by Lynn Bulock
Journal Entry
June 9
I’m going to have to take action. My dearest Ronald’s daughters, especially Miranda and Portia still won’t let up. There’s no way I can sit idly by and do nothing while they continue to monopolize all of their father’s attention. Perhaps if I make them see how aggravating they’ve been they will start leaving him alone. I hope I don’t have to do anything drastic.
Four rows back, second person in from the aisle. Greg couldn’t focus anywhere else during the early service on Sunday. Ever since Miranda and Winnie had walked in and sat down, his attention had gone there first. Miranda looked beautiful in her rose-colored skirt and lacy white blouse. Was she a morning person? She looked a lot more alert at this early hour than he felt. But then he hadn’t slept all that well since Thursday night.
Once the service started Greg tried to keep his concentration on almost anyone else, especially during his sermon. He had a responsibility to communicate the Gospel in the clearest way possible and looking at Miranda didn’t help keep his head clear. Any more than a glance at that shining dark hair and beautiful face and his focus might falter. There would be plenty of time after the service to talk to Miranda and her aunt. Greg wondered whose idea it had been to have Winnie to invite him to lunch today.
He didn’t know whether to hope it had been all Winnie’s idea or not. He’d felt like a high school kid most of Friday and Saturday, staring at the phone, even picking it up to call Miranda once in a while before chickening out and putting it down each time. If only he knew exactly what to do.
Most of the time he wrestled with the bigger issues in his faith life, not the smaller ones. The little decisions got committed to God without even thinking. Until now God had provided a ready answer to every question in his life but one, and that one might take him this lifetime to answer…or not. Some days he was okay with not knowing the answer to his own personal “why” and some days it ate him alive. Still, until now, wondering about that night nearly twenty years ago was the only thing that stopped him in his tracks. Now he couldn’t even figure out whether to make a simple phone call.
The hymns this morning weren’t helping either. He sat after his sermon, singing “Have Thine Own Way, Lord” along with the congregation, mouthing the words while he wondered what that way really was. The song said he was willing to be the clay shaped by the Divine Potter but right now he felt more like Silly Putty. Didn’t God want him to concentrate on building this church and ministry instead of wasting time on his personal life?
He looked over at Winnie and Miranda again, drawn like a magnet. Winnie sang sweetly, her voice lifted surely to God as she sat with perfect posture not even looking at the hymnal Miranda held. The older woman’s pink cheeks matched the rosebud tucked in her high chignon, which complemented the shades of her chic floral dress. By contrast, Miranda seemed to be concentrating solely on the words in front of her, one wavy tendril of dark hair loose from the clip in back brushing her cheek. As the organist wrapped up the song, Greg sent up a silent prayer. What is Your way for me? Does it include this woman? And if it did, Greg wondered, what on earth did he do next?
A few minutes later he found himself at the back of the sanctuary, shaking hands with the congregation as they filed out toward the parking lot. He tried to focus on each person in front of him, from ninety-year-old Grandpa Harrison with his squealing hearing-aid battery to three-year-old Katie whose teddy bear needed a hug. Even so, he could feel Miranda growing nearer even without looking, until she and Winnie stood directly in front of him.
“That was a very good sermon, Reverend,” Winnie said, clasping his hand. “Maybe you should try listening to it some time.”
Ouch. Did his lack of concentration show that badly? He opened his mouth to say something, but saw from Winnie’s sparkling eyes and impish smile that she didn’t expect a serious answer. “Are we still on for lunch?” he asked. Maybe deflecting her would work.
“We certainly are. Do you need directions to the house?”
“No, he brought me home just a few days ago, remember?” Miranda broke in. “You can find us again, can’t you, Pastor Greg?” In contrast to her aunt, she looked more serious, but not with the deep sadness she seemed to have when they’d talked on Thursday.
“I know I can find you again, Miranda. Do you mind if I go home first and change out of my work clothes?” he asked, looking back at Winnie.
