by Mary Manners
He paused, searching for the words.
“Gunnar tore his gaze from Mom. Without a single word, he wrestled the car keys from Carl’s pocket and took off through the front door. I ran after him, wailing with fear. Like I said, I was only eleven and I sure didn’t want to be left at the house without him. Carl scared me, even when he was passed out. And I knew he’d eventually come to. No way did I want to be around when that happened. Besides, I was worried sick about Gunnar. He’d reached through the window, trying to retrieve the phone, and he was bleeding pretty badly. The gash left a trail of blood along the snowdrifts as he ran, leaving a ribbon of crimson that glistened beneath the light of a full moon. So much blood…I thought he was going to die.”
“What did you do? Where did you go?”
“We took the car. I don’t know how Gunnar drove through all that snow and ice, hurt the way he was, but somehow he managed. We just kept moving until we spotted this old abandoned farmhouse several miles down the road. It was set back in a pasture, dark and creepy. I’d gone exploring there once before in the daylight—on a dare. The kids at school claimed the place was haunted, so I was scared out of my wits to be there in the dark, even with Gunnar.
“I trembled as we ditched the car in the side yard, leaving the headlights on to illuminate a path across the snow. We scrambled over a snowbank to the front door. I still remember the way it sagged from a single set of rusty hinges. When we got inside, I was so cold I could barely draw a breath for the shivering that had set in deep down in my bones. All I had on was the pair of sweats I’d fallen asleep in and an old, threadbare T-shirt. Gunnar pulled up some slivered floorboards and tossed them into the fireplace. It wasn’t easy, but he got a fire going. Smoke filled the house; I guess the flue was broken or maybe Gunnar had forgotten to open it. I choked on the haze but at least there was a measure of warmth. Gunnar took off his flannel shirt and wrapped it around me, and I curled up on the stone hearth with my teeth chattering and my belly gnarled with dread. I was so tired, so scared of what would happen to us in that creepy house or, worse yet, when Carl found us—and I was sure he eventually would—that I couldn’t stop bawling.”
“That’s terrible, Morgan. You were just a child. Gunnar was, too, even though he was older than you. He had to be frightened, as well.”
“I never really considered his side of it…what he was feeling. I suppose he was just as frightened as I felt. And I guess he finally had all he could take of my blubbering and yammering. He was pacing the floor like a hungry lion looking for a way to escape the confines of its cage when suddenly he turned to me. He had this weird look in his eyes—a look I’d never seen before. He screamed at me to shut up, that we weren’t going back to our house…that we were never going home again. His words threw salt in a wound that was already hemorrhaging. I was so out of my head with fear that I bowed up and yelled right back at him. Then I bolted from the house. I stumbled over snowdrifts and across the pasture toward the road. My feet were numb in minutes, protected by only the crew socks Gunnar had given me.”
Morgan hung his head in his hands. Why had he run off that night? If he had just stayed put. If he’d only remained with Gunnar...
“I couldn’t breathe. I had no idea where I was going. I was stuck in a horror movie with no escape. I thought it couldn’t possibly get any worse. Then the shrieks began. Police sirens wailed as blue and red lights filled the night, turning the snow to a laser show. The neighbors must have heard Carl going at my mom and called the cops. A pair of cruisers turned the corner and raced my way. I ran toward them, my lungs burning from the effort. I figured the officers would help me, right?”
“Did they?”
Morgan merely shrugged. He’d spent years shuttling a circuit of foster homes. The loneliness had nearly consumed him as he was time and again ripped from everything familiar. But he’d had the good fortune to finally be placed in the care of Mr. and Mrs. Haynes. Though he’d only spent about eighteen months with them, the couple had encouraged his interest in construction. There was always a project around the house that Mr. Haynes needed his help with—tile work, roof patching, the installation of new countertops for the kitchen. During the only summer break from school that Morgan had spent with them, he and Mr. Haynes had built a treehouse together for the little boy who lived next door. In many respects, he owed the success of his business to the confidence the Hayneses had instilled in him.
