by Delia Latham
“Russ owns a large nursery at the south end of East Village. The place is always filled with customers. He doesn’t have time to be a gardener, although he certainly has the skills for it. I’ve never seen a man with such a gift for making things grow.”
“But then why—?” She couldn’t seem to complete a sentence.
“When he found out I needed someone to help with the grounds, Russ volunteered to come twice a week until I find someone. He’s just that kind of person, Autumn…kind and caring. Always willing to help others. He’s a genuine Christian man with a heart for Christ.”
Autumn stared. How could such a wise woman be this grossly mistaken?
“Miss Angie, I don’t think—”
“Things aren’t always as they seem, my dear.” Miss Angie went on as if she hadn’t heard Autumn’s weak protest. “You could do worse than falling in love with Russ. And isn’t that little girl of his the sweetest thing?”
Finally, something they agreed on. “Dalynn is an angel.”
“Well, perhaps not quite an angel.” Blue eyes twinkled when she smiled right into Autumn’s soul. “But she is a precious, well-behaved child. Russ is doing a wonderful job with her.”
“He does spend a lot of time with her,” Autumn admitted. “Her mother must be terribly busy. I’ve never seen her.”
“You know, dear, I’m not sure what keeps Linda away from her family.” She shook her head, and the beautiful light in her eyes dimmed.
Autumn ached for her to smile again, to bring back that glory-glimmer. Glory-glimmer? Was that even a thing?
“I know the little one misses her mother.” Miss Angie sighed, sipped at her tea, and then, with nothing more than an upward curve of her lips, her blue eyes once again glowed with something almost too beautiful. “You’ve been good for her, Autumn.”
“Well, she’s an easy kid to love.”
“That she is. Like father, like daughter.”
“Oh, Miss Angie.” Tears clogged Autumn’s throat. She sipped from her cup again, and the mysteriously flavored tea soothed the discomfort in an instant. “I can’t believe I’ve fallen for a married man.”
“A mar—” Miss Angie must have choked on her tea. She covered her mouth with a dainty handkerchief and coughed into it.
Where had that little piece of cotton and lace come from? Autumn stifled a weak smile. The woman must have a dozen pockets hidden in those full caftans she wore.
“Are you all right, Miss Angie?”
“Of course, dear.” She set her cup down, took Autumn’s hand and then set off on a whole new subject, completely ignoring Autumn’s last comment. “I’ve been thinking about that little bird who seems to have taken such a liking to you.”
“What about him?”
“You know, his behavior is not exactly typical of a blue jay.”
“That’s what I thought.” Autumn produced a grin. “Why do you think that little dude is so odd?”
“Oh, I didn’t say he’s odd, dear.”
“But—”
“I said he doesn’t behave like a typical blue jay. That doesn’t make him odd, just perhaps a bit unusual.”
Autumn laughed. “Odd…unusual. Either way, Miss Angie, why do you think he behaves the way he does?”
“Well, I don’t know for sure, but I have an idea.” The lady set her empty tea cup in the tray, pulled one foot up under her on the sofa, and leaned into the corner. “I remembered these verses in Job. ‘But ask the animals, and they will teach you, or the birds in the sky, and they will tell you; or speak to the earth, and it will teach you, or let the fish in the sea inform you. Which of all these does not know that the hand of the Lord has done this?’” She paused, glanced at Autumn, and went on. “Without going into a great deal of explanation as to what made Job say all that, here’s something to consider. God uses whatever He has at hand to teach us the lessons we need to learn. Could it be that your little feathered friend is delivering a message from God? He did, after all, bring you a piece of scripture. ‘Love is patient, love is kind.’ Right?”
“Well, yes. And I hadn’t told you yet, but he brought another one yesterday.”
“Another scripture?”
“That silly bird brought me another charm, just like the other one, but with more words from those verses you read to Ceci and me.”
“He did?” The woman’s sky-blue eyes widened. “What were the words this time?”
“Love is not jealous. It doesn’t brag and isn’t proud.”
“Oh, my! He’s bringing them to you in the order they were written.”
“That’s…amazing!” She took another drink from the delicate cup. “How can this be happening?”
