In her mind, Stephanie pictured her daughter’s disapproving glare. Not everyone.
She’d hoped Miranda would accept this union once she met James. That hadn’t happened. What if it never happened? Would she gain a husband but lose her only child? If there was a risk of losing Miranda’s love, should she marry James anyway? What was the right thing to do?
She’d felt better after talking to James yesterday morning, and she’d found courage after praying with Francine. But the supper with Miranda had sent her spirits spiraling into confusion again. She’d been so sure she was doing the right thing when she agreed to marry James. She’d said yes without a moment’s hesitation. But now? Now she doubted the wisdom of the choice she’d made.
A doubtful mind, the Bible said, was as unsettled as a wave of the sea that is driven and tossed by the wind. People like that can’t make up their minds and they waver back and forth in everything they do.
If ever a verse of Scripture described me, that’s it.
“I envy you,” Terri said as she led the way to the shampoo bowl, oblivious to Stephanie’s tormented thoughts. “I married my childhood sweetheart. Then he treated me like dirt before leaving me and Lyssa for another woman.” There wasn’t any bitterness in Terri’s voice. Just acceptance of fact. “Unlike you, Steph, I won’t be having a romantic reunion with the boy who stole my heart when I was a girl. That’s for sure.” She held the back of the shampoo chair as Stephanie sat down. “I think it’s great you two got a second chance. Count yourself blessed.”
Stephanie recalled the tenderness of James’s gaze, the deep timbre of his laughter, the sweetness of his kisses, the sturdiness of his grasp, and the confidence of his faith. When she was with him, she felt young again, her stomach all aflutter, her heart full of joy. She was blessed. Blessed that he loved her and wanted to marry her.
If not for Miranda…
She leaned back in the chair, closed her eyes, and enjoyed the scalp massage Terri gave as she worked the shampoo into a lather.
After a period of silence, Terri asked, “What kind of wedding are you going to have?”
“I haven’t really thought about it yet. There hasn’t been much time.”
“Hope you don’t want a small one.” Terri ran warm water over her scalp, rinsing away the suds. “All your friends will want to be there. There’ll be enough of us to fill the church and then some.”
In high school, Stephanie had dreamed about the day she would marry Jimmy Scott. As a teenager, she’d imagined herself walking down the aisle on her daddy’s arm, wearing a satin dress covered in pearls and lace, her face hidden behind a beautiful veil.
But Jimmy never proposed. Instead, he went off to the army and college and then asked a different girl to marry him. Stephanie stayed in Hart’s Crossing, finished high school, fell in love with Chuck Watson, and married him without a moment’s regret.
Perhaps that was supposed to be the end of it. Perhaps Stephanie was in love with the memory of the boy Jimmy had been and not the man James was today.
Was Miranda right after all? Was he a stranger to her? Stephanie thought she loved him, but was she absolutely sure? Perhaps she should have prayed about it a little longer. Wasn’t she supposed to have absolute peace when she was doing the right thing? And if so, absence of peace meant she wasn’t doing the right thing. Right?
“Steph?”
She opened her eyes and gazed upward. Terri leaned over her, frowning with concern.
“Are you okay?”
“Yes.”
“You acted like you couldn’t hear me. Are you sure you’re all right?”
Stephanie sat upright. “I’m fine. I was lost in thought. That’s all.”
“Well, okay then.” Terri wrapped a towel around Stephanie’s head. “If you’re sure.”
The truth was, she didn’t feel sure of anything at the moment.
* * *
From: “Paula Scott” [email protected]
Sent: Wednesday, October 12 3:15 PM
To: “Dad” [email protected]
Subject: Re: October 29 or November 5?
Hi, Dad. Sorry I couldn’t get back to you sooner. I checked on things at work, and it looks like the 29th would be better for both me and the girls. I have enough vacation time saved that we could come early for a nice visit, then leave on Sunday the 30th.
So where will you and Stephanie go on your honeymoon? Make it some place special, Dad. Some place you’ll always remember, like Paris. (g)
Better get to work on our reservations.
Love you, Paula
* * *
From: “Jenna Scott-Kirkpatrick” [email protected]
Sent: Wednesday, October 12 6:37 PM
To: “Dad” [email protected]
Subject: Coming to see you
Dad, I tried to call you several times yesterday, as promised, but you weren’t home. So I guess I’d better let you know by email that I’ve decided to come for a visit after all. I haven’t been back to the States in two years, and it will be good for you and me to have some time together. You can show me around Hart’s Crossing. I was just a kid the last time we went there to see Grandma before she moved in with us. I don’t remember much about it except there wasn’t much to do. So this will give you a chance to show me what you love about it.
Looks like I can get a flight for next week. Don’t worry about driving to Twin Falls to pick me up. I’ll get a rental car for the duration of my stay. All I need from you is a guest room, and you said you have that.
I still have a few things to work out. As soon as I’ve got all the details, I’ll send you my itinerary.
I love you, Dad, and I’m looking forward to seeing you.
