Child of Grace

by Hannon, Irene

  His sudden appearance seemed to rattle her as much as the wobbling ladder had. Moving too fast, she missed a rung as she tried to descend. When she slipped backward, Luke relinquished his grip on the ladder to absorb her weight.

  Emitting a panicked gasp, she clutched at the ladder to steady herself. An almost palpable fear radiated from her as her oversized T-shirt slipped off one shoulder to reveal a jagged scar of recent vintage near her collarbone.

  “You’re okay.” He gentled his voice as he inspected the scar. “I’ve got you. Take a few deep breaths.”

  If she heard him, she gave no indication. Instead, she jerked out of his hold and stumbled toward her back door. As if she was running away.

  Again.

  While she fumbled with the knob, he spoke again. “Look—I just came over to return your book. You must have dropped it on the beach.”

  She froze. Peeked over her shoulder.

  He inclined his head toward the settee.

  A hint of color chased away her pallor, but she kept one hand on the knob—clearly prepared to flee at the slightest provocation. “Thank you.”

  “No problem.” He motioned toward the ladder. “I think you need to replace that. It’s seen better days.”

  “I will.”

  “In the meantime, why don’t you let me change the bulb for you?”

  “That’s not necessary. Thank you.”

  Let it go, Luke. She doesn’t want your help.

  Ignoring that counsel, he repositioned the ladder. “I don’t mind. May as well finish the job, as long as the ladder’s out.” He climbed up two rungs and angled toward her.

  She regarded him in silence, her expression uncertain.

  He waited her out, doing his best to maintain a pleasant, nonthreatening demeanor as he tried to figure out what was going on with his skittish neighbor. It was hard to concentrate, though, thanks to the wide green eyes fringed with thick, sweeping lashes that had been hidden behind sunglasses earlier but were now on full display.

  At last, she fumbled for the knob behind her. “Give me a minute.”

  With that, she disappeared inside. The door shut behind her—and a lock slid into place.

  He frowned at the secured door.

  Did he come across as that untrustworthy?

  Or could there be another explanation for his neighbor’s extreme caution—perhaps related to that scar?

  The lock slid again before he could puzzle over that question. A moment later, she exited, a new bulb in hand. She approached, but stayed as far back as possible as she held it up.

  He had to lean sideways to reach it. The instant the transfer was made, she retreated to the door.

  After unscrewing the old bulb, he inserted the new one and rejoined her on the porch floor. He spoke over his shoulder while he folded up the rickety ladder. “Where do you want this?”

  “Just set it against the wall for now.”

  He did as she asked. Carrying the heavy old wooden ladder in her condition wasn’t advisable, but he’d pushed enough for one day.

  Brushing off his hands, he moved to the porch door—trying to give her the wide perimeter of personal space she seemed to require.

  “By the way, I’ve staked out a spot at the far end of the beach. That will give each of us our privacy.”

  “Thanks.”

  “I guess I’ll see you around.”

  She didn’t respond.

  But as Luke descended the steps and crossed her lawn, he’d lay odds she would do her best to ensure any future sightings were from a distance.

  * * *

  He was back.

  Kelsey couldn’t see him in the darkness. But he was there. She could feel his presence. Behind her. Or in the woods on either side of her. Somewhere close.

  Too close.

  She had to get away.

  Increasing her speed from a jog to a run, she pushed herself forward. Beads of sweat formed on her brow and began to trickle down her face. She shouldn’t have come out here alone at night.

  Panic surged through her, and she ran harder. Trying to elude her pursuer.

  But she couldn’t. He was faster. Stronger. She could hear his ragged panting as he drew near.

  Calling up every bit of speed she had, she pushed forward. There were lights ahead. People. Activity. In another two minutes she’d—

  A hand gripped her arm.

  Another clamped over her mouth.

  As he yanked her backward and dragged her into the woods, she kicked. Twisted. Scratched. Nothing loosened the man’s vise-like grip. He slammed her to the ground. Pressed a knife to her throat. Told her if she screamed she’d die.