“I still wake up in the night sometimes and hear Gunnar hollering for me to stop, to come back to him. That night his voice echoed over and over again, raw from the frigid air, but I was too stubborn—too terrified—to heed his warning. I just kept running.
“Gunnar was right. The Department of Child Services got ahold of me that night and I never went home again. For the next seven years, I was shuttled from foster home to foster home. I begged anyone who would listen to let me see Gunnar, but it never happened. He was gone for good. I heard he was shipped to some group home for a few months—he was almost eighteen—and after that, I’m not sure. I figured he just didn’t want anything to do with me anymore—that he was mad at me for bolting. I guess it’s my fault we were separated and that I went to foster care while he went wherever he ended up. All my fault.”
“Oh, Morgan…that’s not true. You didn’t cause any of that to happen. Don’t blame yourself. Gunnar certainly doesn’t blame you.”
“You don’t know that.”
“There’s only one way to find out.”
“It’s been fourteen years, Lila, and it still hurts…it hurts way too much to allow myself to care again.” He choked on the words as a lump wadded in his throat. “I can’t let myself care for Gunnar…or for anyone. Because everyone I love goes away. I must be a jinx—either that or God is truly angry with me.”
“It doesn’t work that way, Morgan. I promise…you’ve got it all mixed up.” Lila brushed a speck of plaster from his hair. Her gentle touch melted the sheen of ice that held his heart captive. His jaw twitched as he battled to keep his emotions in check. Why on earth was he telling her all of this—baring the very depths of his soul? He’d never shared the pain with anyone before—not even the Hayneses.
Lila’s soft voice eased through his confusion. “Trust me…trust God. He’s got a plan.”
“If that’s true, I wish He’d let me in on it.” Morgan took her hand and laced his fingers with hers. “Do you think Gunnar knows where our sister—where Charlene is?”
“I have no idea.” Lila’s hand trembled against his, and Morgan smoothed the pad of his thumb over her knuckles. “That’s something you’ll have to ask Gunnar—when and if you decide you want to see him again.”
6
Lila settled back against the pew and gazed up at the cross behind the altar. She’d loved Clover Cove Community Church since the first time Hattie Cutler invited her to service the week she’d arrived in town last fall. The size was just right—not too large or small—and the congregation welcoming, kind, and caring. Within minutes into her initial visit, she’d felt as if she’d belonged in the cove her entire life.
She’d paid the kindness forward by inviting Morgan to join her for worship this Sunday, but he’d put her off with an elusive, “Let me think about it. We’ll see.”
Morgan’s pain from the day before still lingered, causing Lila’s heart to ache. As his story unraveled there on the back porch of the Victorian, her emotions had run the length of a winding, dipping roller coaster track. There was no turning back now; she’d opened her heart to him. Lila marveled that she could care so deeply for Morgan in such a short stretch of time. Was there more to her emotions than simply taking on his hurt as her own?
“…everyone I love eventually goes away.”
The memory of Morgan’s words brought tears to Lila’s eyes. They stung her eyelids and threatened to spill over as the call to worship bell rang. Sheaves of paper from printed bulletins rustled as people settled in around her. She shifted in the seat and strained her gaze t
oward the rear entrance door, hoping that Morgan might have changed his mind and decided to come after all. But there was no sign of him.
Lila eased back in the seat. She bowed her head. “Lord, I know You are in control, and that You do things in Your own time. Please help Morgan. Heal him from the painful memories that trouble his heart. Draw him back to You so he might once again know and experience Your infinite peace.”
The prelude began…a soft guitar melody that readied Lila’s heart for worship. When she lifted her head and opened her eyes she found Gunnar at the front of the church, his acoustic guitar cradled against one hip. He strummed softly, effortlessly at the strings.
Now that she knew about their relationship, Lila couldn’t believe she’d missed the remarkable resemblance between the brothers. Although Gunnar was older than Morgan by a good six years, they bore a resemblance that bordered on uncanny. Both men had dark, wavy hair, smoky-blue eyes and stubble-dusted chins punctuated by deep clefts. Both had broad shoulders that tapered to narrow waists. The brothers both stood tall, though Lila estimated that Morgan now surpassed Gunnar by a few inches in height.
