by Delia Latham
James chuckled. “Sis, you’re over-thinking this thing. Just be safe. Try not to be alone in the nursery for a while, until Chandler—if it is him—gets tired of playing games and comes on back to Echo City. Don’t be anywhere by yourself, and keep Donovan close at all times. You might let his principal know what’s going on. Maybe they’d increase security at the school until things blow over.”
She huffed out a breath. “And what if it doesn’t blow over, James? What if all the years of alcohol abuse rotted Chandler’s brain? Maybe he thinks we’re still married.” Norah stopped talking, her mind clicking away like a ticker tape. “That’s it! All the notes came right after I’d spent time with Marcus, a guy I recently met. If Chandler really is out there watching, it could be that seeing me with a man triggers the kind of jealousy a husband might feel under those circumstances. That’s why he writes these notes. But why wouldn’t he simply walk up and say something to me? God knows he never lacked self-confidence.”
“Not back then, sis. But spending time in a place like the one Chandler was in could easily knock a person’s pride to the ground.”
Norah sighed. “I’m sorry. I’m having a hard time feeling any sympathy for him right now.”
“So am I. I’d like nothing better than to come to Ruidoso and find the little weasel. He wouldn’t be writing anybody any kind of note for…well, ever again. Actually, maybe that’s what I’ll do.” James’ voice took on a note of enthusiasm. “I’ll be there tomorrow, sis. Got a nail to hang me on?”
Despite the circumstances, Norah laughed. “I’ve always got room for you, Jimmy James. But I don’t want you here right now because I know you. You’d do whatever you deem necessary to make me safe. I love you for that…I really do. But visiting with you through a safety-glass window in the state prison is nowhere on my bucket list.”
“And visiting you in a morgue anywhere in the world is nowhere on mine. I won’t come yet, but you be on the alert at all times, Norah Lee. Don’t make me regret letting you talk me out of this.”
She sniffled. “I miss you. Come see me soon, when you’re not so angry. I don’t want you to pay for Chandler’s insanity.”
Her brother’s sigh reached through the phone lines and tugged at her heart. “And I don’t want you to, little sis—you or that amazing little guy of yours. Take care of each other. I’m praying for you.”
Norah smiled. Her brother would hear it in her voice. “Thank you. That’s what I wanted to hear.”
* * * *
Norah’s alarm was set for what she called “stupid o’clock” the next morning. She liked to have her morning coffee on the front porch and enjoy the beauty in her surroundings before waking Donovan. Maybe she should let him sleep…he’d been restless throughout the night. But he wouldn’t like missing church. Her child loved God with his whole heart. For him, Sunday services were one of the highlights of each week.
Besides, considering the Chandler-threat, being in God’s house with His people might be the safest place in the world for the two of them.
They were barely inside the church doors when Donovan’s hand slipped from hers. “Look, Mom! It’s Juliet and Mr. Conley.” He was gone before she could open her mouth to stop him.
Marcus met her gaze across the foyer as she trailed behind Donovan. She ordered her heart to keep beating, despite the vivid emerald of his eyes, made even more striking by a hunter green shirt and gray tie.
How can you think about any man in this way, with those notes out there like malevolent ghosts?
“Good morning! This is a surprise.” She smiled, even as mixed emotions wrestled within her soul.
“Juliet and I decided it was time we found a church. You had mentioned this one, so…” He shrugged. “I hope you’re all right with us crashing this part of your life.”
“Oh, my—” She rushed to him and laid a hand on his arm. Shouldn’t it be illegal to possess a smile that dangerous? “Marcus, I’m thrilled that you’re here. I hope you come to love this church as much as Donovan and I do.”
“Do you, uh…” Marcus’ uncharacteristic lack of complete assurance squeezed her heart like a child’s tears. She wanted nothing more than to take him in her arms and whisper confidence into his soul. “Do you mind if Juliet and I sit with you and Donovan?”
“No, I’d like that.” She led him to the pew she usually occupied. The kids filed in ahead of them, so caught up in conversation they seemed barely aware of their parents’ existence. Norah chuckled. “Looks like we’re on our own.”
