“Derek . . .”
He held up a hand. “Let me finish. Please.”
Another nod.
“I understand about the house, like I said. But what about the land? What do you plan to do with it?”
“I told you the other day. I haven’t thought about it.”
“The thing is, Brooklyn, I want to expand my farm. Having a couple of acres of crops is never going to be enough to do what I hope to do.” He drew another quick breath. “I’d like you to think about selling the land to me.”
Disappointment swirled in Brooklyn’s belly. Had Derek been kind and neighborly only because he wanted the land? It appeared so. And, if true, it shouldn’t surprise her. On the other hand, if Chad had truly agreed to sell the property to him, Derek had a right to be disappointed as well.
She met his gaze. “I’m sorry, Derek. I don’t have an answer for you. It’s too soon. I . . . I have plans of my own, but I don’t know if those plans will need to include all ten acres.”
“Fair enough.”
She could tell it was hard for him to say those two words. And despite their meaning, she also heard how very much he wanted her land.
“But think about it,” he added. “Will you?”
“Yes. I’ll think about it. Just don’t expect an answer anytime soon. It could be a long wait.”
In his eyes, she saw his internal struggle to accept what she’d said. For a moment, she thought he might offer a persuading argument or two. But he didn’t. Instead, he stood. “I’ll get Alycia and Trouble. I imagine you want to get back home for your own supper.”
Again, she couldn’t blame him for his reaction. She was an obstacle to the plans he’d had, and whether or not he would believe her, she was sorry for that. But being sorry didn’t mean she would change her mind. As she’d told him, she had plans of her own.
Chapter 9
Nerves tumbled in Brooklyn’s stomach as she pulled into a space in the church parking lot the following Sunday.
There were two churches in Thunder Creek—St. John Catholic Church on the east end of town and Thunder Creek Christian Fellowship at the corner of Lewis and Sharp Streets. The latter was where Brooklyn had attended Sunday school until rebellion trumped obedience. Once that set in, even fear of her father’s wrath hadn’t been enough to make her go to church.
It felt more than a little strange to walk through the front doors of the building again after so many years. It also felt good. Because she was a different person now. God was no longer a remote judge somewhere high in the sky, waiting to punish her whenever she misbehaved, the way her dad had punished her time and again. God loved her. He loved her lavishly just as she was, but He wasn’t content to leave her that way. He’d changed her on the inside. He was changing her still.
Glancing down, she squeezed her daughter’s hand. “Sit with me or go to Sunday school?”
“Sunday school, I think.”
Brooklyn almost asked if Alycia was sure, but managed to swallow the words in time. Her daughter needed and wanted to make friends with other kids her age. With school out for the summer, church was the best place for that to happen. Especially since their new home was out in the country rather than in a neighborhood full of kids.
“Brooklyn. Alycia.”
They turned to see Ruth Johnson coming toward them, smiling a greeting.
“I’m so glad to see you here this morning.” Ruth stopped, leaned forward, and lightly kissed Brooklyn’s left cheek. Drawing back, she asked Alycia, “Do you need me to show you where your Sunday school class is?”
Brooklyn couldn’t help but smile at the question. The church wasn’t large, and there was only one hallway to follow. Even if Brooklyn hadn’t already been familiar with the building, Alycia could have found it on her own without trouble.
“Sure,” Alycia responded. She released her mother’s hand.
How, Brooklyn wondered, had her daughter become so fearless about meeting new people and going new places? Brooklyn had been just the opposite so much of her life. She thanked God she hadn’t made Alycia afraid of her own shadow.
“Come along with us, Brooklyn.” Ruth motioned with her head. “I’ll introduce you around before the service starts. Of course you’ll know many of us already, but there are some newcomers in our midst.”
