by Traci DePree
“I could make some lampshades for the kids, and maybe a window for our bathroom, and of course...” her words trailed away when she realized she was about to spill the secret she’d thought of at church that morning.
“‘Of course’ what?” Paul asked.
Kate waved a dismissive hand. “You know me...My mind starts spinning with ideas.”
Paul laughed, then went on, “You’d be busy doing something you love to do. That’s a good thing. It would make you happy.”
Kate reached across the table and squeezed his hand again.
“Pastor...Kate,” a voice broke in. “I tried to catch you at church but you slipped out so quickly!”
Paul and Kate looked up to find Renee Lambert standing there. The elderly woman appeared to be in her early seventies, though with all the makeup she had on her face, it was often hard to tell. Her hair was a pale blond with an inch of black and gray along the roots. In one manicured hand, with ruby red artificial nails, she clutched a small shivering dog, whose rear end disappeared into her large designer bag. It licked her palm with its tiny pink tongue and gazed at her with soulful eyes.
“There, there, Kisses,” Renee said to the pooch. She pursed her too-red lips for emphasis as she turned her attention to the dog.
“Renee,” Paul said. “How are you this fine January day?”
The woman coughed into her manicured yet wrinkled hand. “I’m doing well...” Renee had been a thorn in Kate’s side from the moment they arrived in Copper Mill, but underneath her controlling ways, Kate sensed that she really had a heart for the church.
She placed a hand on her chest and let out a heavy sigh.
“Is something wrong?” Kate asked.
Renee shook her head. “I’ve just gotten some very bad news, I’m afraid. It’s just so sad...”
Paul sat up straighter and said, “I’m so sorry, Renee. Please, won’t you join us?”
“Is your mother okay?” Kate asked, sliding over in the booth to make room. Renee’s mother, Caroline, had come to stay with her daughter in November while she recovered from a broken hip and had recently decided to live with Renee. Kate knew it was hard for Renee, who was no spring chicken herself, to care for her ailing mother.
Renee dabbed at her eyes with a tissue and sat down, careful to adjust her purse—and Kisses—just so in her lap.
“She’s fine.” Renee fluttered her fingers at Kate’s question. “As ornery as ever. But it’s not about Mother. I heard from a dear friend in Chattanooga”—she leaned in closer—“that little Marissa Harris has cancer.” She whispered the last word, as if by saying it too loud, she might spread the horrid disease.
“Marissa who?” Paul asked.
“Harris,” she repeated. Then she waved a hand. “I forgot. You’re still new here. You don’t know the Harrises.” Kisses whined from his perch in the bag, and Renee patted his quivering head. “They’re members of Faith Briar, though they haven’t attended in months.”
“I don’t believe we’ve met anyone by that name,” Paul said. He looked at Kate, who had no idea who the Harrises were either.
“Patricia Harris is in her early forties,” Renee went on. “Nice enough looking. She’s a widow. She lost her husband just five months ago in a horrific accident. It was right before you came. Ray was an electrician.”
At this she raised a thinly plucked eyebrow. “He had been working down on Ashland Street, on one of those tall poles, when he was electrocuted. It was just horrible. That poor woman. Pastor Jacobs delivered a lovely eulogy at his funeral,” she went on. “Anyway, according to a nurse friend of mine in Chattanooga—she’s the one who told me about Marissa—the poor girl has been going to chemotherapy for a while, was in the hospital for an extended stay, and didn’t have a single visitor...”
Paul ignored the barb. “How old is Marissa?” Kate asked, imagining a five-year-old.
“She’s just out of college, I believe. Went to the university in Chattanooga.”
Kate sat forward in the booth, her elbows resting on the Formica tabletop. LuAnne arrived just then and took their orders.
“Did you want something too, Renee?” the waitress asked with a raised brow.
“I’ll have a lemon water, please, and one of those chef’s salads—no dressing.”
