Where Love Abides (Heartland Homecoming)

by Irene Hannon

  “That’s the spirit.” Jack had slapped the sheriff on the back. “Give her a chance to sleep it off. Let me walk you out, Sheriff.”

  While Christine had looked on, the two men had ambled out to Gary’s patrol car. They’d both laughed over some remark Jack had made. Then her husband had extracted his wallet and discreetly handed over a few bills, which the man had pocketed. Jack had waved the sheriff off with a smile, but as he’d swung toward the house, all levity had vanished from his countenance.

  That’s when her life had become a living nightmare.

  Because much as she’d wanted to walk out, he’d played a card she couldn’t trump.

  A hand on her shoulder jolted her back to reality, and Christine jerked.

  “Sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you. I think Erin could use a cup of that coffee.” Dale’s assessing gaze missed nothing, and the twin furrows in his brow deepened. “It looks like you could, too.” She started to reach for two mugs, but Dale stilled her with a gentle touch on her arm and dropped his volume. “If you’re having second thoughts, I can contact the shelter in Rolla.”

  “No.” In the past twenty-four months, Christine had had second thoughts about many things. But not about this decision. “Erin and Brian are going to stay here.”

  And there was nothing the sheriff could say or do that would change her mind.

  There was a strange car parked in her driveway.

  As Christine turned in at the Fresh Start Farm sign, she eased back on the gas pedal, apprehension nipping at her composure. She’d told Dale last night that she wasn’t afraid to have Erin stay with her, but in truth it unnerved her. She knew how unpredictable sadistic, violent people could be. Erin’s husband was apt to do anything if he discovered where his wife was.

  But Dale had taken pains to keep her location a secret. He’d moved his patrol car to the rear of Christine’s house the night before and driven Erin’s car home. First thing that morning, Marv had dropped him off so he could pick up the patrol car. Restraining order in hand, he’d called on Derrick and handed both it and the car over to him. At least that was the message Erin had relayed when Christine had checked in with her around midmorning from the farmers’ market.

  After last night’s excitement, Christine would like nothing better than to curl up in her bed and take a good, long nap. But she had a feeling that wasn’t likely to happen. Not if she had yet another visitor.

  Nothing seemed amiss as she drew close, but she stopped a safe distance away, knowing the quiet could be deceptive. Pulling out her cell phone, she started to dial the house number. A quick conversation with Erin might be prudent before she went in. But her concern dissipated when a grinning Brian pushed through the front door and waved at her.

  “Hi, Ms. Christine.” He bounded down the steps as she slid from the cab of her truck.

  “Hello, Brian. Looks like we have company.”

  “Yeah. It’s Reverend Andrews. Mom called him.”

  As she’d helped Erin unpack the meager belongings the young mother had thrown into a suitcase before bolting from her house, Christine had noticed a Bible. Considering the bad experiences Erin had already endured in her young life, she’d been surprised to discover that the woman was religious. But if she found comfort in reading the Bible and visiting with her minister, Christine didn’t begrudge her either. In light of her own lapsed faith, however, she wasn’t anxious to rub elbows with a man of the cloth.

  When Christine held back, Brian took her hand and tugged her toward the house. “Don’t worry. He’s nice. Besides, Mom wouldn’t let me eat those oatmeal cookies until you got home. So can you tell her it’s okay?”

  Since refusing to enter her own house seemed childish, Christine let Brian lead her inside. She would say a quick hello, give Brian his cookies, then hang out in the kitchen until the man left.

  “Hey, Mom, Ms. Christine is home,” he called as they came through the door.

  With Brian still tugging on her hand, Christine followed him to the living room. Erin was seated beside a sandy-haired, fortyish man who smiled and rose as she entered.

  Casting a nervous glance her way, Erin spoke. “I hope you don’t mind, Christine, but I asked Reverend Andrews to stop by.”

  “No problem.”

  “I’ve heard many good things about you from a lot of people in my congregation.” The man took a step forward and held out his hand. “I’m Craig Andrews.”

