Step with Me: Love Amiss... A Christian Romance (Seaside Chapel Book 2)

by Jan Thompson

  The university was closed for the entire week, and Emmeline had been home since Friday night.

  In the two-and-a-half weeks since Emmeline and Mom had raked the yard, Hugo had called several times. Most of them had been false leads, except one.

  Due to rush hour traffic heading the same way he had been going, Hugo had arrived late at the soup kitchen in Conyers.

  Claude was gone.

  But everyone had been given a flyer to the Thanksgiving lunch in midtown Atlanta.

  And here they were.

  “You stay in the van. I’m going in first,” Hugo said. “I’ll go live, and you can see me. If you spot your brother, let me know.”

  “Aren’t there supposed to be hundreds, if not thousands, of people here?”

  “Yeah.”

  “And only the two of us?”

  “Not two. I’ve got fifty-seven people mobilized on the ground. They all want a piece of that reward money. They’re fanned out throughout the tent, looking for Claude.”

  “Okay. That makes me feel better.” Emmeline realized he could not have told her earlier because he had been on the phone the entire time since he had picked her up from her parents’ house.

  “Stay in the van,” Hugo repeated. He handed Emmeline what looked like an iPhone. Told her the PIN.

  Then he was gone.

  All Emmeline saw on the screen were shaky images of what were in front of Hugo as he made his way into the tent. He moved in and out of the workers and homeless, his attire blending in with the workers. Someone stopped him and handed him an apron.

  “Claude, wherever you are, do you know that Jesus died for you?” Emmeline whispered.

  Emmeline fished out a folded piece of paper from her fleece jacket pocket. She unfolded the staff paper. Hummed the tune on the first line—the rest of the page was empty—and returned it to her pocket.

  He died for you, He died for me,

  And shed His blood to make us free;

  Upon the cross of Calvary,

  The Saviour died for you and me.

  She hummed the rest of Divine Love as she returned to the iPhone that Hugo had given her.

  Next thing she knew, she had jumped out of the van, and was rushing for the big tent.

  Chapter Forty-Eight

  Emmeline made a beeline for the tables at the edges of the tent, surrounded by the open field and open roads on three sides. A fear lodged in her heart that her brother would walk away before she could reach him.

  Still, she knew that he would only sit at the far end of a table, where he had more elbow room, where he could get up and leave if he wanted to.

  Claude had always been claustrophobic.

  This was a bigger crowd than Emmeline had expected.

  She was walking along the tables, trying to match her memory of Claude’s face with the men sitting at both ends of rows and rows of folding tables covered with Thanksgiving tablecloths.

  Not a single table was empty. That made Emmeline’s search all the harder.

  She glanced at the iPhone that Hugo had given her to see where Hugo was, and quickly put the phone away. She had dressed to blend in, and it would make no sense for someone like her to be carrying an expensive smart phone.

  She looked around.

  Every table looked the same.

  Everyone looked the same.

  Everything looked the same.

  She felt herself spinning in the tent—

  Someone touched her arm.

  “Wandering around, are we?” Hugo whispered in her ear.

  “I saw him.” Emmeline straightened up. When she turned toward him, she saw that he was carrying a tray of food.

  “He’s back there.” Hugo made an about turn, taking Emmeline along with him.

  When they were three tables away, Emmeline stopped.

  Is that him? Is that Claude?

  He was wearing some sort of jacket with a thick and dirty scarf around his neck. He was hunched over his Thanksgiving meal of turkey, cranberry sauce, gravy, and cornbread.

  He didn’t have to look up. Emmeline knew it was Claude. The gobs of cranberry sauce and gravy slathered on those turkey slices gave him away.

  That’s how Claude likes his turkey.

  Emmeline wanted to run to him and grab him and drag him home to their parents.

  But.

  Lord Jesus, we have no idea what he has been through. Help me to remain calm and do the right thing.

  Hugo kept walking.