Across the sanctuary, Maddie Cutler sat with five-month-old, dusky-haired Katy nestled on her lap. Fifteen-year-old Kyle—the son of Morgan and Gunnar’s sister Charlene—had settled in beside her. Would either child ever have the opportunity to meet and form a lasting relationship with their Uncle Morgan?
Lila prayed for peaceful closure as well as the ability to move on for both Gunnar and Morgan. Suddenly the renovations to the Victorian house seemed a minor undertaking when faced with the total reconstruction of her friends’ lives. How would the hurt and damage that both Gunnar and Morgan had experienced ever be repaired?
“Am I too late?”
Lila’s gaze snapped toward the aisle. At the sight of Morgan’s blue eyes framed by tangled waves of black hair, her heart leapfrogged against her ribcage. She brushed a hand along his forearm. “No, you’re right on time.”
“Good. Perfect.”
“Yes, it is. I’m glad you decided to join me…join us.” She patted the seat beside her. “The service is just about to begin.”
“You don’t mind if I sit with you, then?” He looked a bit more rested than when she’d seen him last. The dark circles beneath his eyes had faded to muted shadows and his jawline was smooth and shaven. But he still carried a restless look that spoke of his warring emotions.
“Not at all. I’d like that.” She smiled and let her touch fall lower to squeeze his hand as she scooted toward the center of the bench seat. “I’d like that very much.”
“Ditto.” He settled in beside her. Their shoulders touched, causing an odd little flutter in the pit of Lila’s belly. The scent of his aftershave—a hint of pine blended with something clean and spicy—drifted to awaken her senses. She tingled to the tips of her toes.
She drew a deep breath and bowed her head once again. “Thank You, Lord, thank You for bringing Morgan here today. Let him feel Your—”
“Hello, Lila dear.” Hattie Cutler leaned in to interrupt the silent prayer. Salt and pepper hair framed dark-chocolate eyes as the scent of Shalimar fell like a veil. Her ready smile proved contagious and Lila found herself smiling back. “I just wanted to let you know that Morgan rode shotgun with Anthony and me this morning. But we figured you wouldn’t mind helping him find his way home after the service.”
“Oh…I don’t mind at all, Mrs. Cutler.” Lila smoothed the front of her rayon skirt and reached for a hymnal. She struggled to tame her out-of-control pulse. “It will be my pleasure. That is, if it’s OK with Morgan.”
“I’d appreciate that.” He nodded and gently squeezed Lila’s hand. “Thanks, Lila.”
“It’s settled then.” Hattie punctuated her smile with a wink, as if she’d just shared her favorite secret. “I’m looking forward to the opening of your bridal boutique, Lila, and I know Morgan is just the man to help you get things done. Pencil me in for the first available appointment. I’m going to be a June bride, you know.”
She waggled her left hand, showing off the beautiful princess cut solitaire from Anthony Moretto.
“Oh, that’s lovely.” Lila brushed a finger reverently over the jewel. “What a precious token of your commitment to one another.”
“Thank you, dear.”
“I heard the good news from Jada when I visited the pizzeria last week. It’s wonderful, Mrs. Cutler. You’ll be a beautiful bride. I’ll give you a prominent spot on the appointment calendar and we’ll discuss all the details soon. We don’t have much time.”
“Thank you. And call me Hattie, dear. After all, you’re practically part of the family.” She patted Morgan’s shoulder. “You are as well, son. Now, I’ve monopolized enough of your time. I’d better find my place beside Anthony and let Pastor Kingston get on with things. I’ll see you again soon, dear.”
“Thanks for hauling me here today, Hattie.” Morgan grinned. “And for letting me stay at your guesthouse. I’ll fix those loose shingles on the roof before the week is out, and take a look at the siding, as well.”
“You pay no mind to those tasks until Lila’s work is done. There will be plenty of time for maintenance on the guesthouse after the bridal boutique opens.” She adjusted her purse strap over her shoulder. Her grin could have rivaled that of a Cheshire cat. “I’d best be on my way to my seat, now. Anthony’s waiting.”
