by JoAnn Durgin
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and events either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or persons living or dead is purely coincidental.
Gentle Like the Rain is Copyright © 2016 by JoAnn Durgin. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce in whole or in part in any form or medium.
First published by permission in the Whispers of Love anthology Copyright © June 2016.
All Scripture contained within is from the New American Standard Bible. Copyright © 1960, 1962, 1963, 1968, 1971, 1972, 1973, 1975, 1977, 1995 by The Lockman Foundation. Used by permission.
Copyright for the lyrics of “Amazing Grace” and “I Surrender All” are in the public domain.
By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of the author.
Cover Design: Ruthie Madison/Madison Designs
http://www.ruthiemadison.com
Cover Photo: Michael Jung
michaeljung@dollarphotoclub
From the Author
~~♥~~
Dear Readers,
Gentle Like the Rain is a sequel to Heart’s Design, my 2015 novel set primarily in the fictional town of Evergreen, Maine. While this story features the same New England setting, and shares characters in common, Gentle Like the Rain can easily stand on its own with the introduction of two new lead characters, Sidney Prescott and Isabella Caccavale.
In Heart’s Design, heroine Caroline Prescott’s eldest brother, Sidney, was mentioned but never made an appearance. When I was invited to contribute a book to the Whispers of Love project, I began to contemplate sharing Sidney’s journey. He is a complex and intriguing character. Driven to succeed his entire life, he’s a man burdened with high expectations and recent loss.
As an author, I love showing how God can use our human weaknesses for His glory. Gentle Like the Rain explores one man’s quest as Sidney seeks God’s purpose and meaning for his life, even without first recognizing it as such. Along the way, he encounters intriguing individuals who impact his life in unforgettable ways. While Gentle Like the Rain is a love story between a man and a woman, it is also the story of one man’s journey in discovering the immeasurable grace, mercy, and love to be found in a personal relationship with Jesus Christ.
As always, thank you to my husband, Jim, for putting up with my crazy writing schedule. My family is my greatest source of encouragement, and I praise the Lord for their patience. I am a continual work in progress, just as we all are.
Thank you, dear readers, for supporting authors of Christian fiction. It’s my prayer that you’ll find a blessing—a word, thought, prayer, or a verse of Scripture—in Gentle Like the Rain to carry with you in your life’s journey.
Blessings,
JoAnn Durgin
Matthew 5:16
Gentle Like the Rain
A Heart’s Design Novel
Book Description
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After Isabella Caccavale’s Aunt Clara marched into her Hartford marketing firm and announced, “God told me to retire and sell my general store in Evergreen—to you,” Isabella’s life plunged into a tailspin. Fourteen months later, as the new owner of Mahoney’s General Store, she’s explaining the benefits of goat’s milk soap to a customer on the phone while keeping an eye on a seven-year-old prankster intent on hauling the huge jar of dill pickles off the counter.
“Runaway” Boston lawyer Sidney Prescott is hard-driven, a man burdened by high expectations and a demanding family legacy. Reeling from personal loss, he roars into quaint little Evergreen, Maine, seeking answers to life’s important questions. After all, escaping to the same town worked for his younger sister, Caroline, a few years before.
Sidney jump-starts Isabella’s wounded heart, but it doesn’t help when Aunt Clara marches into the store the day after his arrival and makes another startling prediction. Following the failure of a long-term relationship, Isabella vowed to God and herself that she’d never fall in love with another man who doesn’t share her faith. Sidney represents everything she doesn’t need in her life, but she’s strongly drawn to him. Can she keep the lines from blurring between friendship and romance?
Spending time with his sister Caroline and her family, and crossing paths with townsfolk who impact his life in unforgettable ways, Sidney begins to question his work, his lifestyle, and his beliefs in a God he’s never paid much attention to in the past. Could the Almighty have a specific purpose for Sidney’s life? He’s quickly fallen for Isabella, but is there a way they can be together since he’s not the man she needs?
Will Sidney take Isabella’s heart with him when he returns to Boston? Join the journey in Gentle Like the Rain.
Theme Scripture Verses
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Psalm 37:4
Delight yourself in the Lord;
And He will give you the desires of your heart.
Proverbs 2:6-9
6For the Lord gives wisdom;
From His mouth come knowledge and understanding.
7He stores up sound wisdom for the upright;
He is a shield to those who walk in integrity,
8Guarding the paths of justice,
And He preserves the way of His godly ones.
9Then you will discern righteousness and justice
And equity and every good course.
Proverbs 15:27
He who profits illicitly troubles his own house,
But he who hates bribes will live.
Proverbs 16:9
The mind of man plans his way, but the Lord directs his steps.
Romans 8:28
And we know that God causes all things to work together for good to those who love God, to those who are called according to His purpose.
Philippians 4:13
I can do all things through Him who strengthens me.
1 John 4:8
The one who does not love does not know God, for God is love.
Chapter 1
The landline phone rang. Again.
