by Lynn Bulock
“From what she says, you had a lot to do with raising your sisters, too.” Greg’s eyes appeared moist for a moment, but that passed quickly. “That had to be a heavy burden for a girl not yet into her teens.”
“I was the oldest. Juliet was an infant with no memory of our mother, and truly, all the girls except Bianca and me were very young. I did what I could. I think most of it was to keep my mother’s memory alive for myself.” It was the first time Miranda had admitted that to anybody else, and it felt freeing somehow.
“Being a child growing up in this house can’t have been easy.” Greg’s expression invited Miranda to say more, and around him talking came easier than with anyone else she’d known in years. “I’m glad you had Winnie.”
“So am I. And I’m glad she introduced me to you.” Miranda felt like blushing the minute she said that, but Greg’s answering smile gave the warmth rushing to her face a different sensation.
“I’m glad, too.” He took her hand, and his tenderness overwhelmed her. “Now how about we catch up with those two and see if we can start planning a wedding. Honestly, I’d rather do just about anything to keep from discussing your father and his legal situation with Mr. Connolly anymore.”
“I couldn’t agree with you more. I think Winnie’s biggest problem is who to have stand up for her as a witness. Tate has his nephew, Brandon, but I don’t think Winnie wants to pick just one of us.”
“I expect we can work something out. From what I’ve seen of you and your sisters, I’m not about to stir up anything among this many strong women.”
If Miranda hadn’t felt love for him before, it swelled in her now. A few weeks ago, when Winnie told her that Gregory Brown might be the only man in Stoneley worth her time, she hadn’t believed her. But now once again her aunt was proving to be a woman of great wisdom.
“Well, I heard she just couldn’t live with herself after killing the wrong woman. She thought she was setting herself up to be the second Mrs. Blanchard and she totally blew it.” Greg didn’t recognize the young woman gossiping about Alannah Stafford, or the well-dressed man she was talking to, but he was tempted to introduce himself just to startle them. This party at the Blanchard home reminded him of Winnie’s birthday party back in January in its scope, but that was where the comparison ended.
Winnie’s party had been filled with happiness for the most part. In January he was still getting used to Stoneley and its society and now, more than five months later, he had made many more contacts. Tonight’s party felt totally different; Ronald Blanchard’s assistant Barbara Sanchez had gone all out in planning the affair to celebrate charges against her boss being dropped. If it hadn’t been for his wanting to see Miranda through what might be an uncomfortable evening, Greg would have stayed home and worked some more on Sunday’s sermon, even though it was only Wednesday night.
Now perhaps he had even more grist for that sermon, especially since the text he’d chosen was the seventh chapter of Matthew that began with the warning that we would be judged as we judged others. Before Greg could give any more thought to the issue of judgment, he had other problems—trying to keep his balance while being almost bowled over by a bubbly Kaitlyn Campbell. “Hi, Pastor Greg. I’m staying up past my bedtime!”
“I can see that, young lady. What does your dad have to say about that?”
“That I have Portia’s daddy to thank for that because this is his party. I haven’t seen him yet to say thank you.” She stood on tiptoe in her white summer sandals. “You’re tall. Can you see him from up there?”
“Not yet. But I do see your dad and Portia,” he told her, swinging her up off the ground as she giggled. He was glad that the brief trauma of being kidnapped hadn’t scarred the child, and she was still the sweet young lady he’d come to know. Watching her father and Portia search the crowd for the child, he wondered how much Miranda’s sister had sacrificed during the abduction to keep the child protected. Not for the first time he thanked God for His wisdom in putting his friend Mick in contact with this beautiful, strong woman.
As he lowered her to the floor, Kaitlyn wiggled down out of his grasp and raced to where her father stood. Greg followed her to have a few words with Mick and Portia. “This is quite a party,” he said, not going into detail so that he wouldn’t be forced to say anything he didn’t mean.
“Not exactly my style,” Portia said, wrinkling her pretty nose slightly. “I would have been happy with some kind of family dinner, but Barbara seemed to believe the entire town needed to be invited. And I think they all came.” She gestured to the overflow crowd in the living room, the marble entrance foyer and the dining room, where the chairs had been removed around the massive table to give more space to circulate.
“I know I saw the mayor when I came in, and I think he was talking to your boss,” Greg said, looking at Mick. “Is that how she got you to dress up this much?” Campbell didn’t look too comfortable in the suit and tie he wore.
“Nah, I did it on my own. I figure dressed like this nobody would recognize me and I could circulate more freely, hear what people are saying.”
Greg started to laugh, but realized the detective was at least half serious. “Well, I won’t keep you then. Enjoy the evening.”
They parted and Greg slipped into the dining room, wondering where Miranda might be. He’d been looking for her, sure that any minute he’d see the cascade of dark, wavy hair that always tempted him to run his fingers through its masses, or catch the scent of her subtle, floral perfume. So far he had made a quick circuit through the living room, where Ronald was holding court with various business and city officials.