“Yes, he’s turned this way, looking for you.” The gentle man with a heart the size of the Grand Canyon sported a lighthouse of a smile as he gazed lovingly at Hattie. “I think he’s ready to ask you to marry him all over again.”
“And I would say yes all over again. June cannot come soon enough.” Hattie waved delicately as she slipped away. “I’ll see you soon, Lila.”
Morgan sighed and shifted in his seat as Hattie settled in beside Anthony, just a few rows ahead of them. “They’re certainly a happy couple.”
“Amen to that. They’ve both had a winding journey, but they’ve found a path through to the other side…to each other.”
Morgan fell silent for a moment, as if deep in thought. His gaze drifted to the altar…to Gunnar. He watched, mesmerized, as Gunnar continued to strum the guitar. His mind simply could not make sense of the vision.
“I believe you are right about God and His timing, Lila,” he finally murmured. He turned to her and leaned in closer. “I think He led me here, right where He wants me to be. Yet, I can’t help feeling a little bit like an interloper.”
“Goodness, why?”
“I haven’t been to church since I was in high school, when I used to attend with the Hayneses. Mr. Haynes was a youth pastor while Mrs. Haynes supervised the nursery. They shared a strong faith with me. For a while everything was good…almost perfect.” Morgan shook his head bitterly. “Anyway, I’m not sure why I came today except…well, Hattie mentioned that Gunnar would be here.” His gaze shifted back to Gunnar, now perched on a stool at the front of the sanctuary. He worked the strings of his guitar with a heartfelt precision honed by years of practice.
He obviously hadn’t noticed Morgan—yet. No telling how things might go when he did.
“It’s OK, Morgan. The important thing is that you came.”
“Wait. There’s something else.” He tucked her hand beneath his. “I knew you would be here, too. I wanted to see you again, Lila. I didn’t want to wait until tomorrow…until we’re back at the Victorian.”
Lila’s pulse skittered at the thought. He wanted to see her. He felt something, too.
Something special.
She reveled in the feel of his fingers, warm and strong, sheltering hers. So beautiful…so perfect.
“You might not be sure why you came.” She pressed the palm of her free hand gently along his cheek. “But I’m certain that God has a plan in having you here.”
“I have no choice but to trust in that.”
“There’s always a choice, Morgan. You made one this morning.” She let her hand fall
away from his face. “And, for the record, nothing is wrong with wanting to spend time with your family and friends, in church.”
“Is that what you are, Lila…my friend?”
“I’d like to think so.” Her pulse ricocheted as she considered the impact of his words. To busy herself, she opened her hymnal and flipped through the pages until she located the morning’s first song. “At least I think we’re headed in that direction.”
“And if I said I’m wondering if there might be more?”
“I…I’d like that very much.” She pressed the open hymnal to her chest as if it was a life vest. “I’d say time will tell.”
“That’s enough for me…for now.” He skimmed a finger along her jawline. “But, if God has a plan in all this, I sure wish He’d share it with me.”
“Perhaps He already has.” Fearing her heart might leap from her chest, Lila tilted her open hymnal toward Morgan and tapped the first line of the chosen song as the music gained momentum. “Maybe you’re just not listening.”
“I’m trying.” He cupped an ear to prove the point. “I really am.”
“Try using this instead.” She splayed a hand over his heart.
The music crescendoed. The time for chitchat had come to an end—for now, at least. Lila did her best to focus her attention on the hymn, but it was more difficult than she’d envisioned with Morgan at her side, their knees bumping.
Their singing voices—his slightly off-key, hers light and airy—somehow created a pleasant melody. The steady thrum of his pulse where his wrist rested against her forearm betrayed his nervous tension. Lila’s heart ached for the chaos that had hold of him.
At the conclusion of the hymn, Gunnar lowered his guitar and swept the congregation with his gaze. He tagged Morgan and held tight.
Lila struggled to read the emotions tangled there.
