by Jenna Mindel
He braced himself for the complaint Hope had predicted he’d receive. “It’s easy to forget how sheltered we are up here.”
Chuck looped his hands around one knee and leaned back in his chair. “That’s not where I was going. The truth isn’t always comfortable, but sometimes it has to be said. Can I be blunt?”
Again he nodded. He wouldn’t expect anything less from the guy, who was something of a blowhard.
“I know you’ve got a heart for missions. And that’s good. But I’m interested in what goes on in this community, not some faraway place. I want to save you the trouble of asking me to support your school in Haiti, or any foreign missions for that matter.”
Sinclair forced his mouth closed before he said something he’d regret. He had to think like a pastor now and respond the same way. In bible school, the motto had been that good pastors didn’t react—they listened.
He sat a little straighter. “I hear you.”
Chuck’s eyes narrowed. “Hearing is fine, but doing is better. I get hit up for money all the time. I don’t need my minister looking to me for a donation every time I turn around.”
“Fair enough.” He’d never ask the guy for a dime.
“But the idea of a youth center to bring in teens isn’t bad. I’d like to get my nephew up here as soon as he graduates from bible school. He’d be a big help to you as a youth pastor.”
Sinclair knew where this was going, and it registered why Chuck had pounced on his suggestion of a youth center. “What about the preschool? It’s been approved before, and many, including you, have already pledged financial support.”
“Until you’ve collected those pledges, I say we keep our options open.”
Nice tangle. Sinclair could push for Hope’s preschool or succumb to Chuck’s pressure for a youth center to validate hiring a youth pastor—namely, Chuck’s nephew.
He spotted the building project file on his desk and nearly sighed. Either way, he’d let someone down.
Chapter Three
Sunday morning, Sinclair stood by the kitchen sink with a cup of coffee in hand. Staring out at the sloping cherry orchard, he noticed that the fruit had grown since he’d come home. The straw-colored cherries were ripening, and promised an early harvest.
The trees on higher ground had been torn up by the storm that had rolled through the area, stripping many of their crop. A few random cherry clumps still hung in odd spots, making it look like a giant hand had swiped many away.
The hand of God? He didn’t know.
Sinclair didn’t understand why bad things happened to good people. Bad choices were one thing, and he’d made plenty. But an act of nature? How did that fit? The earthquake in Haiti that had bound him there had been so devastating and senseless. And yet he’d witnessed incredible faith through the darkest times. Reflecting on that faith had the power to humble him still.
What he faced now wasn’t so bad.
He’d been up since dawn, and it was still early. No one else was awake. He’d prayed, gone over his notes and then prayed some more. The nerves hadn’t gone away. This would be his first Sunday message as a pastor. He’d delivered sermons before but never with the responsibility that came with shepherding a flock. He sure hoped he got this one right.
Hearing footsteps on the side porch, he turned as the door opened. Adam Peece, Eva’s fiancé, walked inside, followed by Ryan. Both were dressed for work in the field.
“Sinclair.” Adam nodded. “That coffee up for grabs?”
“Help yourself.” He watched his younger brother focus on retying the shoelaces of his work boots. “You guys are out early. What’s up?”
“Trimming the sweet cherries in the orchard. Eva thinks we should open it for pick-your-own cherries since the entire block came through the storm perfectly.”
“Need help?”
“We got it.” Ryan stood tall, using his six-foot-plus height to intimidate.
Sinclair didn’t look away. He might be half a head shorter at only five eleven, but Sinclair was tired of the dodge game they’d played since he’d come home. He was sick of Ryan shutting him out by keeping conversation at a minimum.
Adam stepped in. “I could use all the help I can get. If you’ve got time before church.”
“I’ve got time. Give me a minute to change.” Setting down his cup, Sinclair headed for the stairs.
It was barely six, and his service didn’t start until ten. Sunday school classes had fallen off during the year Three Corner Community Church had gone without a permanent pastor. There was no need for him to arrive before nine. A couple hours working in the field might help him relax. Anything to stop worrying about the upcoming sermon.
Once in the orchard, the three of them split rows. Sinclair and Adam trimmed opposite ends, and Ryan took the middle. For the first half hour they worked in silence, but Sinclair recognized Adam’s fervor immediately. The guy moved at a quick, efficient clip that reminded him of his dad, Bob Marsh. Except Adam looked like there was no other place he’d rather be. He even hummed as he worked.
“He really loves this.” Sinclair jerked his head toward his future brother-in-law.
Ryan cracked a hint of a smile. “He’s just like Eva in that respect. They’ve got big plans for this place.”
“Dad seems happy about it.”
“He’s glad to help without having the worry that goes with owning it.” Ryan snipped a high branch.
Sinclair smiled. Their father had finally realized the beauty of carefree living after selling the orchard. He loved knowing that his dad was happy. He also loved having a conversation of more than five words with his brother. It might be stilted, but it was a start.
“Slow and steady.” The words slipped out like a prayer.