From there he’d looked through the dining room quickly, and then gone back to the entry hall where he’d seen the Campbells and Portia. Now he returned to the dining room, where he thought he recognized Miranda’s sister Juliet and her fiancé Brandon DeWitt. He considered asking Juliet where Miranda was, then a server who looked like she might work for a caterer swung the door from a butler’s pantry wide-open as she carried a tray to the table.
Beyond her in the kitchen Greg finally saw Miranda. Impulsively he headed toward her, even though he knew that going into the kitchen wasn’t polite guest behavior during a party at someone else’s home.
“Hi,” he said, not wanting to startle Miranda with his presence.
She turned, and her answering smile spoke of anything but being startled. “Hello. I was hoping that you would be here. I spent the first hour or so among the guests, but everything out there was getting on my nerves. I thought perhaps I’d calm down if I came in here.”
“Did it work?” She didn’t look all that calm to Greg, but she certainly looked beautiful.
“Not terribly well. Do you have any other ideas on how to escape the crowd without being too rude?”
“Rude or not, why don’t we take a walk along the bluffs. It’s warm in here and there are too many people.”
Miranda’s answering smile was even wider than the first one. “That’s brilliant. Let me tell someone where I’m going and I’ll be right back.”
“Hurry. Now that I found you I’m ready to escape.”
ELEVEN
Walking along the bluffs with Greg, Miranda felt like a new person. Inside, the house had closed in on her until she saw Gregory. Now out here with the velvety sky full of stars and a light breeze teasing her hair the tension of the party seemed miles away.
“I’m glad you rescued me,” she said, squeezing Greg’s hand. He’d taken hers the moment they’d left the path. Miranda wasn’t sure whether he was protecting her from falling, or letting her guide him through unfamiliar territory. Either way, it was wonderful.
“I think we rescued each other. I can’t say I was here for any reason but to see you,” he told her, which made her heart flutter.
“Personally I think it’s kind of a sad reason for a party. But I guess it figures with my father’s image as the CEO of Blanchard Fabrics. And I imagine it gives his attorneys the publicity t
hey want as well.”
“But, as you said, all that adds up to a pretty pitiful reason for a party. I couldn’t help comparing it to Winnie’s birthday party. That was the last big event I attended in your family’s home. Now there was a reason for celebration.”
Even in the dark she could see and feel Greg’s smile. “I felt the same way tonight before you came. Except for Grandfather’s outburst with Alannah and Juliet in January, Aunt Winnie’s party was so joyous. Tonight feels so…I don’t know…hollow in comparison.”
“For somebody who doesn’t consider herself terribly spiritual, you certainly are rather deep. And we’re often on the same track on things, like what you just said.”
They had come to the weather-worn porch swing that had been on the bluffs here as long as Miranda could remember. “Well, if we’re on the same track, then maybe you’d like a chance to sit down as much as I would,” she said, trying to sound lighthearted.
“That would be fine. I didn’t sit down much inside because there just wasn’t a group I wanted to join in there.”
She sank to the smooth gray seat of the swing in its frame, the chains holding the swing creaking softly. The salt air had worked on this swing for decades. Occasionally someone replaced it, but it always seemed to weather to this homey piece of furniture quickly. Greg sat down beside her, sighing contentedly. “This is very comfortable. Do you come here often?”
“It’s one of my favorite places after Winnie’s rose garden. Sometimes when I’m looking for inspiration that won’t come, I walk out and sit here and stare out there at the ocean until the horizon blurs.” It wasn’t something she’d shared with many people; her family already counted her as the resident daydreamer and she didn’t have many writing friends she would have trusted with something this private.
“Wow. That sounds positively poetic. In the nicest sense of the word, I mean.” Greg relaxed back into the swing, setting it swaying softly with the push of his long legs. He reached above his head in a move that reminded Miranda of a teenager at the movies, draping an arm across the back of the swing.
It would feel so good, she thought, just to lean back onto that strong arm and stay there. Greg must have thought so, too, because he didn’t move when she did settle in with a small, happy sigh. For a little while they just sat there together and Miranda looked up at the brightening stars.
“Can you teach someone to write poetry? I’ve always felt that it was sort of an inborn talent, somehow. I feel I’m miserable at it, personally. I look at the poetry of the psalms and it moves me, but I can’t imagine writing it.”
“You can teach some parts of writing anything, but I have to think there’s something inborn as well. You can teach someone how to reach what’s already there inside them, but you can’t create that ‘something’ if it’s not there.”
“Wow. Can I take that idea for a sermon sometime? It’s a very powerful idea.”
Miranda sat up a little straighter. “You would use something I said in a sermon? I hardly feel worthy of that.”
“None of us are worthy by ourselves. It’s the Spirit working in us that brings that worthiness. And what you said about teaching someone to reach something inside, but not being able to create that something, is a very deep Christian idea. If we believe it’s the grace of God that saves us through faith, we’re talking about ‘something’ being there inside us that we can’t create, because God’s the One who put it there.”
“And what I said led you to all of that? I’m impressed. I thought we were simply talking about writing poetry. And by the way, I think you might be better at that than you think.” It was on the tip of her tongue to say that his eloquence around her was one of the things she loved about him, but something stopped her.
