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

by Robin Lee Hatcher

  I had lunch today with two old friends. I haven’t seen either of them in more than twenty years. Even when your grandmother was still living in Hart’s Crossing, our paths didn’t cross much. As you might guess, we had a lot of catching up to do. We did a fair share of reminiscing about the “good old days.”

  I’d planned to go to a movie later today, but I was invited to see the local high school football team—the Hart’s Crossing Hornets—play against one of its biggest rivals, the Sawtooth Pioneers. (They were rivals fifty years ago, too. Some things never change.) Since the weather is good, I thought I’d do that. Go, Hornets!

  I’ll call you soon.

  Love, Dad

  * * *

  Stephanie was not a huge fan of football, but she was a huge fan of her grandson, Foster. This was his first at-home game as part of the senior varsity football team. There was no way she would miss seeing him play today, short of a blizzard in September. Judging by the clear blue sky overhead and the warm breeze rustling the trees in her front yard, she needn’t fear snow.

  When the doorbell rang a few minutes before noon, Stephanie grabbed her jacket, lap blanket, and purse on her way to answer it.

  The door opened before she got there. “It’s me, Grandma,” Isabella called. “Are you ready?”

  “I’m ready, dear.” She received her seventeen-year-old granddaughter’s quick hug and peck on the cheek. “Are your parents with you?”

  “No. Mom had some work to do at the office. She said she’ll meet us at the school before the game starts, but I wouldn’t bet on it. You know how she forgets everything else when she’s working.” She gave a little shrug, as if denying the disappointment in her voice. “Dad’s helping with the concessions, so he went early with Foster.”

  Stephanie and Isabella stepped onto the porch, and Stephanie pulled the front door closed behind her, pausing to be sure it was locked.

  “I like your jogging suit, Grandma. That blue matches your eyes. Where’d you get it?”

  “From the Coldwater Creek catalog.”

  They walked to the curb, where Isabella had parked her Subaru Outback.

  “Dear,” Stephanie said as she opened the passenger side door, “I hope you don’t mind, but I offered to pick up an old friend of mine. He’s just returned to Hart’s Crossing, and I invited him to come see Foster play.”

  “No trouble.” Isabella slipped into the driver’s seat. “Where does he live?”

  “On Horizon Street.”

  “I can get there off of Pine, right?”

  “Yes.” Stephanie fastened her seat belt. “That would be the best route to take.”

  Isabella turned the key in the ignition, glanced over her left shoulder, then pulled away from the curb. A responsible driver—at least when her grandmother was in the car—she drove slowly through a neighborhood filled with large trees, green lawns, and two-story homes, most of them seventy or more years old.

  “Who’s this friend of yours, Grandma?”

  “His name is James Scott. We went to school together when we were children.”

  “The name doesn’t sound familiar. Do I know him?”

  “No. James left Hart’s Crossing a year before I married your grandfather.”

  Isabella cast her a surprised glance. “He’s been gone that long? What made him come back here of all places?”

  “He felt it’s where God wants him.”

  Isabella didn’t respond to that, and Stephanie didn’t expect her to. She knew her granddaughter was going through a questioning phase, wondering as she began her senior year in high school what God wanted her to do with her future. She supposed Isabella would be surprised to learn the elderly also pray for God to show them what to do with their lives.

  A few minutes later, they pulled to a stop near the curb in front of the house at 2240 Horizon Street.

  As they stopped, Stephanie recalled another time when she’d sat in a car in front of the Scott home. It was a sunny day, much like this one, only in the spring. Instead of a midsize Subaru, that car was a 1948 Chevrolet Fleetmaster, better known as a “Woody.” And unlike today, Stephanie wasn’t happy.

  “You didn’t have to join the army, Jimmy.” She choked back tears. “What about college?”

  “That’s why I joined, Steph. It’ll help pay for college when I get out. You know Mom can’t afford to send me, and since I didn’t get that football scholarship, this is the only way I can get to college.”

