Читать книгу Child of Grace - Irene Hannon, Irene Hannon - Страница 9

“Teatime, my dear.”

Setting aside the pattern she’d been sketching, Kelsey swiveled away from her desk and toward the front of Not Your Grandmother’s Quilts. Dorothy Martin stood a few feet away, holding a delicate china cup of tea—and a plate containing two mini homemade scones.

Kelsey shook her head and smiled as she took the offering. “If you keep spoiling me like this, I’m going to have twenty extra pounds to lose after I have this baby.”

The older woman waved her objections aside and tucked one stray strand of white hair back into her perfect chignon. “Nonsense. You haven’t gained enough weight, if you ask me.”

“The doctor says I’m fine.”

“Hmph.” Dorothy fingered the single strand of pearls around her neck, skepticism quirking her mouth. “You look tired to me. And you seemed a little stressed on Saturday. I meant to get over here and visit with you, but we were swamped.”

“Maybe I shouldn’t have talked you into letting me rent half your space for my shop. You’ve had to turn customers away at Tea for Two ever since I moved in.”

“Don’t be silly. It was a fine idea. This place was way too big for me.” She dropped her voice to a conspiratorial whisper and leaned closer. “I’m seventy-five years old, Kelsey, even if I don’t look a day over sixty-five.” With a wink, she straightened. “I’d have retired if you hadn’t made me that offer. This lets me keep my finger in the business without as much pressure. Serving a light lunch to fifty is a lot easier than dealing with two or three times that many people. This has worked out well for both of us.”

“I know I’ve benefited. I get perks like this.” She lifted her cup. “I’m not sure what you get out of the deal.”

“Companionship.” The older woman’s usual sunny expression dimmed a few watts. “I surely do miss your grandmother. She used to drive into Douglas for a visit almost every afternoon. I looked forward to our chats—even if she did insist I serve her tea in a mug.” An affectionate smile tugged at the older woman’s lips.

In the silence that followed, Kelsey took a sip of the herbal tea from her china cup. How Dorothy and her grandmother had ever connected was beyond her. They’d been as different as two women could be. Dorothy wore silk, cherished tradition and liked order. Bess Anderson had favored jeans, loved to experiment with new ideas and thrived in chaos.

But they’d shared common values, lively intellects and kind hearts. Apparently that had been enough to seal their friendship for more than forty years.

“Gram was one of a kind, wasn’t she?” The words came out choked, and Kelsey set the cup back on the saucer.

“That she was.” Dorothy patted her arm, then straightened her own shoulders. “And she wouldn’t want us to be moping around on her behalf. I never did meet a person who could wring more joy out of a day than Bess Anderson. I expect she’d be disappointed if we didn’t follow her example.”

“I agree. It’s just harder some days than others to do that.”

Dorothy gave her a keen look. “Any particular reason why it’s harder today?”

Kelsey lifted one shoulder. “I haven’t slept very well the past two nights.”

The older woman wrinkled her brow. “Bad dreams again?”

“Yes.” Dorothy was one of the few people who knew Kelsey’s story. Her grandmother’s never-married best friend had always been like a cherished great-aunt, and since Kelsey had moved to Michigan, Dorothy had done her best to fill the role vacated by Gram.

“How odd. You’ve been doing so well. Did something trigger them?”

“Not something. Someone. My new neighbor. A man in his thirties who’s staying at the Lewis house. Alone, as far as I can tell.” She traced the delicate gold-edged rim of the saucer with a fingertip. “He came up behind me on the beach Saturday.”

“Oh, my.” Distress tightened Dorothy’s features. “I can see how that would have been upsetting.”

“To make matters worse, I dropped a book while I was down there, and when he came by to return it I was changing a lightbulb on the porch. I was so startled I fell into his arms. Literally. I almost hyperventilated.”

The bell over the front door jingled, announcing the arrival of tearoom customers, and Dorothy called out to the two women who entered. “I’ll be right with you.” Then she leaned closer to Kelsey and lowered her voice. “Maybe you should talk to Dr. Walters again.”

