Once Francine had “seen the light” for herself, she’d tried to make her daughter see it, too. She’d preached at her and prayed over her and tried to fix her in countless ways—the majority of them wrong ways. She’d pushed and shoved and offended. She’d cajoled and lectured. Her heart had been right, but her actions had been all wrong.
And in her zeal for Jesus, she’d driven her daughter away, first from the church and then from Francine herself.
Oh Lord, make her hungry for you. I don’t care how. Just make her hungry.
* * *
The homes in the Hunter neighborhood had been built in the early 1900s. Most of them were two stories with front porches—some screened-in, some open-air—but each house had a distinct personality all its own. The front yards were small patches of green, cut short by the sidewalk, a sidewalk rippled in places by the roots of the large maple trees that lined both sides of the street.
As Angie walked toward town later that morning, she remembered the many times she’d ridden her bicycle along this tree-shaded thoroughfare or skated down this sidewalk, trying her best to avoid the cracks and breaks in the cement. Terri Sampson—her last name had been Moser then—had lived across the street, and she and Angie had been inseparable. They’d had camp outs and slumber parties. They’d gone swimming together and ridden horses together and, as crazy teenagers, skipped school together. And they’d pulled more pranks on unsuspecting family members and friends than either of them could count.
Angie smiled at the memories.
“Angie Hunter? Is that you?”
She halted and looked toward the street. A white Jeep had stopped, and the driver, an attractive woman with short brown hair, leaned out the window, grinning broadly. She looked familiar but…
“It’s Cathy Lambert, used to be Cathy Foster.”
“Cathy Foster?” Angie echoed. “Good grief. I don’t believe it.” She walked toward the Jeep. “How long has it been?”
“Since high school graduation. Why don’t you come to the class reunions?”
Angie shrugged but ignored the question. “Are you visiting your folks?”
“No, my husband and I live here now.” Cathy cut the engine, obviously unconcerned about interrupting traffic by parking in the middle of the street.
“You moved back to Hart’s Crossing? But I heard you were living in the east somewhere. Boston, wasn’t it?”
“No, Philadelphia. That’s where my husband is from. But with our kids getting older, I convinced Clay to give my hometown a try. It’s a better environment for raising a family.”
Angie supposed she should know Cathy had children. Her mother had probably told her when each one was born.
“So what finally brought you for a visit, Angie?”
“Mom’s having surgery. I’m going to look after her for a couple of months.”
“A couple months? But that’s wonderful. Clay and I will have you over for a barbecue. I’d love for you to meet him and the kids. Cait’s a young woman at fifteen and Cassidy just turned thirteen. I told Cory he doesn’t get to grow up as fast as his sisters have.”
Clay. Cait. Cassidy. Cory. Angie’s head was swimming. “And how old is Cory?”
“Seven, and he’s all boy.” Cathy glanced at her wristwatch. “Oh no. I’m going to be late for my next appointment. Gotta run.” She started the Jeep. “I’ll give you a call at your mom’s.”
Angie stepped back, and Cathy drove away, waving out the window as she went.
* * *
“Cathy and her husband are dentists,” Terri told Angie as they settled into a booth at the Over the Rainbow Diner. “But you knew that, right? When they moved to Hart’s Crossing, they built a new office right next to the medical clinic. Sawtooth Dentistry.” She laughed. “They named it after the mountain range, but I still think it sounds funny.”
“She’s the last person I thought would move back to Hart’s Crossing.”
“No, Ang. You’re the last person anybody’d think that of.” Terri leaned forward, her smile fading. “But I’d love to see it happen. How about it? Aren’t you ready to give up that crazy career of yours and settle down? Get married and have a family like the rest of us?”
“It’s tough to get married if I can’t find the right guy.”
“Have you been looking?”
Angie raised an eyebrow. “Have you?”
Terri simply smiled again. “You bet I’m looking.”
“After what Vic did to you, I wouldn’t think you’d ever want—”
Terri touched the back of Angie’s hand, then shook her head.