“Well, dear, anything is possible with God. If He wants to send you a message, He’ll get it to you, no matter how unlikely the messenger.”
Autumn studied the other woman’s beautiful face. Peace and quiet joy shone from eyes the color of the sky on a clear, sunny day. “You really believe that, don’t you?”
“Oh, absolutely. I know it’s true.”
“How? How do you know that?” Autumn was desperate to hear what made this woman so sure about her beliefs. Could this be the source of the sweetness that seemed so integral to Miss Angie’s nature?
“Why, because I know God, Autumn. He’s my best Friend.”
“You, uh…you know God?” On second thought, maybe Miss Angie was a tad off on the mental balance scale.
“I do indeed. I know Him well, and love Him with everything that is in me. And, that’s not all, sweet girl. He knows me and loves me despite my mistakes and failures.”
Was Miss Angie onto something real…or had the woman simply lost touch with reality?
Gentle fingers brushed Autumn’s hand and she looked up into eyes that seemed to hold wisdom, secrets, and untold truths no human could ever know. A shiver of something powerful and soft and oh-so-gentle caressed her spirit, and Autumn blinked back a rush of tears she couldn’t explain.
“He wants to know you like that, Autumn. God loves you. I think that’s what He’s saying through your little winged friend.”
“I don’t know, Miss Angie. If it really is your friend, God, sending these little bits of scripture my way—it sounds more as if He’s trying to point out the lack of love in my life. I don’t really see a bright, flashing ‘I love you’ in any of it.”
Miss Angie’s chuckle soothed Autumn’s troubled spirit. “Oh, my dear, God doesn’t usually do things in a ‘bright, flashing’ kind of way. He speaks in a still, small voice. He works in quiet, mysterious ways. He rides on the wings of the wind—not on the horns of the tempest, as most of mankind seems to think. And those scriptures, Autumn, the ones your blue jay is delivering to you—they all define God. He is love, so every scripture in that passage of verses is talking not only about how we should present ourselves with love—which simply means to be Christ-like—but how God presents Himself to us. He is patient and kind. He does not envy—why should He? He’s God! He doesn’t boast. He doesn’t have to. His glory speaks for itself.”
“God is love.” Of everything Miss Angie had said, those three words were what pierced Autumn’s heart, and she whispered them again. “God is love. I’ve never heard that before.”
“Oh, my dear, how very sad!” Miss Angie’s voice held a depth of pathos that vibrated within Autumn’s inner being. “Well, I’m delighted to be the one to tell you how true it is. God really is love.” She smiled, and the room brightened in some inexplicable way. “But don’t take my word for it, Autumn. Look it up in that little Bible I gave you. You’ll find it in first John chapter four, verse eight.”
“What does it say?”
When Miss Angie spoke about her “Friend,” her face took on a mesmerizing beauty, an inner light that was hard to look away from.
“Well, I’ll tell you, but you should still look it up for yourself. I’ll use the old language, if you don’t mind. I find it so very beautiful. That verse says, ‘He that love
th not knoweth not God; for God is love.’”
Miss Angie smiled, a glorious, warm, wonderful curve of her lips that made Autumn think of winged creatures…harps and haloes…all things lovely and right. She tried to return that other-worldly smile, but she couldn’t.
Instead, Autumn wept.
10
Cambria House of Praise nestled into the surrounding woods as if it had grown there along with the various trees and foliage. Autumn peered through the windshield as Ceci steered her vehicle into a slot in the parking lot. If she were here to wander the grounds and admire the view, she’d be a lot more comfortable. But she had to go inside and sit through a service, something she hadn’t done since before her parents’ divorce. At least the church was small. That offered some consolation.
Her door opened and she jumped. When had Ceci gotten out of the car?
“Come on, Autie.” Her friend’s soft voice lent a bit of calm to Autumn’s rattled nerves. “You can do this. It’s just a bunch of people getting together to…pray? Worship? Probably sing a little, I don’t know. The point is, there’s nothing to be afraid of, honey. Come on. I’ll be right beside you.”