“Maybe.” She’d made weekly trips to the therapist in Holland during her first six weeks in Michigan, but her visits had tapered off as the nightmares grew less and less frequent. She hadn’t been to see the woman in more than two months.

Now the nightmares were back. Thanks to Luke Turner.

As Dorothy seated her luncheon guests on the other side of the building, Kelsey forced herself to focus on more pleasant thoughts. Nibbling at a blueberry scone, she examined the row of quilts, displayed on large racks, that separated Tea for Two from Not Your Grandmother’s Quilts in the high-ceilinged space they shared. The two in the middle were Gram’s, and they were stunning. Creative, contemporary and abstract, they were pieces of art—and not at all what most people pictured when they heard the word quilt.

The ones on either end were hers. One was a commissioned piece she’d finished a couple of weeks ago and would soon be shipping off to the buyer. The other—an intricate, modernistic, three-dimensional design—wasn’t for sale. Gram had praised it highly, calling it a breakout piece when Kelsey had sent her a photo of it last year. It had taken her three years to make, squeezing in a few minutes of work on it here and there. As she’d discovered, climbing the corporate ladder left little time or energy for anything else, including artistic pursuits. In fact, after finishing that piece she’d considered setting aside her beloved pastime for the indefinite future.

Yet now she was making quilts full-time.

It was surreal.

The baby kicked, and Kelsey placed a hand on her stomach—awed by the flutter of new life within her, even as it evoked traumatic memories.

It was a dichotomy she had yet to reconcile.

Her phone rang, and she swiveled back to her desk to answer it. As she picked up the receiver and prepared to switch gears, the baby kicked again.

Reminding her that the momentous decision she’d been struggling with couldn’t be deferred much longer.

Luke pulled into a parking space in front of the St. Francis rectory in Saugatuck, picked up his briefcase and stepped out of the car. The small adjacent church looked just as Carlos had described it—traditional in design, with elongated panels of stained glass on each side and a steeple that soared toward the blue sky.

This was where the medical corpsman had turned his life around.

This was where he’d hoped to return and make a difference in the lives of other young people.

This was where his funeral had been held two short months ago.

Luke swallowed past the lump in his throat, forcing back a surge of emotion. The time for tears was past. He was here to look to the future. To do his part to fulfill a young man’s dream. To keep a promise.

With one more look at the soaring steeple, he strode toward the door of the rectory and pressed the bell.

Thirty seconds later, a middle-aged man dressed in black and wearing a clerical collar answered. His smile created a fan of wrinkles at the corner of each eye as he stuck out his hand.

“Captain Turner, I presume. Or do you prefer Doctor?”

“Luke is fine. Father Reynolds?”

“Make it Father Joe. Come in, come in. I’ve been looking forward to your visit. Everyone is here, eagerly waiting to meet you.” He closed the door and led the way down the hall. “May I offer you a beverage?”

“Coffee would be good, if you have it.”

“Always.” The man grinned and veered to his left at a T in the hall, leading Luke into a small, homey kitchen. He headed straight for the coffeepot on the counter, pulled a mug off a hook and filled it. “There’s a carafe of coffee and disposable cups in the conference room, but the guest of honor deserves the real thing.” He lifted the ceramic mug. “Do you take cream or sugar?”

“I like it black.”

“So do I.” The clergyman handed him the coffee and retraced his steps, continuing past the T. “We rotate our meetings among participating churches, and it happened to be my turn. Appropriate, since this was Carlos’s church.”

A few seconds later, the man ushered him into a small conference room dominated by a large rectangular table. Six people of various ages sat around it. As he entered, their conversation ceased and they all looked toward him.

“My fellow clerics, our guest of honor has arrived.”

As Father Joe went through the introductions and Luke shook hands with each of the board members, he did his best to file away their names.

Once the formalities were finished, Father Joe gestured Luke toward the seat at the end of the table, then took his place at the other end.

