A Dream To Share (Heartland Homecoming)

by Irene Hannon

  After surfing the Internet for a couple of hours while he’d waited for FedEx to pick up the proposal for his father, he’d taken in the movie in town. It wasn’t any better than his first viewing in Chicago, but at least it passed a couple of hours. He’d tried to get a last-minute reservation at the gourmet restaurant at the Oak Hill Inn, but it had been booked solid. Dinner at Gus’s had been the highlight of his day.

  Pretty pathetic.

  Now he had another whole day to kill. At least if he was in Chicago, he could drop in on Rick. Maybe invite his dad to brunch. He needed to shore up those long-neglected relationships. And either of those options would have been a far better use of his time than moping around Oak Hill.

  But it was too late for second thoughts. He’d just have to make the best of the situation.

  Lifting the lace curtain higher, he noted that the sun was trying to break through the heavy gray clouds. He could always head out to the countryside and take in the last burst of vibrant fall color the locals kept raving about. He’d never been much of a leaf watcher, but anything beat hibernating in his room.

  A few minutes later, dressed in jeans and a black nylon Windbreaker, Mark descended the oak steps to find Marge in the inn’s foyer. Attired in vibrant purple pants and a gauzy beaded tunic, she looked up at him as she slipped her arms into a coat.

  “Morning, Mark. Coffee’s on the sideboard in the dining room. Help yourself.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Any special plans for the day?”

  “I thought I’d take a drive in the country.”

  “Not the best weather for that kind of thing.” She gave him a skeptical look as she shrugged the coat onto her shoulders and reached for her purse.

  “Any other suggestions?”

  “We’re having our monthly pancake breakfast at church. Best flapjacks this side of Harvey’s Diner in Rolla. And served with homemade sausage. Can’t beat it for the price. Everyone in town goes.”

  A church social. A few weeks ago, the very notion would have been ludicrous. The fact that he was actually considering the invitation showed how much his attitude had changed. Or just how bored he was. He wasn’t sure which.

  Before he could respond, Marge continued. “It wouldn’t be like you’re a stranger. You know Reverend Andrews. And the boys on the basketball team. Lots of folks from the Gazette are members of the congregation, too. Including Abby. She’s working at the breakfast this morning.”

  “Abby will be there?”

  Marge gave him a shrewd look. “That’s right.”

  “What time?”

  “Service is at nine. Breakfast will start about ten, ten-thirty. You’re welcome to come to the service, too.”

  “I’m not quite dressed for that.”

  “You’re in the country, Mark. You’ll see everything from overalls and jeans to suits and ties. God doesn’t have a dress code.”

  A smile tugged at his lips. “I’ll think about it.”

  “You do that.” She grabbed an umbrella from the ornate stand by the front door. “But don’t think too hard. Sometimes it’s better to listen to this—” she placed her hand over her heart “—than this,” she finished by tapping her head.

  Half an hour later, wedged into a pew in the very back of the church where he and Reverend Andrews had sat, Mark wasn’t quite sure how he’d ended up there. It hadn’t been a conscious decision. It had just…happened. One minute he’d been driving through the streets of the town, the next he’d been pulling into the lone vacant spot on the church parking lot where he’d coached the boys’ basketball team before cooler weather had forced them indoors.

  For several minutes he’d sat there, undecided. The sound of the organ, accompanied by a chorus of united voices, had drifted through the autumn air, beckoning him.

  But considering his long estrangement from God, he’d hesitated, sure he would feel almost like an impostor if he joined that faithful group. Even though he was trying to work through his anger toward the Lord and lay to rest the sorrow and sense of loss that had colored his days for too many years, his issues were far from resolved. Yes, he’d taken a first, tentative step by sharing his feelings with Reverend Andrews. But he had a long way to go.

  On the other hand, the minister had assured him that he wasn’t alone in his imperfections. As a result, Mark felt confident that the man would welcome him to his flock.

  Then there was Abby. She was inside those whitewashed walls. That tugged at him, too—though going to church because he was attracted to a member of the congregation didn’t seem like the noblest motivation.

  Go or stay. Mark wrestled with the dilemma.

  In the end, Mark stopped trying to analyze his decision and took Marge’s advice. He followed his heart.

  And he wasn’t sorry. Though the place was crowded and the service was well under way when he ventured into the back door, several people squeezed together to create a place for him, motioning for him to join them. Mark did his best to slip into the spot without attracting notice, but as he took his seat, Reverend Andrews glanced his way from the sanctuary. The smile he gave Mark chased away any lingering doubts about his welcome, and he acknowledged the minister with a discreet nod.

  To his surprise, the hymns and prayers and readings from the Bible called up happy memories for Mark. Long ago, before Bobby and his mother died, he remembered attending church with his parents and Rick. It had been a larger and grander edifice than this, but the spirit had been the same. Then, as now, a sense of unity, of belonging, had pervaded the walls. In that place, surrounded by fellow believers, Mark had always felt closer to God, had sensed His love in a special way as it was made manifest in his believers. He felt that again now. And only then realized what a great void its absence had left in his life.