LuAnne left to call back their orders. Once she was out of earshot, Renee leaned in and said in a loud whisper, “There isn’t much in terms of health food in this place, but we don’t have much choice, do we?” She smiled as if pleased with herself.
“What were you saying about the Harrises?” Paul asked.
“Oh yes. The way I hear it, Marissa’s been having chemotherapy treatments for leukemia down in Chattanooga. My friend is a registered nurse there. Marissa was admitted for a full month with only her mother at her side. I just think that’s a crime when the church should be stepping in and helping out. Don’t you?”
“Has Patricia called anyone at the church or on the prayer chain?” Paul asked. Concern filled his eyes.
“No. And she won’t, either.” Renee raised an eyebrow and readjusted her designer bag with its resident dog before continuing. “Patricia hasn’t come to Faith Briar since shortly after Ray died. I don’t know what this will do to her. I just don’t know. If it were me, I don’t think I’d be able to carry on at all. After all she’s been through...”
Chapter Two
Kate fidgeted with the scarf around her neck, wanting to get the knot just right, yet knowing it was fine to begin with. She glanced in the visor mirror of her jet-black Honda Accord and reapplied her lipstick. She’d been rehearsing what she would say to this stranger all morning, yet nothing sounded quite right.
Hello. I don’t know you, but I heard you lost your husband...and now your daughter’s sick. With each practiced sentence, Kate envisioned the front door slamming in her face.
People didn’t take kindly to strangers showing up unannounced, especially wanting to talk about personal things. Not in this day and age, anyway. Sure, she was the pastor’s wife, but that gave her no more right than it did anyone else. And Patricia had obviously stopped coming to Faith Briar Church for a reason.
Kate’s heart went out to the woman. What must it be like to lose your husband and then face the death of your only child? She couldn’t get it out of her mind. She’d revisited Renee Lambert’s words all the previous day. When she called each of her three children for her weekly update, the thought had stayed with her. She’d even dreamed about being widowed and then finding out that her daughter Rebecca was on her deathbed. She awoke in tears, afraid that something had happened to Paul. But he snored on next to her.
Yet that deep sense of concern had pushed her all the way to Patricia’s house, and she knew it would keep pushing until she at least tried to comfort the poor woman.
Paul had wanted to come along too, but a previously scheduled meeting had kept him at the church.
I don’t know what I’m doing here, God, Kate prayed. But I know you care about Marissa and Patricia, so do what you will. Help me to be sensitive to their needs.
She climbed out of the car and took in the red Colonial house on Mountain Laurel Road at the western edge of town. It was a lovely two-story home with a green door at its center and four white-trimmed windows in perfect symmetry on each level. Flower boxes rested under the windows, though their contents were now snow covered. A light flutter of snowflakes wafted through the barren aspen trees that created a parklike atmosphere in the yard. Birdhouses in all different styles and colors were spread in clusters around the property. Northern cardinals and Carolina chickadees flew between them like fickle girls at a dance. A blue jay dove in to steal seeds and spread them across the ground.
Kate made her way up the cobblestone walk to the front door and rang the doorbell. Suddenly the words she’d rehearsed left her completely. She scrambled to think of something to say, but nothing would come. She heard the sound of footsteps before the door opened tentatively. The woman insid
e was trim and petite, with short, pale blond hair and vivid blue eyes. She appeared to be in her forties, though Kate had never been a good judge of people’s ages.
“Can I help you?” the woman asked.
“Are you Patricia Harris?” Kate ventured.
“Yes...”
Kate cleared her throat. “I’m Kate Hanlon.” She held out her hand, but the woman simply looked at it. “My husband is the new pastor at Faith Briar Church.”
The woman’s eyes glazed over at the announcement. “Listen, I’m not interested in any sales pitch to get me to—” Patricia began.
“I’m not here to try to get you to come back to church.”
Patricia gave her a curious look. “Then why are you here?”