“First, on behalf of the Greater Saugatuck Interdenominational Youth Fellowship, I want to thank you for initiating this project and for making such a personal investment in it. Your willingness to devote a significant amount of time to the planning and organizing has impressed all of us.” Father Joe beamed at him.

Heat rose on Luke’s neck, and he shifted in his seat. “I appreciate your kind words, Father, but my sacrifice is small in comparison to Carlos’s. I’m giving time. He gave his life.”

“Yes. Saving others. ‘No greater love…’” The priest grew somber and folded his hands on the table. “Before we begin, shall we join our hearts in prayer?”

As they bowed their heads, the pastor spoke. “Father, we thank You for giving us the opportunity to gather here as Your family. Like all families, we are diverse. And we don’t always agree. But You have opened our hearts and minds to allow us to seek our commonalities, and to unify behind the shared goal of supporting our youth and helping them grow in faith.

“We live in a difficult world, Lord, one where young people can easily be led astray. Here, in our program, they can find acceptance and love and guidance. We ask that You give us fortitude and inspiration as we go about Your work. We thank You for letting our lives be touched by an inspiring young man like Carlos Fernandez. And we thank You for sending Captain Taylor to us with a plan that will honor him by helping us carry on the work that changed his life.”

After a chorus of “amens,” Father Joe turned the meeting over to Luke, who pulled his notes from his briefcase and gave the board an outline of the project he and Father Joe had corresponded about over the past few weeks.

Although Carlos’s pastor had assured Luke the board was receptive to his idea, the enthusiastic response of the members was heartening.

But also a little unsettling.

Because, while Luke had come here to get the ball rolling for a youth center, the more the board members talked, the more it sounded as if they expected him to deliver said center in the short six weeks he would be in the area.

Catching his eye during an animated discussion about one fundraising idea, Father Joe smiled.

“Gentlemen—I think we’re overwhelming our benefactor. Why don’t we let him tell us what he would like to accomplish during his stay here, and see what we can do to assist him?”

Seven sets of eyes focused on him and the room grew quiet.

Luke cleared his throat and folded his hands on the table. “I’d be thrilled if we could break ground for this center before I leave. But realistically, that event may be a year or two down the road. If I learned one thing in the military, it was that nothing happens fast when a committee is involved.”

A knowing chuckle rippled around the table.

Luke flashed them a smile. “What I hoped to do during my stay was work with you to set everything in motion. That would include developing a fundraising plan, spreading the word about the project and helping line up appropriate resources and benefactors to support the project long-term. I’m not an expert at this sort of thing, but I’m hoping we can draft the assistance of some local people who are.”

“I agree we need to pull in experts.” A thin, middle-aged man with a receding hairline spoke. Reverend Matthew Howard, Luke recalled. “None of us have the time or expertise to make this center happen. But there are plenty of experts in our own community who could take on pieces of this. One in my own congregation, in fact. She’s a relative newcomer to the area. Kelsey Anderson. She runs a quilt shop in Douglas, but until earlier this year she was the director of public relations and corporate promotions for a large firm in St. Louis.”

When the man named the well-known company, Luke’s eyebrows rose. “That’s impressive. She sounds like just the kind of person we need.”

“I agree.” Father Joe leaned forward. “I haven’t met Ms. Anderson, but I’ve heard about her. One of the women in my congregation mentioned taking some classes at her shop. Would you like to approach her, Matt?”

“I’ll be happy to lay the groundwork. But I think the appeal would be more effective coming from Captain Turner.” The man opened a file and removed a letter. A copy of the first one he’d sent to Father Joe, Luke noted. “Father Joe shared your initial query letter with all of us. It was quite moving. No one would be able to speak as passionately—or convincingly—as you about how your friendship with Carlos motivated you to take this on. If I set up a meeting with Kelsey, would you be willing to pitch your idea and solicit her involvement?”