  Wiping her damp palm on her jeans, Christine returned the handshake, disarmed despite herself by the sincerity and warmth in his eyes. “Christine Turner.”

  “We’re almost finished,” Erin told her.

  “Take your time. Brian and I are going to check out those oatmeal cookies, aren’t we, Brian?”

  “Yeah!”

  “Nice to meet you, Reverend.” With that, Christine escaped to the kitchen.

  Fifteen minutes later, as Brian finished his cookies and headed out to “help” Stephen, who had just arrived, a discreet tap sounded on the door that led from the hall to the kitchen.

  “Ms. Turner? May I come in?”

  It was the minister. She had no desire to talk to him, but short of following Brian’s example and disappearing out the back door, there was no way around it. “Yes, of course.”

  As he pushed open the door, she rose. “Can I get you some coffee?”

  “No, thank you. I need to be on my way. But I couldn’t leave without thanking you for what you’re doing for Erin.”

  “It’s not a big deal.” Dismissing his comment with a shrug, Christine braced her hands on the back of the chair, putting it between the two of them.

  “On the contrary. I think it’s a great example of Christian charity in action.”

  “Believe me, I didn’t do it for that reason.”

  “I didn’t mean to offend you.” Her sharp response brought a quizzical lift to his eyebrows. “I take it you’re not a Christian?”

  “The Lord and I parted ways some time ago.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that.”

  To her surprise, there was no recrimination in his inflection, no judgment. Just genuine sorrow. Thrown by his response, she shrugged again and lifted her chin. “I’m fine, Reverend. I have no need of a God who doesn’t care about His people.”

  A speculative expression flitted across his face, and she thought he was going to pursue the discussion. But he took a different tack. “If charity wasn’t the motivation for your kindness, may I ask what was?”

  His tone was relaxed and undemanding, but his eyes were alert. Dale Lewis wasn’t the only astute man in this town, she concluded. And she couldn’t fault the minister’s diligence. After all, it was his job to bring in lost sheep. Except this sheep didn’t want bringing in.

  “I’m afraid it’s a very long story.” She gave him a half smile. “Are you sure I can’t interest you in coffee?”

  To his credit, he didn’t push. “No, thank you. Erin is…”

  As he uttered her name, she came through the door. There was a brightness in her eyes, a hope, that Christine had never seen before.

  “Our prayer was answered, Reverend. The Lord softened his heart. He said I could come.”

  Confused, Christine looked from one to the other.

  “Erin has a stepbrother on the East Coast. She hasn’t seen him in almost five years, and their parting was less than friendly.”

  “When I got pregnant, he was very angry. He said I’d sinned, and that he didn’t want anything more to do with me.” A soft flush rose on Erin’s cheeks. “I moved to St. Louis and stayed with a friend until I got a job and an apartment. That’s where I met Derrick. I wrote Bill after I got married, but he never responded. He’s married now himself, and has a little girl. He said he was sorry we’d had a falling out, and that I could stay with him until I got settled. He’s even wiring me the money for the bus fare.”

  “This is a wonderful opportunity, Erin.” The minister placed a hand on her shoulder. “A chance for a fresh sta
rt. Like the name of the farm that gave you refuge. An interesting designation, by the way.” The latter comment was directed to Christine.

  She ignored his remark, focusing instead on Erin. “You should let the sheriff know. He’ll need to fill you in on any legalities involved before you leave the state.”

  “I’ll call him right away.” She held out her hand to the minister. “Thank you again, Reverend. Please keep me in your prayers.”

  “Always.” He cocooned her hand between his. “God go with you, Erin.”

  With a smile, she retreated to the living room. A few seconds later they heard her footsteps on the stairs.

  The minister withdrew a card from his pocket and laid it on the table. “If you ever want to share that long story, I’ve been told I’m a good listener. In the meantime, think about joining us some Sunday for services. No obligation. The singing is quite rousing, and we have a lively social hour afterward.” He flashed her an affable grin.

