got sick and I didn’t know how to treat her or, worse, didn’t notice she was sick? The worries are endless.”
He gave her a look of blue-eyed sympathy and something else—maybe regret. “I had no idea.”
“Most of my worries were needless. I know that now. But at the time they seemed so real. So pressing. Only by trusting God could I face them.”
“I’m here now. I’m not leaving.”
At the moment she wasn’t sure she wanted him to stay. She had too many unsettling doubts and fears. Too much to lose. And too much to forgive. Things too painful to even mention.
Colby sat there several minutes after Anna left. She’d had a lot to deal with but she’d coped. She’d done well. But she’d wanted him. Maybe even needed him. Why hadn’t he stayed? Part of him wanted to. Why did he feel driven to leave whenever things got tough? What made him feel that was the best option for everyone? Not just him but Anna…and Dorrie.
He stared at the cross. Anna had come here often—only then the cross hung on the wall. She said she’d found answers. Would it work for him, too?
God, I feel like there is something bent in my life that pushes me to leave when I really want to stay.
Thoughts filtered through his brain. How much Rose’s death had hurt. How he wanted to find comfort with Anna’s family and maybe even do something to help them.
He tried to hear God speak but all he heard was his pa’s voice. What good are you, boy?
Not that he put much pay on what Pa said. The old man wouldn’t know a good thing if it reached up and grabbed him around the throat. As soon as Colby got big enough to realize he didn’t have to take a whopping from him, as soon as he realized he could inflict as much pain as he took, he’d left, not wanting to start using his fists to equalize things between them.
Was that when it became easier to leave than to stay?
He shook his head. Somehow it didn’t seem to fit. Walking away from his pa had been the right thing to do. It didn’t have the same feel to it as leaving Steve
ville.
Nor did anything about Pa pull at him. But no matter how far he went, how fast he ran, and how deep into trouble he got, long invisible reins at the hand of an invisible, persistent, gentle driver pulled him back to Steveville.
And Anna.
“Man, you sure making a mess.”
Colby turned from cutting away more damaged areas. “Slink, you old dog. Come on in.” Slink had been one of his drinking buddies in the past.
Slink flashed a nervous smile and hung suspended in the doorway. “I ain’t never been inside a church before. You think anybody would mind?”
“You’re most welcome here. This is the place for sinners and the sick.” Not everyone thought it but Pastor Caldwell said it was so and showed him a verse in the Bible to prove it.
Slink, always lean, had grown downright gaunt. “Looks like you could use a good feed.”
“Don’t eat much.”
Colby guessed Slink likely lived on a liquid diet of cheap liquor. In fact, he clutched the neck of a bottle as he gingerly stepped into the sanctuary.
“That stuff is going to kill you.”
“’Spect so.” Slink looked at a pew as if he wanted to sit then changed his mind, a tight look around his mouth.
“Come on. Let’s chew the fat.”
Hesitantly, glancing up as if he expected a voice from heaven to order him to leave, Slink perched on the edge of a pew. His bottle tipped dangerously. “Heard you was back. Heard you wasn’t drinking no more.”
Colby took the bottle and set it upright on the bench then sat across from the man. “That’s right. I’ve turned around with God’s help and forgiveness.” He explained how God accepted sinners.
“Yeah, but you ain’t never been as bad as me.” Slink looked miserable.
Little did the man know. Colby hoped no one would ever find out. He hadn’t told the pastor all the details of his past. Pastor Caldwell had insisted he didn’t need to know. It was between Colby and God, and the Almighty promised to wipe the slate clean. Colby figured if God said so it had to be true but he knew the shame of his deeds tinged his thoughts black. Expectation in Slink’s expression told of his desire to hear more and Colby repeated what the pastor had said. “Nothing’s too big nor too hard for God.”
