Home to Hart's Crossing (4-in-1 Edition)

by Robin Lee Hatcher

  Why is that, Lord? What is it that drives her need to control every detail of her life? And why is she so alone?

  An ache for her daughter overwhelmed Francine, and her vision suddenly blurred. She was thankful the others were too busy with their sewing to notice her tears.

  Oh Father, Angie needs you more than she needs control. How can I help her see that?

  Chapter 6

  SATURDAY MORNING WAS COOL and blustery, but the Little Leaguers were troupers. They all showed up for their regularly scheduled games with the visiting teams.

  “Strike ’em out, Lyssa!” Terri shouted from her place on the sidelines.

  Her daughter didn’t seem to hear. Lyssa stared hard at the batter as she tugged on the brim of her baseball cap. She drew her arms in close to her chest, preparing for the pitch. Then she delivered a fastball. The batter swung…and missed.

  “Way to go, Lyssa!” Terri jumped from her lawn chair, whistling through her teeth.

  “Terri Sampson, that sound could shatter glass.”

  Terri turned to see Angie, a blanket draped over her arms, step up beside her chair. “You came!”

  “Yes,” Angie grumbled, “but I don’t know how you talked me into it. It’s cold out here.”

  “Pansy.” Terri grinned as she returned her attention to the pitcher’s mound. “Shh. Lyssa’s getting ready to pitch again.”

  The windup.

  The pitch.

  Strike three.

  End of inning.

  Terri whistled and shouted and made a general idiot of herself.

  “I never knew you liked baseball this much,” Angie said when they were finally seated, Terri in her lawn chair, Angie on her blanket.

  “I never used to. But I like whatever Lyssa likes, and she loves baseball. Her dream is to play in the Little League World Series.”

  “That’s a big dream.”

  Terri nodded. “Yeah. Don’t I know it.”

  “Aren’t you afraid she’ll be hurt if she doesn’t make it?”

  “Oh, sure. No mother wants her child to be disappointed. But life is often hard. I wouldn’t do Lyssa any favor by trying to protect her from it. And everybody should have dreams for their future.” Terri looked at Angie. “As long as Lyssa learns to trust Jesus and wants what he wants more than anything else, she’ll be okay. Besides, God’s willing and able to take every hurt and turn it to good in her life if she follows him.”

  Angie stared at Terri for several moments, then gazed toward the ball field.

  Terri didn’t intrude on her friend’s silence. She suspected there was a great deal going on inside that pretty head.

  * * *

  What was with all this God talk? Angie wondered. First her mother, now Terri. The things they said and the way they said it made their faith seem more than a religious crutch for old ladies and little children. Their faith seemed…intimate and personal.

  Worse yet, listening to them made her feel as if they had something she didn’t have—which was ridiculous. Angie had more money in her savings, checking, and 401k accounts than her parents had made in their lifetime. She had a college degree and a resume that spelled success. Her monthly mortgage payment was probably more than Terri made in two months in her salon. Angie might not be rich, but she certainly was able to afford the things she wanted. Even now—when she was unemployed—she was far better off than most folks in Hart’s Crossing.

  And yet…

  A shout went up from the crowd. Angie looked to her left to see Terri hopping up and down, waving her arms and screaming. A quick glance at the ball field explained why. Lyssa had hit a home run.

  Oh, the joy on that little girl’s face as she rounded the bases and ran toward home plate. In that moment, Angie envied Terri more than she could express.

  * * *

  The Hart’s Crossing Cavaliers—along with their parents, grandparents, friends, and supporters—jammed the tables and booths of the diner on Main Street to celebrate their victory over their long-standing rival, the Rebel Creek Warriors. The noise level was almost deafening, and Angie wondered how she could gracefully escape without hurting Terri’s or Lyssa’s feelings.

  “Mind if I join you?” a deep male voice asked.

  Angie barely had a chance to see who was standing in the aisle before Bill Palmer slid into the booth beside her.

  “Quite the game.” He leaned across the table toward Lyssa. “Congratulations, champ. Anything you want to say to your fans for the next edition of the paper?”

