Читать книгу The Prodigal Comes Home - Kathryn Springer - Страница 11

“Gran! What are you doing?” Zoey crossed her arms over her chest and tried to stare her grandmother down.

The house had been so quiet while she’d finished putting away her things that Zoey assumed Gran was still sleeping. Not standing on her tiptoes in front of the fireplace, attacking the flock of porcelain birds perched on the mantle with a bright-yellow feather duster.

“Dusting?” Gran stared right back.

“I can see that.” Zoey’s lips twitched. At least her grandmother had the grace to look guilty. “My next question is, why are you dusting?”

“Because I could have sworn I heard one of these poor birds sneeze.”

Zoey gave up trying to keep a straight face and laughed. “I have a great idea. It involves you sitting in your favorite chair, sipping a cup of tea by the fire, while I take care of the birds. And anything else that you’re planning to clean the minute my back is turned.”

“A cup of tea sounds wonderful, but sharing your company while I drink it sounds even better.”

There was no mistaking the sincerity in her grandmother’s voice.

Regret tangled with gratitude. For the past six years, Zoey had told herself that the best thing she could do for her grandparents was stay away from Mirror Lake. She’d caused enough heartache without an occasional visit stirring up the past.

Zoey was beginning to realize she’d been wrong to let that particular rationalization create such a rift between them. But she hadn’t known how to bridge it, not until her mother had left the message expressing her concern about Gran managing on her own while she recovered from pneumonia.

Zoey had been praying that God would help her move forward, but she hadn’t expected it would mean facing the past. It was as if He had opened a door for reconciliation and left it up to Zoey to decide whether to walk through it. A few hours later, she’d been driving north.

“I’ll make the—” Gran paused when Zoey raised an eyebrow.

“I’ll let you make the tea.”

“Great. Then we have a deal.” Zoey patted the arm of the chair and waited for her grandmother to comply. Gran looked more rested from her nap, but the purple smudges under her eyes hadn’t faded. The steps she took were slow and careful, as if she had to concentrate on every one.

Zoey resisted the urge to hover as Liz lowered herself into the chair.

“I’m afraid that I’m used to being useful,” she admitted.

“I know.” Zoey draped an afghan over her grandmother’s lap. Ten years was a long time but not long enough for her to forget how Gran loved to keep busy, deliberately placing herself at the center of a whirlwind of activity, especially when it came to her church.

Unbidden, Matt Wilde’s face appeared in her mind. She still couldn’t believe the church had hired someone so young.

And single.

Zoey ignored the mischievous inner voice. So she’d happened to notice that the pastor hadn’t been wearing a wedding ring. What difference did it make? A man as kind and drop-dead gorgeous as Matt had to be in a serious relationship. Probably even engaged…

And why on earth do you care?

Even if she had time to date, which she didn’t, Zoey knew she would never consider a serious relationship with someone involved in ministry. As the daughter of a pastor-turned-missionary, Zoey had buckled under the weight of peoples’ expectations. There was no way she would put herself into that situation again.

Not that someone like Matthew Wilde would ever ask her to…

Zoey put the brakes on those wayward thoughts before they could take her any further down that dangerous path.

“You’ll be back on your feet in no time, Gran,” she promised. “And you are being useful. You’re going to tell me what to do, remember?”

“All right.” Gran smiled. “While you finish dusting, you have to tell me everything that’s happened to you in the last ten years.”

Zoey took a deep breath. “I’d rather tell you about the last six months.”

A look of understanding dawned and tears sprang into Liz’s eyes. “You’re a believer now, aren’t you?”

“I’ve been a believer a long time,” Zoey said softly. “Now, I would have to say that I’m a…follower.”

“Delia Peake is here to see you, Pastor.” Cheryl Mullins, the part-time church secretary, looked up as Matt walked in. “She wanted to wait in your office.”

“And you didn’t want to tell her no.” Matt grinned.

“I’d rather sharpen a pencil with my teeth.”

“Ouch.”

“Exactly.” Cheryl patted her very pregnant belly. “I’m a month from my due date and the doctor told me to avoid stress.”

“Then you made the right decision.” Matt glanced at the clock on the wall. He usually left the church at four, but experience had taught him that pastors didn’t hold to regular hours. He was on call 24/7.

And he wouldn’t want it any other way.

“You don’t have to stick around, Cheryl. I can lock up when I leave.”

His secretary didn’t bother to hide her relief. “Great.

I’ll see you tomorrow.”

As Matt walked down the narrow hallway, he heard the muffled tap tap tap of Delia’s walking cane against the faded Berber carpet in his office.

“Hello, Mrs. Peake.”

She had bypassed a comfortable chair by the window and commandeered the one behind the desk. His desk.

Matt’s lips twitched as he pulled up another chair.

