Lambert's Peace (16 page)

“Well, how much does the opportunity cost?” He settled on the chaise with Mom.

Taylor sat on the edge of the bed, dropping the shoes to the floor. “What do you mean?”

Dad examined a square of gingham. “If you want this position, you go to California and win it. Let Boswell see the excellent abilities of Taylor Jo Hanson. But think about what it will cost you in time and relationships.”

She regarded him, half of her bare foot in the taupe pump. “I've calculated the cost, Dad.” She slipped her foot the rest of the way into the shoe. She did like them better.

“Mom, I'm going with the taupe.” She shoved her other foot into the black pump and stood.

“Your choice, Taylor.”

“I don't think you have, Taylor,” Dad said, firm and low. “Don't go to California if there is the remotest chance that you are in love with Will.”

Taylor whirled around. “In love with him? He's a friend, period.”

She walked toward the floor-length mirror to check out the shoes.

Oh, pain
. She kicked off both shoes, remembering now why the soles were barely worn on the taupe pair. They pinched her toes.

“I'm wearing the black.” She picked up her shoes, grimacing at the taupe.

Trixie laughed softly. “I had a pair of taupe shoes that hurt my feet, too. But I loved them.”

“Taylor,” Dad said as she started to leave.

“What, Daddy?” She held up the black pump. “Maybe I should wear my beige suit.”

Mom glanced up. “No, it will make you look too pale. Let me look at your wardrobe.”

Trixie went past Taylor into her bedroom.

Dad finished his thought. “You won't get another chance at Will. So, pray about it long and hard.”

Heat picked its way across her cheeks and down her neck. “I hear you, but I don't think it changes anything.”

He came over to her and rested his hand on her arm. “I've watched you over the years, Taylor. There's more to the story than you're telling your mom and me.”

She stared at the floor. “It's over. Forgotten.”

“You left town like your hair was on fire. And if I remember right, you were in love with him.”

“Correct. Were—was.”

“You're a grown woman, Taylor, and I've seen you make some excellent decisions. Make sure this California job is the Lord's leading, not you running away from the ghost of summers past.”

She lifted her head and jutted out her chin. “I am praying, Dad.”

“All right. Just know that if you move to California, Will won't be single and waiting when you come home again.”

She jutted out her chin. “So you've said.”

Dad embraced her. “I love you, and I would like nothing more than for the Lord to bless you with a godly husband.”

Taylor batted away tears. “Me, too. Better see what Mom's picking out.”

In her room, Mom coordinated the perfect suit and shoes. Taylor stood back, shaking her head. “Perfect. How come you didn't pass your gift of style to me, Mom?”

“I did.”

“Right. I wouldn't have thought to put that rose-colored jacket with those chocolate slacks.”

“You have style, Taylor. It shows in the way you wear your hair and the way you carry yourself. It shows in the way you do your job and live life. I wish I had your gusto.”

“Gusto?” Taylor repeated. That was not a Trixie Hanson word.

She tossed the black and taupe pumps in the closet and pulled out a brown pair of Mary Janes.

“Yes, gusto.” Mom smiled at her. “Oh, those shoes will go nicely.”

“They're comfortable, too.”

“When I was your age,” Mom reminisced, sitting on the edge of Taylor's bed, “I sewed and crocheted and decorated cakes for church auctions. I wore hats and white gloves to social events.”

Taylor sat on the edge of her desk. “Times have changed.”

“Yes, they have.” Mom stood, smiling. “I don't know if I'd do as well in your generation, Taylor. But I'm very proud of you.”

“Don't sell yourself short, Mom. Dad told me how you stood up to Grandpa when you and Dad wanted to get married.”

“That was so long ago. I was young and in love.”

Taylor regarded her. “There's no force in the world more powerful than a loved woman.”

Mom stood. “No, I imagine there isn't.”

After Mom went back to quilting, Taylor puttered around her room, reorganizing her overnight tote, selecting toiletries, and wondering if she should bother with her laptop.

By eight o'clock, she'd wandered restlessly through the house. She picked at the last piece of cake, split an apple with her dad, and flipped through the TV channels.

Something bugged her, deep down. She glanced at her dad. It was his words reverberating in her heart.
“You won't get another chance.”

She grabbed her car keys and called upstairs, “I'm going for a drive.” She drove slowly down Main Street, passing Sam's and Earth-n-Treasures, the library, and Golda's Golden Beauty Parlor. She ran her fingers through her hair, thinking she should have gotten it cut before flying to California. But she'd doubted Golda could match the color and style of her favorite New York salon.

“If I get this job, I'm treating myself to a spa day.”

On impulse she reached for her phone and autodialed Reneé but got her voice mail. “Hey, it's me. I'm leaving tomorrow for the California interview. Pray. Call you later.”

She pressed END and tossed the phone into the passenger seat as the White Birch covered bridge came into view. Slowly, Taylor pulled alongside the road and parked.

There was no moon. The only light came from a street lamp and the distant glow from Grandma Betty and Grandpa Matt's home up on the hill.

Taylor pulled on her coat, zipped it all the way up, and tucked her hands into her pockets.

Walking toward the middle of the bridge, she remembered the last time she was here with Will. With love.

“Lord, is Dad right? Am I fooling myself about Will?”

She prayed, listening to the gurgle of the river and waiting on the Lord.

In the basement, Will helped Grandpa put the finishing touches on a chest of drawers he was making for baby Matt.

“I'm going to want this design for the business, you know,” Will said, running his hand along the polished cherrywood.

“Can't. It's special for little Matt.”