Maybe they were his, or maybe God had put them on his tongue. Didn’t matter, really. Sinclair had learned from his botched attempt to make amends with Hope and her parents. He couldn’t rush forgiveness. He wanted to earn it, but he knew better. It was a gift that had to be offered. It was a gift he didn’t deserve.
“What?” Ryan asked.
Sinclair shrugged. “Dad’s finally free.”
Ryan’s eyes narrowed. “He loved this farm.”
“Maybe for a time, but it was slowly choking the life out of him. Like it did to Gramps.”
Their grandfather had shot himself while cleaning his gun in the pole barn. It was deemed an accident, and the life insurance money paid off the farm debts so their father inherited with a clean slate. Their grandfather had been in such deep financial trouble that Sinclair wondered if the “accident” hadn’t been intentional. No one really knew.
“You never liked the orchard,” Ryan’s voice accused, even though the questions surrounding Gramps’s fate were part of the reason Ryan never wanted to take over the orchard.
“Nope, I never did. But I can appreciate its beauty and the value of having it.”
An image of Hope sitting at her desk seared his brain. He’d never before noticed her quiet beauty hidden underneath all that hair and those glasses.
They’d both played ball in high school. She’d been on the girls’ softball team, while he played baseball. He’d treated her like one of the guys. They used to throw a ball back and forth and talk for hours. She’d been his friend and confidante, but he’d taken their friendship for granted.
He’d kissed her once, but it had been a joke. An impulsive stunt after a bunch of guys in youth group had dared him to ask her to go snipe hunting. The toughest nut to crack, Hope had always been sensible and smart. He thought she’d see right through his request and turn him down flat. But she didn’t. She’d gone with him into the woods to look for an imaginary snipe. After pulling her close to point out a nest in a pine tree, he’d stolen a kiss.
Back then he’d laughed at her
eager response, and Hope had punched his arm for it. When he’d asked her why she’d gone along with the prank, she’d given him a lame explanation about wanting the practice. She’d told him that he was the safest guy she knew to practice kissing with.
Only Sinclair couldn’t remember Hope ever kissing anyone else. Or dating anyone, either. She’d gone to the prom with one of his friends, but Sinclair had put the fear of God in the guy if he so much as touched Hope the wrong way. Sinclair had her back—at least that’s what he’d thought then.
The memory of her tender lips on his made him stop and think. What if his mom was right about Hope having a crush on him all those years ago? Looking at it now, he felt ashamed of how callously he’d treated her. How clueless he’d been.
What surprised him more than his mother’s revelation was his interest in rekindling that part of their past. Truth be told, he wanted to kiss Hope again and see what happened.
No way would he go there, though. He had no desire to become a wedge between her and her parents. Plus, working together made dating a miry slope he shouldn’t start down.
Nope, Hope was definitely better off without him trying to start something he wasn’t ready to finish. She deserved more than that.
* * *
“Thanks for filling in for me, Shannon. I owe you one.” Hope closed her phone and took a seat at the table for breakfast.
Gypsy lay on her bed in the corner of the kitchen, thumping her tail every now and then. The dog knew better than to beg, especially when she’d get scraps after the meal was over.
“What was that about?” her father asked.
“Shannon’s going to lead children’s church.” Hope stabbed a couple pancakes with her fork and stacked them on her plate.
Hope wanted to hear Sinclair’s first sermon. Had to, really, in case of content complaint. She’d gotten only one phone call about his Wednesday night message, but still. What if he wanted her opinion about Sunday’s service? She’d have to be there to hear it.
Sipping from her glass of orange juice, she caught an exchanged glance between her mother and father. “What?”
Her mother perked up. “Does this mean you’re going to go with us?”
They were following through on their threat. Her parents wouldn’t attend Three Corner Church with Sinclair Marsh as pastor. “Where are you going?”
“A church in Northport,” her father said between mouthfuls.
Hope knew of several. One was on the loud side, and she couldn’t imagine her folks staying there, but there were other choices. Good choices. She took a deep breath and answered honestly. “I’d like to hear Sinclair’s first Sunday sermon.”
Her father looked ready to grumble, but her mom stopped him with a touch of her hand. “I heard he shocked quite a few with his stories of Haiti.”
Hope had received only one call. “From who?”
“Mary Stillwell.”
“She exaggerates.” Hope spread tart cherry preserves on her pancakes before dousing them with syrup. It was something she’d learned to do from Sinclair’s sister, Eva, way back when.
“You’re defending him.” Her father’s eyes narrowed.
“All I’m saying is that he didn’t sugarcoat the truth.”
He used to. Sinclair could put a positive spin on anything, especially on what he wanted. A natural charmer of people, Sinclair was a leader. He’d had the makings of a fine salesman, or politician even.
Or pastor.
In a way, ministers were persuaders of the truth. And Sinclair Marsh had been the master of persuasion. Hope had the scars to prove it.
For the first time since he’d returned home, Hope found herself hoping for a little of the old Sinclair charm when it came to this morning’s service. She wanted the congregation to embrace him so he could lead the way toward getting the preschool built. Once she convinced him that it was the right vision for Three Corner Community Church.