Jenna
* * *
James closed his email program and swiveled the chair so his back was to the computer screen. He was thankful Paula and her girls could come a few days before the wedding. Jenna’s email was another matter. He didn’t need his eldest daughter to spell out the reason for her hasty trip. She was coming to Hart’s Crossing to make certain he hadn’t lost all of his faculties, not because she hadn’t seen him in a couple of years and most definitely not to celebrate his wedding.
At least Jenna didn’t seem angry like Stephanie’s daughter. That was something else he could be thankful for.
He sighed as he rose from the chair and left the room, walking slowly down the stairs and out to the porch. A full moon bathed the town in a blanket of white light.
He wondered why it was hard for some adult children to believe their aging parents could fall in love again. Did they think such feelings were reserved for the young? They weren’t. Love was love at any age, and James Scott loved Stephanie Watson.
He recalled the final lines of a favorite poem by John Clare.
I never saw so sweet a face
As that I stood before.
My heart has left its dwelling-place
And can return no more.
That’s what it was like for James. When he looked at Stephanie’s sweet face—or, in her absence, when he thought of her—he knew his heart was lost for good. It would never return to him.
Now if only their children could understand that.
Chapter 11
IT WAS A BEAUTIFUL MORNING, the air crisp, the sky clear. Fallen leaves crunched beneath Stephanie’s sturdy walking shoes as she made her way toward the creek that was lined with cottonwoods and aspens.
For many years, this had been her private getaway, a place she came to think, to read her Bible, and to pray for answers to life’s questions. She’d come here when Miranda went through her rebellious teen years. She’d come here when her husband considered a job that would have meant transferring out of state. She’d come here after Chuck’s death when she couldn’t face another visitor bringing well-meant but empty condolences.
With a sigh, she sat on a large boulder that nature had decorated with soft green moss. Time had also etched a small ledge into the gr
anite, a comfy bench for her feet to rest upon.
As she placed her Bible on her lap, she squinted up through the trees and whispered, “Lord, show me what to do. I know what I want, but I don’t seem to know what’s right. What is it you want for me?”
The place to begin, she supposed, was with love. God’s will always included love. She turned to 1 Corinthians.
Stephanie and Chuck, like countless other couples before and since, had used these words from the thirteenth chapter in their wedding ceremony. She’d read them many times, sometimes with joy, more often with conviction at how far from the mark she continued to fall. How seldom—if ever—did she love the way God called her to love.
Love was patient and kind, the Word told her. Love wasn’t jealous or boastful or proud or rude, and it didn’t demand its own way. It wasn’t irritable, and it kept no record of when it was wronged. Love was never glad about injustice but rejoiced whenever the truth won out. Love never gave up and never lost faith. Love was always hopeful, enduring through every circumstance.
“I loved Chuck with all my heart. I tried to be a good wife always. And I love my daughter unconditionally. She must know that. Doesn’t she?” Stephanie drew a slow, deep breath. “Lord Jesus, I love James, too. I want to be with him. But if marrying him costs me Miranda’s love…”
She riffled the well-worn pages with her left thumb and stopped when her eyes fell on an orange highlighted portion.
So the person who marries does well, it read, and the person who doesn’t marry does even better. A wife is married to her husband as long as he lives. If her husband dies, she is free to marry whomever she wishes, but this must be a marriage acceptable to the Lord.
Stephanie’s heart fluttered. A person who marries does well. A widow is free to marry whomever she wishes, as long as God approves.
“Is this marriage to James acceptable to you, Lord? He belongs to you, so we wouldn’t be unequally yoked. Is this your will for me?”
She read on: But in my opinion it will be better for her if she doesn’t marry again, and I think I am giving you counsel from God’s Spirit when I say this.
She felt great irritation with the apostle Paul for adding that line. She wanted a clear, absolute, positive instruction, and what the apostle wrote, he said, was his opinion. She didn’t want his opinion. She wanted an unmistakable answer. She wanted guidance, a clear, distinct path, like the trail she had followed to reach this creek.
“Jesus, I need to hear your voice.”
Love never gives up, came the whisper in her heart.
Yes. That was true. But was it love for James that should never give up or was it love for her daughter that was to be her first priority?
Or was it possible that the two could be one and the same?
* * *
James told himself not to worry when he tried for the fifth time that morning to call Stephanie and got no answer. He told himself that he wasn’t her keeper when he stopped by her house just after 1:00 and found her still not at home. As he drove into town for a late lunch, he watched for her car at Francine Hunter’s home, in the Smith’s Market parking lot, and along the curb outside Terri’s Tangles; he didn’t see it anywhere.
Where could she be?
The Over the Rainbow Diner was empty of the lunch crowd by the time James arrived. Nancy Raney greeted him with her usual warm smile and escorted him to a booth.
“Anything besides water to drink?” she asked.
“A Diet Coke, please, Nancy.”
“Sure thing. Back in a flash.”
James took a menu from the rack and glanced at it. Nothing looked appetizing.
Where is she?
James and Stephanie had spoken by telephone twice yesterday, once before she left to have her hair done and again in the evening when he phoned to tell her that Jenna would be arriving for a visit the following week. Both times he’d felt Stephanie pulling away. He knew why—a safety measure, of sorts, in case things didn’t work out between them.
