Courting Hope

by Jenna Mindel

  Hope followed Sinclair to his car. She slipped into the passenger seat, and the sun-heated vinyl burned through the thin cotton of her dress. Sitting on her hands, she rocked a little. Sinclair must have bad news, or he’d have said something more.

  When he slid behind the wheel, Hope asked, “What did Judy say?”

  “The church can’t afford to borrow the difference.” He started the engine and drove off toward town.

  Yup. Bad news.

  She remained silent for miles, mentally running through options and trying not to wallow in self-pity. The tick-tick of cool air pumping through his car vents didn’t soothe her one bit.

  Was this her answer to prayer? Or a challenge to find another way? There had to be a way.

  “We might not be able to borrow more now, but in time, if we grow...” Sinclair’s deep voice coaxed.

  More waiting and wishing for something that might not happen. Dorrie had depended on her to be their voice, and she’d let them down. She’d let everyone down with that mistake. “What now?”

  “Judy’s going to contact the board.” Sinclair pulled into the parking lot of a small deli that had been built on the crest of a hill on the other side of LeNaro.

  “Do you think they’ll renege on their approval?”

  Turning off the car, Sinclair turned toward her. “I don’t know. Judy strongly believes in pushing forward, and she’ll go to bat for us, but we can’t ignore the numbers. Neither will the board.”

  “It’s my fault. Maybe I should talk to them.” Did he think she’d wanted the preschool so badly that she’d subconsciously made it work on paper? Did the board?

  Had she?

  No. Hope had prayed hard for direction, right along with everyone else on that committee. In her heart, she knew the preschool was the right path, so why this enormous roadblock of her own making?

  He tucked some of her hair behind her ear. “It doesn’t matter how the mistake was made, only that an error in the accounting was found and corrected. That’s all anyone needs to know.”

  But she’d been the one to complete those spreadsheets. They’d been reviewed and approved by others, even Sinclair. All of them had trusted her to be accurate. “What are our options?”

  “Confirm the existing pledges and then fund-raise.”

  “That’ll take forever.”

  “If it’s meant to be, God will provide.” Sinclair reached for the door handle and got out.

  Hope ground her teeth. That sounded too much like a cop-out. Maybe He didn’t care what happened. And maybe Chuck had been right all along, that Sinclair’s reason for supporting the preschool was only to make her happy.

  She wanted Sinclair to believe in the preschool because it was the right course. Shouldn’t he want it more than she did, if it was God’s plan for their church? Where was his conviction?

  Sinclair peeked into her side of the car. “You coming?”

  “Yeah.” Hope got out and followed Sinclair into the store.

  Once inside, Sinclair ordered a steak sandwich while Hope scanned the case of cold soft drinks. A group of construction workers entered the deli and ordered lunch. She heard Sinclair tell one of them that they’d ordered the same sandwich.

  “It’s my favorite one they’ve got here,” one of the guys said.

  “Mine, too.” Sinclair introduced himself.

  “Marsh...hey, aren’t you the new minister at Three Corner? Martha, my wife, read about you taking over in the Sunday paper.” The oldest of the young men pumped Sinclair’s outstretched hand.

  “That’s me. Are you looking for a church to attend?”

  Hope inched forward, curious. She’d been running the announcement of Sinclair’s pastoral position in the newspaper’s section for church listings ever since he’d arrived. Several new people had come because of it, but not enough people to make raising money a snap with a new pledge drive.

  “As a matter of fact, we are. My name’s Denny Brown. I’m building a house in the area, and Martha saw your church and fell in love with it. That beautiful old structure reminds her of where she grew up out east.”

  “So you’re a builder?” Sinclair glanced her way with an expression that said this guy was somehow important.

  Hope’s heart quickened as she walked toward them. What if this guy could help? What if he was the answer to her prayer?

  “Residential, commercial, we do it all. We’re family owned and based out of Traverse City. Is this your wife?”

  Sinclair smiled. “Not—ah, no. This is Hope Petersen, my office manager.”