“Of course not. I didn’t expect you to wear a suit and tie all through Sunday lunch,” she replied. “It will just be the family today, and I’m not sure all of us will eat together anyway. Portia mentioned something about going on a youth group minigolf trip with Mick, and my father still isn’t up to joining us at the table.”
“If he’s at all open to having company I’d be happy to pay him a call while I’m there,” Greg told her. He hadn’t seen the older gentleman since he’d returned home from the hospital following his last health scare.
“That would be lovely,” Winnie said. “We’ll see you at one then.”
Greg noticed that Miranda watched them both through this whole exchange with a questioning look. “So you’re coming to lunch?” That told him this was Winnie’s idea, but her niece didn’t look unhappy about it, either. “At least that explains Aunt Winnie’s floral arranging for an hour yesterday afternoon. And all the directions to Andre about those Chantilly cream puffs.”
Winnie made a noise that sounded suspiciously like a giggle. “I do hope you like desserts, Reverend.”
“Sweets are one of my weaknesses,” he told her, wondering why Miranda blushed as they made their way out of the sanctuary and he greeted the family behind them.
“You could have warned me,” Miranda told Winnie, trying not to sound like a huffy teenager. “I might have sounded more intelligent in front of Gregory if I’d known he was coming over for lunch.”
“I don’t think he’s questioning your intelligence, dear,” Winnie said, patting her hand. “You could have said anything to him back there and he would still have thought you adorable.”
“Aunt Winnie, really! This is your pastor you’re talking about.” Miranda felt her cheeks warm up even more. Could they get any redder than they’d been when Gregory smiled at her back there? She’d never felt so emotionally charged by a conversation about cream puffs before. “I can’t imagine that the man thinks of me as anything more than one of the dozens of people he’s counseled during hard times.” She said the words firmly, trying to convince herself they were true. The kiss they’d shared had to have been an exception. Any attraction she felt for the handsome minister had to be one-sided, didn’t it? What would a confident, educated man of God want with someone like her?
“If that’s so, then he’s done some very intense and interesting counseling. Nevertheless, he has to eat. And from what his secretary has told me during our quilting group, he’s as hopeless as most bachelors about cooking anything more elaborate than hamburgers.”
Miranda groaned. “You’re matchmaking again, Aunt Winnie. Aren’t you satisfied that all the rest of the girls have someone in their lives? With that many weddings and receptions to help plan eventually, surely you can let me be content in my spinsterhood.” She said it as lightly as possible, hoping to distract her aunt.
Winnie was difficult to distract and this time wasn’t any different. “Nonsense, dear. After all these years of being a mother hen to that brood of sisters you’ve helped me raise, you deserve better. And in my estimation Pastor Greg might be the only man in Stoneley worthy of your regard.”
Miranda shook her head, knowing it was hopeless to argue with Winnie in one of these moods. “I just hope you haven’t told him that,” she said, cringing internally at the thought.
Winnie shook her head. “Of course not. Men need to think these grand schemes are their own ideas.”
“Is that why you’ve started leaving travel magazines with articles about honeymoon world cruises on the coffee tables every time Tate visits?” Fi
nally, something that deflected Winnie, who blushed even deeper than Miranda felt her own cheeks redden.
“Why, I never…” was all Aunt Winnie could splutter out. She stayed mercifully silent for the trip home and Miranda filed that information away for future use. There weren’t too many ways to have the last word with Winnie. It always helped to remember one that worked.
Once home, Miranda dithered about whether to change her clothes or not. Gregory had said he would be more casual than the dark suit he wore at church. She had to admit to herself that the man would be handsome in whatever he wore, even jeans and a sweatshirt. It was hard to picture him in that attire, given that she’d only seen him in what he called his work clothes so far. Thursday night he’d still worn a white shirt and tie when they went out for coffee. Remembering that, Miranda decided to stay in what she already wore. If she helped Winnie in the kitchen she’d put on an apron. Of course that would be if Andre let either of them in there today. He didn’t always take well to Winnie’s puttering around in there, especially not when company was coming.