Yes, he knew why, but he didn’t know what he could do about it. He didn’t know how to make her believe all would be well.
And if he couldn’t make her believe it, maybe everything wouldn’t be well. Maybe her worries would become a self-fulfilling prophecy.
Nancy arrived at his table, Coke glass in one hand, water glass in the other. “Have you decided?” she asked as she set the beverages before him.
“I’ll have a toasted BLT.”
“Wheat or white bread?”
“Wheat, please.”
“Soup or salad?”
When a man ate from habit rather than hunger, he didn’t want to make choices. “Surprise me.”
She laughed. “You got it.”
After Nancy headed for the kitchen, James turned his gaze out the window, looking across Main Street at the Apollo. He had lots of memories of that old theater, and many of them included Stephanie. Saturday matinees with black-and-white westerns flickering on the screen. V-J Day with its wild celebrations. Friday night dates when they were in high school and they’d talked about what they wanted to be and where they wanted to live.
He’d loved Stephanie Carlson, but he hadn’t been ready for marriage when he was eighteen. Now, at the ripe old age of seventy, he was ready for it. More than ready.
He couldn’t explain how or why this love for her had blossomed so quickly since his return. He only knew it had. He knew that it was real, solid, and lasting. It was an old love, yet it was like first love, too. He wanted to spend the rest of his days with Stephanie. He wanted to read love poetry to her by the fire on cold winter nights. He wanted to stroll with her through town on soft summer evenings. He wanted to be her husband, her lover, her best friend. God willing, they would have many good and healthy years together.
But first he had to keep her from bolting like a scared colt.
“You look like you could use a friend, Jimmy Scott.”
He turned from the window as Till Hart slid onto the seat across from him. With a shake of his head, he said, “Is my mood that obvious?”
“Mmm. I’d say so.”
“I don’t suppose you’ve talked to Steph today. I haven’t been able to reach her.”
“Sorry. I haven’t seen or talked to her all week. Not since you whisked her away to a fancy lunch at the resort and proposed marriage—or so I hear tell from Frani.” Till clucked her tongue. “You certainly didn’t let any grass grow under your feet, James. I’ll say that for you.”
He tried to smile but failed.
“You don’t look like a happy groom-to-be. Why is that?”
“Our kids,” he answered solemnly. “Except for my youngest, they don’t approve of our wedding plans.” He glanced down at his hands clenched into fists atop the table. “I don’t mind getting old, Till. I can deal with the aches and pains that come with age. I figure I’ve earned them, living this long. But I resent being treated like a child by my own offspring.”
“I believe I would, too.”
“But that’s not the worst part.” He looked up again. “I’m afraid Steph’s having second thoughts. I’m afraid Miranda and Jenna’s attitudes are going to drive a wedge between us, and I don’t know how to stop it from happening.”
“Oh dear. We mustn’t let that happen. Not if you and Steph love each other.”
“We do, Till. I guarantee it.”
* * *
That evening, Till Hart called an emergency meeting of the Thimbleberry Quilting Club. If there was one thing the members of this group knew how to do even better than creating beautiful quilts, it was how to pray.
Through the years, they—and many former members of the club—had prayed for one another, for family and friends, and for complete strangers. They’d prayed when couples married, when babies were born, and when folks died. They’d prayed for elections, wars, and natural disasters in America and far corners of the world. They’d prayed for circumstances that seemed overwhelming, and they’d prayed for secret wishes of
the heart. From the eldest member to the youngest, they were women who believed in the power of prayer and in a God who delighted in giving good gifts to his children.
On that evening in mid-October, five of the six Thimbleberry members—only Stephanie was absent and that was by design—gathered in the living room of Till’s home to pray for their dear friend and for the man who loved her.
Chapter 12
STEPHANIE HAD PRAYED THAT she would hear God’s voice and know what she was to do, and early the next morning, in that halfway state between waking and sleeping, she received an answer.
And the Lord God said, “It is not good for the man to be alone. I will make a companion who will help him.”
As the verse from Genesis floated through her mind, Stephanie opened her eyes, half expecting to see someone else in the room because the voice seemed so clear.
I made you, Beloved, for a purpose.
Her pulse quickened.
I made you to be his companion.
Despite the rapid beating of her heart, Stephanie felt at peace. The special peace that came only from knowing and doing God’s will. Rare moments like this, when God spoke directly to her spirit, left her breathless with wonder. She heard and she understood. There was no room left for doubt.
She slid upright against the headboard and reached for the telephone on her nightstand. After punching in the number, she waited impatiently for an answer on the other end of the line.
Her heart skipped when she heard his sleepy, “Hello?”
“James, it’s me.”
“Steph?” He sounded more alert. “Thank God. Are you all right? Where were you yesterday? I kept calling, but you never answered the phone.”
“I’m fine. Really. I needed to go off by myself for the day. I had some praying and soul searching to do.”
Silence, then, “And?”
She smiled, hoping he could hear it in her voice. “And the children will simply have to accept that we’re getting married.” She brought her lips closer to the mouthpiece. “I love you, James. I want to be your wife more than anything.”
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