“Pastor Wilde.” From the first time they’d met, Delia insisted on addressing him more formally than the rest of his congregation, most of whom called him by his first name. “How is Liz?”

It had become a common question over the past few weeks, given the fact that Matt was not only Liz’s pastor, but also her closest neighbor. “She seems to be doing a little better.”

Especially now.

For most of the day, Matt had found his thoughts drifting back to Zoey. Wondering how she and Liz were doing. What they were talking about. When one of the men in his congregation had called and asked for some insight on a passage of scripture, Matt had jumped at the chance to focus his attention on something else. And it didn’t hurt that their discussion had taken place while they split a cord of firewood.

After Matt was hired, he made sure people knew he wanted to see them for more than an hour on Sunday mornings. He wanted the majority of his ministry to take place outside the walls of the church.

Delia pursed her lips. “When I called her yesterday, Liz wasn’t in a very talkative mood.”

“I’m sure she was just tired.” Matt linked his hands behind his head. “What can I do for you, Mrs. Peake?”

The question didn’t bring about the results he’d hoped for—nudging Delia back on track.

“She’s a stubborn woman, our Liz. When I visited her at the hospital last week, she mentioned that she’s still planning to direct the Easter cantata next month.” Delia shook her head. “Of course I told her that she wouldn’t be in any shape to take on that responsibility this year.”

“Of course you did.” Matt tried not to wince. He had deliberately avoided bringing up the subject of the cantata to Liz, knowing that she didn’t need anything else to worry about.

“Well, someone has to make her listen to reason.” Delia agreed, happy to have accepted the role. “There isn’t a lot of time to pull it together. Some people think we should simply cancel it this year.”

Judging from her tone, it was clear she was one of them.

“Let’s see what the Lord has to say before we make a decision,” Matt suggested mildly. “Someone else might step forward and volunteer to take Liz’s place this year.”

Delia harrumphed. “I suppose that could happen.”

“I’ll talk to Liz when the time is right.” Matt pressed down on the last word, hoping to get his point across. “We have at least a week before a final decision needs to be made. By that time, Liz should have a better idea whether or not she feels up to directing the cantata.”

At the moment, Matt couldn’t think of anyone more capable of organizing the special service that Church of the Pines held every Easter, but it was a lot of work and he didn’t want to jeopardize Liz’s recovery. Still, Matt knew her well enough to know that if she were pushed to make a decision, she would say “yes” simply to relieve him of the burden of having to find someone else.

“You can count on me keeping a close eye on her.” Delia’s pink-tipped walking cane struck the floor, punctuating the statement like an exclamation point. “I’m planning to stop by her place for a visit every day until she can get out and about.”

For some reason, the thought of Delia and Zoey coming face to face unsettled him. The older woman had good intentions, but not many people saw them, hidden as they were behind a rather formidable personality. The wave of protectiveness that crashed over Matt surprised him. Especially given the fact that Zoey had let him know, in no uncertain terms, that she could take care of herself.

He hesitated. “I’m sure Liz would appreciate the thought, but I don’t think that will be necessary.”

“What do you mean?”

The sudden gleam of interest in the woman’s eyes made Matt regret bringing it up.

“She has family staying with her now.”

“Family.” Delia brightened. “Paul and Sara came back from Africa for a visit? I’m sure Liz is thrilled. They haven’t been back since Jonathan’s funeral.”

“It’s not her son. Her granddaughter, Zoey, is going to stay with Liz for awhile.”

Delia’s eyes bulged. “Zoey Decker is here? In Mirror Lake? Staying with Liz?”

“Yes, to all three questions.” Matt tipped his head, puzzled by the strange reaction. “Do you…know Zoey?”

Delia’s expression turned as bleak as a January morning.

“Unfortunately, everyone in Mirror Lake knows Zoey Decker.”

“Will you set the table for three, please, sweetheart?”

The simple endearment warmed Zoey’s heart, especially when it came on the heels of a lengthy conversation in which she’d condensed the ups and downs of the last ten years. And there’d definitely been more downs than ups.

The tea in their cups had cooled while she talked and Gran had listened. Zoey thought that telling her story would have once again left her feeling burdened by the past. Instead, she felt curiously relieved. Lighthearted.

Gran had forgiven her for the mistakes she’d made—and the ones she’d compounded by separating herself from her family. Zoey could see it in her eyes. It occurred to her that it had been there all along. From the moment she’d arrived.

And maybe, although Zoey could barely wrap her mind around it, even before.

If only she were finding it as easy to forgive herself.

She pulled a wooden chair out from the table, a gentle reminder to Gran that she was in charge of kitchen duty.