  It was hard not to like the man. And impossible to question his sincerity. Christine might be wary of men in general, and sheriffs in particular, but she had nothing against clerics. If ever she did need a sympathetic ear, Craig Andrews might be the person to call.

  “Thank you. I’ll keep that in mind.”

  “Please do. And may I leave you with one thought? Whatever your reason for turning away from God, remember that He’s never turned away from you. He’s always there, even in the darkness when we can’t see Him clearly. All we have to do is open our hearts and invite Him in.”

  Her throat constricted, and her response came out choked. “It’s been my experience that He doesn’t always hear that invitation.”

  “He always hears, Christine.” The minister’s words were gentle. “But His timetable doesn’t always match ours. And His ways are sometimes difficult to understand. Accepting without understanding is one of the great challenges of our faith.”

  “Not everyone is up to that challenge.”

  “I have a feeling I’m looking at someone who is.”

  “You give me too much credit.”

  A smile touched his lips. “No more than God does.” With a firm, encouraging handshake, he was gone.

  Long after the minister left, Christine remained in the kitchen. Erin’s Bible sat on the table, and Christine picked it up. Once, she’d consulted it often for solace and hope. But in the end, the austere black words on the white paper had seemed as cold and empty as a betrayed heart.

  Now, she flipped through the pages, letting the book fall open wherever it chose. It was a game she used to play, picking a quote at random and applying it to her life. Today the book opened to Hebrews. And she didn’t have to select a verse; one jumped out at her. “Let us therefore draw near with confidence to the throne of grace, that we may obtain mercy and find grace to help in time of need.”

  She knew the verse well. It had been one of her favorites, and as things had become unbearable with Jack, she’d clung to it, believing that eventually God would hear her plea for help.

  According to the minister, He had heard her. But when her prayers hadn’t been answered in the way she’d wanted, with immediate release from her tormentor, she’d assumed He wasn’t listening and had turned away from Him.

  Yet all at once she wondered if perhaps God had given her help of a different kind: the grace to endure. In retrospect, she doubted whether she could have survived without assistance from a greater power. As for why He’d wanted her to endure—that was less clear. But as Reverend Andrews had pointed out, it wasn’t always possible to comprehend God’s ways. The challenge was to accept without understanding.

  She wasn’t at that point yet. Not even close. But for the first time since she’d shut God out of her life, she wondered if perhaps He’d stayed by her side all along, just out of sight, in the shadows that had darkened her world. When she’d felt most alone and abandoned, had He been near, waiting for her to reach out and claim the comfort He offered? Had she given up on prayer too soon?

  The answers to those questions eluded her. But as she fingered the minister’s card, she knew she had to search for them. And she also knew where to start.

  Chapter Nine

  Reverend Andrews had been right. The music was rousing.

  For the first time since she’d edged into a vacant seat in the last row of the church, moments after the service began, Christine relaxed. During the past week, as October wound to a close and she’d finished out the season at the farmers’ markets, her initial resolution to attend services had wavered. But a conversation with Erin and Brian two days ago, as she saw them off at the bus station in Rolla, had given her the push she needed.

  She’d hugged the young woman, then stooped to do the same with Brian, gathering the youngster in her arms before handing him a sack of oatmeal cookies. “In case you get hungry along the way,” she’d told him.

  A lopsided grin had been her reward, followed by a troubled expression. “I wish I had a present for you. Mom says that because of you, everything will be better from now on.”

  “My best present is seeing you both happy and all ready to start a brand-new life,” Christine had reassured him with a smile, ruffling his hair.

  Unappeased, he’d wrinkled his nose and squinted in concentration. Than all at once his features had relaxed. “I know! I’ll pray for you! Maybe God will give you a present for me, if I ask Him.” He’d looked up at Erin. “Is that a good idea, Mom?”

  “That’s a great idea, honey. God always listens to our prayers.”