“I don’t know about that—” Greg broke off what he was saying and looked down. In the silence Miranda could hear a faint hum and there seemed to be a glow coming from somewhere. “My cell phone.” Greg sighed. “I have to at least see who’s calling.”
He fished the offending phone out of his pocket and glanced at the display. “I have to take this one for just a minute.” He flipped it open as he stood up from the swing and walked a couple of steps into the darkness. “Hello? Yes, I know, Aunt Martha, I didn’t call this week.”
So it was a family call. Miranda tried not to eavesdrop, but it was difficult. She wondered what Greg would tell his aunt about what he was doing right at the moment. “No, nothing is wrong. I’ve just been very busy. Mostly routine stuff, but there has been a bit of excitement, too.”
Miranda’s pulse raced. Had Greg said anything about her to his family yet? She wasn’t familiar enough with the ways of men in general to know what to expect. In the faint light she could tell that Greg looked over to where she still sat. “Say hi for me,” she said softly on impulse.
“What? Oh, Miranda says hi.” There was a short pause. “No, she’s just a friend who goes to Unity. I’m at a party her family is giving. It’s a large celebration. I even ran into my best girl Kaitlyn earlier. That’s right, the cute one with the red hair.”
Miranda’s heart sank to the pit of her stomach. So she was just a friend from church. And he mentioned her in the same breath as a six-year-old. That’s what you get for saying something, she told herself bitterly. Now you really know what he thinks of you.
Hot tears threatened to spill over as she sat staring at the ground, her hands balled into fists. As usual she wasn’t carrying a handkerchief or tissues. A knot tightened her throat, but for a change it didn’t signal a panic attack coming on, just a huge dose of hurt and disappointment. No longer listening to Greg’s conversation, she stood up and started heading back to the house. Half-blinded by tears she almost stumbled ten feet from the swing, but steadied herself. She almost looked back around to see if Greg had noticed. No sense in that. He was too busy talking to someone he really loved.
Greg almost hung up on Aunt Martha and Uncle Vince when he turned and noticed the empty swing. The moment he’d told his aunt that the soft voice she’d heard in the background just belonged to a friend, he knew he was in trouble. Still, how could he explain to Miranda that his aunt was such a hopelessly romantic person, with a vivid imagination?
If he admitted that Miranda might be anything more than a friend, Martha would mentally be planning the wedding already. No, Greg resolved years ago not to talk about women with his aunt. The one time he’d brought a girl home from college just because she had nowhere to go on Thanksgiving weekend, he’d come downstairs for Saturday breakfast to find Martha showing his poor, hapless friend clippings and baby pictures from a scrapbook. After that he’d always been very careful to err on the side of caution with Martha.
Greg knew his attention had left the conversation when he heard Vince call sharply, “Son? You still with us or has that space-age phone of yours run out of juice?” Vince didn’t believe anybody needed a telephone that could fit in a pocket and contained a day planner, games and a digital camera.
“No, the phone’s fine. I just need to get back to the party before they miss me,” Greg said. No sense in telling them that what he really had to get back to was a young woman he needed to have a talk with. That alone would get Martha going. They said their goodbyes and Greg hurried up the path searching for Miranda.
“Hey, wait up. We need to talk,” he told her as he caught sight of her in front of him, hurrying toward the well-lit kitchen.
Miranda stopped, but she didn’t move toward him. “I think you’ve talked plenty.” Even in the near-dark Greg could see tears glistening on her cheeks. He reached out toward her and she stepped back, palms out in a gesture that could only mean stop.
“Will you at least let me try to explain?” That sounded pretty lame even to him. “I know you heard me say you were just a friend, but there’s more to it than what you heard.”
Miranda dashed the back of her hand across her cheek. “There’s more? Oh, great. Next you’ll tell me it’s not me, it’s you. Any other lines
you want to run by me?”
Greg stood there speechless. Was he being that shallow and transparent? Because he’d never been in this position before, he had absolutely no practice in what to do next. If Miranda would let him he would gather her into his arms and hold her and ask her to try to put up with his fumbling attempts to apologize and make things right. But she didn’t want anything to do with him.
Of course, this just proved that she didn’t need somebody like him to add more pain to her life. “No, there are no more lines, Miranda. But will you please stay here with me a moment so I can get my act together and say things right for a change?”
“No. If you have to think about it all that much, there’s really nothing more to say.” Leaving him in the dark, she turned and nearly ran back to the kitchen door. Greg stood there watching her disappear into the brightly lit house while he tried to figure out what on earth he should do next.
A few of the catering staff looked at him a bit oddly when he rushed through the kitchen on his mission to find Miranda. He didn’t find her there, or in the dining room. When he scanned the crowd in the hall his heart sank when he saw a bevy of women just rounding the corner of the staircase to the second story of the house.
“All right, just what is going on here, Pastor Greg?” Winnie’s voice nearby made him start. “Miranda came in looking quite upset, talking in an animated fashion with Bianca and Portia. Then Bianca gathered the rest of her sisters from where they’d been around the house and they all trooped upstairs.”