On their way to and from the Sunday school rooms, Ruth didn’t miss a single opportunity to introduce—or reintroduce—Brooklyn to others they met in the hallway and narthex. There were quite a few familiar faces among them. A couple of Brooklyn’s former teachers, one from elementary school and the other from high school. Several of the women who’d answered Ruth’s call to clean the Hallston house. Even a number of former classmates, although none she could have called a friend. She hadn’t been very good at making friends when she was younger.
Maybe I’m not much better at it now. At the thought, she felt a sharp wish to see Esther again.
If Brooklyn had had her own way, she would have slipped into the last pew in the sanctuary. But Ruth hooked arms with her as they entered and led her almost to the front. And there, waiting in the second pew on the right, was Derek. He stood, welcomed his grandmother with a kiss, then nodded a greeting in Brooklyn’s direction before making room for them both. Brooklyn soon found herself seated between Ruth and Derek, not quite sure how that had happened.
After a period of silence, Derek asked, “Does it feel good to be back here? In church, I mean.” If he held a grudge against her for not agreeing at once to sell him her land, he hid it well.
She shrugged. “A little strange, to tell you the truth.”
“Strange?”
“I quit coming to church that last year I was in town. Chad and I, we would go for long drives, or in the summer we’d go swimming. Sometimes we’d—” She broke off, ending with another shrug.
“Yeah. I remember how it was.”
“Even Dad couldn’t force me to come.” She glanced over her shoulder.
As if reading her mind, Derek said, “You won’t see him here. He doesn’t come to church anymore.”
That bit of news surprised her. Her dad had cared about appearances, even when he hadn’t cared about people or God. He hadn’t come to church to worship. Church attendance had been a way to make himself look like a good person to those around him. Perhaps even to play up the role of abandoned husband.
Of course, Brooklyn hadn’t understood that as a teenager. It had taken years—and coming to know God herself—for her to begin to make sense of it all.
“Your dad had a disagreement with Pastor Vinton not long after he and his wife came to pastor the church,” Derek continued. “Don’t know what it was about. But whatever it was, it was serious. He’s never been back.”
“I’m sorry for him.” Her heart seemed to skip a beat at the words, at her own surprise. Because it wasn’t a platitude. She spoke truth: she did feel sorry for her dad. Sorry that he’d never experienced the forgiveness of a Savior. Sorry that he’d never allowed the Holy Spirit to change him on the inside. Sorry that he couldn’t seem to love his daughter and even refused to know his granddaughter.
A line from a recent reading in the book of Hebrews repeated in her memory: “See to it that no one comes short of the grace of God; that no root of bitterness springing up causes trouble.”
A “root of bitterness.” What a perfect description for what had happened to her father after her mother left him. After she left them both. Or perhaps that root of bitterness in his heart was the very reason her mother had gone away. Perhaps—
Mrs. Salmon—the town’s piano teacher for the past fifty years—began playing the organ, intruding on Brooklyn’s thoughts. She was thankful for a reason to push the memories away, instead rising to join the rest of the congregation in song.
It was difficult for Derek to focus on Pastor Vinton’s sermon. He kept remembering the way Brooklyn had said she was sorry for her dad. There had been something in her voice, something he’d heard despite how
softly she’d spoken. What was it? What did it mean? He didn’t know, but he wanted to. And even why he wanted to know was a mystery to him.
When the service ended, Derek slipped by Brooklyn and kissed his grandmother’s cheek one more time. “I’d better get home and take care of the dog.” He stepped into the aisle.
“Aren’t you coming to my place for Sunday dinner?”
“I don’t know, Gran. I’ve got lots to do.”
“But you still have to eat, and it wouldn’t hurt you to rest a bit either.”
“Well . . .”
It was hard to refuse Gran anything, whatever she asked of him. The bond between them had always been strong. But in the years after Gran had been widowed and his parents, as well as Derek’s married sister, had moved away, the bond between grandmother and grandson had grown even stronger.
He grinned at her. “All right. I’ll take care of Trouble and a few other chores. Then I’ll be over.”