  “Recall the words of Matthew. ‘For where two or three are gathered together for my sake, there am I in the midst of them.’” Reverend Andrews had moved to the pulpit and launched into his sermon, and Mark tried to rein in his wayward thoughts and pick up the thread of the minister’s message after missing the opening. “That’s why we assemble here each Sunday—to feel the power of the spirit, to give witness to the world that we believe, to proclaim our faith and our trust in the Lord.

  “But for that community witness to be strong, we also need to know the Lord in a more personal way. To do that, we have to invest time and energy, just as we invest time and energy in developing other skills, such as shooting baskets or playing the piano or listening with an open, empathetic heart. All of those things take patience and practice and commitment to master.”

  Pausing, he let his gaze sweep over the congregation. “But I submit to you that the satisfaction that comes from refining those skills, worthy though they may be, can never match the satisfaction and peace and joy we receive when we make the effort to establish a personal relationships with the Lord and follow His call—no matter the surprising directions it can lead. Our private bond with Him is what gives this gathering meaning. Sunday worship is a joyful celebration of our individual relationships with the Lord and the power of our collective witness.

  “My dear friends, coming to church is easy. Living our faith is hard. Both are important. But let us remember that when we leave here today, the Lord goes with us. Our faith is not in these four walls, but in the spirit living within us. As we go about our everyday lives, let’s remember that the Lord walks with us not only on Sunday but on every day of the week. May we live accordingly so that we don’t disappoint Him.

  “Now let us pray….”

  As the service continued, Mark bowed his head. He supposed he’d disappointed the Lord. Yet he’d been disappointed, too. In fact, disappointment had been his constant companion for more years than he cared to recall. Since he’d turned his back on the Lord, nothing in his experience had had the power to uplift him, to motivate him, to fill his life with joy and contentment. Everything fell short.

  As a result, he’d lowered his expectations. And he’
d erected a thick shell of bitterness around his heart. After Bobby and his mother died, that shell had protected him from further hurt. But it had also insulated his heart from love—and the healing grace of God.

  All these years, Mark had lived on the surface of life, a day at a time, never counting on anything or permitting himself to be counted on. Enjoy the pleasures of the moment, shallow though they may be, and don’t worry about tomorrow. Those had been the principles that guided his life.

  Yet, in retrospect, he realized that he hadn’t really enjoyed the so-called pleasures of his glitzy lifestyle. The many women he’d spent time with had provided fleeting gratification, but left him feeling emptier than ever. The liquor had mellowed his restlessness and ennui for brief intervals but only intensified the void in his life once the intoxication wore off. The travel and parties and trips to the health club had been mere diversions, designed to keep him busy and to distract him from the cold truth of his aimless, drifting life. A life that lacked purpose and direction and meaning.

  A life that lacked God.

  In turning away from his faith, Mark realized, he’d turned away from the one thing that could have stabilized his world and given it meaning in the midst of chaos. Because he’d demanded answers when there were none—or none that he could understand, as Reverend Andrews had pointed out—his quest had been doomed to failure. He’d put God to the test—and, in his mind, God had failed.

  But he was the one who had failed, Mark acknowledged. By not putting his trust in God, by not placing his anguish in God’s hands, he’d turned away from the one true source of consolation. That had been his big mistake.

  And he’d been paying for it ever since.

  Mark still didn’t know how to go about mending the rift he’d created with the Almighty. But here, in this place, surrounded by people of faith, he found the courage to reopen a dialogue.

  Please forgive me for turning away from You, Lord. I wish someone like Reverend Andrews had come into my life a long time ago so that I wouldn’t have wasted all these years. But maybe I needed the years of emptiness to appreciate the things in life that really matter.

  It’s been a long journey, Lord. But like the prodigal son, I’d like to come home now. I ask You to show me the way. I suspect You’ve already set me on the right path by bringing me to Oak Hill. I ask that You give me the wisdom to discern Your will and the courage to follow Your direction—even if it leads in the surprising directions that Reverend Andrews mentioned today.

  And, Lord…if Abby is part of Your plan for me, show me how to help her find a way to overcome the obstacles she’s putting between us. Because I sense that they’re formidable—and without Your intervention, perhaps insurmountable.

  “This is a very generous gesture, Mark.”

  With a shrug, Mark stuck his hands in the pockets of his slacks as the minister stared, dumbfounded, at the sizeable check Mark had handed to him after the service. “I know there are a lot of Evans out there. And a lot of families like the Langes. I’m working on an idea that could help more of them. But in the meantime, this should smooth things out a bit for the Langes and give Evan his dream back.” Mark did a quick survey of the church hall, where members of the congregation had gathered to enjoy their pancakes. “But remember—I want it kept anonymous.”

  “No problem. I’ll say this came from a benefactor who didn’t want to be identified.” He pocketed the check with care. “I must admit I’m also intrigued about this idea you referred to.”

  “It’s still in the proposal stage. But you’ll be one of the first to know if anything comes of it.”

  “Then I’ll be praying for good news. It sounds like a worthy initiative. Now why don’t you have some pancakes? I see Marge over there waving. Looks like she saved you a place.”