  Waves of terror washed over her, sucking her down, down, down. And then the screams came anyway. Over and over and…

  Kelsey shot upright in bed, chest heaving as she choked back the terrified cries clawing for release.

  Slowly, the familiar outlines of her cozy room came into focus, illuminated by the soft light from the lamp she lit each night to keep darkness at bay.

  She was safe.

  Closing her eyes, she forced her lungs to keep inflating and deflating. Concentrated on a mental picture of the placid, sparkling lake outside her bungalow. Imagined drinking the rich hot chocolate Gram used to make.

  The comforting images worked their magic. Her heart resumed its normal rhythm. Her respiration slowed. Her shaking subsided.

  When she felt steadier, she swung her feet to the floor and stood, one hand resting on the new life growing within her as she padded through the snug cottage, double-checking every lock. It had been more than three months since she’d had such a graphic dream. Once she’d settled into Gram’s house, they’d dissipated. Here, she’d felt safe.

  But the peaceful ambiance had changed.

  All because of her new neighbor.

  And he was going to be around until the end of the summer.

  Shoving her hair back from her face with trembling fingers, Kelsey returned to her bedroom.

  It was going to be a long few weeks.

  2

  “Teatime, my dear.”

  Swiveling away from her desk—and the pattern she’d been sketching at Not Your Grandmother’s Quilts—Kelsey smiled at Dorothy Martin. The older woman stood a few feet away, holding a delicate china cup of tea and a plate containing two mini scones.

  “If you keep spoiling me like this, I’m going to have twenty extra pounds to lose after I have this baby.”

  The woman waved her objections aside and tucked one stray strand of white hair back into her flawless chignon. “Nonsense. You haven’t gained enough weight, if you ask me.” She handed over the treat.

  “My doctor says I’m fine.”

  “Hmph.” Dorothy fingered the single strand of pearls around her neck. “You look tired to me. And you seemed a little stressed on Saturday. I meant to get over here and visit with you, but we were swamped.”

  “Maybe I shouldn’t have talked you into letting me rent half your space for my shop. You’ve had to turn customers away at Tea for Two ever since I moved in.”

  “Don’t be silly. It was a fine idea. This place was too big for me.” She dropped her voice to a conspiratorial whisper and leaned closer. “I’m seventy-five years old, even if I could pass for ten or fifteen years younger.” With a wink, she straightened. “I’d have retired if you hadn’t made me that offer. This lets me keep my finger in the business without as much pressure. Serving a light lunch to fifty is far easier than dealing with twice that many people. This has worked out well for both of us.”

  “I know I’ve benefited from the arrangement. I get perks like this.” Kelsey lifted her cup. “I’m not sure what you get out of the deal.”

  “Companionship.” The older woman’s usual sunny expression dimmed a few watts. “I surely do miss your grandmother. She used to drive into Douglas for a visit almost every afternoon. I always enjoyed our chats—even if she did insist I serve her tea in a mug.” A hint of affection warmed her t
one.

  In the silence that followed, Kelsey took a sip of the herbal tea from her china cup. How Dorothy and her grandmother had ever connected was a puzzle. They’d been as different as two women could be. Dorothy wore silk, cherished tradition, and liked order. Bess Anderson had favored jeans, loved to experiment with new ideas, and thrived in chaos.

  But they’d shared common values, lively intellects, and kind hearts. Apparently that had been enough to seal their friendship for more than forty years.

  “Gram was one of a kind, wasn’t she?” Kelsey’s words came out choked, and she set the cup back on the saucer.

  “That she was.” Dorothy patted her arm, then straightened her own shoulders. “And she wouldn’t want us to mope around on her behalf. I never did meet a person who could wring more joy out of a day than Bess Anderson. I expect she’d be disappointed if we didn’t follow her example.”

  “I agree. It’s just harder some days than others to do that.”

  Dorothy gave her a keen perusal. “Any particular reason why it’s harder today?”

  Kelsey lifted one shoulder. “I haven’t slept very well the past two nights.”