A sigh escaped Isabella Caccavale’s lips. That phone would continue to ring until she answered. When she assumed ownership of Mahoney’s General Store in Evergreen, Maine, from her Aunt Clara a year ago, she never could have imagined she’d be explaining the benefits of goat’s milk soap to a customer three days in a row. So far, that had been this week’s topic of conversation with Hattie Nelson. Next week, it’d be something entirely different.
A quick glance at the caller ID confirmed that, sure enough, it was Hattie. Isabella could tell time by the woman’s weekday calls—five minutes after her favorite talk show ended. The older woman was recently widowed. If she could help by lending a sympathetic ear, why not?
Isabella grabbed the receiver before it could ring again. “Mahoney’s. This is Isabella.” As Hattie began today’s rundown of questions, Isabella tapped her short, unpainted fingernails on the counter.
A bright flash of orange caught her attention. What was that? Seconds later, little Ned Kendrick peeked around the corner of Baked Goods, his brown eyes wide. Already a known prankster at the age of seven, Ned liked to manhandle the large glass jar of dill pickles on the front counter when she wasn’t looking. What was the fascination?
I see you, Isabella mouthed, giving
the child a mock glare while trying not to laugh. In a way, Ned’s hide-and-seek routine had become a game between the two of them. The youngster’s dad, Marty, sat on a large wooden crate at the back of the store, playing checkers on the top of a barrel with Hank Jergens, same as he did every afternoon. Those two men did more jawing around than playing the game, but they kept things lively and helped around the store if needed, so she had no complaints.
Ned darted over to Canned Goods and peeked out at her again. That innocent little face didn’t fool her anymore. After a few store casualties, she was up to his tricks and needed to curb the boy’s mischievous ways. To be fair, it was summertime, and a child that age should be outside playing, not stuck inside the store every afternoon. Who named a kid Ned these days, anyway? Well, young Ned was named after his maternal grandfather. Not to mention this region of the western foothills—with the White Mountains wrapping Evergreen in their majestic glory—was steeped in long-held tradition.
Would switching from a jar to a plastic container dilute the robust flavor and crispness of those pickles? If it didn’t affect their quality, she’d make the change. Grabbing her clipboard, Isabella made a note to do some research.
All in a day’s work.
Hattie’s voice in her ear drew Isabella’s attention back to the present. Today’s issue? Apparently, the words alpha hydroxyl acids in the list of additives for the goat’s milk soap had raised red flags in the older woman’s mind.
Isabella employed her most reassuring tone. “Yes, Hattie, I understand your concerns, but remember how Marijane said your skin looked luminous after church last Sunday? That’s why.” She waited as Hattie made another comment before responding. “Well, yes, of course, that glow could have been from the uplifting worship service. I’m certainly not discounting that. Listen, I know the word ‘acid’ is a little scary, but in goat’s milk soap, it actually prevents aging. It sloughs off dead skin cells and gives you that beautiful complexion. I promise you, in this case, it’s a very good thing.”
She’d never used the words slough or luminous in her life. Just give me a job at the Macy’s cosmetics counter already.
Fourteen months ago, Isabella’s days revolved around planning, coordinating, and executing top-dollar corporate marketing campaigns in Hartford. Now, here she stood in her little general store in Maine on a gorgeous afternoon in early June, listening to a widow’s questions about goat’s milk soap while keeping one eye on a prankster and a jar of arguably the largest dill pickles on the planet.
She’d never been more content.
Marty’s laughter carried to her above the whirring of the ceiling fans. Hank was quieter, a single, never-married man in his mid-40s who chomped on root beer candy sticks and sang along whenever a Randy Travis or George Strait song played on the radio. His renditions were decent enough to turn the heads of a few women in town and the occasional female tourist. An amputee as the result of a work-related injury, Hank had his own issues, and the positive attention was good for his self-esteem.
Sing away, Hank.
Listening to more of Hattie’s questions, Isabella flicked a fly from her white cotton top. When it didn’t move, she inspected it more closely. That was no insect, but a small black ink stain. Oh, well. If nothing else, she’d become a laundry expert in the past year after discovering some of the excellent, all-natural stain removal products sold in the store.
“Yes, Hattie, but the goat’s milk soap is also packed with essential nutrients and vitamins.” Walking over to Cosmetics, Isabella grabbed a bar of the soap and read from the back label. “It repairs damaged skin, reduces lines and wrinkles, and helps prevent skin cancer. You really can’t go wrong with it. I use it myself. What? No, I’ve never sold Avon.”
Replacing the soap on the shelf, Isabella headed to the front counter. “Tell you what. Try the goat’s milk soap for another few days and let me know what you think. If you aren’t completely satisfied, then you can return it for a full refund. No questions asked.”
Wonderful. Now she sounded like an infomercial.
Disconnecting the call, Isabella heard the roar of an engine outside. Her 22-year-old clerk, Tommy, flew around the corner. In his haste, he knocked over a sack of potatoes sitting on an end shelf. After hastily stuffing the bag back in place, he scurried over to the front picture window.