“Sorry,” Angie said softly.
“Remember that old Osmond tune, ‘One Bad Apple’? Well, it’s true, Ang. One bad apple doesn’t spoil the whole bunch. Vic was Vic. He cheated on me, and it hurt when he left us.” Terri gave her head another slow shake. “It hurts even more that he hasn’t made any effort to contact Lyssa in over six years.” She leaned toward Angie. “But the Lord’s looking out for us. I hope I can find the right guy, the one God means for me to marry. One day, I hope Prince Charming will ride into town and sweep me off my feet.” She grinned. “There. I said it. I’m a romantic. Go on and make fun of me.”
Angie didn’t feel like making fun of her friend. In fact, she felt somewhat envious of Terri’s hopes for the future, although she wouldn’t admit it aloud. Thankfully, Nancy Raney arrived, putting an end to their conversation.
“How are you girls?” Nancy slipped an order pad and pen from the pocket of her pastel-striped apron. Then to Angie, she said, “Real nice to see you back in town.”
“Thanks, Nancy.”
“You two know what you want?”
“I’ll have a cheeseburger,” Terri answered. “With fries and a Diet Coke.”
“Sounds good.” Angie knew she’d regret it next time she got on the scales. But hey, she didn’t have a job—or a man—to stay thin for. “Make mine the same, with a slice of lemon in the Diet Coke.”
“Gotcha. I’ll bring your drinks right out.” Nancy turned and headed for the kitchen.
“So,” Terri said, “how will that paper survive without you for the next eight weeks?”
Angie shredded the edge of her paper napkin. “They’ll have to do it for longer than that.” She glanced up. “I quit last week.”
Terri’s eyes widened. “You quit?”
“Yeah.”
“Your mom didn’t say a word.”
“Mom doesn’t know. I haven’t told her. She thinks I’m using up some of my vacation.” Angie shrugged. “It’s sort of the truth. I am drawing my vacation pay. I had a lot of time saved up.”
“Wow. I don’t know what to say. I’m shocked.”
“Me, too. I haven’t been unemployed since I was a teenager.”
“Well, at least now you can stay in Hart’s Crossing a little longer. Take some time to relax a bit. Hey, maybe you could stay for good.”
“Stay?” Angie leaned her back against the upholstered booth. “And do what? What would I do around here for employment?”
“I don’t know. Get a job reporting for the Press. Write that novel you used to talk about all the time. Flip burgers at the drive-in if you had to.”
“Very funny.”
Terri’s voice softened. “I wasn’t trying to be funny. Give it some thought, will you? You belong here. I don’t think you’ve been truly happy since the day you moved away.”
Chapter 3
“I DON’T THINK YOU’VE been truly happy since the day you moved away.”
What an absurd thing for Terri to say. Angie had been very happy since leaving Hart’s Crossing. She’d gone to college. She’d excelled in her career. She’d experienced exciting things and seen exciting places during the years she’d worked as a foreign correspondent, and she loved absolutely everything about big city living.
Well, maybe not the traffic during commute hours, but everything else.
Well, maybe not everything else, but almost.
/> “At least I could get a skinny vanilla latte whenever I wanted one,” she muttered the next morning as she stared at the coffeemaker, impatiently waiting for the brewing cycle to end.
“What was that, dear?”
“Nothing, Mom. Just talking to myself.”
Francine Hunter chuckled. “You’re much too young for that habit.”
“Not really.”
“Perhaps it’s the writer in you. You’ve always had a creative spirit. Always had so much going on inside that head of yours. You’re like your father in that regard, and he used to talk to himself all the time.”
“Did he?” Angie filled two ceramic mugs with coffee and carried them to the table, setting one in front of her mother. “There you go.”
“Thanks, dear.” Her mother added a spoonful of sugar and stirred it. “What’s on your agenda for the day?”
“I’m not sure. I guess I’ll do some work on the Internet if you don’t mind me tying up the phone line for a while.” She tapped a fingernail against the tabletop. “Maybe I should order cable service.”