  The older woman wrinkled her brow. “Bad dreams again?”

  “Yes.” Sharing her story with her grandmother’s never-married best friend, who’d always been like a cherished great-aunt, had been a no-brainer.

  “How odd. You’ve been doing so well. Did something trigger them?”

  “Not something. Someone. My new neighbor. A man in his thirties who’s staying at the Lewis house. Alone, as far as I can tell.” She traced the delicate gold-edged rim of the saucer with a fingertip. “He came up behind me on the beach Saturday.”

  “Oh, my.” Distress tightened Dorothy’s features. “I can see how that would have been upsetting.”

  “To make matters worse, I dropped a book while I was down there, and when he came by to return it I was changing a lightbulb on the porch. I was so startled I fell into his arms. Literally. I almost hyperventilated.”

  The bell over the front door jingled, announcing the arrival of tearoom customers, and Dorothy called out to the two women who entered. “I’ll be right with you.” Then she leaned closer to Kelsey and lowered her voice. “Maybe you should talk to Dr. Walters in Holland again. You used to go every week.”

  “Only at the beginning. I haven’t seen her in two months.”

  “If the nightmares are coming back, a visit may be helpful.”

  “I’ll think about it.”

  But not now. At the moment, she’d rather fill her mind with pleasant thoughts.

  While Dorothy seated her luncheon guests on the other side of the building, Kelsey nibbled at a blueberry scone and examined the row of quilts displayed on large racks that separated Tea for Two from Not Your Grandmother’s Quilts in the high-ceilinged space they shared. The two in the middle were Gram’s, and they were stunning. Creative, contemporary, and abstract, they were pieces of art—and not at all what most people pictured when they thought about quilts. Gram had been a master quilter—and a true artist.

  The ones on either end were hers. The commissioned piece she’d finished a couple of weeks ago would soon be gone, shipped off to the buyer. The other one wasn’t for sale.

  Her throat tightened as she studied the intricate, modernistic, three-dimensional design Gram had called a breakout piece when she’d seen a photo of it last year. That had been gratifying praise after her three years of work on it.

  Three years.

  Kelsey sighed. Climbing the corporate ladder had left so little time or energy for anything else, she’d been on the verge of setting aside her beloved pastime for the indefinite future after finishing that piece.

  Yet now she was making quilts full-time.

  It was surreal.

  The baby kicked, and Kelsey placed a hand on her stomach. As usual, the flutter of new life within her evoked both awe and distress.

  It was a dichotomy she had yet to reconcile.

  Her phone rang, and she swiveled back to her desk to pick it up. As she prepared to switch gears, the baby kicked again.

  Reminding her that the momentous decision she’d been struggling with couldn’t be deferred much longer.

  * * *

  Luke pulled into a parking space in front of the St. Francis rectory in Saugatuck, picked up his briefcase, and stepped out of the car. The small adjacent church was just as Carlos had described it—traditional in design, with elongated panels of stained glass on the sides and a steeple that soared toward the blue sky.

  This was where the medical corpsman had turned his life around.

  This was where he’d hoped to return and make a difference in the lives of other young people.

  This was where his funeral had been held two short months ago.

  Vision misting, Luke forced back a sudden surge of emotion. There would be no more tears. He was here to create a new future. To do his part to fulfill a young man’s dream. To keep a promise.

  After giving the soaring steeple one more sweep, he strode toward the door of the rectory and pressed the bell.

  Twenty seconds later, a middle-aged man dressed in black and wearing a clerical collar answered. His mouth bowed, creating a fan of wrinkles beside his eyes as he stuck out his hand. “Captain Turner, I presume. Or do you prefer Doctor?”

  “Luke is fine. Father Reynolds?”

  “Make it Father Joe. Come in, come in. Everyone is here, eagerly waiting to meet you.” He closed the door and took the lead down the hall. “May I offer you a beverage?”

  “Coffee would be welcome, if you have it.”