Marcus sat next to her, and Norah took a bit of silly pleasure in the covert glances and raised eyebrows directed their way.
“That’s okay.” He nodded and sent a pleased glance toward his daughter. “It’s good to see Juliet finding a real friend. I’ve been worried about her since we got here. She’s been mostly uninterested in meeting anyone.” A tiny furrow appeared in his brow. “Kept saying her real friend was out there, she just hadn’t met him yet. Who knew it would be your son?”
“Right?” Norah grinned. “Now if their parents can get along as well as they do, their friendship should be a done deal.”
“Oh, I think their parents can manage at least that much.” Marcus’ emerald gaze settled on her face, rife with underlying meaning.
Once again, Norah struggled for air that seemed too thin and far too scarce.
~ Chapter 14 ~
“G
OOD MORNING, BROTHERS AND SISTERS!”
Saved by Pastor Wray! Norah gave Marcus a shaky smile and focused on the man behind the podium.
She had given no thought to the fact that the children would be dismissed to their classes soon after service started—leaving her alone with Marcus, a stranger to everyone in the church. Based on the sideways glances directed their way, sitting next to her friend had set off a veritable storm of curiosity amongst a good many of her church family.
She smothered a sigh. So be it. Marcus and Juliet deserved a proper welcome, and she intended to offer exactly that.
“Everyone loves a rose.” Pastor Wray plucked a beautiful pink one from a vase on the podium. Norah’d been too caught up in Marcus’ nearness to notice the lovely bouquet. Now her curiosity piqued. “Beautiful, aren’t they? Who but God could create something so exquisite? The perfect layers of petals. The petals themselves, each shaped exactly right for its position on the flower.”
He brought the bloom close to his face and inhaled deeply. “And no other fragrance smells so sweet. Mmm! Other types of blossoms smell nice. Many inspire songs and poems—even perfumes. But in the opinion of this preacher, the rose still tops the fragrance charts.”
Heads nodded around the sanctuary. Norah smiled a little. Thank You, Lord, for distracting their attention.
“But I wonder how many here are aware of the message hidden within the petals of a rose?” Pastor Wray brought up a clear, crystal bowl from somewhere behind the podium. He set it on the surface and, as he spoke, began to break petals off the rose, one at a time, and drop them into the dish. “There is one, you know. Down through the ages, its message has been quoted often, though some use a violet, others perhaps prefer other flowers with heavenly aromas.”
Finished plucking the hapless petals, the minister set the bowl aside, brought his fingers to his nose and sniffed again. “Nice!” He smiled across the faces of parishioners taking in his demonstration with a fair amount of curiosity. “I prefer the rose because its message is so true to the teachings of our precious Savior, the Sweet Rose of Sharon…He who lived the message within the rose better and with far greater reason than anyone in the history of mankind.”
A few heads nodded. Some members of the audience seemed to know the rose’s secret already.
“Have you ever really thought about forgiveness?” Pastor Wray asked. “I mean, really envisioned what it does for the one who forgives? It’s effect on the person to whom it is extended? It isn’t something to take lightly. Forgiveness is a gift to be treasured, one that can
’t be equaled by riches or power or any other so-called accomplishments. Without it, I shudder to think what kind of world we’d be living in.”
Casting an assessing glance across the audience, he brought out a second bowl, and a third. He then extracted another rose from the vase, and started dropping petals into the crystal dishes, without pausing his sermon. He shared accounts of great acts of forgiveness. He quoted from the Bible, and from poets down through the ages. Some of the quotes Norah had heard. Others were unfamiliar.
“William Arthur Ward said, “Forgiveness is a funny thing. It warms the heart and cools the sting.” Pastor Wray grinned. “Cute way to say something profound. Robert Brault didn’t mess around with cute. He said, ‘To truly forgive is to let the other person forget.’ Wow! Now that’s a challenge for any injured human.”
He looked up from his notes as if to assure himself he still had an audience. Scattered assurances of “amen” and “praise the Lord” filled the room. The pastor nodded and continued.