Autumn pulled in a hefty breath, blew it back out, and took Ceci’s hand. If the other woman hadn’t been there for moral support, she would never have made it to the door. But then, if Ceci hadn’t promised Miss Angie they’d both attend today’s service, she wouldn’t have had to worry about it.
“I can’t believe I let you talk me into this.” She gripped Ceci’s hand like a lifeline, and gritted the words through clenched teeth. “What was I thinking?”
Ceci’s low chuckle teased a tiny smile from Autumn, despite the stress of the moment. “I really didn’t talk very hard, did I? Truth be told, you’ve grown rather fond of Miss Angie and didn’t want to disappoint her.”
“Ha.” Autumn tried to inject a bit of venom into the word, but the smile she couldn’t hold back pretty much spoiled the effect.
The conversation came to an abrupt halt when they reached the door.
“You ready?” Ceci hiked one perfect eyebrow.
“Huh-uh.”
“Good, then here we go.” Ceci opened the door.
They were greeted in a small foyer by a couple of sweet-faced women who welcomed them with glowing smiles and handed each of them a simple, one-sheet program. One of the two ushers who stood outside the main sanctuary offered his own softly spoken welcome, opened the main door, and invited them to be seated wherever they’d like.
They slid into the last row of pews and sat in stiff silence. Even Ceci seemed to have run out of encouraging words. Instead, her wide-eyed gaze danced from one side of the room to the other, from one group of visiting parishioners to the next. Autumn watched her friend for a moment, a little amused to find the unflappable Cecily Adams looking a bit…well, flappable.
“Autumn!”
She’d barely spotted Russ at the end of the row before Dalynn’s small body crashed into her legs. The child climbed onto Autumn’s lap and wrapped both arms around her neck.
“I knew you’d be here! I knew you would! Daddy said not to ’spect you, but I told him uh-huh, ’cause this is Sunday and you love Jesus, I know you do, don’t you, Autumn?”
Autumn had no idea how to respond. Did she love Jesus? Her heart threatened to burst from her chest when she realized Dalynn’s expectant blue gaze was fixed on her face. The little girl actually wanted an answer.
“Dalynn.” Russ smoothly intercepted what might have turned into a disastrous moment. “Honey, it isn’t nice to bombard our visitors with so many questions. Remember what I told you about how to greet people who are new to our church?”
“Oh, yeah, I forgot. Sorry, Daddy.” Dalynn slid off Autumn’s lap, took a deliberate step away and then spun around to face her once again. Her sweet, rose-colored lips widened into a smile that would’ve melted the hardest heart, and she extended a tiny right hand. Autumn took it, and the child administered a firm shake and then reached for Ceci’s hand to repeat the process. “Welcome to Cambria House of Praise. I’m glad you’re here, and I hope you enjoy the service.” She turned to Russ. “Like that, Daddy?”
“Just like that, sweetheart.” He slid into the next pew and side-stepped his way across until he stood in front of Ceci and Autumn. “May I second my daughter’s welcome? We really are glad you’re here.” His gaze locked onto Autumn’s. “I’m afraid Dalynn is right. I didn’t expect to see you at church, Autumn…but I’m glad I was wrong. You seem to have survived your barnacle encounter. I hope you’ve not been in too much pain.”
“Thank you. I’ve been fine. Thank you for your help yesterday.”
The last time she’d seen this “fine Christian man,” he’d tried to kiss her, just as if he didn’t have a seemingly invisible wife at home. She snapped her head to the middle aisle, where she’d first spotted Russ and Dalynn. Maybe she would finally meet the elusive Mrs. Amundsen. Nope. No woman there, transparent or otherwise. She stifled a giggle, wondering how she knew no invisible woman glared at her from the end of the row. Either way, when Russ took a seat, he sat alone with Dalynn.
Autumn had little time to wonder about his family situation. As if Russ and his daughter’s welcome had opened the floodgates, she and Ceci were suddenly inundated with a steady stream of people extending warm welcomes and asking questions about where they were from, where they were staying, how long they’d be in Cambria. By the time the first strains of music stole across the room and the pastor took his place behind the podium, Autumn’s head spun in different directions as she tried to process all the names and faces.