  Emmeline stepped ahead of him, and took the tray from him. “Let me.”

  Hugo looked like he was going to say something in the negative, but then he gave up his meal. “I’ll be around. Leave your iPhone on. I’m listening. If anything goes wrong, we are all here.”

  We?

  Claude is surrounded.

  Years of stage plays had prepared Emmeline for this. She wandered around Claude’s table, as if looking for a place to sit. She made big sighing noises to get his attention, and even brushed past his table at least once.

  His table was not full, but she had to sit across from him. He had to see what she was about to do for this to work.

  At least, I hope so.

  Finally, the man sitting across the table from Claude got up and left.

  Emmeline stood by the table and waited.

  “If you don’t eat your food, it will get cold,” Claude said.

  Emmeline tried not to gag. He was missing a couple of teeth, and the rest of his teeth were all blackened. His scraggly beard looked like it had been unevenly trimmed.

  She swallowed. “I have nowhere to sit.”

  Claude pointed to the seat across from him.

  Invited.

  Thank You, Lord.

  Emmeline sat down. “Do you mind if I thank God for my food?”

  “We already prayed. You’re late.”

  Emmeline prayed quickly because she was afraid that when she opened her eyes, Claude would be gone.

  When she realized how foolish that fear was, she felt chided.

  The God of the universe who had made Claude, had kept Claude alive all this time he’d been lost out there, wandering around the city and surrounding areas.

  Why wouldn’t Emmeline trust God now to bring Claude all the way home to their family?

  Emmeline ate one slice of turkey, and couldn’t eat anymore. She watched Claude eat. He ate fast, as if he had run out of time.

  Whenever he looked up, she looked down at her food.

  “Better eat.” Claude reached across the table and pressed a dirty finger right on top of the turkey slices. “It’s cold. Told ya.”

  His sleeves smelled like a portable toilet.

  There was no way that Emmeline was going to eat the rest of her food now.

  No way.

  Even if that was her own brother who’d just touched her food.

  What was she going to do? She wanted to run to the restroom and throw up.

  But if she left the table, Claude could disappear. Or Hugo could jump on him, and who knew what was going to happen.

  He’s super stinky. But he’s my brother.

  She sat there, unmoving.

  Claude pushed his tray aside. “You want, I eat it for you.”

  “Thanks.” Emmeline pushed her tray toward Claude.

  “You’re going to starve. The next meal is Sunday.”

  Emmeline started to sob. How could her brother—or anyone—go without food for three or four days?

  Claude leaned toward her. “Don’t worry. I know where you can find food.”

  “Wh-where?”

  “All those food places—restaurants—throw out food every single day.”

  “Every day?”

  Claude nodded.

  Emmeline began to realize Claude had no idea who she was. Had he forgotten his family? Had he lost his memory?

  As Claude ate his seconds, Emmeline dug into her pockets and produced a pencil and her staff paper.

  She unfolded it and lay it flat on t
he table.

  She hummed as she added more notes to the rest of the empty staff, drawing those quarter notes slowly, making a show of how arduous the task was.

  It aroused Claude’s curiosity. “What’s that?”

  Perhaps he hadn’t forgotten everything.

  “Music,” Emmeline said.

  “I know it’s music. I can see. I can hear.”

  Emmeline kept composing. At the end of the line, she tapped the table with her fingers and hummed. Then she erased what she had written. Tried again. Once again, she deliberately went off key. Erased again.

  “Your humming doesn’t sound right,” Claude said.

  Ah. He remembers the hymn.

  Claude dug into his pumpkin pie. “What instrument?”

  “Harp. Two harps.”

  “Harp…?” Claude stared at Emmeline.

  She wasn’t sure if that was a blank stare, or that her humming of Divine Love had triggered a memory. She had arranged that piece a long time ago, back when Claude was still sane and at home.

  Before that awful night.

  Emmeline kept going, pretending to mangle the melody. Tears pooled in her eyes. She could barely see the paper.