  Grinning, the girl answered, “I’m real proud of the Cavaliers. They played their hearts out today, and the whole team made this win happen. I’m real proud to be one of ’em.”

  Bill’s gaze moved to Terri. “Have you been coaching her on what to say to the press?”

  “No.” Terri draped an arm around Lyssa’s shoulders and gave her a hug. “But she watches ESPN. She knows how the sports stars reply in those after-game interviews.”

  Bill looked at Angie again. His brown eyes seemed enormous, sitting as close as he was, and his smile was completely disarming. “I’ll bet Little League baseball wasn’t something you covered for your paper.”

  “No. Never.”

  Bill frowned as he touched his right earlobe. “It’s noisy in here.”

  Angie nodded.

  “Did you want to order anything?”

  She shook her head.

  “Want to get out of here?”

  She hesitated an instant before nodding again.

  Bill looked across the table at Terri. “Mind if I steal her?”

  “No. It’s okay. We’re going to go soon anyway.” To Angie, Terri said, “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  Bill slipped from the booth and held out a hand to help Angie do the same. Her heart pattered like a silly schoolgirl’s as she accepted his hand.

  It took them several minutes to make their way to the door, what with all the back-slapping and self-congratulating and high-fiving over the day’s win over the Warriors. Angie also noticed a few curious looks, warning her that she and Bill would be the subject of gossip and speculation before morning.

  The silence outside the diner was most welcome after the clamor inside. Angie and Bill stopped on the sidewalk and drew in deep breaths in unison. Realizing what they’d done, they both laughed.

  “I’m getting too old for that kind of racket,” Bill said.

  “You’re not old.” Nobody old looked like Bill Palmer, Angie thought. “Not even close.”

  “I’m knocking on forty’s door. Remember what we thought of that age when we were twenty?”

  “Forty isn’t old.”

  “I hope not.” He motioned with his hand to indicate they should start walking. “There’s still a few things I’d like to do before I’m officially over the hill.”

  “Like what?”

  “Get married and have a family, for one. Travel abroad. I’ve always wanted to go to Ireland. And I’d like to try my hand at writing the great American novel.”

  Angie smiled. “I toyed with the idea of writing a novel once.”

  “What stopped you?”

  “Never enough time.” She shrugged. “Too busy with a real job, I guess. You know how it is.”

  “Used to, but I’m learning the importance of focusing my life better. While there’s lots of good things I can do, not all of them are part of God’s plan for me. I’m trying to discern what those plans are.”

  More God talk. It seemed she couldn’t escape it. Not even from Bill.

  Dave Coble, the chief of police, drove toward them on Main Street in his white car with the HCPD seal on the doors. As he passed them, he leaned close to the open window. “Some victory, wasn’t it?”

  “Sure was,” Bill called back.

  All this fuss over a kids’ baseball game. It boggled the mind. But it was a good opportunity to change the subject.

  “Speaking of real jobs, Bill, you haven’t heard of any openings for a city editor, have you?”


  He gave her a long look before asking, “In a hurry to leave us already?”

  “Not a hurry, actually.” She had butterflies in her stomach again. “I promised Mom I’d stay with her for the next eight weeks. She should be well on her way to full recovery by the end of that time, and it would be nice to know where I’ll be living when I leave. After all, I’ll need to sell my house and ship my furniture somewhere.”

  “Hmm. Eight weeks.” His smile came slowly. “Who knows what could happen in eight weeks?”

  Her mouth went dry, and those butterflies in her stomach turned into stampeding elephants.

  “Who knows?” she echoed in a whisper—completely forgetting what they’d been talking about.

  Chapter 7

  THERE WAS SOMETHING UNNERVING about seeing her mother in a hospital bed.

  Watching as a nurse checked the IV in Francine’s arm, Angie realized she couldn’t recall a time in her life when her mother had been sick, beyond the occasional cold. Francine Hunter had always enjoyed a robust good health, but now she looked vulnerable, even frail.

  “Knock, knock.” John Gunn poked his head into the room. “Are you receiving visitors this morning?”