She enjoyed the interaction with the congregation of worshippers. Every pew was filled, and almost every face in the crowd looked happy to be there. What made all these people willing to leave their cozy beds and comfortable homes so early on a Sunday morning? What created that look of expectancy and anticipation in their eyes?
She’d become somewhat accustomed to Miss Angie’s openness about her relationship with her “best Friend.” But this church, while small in comparison to the monolith sanctuaries all over Bakersfield, was full of people who loved God, just as the lodge hostess did. Autumn had never been around that kind of atmosphere, and something about it grabbed her heart and squeezed. Before the first song ended and the pastor addressed the congregation, she was blinking back hot tears, with no idea why.
Ceci slipped a tissue into her hand and she swiped at the moisture. This crying thing was getting out of hand. She’d wept like a baby in Miss Angie’s arms the day before, and she never understood what brought on the unexpected bout of weakness—other than perhaps knowing Russ was married and she had foolishly let herself become attracted to him. Maybe it also had a little to do with that whole conversation about love.
Miss Angie brought out elements of Autumn’s personality she’d never known existed. Maybe being a crybaby was one of them. If so, she’d like to get that part back under wraps, and the sooner the better.
She spotted the sweet lady’s shining white chignon at the end of a pew near the front. Both of her hands were in the air, waving from side to side as if to waft her praise around the room.
Autumn blinked when some illusion of light and shadow made Miss Angie’s entire figure take on a glowing aura. Her hair became a shining nimbus, for all the world like a…halo?
Huffing out a half-frightened, half-frustrated breath, Autumn forced her gaze off the unbearably beautiful sight and onto the pastor, who stood in a pose much like Miss Angie’s, but without all the heebie-jeebie visual effects.
She focused on the words of the song everyone was singing.
I’m here to praise You, Lord. I’m here to lift You up.
What a Plan You made. What a price You paid.
Oh, what a love!
And You alone are worthy of all the honor and the glory,
So I’m here to praise You, Lord. I lift You up.
She didn’t fully understand the meaning behind the wor
ds, but she enjoyed listening. The team of singers on the platform did an admirable job of harmony and delivered the song with immense feeling that threatened to turn up the volume on Autumn’s inexplicable waterworks.
A slight movement of Ceci’s arm caught her attention and she gasped. Her friend was brushing at tears, as well. Could it be the sea air made people emotional? She’d have to check it out on the Internet—and hope to find something. Some anomaly that caused people on the coast to become tearful at the drop of a hat would be a relief. At least she could rule out the possibility she was turning into one of those weepy, weak females she’d always detested. Ugh.
The music died away, and the pastor invited a few members of the congregation to “testify.” What followed were simple words of thanks for things these people attributed to God’s goodness. Fascinated, Autumn took in every word, and found herself hungering for whatever it was that gave them something to believe in, to lean on in times of difficulty, and rejoice in during times of what they called “blessing.”
At last, the tall, handsome pastor opened a Bible he’d laid on the podium and launched into his sermon.
“I don’t plan to hold you all very long today. My message won’t be lengthy, but I’m hoping that it’ll be an example of dynamite coming in small packages. And if I deliver it right, I can also hope it won’t be one of those “duds” that so often show up in fireworks bundles.”
A low murmur of laughter from the crowd of parishioners followed his comment, and Autumn’s eyes widened. Laughter, in a church house? In the grand church building to which her parents had dutifully dragged themselves every Sunday morning when Autumn was a child, one never heard a peep of merriment inside the sanctuary. Extreme formality and a great big dose of stuffy solemnity was what she remembered about those dreaded services. Those things, and trying hard to stay awake during the sermons.
She glanced at Ceci, whose wide eyes were fixed on the pastor, her lips curved into a tiny smile. Apparently, she was enjoying the lack of formality as well.
“This morning I want to talk about love. What it is and what it ain’t.” The minister put enough emphasis on the last word to make it clear he didn’t use it in everyday conversation. “Love is one of those things that the world seems to have difficulty defining. But we know what it is. Don’t we, friends?”