  “It’s sounds jarring. Your transition is off.” The composer in Claude had returned.

  Emmeline blinked. Teardrops fell onto the staff paper. She could not see what she was doing.

  “Gimme.”

  Emmeline looked up.

  Those dirty hands moved, asking for her paper and pencil.

  She handed it over.

  And as she sat there, Claude fixed her melody, the transition, time signature, and key.

  “Whoa.” Emmeline stared at the complex composition.

  Only Claude.

  “Two harps, huh?” Claude asked.

  Emmeline nodded. “But we can’t play the hymn.”

  “Why not?”

  “This is a duet for my brother and me.” Emmeline wondered if that was too much information, and too soon.

  Well, she had spoken.

  “Tell him I helped you…” Claude knotted his eyebrows. “Hmm… I know you.”

  “You do?”

  He nodded. “You’re Little M.”

  Emmeline gasped.

  Claude hadn’t called her Little M since they were in elementary school. What in the world was happening in that mind of his?

  “And who’s Big M?” Emmeline asked.

  “Mommy, of course!”

  So he remembered some things. Music. Little M. Big M. Mommy.

  “Save your music.” Claude shifted in his chair. “I have to go.”

  “Wait. What do you mean by save your music?”

  “Record it. Or you will forget.” He was standing up now. His hands were shaking. “No one will remember you could ever play.”

  “God remembers.” Emmeline got up slowly.

  “He’ll be the only one.” Claude looked sad.

  “God gave us the gift of music. He keeps it safe for us.”

  “Safe?”

  “Yes. We’re safe in God’s hands.” Emmeline stepped toward Claude. “Will you play this composition with me?”

  “A duet?”

  Emmeline tried to speak calmly. “We will record it. Put it on MP3. And CD. No one will forget.”

  “No one?”

  “Not even us.”

  “Little M?”

  “Yes?” Emmeline stood there, wondering what was going to happen next.

  “You have a big heart.”

  “No, I don’t. I am so scared right now.”

  “Why?” Claude tipped his head toward Emmeline. “There’s no thunderstorm outside.”

  That was twenty years ago.

  “What’s your name?” Emmeline asked.

  “Turlough O’Carolan.”

  He must have forgotten his own name. However, of all the people in the world, he had to pick the name of an Irish harpist.

  “Turlough, how about we do a duet?” Emmeline felt brave enough to ask.

  “I don’t have a harp.”

  “You can use my brother’s.”

  “He has one?”

  “He has at least five. You can try them all.”

  “When?”

  “Today, if you like.”

  “Right now?”

  Emmeline nodded. “And we’ll eat more turkey tomorrow.”

  At a table, not from a trashcan.

  “With cranberry sauce and gravy?” Claude leaned toward Emmeline.

  “And all the fixings. All you can eat.” Suddenly his pungent smell didn’t bother her anymore. “You’ll never be hungry again.”

  “Then let’s go,” Claude said. “Is it a long way to walk?”

  “Yes. We can take the bus.”

  “The bus? Sometimes they won’t let you in.”

  “They’ll let us. This is a church bus.”

  Emmeline emphasized church bus, but she knew Hugo heard everything.

  Chapter Forty-Nine

  Sebastian’s third-floor test kitchen overlooked the spring time blue skies over the Atlantic Ocean, but it wasn’t the view that made him buy this three-level oceanfront resort property.

  The fact that he could open all the windows in the wraparound kitchen brought the April outdoors into his lofty abode, and gave him a much-needed change of scenery from his one-floor Sea Island cottage, a sprawling ground-hugging ranch built in the 1920s.

  That wasn’t the only reason. When he had first seen the list price of this house, he knew he could pay cash for it and still have five million dollars leftover to buy that foreclosed restaurant in Atlanta, which he had been eyeing for several months.

  Standing at the panoramic window, its white plantation shutters quiet and waiting for a breeze, Sebastian Langston felt…

  Like I’m missing something.