  Francine’s smile revealed genuine gladness. “Oh, Pastor John. Do come in. I didn’t expect to see you today. You didn’t have to drive all the way down here.”

  “I know, but I wanted to. I thought you might like prayer before they take you to surgery.” He glanced toward the chair in the corner where Angie sat. “Good to see you again.”

  Angie nodded as she rose to her feet. “And you.” She was grateful he hadn’t mentioned her absence from church yesterday. She’d already felt her mother’s disappointment over it.

  John walked to the side of the hospital bed. He patted the back of Francine’s right hand, where it lay atop the thin white blanket. “Are you feeling anxious, my friend?”

  “A little.”

  “Remember what the Scriptures tell us, Francine. Jesus healed the sick and fulfilled the word of the Lord through Isaiah, who said, ‘He took our sicknesses and removed our diseases.’”

  Angie’s mother visibly relaxed.

  “Let’s pray, shall we?” John looked at Angie again. “Care to join us?”

  Even as she was about to shake her head in refusal, Angie stepped toward the opposite side of the hospital bed. She did her best not to look surprised by her own actions as she took hold of her mother’s left hand.

  The pastor’s voice was gentle as he prayed, and yet there was something powerful—and mysterious—in the words he spoke. Angie felt them wash over, through, and around her. They shook her in an odd yet comforting way.

  “Amen,” John said at last, and Angie’s mother echoed with a softer, “Amen.”

  Before Angie could form the word, a nurse announced from the doorway, “We’re ready for you now, Mrs. Hunter.”

  Angie opened her eyes and met her mother’s gaze. “I’ll be right here when you get back.” She bent down and kissed her on the forehead. “I…I love you, Mom.”

  “I love you, too, dear. Don’t worry about a thing.” Her expression was serene. “The Lord holds me in the palm of his hand.”

  Angie stepped backward, out of the way of the orderlies. A minute or so later, she felt a lump forming in her throat as her mother was wheeled from the room. She wished she’d said she loved her one more time.

  “If you’ll come with me,” the nurse said, glancing between Angie and the pastor, “I’ll show you where the waiting room is.”

  * * *

  Snail-like, the minute hand inched its way with agonizing slowness around the large, white-faced clock in the waiting area. The tick-tick-tick of the sweep second hand pounded in Angie’s head like a sledgehammer.

  Right around the moment Angie thought she might start screaming, Anne Gunn and Terri arrived. Anne went to sit beside her husband. Terri sat down next to Angie.

  “Thanks for coming,” Angie whispered.

  Terri gave her an understanding nod as she took hold of her hand and squeezed gently.

  “It seems like it’s taking forever.”

  “I know. But she’s going to be fine.” Terri brushed some loose strands of hair away from Angie’s face, the same way Angie had seen her do with Lyssa. “If your mother follows the doctor’s orders and takes care of herself the way she’s supposed to, this new knee will allow her to do things she hasn’t been able to do in a long while. And she’ll be able to do them without the constant pain.”

  Angie felt a stab of shame, realizing she had no idea what her mother hadn’t been able to do because of pain. Why hadn’t she asked? If not when she’d first heard her mother needed surgery, at least since she’d arrived in Idaho.

  Unfortunately, she knew the answer to those questions. Prior to returning to Hart’s Crossing for this temporary stay, she’d been too busy with her career to think of anyone else. Since her arrival, she’d been too busy wondering what her next job would be.

  Me, me, me. My, my, my. Have I always been this self-absorbed?

  “Angie?”

  Pulled from her unpleasant thoughts, she looked at Terri.

  “Did you get to talk with your mother’s surgeon this morning?”

  Angie shook her head. “The nurse said he’d see me afterward.” She glanced toward the waiting room doorway, then back at Terri. “I should have insisted on a consultation with him last week. I should have asked him a lot of questions.”

  “Don’t worry. Your mom says he’s by far the best knee surgeon in the area.”

  Angie was tempted to ask if that was a good enough recommendation. It wasn’t as if this were a big city where a person had hundreds of qualified surgeons to choose from. Maybe she should have insisted her mother come to California for a consultation and surgery. Why hadn’t she thought of that before?