“Heavens, no!” Her mother shot her a horrified look. “There’s nothing worth watching on the channels we have now. Why pay for more worthless shows?”
“I meant cable Internet service. It won’t tie up the phone line when I’m on the computer, and it’s about twenty times faster than most dial-ups.”
“Fast. Faster. Fastest. Everybody’s in such a hurry these days.” Francine took a sip of coffee. After a moment she said, “How difficult it must be for today’s generation to obey the Scripture that says, ‘Be still, and know that I am God.’ Nobody seems to know how to be still anymore. Everyone’s so busy…What’s the term that means a person’s trying to do about six things at once?”
“I think you mean multitasking.”
“Yes, that’s it. Multitasking. It’s a dreadful word, isn’t it?”
Angie opened her mouth to disagree, then closed it again. Maybe her mother was right. Maybe it was a dreadful word. Just because she’d spent the past seventeen years multitasking every part of her life didn’t mean it was a good thing.
“I don’t think you’ve been truly happy since the day you moved away.”
“Dear,” Francine said, interrupting Angie’s thoughts, “you do whatever you wish about the cable thing. I’m sure you’ll need to check in with your office occasionally, and if cable or whatever will help you, you should have it. I don’t want your stay with me to be an inconvenience to you.”
Angie couldn’t put it off any longer. This was the perfect opportunity to tell her mother that she was unemployed. “Mom…I—”
She was saved by the proverbial bell. This one, the front doorbell.
“I wonder who that could be this early in the day.” Francine rose from her chair. “Excuse me while I see.”
As she sipped her coffee, Angie wondered why she was reluctant to tell her mother she’d quit her job. For that matter, why was she reluctant to share much of anything about her life?
“When did we stop talking?” she whispered. Then she shook her head. “When did I stop talking?” Before she could seek an answer to those questions, her mother returned, followed by their visitor.
“Look who’s come to see you, Angie.”
Peeking around Francine’s back, Till Hart grinned, the smile deepening the creases in her wizened face. “Land sakes alive. Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes?”
Till Hart, petite and spry at seventy-five years old, was the never-married granddaughter of the town’s founding father. She was the sort of person who’d never known a stranger, especially not in Hart’s Crossing. She, in turn, was beloved by everyone who knew her.
“Miss Hart.” Angie got to her feet. She was about to offer her hand, but before she could, Till stepped forward and embraced her.
“It’s been too long since you were home.” After a second tight squeeze—the woman was surprisingly strong for one so slight in stature and advanced in years—Till released her and stepped back, searching Angie’s face with her gaze. “Too long.” She lowered her voice. “Your mother misses you, you know. Use this time well. We can never get yesterday back. Take it from someone who’s wasted a yesterday or two.”
Angie felt a sting of guilt.
Francine stepped toward the kitchen counter. “Till, would you like some coffee?”
“No, thank you, Frani. I’m out for my morning constitutional, and I mustn’t stay. I just wanted to say hello to your daughter while I was in the neighborhood.” She patted Angie’s shoulder. “You come see me, and we’ll have ourselves a nice chat.” As sweetly spoken as the words were, they seemed more command than invitation.
“I will, Miss Hart.”
“Good. Well, I’m off.” She flicked a hand in the air, half-wave, half-salute, then turned and headed for the front door, calling behind her, “Don’t forget your promise, Angie. You come see me.” Seconds later, the front door closed behind her.
Francine chuckled as she settled onto her chair once again. “I swear, Till’s a force of nature. She’ll never change.”
Angie was strangely comforted by her mother’s comment. She didn’t want Miss Hart to change. Then she realized she was equally as comforted by the belief that her mother would never change either.
How surprising.
* * *
Terri marked off another day on the list. “That takes care of three weeks of meals for the Hunters,” she told Anne Gunn. “One more week should do it.”
Anne, the pastor’s wife, arched an eyebrow as she leaned back in her chair. “How much food do you think two women will eat? You may be over planning a bit.”