“Sweet Betty, would you look at that!” When he skidded to a stop, Tommy’s canvas shoes squeaked on the wooden floorboards, making Isabella cringe.
She glanced out the window at the object of Tommy’s affection, a red sports car that looked Italian and obscenely expensive. A Ferrari or Maserati, most likely. From her personal experience, fancy cars like that one usually came with an oversized ego attached.
“Probably a hotshot from the city,” she mumbled. She’d seen enough of them since moving to Evergreen, although most arrived for the weekend, not on a sleepy Wednesday afternoon. Tourists often stopped in Mahoney’s for a cold drink, to ask questions, or to use the facilities since the store was one of the first major stops near the center of town. At least most of them bought something as a courtesy, even if only a stick of penny candy.
Tommy whistled under his breath. “I gotta take a closer look.”
“No problem,” she said. That car was like the mother ship beckoning to Tommy. “Have fun, but try not to pester the owner with questions.”
“Gotcha, boss. I’ll be right back.”
Time to get back to work. Picking up her clipboard and pencil, Isabella approached the quilt display racks. She needed to take inventory. Caroline Barnes had called earlier in the day and wanted four quilts in varying sizes for friends. The sale would give her a good start for the month. The handmade quilts were exquisite, each one a unique treasure of heirloom quality, made by a local mother-daughter duo. Most recently, Caroline had commissioned two baby quilts—one for Liesel Mattingly’s baby son as well as for her own infant daughter’s nursery.
Hmm. Isabella lightly tapped the pencil against her chin. Could the baby quilts possibly be a draw for tourists? The upper-crust New Englanders—and others—sometimes dropped a hundred dollars or more in the store. If she offered gift packaging and shipping, that’d be an added incentive. Another thought popped into her mind. Perhaps she could have Francie or Hilary make some lap quilts in the most popular patterns for seniors. That might also be a draw as a unique gift item. In recent weeks, some of the locals complained they didn’t know what to get someone older who already “has it all.” With the cooler year-round temperatures in Evergreen, the lap quilt idea had serious potential.
One thing at a time. She jotted a quick note.
A few minutes later, Isabella stole another peek out the front window. Tommy was engaged in an animated conversation with the owner of the car. Her employee was talking with his hands. Nothing new there, but the hotshot seemed equally invested. What was it with men and their expensive toys?
The man had strong, well-defined features, thick dark hair, and looked as though he’d stepped out of the Brooks Brothers casual weekend catalog—attractive and masculine in a well-groomed way that exuded urban sophistication. Dressed in dark slacks, he wore a white dress shirt rolled on his forearms, and his yellow tie was loosened at the collar. From what she could tell, he was medium height with broad shoulders that tapered to a trim waist. Expensive black shades covered his eyes.
City slicker all right. Buff city slicker, but whatever.
If he actually decided to step inside the store, she’d offer him a refreshing drink, suggest one of her highest-priced items, and then send him on his way. The likeliest scenario was that he needed directions to The Evergreen Inn, the town’s most luxurious overnight accommodations, three miles to the north. The inn hosted a lot of meetings and conventions in the summer months. Ten to one, he was a registered guest.
She wondered if his car boasted personalized license plates. These types of cars generally did. Holding the clipboard against her chest, Isabella inched closer to the win
dow. Massachusetts plate. Top Dog. Yep. Totally pretentious.
Aunt Clara’s words popped into her mind. “Only the Lord can judge a man’s heart.” Of course, at the time she’d been referring to Tristan the Traitor. “Like everything else, learn from it and move on,” Clara advised after Isabella’s monumental breakup with Tristan, both personal and professional. “Trust the Lord to guide you because He knows the desires of your heart,” she’d said. Part of the fun is seeing how He works.”
“Go away, Aunt Clara. Not now,” Isabella mumbled. Life wasn’t always full of roses and never-ending happiness. Another sigh slipped past her lips. The big 3-0 loomed six months from now, and her dream of having a husband and baby by that milestone wasn’t happening anytime soon.
Isabella’s gaze fell on a cross-stitch sampler hanging above the front door. Proverbs 16:9. The mind of man plans his way, but the Lord directs his steps.
“Okay, I get your point, Lord.” Now she was talking to herself? With every passing minute, she was becoming more like Aunt Clara. Scary thought. Eccentricity wasn’t a bad thing, but it somehow seemed more endearing in a person of advanced age.
Against her better judgment, Isabella took another peek at the stranger. She could appreciate an attractive man as much as the next woman. She hadn’t been on a “real” date since moving to Evergreen—the kind with a little butterfly flutter in her belly where she hoped for a kiss at the end of the evening. Not that Isabella kissed on the first date—only with Tristan. She’d done a lot of “firsts” she shouldn’t have with that man. And not that she needed an excuse to ogle the stranger. She was single, and he appeared to be single—no wedding ring—so what could it hurt to appreciate him? The man was only passing through town, after all.