“In the book, A Course in Miracles, I read this: ‘All forgiveness is a gift to yourself.’ I like that. And then there’s this one: ‘Forgive others, not because they deserve forgiveness, but because you deserve peace.’ That’s from Jonathan Lockwood Huie.”
He laid aside his notes and beckoned three ushers to his side. They passed the petal-filled bowls down every row of pews, instructing each person to take a single petal. When everyone had taken their piece of the rose, Pastor Wray took one for himself, held it high and rolled it between two fingers until little remained of the delicate segment.
“Your turn,” he said. “You each have a petal. I want you to squash it between your fingers or press it onto your palm until there’s nothing left. Destroy it.”
Despite the dismayed expressions on many of the female faces, everyone obeyed. As they worked on doing lethal damage to the pieces of the rose, the minister wandered the aisles, watching his flock obey his odd request. He patted a shoulder here, laid a hand on a back there, simply looked into questioning eyes somewhere else.
“Brother Bob, take a whiff of those fingers you just turned into killing machines.”
Bob Bradley lifted his fingers, inhaled and nodded.
“That’s your message from the rose. That sweet scent on your fingers says, ‘I forgive you for crushing the life from me.’”
He moved on down the aisle. “Sister, what do you smell on your fingertips?”
An elderly lady with white hair peeking from beneath an old-fashioned pillbox hat sniffed delicately at her fingers. “Smells like rose water, Pastor.”
“Nice, huh?” His smile turned sober in a heartbeat. “That’s your notice of forgiveness for killing your portion of that gorgeous flower.”
Tears streaked the lined face as the preacher walked away.
“Smell your hands, children of God. Take in the fragrance left behind by the petal you destroyed. That’s forgiveness. It’s a message that says, ‘You did wrong, but I love you anyway. You hurt me, but I forgive. You destroyed my beauty, but I give it back to you from my essence…my fragrance…the heart of me.”
By now, tears streaked many faces, including Norah’s. She didn’t look at Marcus. Who knew what he’d think of such an unusual sermon?
Pastor Wray stopped at their pew and nodded at Marcus. “Do your fingers smell nice, young man?”
Marcus lifted his hand and drew in the fragrance. “Yes, sir. Very nice.”
“Then you are forgiven. By the rose…and by God. Your debt to the Rose of Sharon is paid in full.”
“Yes, sir.” Marcus nodded. “I am blessed.”
“Blessed indeed.”
The minister remained where he was and spoke to his parishioners. “You’re forgiven for stealing that dime off the counter in the convenience store…for making a bad deal with your neighbor…for having an affair with your secretary. You’re forgiven for beating me in a drunken rage.” He turned and looked at Norah. “You’re forgiven for breaking my heart.”
Norah’s eyes widened. Her throat closed around a cry that tried to break through…and then eased as the minister moved on, leaving little seeds of forgiveness throughout the sanctuary. When he reached the podium again, he stood in silence, his gaze moving from one tear-stained face to another. Some members of the congregation still held rose-scented fingers against their noses.
At last, he spoke. “Forgiveness is the fragrance given by roses when trampled upon. Or perhaps, as in another quote, the perfume of a violet on the heel that crushed it…or a trampled hyacinth.” He smiled. “One author preferred the sandalwood tree which, ‘when riven, perfumes the axe that laid it low.’
“Forgiveness then, is returning thoughtless, unkind, cruel, unthinking, just-plain-wrong behavior with something sweet and good. Something Christ-like. A serpent or a scorpion bites and stings the unknowing heel that lands upon it. Let us not be stingers and biters, my friends. Heed the message of the Rose…with a great big, capital R. Matthew 5:44 says, “But I say unto you, Love your enemies, bless them that curse you, do good to them that hate you, and pray for them which despitefully use you, and persecute you. Romans 12:20, If your enemy is hungry, feed him; if he is thirsty, give him something to drink.
“The Bible is packed with verses that encourage a return of good for evil. That is the message hidden in the rose. That is the message—” he held up his Bible, “in our love letter from the sweet Rose of Sharon. Read it. And take time to smell the beautiful fragrance of His forgiveness toward each of us in this room today. Oh, what a Savior!” He raised his eyes heavenward, and now his face too held the dampness of a heart made soft by forgiveness. “Oh, what a Rose!”