  “Always.” The man veered to his left at a T in the hall, and Luke followed him into a small, homey kitchen. The priest made a beeline for the coffeepot on the counter, pulled a mug off a hook, and filled it. “There’s a carafe of coffee and disposable cups in the conference room, but the guest of honor deserves my special blend.” He lifted the ceramic mug. “Do you take cream or sugar?”

  “I like it black.”

  “So do I.” The clergyman handed him the coffee and retraced his steps, continuing past the T. “We rotate our meetings among participating churches, and it happened to be my turn. Appropriate, since this was Carlos’s church.”

  A few seconds later, the man ushered him into a small conference room dominated by a large rectangular table. Six people of various ages sat around it. As he entered, their conversation ceased and every head swiveled his direction.

  “My fellow clerics, our guest of honor has arrived.”

  As Father Joe went through the introductions and Luke shook hands with each of the board members, he filed away their names.

  Once the formalities were finished, Father Joe waved him toward the seat at the end of the table, then took his place at the other end.

  “First, on behalf of the Greater Saugatuck Interdenominational Youth Fellowship, I want to thank you for initiating this project and for making such a personal investment in it. Your willingness to take on the planning and organizing has impressed all of us.” Father Joe beamed at him.

  Heat rose on Luke’s neck, and he shifted in his seat. “I appreciate your kind thought, Father, but my sacrifice is small in comparison to Carlos’s. I’m giving my time. He gave his life.”

  “Yes. Saving others. ‘No greater love…’” The priest grew somber and folded his hands on the table. “Before we begin, shall we join our hearts in prayer?”

  Without waiting for a response, the pastor folded his hands. “Father, we thank you for giving us the opportunity to gather here as your family. Like all families, we are diverse—and we don’t always agree. But you have opened our hearts and minds to allow us to seek our commonalities, and to unify behind the shared goal of supporting our youth and helping them grow in faith.

  “We live in a difficult world, Lord, one where young people can easily be led astray. Here, in our program, they can find acceptance and love and guidance. We ask that you give us fortitude and inspira
tion as we go about your work. We thank you for letting our lives be touched by an inspiring young man like Carlos Fernandez. And we thank you for sending Captain Turner to us with a plan that will honor him by helping us carry on the work that changed his life.”

  After a chorus of “amens,” Father Joe turned the meeting over to Luke, who pulled his notes from his briefcase and gave the board an outline of the project he and Father Joe had corresponded about over the past few weeks.

  Although Carlos’s pastor had assured Luke the board was receptive to his idea, the enthusiastic response of the members was heartening.

  And a bit unsettling.

  Because while he’d come here to get the ball rolling for a youth center, the more the board members talked, the more it sounded as if they expected him to deliver said center in the short six weeks he would be in the area.

  During an animated discussion about one fundraising idea, Father Joe offered him a commiserating smile and spoke up. “I think we’re overwhelming our benefactor. Why don’t we let him tell us what he’d like to accomplish during his stay here, and see what we can do to assist him?”

  All seven attendees gave him their full attention, and the room grew quiet.

  Luke folded his hands on the table. “I’d be thrilled if we could break ground for this center before I leave. But realistically, that event may be a year or two down the road. If I learned one lesson in the military, it was that nothing happens fast when a committee is involved.”

  Chuckles rippled around the table.

  Luke flashed them a grin. “What I hoped to do during my stay was work with you to set everything in motion. That would include developing a fundraising plan, spreading the news about the effort, and helping line up appropriate resources and benefactors to support the project long-term. I’m not an expert at this sort of venture, but I’m hoping we can draft the assistance of local people who are.”

  “I agree we need to pull in experts.” A thin, middle-aged man with a receding hairline spoke. Luke put the name to the face—Reverend Matthew Howard. “None of us have the time or expertise to make this center happen. But there are quite a few people in our own community who are qualified to take on pieces of this. One in my own congregation, in fact. She’s a relative newcomer to the area. Kelsey Anderson. She runs a quilt shop in Douglas, but until earlier this year she was the director of public relations and corporate promotions for a large firm in St. Louis.”