“Bring the dog back with you. Then you won’t have to worry about leaving earlier than you want.”
“I’ll think about it.” Remembering Brooklyn, he looked beyond Gran’s shoulder. “See you later.”
She nodded as she offered the hint of a smile. He found himself relieved not to see any sadness in her eyes.
Once at home, Derek sped through his most pressing chores. When his stomach rumbled, it made him glad he’d promised to return to Gran’s. She was amazing in the kitchen and was guaranteed to serve something much better than he would have whipped up for himself on the fly.
As he prepared to depart about thirty minutes later, he considered leaving Miss Trouble behind, despite his grandmother’s invitation. But the little dog looked up at him with pleading eyes, and he gave in. “All right, all right. You win.” He scooped her into one arm, holding her against his side. “I guess Alycia won’t have to take care of you this afternoon.”
But he was wrong about that.
He should have known, given they’d shared a pew that morning, that he would find Brooklyn and her daughter at his grandmother’s home, along with four other guests—Pastor Adrian Vinton and his wife, Tracy, as well as Camila Diaz and her husband, Emilio. Just enough people to fill every chair around the long dining-room table. Ruth Johnson was a consummate hostess, and her Sunday dinners were all but legendary in Thunder Creek.
“Oh good,” Gran said when she saw him enter through the front door. “Dinner is about ready to go on the table. Come ahead, everyone, and be seated.”
Alycia took Miss Trouble from Derek, a smile curving her mouth and a twinkle in her eyes, and he knew he wouldn’t have to give the injured pet another thought until it was time to leave. The girl put the dog in a blanket-lined box next to the sofa—his grandmother was nothing if not prepared—and said, “Stay, girl.” Before anyone else could sit down, Alycia took a chair at the table that gave her a clear view of the box on the living-room floor.
Adrian Vinton blessed the meal, and then platters and bowls were passed clockwise around the table. For a while, all attention was focused on the food as hostess and guests moved the feast from serving dishes to plates. But soon conversation came to life, often interspersed with laughter.
Derek found his gaze turned on Brooklyn more often than not. She didn’t participate much. Not at first. But he didn’t think it was due to nerves. Instead, she seemed to enjoy learning more about the individuals around the table. A reminder to him that, although she’d been born and raised in Thunder Creek, she was more of a stranger to the town than the Vintons, who had arrived four years earlier. Still, it couldn’t have been a surprise to Brooklyn when Tracy Vinton asked her a question, perhaps worried that she didn’t feel included or perhaps just to be friendly.
“What will you do, Brooklyn, now that you’re back in Thunder Creek?”
Brooklyn didn’t hesitate to answer. “First thing I’ve got to do is look for a job.”
“And what sort of work do you do?” Adrian asked.
“I’m a waitress.” Brooklyn shrugged. “That’s what I did the whole time I was in Reno.” Her gaze swept the table, stopping on Gran. “I managed the wait staff at a restaurant in Reno before we left to come here, so I shouldn’t have a problem getting a job. The question is, how far will I have to go to get one?”
Derek hadn’t known any of that, but he suspected his grandmother had. Gran had probably learned everything about Brooklyn’s life in Nevada the very first night she and Alycia stayed with her.
“And eventually I plan to turn our house into a B&B.”
She did? A bed-and-breakfast? That was news to him.
But his grandmother had already known that bit of information as well. “I told Brooklyn that I think it’s a wonderful idea. It will make such a nice addition to our town. A homey B&B will be a far better place to stay than at the motel.”
“But what a lot of hard work it’s going to be,” Camila said. “Getting a new business up and running. Remodeling that big old house. It makes me tired just to think of it.”
Brooklyn looked around the table a second time. Her gaze lingered a moment on Derek, then stopped for a good while on her daughter. “I’m not afraid of hard work, and it doesn’t have to be done overnight. We’ve got time. When it’s ready, it’s ready. We can do this. Can’t we, Alycia?”