“Hmm. Maybe you’re right. As thin as Angie is, she won’t eat much, and Francine isn’t likely to have a large appetite right after surgery. Maybe I should start over, plan for meals to be delivered every other day.”
Anne nodded. “I think so.”
Terri ripped off the yellow sheet of paper from the pad and drew a new grid. Then she began rearranging the names and dates.
“I’m looking forward to meeting Angie at church on Sunday. I’ve heard a lot about her from her mother since we came to Hart’s Crossing.” Anne turned her glass of iced tea in a circle between her fingers. “John said she and Francine will drive down to Twin Falls Sunday afternoon so they can be at the hospital early Monday morning.”
“I wouldn’t count on Angie being in church, Anne.”
“Why not?”
Terri looked at the pastor’s wife. “She says religion isn’t for her.” Seeing the questions in Anne’s eyes, she gave a little shrug and set down her pen. “Lots of reasons, I suppose. Mostly, she’s too busy for God. She’s very self-sufficient and likes to be in control. Besides, she’s always thought her mom went off the deep end when we were in high school. Francine was a changed woman after she accepted Christ.”
“As we all are. Or at least we’re supposed to be.”
“Yes.” Terri nodded, remembering the moment she gave her heart to the Lord and how the whole world seemed to change in an instant. “But Francine…Well, she was determined her daughter would see the light. She sort of hit Angie over the head with the gospel on a regular basis.”
“Ah.”
“A year or so later, Angie left home for college. By then, she’d closed her mind to anything her mom said about her faith. It’s created a tension between them ever since.” She picked up her pen again. “I keep praying Angie will come to understand that Christianity isn’t about a religion but about a relationship with Jesus. The same way I did.” She smiled. “No doubt she thinks I went off the deep end, too.”
Anne Gunn returned the smile. “No doubt.”
* * *
While Angie was at the market, buying a few grocery and sundry items, Francine climbed the stairs slowly, carrying a stack of folded towels in her arms. After placing them in the linen closet in the upstairs bathroom, she went to Angie’s bedroom, pausing in the open doorway. The room was tidy, the
bed made, the desk and dresser tops free of clutter. In truth, there was little evidence anyone was staying in the room except for the suitcases tucked underneath the bed, peeking from beneath the pink and white gingham bed skirt.
Of course, her daughter’s room hadn’t always been this neat. Angie had been a typical teenager in most regards. Posters on the walls. Loud music blaring from her stereo or boom box or whatever the kids had called them in those days. Clothes scattered on the floor, despite Francine’s relentless nagging.
She sighed as her thoughts drifted back through time, back before Angie’s teenage years, back to when Francine’s husband was still living and their daughter was carefree. They’d been a happy family, signs of affection displayed frequently and for all to see. And Angie had been such a delightful child.
Things had begun to change with Angie following Ned’s death, but Francine didn’t know how much of what went on had been the norm for teenagers and how much had been in reaction to losing her dad.
Thank you, Lord, for the years of love Angie and I shared with her father. Now please help Angie catch a glimpse of you in these weeks she’s at home with me.
She turned away from the bedroom and started down the stairs, holding onto the handrail as she went.
And Lord, if it wouldn’t be asking too much, I would so love to see her happily married and providing me a grandchild or two.
Chapter 4
ON THURSDAY, ANGIE PHONED in the order for a cable Internet connection. The installer would come out the next morning to do the wiring, she was told. This surprised her. She’d expected to have to wait a week or more.
Excited by the prospect of being able to start her job hunt earlier than anticipated, she set up her laptop and portable printer on the desk in her bedroom, the one she’d used in high school. Oh, the things that old desk had seen. Many a night she’d opened her diary and poured out her dreams onto its pages, writing in bold, bright colors. She’d written about places she wanted to visit and things she wanted to accomplish. She’d even written about the sort of man she would one day marry.
Home to Hart's Crossing (4-in-1 Edition) Page 2