“That’s just the kind of thing I was hoping to do while I’m here.” Luke encompassed the group as he spoke. “If any of you want me to meet with possible supporters, I’m happy to do so. And Ms. Anderson sounds like the perfect person to talk with first.”

By the time the meeting broke up half an hour later, the board had compiled a list of resources, from the owner of the piece of property they hoped would someday be the site of the youth center, to the mayor of Saugatuck, to the manager of the hotel where Carlos had worked during his high school years.

As Father Joe led him out after all the others had left, the pastor paused in the small foyer, a twinkle in his eye. “I hope you weren’t planning too much R & R during your visit to Michigan. With the to-do list we’ve already compiled, you won’t have a lot of downtime. We clerics are great delegators, you know.”

The whisper of a smile tugged at Luke’s lips. “That’s okay. I didn’t come here to play.”

“Good thing.” The man studied him, his hand on the knob. “Not many people would take on a selfless job like this, Luke. I know you and Carlos worked together, and I understand that strong friendships can be forged on the battlefield. But I can’t help thinking there’s more driving you to take on this project.”

Doing his best to keep his features neutral, Luke clenched his fingers around the handle of his briefcase. “I saw a lot of death overseas, Father. A lot of wasted potential. A lot of soldiers whose dreams died when they did. I can’t change that. But it is within my power to make one man’s dream come true. It seemed like a fitting way to end my military career.”

“Ah. Closure.” The older man nodded. “Well, you picked a worthy dream to pursue. And a fine young man to honor.”

“The best.” Luke’s voice hoarsened, and he cleared his throat.

Father Joe opened the door and scanned the blue sky, giving Luke a chance to regain his composure. “What a beautiful day. Why don’t you take advantage of it before Matthew calls and sends you off to see Kelsey Anderson?”

“I think I’ll do that.” Luke stepped past him, then turned to shake his hand. “Thank you for coordinating this.”

“The thanks are all ours.” The man clasped Luke’s hand within both of his. “God go with you, Luke.”

“I’m counting on it.”

“You may. He never fails those who put their trust in Him.”

As Luke strode toward his rental car, he raised his eyes to the heavens above the church, tracing the outline of the cross that soared toward the sky. God had gone with him so far. While many of his comrades had lost their faith amid the carnage of war, his had held fast for years. But finally, bone-weary from the constant onslaught of senseless death and man’s inhumanity to man, his faith had faltered, too.

In the end, though, God had sent Carlos into his life. A young man whose heart burned with love for the Lord. Who had reminded him that in the midst of trauma and tragedy, good survived. Hope endured. Dreams flourished. Working with him day after day, watching him give tirelessly with a compassion that put the Good Samaritan to shame, had reinvigorated Luke’s own faith.

Even as he lay dying, the young medic had been a source of inspiration. His eyes had been filled with the kind of peace that only comes from knowing you’ve done your best to follow the precepts of the Lord and are ready to meet Him face-to-face. His one regret, he’d told Luke, was that his dream to help young people back home would never be realized.

As he’d held the young man’s hand, watching his life slip away while artillery shells burst around them, Luke had choked out a promise that his dream wouldn’t die.

Gratitude had smoothed the lines of pain from Carlos’s face, and he’d summoned up the last of his strength to speak. When Luke leaned close, he’d whispered, “Thank you.”

And then the medic had tightened his grip and uttered two short sentences Luke would never forget.

“Let not your heart be troubled, my friend. God will bring good from this.”

Moments later, Carlos’s hand had grown slack in his.

The outline of the soaring cross blurred, and Luke blinked to clear his vision. His faith wasn’t as strong as Carlos’s. Especially after ten brutal years of treating battlefield injuries. But he intended to make certain at least one good thing came from the young man’s death.

And as he unlocked his car and slid behind the wheel, he renewed the vow he’d made that day in Afghanistan. Before he left Michigan in six weeks, the youth center Carlos had dreamed of would be well on its way to becoming a reality.

Whatever it took.