  “Hello.” Hope gripped the man’s hand for a brief shake.

  Sinclair’s arm slipped loosely around her waist. “We’d like to build an addition for a small preschool, but we’re pinched when it comes to finances.”

  Hope glanced at Denny. The guy’s eyebrows rose only slightly, but she could tell he hadn’t missed Sinclair’s possessive touch. Would their relationship make any difference to newcomers? She’d never known pastors who dated. Especially ones who dated their secretaries. That microscope focused in a little closer. Frighteningly close.

  “Pretty common situation.” Denny gave Sinclair his business card. “Call me, and I’ll see what I can do about a quote.”

  “Will do, and thanks.” Sinclair pocketed the card, gathered up his sandwich and steered her toward the register.

  “That was pretty interesting timing, don’t you think?” Hope said while he paid for their purchases.

  Was it a mere coincidence that they’d met a builder who might attend their church? She didn’t think so.

  “We’ll see.”

  They wandered out into the hot July sun and chose a spot with a view. They settled around a picnic table shaded by a large blue-and-white striped market umbrella that flapped in the stiff breeze that blew in off Lake Michigan.

  Hope ran a useless hand through her hair, trying to smooth it from the wind. “What about talking to Chuck?”

  “About what?” Sinclair took a huge bite of his steak and cheese on rye.

  “About my mistake, and see if he’ll match the amount needed anyway.”

  “No.” Sinclair coughed and reached for a drink of his iced tea. “No way.”

  “Why not?”

  Sinclair laughed. “You’re talking about Chuck Stillwell, right?”

  Hope didn’t appreciate his tone. Chuck was overbearing and hardheaded even, but the guy had a heart of gold. She’d seen the care he took with providing clean housing for his migrant workers, complete with a safe playground for their kids. “You don’t think it’s worth a try?”

  “I don’t.”

  “Why?”

  His eyes hardened. “A host of reasons.”

  Why wouldn’t he tell her? “Name one.”

  Sinclair shook his head. “Look, Chuck gave us the amount he pledged. Let him confirm it like everyone else and leave it at that.”

  “You won’t even consider talking to him?”

  “No, I won’t.” He paused and then pierced her with a hard stare, like he had easy access to her thoughts. “And you’re not going to, either.”

  Was Sinclair afraid to approach Chuck?

  Hope took a bite of her turkey sandwich, but it tasted like dust in her mouth.

  * * *

  By the time they’d returned to the church, Sinclair knew Hope was mad at him. She clammed up when she was angry. She did the same when she was anxious. When they were kids, he could tease it out of her, but he didn’t feel much like teasing today. He hated the disappointment he’d read in her eyes and the feeling that he’d lost her respect.

  All because he wouldn’t beg Chuck Stillwell.

  But he refused to bow and scrape. He wouldn’t do it. Not even for Hope.

  Enter
ing the office, he spotted Judy gathering up her briefcase. “Did you get a hold of everyone on the board?”

  Judy looked at Hope standing rigid behind him and then focused her attention back on him. “Yes. They’d like to meet as soon as possible to review the corrected figures. And, ah...Chuck’s threatening to pull his support unless we go with the youth center.”

  Hope stepped forward. “Without him, it’s over.”

  Sinclair put his arm around Hope’s shoulders, and he felt her stiffen beneath his touch. Yup, she was still mad. “We met a local builder at lunch, and I’d like to find out what he can do for us.”

  Judy smiled. “That’d be great. Gather as much information you can.”

  After Judy left, he turned to Hope. “We’ll figure this out.”

  “How? Without Chuck, we’ve got nothing.” She stepped away from him toward her desk.

  He followed her, hating the fact that Stillwell’s money meant so much to this small congregation. He gave a quick nod to Shannon, who tried to look busy.

  He leaned against Hope’s desk. “Maybe you need to let this go.”

  She gave him a scathing look. “Give up, just like that?”

  “That’s not what I’m saying.”

  “Then what are you saying, Sinclair? You’ve never believed in this project from the beginning. Maybe you don’t care what happens.” She threw her purse into her desk drawer and slammed it shut.