  Someone.

  The doorbell rang, strangely reminding him to turn off the burner. The quinoa was done, basically. He covered the pot with its lid.

  Then he went to get the door.

  Ben Ketteridge and Matt Garnett filed in, and then Ivan McMillan, alone.

  “Where’s Brinley?” Sebastian asked. He had cooked enough shrimp stir fry for everyone.

  Ivan handed him a bag of rolls that looked like they came straight off the supermarket shelf. “She’s not sure if she wants to be one of the guys.”

  Well, their group had all only been guys before Ivan’s marriage.

  “She’s having lunch with her sister-in-law, and then they’re going shopping,” Ivan added.

  Sebastian wondered who would be next in line to find a wife: Matt or Ben.

  Certainly, he had once thought he would be the first of the men’s group to be married, but had he gone forth with it, it would have been a tragic error.

  Instead, God’s mercy and grace prevailed.

  And now, eight months after he had parted ways with Emmeline, Sebastian had drawn closer to God and His word.

  Don’t forget God.

  Emmeline had said that the first day they had met in June of last year.

  Sebastian nodded, as if to her.

  Only she wasn’t here.

  In fact, they hadn’t talked since that day he and Emmeline had agreed to wait a year. She had suggested that he pray more, study more, and cook more.

  He locked the door and went back to his kitchen, where his friends had walked about, lifting lids and sniffing at what he had prepared for them.

  “What in the world is this concoction?” Matt asked—attempting to look bewildered—as he stood over a side dish.

  “That’s a facial.” It was tamarind

  “Nah. I can see right through your straight face.” Matt shook his head.

  “You read my face now? You’ve been talking to my sister?”

  “And Emmeline.”

  Sebastian stopped in his tracks, a wooden spatula in the air. His heart skipped a beat. “Ah… How is she?”

  “Your sister’s fine.”

  “I know my sis
ter’s fine, Matt. I just saw her in church an hour go. I meant… Em.”

  “She’s almost halfway through her Master’s,” Matt said. “Her dad wants her to be the principal harpist for his O’Hanlon Harps or something like that. They’re touring this summer.”

  “Touring?” As in going somewhere far away and never coming back?

  “The hired harpists are. As for Emmeline, she may only play around town and write music. She wants to be available if her parents need her with her brother.”

  “Claude.” Sebastian leaned back against the counter, and wiped his hands on a dishcloth. “How’s Claude doing?”

  “In treatment for his mental breakdown. He has memory loss, and is still incoherent sometimes,” Matt said. “However, he’s improving everyday. He’s under a doctor’s care.”

  “And he’s finally home.”

  Matt pointed a finger at Sebastian. “That’s what she said. You two talked lately?”

  “Not since last July.” Sebastian knew Matt was fishing. “We agreed not to communicate.”

  Ben picked up a dinner plate. “When did she say you can call her again?”

  Yeah, so everybody in their men’s group knew about this moratorium. “One year, but you knew that.”

  Ivan—who was washing his hands at the kitchen sink—laughed. “What’s another four months if God gives you a lifetime together?”

  Sebastian studied his friend. At a long lunch over the Christmas holidays, the two of them had discussed their lives.

  Sebastian had felt comfortable enough to tell Ivan about his woes. Perhaps it had been because Ivan had dated Emmeline. And Jared had pursued Brinley, who had since then married Ivan.

  For all those possible reasons, Sebastian had wanted to get Ivan’s reaction to his situation.

  “So you made a mistake in high school,” Ivan had responded at that lunch. “My grandma used to say that it takes two hands to clap. It was just as much Talia’s fault as yours. You both went overboard. Granted, both of you were unsaved back in high school, so you were clueless. Thank God that there was no baby then.”

  Talia has a baby now.

  Jared’s, not mine.

  “Are we going to eat or not?” Matt waved a hand in front of Sebastian.