  “But what if you’re sent to Korea?”

  He put his arm around her shoulders. “I probably will be, but I’ll be okay. I don’t plan to get hurt.” He gave her a cocky grin.

  Stephanie wanted to hit him. “Nobody plans to get hurt, Jimmy. Sometimes it just happens. Sometimes soldiers die.” Right then, she felt like she might die, too.

  “Hey. You know me. I’m tough. And I’ve got to come back for my best girl, don’t I?”

  She let her tears fall then, crying her heart out, and Jimmy held her close as he promised again and again that he would be okay.

  He was right about that. James wasn’t injured in Korea. But neither did he return to Hart’s Crossing for Stephanie. By the time he got out of the military, things had changed for them both.

  Stephanie couldn’t help thinking that life was made more interesting by the different twists and turns it took along the way.

  The door to the screened-in porch opened, and James stepped into view. He waved at her, then came down the four steps and walked briskly toward the car.

  Stephanie pressed the button to lower her window. “Hello, James. Isn’t it a beautiful day?”

  “It certainly is.” He opened the rear door and folded himself into the compact area behind Stephanie.

  “This is my granddaughter, Isabella. Isabella, this is Mr. Scott.”

  “Hey, Mr. Scott.” Isabella put the car in gear.

  “A pleasure to meet you, young lady. Thanks for the lift.”

  “Any time for a friend of my grandma.”

  * * *

  “Isabella looks like you,” James told Stephanie half an hour later as they sat, side by side, on the metal bleachers, with stadium seats supporting their backs.

  Stephanie’s smile told him she was pleased by his observation.

  “And she’s got that same charisma you had at that age.”

  That comment made her blush.

  “Does your grandson look like you, too?”

  She laughed, a pretty sound. “Heavens, no. He’s the spitting image of his father. Only taller. Very tall for a boy his age. He turned sixteen this month.”

  “What position does he play?”

  “Halfback. No, wait. Maybe he’s a fullback. Oh, dear. I can never keep those positions straight. I was never much on football.”

  “I remember.” And he did. Back when they were in school, she only went to the games because he was on the team, and even then, she went reluctantly. Stephanie had much preferred the theater arts and music to sports.

  The high school band struck up a rousing chorus of the school song as it marched into view. It wasn’t a large band, but the kids played with enthusiasm. Right after the band came the visiting team. Across the field, the fans of the Pioneers gave shouts of encouragement.

  The noise level shot up several decibels when the Hornets, wearing the school colors of black and gold, ran onto the field. Parents and students jumped to their feet, cheering and waving signs, flags, and banners. The Hart’s Crossing cheerleaders jumped and flipped and shook their pom-poms.

  “Which one is your grandson?” James shouted above the din.

  Stephanie hesitated a moment, her gaze moving down the line of players who stood on the opposite side of the field. Then she pointed. “There he is. Number 32.”

  James squinted. His eyesight was good for a man his age, but the width of a football field made reading the numbers on the football jerseys a challenge. When he finally found the boy, he nodded. “You’re right. He is a tall drink of water.�
��

  She beamed with a grandmother’s pride, and James couldn’t help thinking she was the prettiest woman in the stadium.

  Chapter 4

  FOR MORE THAN TWO decades, James and Martha Scott had attended a thriving interdenominational church on the east side of Puget Sound. The last James heard, the membership had grown to well over three thousand.

  Back when his wife’s health began to fail and the long drive to church each Sunday became impossible, members of the congregation had come to them, bringing love, comfort, prayers, and meals. And they’d kept coming, through the long days, weeks, and months of her illness, through the many hospitalizations, through her death and the funeral, and through James’s time of mourning.

  Leaving that godly family was the most difficult part of his move from Washington.

  As the congregation of Hart’s Crossing Community Church sang the last stanza of “O for a Thousand Tongues to Sing,” James couldn’t help thinking what a contrast this much smaller body of believers was to his former church. Yet the same Spirit was unmistakably present here. What an awesome thing that was, to know, no matter where James went, the Lord was there before him.