“I’m sorry,” Kate said. “I’m not trying to intrude, truly.” She inhaled and smiled kindly at the woman. “I just heard that your husband died, and I wanted to offer my condolences.” That sounded lame even to her ears. She held out a plate of freshly baked oatmeal cookies, all the while praying that Patricia wouldn’t turn her away.
Patricia eyed the cookies for a long moment, then her shoulders relaxed. “Well, I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to say hello. Would you like to come in?”
Kate let out a breath of relief.
Patricia held the door open, and Kate followed her inside.
The front entry was flanked by an open staircase leading to the second floor, and the hallway opened to a dining room on one side and a den on the other.
The wall beneath the staircase was lined with photographs—mostly black and whites, all in assorted black-painted frames. Some of the photos featured a pale girl with dimpled cheeks, dark hair, and luminous dark eyes, through all ages of childhood and adolescence. Others bore the image of a man—good looking in a rugged way, with a sheen of stubble on his dimpled chin and penetrating pale eyes—and a pretty woman, whom Kate assumed was Patricia in her younger days.
In one photo, the man was holding the girl on his lap as they swung high on a city park swing. The joy the two shared was tangible, him holding her tight with one arm as the swing flew, while her expression carried the childlike rapture of the moment. Kate wondered if Patricia had been the photographer of the beautiful collection, since most of them were of father and daughter, with only a few of her.
At the center of the wall was a cross-stitched picture with “Marissa Lauren Harris” in tall letters across the top, and her birth date, weight, and length intermingled with teddy bears and blocks. It was a sort of birth announcement in thread. Kate had similar ones for each of her three children, given to her by an elderly aunt.
“August 16th...I have one of these for each of my kids too,” Kate said, realizing that Patricia was watching her. “These photos are amazing. Did you take them?”
Patricia waved her hand. “An old hobby of mine. I don’t do much of it anymore.”
“Well, your place is lovely. Have you lived here long?”
“Twenty years. My husband built the house shortly after we were married.” She nodded to a framed, poster-sized black-and-white photo of the same man on a catamaran. The boat was tilting precariously toward the water as the man leaned back in counterbalance. His hair was tousled in the wind, but by the wet grin on his face, it was obvious that he was having a great time.
“Looks like he was quite the sailor.”
“He was.” Patricia’s expression was wistful, then her face twisted in grief, and she turned away, heading down the hallway toward the back of the house. “Like I said before, I’ve had about all I can handle of the church. You’re not going to recruit me to come back.”
“That’s okay,” Kate said simply as she followed.
The hallway opened up into one large room with a nicely decorated kitchen to the left and the living room to the right, where a wall of windows let in the bright day. Wide pine boards in a warm hue lined the floor. Red Wing jugs and yellowware bowls lined the open kitchen shelves, giving the room a homey feel, as did the many antiques in the space.
“What was your name again?” Patricia asked as she set the plate of cookies on the counter and turned to get some cups from the cupboard.
“Kate, Kate Hanlon. I don’t usually knock on strangers’ doors like this.”
Kate laughed nervously, and Patricia gave her a sympathetic look before saying, “That accent...You’re from where?”
“Texas.” Kate blushed. “Paul was pastor of a church in San Antonio. I was born and raised there...and have lived there most of my life.”
Patricia nodded. “It was that megachurch, right? I heard about it. How many members did you have?”
“A little over five thousand,” Kate said.
“Wow. I hope you’re not thinking you’ll be able to do that here in Copper Mill. People around here...” She paused as if to search for the right word. “Let’s just say they’re a bit set in their ways. You’ll soon discover that folks want things to stay the way they’ve been for the last hundred years.”
Feeling no need to challenge her, Kate let her go on.
“Folks like me, well, we’re...”
“Folks like you?” Kate asked.
“Never mind,” Patricia said. She bit her lower lip, then asked, “Would you like some coffee?”
“I’m always good for a cup of coffee.”
Patricia turned to ready a pot, then got down two small plates and napkins for the cookies.
“Tell me about your husband,” Kate urged, hoping the request wouldn’t seem too intrusive.