“You bet, Mom.”
“Tell them some of your plans, dear,” Gran encouraged with a smile.
“Well, it’s early yet. There are so many things that will need done. First of all, I’ll have to talk to a contractor, because I’d like to add a second bedroom on the main floor for Alycia. That way she and I can stay downstairs and the upstairs bedrooms can all be for guests.” Enthusiasm entered her voice and put a sparkle in her eyes as she looked around the table. “And I thought I would try to work out some sort of package deals with one or two of the vineyards and maybe with one of the excursion companies that do boat trips on the river. I also thought about buying some bicycles for guests who would like to explore the area that way.”
Derek didn’t think he’d ever seen Brooklyn Myers this animated.
“Oh,” she went on, “and I thought about creating a special garden area that would be used for weddings and anniversaries and other special occasions. They do weddings at several of the vineyards, but not everybody wants to be married in that kind of setting. I have lots of space I can use and so many wonderful, big trees that would shade the spot I’m thinking of.”
Tracy smiled. “You have given this lots of thought, Brooklyn. That all sounds wonderful. I can envision it already.”
Other words of encouragement and congratulations were repeated around the table, but all Derek envisioned was his purchase of those additional ten acres fading into obscurity.
Brooklyn couldn’t recall ever feeling this way. Almost euphoric. She belonged at this table, with these people. They had accepted her as one of their own, and they liked her ideas for the B&B. It felt so good.
When the meal was over, Brooklyn insisted that Ruth allow her to do the dishes. Camila and Tracy tried to join her, but she shooed them out of the kitchen as well. “Please. Go join the others. I can do this by myself. I want to.”
“But that isn’t right, for you to do it alone,” Tracy said.
“I don’t mind. Really, I don’t. Please go join your husbands.” How could she explain that she wanted just a short while alone so she could bask in the unfamiliar sense of well-being, of approval?
“Don’t worry, ladies.” Derek stood in the doorway, more dirty dishes in his hands. “Brooklyn can wash, and I’ll dry.”
Some of her pleasant feelings drained away. She wouldn’t be able to savor her emotions with him in the room. It wasn’t that she disliked him, but neither was she at ease in his presence, despite his neighborly efforts.
Tracy glanced from Derek to Brooklyn and back again. Instead of further argument, she smiled. “Come on, Camila. We’ll leave them to it.”
“It’s all right, Derek.” Brooklyn fr
owned at him. “I don’t mind doing this alone.”
“I know. But I’m going to help anyway.”
Suspecting that nothing she could say would make him leave, she turned toward the sink. He brought the rest of the dishes to the counter, then stepped back out of the way while she scraped off food and loaded the dishwasher. Afterward, she filled the sink with hot soapy water and began to hand wash the remainder of the dishes and cookware.
She had grown used to the silence when Derek stepped to her left side, dish towel in hand. “Why didn’t you tell me about your plans for a B&B?”
“I don’t know.” She shrugged. “It didn’t come up.”
“But you told me you didn’t know what you were going to do with the rest of the land.” His tone and words were accusatory.
“That’s what I said.” She let the skillet slide back under the suds and turned to look at him. “And it’s true. I still don’t know what I’m going to do with it.”
“Really?”
He might as well have called her a liar. “Really.” Her voice was low, but it didn’t disguise the anger she felt.
“Didn’t sound like it from where I was sitting at the table.” He sounded angry too. “You’ve got all kinds of plans. A wedding venue. Gardens. Guests to entertain. That takes space.”
“Derek—”
“You know what?” He dropped the dish towel on the counter. “Maybe it would be better if one of the ladies gave you a hand. I’ve got chores to do back home.” And just like that, he strode out of the kitchen.
Her anger vanished almost as quickly as it arrived, replaced by a searing disappointment and the conviction that any kindnesses Derek had shown her were related to the land she’d inherited and nothing more.
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