Miranda felt very thankful that the day was nice enough to set the table on the sunporch for the meal. She counted places, coming up with eight. “Does this mean that Portia and Mick will be here?”
“And Kaitlyn. I thought with everyone present it would be safe to have your father and Tate at the same table. Surely the presence of the police, a small child and a minister will keep them apart.”
“If that doesn’t, Aunt Winnie, I have no idea what will.” Miranda found herself sending up a small prayer that everyone’s conduct would be up to Winnie’s standards during Sunday dinner.
Mick and Kaitlyn arrived first, with Kaitlyn bouncing around in excitement after she’d given Portia a hug. “They’re going to let me play minigolf with the youth group. I promised Daddy I wouldn’t be too slow and make them wait.”
“I just hope I can keep up with you myself,” Portia said, drawing laughter from the group as she stood in the shelter of Mick’s arms. Watching the comfortable relationship her sister and the tall detective had with each other, Miranda questioned whether she really could be as happy being single forever as she’d professed to Winnie earlier. Portia glowed with contentment, standing there with Mick’s arms around her, both of them watching his daughter dance around in her bright T-shirt and denim skirt.
Winnie ushered Tate into the room, breaking into Miranda’s thoughts. The older man and Mick greeted each other a little stiffly, but with more respect for each other than her father ever showed for Mr. Connolly. Tate welcomed hugs from Portia and Miranda with a look of bemusement on his face. “This family of yours takes some getting used to, Winnie,” he said, gray eyes sparkling. “It seems like every time I’m around there are more of them.”
“Don’t you have any family, Mr. Connolly?” Kaitlyn piped up. “You look like a grandpa. Don’t you have any grandkids?”
“No, miss, I don’t,” he told her, with a flicker of regret Miranda saw cross his face only briefly. “But I’ve got a nephew who’s like a son to me, and I hope that someday his children will call me their grandpa.”
“Well, if you want anybody to practice with, we can sit you next to Kaitlyn at the table,” Portia said, smoothing one of the child’s red pigtails.
“I might take you up on that. I’ll never argue with having a beautiful redhead on either side of me for dinner,” Tate quipped.
Kaitlyn grinned and Winnie blushed. It all made Miranda feel more surrounded by family than she had in quite a while. When the doorbell rang again she offered to get it.
Opening the door for Greg, she felt a little tongue-tied again. “I hope I’m not too late,” he said. “It always takes longer to get home from church and change clothes than I expect it to on Sundays. I can’t turn anyone away who needs to speak to me. Once I’ve been here just a little longer hopefully I’ll be able to sort out who truly needs my time and who just wants company.”
Knowing Greg’s kindness the way she did, Miranda couldn’t see him turning down even those who only needed a little visit. “So is this your disguise for going out in public to remain unnoticed?” Miranda couldn’t help teasing him a little. He did look different in the pleated khakis and tan golf shirt he wore; more relaxed but no less handsome than he looked in a suit.
“I don’t know about being unnoticed, but at least I’m not quite as visible to every member of Unity when I go out places like this. I hope it won’t confuse your grandfather if I go upstairs to visit him dressed this way.”
His genuine concern reflected on his face, and Miranda felt touched by it. “Grandfather is so easily confused on some days that I don’t think what you wear will have any bearing on what he thinks, Gregory. I know he’ll sense your kindness and concern and that will mean more than what you’re wearing.”
A trace of worry left his dark eyes. “That’s nice of you to say. I try to treat everyone the right way no matter how I’m dressed. I think attitude is as much a statement about Who you belong to as is how you dress. It may be even more important, because if I lack the proper demeanor the suit isn’t going to impress anybody.”
“Well said as usual. Did you always have this way with words or did you learn it as you studied for the ministry?”
Greg smiled. “That depends on who you ask. My roommates at the seminary would say I still don’t have their talent in turning a phrase, because they’re both married and I’m still single. I usually respond that they are just fortunate to have found young women right away who needed help curing their insomnia.”
Miranda laughed as she led him toward the living room. “They must be good friends if they put up with that.”