  While he missed the electric keyboard, guitars, drums, and contemporary music of his former church—a surprising admission, perhaps, for a man of his age—James found no fault with the sermon delivered by John Gunn. The pastor’s teaching from the book of Romans was direct and passionate. James knew he’d be glad to hear this young man preach many a sermon.

  He glanced at Stephanie, seated on his right. She looked lovely in that blue and white outfit of hers. Very becoming.

  Till Hart was the one who’d invited James to come to Hart’s Crossing Community this morning. When he arrived at the church, he looked around the sanctuary for her but didn’t find her. Seeing Stephanie, it seemed a natural choice to sit beside her.

  And why shouldn’t he feel that way? They were friends. Longtime friends.

  After another hymn and a benediction, the service ended. The sanctuary grew noisy, people visiting with one another as they dispersed.

  John Gunn strode to the end of the pew where James stood. “You must be Mr. Scott.” He held out a hand of welcome.

  “Guilty as charged.”

  “Miss Hart told us you might visit today. We hope you’ll return.”

  “I will. It was a good service.”

  The pastor motioned to an attractive woman on the opposite side of the sanctuary. As she drew closer, he confirmed what James suspected. “This is my wife, Anne Gunn. Anne, I’d like you to meet James Scott. He grew up in Hart’s Crossing but has lived in Washington for many years. Isn’t that what I heard? Washington State.”

  “Yes, that’s right. In the Seattle area.”

  Anne shook his hand as her husband had moments before. “Welcome, Mr. Scott.”

  “Thanks. It’s good to be here.”

  They visited for a few minutes until James sensed Stephanie moving away from him toward the opposite end of the pew. As politely and quickly as he could, he brought the conversation with John and Anne Gunn to a close with a promise to return the next Sunday. Then he retrieved his well-worn Bible from the pew and followed after Stephanie.

  He caught up with her outside. “Steph.”

  She turned toward him.

  Until that moment, he hadn’t known what he intended to say. “I was wondering if you might have lunch with me. We could drive up to the resort, if you’d like. It would be my way of thanking you for the delightful time I had yesterday at the game.”

  She hesitated a moment before she gave her head a slow shake. “I’m sorry, James. My lunch is already cooking in the crock-pot.”

  “Oh.” He was surprised by the disappointment her refusal caused. “Well, another time then.”

  She touched his forearm with her fingertips before he could move away. “Perhaps you’d like to join me at my place. The food won’t be as fancy as what the lodge at Timber Creek serves, but it’s nutritious.”

  His disappointment was gone in a flash. “If you’re sure I wouldn’t be intruding.”

  “I wouldn’t have asked if that were the case.” Her smile was as light and lovely as the Indian summer day.

  James’s old ticker beat like a set of bongos. “Then I’ll be glad to come. When should I be there?”

  “You may come now, if you like.”

  He would like. He would like it a lot.

  * * *

  The pot roast and vegetables that simmered in the crock-pot would normally provide four meals for Stephanie. But men usually had bigger appetites, James included if that Scarecrow burger he’d devoured on Friday was any indication.

  “Please make yourself at home,” she told him as they entered her house. “I’ll just be a few minutes.”

  She went into her bedroom and changed from her Sunday attire into a pink cotton blouse and a pair of comfortable denim slacks. A quick glance at the full length mirror told her she’d added a few pounds over the summer. She would have to do something about that. Why did weight maintenance become so difficult as one grew older?

  Never mind. Diets were best begun on Mondays. This was Sunday, and she had a guest waiting for her in the living room.

  Not just any guest either. An old friend, one who was feeling lonely after his return to his hometown. She’d seen his loneliness in his eyes when she declined his invitation to dine at the resort. That was why she’d asked him to join her here, one old friend helping another.

  “Can I get you anything to drink?” she called to James on her way to the kitchen.

  “No, thanks.” He appeared in the doorway. “I’d like to help. Why don’t I set the table?”