“You’re having company for supper tonight?” Zoey asked as she zeroed in on one of the kitchen cabinets and opened the door. A set of powder-blue stoneware dishes was stacked neatly on the other side, the way she remembered. Strange how she now found comfort in the things she’d spent years trying to forget.

“We’re having company,” her grandmother corrected. “Matthew has a standing invitation every Thursday night.”

Zoey stifled a groan. By now Matt—the pastor—would know everything about her. And she doubted he would be as forgiving as her grandmother. “I don’t want to intrude on your time together. I can eat upstairs. Or in the family room.”

Anywhere but at the kitchen table.

Liz brushed aside the suggestion. “You won’t be intruding, Zoey. I’m sure Matt is anxious to get to know you.”

Probably to make sure I’m not stealing your silver spoon collection, Zoey wanted to say.

To hide her dismay, she lifted the lid on the Noah’s ark cookie jar that still occupied the corner next to the sink. Sure enough, it was filled with molasses cookies, the crisp tops sparkling with sugar. Gran had shared them with the people who stopped in for a visit as generously as she gave of her time. And prayers.

Sometimes Zoey wondered if Gran’s faithful prayers had been instrumental in leading her back to faith.

“I couldn’t keep that cookie jar full when you lived here. Help yourself.”

Hearing the amusement in Gran’s voice, Zoey blinked back the unexpected tears that stung her eyes. The time she’d lived in Mirror Lake had been so short, she hadn’t realized how many memories remained cradled in her heart.

She tried to match her grandmother’s tone. “Aren’t you afraid it will spoil my appetite if I eat dessert first?”

“Then we’ll call the cookies an appetizer.” Gran winked and held out her hand. “I won’t tell if you don’t.”

Zoey dipped into the ceramic jar and pulled out two cookies, one for Gran and one for herself. “Do you want me to heat up one of the casseroles for supper?”

“Oh, no. Thursday is pizza night. Matthew started it a few months ago.”

Matthew again.

She forced a smile. “I don’t mind making dinner but I think that you and Pastor Wilde…well, you know what they say, Gran. Three’s a crowd, right?”

“I always liked ‘the more, the merrier’ myself.”

Zoey froze at the sound of a voice behind her. The voice belonging to the man who’d already managed to sneak up on her twice in one day. She was afraid to look at him. Afraid to see censure or—even worse—disapproval in the hazel eyes that had been full of concern earlier that morning.

“You’re right on time, Matthew,” Gran sang out. “Yesterday I have to admit that I was feeling a little sorry for myself and tonight I’m having supper with my two favorite people.”

Zoey dared a glance in Matt’s direction. He wasn’t glaring at her in disapproval. He wasn’t glaring at all.

“I didn’t stop by for supper,” Matt said, a smile playing at the corners of his lips. “You just got home from the hospital yesterday and you have your granddaughter visiting. That means I’m officially releasing you from the burden of my company tonight.”

Zoey was immune to his smile. She really was. And it wasn’t as if it were directed at her.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Matthew,” Gran clucked her tongue. “Your company isn’t a burden. Is it, Zoey?”

Zoey hesitated a split second too long. “No, not at all.”

Matt sauntered in, altogether too attractive for Zoey’s peace of mind. He peeled off a fleece-lined leather jacket that emphasized the width of his shoulders and draped it over the back of the chair. “In that case, I’d love to stay.”

“Wonderful.” Gran clapped her hands together.

Wonderful.

Zoey’s knees went a little weak at the thought of spending more time in Matt’s company.

She made a silent calculation in an attempt to steady them. And her nerves. It only took twelve minutes to bake a frozen pizza. With luck, the pastor would be gone in an hour. Maybe less.

Zoey scooted over to the freezer, wishing she could crawl inside, and scanned the contents. Towers of plastic containers, neatly labeled, crowded the small space.

“Where’s the pizza, Gran?”

Her grandmother chuckled. “You have to make it.”

“I know.” Zoey glanced over her shoulder and her gaze snagged with Matt’s. The slow smile he aimed in her direction shot through her like a comet. She tore her gaze away and focused on Gran. Much safer. “But I don’t see one to make.”

“I’m sorry.” Gran looked anything but. In fact, she looked as if she were enjoying Zoey’s confusion. “Matthew and I make the pizza from scratch.”

“From…scratch?”

“That’s right.” Matt answered the question. “But don’t worry. Liz and I will walk you through it. It isn’t difficult.”

Liz lifted her hand and covered a delicate yawn. “Actually, I’m feeling a little tired so I think I’ll sit this one out,” she said. “Let me know when it’s ready.”

“Gran!” Zoey choked on the word.

“Don’t worry. Matthew knows his way around the kitchen.” Gran toddled off without a backward glance.

That’s not what Zoey was worried about.

“I guess it’s just the two of us,” Matt said.

Zoey managed a smile.

“I guess it is.”