The worry or unease was back in Greg’s expression for a second, then gone. “The best. It’s like having a couple of brothers, only better. Dan and Steve have never gotten into a fistfight with me.” Then they were in the large arched doorway of the living room and Miranda made introductions, pondering what Greg had said.
In a few minutes they all sat at the table on Winnie’s sunporch, trying to ignore the empty place set for Ronald. “I’m sure he’ll join us eventually,” Winnie said.
Miranda knew the effort her aunt had put into making sure dinner was just right, and she couldn’t help being aggravated that her father showed his disrespect for his sister in this way. But then, why should today be any different? Ronald didn’t respect much of anybody or anything, except his father and the empire they’d built.
“If you’ll say the blessing, Pastor Greg, I don’t believe we’ll wait any longer for Ronald,” Winnie said tartly a few moments later.
Greg nodded and folded his hands in prayer, then Kaitlyn broke in. “At home we hold hands with each other. Can we do that here?”
“Of course,” Greg told her, taking Winnie’s hand on one side of him at the circular table and Miranda’s on the other. His touch started warmth coursing through her, and she didn’t even mind having to stretch over her father’s empty place to reach Portia’s soft hand. “Heavenly Father, thank You for this beautiful day You have given us, and for the good companionship at this table,” he prayed. “Thank You for this food, which I ask You to use to strengthen our bodies for Your service in whatever You would have us do. We ask this in the name of Jesus. Amen.”
Miranda noticed that even Tate answered with an “amen” of his own, and she heard one from the doorway connecting the sunporch to the house. Ronald stood there looking a little sheepish. “I lost track of the time at the driving range, Winnie. I hope you’ll forgive me for not being here at the start of things.”
The explanation was so unlike her father’s usual brush-off in such situations that Miranda felt taken aback. Perhaps God truly was working in her father’s life. If that was the case, maybe there was hope for her as well.
Her brother’s response surprised Winnie as well. “You made it in time for lunch, and from what I heard there behind me you were here for at least some of our table grace as well. I suppose we could ov
erlook your tardiness this time. After all, I didn’t call you three times, did I?” Her smile pointed out the dimple in her cheek. “It’s something I’d almost forgotten from our childhood,” she explained. “Our mother always claimed that Ronald was always so interested in playing with his friends that he never came in for meals until she called the third time.”
Ronald slipped into place between his daughters. “My sister is right. But surely I at least have the sympathy from the other men at the table. I know you played a lot of football in your day, Connolly. Surely you two younger men came in late for dinner once in a while.”
“Basketball at Jimmy McPherson’s house,” Mick put in, with more of a pleasant look on his face than Miranda had ever seen around her father before.
“Riding my bike down to the local park,” Greg admitted. “Good to see you again, Mr. Blanchard.” He extended a hand and the two of them shook in front of Miranda.
“That sounds like a subtle reminder that I haven’t been to church with the family lately. And I suspect I might be the only one at this table who can say that.”
“No, Ronald, you and I actually have something in common for a change, although I don’t intend for us to have that in common long,” Tate spoke up. “In fact, Reverend, I’ve been meaning to ask you what I’d need to do to join that church of yours that Winnie is so fond of.”
Connolly’s statement brought a hum of excitement to the table, and Miranda realized, along with the rest of the women, that this could only mean Tate and her aunt were getting closer to setting a wedding date. Light conversation about Unity and the programs they had to offer took up most of the conversation for a while. Miranda hardly noticed what she was eating because she was so absorbed in watching Gregory talk about programs for seniors and singles.
Only when Winnie brought out the cream puffs and coffee did Miranda pay attention to the entire table for a few minutes. Kaitlyn was trying to talk her father into staying “just a little while longer” so that she could have one of the concoctions. When Mick couldn’t be swayed, Winnie came to the little girl’s rescue. “I’ll put three of them aside right now, dear. That way when you and your daddy bring Portia home after the youth group excursion, they’ll be waiting for you, all right?”