“We can name it after him.” Will stood back to take in the whole piece. Grandpa's designs amazed him.

The elder Lambert stood next to his grandson, his shoulders squared. “Well, maybe we can make a few changes so it's not an exact replica.”

Will laughed. “Done.”

He stepped over to the sink to wash up just as Grandma called down the stairs, “Hot chocolate and hot cookies in the kitchen.”

Will dried his hands and said to Grandpa, “See you. I'm going up.”

Grandpa waved. “I see you've got your priorities straight. I'll be up as soon as I put the tools away.”

In the warm kitchen, Will sat at the breakfast nook. Harry left his warm spot by the oven to rest his chin on Will's knee.

“Only one cookie, boy, and don't tell Grandma.”

“Too late; she already heard.” Grandma came in with a fresh batch of dish towels. “I gave him one, too.”

Will scratched Harry's ears. “He's hard to resist.”

Grandma brought over two mugs of cocoa and joined Will at the table. “How goes the war of love with Taylor?”

Will set down the cookie he was about to bite into and shook his head. “She's going to California for a big job interview.”

“I guess you have your work cut out for you.”

“You know she tried to give me back the roses, but I refused to take them.”

“You broke her heart, Will. She's not going to let you back in easily.”

“What about my heart? It could get broken in this process.”

“Then you'll know you gave love a chance.”

“And bleed all over the place?”

“If necessary.”

Grandpa came into the kitchen, shutting the basement door behind him. He sat next to Grandma and reached for a cookie.

“People today,” Grandma said, getting up to pour Grandpa a mug of hot chocolate, “want love to be easy—to be fair. Fifty-fifty. But love requires you to give one hundred percent. It's not always easy, and it's not always fair.”

“I'm willing to give it one hundred percent if she is.”

“What if she's not? Are you going to give up? Sometimes love is about one giving a hundred percent and the other giving nothing.” Grandma returned to the nook with a big, steaming mug and set it before Grandpa.

“Thank you, Betty.”

Will shrugged. “I'm not sure I want to give myself to something that may end up causing pain.”

“Jesus did,” Grandma said.

Grandpa added, “He went to the cross, rejected by His own people, abandoned by His friends, and knowing that many more generations would also reject Him. He gave one hundred percent while we gave zero.”

Will pondered that truth for a moment. What kind of love moved God to send His Son to pay the price for man's sins? What kind of love endured the brutality and rejection of the cross?

Just the thought made Will tremble inside. That same God knew and loved him.

“It moves me to humility,” he said.

“If God did not spare His own Son, how will He not freely give us all things? We can trust Him,” Grandpa said.

Will shook his head. “I'm amazed every time I think about what He did for us, for me.”

“Will,” Grandma said gently, “if you pursue Taylor and she moves away, then you'll know it wasn't meant to be. But don't give up too soon. If you ask me, whatever happened between the two of you all those years ago is still happening.”

“It is, Grandma. Only we've switched places this time.” Harry scratched at the door. Will stood, picking up his hot chocolate. “I'll let him out.” Will reached for the knob. “There ya go, boy.” Harry woofed and darted down the hill toward the bridge. Laughing, Will decided to follow. “Heeellloooo,” Will shouted, running onto the bridge after Harry, the bright light of the moon lighting the way. Harry's bark echoed in the rafters. A shrill scream answered him from the other end of the bridge. “Who's there?” someone asked.

“Will Adams. Who are you?”

“You scared me, Will.”

He grinned as Taylor stepped toward him. He could barely see her face in the slivers of light that reflected off the river and up through the bridge's beams. But her voice and her fragrance were undeniable.

He recognized love. “What are you doing here?” he asked as she drew closer.

She shrugged. “I went for a drive. Sitting around the house waiting for tomorrow morning was making me crazy.”

“I can imagine.”

She sniffed. “Hot chocolate. Hmm …”

“Would you like some? Grandma made a huge pot.”

She stepped back, waving her hands. “No, no, I don't want to trouble Grandma Betty.”

“Are you kidding me? She lives for moments like this.”

“It does smell good.”

He had an idea. “Don't go anywhere. I'll be right back.” He set his mug down on the bridge floor and darted away. “Harry, stay here with Taylor.”

“Will, wait. Will?”

He ran up the hill and into the Lambert kitchen.

Opening and closing cabinets, he searched until he found Grandpa's old fishing thermos then filled it with hot chocolate. He found a paper bag, snapped it open, and stuffed it with warm cookies.

“Should I ask what you're doing running around my kitchen like a crazed man or just not worry about it?” Grandma asked.

Will grabbed a mug. “Be at peace, Grandma.” With that, he disappeared out the door.

His grandparents' muted laughter followed.

On the bridge, Taylor stood exactly where he'd left her. “Hot chocolate and cookies.” He held up the bag and mug.

“Oh, wow, they smell so good.”

“Where should we sit?” Will strode to the edge of the bridge. “The ground is wet.”

“My car,” Taylor suggested. “We can put the top down.”

“Can Harry join us?”

Taylor reached to scratch the sheepdog's ears. “Of course.”

With a click of a few buttons, Taylor tucked the BMW's top away. They climbed in and settled on top of the backseat. Will poured her a mug of hot chocolate and refreshed his.

“Have a cookie.” He held out the bag for Taylor.

She took a bite. “Yum. These are so good.”

Harry set his chin on her knee, his tail swishing against the leather seat.

“I think Harry likes you,” Will said, reaching for a cookie.

Taylor giggled. “Only because I have cookies.”

Will grinned. This was good, right. Only the Lord could have arranged this. “No, Harry just knows a loving woman when he meets one.”