  Turning, Mark grinned as the innkeeper pantomimed an invitation. Considering all the gray hair at her table, it looked like a meeting of the senior women’s club.

  “Go ahead. Make their day,” the minister encouraged with a chuckle. “It’s not every Sunday the ladies get to enjoy the company of a handsome young man. Meanwhile, I’ll put this to good use.” He patted his pocket and inclined his head toward a table in the far corner, where Evan sat with his family. “And I guarantee you’ll make their day, too.”

  As the minister headed off, Mark worked his way toward Marge, scanning the hall as he edged around the packed tables. According to the minister, he’d already brightened several people’s day. That left just one unresolved question.

  Could he do the same for a certain newspaper editor?

  What in the world was Mark doing at the pancake breakfast?

  Stunned, Abby paused as she carried plates from the kitchen to the serving counter in the church hall. At least she thought it was Mark. She only had a back view of the tall man talking with Reverend Andrews. No, she had to be mistaken. This wasn’t his kind of thing.

  Then he turned his head and she got a good look at his strong, handsome profile. It was him! Her breath hitched in her throat and her pulse tripped into a staccato beat, destroying the calm she’d managed to create yesterday while hibernating at home to nurse the bruised knee she’d sustained in the collision. Once, a whole hour had gone by without thoughts of Mark flitting through her mind. But all he had to do was show up, and—wham!—she was reduced to a mass of quivering nerves and unruly yearnings.

  Depositing the plates on the counter, Abby beat a hasty retreat to the safety of the kitchen and tried to think of an excuse to cut out early. But that wouldn’t be fair to the breakfast committee. Besides, even if she ran away from the man, she couldn’t run away from her feelings.

  The pancake breakfast duty was so routine to her by now that she shifted into autopilot as she worked, leaving her mind free to think about the odd turn of events in her life during the past few months.

  First, she’d been forced to accept the harsh reality that the Gazette wasn’t going to survive without outside help, as well as the fact that in giving the paper the help it needed, she would be signing the death warrant for a family tradition. Even now, with Mark ensconced in the office, she was struggling to accept the bitter truth. Not to mention trying to come to grips with a life suddenly adrift and directionless. For as long as she could remember, she’d been certain of her path. But her route had been changed, and she had no map for the rest of her journey. It was an unsettling situation, to say the least.

  As if that wasn’t enough, Mark had added more turmoil to her life. Never in a million years had she expected to fall for the stuck-up, lazy playboy she’d talked with back in August. And she wouldn’t have, if he’d lived down to her expectations. Instead, he’d surprised her by proving to be a hardworking, caring person. A person she could admire and respect.

  A person she could love.

  Closing her eyes, Abby drew a shaky breath. This was so wrong. His life was in Chicago. Hers was here. He was rich. She wasn’t. He wore designer clothes. She’d been known to supplement her wardrobe at the thrift store in Rolla. He was sophisticated. She was the girl next door. It could never work. She had to fight this attraction.

  But that task was formidable. She was pretty sure she could manage it if the attraction was one-sided. Unfortunately, Mark seemed to return her feelings. And he also seemed determined to do something about it. There had been instances in the past couple of weeks when she’d seen tenderness and caring in his eyes, when he’d touched her with a gentleness and propriety that went beyond mere friendship. She suspected that all he needed was a little encouragement.

  But she couldn’t give him that. She had to be strong.

  Fortified with new resolve, Abby balanced the next three plates on her arm, pushed through the swinging door into the serving area—and came face-to-face with Mark.

  The slow smile that started at his lips and lit a fire in his eyes snatched away her resolve as easily as the capricious early-November breeze was plucking the leaves off the stately oak trees that lined her street.
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  “Hi.” His voice was husky—and oh-so-appealing.

  Abby refused to look at him, setting the plates on the serving counter with more care than necessary as she prepared to bolt. “This is a surprise. What are you doing here?”

  “Having breakfast. Marge suggested it when I was at loose ends this morning. She invited me to the service, too.”

  “Did you come?” Abby stared at him, dumbfounded.

  “Yes. I didn’t see you up there, though.”

  “I went to the early service.”

  “That explains it, then. Reverend Andrews gave a great sermon, didn’t he?” Reaching for a plate of pancakes, Mark grinned. “When do you get off?”

  “After everyone is served.”

  “Any plans for this afternoon? I was going to take a drive in the country and I’d welcome some company.”

  He was asking her out! A delicious tingle ran up her spine, and waves of happiness lapped at her heart. She wanted to go. More than she could remember wanting anything in a very long time. The temptation to accept was almost too strong to fight.

  But somehow she managed to summon up the self-discipline to refuse. “I have a bunch of things I need to take care of today. Thanks, anyway.” With that, she turned and almost ran back into the kitchen.

  Juggling his plate of pancakes and a cup of orange juice, Mark watched her go. He’d seen the yearning in her eyes, knew she’d wanted to accept his invitation. But she was obviously determined to maintain a distance between them.

  Though he was disappointed, Mark wasn’t giving up. She might have won the battle today. But when it came to determination, she’d met her match.