“And you believe him,” her dad muttered.
“Yes.” Hope looked at her watch and pushed her plate of half-eaten pancakes aside. She didn’t want to get into it with her parents. She’d heard him speak. They hadn’t. “I’ve got to go.”
“Leaving a bit early, don’t you think?” Her mom gave her an odd look.
“I’ve got some stuff to do in the office.” Hope hurried for the door.
She didn’t want to explain that nothing specific waited for her. Hope wanted to be available before the service in case Sinclair needed information. He’d told her Friday that he wanted to give the church an update on the building project. She wasn’t about to miss that.
“When will you be home?” Her mom looked concerned. Dinnertime was a big deal in the Petersen household.
“I’m not sure. I’ll call if I’m late.” Hope grabbed her purse, wondering for the hundredth time if it wasn’t past time she moved out.
She’d traded part of her life because her folks had lost part of theirs. The part that had looked forward to Sara taking over the farm. And the part that had yearned for grandchildren from Sara and Ryan.
Glancing back at the kitchen table, her heart twisted. Her parents had aged in the past three years. They were still young, but to Hope they seemed tired. The joy in working the farm was lost.
How could she leave them?
“Bye, honey.” Her mom waved.
Her father grunted something that sounded like good-bye.
Hope didn’t like disappointing them, but she wasn’t leaving her church with the preschool up in the air. Not when they needed her vote. She wouldn’t give up because Sinclair made her folks uncomfortable. He made her uncomfortable, too, but for reasons she’d rather not examine.
When Hope pulled into the church parking lot, she immediately spotted the red Camaro. It was pretty hard to miss the car’s shiny wax job. She shook her head. He’d always loved that car.
She walked toward the church but stopped when she heard the sound of music drifting out the open windows of the sanctuary. Someone played the piano, and the notes were reverent and haunting. Beautiful.
Sinclair.
Hope’s eyes closed and her insides tightened as she stood outside and listened. What went through his mind while he played? Did he ever think of her?
Opening her eyes, she pushed those kinds of wishes aside. Why would he think of her anyway? Just because she thought of him constantly didn’t mean he’d return the favor. Taking a deep breath, Hope opened the door and went inside.
* * *
Sinclair looked up when he heard the door open. He expected their worship leaders, Diane and Bud, to arrive soon to practice and didn’t want to be in their way. Instead, he saw Hope standing in the doorway, and his pulse took an erratic skip.
Sunshine poured in behind her, making her look ethereal, like something he might have dreamed. Like something that might slip away if he tried to touch.
She stepped closer, and he noticed a dainty dragonfly clip worn in her hair, pulling some of her bangs over to the side. It only reinforced the fairylike image.
“Are you ready for your first sermon?” Her smile was sweet and conciliatory.
Were his nerves easy to see? “As ready as I’ll ever be, I guess.”
“Your outline looked good. ‘God Changes Everything’ is a catchy title.” She smoothed the front of her skirt.
“Thanks.” He slid down the long piano bench and patted the wood. “Wanna sit down?”
Her eyes widened, and she hesitated. Maybe she was a little nervous, too. But then she perched on the end of the bench, and her slim fingers caressed the piano keys.
“Do you play?” he asked.
“Not very well.”
“Play something.”
She let out a shaky laugh and launched into the simple beginner’s piece called �
��Chopsticks.”
After listening to her for a few moments, he joined her on the lower end of the keys. For a solid five minutes they played together, filling the sanctuary with carefree music. The connection through the simple song made him forget the distance that had grown between them.
Watching Hope concentrate so hard on touching the right keys delighted him. She’d always taken every task seriously. When she caught her bottom lip between white teeth, he stared at her soft beauty. Why had he never before noticed how pretty she was, especially up close? He forgot that he’d placed her off-limits and hit the wrong note.
She laughed and turned toward him. “Where did you learn to play the piano? I don’t remember you playing before.”
“My mother wanted us kids to play Grandma Marsh’s old piano in the living room, but I was the only one who kept at my lessons until high school. I took more lessons in college from a music major I was trying to impress.”
Hope smiled again. “Did you?”
“Impress her?”
She nodded.
“No. She went after a football player. But I realized how easy it was to connect with God through music. Different maybe, but playing helps me focus.”
“I should let you get back to it.” Hope started to get up.
“Stay.” He touched the soft skin of her arm. She calmed his nerves but rattled his senses.
She didn’t move; she stared at his fingers still resting on her forearm.
He let his hand drop and cleared his throat. “This morning I’m going to announce a building committee meeting held after this Wednesday’s service. We need to move forward on the project.”
Her gaze flashed to his. “Have you decided what to build?”
“That’ll be the main topic of discussion. We’ll need to get a rough idea of how a youth center compares financially to the preschool. I’ll need your input.”
“What about opening it up to the congregation?”
“Once we have a decision from the board, we’ll do that.”
He knew how much Hope wanted that preschool, yet she’d look for acceptance from the whole church. She wasn’t trying to ramrod her way like a certain board member with a nephew. He appreciated that. He appreciated too much about his office manager.