“You don’t want to know my life’s story,” Patricia said. But by the faint smile that tilted the corners of her lips, Kate knew her interest had pleased the woman.
“You must miss him a lot,” Kate said.
Patricia’s eyes turned cloudy, and she reached for a tissue from the far end of the counter. She wiped her eyes before any tears could escape, then responded, “Yes, I miss him...For our twenty-fifth anniversary, we were going to take a sailing trip around the world. We were going to rent an ocean-going sailboat like we did when we went to Alaska. But he died five years too soon.” She nodded her head toward the picture again. “That was the boat he used to race on lakes around the area and in the Midwest, but he loved taking bigger boats out East or to the Pacific Coast...It was his favorite activity. Especially cruising around Alaska. Our trip there was so...Then he...” Her words trailed away, and she raised one hand, lightly covering her lips. Then she sighed and turned to busy herself with the coffee.
Kate waited, watching the petite woman.
“I’m sorry,” Kate finally ventured.
When Patricia turned back to Kate and met her gaze, it was obvious that she’d been shaken. “I sold the boat right after the accident,” she said. “It held too many memories.”
Kate reached out a hand and touched Patricia’s arm in sympathy.
“So, who told you?” Patricia asked.
“About Ray?” Kate clarified.
Patricia nodded and slowly drew her arm away.
“Renee Lambert.”
“Oh, that old biddy.” As soon as the words slipped out, Patricia blushed. “What other rumors did she spread about me?”
“She wasn’t unkind...” Kate began, but then she heard the sound of a timid-sounding voice at the entrance to the hall, just off the kitchen.
“Mom?” said a girl who looked to be in her early twenties. She was a petite thing, like her mother, and wore an African-print head scarf that accentuated her dark eyes in a pale face. Her features were delicate, reminding Kate of Snow White. A blanket was wrapped around her thin shoulders and trailed down almost to the floor, leaving only leopard-print slippers showing from under its length.
Patricia must not have realized that her daughter was there either, because as soon as she heard Marissa’s voice, she rushed to her side and helped her walk to the couch in the living room. Marissa lay down as her mother straightened blankets and fussed with pillows.
“You need your mask,” Patricia said,
quickly returning to the kitchen to retrieve a blue surgical mask for her daughter.
Marissa smiled over at Kate, revealing deep dimples in both cheeks before she slipped the rubber band over her head that held the mask in place.
“Hi,” the young woman said through the mask. “I’m Marissa.” Then she turned to her mother. “Why didn’t you tell me we had company? I would have at least put a robe on.”
“She wasn’t exactly expecting me,” Kate said apologetically as she prepared to go, but Marissa motioned for her to sit. Her weary eyes, darkly circled though they were, looked grateful for the company.
“Mrs. Hanlon brought us some cookies.” Patricia offered the plate to her daughter.
“I love cookies,” Marissa said, taking a large one from the plate. “So you’re...?”
“Kate Hanlon. My husband is the new pastor at Faith Briar.”
“Oh.” Marissa’s eyes lit with recognition. “I read about the fire in the paper, and everything that’s been going on there. That was rough.”
Patricia returned to the kitchen to check on the coffee on the other side of the long room.
“We’re doing better now,” Kate said. “The church has been rebuilt, and we’re back to regular services.”
“I miss going to church there,” the girl confessed. “I’ve been sick, so it’s been hard to get out.” She lifted the bottom of the mask and took a bite of the cookie before letting the mask drop back over her mouth.
“I’m sorry to hear you’re sick,” Kate said.
“Well, not as sorry as I am.” Marissa laughed, then she lowered her gaze as her laughter faded. “I have leukemia,” she said simply. “I’ve been doing chemotherapy for what feels like an eternity.” She looked at Kate and shrugged.
“And how is that going?” Kate asked as she moved to the wingback chair across from Marissa, setting her purse on the floor next to it.
“Hard to know. If I measure effectiveness by how sick the treatments make me feel, I’ll be just fine.”