  He had to admit she looked incredible, all worked up with her cheeks flushed and her gray eyes flashing.

  He turned to Shannon and winked. “Would you give us a few minutes?”

  “No problem.” Shannon looked surprised at Hope’s outburst and lifted a stack of stamped envelopes. “I’ll take these to the mailbox.”

  “Thanks.” He waited for her to leave before focusing back on Hope. “This project isn’t yours to make happen.”

  Her pretty mouth opened and then shut.

  “You need to give it to God and let it go.”

  Her eyes filled with tears.

  “Will you trust me on this?” He caressed her cheek, and a tear dribbled down over his thumb.

  There had to be a reason for all of this. He wasn’t sure what it was or why, but a strange sense of calm had come over him after seeing Hope’s mistake.

  God was in control. They needed to remember that.

  “I’m trying to.” Her voice was barely a whisper.

  He wanted to tell her how much he wanted to see her dreams come true. He wanted to tell her that he loved her and wouldn’t hurt her for the world. But seeing the wary look in her eyes, the words stuck in his throat.

  Instead, he leaned down and gently touched his lips to hers for a featherlight kiss. Hope stiffened at first, but after a little coaxing, she melted.

  He had to tell her. “Hope—”

  “Oh! Sorry.” Shannon had returned from the mailbox. Couldn’t she have taken a walk?

  “Don’t be.” Hope pushed her chair back and gave him a pointed look. “This is not the place for that.”

  Sinclair straightened and watched Hope walk out of the office toward the ladies’ room. He gave Shannon a sheepish smile. “Sorry about that.”

  “Trouble?” The receptionist raised an eyebrow.

  “It’ll blow over.” But he wasn’t so sure.

  Because he’d rushed through the project notes and hadn’t double-checked the facts, he’d failed to do his job. He’d failed the board, and he’d failed Hope.

  Again.

  * * *

  Hope closed her eyes and listened to Sinclair playing the piano in the sanctuary. The turbulent-sounding music tugged at her heart and her willpower. He’d been up there half an hour playing one obscure song after another. At one point, she wondered if he’d made up the chords he played. The notes rang out relentlessly over her, and like waves crashing on the shoreline, they tugged at her. A rip current of emotion and sound emanated from Sinclair’s fingers on those keys.

  She was sorely tempted to join him, but stared at the stack of work on her desk. She could leave it, but pride had a way of anchoring her to her chair.

  She wasn’t caving in this time. Sinclair was right about trusting God to provide, but he had to be wrong about speaking with Chuck. Chuck might be God’s way of providing. Chuck might be their answer.

  For the youth center.

  Chuck had dug in his heels, all because of her stupid mistake. But if he knew what had happened with the pledge, he might change his tune. It was worth a try.

  But Sinclair wouldn’t try. He’d dug in his heels, too, the stubborn man.

  “You’re awfully quiet this afternoon. Are you okay?” Shannon asked.

  “I’m worried about the preschool.”

  “And Sinclair’s worried about you.” Shannon nodded toward the ceiling.

  The music changed to the sweet notes of the old hymn “It Is Well with My Soul.” But nothing was well for her. In fact, Sinclair’s calm acceptance of the shortfall in funds grated on her.

  “Miss Hope, come quick!” Grace, Dorrie’s youngest daughter, burst into the office and pulled on Hope’s arm. “Hannah cut her leg! You have to help her.”

  Hope looked into the tearstained face of the panic-stricken seven-year-old. With her best teacher voice, Hope tried to calm her down. “Take a deep breath and tell me what happened.”

  “Hannah was mowing the lawn and—”

  Hope banged her way out of her chair and headed for the door. “Shannon, call 911, then Dorrie, and tell Sinclair in case—” She swallowed hard. “Can you keep Grace with you?”

  Shannon, already on the phone, nodded and waved her away.

  Hope darted out of the office. She heard Shannon rattle off the address to the emergency dispatcher all the way down the hall. Shannon’s voice always rose when she was nervous.