  There was something special, something intimate, about his offer, and her heart fluttered in response. “Okay.” She motioned toward the sideboard. “You’ll find napkins and the silverware in there.”

  “I like the way you’ve decorated the kitchen. This pale shade of green is very restful on the eyes.”

  Stephanie laughed softly as she lifted the lid of the crock-pot.

  “What?”

  She glanced over her shoulder, meeting his gaze. “Oh, I just thought of how Chuck wouldn’t have noticed if I’d painted the walls with red and white stripes. He could be terribly obtuse at times.” Odd, the way some things that were irritating about a loved one when they were with you became the very things you missed the most after they were gone.

  Unexpected tears stung her eyes, and she glanced away, not wanting James to see them.

  There was tender understanding in his voice as he said, “We’re two lucky people, you and I. We both had good, long marriages.”

  Stephanie wiped her eyes with the hem of her apron. “I don’t believe in luck. Making a marriage last fifty years takes God’s blessing, plenty of faith and love, and even more grit and determination.” She turned and offered James a tremulous smile. “But you know that as well as I do.”

  He nodded. “Yes, I do.”

  James returned to his table-setting duties. Stephanie suspected he was giving her time to collect her emotions, and she was grateful.

  A short while later, with their food on the table, James pulled out a chair for her.

  “Thank you, James.”

  “My pleasure. And I’m the one who needs to say thanks. This is much nicer than eating by myself.” He sat opposite her.

  “Would you like to say the blessing?”

  “I’d be honored.” He bowed his head.

  Stephanie listened to his prayer and, when he was done, echoed his amen. Eyes open, again, she motioned toward the platter of food in the center of the small kitchen table. “Please. Help yourself.”

  As he did so, he said, “Pastor Gunn preached an excellent sermon this morning.”

  “He’s a gifted teacher. We’re fortunate to have him. Although I must admit I wasn’t so sure when he first came to us. He’s so young. Not yet forty.”

  James chuckled. “Amazing, isn’t it? How for
ty became young. Remember the sixties when it was ‘don’t trust anyone over thirty.’ I’m thinking eighty looks pretty good these days.”

  She nodded. It was true. In her mind, she was young, still ready and able to conquer the world. Her body, however, was headed downhill fast. There were times when she caught a glimpse of her reflection in the mirror and wondered who it was. Not her, certainly.

  “Steph, I’m curious about something. Do you ever regret not leaving Hart’s Crossing?”

  She pondered the question, testing her feelings. “No. Not really. I’ve always been happy here. There are drawbacks to small town life, of course, but there are advantages, too. We know our next-door neighbors, and we never have to fight rush-hour traffic. Chuck had a good job with the county highway district. They hired him in 1955, and he worked there until he retired. Not many people stay with the same company for that long these days.”

  “No, indeed.”

  “At least twice a year, Chuck took me to Boise or Salt Lake for the weekend so we could see a play or the opera. He called it my biannual culture fix. Once he took me to New York City for an entire week. We saw five Broadway shows. It was heaven.”

  “You always were passionate about the theater.”

  She felt a rush of pleasure that James remembered that about her.

  “You were a good actress, too. I wouldn’t have been surprised to learn you were a famous performer on Broadway or a movie star.”

  Stephanie laughed softly, denying his comment with a shake of her head, even though acting on Broadway had been her dream, once upon a time and long, long ago.

  James’s gaze was gentle, and although he didn’t laugh aloud, she knew he enjoyed the shared memories as much as she did. Then, ever so slowly, his smile faded. His eyes narrowed, and his brows drew together in concentration.

  After a long silence, he said, “Sometimes I wonder what would’ve happened to us if I hadn’t joined the army.”

  Stephanie’s heart skipped a beat, for James’s question mirrored her own thoughts, her own guilty thoughts. It seemed wrong for them to sit in this kitchen, in a home her husband had paid for, wondering what might have been between them if James hadn’t left Hart’s Crossing.