  “That’s very nice, Brian.” Christine had forced her lips into a smile. “Thank you.”

  When she’d stood, Erin had touched her arm. “I couldn’t have done this without your support, Christine. I don’t have a gift, either, but I think Brian came up with the best idea. I’ll pray for you, too.”

  Feeling awkward, Christine had shoved her hands into the pockets of her jacket. “Use your prayers for yourself, Erin. You still have a long road ahead.”

  “God’s led me this far. I know He’ll be with me whatever happens. He’s with you, too.”

  The absolute trust and confidence on the young mother’s face as she’d echoed Reverend Andrews’s words had evoked a twinge of envy in Christine.

  Brian had tugged on Erin’s sleeve. “The people are getting on the bus, Mom.”

  “You’ll let me know how you’re doing?” Christine had given her one last hug.

  “Of course. Once we’re settled, I’ll write or call. Besides, I’ll need to stay in touch to see if my prayers for you are being answered.”

  “What exactly are you praying for?” Christine had given her a curious look.

  “Healing. And homecoming.”

  Erin’s insight had shocked Christine. The two women had never talked of Christine’s past, nor her estrangement from God. But in Christine, the young, battered wife must have sensed a kindred spirit. And a lost soul.

  As Christine had watched the two of them climb the steps to the bus—a woman whose faith and hope had endured despite her tribulations, and a little boy clutching a bag of oatmeal cookies who continued to believe in a better tomorrow despite the trauma that had plagued his young life—she’d resolved to try and find her way out of the spiritual wilderness in which she’d been wandering. After all, if even a child was praying for her, how could she do anything less?

  So here she sat, wedged into the last space at the back of church, feeling a bit like a fraud. If the heartfelt rendition of the songs was any indication, this was a solid, spirit-filled faith community. Doubters didn’t belong. Yet Reverend Andrews had encouraged her to attend, despite her outspoken comments about the Lord. Perhaps he’d thought her attitude might soften if she found herself surrounded by believers.

  If that was his hope, to some degree it was being realized, she acknowledged. Participating in Sunday services had always bolstered her faith. That old saying about strength in numbers must apply to religion as well. And she needn’t have worried that an
yone would sense her misgivings and send disapproving looks her way. She’d been the recipient of nothing but friendly, welcoming smiles.

  In the end, Christine found the experience worthwhile. It didn’t dispel all her doubts, nor did she feel she’d reestablished the personal relationship with the Lord that she’d once enjoyed. But Reverend Andrews’s sermon on the prodigal son—an odd coincidence, she reflected—was thought-provoking, and the familiar prayers heartwarming. Considering that she’d expected to be turned off, it wasn’t a bad start. She might even come back.

  As the service ended, Christine rose, planning to make a fast exit. But when she pushed through the door at the back of church, the final notes of the last hymn fading behind her, she found Marge waiting. How in the world had the innkeeper beat her out? And why hadn’t she spotted the woman’s hot-pink blazer in church? It seemed to glow.

  “I recognized your truck in the parking lot.” Marge met her at the bottom of the steps and pumped her hand. “Welcome. I’m glad you decided to join us. The social hour is in the church hall, downstairs. I came to the earlier service, but I help set up and serve for the social hour after this one.”

  That explained why Christine hadn’t noticed her in church.

  “I wasn’t planning to stay, Marge. I had a busy week, and I’ve got some catching up to do at home. Maybe one of these…”

  “Christine? I thought that was you.” Cara Martin came up, followed by Sam. “I was just telling Marge that I’m going to be lost without your fresh herbs once the cooler weather really sets in. You’ve spoiled me. And when are you going to stop by the inn for dinner? The first one’s on the house, remember. You’re staying for coffee today, aren’t you?”

  “I’m afraid I have a whole list of chores at home, and…”

  “Christine! I’m so glad you stopped by.” Reverend Andrews joined the growing group, taking Christine’s hand in a warm clasp.

  “We’re trying to convince her to stay for the social hour,” Marge told him.