  “Harry Raney had knee surgery two or three years ago,” Terri continued, “and he said it gave him a whole new lease on life.”

  “Harry’s a good twenty years younger than Mom.”

  “Speak of the dickens, look who’s here. Harry and Nancy. And they’ve brought Bill and Miss Hart with them.”

  Angie was both surprised and comforted by the presence of the newcomers. She’d expected to be alone in the waiting room this morning, and instead she was surrounded by people who knew and loved her mother.

  Nancy Raney sent a little wave in Angie’s direction as she and her husband went to sit near the Gunns.

  “Is Frani still in surgery?” Till asked as she approached Angie.

  “Yes. I thought I would have heard something by now but—”

  “Don’t worry that pretty head of yours.” The older woman patted Angie’s cheek. “Our church’s prayer chain has been storming the gates of heaven on your mother’s behalf for weeks and especially this morning.”

  “Thanks,” Angie answered, emotions rising in her chest and making her voice sound strange in her own ears.

  “Here, Miss Hart.” Terri indicated the chair on her left. “Sit beside me.”

  “I think I’ll do just that. Then you can tell me all about the game on Saturday. I’m so sorry I missed it. I hear Lyssa was the hero of the day.”

  Angie watched Till Hart settle next to Terri, then turned to look toward the entrance again, just in case the doctor had come while she was distracted. Instead, she found Bill Palmer standing before her.

  “How are you doing?” he asked tenderly.

  “Okay.” She felt the threat of tears. “I didn’t know you’d be here.”

  He gave a little shrug, accompanied by an apologetic grin. “It was a slow news day.”

  A week ago, she would have said every day was a slow news day in Hart’s Crossing. But now…now she appreciated the thoughtfulness of his sacrifice. Even a small town paper made demands on an editor.

  She wondered who among the people she knew in California would do the same for her if she were having surgery? Who would gather to sit in the waiting room the wa
y these people had gathered to wait for news of her mother? Not a soul she could think of.

  “Miss Hunter?”

  “Yes?” Angie was on her feet as soon as she heard the authoritative, no-nonsense voice, knowing instantly it had to be Dr. Nesbitt, her mother’s orthopedic surgeon. He stood in the waiting room doorway—a man in his fifties with a square jaw and close-cropped blond hair—still wearing his hospital scrubs. She hurried across the room.

  Before she could open her mouth to ask her first question, he answered it. “Everything went well. No surprises. Your mother is in recovery now.”

  “When can I see her?”

  Dr. Nesbitt gave her a half smile. “The nurse will come for you as soon as your mother’s alert and ready for visitors.” After a brief pause, he proceeded to explain a little more about the procedure, how long her mother was expected to remain in the hospital, and then what Angie should expect once her mother’s rehabilitation began. When he was finished, he asked, “Now, do you have any questions for me?”

  Angie shook her head. “I don’t think so. I think you told me everything I wanted to know.”

  “Good.” He shook her hand. “Don’t worry. It shouldn’t be long before the nurse comes for you.”

  As Dr. Nesbitt walked away, Angie wondered if his definition of long was the same as hers.

  Terri came to stand beside her. “I told you everything would be fine.”

  “Yeah. You did.” She felt almost giddy with relief as she turned toward the others in the waiting room. “Mom’s okay. The surgery went fine.”

  “Wonderful,” Till Hart said.

  “Thank the Lord,” John Gunn added.

  Everyone smiled, and Angie felt their love for her mother spill over onto her.

  Chapter 8

  FOR THE ENTIRE WEEK Angie’s mother was in the hospital, a stream of daily visitors made the drive down from Hart’s Crossing to Twin Falls. In no time at all, cards, flowers, and balloons filled Francine’s room, so many gifts that she soon shared them with others in the hospital. Whenever her mother was taken to physical therapy or for some test or another, there was someone from Hart’s Crossing ready to accompany Angie to the cafeteria for a bite to eat or another cup of coffee. And there was always someone ready to tell another story about the Frani they knew and loved.