  Hope ran across the parking lot and into the hayfield that lay between the church and the mobile home where the girls lived. “Oh, God, please...”

  Grasshoppers jumped in the recently cut field, hitting her arms and legs and even her face, but she kept running. Her heart beat madly, and her mouth had gone dry. Her side ached, but she continued to pray the only words that formed in her mind. Please, Lord.

  He knew what she feared most.

  Dear God, please.

  As she scanned the Cavanaughs’ backyard, the sweet scent of freshly cut grass turned Hope’s stomach. She didn’t see the little girl anywhere. “Hannah!”

  Then she spotted the push mower that lay upside down at the base of a small incline. The blades were still and the motor quiet, but no Hannah.

  It was so quiet!

  Frantic now, Hope rushed forward toward the mower, and then she saw a pair of small feet poking into sight behind a bush. Those feet didn’t move, and one foot lay at an odd angle....

  Hope clamped her hand over her mouth as bile rose in her throat. No! God, please no.

  She dashed toward the nine-year-old, fighting back tears and nausea. Thoughts of Sara lying still underneath a huge tractor blazed through her mind. What if Hannah...

  But this was only a small push mower, not a heavy tractor. Dear God, please.

  Hope knelt beside the unconscious girl and felt Hannah’s neck. A strong pulse beat beneath Hope’s fingertips, but for how long? She glanced at a deep gash at the base of the girl’s skinny calf, just above her ankle. Blood oozed out and soaked the grass underneath.

  Hope broke out in a sweat. “Hannah? Honey, can you hear me?”

  The girl stirred but didn’t open her eyes. Her skin was pale and translucent looking.

  Hope ripped the bottom of her skirt for a makeshift bandage. “I’m here. I’ll take care of you, I promise.”

  She staunched the wound with the material, but
it soaked through in seconds. Hope tamped down the hysteria bubbling within her. There was so much blood!

  Think! What could she do to stop the blood?

  Sirens wailed in the distance, and she heard the sound of gravel crunching under tires nearby. She looked up as Sinclair got out of his car and ran toward her.

  Her eyes filled with tears, and she reached a hand toward him. “I don’t know what else to do.”

  “Is she breathing?”

  “Yes. And her pulse feels strong, but I don’t know—look at her foot!”

  Sinclair knelt beside her, laid his hands on the girl’s head and prayed. Then he looked up with haunted eyes from a face white as a sheet. Did he battle memories of Sara, too? He’d been there that day. He’d watched her die.

  Hope’s throat threatened to close up. “She’s lost a lot of blood.”

  “I know.” Sinclair gripped her shoulder, giving her an encouraging squeeze. “Keep praying, Hope. You did great with the bandage, and you’re doing great now. Keep it together a little longer. The paramedics are on their way.”

  Hope nodded, glad for his assurance and the confidence emanating from him, along with the warmth of his body kneeling next to her.

  The paramedics arrived as promised and quickly took over. Hope gave them a brief explanation of what had happened and then backed away and watched. Hannah looked so small and fragile on the gurney. Her skinny little legs didn’t even reach the end of the stretcher.

  Hope let loose a broken sob when she felt Sinclair’s strong arm loop around her waist. She couldn’t let that little girl go to the hospital alone.

  “I’m going with her,” Hope whispered. “If she wakes up, she’ll be scared.”

  “Yeah, and she knows you.” Sinclair gave her a quick squeeze before letting go.

  Hope stepped forward and told one of the EMTs, “I’m going with her.” Then she climbed in before anyone could stop her.

  “I’ll meet you there.” Sinclair hovered at the back of the ambulance.

  His eyes still looked troubled, causing a chill to race up her spine. What did he know that she didn’t? Hope nodded as the doors of the ambulance closed.

  Hope held on to Hannah’s hand while the ambulance bobbed and weaved through traffic, trying to cut short the twenty-five-minute trip to the emergency room in Traverse City. The paramedics worked fast, connecting tubes and taking vitals.