After service, Marcus and Juliet walked outside with Norah and Donovan.
“We still on for tonight?” Marcus nudged her shoulder with his.
“Of course, but maybe we should do it a little earlier, so you’ll have daylight to do that thing you wanted to do.” She lowered her voice so Juliet wouldn’t hear. As if the girl even cared what her father and Norah were discussing. Donovan had her complete attention.
“Oh, good idea. If you don’t have other plans, come on over now. I’ll pick up something for lunch on the way.”
“Are you sure? I wasn’t angling for you to feed us.” Warmth flooded Norah’s cheeks.
Marcus grinned. “Wow! A woman who blushes. I haven’t seen anything that cute in more years than I’m willing to say.”
“Oh, shush!” She looked away, humiliated. Would she ever stop blushing like a schoolgirl?
“Okay, okay. I didn’t mean to make a big deal of it…it’s just so rare to find a lady who still gets embarrassed in this world of ‘everything goes.’ It’s a good thing, Norah Bradley.” He smiled and Norah’s gaze fixed on the little dancing dimple in his cheek. “I know you weren’t asking me to buy your lunch, but I’d like to do that. Why don’t you and Donovan go by your place and get comfortable?” He ran a finger around his collar and tugged at his tie. “That’s the first thing I’ll be doing when I get home. Ugh. Anyway, get out of the Sunday-go-to-meetin’, fancy-dancy clothes, put on something you can breathe in, then come on over. We’ll take it from there.”
“Okay. See you at your place. Don’t forget to text me your address.”
They parted ways, and Norah and Donovan hurried to her car…where she found a balloon flying from a string taped to her front windshield. With a sigh, she pulled it down. No chance of hiding this one from her son.
* * * *
With every motion, a crumpled piece of paper bounced around inside the clear balloon.
Frustrated, she shoved the ugly thing into the back of the car and climbed into the driver’s seat.
“Another note.”
Donovan’s glum statement twisted her heart.
“Yes.” No need to sugarcoat the situation for him. He knew more about the notes and the person responsible for them than she did, in some strange way.
“It’s okay, Mommy. Jesus will fight for u
s. We just gotta sit real still.”
Norah drove out of the parking lot, headed for home, but she shot a quick glance at her son.
“Sit real still?”
“Yeah.” He nodded. “Our Bible verse this morning said, ‘The Lord will fight for you. You need only to be still.”
“Ahh, I see.” Norah smiled. The simple, unembellished thinking of a child. No wonder Jesus loved the little children. “That’s right, son. The Bible also says, “Be still, and know that I am God.” While we’re sitting real still, we should probably remind ourselves that He is God. Not us. We can do nothing about the creep who’s leaving these notes, but we know Who can, and we know He is God.”
“That’s right. He is God. We are not God. So we sit real still while he fights for us.” He fist-bumped the air and shot Norah a wide grin. “And wins!”
“Yeah! Go, God!” She laughed a little. “I sure am glad He let me have you in my life. You’re the very son I would’ve asked for if He’d given me a choice.”
Donovan rolled his eyes as she parked in the driveway, foregoing the garage since they’d be leaving again as soon as they changed clothes. “You’re silly, Mom.”
She got out and closed her door. Donovan reached back and took hold of the string on the balloon. Norah sighed. Why had she even hoped he’d forget it was there? Donovan didn’t forget things.
He climbed out and handed her the clear container for Chandler’s latest, cryptic message. “You forgot this, Mom. Let’s go inside and pop it.”
“Come on then.”
She sent him off to change into play clothes while she traded her dress for a pair of jeans and a comfortable top. They met in the kitchen, where the balloon floated around as if checking out its new location. Norah shuddered. The thing gave her the heebie-jeebies. She’d always thought of balloons as the perfect symbol for the innocence and fun of childhood. This one’s purpose—so not innocent—made it terrifying and hideous.
